Chapter Five: A Black Mistake

Remus returned to the Gryffindor common room on Sunday evening feeling less like death warmed up but with a mounting pile of homework to get through, which he had not been able to face while he was still under the weather. Sirius and James were sitting in front of the fire feverishly working through some equations for Arithmancy and Pete was mournfully looking at a diagram of a bowtruckle and trying to label it.

Remus sifted through the piles of his own textbooks. He had a translation of a sonnet about the doomed love story between a mermaid and a goblin to complete for Ancient Runes, an essay on Locomotion Charms for Professor Flitwick, research on the uses and properties of hellebore for Potions and a summary on the Cruciatus Curse to write for Defence Against the Dark Arts. He took one look at all, decided he couldn't face it, picked up the book he was studying in Muggle Studies (It was called "Murder On The Orient Express" by a lady muggle called Agatha Christie… He thought he might have heard his mum mention her once or twice, but wasn't sure if they'd ever met) and went up to his dorm to lie on his bed and read.

Monday dawned bright and far too early, and - yawning and complaining - the boys made their way down to the Great Hall, with sleep encrusted eyes and a bad case of bed hair (especially for James, not so much for Sirius). They nodded off over their porridge and fought to keep their eyes open and did not say very much (their fellow fifth years were looking much the same, the mountain of work which was piled on them day after day was starting to take its toll) and they all groaned when the bell rang telling them it was time to get to their first lesson.

Peter and James had prep first period, and so were at least able to get a little bit more homework done (or have a cheeky snooze behind their textbooks) but the day did not let up for Sirius and Remus, who started off with Muggle Studies (where they were discussing why legendary muggle detective, Hercule Poirot, did not just use veritaserum to find out who killed the man on the train) and then went straight into another gruelling lesson with McGonagall where they were still attempting to vanish various invertebrates. Peter was still working on his slug (the only one left in the class, and Big Macca kept tutting at him, which did not help him concentrate.) Remus had recently graduated onto vanishing snails, though today he was so tired he wished he dared to ask to return to the simplicity of slugs. James and Sirius were working on beetles which, with their almost indestructible exoskeletons, Big Macca assured them were barely a step down from vanishing mice.

In Defence Against the Dark Arts they had moved onto the last of the three Unforgivables: the Killing Curse, and were making notes on its origin, uses and how it was impossible to block. ('Not necessarily a bad way to go, though,' James whispered. 'Seems quick, at least, and painless.' Sirius shook his head. 'We don't know it's painless, anyone who's suffered it is in no fit state to ask.' But James said this was semantics and stuck by his words, claiming that - if he had to snuff it - he'd quite like death by Killing Curse, if was - after all - far better than a long, drawn out death by Dragon Pox.)

After they had finished eating their lunch, they headed back up to the common room to wade through yet another essay, and then - as the bell for afternoon lessons rang - made the executive decision to bunk off A History of Magic. (Taught by a ghost who had not even noticed his own death, they were not worried he would notice the four of them were missing and - even if he did - he didn't know their names to tell anyone about it.)

Remus took out his quill, wrote a title:

The Muggle Detecting of Hercule Poirot: Leglimency vs Intuition

And then yawned widely and closed his eyes.

'You OK?' Sirius asked him.

'Fine…'m just … resting…. Be alright in a …'

'Go to bed.'

He opened his eyes (though he didn't want to). 'I'm fine!'

'No - you're not fully recovered and you're working yourself too hard.'

'I'm not working any harder than the rest of you!'

' We didn't break every last bone in our bodies, grow some new ones and bend into a brand new shape, two nights ago. Go to bed.'

James nodded. 'He's right, Remus. You'll never get on top of things if you don't heal properly.'

'I'll never get on top of my homework if I keep going to sleep.'

'We'll help you!' Sirius said, sounding exasperated. 'Haven't we always? You go to bed. Pete - you write his essay on Agatha Christie for him, I'll tell you what to put.'

Peter opened his mouth to argue but Sirius cut him off. 'Help us out and I'll help you with your extra Transfiguration work.' (Big Macca was not pleased that Peter was still finishing each lesson in full possession of one complete slug and had added to his workload in order to encourage his improvement.)

So Peter nodded and, eventually, Remus went to bed. He woke up to find 12 inches of parchment on how Poirot used observation and logic to such an extent it seemed like magic but was not, written in what appeared to be his own handwriting. (Peter was an artist, very handy with a quill, and was currently perfecting being able to forge any handwriting he was shown.)

'Thanks Pete, thanks Sirius.'

'No problem, do you feel better?'

He nodded, and stifled another yawn, and then the bell went and they headed out to the greenhouses for double Herbology.

After an hour and a half of wrestling with Ever-Expanding Rubber Plants (as the name suggested, every time you potted one, it quickly outgrew its new home and required another) and getting thoroughly covered in soil, sweat, muck and mud, they traipsed back up to the castle, had a quick wash and the collapsed exhaustedly onto the benches of the Gryffindor table. They barely spoke as they chewed on their lamb chops and ate their Eve's pudding and then, once they were done, they trudged quietly back to Gryffindor Tower, ready to start on yet another mountain of homework.

…

As the days passed by, the workload grew from a snowdrift to an avalanche, but Remus felt fitter and stronger the further away from the full moon they travelled. Poor James, on the other hand, was having to balance a gruelling class schedule (he had been made to take one more OWL subject than nearly everybody else because of his brilliance) with an even more gruelling Quidditch training schedule. 'We can't go on like this,' he would cry every evening, before picking up his next piece of homework and carrying on.

More and more they found themselves spending part of their lunch time in the library and - on one particularly dreadful Thursday morning - had to spend their break in there as well.

