Roses and Thorns

One-Harry Comes Home

A hero cannot be a hero unless in a heroic world.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

“How much longer are they going to be in that stupid maze?� moaned Ron.

“Be patient,� sighed Mrs Weasley.

Ron grunted and slouched back in his seat. Hermione drummed her fingers on the wooden handrail of the stands. The crowd was starting to get impatient. Everybody was whispering and craning their necks to try and see a champion coming out of the maze. People kept getting up and moving to different rows to ask their friends if they knew what was going on. The teachers were still patrolling the maze, but there didn’t seem to be much point anymore.

He must have got to the cup by now,pleaded Hermione. Please let him have got it.

Then suddenly two boys and a silvery cup appeared out of nowhere and fell onto the grass just outside the maze. Hermione felt a huge smile spread across her face.

“Yes!� she screamed, jumping up wildly. “He’s won!�

Ron punched the air, “Knew he could do it!�

The crowd had gone wild. Most of the crowd was chanting ‘Di-go-ry! Di-go-ry!’ or ‘Potter is the best! He always beats the rest!’. A big bunch of Gryffindor boys were stamping their feet and applauding loudly. Several banners (Dean’s creations) flashed supportive messages at the maze. Cho was shrieking with delight a couple of rows down.

“He came first, Matteria. I knew he could do it!� she hugged her friend enthusiastically.

Dumbledore had instantly rushed over. Both boys were lying on their faces, though Harry was shuddering slightly with his leg sticking out at an odd angle.

“He doesn’t look very happy, does he?�

“Ginny!� said Mrs Weasley crossly. “Harry’s had a long day, he must be exhausted.�

Dumbledore had turned Harry over, but Hermione couldn’t hear what he was saying. She looked back at Cedric. He still hadn’t moved, even now he was lying face-down on the lawn, hair tousled, clothes spattered with mud. Something occurred to Hermione which made her shiver and pull her blue jacket closer around her. No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. Surely he wasn’t...

“Ron!� Hermione hissed, pulling her still cheering friend out of his seat.

“What is it?�

“We need to get to him,� said Hermione as she yanked him down the steps of the stands.

Fudge had run over, too. He was bending over Harry, who had let go of the gleaming cup but was clinging even more tightly to Cedric’s, still motionless, body. It was difficult to get down the steps. Everybody was getting out of their seats and surging forward, wanting to be the first to congratulate Harry and Cedric.

“Come on!� Hermione beckoned to Ron.

She slipped between two seventh-year Hufflepuffs and ducked underneath a Ravenclaw’s arm. Because Ron was so much taller, he could force people to move aside for him. He had to yell over the noise of the crowd.

“What’s the rush, you don’t have to be the first one to say well done, you know?� he asked as he followed her through a clump of burly sixth-years.

“Something’s wrong,� she said, standing on tip-toe to try and see what was going on. Fudge was looking anxiously at Cedric’s corp-no, body, Hermione told herself firmly. He’s just fainted, that’s all. They’d come within hearing range. Harry was whispering something urgently to Dumbledore, but she couldn’t quite make out the exact words.

�My God-Diggory!�* choked Fudge, just loud enough to be audible.“Dumbledore-he’s dead!�*

The words seemed to echo around Hermione’s head. The crowd was suddenly full of gasps and screams. How could he be? This was Hogwarts. How could Dumbledore have let this happen? Cedric Diggory…dead.

Hermione stood on the spot, swaying slightly for a few seconds, then ran down even faster, her hair sweeping behind her. She had to get there. She didn’t have a clue what to say to Harry, but all her mind was fixed on was arriving. Hermione craned her neck sideways to try and see what was going on. Dumbledore was talking to Fudge.

�I’ll take him-�*

“No, I would prefer-�*

Hermione heard the thud of her shoes against the grass. Her arms flailed at her sides, willing her forwards.

�Dumbledore, Amos Diggory’s running…he’s coming over…don’t you think you should tell him-before he sees-?�*

“Harry, stay here.�*

“Hermione! Look ahead!� yelled Ron.

“What?� she turned half round to look at him.

WHAM! She felt herself collide with someone. She tripped backwards and fell with her head upwards. The ground tilted violently towards her as she smashed into it. Hermione lay there for a few seconds, trying to work out what had happened. She stared at the sky above her. It was full of stars careering around as though they were sequins sewn on black velvet which was being shaken out. Hermione flicked her fringe out of her eyes and gingerly raised her head.

“Miss Granger,� came a soft, silky voice, “would you be kind enough not to try to head butt me, I have a lot of very important things I need to do.�

Hermione glared at one of her least favourite teachers, Professor Snape.

“She didn’t do it on purpose,� said Ron rudely. He bent down next to Hermione.

“Five points from Gryffindor, Mr Weasley,� said Snape as he stalked away.

“Git,� muttered Ron under his breath.

“Now, now, what is all this commotion about?� demanded Professor McGonagall. She stopped and stared at Hermione, who was still lying face down on the ground.

“Miss Granger, I’m surprised at you. A boy has just died and-�

“It wasn’t her fault, she ran into Sna-Professor Snape!� said Ron, angrily.

Hermione felt a brush tickle her cheeks. He was standing up for her.

She sat up, wincing, “I need to go to Harry!�

“You will not. Go back into the stands and wait until you are called!� Ron pulled her up and they walked back into the edge of the crowds. Their Transfiguration teacher hurried away, muttering to herself and pulling out her wand.

Hermione closed her eyes. The throbbing in her temples just seemed to be getting worse. If it would only go away so she could think clearly about what to do next. She supposed they would just have to wait until the teachers left Harry alone. If he wanted to talk to them, but Hermione couldn’t blame him if he didn’t. If it was her she would never want to speak to anyone again.

“What’s Moody doing?� asked Ron.

She opened her eyes again, “Huh? What were you saying?�

“Look.� he pointed to the retreating backs of their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and Harry. Moody kept on looking behind him, shiftily, as though checking he wasn’t being watched. “Dumbledore told him to wait there.�

“Maybe he changed his mind.�

“I hope he has. Harry shouldn’t be made to wait around outside with people goggling at him.�

“I think he wanted him here for a reason,� said Hermione as she sat down on the grass.

After about five minutes, Dumbledore and McGonagall came hurrying across the pitch. They stopped suddenly.

“Where’s they boy?� she asked.

Hermione got up, “Erm, Professor Moody took him away somewhere. I think he took him to the Hospital Wing.�

Something like fear flickered over the Headmaster’s face, “When did this happen, Miss Granger?�

“Just a few minutes ago.�

Snape had joined and was listening intently. Hermione felt uncomfortable under the gazes of the three teachers. She blushed and looked at her shoes. Why couldn’t they look somewhere else?

“Which direction did they go in?� asked Dumbledore, quietly.

Hermione pointed towards the castle, which was glowing in the last, very orange rays of the dying sun. The sky behind it was red rapidly fading into blue, and shimmered with speckles of stars. McGonagall gasped, “You’re right Albus, it’s true!�

The three teachers started to run towards the castle. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, and followed. They sprinted across the lawn to they path leading to Hogwarts. Every muscle inside her was acing and bruised, but she willed herself to carry on. Harry’s in danger, something’s going to happen to him! Next to her Ron was rasping for breath. Their eyes met and he flashed her a quick grin. Hermione took the stone steps two at time, with even more energy than before. As she swung the door open, Professor McGonagall looked back.

“Weasley! Granger!� she spat furiously.

Snape glared at them, “What are you two doing here?�

“Let them come, Severus,� said Dumbledore.

Professor McGonagall froze. She stared at Dumbledore as though his head had suddenly burst into flame. “B-but,� she spluttered, “the danger! They’re only children.�

“Let them come,� repeated Dumbledore quietly. Hermione felt a warm rush of gratitude to the Headmaster as they hurried up a twisting spiral staircase. They headed down a stone corridor, and Ron almost crashed into a tarnished suit of armour.

“We’re not going to the Hospital Wing,� gasped Hermione, “this is-�

They’d stopped outside the door to Moody’s office. Dumbledore signalled for silence as they crept closer and closer. Her stomach twisted when she heard what the teacher was almost yelling inside it.

“-is back, Harry Potter, you did not conquer him-and now-I conquer you!�*

She hadn’t noticed Dumbledore raise his wand. He tapped the door, which splintered with a sudden flash of white light which made Hermione’s eyes sting. She stumbled back into Ron, fumbling in her jeans waistband for her wand.

The Headmaster aimed a Stunning spell at Moody, which hit him squarely in the chest. He was thrown back onto the office floor, and slumped against his trunk. Hermione tentatively stepped into the room. She felt numb and scared as she glanced around it. How could Moody have tried to kill Harry? He was one of Dumbledore’s most trusted friends, and an ex-Auror. She walked past the Foe-Glass, which the three teachers were glaring out of, towards Harry. He was shaking slightly, his eyes fixed on the spot where Moody’s head had been moments before. If they’d arrived a few minutes later…

Hermione felt sick and hugged Harry tightly, “Are you ok?�

He didn’t reply, just shrugged his shoulders and gave a weak sort of smile. Harry finally stopped looking at the Foe-Glass. She wanted to say something to him, but the words wouldn’t form in her brain. What could she say?

“It was Moody all along,� croaked Harry, “he did it all. He put my name in the goblet, and he guided me through all the tasks so that he could-�

Dumbledore raised his hand for silence. He looked terrifying. “This person here,� he gestured to the man lying on the floor, “is not the real Moody. You have never met the real one. The person there is an impostor. A brilliant one, who must be a great wizard, and a cunning one too, but the real Alastor Moody never would have taken you away tonight.�

Snape pulled the hip-flask from inside Moody’s coat. He unscrewed the silver cap and showed the flask to Dumbledore, “Polyjuice potion.�

“As I suspected. A simple idea, but ingenious nethertheless. Which means the real Alastor must also be here. The impostor needed his hair for the potion.� Dumbledore examined the person who looked like Moody, “But we will worry about that later. It seems we will soon know who this person really is. He is changing back.�

Everyone quickly looked over to the fake Moody. The potion was starting to wear off, and he was growing more conscious as it did so. Within a few minutes his face had become smooth, whole and angular. The magic eye had fallen out, to be replaced by two normal, brown, if slightly bulging, eyes. The wooden leg fell away as Moody’s robes grew baggier as the body inside them grew thinner and taller. His hair was now thick and straw-coloured. It all seemed to flop over the left side of his face. Hermione moved backwards, dragging Harry with her.

“Who is he?�

“It’s Mr Crouch’s son. I saw him on trial,� Harry looked disbelievingly at the slumped figure.

Crouch blinked slowly as freckles began to appear slowly all over his face. He looked like he’d just woken up. He yawned and pushed his hands through his hair.

“Severus, the Veritaserum,� said Dumbledore urgently as he bent down to examine the young man.

Snape produced a small glass bottle and handed it to the Headmaster. Crouch tried to pull away but Dumbledore forced his mouth open and dripped in three drops of colourless liquid inside.

“Now Barty Crouch,� he said, “tell us exactly what you are doing at Hogwarts pretending to be Alastor moody.

***

Hermione sat down on the cold stone step outside the Hospital Wing and put her knuckles against her eyes. It was too much information coming in at once. Bits of interrogation kept spinning back into her mind. About his escape from Azkaban…all the time he spent being trapped under the Imperius curse…the Quidditch world cup…and how he’d killed his own father, and been deliriously happy about it. How could he be so pleaded to have done it? It made her want to throw up.

But, despite all he’d done, she mainly just felt pity for him. After all, how would she have turned out if her father despised and ignored her? Maybe she would have joined the Dark Side. And he couldn’t have been all bad, his mother had liked him. She must have loved him a lot to sacrifice the last of his life to get him safely out of Azkaban. But had she really helped him? Hermione shuddered to think what life would be like trapped inside one house, hardly ever going out, with a father who pretended he wasn’t there. It was no surprise that he’d tried to escape. Hermione probably would’ve. But she felt cold thinking how close he’d been to her during that match. Only a row behind her. And in the forest…he had been only a few metres away from them.

Hermione lent against the cold stone wall. it was hard to believe, yet it made complete sense. Maybe Harry would be able to shed some more light on it, when he woke up, of course. After he had come out of Dumbledore’s office, he’d been sent straight to the Hospital Wing, which was becoming quite crowded. Moody, after having been found in his own trunk, was there. Harry was sleeping in one of the beds, with lots of people including the Weasleys and Sirius (disguised as a dog) sitting by him. And an unconscious Barty Crouch, who seemed to have got concussion from his fall, with Professor McGonagall guarding him.

Hermione heard some people yelling inside the Hospital Wing. What were they doing? They’d wake Harry up. She heard the clunk of furniture and some yells of ‘Stuperfy’. Hermione ran back inside.

In the Hospital Wing, the scene was pure chaos. Sirius was barking madly. Harry was standing on his bed with his wand outstretched. Several people were lying unconscious on the floor. Ron dived behind a chest of drawers to avoid being hit by a curse which had just bounced off the ceiling. A chair flew Hermione’s way and she jumped left, almost crashing into a table with jars all over it. Spells were flying left, right and centre.

And standing proudly on a bed, which was now on its side, looking like a conqueror returning from battle was Barty Crouch. He was surrounded on all angles by people brandishing wands.

“Come on, get down now,� said McGonagall, “be reasonable.�

“Reasonable? Me? Never.�

And before anyone could cast another spell, Crouch had jumped over the top of Ron, landed neatly on the other side, and run up to Hermione.

He grabbed her round the waist and held his wand to her neck, “Don’t anybody move, or she’s dead.�

Hermione could hardly breathe. There was absolute silence. He was pressing her against him, but she couldn’t see anything of him but his feet. She gave out a slight whimper.

“Sorry about this,� he whispered in her ear so it tickled, “I generally try to keep women out of this sort of thing.�

If his wand hadn’t been pressed against the side of her neck quite so hard, she would have yelled that she didn’t care what he usually did. All she wanted was to let her go.

“Now everybody,� Crouch said, edging backwards slightly and dragging Hermione with him, “there’s absolutely no need to panic. Can everybody please put their wands down.�

She tried to look around, to see what they were going to do, but he kept her looking straight on. Would they do it? Would he kill her if they didn’t? There was a clatter of noise as people dropped their wands on the floor. Harry looked reluctant.

“Potter, put your wand down,� said McGonagall sharply.

He looked around the room, and then dropped his too.

“That’s good,� he said, pulling Hermione back to the wall and letting go of her, finally.

She could suddenly breathe again. She gasped for air, and stumbled backwards into the wall. Relief flooded through her. She was alright. He hadn’t done anything to her.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to go now. It’s a shame, I know, but there’s a very important appointment I have to keep,� he winked, grabbed a broomstick that was lying on the floor, leapt onto the window sill, gave a flourishing bow, and jumped out. “Byeee!�

“Hermione, are you alright?� asked Ron.

Harry jumped off the creaking bed and ran to the open window, “He’s on that broom. HE’S GOING TO ESCAPE!�

He grabbed his wand and tore from the room, followed by Ron and Hermione. They would probably be too late, but they couldn’t just give up now. Ron gasped as the three of them rounded the corner and hurtled down a flight of steps. They found themselves in the Entrance Hall already. Without another word they sprinted across it and out into the night.

As they sped into the grounds Barty Crouch was just passing the lake.

“Ah, this looks like my fan club! Would you like me to sign some autographs?�

Harry pulled his wand out and tried to think of the foulest, most painful curse he knew.

“Expelliamus,� said Crouch, sounding almost bored, making Harry’s wand soar away from him.

He was getting to the point where he’d be able to Disapparate. Hermione tried to run faster, but her muscles were burning and all the air seemed to have left her body. She could tell what Harry was thinking. That they couldn’t let that man escape. They had to catch him up. Crouch was outside the Hogwarts grounds now. He dismounted his broom, waved at the three of them, and Disapparated, shooting a Dark Mark into the sky as he did so.

“NO!� yelled Harry, sinking down onto the wet grass. “COME BACK! COME BACK AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN, YOU COWARD!�

The Dark Mark above them glimmered and made Harry’s eyes light up with green sparks.

Two- Messages

“Becoming responsible adults is no longer a matter of whether children hang up their pajamas or put dirty towels in the hamper, but whether they care about themselves and others -- and whether they see everyday chores as related to how we treat this planet.�
EDA LESHAN

A girl was lying on top of her bed in her room staring at the ceiling. Her straight black hair, which fell half-way down her back, was tumbled all over the bed, making a sharp contrast with the white pillow. She had large brown eyes freshly soaked in tears set in a heart-shaped face. By her side was a small ceramic bowl filled with nuts. Every now and again she picked one out, cracked its shelf with her teeth, discarded the casing into the bin next to the bed, and ate it listlessly.

She hated being here. Normally she enjoyed the school holidays. There were no annoying Potions lessons, and there was lots of time to relax and do the things she enjoyed most. Like drawing, reading or flying in the huge backyard on her broom. And if being by herself started to get to her, while her parents were out of work, she could invite a friend over for the day. And, of course, there was plenty of holiday homework she usually had, especially for Arithmancy. She’d managed to get through most summer breaks, but this one dragged by infuriatingly slowly.

But now they weren’t holidays, the girl remembered with a jolt. She wasn’t going back in September. That was the reason she couldn’t settle to anything. Now that You-Know-Who was back, the Ministry had decided to close Hogwarts ‘for the safety of the students and teachers’. The girl snorted and cracked another nut. As if Hogwarts wasn’t the most secure place in the whole country, thanks to Dumbledore. But, considering what had happened in the maze, maybe it was the best thing to do.

Stop it, she told herself firmly. Don’t worry about that now. Think about something else.

But she couldn’t prevent herself from remembering what had happened at Hogwarts, after the Third Task…

No one had even considered her, as usual. She’d been pushed back as everyone hurried closer. People who’d hardly noticed him before, and who just wanted to have a good look at his body. Harry had been led away by a teacher, and then it was just him, abandoned on the grass next to the cup. The cup he’d given his life for.

Dumbledore had run off to talk to Amos Diggory. He hadn’t thought about a short, freckled Chinese girl with big brown eyes clutching a staircase barrier half way up the stands. No, no one ever cared about her. Girls who wanted to become popular were quite happy to hang around with her. They were fine with chatting about boys they liked and clothes they wanted to buy and all the boring homework which was interrupting their social lives. But it was amazing how quickly they all disappeared when she had a problem bigger than ‘what colour should I wear on the Hogsmeade trip?’

After everything was cleared down by the maze, everyone was led away. The Ravenclaws had been hurried off to the Tower by Professor Flitwick. She hardly saw the Common Room swathed in blue silk as she ran upstairs to her dormitory. She threw herself onto her bed and sobbed into the fresh white pillow.

Cedric…her Cedric, was gone. How could it have happened? Did it have some thing to do with Harry? Was it his fault? Did something go for him inside that maze, and Cedric saved him? That would be so like him. He was always so kind and noble. She’d hardly been on speaking terms with him for more than a year. And there was so much more she wanted to know about him. Who were his parents? When did he learn all those random little bits of information he occasionally came out with? Where did he live? And what had he seen in her? Because she knew he hadn’t just dated her because she was popular and had lots of friends, like some boys did. It wasn’t all a game to him, or a silly stunt. And he hadn’t just done it to get attention. He had truly cared for her, she knew it. But they had never talked about those sorts of things. They’d only been dating since the Yule Ball. All they had spoken about was Quidditch, and school stuff, and general things like that. And now she’d never know…

What she had desperately wanted to do right now was just talk to someone and tell them everything. But, surprise, surprise, all her friends seemed to have miraculously disappeared. Not a single one came up here to ask her how she was feeling or just give her a hug. They were all probably hiding down in the Common Room shrieking over the latest pin-up. Cedric had been on their ‘Cutest Boys Ever’ list once. But then he’d asked Cho out and therefore, by law number thirty-five of Girl World, he was her ‘property’ and as her friends, they weren’t allowed to think about him.

Even in the middle of her tears, she couldn’t help laughing a little. All those ridiculous rules which, as a Popular Girl, she’d been obliged to honour, obey, and learn by heart. All the ridiculous things she’d played along with. Cedric had never done anything he had known was wrong or stupid. Why wasn’t it him who was alive? There was so much he could have done. And what use was she to the rest of the world?

She heard voices on the stairs. Was that Marietta or Ellie? Had someone finally come to ask her if she was ok? The door swung open, and the two girls walked into the room. It was so dark in the dormitory, she could only tell who they were by the silhouettes they made against the window.

Ellie looked around, “Where’s Cho?�

She was about to speak when Marietta answered instead, “I think she’s asleep, thank God. Tonight, I just couldn’t stand anymore tears from her.�

She had just been about to get off the bed when she froze. So they hadn’t come to check up on her.

“I know. I just hate the way she’s always crying to get attention. And she’s always so ‘oooh, look at me, look at me! I’m so brilliant at Flying and Arithmancy!’ She always has to be at the centre of everything.�

“That is so right! And she’s always complaining about her parents wanting her to become a Healer. I mean, for God’s sake, what’s wrong with being one? There are always jobs going at St. Mungo’s and the salaries are mega-huge.�

Cho almost choked. They’d always been so supportive and sympathetic about her ‘fate worse than death’ as she liked to call it. Was lots of money all they cared about? What about finding a job that interests you, or one with skills you have? She loved subjects like Astronomy and Arithmancy. She wouldn’t need them to be a Healer. So why was she going to have to drop them at the end of the year, and keep Potions. Did her parents just want her to be something she wasn’t?

“And remember when she was yelling at Charlie after Arithmancy. She was being so big-headed just because Professor Vector said she’d have no trouble getting ‘Outstanding’ in her OWL. So what Charlie’s still only at ‘Poor’? She doesn’t have to rub it in.�

Cho was clenching a fistful of bedclothes in one hand so tightly she was scoring red marks into her hand. Didn’t they remember it had been stinking Charlotte (she refused to call her Charlie) Brocklehurst who had started it?

“Oh my god yeah, and the way she went ‘oh, I’m surprised anyone as clearly stupid as you are could have got into Ravenclaw’.�

“And she’s such a drama-queen. When Charlie said ‘that’s rich coming from you! You suck at Potions!’ she started pretending to cry and went ‘oh how creative, I suck. Quick, pass me a tissue, I’m going to cry!�

“And it’s totally true! She is so bad in Potions. She tries to blame it all on Snape, but, I mean, no way it’s just his fault!�

Cho gave a slight cough which made both girls almost jump out of their skins.

“Ohmygod, what was that?� whispered Ellie.

Marietta crept closer to Cho’s bed, “It’s alright, she’s still asleep.�

“Thank god! I’m so totally going to bed before she wakes up.�

“Same.�

A hoot and tapping at the window jolted Cho out of her day-dream. She sat up abruptly, sending the near-empty bowl of nuts sliding down the bed sheets and on a collision course with the floor. It hit the carpet with a dull thud and scattered bits of shell everywhere. Cursing under her breath, Cho quickly bent down to pick them up. As she looked over her shoulder to see what the disturbance was, she saw one of the grey school owls screeching on her window sill. With her heart beating very fast, she carefully opened the casement and detached the two letters tied to its leg. The bird took off again in a whirl of feathers. One of the envelopes was obviously her dreaded OWL grades.

Windows,Cho smiled to herself, are not good for me at the moment. But last time was much worse…

It had taken hours and hours for her to get to sleep after Marietta and Ellie had settled down for the night. Gradually, all the other girls had come to bed too, and one by one they had all dropped off. Until it was just Cho, lying on her back in a dark, silent dormitory. The whole rest of the school seemed to be peacefully at rest, except for her. She sighed, and turned onto her front, impatiently punching her pillow into a more comfortable shape. After a few more minutes, she jumped up and went to the window.

She was pouring herself a glass of water from the jug on the sill when she noticed movement outside. Cho pressed her face against the cold glass. It was difficult to see…everything was so dark. But she could just about make out a figure, with a billowing cape, soaring across the grounds on a broom. The person was just crossing the lake when three more humans tore out from the Entrance Hall to the castle.

Cho opened the window and leaned her head out to try and hear what they were saying. There was a flash of light as the one on the broom disarmed the runner who was closer than the other two. She watched the wand soaring in a graceful arc. They were chasing the figure in the cloak out of the grounds. He (or she) jumped off his broom and vanished, shooting a sickening, green thing into the sky. Like what she had seen at the Quidditch World Cup. A huge serpent slithering out of the mouth of a skull.

It was horrible, and gleamed vividly. Cho felt sick, but it was impossible to look away. She stared at it, her eyes going out of focus . It was only when one of the figures below shouted out that she turned away and jumped back into bed, pulling the covers around her ears.

Cho shook herself. She was becoming more and more unfocused, now the holidays were drawing to the end. Normally, this time was full of packing, sorting out books, finishing off Potions holiday work (which she always left until the last minute) and appreciating the last few days of relaxation she had left. But now, all Cho had to look forward to were more days of endless boredom.

