On breaking a leg

"Luna," said Harriet as they made their way into the forest with the rest of the thestral riding club, looking for their mounts, "do you know what kind of creature this was?"

Luna followed the line of Harriet's finger, "That wasn't a creature."

"But … it has bones, surely."

"That is one of the gargoyle's hairballs, except they don't have hair, so it's just scales and fishbones."

"So it was … multiple creatures?"

"Yes, that's what I meant, not a creature, multiple creatures."

"Just like owls then," said Blaise, "only bigger, and mostly fish and newt bones instead of mostly mice and lizards."

.

Arnold B. Footschafer glanced at the monthly ingredient order and stared.

Most of it was predictable things and normal quantities for an organisation the size he'd been suspecting he was supplying, but this month there were several new ingredients and they were above normal by the same factor. And it only lined up with one potion. "Did someone shatter your entire supply of Skele-Gro?"

The customer narrowed their eyes like Arnold shouldn't be asking questions, then shrugged. "I think something else in the cabinet was expired and no one noticed until it exploded and took its neighbours with it."

That would be a rather impressive explosion. (This would make enough Skele-Gro to treat a completely de-boned giant or three, almost enough to treat a de-boned dragon. (Dragons were tricky to dose, as their magic tried to digest foreign magic rather than let it mix as it absorbed and was absorbed. You could just dose them with a ridiculous amount of potion, or you could reformulate the potion to operate at a much higher potency so that it could still have a chance to resolve despite the hostile environment. (It was a similar task but a different degree as getting a potion to resolve in a muggle, but there was a horrendous amount of red tape with recruiting volunteers to test anything on muggles.)))

Given that none of these ingredients had been in the previous months' orders, it seemed much more likely that someone higher up in the organisation had an accident (or near miss) and realised that the company infirmary was stocked to meet class C standards, and changed the mandate to class B, but not increased the budget, and someone had decided they'd have to fill in the gaps piece-wise, and Skele-Gro had the longest shelf-life, therefore, was the first thing to be brought up to compliance.

And likely the shopping flunky wasn't allowed to talk about any of that.

So Arnold kept his mouth shut and filled the order, and contemplated (perhaps a bit greedily) which potions he'd expect to get prioritised to next month's order and whether he had the supplies on hand for that.

.

"Rookwood," intoned what had become of the dark lord, as he turned to face the door in the way the presence of his tail now required of him.

"Lord Riddle," said Rookwood, "how was your week?"

The thing's eyes rolled, and it motioned towards the desk by the window.

The chessboard was already laid out, as were two empty goblets and the normal selection of wines hung nearby in a levitation cabinet.

Rookwood took the proffered seat, examined the white on offer and then opened and poured.

The dark lord's opening three moves were as ever, and so were Rookwood's, (anyone foolish enough to blunder their queen or fall for scholar's mate deserved a quick loss to school them to look farther ahead), but now the dark lord was pushing knights.

That was unusual, either he'd learned something new from Crouch Jr and wished to test it against a less chaotic player, or …

"My week was enlightening," said the dark lord, "How was yours?"

"Same, same," said Rookwood and concentrated especially on that last move's implications, Riddle was not above using conversation to distract from the board, (nor above using the board to distract from conversation, really). Also, distraction was ridiculously effective when the latest move was a knight, unblocking the path of a bishop.

Hmm, no, nothing special, the other bishop remained the largest threat currently.

"I hear your infirmary has been stocking up on Skele-Gro," attempted Rookwood, half expecting a denial or a mocking accusation of spying for the ministry. Even though they both knew his life and reputation depended on an ability to act the part of a competent and informed spy at a moment's notice.

"A seer suggested my continued bone integrity was in question," said the thing that definitely played chess like Riddle.

"Ah?" said Rookwood.

"Laying in a supply of Skele-Gro, and getting tested for whether I should begin taking mineral supplements or age-related hormone adjusters were my first steps, once that battery, and hypothetically also regimen is complete I can make further plans."

Tom was a year younger than Augustus, but Augustus would likely live to a hundred and sixty, who knew how long Riddle's current body would last, it looked … ridiculously experimental all things considered.

"Hmm, certainly," said Rookwood, "what sorts of plans?"

"I've heard of an alchemical ritual to confer the properties of adamant to one's bones."

Rookwood blinked, "Wasn't that for dragons destined for the fighting pits?—

"Yes," interrupted the thing that had been Lord Riddle.

Rookwood barely held in the rest of his statement, (that the nearest commensurable ritual for mammals was to give their bones the strength of dragon bone.)

It was entirely believable that Lord Riddle's current form already had dragon bones.

Rookwood looked up and met those inhuman eyes.

"Do you trust your alchemist or ritualist to … avoid turning you into a dumb brute worth nothing but to toss into said fighting pits?"

"That is why you are going to be my alchemist, and I am going to be my ritualist, and when we are completely sure that there will be no unwanted side effects, we are still going to first test the procedure on a volunteer drakkin."

Rookwood frowned, "I thought your usual procedure was testing on inferi?"

"It was when I was human," said Lord Riddle, "It still might be a useful step, depending on how confident we can become in our ritual, what questions we still have, and whether any of it can apply to mammals also, or only to dragons."

"Ah," said Rookwood, how could it even apply to mammals … unless he'd already combined the ritual to go from mammal bone to dragon bone, and from dragon bone to adamant.

He glanced again over the chessboard seeing none of his own moves, only the three entirely separate mate-in-six or -eight taking shape against him.

He pushed the chessboard aside, "Show me what you have so far."

Lord Riddle smiled and summoned an envelope from across the room and emptied it onto the table between them.

The ritual elements were not as Rookwood had expected: a dragon bone for a material sample or a cast-adamant skeleton to be sympathetically linked. It was the bones of 210 skeletons (two times three times five times seven) and the blades that executed them. And they must each have died from execution or violence, not old age or disease.

Any damage done to the skeleton of the subject would be instantly replaced by intact material from the bones as they existed at the beginning of the ritual.

Rookwood wondered if examining what remained of the ritual elements after the ritual was complete could be used to predict how long the subject would live or how much damage he might be expected to take between now and then.

But no, in any but the most incompetent subject, that implied they'd immediately make that examination and live their life accordingly, thereby creating a paradox.

Ergo, the final step of the ritual was the irreparable destruction of the elements.