They were by no means the only fifth years who had forgone a bit of leisure time in order to get ahead of their homework. Octavian Ogden and Theo Bibbins, of Ravenclaw, were poring over a copy of Numerology and Grammatica and making hasty calculations on a piece of rough parchment; Emily MacMillan and Dahlia Meadowes of Hufflepuff were searching the shelves of the Herbology section for books on underwater flowering shrubs, and Evander Upwin of Slytherin was frowning over Constellations of The Cosmos: An Atlas of Stars.

Sirius left the table beneath the window, which the four of them had claimed as their own ('what's it coming to, when we've got our own favourite spot in the library?' James had groaned on more than one occasion) and went to hunt through the Defence Against the Dark Arts books for a copy of Cruel or Called For?: A Compendium of Curses to help him write his essay on alternatives to the Unforgivable Curses. As he scanned the shelves he caught sight of Mulciber, a foul, Slytherin git whose father was friends with Sirius's own and almost certainly a Death Eater, creeping out of the Restricted Section with a furtive look on his face and a large, dragonhide bound book in his hands.

Sirius glanced at the front cover and saw the curious and incomprehensible (to him) characters which made up Japanese words printed across the top. His lip curled. 'Looking for more information on Mahoutokoro, are you, Mulciber?' he asked.

'Something like that, Black.'

'In the Restricted Section?'

'I'd keep my nose out of other people's business if I didn't want it flattened. Shame to ruin those good looks of yours, eh?'

Sirius scowled after him, as he sloped off, and then returned to the others. 'Is that Mulciber the most foul cockroach to ever slither out from under a rock, or what?'

'Bit unfair on cockroaches,' Remus said absently, scratching his nose with his quill and frowning over the last sentence he had written. 'Why?'

'He's up to something. Just stolen a book from the Restricted Section - you just know he's going to do something foul with it.'

It was James' turn to frown. 'Maybe we should try and get it off him? Before he can do any damage…'

'How?'

'Leave it with me.'

The lesson after break was Muggle Studies for Remus and Sirius, and Prep for James and Peter. Obviously, a slick, slimy would-be Death Eater like Mulciber would not lower himself to learn anything about muggles, so he was in Prep along with James. They all worked quietly, for most of the session, under the stern stares and heavy breathing of Madam Pince. James finished his Defence Against The Dark Arts essay, did his Arithmancy sums and was just pulling out his own diagram of a Bowtruckle to label, when he decided now was the moment, and stuck his hand in the air.

Madam Pince looked incensed that someone would disturb the sanctity of the Prep period by asking questions, but - when he refused to put his hand down and sat there staring at her unwaveringly for five minutes straight - she finally cracked and went over to hiss at him about what it was he wanted.

'I'm sorry to disturb everyone,' James whispered back, looking contrite. 'But I think Mulciber, over there, is working out of a book which he took illegally from the Restricted Section.' He pointed across the room to where Mulciber, totally unaware he was the object of scrutiny, was poring over his stolen book.

Madam Pince turned to look, and her incensed expression became one of eye bulging outrage. She stalked across the room, seized the large book from Mulciber's desk, glanced at the cover and then hit him around the head with it. 'What in Merlin's name are you doing with a book like this? No teacher would allow a fifth year to sign this out! I know you have not checked it out through the appropriate channels! How dare you take one of my books? I'll be telling Dumbledore about this, make no mistake about it - and you'll be getting detention. I'll hand you over to Mr. Filch to do his worst.' She smacked him over the back of the head with the book again and walked off, breathing heavily, like an erumpment in mating season, red splotches of fury painted on her cheeks and her eyes flashing dangerously behind her spectacles.

Mulciber rubbed his head, looking no less outraged, and muttered, 'Mad, old bat,' but James - whose part in separating him from his book on the Japanese Dark Arts remained undetected - looked delighted. He was able to tell Sirius, when they met up for lunch, fifteen minutes later, that the problem was solved and no one was the worse for it, apart from maybe Mulciber's head.

…

Worse though than Mulciber, or the impossible workload, or the constant Quidditch practices was Snivellus. That loathsome greasy git, having apparently learned precisely nothing from the last time Sirius had hexed him three times in a row, seemed to be following them around, snooping about and tailing them more attentively than ever. They came out of the toilets, he was there; they bunked off A History of Magic, he was watching them out if his own classroom window; they went to breakfast, he was staring at them from across the Hall; they sneaked out of their dorm at night and it was like he had been waiting outside the portrait of the Fat Lady ready to catch them… it was as if they had suddenly gained the world's snottiest shadow.

And while having him lurk around after them like a hook-nosed vampire bat was bad enough, when they were in lessons together he was making snide little comments that left Peter worried, Remus pretending he couldn't hear, and Sirius actually shaking with rage. ('Whichever idiot thought teaching Snivellus to talk was a good idea should be thrown into Azkaban with no hope of reprieve,' James said at least twice every day.)

On Tuesday, while in Professor Flitwick's lesson and studying simple Healing Charms, Snivellus had said very loudly, so every Slytherin - at least - could hear: 'These must be very useful for someone as sickly as Lupin to learn. Have you noticed how often he is ill? At least once a month.' The next day he had feigned surprise that Remus had turned up to the lesson again. 'I'm surprised you're not too under the weather … Oh, but it's not the right time for you to feel poorly is it?'

And he sneered when he had seen the boys head towards their Transfiguration lesson. 'Are you still learning vanishing spells? Lupin shouldn't have much trouble with that - he vanishes every four weeks.'

