wish u luck? Should I ask with what?

No you shouldn't.

… Good luck. Just got my class schedule. No mention of like a war and students who cant come cause their territories are seceding

Charmbridge is probably safest place for you. Look out for each other.

Stop acting like ur the boss of us and ur job is to keep us safe—if there is a war we're in it just like u.

And del that next text ur gonna send, it ain't up to u

Standing next to the workbench in the Pruett School's alchemy lab, Alexandra poured the remaining Polyjuice Potion into the same cauldron she'd used the previous day.

Hela watched, arms folded. "I thought you said you can't go to Chicago."

"I didn't want to," Alexandra said. "Now I have to."

"Why not just let me go again?"

"Because this time I have to go into the Central Territory Headquarters Building."

"Are you insane? You were only able to enter Charmbridge Academy and leave again because your former teachers liked you."

Alexandra laughed as she poured lacewings into the cauldron. "You really don't know what you're talking about."

"And who are you planning to disguise yourself as this time?"

Alexandra looked up from the cauldron. "You."

Hela's face twisted. "Me? Why me? Why don't you disguise yourself as your boy again?"

"Because it's possible someone might recognize him. If I run into an Inquisitor who's been to Larkin Mills, they'll know he's a Muggle and he doesn't belong in the HQ building." Alexandra eyed Hela with distaste. "They only know you as a former Junior Wizarding Decathlon Champion."

Hela shook her head. "I do not consent to this."

"You don't need to. I still have your braid."

Hela's face darkened. "I still owe you for that."

Alexandra clenched her fist around her wand. "Any time you think you're ready to collect."

It had been like this all the way back from Charmbridge. Alexandra was trying to decide what she would say to her father the next time they spoke. He would say their grudge was petty rivalry, but Alexandra felt it was something much deeper.

"I should come with you," Hela said. "Your father will be displeased if you're captured."

"He'll also be displeased if you get me captured. I work better alone. You stay here and stay out of trouble."

"I am not your babysitter, and I am also not your lackey."

Alexandra raised her wand. "Do you want to have it out right now?"

Hela glared at her. "Why are you so unreasonable?"

"Because I'm stuck with a backstabbing psychopath I'm supposed to trust."

"I am not a backstabbing psychopath and I am no more untrustworthy than you."

"You think everyone who's not you is expendable. You treat Muggles like bugs, you almost killed Sofia—"

"You were not that concerned about the life of a hag. You said yourself that they're dangerous child-eating monsters."

"That's not…" Alexandra gritted her teeth. "Anyway, I'm trying to protect the people I care about, and you're no different from the warlocks and sorceresses they need protection from."

"Says the daughter of the Enemy of the Confederation. How many of those precious Muggles did he kill?"

The two of them stared at each other across the workbench, both clenching their wands.

"We have both chosen sides, Alexandra." Hela's eyes were dark and smoldering. "I don't lie to myself about it. I'm tired of listening to you tell yourself you're better than me."

Alexandra reached into her backpack and pulled out a cloth bag, from which she took out a long, woven braid of black hair, tied together at the ends. Hela watched in angry silence as Alexandra pulled loose several long strands of coal black hair and dropped them into the cauldron. She tucked the bag with the braids back into her backpack, completed the Polyjuice Potion with a wave of her wand, and extinguished the fire.

"What exactly is your plan?" Hela asked, while the potion cooled.

"I'm going to go to the Territorial Headquarters Building, disguised as you, but wearing normal clothes."

"My clothes are normal."

"For the Arctic." Alexandra shook her head. "I'll go to the Census Office and ask for any records of the Browns and the Griffins. Hopefully I'll find something with an address."

"What will you do if Mr. Brown is being protected by his family?"

"We'll figure that out when we get there."

"A brilliant plan. If he has family, will you kill all of them?"

Alexandra scowled. "Franklin Percival Brown is a monster. Anyone who protects him is a monster. I'm going to get him, no matter what." She ladled the Polyjuice Potion into a vial, looked Hela in the eye, and drank down a third of it.