She suddenly realized that her letters were lying on the window sill, still unopened. Half smiling to herself as she picked them up, Cho wondered for the millionth time how her mind could wonder so much from something as important as OWL grades. She picked them up and settled down comfortably on her bed to find out her fate.

Her hands were shaking as she tore the first envelope, and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. Cho stared at it for a second, breathed heavily, scrunched her eyes up and flipped it open.

Cautiously, she opened one eye, then the other, and began to read.

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS

Pass grades:
Outstanding (O)
Exceeds Expectations (E)
Acceptable (A)

Fail grades:
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)

CHO OLIVIA CHANG HAS ACHIEVED:

Arithmancy: O
Astronomy: O
Care of Magical Creatures: O
Charms: O
Defence Against the Dark Arts: E
Divination: E
Herbology: O
History of Magic: A
Potions: A
Transfiguration: O

Cho gasped! She’d passed everything, even Potions! Well, take that Snape for you and all your ‘predicted grades’. The way he swept down on her the lesson before the exam, in front of the whole class and said,

“Ah, and as for Miss Chang, I think she’ll be very lucky to get a ‘D’. This subject seems to be far beyond the realms of nail varnish and hair extensions. �

Cho had felt her cheeks burn as Charlie and her little friends snickered behind her.

And…Cho scanned the list again. She was surprised with her ‘E’ in Divination, though. In the exam, she’d just made it all up. Ah well, who’s complaining? Maybe that was what all Seers were, just lucky guessers.

Wow! An ‘O’ in Arithmancy, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Herbology and Transfiguration. That was six top grades. Her parents would be ecstatic. Wait till they got home and she told them! They wouldn’t be thrilled about the two ‘A’s, though.

But who cares, thought Cho, I can’t be good at everything, can I?

She quickly opened the second letter, though she had no idea what else Hogwarts or the Ministry had to say to her. It was written in shiny green ink. Cho’s eyes lit up as she read.

Dear Miss Chang,

As you are no doubt aware, Hogwarts has been closed due to concern for the safety of the students. However, if you wish to continue your magical education and help fight the Death Eaters, then you are very welcome to come back to Hogwarts, which is now the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, and join us. Please do not make your decision lightly. The work will be very difficult, and probably dangerous.

A card is enclosed. When you go to King’s Cross Station, as usual, walk to Platform nine and three-quarters. After getting inside, there will be a Particle Debit machine. Slot the card into it and follow the instructions. Do so by the first of September at the latest, or it will expire.

Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Principal of the Order of the Phoenix

Cho sat up straighter. She had to go! This was her one chance to fight against the evil people who had killed Cedric. Mum and dad would be disappointed, they were both trying to pull high-up strings in St Mungo’s. But she was sure they wouldn’t succeed. Would they really take a girl who didn’t even have her OWL gra-…well who hadn’t finished school? And anyway, it was her life, wasn’t it?

She slid the card out of the envelope. It was quite heavy, made of plastic in a rounded rectangular shape. The school crest was embossed in the top right hand corner. Underneath it ‘Miss Cho Chang’ was printed, then a long string of numbers below it. On the reverse there was a black strip and expiry date. She put the two letters and the card into her jeans pocket.

Now all she needed to do was tell her parents. Maybe she’d soften the blow with her OWL results. They’d both been in Ravenclaw, so learning was prized highly in her family. Right. She’d tell them tonight over dinner. If they were both back, of course. Cho was half-way across the room to pick her broom up for a ride outside when she heard a roar from the fireplace downstairs.

“I’m home!� her mum called.

She froze for a second, felt to make sure her letters were still there and ran downstairs into the kitchen.

Her mum was already busy cooking dinner. She was supervising a legion of knives which were chopping vegetables up on the work surfaces. By now the white, shiny cooker was laden with simmering pots. Cho dodged round the wooden dining table and almost tripped over her black cat Ivy, who had, of course, come home now it was feeding time.

“Ah. Cho. Can you set the table, please? I’ve got a brilliant piece of news for you.�

“Oh,� I have to think of a way to introduce the subject of going back to Hogwarts.

Her mum hesitated, “But maybe I should wait until your father gets home.�

Good idea, thought Cho.And I will too. She didn’t want to have to explain everything to her mum, and then tell it all over again to dad. Or worse, her mother shrieking the whole story (with plenty of exaggerations) to him, if she took it badly. But Cho was hoping at the moment that they wouldn’t.

She slid open the creamy cutlery draw, and pulled out three knives and forks. She could say she was going back to finish her education. Her parents might buy that.

***

Twenty minutes later, Cho was sitting uncomfortably at the dinner table. Her parents were scrutinizing her, as if they knew she had something to hide. She looked down at her willow pattern plate.

“Well…start everybody,� her mum said.

Cho picked up her knife and fork and began to cut up her slightly tough jacket potato. With a particularly violent attempt to puncture the skin, she sent half her peas rolling all over the tiled floor.

“Cho,� said her father sharply, “pick those up at once!�

“Yes dad,� she said, waiting until she’d slid off her chair, then rolling her eyes.

Once she’d thrown the peas into the bin and returned to her place, her mum coughed and began to speak in a nervous, fluttery voice, “Yes, so, err…I h-have some news for you both!�

Cho hardly heard her as she played with her carrots. She really couldn’t care less. Her mum wasn’t eating either, but the hand that held her knife was trembling slightly.

“Well, I was speaking to Marianne Knightly, you know, the Head of Creature Induced Injuries, about Cho. And she said that they’re desperate for a new Trainee Healer. Apparently they can’t find anyone. So asked if she would like Cho to come in and help, and she said yes!�

“That’s wonderful. When do they want her to start?�

“As soon as she can. Isn’t that brilliant, Cho?�

She couldn’t trust herself to speak to anyone. Inside she was screaming. How could they? She didn’t want to work there, she wanted to join the Order. She looked up. Her dad had taken his glasses off and was cleaning them on his jumper. He put them back on and surveyed her coldly.

“Cho?� asked her mum. “When do you want to start? Monday?�

“NO!� she almost yelled, and suddenly realized she was on her feet.

Her parents stared at her, looking shocked. Her mum’s heart-shaped face was pale. The large, brown eyes Cho had inherited were wide with horror and disbelief. She gawped at her. Cho cleared her throat and sat down.

“I mean…why would they want me? I haven’t even done my NEWTs.�

“Hogwarts has closed. You’ve at least done your OWLs, it’s going to be the best they’ll get.�

“But I’m rubbish at doing things under pressure! I just panic.�

Her mum smiled at her warmly from across the table, “You’ll learn. It didn’t come to me naturally, either.�

Cho cast around for another objection, one they couldn’t overcome. “I-I can’t come because I’m going to join the Order of the Phoenix!� she blurted out before she’d thought about it.

Her mother gaped at her, “What? Why do you want to…where did you get that from?�

“I was sent a letter about it. I have to go by the first of September.�

Cho’s dad just laughed, “Very funny. Now eat your dinner up like a good girl. We’ll sort out a time for you to go and see the Head of Creatures tomorrow.�

“No,� she stood up and stamped her foot impatiently on the white and dark blue tiles, “I want to join the Order!�

“Why would they want you? There are plenty of Aurors around.�

“Look!� Cho pulled the slightly crumpled letters from her pocket and threw them onto the table. “McGonagall wrote to everyone asking them.�

Her dad picked up the top piece of parchment. His smile vanished after a few seconds. “You’re not going,� he said darkly.

Maybe, in the days before Cedric died, Cho would have just nodded sulkily and slunk off to her room. But not now. Because she knew that she might be dead tomorrow, and that there was no point in wanting something unless you were prepared to fight for it, until the bitter end.

“I will,� Cho said quietly.

“You are going to St Mungo’s. Don’t you care about all the trouble your mother’s gone to, just so you can have a good, safe job?�

“Of course I’m grateful, but I didn’t ask for it, did I? I never wanted anything to do with Healers or hospitals!� she shrieked.

“Both your mother and I have been-� raged her dad.

“But this is my life for me to do what I want. I’m sick of you trying to control everything I do.�

“We’re trying to do what’s best for you. You’re too young to be making decisions like these.�

“I think I should be able to choose for myself. Now, will you let me join the Order?� she replied more calmly.

“Sit down and eat your dinner.�

“Are you going to give me permission?�

“Go to your room,� said her mum quietly.

Both Cho and her dad jumped. They’d completely forgotten she was in the room, too. She stood up, shaking slightly. Her hands fluttered around her black, shiny bun, making sure every strand of hair was secure.

“I think it’s time for you to go to bed,� her thin lips were quivering as she spoke.

Cho folded her arms and leant against the cornflower blue wall, “Not until you’ve told me-�

“DO AS YOUR MOTHER SAYS!�

“No, I want to know now.�

“You will not go to work in the Order. St Mungo’s is an excellent place, and when you’re older you will realize this.�

“Fine, I’ll go without permission then,� and Cho swept her letters off the table and stalked out of the room.

She ran upstairs and hurtled into her room. She glanced around it for a few seconds, then began to pack as much as she possibly could squeeze into her lilac suitcase and rucksack. Books…shoes…clothes…diary…toothbrush…more books…

Finally, Cho slammed the lid down on her trunk. She grabbed Ivy, who had just slunk into the room and twined around her leg, and shoved her into the cat basket. Making sure her card and OWL results were still safe in her pocket, she picked up her luggage, and pulled it with some difficulty down the stairs. In the hall Cho picked up a powder blue rain coat, opened the door and walked as quickly as possible down the street.

After about fifteen minutes, her boiling rage had simmered down into panic. How was she going to get to King’s Cross Station? She couldn’t walk there, obviously, and she had no Muggle money for a taxi. Why had she lost her head back then, instead of calmly pointing out the facts? She could have persuaded them.

Cho crossed the deserted road and heaved her suitcase down another street. They all looked the same. She walked one way, and then another. She gave out a little whimper, turned around, and then sat down on the pavement heavily and cried. Why did she have to be so stupid and reckless? Now she had no idea where she was, and had no hope of finding her way anywhere until daylight. Cho was just about to gather up her stuff when an idea hit her like an omnibus edition of ‘The Standard Book Of Spells’. Of course! The Knight Bus. She was such an idiot. How many times had she used it? Cho grabbed her wand and waved it around over the gutter until a triple-decker, purple bus screeched around the corner. A pimply young man in uniform the same colour as the bus leapt onto the pavement.

“Hello and welcome to the Knight Bus, which provides transport to all the destinations you can think of. I am your conductor, Stan Shunpike, and we’ll take you anywhere you want to go for a very reasonable price.�

Cho was about to pick her suitcase up, but Stan said, “No, no, no. You get on and find yourself a bed. I’ll take these for you.�

He began to pick up her luggage while she stepped on board and got her purse out.

“King’s Cross Station, please.�

Three-Robert Moore, Healer

We must all learn our limits. We are all something, but none of us are everything.

BLAISE PASCAL

It was just getting dark as Cho wobbled off the Knight Bus. The conductor person was very keen to get rid of her (she’d been sick three times all over the place). She lugged her cases into an unusually quiet King’s Cross Station. It was so eyrie inside, with practically no people. Cho dumped her luggage onto a trolley and wheeled it to Platform Nine and three-quarters. The only noises were her footsteps and the ‘click, click, click’ of her trolley. It seemed like she was the only person on Earth. She walked as fast as she could to the ticket barrier.

Normally the place around Platforms Nine and Ten were swarming with Muggles so it was difficult to go without being noticed. Now there was no one to see. It seemed like an empty shell without all the people. Like her. She was a ghost of the happy, laughing girl who had pushed her trolley to this spot almost a year ago. Then she was giggling with Ellie looking forward to a bright new term. Not knowing in a year’s time she would have been asked out by two Champions. Not suspecting she would have kissed kind, honest Cedric Diggory. And definitely not guessing a year later You-Know-Who would be back, Hogwarts would be closed, and she’d be running away to join the Order of the Phoenix. Cho felt so empty as she steered her trolley and took a deep breath.

She gripped it tightly and ran towards the barrier. When she was two feet away she closed her eyes, and only opened them again when she was on the other side. There was no Hogwarts Express, no students, no anxious parents. Only a dingy thing which looked quite like a Muggle Cash Machine stood against the brick wall. Cho fumbled in her jeans pocket until she found her card, and slotted it into the reader. The blank screen popped into life, with yellow lettering appearing on a purple background.

“Are you Miss Cho Chang?� she read out loud.

She pressed the silver ‘yes’ button.

A few questions came up about her House, favourite subjects and Quidditch position. She supposed it was to make sure she was Cho Chang.

“Location predetermined: Hogwarts castle. Have a pleasant journey,� she read out and grabbed her bags before she disappeared in a flash of electric blue light.

***

Cho slammed down onto the grass outside Hogwarts. She gasped. This Particle Debit machine certainly knew how to make it feel like you’d been ripped apart and hastily glued back together again. She definitely preferred Floo Powder. Cho picked herself, and her bags, up and walked unsteadily towards the front door of Hogwarts.

Now her journey was almost at an end, she was starting to get so nervous her stomach twisted itself into complex knots. What if they’d made a mistake? Or the Order didn’t want her? The whole idea of having to go back to her parents and grovel to be forgiven was unbearable. She’d rather live on the streets.

Not sure what to do, Cho knocked on the front door. She put her suitcase down and waited. After a few minutes, she heard footsteps in the Entrance Hall, and the door was yanked open. A girl with bushy brown hair pulled back into a messy bun stuck her head out.

“Oh, hi Cho.�

“Erm-hello, Hermione. I’ve come-�

“- to join the Order. Yes, I know.�

She bent down to pick up her bags.

“Don’t worry about those. You go in and get some food.�

“Wow, is dinner still on, then?� Cho asked eagerly. She suddenly felt really hungry.

“Yep. Some members arrive quite late.�

She almost ran across the marble floor and into the Great Hall. Cho gasped. She was so used to seeing four long House tables that the room without them seemed empty. There was just a single rectangular one with an odd assortment of chairs. It wasn’t as though there were only a few people, but compared to the thousand who sat there, it was a big difference. Everyone became silent as she walked in, peering to get a good look at her. It was like being on stage. Cho tried to speed past everyone as fast as she could.

She passed her Transfiguration teacher, in conversation with a fairly young black-haired man. Next to them the Patil twins were giggling with Lavender Brown. Fred and George, and several other boys, were throwing iced cakes at each other. Ron Weasley pointed at her as she passed, which made her feel even more embarrassed. And when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, as soon as Harry saw her he spilt pumpkin juice all over himself. She finally sank down, feeling very relieved, into an empty chair opposite a red-head whose name she’d forgotten.

“Hermione was sitting there,� she objected loudly.

Cho jumped as though she’d been electrocuted, “Sorry.�

“Don’t worry, Ginny,� said the girl herself, who was standing behind her. She summoned another chair and sat down next to Cho.

“We’ve got a new recruit,� Hermione said brightly to the person on Ginny’s right.

“Is that so?� growled Mad-Eye Moody as he took a swig from his hipflask.

Cho didn’t like being stared at by that creepy blue eye, so she began to pile food onto her plate, “Yes, Professor.�

“What’s your name, then?�

It felt so weird to introduce yourself to someone who she thought she’d been taught by for a year, and then turned out to be the nutty son of a respected Ministry official, “Cho Chang.�

“Good to meet you,� he shook her hand, “I hope you can hold up better than Ambrina Wardo. She-�

“Thank you, Professor Moody,� said Hermione sharply.

Cho tried to eat more jacket potato, but it felt like mud in her mouth. What had happened to the girl he had mentioned? Had she been killed? Tortured? Forced to see her loved ones die? Was that what was going to happen to her? Maybe she hadn’t thought enough about what joining the Order meant.

Hermione saw Cho wasn’t finding Moody’s company encouraging.

“So, shall I show you to the dormitory?� she scraped her chair back.

“Dormitory?�

“Yes. Gryffindor and Slytherin are for the boys. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are for the girls. There’s a spare bed in mine.�

Cho followed Hermione up the stairs on the very familiar path to the Ravenclaw Common Room. They went into what used to be the first-year girl’s dormitory. Hermione showed her the empty bed, which had her bags dumped by it.

“Tomorrow you can go and speak to Professor McGonagall. She’ll tell you what work you have to do.�

“Yeah. Thanks.�

***

After wolfing down some breakfast the next day, Cho sprinted to her ex-Transfiguration teacher’s office and knocked. She really hoped she’d be doing some fighting. It wasn’t that she wanted to be killing people, but the thought of the Death Eaters who murdered Cedric walking freely made her grind her teeth.

“Enter,� came a muffled voice from the office.

Cho opened the door. Professor McGonagall was seated at a desk with a large, dog-eared file open on the table-top. She hastily stuffed the folder into one of the drawers. Cho sat down on the straight-backed chair facing the teacher.

“Let me start by congratulating you, Miss Chang, on your excellent set of OWL results.�

“Thank you.�

“Your Transfiguration mark was well-deserved.�

Cho felt her cheeks grow hot, “Erm, yeah I-�

“I suppose you’re wondering what we want you to do for the Order.�

She nodded, relieved Professor McGonagall had brought the subject up for her.

“Well, we’re desperate to get a new nurse for our hospital, after Miss Bundy left. And Moore won’t take anyone who hasn’t got their OWLs, which is fair enough, I suppose. But it doesn’t leave us with much choice.�

Panic flooded through Cho’s veins like icy water, “You want me to work in a hospital?�

“Why, yes. We’re fighting a war, people get hurt.�

“But I ran away from my parents so I wouldn’t have to do medicine!�

“You ran away?� asked Professor McGonagall sharply.

Cho cursed herself inside her head. Why did she have to shoot her mouth off the whole time? “Yes I-� she hesitated, “they wanted me to become a Healer.�

“So you’re not getting any money, apart from your salary at the Order.�

She hadn’t really thought about that. “Yes,� said Cho impatiently, “I suppose so. It doesn’t really matter. I mean I’ve got somewhere to live and food to eat here, haven’t I?�

Professor McGonagall hesitated, “I am begging you, Miss Chang, do this job for us. You’re not a killer, you couldn’t do it. I’ve taught you for five years, and I know that, deep down, you’d rather be saving lives than taking them.�

“But-�

“The Order would be very grateful if you took this post.�

“I-ok, then.�

“Excellent!� beamed Professor McGonagall. “I’ll send you to Moore right away then.�

Cho pushed the chair back and was about to get up.

“But, before you go, I have to ask you one thing.�

“Yes, what is it?�

“I want you to promise you’ll try not to talk to Moore, except for work.�

“I’ll do my best, but…why?�

“Because he is a unmarried, and he’s a young man,� said Professor McGonagall severely.

Cho wanted to ask what she was talking about. Was she worried they’d distract each other, or something?

“He’s not for you,� her teacher added more gently.

“What are you-�

Professor McGonagall clasped and unclasped her hands, “He has…family matters, and I hope you’ll understand.� She stood up, and began to walk up and down the room. “Don’t dream for an instant that he could ever…well…just don’t fall in love with him, that’s all.�

“Err-I’ll do my best,� Cho did her best not to raise an eyebrow. Did McGonagall think she fancied a new guy every week? Or that she couldn’t handle this mysterious ‘Moore’? Maybe he was already in love with someone else, but then why didn’t she say he was?

The Professor sat down again. She took an eagle quill out of a pot on the desk, and dipped it in some ink. She began to write on a fresh piece of parchment, and talked as she did so, “I think you’ll find him quite a challenge. He is often frowning, but like many men things have happened in his life to make him like that. He’s a genius, but he’s also a devil.�

Did she think I only love mad, bad people?

“He works himself almost to death, and his nurses too.�

Encouraging. Very encouraging.

“But don’t become offended at anything he might say to you. He’s not very…tactful. He always just speaks his mind,� she folded up the parchment.

“Yeah, I won’t.�

“Good.� Said Professor McGonagall. She stood up and gave Cho the note, “Give this to him, will you, please?�

Then she pulled her from the room down a stony corridor. “I’ll take you to see him now, shall I?�

Cho followed her past tapestries, paintings and suits of armor to the Hospital Wing. At first, she thought it looked exactly the same, only with different people in the beds. The white tables stacked with potion bottles and ‘Get Well Soon’ cards. The fresh white linen which seemed to be like sheets of fine parchment. The green blankets, faded from too many washes. But then she noticed a corner curtained off.

“That’s for surgery. Moore might need you to assist him there.�

Cho didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded. The idea of standing around while people got dissected wasn’t very appealing to her. Professor McGonagall opened a door into a small study, “Wait there. He’ll be along in a bit.�

It was very cramped inside, and obviously belonged to a man. There was little in the way of feminine comfort. The walls were lined with shelves stacked with books. And not just medical ones. There were books on Philosophy, on poetry and on history. There were books written in French, and about Defense Against the Dark Arts. And there were a couple which looked like they were written in Latin. There were also several grey filing cabinets, with all the compartments labeled in spiky, uneven handwriting. He had a desk, too, made from a light wood, with chips and scratches taken out in places. The only things on it were a black quill, some parchment, a bottle of ink and a photo in a plain brown frame. It showed a severe-looking man and woman and two boys, one fair-haired and one dark.

Cho paced the room turning the note over and over in her hands. She felt like a butterfly which had been trapped all its life. Then one day its cage had been left open and it flew out and escaped, only to be recaptured the nest day by someone else. Why had she listened to Professor McGonagall? Why hadn’t she just sat there and refused to move until she’d changed her mind? She leant against one of the only bits of free wall and put her knuckles to her eyes and tried to stop herself from crying.

“Hello, I suppose you’re my new nurse,� came a voice from behind her.

Cho whipped round. A man was leaning against the doorframe. His hands were in his pockets and he was half-smiling in an amused sort of way. When McGonagall said he was ‘young’, Cho presumed she meant by McGonagall’s standards, so he’d be about thirty-five, or something. But he looked only a couple of years out of school.

“Yes, I’m Cho Chang.�

“Robert Moore,� he said, offering her his hand which she tentatively shook.

He seemed a lot taller than he actually was, because he looked like her knew everything worth knowing. He didn’t look like he spent much time on his appearance. Maybe if he did he would be quite handsome. His hair was black and slightly tousled, and he had clear blue-grey eyes. He looked serious, even when he was smiling. Cho wasn’t quite sure if it was because of his long, straight nose or slightly sallow skin.

He took a hand out of his white overall he had on over his clothes, “Do you have any experience with hospitals?�

Cho could tell he wasn’t taking her seriously at all. She drew herself up as high as she could, “Yes. My mother and father are Healers-in-charge of the Spell Damage and Artifact Accident wards at St Mungo’s.�

He raised one of his eyebrows, “Ooh, this girl’s got her fair share of pride.�

Cho tossed her silky hair away from her face and tried to ignore him. “Professor McGonagall told me to give you this,� she thrust the folded piece of parchment at him.

Moore opened it, his whole face darkening as he read it. He crumpled the note up and surveyed Cho for a minute, then snorted and threw it in the bin standing next to his desk.

“So, you’ll be starting tomorrow. I’ll go into everything in detail then, and show you what to do. I won’t need you all the time, so if you’re free you can come in here. But you need to be on your toes, because you never know what might happen here.�

He seemed to have a very slight French accent, though he was obviously English.

Cho nodded, “Uh-huh.�

“And I always need you to arrive on-time. It’s very important to keep things running smoothly.�

“When do you want me too come?�

“Six. Am, that is. Not pm.�

“Six?� Cho echoed.

How was she meant to get up that early every day? Marietta always spoken about her as ‘not a morning person’ which didn’t even begin to describe it. She liked to be able to stay up really late at night and then sleep in the next day, not have to get up at anti-social hours of the morning.

“What do you expect? You’re not a school-girl anymore.�

“I know that, but-�

“And if there’s an emergency in the night I’ll send someone up to get you. So, tomorrow at six, then?�

He thought she wouldn’t be able to, but she’d prove him wrong, “I’ll be there.�

Four-The Only Man He Truly Trusted



Blackadder: I have a plan, and it’s so cunning you could stick a tail on it and call it a weasel!

From Blackadder, by Richard Curtis and Ben Elton



Barty Crouch approached his Master cautiously. It was always best to be careful until he found out what mood he was in. He could loose his temper in less time than it took Roderick Plumpton to catch the Snitch. Stepping over a fallen lampshade, he crossed the creaking floorboards of the Riddle house to the armchair. He bowed very low, making the bottom of his long coat sweep a clear path through the dusty floor. It was strange having his Master sitting before him, just as tall as he was. For a long time, Crouch had stood before a small…creature wrapped in rags. Now a red-eyed, white-faced man was resting in the chair, with his spidery fingers caressing a wand.



“Rise, Crouch. I have Wormtail if I need someone to grovel on the floor for me.�



He obeyed, raising himself onto his knees. He was relieved to see his Master was smiling, “You have been neglecting your Lord. It is almost two months since you made your infamous escape from the Hogwarts castle.�



“Forgive me, I had business to attend to and-�



“My only account so far has been from this,� the Dark Lord gestured to a small, rickety table next to his armchair. It was stacked with newspapers, with bits of articles underlined and written over with black ink.