On Wednesday, as they were in Potions, Snivellus gave a running commentary on the importance of picking belladonna only by the light of the full moon, as he ground the leaves with his pestle and mortar. 'So it's really important to accurately track the phases of the moon, if you are serious about becoming a potioneer. For example, these leaves must have been picked at the very last full moon as they are so fresh. When was the last full moon again? I don't remember… Oh yes, it was about a week ago, wasn't it Right around the time Lupin was missing from lessons again. He always goes missing from lessons every so often, have you ever noticed that? Like clockwork…'

Beside him, Lily was grinding her own leaves into a paste, and looking very flushed. 'Give it a rest, Sev,' she said wearily. But - at the back of the dungeon - Sirius had had enough. He took out his wand and cast a quick hex, so Snivellus's face erupted in the same boils which had so recently sent him to the Hospital Wing. Sniv fled the classroom, oozing, and Sirius was given a detention.

'But it was worth it,' he said afterwards. 'To shut him up, foul git.'

On that fateful Thursday where James had set Madam Pince on Mulciber, they managed to avoid Snivellus until very late at night - when the whole of the fifth year gathered in the tallest tower for their Astronomy lesson. They were all stifling their yawns and trying to keep their eyes opened, as they charted the skies and then made calculations and alterations on their diagrams of the Milky Way, all apart from Snivellus who was standing stock still and staring up at the large disc of the moon which hung just outside the window, shining a golden yellow, like the eye of a snake. 'It's waning,' he said - to no one in particular (though Lily looked up as he spoke, glanced at the object of his attention and then returned to her telescope, without comment, but looking aggrieved.)

'You pick Tibetan tumblegrass, flax ferns and wimbling wisteria under a waning moon; they help with pepperup potions and healing tinctures. I bet Madam Pomfrey has to go out and pick them for her own medicines. Now mandrakes you pick under a new moon. She's out in all moon phases, Madam Pomfrey … I've often seen her go for a walk in the grounds on a full moon. She heads to the Whomping Willow, though I'm not sure exactly what she does there. She always seems to take a helper with her though…'

He turned and looked at the four Gryffindor boys, a sly expression on his face. Sirius picked up his own copy of Constellations of the Cosmos and chucked it at Snivellus's head, earning himself another detention.

'He knows something,' Peter said, even later that night, when they had finished Astronomy and returned to the dorm. 'He definitely knows something.'

Remus sighed heavily. 'It certainly looks that way.'

'That stupid berk?' Sirius gave his bark of a laugh. 'He doesn't know anything.'

'Then he suspects.'

'He's fishing. That's all. He wants us to give ourselves away, but he doesn't have anything on us - on you, Moony. If he did, he would have done something foul with it.'

'But he knows there's something to know,' Remus said. 'And if he keeps on needling away, he'll find out eventually… and then what?'

James was sitting on his bed, looking uncharacteristically serious. ' Then we need to find a way to shut him up for good,' he said.

…

There had been times, during this last week, where it had seemed that Friday would never come and that they would be stuck in a perpetual loop of impossible classes and piles of homework. But eventually, Friday did indeed dawn, bright and fresh and with just the hint of the crackle of autumn in the air. And, though weekends were no longer the carefree days of lounging around playing Gobstones and listening to A Question of Quidditch that they had enjoyed in their previous years, the boys were at least looking forward to a lie in and two days where they could work on their mountain of essays without having anymore added to the top. It was with this in mind that they grit their teeth, put their heads down and forged their way through Herbology, snoozed their way through History of Magic, wrestled with Spellman's Syllabary in Ancient Runes, wrangled with wide mouthed toads in Care of Magical Creatures, and fought back the urge to weep tears of frustration as they failed to vanish their frogs in Transfiguration.

Then, with only 45 minutes to go, they metaphorically limped their way to the finish line and actually trudged their way to Defence Against The Dark Arts.

Professor Carnarvon seemed distracted that lesson, and sat at her desk poring over a large book of her own, which was ancient and mildewed and seemed to have many stains on its cover - some of which may have been blood, while she left the class to quietly and independently take notes from their own textbooks about how Dark Magic always left traces and what methods could be used to feel out and identify a place where a curse had been cast.

Every so often, the professor would mutter something to herself in a foreign language (Arabic - though the boys did not recognise it) and scratch something into the margin of her book. Every time she did it, the class would look up from their own textbooks and stare at her in surprise, but she never paid them any mind, or even glanced their way and - after a moment - all heads would bow back over their work and quills which had been paused mid air went back to scratching on the parchment.

It was a dull enough lesson, but at least it had not been exhausting and they did not leave - when the bell for the end of the day (and the end of the week!) finally went - feeling like they would need to lie in a darkened room for a few hours just to recuperate.

James had Quidditch practice after tea, and Sirius declared that - in solidarity with him - the others had better not do any homework either. 'It isn't fair if we get a head start and James is left behind because he was showing off on his broomstick.' They followed him out to the pitch, and sat in the stands and watched the team running drills - cheering James (all of them) and yelling obscenities and making rude gestures at Regulus (Sirius and Peter, while Remus sniffed disapprovingly and tried to live up to his prefect's badge. He couldn't help but smirk, though, when James rammed Reg - and the other boy lost control of his broom and crashed into the goal post. 'He's an absolutely terrible flyer!' Sirius said with glee.)

When it started to get dark, and the practice seemed to be showing no signs of letting up, they left their seats and headed back towards Gryffindor Tower and the warmth of the fire, feeling better for having gone outside and taken time off from their work. Remus and Peter started a game of Wizard's chess and Sirius sat in his chair, the flames casting dark and sinister shadows across his face, as he puzzled over something called a "Magic Cube" which he had seized off a muggleborn first year, whose father was an eminent mathematician, a couple of weeks ago and had been trying to solve ever since (the first year had tried to give him pointers, but he insisted he could manage by himself). It had sliding pieces in different colours and the sides rotated, and the objective was to line all the colours up so each face was all one colour.

