Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
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A call is paid on an old acquaintance.

Chapter 16: The Ancestral Home

A cold rain drizzled over the matted dead leaves. The cat with curious spectacled markings around the eyes crept slowly through the brush toward the ruinous shell of the Riddle House. There were stealthy rustles all about, but the cat was not hunting for food, and the small terrified creatures in their burrows huddled there safely. With a sudden burst of speed, the cat dashed up a hill into the deserted garden, and slunk behind a crumbling statue of a reading cupid. Picking her way carefully, the cat trotted up to the French doors that let out into the garden, and looked into the house through a broken pane.

A shadowy figure was just inside, and saw her. "Hello, Puss."

Another, deeper voice growled, "Who’re you talking to, Avery?"

The first man emerged from the shadows and grinned at the cat. "Just a nice little pussy-cat. I love cats. There’s all sorts of things you can do with cats." He called, high and coaxing, "Here, kitty, kitty…"

The cat, wisely, stepped backwards and then raced away along the side of the house. Yes. Avery, and I think Mulciber. I’ll remember their scents, now.

After her recovery from the Ministry attack, Minerva McGonagall had told Dumbledore in no uncertain terms that she was taking an active role in the fight against Voldemort. When he revealed the creation of a map of Voldemort’s hiding place, she knew this was the ideal mission for her. Invisibility cloaks could be seen through: human beings, however cautious, would set off wards. Rarely did anyone bother to ward anything against the odd feral cat.

She was to scout the area, but not to enter the house—not yet. She needed to get a good look at the place, so others in the Order could start learning to Apparate to the site. She had found an excellent spot at the base of the hill, sheltered from the road. It was outside the wards, and big enough to allow multiple Apparition. She would bring Dumbledore, Severus, and Remus here tomorrow.

----

The Weasleys, thought Dumbledore for not the first time, were a very useful sort of family to know. Bill Weasley made a quick visit to Cairo, ostensibly on Gringott’s business. He met Dumbledore in the comfortable private room of the Leaky Cauldron.

He stretched his long legs out under the table, and studied Dumbledore thoughtfully over his glass of Laphroaig.

"I don’t suppose there’s any hope of you telling me what you wanted soil from the Nile Delta for, is there?"

Dumbledore gave him a smile like the eternal sun. "None whatever, dear boy."

Bill snorted. "Whisky’s good, though."

"I may be contacting you again in the next few days. Do try to remain available."

"No worries."

They finished their drinks and parted pleasantly.

Dumbledore had another errand in Diagon Alley. Yes, the Weasleys were an extraordinarily useful lot.

-----

"The value of potions in combat has always been underestimated. Yes-- I know Aurors pay lip service to them, by demanding the Potions N.E.W.T., but their actual use is fairly circumscribed. Not surprising, of course, given the bureaucratic lack of creativity throughout the Ministry."

Hermione was holding the lushly aromatic myrrh, while Snape added it into the mix, stirring with obsessive precision. She had learned to be quiet at this stage of brewing, but she could not help fidgeting, as she waited for Snape to straighten up from the cauldron so she could reply. He sensed her impatience, and continued stirring, a faint smirk visible.

The rich scent permeated the dungeons, heady and exotic. Hermione knew her clothes would be redolent of myrrh when she left the dungeons. She could smell it on Snape as well. It was Madam Leech’s finest stock, and had come in a carved teakwood box, lined with rose-coloured silk. Hermione remembered that she still owed Parvati some myrrh to replace the amount she had borrowed making the original Seba potion.

Snape had analysed the original recipe she had used, and had decided to experiment with different brewing times. He was especially interested in this stage, partly due to the significance of myrrh as part of the Egyptian embalming process.

At length Snape was satisfied, and stood back from the worktable.

Hermione, seeing her opportunity, said, "Harry is working very hard at Potions this year. Because of this project, he’ll always respect their importance. Things will be different when Harry becomes an Auror."

Snape was looking through his notes, and vouchsafed an ironic glance in Hermione’s direction. "Potter will never be an Auror."