"That is a lot of skeletons," said Rookwood, "And you're thinking to do this ritual three times, once on an inferi, once on a drakkin, and once on yourself?"

"Perhaps," said Lord Riddle, and waved at the chessboard.

"Did I not finish my move, my apologies," said Rookwood and laid down his king. Then returned to examining the parchments in earnest.

The dark lord made a sound deep in his throat that others might have understood as a growl of irritation or frustration, but Rookwood had determined at age seventeen was sexual in nature and usually showed some form of amusement or camaraderie. Because Tom really should have been a ravenclaw, poor bastard. And joined Rookwood as a fellow researcher for the unspeakables, sure there were review boards keeping them from trying anything too far beyond the pale. For sure Tom would fret under that oversight, but … that's not how this board had played out, and there was no use looking back for do-overs.

"Probably, don't tell me where you're sourcing them," said Rookwood, "I might have to act officially if any evidence were to be reported to me."

"Ah," said Tom, "Certainly. Or be so obvious about it that you can deniably assume that regular law enforcement will already be looking into it."

Rookwood snorted, "Sure, or that."

The Curse-breaking Quest

As had become his custom, Neville stopped walking rather than rushing to catch the stairs at the first possible moment, instead he clutched his sword and waited for the stairs to return, meanwhile he did a complete circuit of his rounds by ward-sight. He found an individual with an unfamiliar field surrounding them, he looked closer, it was one of the defence professors, he checked on the other. Exactly the same field, but a bit more pronounced.

Strange invisible fields around otherwise normal-seeming people reminded him of skinwalkers like Tom. Or perhaps, the invisible creatures that Luna talked about seeing sometimes.

He found her presence in the library and accepted his sword's offer to become a portkey to her location.

Luna was sitting across the table from Padma taking notes.

"Hello, Gryffindor," said Luna without turning away from Padma, "You know a sword is not the correct weapon against hubbards. Teapots and your herb harvesting scissors would be much more practical."

"Actually," said Neville, "I was merely using it to sneak into the library to ask you what the correct weapon is against … whatever it is bothering the Defence professors. Or if you can even see what that is."

"Hubbards are bothering the defence Professors," said Luna.

"Can you do something about them?… or teach me to."

"Yes, we can try," said Luna, "But we've reserved this hour for transfiguration. And your hour was reserved doing prefect things."

"Sounds right," said Neville, "when should we meet?"

"Between my herbology and yours," said Luna, "At the middle greenhouse."

"Alright," said Neville, that meant she thought he needed 15 minutes or less of teaching, not hours of library research, an even better reason to listen to what she had to say. "Yes, Please."

Luna smiled and also nodded.

"What are you talking about?" said Padma.

"Something that I can't see, but the Hogwarts wards can detect as an anomaly," said Neville.

"Oh," said Padma.

"Thanks, Luna," said Neville, "I guess I'd better finish my rounds."

He sword-keyed away back to where he'd come from. Except he put himself at the top of the stairs instead of the bottom.

Troubleshooting by Exclusion

"I'm here merely as an observer, Mr Riddle, I suggest you comply as soon as possible, The minister's problem solver will be here by next week, and you don't want to tangle with her."

"We're talking about Undersecretary Umbridge?" said Tom, "with a mouth like a polite land mine?"

"You know her?"

"Yes," said Tom, "Neville, if you would, search the wards for anyone named Dolores Umbridge and if none of our subjects bears that name, close the borders to anyone with it. Actually, to anyone who has ever born it. And make so they will require the consent of all rulers present in the realm to let her into Hogsmeade, and the permission of each headmaster to enter their respective school."

"Hmm," said Neville, "done, done, and … how do you do that, and done."

"I'll show you later," said Tom, "thanks, that should give us several days at least."

"Just how solid do you think your borders are?"

"Quite solid, when they have been instructed to be," said Tom, "That reminds me, Neville, if we are a sovereign territory, it behoves us to verify that our warding policy is consistent."

"You're not thinking of introducing lethal wards, are you?" said Neville.

"We already have them," said Tom, "but they're labelled things like emergency thermal and emergency drainage."

"I forgot how dark your mind could go," said Neville. And made a note to figure out how each of those could be used to kill, and whether sensible fail-safes were already in place. And who had the ability to turn off or even temporarily override those fail-safes?

"My point is, what do we permit our subjects?" said Tom, "and does it make sense to subsidise, up to a point? Such as through class three for families with children."

"Oh," said Neville with a nod and a smirk, "I forgot how light your mind can go."

Professor Hemsley spluttered and glanced between them, "are you two sane?"

"I am about as sane as the average wizard," said Neville, "he's much saner, being entirely non-human."

Professor Hemsley blinked, "And you just … what?"

"Thank you, Neville, I knew you had me figured out," said Tom. He swept out.

Neville tried to sweep out after him, but Professor Hemsley caught his sleeve, "What just happened?"

"Tom interpreted your attempt to imply a threat as timely military intelligence and acted accordingly," said Neville. And then because Neville had gotten used to Professor Hemsley's sense of humour and had been aching to try his hand at it, he continued, "So we've changed your status from 'Ministry spy' to 'undercover Ministry employee selling us information.' Congratulations, you've taken the first step towards being granted asylum via the expedited process."

Professor Hemsley gaped at him.

Neville smirked and swept out.

Around the second corner, Tom had waited for him, "Neville, Lord Gryffindor, that was beautiful."

Neville nodded, and returned Tom's smile, "Can you really show me how to do that with the border wards?"

"Yes, but let's find someplace to sit down."

"My conference table, I suspect yours is too messy."

Tom put his nose in the air with more than a hint of irony, "I choose to interpret that not as an accusation but as a statement of your preferred levels of clutter."

"Of course," said Neville.

.

Headmaster Smith opened the portrait room door and looked around.

"Hem hem," a vaguely too cute woman said from the side of the room where she must have been pretending to admire the portraits. Then again, perhaps she was talking to them.

"Undersecretary Umbridge," said Headmaster Smith, "So good to finally meet you."

"Thank you, Headmaster," she said with an off-centre nod as if not all of her brain was in agreement at how big a nod was polite. Or even necessary.

"Let's go up to my office and discuss— … are you coming?"

"Are you mocking me?"

"No," said the Headmaster, "Is there a problem?"

"The problem is that the wards aren't letting me out of this room. I demand you release me at once."

