Chapter 19 - Ad Honoris Causam

"No, no, not like-"

Thwack.

"-that." Frank finished lamely.

The knife shuddered in the cork board, impressively hilt-deep but also about two feet away from the painted red bull's eye, the intended target.

Dean Thomas winced.

"Sorry."

Frank raised an eyebrow.

"The board moved." Dean protested half-heartedly.

"And Snape's dating Umbridge. Look, re-adjust your grip. It's a throwing knife, not a spear." Frank sighed, doing it for him for the third time.

A few feet away, Thalia was demonstrating some basic self-defence moves to some wide-eyed Hufflepuffs. The gestures she was making looked half martial and half spontaneous, like she was making it up as she went along but doing a damn good job of it. Frank had never actually found out how Thalia knew so much about fighting. She was one of Artemis' handmaidens, of course, which had to come in handy when genes or hard work weren't part of the backstory, but she moved very fluidly for someone who'd only been doing it professionally for a couple of years.

Despite their impressed faces, the Hufflepuffs made little effort to imitate her, preferring to stare and then nervously glance and chuckle at each other, saying things like "There's no way I could do that", or even "It looks great, but I'd just look silly doing it". It got to a point where Thalia deliberately kicked Ernie Macmillan with a spinning kick just to get a reaction from him that would have looked out of place on Paddington Bear, but received only a gasp of pain and a reproachful look.

"You're supposed to fight me back with your limbs, not hurt puppy eyes!" Thalia sighed, rolling hers.

"But… that wouldn't be very nice."

"Nice?" Thalia twisted around and stared at her small audience. "Oh, sure. Let's all be nice to each other and have tea with crumpets and jam. What d'you think the Death Eaters will prefer when we invite them, Earl Grey or Green?"

"That's not how you eat crum- I'm just saying… It's not right-" Ernie mumbled, rubbing his shoulder. "You're a girl."

Thalia narrowed her eyes.

"A really, really good fighter kind of girl," Ernie quickly amended, backing away by a foot or so, "But my Da told me never to hit girls."

"Same here," Justin Finch-Fletchley, putting his hands behind his back firmly. "We don't hit girls."

Thalia only had one response to that. With another eye-roll, she swiftly kicked their legs out from under them, sending both boys tumbling over each other before their faces could register more than surprise. Only Hannah Abbott was left, and she trembled slightly. Thalia raised an eyebrow. The Hufflepuff girl gulped, but then thrust out her chin and tentatively shifted into the position the huntress had showed them at the very start, holding up her hands as well as she could make them.

Frank saw Thalia suppress a smile, and turned away with a smile on his own face before the two girls could finish their duel. A few seconds later, he heard a gasp of surprise and a small yelp of pain, followed by a thump.

Percy was instructing his own little group in the art of sword-fighting. As with Frank's proposed exercise – attempts at knife-throwing and perhaps a little archery later – they'd had trouble convincing Harry to let them teach a little of it during DA sessions. Harry couldn't see the point of it at first, since wizarding duels were fought only with wands, but Ron had been so excited to learn muggle fighting-skills that he soon relented, and Hermione's pointed comment concerning the risk of losing their wands in a duel cemented his decision. That was not to say he was happy about the inclusion of knives, swords and archery in the program, but he had little choice in the matter: the mere sight of the weapons that afternoon had been enough to cause noisy ripples of excitement through the class like rumours of peanuts among apes in a zoo.

Percy was having trouble keeping control over his group. It didn't help that half of them hadn't seen a sword before except on suits of armour around the school.

"Okay, so, Hermione has very kindly shown us all how to conjure wooden swords – don't worry if you can't do it yet; I had trouble making mine-"

"Is that why yours is all shiny, then?" Zacharias Smith asked, his nose scrunched up.

"Hm? Oh, I made a mistake and conjured bronze instead. Yeah, so, I was saying – try to slash and jab, without all the flourishing stuff you see in movies."

"Movies?"

"Uh, yeah, like moving pictures but… er, better. Anyway, just don't think it's fencing, okay? It's not the right type of sword, and any unnecessary movement will just make you tired sooner than you can afford. Oh, and footwork's important as well."

"Like this?" Ron made a jerking forward gesture with his sword, lunging forward with his right foot like in an illustrated nineteenth century catalogue on stretching.

Percy cocked his head. With a move like that, Ron would either have lost his entire arm or been stabbed through the large area underneath that left his side open.

"It's a start," he said finally. "Try and keep your body covered at all times, though…"

On the other side of the room, another unusual DA activity was taking place. Having uncovered the key to making technology and magic work in proximity, Leo had set himself the task of instructing a few worthy others in the art. Of those present were Annabeth, Hermione, Michael Corner, Marius Fell and a Hufflepuff boy whose name he could never remember. Steve, or something.

