“I’m only saying,� Pansy Parkinson insisted, “that we don’t need to start using American Muggle terms. This is Great Britain, blast it, and we should call them biscuits.�

 

“Yes, Pansy,� replied Arianna Davis. She took the banner over her table of baked edibles and rolled it up, stuffing it into her brown bum bag. “But these were a particular type of biscuits with chocolate chips, which are rightfully called cookies no matter where you live.�

“Except we’re currently in Scotland, so a cookie is something completely different.�

 

Arianna shrugged and walked away, green hair bobbing about. I watched her go, sitting in the black easy chair by the Slytherin fireplace and shivering. I was not cold; I was, rather, terrified. Something had been done to me; my mind was not my own and I worried whether I could trust it. And I suspected that it was the Mario cookie that contained the secret magic. I didn’t know what I should do—go on and see Snape about the decaying shack we found in the grove? Tell Grant about what had happened to me?

Or could I confront Jacinto himself? Tell him I knew what he was up to and why it had to stop?

Yeah, and issue my own Death Warrant, I thought.

 

So I waited. It was Sunday, so I had no classes to go to, and I felt too ill to go to breakfast. Or at least, to go alone. I waited until nearly 8AM before Grant finally emerged from the boys’ dorm, sleepy-eyed and sloppily dressed. I stared at him imploringly but didn’t say anything.

“You smell of fear,� he said.

 

“Shut up,� I told him. “A student was attacked last night. I have a right to smell of fear. Did you tell Snape—or anyone—about the shack?�

 

“I thought you were going to do that.�

“I was,� I said. “But then something happened. I ate one of Arianna’s cookies and—well, I forgot.�

 

Grant arched an eyebrow and slipped into a sitting position on the floor next to my chair. “How could you forget something like that?�

“There was something in that cookie,� I told him. “Jacinto put some sort of forgetfulness potion in it.�

 

“He sabotaged a single cookie? And Arianna didn’t notice? Unlikely.�

 

“He did something!� I leaned toward Grant. “That cookie had Mario’s face on it. It was targeted at me! Oh, god, I gave him the clue—I should never have worn that shirt.�

 

“Your cartoon plumber?� He gave a bitter laugh. “You really believe what you’re saying?�

 

“I bet he’s filled with loathing for my dirty blood every time he sees that shirt,� I whispered. “Collin Creevey is a Muggleborn too, you know.�

Grant’s eyes narrowed. “Your blood isn’t dirty,� he said. “Besides, I’ve had Jacinto as a Potions partner and he’s pretty rotten at it. I don’t think he could have made a forgetfulness potion. Or petrify someone, for that matter.�

“Perhaps he’s pretending to be rotten at it,� I offered.

“He’s not.�

“He could be!�

“Fine,� Grant said with a roll of his eyes. “Jacinto made a difficult potion and disguised it in a Mario biscuit, specifically to target you into forgetting—but only for one night—his secret shack where he’s hiding an even more difficult potion, which he will use for nefarious purposes. There, I’ve agreed with you. We can still tell Snape about the shack today. Let’s get breakfast, I’m sure the blighter’s already in the Great Hall.�

“Okay.� I stood up tentatively, as if the floor of the dungeon might eat me when I put my weight on it. My knees felt as though someone put a Jelly Legs Jinx on them. I hesitated and did not move.

 

After a moment, Grant pointed towards the stairs up. “The Great Hall is that way.�

 

“I know where it is,� I said, and slowly walked towards the exit.

 

0000

 

The Great Hall was packed with students eating breakfast and talking animatedly about the attack. I saw more than a few fearful glances as I walked past, most of them aimed at the Slytherin table. I was not in house robes, but I still felt the sting in the eyes of more than a few students, and I wanted to resent them. Instead I tried to ignore them and stuff myself full of breakfast.

 

Halfway through the meal, Grant grabbed me by the shoulder and pointed to the teacher’s table where Snape was finally joining the others. He, like the rest, looked haggard, exhausted. I knew he’d be in a foul mood, but I didn’t see any way around telling him now—not with another student petrified. I vaguely overheard Grant mentioning my sudden bout of forgetfulness, and then an assured voice speak up.

 

“It sounds like you were Confunded,� it said. I looked up to see Terrance Austin, a black boy in his fifth year and the only other Muggleborn in Slytherin.

“Confunded? I think I’ve heard of that,� I told him.

 

“It makes the target confused, forgetful,� Terrance said. “If I remember my Ancient Runes homework right, it can even be inscribed so that it activates when someone touches it. Used to keep away Muggles in ancient times.�

“And the rune could perhaps be hidden under frosting?� Grant asked.