Hermione rose to the bait in spite of herself. "I think Harry would be an excellent Auror. He’s shown time and again—"

Snape’s smirk had broadened, as he enjoyed her indignation. "Miss Granger, you astonish me. I would have thought that as Mr Potter’s very good friend, you would understand him better. Can you actually imagine him taking orders from Cornelius Fudge, or his ilk? Potter is unable to follow any orders at all, even those of the Headmaster, whom he pretends to respect. How will it be any different once he has left Hogwarts? If anything, he will be free of the few feeble restraints imposed by those of us who have attempted to help him reach adulthood. What do you suppose will happen, the first time he is given an order he disagrees with?"

Hermione’s mouth set in a straight line. It was uncomfortably true. Harry was a law unto himself—and he was right to be so, most of the time. Working for the Ministry—timid, sluggish, and generally in denial—would drive Harry mad.

She refused to let what seemed a slight to her friend pass, however. "If you knew Harry---if you knew how he was treated by those horrible people who raised him—you’d understand why he doesn’t trust or listen to people in authority."

"That’s enough, Miss Granger," he said, cutting her off. "I know more about Potter than you may realise." Snape remembered the Occlumency lessons: the heavyset, hectoring Muggle, the huge bully-boy, the ugly memories of Potter’s childhood crowding squalidly together. It occurred to him that that could have been part of the plan. Dumbledore had no better way to create a weapon capable of independent action. It would fit, he reflected. Dumbledore was very fond of music: mostly chamber music, but also opera. He had taken Snape along a few times. They had had a box to themselves at Covent Garden for a performance of Siegfried—how long ago was it? It must have been in his first few years of teaching, when Potter would have been very young. Wagner was not unknown to wizards. His mythic themes, his magical plot devices appealed to the wizards and witches with refined tastes. Snape remembered the growing unease he had felt as the opera had unfolded: the orphaned boy, saved in babyhood by his doomed mother. Invulnerable to forces deadly to others, he was exiled from his rightful place to a world of lesser beings.

Since then, Snape could see other resemblances as well. The unloved child, independent and bumptious, full of contempt for his loathsome fosterer. The sudden recognition of powers previously unknown. Potter, like Siegfried had used a magic sword to kill a monster. Potter, like Siegfried, understood the language of animals—if only that of snakes. Potter disregarded authority and normal standards of behaviour. Snape felt the greatest concern remembering that Siegfried had been manipulated by Wotan, king of the gods, who wanted a free hero to use in his struggle against the Frost Giants. Did Dumbledore see himself as Wotan? If so, they were all in desperate straits—for Siegfried had scorned Wotan’s friendship and guidance when they finally met, and had followed his own agenda, to the ruin of the gods and himself. And where did that leave Snape? As one of the denizens of the underworld?

"Are you familiar with Wagner, Miss Granger?"

He had flummoxed her. He saw her visibly calling up all references, trying, no doubt, to think of a wizard of the name. He explained, in his most patronising tones, "Richard Wagner. The composer."

She flushed. He enjoyed her confusion. Pushing her a little farther, he smiled primly, and said, "I would have thought that your parents would have seen to your cultural education. Or do your wide-ranging interests not extend to classical music?"

Still red, and suspicious of his motives, she replied warily, "I took piano lessons until I came to Hogwarts. After that, there didn’t seem to be any point to it."

Little philistine, he thought, pleased and disappointed at once. If it’s not on the N.E.W.T.s, we can’t be bothered, can we?

She could see that somehow, she had let herself down. She offered, rather pugnaciously, "I have been to the opera. With my parents."

He countered, ready to pounce. "Which opera?"

Somehow knowing this would not be a good answer, she told him. "La Boheme."

"Ah." A sigh consigned her intellectual pretensions to the rubbish heap, and he turned back to the potion with infuriating dismissiveness.

Hermione wondered what would happen if she kicked him in the shins. Wagner. They had been speaking of Harry. Somewhere she was missing a clue. She would owl her mother for a book about Wagner. If Snape deigned to converse with her, she would not be bested by his cultural references.

She saw someone standing in the doorway out of the corner of her eye. It was Lily, and Hermione smiled.

Lily saw Snape and Hermione, to all appearances working diligently together, intent on the improved Seba potion. She felt the now-familiar twinge of jealousy. Severus was her friend. They were never able to do things together or spend much time together, aside from the occasional "counselling" session. Lucky Hermione, to be working with him openly.

