Harry Potter fanfic--Student Teacher at Hogwarts
by Terri Wells

Chapter Seventeen - Preliminary Games

July 7, 2001 Afternoon & Evening

"I wish our pub food was as good as theirs," Deidre commented as she and Terri left the Leaky Cauldron. After the uproar at the Burrow that morning, capped off with Molly's Howler to Professor Dumbledore, the two Americans had been more than happy to escape. With Arthur's directions in hand, they went off to find the pub Muggle-style, sightseeing on the way. By the time they arrived, the two witches were hungry again.

"Silly American," Terri teased as she took out her wand and looked for the bricks she needed to tap. "We don't have anything that compares with the pubs here. Ah!" She found the bricks, and very shortly she and Deidre were once again on Diagon Alley.

"Now what did Arthur say the name of that shop was?" Deidre asked. She turned her head this way and that to take in the sights. Never mind that they'd already been here before; this was a new shopping trip, therefore a whole new adventure.

Terri fervently hoped it wouldn't be quite as dangerous of an adventure as their last trip to Diagon Alley. Note to self: never take the Weasley twins anywhere they can get themselves or other people into trouble, Terri thought. She figured, with their particular brand of inventiveness, that ruled out...everywhere. "It's called `Fletcher's Fabulous Finds,'" Terri replied. "And we must have walked right past it the last time we were here; it's supposed to be near the edge of Knockturn Alley."

Very shortly, the women found the storefront they were looking for: a large, gaudy, `red-and-green-striped sign shouted "Fletcher's Fabulous Finds -- the Magical, the Mundane, and Everything in Between" in raised, bright golden letters. Below the sign, a number of fascinating objects drew attention in the window. A pair of Sneakoscopes connected by a long red satin cord bore a handwritten sign saying "His and Hers -- always know when the in-laws are coming!" Terri eyed an ebony-colored oar-shaped object with fine silver lines. Its sign said "Bludger magnet bat -- illegal for competition...GREAT GIFT!" After staring at the window for a few minutes and pointing out items to each other with ooh, aahhs, and giggles, the two women entered the shop.

"Hello, may I help you?" came a young voice as the door jingled closed behind them. Terri turned to the voice, and was quite surprised to see an eight-year-old boy behind the counter, apparently standing on a box. His short brown hair matched the color of his intelligent eyes, which stared at her expectantly.

"Um, yes," she began hesitantly. "I was looking for Mundungus Fletcher?"

"He's indisposed," said the young boy gracefully. "Maybe I can help you?"

"Um." Terri wasn't quite sure how to answer the question. She guessed -- and it was only a guess -- that this boy must be Fletcher's son. Given that what she was hoping to get was, strictly speaking, illegal in the UK (though not in the US)...but then, was simply asking about something that was illegal, illegal? "Er, well, I was wondering if he might be able to advise me about, um, certain modifications I'd like to make to my car."

"Oh." The boy paused for a moment, eyes to the ceiling. Then: "You are aware that the current laws identify a car as a Muggle Artifact, and so it's illegal to alter a car with any form of magic, subject to fines, seizure, and possible community service?" The boy said it in almost a singsong voice; it was clearly a memorized speech.

"They're American, Sydney." Terri and Deidre (who had been gazing at the jumble of items in the shop and paying no attention to the exchange) turned at the new voice. A chubby, balding, blond-haired man with a mustache and goatee slowly emerged from a trapdoor near the back of the store. "They do things differently over there." He rubbed his hands off on a lab coat that must have been white once, and extended his fairly clean right hand to Terri. "Mundungus Fletcher, at your service," he said, giving her a charming smile. "Shall we go down to my office where we can discuss this...modification...you're interested in?"

"An excellent idea," said Terri, giving Fletcher a firm handshake and returning the smile.

Fletcher's office was a jumble of tools, gears, papers, books, and magical items that buzzed, whirred, jumped, and hiccupped. "Wait a moment," he said as he took a few papers off a couple of chairs in the room. Terri and Deidre sat down, heads turning at the moving, noisy objects. Fletcher got behind his desk and moved one book and several pieces of paper to get to what looked like a cordless microphone. He touched a button and shouted into it "SHUT UP!" Immediately, the noises stopped; the office went completely silent except for one toy that insisted on hopping around on top of a two-drawer filing cabinet. Fletcher looked at it, rolled his eyes, and sighed. "Looks like I'll have to remind Sydney about his toys again," he muttered. He picked up the object, opened the bottom drawer of his battered wooden desk, dropped it in, and slammed the drawer shut. The still-moving toy could just barely be heard through the wood.