Crouch picked up the top one and unfolded it. He raised an eyebrow scathingly, “The Daily Prophet?�



“What would you suggest? The Quibbler? At least this newspaper does occasionally print the truth. And when it does I want to hear it.�



Most of the front page was taken up by photos. There were a couple of small ones of Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory, Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody. The largest one in the centre showed him jumping onto a broom. He was grinning, his hair blowing away from his face and his coat flying out behind him. There was a large, bold headline screaming out ’Competition Catastrophe – How One Champion Paid For Victory with His Life’ Crouch’s bright, brown eyes eagerly sought the start of the article. He was a fast reader, and finished it quickly. When it ended he threw it back onto the pile contemptuously. It was very clumsy, full of little errors and mistakes. Crouch was referred to as a ‘dangerous maniac’ at least twice a paragraph, which was funny the first time, but did start to get very wearing. He could have done it much better than whoever had cobbled this together.



“I hope I will get a better story out of you later.� His Master said.



Crouch nodded, “And the plans for the Ministry?�



“Are progressing well.�



So that was why he was in such a good mood.



“Will we be able to act soon?�



His Master was about to reply when a hissing noise came from outside the room, “Nagini has returned.�



A large, glistening snake slithered in soundlessly through the open door. It moved over the back of the faded armchair. Crouch leaned back slightly as it passed his face, watching it cautiously. He never quite trusted that snake, which was as wide as his leg and could bite his hand off whole. It wound itself over its owner’s shoulder and hissed again. Crouch’s Master answered it in what he guessed was Parseltongue. He waited impatiently for them to finish their spitathon. He picked up some newspapers and scanned the articles called ‘Is This the End of the Rails for Hogwarts?’ and ‘The Return of You-Know-Who’ both by the same pathetic journalist who wrote his article. Where was Rita Skeeter when you needed her? Finally, both of them were silent.



“So it’s true then, Hogwarts is closing? I heard rumours, but I didn’t believe Dumbledore would.�



“He had no choice,� his Master replied, “after a student died in a school competition. The governors decided it would be too dangerous, especially as one of the teachers turned out to be a Death Eater,� he nodded his head in Crouch’s direction.



“So we’ll have less resistance then, if he’s not training them all up to become Aurors?�



His Master stroked Nagini’s head thoughtfully, “Yes, but Hogwarts is now Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.�



“You’re expecting trouble from them?�



“I think so. They are an irritating bunch of meddling fools, who have a knack of grubbing around in unsavoury places. But they can hold back my plans.�



“Like the one about the p-�



Crouch’s Master waved his hand impatiently, “I want no more about the Order. I know none of the Six, except Harry Potter, and he continues to evade me.�



His sudden change of temper didn’t surprise Crouch at all. It happened very often, but he knew now he had to tread carefully, “How are you-�



“I have put Billings in charge of gathering infomation. I am expecting a report from him very soon. Meanwhile, perhaps you would favour me with your account of your escape?�



Crouch rose to his feet, eager to act out his flight from Hogwarts, “Certainly my Lord. Shall I begin at the beginning?�



***



Much laughter and many minutes later, both wizards were silent, waiting for Billings’ report. Lord Voldemort leaned back in the tatty armchair with his head on his hand, surveying the room. It had every sign of decaying glory. The curtains of heavy velvet had once been red. But too many hours of sunlight had faded them to a dull grey, with only a hint of the colour it had been. In the wall opposite him was a heavy oak fireplace. It was ornately carved, but so badly scratched that the patterns were difficult to make out. Crouch was sitting on a table to his left. One leg was dangling down, almost touching the floor. He was resting his pointed chin on the knee of his other one, which was drawn up close to him. He gazed into the fire, the flames reflecting in his unfocused eyes.



Suddenly, a little man with puffy eyelids burst into the room, panting. Crouch started and half-rose.



“Well, Billings?� Lord Voldemort asked sharply.



“I’ve - I’ve got it,� he puffed.



Lord Voldemort rose, “Are you sure?...Excellent! I will deal with you in a minute. You have gained my gratitude, and I think your sister will benefit from it.�



“You mean Gloria, in-in Azk-�



“Yes. But I will speak to Crouch first, if you will wait outside we will be done in a moment.�



He obeyed, leaving the other two men alone together. Lord Voldemort sat back down and motioned to his follower, “Come here, Crouch.�



The young man kneeled before his master again. His face was brightly illuminated by the fire, but his Master’s was thrown into shadow.



“I am going to send you to get it for me –Billings’ report will help you. But before that there is another job I want you to do for me.�



“What is it?�



“Many of my most faithful followers, Bellatrix Lestrange and Gloria Billings for example, are still imprisoned. I want you to give them a gift, from me, of…their freedom.�



Crouch jumped up, looking delighted, “You want me to break into Azkaban!�



“Yes, in anyway you think is best. Surprise me.�



***



Bellatrix was sitting on the floor of her filthy cell, leaning against the stone wall. She was muttering to herself, slowly plaiting and un-plaiting her dark hair. She would die if she didn’t get out of this place soon. And she’d be happy to, if only she could see his face one last time. That was all Bella asked. But she didn’t even know if he was still alive. He could have died five years ago for all she knew. No news ever penetrated the four walls of her cell…



Bella suddenly sat up straighter and glanced around her warily. She could have sworn she’d heard some sort of scraping shuffle, which definitely wasn’t a Dementor. She listened hard. Silence. Maybe it had just been – there it was again! Bella jumped up and pressed her ear to each wall in turn. I seemed to be coming from below…



She shrieked. The tip of what looked like a shovel poked through the earthy floor of her cell. A hole was slowly eating away at the ground. Bella grabbed her food-bowl, just in case they didn’t turn out to be too friendly. Two dirty hands appeared on either side of the hole, and raised a muddy-looking man out of it.



“Barty?�



“Bella!�



They ran towards each other and hugged. She was ecstatic to see her little protégé again. She’d always been very fond of the charming, lively young Barty Crouch. Bella had always looked after the poor boy, who’d been treated so badly by his parents. He’d been like a son to her.



Barty twirled her around, “How are you?�



“What are you doing here?� she asked as he put her down.



“What does it look like? I’m rescuing you!�



“But how did you get in?�



“I dug. All the way under the sea. Came across some pretty nasty enchantments down there, but I’ve got rid of them all now.�



“But you, I thought you-�



“No time to explain, I’m afraid.�



He ran over to the door and tapped the iron lock with his wand, “Alohamora!�



The heavy oak door swung open, “Wow, I wasn’t expecting it to actually work!� He stood and admired his handiwork for a few seconds, then grabbed Bella by the arm, and pulled her into the stone corridor.



They didn’t have to go far to meet a Dementor. Just as they rounded a corner, a cloaked figure glided towards them.



“Oops,� said Crouch. He brandished his wand, trying to ignore the memories that the Dementors forced him to relive. Just focus your mind on the happiest moments in your life. Aiming it at the thing in front of him, he yelled, “EXPECTO PATRONUM!�



A silvery winged horse blossomed out of the wand tip and galloped at the Dementor.



“Now Bella, which cell is your husband in?�

Five-Cassandra Trelawney

I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge -- myth is more potent than history -- dreams are more powerful than facts -- hope always triumphs over experience -- laughter is the cure for grief -- love is stronger than death.
Robert Fulghum

Hermione was feeling really warm and bubbly inside. She was sitting in the Great Hall, surrounded by a big group of the younger members of the Order. Everyone was cheering as Ron shuffled unsteadily towards the table, carrying a huge plate. He set it down in front of her.

“’Bout time,� said either Fred or George (Hermione wasn’t sure which), “how did you come, by way of Australia?�

Ron’s ears went pink as he made sure the plate wasn’t going to fall off. It had a massive cake shaped like a book with ‘Happy Birthday’ written in large, if slightly wonky letters. The border was made from sixteen candyfloss-coloured candles arranged around the outside edge.

“I iced it myself,� Ron said shyly as he handed her a knife.

Hermione smiled and blushed. They looked at each other, not exactly sure what they were supposed to do. Ginny snorted, but turned it into a cough after Lavender stepped on her foot.

“Erm…Hermione, would you like to cut the cake?� Harry suggested gently.

She cleared her throat, tucking stray wisps of hair behind her ears. Ron threw himself down in the scratched chair to her right, grinning to himself. Hermione picked up the knife and began to slice the cake. Harry deftly swiped each piece onto a separate plate, and handed them down to people. Soon the room was filled with the sounds of forks scraping on plates and people chomping contentedly.

***

Hermione pushed her chair back. She shook her head when Harry offered her another slice. “That was lovely Ron, but I really couldn’t eat another bite.�

She was about to get up when Lupin came into the room. He looked like he was searching for someone, and started when he saw her.

“Hermione, could I have a word, please?�

Completely mystified, she jumped out of her chair. He beckoned her into a corner.

“What is it? Has anything happened? What’s wrong?�

He held up a hand for silence. “Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office,� he said in a low voice.

She opened her mouth, but Lupin got there first, “Don’t ask me why, but I think it’s something important.�

***

Dumbledore was seated at his desk when she knocked on his door.

“Come in,� he said, looking pleasantly surprised when he saw her. Almost as though he hadn’t just sent for her, “Please sit down, Miss Granger.�

Hermione passed Fawkes the phoenix and wove around the rickety tables, stacked with strange silver instruments. She seated herself on a comfortable chair opposite her once-Headmaster.

“There are some important matters I need to discuss with you. But first things first, happy birthday.�

“What?� Hermione had been so busy worrying what she might have done that all thoughts of candles and presents had been driven completely out of her head. “Oh, yes. Thank you, Professor.�

There was a mysterious twinkle in his cornflower-blue eyes, but the rest of his face looked deadly serious, “I trust being sixteen will bring you much happiness and prosperity.�

Hermione felt very confused. She wanted to ask what on earth was going on, but didn’t want to seem like she didn’t understand.

Her Headmaster cleared his throat and shuffled the parchment on his desk, “I want to tell you a story, which I think you will find very interesting.�

Hermione settled back in her chair to listen to what Dumbledore had to say.

“Some years ago, a long time before you were born, there lived a woman called Cassandra Trelawney.�

“Is she related to Professor-�

“Yes, she is the great-great grandmother of our Divination teacher at Hogwarts. I believe you stormed out of one of her lessons in your third year.�

Hermione coloured and tried to think of something to say in her defence, “Well I-�

“I think you decided her classes were a waste of time, and that she was an old fraud.�

All the blood that had recently flooded into her cheeks left her. How could he know that?She could understand about her leaving her classroom. The staff would have all been talking about it. But only Ron and Harry knew what she actually thought about Professor Trelawney.

“And I must say I feel you were right about your first accusation, but not about her second.�

“I know she made a prophecy about You-Know-Who and Peter Pettigrew,� Hermione mumbled into her lap, feeling mortified.

“Indeed she did, Miss Granger. But I digress from our story.

Cassandra Trelawney proved herself to be a remarkably able witch, even while still at school. You might be interested to know she attended Hogwarts, a long time ago. She also found that she possessed the gift of prophecy. Over the years, Cassandra began to understand her power. She also became able to sense when she was going to have a prediction. And even sometimes remembered part or all of her visions, which, as I am sure you know, is very rare.�

Hermione nodded, waiting expectantly.

“She was also a valuable fighter against the Dark Forces.�

“Wouldn’t this be before You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters?�

“Of course, but there were many evil wizards and witches before Lord Voldemort, as I am sure you are aware – Grindlewald, for instance, or the Cult of Lleu Padraige. This particular group we were fighting against was the Dark Defence League, or DDL.

So, Cassandra sensed she would soon have a prophecy about Lord Voldemort.�

“How could she know who he was, if this is before he was alive?�

“Oh, he was a much-awaited figure. If you looked in an old book about Dark Arts, even before his time, you would probably find many references about him. But the DDL, we knew, would be very interested to hear anything about him. So we took great pains to keep the expected prophecy a secret. One person we did trust with the information was Cassandra’s so-called best friend, Grace Webster. She betrayed us and told the DDL. They captured her, so that they could hear the prophecy when it was time. It was very difficult to locate her, but we finally found where she was hidden – in a cave. She, meanwhile, was being watched night and day by members of the DDL. As I am sure you can imagine, this must have been terrible for her.�

Hermione nodded. She could picture the scene vividly. Cassandra would be half-lying on a bed of grubby, musty straw in a dark and dingy cave. Hermione decided she would be very beautiful – with a deathly pale, heart-shaped face, prominent cheekbones and a pointed chin. She’d have straight black hair, and a side-sweep parting. And then blue – no, maybe green – almond-shaped eyes and thick lashes. Cassandra would be watched by a small, sweaty-looking man sitting on a wooden chair on the opposite side of the cave. Hermione changed her mind, and made him look like Barty Crouch instead.

Cassandra was feeling very tired, and light-headed with hunger. She was too proud to accept the stale bread and hard cheese provided by her captors. The prophecy was coming. She could only pray that someone would rescue her in time. Cassandra thought desperately of them all. Would she ever see them again? At this very moment they might be hastening through the night to come and get her. Or still stuck without a clue of where she was.

Her guard was sitting very quietly. The rise and fall of his chest was the only movement. He clasped his wand loosely in his right hand, resting on his knees. But he was awake. He always was. And she knew if she tried to do anything, her guard would be up in a moment.

“What happened?� Hermione hardly dared to breathe, as though the fate of this woman rested in her own hands.

“She spoke the prophecy,� Dumbledore smiled sadly, “to her jailor.�

Hermione knew exactly what it must feel like…

Cassandra suddenly felt a tightening in her throat. She gasped, her temples throbbing like they had been burned. The prophecy was coming. And she didn’t know how to stop it. Cassandra glanced around the room desperately. Everything was over, all the plans and secrecy had been for nothing. While it had still been coming, there had been hope. That there was still time for a rescue. But now…nothing. The DDL would hear the prophecy, and after it was finished they’d kill her. She stuffed her fingers in her mouth so she almost choked. But Cassandra knew it was pointless. She’d never learned how to delay them. Her guard had noticed now. He relaxed back into his chair and surveyed her, with one eyebrow cockily raised.

“Oh, so you’re ready, are you? Took you long enough. Come on then, let’s hear it. I’m all ears!�

A scream forced its way out of her mouth. It was followed by a string of words she didn’t recognise. They came, slipping and sliding out of her mouth like gushing water. Cassandra tried to stem the flow but they wouldn’t stop. And she was spiralling down and down into blackness…

“Just as the last word of the prophecy died, her rescue party came bursting in. It’s difficult to know exactly what happened in all the confusion. The guard called for reinforcements and a fight broke out. Things began to go very badly for us. We had only brought about ten people. There were many more DDL wizards, and our side suffered very badly. I decided that we had to retreat. But she would not leave until her husband, mother and two brothers (who had come to bring her home) were safe. I got everyone out apart from myself, Cassandra and her family. They caught us, and she was forced to watch her loved ones slowly and painfully killed.�

Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around her. It was as if someone had poured a Freezing potion over her. She could almost feel it trickle down her spine. Seeing the ones nearest to her die? She shuddered, suddenly feeling much colder. What kind of monsters would do that? Hermione could only imagine what that would feel like…

Cassandra wouldn’t stop struggling, even though she knew it was pointless. The ropes around her were far too tight to be broken without magic. And she didn’t have a wand. Bitter tears of resentment wetted her cheeks. For one, glorious battle she had been a free witch. Now she was caged again. And this time there was no prophecy for them to want. Cassandra knew she would be dead before tomorrow.

The people from the DDL were lining up her family against one wall of the cave. They all had their hands bound together. She tried to smile at them encouragingly. This might be the last time she ever saw them.

One of the more important members stood on a chair to address his fellows. He raised his arms wide. “Brothers!� He cried. “I am sure you agree that we have had very little entertainment recently.�

The others all nodded.

“Because most of our time has been spent guarding that little vixen in the corner. So I propose a game. Here we have some members of the prophetess’ family. I am going to nominate four wizards, and give them one person each to kill, in the most inventive way possible. At the end we’ll vote on our favourite one.�

“NO!� Cassandra shrieked. “I won’t let you. You’re not going to. Stop it! Don’t even think about it. Help me Jamie, help me!� She spat at one of the wizards who tried to keep her quiet, and kicked the other in the shins.

“And so,� said Dumbledore, heavily, “we were both forced to watch Jamie, Sybil, Hector and Priam brutally murdered. As they were discussing the winner, I managed to steal one of their wands, broke my bindings, rescued Cassandra and fled back to the Headquarters.�

“Was she alright?�

“No,� Dumbledore shook his head sadly, “seeing them all dying, after all she had been through, affected her brain. She lost her reason. Cassandra is now living in St Mungo’s. She has little memory of her past life, and none of the prophecy.�

They both sat in silence, Hermione full of pity for this poor witch. What must it be like to be a stranger in your own mind? She knew she wouldn’t be able to bear it. And loosing her family…

“So her guard is the only one who can remember the prophecy?�

“No. Fortunately we had one stoke of luck that night. During the struggle, he was hit by a badly-cast Memory charm. He ran around the battle, shrieking different lines of the prophecy, until he was killed. I have managed to piece together all he said into some sort of order. Would you like to see?�

He handed her a piece of tatty parchment which looked like it had been folded and unfolded many times. Hermione picked it up and read the slanting, sloping words.

The Dark Lord shall fall
By the hands of the
Six Elements of the Prophecy…

The second will be,
Firm and steadfast as Earth.
He shall be born from a pure black Geranium,
And a red Lily from Muggles.
Waiting for the Light on her slow path through Fire

My fifth will run,
As deeply as Water
Condemned by her blood by the world,
Praised for her brightness.
A black and white rose intertwine.

It stopped suddenly. Hermione blinked, and turned it over to check the other side. There was nothing else. There were only three verses. She handed it back to Dumbledore.

“This, as I am sure you are aware, is not the whole prophecy, but it does at least give us a start. There are six people, representing the elements that will defeat Lord Voldemort. We are given clues to Earth and Water, and I have solved them both.�

“Really?� Hermione asked eagerly. “Who are they?�

“I discovered Earth a few years before he was born, because I knew his parents very well.�

She hesitated, “I suppose one of them was a Pure-blood, and the other was Muggle-born. If that’s what the flowers mean.�

“Indeed they are. His father had wizarding parents, black hair and a name very close to ‘Geranium’. His mother, on the other hand, was a red-head called Lily without a single magical relative.�

It took Hermione about three seconds to make the connection.

“Professor!� Hermione squeaked with excitement, her hands in two tight fists. “Were his parents James and Lily Potter?�

Dumbledore gave her something like a smile, “Miss Granger, you have solved the riddle.�

“So that means that Earth is-�

“Their son, Draco Malfoy.�

Hermione gaped at him, “What?�

“Brace yourself,� Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles, “for another long story…I found out what their son would be while Lily was still expecting. We knew Voldemort had also worked this out by then, so they went into hiding.�

“I know, and then Peter Pettigrew betrayed them.�

“Quite right. But, as an extra precaution, they agreed to swap their baby with another couple’s child, who was born at a similar time, Lucius and Narcissa.�

“B-but that’s a crazy idea! They’re Death Eaters! Their up to their necks in Dark Arts. Lucius Malfoy would just hand him straight over to You-Know-Who.�

Dumbledore shook his head, “I’m glad to say he certainly did not. Lucius and his wife have, for some years, been double agents for us.�

Hermione hesitated, then said, “I can’t believe it…Mr Malfoy was always so…evil and she turned her nose up at everyone at the Quidditch match. They really can’t.�

“Looks can be very deceiving. Believe me, they are no more evil that you are.�

“But-�

Dumbledore suddenly looked very serious, “Miss Granger, if you trust me you will trust them. Is that clear?�

“Yes,� Hermione mumbled, going very red.

“So, where was I? Ah yes, we performed charms on their babies to alter their facial structure and hair colour. This would stop it being obvious who their parents really were. Draco grew up in the Malfoy Manner, raised like the true son of a Death Eater. Harry lived at Godric’s Hollow until the night of his adopted parents’ deaths. Lily protected him as if he had been her own. He then lived with Mr and Mrs Dursley (who believed him to be their nephew) until he was ready to attend Hogwarts.�

“So Malfoy’s Earth?�

Dumbledore nodded.

“Does Harry know?�

“Oh yes. You may recall after the Triwizard tournament he was in my office for a long time?�

“I remember.�

“I told him then, but asked him to keep it a secret. I do not wish it to become generally known whose side the Malfoys are on.�

“Yes, I understand.�

“But aren’t you interested to know who Water is?�

“Oh erm…� Hermione hesitated. She’d completely forgotten Dumbledore had solved two of the Elements. “Of course I am.�

“I only discovered who she was a matter of months ago. I concluded that Water would be a bright, as in clever, Muggle born witch. Can you guess who she is?�

Hermione tried to think of all the girls she knew with non-magic parents. Eleanor Branstone…no, she wasn’t especially intelligent. Lisa Wong just worked hard… Pippa Yorke thought she was smart but that wasn’t quite the same thing. She shrugged her shoulders, “I have no idea.�

The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth twitched, “Water is you.�

“Me?�

“Yes,� he replied calmly, “is it really so surprising?�

“But I’m not…a hero.�

“Why not?�

“Because Harry’s the one who’s supposed to be fighting You-Know-Who. I don’t – I don’t have a clue what I’d have to do. I don’t like doing that sort of thing. I just panic, like with the Devil’s Snare!�

Dumbledore shook his head, smiling, “Miss Granger, that was three years ago. I really hope you are wiser now than when you were twelve. Unless nine whole terms of magical education have been wasted, I am sure you are much older and less prone to panic now.

“What have I done which is better than Harry? Why isn’t he Water?�

“Well, first because he is not female, and secondly because I expect you will find the Six Elements of the Prophecy to be a team. I am sure there will be some people who are good at combat, but there are many other things to consider. You need someone to plan, to organize, a ‘people’ person, a leader and a peace maker to make a group function properly.�

What Dumbledore was saying made sense. But she still couldn’t quite get her head round it. That Harry wasn’t actually the son of Lily and James Potter. That she would have to work with Draco Malfoy and four other people to overthrow You-Know-Who. And that she was more important to the Wizarding World than she ever could have imagined. Hermione felt scared, but she was excited too!

“But Professor,� she suddenly realised, “no one knows who any of the other Elements are.�

“I am glad you mentioned that, Miss Granger. It brings me to the last thing I wanted to say to you. The only two people who heard the prophecy were Cassandra and her guard. He is out of the question, because he is dead, which leaves her.�

“But she can’t remember anything about it!�

“I know it is in there somewhere, Miss Granger. That is why I want you to go and see her.�

“What?�

“You, visit her at St Mungo’s.�

“Do you mean…now?�

“Yes, I have got a Portkey ready for you.� He took a heavy inkwell made from tarnished silver out of his desk. “When you want to come back just put your hand on it and say ‘Take me to back to Hogwarts’.�

“Hang on…�

“Put your hand on it.�

Hermione obeyed, “But why can’t you talk to her?�

“Because I think she will like you. Three…�

“I’ve never even been to St Mungo’s!�

“Just ask the Welcome Witch, it’s easy enough. Two…�

“But what am I meant to say to her?�

“Oh – use your imagination. One…�

“No, please sto-� Hermione said. She was jerked off her feet and Dumbledore’s office disappeared in a rushing swirl of colour.

Chapter Six – Welcome to St Mungo’s


You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you don't trust enough.
Frank Crane

When Hermione opened her eyes she was standing in the reception of what she presumed was St Mungo’s Hospital. She realised she was still holding the inkwell and pocketed it irritably. Trust Dumbledore to send her without a moment’s notice on an impossible mission. How was she supposed to get a prophecy out of a woman with no recollection of it, who she’d never even met? Well, Hermione would go and see Cassandra, if that would help anything.

If I could ever find her,she thought, sighing in frustration as she surveyed the chaotic room.

Most of the reception was taken up by creaky wooden chairs arranged in wonky rows. A random collection of witches and wizards were seated. Most of them were reading tatty magazines or trashy novels. Some looked perfectly ordinary, but others…

Hermione shuddered and tried to edge her way across the room without treading on anyone’s toes; managing to knock over a battered table stacked with month-old newspapers in the process. After picking them all up, she spotted the queue for the Welcome Witch and stepped into the back of the line.

There were some truly strange-looking people in front of her. Two large men with thick Irish accents were leaning on a muddy wheelbarrow. A statue of a pretty young girl was balanced precariously inside it. A couple of places before them was an old lady with a sunflower growing out of the top of her head. Next to her a little boy with freckles flashed pink and green every time he sneezed. The queue was quite long, but it moved quickly. The bored Welcome Witch didn’t even stop filing her nails when she was approached by a man with a head as big as a cauldron. Finally, Hermione got to the front of the line.

“I’m here to see Cassandra Trelawney. Could you tell me what ward she’s in, please?�

The red-headed witch put her file on the desk. She ran her crimson nail down the list, “Fourth Floor, the Permanent Ward. Are you family?�

“A friend,� Hermione lied.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll appreciate a visit.�

She nodded. The floor guide said there was a Gift Shop. Maybe she’d buy a present for Cassandra before she saw her. It might get her off to a good start, and would, at any rate, delay the actual meeting.