Noticing that Hermione was distracted, Snape looked up, a rebuke on his lips. He saw Lily, and his expression rearranged itself into pleasanter lines.

Lily breathed the scented air. "It smells gorgeous. You should bottle it as a perfume and make your fortune."

Snape snorted. "Following in the distinguished footsteps of Guerlain." He saw the curiosity on the two girls’ faces and unbent slightly. "The founder of the house in the 19th century was indeed a wizard. He trained in potions at Beauxbatons, but found the huge Muggle market irresistible. He remained in the Muggle world and married a Muggle, in fact. Occasionally the family still throws a wizard or witch, but even the most Mugglish of the descendants has kept a nose for potions."

Hermione bit her lip, as she and Lily exchanged looks. Lily, more confident, grinned impudently, and remarked, "I’m sure their noses aren’t a patch on yours."

Snape growled, "How amusing." Brusquely, he told Hermione, "Bottle one-third of this component. Stopper the jars tightly. Leave the rest to simmer, and be back here tomorrow evening after dinner. And take the werewolf his Wolfsbane. Full moon starts tomorrow, and we don’t want a brute beast running amuck in the halls."

Hermione wrinkled her nose, and stalked away to pour a goblet of the steaming mixture. She turned to leave, and Lily called, "Good night, Hermione."

"Good night, Lily." She paused, looking at Snape’s back, and said sweetly, "Good night, then, Professor Snape."

Grudgingly, he replied, "Good night, Miss Granger," nearly politely, adding, "--and shut the door behind you."

Hermione paused, mastering her temper. She shook her hair out and shut the door with exaggerated care

Lily laughed. "You two are getting on smashingly."

"Smashingly," Snape grunted ominously.

"No, really, you’re quite a team. And you seem to be having such a wonderful time. Mind you, I’m not quite the potions swot that Hermione is, but it looks like great fun, the way you’re working together."

"Miss Jones, you are mad. Quite mad." He looked down his formidable nose at her, and was once again the Severus she had known since the day she entered Hogwarts.

It’s so awkward, she reflected, being a student. Well, only two more years to go. What good times we shall have then!

"How goes the potion?" she asked, taking a seat on a high stool by the worktable.

"Well enough. With more time, I could test further variations, but I think I’ve achieved a working recipe. And how goes your Charms project?"

Lily leaned forward, terribly excited by the topic. "Hurrah for our team! We’ve finished a brilliant map of Oldyfart’s digs. Don’t flinch like that, Severus. He doesn’t deserve the courtesy of his made-up title."

"Call him what you like, but never underestimate him as a wizard. He’s tremendously powerful and utterly without limits. You’ve not dealt with anyone who is capable of absolutely anything. He doesn’t care how he maims, how he kills. And his followers have been trained to be the same."

"All the better that we have the map. It’s stupendous, Severus: a three-dimensional chart of the house, the tunnels, the village itself—and what’s better, it has the ability to track individuals there. By name, at that. Even here at Hogwarts, we’re able to see some of their activity. I suppose Professor Dumbledore will use his copy to monitor the villains’ comings and goings."

"I should think so."

"I hadn’t grasped what a talented wizard Remus is. Oh, he was always a terrifically good student—except for all the absences—but he’s really brilliant, Severus. The wizarding world doesn’t understand what a talent it’s been wasting."

Unwilling to discuss the werewolf, and not caring to hear Lily sing his praises at any more length, Snape interrupted, "Is Potter of any use at all?" Lily’s expression made him back-pedal. "Yes, very well---perhaps he’s capable of work when the subject interests him."

"Yes," Lily said forcefully. "Indeed he is. He’s powerful, Severus. You never give him proper credit."

Annoyed, Snape defended himself. "Power has never been Potter’s problem, I grant you. Discipline, control, focus—those are where I’ve found him wanting."

"Well, he’s doing splendidly with Remus and me. He’s working extremely hard. I can’t think why you call him unfocused. If you saw how he can concentrate on the map---it’s rather eerie, really. I recognise some of those Evans study genes."

"We’ll see how he does when he actually uses the map."

Lily looked at him anxiously. "When do you think it will be?"