It tasted like blood and old ice, with sour berry notes and an aftertaste of something woody. It wasn't pleasant, though it was nothing like the experience of drinking Mr. Brown's potion. Alexandra continued staring at Hela as she felt herself transforming. The shift came more rapidly than when she'd become FPB or Brian. Hela was shorter than her, but a little heavier, so Alexandra felt her body thickening, and for a moment her skull was squishy and malleable as it settled into a new shape, with Hela's broad forehead and high cheekbones.

Alexandra raised her fingers, now the same light brown as Hela's, to her face, and felt the ritual scars on her cheeks.

Hela watched her, angry and unsettled. "In the far north, there are evil spirits who assume the shape of others. Dopplegangers. That's what you are, Alexandra Quick. A doppelganger."

"I'm not an evil spirit." Alexandra echoed Hela's huskier tone. "Don't give me your Thule superstitions. You know what Polyjuice Potion is."

She was tempted to just vanish her clothes and conjure the robes she'd laid next to her backpack, but she walked into the little bathroom in the hallway instead, rather than expose herself to the girl whose body she was borrowing.

She emerged wearing witch's robes. Her hair, coarser than her own hair, hung loose almost to her shoulders. Rather than put it in a braid like Hela's, she pulled it back behind her head and tied it into a ponytail.

"Wish me luck," she said.

"Don't get captured or killed," Hela said sourly.

"Close enough." Alexandra walked into the main room where the old boiler was located, and threw some Floo Powder into it. "Chicago Wizardrail Station!" she said, and stepped into the boiler.


She emerged from the Floo tense and ready for a fight. She forced herself to relax, even though an Auror was standing not five feet away. He wasn't looking at her, but at a pair of elves cadging coins from wizards disembarking from a Wizardrail train on the other side of the station.

On either side of her, witches and wizards were arriving from elsewhere in Central Territory. There were at least three Aurors in the immediate vicinity. Alexandra began walking slowly toward the exit, just another girl on a shopping trip, or returning home.

People eyed her, and Alexandra realized that Hela's facial scars made her conspicuous. Maybe no one recognized a Thule witch, or whatever Hela's people called themselves, but she definitely didn't look like she was from Chicago.

Still, Chicago was a metropolitan place, and wizardfolk from around the Confederation passed through here. She got a few stares, including from one of the Aurors, but no one stopped her. She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the street.

The Central Territory Headquarters Building was in the regular business district, surrounded by other buildings but concealed in plain sight by its Muggle-Repelling Charms. Alexandra approached the abandoned-looking building, but when she stepped into the normally empty lobby, she saw two suits of black metal armor stationed by the elevators, and a small line waiting to enter them. At the front of the line, a wizard in black robes with a badge pinned to his chest checked each person by waving a wand at them and consulting a book lying open on a wooden stand in front of him.

Alexandra considered turning around, then slipped into line with her hands in her pockets, each one gripping a wand.

Listening to the wizard security officer's questions, she learned he was asking each person what their business in the Headquarters Building was, which office they were visiting, and where they were from. The responses ranged from nervous to bored to indignant, but nobody was stopped.

Alexandra elected to go for "bored," so when the wizard stated: "Name and purpose of your visit?" she said, "Angel Dearpunk. I'm here to check some Census records."

The wizard glanced at her, and looked down at a book full of wizard photographs. He looked up at her again, and his gaze lingered on the ritual scars slashed across her cheeks.

"What Culture are you from?" he asked.

"Thule," she said. "But we don't call ourselves that. So don't say it. It's very rude. I assume Central Territory follows the Confederation's Respect for Cultural Diversity Campaign?"

"Yes," the wizard said, frowning uncertainly. "Why are you interested in the Central Territory Census?"

"I'm engaged to a Colonial boy, but I want to make sure he doesn't have any Squibs or Muggles in his family tree. My people don't like that much diversity."

She couldn't read the wizard's expression. He just waved her onward after his wand motions failed to find whatever he was looking for.

She smirked as she joined two other witches and two wizards in the elevator. She had to wait for three of them to get off on other floors, while one of the witches took the elevator to the basement with her.

"Old scars?" the witch asked, as the doors opened. Alexandra looked at her in surprise. Everyone stared at Hela's scars—Alexandra had done it herself—but few people actually commented on them. The other witch was middle-aged, with a pear-shaped figure and a rather hirsute appearance.

"Um, yes. It's a… thing my people do," Alexandra said.