 

“Never heard of a rune being inscribed into food,� Terrance said. “But I’ve also never heard anything that rules it out.�

 

“I told you it was the cookie,� I said, lightly punching Grant in the arm.

 

“Very well,� Grant said. “It seems you know what you’re talking about.�

 

“What’s this all about?� Terrance asked. “Who would have put that hex on you?�

 

“I have a theory,� I said, “but I’m not going to name names until I have more evidence. I need to go see Snape.�

 

I didn’t wait for Grant to follow me, but by the time I reached the end of the Slytherin table he was by my side (drawing calls of Mudblood and Nasty from some of the other Slytherins; I tried to tune them out.) We approached Snape slowly, trying not to draw too much attention to ourselves from the other professors. Snape looked up from his porridge with bloodshot eyes and a perplexed expression.

 

“P-professor Snape,� I said, afraid of an explosion of his famous anger. “Grant and I found something yesterday I think you should know about. I think it might be related to the attacks.�

 

Snape glanced to his left at Vector and, with belabored calm, told us to meet him outside the Great Hall in a few moments.

 

We did so, even as many students began filing out of the Hall with their bellies full. I leaned against a wall.

 

“Coplin!�

 

I jumped, standing at attention. Snape trudged up to me with Hagrid in tow.

“Do not lean on the walls,� Snape said as he neared. “It gives the impression of laziness. Now, as you can imagine, the professors and staff have searched the Castle top to bottom since the attack early this morning, and Hagrid and Madame Hooch have carefully surveyed the grounds outside. If you can volunteer us any information that we’ve not uncovered already, I will be quite astounded.�

 

“We found an old shack,� I said. “In the grove north of the Quidditch pitch.�

“Aye, there be an ol’ outhouse in there,� Hagrid said. “Back from well b’fore I was a lad in Hogwarts.�

 

“We found a potion in it,� Grant said. “I mean, someone was brewing a potion in it. It was protected by some powerful magic.�

 

“Is this true, Miss Coplin?� Snape’s eyes bore down on me.

 

I nodded.

 

“Reubis,� Snape said, “I believe that she believes she saw something. We’ll leave the question of what she was doing on the grounds alone for another time.�

“I’ll look in t’it,� Hagrid said. “Yeh don’ have t’ask twice.�

 

“Very well,� Snape said, and turned back to me. “Is there anything else?�

“I don’t think so.�

Grant’s eyes widened to question me, but I shot him a glance meant to shut him down, and he seemed to take the hint. Snape turned and walked away, his cloak billowing without getting caught on anything for once. Hagrid bid us farewell and sauntered off to check the shack. Feeling as though there was nothing left to do but wait, I slumped my shoulders and began heading back towards the dungeons. I realized that I’d half expected that Grant and I would be going with them to point out the shack, but in retrospect this seemed like a foolish notion.

 

“Why didn’t you tell him about the pastry?� Grant said as we reached the staircase.

“He barely believed we found that potion. You expect him to believe an enchanted cookie?�

 

“Point.�

 

0000

 

Snape appeared in the Common Room that night for a few announcements and also informed me that Hagrid had searched the shack and found it empty—no table, no potion. I asked about the runes, and Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he only shook his head. My chest felt hollow again, and I began to wonder if we’d start to see more attacks. Time seemed to speed up over the next several weeks, classes again taking precedence even as a panic began to build in the students—I saw more cheap talismans and amulets trading hands in that month than I did in the year that Voldemort controlled the ministry. Grant and I stuck together all the more, and tried to keep Artemis and Josie close as well because we felt there was strength in numbers. Our relations with Sypha and Emma became all the more hostile, and it wasn’t long before annoying hexes sparked from their wands, their petty cruelties encouraged by Parkinson, Bulstrode, and the Greengrass sisters.

 

Occasionally Tracey Davis would make a half-hearted complaint, but I sensed it was more out of fear that her big sister the prefect would get on their case.

 

A month after we found the shack, Snape appeared in the Common Room again and began taking the names of those staying over the Christmas holiday. I noticed that Jacinto was one of the first in line—as were Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. It was an easy decision not to stay myself. Grant had considered staying, but then on the day Snape actually took names, he changed his mind.

 

“My father is big into blood purity,� he reasoned. “He’s part of a group called Walkers Midst Carrion, a sort of political organization in South Africa, Death Eaters for morons. I bet he has access to their master genealogy chart. It supposedly has entries for every confirmed wizard in the world.�

 

“What good would that do us?�

“Find out who the real Heir of Slytherin is,� Grant said. “Prove that it’s not Jacinto—�

 

“—or that it is,� I corrected.