"Soon, perhaps. Dumbledore and company are developing strategies. I daresay that the attack team will include me, and Potter because it must—possibly the werewolf if the moon permits, and some of the Order Aurors. Possibly a few others." He thought of Lucius Malfoy, pacing his quarters, more hot-headed every day. His loyalty was only to himself and to his family; but he was a powerful wizard, and once committed, would be a valuable combatant.

Lily had her own dark thoughts. Everyone seemed to take for granted the idea of sending Severus into danger. It was always presumed that he would be at risk. She had contemplated all the hideous things that could happen to him, and no one else appeared to care. Whilst others tried their utmost to help Harry, no one thought of Severus. He, too, needed an edge in battle. Something unexpected.

"Wait here," she said, slipping off the stool. "I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ve got something for you."

She ran to the dormitory, giving the most cursory of greetings to her friends. Draco was not in the common room, but Blaise was, and Lily put him off with a promise of a chat later. She rummaged through her trunk, hands scrabbling over the wooden interior, until she dug down to the bottom, and found the smooth cool metal of her extra sickle communicator. She snatched it up, and ducked away, back to the Potions room.

"Here," she said, shoving the necklace at him. "It’s a long-distance communicator. If you say, ‘Lily’s sickle," or tap it three times, you’ll be able to talk to me, no matter where you are. If I need to talk to you, you’ll feel the thing grow warm." She smoothed the cord nervously, and then slipped it over his head. Snape gazed at her, surprised and touched, and fingered the flat coin, turning it over to study the mirrored surface.

"You made this?" he asked, and then had to clear his throat. "A fine piece of Charms work. Always your forte."

She shrugged, and dimpled ironically. "Just playing to my strengths. Anyway," she said, pulling her own sickle out from under her blouse, "I have one too, and I shan’t take it off. You’ll never be lost. I swear it."

-----

"I want you to have this," Harry insisted, showing Remus the sickle communicator. "I was a prat about Sirius’ mirror, but I’ll never make a mistake like that again. No matter what happens, we’ll be able to talk to each other."

Remus beamed. "Harry, it’s a wonderful idea, and a fine piece of Charms work. You should show it to Flitwick, when this is all over."

Harry shrugged, and smiled wryly. "Lily helped. She’s the Charms genius, you know. Hermione too. They each have one of their own. We’ll be able to talk, if we get—separated or anything. I won’t lose you. I swear it."

Lupin’s quarters off the DADA room were more littered than usual. The desk was covered with copies of the Riddle Map, general maps of the north of England, and a selection of reference books. Harry stretched. They had been working for ages, and his neck was getting stiff.

There was a knock, and Lupin called, "Come in."

It was Hermione, carefully bearing the goblet of Wolfsbane potion. Lupin smiled. At least I get the potion without Snape staring at me like a creature in a Muggle zoo.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said. He downed the unpleasant liquid, and sighed.

Harry remarked, "At least something good has come out of all that time with Snape. It’s brilliant that you can make a potion like that."

"Brilliant," Remus agreed lightly.

Hermione saw The Book of the Dead on the desk, and told them, "I saw Lily just now in the dungeons. Have you learned the incantation yet?"

Harry groaned.

Remus nodded, with a wry smile. "We’ve just about mastered it. It’s fairly long and must be recited perfectly, and almost certainly from memory. The more of us who can join in the better, so we’ll want to start bringing others into the team. The question now is: how is the wonder potion, and how are we going to drench Voldemort with it?"

"The potion’s doing splendidly. We have a fair bit of it stored, and Professor Snape is experimenting with variations. Of course, it will have to be the proper temperature to be effective. As to the delivery system, Professor Snape says that Professor Dumbledore has an idea about that. Mind you, being Professor Snape, he said it was completely insane."

Harry snorted. "I just hope you’ve done with asking me for blood."

"Remember, Harry—you mustn’t get the potion on yourself."

"Right, right," he agreed impatiently. "Lily told me that would be a Very Bad Thing. I’ve thought of using the Duck’s Back charm on myself."

Remus got a fresh pot of tea, and motioned for Hermione to sit. She pulled over the parchment inscribed with the incantation, and began murmuring the words.

"Not you, too, Hermione," Harry complained. "I’m going to be dreaming about it. Lily ‘s been drilling me every time we meet."