"I'm sorry Madam Undersecretary, I don't seem to have that power. The wards alerted me very emphatically that you were waiting for my attention, but I find myself without any control of … whatever portion of them is keeping you inside."

"Well, who does?"

Tom Riddle swept in, "That would be me, Madam Undersecretary, I presume you brought your passport? You don't have a visa on file so I suppose you brought your visa application with you? … No? Well then, here is the main application to enter Hogsmeade, included are the three addenda in case you wish to visit Centaur Forest or the premises of either of our schools. Did you want the application for a work permit also?"

The undersecretary did not accept the papers, "The ministry will not stand for any more of your tricks Mr Riddle."

Tom raised an eyebrow, "What tricks, Madam Undersecretary?"

"All this," she waved at the papers, then at the doors she couldn't go through, and then around to take in the rest of the school.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what you're trying to imply."

"This farce that you rule Hogsmeade and own Hogwarts castle."

"Ah, but you see, it's not a farce, I do own a small portion of Hogwarts castle, and I had much more interesting things planned to do with my life before Peeves tricked me into putting my grandfather's necklace in a necklace shaped hole in the wall. And now I am as you perceive me, trapped in a drafty old elf fortress that houses two schools and a boringly tiny government. It doesn't suit me at all."

"And what would suit you? Mr Riddle."

"As recently as a year and a half ago, I aspired to your job Mrs. Undersecretary, Imagine it, all Great Britain where my word was as good as regulation, and many of the commonwealth states as well."

"I don't need to imagine it, Mr Riddle, I'm quite aware of my power and responsibilities."

Tom smiled, "Of course."

"Now let me out of this room."

"I'm afraid you haven't provided the necessary documents for me to let you through customs, so I cannot do that. You know my hands are tied. Also, unless you plan to provide the documents necessary to visit Hogwarts school, you've very definitely come to the wrong customs entrance, the better location would be Hogsmeade station. It's a much shorter walk to the tourist district."

"You're being deliberately obtuse," said the Undersecretary.

"Ah," smiled Tom, "But so are you."

"You know that I've come to take up the position of inspector general."

"And you know that as a modern and up-to-date ruler, I cannot in good conscience let you within sight of any pupil under my protection without seeing believable documentation that you've completed comprehensive training in childhood development and/or the mind healing of children." Tom sighed, "So many, many of my poor slytherins are abused at home, perhaps that is something you could look into when you leave here."

She gaped at him for several seconds, then smirked, "I just might do that."

Tom nodded, "Is there anything else? Before I let you get back to your paperwork. Oh, I'm sorry, I hadn't given it to you yet," he held the application packet out to her again.

She took it and glanced through it. When she looked up again, she was alone.

.

"But Lord Tom," said the headmaster, "do you really plan to stonewall her about getting a muggle degree?"

"Yes, I do," said Tom, "and I plan to do the same for all of your other teachers the year after next, I suggest you make sure they know so that they can begin revising for those certifications. Normal muggles take three to four years to get each of them, I have hopes that with wit sharpening solution and time turners, and based on the general quality of your teachers and the basicness of half the courses of study involved, they should be able to polish them off in 18 months of revising by mail."

"But I …."

"It is required for all teachers of all schools of twelve or more pupils," said Tom, "your teachers are grandfathered in, but only for three years. This year was your first year, I already notified you of this, what is your objection?"

"I don't … "

"You didn't believe the Sunrealm will remain in human hands that long?" said Tom, "I'm afraid of that also."

"I was going to say, I don't … expect Hogsmeade will remain in your hands that long."

"Hmm," said Tom, "your lack of faith does you no credit, but faith is perhaps not in your job description. Never mind, if anyone asks, Madam Umbridge has not arrived at your school, if they question more closely, you've been notified that she's stuck in customs. You may even explain that you've put in a request for her visa and her customs interview to be expedited, which I will gladly confirm, you did request such, though not in so many words."

Headmaster Smith sighed, "Very well, we'll play this your way."

Tom nodded, "And be a dear and don't take her any floo powder, I'll make sure the house-elves deliver enough food. Mostly oatmeal and vegan shepherd's pie I think, very traditional. With just enough fish so as not to endanger her magic."

"What are you playing at?"

"To get out of that room alive, she's going to have to do my paperwork my way, or buy contraband floo powder from a student, or hijack a Hogwarts house-elf, or she's welcome to kill herself. Oh, that reminds me, I need to talk to Hermione about enchanting portkeys."

"Can she create a portkey?"

"From outside Hogsmeade to outside Hogsmeade, I'm sure she can, she's considered a competent troubleshooter. I think she cannot so create while inside greater Hogsmeade, but if she brought one here, she can probably escape by it. Actually, I can't imagine she doesn't have one or more emergency portkeys."

"Alright, that's a relief."

Tom remained silent.

"You're … trying to provoke an act of war?"

"As long as I am not the aggressor, I don't mind," said Tom, "and I'd much rather settle this in international court than on the battlefield. But I am confident that the Hogsmeade wards will withstand a full-scale assault of all Great Britain long enough to evacuate all Hogsmeade and Centaur Forest into Hogwarts, where we can withstand a siege for over a month."

"But the 1503 assault…"

"All the fatalities were caused by suborned gargoyles and centaurs. I will not allow that to happen. And if they Fiendfyre a structure with their own children in it, I withdraw."

"You flee the battle?"

"No, I withdraw my support for the human race." said Tom, "and I'll consider taking their children with me, as many as have requested asylum I will protect, as many as wish to go home, will be sent home. If a child doesn't want to see their parents again, they won't, I want that announced when they return from OWLs, unless … Never mind, we'll discuss it closer to that time."

.

"Tracy and Adrian, I have a project for you, It may turn out to be profitable, or it might just be good for a laugh, and perhaps some additional notoriety."

"What is it?"

"There's an awful woman trapped in the portrait room, I want her to have every opportunity to buy contraband, specifically things that are legal to buy in Great Britain but are illegal to have on Hogwarts grounds, and I want her to know that she is buying contraband before she buys it, I'll want clear memories of every transaction. I don't care who is the public face, or even if their face is visible."

"Not that I'm against making money, but does she need to buy it, or is planting it on her person sufficient?"

Tom smirked, "also useful but not nearly so cut and dried. That would almost be better, but only if she can be shown to have brought it with her and attempted to supply it to a pupil. Merely returning it would not be nearly as good."

