Chapter 35

Identity Theft

6 January 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland

Marcus Flint was not a happy Slytherin. No, Marcus Flint was not a happy Slytherin at all in this beginning of the year 1993 as he left the History classroom and the boring, monotonous voice of Professor Binns followed by the rest of the few sixth-years having taken the course. Marching with a steady, implacable rhythm on the third floor, the scion of House Flint, as distant and complicated his position from the Lordship was - eleventh in the succession for those in the know - harboured a stone-face expression. And he had excellent reasons for his bad mood.

Four months ago, the sixth-year had been extremely optimistic. Marcus had managed to pass six OWLS in June at his exams. At his second try but still. Charms, Potions, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, History of Magic and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Except Potions, all achieved with grades allowing him to continue to the NEWTS classes. In spite of the loss of the Cup at the hands of the Ravenclaw team, Professor Snape had maintained him his confidence and kept him at the post of Captain. Marcus was gaining more and more influence in the ranks of Slytherin House, always a good thing to create his own information network and support future career prospects.

Then the news had come that Lord Malfoy had bought seven brand-new Nimbus 2001 for the Slytherin Quidditch Team and Marcus Flint had been certain it was going to be the best year ever. Brand-new brooms normally only owned by world-class players, a new Seeker having plenty of new motivation and six other players boosted from head to toes at the chance of taking their revenge against their Gryffindor arch-enemies, how could it have been otherwise? At the time, Marcus had even envisaged one victory to ask on a date this pretty blond-haired Ravenclaw. Yes, the year should have been perfect.

January had now begun, and most of these ambitions were in ashes. The sixth-year Slytherin was succeeding in his classes of Charms and Care of Magical Creatures, but was failing Defence, Astronomy and History. And with Lockhart teaching Defence and Binns being as boring as ever, the odds were good no one was going to learn the spells and the information needed for the NEWTS anyway. One more year of self-study in these two subjects, like the year before with Quirell and Devkins had not been enough!

To make matters worse, the Nimbus 2001 had revealed themselves a flawed advantage in the match against Gryffindor, albeit one which could have still given them victory...if their Seeker had passed his time searching for the Snitch and not laughing at the problems of the Boy-Who-Lived! Rarely had Marcus felt so angry after the final thrill of the referee had ended this debacle. Despite the problems in the braking charms and enchantments of the Nimbus, they should have won the match! Should the main target of his ire had not been a Malfoy, the Flint teenager would have killed the imbecile responsible of this humiliation. And damn the paperwork and the consequences for his future.

The last months had not rebounded after this fiasco. As tempting as it had been to kick Draco Malfoy out of the team, the alternatives were slim. Terence Higgs had not pardoned him of his unilateral removal in September, and in good Slytherin accepting him back would have implicated a lot of favours neither Marcus nor the rest of the team were willing to bargain. Training a Seeker took time, time which was more or less inexistent in the long months of winter when trying to mount a broom outside made half of the school question your mental sanity. School-wise, there was now a mysterious Heir of Slytherin stalking the corridors, petrifying Mudbloods of the lower years. Those who had had Death Eaters relatives were enjoying boost in terms of popularity in the Snake's Den. The rest of the House was understandably more worried. For all assurances from braggarts like Nott and Malfoy that the Heir was going to purge the castle from the non-deserving vermin of the Squibs and the Mudbloods, these attacks were of a dark magic Marcus had never seen before. Should a Pure-blood suffer the same fate, he would be as petrified as the students lying in the infirmary. A few seventh years predicted it was the first sign of the Dark Lord's return. Marcus Flint prayed it wasn't true.

Officially, Marcus was a supporter of blood-purity of course. As it should be, when his family was a core part of the Dark Houses. But the Slytherin Captain wasn't a believer in the Dark Lord philosophy. Two of his uncles had fought in the war under the banner of The-One-Who-Must-Not-be-Named. Both of them had never come back, and the sole aunt that invited his parents several times for week-end lunches had shared with him nightmarish tales. Suicide missions, torture sessions for those who failed in their duties, black rituals darkening your very soul. Suddenly, the organisation of the Death Eaters had not been that much attractive. Moreover, five of the Flint businesses had been bankrupted by the war, their French partners refusing to trade anymore due to their blood-status positions. The contracts had never been renewed and thus their cauldrons, creatures and ingredients imports had disappeared. Besides, the Dark Lord had been vanquished by a child. What sort of leader was brought that low and that easily?