"Well," Hermione pointed out, "now you know what a demanding sort of mother she would be. She has very high standards," she added, approvingly.

Remus poured Hermione a cup, and told Harry, "She’s a very caring person, Harry. You know how absolutely essential this is. She wants you to be as safe as possible. When you were a baby—"

Harry looked up, interested. "What about it? Tell me."

"Well----" Remus began, and paused. A painful feeling of nostalgia swept over him. It was so hard to see Lily in his class, in the DA, in the halls, seeing the young girl she was, remembering the woman she had become, and trying to reconcile the different realities. Already, the Lily Jones Harry knew was subtly diverging from the Lily Evans of his own memories. Different experiences—the different House—the life-and-death challenges --were beginning to shape her out of all recognition.

The two students were still looking at him. He cleared his throat and said, "Lily had high standards as a mother—yes. She wanted to be the best mother she could be, and she loved you more than anything in the world."

-----

"You know that we love you more than anything in the world."

"Please, Mother, don’t be all broody!"

Narcissa gave Draco’s shoulders an insistent squeeze, and traded exasperated looks with her husband.

Draco had slipped away to spend a few hours after dinner with his parents. They welcomed the visit, and not just to reassure themselves that he was recovered from the assault. They were both suffering from the severest sort of cabin fever. Narcissa missed her familiar rounds: the teas, the luncheons, the trips to Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, the familiar comforts of her own home.

Lucius was starved for action of some kind. Obviously, their luxurious quarters in Hogwarts were infinitely superior to the accommodations of Azkaban or the Riddle House; but though it was a gilded cage, a cage it still remained. He had finished the map, and Dumbledore had smiled approvingly and whisked it away. Snape came to see them regularly and told them nothing. Lucius knew he was in no position to expect anyone to trust him, but he was anxious to know that he would have some part to play in the coming conflict that could redeem his public image. The attack on Draco would probably gain them some sympathy, but Lucius also wanted revenge on his erstwhile associates, and above all on his sister-in law. The die was cast: they could never be safe or happy until she and his former Master were dead.

Lucius said, "What your mother is trying to tell you, in her inimitable way, is that we don’t want you taking any foolish risks. That means staying within this castle for the foreseeable future: no Hogsmeade trips, no flying any farther than the quidditch pitch, no strolling about the grounds."

Draco growled sullenly, "I need to start looking for Christmas presents."

"You mean you want to buy some expensive trinket to please that little girlfriend of yours!" Lucius was too tense to be tactful.

Draco lifted his chin, and replied, "Yes, I do! You’re one to talk, always showering Mother with things."

Narcissa smiled discreetly.

"She is my wife," Lucius glowered.

"Well," Draco shot back, "she wasn’t always your wife! You had to get her to marry you!" He saw that his father was close to exploding, and caught his mother’s warning look. "Look," he said, more reasonably, "I just want to know how long this is going to last."

"I can’t tell you," Lucius said in sharp, clipped tones, "because I have no idea myself. I have hopes that the old fool will finish his everlasting plotting and order a strike against the Dark Lord; but who knows? He may be reluctant to risk Potter, who I am sure has a part to play in this." He saw the look of disgust on his son’s face, and added, "And don’t look at me like that. I’ve told you before--it would have been far better to have made a friend of Potter than an enemy. If we live through this, I suspect he will be the darling of the Ministry again, and could be a very useful young man to know."

"All right, then," Draco bit out. "I’ll give it a try. Lily asked me to go to the Defence Association meeting next Tuesday. She said if I went, Potter would offer to shake hands with me."

"Did she indeed?" Lucius thought this over. So the girl is friendly with Potter. She gains great influence rather quickly in Slytherin, and now it seems that she has connections with Potter himself. A remarkable young witch. I must make her acquaintance very soon.

Draco wanted his father to understand about Lily, and added, "She's the one who put it all together about –the Dark Lord—and what happened to Grandfather’s generation. She makes a pretty good argument that they were all killed off by him out of revenge." Draco then blurted out, "He’s a half-blood, you know, and she thinks he hates the whole wizarding world because of how he was treated."