"Anything else?"

"If she manages to be odious enough that revenge is called for, … keep it legal, but make her miserable for me."

"Yes, Lord Slytherin."

"Do you mind if … we make this venture available to all smugglers?"

"I'd prefer it," said Tom, "but remember as soon as she manages to procure floo powder (or any other transportation method), the game might be over, feel free to accidentally delay that product for as long as there are other products or mild grievances to supply."

.

"So explain again—" said Fred.

"What this woman ever did to—" said George.

"Our illustrious Lord Slytherin?" finished Fred.

"No one who knows is saying," said Adrian, "No one who is saying admits how they know."

"But the rumours imply things like: she called into question his intelligence or his ability to lie," said Tracy.

"Oh, how rude, then we must at all cost make money off her."

"I thought you two operate at cost."

"Oh we do—" said George.

"but you know how expensive the mules have gotten—" said Fred.

"since the wards have been raised to full strength." finished George.

"Anyway, that's only two, some of the other rumours are: She does dark magic with the blood of her enemies. Or Minister Fudge is secretly in love with her. Or that Minister Fudge hates her and sent her here to get her killed, and to have an excuse for declaring war on all of us."

"Well, we can't have that," Agreed both Fred and George.

"So Lord Slytherin has asked us to give her hell or sell her contraband, deniably of course, such that we have an excuse to declare war first. But the evidence has to be top-notch, Theo suspects he's going to try to convict her before the ICW for grievances, rather than actually declaring war.

"What happens if war is declared?"

"Tom and Neville are notably unconcerned about that. I think I've heard both of them look … viciously pleased with the idea that they might 'need to defend the children.' Lady Ravenclaw … rolls her eyes at them like ornery Gryffindors, which is odd, Neville has been acting more and more slytherin since … I don't know when, since he started hanging out with Parvati at least."

"Ah," said Fred, "I do seem to remember a shrewd business deal he managed last year."

"What's his opinion of our quest to provoke a provocation of war?"

"I don't think he's heard about it, but what I heard about was when Professor Hensley told him to shut down Harriet's duelling and defence tutoring group, Neville said something about, the ministry not taking the elves' warning seriously. And the professor said, 'Surely you don't take that rumour seriously?' And Neville said, 'I was there when the warning was issued, I was there when Peeves identified them as real diplomat elves and requested help opening the Moonrealm gate to see them off with appropriate pomp. I was there when the Sword of Gryffindor recognise me as its rightful wielder, like some kind of ancient Gringotts key. I was there when the diplomat elves went out that gate into a cleansed Moonrealm where they couldn't possibly have been born nor crafted the clothes or tools they carried. And I was there when they came back with seer elves and the ICW seers talked with their seers and negotiated an updated plan of battle. You ask me whether I take the threat seriously. And I answer you, and I answer all Great Britain, that the only thing I take more seriously than the warning of the elves is my oath to protect the subjects and guests of my realm, who are your own children. Do not interfere with me, and do not interfere with Harriet Matirni's defence tutoring group. If she's doing as good a job as I expect of her, and if the ministry doesn't get off its lazy arse and train everyone who is willing to be hit-wizards. She and hers might be the only reason that Britain remains safe long enough for Russia and the Elves to come to our aid.'"

"Everyone's heard about that," said Fred.

"But you did declaim it almost as well as Neville, Lord Gryffindor, himself," agreed George.

"Thanks, I've been memorising it. I'll bet Harriet will make a play about him, someday when they don't have a war to prepare for."

"Likely, likely," said George.

"But don't let us stop you," said Fred, "you were doing so well."

"That's all I heard, was there more?" said Adrian.

"Yeah," said Fred.

"It went something like you don't believe the warning of the elves? Then you'd better pray you're right to every god you do believe in, because if they do come, (and they will), and any of my friends and subjects come to harm because of your interference, you can bet your sweet sorry arse I'll be hunting you down next, just as soon as I'm done hunting our enemy outsiders."

"Go Neville," said Tracy, "Way to be a Gryffindor."

"Nice," said Adrian, "I'll try to add that in."

"But back to the matter at hand, we're to sell her anything contraband we can, except floo powder. Floo powder we promise to try to acquire, but never deliver. I figure we sell her anything to keep her comfortable and used to the idea of buying from us is a good step, but Lord Slytherin doesn't need memories of those transactions."

"Understood, did he place any limits on what we can do to her?"

"He said keep all revenge legal and he implied keeping it at least mildly justified."

"Oooh, that sounds like a challenge."

"Did it sound like a challenge to you?"

"It did," agreed Adrian.

"I like them," said Tracy, "Why don't we work together with them more often?"

"They provide things at cost, it drives our prices down," said Adrian.

"That's bad for business," said Tracy, "how can they expand their operation if they don't have cash flow."

"She has a point," said Fred.

George grunted, "The point, so many years ago, was to maintain a strictly legal footing regarding sales tax."

"You mean the sales tax that was rescinded directly after chimney tax," said Adrian, "because Lady Ravenclaw doesn't like multiplying percentages and thinks making anyone else do so amounts to torture? And Lord Slytherin went along with it, because he'd wanted to exile that excise man anyway, but hadn't had anyone else to replace him with."

"That's the one," said George, "Fred, I do believe it's time to update our policy."

"Hmm," said Fred, "I'm willing to be persuaded."

.

The Stink of Hubris

"Hello Parnassus," said George.

"Hello silly red reflections," said Parnassus bubbling up into a shape with a mane and hooves.

"Why thank you," said Fred, "we do resemble that remark."

"What are you doing so far from the lake?"

"We're hoping you'd help us find a friend.—"

"A little bit of a large muddy pool we fell in with a few years back.—"

"Also fell into,—"

"That goes without saying, anyway—"

"She had such a delightful sense of humour.—"

"I think her name is Hobgoblin or something similar.—"

"Though we were never clear whether that was a nickname or her real name."

"Yes, I know a Naiad called Hobgoblin," said Parnassus, "Did you want me to deliver a message, or …?"

"Deliver a message, or lead us to her, or her to us. Whichever is … more polite."

"Ah!" said Parnassus.

.

Neville looked up from his breakfast to notice that a portion of Hufflepuff was mildly concerned about something near the head table. Also that the professors who normally sat at that end of the head table had removed themselves to empty seats anywhere else at the table. Only Pomfrey and Snape seemed unaffected, though they didn't appear … happy.