"Now then," Fletcher said, folding his hands on top of his desk, "don't tell me what modifications you want to make to the car in question -- tell me what you're trying to accomplish." At Terri's puzzled look, he elaborated. "Usually, there's a number of ways to get the same effect -- heck, my wife knows at least ten ways to brew a sleeping potion, and those are only the recipes she'll share with me." He held out his hands in an open gesture. "So talk to me; let's see what we can do."

"We-ell," Terri began, "I'd like to get my car over here from `across the pond,' as you'd say, without paying an arm and a leg."

Fletcher made a dismissive gesture. "There's plenty of ways to do that," he said. "Some of them don't even involve magic!"

Terri continued her explanation of why she wanted to bring her car over to the UK, but left out many details -- her position at Hogwarts became simply "a job involving research and instruction." She also left out Arthur Weasley's name, of course, calling him "a friend and distant relative." Fletcher squinted hard at her when she made that reference, and began to look a trifle suspicious, but made no comment. For the most part, he listened, leaning back in his chair, stroking his goatee, and nodding his head several times to let her know that he understood.

As Terri finished, Fletcher held up one hand as if to stop her. "Let me see if I understand," he said. "You need to get your car here as cheaply as possible -- but once it's here, it doesn't really need to be magical at all, does it? I mean, if we get it here by making it fly, it doesn't have to still be able to fly after it gets here, right?"

"Um." Terri thought about that. She hadn't considered nonpermanent magical changes to her car...mainly because she didn't know that one could make nonpermanent changes of such magnitude to a car. A car that only flies for a little while? "Wouldn't that be dangerous? I mean, if the spell wears off en route --"

Fletcher again made a dismissive gesture. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not talking about a spell. It would be more like, ah, renting some equipment." He tilted his head, giving Terri a questioning look. "Once it got you here, you'd deliver it back to me. I could charge you a lot less than if you bought...what I have in mind."

Terri frowned, then shrugged. "Well, if you put it that way, then no, the flying ability wouldn't have to be permanent," she said. "But I would like the expanded trunk space to be permanent...and, come to think of it, probably a lot larger than just large enough to hold two big steamer trunks." Terri did a mental count of how many people -- and trunks -- would be traveling to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters when school started. While it was likely that she and Deidre would already be set up at the school, staying over after the teacher's meeting, there would still be four Weasleys, plus Harry Potter and Hermione Granger (according to Molly Weasley) making that trip. Six students, with six trunks. Ouch.

Fletcher shrugged. "That shouldn't be a problem -- you'll have to register that modification with the proper authorities in your country, you know, since it is a permanent change. Which reminds me," he snapped his fingers. "You'll need to arrange for your car to always be invisible when it is flying -- and to warn you in some unavoidable fashion when that circuit fails or when you fly too close to something else in the air." He almost looked apologetic. "It'll cost a bit more, I'm afraid, but that is the American law."

Terri winced, but nodded. "I know -- but since I couldn't get away with this at all if I was a British citizen..." she trailed off. "Is there any way to make those other modifications temporary, too? I mean, I won't need the invisibility or the warnings if my car can't fly."

Fletcher nodded, grinning widely. There was a mischievous glint in his clear blue eyes. He stood up. "Come with me, ladies. I think I have just what you need." So saying, he left the office and led the witches down a dimly-lit corridor. "I got something in here about two-three years ago -- from another American. He brought his Volkswagen over, but had to get rid of it -- I mean, sell it, what with the laws over here. Took a job with the Daily Prophet, if I remember correctly. Anyway." They reached the end of the corridor, where they saw a door on their left. Fletcher, however, turned to the wall on the right. He tapped it with his wand. "Resero." A door appeared. Deidre gasped, and Fletcher smiled at her reaction. "Great for hiding things, but not perfect," he explained. "I had to hex the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Ministry once to keep him from finding this."

Terri started, and opened her mouth, then quickly closed it again. Fletcher again gave her a hard look, but still did not comment. Careful, she told herself, you don't want him to know about Arthur! The family resemblance itself nearly gives it away. Terri had always been told that she looked just like her father...and he and Arthur Weasley looked enough alike to be brothers rather than second cousins.

Fletcher opened the door and gestured the women into the room ahead of him. It seemed to take up more space than was available under only his shop. The smells of oil, grease, plastic, and others less identifiable hit Terri's nostrils. This workshop -- for workshop it clearly was -- looked somewhat less cluttered than Fletcher's office. It was certainly less noisy, with only a soft humming sound disturbing the stillness. It was also better lit than either the office or the dim corridor...which might explain why Terri didn't immediately see the glowing lights.