'It's impossible,' he had declared several times over the past few weeks, and then he had watched greedily as the first year took it off him and slid everything around so every face was only one colour, just as they were supposed to be.

'It's just a prototype,' the first year said. 'My dad knows the man who made it, he reckons he'll be able to sell them as toys.'

'These aren't toys!' Sirius had said indignantly, snatching the cube back.'These are objects of mechanical brilliance!' But he had soon slid back into surliness and frustration as he once again failed to solve the puzzle.

'I suppose we can only be thankful he's not tried to take it apart yet,' Peter said quietly, that evening, as he instructed a pawn to move to King 4 ('You're playing a risky game,' the pawn told him as it trundled off up the board). But he must not have said it quietly enough, because - deep in the shadows - Sirius's eyes suddenly lit up.

'I can take it apart!' he said, snapping his fingers. 'See how it works and then -'

'No,' Remus told him. 'It's not yours. It's not even one of ours. You hand it back in the condition you got it - you hear?' He looked at him sternly.

'I'd make it better. I'd enchant it so it solved itself!'

'I believe that would rather defeat the point of it.'

Sirius thought about this, and then nodded. 'You're right, Moony. Muggles - they're so innovative… always puzzling something out.' He sighed deeply. 'I'm wasted as a wizard.' (Sirius was very fond of taking things apart, tinkering around with them and putting them back together, often with added enchantments put on. He could fix a wireless blindfolded and had taken apart and rebuilt a pair of omnioculars and Remus's camera, as well as his own toaster and teasmade. His greatest ambition was to make a muggle motorcycle fly. No one else shared his passion and many people - mostly James - called him a nutter because of it.)

Remus bit back a smile, 'you'll just have to comfort yourself with being brilliant as a wizard and the top of every class, then,' he said.

'A brilliant wizard with his own toaster,' Pete added.

Sirius nodded sagely, and went back to rotating the pieces.

An hour or so passed, and there was still no sign of James. Peter won the game of chess, Sirius put away his cube and got out the evening edition of The Prophet so he could do the crossword instead. 'Nine down, a stone from the stomach of a goat, cures most poisons. 6 letters.'

'Don't know,' Remus told him.

'You're no good, Moony.'

'If it's about poison… the answer is probably in your Potions textbook,' Peter said.

Sirius scowled. 'I'm not getting a textbook out - we're taking the night off. Right - moving on - 7 across, 6 letters, goblin in charge of the late 19th century rebellion… Hang on a minute, Binns said something about this a while ago… Ranrok !' And he scribbled the answer onto the crossword.

Peter was staring at him in amazement. 'You remember something Binns said?'

'He truly is a brilliant wizard,' Remus said, smiling.

'Piss off, Moony - I wasn't listening or anything. I just…'

He was interrupted by the portrait hole opening up and James clambering into the common room, covered in mud, looking very grumpy and accompanied by Petra, who seemed to be telling him it was all his own fault.'

'What's your own fault?' Sirius asked. 'What happened, mate?'

'Regulus,' James said, succinctly.

'Git.'

'He is a git! He flew right into me - on purpose - knocked me off course and I crash landed in a big, muddy puddle.'

Peter frowned. 'It hasn't rained for ages.'

'He conjured the puddle!' James yelled indignantly. 'Right before I crashed into it.'

'What a total knobhead. I can only apologise, and say I share nothing with him but blood - and give me half a chance to exsanguinate the bastard and we won't even share that.'

'I'm going to take a shower,' and James stumped off upstairs, still looking very grumpy.

'Why did you say it was James's fault, Petra?' Remus asked the team captain. She snorted in exasperation.

'Because he rammed Black seven times before Black retaliated, the total idiot. If the two of them can't learn to get on…' she shook her head. 'I don't like the chances for our team, put it that way.'

…

'I'm starving,' James said (still grumpy) sitting on his bed and towelling his hair dry after his shower. The others had joined him in the dorm and were getting ready for bed.

'I could make toast,' Sirius offered.

'Nah - I want more than toast. I want… scones, with jam and cream… and a ham and tomato sandwich… not necessarily in that order.'

'We don't have those things here, mate - it's toast and tea or…'

'Or we sneak down to the kitchens.'

'Or we sneak down to the kitchens,' Sirius agreed.

'We're in our pajamas,' Peter pointed out (well, three of them were in pajamas. Sirius was in a nightshirt, as Walburga said trousers were for muggles and Sirius was not allowed to wear them).

'So, we'll take my dad's invisibility cloak, no one will see us. You don't have to come, Pete, if you don't want to.'

Desperate not to be left behind, Peter agreed to the indignity of wandering the corridors in his flannel nightwear, and the four of them disappeared beneath the cloak, left the dorm and walked with soft footsteps down to the portrait hole and then out into the castle.

They had wandered around Hogwarts at night enough times by now that they knew the quickest and most direct route to the kitchens, they followed all the shortcuts and did not forget to jump the trick stair in the hidden staircase behind the tapestry. Soon enough they found themselves in the warm underground corridor, which always smelled delicious and which was decorated with oil paintings of food. Then it was just a matter of tickling the painted pear on the picture of the fruit bowl. It giggled and turned into a door knob and (taking their cloak off before they went in so they did not alarm the House Elves) they entered the kitchens.

They were immediately surrounded by smiling House Elves, all wearing neat towels tied toga style and stamped with the Hogwarts crest. 'What can we get young masters? Is they wanting pies or puddings or pieces of cake?'