Despite Hermione's succinct summary of the stint a few days ago in their common room, the theory behind it was a lot more complex than it seemed, and even Leo was still delightfully unaware of its many rules and consequences. He'd been practicing on Umbridge (nothing special, just a couple of gadgets. He kept reminding himself "baby steps, baby steps.") which had yielded spectacular results. There had only been a few explosions in his experiments so far, and one electrical shock, so overall things were looking good, even if Leo walked around with only one eyebrow and his hair constantly standing on end. His small class that day was rather ostentatiously wearing goggles and gloves, eyeing Leo's excited hands flutter around the equipment as though expecting them to burst into flames at any moment – which was ridiculous, really, because Leo now had almost complete control over that, and if anything was going to burst into flame it would be the components, not his hands.

He'd said as much, and Marius had nervously cast a fire-proof spell on his gloves.

Wimp. No sense of adventure.

Harry stood to the side, arms crossed and a peculiar expression on his face. It was one of the few sessions left before the Christmas break, which was why he'd allowed different activities to take place – students were getting restless in every class, so rather than going over old stuff again and again he'd opted for different, special kinds of training. Then again, he reflected as he watched Ron's sword get easily spun out of his hand by Percy, he wondered if these weren't a bit too special. Knives, swords… they'd even suggested archery at some point.

"All right, Harry?" Dean called out from a few steps away.

Harry smiled, trying not to wince – Cho Chang had just ducked from a nasty swipe.

"Different landscape today, eh?"

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Cho had just caught his eye and grinned. Should he smile back, or would that be too strange?

"You know what you're missing?" Dean continued, unaware of Harry's inattentiveness. "Someone who knows about this. Who knows fighting for what it is, not just a series of sparkly lights and noises."

"These guys seem to have it covered," Harry said, glancing at their American classmates, who had taken over his class with the kind of ease Harry himself had so lacked when the DA had started.

Dean shook his head.

"I meant someone who's lived through this kind of thing on almost a daily basis."

Harry looked at him, curious now.

"Seamus."

"Seamus? But he's our age! And he's not part of the DA. He wouldn't even be part of the same dormitory if he could help it." Harry said, not bothering to hide the bitterness.

"He's lived in Belfast his entire life."

Harry was silent. Everyone heard about events in Belfast sooner or later, even when they spent their time hiding in their bedroom or were forced to crouch behind couches to listen to the news.

"Harry, he could help with this sort of thing. He told me stories about what happened in his neighbourhood, he even showed me what happened to him. Percy and his friends are good teachers, but they treat it like a kind of hobby, you know? Seamus has permanent marks on him to serve as a reminder of what that kind of fighting can do. 'Cause this isn't duelling, mate," Dean said, turning to look at Harry directly, "this is the kind of thing that gets a whole lot uglier when it actually happens. Hexes and curses are practically hygienic compared to knife wounds and fist-fights."

"If you don't want to do this, no-one's forcing you to join in." Harry reminded him.

Dean looked offended.

"Are you kidding? This stuff is maybe the only thing that'll actually be useful in the real world! No, I'm staying. I just think that we might need someone who has more down-to-earth experience with this."

"I'm not stopping Seamus from joining," Harry said shortly, "It's him who has a problem, not me."

Dean hesitated.

"I know, and I wish I could say I'll talk him into it, but…"

Harry nodded.

"I understand." And he did.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Piper found Hermione in the library, shockingly.

She plonked down on the opposite side of the massive oak table covered with textbooks, eliciting a jump and a slight scowl from Hermione as she involuntarily scratched a word out in surprise.

More quietly, Hazel sat herself beside Piper and greeted the Gryffindor with a shy nod. Hermione smiled briefly back, then turned back to Piper with an inquisitive air.

"I have a proposal," Piper announced.

"Oh?" Hermione held up one finger and looked around cautiously. "Two tics, then." She pulled out her wand and made a circular motion over her shoulder. "Muffliato. There. Piper… is it even sensible to talk so publicly? Won't Umbridge-"

"I'm supposed to be spying on you, remember?"

Hermione hesitated, but motioned for her to go on.

"I heard you and Annabeth were bent on building a legal case against Umbridge."

Hermione nodded, though her expression remained doubtful.

"We discussed it," she admitted, "and even did a fair bit of preliminary research. But we've hit a bit of a dead end," she sighed. "Terry and Marius are trying to help, but Terry's parents work in the law department and he reckons it's almost impossible to attack her from that perspective. He says the system is already backing her up by sheer association."

Piper nodded, that confirmed what she thought.

"And then there's the matter of proof," Hermione continued wistfully. "Those blood quills she uses in mass detentions are all duplicates of an original, I'm sure, which makes it very hard to prove she's using them. Testimonies aren't enough."