There were two of them, bright red, each sitting at the tail end of a white missile-shaped object. These objects, each about as long as the height of a tall man, were lying side by side on a work table, hooked up to what Terri could only assume was some kind of magical diagnostic equipment. She also noticed that a long, skinny metal rectangle was attached to each missile-like object, at something almost approximating a ninety-degree angle. As near as she could tell, the end of the rectangle which wasn't attached to the "missile" was intended to attach to...something else somehow. The humming noise seemed to be coming from these objects.

Terri looked from the objects to Deidre, who seemed to be as much in shock as she was. Her best friend might be an inexperienced witch, but one didn't need to be a witch to understand what these things were. Add to it the fact that they came from an American with a Volkswagen, and that made her thoughts about what they were certain. Terri shook her head, remembering a picture she had once seen of a Volkswagen Beetle with exactly these...attachments. Fletcher was now grinning like a loon, and nodding, as if to assure her that yes, these items really were what they appeared to be.

Terri and Deidre finally came out of their surprise at the same time. "WARP NACELLES?!" they exclaimed in unison.

Fletcher covered his laughter with a small but beefy hand. "Not exactly," he explained, drawing closer to the work table. "The chap I bought these from liked to call them `warped nacelles.' And before you ask, no, these babies don't contain broomsticks," he continued, gently stroking one with his hand.

"Then...how do they work? Dilithium crystals?" Deidre asked, seemingly growing more puzzled by the minute.

Fletcher snorted. "Not hardly. That stuff only works on TV and in the movies," he scoffed. "No, these lovelies run on currency."

Deidre scratched her head. "Currency? Don't you mean current?"

But now it was Terri's turn to laugh -- or, more precisely, gasp in recognition. "Currency!" she exclaimed. "You mean they run on logical transformation?"

"Logical equivalency transformation, to be exact," Fletcher said primly, nodding once. Terri returned the nod, looking thoughtfully at the `warped nacelles.' Gavin hadn't covered that concept until her seventh year of instruction, and even then she'd sensed a certain amount of reluctance on his part. It was one of those things that many wizards frowned on because it was supposedly not "pure" magic...not that it was dark magic, mind you, simply that it wasn't as "magical" as other kinds of magic. It reminded Terri of the difference between "pure" and "applied" science. Naturally, logical equivalency transformation had its own following; it even had its own journal, "LET it Work," which Terri had seen several wizards seriously discussing at a wizard's convention the previous year.

Deidre put her hands on her hips and looked impatiently from Terri to Fletcher, clearly annoyed. "Hello? Would somebody please explain this to me?"

Terri turned to Deidre and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You already know what it is, you just don't know that you know," she said. "It's one of those magical concepts that's so advanced it's simple...and Muggles actually do it all the time."

Fletcher snorted again. "Just don't tell the purebloods that; they'll be up in arms. Or as you Yankees would say, `Them's fightin' words!'"

Terri decided, for the moment, not to correct Fletcher's apparent assumption that all Americans are Yankees -- after all, she was a "Yankee" herself, by both the UK and the American definitions. Turning to Deidre again, she said, "When you work for someone, get paid, and then buy something with that money, you've just performed a Muggle version of logical equivalency transformation." She turned back to Fletcher and asked, "So it really does run on currency? Wow, I've never seen a device that does that!"

Fletcher beamed; he was clearly in his element. He opened the panels on the nacelles and spent some time showing the witches how they worked: where the currency (American or wizard only) went in, the flow of the logic circuits, how the equivalency transformers changed the money into energy, and so forth. "These may have to be fine-tuned a bit," he said, pointing to the transformers. "Their equivalent measure is roughly the price of airline tickets...but you should only need to put in the price of one airline ticket regardless of how many people or how much luggage you pack into your car."

Terri nodded; this would be a huge savings from trying to move everything the Muggle way. "And will it travel as fast as an airplane?"

Fletcher nodded. "And a good thing, too. What's the top speed of your car?"

"Um." Terri hesitated, visualizing the speedometer. "I think it's 140 miles per hour, but I've never had it up that fast. I'm, eh, not sure what that is in kilometers per hour --"

"Don't worry about that," Fletcher said, holding up a forestalling hand. His eyes glazed over for a moment; he seemed to be recalling or calculating something. "Well, the distance from here to the States, as I understand it, is somewhere between 3500 and 3600 miles -- probably more or less, depending on where exactly you leave from, but that's a good range for our purposes. Divide 140 into 3500 and you get --" another pause while his eyes glazed over again, then: "-- a really long time. At least a week, possibly even a fortnight. I don't think you'd want to spend that long in a car, eh?"