"Does she?" Lucius replied, rather interested. "Yes, I know he’s a half-blood. I discovered that for myself some years ago, to my considerable disillusionment. You see, Draco," he began slowly, "one is sometimes taken in when very young by grandiose ideas that later in life one realises are quite impracticable." He leaned back in his chair, looking into the fire, and continued thoughtfully, "I agree that the Dark Lord’s theories, if taken to their logical conclusion, would destroy our world. There is no real way to keep out the halfbloods and mudbloods, short of tracking them down and killing them at birth, and that is logistically impossible for a number of reasons. Furthermore, I am willing to concede that they may have their uses. Our world is not populous, and if properly regulated, a niche could be carved for them."

"Lily’s brilliant at history, and she’s very interested in mudbloods—where they come from, you know—why a witch or wizard suddenly crops up in the midst of the Muggles."

Lucius looked at him gravely. "Narcissa, my dear," he said gently, "could you leave us for a little while? Draco and I need to have some time to ourselves."

Narcissa was dozing, but awakened enough to get up, give them each a kiss, and slip away into the bedroom.

Once she was out of earshot, Lucius continued. "I hope, Draco, that you will discourage your friend from such questions. The whole squalid Mudblood Problem is an inappropriate study for a pureblood young witch."

Full of curiosity, Draco waited.

His father said, "Of course, when Muggles with Squib blood on either side mate—" he grimaced with distaste—"they often breed true. However, you are nearly full-grown, and there are some facts about our world you are old enough to understand. Pureblood witches like your mother and your little friend are very precious and important beings, and require care and respect; but wizards have certain needs, and there is a whole world of beautiful Muggle females out there. It is not uncommon to make use of this world. Even those wizards not blessed with an attractive appearance—" he preened slightly—"find that a judicious use of magic can make available any Muggle female they desire. Then, a quick memory charm—and one goes home to one’s honoured wife. A responsible wizard takes precautions to avoid impregnating these females, but some wizards, I regret to say, are either too careless or too vain to trouble themselves."

Draco’s jaw was hanging open. "You mean—Slytherins—"

"This has nothing to do with one’s house, Draco! It is an ancient tradition of wizarding life. You see now, why it is hardly the thing for an innocent young witch to be exposed to. A great many mudbloods are actually halfbloods."

"Is Granger—"

"That is not my secret, but I can tell you that there are good reasons for that girl’s abilities. The problem with the old fool bringing these cuckoo’s chicks into Hogwarts is that it throws them together with unknowing young wizards and witches of good family, and inappropriate liaisons may result."

"Lily said that in the Americas, sometimes the mudbloods are removed from the Muggle world as babies and raised wizard."

Lucius considered this. "Interesting. Yes, that could be a fair and balanced solution. One could identify them early and educate them according to their station. A politically viable solution. I really must have a talk with your young lady."

-----

The morning owl post was the usual organised chaos. Birds swooped, dropping letters and parcels. Excited voices shrilled over their news. Lily was tucking into her sausages, when a heavy green envelope fluttered down next to her plate. It was unsealed, and the enclosed parchment was tantalisingly visible.

"Well, this is extraordinary!" Pansy remarked. "Lily has a letter!"

Lily’s attention was drawn to the envelope, which was incontrovertibly addressed to ‘Miss Lily Jones, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.’

Blaise, sitting next to her, leaned over. "From Medicine Hat Lodge, Lily. Your old school."

Lily stared at the envelope, stunned and alarmed. It was impossible that anyone would actually send her a letter. What is this? She regarded the alien green thing, wondering what it could portend. Nothing good.

I’ll ask Severus to have a look at it, she decided. Carefully, she held a pocket of her robes open, and levitated the letter inside. I can catch him later.

She actually forgot about it for a few hours. This was one of her busier days: she had to run from Charms to Runes to History without a break. After her last class, Arithmancy, she stopped to talk with Professor Vector about the Firbankian Matrices. Hermione and Blaise stayed too, and they were so engrossed in their conversation that time slipped by.

"My dears," cried Vector, catching sight of the clock. "We must hurry or we’ll all miss dinner!" She left them, hurrying off to her quarters to tidy up.

The students set out at a jog for the Great Hall. Through the windows, they could see that it was nearly dark outside. They dashed through the doors, and Lily gave Hermione a brisk wave, as they separated. Draco was waiting for her, looking grumpy. So spoiled, she reflected. Definitely a high-maintenance prospect. He caught sight of her and smiled charmingly. Well, there are compensations, she conceded.