'A ham sandwich, please,' James said - and a moment later, a sandwich was proffered beneath his nose, while a tray laden with cups and saucers, a teapot, milk jug and sugar lumps zoomed towards them, carried over the head of a tiny elf.

'Thanks… is there any chance of a scone?'

Again a golden tray, groaning under the weight of scones and jam and clotted cream, was brought to them so swiftly it was like they had used a summoning charm. The boys took a seat at the kitchen's version of the Gryffindor table (the House Elves kept four tables directly beneath their counterparts in the Great Hall, and apparated the food upwards at mealtimes) and tucked in.

'We is getting you more. We is getting the young masters anything they is wanting. Another cup of tea? Crumpets? Bacon and eggs?'

The boys ate their fill, thanking the House Elves profusely for their service, which made the House Elves beam with delight and offer them even more food. But eventually even James had eaten enough, and had started to cheer up enough to forget how much he hated Regulus Bowel Movements, and so - with the House Elves bowing and scraping and offering them yet more to eat - they backed out of the kitchens, disappeared beneath the cloak once more and started to head back to Gryffindor Tower.

As they crossed the entrance hallway, headed for the marble staircase, Peter suddenly came to a stop and pointed at something. Fearing he had noticed Peeves, the others turned to look, but saw instead that Pete's keen eyes had spotted a faint greenish glow coming from behind the door which led to the Slytherin dungeons.

'Something's not right down there,' Peter whispered.

'We should look,' James said at once and - though Peter looked like he wished he had never said anything - Sirius and Remus agreed, and the four of them (still beneath the cloak) crept to the doorway, which hung ajar, and sneaked down the stairs.

The light grew stronger, the further down they went, and the air began to crackle.

'Do you think the Slytherins are up to Dark Magic?' James whispered. 'It feels… not nice.'

Sirius snorted. 'Sounds the sort of thing they'd do… slimeballs. It's probably Snape. Or Reg.'

'Or Mulciber,' Remus said. 'He had that book on Japanese Dark Magic.'

'Sshh,' Peter squeaked, 'they'll hear us.'

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and turned a corner - headed into the hallway which they knew (from earlier sneaking around) led straight to the Slytherin common room.

The light was a bright emerald now, with flashes of blue snapping in the air, and they could hear a voice - chanting in a foreign tongue. Remus frowned. 'That doesn't sound like Mulciber.'

Just as they reached the stone wall which acted as the concealed entrance to the Slytherin's domain, they saw a tall figure, a black shadow amid the swirling green light. Their hands were raised, their palms facing the wall, and their chanting had become like a song, or a call to prayer, though the words sounded like total gibberish to the boys.

They frowned at each other, wondering what on earth… and then the lights seemed to gleam, as if they had caught something which reflected them and Remus realised…

' Sequins , the light's bouncing off the sequins on her headscarf - that's Professor Carnarvon! '

Just as he said that, Professor Carnarvon stopped her chanting. The lights died down, leaving the corridor in darkness though, through the gloom, the boys could just make out the professor lowering her hands. Her shoulders slumped. 'There's nothing,' they heard her mutter to herself and then - just like that - she walked away, leaving the corridor empty and as if nothing had even happened.

Beneath the cloak, the boys all peered at each other - totally mystified. 'What - in Merlin's name - was that all about?' James asked.

…

They spent much of that night and the rest of the weekend discussing the mystery of what Professor Carnarvon had been up to.

'Right outside the Slytherin common room - ground zero of evil… it's suspicious alright,' Sirius said.

Peter looked awkward. 'Didn't you say you saw her at the Leaky Cauldron, Remus? The night of the attack.'

'Well, yes but-'

'So she's a Death eater then,' James interrupted, while Sirius nodded along.

'I think we might be jumping to conclusions,' Remus said, though he found himself alone in his caution..

The next day, when they weren't wildly speculating about whether or not their latest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher just was as evil (or possibly even more so) than their last, they were still slogging their way through their piles of essays; muttering, groaning, swearing and tearing their hair in frustration as they went.

Sirius received a note, telling him his detention for hexing Snape in Potions was scheduled for next Friday evening, and Lily got a little scroll tied in a black ribbon inviting her to a Slug Club supper party for the same time. ('He'll probably have me serving the canapes to Snivellus,' Sirius grumbled darkly to his friends, when he realised the two events coincided.)

Monday rolled around again, all too soon, and - before they knew it - they were back in the thick of it, vanishing small mammals; conjuring legs on teacups (for what purpose, Remus could not work out); repotting ever-expanding rubber plants and brewing Strengthening Solutions. They learned about more curses under Professor Carnarvon ('which is quite suspicious in and of itself' James whispered) And Remus finished his translation of the sonnet about the doomed romance between a mermaid and a goblin (The two met once more above the waves/ Alas her voice made but screeching sound/ Thinking that in her home could their love be saved/ The Goblin dove in the water and was swiftly drowned) .

James had Quidditch practice three times that week, Remus had to go on patrol as part of his prefecting duties (which made the others snigger up their sleeves) and Sirius and Peter declared themselves too exhausted to do any work if the other two weren't in the common room working with them. The entire week felt like a neverending uphill struggle but then - just like that - it was Friday evening again, and the weekend beckoned (once Sirius had got past the slight inconvenience which was his detention with Slughorn).

The All Hogwarts team met out on the pitch; it was colder this week than last and the sun was setting earlier, but they hoped to get a few hours practise in before it was too dark to see the bludgers. They flew up into the sky on Petra's whistle and took up position; the chasers running drills, the beaters swooping through them - working on redirecting the bludgers away from their teammates this evening. MacDougal was in goal and Regulus was hovering at the other end of the pitch keeping his eyes open for the golden snitch.