Terri and Deidre looked at each other. Deidre spoke first. "Terri dear, I love you like a sister, but if I had to spend two weeks in a car with you, we'd both be dead by the end of the trip."

Terri laughed. "I resemble that remark!" Turning once again back to Fletcher, she asked, "So how long would the trip from New Jersey to Ottery St. Catchpole take -- one way?"

Fletcher stroked his goatee. "Oh, about seven hours," he said

The two American witches high-fived each other and shouted "ROAD TRIP!"

Fletcher gave the two ladies a puzzled look, as if not understanding why anyone would actually get excited about the prospect of spending seven hours traveling in an automobile, even a flying one. Terri and Deidre looked at Fletcher and laughed. "Never mind, it's an American thing," Terri said, waving her hand dismissively. Fletcher nodded, as if he understood, but it was clear that he didn't truly "get it."

"Well then," he said, clapping his hands together, "shall we discuss the terms of the rental contract?"

Terri and Deidre exchanged a look, and just barely kept the predatory smiles off their faces. With confidence backed up by years of experience on both ends of the flea market bargaining table, Terri turned back to Fletcher and said, "Absolutely."

* * * * *

Harry hadn't realized how much he missed flying until he and Ron dragged a couple of brooms out of the school broom shed and started flying around the Quidditch pitch. True, after his Firebolt, using a school broom to fly felt rather like wearing someone else's shoes to walk in the Forbidden Forest ... but somehow, it didn't matter. He was in the air. The breeze stirred up by his flight kissed his face and brushed back his clothes and hair, bringing with it the rich earthy scent of growing things. Harry filled his lungs as if he were truly breathing for the first time in weeks.

"Missed the Quidditch, did you?" Ron asked, pulling up beside him in the air. Harry nodded wordlessly. He didn't think he'd be able to explain it to Ron, and right now, he didn't want to try. For now, this instant, he just wanted to feel.

"Want me to get you some golf balls, Harry?" Remus called from the bleachers.

"In a bit, maybe," Harry called back, swooping over to Hogwart's newest professor. "Right now, I want to get back in flying practice."

Remus shook his head. "I don't think you can ever be out of practice when it comes to flying, Harry," the werewolf commented.

After about half an hour or so of flying practice, Sirius joined the group on the Quidditch pitch. Harry and Ron flew over to him as he settled next to Remus in the bleachers. The two boy wizards eagerly asked questions about what information Dumbledore wanted to know. Sirius held up a forestalling hand, then shrugged. "He asked me about my grandfather," he said. "Specifically, about his notebooks."

"His notebooks?" Ron echoed.

Sirius nodded, while Remus snorted. "Yes, his notebooks," the animagi insisted. "My grandfather was doing research on Akenaton, among other Egyptian subjects. Not long after Voldemort first came to power, he handed me a couple of his notebooks. `Keep them safe,' he said. `I'm off to do a little field research.'" Sirius looked a bit sheepish. "I suppose I should mention that he could give Moody a run for his money in the `constant vigilance' department," he admitted.

Remus shook his head. "Are you suddenly developing a gift for understatement, Padfoot?" he asked.

Sirius glared at his friend. "Okay, okay, I admit he was prejudiced, happy?" Remus simply rolled his eyes and sighed, while the animagi turned back to the boys. "Anyway, the safest place I could think to put the notebooks was in Gringotts. I did read through them first; it was downright fascinating."

"What had he found out?" Harry asked.

"That's the problem!" Sirius shook his hands in frustration. "I can't remember. Thanks to the dementors at Azkaban, there are gaps in my memory. And, as near as the headmaster and I can figure out, my drawing money out to buy your Firebolt must have caught the attention of the Ministry of Magic." He looked thoroughly disgusted. "They froze my assets."

"No!" Ron exclaimed.

"Can't Professor Dumbledore -- can't anything be done?" Harry asked.

Sirius shook his head. "I don't know. Dumbledore and Moody are working on it, but..." he shrugged.

Remus reached up and squeezed his best friend's shoulder. "There's no use brooding over it, as you always used to tell me," he said. He gestured out to the Quidditch pitch. "Not when there's flying to be done."

Sirius grinned, and turned to Harry and Ron. "Care to share the sky with a rusty Chaser?" he asked.

"You bet!" Harry exclaimed, returning the grin.