***

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was raising her hand hesitantly to knock on the door to Cassandra’s ward. The other was tightly gripped around the most expensive box of chocolates that she had been able to afford. If Dumbledore hadn’t been in such a hurry to send her off, she could have brought a purse. As it was, Cassandra had to be content with a smallish red box of fairly cheap chocolates.

Hermione took a deep breath. She would just do the best she could. Dumbledore could hardly expect more of her. She knocked hard, and waited until a plump Healer who smelt of coffee opened the door.

“Hello, dearie. What do you want?�

“I’ve come to see Cassandra Trelawney,� Hermione said in the biggest voice she could manage. Nerves always made it difficult for her to speak.

“Ooh, she’s certainly popular today. I’ve already got a young man waiting for her. But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait – she’s still having lunch. Come inside and I’ll take you to her Sitting Room.�

She pulled Hermione firmly in by her arm, not noticing her look of dismay. How am I going to get the prophecy off Cassandra if she’s got relatives visiting her? I’ll have trouble enough without her grandson or cousin twice removed sticking his nose in. She was starting to panic as the Healer deposited her in the middle of the corridor.

“It’s through the door to your right,� the witch said before rushing off to look after a gaunt man they’d just passed.

Hermione was shaking slightly, wondering how long Cassandra would be and how much polite conversation she’d be forced to make. Maybe the relative was only going to stay for a short time. Hermione prayed he would.

She opened the door a bit too fast, and managed to knock the man inside sharply on his elbow. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. I really-�

She rushed inside, and took in a sharp intake of breath. She recognised that man.

“You!� she said accusingly.

“Me.� Agreed a disgruntled-looking Barty Crouch as he massaged his elbow.

“What are you doing here?� Hermione advanced a few steps into the room. She didn’t notice that now the Death Eater was between her and the door.

“Same as you,� he shrugged, “I came to get the prophecy.�

Hermione felt her jeans waistband for her wand. She checked all the pockets in her jacket, and even ran her hands through her hair, just in case. It wasn’t there. She didn’t have her wand. Hermione thought hard, but couldn’t remember having it any of the time she was at St Mungo’s.

Great, she thought, the first time I’m stuck in a room with a Death Eater by myself and I don’t have a wand. And to top it all I just had to let him get between me and the door.

Crouch sat down on a faded floral sofa. For some odd reason, his hair had changed colour, but other than that he was the same wizard who’d jumped out of a window two months ago. He was fiddling in the pocket of his long brown coat. Hermione presumed it was for his wand, and grabbed a cushion. She wondered if it would be any good at blocking a Killing Curse

“Ah-ha!� He grinned, producing a packet of Droobles, “Chewing gum?�

“What?� Hermione felt caught off her guard. “Are you trying to be funny?�

“It’s a serious question,� he pretended to look serious. “Would you like Puffskein Peach or Salamander Strawberry?�

“No, thank you,� Hermione replied in a voice she hoped sounded cool and dignified.

“Suit yourself,� he put a piece in his mouth and stowed the rest away.

They waited in silence for a few minutes. Barty Crouch fiddled with the grey scarf he had on, despite the warmth of the room. His large brown eyes had a far away, dream-like expression, as if his mind was on a different planet. Hermione watched him warily, until eventually she said,

“Aren’t you going to kill me?�

“Kill you?� repeated Crouch, frowning. “Why would I want to do that? Unless you’re going to smother me with a cushion, I think I’m safe.�

If Hermione had been the one with the wand she would have said, “Let me think…� and frown thoughtfully, “what could a maniacal Death Eater – such as yourself – possibly have against me?�

But, as it was, she only replied, “I’m part of the Order. And a Muggle-born. Deal with it.�

Crouch folded his arms and surveyed her, sticking his chin out thoughtfully. Hermione met his gaze with a look that could almost reduce Ron to tears. Unfortunately, it didn’t work on him. If he wanted to mess about that was tough, she was going to force him to kill her quickly.

“You don’t like me, do you?� he observed.

Hermione didn’t think that even came close, “Of course not! You’re a Death Eater.�

“So what?� He asked indignantly. “Some of the best people I ever met were followers of You-Know-Who.�

She rolled her eyes, “So you love pure-bloods and killing people. And hate Muggles and people whose parents aren’t magic, like me.�

“That’s stereotyping, you know.� Crouch said solemnly. “I’m a half-blood myself. And my mother didn’t have a single magical relative. So there. Ha!�

Her arms were starting to ache, so she lowered the pink and green floral cushion, “But why did you join the Death Eaters then, if you don’t care about blood status?�

Hermione regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth. The relaxed smile that had been playing on his mouth vanished. And his eyes seemed to loose their sparkle. He gave her a look which plainly said ‘don’t even consider mentioning that again’ and changed the subject, “Why don’t you sit down? It might be a long time before she finishes lunch.�

Feeling slightly intimidated, she nodded. A rocking chair painted white was the nearest seat. Hermione settled down comfortably to take in her surroundings, but watching Crouch out of the corner of her eye.

This was just the place you would expect an old lady to live in. Admittedly it was quite small, but all the space that was there was used. The pale pink and white striped wallpaper was hardly visible under all the paintings hung up. Most of them were watercolours of flowers and fruit. The little walnut end tables (which looked, from the top, like house elves carrying trays over their heads) were heaped with lace doilies and framed photos.

It was almost like stepping into the young Cassandra’s memory. There she was holding her wand, being hugged by her brothers, clutching her OWL results and with a boy Hermione presumed was Jamie. Looking so happy, completely unaware of her fate. Was that what someone, years later, would think about the pictures of her with Ron and Harry? That they were living on borrowed time?

Hermione tried to distract herself. In the corner was a wedding photo full of confetti and silk, and one of Jamie and Cassandra holding a baby. On the table next to her Dumbledore, the prophetess and many others beamed and waved. That was the last photo. There were no more, after she got captured by the DDL. Not even ones of grand-children and eightieth birthdays. It was as if Cassandra’s life had stopped that night. That there were no memories, only shadows.

Looking closer at the photo nearest to her, Hermione realised with a jolt that the prophetess looked exactly as she’d imagined her. The prominent cheekbones, the heart-shaped face, the black hair. And Hermione was sure that if the photos had been in colour, her eyes would have been the same shade as emeralds. That was…strange.

A sudden shuffling of papers yanked her attention back to reality. Crouch was taking a small white package out of one of his many pockets. He smiled at her curiosity and began unfolding it. Soon it had grown into a sheaf of parchment at least as big as A4.

“Some stuff about Cassandra that Billings gave me,� he answered her inquiring gaze.

“Who’s Billings?�

“He’s in charge of finding out things for You-Know-Who.� He laughed, “You wouldn’t find him on the battlefield. He’s been researching Cassandra for at least a hundred and fifty years…No, don’t look at me like that, I was only joking.�

And with that he unfolded a pair of black, rectangular-shaped glasses and slipped them on the bridge of his nose. He disappeared behind it for a few minutes, and read the first couple of pages. It was obviously not to his liking, as he threw it down after a few minutes muttering, “Contemptible rubbish.�

Crouch looked straight at Hermione, “You would’ve thought that if I wanted to know about Cassandra’s time at Hogwarts. I can remember my own days at school perfectly well without.�

“I suppose you were in Slytherin?� Hermione groaned.

“What’s wrong with that? It took the Sorting Hat almost five minutes to decide which house to put me in.�

“Really?�

“Yeah, it was awful. I’m sure you remember getting sorted? Professor Lattima (she was a grumpy old battle-axe, be glad you never met her) called out my name first. I was a scrawny little bugger in those days. I think I was probably the shortest in the year! But then, when I was fifteen I suddenly shot up and laughed at everyone because I was taller than them. Anyway, where was I?�

“Professor Lattima called out your name,� Hermione reminded him.

“Ah yes. Well, I sat on the stool and got the smelly hat shoved over my eyes. I don’t really think I cared what house I was put in, as long as someone wanted me. Then the hat started talking to me – of course, you’ll know that, you’ve been sorted too, haven’t you?�

Hermione nodded.

“It said, ‘Ah, the younger Barty Crouch. Very different to your father, aren’t you? Brave and adventurous – I could put you in Gryffindor. But do I detect…a rebellious streak? Yes? That might make Slytherin a good house for you. And I see ambition. You want to be remembered when you’re gone. Hmmm…but you are hard-working, also. Shall I put you in Hufflepuff? No you seem too independent and aloof to be placed there. Intelligence, and a thirst for knowledge. Yes, definitely. Would Ravenclaw be a good choice?�

Hermione snorted, “I bet he didn’t say half those things!�

“It did!� He protested. “It carried on musing to itself, while everyone else in the hall had completely stopped paying attention. I could hear all the Gryffindors conducting a few minor wars, the Slytherins moaning, the Hufflepuffs chatting and the Ravenclaws flicking through books. Even the teachers were muttering to each other. I remember asking the hat to hurry up and decide, because I was starting to feel numb.�

She laughed, and all thoughts of his past were gone from her head, “I can’t believe you said that to the Sorting Hat! What happened?�

“It only went, ‘Ah, an impatient nature!’ And carried on dissecting my brain. Finally, it decided to put me in Slytherin-� he suddenly looked at her sharply, as if he’d only just remembered who he was talking to. “Why am I telling you all this?�

“I don’t know! You started it.�

Crouch shrugged, “Ah well, it can’t hurt. I suppose. What about you? I know you were put in Gryffindor, but you seemed more of a Ravenclaw to me.�

“How do you-� she trailed off, and then remembered it was actually Crouch who’d taught her Defence Against the Dark Arts. “Well, the Hat was going to put me in Ravenclaw, but decided to sort me into Gryffindor in the end.�

“Why?�

Hermione frowned, “I don’t know. It just said ‘You’ll be needed in Gryffindor.’�

“And you don’t regret it?�

“Not really, no. If I was in Ravenclaw, I wouldn’t have met Ron or Harry.�

“Ah yes. Your ickle friends.�

“Well, and who were your friends at Hogwarts? Mini-Death Eaters? I suppose you were the Draco Malfoy equivalent at Hogwarts?� she asked, before remembering that he was on her side now.

Crouch looked confused. “Do you mean the,� he stood up and stuck his nose in the air, “‘I am superior to you in every way, you smelly little piece of scum. Bow down and worship me!’ sort of person?�

“Yes,� she laughed in spite of herself, “you’ve got him exactly!�

“Nah. That wasn’t me – it was Sam Pritchard. Sorry to disappoint you. We had some endlessly fun conversations together. Most of which involved him punching my head in between classes, and then me cursing him back.�

He noticed Hermione’s shocked expression, “Don’t worry – that’s what boys do to each other. Especially if they hate each other. And he certainly didn’t like me.�

“Why not?�

“Because I was different.�

She was about to reply when the door clicked open. A plain-looking nurse with a flat nose and wide mouth came in.

“Oh look Cassandra, you’ve got some visitors!�

“We’ll do this together and at the end we’ll both have a copy of the prophecy. Deal?� he muttered.

Hermione nodded. It was either they both got it, or he killed her. And what good would she do if she was dead? She held her breath and waited for Cassandra.

Chapter Seven – An Everyday Story

England and America are two countries divided by a common language.

George Bernard Shaw

When Cho first met Robert, she knew she wasn’t going to like helping in the Order’s hospital. After one day of working there she changed her mind – she hated it.

It was weird walking through the Ravenclaw Common Room on her first night. The domed ceiling daubed with stars, the arched windows giving spectacular views of the mountains, the elegant marble statue of the House’s founder. It was all so strange, yet achingly familiar, all at the same time. She’d never expected to see this place again. And now she was going to live in it.

The night before Cho started working at the hospital she unpacked the rest of her things (she’d been putting it off for ages) and grabbed her alarm clock. It was blue, decorated with plastic clouds. There was a Seeker on one hand and a Chaser on the other. Some friend or other had given it to her for a birthday present (they’d been observant enough to realise she was keen on Quidditch). It was recently developed, with a new type of alarm that only the owner could hear. Would half five be the right time to set it? That gave her thirty minutes to get up and changed. And she didn’t want Robert to have any excuse to tell her off. Cho was determined not to like working in the hospital, but somehow Rob Moore’s good opinion seemed to be worth having.

She put her alarm clock on the little table next to her bed and changed into her pale blue pyjamas. After brushing her teeth, Cho carefully selected the clothes she’d wear tomorrow (her mum had always said first impressions were everything) and climbed into her four-poster bed.

***

Cho felt like she’d only been asleep for two minutes when her alarm clock went off. It smashed the peaceful, dreamless slumber with a shrill ring. She groaned, put a hand onto her bedside table and groped around for the switch, promptly knocking it onto the floor. Stifling a yawn, Cho leaned over the edge of the bed and felt for the alarm. At last. Silence. She flopped back onto her pillow. Her eyelids felt weighted down and her legs were so heavy. Cho yawned again and rubbed her eyes. If she just rested for a minute…

Cho jerked awake abruptly. She felt like she’d just been slapped. What time was it? She hunted desperately for the clock (which was still under the bed) and brought it closer to her face. She was only just able to read it in the early morning light. Five to six?

Cho threw the heavy blankets back, all traces of tiredness banished. What had she done with her clothes?…

Cho sprinted down the staircase leading up to Ravenclaw Tower. She shrugged a jacket on over her shoulders, and swerved to avoid a collision with a sleepy brunette. If Cho had the time she would’ve stopped to apologise. She was lucky; the corridors were practically deserted. Big surprise. Cho couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to be up this early.

She checked her watch again. Already, she was seven minutes late. Robert Moore was going to kill her!

The door to his office was open, and he was, mercifully, getting something out of a filing cabinet. That meant Moore had his back to her. She crept in silently. If she could just pretend she’d arrived just a little bit earlier, but hadn’t greeted him yet…

“You’re late,� he remarked, without turning round. Cho hadn’t made a sound, she was sure. Did he have an in-built employee tracking system, or something?

Moore slammed the filing cabinet shut, “I told you to come at six am. The time now is quarter past.�

He tossed a tattered folder onto his desk.

“I’m sorry. I overslept.�

Robert seemed unimpressed. He looked at her closely, “Have you had breakfast?�

“Yes,� she lied.

Cho coloured. She’d never been a very convincing liar. And there was something in Robert’s look that told her he didn’t believe her for a second.

“You need to eat something. If you faint on me…�

“I won’t!� She protested. “I’m never hungry in the morning.�

He looked disgusted and threw himself into a chair. His hands crossed over his chest as he surveyed her without closing his eyes once. Finally, Robert blinked and looked away, “On your own head be it!�

“That’s fine with me!�

There was a pause of a few minutes. He was obviously struggling to find something else to say. And Cho wasn’t going to help him. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. There was something very satisfying about being able to answer back to him.

He rubbed his stubbled chin, hesitated and gestured to a chair near his desk, “Sit down.�

It sounded more like he was addressing an animal, but Cho obeyed anyway.

“So, if you’ll get out your notebook, we’ll get started. No matter what your parents are, you’ve still got a lot to learn.�

She felt panic well up inside her like a flooded river, “You didn’t tell me to bring a notebook.�

Cho started to fiddle with the ends of her glossy black hair, which was something she always did when she was nervous. The memory of their meeting kept on replaying itself in her mind. Had he said anything?

“Yes I did.�

“You really did not,� she replied stubbornly.

“I shouted after you to bring a notebook.� His face had suddenly become dark. Cho could tell they were the threatening clouds before a massive storm.

She knew it was probably best to admit to defeat and beg for mercy. But she didn’t care, “Well I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.�

He rolled his eyes, “Go and get one quickly. And something to write with.�

When Cho returned, armed with a notebook, a cheap biro and some coloured pens, Robert was leaning against the filing cabinet looking grim. She sat back down again quickly. Maybe she was a coward, but Cho thought she’d had enough Moore-bating for one day.

“So, can we start now?�

She opened the ring-bound notebook with a rainbow cover and grabbed her biro, “I’m ready when you are.�

Robert started pacing the room, up and down in front of her. It was very distracting. Cho bent her head over the desk so her fringe flopped in front of her face.

“I’ll start showing you the ropes. When you arrive, on time, in future, will you get – what are those for?� A look of pure disgust dominated his face, as he pointed to her pink, turquoise and purple pens. “I’m not expecting you to colour in.�

“They’re for underlining titles and highlighting words,� Cho said defensively. “I find it much easier to learn if there are colours – it helps me remember things.�

Robert snorted and carried on talking. Her page was filling up fast, and Cho knew she was in for a hard day’s work…

***

Five days later saw Cho waiting impatiently for dinner. Once it reached six o’clock, she’d have a whole weekend of peace. Although Robert wanted her to look in on Saturday in case he needed her, she was basically free until Monday. That was two days to do exactly what she wanted!

Robert had finally stopped testing her mercilessly on where all the medicines were located. He’d obviously given up and gone off to some distant part of the hospital. That meant Cho had free reign of the office until he came back.

She drew her diary out of her rose coloured shoulder bag. Laying it down on the desk, she opened it at a fresh page. There was so much to write. Life had become so hectic ever since Cho had joined the Order, there just hadn’t been the time. And now she didn’t know where to start.

Everything had certainly got much more exciting, and at least she wasn’t still stuck moping at home. Cho had to admit it wasn’t quite as bad as she’d expected. She actually spent a lot of her days amusing herself in his office. Cho was lucky they had so few patients (there hadn’t been a major battle for ages, according to Robert). Moore was a hard man to please, and anything less than perfect wasn’t good enough. But she’d rather be with him than someone like Marietta. Robert was completely tactless, and very bad-tempered, but at least he was honest. Though she still didn’t like him.

Cho gave up trying to write something. Instead she leaned back in her chair to think about all the surprises which five days had brought her…

***

“Right then,� Robert said, two days after she’d started work, “let’s see how your plant-cures are getting on.�

He summoned a chair and sat down opposite her. Cho didn’t feel a desk was going to be enough protection if she got them all wrong. Feeling nervous and slightly sick, she closed her rainbow notebook. How could he expect her to remember all the hundreds of plants and every single thing they cured? Cho folded her arms over her white sequinned top and met his gaze without blinking. This was possible. She could do this.

“You may need to remember these, just in case. I’ll give you a plant and you can tell me what symptoms it cures. Alright. Mandrake.�

That was easy, “People who’ve been petrified.�

He nodded, “Grittlewood.�

“Depression. Malnutrition.�

“And?�

She shrugged, “No idea.�

“Fever!� he said, as though it was the most important thing she could ever know. “Aletthew.�

She knew this. Cho remembered what page it was on. She was sure it was underlined in purple ink. What did it cure? Her hands flapped uselessly just above the desk. What was it? “Heartburn?�

He shook his head, “Most poisons, but not-� he broke off and looked at her meaningfully. Was Cho supposed to know this, too?

“Don’t have a clue.�

He sighed and moved on, “Apolianne.�

She shook her head.

“You don’t know these at all,� Moore accused.

“I do! If you gave me a written test I’d be fine. I just…can’t do them, you know, like-�

Cho broke off. He was laughing. Actually laughing at her. Of course, the whole situation was so desperately funny. “Forgive me for not laughing. I was worried my head might fall off if I did!�

Robert flicked his fringe out of his eyes, and suddenly became serious again. Ignoring her last comment, he replied, “What like this? Under pressure? What use would a written test be? Do you think you won’t be scared when someone’s dying? Grow up!�

Cho hugged herself, “I’m doing my best!�

Robert opened her notebook and shoved it under her nose. He stood up and kicked the chair aside. Blinking furiously, Cho tried to concentrate on the garbage she’d written.

“Well, you’d better try harder!� Robert slammed the door shut. He crossed the room and started feverishly rifling through files.

Cho squeezed her hands into fists. Scowling at her lap, she did her best not to sob. Big, hot drops of water fell onto her arms. She tried to brush all the tears out of her eyes before Moore noticed, but he’d already turned round with his arms full of heavy books. Abandoning all pretence, Cho covered her face with her hands and sobbed. She couldn’t care less about what he thought anymore.

Robert’s arms dropped to his sides. All the books he’d been carrying fell to the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice. He approached the desk cautiously and sighed.

“I’ve made you cry now, haven’t I? I’m sorry,� he patted her almost gently on the back. “I didn’t mean to. But you have to understand how important it is you know them all perfectly. We don’t get second chances.�

Abruptly, Cho stopped crying. It was almost like she’d just run out of tears to cry. She nodded, thinking that for once they understood each other. Sort of. Cho rubbed her eyes with her sleeve, wishing the office had a box of tissues somewhere. She grimaced when she saw what her wet mascara had done to her top.

Robert promptly put himself back into disgrace with his next sarcastic and unhelpful comment, “Make a mental note: if you’re planning to cry, don’t put so much makeup on!�

***
The afternoon after ‘The Mascara Incident’ (as Cho had christened it) saw her languidly revising more medical stuff. She was seated on a chair that was practically falling apart beside the largest filing cabinet. Moore was leaning one hand against the desk, while the other was rummaging inside one of the drawers.

Cho tried to ignore the noise he was making. It reminded her of scrabbling mice. She stuck both fingers in her ears just to make a point. He crossed the room to the door and pulled a black jacket out from behind the door.

“Where are you going?�

“Out for a walk in the grounds. I always have one after lunch on Tuesdays,� Robert replied, as if she should already know this. “Do you want to come?�

Let’s see. A walk in the freezing cold, when the autumn chill is well and truly here and all the soggy leaves are flying everywhere. Not to mention going with a man who’ll probably test me on plant cures as we’re walking. Compared to staying here in the warm, doing whatever I feel like until he comes back. No contest.

“I’m fine here thanks. But,� she hesitated and did her best to sound casual, “how long do you think you’ll go for?�

“Half an hour,� Moore answered, before closing the door behind him.

Cho could have sung! She had a nice big break from learning things, and she knew exactly how long he’d be gone for. Knowing Robert, he would return in exactly thirty minutes, which meant she could pretend she’d been working all the time if she wanted to! This was going to be so fun!

***

The first day Cho actually had some patients was on Thursday. She had just successfully recited the twelve things she was expected to do in surgery when the door was flung open. In burst Ron, panting heavily. He sank down onto his knees and took in big gulps of air like a fish.

Immediately, Robert jumped up and ran forward, “What is it? What’s happened?�

He helped Ron up. Cho noticed he had flecks of blood in his red hair and on his t-shirt.

“There was a scrap. Moody and Lavender are ok but Sirius…� He wheezed, “His leg. I don’t know what spell it was but it’s bleeding all over the place. And I think the bone’s been shattered!�

Robert stood up straight. Cho could tell he was going to give orders. “You!� He pointed at her, “Get me some clean bandages. Ron, where’s Sirius?�

The red-headed boy clearly looked unnerved, “In the Entrance Hall. We-�

But Robert had already dashed from the room. After a few moment’s hesitation, Ron followed him. Cho ran to the biggest, floor-to-ceiling cupboard. She threw the door open, making it slam against the wall. What kind of bandages did he want? She pulled out a pile and threw it onto a table.

What was the other thing? Water! Cho fell down onto her hands and knees and groped around under a chest of potion bottles for the tin water bowl.

Robert had taught her the spell for making liquid a couple of days ago. What was it? Cho closed her eyes and tried to slow her madly pounding pulse. A thousand different words came into her head. Think! Then suddenly she knew what it was, and a few seconds later Cho was carrying a bowl filled with water.

Robert raced back in, “They’re bringing him up. Have you got everything? Good.� He turned to go but changed his mind, “Please don’t tell me you faint when you see blood!�

Cho felt slightly alarmed, “I…don’t know…�

He swore loudly and stuck his head out of the door, “In here. Can you manage…?�

Sirius limped in, with one arm over Ron and the other over a girl Cho thought was Lavender Brown. There was a creak as Robert unfolded the operating table, and gently lent him onto it. She noticed one of his legs hung loose, and was bound tightly with what looked like the ragged sleeve of someone’s shirt. It was only then Cho noticed Robert had a big rip taken out of his top.

Moore took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. “Right then, let’s take a look,� Cho could almost taste the sick feeling that was welling up inside her. Was that sickeningly sweet smell blood?

Robert carefully bent down over the leg. He peeled off the soggy layers of cloth, and dropped them onto the table. “Could you sponge him off, Cho? This is really going to hurt. Try and keep him calm, if you can.�

She picked up a squishy yellow sponge, dipped it in the water and dabbed it on his forehead. How was she supposed to stop him from panicking, when she was so scared herself? Cho whispered a load of rubbish in his ear. Her mum always said you had to treat injured men like babies.

There was only one more layer left. Robert dipped his fingers in the bowl of water before starting to peel it off. Sirius cried out in pain. His eyes were wide and staring, looking imploringly into her face. It was funny, Cho had only met him twice at lunch, and both times he’d been flirting with different girls. Even though the first time she’d thought he was after Harry’s blood, he’d always seemed really cool and relaxed. Now he was shaking, crying from the unbearable pain in his leg and mouthing words she couldn’t hear.