But it was not long before James' and Regulus's paths collided, and - as soon as they were flying near each other - they behaved as appallingly towards each other as they always did. James threw the quaffle so it bounced off the back of Reg's head (and then claimed not to have seen him); Reg flew straight at James and clawed at his face (and then claimed that he thought the light glinting of James's glasses was the snitch); James got Reg in a headlock (and claimed he thought this head was the quaffle)… By this point Petra was on the verge of furious tears and even closer to kicking the pair of them off the team altogether…

…

Lily was up in her dorm, getting ready for her evening at the Slug Club. Mandy, who had a keen eye for fashion and was very handy with sewing charms, was helping her alter her robes and accessorise them so they looked more modish. 'I'm telling you, I just need to take the hem up and you'll be bang on trend…'

'But my shoes…'

'Are fi- oh , yeah, you need to polish those, Lils, they're a disaster.'

'I don't have any shoe polish.'

'You're a witch! Use a polishing charm…'

Mary, growing tired of the fashion talk (there would be no boys worth seeing at the Slug Club, so she did not understand why Lily was making such an effort), picked up the copy of Murder on The Orient Express she had borrowed from Petra and decided that she would take advantage of the late autumn sunshine to enjoy an hour or so outdoors. Too soon it would be grey and foggy and wet for weeks, and that would then be followed by ice and freezing temperatures. She needed to appreciate the sun while it was still there, even if there was not much warmth to it.

She put her cloak on and headed out, leaving the castle and following the lake path around until she took a seat beneath the Beech tree. She was so lost in the mystery aboard a snow bound train in Yugoslavia that she did not notice, at first, that a long shadow had fallen over her, and was startled when a sly voice said, 'Hello, McDonald.'

She glanced up and was alarmed to see Julian Mulciber looming above her, his wand drawn and a wicked smirk on his face. His rat faced friend, Avery, was lurking just behind him - and he wore an evil grin as well.

'I was just telling Avery here,' Mulciber indicated his friend with a jerk of his head, 'that I think I've just mastered a new spell. A curse. A Japanese one… I've been looking for a mudblood to try it out on.'

…

'No! No! Stop!' Petra blew her whistle again, just as James seized Gwenog Jones's beaters' bat and was about to swing it at Regulus's head. 'This isn't good enough, I'm not having this. You're going to ruin everything for the entire school! Give Gwenog her bat back or, so help me, I'll kick you off the team, Potter.'

'Me? What about him?'

'You're both as bad as each other! I wish I'd chosen Laila and Montague instead of the pair of you. Now get back into position.'

…

'I was hoping it would be that jumped up Evans mudblood… But actually this is better. I'll use you to send a message that she's next.'

Mary dropped her book and dug in her pocket for her wand but, before she had time to pull it out, Mulciber had used his own: 'Immobulus!' White sparks flew from the tip, hitting Mary and freezing her in place. She sat stone still beneath the tree, rigid and terrified as she stared down the barrel of Mulciber's wand.

With her incapacitated, he was now drawing the situation out - showboating. He twirled his wand in his hand, like a baton, and leered down at her. 'It took me a while, especially once that old bat confiscated my book… Japanese spells are structured differently to ours you see. Made the translation tricky. But I've figured it out… I'm pretty sure. More complicated than a Dementor's Kiss but just as effective.'

'Stop talking, Mulciber, just do it,' Avery urged him, a light of malevolent excitement shining in his eyes.

Unable to move anything but her own eyes, Mary's glance darted between the two of them; tears began to pool and trickle down her cheeks, though the rest of her face remained frozen.

Mulciber stopped twirling his wand and pointed it square in her face again. 'The Three Wise Monkeys,' he said. 'Permanent once the last spell is cast… Ready for the lights to go out, Mcmudblood?' Nullum Malum!'

…

There was another shrill whistle blast. James and Regulus, who had been throttling each other mid air, froze and turned to look (hands still wrapped around each other's throats) at where Petra was bearing down on them like an enraged valkyrie. 'That's it!' She yelled. 'I'm done. Pack up the balls, MacDougal, we're going in. And we're not coming back out until these two twerps can learn to get along. I can't captain with this level of infighting. Pack up. Back to school, everyone. Potter and Black can explain to everyone else why we'll be coming last in the tournament.'

James let go of Reg's neck. 'We'll be good. We don't have to stop. Honest.'

But Petra only shook her head, too angry to answer him. She flew down to the ground and dismounted, stumping away to the changing rooms looking very dispirited, while MacDougal, Moran and the two Joneses collected the balls up in an awkward silence.

…

Mary saw green sparks shoot towards her, she felt them hit her face, warm and stinging, and then her eyes felt like they were on fire and she would have cried out in pain, only her voice box was as frozen as the rest of her.

Everything went blurry, a strange darkness seemed to be closing in on her and it was like she was peering at Mulciber from a great distance and down a deep tunnel… and then a moment later, everything was black. Even frozen as she was, she managed to grunt in horrified distress as her screaming brain identified that the blackness was blindness, and then she whimpered a little as she heard Mulciber say: 'hear no evil next: Nonaudia Malum!'

She could not see the wand sparks this time, but she felt their heat and cruel sting, and then it was like her ears were on fire; there was a loud buzzing, which faded to a dull hum and then… nothing.

There was black and there was silence. And that was all.

She could feel the Birch tree at her back, and sense Mulciber standing above her, and she was aware that her throat was straining against the freezing charm, trying to scream… But whether or not she managed it she had no idea, because she was trapped in nothingness, because there was black and there was silence, and that was all.