As she ran, something fluttered behind. Blaise saw it, and stopped, calling to her.

"Wait, Lily! You’ve dropped your letter!" He turned to pick it up, and she cried out a warning.

"Blaise! Don’t touch it!" She reached out to stop him, but too late. In the confusion, both of them touched the letter, and without warning, they vanished.

The Slytherins stared at the empty space in bewilderment. Draco rose slowly to his feet, suddenly came to his senses, and ran to the head table, calling for Snape.

The rest of the houses turned toward the Slytherins, and began buzzing curiously, not certain what had happened.

Harry had seen it all. Attuned to her, hearing her voice amongst all the other Slytherins, he had registered the note of alarm; and had looked up to see her try to stop Blaise, and then the awful emptiness. There was no doubt for a moment what had happened. Voldemort had failed in one attempt to harm Draco, and had tried a proven trick out of spite. Lily would pay the price of the Malfoys’ defection. Lily and Blaise. Kill the spare.

Rage so great it nearly blinded him, he got up and left the table, not exactly running, but already planning what he needed to do. Frightened students saw him leave, including a distraught Draco Malfoy, who narrowed his eyes, and followed him.

Hermione had frozen in shock. A Portkey!

"Bloody hell!" croaked Ron.

Dumbledore shouted, "Silence! All but those Slytherins who witnessed the incident will leave the Great Hall at once." He came down from the table to question the students. "Come, Severus."

Snape, whiter than ever before, was still staring at empty air. A horrible sickness seized him. What use to question the Slytherins? He knew where Lily had gone. He caught Dumbledore’s eye, and shook his head. He immediately strode away to find who and what he would need now.

-----

Harry ran up to the Astronomy Tower to get his bearings. Firebolt in one hand, the map of Little Hangleton in the other, he climbed up into the stone-framed window, and opened the casement wide.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Draco Malfoy was glaring at him, clutching his own broomstick as if for dear life.

"I don’t see that it concerns you."

Draco grabbed the front of Harry’s robes, and shoved him up against the wall. "You’re going after her—to save her, aren’t you?"

Harry slowly adjusted his glasses, and stared him down. "Get out of my way."

"You fancy her. I knew it. Luring the girls to your little club, chatting them up, playing the hero."

Harry pushed him away. "I don’t have time for this, Malfoy. Believe it or not, I didn’t organise the Defence Association to meet girls. Lily is my friend."

Draco watched Harry’s preparations, nearly paralysed with loathing.

"Saint Potter. What do you think you’re going to do---kill the monster, rescue the damsel in distress, and save the world?"

"Something like that."

Draco sneered. "All by yourself?"

Harry shrugged. He pocketed the map and mounted his broomstick. "I’ve risked my friends’ lives too many times."

"Don’t worry. I’m not your friend."

Harry shot out from the tower, with Draco following a split-second behind. The two of them cut through the icy air, their robes whipping around them.

Draco glared at Harry’s back, only yards ahead, and finally shouted out. "I suppose you have a plan?"

Harry called back over his shoulder. "Yes. I’m going to pay a call on Voldemort, and bring Lily home."

Below, at the windows of Hogwarts, students and staff pointed at the two little figures flying away at tremendous speed into the twilight.

-----

Blaise and Lily stumbled over each other, as they whirled out of the portkey’s enchantment. Lily’s first impressions were of darkness and a dank, unsavoury smell. They were in a windowless chamber, possibly underground.

A voice behind her crowed, "About time you showed your face, love. Shouldn’t have kept me waiting. Stupefy!"

She scrambled for her wand, but before she could point it in the voice’s direction, Blaise called out "Petrificus Totalus!" Lily looked up to see a tall and scrawny wizard falling flat on his face with a thud.

"Idiot," snarled Blaise. "If he hadn’t had to talk about it, he could have hexed us both."

He helped her to her feet, and they looked around them.

"I wonder where we are," Blaise said, peering cautiously down a darkened hall.

"I think I know," Lily confessed. He raised an inquisitive brow. She told him, "The Riddle House." He frowned, not understanding.