Piper exchanged a look with Hazel.

"Well," the daughter of Pluto said, lowering her voice despite the effectiveness of the Muffliato charm, "we've got an idea about that…"

With Hazel's help, Piper exposed their plan to Hermione, who listened with an attentive frown. When they finished, she was idly twisting the nib on her quill on her parchment, making little swirly designs on the yellow paper. From her expression, she was lost in thought.

"I think it could work," she said finally, with much caution. "And it would be useful. Make Umbridge feel like she's fully in power again. She's raring to strike back as it is."

The past few weeks had indeed been very trying for their High Inquisitor. It was rumoured she was petitioning for physical punishment – of the more obvious kind, clearly – to be reinstated as legitimate discipline. Filch had been all of a flutter for three days, and for once was encouraging gossip in the corridors, occasionally participating himself.

"Leave the co-ordination to us," Piper said, preparing to get up. "You and your team can do the follow-up paperwork and contact the right people, since that's right up your street."

Hermione smiled faintly.

"And then we'll all team up for the final task?" she asked quietly.

Piper and Hazel glanced at each other, then nodded.

Umbridge wouldn't know what hit her.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Mid-November rains had given way to snow, forcing all students to wear several layers of clothing despite the large blazing fireplace in each room, and magically dig trenches in the snow on their way to Herbology and Care or Magical Creatures. But no matter how cold and frosty Hogwarts became, or how boring lectures seemed when there were things like marshmallow parties and hot chocolate to look forward to, there seemed to be always a rather electric quality to the air of the place. Students could be heard commenting on it in the corridors, attributing it to the magic of the school, to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, to Filch's new cleaning product - even to a mysterious new jinx Umbridge might have cast on the corridors to further spy on her charges.

Only the demigods felt certain of the cause. It was quite simple really, because whatever tingles their classmates unconsciously registered, they felt like shocks of static from a trampoline.

Their individual powers were playing up. Maybe it was because they had almost reached maturity, or perhaps they had just been left unused for too long. Either way, Percy had to concentrate not to send water shooting up from his glass at mealtimes – he'd already inadvertently caused damage to the showers two days beforehand.

On Hazel's part, despite not having touched it or experimented with it since their departure from Camp Half-Blood, she was having trouble with the Mist. If previously they had doubted its presence in the wizarding world, there was no doubt now that it was just as malleable as it was in their world, and perhaps even more powerful – the magic seemed to simply egg it on. In the span of three days, Hazel had accidentally created a spare marble staircase, rearranged the seating of her classes, and witnessed a very confused Snape as he stared, dumbfounded, at the blank stretch of wall that had until then quite certainly been the cupboard in which he stored students' potions of the day.

As for the shapeshifting Frank, he had turned into an eagle a couple of times, and it was only thanks to extreme fortune and Annabeth's quick thinking that he had not been discovered. The daughter of Athena had an easier time of it, since the divine legacies her mother had left her were rather more immaterial, yet even she was more alert and quick to react than usual, her gaze growing in intensity by the day and occasionally startling little first-years if she happened to make eye-contact.

Jason and Thalia were perhaps the worst off, since static was often in the air around them on principle. They kept unintentionally zapping people when someone handed them a book or clapped them on the shoulder, having to profusely apologise and explain that their gloves were made of acrylic, a plastic-based material which could occasionally cause mild electrical reactions (an explanation that left some purebloods highly impressed but somewhat wary of muggle manufacture – "Self-defensive clothing? I thought only magic could do that!").

A common trait between all of them was constantly being on edge, their ADHD seemingly increasing every day. Annabeth attributed it to long-term stress over the nature of their mission, but they all knew, deep inside, that it was more fundamental than that.

They were demigods. And the same way that humans needed stability to thrive, gods occasionally needed to shake things up a little to show who was boss. Slowly, perhaps inevitably, the usual equilibrium between the two halves of their nature was fragmenting and tipping to one side, prompting spells of impulsiveness and frustration they found hard to understand, let alone control.

Thus, without it ever having really been discussed – some things needed neither prompt nor inspiration – their unanimous approach to the problem was to vent their frustrations on a natural target.

And, really, the target had it coming for months.

0o0o0o0o0o0

It was a curious thing that, at present, Dolores Umbridge would never leave the building in any other bottoms than a pencil skirt. Of course in such chilly weather it was hardly suitable, the snow and mud often leaving large spots on her tights, not to mention that the tight hemline of the skirt squeezed the woman's knees together and gave her an even more waddling stance than usual. But the fact was that no matter the weather or temperature that day, whenever she would step outside the castle the High Inquisitor would immediately be subjected to violent and sudden gusts of wind, knocking off her carefully positioned berets and causing her ample robes or full skirt to fly up high in a most undignified manner.