For the next few hours, Harry almost felt as if Wood had returned to train him again. Sirius brought him back up to speed, using golf balls to challenge his Seeker skills. Sirius even employed Ron's help, forcing Harry to try to go for -- and catch -- two golf balls at once. The boy wizard was so focused on this new challenge he didn't immediately see the pride glowing from his godfather's eyes.

Later, during a break, Remus conjured water and goblets for everyone while Sirius told stories about the old Gryffindor Quidditch team. He and James had played on it, as had Arabella Figg (another Chaser) and Dedalus Diggle (one of the Beaters). Remus Lupin had never tried out, because of his condition. Neither had Peter Pettigrew; "That rat never was the athletic type," Sirius growled.

During the discussion, Ron split his attention between the stories and staring longingly up at the hoops. Harry wasn't the only one who noticed. "I heard your Keeper graduated," Remus commented, refilling Ron's goblet. "Have you thought about trying out?" Ron blushed, but nodded.

"I'll never make the team, though," he sighed. "I don't get much of a chance to practice...and you need a good broom..."

"No time like the present," Sirius said, standing up and grabbing his broom -- like Ron's and Harry's brooms, borrowed from the school. He finished his water in one gulp, then turned to Remus. "Go get yourself a broom, Moony. No backing out of it this time, old friend -- I can see you're feeling a lot better, and the exercise will do you some good." He gave Ron a slap on the back. "We'll need three Chasers to challenge this Keeper!"

* * * * *

Fletcher drove a hard bargain, but for all that Terri couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun haggling for something. "But what about my wife and kids, not to mention my sick aunt?" Fletcher asked dramatically. When they finally settled on a price, it was almost a let-down. "Okay, then, now I just need to know where to deliver this," the storekeeper said, writing up the sale on a handy piece of parchment.

"Can you send it to an address in the US?" Terri asked.

Fletcher hesitated. "Yes, if it's on the Floo network," he replied, "but it will cost more than to send it somewhere in the UK. Extra Floo, you understand...and American Floo is a trifle different. Is there someone on the other end to receive it?" When Terri shook her head, Fletcher sighed. "Do you have an address here that will accept it for you, then?" he asked. "I really need someone at the other end to receive it."

It was Terri's turn to hesitate. I can't send it to Hogwarts...and if I tell him where I'm staying... She sighed, realizing at last that it couldn't be helped. "The Burrow," she said dully.

Fletcher stopped writing. Slowly he raised his eyes to look at Terri, focusing them on her like twin blue laser beams. Seconds passed...and the American witch began to wish his eyes were laser beams; they would hurt less boring into her. "The Burrow," he said at last. Terri nodded. "As in, the home of the Weasleys?" Terri nodded again, more painfully. "As in, the home of Arthur Weasley, head of the Ministry for the Prevention of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts?" Fletcher's voice rose with each word. Angrily, he threw down his quill. "What is this, some sort of trap? I'll fix Mister Meddling Weasley! You wait right there!" So saying, he grabbed a dirty old linen bag from a worktable and strode over to the fireplace. Whipping out his wand, he pointed at the fireplace and said "Incendio!" After the wood in the fireplace caught fire, he threw in a handful of the contents of the linen bag and shouted "The Burrow!" But when he entered the fire, only the upper half of his body vanished.

Deidre gasped, having only seen this particular trick from the other end. Terri put her hand to her forehead and shook her head. "Arthur's going to kill me," she sighed.

* * * * *

House elves brought lunch out to the Quidditch pitch while the conversation turned to Keeper strategies and Chaser maneuvers. Harry dived in while eagerly listening to his godfather, trying to absorb everything. The Seeker on a Quidditch team played a lonely role; he didn't work as part of a team in the same way as did the three Chasers and two Beaters. Sirius proposed that he, Harry, and Remus would work as a team of three Chasers, and Ron would try to block their attempted goals.

Wood once said that I'd make a fair Beater, but I've never tried Chaser, Harry thought, remembering how well Ireland's Chasers worked together. It was as if they were reading each other's minds. He cast a worried glance at Sirius, who smiled and squeezed his shoulder. Harry smiled back nervously. If Sirius thought he could do it, then he'd do it; besides, he wanted very much to help Ron get on the Gryffindor team.

Soon, the four wizards were in the air, which rang with the slapping thud! of the quaffle being passed around. After about a half hour of practice, Sirius sent Ron to guard one set of hoops. "Now remember, you can't touch us, anymore than we can touch you," Sirius called over, "but anything else is fair game. Ready? Let's go!"