And though she could not see him or hear him, she could imagine what Mulciber was doing, could picture him pointing his wand ready for the final part of the spell. She knew what happened next.

Tears flooded down her cheeks, hot and sticky, though nothing else of her could move, and she might have been crying out and pleading, but she did not know because she could not hear. Her screams might have been as silent as the world now was.

She tried to move, tried to battle against the freezing charm, thinking maybe she could at least rock herself until she lost her balance, and then Mulciber might miss her… But without being able to hear him, she did not know how long she had. If he was standing, sneering, enjoying her distress… or if he was even now saying the incantation which would seal her mouth shut and leave her for dead.

It was as if time stood still… though every second was an agony of terror; Mary struggled to throw herself to the ground, with no idea what Mulciber, standing not two feet in front of her, was up to… The blackness closed in on her even more, she felt crowded in the darkness… and then she felt footsteps pounding on the earth, and something heavy fall nearby.

…

Petra swung her broomstick straight at Mulciber's face. Caught off guard, he took the handle straight to his teeth and staggered backwards. She used that moment to whack Avery with the broom and then turned it on Mulciber again, hitting him hard over the head and felling him like a tree.

'What are you doing? Leave her alone! You foul - evil…' With the boys on the ground she pulled her wand out and hexed them 'Petrificus Totalus!' and then she crouched down and grabbed Mary by the shoulders. 'Mary? Mary? Are you…'

…

Mary could not see or hear, and did not know who had arrived, but she felt whoever it was grab her and then give her a shake. The tears slid down her cheeks.

…

'Mary!'

'Petra?' The rest of the team had arrived behind her.

'What's going on?'

'What happened to McDonald?'

'Merlin!'

'She's cursed,' Petra cried, giving Mary another shake. 'I can't get her to do anything or say anything…'

James crouched down beside her and peered into Mary's eyes. Behind the streaming tears, they were totally blank. 'She can't see,' he said, waving a hand in front of her face which she did not look at. He cast a bitter glance at where Mulciber lay frozen on the floor. 'I wonder if…' He clapped loudly by Mary's ear. She didn't react.'She's deaf as well.'

'What? How?'

'Mulciber has cast the Three Wise Monkeys Curse on her.'

Petra squealed in horror, grabbed Mary and shook her again. 'But she'll be OK? We can fix her? She'll be OK?'

'I'll try - Dissuo.'

The freezing charm wore off Mary, she slumped in Petra's arms, screwed up her face and began to wail… but her eyes were still blank.

'Finite.' Nothing happened, other than Mary continued to struggle and scream. Petra was crying now too, tears streaking down her face to match Mary's.

'I can't fix her,' James said, 'we need to take her to Madam Pomfrey. Here…'

…

Still without a clue who had her, and whether they were friend or foe, Mary suddenly felt herself lifted up, in strong arms. She clung to them, whimpering, and - whoever it was - they began to walk.

…

James carried Mary all the way to the Hospital Wing, though her arms were wrapped so tightly around his neck it felt like she was strangling him, and by the time he had climbed his fifth staircase he felt like his knees were going to buckle.

Petra walked behind him, carrying both their brooms and weeping almost as hard as Mary was.

Madam Pomfrey looked up, ready to scold, as they burst through the door, but when she saw Mary in James' arms and realised she was hurt, she helped put her on a bed and, though Mary was sobbing and struggling and made hysterical by her distress, managed to administer her a Calming Draught. It took a moment to take effect but soon enough Mary stopped lashing out at the people around her, and her breathing slowed to a wheeze.

'It was the Three Wise Monkeys Curse,' James told Madam Pomfrey. 'We learned about it in Defence Against the Dark Arts. I think Mulciber…'

'But he didn't finish it!' Petra interrupted shakily. Her crying had eased too, now Mary's distress was less, though tears were still sliding down her cheeks. 'I - I got to her before he could finish it. She'll be OK - won't she?'

'I can cure her,' Madam Pomfrey said, 'but it will take time.' She crossed to the fireplace, took out a pinch of floo powder and - just as she had done on the night Regulus had almost been eaten by a manticore - threw it on the flames and called for Dumbledore.

He arrived a moment later, stepping out of the grate and brushing ash off his robes. 'Poppy?'

'I thought you would want to be notified of this immediately, Albus. This poor child has had the darkest magic used on her.'

Dumbledore's face grew grave, he crossed to Mary's bed and sat down beside her, taking her hand in his. He took note of the blankness of her eyes and the way she flinched as he touched her, as if she had had no idea anyone was there. 'She is deaf as well?'

'It was the Japanese curse,' Madam Pomfrey said. 'Thankfully unfinished.'

'Indeed, as little as we can be grateful for in these circumstances, we can be grateful for that.' He turned Mary's hand over so her palm was facing up and then used his forefinger to trace M.. A…R…Y onto her skin. There was a moment as her brain registered the sensation and made sense of what she had felt. She whimpered and nodded. Dumbledore softly stroked more letters into her hand.

Y…O…U …A…R…E …S…A…F…E

She whimpered again, and Dumbledore looked up at Madam Pomfrey. 'What will you need?'

'I'm not sure I can do this alone, Albus. I'll need help from St. Mungo's.'

'Call them in, then. Immediately. Whatever it takes to make this poor child right.'

He squeezed Mary's hand and then traced A…L…L …W…I…L…L …B…E… W…E…L…L onto her palm. 'I believe she would benefit from being surrounded by her friends. Mr. Potter, be so good as to return to Gryffindor Tower and ask Miss Evans and Miss Thomas to come straight here.'