The other witch's eyes widened. "You were exposed deliberately? I've heard some Cultures do that, but… you must have been very young. No offense, but that seems very barbaric to me."

Not even knowing what this woman was talking about, Alexandra found herself oddly defensive on Hela's behalf. "Yeah, well, sacrificing children seems pretty barbaric to me, but your culture seems fine with it."

The other witch turned pale, in the dim lamplight of the basement corridor, and muttered something that sounded like a growl. She stopped at the door to the Office of Lycanthropy Research, and looked surprised when Alexandra didn't follow her inside.

"Huh," Alexandra said. She continued to the end of the corridor, and stood for a moment staring at the wooden door marked "Census and Records."

She hadn't been here since she was eleven. She'd blundered in here on an ill-conceived mission to uncover the truth about her parentage, and had only learned half-truths that wouldn't be unraveled until years later, while getting herself in trouble, not for the first or the last time.

She wasn't sure her current mission was less ill-conceived. She really wasn't sure about much, nowadays. She opened the door and stepped into the large cavernous basement office. It was literally a cavern, with bats hanging from the ceiling, despite the wooden counter and shelves of records lining the rear section, stretching back into near-darkness.

Standing behind the counter, as if he'd been waiting for her, was Thomas Bagby.

He looked exactly as he did five years ago; he might even have been wearing the same clothes, as far as Alexandra could tell. Did he just stand behind the counter all day waiting for someone to come down here?

Alexandra walked toward him, and almost said, "Hello, Mr. Bagby," before realizing that there was no sign anywhere with his name on it, and if Mr. Bagby didn't recognize Hela, Hela certainly shouldn't recognize him.

"Hello," she said. "I'm here to look up census records for two families. I hope you can help me."

Thomas Bagby gave her the same unnerving stare he'd once given eleven-year-old Alexandra, when she had discovered to her horror that the nondescript records clerk was a vampire. She fought the impulse to reach for her wand. But Bagby had apparently not "relapsed" in the time since she'd seen him last. He probably just gave that creepy stare to everyone.

"You will have to enter your name in the log book, here." He tapped a thick journal on the counter, which had a quill and a bottle of ink sitting next to it. "Central Territory requires a record of all inquiries for official records now."

It must be part of the heightened security she'd seen upstairs, Alexandra thought. She nodded and opened the log book.

"What are the names?" Bagby asked. "If there isn't a restriction on them, I can retrieve their records for you."

"The families are the Browns and the Griffins."

"Brown?" Babgy repeated. "Why don't you just ask me to look up every Smith or Black in the Census?" He grimaced, and Alexandra saw a brief flash of sharp canines. "The Griffins are not a small family either. Can you be a little more specific?"

"Yes, sir," Alexandra said politely. I will not antagonize him, I will not antagonize him, I will not antagonize him… "I'm specifically looking for any records of Franklin Percival Brown, III, and Lydia Griffin, his mother."

"Make sure you note the purpose of your inquiry," Babgy said, gesturing at the open log book. "I cannot allow you to see any records without a properly completed entry."

Previous entries in the log book noted things like "Verifying blood status," "Genealogical research," and several that said "Ancestors who joined the Deathly Regiment." It was out in the open now, and apparently many in the wizarding world wanted to know how many of their lost aunts and second cousins and great-great uncles, all those distant, abruptly cauterized branches of their family trees, had in fact fed the Confederation's infernal engines.

It's all out in the open now, Alexandra thought, and yet the Chicago Wizardrail Station was still crowded, people were still going shopping in the Goblin Market, and clerks like Mr. Babgy still worked down here in the bowels of the bureaucracy. When the vampire clerk returned, she gave him a hard look to match his undead stare, and he paused, nonplussed. He held a small book and an official-looking scroll in his hands.

Then he nodded at the log book, where Alexandra's hand still rested, holding the quill. "I do need you to fill that out."

"Yes, of course." Alexandra tried to write "Angel Dearpunk," but she could only write the letter "A" and then it wouldn't move further. She scowled, wondering if her hand had cramped up—no, there was some sort of curse preventing her from writing.

Bagby stared at her for several moments, as she struggled with the cursed quill, then said, "You will have to sign your real name."