 

“I hope you’re wrong for both our sakes.�

 

0000

 

The following week, a bulletin in the entrance hall announced the creation of a Dueling Club. Try as I might, I could not convince Grant to sign up, but I was able to get Artemis and Josie to come along with me. We watched rapt as Professor Lockhart and Snape gave a demonstration that ended with Snape blasting Captain Vainglory off the platform with a well-placed disarming charm. I started cheering, only to stop in mortification when I realized that Malfoy was cheering as well.

“You prefer Snape over Lockhart?� Josie said, flashing her extremely white teeth as she laughed.

I muttered that I only enjoyed seeing Lockhart humiliated and didn’t really care who did it. Plus, though I can’t say I ever liked him, I had at least had to respect Snape’s skill. Possibly because I reckoned that skill would be used against me if I ever contradicted the man again.

 

The two professors then came through the crowd, pairing people up. Lockhart grabbed Josie and Artemis (who swooned) and paired them together, but before he could decide on a match for me, Snape dragged a Ravenclaw girl over to me and partnered us up. Her hair was an even lighter shade of blonde than mine, and she smiled brightly while staring, seemingly, at something over my shoulder.

 

“I think the angel and the devil are about to get into an argument,� she said brightly.

 

“What?�

“The devil on your shoulder. He just throttled the angel and pushed him off.� She pointed with her wand. “Look, there’s his body on the floor. I guess that means you won’t hold back.�

 

“I still don’t follow you,� I said, blinking.

 

“Everyone has an angel and a devil on their shoulders,� the girl explained. “Only the truly innocent can see them, which is why The Daily Prophet never reports on their activity. If everyone could see them, I doubt Cornelius Fudge would be minister right now. His devil wins more often than his angel.�

 

“Are you speaking in cartoon metaphors?� I asked, finally following, I thought, her logic.

 

The girl shook her head, but didn’t elaborate. Instead, she extended her hand. “I’m Luna. What’s your name?�

“Michelle,� I said, taking her hand warily.

 

We bowed to each other, and on the count of three, I stepped forward. “Expelliarmus!� I shouted, hoping I got the incantation right. My wand flashed and a beam of red lanced out, but instead of hitting Luna, the spell sailed over her shoulder—she had just ducked my curse!—and slammed into a seventh year Hufflepuff who was still awaiting his go. The wand sailed out of his hand and he fell on his bum. I barely had time to process this when Luna snapped back up from her artless dodge and, with an eager smile, aimed her wand at me.

 

“Expelliarmus!� Her spell shot out, and before I could react it hit my wand and blasted it out of my hand. I fell back against the legs of an older student, who caught my wand for me.

The rest of the Great Hall was in similar chaos, full of green fog, spells having misfired all over the place—Millicent Bulstrode even had one red-faced Gryffindor girl in a headlock until Harry Potter pulled the oaf away.

 

Lockhart intervened again. “I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,� he said. Then Snape suggested they pair of Draco Malfoy with Harry Potter. I thought, this should be good because I knew of their dislike for each other primarily by reputation. I stood back as they began, but instead of shooting a spell that Harry could attempt to block, Malfoy’s wand flashed and out popped a black serpent that thudded to the castle floor. It bore towards Harry for a moment, Snape telling him not to move, until Lockhart blasted it across the room. It began to attack another student—

 

Until Harry spoke—said something strange and undecipherable, a series of low hissing syllables that formed a kind of language. Murmurs erupted through the Great Hall, and Artemis grabbed my arm. “Merlin’s beard, he’s a Parselmouth. This is heavy!�

 

I didn’t know what a Parselmouth was, but I soon realized the school had found their own prime suspect.

 

0000

 

“It can’t be Harry Potter,� I said. “That doesn’t make any sense.�

“I wasn’t saying it did.�

“He may be a show-off but he’s not a psychopath.�

“I’m not saying he is.�

 

“You don’t believe those rumors, do you?�

“I’m not saying I do,� Grant said, this time with an exasperated tone so thick I couldn’t miss it. “All I’m saying is that this looks bad. Parselmouths are considered dangerous, evil. It’s an old superstition.�

“Why does the Wizarding World have all these stupid superstitions?� I growled. “I thought it was supposed to be better than the normal world.�

“I don’t remember that on the brochure,� Grant said sardonically. “If you haven’t noticed already, the Wizarding World is a pretty effed-up place. People believe all sorts of stupid things. And it sounds from your parents like that’s also true in the Muggle world.�

“My parents aren’t stupid!� I stomped across the first year boys dorm, kicking Othello Harper’s chest just for the catharsis of it. “They’re just convinced they’re right.�

 

“Without any evidence of what it’s like in the Wizarding World. Just as the students who think Harry Potter is the Heir of Slytherin are convinced they’re right. Without evidence.� Grant said.