Then there was the matter of her memory problems. She would have sworn, for instance, that every day before she emerged from her rooms to start her day she would put on her smart, patent leather shoes, and shrug on a jacket of a particularly fluorescent shade of pink she was fond of. Yet in the past few days, she had twice turned up to class in her fluffy, cat-eared slippers, and on one memorable occasion had even attended breakfast with her colleagues fully attired in her nightclothes. Flitwick, that shrivelled old imp, had fallen off his high chair in giggling surprise. The most puzzling thing of all was that, no matter how many times she played her morning routine in her head, Dolores felt sure she had put on her proper clothes. She had seen her shoes, and jolly well felt the scratchy woollen fabric of her jumper. But she had somehow failed to notice that she was wearing her nightgown and dressing robe until Minerva had stared at her for a full ten seconds, before primly asking whether she was feeling indisposed, or perhaps forgetful.

Well, no… but fortune did seem to have it in for her these days.

Her shower two days ago had sprayed cold saltwater for a full thirty minutes before she admitted defeat and turned to her sink instead. Yet when Mr Filch came to have a look at it for her the plumbing had looked perfectly functional, and issued a gentle jet of steaming water within seconds of turning it back on again. She'd thought nothing of it, until the same thing happened again, twice.

Consequences included her bratty students taking to calling out to her in the corridors. The self-entitled little fools asking if her feet were feeling warm enough today, or perhaps she'd like a dressing gown, since the fire was on the other side of the classroom? And they'd kept up that ridiculous practice of saluting whenever she entered a room, too. She'd never demanded such a thing, but even the scrawniest first-year appeared convinced that she had.

But the strangeness hadn't ended there. Oh, no.

Dolores had always liked cats. They didn't judge, or argue, or do anything that wasn't compatible to their nature. They behaved like royalty, and expected to be treated as such. They also didn't speak much, at least not in any comprehensible form, which was what she really liked about them. She'd always thought of herself as a bit of a cat-magnet as well, usually with a touch of pride. Cats liked her. They could tell she was soft and approachable, and always willing to give them a bit of a stroke.

Recently, however, Dolores worried that perhaps she was a bit too likeable. It was quite simple: every cat in the place adored her! She'd never realised it before, but it seemed that half the brats in this school had a feline familiar. They followed her in corridors, meowing and trotting after her in the hope of a pet and a treat, sometimes as many as six or seven of them. Dolores had briefly considered obtaining a decree to restrict the movements of student-owned familiars, but that would have affected the mail system and Cornelius would object to that. And even Dolores herself was only mildly irritated by it, quite liking the undisguised adoration in the creatures' eyes as they traced her every step.

That is, until the demon cats.

She shuddered now even thinking about it.

All the cats involved in the recent phenomenon were fluffy, well-fed creatures – except Mrs Norris, but even she recognised that one was probably a lost cause – they'd been all intent on getting a petting and a cuddle. But just this afternoon, as she was hurrying back to her office, she'd felt something brush at her ankle. She bent over without looking at first, ready to stroke the insatiable little devil, but then her fingers made contact and she turned to look and at once had recoiled and jumped back in horror. The… the thing that was demanding affection from her was a cat, but also quite recognisably a dead one. By the look of its thin, mangled body with bits of dry skins still hanging off the vertebrae and around the ankles, it had been for some time. The horrid creature's skeleton poked out at all the worst places to look, and some of its fur had come off and stuck to Dolores' sock, but the worst part – somehow – was its eyes. The tiny skull barely had any tissue left on it to be called a head, but the eyes still had bits of… matter in them, and those slivers of dead flesh glowed. Red.

It had been faint, and brief enough that in the moment she felt she may have imagined it, but afterwards she knew it had been real. She shuddered again.

"Professor?"

Dolores jumped.

The girl was looking at her with an inquiring expression, her face as smooth and blank as usual.

"Oh… oh yes, Miss McLean. Do continue," Dolores said graciously, gesturing with her hand.

The girl nodded curtly.

"That's it for Potter and his friends, Professor. They keep to their common room a lot."

"No signs of digression from them? They keep to the curfew, go about their work and activities with no sign of trouble?"

"Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley perform their seasonal prefect duties as Professor McGonagall instructed them, and otherwise patrol the corridors to enforce curfew, but appear to keep to the rules."

"What about during lessons? Do they in any way disregard the Ministry?"

The girl shook her head.

"Not that I know of. The teachers always stick very close to their lesson plans, and students generally do as they're told. Conversations in class never rise above the mundane."

"No, I suppose they wouldn't." Umbridge muttered, more to herself.