Practice began in earnest. Ron blocked the first few attempts, but as the three other wizards got a feel for each other (Harry noticed, for instance, that Remus flew more shakily than Sirius, and Sirius took more risks -- like hanging upside down), a few more goals got through. Getting a little disgusted, Ron made faces at Harry as he approached to try to score -- including one so utterly silly that Harry cracked up, lost his concentration, and missed by a mile.

"Ron!" Harry got out between laughs.

"That was legal!" called Sirius. "Good move, Ron, but you won't be able to count on that. Watch." Whereupon he waved Remus over, and, looking hard at the werewolf, stuck his tongue out one side of his mouth and crossed his eyes. Remus, seeing this, put a finger from each hand in his own mouth, drawing one corner up and another down, stuck his tongue straight down, and rolled his eyes up into his head. Sirius followed up with an even stranger face. The contest went on for several minutes, with each Marauder doing his best to outdo the other, until Harry and Ron were laughing so hard they were having trouble staying on their brooms.

"The trick is to remember to focus," said Remus to Ron after the boys caught their breath. "Don't think about where the quaffle is now, except as you need to know that for knowing where it's going to be."

"Since when did you start giving Quidditch advice?" Sirius asked Remus, raising his eyebrow.

"Since it started overlapping with Defense Against the Dark Arts," Remus replied with a shrug. "The principle is the same: you may know where your foe is now, but you need to know where he's going to be -- and what he's going to do next."

Harry frowned thoughtfully, and a shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with the temperature. Even here, on the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, I can't really escape from Voldemort. But he pushed the thought aside; for now, at least, he would deal with what was in front of him.

After that piece of advice, it became harder to get goals past Ron. Harry saw his best friend's brow furrowed in concentration, trying hard to follow their former DADA teacher's suggestion. Gradually, Ron began shifting into more risky positions to deflect the quaffle. His height and lankiness gave him an immense advantage; it meant he could block the hoops better, and needed to move his broom less distance to get into any particular position to block a goal. He must be physically covering twice as much space as I could -- or three times, if you count his hands...and feet, Harry thought as he saw Ron kick the quaffle away from the hoops at one point.

At the next pass, as Sirius prepared to throw the goal attempt, Harry gasped aloud when he say Ron drop into the Starfish and Stick. With one hand and one foot holding onto the broom, and his body hanging horizontally, Ron easily blocked the goal attempt -- despite Sirius putting some fancy spin on the Quaffle.

Unfortunately, Ron overbalanced...and Harry's heart went into his throat as he saw his friend's foot slip off the broom. Ron was now hanging onto the broom with only one hand, while the rest of his body flailed in an attempt to get back on the broom...a position Harry himself remembered all too well from his first Quidditch game. Without thinking, Harry rushed to Ron's aid, bringing his broom in underneath and helping to boost the red-haired wizard back onto his mount.

"Thanks, Harry," Ron mumbled, looking a bit embarassed. "Guess I need to practice that one more."

Harry swallowed, and nodded. He managed a weak smile. He didn't dare admit -- even to himself -- that the moment had frightened him more than his own near-unseating during his first Quidditch game.

"That's enough practice for now," Sirius called. Flying over to Ron and Harry, he slapped them both on the shoulders, easing over the uncomfortable moment. "This old body of mine can't handle long Quidditch workouts like you young'uns can." He beamed at both youths. "Harry, that was great playing for your first time as a Chaser. And Ron..." Sirius grinned. "I'm glad you're younger than me and in Gryffindor. I would not have enjoyed trying to get the quaffle past you!" Ron's face lit up like a whole bag of Filibuster fireworks. Sirius gave both boys a slap on their backs, then said, "Showers all around. Then let's do something a little less energetic."

Remus flew up in time to hear that last comment. "I know a way or two into the library that even Madame Pince and Argus Filch don't know about," he said, grinning.

"Oy," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes. "Whatever you do, don't tell Harmione -- she'd start sleeping there!"

* * *

Terri quickly explained to a bewildered Deidre what was happening while she watched the lower half of Fletcher's body in the fireplace. Though she couldn't hear what he was saying, she could tell from his violent hand gestures and other body language that he was about ready to boil over. She imagined that Arthur -- assuming Fletcher had gotten through to Arthur -- must be just as angry. I surely would be if someone who had once tried to hex me called up to accuse me of entrapment, she thought.

Fletcher's hand gestures took on a decidedly desperate quality, as if he was trying to prevent something. Then his feet staggered, and he fell back through the open fireplace -- with Arthur Weasley right on top of him. "Stop it, you madman!" Fletcher shouted.