Out of habit, he checked the wards before acting, the Ministry troubleshooter was still trapped in the portrait room. It appeared she'd attempted a massive amount of magic and it had … fallen mostly to the floor. Some had seeped out under the door, and a tiny bit was drifting through the rest of the room.

"Any idea what Margret Umbridge is getting up to?" said Neville.

"Last I saw her," said Tom, "she was sitting on a tiny magic carpet inside a three-layered bubble head charm, holding her nose and trying not to cry or sneeze or fall asleep, for fear of toppling off."

"I meant what's she done to the floor in there."

"She didn't do anything to it," said Tom, "except mightily offend a swamp naiad child, who the Weasleys convinced to visit her and keep the nasty woman company while she works on her visa paperwork."

"A poor innocent swamp naiad," said Neville, "we're talking about Mrs Werewolf-registration-act here?"

"Yes," said Tom.

"Does she need rescuing?"

Tom turned to him and smirked, "The innocent one can seep out under the door any time she wishes, or stand up and use the door handle. The other has three emergency portkeys, she also has only her pride imprisoning her."

Neville shuddered, "If I ever offend you, please tell me straight out, in words, so I can amend my behaviour, or portkey to the other end of the planet, not start an entirely disavowable feud using my allies and my own temperament against me."

"But of course," said Tom, "and if you haven't figured out how to fly by the end of the year, and if I haven't figured out how to apparate inside our wards, what do you say to a trade of information?"

Neville opened his mouth to deny having the latter information nor wanting the former, then he understood the challenge, "Certainly," If nothing else Parvati wanted that faeries' dust spell.

"Wait a second," said Neville, "you were apparating inside our wards last year."

"That was phoenix travel," said Tom, "you do something different."

"Have I ever done it in your presence?" said Neville.

"No," said Tom, "But I've seen you in the wards, it's rather dramatic."

Neville smiled, "So was telling everyone that the founds were using You-know-who's techniques to fly."

"Wait!" said Seamus, "They do?"

Neville smiled at him, "I have no idea, but Lord Slytherin once said so."

Seamus chortled, "Can you imagine You-know-who saying anything so undignified as, 'I do believe in faeries, I do, I do!'"

Several of his neighbours laughed. Even Tom chuckled, "If he has never said something so childish, I'm sure he mourns the chance to do so with such a fine reward."

"Um," said Neville.

Tom raised an eyebrow, just like Professor Snape. Except Tom was sneering at Neville for getting ready to rain on their mocking, instead of for not being sufficiently serious.

It took Neville more than a few seconds to reconcile what mood Tom seemed to be in, and what mood he seemed to want everyone else in, and then he got it.

"Actually," said Neville, "most of our spells sound utterly daft to anyone who speaks proper Latin or Italian. Think about that any time you are feeling intimidated by a professor or a test. They're just trying to convince you of the proper way to mispronounce a word or phrase in order to convince Magic Herself to play with you."

Tom smirked and nodded, turned back to his dinner, nodded again, smiled wider and said, "Quite."

.

Stories about Hauntings

"What if I don't want to clean up an entire craft fair?" said Flint his voice belying the pout that he was doing an admirable job of keeping off his face, "Does anyone?"

There were no takers.

"What if we … I don't know, did something else instead," said Blaise.

"Like what?"

"Told scary stories?" suggested Blaise, "I'm sure we all know some. And once we get things started they'll entertain themselves."

"That inevitably ends with the Bloody Barron breaking things up at the worst possible moment, and then no one gets any sleep."

"Then let's only do it in the afternoon, we'll monitor and if things start getting romantic enough to bring the Barron, one of us steps in to tell something more … existential. And after the feast, we do something else."

.

Draco stood up, "I'm Draco Malfoy, and I have been appointed to start things off, specifically with a story that really happened, right here at Hogwarts. It happened to my girlfriend and her sister, and it started when …"

.

Several stories later, Blaise worked his way through the crowd to her and grabbed Harriet's arm, "You're up the moment you can construe that this story has no chance of getting … less adult."

"Is that what the motion from Flint was?"

"Yeah, you … have something prepared?"

"I always have things prepared, but sticking with the emerging 'haunted sibling' theme, yes, I have something."

"Haunted sibling seems a lot more what we're aiming for than the unrequited love that is said to bring the Barron."

Harriet gave a nod.

Blaise gave her a thumbs up, Harriet quietly manoeuvred around the first years who'd momentarily forgotten that they were in a line.

.

"Alright," said Harriet, "My name is Harriet Matirni, and my little brother is haunted. It all started this summer, we were in Egypt sailing on Lake Nasser,"

There were interruptions and questions, so she conjured a glowing map of Egypt and gave a half-minute summary of the Aswan Dam being constructed in the 60s and 70s to control flooding and provide electric power and irrigation. (She left out the politics about why it couldn't be put in a slightly geographically and ecologically better location because of the impossible politics of causing thousands of acres of one's neighbour's land to flood.)

"Anyway, we were sailing from Upper Egypt to Lower Egypt, that is from up here in the south, to down here in the north. And we stopped for the night somewhere in here, on the west side of the lake. Our guide showed us the dunes, (yet again) to make sure we could find our way back to the sailboat, and to make sure that we wouldn't wander into the soft sand of a slip face and get buried before we could figure our way back out."

So she explained how dunes moved by the wind blowing sand up the back, and leaving it to slide down the slip face. And how the sand on the back is usually packed hard enough to walk on, but the slip face is sometimes very soft and often ready to avalanche down on the unwary.

"Anyway, we had left our friend Tunde in the outskirts of Alexandria up north, here, in the delta. Enjoying the greenery and the Mediterranean, you know. She's a wandering elemental, how many of you know what an elemental is? Well, neither do I, not really. I can tell you that Tunde is a water elemental. There are supposed to also be air elementals, fire elementals, and earth elementals. Anything you can find in nature, and several things that you can't. But what is an elemental? I'm not really sure.