Miss McLean gazed impassively at her, the very picture of demure obedience. Dolores had to admit she was a good means of finding out what she needed to know 'behind the scenes', as it were, and congratulated herself for having recruited the girl. She was close to her American friends, but had proven true to Slytherin House values by recognising the power at play and offering her assistance. So far, reports from her had been regular and succinct, though predictably a large number of them told of silly childish behaviour and obnoxious comments that had no place in a child's mouth, which were unfortunate but too common to be worth investigating.

If she were perfectly honest, Dolores was more suspicious of her fellow teachers than their pupils. What could children possibly do against the Ministry without teachers behind them to egg them on? Only the Potter boy and his acolytes were worth her time to watch, and even then she had her doubts: the boy was nothing but a dim-witted lackey, subject to Dumbledore's every whim, and it was only at Cornelius' insistence that she kept tabs on him. The boy had no real power, paltry influence, and dismissible talent which in any case seemed to revolve around throwing tantrums.

"Very well, if that's all you may return to your day, Miss McLean." Dolores sad, gracefully waving a hand at her as she turned back to her papers.

"Actually, there is another matter which I think deserves your attention, Professor."

Dolores looked up.

"Oh? And you didn't mention this beforehand because-?"

"I don't believe it has anything to do with Potter, Professor. Though it may involve some of his friends." The girl said. Her face was as blank as it had always been since the day Dolores had informed her of her duties as the High Inquisitor's personal watchman. Sensible girl. Perhaps she had a future in the Ministry.

"Do tell."

"There are talks among some students to stage an event of some magnitude sometime before the Christmas holidays." Piper reported, "A prank of some sort, though I gather the sentiment behind it verges less on the seasonal than the communicative."

"A message, you mean?" Dolores questioned, suddenly sharp. "What message?"

Piper gazed at her impassively.

"They weren't explicit, but suffice to say that many students aren't happy with the changes your office has enforced, Professor."

"So in short they are planning resistance of some sort." Dolores felt the warm little flame of satisfaction burn in her chest. How predictable these children were.

She waved a hand in the air.

"In that case, I am sure we can act in time to thwart it," she said with a sweet smile. "Keep me informed of the who and the when."

For the first time, a faint frown creased the girl's smooth countenance.

"That… may prove to be difficult, Professor. I am not close to the group who are planning it-"

"So you know who is behind it?" Dolores asked archly, though with a note of triumph. "Why didn't you say so, silly girl? We can act now, and stop any ridiculous behaviour that threatens the educational purpose of this establishment. The Minister will not stand for any of this."

The impassiveness was back.

"I know some, and suspect others. But I don't think names are of much use to us for the moment, Professor."

Dolores raised an eyebrow.

"And why not?"

"Because better to let them plan the prank and catch them red-handed than swoop down when they are not yet guilty of anything other than fantasy." The girl said, her polite voice washing over the High Inquisitor like warm honey poured by singing angels. "That way we let them reveal themselves completely to us without having to lift a finger. Just like we did when those students were planning some kind of fighting group."

Dolores found herself nodding along. Of course this girl was right, how could she doubt it for any second? She sounded so reasonable and polite. There was no way in Avalon Dolores could find fault with the idea. Especially since, something like a warm little voice reminded her faintly with a touch of pride, that little decree following McLean's denunciation had worked rather well too.

"Very well." Dolores said, giving the girl a look which, she felt, conveyed the right amount of subtle complicity given the circumstances. "Just make sure you find out the time and the place."

She watched as the girl bit her lip, but pressed them together and exited the office with a polite nod and a quiet "Goodnight, Professor", and Dolores was pleased that she didn't repeat her concern at her new difficult position. She was learning.

Unfortunately for her, she missed the faint sound a few feet away from her office door. But even if she had she probably would not have recognised it, for it was rather similar to, say, two people exchanging a high five, a practice that was decidedly unfamiliar to Dolores Umbridge.

0o0o0o0o0o0

The worst bit about having a friend who was the King of Ghosts?

His subjects could literally pop up at anytime, anywhere.

Percy yelped as he pulled back to shower curtain to see two very large silvery eyes. He stumbled back several feet, knocking over the towel rack and tripping backwards before hitting his head on the sink. Moaning Myrtle floated out of the shower cubicle, looking like she was trying not to smirk and having to settle for flushing silver.

"Myrtle," Percy groaned loudly, rubbing his throbbing head. "What are you doing here?"

"Just came to give my usual report to Nico," the ghost girl said, her innocent blinking severely marred by the fact that she had not averted her eyes in the slightest. In fact, her stare was intense and almost hungry.

Percy nervously rearranged the towel around himself.

"No, I meant why are you in the boys' bathroom, in a private dormitory, at-" he squinted at his watch, "six-thirty in the morning?"

"I didn't design the plumbing system, you know, which happens to be the easiest way here. And ghosts don't need sleep." She pouted, vexed at the reminder of her death.