“Finished!� said Robert triumphantly, as he pulled off the last, soggy rag.

It revealed what was left of Sirius’ leg. Somehow it looked like a drawing in one of her mum’s medical books. One with all the skin flayed off. But this was much worse. It was only hanging onto the upper part of the leg by a piece of skin and a thread of muscle. There was blood dripping everywhere. Ripped nerves and muscles were slowly sinking onto the table. The shattered bone showed up against all the redness. Little pieces were stuck to the nerves, and smaller bits floated on the pools of blood.

Cho dropped her sponge, and put her hands over her mouth. She didn’t want to see it, but her head refused to move away. Robert moved the leg slightly, and there was a horrible crunching noise.

The freezing cold floor seemed to roll sideways and strike her on the temple. Someone called her name. She tried to grab onto something solid, but then the whole room vanished into darkness.

***

When Cho opened her eyes, she was sitting in the corridor with her back against the wall. She stretched her arms out in front of her and blinked slowly. The blurry shapes seemed to be coming into focus. Cho realised with a start the black and skin-coloured fuzz beside her was Robert. He was kneeling beside her, looking concerned. Silently, he handed her a steel cup of water.

“Drink this.�

It took several attempts to get her hand in the right direction (her arm didn’t seem to be doing what her brain told her to). Cho finally closed her hand round it and lifted it towards her lips. The cold water seemed to flush all the fluff out of her brain.

Then she remembered.

“Sirius! What’s happened to him?�

Robert sat down next to her and smiled, “He’s fine. After you fainted I repaired his bones, re-worked his muscles, connected his nerves and healed the skin. He’s sleeping now.�

Cho nodded and, for want of something better to do, took another sip of water. The right side of her head throbbed painfully. She presumed that was where she’d fallen, and closed her eyes.

Robert saw she still wasn’t cheering up. He leaned forwards in a confidential manner, and whispered, “That Lavender though. She really fancies herself as a romantic heroine, doesn’t she? Kept on plaguing me during the operation, sobbing and wailing, ‘Oh Moore, will he be alright?’�

He got up onto his knees, clasped his hands to his chest, looked upwards pathetically and moaned, “Oh Sirius! How can I bear to live without you? If you die, life will be meaningless for me! I shall jump off the Astronomy Tower rather than be parted from you forever, my darling!�

Cho folded her arms and did her best to look severe, “I’m sure she wasn’t that bad!�

“How do you know? You weren’t there!�

She rolled her eyes, “It’s impossible to argue with you, so I won’t bother.�

***

Cho was suddenly jerked out of her day dream by someone calling her name. She sat up quickly, and rubbed her eyes. Robert looked round the door.

“Ah, there you are. I just wanted to tell you that you’re free to go down to dinner.�

“Really?� She felt like doing a victory dance.

Jumping up, Cho grabbed her diary in one hand and her bag in the other. She was half-way to the door, when all her drawings fell out of her journal. They were only tiny sketches (because she would never have the patience to do something much bigger) of people and objects when she found them. Even though they were just silly little things, she’d never let her parents or friends or anyone else see them. She dropped down to pick them up, but Robert got there first.

He scooped them all up in his hands, and picked one to look at it closer. Her face burning, Cho made a swipe to recover them, but Robert just held them higher so they were out of her reach.

“Give them back. Now!�

Ignoring her, Moore looked closer at the drawing in his hand. It was of a brunette who’d fallen asleep in the Ravenclaw Common Room. She was sitting by a table, resting her head on her hands, “Hmm…interesting subject. Not sure you’ve got her right arm quite in perspective. It looks a bit short to me.�

Cho wanted to scream. She made another grab for them, but he was so much taller than her it was easy to keep them out of her reach. Moore turned to another one, “Your diary?� He studied it, frowning slightly, then passed his judgement, “The lines of the book aren’t quite parallel.�

“They’re mine, Robert, and I don’t want you to look at them.�

He turned to a third one of someone reading at mealtime. Cho stamped her foot, “Please give them to me.�

Moore smirked and dropped them into her hands. Immediately, she stuffed them back into her diary and stowed it away in her bag. Without giving him another glance, she swept from the room, wanting to cry and scream at the same time.

***

Her bad mood lasted about halfway down the corridor. There was no point feeling annoyed, it was the weekend, after all. And she was determined to have a good time tonight!

Cho sped down the marble staircase, and half-ran across the Entrance Hall. There was a hum of chatter coming from the big double doors on her left. She went through them into the Great Hall. Cho felt suddenly shy as she entered. There was no one for her to sit next to. None of her old friends were here (obviously) and she would rather walk through fire than talk to them again. Because working at the hospital was so enclosed, she never really met anyone apart from Robert. And she wasn’t sitting next to him. There wasn’t anyone else. Of course she recognised lots of people, but being a Popular Girl meant you hardly spoke to anyone. She was just about to go and sit by herself at one end of the table, when the most welcome voice she’d ever heard called out,

“Hey Cho! Why don’t you come and sit with us?�

It was Hermione Granger, waving an arm enthusiastically in the air. A disgruntled Ginny tried to pull her friend’s hand down. Giving up, she whispered in her ear. Hermione shrugged, and beckoned to Cho.

“Hi.� She approached the crowded table. “Is it ok if I sit with you?�

Hermione nodded eagerly, which made her brown hair bounce around her face. Seeing she was never going to win, Ginny slouched and looked as grumpy as she possibly could.

“Hungry?� Hermione offered her a bowl of vegetables.

“Half-starved. Robert practically works me to death!�

“Ah yes, the infamous Robert Moore. We’ve heard lots about him, haven’t we, Ginny?�

The red-head shrugged her shoulders, and carried on ferociously spearing her chips.

Hermione sighed, and carried on, “So what do you think of him?�

“I can’t stand him!� Cho snorted. “The way he never seems to shave properly. And his hair looks like he’s been pulled through a hedge backwards. His smirks drive me crazy. He’s got this annoying way of smiling at you which says ‘I know much more than you ever could’!�

Even though she was only talking to a couple of girls who were younger than her, it felt nice to get rid of all the anger in her system.

Ginny looked distinctly unimpressed, “Is that it?�

Cho felt a bit confused, “Why? That’s not enough for you?�

“Well, all I’ve heard so far is that he smiles strangely, has messy hair and doesn’t shave properly. Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that he might have better things to do with his life than perm his ears?�

Hermione blushed and elbowed her friend sharply in the ribs. There was something very irritating in Ginny’s defiant glare. Cho put another spoonful of tomato soup in her mouth and got ready for war.

“He’s stubborn and bad-tempered. And rude. If things don’t go his way he gets sulky, and he always thinks he knows best! And he’s completely tactless. Happy?�

Cho threw down her spoon into her empty plate, and walked out as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself. She stomped up the huge marble staircase. Who did Ginny think she was? She didn’t know anything about working in a hospital, or Robert!

Now Cho didn’t know where to go! She didn’t fancy anymore snide comments from Ginny, so she couldn’t go to her dormitory. And it was too cold and dark to go outside. Cho sped up. It felt nice just to be walking after being cooped up in Robert’s office for a week. She stormed past the library door, then walked backwards to face it. Why hadn’t she thought of going to a place she loved so much?

Cho tried the iron handle. Was it locked? No, the door easily swung open, with its familiar creak. She stepped into the deserted library. It had never been this empty before, as far as Cho could remember. There were always lots of people, especially in the summer before exams. Now though, it didn’t seem like it was visited much. Maybe it was just because everyone was at dinner, but somehow the room seemed lonely.

She walked up the narrow space between bookshelves, enjoying the coolness and stillness. Normally she would hate the quite that filled every narrow space and made the air seem heavy. But now it seemed…peaceful. The shadows made by the bookcases didn’t seem threatening. And the chairs were just inviting her to sit down.

Cho perched on the edge of a seat next to one of the ‘private study’ desks. She felt very calm, as though all the anger inside her head had slowly been seeping away. Now that she came to think about it, maybe Ginny did have a point. Not about Robert. Cho knew she was right about him, but maybe when it came to Hermione. She’d been really nice to Cho, always chatting to her and sitting next to her at meals. So why had she never made any effort to be friendly back? Hermione seemed a perfectly pleasant girl. She would definitely be a better friend than Marietta or Ellie ever could be. So why hadn’t she been sociable back?

She leant forward, putting both elbows on the desk. There was nothing for it but to admit the truth: she’d judged Hermione because she hadn’t been cool at school, and she didn’t make any effort to be pretty (or at least, not usually). Cho wanted to kick herself. All this time she’d been flattering herself that she was better than the Popular Girls. Now she realised she was worse.

They didn’t pretend to be anything better than silly, shallow, superficial girls. Cho had made herself believe, just because she was slightly different to the usual mould, that she cared more about people’s personalities. Well, she’d just proved herself completely wrong. Brilliant

Cho made a sudden, silent resolution to change. She was going to find Hermione, and sit down and talk to her about something. No matter how many Ginnys insulted her. As she left the library, Cho smiled to herself. She felt like she was just about to make a new friend.

Chapter Eight – The Prophecy of the Six Elements In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.
Robert Frost

Hermione could hardly breathe as she watched the hospital attendant disappear again to bring Cassandra in. This was probably going to be the most difficult thing she would ever do in her life. And she couldn’t wait for it to be over.

The nurse came back, wheeling in probably the oldest woman Hermione had ever met in her life. She was hunched over, with her arms wrapped protectively around her body. Her feather-soft white hair was tied neatly into a bun, without a strand out of place. Hermione gazed straight into the old woman’s eyes. She felt like icy fingers had taken hold of her arms. They were green, with lots of dark lashes. But somehow they didn’t seem to sparkle and glitter like in the photos on the tables. Her eyes looked slightly milky. Maybe it was just Hermione’s imagination, but they seemed to lack all the spirit and fire that was present in the pictures. However, the older Cassandra still had a heart-shaped face. And there was something familiar about the lines of her chin.

She was absent-mindedly fiddling with the knotted fringe of her shawl, not seeming to notice her two visitors. Hermione was sure she was never going to get the date, let alone a prophecy, out of her. But she’d made a promise to try, so she would.

Hermione approached Cassandra, and knelt down so she was facing her more on a level. The clouded emerald eyes surveyed her, then the Seer patted Hermione’s head, saying:

“Ah, Elsa. How nice to see you.�

“Elsa?�

Who on Earth was she?

The nurse tapped Hermione on her shoulder, and whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry. Sometimes she gets people confused, and it’s best to just let her. Elsa was her great-great grandniece, and Cassandra was ever so fond of her, she used to visit every Saturday.�

“Used to?�

“Elsa died in childbirth just a year ago. But you do look a little like her.�

Hermione didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded. Looking back at the prophetess, she wondered how many people that she loved would be lost. The thoughts made a lump swell up in her throat. She tried to force her attention back to getting the prophecy.

Cassandra had all her attention fixed on one corner of the sitting room. Crouch was standing there, his face half-hidden in shadows, his expression unreadable. The Seer put a trembling hand to her mouth, and made an effort to stand.

“J-Jamie ?� She stumbled over her words, her eyes filling with tears. “Is t-that you?�

Crouch shot Hermione an inquiring look. “Her husband,� she mouthed. “The DDL killed him.�

He bit his bottom lip, and stepped closer to the lamp, which threw his features into sharp relief. Hermione watched Cassandra’s whole body sink with disappointment. Her eyes stopped straining to see, and became dull and unfocused once more.

“You’re not Jamie,� she sighed, “he was far more handsome than you are.�

The nurse blushed and tried to cover up her charge’s remark. “Why don’t you sit down? Shall I make some tea?�

“Yes please,� said Hermione as she seated herself in an armchair on Cassandra’s right. Crouch helped the nurse get out cups and saucers out of a drawer, then settled down on a coach opposite them.

The attendant placed the tea things on a silver tray. She opened another drawer, then sighed in frustration. “There’s no cake! I’ll need to go and get some. You don’t mind if I leave you for a while, do you?�

“Not at all,� said Hermione calmly. Inside, she was celebrating. Now there would finally be an opportunity to ask Cassandra without anyone sticking their noses in.

The nurse left. “The prophecy?� Hermione mouthed at Crouch. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, and started to make the tea. After three failed attempts, she took over.

“Would you like a cup?� she asked Cassandra.

The Seer turned away, pulling her shawl closely around her.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, shall I?� muttered Hermione as she handed one to Crouch.

He grinned mischievously, then turned back to Cassandra and made some comment about the size of the room. The three of them began to talk about Living Rooms in general. Hermione knew exactly what he was doing, and she didn’t like it. Luring victims into a false sense of security.

Cassandra was a strange person to talk to. Sometimes she seemed perfectly sane, but then she would get lost in her own mind again…

“So,� Hermione sighed, after the conversation had been dominated by silence for a few minutes. She really didn’t know what to say, so she better think of something quickly, “I’d say the autumn chill has really started this week. And the leaves…�

“Don’t you dare discuss the weather,� Crouch hissed in her ear. “Of all the topics in the entire universe…I refuse to talk about it. On a matter of principal,� he folded his arms across his chest and huffed.

Hermione imitated him, and said coldly, “Well what do you suggest? Got any better ideas?�

He considered her for a second, then replied, “Nope. For once in my life, I really can’t think of anything to say.� He arranged his legs in a ridiculously bendy arrangement on the couch. Then suddenly, he laughed, “Discussing the weather. The height of Britishness. Please, carry on.�

She was really starting to fear for his sanity.

Hoping Cassandra hadn’t noticed, she carried on, “Where was I?... Oh yes, the leaves! I always hate to see them come off the trees, don’t you?�

Her last sentence didn’t seem to have registered, as the Seer was obviously lost in her own thoughts, “He said I should always make sure I cleaned my cauldron out properly. Always worried that my potions would get contaminated…� Cassandra fell silent, her mind obviously still wandering off on thoughts of a certain person. Somehow, Hermione had a feeling she knew who it was.

Crouch poked her arm, “Ask her about the prophecy!�

“Now? Why me, can’t you do it?�

“Look at her,� he pointed to the prophetess. Hermione stared. Cassandra was rocking backwards and forwards in her chair. Her hands were twisted into knots in her lap, and a lone tear trickled down her weathered cheek.

“Go on.�

Hermione’s throat tightened, and she looked away, “I can’t. Why don’t you?�

“Because I think she likes you.�

She might as well. The prophetess probably wouldn’t remember anything anyway. Hermione sighed, kneeling in front of Cassandra’s chair, and looking directly into her face.

“I was wondering, could you try and do something for me?�

The Seer started to fiddle with her sleeve. Her head was bent down over her lap, with a few stray hairs dangling in her eyes. There was absolutely no point in asking her, Hermione was sure of it. But she may as well try…

“I need you to think back to the night…when you lost your family.�

Nothing changed in Cassandra’s face. Did she understand anything being said? The Seer had stopped crying, but there was still a wet trail down one cheek.

Hermione hoped she was doing this right, but she seriously doubted it. “Earlier on that evening, you made a prophecy about Six Elements. Do you think you can remember it?�

Cassandra closed her eyes. Could she even recall a line of it? Hermione wasn’t sure what was going through the Seer’s mind. She gazed beseechingly at Crouch, willing him to come to her rescue. But he just stood there, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He shrugged, and gave her a half-smile.

Hermione turned back to the Prophetess.

Cassandra was staring straight at her, tears arranged like droplets of morning dew on her lashes. Somehow her eyes seemed clearer, brighter, and a more brilliant shade of green than before. For the first time, Hermione could see the young Cassandra shining through the old lady’s face.

The Seer stared intently at her, “You’re not Elsa, are you?�

Suddenly, Hermione hated herself for ever having deceived Cassandra. How could she have taken advantage of the Prophetess like that? She was hardly better than a Death Eater. “No, I’m not. I’m called Hermione.�

“You look like her,� said the Seer fondly, her eyes glistening with tears, “the same smile, and a similar-coloured iris.�

She didn’t need Crouch’s subtle poke in the arm to know this was the right time to ask her. “I’m sorry I’m not Elsa. But I do need your help. I – no, we –� she corrected herself, glancing at Crouch, “want to know if you can remember the Prophecy of the Six Elements.�

Cassandra stared at her blankly, and for a moment Hermione thought the whole trip had been for nothing. Dumbledore’s trust ill-founded. All hope of ever knowing what the prophecy said disappearing before her eyes. But then she was proved completely wrong. The Seer glanced desperately around her, then started to speak.

“At the hour of despair,
The Dark Lord shall fall
By the hands of the
Six Elements of the Prophecy.�

There was a pen stuffed into one of the pockets of her jacket, but she didn’t have anything to write on! She desperately scoured the room for a sheet of paper, but there was nothing. Hermione was just about to start writing on her hand, when Crouch offered her a well-creased piece of parchment. There was no time to hesitate, Cassandra was beginning again.

“Drawn together for reasons
They can hardly explain.
To fight for liberation
For the whole of the wizarding world. �

Hermione was scribbling madly, praying Cassandra would carry on.

“They shall come against barriers
Set down by the Dark Lord.
And fight against Mind and Body,
Emotions and Past, Memory and Judgement.

Six Elements.
Three women. Three men.
Nothing to unite them,
Save their differences.�

Cassandra broke off. As a chill spread through Hermione’s veins, she whispered, “You’re doing really well. Can you carry on?

“My first comes,
To Light up the way.
Just a little girl scared of the dark,
Who grows and blends.
M.H.M.

The second will be
Firm and steadfast as Earth.
He shall be born from a pure black Geranium,
And a red Lily from Muggles.
Waiting for the Light on her slow path through Fire.

As for my third,
She soars light as Air.
One whose heart will be broken thrice,
Death’s shadow too quickly upon her.
Still waiting…still waiting…

Fourth will be
With a temper of Fire.
Denies himself the chance of happiness,
For the sake of his parents.
A butterfly. An accountant’s daughter. The second son.

My Fifth will run,
As deeply as Water.
Condemned for her blood by the world,
Praised for her brightness.
A black and white rose intertwine.

Out of the shadows of Darkness
My last will come.
Ends his source in wood and bone,
Armed and trained by the Dark Lord,
But seals his Master’s fate at the last stand.

At the hour of despair,
The Dark Lord shall fall
By the hands of the
Six Elements of the Prophecy…�

Cassandra stopped abruptly. Her head dropped onto her shoulder, and her eyes became unfocused once more. Hermione stood up, and realised she was crying. Her sleeve was all she had to wipe her cheeks with. So she used it.

“Thank you,� she said to the slumbering Cassandra. Before Crouch had the opportunity to steal her copy of the prophecy, Hermione stored the precious parchment in her jacket. He was rummaging inside his coat until he produced a tissue. Silently, he passed it to Hermione.

At that moment, the nurse bustled in again, carrying a cake.

“Here we are!� She chirped, laying it down on the table next to Crouch. “Sorry it took so long. The kitchens didn’t have any, so I had to go all the way up to the tea rooms.�

The attendant cut them both large slices of sponge cake, and Hermione couldn’t think of a way to say ‘no’ politely. Cassandra had woken up, and was staring around the room looking slightly bewildered. They talked about nothing, Hermione longing to finish her food so she could escape. Now it was all over, all she wanted to do was go to sleep for hours.

“I hear the Chudley Cannons came bottom of the Quidditch League again,� remarked the nurse.

“Unsurprisingly,� Crouch snorted.

Hermione attacked her slice of cake with a ridiculously decorative fork, and forced another chunk into her mouth. It had become almost impossible to swallow the over-sweet, thick layers of jam and cream. Her head was pounding unceasingly, and her stomach churned unpleasantly. She expected any moment for it to relieve its contents all over the rose-coloured carpet.

“I don’t see why they even bother playing anymore. I mean, the Tornadoes beat them six hundred and fifty points to ten. Maybe they hope their Seeker will do a Plumpton Pass by accident,� Crouch seemed to notice she was having difficulty finishing her cake. He slipped her plate in front of him, putting his empty one next to her so stealthily the nurse didn’t notice. He picked up his fork, and the slice was finished in three mouthfuls.

“I think I’d better be going now.�

The nurse got up, “Yes dear, it is rather late. But you will come again?�

Hermione nodded, and bent down in front of Cassandra, “Thank you. We’re so greatful for what you’ve done. I hope-�

The Seer put a hand to Hermione’s cheek, “Bless you, Elsa.�

All she did was nod.

She smiled at the nurse, and thanked her for the cake. She wasn’t really sure what to say to Crouch, so she just left it. It took all her self-control not to run out of the sitting room. Hermione walked quickly into the cool, dark corridor. She pulled out Dumbledore’s inkwell with a trembling hand. All she wanted to do now was go home.

“Hogwarts castle.�

Chapter Nine – New Beginnings

In each family a story is playing itself out, and each family's story embodies its hope and despair.
Auguste Napier

At about the same time as Cho was sitting in the library, Draco flopped onto a sofa in the Living Room of Malfoy Manor. It had cushions in a tasteful shade of dark green, with elegantly carved legs made from mahogany. He’d just eaten a huge three-course dinner, the sort they had when important guests dined with them. Except it had just been Draco and his parents, with enough food – and table – to last them for a week. Perhaps he should have eaten slightly less; he was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable.

But there was always room for chocolate. His mother had given him a box of Fondant Fwoopers after the meal, and she’d be upset if he didn’t have one or two. Of course, he didn’t really want any, but seeing as his mother had gone to the trouble to get them, he should be grateful. She was always giving him presents at the moment. The excitement of seeing a wrapped box was beginning to wear off.

The same went for living here. When it had been decided Hogwarts had to close, Draco had been celebrating. No more too-hard Transfiguration homework, loosing to Gryffindor or Potter-worshipping. But it was early November now, and he’d pretty much run out of things to do. It wasn’t like the holidays when his mother made sure she was available, and his father took time off work, so they could take him out. His father was out at the Ministry, and his mother was busy. So, for once in his life, Draco had been left entirely to his own resources. And they’d completely run dry. For months he’d been spending most of his days wondering about the house trying to keep himself amused. If only something would happen…

The door to the hall opened, and his mum put her head round it. “Oh, Draco,� she said, coming in and shutting it behind her. “I thought I might find you here. I need to speak to you.�

Not knowing what to expect, he budged up on the sofa to give her some room to sit. Instead, she seated herself in an armchair opposite him. In private, his mother always seemed to want to make herself as small as possible, as though she was afraid someone might step on her. Draco didn’t understand why, as she was really rather pretty.

She had fine, pure-blooded features, which could be mistaken for haughtiness by people who didn’t know her. Her skin was almost white, with only the tiniest blush of carnation pink. She had high cheekbones, a pointed chin and an oval face. Maybe the lines of her jaw were a little too sharp, but they were hidden well by her abundance of hair. His mother had white-blonde, silken locks, falling only slightly short of her waist. Her hair was almost straight, but it had a slight ripple to it like running water. She tucked a wisp behind her elf-like, pointed ear.

“I’m going to make a request, which is probably going to seem strange to you.�

Draco had only just noticed she was holding a letter in one hand. She twisted it nervously in her lap as she spoke, but he could make out some of the writing. It was thin and slanted, which made it difficult to read upside down. He could only make out one word in the mass of squiggles. Was it ‘prophecy’? Or perhaps ‘portkey’?

“You mustn’t think I’ve gone mad, or anything like that. But I can’t explain why I want you to do this.�

Trying to relax, Draco ate another chocolate. “Just tell me, mother!�

“Of course.� She bit her wine-coloured lip. “I – your father and I – want you to – go to Hogwarts. To see Dumbledore.�

If Draco had been standing up he would have fallen over. As it was he had to be content with dropping his box of chocolates. “But Hogwarts is being used for the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. They’re not exactly going to let a Death Eater’s son wander in!�

His mother’s voice trembled as she spoke. “It’s all arranged. Dumbledore sent me a portkey for you to use.�

“Aren’t you even going to consider asking me? Maybe I don’t want to go!�

She got to her feet. Every muscle inside her was trembling. She fixed him with a tragic look from her bluebell-coloured eyes. It should have made him feel guilty, but today it just made him more annoyed. Draco jumped up from the couch. He focused his small, grey eyes into her large, deep ones.

“It’s not my decision. If you have any consideration for me or your father, you’ll go.�

“Why should I when you won’t tell me anything about what I’m going to do?�

“I told you, Draco. I can’t.�

He folded his arms huffily. “You’re always making decisions without me. I’m never allowed to do what I want. It’s not fair.�

She blinked rapidly, but her eyes were filling with tears. They collected at the bottom of her eyelids, then spilled out onto her cheeks. His anger dissolved, he could never stand seeing her cry. Forgetting their argument, he put an arm round her shoulders and sat her down on the sofa. Most women looked awful when they cried, but his mother looked as beautiful as ever. He passed her a tissue, and she wiped her eyes.