She looked up at him with all the indignation she could muster. "Excuse me, but I'm trying to. Something is wrong with this pen. Do you have another one?"

Bagby didn't smile, but there was a hint of dark amusement in his narrow, predatory eyes. "It's a Signature Quill. And that is Veritas-ink."

She struggled to force an "n" out of the quill, but her hand wouldn't move. Finally, she tried to write "Alice," and only succeeded in adding an "l."

Bagby said, "Whatever your reason is for wanting to sign a false name, it won't work. I'll give you one more chance before I have to summon security."

Alexandra scribbled "Alexandra Quick." Bagby's pupils dilated, but she had already drawn her wand and pointed it at him.

"Make a loud noise or any funny moves, and I'll set you on fire. I swear to God I will."

Bagby glowered at her. When his mouth opened again, his fangs were fully visible. "You."

"Hello again, Mr. Bagby."

"Polyjuice Potion," Bagby said.

"Yes. And I really don't want to hurt anyone, not even a vampire, but I'll take those records, please."

"They're jinxed to prevent their removal from the building," Bagby said, sliding the book and the scroll over to her. "You'll be left with nothing but ashes if you attempt to leave with them."

"I see." Alexandra pointed her wand at the first book, and said, "Geminarius." A duplicate copy of the book appeared on the counter next to it. She did the same for the scroll, and scooped up the two duplicates, pointing her wand once again at Mr. Bagby.

"Clever girl," Bagby said. "That's quite illegal, of course."

"I'm not known for my lawfulness. You might have heard."

Bagby nodded seriously. "How do you plan to get out of here without killing me?"

"Aren't you already dead?" When Bagby didn't respond, she said, "That was a joke." She backed away slowly. "I did a little reading on vampires. Incarcerous and Sleep Charms, Body-Bind Curses, even full Petrification, none of those work on you."

"So I'm told," Bagby said, still eyeing her wand.

"So, I'm sorry for this, but it was the least unpleasant thing I could find." Alexandra made a gesture like a band conductor with her wand, and said, "Contamei!" This produced a spray of tiny seeds that showered Bagby, the counter, and the floor around him.

The vampire held up a hand to deflect the seeds bouncing against his face, even as they kept streaming out of Alexandra's wand. He brushed a few off the front of his old, worn jacket. "Millet?" His eyes widened, turned dark, and his fangs seemed to enlarge in his mouth. "Oh no…" He plucked one of the little millet seeds stuck to his coat, and said, "One…" He plucked another one. "Two…." He had gotten to "Seven" by the time Alexandra reached the door, still showering millet all over the Census Office.

"Have fun counting." Alexandra stepped through the door, closed it behind her, and said, "Collaportus!"

She figured they'd eventually get it open, but she'd be long gone by then.

She walked down the corridor, passing an Old Colonial witch with her daughter who were both heading toward the Census Office. They both gave Alexandra haughty looks, staring at Hela's scarred face.

"The Census Office is closed for the afternoon," Alexandra said. "I believe the clerk had to add up some numbers."

"What? It's supposed to be open all day. How inconvenient!" exclaimed the witch.

"Yeah. You'd think civil servants would be more considerate. After all, they murder children to keep you from being inconvenienced."

She left the woman standing in the corridor with her mouth hanging agape, next to her pale, wide-eyed daughter.

I'd probably better tell Hela not to visit Chicago again, Alexandra thought. She made it to the street without being stopped, and walked quickly out into the main Business Loop, where her complexion and facial scarring drew as much attention from Muggles as it had from wizards. No one stopped her on the street either, and it wasn't long before she found an empty alley. It was grungy, smelly, and probably unsafe, but once she disappeared into it, she was gone, carried by her Seven-League Boots all the way out of Chicago, and in minutes, she was back in Larkin Mills.


Hela wasn't in the Pruett School building when Alexandra returned. The other girl had left no note, and had not told Goody Pruett anything.

Alexandra felt uneasy about Hela wandering around in Larkin Mills unsupervised, but she had shown her where the stores were, and she couldn't confine her to the warehouse. She pulled her shirt off her shoulder and let Charlie free from the tattoo on her skin.

"Alexandra," said Charlie.