"Sleep? Sleep? I'm not sleeping! In fact I was, but strangely enough we all have lives to live and I was counting on having a shower without someone spying on me through the tap!"

Myrtle looked deeply hurt.

"Lives to live?" she repeated shrilly. "Do you even know how insensitive that is to a – to someone like me?"

Percy snorted.

"Actually yeah, I guess zooming around the castle's pipes ogling at every innocent bather doesn't count enough as a life to make it real."

Myrtle's eyes welled up with tears.

"Why are you so horrible to me today?" she shouted, some of them starting to dribble down her cheeks.

"Because I'm half-asleep, half-naked, and having a conversation with a ghost in my bathroom at six-thirty in the morning!" he shouted back.

"You don't like me!" Myrtle sobbed, howling in the fistful of robes she was holding up against her face.

"Like –? Ngh. ? - I have a girlfriend!" he yelled, holding the towel around himself even tighter. "Do you even know what she'd do if-"

"It's not like you minded before."

Percy felt himself go nearly apoplectic.

"What do you mean befo-"

"Percy," said a voice from the doorway, "calm down. You've probably woken up the girls."

It was Nico, freshly crawled out of bed and hair sticking up in odd places. He looked tired and decidedly unsurprised at Myrtle's presence.

All anger deflated in Percy like a bouncy castle who'd had its plug ripped off by a temperamental child. He glanced at the fallen towels, Myrtle's tears, his own flushed face in the mirror. Gods, he did not want Annabeth to walk in on this scene.

"What the hell are your ghosty friends doing in our bathroom?" Percy demanded weakly.

Nico looked surprised.

"You didn't know? Myrtle does it all the time. All over the castle." He smirked. "Mind you, I suppose she wouldn't make an advert of it, but everyone in Slytherin knows. And she makes it her business to keep other Houses ignorant of her little voyeur trips too."

Myrtle had still not removed the robes from her face, but what little they could see of her face was opaque silver.

Percy shuddered. He was never having a shower in Hogwarts ever again. He'd master that Scourgify spell. He'd-

"Myrtle," Nico was saying, addressing the ghost girl directly, "In future, please report to me via other means. The common room downstairs will do. And you will not trespass in this room ever again."

Myrtle was still for a moment, then she raised her blotched face from her hands.

"Yes, master Nico. I mean… Nico." She said thickly.

Percy felt bad for her for a second, then remembered that she'd been spying on them the whole term and he scowled, tightening the towel again. Still, he threw a relieved look at Nico and a nod of thanks.

Nico shrugged and gave him an awkward kind of look that successfully conveyed the meaning sorry I didn't do it earlier.

"We have business to attend to," he said, leaning out of the door and beckoning for Myrtle to follow. "Did you send for the others as I asked?"

"Yes," Myrtle replied, still sullen.

"Good. We have a new thing coming, and we need more eyes out than ever. Umbridge is to be constantly watched, and I want regular tabs on Dumbledore as well. Someone ought to haunt the board of Governors' meeting room as well, since I gather Malfoy's father is very active there…"

Percy listened to Nico's voice fade as he and Myrtle left the dorm and descended into their little common room. He shuddered. If he understood correctly, there would soon be a whole lot more ghosts around, and he didn't feel inclined to join Nico in his merry little spy meeting.

He eyed the shower suspiciously. Myrtle was now forbidden to enter this room, but how many other ghosts shared her habits?

Very carefully, he edged out from behind the towel rack and, veeery carefully, he pulled the shower curtain out as far as it would go, keeping a firm grip on his towel at the waist.

Half an hour later, he was at breakfast in the Great Hall sitting next to Annabeth, who so far remained blissfully unaware of the morning's drama.

The school's faculty had been hard at work the past few days, and especially last night. It was now the first of December, and Hogwarts had woken up to a decidedly more festive atmosphere. Never-melting snow lay everywhere in the castle, artfully dusted into little heaps on the edges of corridors and windowsills. Large red and silver baubles dangled from every nook and cranny, emitting gentle bell music whenever someone walked by them and occasionally spurting little puffs of glitter that always seemed to land on someone's hair. Enchanted mistletoe hung in great balls and wreaths in various strategic places around the castle, though curiously they seemed to change location without anyone noticing. The Great Hall was festooned with thousands of larger-than-life, levitating snowflakes, their icy facets glinting and winking in the warm light of many hundreds of candles placed in the twelve huge Christmas trees lining the huge hall. To top it all, the weather-reflecting ceiling was living up to its name and making it snow gently above their heads, with nary a snowflake ever touching the ground.

Annabeth looked up at the sky and smiled at the beauty of it. It was a small, bright little smile which Percy loved and saw all too rarely.

She caught him staring and immediately arched an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Just thinking that you look beautiful," Percy replied easily.