“Oh Draco,� she put a slim hand on his cheek, “I don’t want you to leave me, any more than you want to go. I’m scared I’ll never see you again.�

“Is it going to be really dangerous?�

His mother dropped her gaze to the floor. Staring at her feet, she said, “No – nothing like that. I’m s-sure you’ll be fine…�

Draco shook her arm until she looked him straight in the eye. “Mother, just tell me. Will it be dangerous?�

She nodded, and then burst into tears again. He waited as patiently as he could while she cried into the arm of the couch. Eventually, she sat up and wiped her face with her hands. “I w-wish I could protect you, but it’s t-time for you to go out into the world, and do things y-yourself.�

“I agree entirely.�

“You do?� Her face lit up with rays of hope. “So you’ll go?�

“I suppose,� said Draco, finally resigned to the fact he was going, so he may as well try to be pleased about it. “But what are you going to tell father?�

“Oh, he knows,� she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His mother glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, and gasped. “Quarter to eight? Draco, we haven’t got much time before the portkey leaves. I’ve packed for you, but you need to check, just in case there’s anything else you want to take.�

Without waiting a moment longer, he ran out of the room.

***

Nearly fifteen minutes later, Draco came down the grand marble staircase clutching his school trunk. He gazed around him, at the dark mahogany panelling, the glittering chandelier, the expensive crimson stair carpet. How long would it be before he saw all this again? A shiver fluttered up his spine like a frightened bird. If he ever came back here.

There was a voice coming from the Living Room. Abandoning his trunk by an oil painting of one of his ancestors, Draco crept silently and stealthily towards the door. If no one was going to tell him what was going on, he’d have to find out for himself.

It was a heavy door, made from mahogany like the wall panelling. Draco thanked his stars that he’d left it slightly ajar. If it had been closed, he wouldn’t have been able to hear anything. He crouched down on the floor, and peeped through the slit of light.

His mother and father were standing together in the middle of the room. In a rare moment of informality, she was crying on his shoulder. He was trying to calm her down, stroking her hair as he did so.

“It’s for the best,� he murmured, more gently than Draco had ever heard him speak before.

“Why does he have to go?� she wailed. “I don’t want him to leave me.�

“Dumbledore will need him to be there. He has to go, Cissa.�

“I know. I always tried to remember we would only have him for a short time.�

“And he’ll be much happier.�

“Do you think Dumbledore’s going to tell him…about Lily and James Potter?�

“I don’t know,� his father said, clutching his wife to him. “I just don’t know.�

Draco stood up. He felt a sick feeling rising from his stomach. What had Potter’s parents got to do with him? He desperately wanted to ask his mother and father, but he wasn’t supposed to have heard in the first place.

Wanting to rip someone’s head off with frustration, Draco grabbed his trunk and knocked on the door. He waited for his father to tell him to come in, then entered.

His mother was sitting in an armchair with her back to the fire. She was holding a tissue in one white hand. When she saw her son, she whimpered, and put a hand to her face. At the fireplace, with his face half-hidden by shadow, stood Draco’s father. He motioned for him to come closer. When his son was within arm’s length, he held out a hand.

Completely confused, Draco picked up the silver ring he gave him. It had a lion’s head carved into it, with miniature rubies for eyes.

“What’s it for?�

“That’s your Portkey to Hogwarts. When does it leave, Narcissa?�

“Ten minutes past eight.�

Draco looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was difficult to read in the flickering firelight, as it was made from some stone or other that was as black as the deepest depths of the sea. He didn’t know why they kept it, but his mother said it had been a wedding present from some great-aunt or other. They had about two minutes left.

“Goodbye, Draco.� His father shook hands with him. “I hope you make me proud.�

“I’ll try.�

He nodded, and went to his mother. She jumped up and threw her arms around him, enveloping him in the sweet smell of jasmine. “Keep yourself safe, darling! Don’t do anything reckless. Listen to Dumbledore. And don’t fight anymore than you need to!�

“I’ll do my best for you, mother.�

She held onto him tightly, not wanting to let him go. Draco could hardly breathe. “I don’t know when we’ll see you again, but I hope it’ll be soon. If you’ve left anything behind I’ll send it to you. but don’t-�

His father’s voice cut in sharply, “Narcissa, the portkey. It’s almost time for him to go.�

“Goodbye, Draco!�

“Bye.�

He grabbed his trunk and held the portkey tightly in the other hand. His parents were holding each other closely, both trying to smile and failing miserably. What did it matter to them, they still had each other? Draco turned away from them. He didn’t want to see the people who were sending him off into the unknown. His parents didn’t care about him at all.

They waited a few more seconds, before Draco vanished, the portkey taking him far away, leaving a grieving father and a sobbing mother.

Chapter Ten – Parents and Children

It is not a bad thing that children should occasionally, and politely, put parents in their place.
Colette

Draco materialised outside Hogwarts castle. Glaring angrily at the ring that had brought him there, he pocketed it and picked up his suitcase. All he knew was that he had to get to the front door, and then to Dumbledore. If they let him in, of course.

The distance from him to the front doors, which was less than the length of the Knight Bus, couldn’t have seemed longer. His legs shook beneath him, and his hands could barely hold his suitcase. What if this was some misunderstanding, and the Order weren’t expecting him? Would they kill him? Draco’s stomach clenched. He tried to swallow, but his throat seemed to have been walled up. Or what if it was a trap?

Draco forced himself to knock on the door. This was a different kind of courage to fighting someone. It wasn’t fear of death or injury, it was fear of the unknown that was plaguing him. He tried to stay calm as he heard footsteps approaching across the marble floor of the Entrance Hall. It would be alright. It had to be alright.

The door opened suddenly. A pretty girl of about Draco’s age peered out into the gloomy night. She had shoulder-length, slightly wavy hair the colour of honey. A single curl kept on falling in front of her large, blue-green eyes. They reminded Draco of shallow, tropical seas on a sunny day.

“Hi. What’re you doing here?�

“I’ve – I’ve come to see Dumbledore.� His words jammed in his throat and stuck to his tongue like treacle.

“I’ll take you to see him, if you want.�

“Yes, I would,� said Draco, gratefully. He’d been afraid that he would be left to find Dumbledore by himself.

The girl raised her eyebrows until they disappeared into her fringe. “I think most people would say ‘thanks’ at this point.�

“What? Oh, thank you for taking me to see Dumbledore.�

The girl rolled her eyes. “That’ll have to do. Come on.�

She turned round and headed for the marble staircase. Hastily, Draco grabbed his suitcase and followed her. For someone quite small, she walked really fast.

Trying not to sound out of breath, he asked, “Could we slow down a bit, please?�

She stopped, and turned around. Draco noticed with irritation there was a slight smile plucking at the corners of her mouth. “’Course, if you can’t keep up.�

Draco was about to snap a reply about how heavy his suitcase was, but thought better of it. She’d probably just find some way to twist his words against him. As she thought she was so clever, he decided that she should think of something to say. They walked in silence for a few minutes. Finally, he decided it was getting a bit ridiculous.

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t know your name.�

“Myra Mix.�

“I’m Draco Malfoy.�

The conversation seemed to be wilting in front of his eyes. What else could he say?

“So…why did you decide to join the Order?�

“To get away from Mollie.�

Feeling very ignorant, he asked, “Who’s she?�

“My sister. Half-sister actually. Her mum, Christina, married my dad ages ago, before I can remember.�

“What happened to your mother?� asked Draco, realising too late it probably wasn’t a very good question to ask.

“She died,� said Myra bluntly. “I don’t know how. Dad never talks about it.�

“Oh, I’m s-�

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry. I know you’re not, and neither am I.�

“What?� Draco gaped at this strange, unfeeling girl. “But…but she’s your mother!�

Myra shrugged nonchalantly. “I was only a month or so old when it happened. Christina’s my real mum, now. All I wish is that she hadn’t had Mollie.�

“What’s wrong with her?�

“Everything,� sighed Myra, and the mischievous, playful twinkle in he eyes seemed to have been extinguished. “She’s like a gormless little parasite. When she started Hogwarts last year, she had this huge tantrum because she was sorted into Hufflepuff, and she wanted to be in Gryffindor, like me.�

Draco stiffened instinctively. He was in the presence of an enemy. Remembering that now he was at the Order of the Phoenix, he was going to be spending a lot of time around Gryffindors and Mudbloods, he forced himself to relax.

“Mollie followed me all the time, and kept on interrupting me when I was talking to friends. And at home she was even worse. She trailed around after me from room to room, and the second I did anything a tiny bit wrong, she’d run off to tell Christina. I hated her. So when I heard about the Order, I came as soon as I could. It looked like it’d be fun, and Mollie would never dream of signing up, so I was safe from her.�

Draco wasn’t quite sure what could be remotely ‘fun’ about staying in what was, basically, a wartime stronghold for people stupid enough to fight against Voldemort. But he decided not to say anything.

“So when you went to school you came to Hogwarts.�

“Of course.�

“Did you like it?

Myra shrugged in a non-committal sort of way. “I suppose. It was alright. I wasn’t really into the whole ‘learning’ thing, which was kinda a problem.�

“Yes,� he grinned. “I expect it would be. Did you play any Quidditch?�

She stopped in her tracks and span around to face him. Her expression was half bemused, half exasperated. “Err…honey, do I look like I enjoy sport? Or care about it at all?�

He looked at her closely, glad to have an excuse so he didn’t feel awkward. She was slightly plump, not fat exactly, but she wasn’t all sharp angles and hip bones like the models in Pansy’s fashion magazines. And she definitely didn’t have the build of a female Quidditch player. Her hair, which fell in silky waves on either side of her rounded face, didn’t look like it had ever been ruffled by the wind. And when Myra showed him her nails, Draco saw how long and perfect they looked, each tinted bright turquoise. If she tried to catch the Quaffle, she’d probably puncture it.

“No, you don’t look like you’d ever play sport,� Draco admitted.

“Well then,� Myra started to walk again. “Don’t ask stupid questions.�

He hurried after her.

“We’re almost there, by the way,� she casually threw the remark over her shoulder.

Fingers made from ice and dread clenched against his lungs so he could hardly breathe. In a few minutes, he’d have to see Dumbledore. What was he going to say? Desperately trying to distract himself, Draco spoke to Myra again.

“So, what subjects did you like at Hogwarts?�

She rolled her eyes, and said scathingly, “Do you interrogate every girl you meet, or am I just an exception?�

“Oh.� Flames burnt inside his face. He dropped his gaze from her mocking eyes, and stared at the floor instead. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I don’t want to think of what’s going to happen to me here. I never wanted to come in the first place.�

Myra’s expression softened somewhat. She laid a comforting hand on his arm, like an exotic bird, nestling briefly, before flying away again. He felt the bubbling, tingling magic from her fingertips soak into his skin. “Don’t be scared of the future, Draco, if you can’t change it.� Then, even more gently, she said, “We’re here.�

“Where’s the door?�

“There isn’t one. You have to know the password.�

“But I don’t.�

“Fortunately for humanity, I do. It’s ‘Jelly Yetties’.�

***

They stood outside the door to Dumbledore’s office. Shaking, Draco was about to knock when he heard a voice coming from within. A voice that definitely didn’t belong to the Headmaster. It must be a girl, and he was sure it sounded familiar. If he leaned against the door, he could just about hear what they were saying…

“Here it is. I wrote the whole thing down, even though I suppose I could just give you my memory, but I didn’t want to forget any of it…�

There was a rustle of unfolding parchment, followed by a muffled note of surprise. Draco was almost sure it came from the headmaster.

“It looks to me as though you have obtained the whole prophecy.�

“I think so,� said the female voice hesitantly. “It mentions all six Elements, and it certainly seems to make sense.�

“I am amazed and impressed in equal measure. When I sent you to Cassandra, I had no idea she even remembered the entire prophecy. How was she, by the way?�

Draco didn’t need to be in the same room to pick up the sudden eagerness in Dumbledore’s voice. Obviously, he was very interested in this person they were discussing. Cassandra, wasn’t it?

The girl cleared her throat. “Not well. She…she confused me with Elsa, her great-great grand niece, or something like that. Her mind wandered a lot, and she talked most of the time about Jamie.�

The eagerness in the headmaster’s voice had been replaced by infinite sadness. “Thank you. I only hoped over the last month or two that there might have been some small improvement.�

Draco noticed that Myra was giving him funny looks. She was probably wondering why he hadn’t gone in yet. So, gathering his tattered courage around him, Draco knocked.

“Come in,� said Dumbledore, and the door swung open before he had time to grasp the handle.

The headmaster was sitting behind a desk, his face in shadow. The whole study was dark, except for a small fire and a few lit candles scattered around the room. At first Draco didn’t recognise the girl sitting opposite Dumbledore. She had her back to him, and all he could see of her was a lot of chocolate brown hair. Then she turned around, and Draco instantly knew who she was, even though she looked much, much older.

It was Hermione Granger.

“What’s that Mudblood doing here?� he demanded, realising too late that he wasn’t supposed to say that word while he was at the Order. After all, if Myra was in Gryffindor, then they couldn’t be all bad, could they?

Instead of hurting her, his remark only seemed to make her amused. “Very nice to see you too, Draco.�

Draco? Not Malfoy? Clearly, something very odd was going on here.

“Kindly refrain from using that word while you are staying at the Order,� said Dumbledore, more sharply than Draco had ever heard him speak before.

“I don’t mind, Professor,� Hermione protested.

The headmaster acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “Please sit down, Mr Malfoy. I have a very short space of time to tell you everything you need to know.�

“Why is she here?� objected Draco, jerking his head in her direction.

“Because you, Miss Granger and four other unknown people all share a certain destiny.�

That was ridiculous! He was the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. He didn’t share anything with that busy-haired know-it-all. Dumbledore had it all wrong, as usual.

“I am afraid there is a lot you do not know about yourself at the moment. You have been lied to about your parents and your destiny. Now it is time to learn the truth.�

***

Dumbledore finished his explanation nearly an hour later. All through it, Draco sat still trying to understand this mind-boggling mass of information. He hadn’t opened his mouth to ask a question once.

His parents were Lily and James Potter. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been lying to him all these years. His mother was a Mudblood. Muggleborn, he corrected himself. That couldn’t possibly be right. He’d been brought up to believe that Muggleborns were inferior, and so were Half-Bloods. He was inferior. He was on the wrong side. Now he was expected to work against the Dark Lord, with trash like Hermione Granger. But his mother had been like her. So that made him trash, too.

Draco shook these thoughts out of his head. It was too much to try and understand all at once. He had to get away from it all before it engulfed him entirely. Before this talk with Dumbledore, he had wanted desperately to go home. Now Draco didn’t have a home, and he certainly didn’t belong at Malfoy Manor.

He needed to go to bed.

“Do you have some sort of spare room I can sleep in?�

“Of course. The boys’ dormitories are located in the Gryffindor and Slytherin Common Rooms. But I have sent to Lucius and Narcissa, and they should be arriving shortly. I trust you will want to speak to them?�

Draco’s honest answer would have been ‘no’, but he just shrugged his shoulders. There wasn’t much he could do to avoid them. Eventually, he’d have to talk to them, and hear their excuses. So it may as well be today as any.

“They should be here in about ten minutes. In the meantime, I expect you wish to read a copy of the prophecy?�

Draco nodded eagerly. Maybe there would be something in it about what you could do if you didn’t want to fight the Dark Lord.

The headmaster handed him a piece of parchment. It was covered by small, neat writing he recognised from somewhere. “This is the only complete copy of the prophecy in existence. It was written by Miss Granger, who retrieved it from a Seer very recently.�

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

As Draco read, he noticed Dumbledore open the door and speak to Myra. She was leaning casually against the wall, inspecting her fingernails. When she saw the headmaster, she stood up straighter, and her arm dropped to her side. Draco held the parchment just below eye level, so he could spy on them without being noticed.

“Miss Mix, I was wondering if I could send you to fetch Harry. I have some guests arriving that I want him to meet.�

Myra sighed like a martyr, “Ok, ok, I’ll go get him.� Under her breath, he thought she muttered, “I’m doing way too much walking for my own good, here.�

“Thank you very much,� said Dumbledore as she turned and flounced down the stairs.

Potter? Of course, Potter would be meeting his parents. Only, he wasn’t Potter, he was Malfoy. Draco himself was Potter. It was all too confusing. He gave up, and went back to reading the prophecy, which wasn’t making much sense, either. What did ‘MHM’ stand for? And all this stuff about flowers. And what on earth did ‘Ends his source in wood and bone’ mean?

***

Myra located Harry sitting with some friends in the Great Hall. He seemed to know exactly why Dumbledore wanted to see him, and that he wasn’t going to enjoy it. She followed his purposeful strides out into the Entrance Hall and up the marble staircase. It seemed obvious that he wasn’t going to be receptive to a little light flirtation. But Myra was in luck. His hot godfather Sirius had come along too, and he was definitely up for it. Much better than that wimpy Malfoy boy…

***

“Now, Miss Granger,� said Dumbledore, seating himself in his chair again. “I have an important request to make. Would you be willing to take the prophecy and try to solve the other four Elements?�

“Me?� asked Hermione, shock and panic blanking her mind. “But don’t you know who they are, Professor?�

“I must confess I have no idea.�

“But…but this is crazy! How am I supposed to work out who they are? They could be anyone! I might not even know them.�

“You will, I am sure, Miss Granger. As the prophecy states, ‘Drawn together for reasons they can hardly explain.’ You know them, or will do shortly.�

“Why am I doing it, not you?� Hermione was panicked and near tears. Getting the prophecy was bad enough, but this. The entire wizarding world was relying on her enough already. What would happen if she made a mistake? No, she couldn’t do it. It was too much.

Dumbledore was dangerously close to laughing. “You are completely capable of doing this.�

“I can’t.�

“Of course you can, if you put your mind to it. Just like you could work out what the monster in the Chamber of Secrets was, and discovered Professor Lupin’s secret. I have complete faith in you.�

Hermione couldn’t deny that it felt very flattering to be trusted by Dumbledore. “But that’s different. This time, everything depends on getting the right answers.�

“But, as I have said, every person in the group will have a different role to play. Yours may well be solving the prophecy.�

Her resolve was waning like an old moon. There was no point in denying that it would be interesting to try and find the other Elements. “But what will happen if I can’t work out one of them?�

“We shall see. But you may find it will solve itself.�

***

Harry was tiered of listening to Myra and Sirius flirting with each other unsubtly. Neither of them understood what was happening to him. He had hated the Malfoys for years. Then Dumbledore had told him he was their son. And more than that, they had been willing to abandon him to keep that prat Draco safe. He should have been the one with parents. He should have lived in Malfoy Manor and had an ordinary, happy childhood. Draco should be the one with the scar.

As the three of them passed the Order’s hospital, there was a horrible noise that sounded like glass smashing. Then he heard a male voice, which he was pretty sure belonged to the Order’s Healer, bellowing, “CHO! WHAT DID I TELL YOU? NEVER HOLD IT WITH THE PINCERS LIKE THAT!�

The answer, when it came, was just as loud, “I KNOW! YOU DON’T HAVE TO KEEP ON TELLING ME!�

Harry was struggling to remember the Healer’s name. Did it begin with ‘M’? “THEN WHY DON’T YOU DO IT?�

“IF YOU ACTUALLY GAVE ME SOME TIME TO THINK, I MIGHT BE ABLE TO FIND THE RIGHT TONGS!�

Moore! That was it. “TIME TO THINK? DO YOU EXPECT TO HAVE TIME TO EXAMINE EVERY PIECE OF EQUIPMENT IN THE PLACE, AND MAYBE CHECK YOUR NOTES TOO, WHILE SOMEONE’S LYING ON THE OPERATION TABLE BLEEDING TO DEATH?�

There was a metallic clatter. It sounded to Harry as if the offending pincers had been thrown onto the floor. A door was slammed nearly as loudly as the Big Bang, and the Healer, Moore, swore several times.

Myra was barely able to keep her laughter from bubbling to the surface. She beckoned, “Come on, Harry!�

***

Draco finished reading the prophecy, and handed it back to Dumbledore without a word. He was very glad that Granger was going to be solving it, not him. It didn’t seem to make any sense whatsoever.

One of the headmaster’s silver instruments suddenly started to make noises like clanking chains. It had a delicately curved pipe at the top which was emitting jets of different-coloured smoke. Turquoise. Crimson. Bottle-green, and then a humongous burst of violet. Dumbledore crossed the room and inspected the instrument closely, his crooked nose almost touching the pipe. It gave out three short puffs of fuchsia, and then fell silent again.

“Mr and Mrs Malfoy are just about to arrive,� said Dumbledore quietly.

All his confused, angry, hurt feelings about the Order, about blood and his parents, which he’d tried to bury, seemed to be resurfacing. They threatened to erupt, destroying everything in their path. Why had he let his parents make him go to the Order? He’d come meekly and resigned, because his mother had wanted him to. What had he done to deserve this sort of treatment?

“I don’t want to talk to them. I absolutely refuse to have anything to do…�

Draco trailed off. The fire had swelled to a roaring mass of jade and emerald flames. And he knew what was coming next. He made an attempt to stand up, but all his blood had frozen solid, and all he could do was gape.

Two figures emerged from the fire. The people he’d thought were his parents until Dumbledore enlightened him. They dared to stand before him as though nothing had changed! That he still knew nothing of their lies.

“Draco,� said his moth – said Narcissa softly. She put her arms out to hug him, but he withdrew from her coldly. He didn’t want anything to do with that lying, betraying woman. She stepped back to her husband’s said, head bowed, hands clasped.

“You lied to me,� Draco accused bluntly.

“Yes, yes we did,� his fa – Lucius answered.

“But I swear,� said his wife, “We didn’t want to deceive you.�

“And you brought me up on purpose so I’d find it difficult to fit into the Order.�

“We had to, Draco. We needed to raise you like a true Death Eater’s son.�

“You could have told me.�

Lucius was about to speak, but Draco interrupted him for the first time in his life. “No! Don’t you dare talk to me. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.�

Myra and Sirius Black, with Harry trailing along behind, entered the study laughing and chatting, but fell silent immediately.

“I hate you both! You’re the worst parents who ever lived. You abandoned your own son, and you couldn’t even bring me up properly! I hate you, and I hope the Dark Lord finds out you’re traitors, and has you killed!�

And with that, Draco stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

For a few minutes, there was absolute silence. No one moved, or took more than light shallow breaths. But everyone heard Draco bang downstairs and out into the corridor below like a hurricane.

Myra was the first to speak, shattering the tension like a stone thrown into a motionless lake. “Does Draco always behave like a spoilt brat?�

“Yes,� said Harry quietly.

Ignoring the last two comments, Dumbledore asked, “Well, I expect you’ll want to talk to your parents?�

He tried not to panic, and forced his voice to keep steady. “I don’t want an audience.�

He wasn’t having Hermione goggling at him, or Sirius silently hoping he’d punch Mr Malfoy and break his nose. Or Myra finding everything desperately amusing. But, as they all filed obediently out of the study, he realised he didn’t really want to be alone with them either.

Only after Dumbledore had shut the door quietly behind him, did Narcissa speak. “Hello Harry, I suppose you hate us like Draco does?�

With a great effort, he shook his head. “No, I don’t. But I’ve had longer to think about it than he has. Dumbledore told me just after the Tri Wizard Tournament.�

Harry felt oddly calm and detached from everything surrounding him, as though none of it mattered. This wasn’t happening to him, it was happening to a boy called Harry Malfoy, who he didn’t know.

The secret he’d been forced to keep inside him had been burning for so long, it seemed almost ordinary. When he’d first known, he’d been as angry as Malfoy was now. Harry remembered spending hours just lying on his bed and hating everything to do with it. His blood parents, his real parents, Malfoy, Dumbledore, himself…

“I still don’t understand it properly, but I don’t think I ever will. I forgive you for not telling me, or Draco. I know it was necessary. But what I can’t believe is how little you cared about me. So little that you could easily abandon me to someone else’s care, when you knew how dangerous it was.�

“No, Harry,� interrupted Narcissa. She drew herself up regally, full of hurt pride, and Harry was forced to recognise himself in that. “It wasn’t easy to give you up. We didn’t want to have to leave you in danger. But I knew Lily Potter, and I knew she would protect you like her own son. And I was right. She sacrificed her life for you, even though you were only someone else’s child.�

“But you still put my life at risk, just so that Malfoy could be safe,� said Harry sulkily.

Narcissa opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Lucius spoke.

“Naturally. And if you were in the same position, Harry, you would do it, too. Consider how terrible everyone’s lives had been, while the Dark Lord was in power. All the murders, lies, hate and suspicion which was all part of our day-to-day routine. Then along comes a boy who could help stop him. It would be years before he could protect himself, and we knew Voldemort would discover his identity before long. No one could protect a person against him for twenty years, or as long as it took to locate the rest of the Elements. And we were the only other couple with a new born child that Dumbledore could trust. It was our duty.�

Harry didn’t want to admit it, but Lucius was probably right. He glared at them both, Narcissa agitated, her hands like two squabbling birds constantly fidgeting, her husband cool, calm and unreadable as ever. “But…but I barely know you! I was twelve before I even met you. You can’t expect to just stroll back into my life.�

“We’re not, Harry,� said Narcissa, calmly. “We just thought…well, that it was better for you to know who your parents really were. And if you ever needed us, we would be happy to-�

“I don’t need you help!� Harry spat. “My life’s bad enough without this mess.�

“It could be much worse,� she said quietly. “Draco found out that he is an orphan today. At least you’ve gained parents.�

Harry was not in the mood to hear about Malfoy, and how much more important he was. “I was perfectly happy with the ones I had before, thanks.�

An angry silence pressed over them for some time. Harry felt like he was slowly being smothered by a huge, hot cloud. Its weight seemed to be slowly grinding him into the carpet.