"Hello, bird-brain," Alexandra said, kissing Charlie on the beak. "I want you to find Hela." She gestured with her wand, opening one of the Pruett School's windows.

"Fly, fly!" Charlie said, and flapped away.

Pushing aside her forebodings about Hela, Alexandra sat down at one of the tables in what served as the school's lunchroom, and looked through the scroll and the book she had taken from the Census Office.

Franklin Percival Brown, III was indeed the son of Franklin Percival Brown, II and Lydia Brown née Griffin. Franklin Percival Brown, II was the son of the original Franklin Percival Brown, but Alexandra's first surprise was seeing that the elder Brown's Confederation Census entry was bordered in brown—he was Muggle-born.

"Huh," she said. "Humble origins, indeed."

He had married a Muggle-born witch. Alexandra wondered what would move a Muggle-born wizard with a Muggle-born wife to work for the Confederation's Accounting Office.

The Griffins, on the other hand, were an old, prestigious pureblood family. They traced their ancestry back to Britain and the first purebloods to come to the New World. Now Alexandra wondered about Lydia Griffin, who had married a half-blood of "humble origins." The statue of Brown had said that his daughter-in-law didn't approve of him. Was that because of his lowly blood status? But then why had she married his son?

Franklin Percival Brown, II had evidently passed away when his son was still a child. His widow, the youngest FPB's mother, had died only eight years prior. Alexandra frowned. Lydia Griffin had been an only child, and she had no other children listed. Alexandra was beginning to think she'd have to try to find Franklin Percival Brown's other grandparents. Then she found a small entry on the Griffin scroll that listed "Familial residences," all of them denoted with complicated symbols indicating their inheritance status. Alexandra didn't know how to decipher these, but she saw that the Griffins owned estates throughout the Confederation—in New Amsterdam, New England, Roanoke, Hudson, Arcadia, and Dixie. But only one estate in Central Territory—an address which Alexandra mapped to a village just north of Chicago.

If Franklin Percival Brown, III was hiding from the wizarding world, she thought, then that seemed as good a place as any to look for him.

Charlie was flying around Larkin Mills, but hadn't spotted Hela. That worried her, but she decided if Hela was going to run off and do her own thing, so could she.

"Come back, Charlie," she said. Distantly, Charlie cawed.

She went into the office that Madam Erdglass used when school was in session and tucked the Census Office book and scroll into a filing cabinet. Then she walked upstairs to speak to Goody Pruett.

"When Hela returns, tell her I went to take care of some business," she said.

"Am I here to relay messages?" Goody Pruett demanded. "Am I a secretary in service to you, a lowly scribe for ill-bred witches who cavort and carouse in the Muggle world without discretion or decency?"

"Yes," Alexandra said. "What else are you good for? Seriously, tell me why you exist?"

Goody Pruett's mouth fell open. She stared at Alexandra wordlessly. Alexandra stomped back downstairs.

Charlie returned through the open window, and Alexandra stroked the bird's feathers, then said, "Back you go, my pretty bird." She lifted the collar of her shirt, and Charlie made a clucking noise, then hopped onto her bare shoulder and sank into her skin.

She stepped outside, faced north, and took a step in her Seven-League Boots. She stood on the highway, miles from town, in the middle of a soybean field. She took more steps, and with a roar of wind as the world blurred past her, she sped through the leagues between Larkin Mills and Chicago, circled in seven-league steps around the metropolis, and in about as much time as it would have taken her to walk home from the Pruett School, she was in the little village she'd found on the map of Illinois.

From the outskirts of town, it appeared to be a placid, affluent suburb full of model mini-mansions and SUVs. Her Lost Traveler's Compass only helped her keep from getting lost; it couldn't point her to an address, and her cell phone usually didn't work well while she carried her wands, so she was forced to walk into town and ask for directions at the nearest coffee shop.

The address that the Census Office had for the Griffin Estate was on the other side of town. Alexandra hiked back to the edge of the township, walked into the woods, and took two steps with her Seven-League Boots.

If this was a generally prosperous town, she was now on the wrong side of the tracks. Indeed, there were actual railroad tracks running across the main road. The neighborhood was older, shabbier, and full of houses in varying states of repair. Some remained cheerful and well-preserved, with nice lawns and pleasant patios. Others were clearly neglected. Down one street, she saw a trailer park.