James nodded and left. Dumbledore squeezed Mary's hand and then stood up. 'Miss Linehan, I am sure she would prefer you to be beside her, not me.'

Petra sat down, and picked up Mary's hand. Copying Dumbledore, she used her forefinger to trace I…T…S …P…E…T…R…A onto her palm. After the moment it took for Mary to process and understand the letters, she seemed to relax, and squeezed Petra's hand tightly.

'Miss Linehan, although care for Miss McDonald must be our absolute priority, I have to ask: Do you know who did this?'

Petra nodded. 'It was Mulciber. From Slytherin. His friend, Avery was with him but… but it was Mulciber who cast the… I knocked them over with my broom and cast Petrificus Totalus on them.'

'And in doing so, you have saved Mary's life. You have been very brave and must be commended for your timely action. Poppy, I will go to see Professor Slughorn and write to Mulciber's and Avery's parents. You get those St. Mungo's healers here and get Mary fixed. Do not worry, Miss Linehan. Your other friends will be here soon, and all will be well. I promise.'

He had barely swept out of the door, on his way to speak to Mulciber's Head of House, before it flew open again and Lily and Mandy came running in, breathless and terrified looking, Lily's robes still pinned up where Mandy had been fixing the hemline.

'Mary!' They threw themselves onto the bed and flung their arms around Mary, who flinched a bit, but then seemed to realise she was still safe. 'What happened? What happened to her? Why is she…?'

So Petra recounted her story again, tracing L…I…L…Y …A…N…D …M…A…N…D…Y …A…R…E …H…E…R…E onto Mary's palm as she spoke.

'What are you doing?' Mandy asked her.

'She's blind and deaf; writing words on her palm is the only way we can talk to her.'

'Oh!' Lily squeezed Mary extra tight and kissed her on her cheek. Mary whimpered a little and then spoke for the first time since she had been struck blind. 'Lily…you'll be late for your Slug Club.'

Lily squeezed her again. 'Who cares about the stupid Slug Club?'

'She can't hear you,' Petra reminded her.

'Who did this to her?' Mandy asked.

'Mulciber and Avery.'

Lily looked up sharply. 'But Sev wasn't there -' she said, half questioning, half desperate statement of fact.

A look of irritation flashed across Petra's face. 'No.' She said. ' Sev wasn't there.'

…

Sev was already in Slughorn's office, enjoying a pre-supper butterbeer and watching with extreme satisfaction as Black was used, in lieu of the House Elves, to act as a waiter and offer around canapes ('This will remind you not to hex people in lesson m'boy,' Slughorn said, good humouredly, waggishly shaking a finger in Sirius's face. Sirius only scowled).

Lily was nowhere to be seen though, and that was the one thing marring Severus's enjoyment of Black's humiliation. He would have liked Black to be made ridiculous in front of her. It was only a shame Potter was not included in the detention.

The door opened and he turned, expecting it to be her, only to be surprised to find Professor Dumbledore himself entering the dungeon and looking extremely sombre.

'I am sorry to interrupt the festivities, but if I may have a word, Horace.'

Slughorn looked surprised but agreed and followed Dumbledore from the room, telling everyone to keep themselves amused while he was gone. Severus kept himself amused by sneering at Black. 'It's a shame he didn't dress you in a teatowel, like a real House Elf.'

'Piss off, Snivellus.'

'Tsk tsk, the help really shouldn't talk to the guests that way.'

'And a git like you shouldn't talk at all.'

Sev had just opened his mouth to retort, when Slughorn returned to the office - his expression as grim and grave as Dumbledore's had been - and switched off the gramophone. 'I am afraid we are going to have to take a raincheck,' he said. 'Something which urgently requires my attention has happened. Please return to your common rooms. Black … Dismissed.'

Frowning and muttering amongst themselves, the members of the Slug Club exited the office, disappointed to have their night cut short. Sirius, on the other hand, delighted to have been let off so easily, tossed his tray of canapes away and practically skipped out of the room.

He bumped into Snivellus and Rosier, standing in the corridor and muttering away together out of the corner of their mouths, like the right foul gits they were.

'Someone must be in trouble,' Rosier was saying. 'For Dumbledore to come to Slughorn like that - one of us…'

'Probably did nothing wrong. He lets the Gryffindors get away with murder and jumps on us for any slight thing. Myopic little muggle lover that he is.'

'Sluggy took it seriously though -'

'Well he has to, the muggle lover pays his wage. If he had any spine he'd stand up for us once in a while…' He cut himself off when he saw Sirius and smirked instead. 'So - considering a career in catering now, are we, Black?'

'There's worse things in life to be than a waiter, Snivellus - you should know.'

Severus flushed, but was ready with a comeback. 'It must grate - that not one of your friends made it into the Slug Club. Not precious Quidditch prodigy Potter, not Black the pureblood prince.'

'We don't care…'

Severus gave a fake little snigger. 'Of course, that pathetic Lupin was never going to make it. No skill, no talent, no connections, no money… no hope and no future.'

'Everything you just said describes you, so…'

He pretended he did not hear. 'Of course perhaps Lupin doesn't need to be in the Slug Club. He seems to be in his own private club with Madam Pomfrey. They meet up every month, every full moon - in fact, and walk into the grounds, out to the Whomping Willow for some… very special reason. I can't work out where they go after that, though...'

Sirius gave his bark of a laugh. 'Well, if you want to know the answer to that so desperately, Snivellus, just prod the knot in the base of the willow with a stick and you can follow him… you total berk.' And he walked away, laughing to himself and shaking his head at what a pathetic snot rag Snivellus was.

Severus watched him go, his eyes narrowed keenly, and did not look away until Sirius had vanished from sight.