She gave him the bad news. "Oldyfart’s ancestral home." She pulled the sickle necklace out from under her robe. "I think we’d better call for help."

-----

Hermione felt her sickle grow warm and ducked into an empty room. "Yes! Lily’s sickle!" she called frantically. Lily’s tiny image appeared.

"Hermione?"

"Yes! Where are you?"

"In the Riddle House. Blaise and I are all right. There was a welcoming committee, but he’s safely petrified now. I don’t have a copy of the map, and we need to get out of here."

Hermione was appalled. She didn’t have a copy of the map herself. "Wait!" she cried. "I know where to get one."

Lily’s voice, tiny and clear, said, "Harry has one, I know."

"Harry’s gone, and he hasn’t answered my call," Hermione told her. "I think he’s coming for you. He and Draco were seen flying south."

"Oh my God," Lily groaned in despair. "Are they mad? The whole plan is falling apart. I’ll call Severus. He has my spare sickle."

"All right." Hermione was twitching in her anxiety. "Meanwhile, I’ll find a map. Then I can coach you through the place."

She ran upstairs. Dumbledore must have a copy, but he would want his. She knew of one more copy, and decided that she must have it.

Ron saw her, and called out, "Oi! Hermione! Stop!" She kept on running, and he joined her. "Where’s Harry gone?"

The perverse staircases took her inexorably out of her way. She kicked at the baluster, and ran on when they finally stopped.

"When Lily and Blaise vanished, they were taken by portkey to Voldemort," she replied. "I think Harry's already on his way there."

"Without us?" Ron was horrified. "He’ll be killed!"

Hermione was gasping for breath now, and managed to puff, "He’s never got over what happened at the Department of Mysteries. He’s afraid for us."

"Well, I’m bloody afraid for him!" He caught her by the arm. "He likes that Jones, doesn’t he? There’s something about her."

There was no time to be cautious. "Yes, there’s a secret about Lily. I can’t, absolutely can’t tell you what it is. Dumbledore knows, and so do a lot of the teachers."

Ron had the look of one who has seen the light. "She’s a spy, isn’t she? Dumbledore fiddled the Sorting Hat, and planted her in Slytherin!"

Hermione had started running again. The door she was looking for was just down the hall. "Yes, something like that. But nobody can know, Ron. You can’t tell anyone!"

They were at the door of the DADA classroom. It was locked, and Hermione remembered that this was the night of the full moon.

"Uh, Hermione," Ron gulped. "I don’t think you want to go in there right now."

The lock did not stand long against a clever and determined witch. "I have to, Ron. Professor Lupin has had his Wolfsbane Potion, and he’s quite safe. There’s a map in there that we simply must have."

The room was oppressively dark. Hermione whispered "Lumos," and the room filled with a glaring light, casting black shadows. They walked softly to the front of the classroom, and Hermione headed to Lupin’s private quarters. Ron stifled a moan.

The desk was in sight, and the litter of parchment. She tiptoed to the desk and reached for the map lying on top of everything else.

There was a growl. Hermione flinched, and took a deep breath. In the corner of the room, two great yellow eyes glared at her. Ron tried to step in front of her protectively.

She gently pushed him aside, and said, "Professor Lupin, we need the map. There’s been a muddle, I’m afraid. Lily’s been kidnapped by a portkey to the Riddle House. I think Harry has gone to get her. Lily called me with her sickle. She’s all right so far, but I need the map to keep her safe."

Slowly, the shaggy grey werewolf stood, crouching on two hind legs. He growled again, showing his long, pointed fangs; but Hermione could see human intelligence in the eyes. Quickly, she rolled up the map, grabbed Ron by the hand, and ran from the room. "Good night, sir!" she called over her shoulder, leaving the room in darkness.

-----

Notes: La Boheme is a lovely opera, and its general plot is familiar to those who liked Rent. No one, however, could call it intellectually challenging. Wagner’s tetralogy, The Ring of the Nibelungs, is very loosely based on Nordic myths and a medieval German epic. It’s great fun, even for those who are generally not big opera fans. It’s interesting to watch it and pick out similar themes and plot devices used by Tolkien in The Lord of the Rings.

Next chapter: The Halls of the Dead—As Harry and Draco fly to the rescue, what will Hermione, Snape and Lucius do?
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