Eventually she came to Lamplighter Way, which turned out to be a picturesque cul-de-sac with three great houses sitting behind ivy-covered fences. A park stretched along the far side of the cul-de-sac, separating the houses from the rest of the neighborhood. Large trees shaded Lamplighter Way, and Alexandra noted that there were no cars parked on the street, though vehicles sat in the driveways of two of the houses.

She came to a halt in front of the Griffins' address.

It was an ordinary-looking house, three stories tall and much larger than almost any house in Larkin Mills, but painted a very mundane blue-gray, and to all appearances not very wizardly. There was a wrought iron gate across the driveway, and a plain metal mailbox hanging on it. Upon inspection, Alexandra saw an automatic gate-opener attached to the gate, something mechanical and Muggleish, not magical. Other than the numbers on the bronze plaque by the gate, nothing indicated who resided here.

There was no car in the driveway, which was a small concrete circle with a big tree in the center. It was daytime, so Alexandra couldn't tell whether any lights were on inside, or whether anyone was home at all. She was beginning to doubt that she had the right location.

She heard a pop behind her, and spun around to point her wand at Hela, who drew her own wand to point it at Alexandra, a fraction of a second slower.

"What are you doing here?" Alexandra demanded.

"What are you doing here?" Hela replied.

"Put away your wand, idiot!"

"You drew yours first!"

"How did you get here?"

"Why did you leave without me?"

"How did you find me?"

The two of them stood there with wands pointed at each other. Alexandra looked around. No one was on the street, though they could easily be seen by anyone looking out the windows of the houses. She lowered her wand and scowled at Hela.

"You still look like you're expecting a blizzard in July. And you Apparated in plain sight. Why don't you just tell everyone you meet that you're a witch?"

Hela put her wand back in one of the pockets of her fur parka.

"How did you get here?" Alexandra demanded. "How did you even Apparate this far?"

Hela gave her a haughty look. "This was nothing. We Apparate vast distances in the north. Just because you're limited to what you can see—"

"I am not," Alexandra said, irritated. "How did you follow me?"

"I tracked you."

"How?" This perturbed Alexandra most of all.

"I used magic. I'm quite good at it." Hela looked around. "This is a dull place. Why are we here?"

Alexandra's jaw clenched. "Where did you go before I left Larkin Mills?"

"I wanted some french fries."

Alexandra stared into Hela's dark, smirking face, and considered turning her fur parka into a wolverine. She thought she could just about pull that off.

"I really need to know how you tracked me," she said. "If you can do it, so can the Confederation."

"No," Hela said. "It is not something Colonial wizards can do. We keep many secrets to ourselves. And I think what we really need to do is get off this street before Muggles call their Aurors. So is this where Franklin Percival Brown lives?"

"You didn't track me. You just found the Census Office scroll…" But Alexandra still didn't know how Hela could have done that and Apparated after her in such a short time. Hela clearly wasn't going to tell her, so Alexandra shook her head and turned back to the gate. "This is where I'm hoping we'll find him, or at least a clue."

She curled her fingers around her wand, inside her pocket, and cast a spell. The iron gate unlocked and jerked open, rolling along its tracks until Alexandra and Hela could walk through it side by side. Alexandra cast another spell to close it behind them.

"We don't even know for sure that Brown, or his family, lives here," Alexandra said, looking at the house. It wasn't particularly well-kept, but it also didn't look abandoned. She still saw no cars, though there were trash cans sitting in the wide driveway next to the house. An abundance of pizza boxes and soda bottles filled the nearest one. It looked to her as if the residents were Muggles.

"Homenum revelio," said Hela, pointing her wand at the house. The front windows were curtained.

"There is only one person inside," Hela said. She inclined her head. "If this house has a basement, he is there."

Alexandra considered. "Maybe we should ring the doorbell."

Hela gave her an incredulous look.

"It could just be some Muggle who has no idea who Franklin Percival Brown is," Alexandra said.

"Or it could be a dangerous wizard who used to kill children for the Accounting Office."

Alexandra had to admit Hela had a point.