"You dare make those accusations and then call ME mad?!" Arthur shouted back. Terri gasped; fire burned at her cousin's robes, unnoticed by either wizard.

"Gevalt!" Deidre shouted.

Terri whipped out her rowan wand and pointed at the flames. "Extinguo!" she shouted. The fire, both on Arthur's robes and in the fireplace, went out. She sighed in relief. Neither wizard noticed.

"Mad, yes, stinking, raving, nutters!" Fletcher elaborated. He pushed Arthur off of himself and struggled to his feet. For someone of his size, Terri noticed that Fletcher moved very fast. "Your raids on my home and business didn't turn up anything, so what do you do? Resort to entrapment! Your `cousin' here..." he pointed to Terri.

Arthur looked to where Fletcher was pointing. "Yes, she is my cousin -- what of it?" he demanded. Having regained his feet, Arthur began inching one hand toward his wand.

"Ha! So you admit it!" Fletcher shouted, a note of triumph in his voice. "And put both hands where I can see them, please!"

Arthur reluctantly moved his hands out in front of him. "Admit WHAT?! All I said was --"

"Then you deny knowing that she came here? Oh, that's priceless!" Fletcher laughed, a nasty laugh that reminded Terri of all the villains she'd seen in grade-B movies. He slapped one of the worktables nearby, making all the tools bounce with a loud metallic clatter. "And you expect me to believe that?"

"I knew she was coming," Arthur admitted quietly. "I even know why she went to see you. What of it? That's not entrapment!"

"Oh sure. Do I need to recite your own laws back to you, Arthur Weasley? `The sale of any item used to magically alter a Muggle Artifact (see section B, paragraph 2 for the definition of the terms "Muggle Artifact") shall be strictly illegal --'"

"That is the law in the UK!" Arthur responded. "My cousin is American, in case you didn't notice."

Fletcher turned and looked at Terri, a calculating expression on his face. "I thought so, too, when I heard her accent," he admitted. Then he turned back to Arthur. "But none of your relatives are from the States, Weasley, so this is clearly a case of --"

"Guess again, Fletcher." Terri glared at the shopkeeper, who turned back in surprise at her tone of voice. Fumbling with her purse and wallet, she pulled out her ICW card and held it out to the wizard. "Check it yourself."

Fletcher slowly reached his hand out for the card, and checked it the same way it had been checked at Gringotts. When the small translucent figure of Terri appeared, confirmed her identity, and asked if he wanted to know anything else, Fletcher said, "Tell me the truth now -- are you a forgery?"

The little figure burst into peals of laughter. "Are you serious?" she asked. "Terri would get a major sweating fit if she tried to pass off a forgery as the real thing. No, I am not a forgery. When is the last time you saw one that looked this good anyway?" The little figure preened herself.

Terri groaned, hiding her head in her hand. Deidre giggled and gave her best friend a nudge. "You could take some lessons from her," she said, nodding at the figure.

"Oh, shut up," Terri hissed.

Fletcher sighed, looked over at Terri, and held her ICW card back out to her. "So you really are a Yankee, eh wot?" he asked.

"Damn straight," Terri said, snatching back the card. "And I'll thank you to make sure that the next American you call a `Yankee' is from the northern part of the country, or I won't be responsible for any blood you lose over it." Finally, she turned to Deidre. "This deal isn't worth the trouble; let's just leave." Fumbling the card back into her wallet, and the wallet back into her purse, the red-haired witch prepared to leave in a huff.

Fletcher's jaw dropped. Then, to everyone's surprise, he let loose with a hearty guffaw. "You ARE from the States!" he exclaimed. Then he turned to Arthur, a look of regret on his face. "I owe you an apology," he said. "I figured you were trying to --"

"Never mind, I know what you thought, you shouted it loud enough that half of Devon could hear it," said Arthur, holding up a quelling hand. "But now you see, whatever you were going to sell to Terri would be quite legal."

"`Were' is the operative word," Terri growled. "If buying those warped nacelles is going to be this much trouble, the deal's off. Good day." Terri began stalking for the door, Deidre close behind.

"WAIT!" Arthur and Fletcher both shouted at once.

Terri turned, trying not to smile. "Yes?" she asked.

The two wizards looked at each other, surprised that they had both shouted the same thing at the same moment. "Did you say `warped nacelles'?" Arthur asked her. He looked at Fletcher, who nodded.

"I got them from someone coming here from the States," Fletcher confessed. "Best example of L.E.T. I've seen in a long time."