Unfortunately, this opinion was a sizeable minority but a minority nonetheless in Slytherin House. Many Heirs and Heiresses of the Dark Houses were eager to see the Heir purge Hogwarts from the people they believed inferior. Lewis Wilkes had made numerous speeches in the Common Rooms in November and December how it was their duty to purge the unworthy from the school. Thomson Carrow and Jared Miller were paying some of their fellow sixth and fifth years to beat the younger Lions. With the Gryffindor fighting back proudly carrying the standards of the Light, the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff standing aside and refusing to involve themselves in the corridor duels, speaking out loud in public against one vision or the other was a sure way to be sent to the infirmary. Being a Slytherin was already a guarantee to be scrutinised like you had the plague by three-quarters of the student population. Marcus range of career prospects was dying down, and he was not yet in seventh year.

A muffed grunt coming from a broom closet on his left interrupted these morose thoughts. Intrigued, Marcus Flint approached it, but drew his wand just in case. A couple of years at Hogwarts with the Weasley Twins had taught everyone wearing a snake emblem the need to be extremely careful when dealing with something weird or unknown. The arrival of the New Marauders on the prank business had made the problems magnitude worse.

"Alohomora!"

The door of the closet opened in full, revealing Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Byron Vaisey and Millicent Bulstrode, all tied up in red and gold ropes and with red scarves on their mouths to muffle any exclamations and groans. Not that it was necessary. The four second-years were all unconscious. What Marcus had heard was not a grunt, but a rumble of Goyle' stomach.

"The Lions again..." Muttered angrily Marcus. "You!" The sixth year Slytherin shouted to a Hufflepuff passing by. "Go warn Professor Snape! We have second-years who have just been attacked!"

Really any Professor would do, but their Head of House would not lead the issue stay idle as the majority of Dumbledore lackeys had the habit to. Now the objective was to bring Crabbe and the others to the infirmary without a minimum of students being aware of the details. One of the unwritten rules of House Slytherin was to never display weakness in public.

"Wait a minute..." Grunted Cassius Warrington, who marching on Flint's heels had been one of the first to arrive on scene among the small group of Slytherin. A quick Wingardium Leviosa from his wand had already made Vaisey levitate while Adrian Pucey was dealing with Goyle and Marcus himself was freeing Bulstrode from her bounds. "I saw these four walk in the direction of our Common Room two hours ago!"

"That's impossible!" Affirmed Derrick, one of the Beaters of the Slytherin Quidditch Team who had taken the hard duty of levitating Crabbe large and immobile body to the infirmary. "They could not be both in this closet and in the dungeons!"

In other circumstances, the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team would have told a few words to Peregrine Derrick for his tendency to state the very obvious in public but this wasn't the time.

"The one you saw in the dungeons were likely imposters, Cassius." Said Flint in a grim tone, not satisfied of the pace they were marching on towards the infirmary with the four victims, nor was he of the rapidity a small crowd was forming to see their passage. "I don't know how they did it but..."

"I will sound the alert," Proclaimed Bole, the other Slytherin Beater, as slow as always when it came to intelligence and cunning. "We will not let them enter our Common Room!" And the bulky boy ran behind a tapestry to take a secret passage leading to the lower areas of the dungeons.

Flint said nothing, but a few stares to the other Slytherins levitating the second-years or watching in the crowd convinced him that his suspicions of being too late to stop the attackers were alas true. And with Bole's complete lack of subtlety, the attackers would be warned by their friends long before there was an opportunity to catch them in the act.

"Montague, go to the Prefects and search who was not in class this afternoon." Ordered Flint. Bole's effort would certainly go to waste, but there was still a chance if the culprits had not thoughts about potential alibis. "Professor Snape will want the names of the culprits and we will give them."

"Right on it." Promised his Slytherin interlocutor. "I will begin with the Weasley Twins and the Golden Trio, and then search the rest of the Gryffindors."

"Good." Snarled the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team in a tone which made evident it really wasn't. "Let's hope no one in the Common Room was idiotic enough to answer the questions of these imposters."


"Only listening to my courage and my sense of daring, both of which had never failed me before, I jumped from the roof on the back of the biggest werewolf in sight! Mounting their alpha would be surely a moment of terrible humiliation for this pack of beasts, and I was quite certain one of his subordinates would defy this monster as soon as I had tied him in ropes! But it was not easy, no dear students! The black-furred werewolf tried to dismount me at every step it took and it was thanks to an ingenious combination of the Expulsion Charm and Transfiguring my knife into silver I emerged victorious! The alpha was unconscious, and without it the rest of the werewolves fell upon themselves, fighting for supremacy and the right to kill me! One minute after, I was the only survivor, standing proudly and magnificently over this glorious battlefield, having saved the village and the rest of the province from this horrible threat! The merry visages of these poor villagers free from this threat made me smile with joy and contentment..."