Finally, when he couldn’t stand it any longer, he spoke. “I think we’ve said everything we need to.�

He stalked to the door, and was about to open it when Narcissa spoke. “Harry, if you ever need to take a break from the Order, you’ll always be welcome at Malfoy Manor. You know that, don’t you?�

He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just shrugged, and pulled the door open. Sirius, Hermione, Dumbledore and Myra were still waiting outside. They all jumped, and tried to look as though they hadn’t been listening in on their conversation.

“I think Narcissa and I should be going home now,� said Lucius.

Harry hugged himself protectively, and tried to seem inconspicuous. He waited as the Malfoys held a quiet discussion with Dumbledore. Hermione looked like she wanted to speak to him, but he shook his head. Not now. He couldn’t talk until everything made sense to him.

Dumbledore lead them into his study, and offered them Floo powder. They were leaving, without saying goodbye. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or overjoyed, as they tossed their powder onto the fire.

At the very last moment, just as she was about to be devoured by the flames, Narcissa turned back. Her long blonde hair, tinted green by the firelight, spilled over her left shoulder, and her eyes gleamed brightly. She couldn’t have looked more ethereally beautiful. “Goodbye, Harry.�

He watched with confused, mixed emotions as his parents were consumed by the fire, and he was left alone.

Chapter Eleven - Desperation

Expecting the world to treat you fairly because you are a good person is a little like expecting the bull not to attack you because you are a vegetarian.
Dennis Wholey

Unwillingly, Cho dragged herself to the hospital as slowly as possible. She’d stormed off in a huff yesterday after Moore had exploded at her because she broke a test tube. Apparently, she had held it with the pincers instead of the tongs, as if that made a big difference. They both looked exactly the same, but try telling that to him…

She reached the door to his office. Now came the hard part – apologising, and admitting she was wrong. Really, Moore should say sorry to her. He’d been the first to loose his temper. But if she waited for him, then they’d never speak again. He was so stubborn and pig-headed, and he could never admit to being wrong.

Taking a deep breath, and putting on a suitably penitent face, Cho came into his office, and got the surprise of her life.

Robert was standing before a glass fronted cabinet, fiddling with his tie. Instead of his usual dark trousers and lab coat, he was wearing a shirt, dark green waistcoat and a plain black tie which refused to be done up properly. Cho noted with approval that he had shaved thoroughly, for once, and his hair looked much neater than usual.

What’s he dressed like that for? Cho wondered. He must be going out somewhere. But he’d never be able to bring himself to leave work unless someone had died.

She noticed his expression. He looked like he wanted to strangle something.

Perhaps someone has, she thought. He looks pretty grim. But more angry and upset. Maybe it was someone he didn’t like…

Robert must have noticed her reflection in the glass, because he spoke to her without turning round. “Ah Cho. You’re here. Excellent.�

“Are you going somewhere?�

He nodded. “I’ll only be away one day, and hopefully there won’t be any emergencies. If there are, send someone to get me. I’ve left the address on the desk.�

He flung his tie down in frustration. “Useless thing won’t do up.�

Cho tried to annoy his eyes, which were like pits of molten lava. “Shall I try?� she asked tentatively.

Robert shrugged, and tried to look as if he didn’t care one way or the other. As she tied it around his neck, she dared to inquire, “Where…where are you going?�

“To Charlie’s wedding.�

“Who’s…�

“My older brother,� Moore replied shortly.

She finished his tie with a flourish, “There!�

“Thanks,� he muttered without looking at her, and flung himself into a chair. His shoulders sagged. They looked like they were bearing the weight of the world. He glared down at his shoes as if they had personally caused all the pain and suffering in the universe.

Clearly, there must be something very pressing on his mind. Cho marvelled at how angry he must be. Normally, Robert would use these spare moments to test her about some obscure poison or other. The only way to unburden him, Cho knew from experience with her friend’s ‘guy problems’, was to get him to talk it all out. And that was about as easy as flying without a broom.

“Who’s he getting married to?�

“Samantha Fawcett.�

“Oh, I’ve heard of her. She had a sister in my house. Isn’t her father a billion-galleon businessman, or something?�

Robert smiled weakly. “I think that was why my parents were so keen to welcome her into the family.�

“Are they…� Cho trailed off, unsure of how to put her thoughts into words.

Fortunately, he seemed to understand her, “It’s just…for them, money is so important. And they’re also ambitious, they want to see their sons rise.� That trait certainly ran in the family. “Money isn’t all they care about, but – for them – it offers security. And my father raised himself out of nothing. Every Knut he owns, he’s worked for. We’re not just some prosperous, land-owning family that goes back centuries. My parents have had to make do and save and carefully invest so that Charlie and I could have all the opportunities they missed.�

“I know, that’s the same with mine.� Cho had never really considered that part of her parent’s lives before. They’d come to England without knowing a single person, just so they could take good jobs in St Mungo’s. A tiny flat above a corner shop was all they could afford. They must have been scraping by so that, when they had a child, she could have everything. Whatever they’d done, here was undeniable, irrevocable proof that both her parents had always loved her.

Robert’s shoulders drooped slightly, “Sometimes I think I’ve been a disappointment to them. I know they’re paranoid that I’ll become poor. It’s because I want to discover new treatments, and go to places where hospitals have poor standards, and help improve them. I didn’t become a Healer so I could sit around in St Mungo’s and get paid loads.�

Cho wanted to tell him that he couldn’t be a let-down to his parents. Any people with their heads screwed on properly would be proud of a son with so much talent and intelligence, despite his many faults. Her mum and dad definitely would. But instead she said, “That’s like my parents. They wanted to control my entire life – my career and everything – just so I’d have a big stack of Galleons at Gringotts.�

Cho listened to him laugh properly, not just smirks and snickering behind her back. “It’s funny,� he said. “People are so envious of the children of rich Healers and businessmen. They think we have our entire lives served up on a plate for us. But, for all the cocktail parties and grand houses, I’d much rather be the son of some average, thoroughly middle-class parents, wouldn’t you?�

She giggled, “Well, after my recent behaviour, I don’t think I’ll be invited to any cocktail parties.�

“What exactly did you do?� he asked, his head slightly to one side. Cho wouldn’t have told him, except he looked so…honest. He seemed generally interested in her answer, and wasn’t just asking out of politeness. “I heard from McGonagall that there was some sort of family drama.�

“Well,� Cho came and perched on the edge of the desk, to stop her feet from hurting. She considered carefully how to cut her long, complicated story into something manageable. “Basically, all my life they’ve been channelling me into one job. Even at school. They made me do things like Potions, which I hated and was no good at. Then, when Hogwarts closed, they tried to send me to St Mungo’s. I said no, because I wanted to come to the Order instead. They wouldn’t let me come, so I just packed my suitcase and left.�

He was looking at her intently, his bright, grey eyes searching her face. It was as though he was seeing her for the first time. “That was a brave thing to do, Cho.�

“It didn’t feel like it at the time.�

“But your parents will come round in the end, won’t they?�

“I hope so,� Cho realised that she was about to cry, and the tears wouldn’t stop. “Despite everything they’ve done, and all the things that have come between us. I would never forgive myself otherwise.�

“You’re lucky. My parents – my mother especially – would never forget. She’d cut me off, never speak to me again, and act as though I was dead. Unless she could find some way to revenge herself upon me. It would break her heart, but that wouldn’t stop her. But even though she’s done some awful things and still holds ridiculous, petty grudges against people who’ve offended her, I love her just as you love your mother.�

Cho didn’t know how to answer him, so she just nodded, and tried to force her tears away from her eyes. There was no point in sobbing so hard, it wouldn’t change anything. Her parents would forgive her some day. They had to.

Silently, and without any trace of a smirk or sarcastic remark, Robert passed her a tissue. It felt cool, and soft as swansdown against her flushed cheeks. She dabbed it against her eyes gratefully.

He was still looking dark, and was glaring at nothing in particular. His dark mood obviously hadn’t lifted, so she made another attempt to distract him. “So…this wedding. Where’s it going to be?�

“Charlie’s having it at home, like the good little boy he is. Then I think Samantha’s parents have something planned. I’m sure it will be incredibly stupid, and a complete waste of time.� Robert twisted the parchment with his parents’ address on it between his fingers.

“It will be lots more fun than sitting around in here being bored.�

He looked up and grinned impishly, “You could always learn your antidotes if you don’t have anything else to do.�

Cho planted her hands on her hips and glared at Moore. “I hope you’re joking, Robert, otherwise I don’t think you have any chance at becoming human.�

“Don’t worry,� he leaned forwards conspiratorially. “I am.�

“Good,� she said faintly

Robert glanced at his watch and sighed. “I think I’ll have to leave now.� He yanked his jacket on and took one final, critical glance of himself in the glass fronted cabinet. “I might be shot if I’m late.�

Cho raised her eyebrows. “And you think that this would bother me?�

He smirked, picked up his wand and slotted it into his pocket.

“Au revoir, Cho.�

But by his expression, she would have thought he was marching off to war, not going to a wedding.

***

Nearly an hour later, Cho was sitting at the desk, her head propped in her hands. She’d been doodling on a sheaf of parchment that she’d torn out of the back of her sketchbook, but had given up. She glared at her scribbles. They looked crude and childish. What was the point in spending all her free time on useless sketching, instead of actually doing something? Any talent she possessed wouldn’t be tapped into if all she did was doodle on scraps of paper.

Cho pushed her chair back, hoping the ear-splitting, piercing screech would drown out all her thoughts. But no, the voice kept on nagging at her, like a dog that refused to let go of its toy.

I don’t feel artistic today, Cho told herself firmly. She wanted to do something…different and exciting and new. Maybe to help Robert. He might try to hide it but Cho suspected that, even though he was working her hard, he was grinding himself into the ground. After all, training a nurse practically from scratch, as well as all the thousands of other jobs needed to run a hospital to his high standards, it must all add up. He was always in here before her, and she was sure that he didn’t leave until long after she’d gone. She realised, with a small, uncomfortable yank to her heart, that she really hadn’t considered how hard he was working before.

There were no patients, so Cho was free to wonder around the hospital without being disturbed. She combed the rooms for something that needed fixing. Well, she wasn’t scrubbing the floors again. Robert absolutely adored making her do that, and invariably, the day after someone would come in with limbs missing and drip blood everywhere. The house elves took care of the laundry, so the bandages and bed linen were no problem…

Cho froze suddenly, and a huge smile spread over her face. Of course! She beamed at the humongous, glass-fronted cabinets where Robert kept his stock of cures for poisons, stings, burns, potions, curses and other ailments people might contract while fighting the Death Eaters. All the shelves were stuffed with glass bottles containing anything from herbs to bezoars to unicorn hairs. Each bottle had an ancient, time-stained label, written by Robert, whose handwriting was illegible at the best of times.

She remembered vividly when she’d had to retrieve something from these cabinets. Finding anything was impossible. Once upon a time, the bottles had been in alphabetical order, but as they were pushed around in a frantic panic to find a particular substance, and were rarely put back in the right place, their arrangement was now more or less random.

Yes, Cho decided, this was the perfect task for the day. She enjoyed picturing Robert’s face when he saw her handiwork. A mixture of surprise, pride and joy.

As she twisted her hair back and coiled it into a bun at the nape of her neck, she decided on her plan of attack. First, she’d remove all the bottles and give the shelves a good dust, then write some new name labels, and then she would find a better way to organise them…

***

By six o’clock, Cho was exhausted. She was finishing off the last few name labels, before she started to replace the bottles. She now had a completely different was of organizing them, that Cho was very proud of. There was one shelf for each of the different types of remedy, and she’d colour-coded the labels so it would be easier to put them back in the right place. And it meant that, even if all the bottles got out of alphabetical order, there would still only be a shelf to hunt through.

It felt like only a few minutes later, and there was only one type of cure to put back: herbs. She’d saved this one until last because both of the times she had used this cabinet, Robert had wanted a plant. So Cho presumed that this was the most common cure needed, and had to be easy to reach.

She was half way through stacking the containers in their new places, when she heard the door bang. With a huge surge of dread rising within her, she got up to see who the visitor was. A boy called Ricky Lewis flew into the office.

“What is it?� Cho asked urgently.

“There’s been – there was a fight.�

“How big?�

“Very. Five people from the Order have been killed, already. The fighting’s lulled, so we’ve had a chance to collect some casualties. They’re coming up.�

“Why wasn’t I told?�

“It was a surprise ambush. We were completely outnumbered, and no one was prepared to fight. And…Mad-Eye Moody. He’s been cursed. Blood’s oozing everywhere, but there’s something else. They’re – they’re bringing him up, but he’s barely alive.�

NO, Cho wanted to scream. The first fight in weeks, and Robert was off at a wedding. She couldn’t keep her head above water in these swirling rapids of the Order, death, curses and hospitals. She needed him.

“I have to find Robert!�

“What? Moore’s not here?�

A hysterical laugh was ripped from Cho’s throat. She couldn’t help it, the whole thing was so ironic. “Oh no, he’s at a wedding. Lucky him.�

Ricky stared at her desperately. “Can you cope without him?�

Just about as easily as breathe without lungs. “I don’t have a clue, I’m completely useless by myself. You need to go and get him.�

“Where is he?�

“At his parents' house. I’ve got the address somewhere.� Cho rifled through the papers on his desk. Where was it? He’d left it on the desk, hadn’t he? “Just a sec. I’m sure he put it somewhere…� Her searching became more panicked. It must be here, where else could it be? She shuffled through the piles faster and faster, until she was lost among the messy, cluttered stacks of parchment. Every heap was scanned several times before it hit her. There was no way Cho was going to locate the scrap of paper he’d written it on, the desk being in the state it was in. Especially as she’d messed it all up when she’d been writing labels. She cursed herself, and every other thing on the planet.

Cho was on her own.

Chapter Twelve - Returning Angel

My definition of an expert in any field is a person who knows enough about what's really going on to be scared.
PJ Plauger

“You’ll have to find out his address for yourself.�

“How?�

“I don’t know,� Cho said dismissively. She had a thousand other things she should be doing. “Ask Dumbledore.�

“He’s fighting.�

Cho could hear the soft murmur of footsteps and squeaks from the protesting stretcher. Moody was coming. “McGonagall, then, or one of Robert’s friends. Just find someone.�

She ran to help them bring Moody in, and lay him down gently. Cho was filled with even more despair as she examined him, if that were possible.

Deep gashes covered his skin, all coated with dirt and mud from falling on the ground. Any fragments of whole skin among the bleeding map of contours was drained of all colour. Not just pale, but white like sugar. And, most disturbingly of all, some of his wounds were oozing a thick yellow-green pus.

“What happened to him?�

“No one knows. We just found him lying like this.� Cho realised that one of the boys carrying Moody’s stretcher was Harry. He smiled encouragement at her. “We’ll bring the rest up now, shall we?�

“Are any of the others going to die?� It sounded horrible and callous now it was out of her mouth, but she needed to know.

To her relief he shook his head, and hurried off after the others.

Cho tried to think calmly. The first thing she should do was wash the wounds, and try to stop the bleeding. What did she need? A sponge, a bowl of water and lots of bandages.

As she touched Moody’s scarred forehead, she almost withdrew her hand in surprise. He was burning up. His forehead felt like it was on fire. What was wrong with him?

Cho tried to keep focused on one small task at a time, so she wasn’t overwhelmed. As she bandaged his head, Moody became conscious for a few seconds. He scowled at her. “What’re you doing? I don’t want to be treated by a nurse. Where’s Moore?�

“He’s coming,� Cho whispered, praying that it was true, and his eyes flickered shut again. She worked quickly, her fingers now expert at tying bandages. In her peripheral vision, she was vaguely aware of more casualties being brought in. They’d have to wait. Moody was just growing worse, as his temperature rose, and he started to shift and mumble and whimper. The faint traces of movement seemed to bring him more pain than relief.

He was dying, right in front of her eyes. And she had no way of preventing it. Where was Moore?

There had to be some way to lower his temperature, or he’d never last until Robert arrived. Cho considered for a moment, then found an idea. She used her wand to freeze some of the water, then wrapped it in a towel and laid it on his forehead – more patchy bandages than skin. Then Cho retrieved a fresh sheet, soaked it in cold water, and laid it over him.

Ricky Lewis sped back in. Relief burst through her heart, until she realised that he was alone. No comforting, prepared, capable figure came through the door after him.

“I couldn’t find anyone.�

It had been a stupid idea. The Order was in the middle of a crisis. No one had the time to baby-sit her, she had to do it herself.�

“Go into his office. Look on his desk, there should be a bit of parchment somewhere on there. I remember him fiddling with it, and screwing it up. If you can’t find it, search the drawers. Maybe he has an address book or something.�

Cho turned her attention back to Moody. The few scraps of skin still in tact were now tinted green. He was sweating madly, so she dipped a cloth in water and wiped his face again. Then she noticed all his bandages were rapidly turning crimson. And each bandage was several layers thick! Normally, even the larger wounds would be starting to clot by now. There shouldn’t be this much blood.

Wounds that wouldn’t stop bleeding, high temperatures, green skin, puss. It all meant something. Poison! Of course, why had she misread all the signs? It was so completely obvious.

But that was bad, that was terrible. This seemed to be a fast-acting venom, which meant that Moody was going to die very quickly. Would they find Robert in time? At the rate Ricky was going, it seemed doubtful.

How could she help? Cho didn’t have the vaguest clue what poison it could be. The symptoms weren’t close to any of the antidotes she’d learnt, either from Robert or Snape. There was no possibility that she could help. If she attempted to, she would probably just make it worse. But how could Cho just sit around, waiting for him to die?

It could be hours before they managed to contact Robert, she had to try something. But what if she gave him the wrong cure, and Moody got even sicker? Or what if Cho killed him? She couldn’t do that

But if she abandoned him to die, it would be just as much her fault. More. At least Cho would know, if she tried to cure him and failed, that she’d done her best, and no one could blame her.

Her mind made up, Cho leapt out of her chair, and tried to work out what to do. After dismissing several ridiculous ideas, Cho remembered something that Robert had once told her about curing poisons. He called it the ‘Cure-All Cocktail’, used to buy time either so an antidote could be located or, as in this case, to keep the patient alive until a Healer could be found.

It basically consisted of all the herbs that cured each individual symptom that the patient suffered from. A few others were added, to give the immune system a boost. They were all soaked in boiling water to remove all the juices. One or two other ingredients were added to the liquid, and then the patient had to drink it as fast as possible for the best effect.

This seemed to be her best option. Cho began her preparations to make it, thankful that Robert had forced her to learn her plant cures yesterday.

***

It didn’t take her long to realise that in order to cure his fever, she’d have to – as Robert said – ‘make it break’. This meant putting Edella in the cocktail. It was a plant with small, dark leaves and an almost floral scent, but its effect on the human body was horrific. For some reason, which Robert had probably explained, but she hadn’t been paying attention to, it caused the fever to grow worse and worse, until the patient felt like they’d been transported to hell. If the person was strong enough, the fever would burn itself out, if not, they’d die.

Cho’s hand hesitated as she was about to drop the Edella into the boiling water. This addition could easily kill him. But Moody had survived so many duels, battles and Death Eaters, he was almost indestructible. How could a little plant with small, heart-shaped leaves harm him in anyway? And if she didn’t add it, reducing the other symptoms wouldn’t really help anything. He was strong, and used to rough treatment. He’d pull through. Cho took a long, refreshing breath, and dropped the Edella in with the rest of the ingredients.

It was kill or cure now.

***

Cho brought the glass, brim-full of life – or death – giving potion, to Moody’s mouth. She tried to slosh as much down his throat as possible before he realised that it wasn’t alcohol. Droplets splashed everywhere, but she carried on until it was all down.

Moody was only semi-conscious. He blinked up at her face, surrounded by a halo of dazzling light from the lamp above her. “What was that muck? I want a Firewhiskey.�

“I’ll see if I can find one,� Cho said, tears sliding down her cheeks. She could have just given him something as dangerous as poison.

“You’re not Moore, are you?�

“What?�

“Moore would never let me have Firewhiskey when I was in hospital. Didn’t seem to realise it did me more good than all his potions put together.�

Cho nodded, adjusting his pillows. He’d be as comfortable as she could make him. They would both need every tiny scrap of strength they possessed during the next hour.

She’d only witnessed Edella in a person once before, and that had been with Robert’s comforting presence by her shoulder. How was she going to cope by herself? When she really, truly needed Robert, where was he?

Cho stuffed her hand in her mouth to stop the rising flood of panic, as Moody showed the first signs of the Edella’s effect. She would carry on, and not loose her head, for Robert. And when he returned, Cho swore she’d punch him as hard as she could in his face.

***

In far too short a time, the Edella took hold of Moody’s body. His temperature soared, and what made it so frustrating was the fact that Cho couldn’t try and lower it. She wanted to open all the windows, and dab the sweat off his skin like a mother during her child’s first illness. But she couldn’t. She had to let the fever break, even if it killed Moody in the process.

All Cho could do was try and keep him hydrated. And watch as the absolute burning agony caused him to cry out in pain. Having feelings at the moment hurt too much, so she tried to block them out, like when the moon eclipsed the sun. Cho focused instead on her patient. He was more dependant on her than any other person had been. She had to find the strength for two.

Moody yelled again, his voice twisted like a knotted rope, rapidly fraying and shot through with pain. She found herself grabbing his scarred, knarled old hand with her soft porcelain one.

“It hurts.� His voice was cracked like dry earth.

“I know,� Cho said, hating herself for what she’d done, hating herself even more for how much worse it was going to get.

She gave him another drink of water, and tried to make him more comfortable. If that were possible with the sweat-drenched sheets and desert-like air.

Time passed, but Cho didn’t notice. She felt like she was walking through a thick mist made from heat and pain. The only things she could see clearly were her patients, who all needed something of her. A glass of water, an extra pillow, or just a comforting presence. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find that parts of her body were missing. She gave everything she could.

Finally, hours later though that didn’t matter, Cho found herself sitting by Moody’s bed. He had both hands enclosed around one of hers, and she felt so hot that, at first, she didn’t notice the small changes. Moody was quieter now. His head rested wearily on the pillow, as if he knew the worst was over. In the dim light, Cho couldn’t see his expression properly, but she felt a sense of hope returning.

He was alright. He was going to pull through. The heat in his hands was receding slowly. It would take a while to return to normal, but it was going to eventually.

Break the fever, break the fever. Those words sounded more beautiful than life to Cho. Break. Snap. Stop.

Moody began to snore. He’d fallen into a gentle, peaceful slumber, unlike earlier. His fitful tossing and mumbling had been almost as bad as when he had been awake.

Cho sighed, relieved to every tip of her body. She rested her head on her free hand, trying to ignore the fact that her bones were turning to jelly. Now she wasn’t being powered by adrenaline, she didn’t seem to be running off everything. But Cho had to stay awake, in case Moody needed anything. The fight wasn’t over yet.

It was hard to remind herself of that. She tried to force her eyes to stay open, but all the shapes and colours were blurring together. If she could just…

***

Cho must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she could remember was a light. A clear, sharp, shining beam of pure whiteness that stung when it hit her eyes. She blinked stupidly, and raised a hand to try and block it.

“Cho, are you alright?� A voice breathed, close to her ear.

She sat up straighter, fighting against her drained body’s protests.

“Robert!�

She found herself clinging to something soft and cool. His hand.

Then she gasped. “Moody?�

“He’s alive.� Robert’s voice was soothing, gentle. “I’ve sorted him out. He’s still very ill, but he’s going to live. And I think he has you to thank for that.�

“Oh,� It was difficult forming the words inside her skull. “I need to-� what had she been going to say? “I’m so tiered, Robert.�

“Of course you are.� The words sounded like a lullaby. “You’ve done so much today. I only wish that I’d been there to help you,� regret coloured his voice. “You’ve gone through so much today. I’d have liked to spare you from some of it.�

“I want-�

“Shh,� he whispered, banishing all my prowling fears. “I’ll be able to cope on my own. You need to sleep.�

She felt the world wrench away from underneath her. Cho almost screamed, until she realised that Robert’s arms were around her. Everything was dark. She couldn’t see where they were heading. He set Cho down more gently than she thought possible, and felt him pull soft covers around her.

“Sleep well.�

Cho felt a soft touch run through her hair. She still had a hundred questions she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t remember them anymore. Everything was slipping away…

***

White. That was her next sensation. A feathery white with a certain warmth to it, not sharp and piercing like before. Cho felt so snug and comfortable, it seemed a pity to spoil it by opening her eyes. She was lying on something soft and cosy – a cloud? – that seemed almost to envelop her.