Annabeth's cheeks turned pink, but she smiled again.

Unfortunately, their happy moment was soon to come to an end, for a little while later Annabeth glanced over at the Slytherin table and her brow creased very slightly.

Percy turned to look as well. For a second he couldn't see what had caused her expression, then he saw Piper talking animatedly to a blonde girl, gesturing with her hands every second or so. They both looked absorbed in their conversation. It was the first time Percy saw Piper mingling so naturally with her housemates, but also the first time Annabeth was showing displeasure at the idea.

"What?" he asked her.

Annabeth tilted her head to the side, and her expression was not one of disapproval, but confusion.

"Piper told me every single one of the Slytherins usually kept away from her." She murmured.

Percy shrugged.

"So? She made a friend. Good for her."

Annabeth threw him a pitying glance.

"Slytherins don't make friends, Percy. They make alliances."

Percy scowled.

"Why does everyone say that? I'm sure they would, given the chance. Look at Piper, she's great. I don't even know why she got sorted into Slytherin."

"Well, she wasn't raised one…." Annabeth said vaguely, her words drifting to an end without permission.

"But?" Percy prompted.

Annabeth didn't answer. Instead, she swung her legs over the bench and started marching over to the Slytherin table. Percy stared longingly at his bacon and eggs. With a sigh, he dropped his fork and followed her. What wouldn't he do for this girl?

Annabeth's clear and direct progress to the Slytherin table drew lots of stares, but none so much as when she actually plopped down next to Piper, followed by a Percy with his hands stuck in his pocket.

He nodded to the person nearest to him, a third-year boy with dark skin and wide eyes that would have given him a perpetually surprised look even if Percy and his girlfriend hadn't just broken unofficial protocol.

"Hey, how's it going?" Percy asked.

The boy just stared at him incredulously, then nodded back once.

Satisfied for the moment, Percy turned back to Annabeth. Baby steps, he reminded himself. This whole mission is being conducted on baby steps.

"Robyn, this is Annabeth and Percy," a slightly surprised Piper was saying, gesturing as the blonde girl stared at them, mouth slightly open.

"I'm Annie and you can call my girlfriend Perce," Percy volunteered, reaching out a hand to shake Robyn's.

The girl didn't move, either too surprised or too rigidly stuck to her house's reputation to react in kind. Luckily, Annabeth playfully swatted his hand away before things got too awkward, and she smiled at Robyn.

"Nice to meet you. I didn't know you were friends with Piper."

The girl glanced at Piper, who looked a little embarrassed.

"Actually, I was giving Robyn a helping hand." She said, glancing at her.

"Oh." Annabeth's gaze flicked between the two, calculating and gauging.

Percy sensed some sort of invisible exchange going on between the three girls, leaving him to wonder how long it was considered polite to stay somewhere he clearly weren't wanted.

"Piper was giving me some advice," Robyn stated, her voice crystal-cut, once the air had started turning thick again.

"She's very good at that," Annabeth said, smiling warmly at the daughter of Aphrodite, who ducked her head a little in embarrassment.

"Yes. That's why I came to her."

There was another short silence, during which several proverbial penguins and giraffes waddled by and camped there. Percy wondered if Annabeth was actually expecting to hear the precise why and what of the matter, but before she could ask any further questions it was Robyn who spoke.

"Well, I had better get going," she announced. "I have class anyway, but if I stay any longer I have a feeling Cal won't talk to me for a week."

The last part was addressed to Piper, who winced in sympathy.

"She still hates me, then?"

"Oh no," Robyn said absently, swinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "She just doesn't want anything to do with you."

She smiled at Piper, which seemed distinctly out of place for Percy. Oh sure, my friend really doesn't like you, but all's good and let me smile like it doesn't matter.

But Piper just returned the smile, and it was as warm as it always was.

Once Robyn had left, Annabeth and Percy fixed Piper with identical expressions of raised-eyebrow enquiry.

"We'd better get to class," was all she said, and she grabbed her bag from under the table to leave.

Stares followed the three of them as they left the Slytherin table and the Great Hall. Percy did his best to ignore them, but he couldn't help being angry. Why couldn't people walk, talk, and eat with the people they wanted here?

"So what was that all about?" Annabeth prompted as they hurried through the Charms corridor.

Piper sighed.

"Don't make me tell you, I made a promise."

"So you really are making friends with her?" Annabeth asked in surprise.

Piper threw her a narrow look.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Annabeth snorted.

"Oh please let's not play this game. I get why you would make friends with her, it's kind of what you do. But the question is, why is she so willing? A week ago you were complaining about being the Slytherin pariah, now you're being buddies with someone who sounds like the queen?"

"All you need to know is that yes, whatever thing I have with Robyn is genuine, not motivated by self-interest." She hesitated. "Well, not exactly."