"They say that some of the great wizards and witches of ancient times were sorcerers, which is another word for those who communicate with and make deals with powers, principalities, spirits, and elementals. They say that Merlin and Helga were friends of nature. Hmm, I don't know. And warlock literally means oath-breaker, does that mean making a deal, and not being able to keep your part of the promise? Or does it mean something else? Warlock is almost a bad word these days, ever since we lost a war we started with the Goblins, and in retaliation, they forced us to change the title of our highest leader to Warlock. And we usually use 'sorcerer' as a complimentary title for very powerful mages like Dumbledore and—" Oh, dear Merlin, Tom is in the audience. "—and Nicolas Flamel, but it's not clear to me that they've earned it, nor that we (if we did still know what it meant,) would only use it for a compliment."

"Where was I? Oh yes, camping by Lake Nasser."

"So my little brother Moit, he'd been missing Tunde since we left her in Alexandria, and come to find out, he's been thinking about her for days, thinking about talking to her, trying to imagine her voice in the wind and the water, not in the sound of them, but in the magic of them, which is exactly where you hear the voices of elementals.

"Anyway, he wandered away from camp, maybe he was only going out to piss, maybe he was trying to find a quieter spot to listen to the wind. I don't know, but when he came back, it was very clear that he'd slipped down the slip face of a dune, and had sand in his clothes from his hair to his socks.

"… Which is impressive come to think of it, because he wasn't wearing any socks."

Everyone laughed.

"So our guide asks which dune he fell in, but we can't make sense of what he answers, he just seemed very confused, so we brush him off and help him get a drink and go to bed, and that's that. But in the morning, he told the story of a dune elemental called Sandfish. (Sandfish are a kind of little lizards that can tuck in their toes and swim through the sand like it's water, very cool. I've held one in my hand, no I didn't catch it myself, and we let it go afterwards.) Anyway, this elemental called Sandfish had wandered across the Nile at low whatever it's called … during a drought to visit his sister, apparently there used to be rocks and whitewater in that area called a cataract, where the desert elementals could cross, at least during droughts, but while he visited, the dam had been finished and Lake Nasser rose and he'd been stuck on the west side of the Nile wandering for like 40 years. So my brother, being his helpful self, told Sandfish where to look for the Aswan Dam, so he should be able to cross back and forth whenever he wishes. Sandfish was of course, very thankful and went right away to check that out.

"And after that, my brother spent many hours staring off into the east, towards the Sahara where his friend Sandfish must still be roaming. Is it someone else's turn?"

"That wasn't scary enough, try again?"

"Ah, alright," said Harriet, "After we returned from Egypt, Moit hasn't stopped staring off into the east, now he stares all over the place. And anyway, Tunde had met so many different streams about her size in the Nile delta, that she wanted to go home and visit her siblings and see about improving her own watercourse, because, what else would a water elemental want to be doing with her time, (I mean besides apparently gossiping with other elementals and sometimes people), so off we go, Tunde and I and my brothers, to find out where her watercourse even is."

"It was … much farther away than we had expected, but we found it, and she introduced us to her siblings and them to us, and we left her there for a while and tried climbing the nearest three mountains, which we succeeded at, if you only mean, getting to the top. But Moit wasn't the same again afterwards, and neither was Tunde. You see, she'd been wandering for decades which is perhaps a bit too long for an elemental. I imagine that Sandfish also felt much more himself once he found his way home. Just like Tunde did, and like Tunde … I think when she came home with us, (and she did come home with us), but not all of her came home with us, part of her is still there, with her family. Knowing things about, and being, that little stream in the mountains. Which is what she always has been, and always was meant to be, but she is also our friend and a pilgrim among humans.

"But Moit, now that he's met Tunde's valley, and knows that she's not just a pilgrim and our friend, but also the stream, and the watercourse in which it flows. And he's met Sandfish and helped him find a new and more permanent muggle-made cataract where he can cross the Nile at any time he chooses, instead of only during droughts. And I suppose he's met other dunes, and other mountain streams, and other mountains, and forests beside. He hardly talks anymore, but he always has a quiet hint of a smile hanging around near his lips, as if he's in the middle of a conversation that he's enjoying immensely, and he's waiting for someone to get to the point, so that he can smile to show that he understands and approves, of what his friend has just said. But no, he hardly ever talks anymore."

Harriet paused, "And then we came home to London, and he smiles even wider because he is home again, but his clothes have never quite been dry ever since. And sometimes they are sopping wet. And you might tell me that it's just that he adjusted to sweating hard in the desert, and then to the windy chill of the mountains and when he again found himself in the humid London air, he can't help sweating so much that his clothes are always a little damp."

"But I think, he's met and made friends with so many elementals, mountain streams, and mountains, and mountain air, desert streams, and desert sands, and desert wind. I think, when he came back to England, the elementals, not all of them, but the ones who wish to talk to us, the ones who grew accustomed to talking to the sorcerers of old, the ones that we, in recent centuries have forgotten how to talk to, the ones that probably the muggles can't talk to. Those lonely elementals can smell how my little brother is different now, that he's something like the sorcerers of old, and they follow him around and hang out with him, and the mists of the Thames, keep his clothes, just, a little, damp.

"Thank you."

Several of the upperclassmen applauded or cheered.

Harriet made her way back to the other prefects and settled into the seat next to Blaise.

"Wow," said Blaise, "That was different."

Draco came over, looking a little offended.

Harriet looked up.

"I thought!" whisper shrieked Draco, "We were supposed to tell true stories."

"Um, what?" said Harriet.

"Strictly speaking you can tell anything you want," Flint clarified, "but for the prizes, the fourth year and above prize is for true stories only."

"Oh, ok," said Draco and stared expectantly at Harriet.

Flint got interested, "Yeah, Harriet, Do you want to specify whether your story was a contest entry?"

Harriet looked back and forth between them, and then said, "If it were real sweat, it would be salty."

There was a long pause.

"Oh. Hell." said Gamp, "She wins, let's go to dinner."

"There's no way," said Harriet, "Tom Riddle, Lord Slytherin is scarier than my little brother every day of the week."

"There is that," said Flint, "but is the prize for knowing the scariest story, or telling it best?"

He and Gamp conferred and then said that it hadn't been agreed upon ahead of time and the judges were welcome to vote either way or vote for both categories and maybe there'd be two prizes.

.

When everyone who wished had taken their turn, Flint got up and said that his story would be last: The story he told was not of the recent past, but the near future, in which a hypothetical Minister for Magic invaded with all the hit wizards and all the unspeakables, and shut down Hogwarts, and imprisoned their Dukes and Duchess, and lived the high life alone in his new castle, until the new and more terrifying kind of dementors came pouring up the stairs from Moonrealm, to eat everyone in England, starting of course with the minister himself.