 

“Yeah.�

“Just as you’re convinced you’re right about Jacinto. Without evidence.�

“Hey!� I sat at the foot of Grant’s bed. “I found evidence.�

“Evidence that he’s making a potion, not that he’s attacking Muggleborns. Also, evidence that has vanished.�

 

“Then we’ll just have to find more,� I told him.

 

But that was the last time we really got to talk about it before the final attack and the Holidays arrived, and I went home without any ideas. On the train, I sat with Artemis and Josie and some Hufflepuffs that I didn’t know. They talked of the attacks and what they might mean, but I sat, mostly silent, until everyone but Josie was asleep and she stared absently out the window. Halfway back to London, I took out my sketchbook and began drawing what looked like a course out of Super Mario Brothers: blocks and biting plants, giant killer turtles. Then a figure hopped into the sketch and began stomping on the turtles and smashing the blocks, and I realized that it was Copi.

 

“You don’t have any sage advice for me, do you?�

 

“Not this time, I just wanted some room to run around.�

I sat back and sighed, but then a kernel of an idea formed in my mind.

“Can you move between drawings that aren’t in my sketchbook? Like the way the people in the paintings at Hogwarts can move to the others on different floors of the castle?�

 

“I don’t know,� Copi said, sitting thoughtfully on a ? Block. “You’re the one acing Charms, not me.�

 

When we arrived at King’s Cross, Amanda was waiting for me. She wrapped me in a hug as she approached. I notice my arms reached around her all the way for a change, and wondered if I’d gotten taller or if she had grown thinner.

“I’m so glad you decided to come home for Christmas,� she said as she led me out to her car. “Your parents will be glad to see you, too.�

“Will they?�

“Of course they will, Michelle. They might not admit it, but they will.�

 

0000

 

Days later the kernel of an idea had popped into a fully developed plan. I sat with a tiny round campaign pin from the most recent round of elections in the UK—as well as my sketchbook, a Charms text, and a dozen Literally Magic Markers. In red letters with a black outline I wrote MICHELLE COPLIN FOR DUELING CLUB CAPTAIN and then made a marker sketch of myself around it, surrounding it for good measure with the Slytherin colours of silver and green. When I was done, the sketch blinked and came to life.

 

“Whoa, I’m suddenly in colour. This is heavy, Doc.�

“I need you to help me with something, Copi.� I took up my pair of scissors and carefully cut around the sketch in a circle. “I’ll explain more later, right now I need to focus on getting these Charms right.�

 

The text book read:

Any sub-creation with the affectation of Being who exists in one depiction can transfer to any other depiction of itself no matter the distance or magical barriers between them. In laymen’s terms, a portrait can travel between two paintings only if those paintings a great distance apart only if the two paintings depict the same Person. Otherwise transference between two works of art is limited to a smaller, well-defined area such as a home or gallery. Generally speaking, Charms and Transfigurations used on these will fizzle out unless cast by the original sub-creator.

 

This part of my plan was the part where the magic wasn’t completely above my head. I took the drawing and lay it against the pin.

 

I glanced across the room at Amanda, who was preparing a dozen pumpkin pies for the Christmas dinner she had planned. My gran had decided that Amanda would be hosting this year, so we’d already had to go through the house and systematically eliminate any traces of magic. I hated to see all her photographs of my uncle Paul put to rest with the Photo-Stilling Charm, but the last thing we needed, Amanda said, was for anything to set my parents off. I still dreaded seeing them…

I closed my eyes. Amanda said that she would be using so much magic getting ready for the dinner that the Trace on me would be completely ignored. Very well then:

“Reducio!� I pointed my wand at the drawing of Copi and it shrank down; I broke the charm off when it was the size of the pin. Then I focused on fixing it to the pin, and said, “Adhaerus!�

“I’ll need your help,� Amanda said as she hovered her pies into the oven.

“I’ll trade it for your help,� I said with a grin. “I need you to multiply this pin for me. A few dozen ought to do.� I slid the pin in to the centre of the table.