Annabeth sighed.

"See? You can't even be sure."

Piper looked upset.

"Why does it matter?" she retorted a little snappishly, then lowered her voice. "Are you telling me that every single conversation with Harry and his friends so far has been purely for the sake of a mutual, uninterested friendship?"

"Thinking about it, you even made friends with me because you were curious about the drama at the time," Percy commented idly to Annabeth, earning a scathing look from her.

But she bit her lip and ducked her head slightly.

"Sorry," she said, "I've no right to judge."

"No," Piper agreed, "None of us do."

"But we have to remember to be careful, Pipes," Annabeth continued, more gently. "We're going to make as many enemies as we make friends here."

Piper snorted.

"You think I don't know that?"

"No, but the risk-"

Piper came to a halt in her steps.

"Will you shut up about the risks, Annabeth?" she said angrily, surprising Percy. "All. The damn. Time. You think I don't know that every word I say to Robyn is ten times as dangerous as a whole conversation with Harry? You think I don't know that I'm surrounded by people who watch my every step? That approaching those students is more dangerous than your precious little golden boy? That every single frickin' move I make can backfire on either side?" Piper's rainbow eyes sparked, and her voice, sharp and dry as a whip with anger, dropped to a whisper. "So don't lecture me about risk. Because, so far as I can see, we exist through risk, and these days you're not the one taking any."

Her face flushed, chest heaving, Piper held Annabeth's shocked gaze for a few seconds before turning on her heel and hurrying off to her class alone.

Percy turned to Annabeth, opened his mouth, then realised how much he liked being alive and shut it again.

"You can say it," Annabeth said dully after a while. "I'm a jerk."

"You're not a jerk." Percy said immediately. "But you're worried, tired, stressed, fed-up, and so is she, and that makes it easier to forgive you."

Annabeth half-heartedly pushed his arm, then rubbed her face.

"What's this mission doing to me, Percy?" she asked quietly. "I don't feel like me anymore."

"You're consumed with the fact that whatever kind of mission this is shaping up to be, it's not the kind we'll be able to just walk away from like we usually do, and that any mistake we make can be fatal. This is long-term, Wise Girl. The only things you need to be are here, and mine." Percy said, putting his arm around here. "Don't worry about the rest for now. As you can see," he gestured after Piper, "we've got it covered. We can do our own worrying."

*Awkward and unsatisfactory ending stumbles and executes a kind of 'ta-da', reasons for which are explained below*

Author's Note:

Hello! Bet you weren't expecting an update after so long :-/

Unfortunately, you'd have been partly right. This is my last update for a while – and by that I mean there's a chance this story might go on permanent-ish hiatus. My history degree demands 30+ hours of reading a week, plus lectures and seminars and… ugh. Basically, I've had to put a halt to writing this (academic) year. I hate 2017 already, if that can sufficiently express my feelings on the matter.

Which is why this one's short, sorry about that. It's actually been written for a while, I'd just never gotten round to finishing it. This is my paltry attempt at a peace-offering: that way you get every single piece of material I've written for this story (apart from rough notes) and maybe you can write your own ending!

Ooo, there's an idea. If you'd like to write a sequel, let me know, we can work something out.

Anyway, some answers to reviews:

Trinity Rebel: Yeah, yeah, I know that :-) I meant the wizarding minister. I'm not following the canon version of historical events: JKR has released a lot of new, brilliant material, but it's too late for me to respect it completely.

WonderGirl: Um… I don't think Draco and Nico will end up together at all, no. My word, did I really write them like that? Woops. Also, you guessed correctly. Your idea concerning the holidays aligned with my initial plans for the nine, but now, with the whole hiatus thing… we'll see. Thanks for the sheer volume of ideas you've thrown my way – I've said it before and I'll say it again: you should be the one writing this story!

MelodyDaughterOfHecate: Sorry :-/ One of those things I had to tweak for the story to flow better.

DarthDestroyer2: … Not entirely sure I understood your comment about the blood cells thing. Sorry if your mate found it boring! Just felt like I needed to justify a risky conclusion I'd made. Apart from that, thanks for all the feedback! And… you may have uncovered a plot twist I had in mind for the prophecy ;-)

Thank you to all those (a surprising number) who messaged me really supportive stuff about the book I'm writing. I promise I'll find a way to send the first chapter/draft to those who asked. I also promise the writing will be a hell of a lot better than what you've got on here *cringes at first half of the chapters*.

In any case, adieu mes amis, I hope to return to this fic one day!

Much love,

Stel.

PS: the Latin title, Ad Honoris Causam, means "For the sake of honour", or something similar. You would not believe the difference between ecclesiastical Latin, Cicero-style Latin and Celsus-style Latin.