Everyone agreed that it was the scariest, but hopefully would not turn out to be true.

Lord Slytherin said, it for sure couldn't come true because neither the hit wizards nor the unspeakables would be able to get through the wards. Not without a thousand dementors, and he'd already cured all of the dementors last August.

.

It was a subdued group of slytherins that climbed the stairs to the Halloween Feast.

"Prefect Matirni," said Tom, "sit with me."

At her side, Blaise flinched.

"Umm?" said Harriet, "Okay?" she followed and sat where he motioned, at his right hand, catercorner from his seat at the end.

"You don't need to stay the whole meal, but I just wanted to tell you, that you were thinking of the word 'conjurer,' someone who 'conjures' or 'begs' the powers to manifest changes into the world, or someone who introduces illusions into the minds of the unwary by hypnotism, or those who practice the secular art that we still call conjuration today. 'Sorcerer' comes from Latin, a caster of lots, contextually by skimming through a scroll of Homer or Virgil, and see what caught their eye. Later often practised with other sacred texts. The Chinese transitioned to books before we did and systematised dice-like objects to select page numbers and passages, the meaning that you're thinking of was not original to the word, but I believe first appeared in France shortly before the statute, a confusion between all divination by casting lots, with the idea of praying first to your powers or principalities to direct the lots and aid with interpreting the results, and from there to all praying to powers and principalities."

"Oh," said Harriet.

"Of course, the name of that early method of casting lots, sors, comes from a root that seems to mean speaking, which ties back to language and therefore both enchanting and hypnotism, and the graphic arts."

"Graphic arts means runes?"

"Yes."

"So … wizardry in general to the exclusion of witchcraft?"

"Perhaps? To the extent that witchcraft doesn't include spoken and sung ritual, and at this late date, how far can we trust outsiders observing potions makers to differentiate singing or quoting poetry and mnemonic rhyme as a device to time the stages and keep track of ingredients, vs. Containing and focusing an intention integral to the magic."

"Yeah, whatever."

"So, what is the correct word for … what Moit might be practising the early stages of?"

"The word now or the original word?" said Tom.

"Originally."

"And you mean the scout that goes out and knows the elementals, not the ambassador who goes behind and negotiates treaties and contracts?"

"Yes."

Tom smiled, a proud and amused ravenclaw sort of smile, "Witch."

"But that … what?"

"You know how when a territory is conquered the victors often attempt to suppress the previous culture and any of its practices which might harbour seeds of rebellion, or be used as kernels of nostalgia around which rebellion can crystallise?

"The political offices and their holders are easily legible and can easily be done away with or recruited. But the specialised practices and their practitioners are less so, they must be discredited and/or supplanted by your own clergy or doctors or what have you. There has been enough war throughout Europe and then European colonialism of much of the rest of the world, that of course most of the old words for the old practices got wrapped up in a bundle and branded a dark perversion against the Roman system, and later the European enlightenment."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Witch (wicce the female form or wicca the male form, comes from the proto-indo-european *weg- meaning strength as in vigour and alertness as in wake. You find it everywhere from the veg in vegetables to the vel in velocity, from the vou in bivouac to the ved in vedette, and don't forget vigil and surveillance.)"

"I thought it meant wise and/or old."

"Old, yes, with the hint that it takes wisdom to survive so long. Yes, that's wiz meaning grey as in hair or beard, the root of wizard, it also had a female form, but I seem to have forgotten it."

"Oh."

"No, the idea of your brother turning into someone who keeps watch, and being more awake than the rest, enough to have truck with invisible things or conversation with inaudible things, that's the classic meaning of witch."

"Hmm," said Harriet.

"And completely undifferentiated from old farmers standing in their field or on their porch, staring out over their fields, assessing and planning what care their land might need from them next."

Sure, … but?

At the next table over Neville and Seamus had looked up from their conversation to smile and stare into space. Had Tom's shoulders hinted something about his focus? … Just how much audience was Tom playing for right now?

"You know," said Tom, now his eyes were directly on her, "How calling even the lowliest of our group by the highest title is classic persecuted minority behaviour. Communalism is baked into our culture at the level of our language, no matter that the Wizengamot lords like to think that they defeated Grindelwald's movement abroad and that we are too patriotic to let it spread here."

"Are you saying that Grindelwald's army will revive and somehow come here?"

"No, I'm saying that Grindelwald came here to study with commoners before taking communalism to the rest of Europe."

"Oh."

"Where was I? … Oh, yes, we were persecuted under the name 'witch' and in retaliation, we adopt the name for us all. Similarly, we call all our pets 'familiars,' though originally that meant our … non-physical friends like Tunde and Albia, whether they were subordinate to us or us to them, or neither either way, perhaps equal partners, perhaps merely friends."

"Oh! Yeah, I suppose."

"So does your little brother have a familiar now? Or merely is so friendly that he's been noticed by a group of elementals?"

Harriet shrugged, "Definitely the second, I haven't noticed anything specifically resembling the first. The desert elemental he said was named … was called Sandfish, but I haven't heard the names of any others he's met since."

"Alright," said Tom, "if he comes under scrutiny that he dislikes he's welcome here for as long as he can maintain the minimum level of goodwill we expect from our citizens."

"Right," said Harriet, "was that the 'royal we'?"

"No, that was: I can speak for my co-rulers about policy when it's a topic that has come up before."

"Oh, ok, and … you want citizens?"

"Why not?"

"I expected you to want subjects."

He rolled his eyes, "on the contrary, the difficulty and absurdity of the path from subject to citizen in ministry law and regulation is part of what set Grandfather on his collision course with fate. So of course, when Peeves hands me a petty sovereignty of my own, I simplify the path as best I can, to the extent that I and Helen can pool our common sense, and Neville, a born and trained citizen, can explain things to us."

"Oh, good grief," said Harriet.

Tom smiled benignly, "I'm done talking, probably. I'm going to eat now." He proceeded to serve himself food, instead of merely the pumpkin juice he'd been sipping since they sat down.

"You …"

Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Sometimes I forget you and your grandfather are so different."

Tom smiled with a wry and sad wariness, "That might be an illusion."

"Given the adoption book we wrote?"