Cho realised that she felt…refreshed. Almost as if she’d had a great, crushing weight removed. She shifted slightly, and found she was still wearing her jeans and jumper from yesterday. This wasn’t normally how she felt after sleeping all night in her clothes, but still.

With a huge effort, Cho forced her eyes open. She was lying in a cream-coloured room, stuffed with occupied beds. It was relatively clean, so it couldn’t be her bedroom at home. Ah yes, she realised. It had to be the Order’s Hospital. She was lying in one of the beds.

And then she remembered.

“Robert!� she called, jumping out of bed. Her foot caught in the tangled nest of bedclothes, and she stumbled. Out of the window, she could see the sun was at the highest peak of its journey through the sky. How long had she been asleep?

“What is it?� he came through the door from his office, carrying a bottle filled with violet liquid.

“What happened?� Cho demanded. “How is Moody? And who won the battle?�

Robert didn’t answer at once. He handed the medicine to one of the patients, a fragile-looking witch, with instructions to drink it slowly, one sip at a time. Then he turned around to face her.

“Come into the office.� He made it sound like a request rather than a command.

Mystified, Cho followed him. Robert sat her down in a chair, and pushed a plate of food across the desk towards her.

“Hungry?� he asked, smiling mischievously as he seated himself opposite her.

Cho nodded, realising that she was starving. How many meals had she missed? Two? Three? Her wilted stomach twisted uncomfortably. She attacked the meal that Robert had saved for her with enthusiasm.

Between mouthfuls, Cho managed to ask, “Well? What happened?�

Robert folded his arms. His cold grey eyes flickered over her, as if he was inspecting her, to make sure she was well enough to take his news. She obviously passed his test. “From what I’ve heard, both sides retreated. There was a huge amount of blood shed that neither the Order or the Death Eaters could afford.�

“So it was all for nothing?�

He deliberated. “Well…not for nothing. We found out a lot about the strength and numbers of the Death Eaters. We also took some prisoners.�

“…And…the Order. Who did we loose?� It was ridiculous to feel sick and nervous about his reply. All of it had happened, and she couldn’t change anything by worrying.

“Six people died altogether. Marylyn Horton, Casper Godwright, Tim Fletcher, Christina Johnson and her brother. Oh, and Francis Proctor.� Even though his voice was mild, his eyes burned like flames made from stone.

Cho swallowed. There was no one whose name she recognised. She knew she was lucky – how many were grieving today for people who’d been taken from them? These names had families, friends, acquaintances, enemies. Maybe even boyfriends and husbands or wives and girlfriends.

Cho tried to shield herself from these too-painful thoughts. She would think about them later, when she could begin to understand.

“It would have been seven without you,� he said quietly. Robert took her empty plate with a slight smile, and pushed it on top of a grungy filing cabinet.

“And what about-� Cho tried to put her finger on the question she wanted to ask. It was elusive, but was like a constant presence, silently bothering her. “How did you know I needed you to come back?�

“Ricky found the address,� he said. “I should have left it somewhere easier to find, but I just didn’t think about it. I didn’t realise that this was going to happen while I was away.�

Cho nodded. Feeling like living dangerously, she asked, “And the wedding? Was it ok?�

Robert’s almost sunny face immediately clouded over. He shrugged, looking so much like a monosyllabic, grumpy teenage boy, that Cho had to suppress a smile.

Time to change subject, she decided. “So,� said Cho, standing up and tucking her chair under the desk. “What can I do to help?�

“Are you sure? I can cope perfectly well if you want to-�

“No. I couldn’t sleep when there’s so much work and no one to help you.�

“You’re becoming like me.� He grinned. “Workaholic.�

We both laughed, despite all the patients we would have to deal with. Even though we were both tiered, and the Order were missing six witches and wizards.

Robert gave me some bandages, so I could go and change Jack Foster’s wrappings. “Oh and by the way,� he glanced over his shoulder. “Thanks for clearing out those storage cabinets for me.�

Cho glowed. It was silly, but the fact that Robert had noticed her tiny gift, among all the death and destruction that encircled them, made her feel ridiculously elated. They both squared their shoulders, prepared for the huge mound of tasks that had accumulated.

Despite this, just being here with Robert, and having the power to heal at her fingertips, it just made Cho happy to be alive.

Chapter Thirteen – Seeing the Light

Miniature disasters and minor catastrophes
Bring me to my knees
Well I must be my own master
Or a miniature disaster will be
It will be the death of me

I don't have to raise my voice
Don't have to be underhand
Just got to understand
That it's gonna be up and down
It's gonna be lost and found
And I can't take to the sky
Before I like it on the ground

And I need to be patient
And I need to be brave
Need to discover
How I need to behave
And I'll find out the answers
When I know what to ask
But I speak a different language
And everybody's talking too fast!
‘Miniture Disasters’ by KT Tunstall

The week after the battle passed very quickly for Hermione. She’d been so busy, she hadn’t even glanced at the prophecy once.

Now, seven days later, life at the Order had almost returned to normal. It had happened faster than, a fortnight ago, she would’ve thought possible. But the Order were as tough as elastic, and they would never allow themselves to be defeated.

That couldn’t disguise the fact that there were six less places at dinner, and six beds never filled at night. Hermione felt as though the Death Eaters had punched six ragged holes in the web of the Order. When they were fresh, each rent oozed blood and seemed agonizingly painful. Now, the wounds were beginning to mesh round the edges. They still hurt, but the pain had receded slightly, making it at least bearable. Though no hole would ever completely heal over.

Hermione knew, like the rest of the Order, that the only way to keep sane was to be constantly doing things. And she did. Nearly everyone abandoned their usual posts and were assigned jobs to do. Hermione’s most difficult task had been informing families of the death of their loved one. It had been so hard trying to sit there without showing any emotion while Christina’s mother sobbed, and Francis Proctor’s sister keened like a dying swan.

Hermione shuddered. Thinking about those things wouldn’t help anyone, she reminded herself.

But, though the week had seemed very, very long while she’d been living through it, the Order was finally running smoothly again.

That was why this evening, instead of staying with Ron or Harry or Ginny in the Common Room, she’d sneaked off to the library armed only with a pen, her copy of the prophecy and a large bar of chocolate. She settled into a comfortable chair, and laid her equipment on the desk, graffitied with centuries of student’s names.

Now, where to start? Hermione picked up her pen, and began to read the prophecy again, scribbling down any idea that came into her head.

***

Hours later, though Hermione had completely lost track of time, very little progress had been made. She still didn’t have a clue about Light, Air, Fire or Darkness. They could be anyone! With all the millions of people in the world, how could Dumbledore be so sure that she would know these four, vital people among thousands?

Hermione read through the clue to Light again. And again. M.H.M. What did it mean? Was it some sort of code, or an abbreviation? Her brain seemed to have latched on to that one, tiny mystery in the vast ocean of puzzles that made up the prophecy.

M.H.M. Did it stand for something? Those three letters seemed to buzz in her ears, and wouldn’t let go. M.H.M. Where could she find out what it meant?

A sudden spark of inspiration struck her. Hermione jumped up, and dived into the deep shadows of the library. She returned a few minutes later lugging a thick, but relatively new, leather-bound book and slammed it onto the desk. M.H.M. might not be in there, but it was worth a try.

The cover was a pristine black, with ‘Hertsky’s Collection of Magical Abbreviations’ printed in gold on it. Hermione flicked through the pages, urgently seeking the ‘M’ section.

She found herself muttering the letters out loud. “M.A.L.F. … too early.� Her eyes shot down the column. “M.B.R.A. … no. M.D.L. …no, as well.� Hermione’s impatience was growing. “M.K. Much too late.� She backtracked quickly. “Ah. M.H.A.S. … M.H.L. … M.H.N.N. … oh.�

Hermione realised she’d gone past it. Before she gave up, she checked the book again, just one last time. In case she’d missed M.H.M. by accident. That wasn’t likely, as it already seemed more familiar than her own name.

Sighing, Hermione shut the useless dictionary. She felt somehow empty, as if all the adrenalin and excitement inside her had evaporated, leaving huge vacuums of nothing. It was pointless feeling disappointed, Hermione reminded herself as she settled down to more reading through of the prophecy. That wouldn’t change a thing. But humans were such irrational creatures…

* * *

Cho’s evening, like most since the battle, was being spent in the Order’s hospital. Before the clash between the two forces, she’d reckoned that she had been pretty busy. But now she realised that she’d got off pretty lightly so far. This last week could only be described as frantic.

They’d seemed to have had hundreds of casualties, all desperately needing attention this very minute. Robert and Cho had been rushing around, trying to do the work of an army with just two people. That meant waking up horrifically early, and only finishing when you physically couldn’t stand up any more. Twice, Cho had simply collapsed into a chair in Robert’s office and fallen asleep, because her body has been too exhausted to carry her any further.

Robert was also not aiding her sanity. He was absolutely convinced, despite every one of Cho’s protests, that he was personally responsible for leaving her without help that one night. It was completely ridiculous – no one could’ve known that there would’ve been such a battle in his absence – but he insisted on blaming himself. Because of this, Robert had reached new heights of workaholism.

Every morning, when Cho staggered down to the hospital from her dormitory, she’d find Robert already there, plunged into some task or other. He never stopped or slackened his pace, except for quick meals delivered by the house elves. And each night, when Cho physically couldn’t work any longer, she’d crawl off to bed leaving Robert to carry on alone. Did he ever sleep? she had wondered sometimes.

If that wasn’t bad enough, there was the way he treated her. Apparently, while it was ok for Robert to work himself to death, it wasn’t for Cho. He seemed to think that she was a fragile sculpture, made from spun glass, easy to smash and impossible to repair. Quiet and undemanding, Robert never let her do anything that he could manage by himself. Instead of ordering her about and finding fault with everything she did, all he seemed to do was protect her, and make her life as easy as possible.

While once upon a time Cho would’ve found this a refreshing change, Robert was her friend now. Of course sometimes he drove her crazy, and he could be stubborn and impossible to please, but she wasn’t scared of him anymore.

And she could not and would not leave him to destroy himself. He was strong and capable, but Cho didn’t believe like Robert did that he never got ill. If he had carried on, she was positive that his body would’ve just collapsed from exhaustion.

So Cho had taken it upon herself to save Robert from the demon workaholic that lurked inside him. She had gradually taken over more and more of the tiring jobs he’d tried to do by himself. Hermione had been persuaded to help out a couple of times, when she wasn’t too busy. Cho had even attempted to make Robert leave the hospital when she went off to bed. But – somehow – he had just found himself more things to do, and she made no progress. it was as if he wanted to kill himself.

It was then that Cho stepped up her campaign. After an awful lot of persuasion, tears and arguing, she’d managed to make Robert agree to occasional, fifteen minute breaks scattered throughout the day. He had accepted, with one condition. She had to take them as well.

She was so relieved, she’d said yes without thinking. But really, Cho didn’t need them. She didn’t have a death wish.


Cho flopped into a chair in Robert’s office. Tonight she was so exhausted, she was almost glad that she could rest her feet for a bit. Her shoes pinched uncomfortably at her toes, so she slipped them off and let her feet rest against the chilled stone floor.

But, even though Cho was more tired than she would’ve believed possible before she’d joined the Order, it was still free time. Over the past week she’d had little to no chance to just…have fun, and think about something that wasn’t work. Cho pulled herself out of her chair, and decided to explore Robert’s bookshelves in detail. It was something she’d never done before, mainly because she thought that he would be extremely overprotective of them. But also because she had never expected Robert would have any books worth reading. Cho knew now that was completely unfair, and he wasn’t just a Healer, any more than she was just a nurse. And the more she learned about him, the more she realised what a complex, interesting, unexpected person he was.

There were lots of books about medicine and healing. But Cho also found ones about history, art, transfiguration and, surprisingly, one or two small volumes of poetry. It was something she’d never really thought about before, but books could tell you such a lot about their owner. They were filled with ideas he shared, people he admired, and subjects that inspired him. In them, Cho would find passages that would never be lost to him, whether they made him laugh or full of despair. And most of all, she would discover how intelligent and thoughtful he was, by the type of books he loved.

As Cho studied the contents of each shelf, she let her hand run along the spine of each book, creating a patter of sound. It reminded her of when she was little. On the way back from the park, she’d always slid her hand along the iron railings lining the pavement. She remembered delighting in the satisfying clackerty noise she’d created.

The last shelf was stacked with books written in French. This puzzled Cho, until she remembered some vague illusion Robert had made, about one or other of his parents coming from France. Cho’s mum had taught her French, and she remembered finding it quite easily, especially mimicking the pronunciation. She had enjoyed picking up new words, Cho recalled. It was extremely satisfying, being able to uncover new ways of expressing herself. Like unexpectedly finding a sweet in her coat pocket.

Her mum had always claimed that Cho could’ve been really good at French, if only she’d worked a bit harder. But, after a while, her interest had receded like the tide. Her lessons changed from being new and exciting to tiring, boring ordeals, like a dress which looks fabulous in the shop, but the glamour of it evaporates once it’s taken home. Maybe she should’ve persevered for a bit longer, rather than just giving up as soon as her lessons stopped being a novelty.

Still, Cho could read the language fairly fluently, providing there weren’t too many present participles. She cast her eye along the row of books, trying to spot an interesting-looking one. A smallish book with a forest green binding seemed to be begging her to read it. She pulled it off the shelf, perched on a table and turned to the title page.

“ ‘Cyrano de Bergerac. Heroic comedy in five acts. By Edmond Rostand.’ Right. Cho hoped she wasn’t meant to understand that. But at least it made one thing clear; it was a play, not a novel.

She turned to the first scene, and was soon no longer in an office in the twenty-first Centaury. The book was like a door that, when opened, revealed a twisting path. As she wound deeper and deeper, she began to forget her name and everything except the world she was visiting.

The play was set in France, at a time when dashing young men with plumes in their hats duelled with swords. Women were divinely beautiful and had minds as sharp as rapiers. Words fluttered and waltzed, and sparkled like the chandeliers hanging from the ceilings. There was ambition and jealousy and rage, but beside them stood passion and courage and fresh ideas that bubbled like spring water.

It was a love story. Cyrano was a complex mix of dashing chivalry, arrogance and tenderness. He was desperately in love with Roxanne, a lady more beautiful than life and liberty. But she didn’t know, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her.

Because Cyrano was ugly as a gargoyle, cursed with a ridiculously large nose. Cho felt herself wanting to scream and scream at him for being so stupid. Of course Roxanne loved him. How could any woman resist a man who was honest and daring and passionate?

Cho had just reached the bit where Cyrano had resolved to tell Roxanne – and take the consequences, whatever they might be – when she was suddenly thrown back into reality.

“Cho? Are you alright?�

It was Robert. He was standing in the doorway, light from the hospital lamps surrounding him in a curtain of gold. His face was shadowed, and it was impossible to see his expression.

It took Cho’s dizzied brain, still stuffed with thoughts of Cyrano, France and Roxanne, a few moments to process the images that her eyes were sending. Then it all slotted into place.

“Oh no!� she cried, leaping up and – belatedly – shoving the book onto a random shelf. What had she done? Stupid, stupid girl. She’d read his book without asking his permission. Cho had always known he was territorial and peevish. Why did she have to ruin everything? She was in for it now. He was going to dissect her using only a blunt pair of tweezers and dissolve her limbs in acid…

“I’m sorry, Robert.� Cho hung her head so she wouldn’t have to see his expression. “I shouldn’t have read your books without asking.�

“Read them? Why shouldn’t you read them?� asked Robert distractedly, his mind obviously engaged on a more important problem. “You’re an intelligent girl, an independent thinker. I don’t know anyone who deserves to read these books more than you.�

Cho looked up, astonished. Robert had called her clever, and that was praise of the very highest coming from him. What was the world becoming? Next thing you knew, You Know Who would be swapping brownie recipes with Mrs Weasley, and Hermione would be teaching Death Eaters how to fly without magic.

“Oh…erm…ok.� Cho didn’t know how she should reply. She’d thought she knew Robert well enough to be able to – roughly – predict what he’d do. And yet here was another surprise, another aspect revealed. His personality was like a complex structure made from layers, some as flimsy as tissue paper, others hard and unyielding like granite. She wondered if she’d ever reach the core, and what she’d find there if she did.

“I didn’t want to disturb you, but I want to give old Mrs Philips an injection, and I think it might take both of us to have a chance of succeeding.� Cho grinned, remembering the ancient battleaxe who harboured a deep mistrust for all things medical.

Leaving through the door that Robert held open for her, he gave her an awkward sort of pat on her back. It could have filled a world with meanings.

* * *

“Hermione?�

It was hours since she’d first sat down and attempted to solve the prophecy. Since then, she felt like she’d aged a hundred years. Her muscles ached, as if they’d been squeezed through a mangle, and she could barely keep her eyelids from shutting. Hermione was drawing a slow squiggle at the bottom of the page, and she couldn’t summon the energy to stop.

“You in here, Hermione?�

Into her dim, shadowed vision stepped an incandescent figure who seemed to be made of sunbeams. Hermione blinked, and realised it was Ron, holding a candle aloft. His hair was the most vivacious colour in the whole library.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over the place for you.�

“I’ve got…got to find a – a link. Something to…�

“No, Hermione, you’ve got to go to bed.� Ron said firmly. “Come on.�

She mumbled a few feeble protests, but he swatted them away. “No. If you die of exhaustion, how’re you going to kill You Know Who?�

Hermione didn’t have an answer for that, so she groaned and pulled herself to her feet. She left the library with Ron, half stumbling and half being dragged.

Her perverse eyelids kept on falling shut, so she allowed him to steer her. “But it just…so hard. I don’t… who the other…are.�

You worry too much, Hermione. You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.�

Normally, she would have been both infuriated and secretly pleased with Ron’s blind faith in her intelligence. But now she couldn’t be bothered to feel anything. She leaned on Ron and let him help her up the eternal stairs to the Ravenclaw Common Room.

Inside, they were greeted by Myra Mix, who was lounging on a sofa with a bundle of parchment in one hand. “Ron, what’ve you done to her? Did you give her Firewhiskey, or something?�

“None,� he growled.

Hermione felt a faint sort of giggle bubble up inside her. Now that she was only a few minutes away from her destination, a secret reserve of energy kicked in.

“What’re you doing?�

Myra sighed as if the whole world was making her suffer – on purpose. “I’m doing this survey. If I finish it, I’ll get a year’s subscription to ‘Teen Witch’ – you know, the magazine.� Hermione did know. It was one of those rubbishy teen magazines stuffed full with drivel about celebrities and fashion advice. “Thought, judging by the length of it, I think they’re hoping most people will give up or die of boredom before they finish.�

Myra rolled her eyes and continued the survey. “Last name…Mix. First name…Myra. Other names…goodness, they’ve left me three lines. How many other names do they think I have? Helen…� She carried on, muttering under her breath.

Hermione ran back, all traces of tiredness banished. She felt like her blood was sizzling with anticipation. Had she just made the most important discovery of her life? “Myra Helen Mix. Is that your name?�

“Yeah,� she said, looking slightly alarmed. “Why?�

Hermione’s brain, which was saturated with tiredness, took longer than normal to process this new piece of information. Myra Helen mix. That was what M.H.M. stood for – it was her initials. Of course! She ran over the prophecy in her head, and the verse on Light suddenly made sense, as if someone had translated it into English while she hadn’t been looking.

’Just a little girl scared of the dark’…

Hermione had a feeling she’d heard Myra saying something about that. Maybe when some of the girls had conducted a lengthy ‘Truth or Dare’ session in the dormitory.

‘Who grows and blends’…

A sentence which had always lost her was suddenly completely, transparently clear. ‘Blends’ meant the same thing as ‘Mixes’. There she had been, trying to find some sort of deep, physiological meaning, when all along, it had been as simple as a name!

“I have to see Dumbledore!� Hermione burst out with. She couldn’t tell Myra here, in public, and she needed to be absolutely sure that she was right.

“Couldn’t you save it until tomorrow?� asked Ron wearily.

Hermione was so excited, anything travelling at normal pace seemed as slow as a glacier. She grew frustrated with Ron’s sluggish behaviour. “I’ve worked out one of the Elements!� Hermione hissed in his ear. “Light – it’s Myra!�

“Really?� Ron grinned, looking impressed.

“Yes – but I have to take her to Dumbledore. I don’t think I’d be very good at explaining everything, it’s all so complicated.�

She raised her voice to address Myra. “Oh, and I just remembered, Dumbledore wanted me to tell you that he would like to see you. I think it’s important.�

Myra looked vaguely intrigued.

“I need to go and ask him about this…thing I’ve been working on, anyway.� Hermione was too sleepy to fabricate a temporary lie. “We could go now, if you like.�

“Yeah, ok,� Myra shrugged. “I suppose it can’t wait.�

Hermione let out all her trapped excitement and joy through a brilliant smile, as the two girls set off to find the Headmaster.

* * *

They reached his office quickly. Hermione turned to Myra, and, praying that Dumbledore would still be awake, asked,

“Is it ok if I go first? I’m sorry to ask, but there’s a message I need to give him. It’s urgent.�

“Sure, sure,� Myra flopped back against the wall. “I mean, it’s not as though I don’t have better things to do. I could be finishing my ‘Teen Witch’ questionnaire right now!�

Nodding and attempting a smile, Hermione hoped that Myra wasn’t as much of an airhead as she looked. She knocked on the door, bursting with energy, and was relieved to hear a pleasant ‘Come in’.

Hermione pushed the door open. She ran up to Dumbledore, who was sitting and his desk studying a map, and cried out, “It’s her! Myra I mean.�

“Miss Granger,� said Dumbledore mildly, adjusting his spectacles. “I am afraid that I do not have the pleasure of understanding you. Would you care to explain?�

“Yes! She’s Light, Professor. I’ve checked, and it fits all the clues. She used to be scared of the dark when she was young. Her surname is Mix – and that means the same thing as ‘Blends’ doesn’t it. I thought it was something to do with her personality, but in the end it was just her name! And M.H.M. isn’t an abbreviation or a code, it’s her initials. Myra Helen Mix. It all makes sense, Professor.�

“Do you have a copy of the prophecy with you?� asked Dumbledore.

“Yes – I think so.� Hermione produced a battered, crumpled piece of parchment from her pocket. She handed it to the Headmaster. He leant over it, reading intently for some minutes. This carried on for so long, Hermione was beginning to think that it wasn’t Myra after all.

Then Dumbledore looked up, and he smiled. “You know, Miss Granger, I think you are right.�

Hermione glowed. “I – I brought her with me, she’s waiting outside. I haven’t told her anything, yet. Shall I -�

“Bring her in, if you please. We have many things to discuss, and it is already very late.�

Hermione fetched Myra, who looked very bored and a little drowsy. She tried to dismiss the cluttering thoughts inside her head, which whispered that Myra seemed to be a very strange person to pin the lives of thousands to. It wasn’t fair, and the girl might turn out to have hidden strengths. Hermione hoped so.

It took an hour to explain everything to Myra’s satisfaction. She seemed excited and, unexpectedly, enthusiastic as the two girls dragged themselves back to their dormitory.

Myra kept up a constant flow of chatter, and rarely required an answer. “Well, of course, when Dumbledore first told me, I thought, Is he senile, or something? But as he explained more, it actually started to make some sense. And it’s pretty cool that there was a prophecy made about me before I was even born. Oh! And think about how impressed all the boys I know are going to be. Well, one guy in particular.� Myra swept a look under her lashes, which managed to be both coy and hesitant.

Horrified, Hermione said, “You can’t just go around shooting your mouth off, telling every person you know about me, you and Draco! Myra, this has to be kept a complete secret. No one is allowed to know, apart from the few people that Dumbledore has trusted with the information, like Harry and Ron, for example. If You Know Who finds out about us, we’ll be assassinated before we’ve even worked out who the other Elements are.�

Myra pouted. “I suppose…if you put it like that. But I’m sure he could keep it a secret. He’s quite serious, really, and he’s so…� Myra paused, casting around for the word with the right effect. “attractive.� Hermione gave up. She wasn’t going to get any vital thoughts into her tonight. All her attempts were like imprints in the sand, vague shapes soon obliterated by the tide.

“I suppose he is quite messy and…unfinished. But I’m sure I could sort him out. Both our dads are friends, you see. That’s how we know each other. We met about a year ago at a family party…� Myra prattled on, not noticing that Hermione was paying her no attention at all.

* * *

“We’ve – we’ve actually finished everything that we were supposed to do today,� croaked Robert. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into a chair. Cho mirrored him.

She was too exhausted to feel any particular emotion. “That’s…good.� Tonight was the first time they’d managed to complete all the massive numbers of tasks that running a hospital generated.

“So tomorrow we’ll…�

Cho didn’t hear any more. She felt so comfortable and warm, as if she were stretched out on a goose-feather mattress, not curled into a hard-backed chair. None of her surroundings made any sense, so Cho surrendered herself to sleep…