“Oh?� Amanda picked it up and read the campaign sticker on the front. “Sweetie, you know that very few people in Slytherin are likely to vote for—�

 

“I know,� I interrupted. “I don’t really want to be captain. I want to use Copi to spy on Jacinto Neithercut.�

 

“You still think he has something to do with the attacks? Michelle, promise me if you do find something, you’ll go to the professors and not try and run off and act like you’re Harry Freakin’ Potter. He was lucky last year.�

“I understand, Amanda,� I told her. “I promise.�

 

“Remember, Copi will only be able to transfer to the original. All the others will be just pins.�

“Yup.�

“And they’ll only last for a while. Conjured matter always fades away in time.�

“I don’t need them very long.�

 

Amanda pointed her wand at the pin and made a complicated wavy motion.

 

“Duplicaro Triginta!�

 

Her wand flashed and immediately thirty exact copies of the pin erupted from the middle, surrounding the original. All else forgotten in my excitement, I scooped them all off into a knapsack, all except the original, which I pinned to my shirt. I started to run up the stairs, when Amanda’s voice lanced out and cut across me.

“Where do you think you’re going?� she said.

 

“Um…�

“You promised to help me if I helped you out.�

“Oh right.� I dropped my bag on one of her armchairs and trudged back into the kitchen, ready to help prepare food.

 

0000

 

On Christmas Day my parents showed up last of all the rest of the family, glancing this way and that in a bizarre mixture of fear and disapproval. I approached them slowly, and when they said nothing, I wrapped my dad in a hug, then my mum. They didn’t return the hug; my mother stroked her fingers through my hair absently and my dad said, in a soft voice, “Hullo, Michelle.�

 

My dad said grace, halting and stuttering. When it was over, he gazed at Amanda as if terrified she’d disapprove of a Christian blessing and smite him with a curse. My mum, in contrast, was outright rude, making constant snide remarks and refusing to admit that Amanda’s pies were, in fact, delicious. I sat several seats away from them, chatting with my Uncle Nicholas about beef jerky and the strange wonders of America. I tried to steer the conversation in a different direction whenever the topic of my new school came up, partly because it made my parents immeasurably tense and partly because there was only so much I could say without admitting that I had become the victim of racially prejudiced bullies and lived every moment in fear that I would be petrified—or worse—by an unseen monster. And even less I could say without violating the Statute of Secrecy.

 

The tension was so thick by the time we were done eating that the lights were flickering throughout the house—I didn’t know if it was me or Amanda projecting the offending magic, but she was the first one to start making jokes and handing out presents. I gave my parents tightly wrapped box which they regarded as if it were a bomb, at least until they finally opened it and found that it was only several old episodes of Doctor Who on Laserdisc, something Amanda and I had come across at a used record store in Bethany. Unfortunately they opened these before they opened the Laserdisc player Uncle Eustace bought them, so the surprise was somewhat dulled.

“It’s the wave of the future,� he told them. “Sold half my kennel to buy it, too.�

 

A few relatives stayed and drank and talked until the wee hours of the morning, but after my parents left I no longer felt the need to join them. I sat in my room with the gift that Amanda had told me not to open until I was alone. It was the size of a thick magazine and flimsy, so I assumed it was a book of some kind. I opened it to find a cover that depicted a group of young witches and wizards dressed in a combination of gaudily colored robes and enchanted armor, leaping towards the viewer. It was obviously enchanted because their robes and hair whipped about in the wind. The on the cover was printed:

 

THE YOUNG DEFENDERS

Hookum & Comstock

 

I flipped through it and saw that it was a comic book. My mind was temporarily blown—a superhero comic book by and for wizards? I was too intrigued and wanted an explanation. I flipped the book over and read the back cover.

 

The first celebrated graphic novel of wizarding origin, The Young Defenders by best-selling nonfiction author Daisy Hookum and legendary experimental artist Magenta Comstock, follows the adventures of a group of young witches and wizards who fight against the evil Dark Lord Grendlemort and his plans to enslave wizards and Muggles alike. Inspirational and groundbreaking, this fifth anniversary printing is dedicated to the memory of artist Comstock who passed away in 1991.

 

I smiled, reminding myself to hug Amanda in the morning. Demanding though she may have occasionally been, the woman knew what I liked. I resolved to dig into the comic—er, graphic novel—as soon as I could, and also, because superheroes made me naturally think of him, to write a letter to Rupert tomorrow while I still had access to Muggle post.

 

With thoughts of my parents and Baby Jesus and Rupert flitting through my head, I slipped under the blankets and soon fell asleep.