Alexandra yawned in annoyance, slightly rising her head from the Potions essay she was writing. If any Senior Professor like Flitwick or McGonagall had tried to use their classes to recount tales of their exploits, there would have been a good attendance and many students would have applauded to mark the end of such a long tirade. Flitwick had been a renowned Duellist in his youth, and Professor McGonagall had participated in many Transfiguration challenges, debates and competitions. For that matter, Alexandra supposed even Professor Snape, as ludicrous as the idea of the Slytherin head telling something amusing was, could have notes or typos to share. But the man who just had finished speaking was the pompous and narcissist Gilderoy Lockhart. Bane of the Dark Forces, Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile and an adult so arrogant his supposed exploits were celebrated to the heavens at least twice per day by the principal interested.

"Please someone kill him..." Whispered Terry Boot two ranks behind the desk Alexandra shared with Nigel.

"Praise the Valar..."

"Do you want to know the end of this exciting and astounding adventure of Gilderoy Lockhart?"

No, thought Alexandra, appealing to whatever deities existed in the magical pantheons to give her infinite patience. In spite of this being a Defence Against Dark Arts class, she had passed the last hour writing the homework she was due for History, Herbology, Astronomy and then Potions. With Lockhart lost in his interminable tirades, there was no risk in doing something more productive academically. But earplugs or muffs like those worn in Herbology could not be brought in this class, and listening Lockhart was horrible for her nerves. Since the Cornish Pixies incident, Wednesday afternoon was officially her least favourite moment of the week.

"It will be for next week my good and extraordinary students!"

On this last exclamation of the fraud, the bell rang, letting the flow of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors charge outside the class with alacrity. Well to be fair, the Ravenclaw and the Gryffindors who had bothered to come. The number was in constant diminution since September and it was unlikely it would climb up until the end of the year's exams. By the start of the Winter Holidays, every alumnus of Hogwarts which was not a rabid fan-girl of Lockhart had realised Defence Against the Dark Arts was a course worked in self-study and self-study alone. Without Lockhart books, needless to say.

Professor Flitwick had not authorised the members of Ravenclaw House to avoid the course entirely, and there was a limit to the number of diseases, cold, illnesses or moral breakdown a student could suffer each Wednesday. As a consequence, the Ravens assisted to this joke of magical teaching in turn. Well, in turn except Morag and Alexandra. The rest of their housemates were definitely not inclined in sharing with them old archives or covering their absences.

But the presence of six Ravens today to assist Lockhart representation was far superior to the effectives of the Lions having been seated. Excepted Hermione Granger and Nigel Wolpert, the only other Gryffindor sitting today in the Defence room had been Fay Dunbar. Alexandra didn't know where the other first-years of the House of red and gold had gone, but it hadn't been in the DADA's room. Not that they had missed much, to be fair.

Taking her bag with the intention of going back to their Common Room, Alexandra groaned under the sheer weight of the books she was forced to carry in the crowded corridor. With the columns of Hogwarts students navigating in this part of the castle, Morag was trying and failing valiantly to march to her right side.

"Where has Hermione gone?" Asked Alexandra. Nigel was approximately ten steps behind the two Ravenclaw girls, twice he avoided being trampled by a band of fourth-years Hufflepuffs travelling in herd.

"I think I saw her go to the library for her History homework." Intervened Nigel, shouting to make himself heard in the racket originating from scores of children conversations and exclamations.

"But you had Professor Tiroflan only this morning!" Unlike the Ravenclaws who had Double Potions on Wednesday morning, the Gryffindors had Double History. More commonly known by the older students by nicknames like 'great nap-time' or the 'class where bringing a pillow is mandatory' when Binns was the teacher. Junior Professor Tiroflan, the laziest person in the millenary institution by a wide and large margin, had not changed from his behaviour of 1991 and 1992, doing as little work as possible and giving assignments he rarely bothered to read, much less to grade fairly and give back to their owners. It made of course working on them a task best done at the latest time possible.

"What I can say," Nigel grumbled, "Hermione is an over-achiever..."

"Truer words have never been spoken..." Murmured the red-haired Ravenclaw in a soft voice which was ignored by everyone save Alexandra and Nigel.