"We go inside, then," she said. "And if it's not Brown, we Apparate out, immediately. If a Muggle sees us, screw it. We won't be coming back here. But under no circumstances will we cast any spells on a Muggle. Understand?"

Hela nodded slowly. "Very well."

Alexandra Unlocked the front door and they both entered. The front room was filled with old furniture that might have been expensive when it had been bought, but now it just looked aged. Alexandra could see to the kitchen on the other side of the living room, where there was a refrigerator and a microwave oven. This didn't look like a wizard's home at all. With her Witch's Sight, she saw nothing of interest, and casting spells to expose hidden charms, traps, or dangers also revealed nothing.

Silently, Hela pointed at a set of stairs leading down. Alexandra nodded, and the two of them quietly made their way down the stairs, wands out. Alexandra was feeling increasingly glum—she suspected they were just going to scare someone alone in his house half to death, and she would be back to nowhere finding Mr. Brown. She would have nothing to report to her father, and she'd be stuck with Hela indefinitely.

They heard sounds from below. Voices, which Alexandra recognized as coming from a television set. Disappointed, she almost told Hela to just Apparate away, but decided to make sure.

They reached the bottom of the steps, and saw a squalid den dominated by a couch in the center, and an enormous entertainment center dominating the far wall. A large-screen TV showed some sort of reality show involving women in bikinis throwing food at each other while flamboyantly-dressed judges, probably celebrities, watched and commented. On the floor were several different gaming consoles. Next to the couch was a stack of pizza boxes half Alexandra's height, surrounded by fallen pyramids of beer cans. The room was dimly lit and smelled of rancid cheese, beer, and sweat.

Sitting on the couch, in a bathrobe over boxers and a stained T-shirt, was Franklin Percival Brown.

He turned his head and looked at the two intruders, dully at first, and then he blinked and with surprising speed for his massive size, leaped to his feet. He staggered backward and almost tripped over a pile of cables and two-liter soda bottles.

"You!" he screeched, pointing a finger at Alexandra.

"Me," Alexandra said, pointing her wand at the fat wizard. All her doubt and discouragement had vanished.

Brown dropped the remote and dove for the cushions, but Alexandra cast a Levicorpus spell that threw him all the way up to the ceiling, which shuddered with the impact as Brown's legs kicked against it, loosening a piece of track lighting. Alexandra was ready to Disarm him, but he had apparently not managed to retrieve his wand.

Hela walked over to the couch and looked over the back of it. With a grimace, she picked up a large, clunky-looking cell phone. She pointed her wand at it and it flickered and died.

"Accio wand," Alexandra said, as Brown howled and demanded to be let down. Nothing happened.

"Where's your wand, you fat bastard?" Alexandra demanded, pointing her wand at him.

"How dare you assault my person and my character—" Brown bellowed, and then Alexandra set his hair on fire.

Brown screamed, as Hela looked at Alexandra in surprise. The man's dark hair had grown long and greasy, much like his beard, which had once been uneven patches of fuzz around his neck and jowls, and was now a bushy tangle reaching to his chest. His hair smoked with tongues of flame licking at his scalp, until the fire alarm in the ceiling went off. Hela jumped at the noise, before Alexandra silenced the devices and extinguished Brown's hair with one motion from her wand.

"Where's your wand?" she repeated, taking a step closer to Brown, who was still hanging in the air suspended by her Levicorpus spell.

Brown stared at her with wide-eyed terror, clapping hands over his burned scalp.

"I don't have one," he said in a small voice.

"What do you mean you don't have one?" Alexandra almost thrust her wand into his face.

"I used to carry one," Brown said, in a trembling voice. "They took it away from me."

"They who?"

"The Wand Registration Bureau. They said if I removed myself from the Confederation Census, I could not have a wand, even… even…" To Alexandra's surprise and disgust, Brown began to weep.

She flipped him before she dropped him, so he didn't land on his head, but he fell to the floor with a thud that shook the room and made beer cans bounce and roll across the carpet. He lay there, groaning and sobbing.

"You…" Alexandra said. "You had a bamboo wand."

"A bamboo wand? I've never heard of such a thing," Hela said.

"It means his wand wasn't real. It was just a prop he carried around so he could pretend he was a wizard." Alexandra looked down at the blubbering man at her feet. "He's a Squib."