Tom smiled, "Which my grandfather accepted, and not just because I'd already distributed it in his name."

"Yeah, but …"

"Adoption is a useful concept," he waved vaguely, "and I am very thankful to you and Potter for introducing it to me as a practical reality rather than an impossible myth."

Harriet smiled.

"But I'm gradually also coming to terms with another rite called 'coming of age,' a transition from 'carefree' childhood (…yeah right, as if…), into either the stasis of externally imposed structure for 'the subject,' and a kind of peace through that submission, or the internal self-control of the citizen, and the stress of that infinite flexibility, and the responsibility that corresponds with that liberty."

Harriet stared, "You're going to write another book?"

"We," said Tom, "probably after Neville graduates." Tom frowned and stared at her, "Though I notice suddenly that I heard rumours that your family cut you loose at twelve."

"There's a difference between 'cutting loose' and 'acknowledging that I might be the most qualified agent to hold the title of En-Loco-Parentis regarding myself' or some such."

"Ah, fair point." He chewed through another bite, once he swallowed he stayed silent for half a minute, "Then, I suspect that you and Potter will also be welcome to contribute, perhaps sooner rather than later, I have … not as high hopes for some of the others in your cohort."

Harriet couldn't think of anything diplomatic to say, so she merely shrugged.

"Now then," he said, "are your classes going well enough that we need to plan contingencies, in case the hypothetical curse against defence professors finds a way to banish you also?"

"Oh, oof," said Harriet, "no idea."

"Then they are not going so poorly as to for sure be safe?"

She grinned, "No, they are very well attended, and I'm seeing marked improvement in … umm situational common sense, even if not anything I'd call impressive skill from most of our club members." she grimaced, "I try to keep it active enough that no one gets bored, but not everyone is there to learn, some are there to show off."

"And by showing off, do they provide better learning opportunities to everyone else, or do they distract?"

Harriet narrowed her eyes, "I might could structure things a bit differently to make allowance for that."

Tom nodded and continued eating.

After two bites he patted the back of her hand.

"Eat, little absentminded professor," said Tom, "before I'm tempted to check whether my power extends to reassigning you to ravenclaw."

Harriet stuck out her tongue at him. Then she did eat.

.

"Umm," she said after a while, "What sort of contingencies are you thinking of?"

He shrugged, "You're still a proxy member of the Peverell board. Your family has a strong presence at Brown life-wisdom." He shrugged again, "I don't want to see you falling behind academically, even if you aren't here, or are here but not technically in classes."

"Oh, yeah, I see."

"Probably talk to Luna."

"Probably," agreed Harriet.

"You could move into Helena's old flat in the village, and we can call you head auror or something."

Harriet rolled her eyes, "Hit wizard, yes, auror, no, at least according to what training I've already picked up."

"Your 'Uncle' James might have a reading list he'd be willing to share."

"Circe," said Harriet, "perhaps."

.

When she unpacked her pockets before bed she found a bit of parchment that was not her own. The note on it said, "The curse is not hypothetical! In fact, it is not even singular. I'm adding you to my list of people to diagnose when checking who is being targeted by unresolved enchantments. ~Neville."

Harriet shivered.

"P.S. I second everything Tom said about 'thanks for training those who wish to learn. It counts towards your citizenship requirements, should you care to pursue that route.'

"I hope we never need to make recourse to letting children volunteer for soldiers. But better to be prepared.

"I wish there were as many wards protecting us from the Moonrealm side as we have on the Sunrealm side. But so far that goal remains some distance in the future. At the moment all that seals the pass is two passwords and a basilisk, (and we don't know whether they even use doors or are susceptible to basilisks)."

"Yes, well," sighed Harriet and tucked the note away.

.

An Enemy Retreats

"Lord Slytherin!"

"Yes, Tracy."

"We regret to inform you, your sucker has flown the coop."

"What? Ah," Tom sighed, (or yawned?) "Do you know how?"

"Not as such," said Tracy, "but my own suspicions are that she was recalled following the dragon-skinned intruder turning up at the ministry yesterday."

"The one who claimed to be You-know-who and demanded access to the vale, Who went in and returned with several thousand pounds of sharpened silver stakes. And claimed to have cleared the pit trap so as to make The Way of Merlin passable for the English again."

"Yes, that."

"I wonder what he did with the bodies."

"What bodies?"

"The bones of everyone that the ministry has executed by tossing them through the vale. To die alone and impaled on the dying wrath of the elves."

"This is You-know-who we're talking about, why suspect he did anything at all with them?"

Tom sneered.

"What?"

"I am amused how my grandfather's reputation has grown."

"What do you mean?"

"He may have killed a larger percentage of Britain's magical population than any dark lord in history (Lady Cromwell not being a lord). But he didn't kill more people than Grindelwald by several orders of magnitude. To imply otherwise is to display a greater degree of insular perspective than is generally ascribed to American no-mages."

"I'm fairly sure he was a psychopath though."

"You may be right," said Tom.

"I'm not at all certain that you are not."

"You are suspicious," said Tom, "suspicious is good. Your suspicions are the people's first line of defence."

"What do you mean?"

"About two per cent of the population are psychopaths," said Tom, "and at about that level, they are helpful for the development of society. Too much more and you end up with Byzantine politics or the decadence of Rome all over again. Too few and you end up with the stagnation of the dark ages."

"There's no way that you're going to convince me that all the best philosophers, artists, and researchers were psychopaths."

"Not at all," said Tom, "I meant that a certain percentage of their patrons and investors have been… economically and socially successful psychopaths."

"Is that what you have to tell yourself to get up in the morning?"

Tom shrugged, "If you didn't want to listen, you didn't have to ask. Never mind. Thank you for notifying me about Umbridge. Do you mind carrying a request from me to either Hermione or the Weasley twins to escort their swamp naiad friend back outdoors?"

"Is that what their portable swamp is?"

"Yes," said Tom, "on the other hand she's welcome to hang around and explore if she can stay in human form and clothed, and in general not disrupt classes."

"I do my utmost never to come to the attention of prefects," said Tracy, "I'll tell the twins."

"Thank you."

.

{End Chapter 4}

A/N: So much material in so many plot threads … and so much work left to do to collate it into anything remotely like chronological order. O_o.

In sorting out this chapter, I think I've found all the bits that happen in the next chapter also, so perhaps the next chapter will not take so ridiculously long to post.