The path to the upper floors where the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Common Rooms were not simple of access at this hour. The second-year students had only two periods of courses per afternoon great maximum, but the third years and every teenager above this level were not that lucky with the addition of the electives, pressing to go for their last classes of the day. Peeves the Poltergeist was his usual disrupting self, having achieved to place a complex trap mixing an armour, several golf balls and a banner of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team in one of the greatest stairs, provoking an incredible chaos when two Gryffindor girls found themselves the recipient of this nasty prank.

"With Filch petrified, Peeves is becoming bloodily annoying!" Shouted Morag, her red hair forming her usual corona and her blue eyes launching deep glares to the Poltergeist. A few feet nearer, and she would have shared the same fate as the Lions having received the full weight of the Middle Ages' protection. "Is there no one to reign in him?"

Alexandra sent her a confused look. Before the caretaker had been attacked by the so-called Heir of Slytherin, Peeves had already manifested this enjoyment for chaos and except the ghost called the Bloody Baron, no one of authority had made a lot of efforts to 'reign him in'.

"Oh, right." The shoulders of Morag partially collapsed. "But I will relay this to the Bloody baron!"

"I think you're wasting your time but go ahead." Affirmed cheekily Alexandra.

"Oh, I know. But it will make me feel so much better!" Replied the MacDougal Heiress.

Taking another secret passage behind a statue and mountain a dusty pair of stairs, Alexandra's sense of smell was suddenly assaulted by a powerful odour. An odour and a noise of footsteps that preceded the arrival of...Hermione?

"You were quick today!" Remarked Morag, turning another corner and passing in front of two set of armours brandishing polished axes. "Was the library closed today?"

"Or Crookshanks was a naughty big cat?" Added Alexandra innocently, with a smile which didn't touch her eyes. The person walking now with them had the appearance of Hermione Granger, yes. Bushy brown hair, check. Fair light skin check. Brown eyes, check. But there were a lot of things...off. Hermione's bag, a martyr object if there ever was one, had been full of books in Lockhart's class and was now close to empty. The usual curbed posture, forced by the constant weight of hundreds of library books, was inexistent. The pace she was walking on was not her normal, frenetic walk but calmer and longer strides. The witch robes she wore had the correct Gryffindor uniform but looked to be a more expensive model than the one Morag used, and the MacDougal Heiress had the most expensive set of clothes in the Exiled group.

"This replaceable piece of fur..." Groaned the girl, making Alexandra stop on her tracks and draw her wand as their little group of four arrived in a deserted corridor a little distance away from the Ravenclaw Common Room. "Have you discovered who is the Heir of Slytherin?" Pronounced the bushy-haired girl, not realising Nigel had stopped at the same time as Alexandra.

One second later and Alexandra had her magical wand directly pointed between the pretender's eyes.

"Morag, stop. This girl is not Hermione."

"What do you mean I am not Hermione?" The person in front of them was good, Alexandra had to bow her hat to that, but there was an undertone of panic in her voice which couldn't be fully dissimulated.

"I mean you are not you pretend to be. Do you want to know the errors you made, fake Hermione?" Asked Alexandra with a false cheekiness, as Morag and Nigel drew their own wands and respectively pointed them to the back and the stomach of the Gryffindor imposter.

"Okay. You won. Call the Professors." The reflexion of Hermione had turned livid and was now sweating profusely as she faced the combined use of three magical wands emitting flashy sparks.

"First, Hermione always carry more than five books in her school bag." Alexandra enounced in a disinterested tone, ignoring the proposition of not-Hermione. "It was the case in the late Defence class, and she would not have the time to go to the library or her bedroom to depose them."

Alexandra made the sign of 'two' with her fingers.

"Secondly, your entire posture and manners wrong. Hermione doesn't walk, and her speech manners, while sometimes intrusive, are never this abrupt."

Sign 'three' with the fingers.

"Thirdly, contrary to one stranger would have assume, we did and still do research on the Heir of Slytherin. Arriving like that and revealing your ignorance was a huge clue you weren't who you pretended to be.

Fourth, my friend never disdains Crookshanks like that. This ginger cat is one of our mascots, not a 'replaceable piece of fur' like you said it."

"And fifth," said Alexandra touching lightly her nose, "Hermione like me does not put so much perfume on her at any moment of the day. Seriously, you smell so strong with this thing I felt it two corridors away!"

"It's the Oriental Essence of Beauty!" Protested vehemently the person who was obviously not Hermione Granger. "It's the latest trend according to Witch Weekly!"

"Whatever." Alexandra said, internally disgusted once could prioritise fashion over common sense in a spying assignment. The good point was that it gave her a good idea of the person hiding behind this ingenious piece of magic. Not many students in Hogwarts, no matter how rich and influential, had access to that sort of product.

"Expelliarmus." The wand in the pocket of the Hermione duplicate flew in Alexandra's right hand. "Petrificus Totalus!"


"Malfoy is an idiot." Said joyously Ron Weasley. "He spilled everything in the middle of the Slytherin Common Room!"

"He spilled everything he knew." Corrected Leo Black. The expression of the Black Heir was profusely satisfied, but there was an undercurrent of frustration. "He didn't know the identity of the Heir. We are back to step one and all our Polyjuice has gone in the attempt."

"But we got a huge deal of dirt on all the Slytherins of our year," affirmed Neville in a smug tone. "Crabbe, Goyle and Vaisey are so dumb Malfoy and Nott never stopped talking about the Heir and all the rule-breaking they were involved this year. We have them hot and ready to jump...and they don't even realise it!"

"Well, I'm really happy for you and all," Huffed Lavender Brown at the other side of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, back in her Gryffindor robes. "But listening to this bitch of Pansy Parkinson wasn't that fun at all! You promised me gossip, but all I had was pug-face insulting Bulstrode, her parents and her whole House for untold generations! And the Carrow Twins sent me Stinging hexes all the way and I could not jinx them back! When I call back this favour you owe me, Neville Longbottom, it won't be cheap!"

And the brown-haired Gryffindor, widely acknowledged as the Gossip Queen of Hogwarts, left the toilet by almost shattering the door in the process.

"I am going to pay for this, am I not?" Asked the Boy-Who-Lived rhetorically. Leo Black and Ron Weasley nodded wordlessly.

The Longbottom Heir grimaced quite a few seconds.

"Okay we will need a new plan."

"To discover or the Heir or to avoid Lavender's vengeance?" The tone of Leo Black was the one preceding a particularly humorous joke.

"Both. Incendio!" Neville Longbottom's incantation struck the Slytherin robes which had just been used to infiltrate the Viper's Den and promptly reduced them to formless tatters covered in ashes before levitating in the toilets the rest of the compromising evidence.

"Evidence erased. Now let's throw these in a dustbin and go back to the Common Room."

"What about Parvati?" Ron Weasley voice was worried, as the red-haired boy was standing against a pipe marking the middle of Myrtle's demesne. "She should have come back one quarter of an hour ago."

"Either she was delayed..." Started Leo.

"Or Potter found out who she was." Finished the Boy-Who-Lived, already planning contingency issues to limit the potential disaster.

"But I don't think it will be a problem." Continued Neville.

"Are you sure mate?" Ron face and posture explained clearly he not followed the same reasoning.

"Unlike Malfoy, Potter has zero sway with the Board of Governors or the Wizengamot. She is the daughter of a traitor, so nobody will take her word over ours. And my grandmother told me Dumbledore is her magical guardian, no complaint or suing will come if the Headmaster does not want to. We have nothing to fear." Neville explained, slowly regaining his confidence the longer he talked.

"And what do you make of Morag MacDougal?" Leo opposed. "Her family has a lot of influence and she has not a Death Eater past behind her!"

"The moment MacDougal joined Potter and their little group of outcasts was the moment her social life died." Countered dismissively Neville. "And the MacDougal influence is limited to Ireland. At Hogwarts and London, they only play minor and unimportant roles in politics. No, we have very little to fear. We have just to hope the Exiled don't beat up Parvati too badly."

"Yeah," Snorted Ron Weasley. "What's the worst that could happen?"


"Let me repeat all over again, because I don't think I can measure properly the levels of intelligence in this plan. Longbottom and his minions thought I was the Heir of Slytherin?"

"You were one of their main suspects, yes." Said numbly Parvati Patil. The moments since she had being reanimated from Alexandra Body-Bind Curse in an abandoned classroom had obviously been a shock to her. Having her hands tied behind her back and three students, two Ravenclaw and one Gryffindor, soon joined by a very irate Hermione granger, had decreased her courage to the point of non-existence.

"And what sort of facts convinced them of this? Did a genealogical search of my family revealed a past marriage with a Slytherin descendant? Did they have proof I was present at one of the attack scenes? Am I gifted with Parseltongue? Or has the Boy-Who-Lived made a careful investigation and discovered I had never a proper alibi?"

"Errr...no."

"Great." Alexandra did not bother hiding the sarcasm in her attitude and her voice. "May I know the reason why I was singled out then?"

"You fought them to protect Slytherins. And your father was a Death Eater."

"That's their reason?" Parvati nodded vigorously. "Fighting to defend someone being bullied is proof your are a witch with morals and an ethic. Of course, it's something most of the Lions lack in their everyday's life."

"You dare..." Silent and stony glares from Morag, Hermione, Nigel and Alexandra stopped the rest of the sentence.

"As for the subject of Death Eater relatives, I'm afraid I'm not the only one at Hogwarts. Because of the Ministry having accepted these ridiculous 'Imperius' pleads, a quarter of Slytherin House is testing positive to this trait. That we know about."

"There must be about a dozen Ravenclaw too." Added Morag. "Mostly older years."

The face of the Indian girl twitched slightly at that titbit of information. Like she had not been aware her twin sister was in the second-darkest House of Hogwarts.

"They did the same thing with the Slytherin, didn't they? Taking someone appearance and asking them several questions?"

Parvati hesitated briefly, before answering positively a muffled 'yes'.

"You have to admit, it could have worked..." Remarked Nigel.

"No." Answered Alexandra. "Not unless you know the person you impersonate very well, have amazing theatrical skills and your target has an ego bigger than the fortress of Minas Tirith."

"That's the problems which go with Polyjuice Potion." Said Hermione in her teaching tone. "It only copies the appearance of the genetic material you put into the Potion. There are no transfer of memories, no copy of mannerisms."

"Interesting."

"That and it's a very carefully controlled recipe." Noted Morag. "The Ministry had imposed very stringent regulations on its brewing, the potential for misuse of Polyjuice is too great for inheritance questions and usurpation of identity. You need Potions Master level for sure and the payment of a tax on the special ingredients needed. The text of instructions will not be found in the Common Library, maybe in the Restricted Section."

"And the sentence once caught brewing and using it illegally?"

Alexandra had a good idea but it was best to put a bit more pressure on Parvati.

"Brewing Polyjuice without Ministry authorisation is a one-way ticket for Azkaban." Unsurprisingly, it was Hermione who had answered. Seeing four heads turn in her direction, the brown-haired witch spoke defensively. "What? Professor Snape spoke of it in a class in December!"

"It must have been only the Gryffindor-Slytherin group, because I sure as Hell don't remember Professor Snape talking about this. And I don't sleep in Potions." Alexandra shrugged. "And using illegal Polyjuice?"

"Anything between heavy fine and a small prison detainment."

"You intent to sent me to jail?" The shriek of Parvati was enough to pierce the eardrums of the boy and the three girls forced to listen it.

"I could argue that if you had respected the law you wouldn't be in danger of making a quick trip to prison, but that would be a tad hypocritical for my taste." Alexandra frowned. "Besides, I doubt you would go to prison one single day or be physically incarcerated in the best of cases. Dumbledore has a soft spot for you the Gryffindors, and I think one of you being caught breaking the rules by me would be enough for an instantaneous dismissal of the charges."

"Professor Dumbledore is just and fair!" The bark had been almost automatic, but Parvati flushed one second after, realising how...submissive this answer could be taken. Plus the group of four was looking at her with pity at the naivety this affirmation implied.

Alexandra sent an ironic look to the fashion-girl before her, before her visage turning deadly serious.

"I am going to forget your pathetic attempt at spying, Parvati, but on the condition you will owe me one favour, to be paid to one of us at a later date."

"And if I refuse?" The brown skin of the Indian twelve-year old was transpiring with anxiety.

"Morag's family has quite a few shares in the Irish newspaper the Dancing Farfadet. I think we could arrange a few articles witnessing such a blatant rule-breaking, don't we Morag?"

"Sure, Alex. One of my mother's friends is their lead journalist-investigator."

"What guarantee I have you will respect your part of the deal?" The gossiper of the Patil Twins was plaintive.

The green-eyed witch had a violent envy to curse the Gryffindor witch here and there. How typical of the Lions to doubt the oaths of a person when they themselves did not respect neither the school laws nor the privacy of their schoolmates. This arrogance proved there was something deeply wrong with the House of Godric in her opinion.

"My word. Along with the promise I will make you pay one way or the other if you try to cross me." Alexandra looked the Indian-born girl directly in the eyes. "Do we have a deal?"