"Logical Equivalency Transformation?!" Arthur exclaimed. "I haven't seen something that runs on that in..." He trailed off, looking thoughtfully at the storekeeper. "Eh, I don't suppose you'd let me...take a look at those nacelles now, would you? Since this transaction is perfectly legal, of course...I want to make sure for myself that my cousin is getting a good deal..."

A slow smile came to Fletcher's face. "Of course," he said, gesturing grandly to the worktable on which the warped nacelles glowed and hummed. "Since this transaction is perfectly legal, of course."

Terri allowed a slow smile to come to her own lips. Then she brushed away imaginary sweat with a sigh as Fletcher went into his emphatic description of how the nacelles worked, and Arthur listened with unfeigned enthusiasm. "That was close," she told Deidre. Someday, I have GOT to learn how to not put my foot in it, she thought.

* * *

"A bit dustier than I remember, but otherwise it looks the same," said Remus as he, Sirius, Ron, and Harry neared the end of a tunnel that originated behind one of Hogwarts' many suits of armor. Remus had set a fast pace, despite their recent exercise. In fact, Harry had noticed his godfather glancing over at Remus more than once, and rolling his eyes.

"But -- it just ends in a blank wall," Ron pointed out, panting a little. Indeed, now that they had reached the end of the tunnel, Harry's lumos-lit wand shone on a wall that looked every bit as solid as any within Hogwarts Castle.

The werewolf smirked, and shook his head. "So does Diagon Alley, on the Leaky Cauldron side." He squinted at the wall, carefully looking it up and down, then frowned. "I'd forgotten about that. Padfoot, does that `old body' of yours have enough energy left to provide a boost?"

"So long as you make it quick," Sirius replied. Bending over, he lifted Remus toward the ceiling. The werewolf reached up and touched something near where the ceiling met one side of the tunnel. A rectangular panel slid away. Harry couldn't clearly tell what was on the other side.

"Put me down now," Remus said. After getting both feet on the ground, he added, "There's a sort of door we have to open now. It opens inward, into the library...in the Restricted section, by the way. I might need more than a little help to get through that opening." He looked sheepishly at Harry and Ron.

"No problem," said Ron, shrugging. He and Harry helped Remus steady himself on Sirius' shoulders, even taking some of the weight as the animagi gritted his teeth.

"That catch should be right...there...oh, toadstools, it's stuck...grrr...just...a little...more..." Harry heard a popping noise, then a creak as Remus pushed on some sort of door. "There. Boost me up more!" The former DADA teacher scrambled up and wriggled through the opening, then quickly turned back around. "Next!"

Sirius boosted Harry up next. The young wizard discovered that their "door" was actually the bottom shelf of a set of bookshelves, and featured its own set of books. He looked cautiously around the library, remembering the first time he'd ventured to the Restricted section of the Hogwarts library. Then, he had been wearing his invisibility cloak, and dreaded getting caught. Now...he raised his still-lit wand and grinned. Let's just see what happens if Filch tries to stop me, he thought, patting the library card in his pocket.

"It's locked during the summer," Remus said, in answer to a question Ron asked. "Madam Pince and certain teachers have keys, but we don't. And `alohomora' won't work -- well, not from a student, anyway."

"But you could have gotten past that lock, right?" Ron asked, slapping dust off his pants.

Remus opened his mouth, then hesitated. "If last night had not been a full moon, maybe," he said at last. Then his eyes twinkled with mischief. "Besides, I thought you might find this handy to know...after all, the Marauder's Map may not lie, but it also may not give any answer at all if you don't ask the right question."

Harry remembered the map's reaction when Snape tried to get it to reveal its secrets, and nodded. "I don't remember seeing this shortcut on the map," he said, puzzled.

"It's there if you touch the right part of the map with your wand," Remus asserted. He shrugged. "It's very hard to get something as changing and three-dimensional as Hogwarts Castle onto a flat piece of paper." Harry suddenly remembered the room full of chamber pots that Professor Dumbledore mentioned discovering once, and not finding again; he wondered idly if it would show up on the map if he asked it in just the right way.

The four wizards stared around at the Restricted section for a few moments, listening to the whispering of the books. Was it Harry's imagination, or had their whispering grown more ominous since the last time he'd been here? The young wizard jumped at a tap on his shoulder -- but it was only Remus. An unreadable expression crossed the older wizard's face. "This way, Harry," he said, gesturing. "If you'd like to see the professors' section of the library, that is."

Harry needed no further urging. When they reached a locked door labeled "Restricted Section -- Professors Only," Remus showed Harry how to wave his card in front of the lock to allow them to enter.

Torches lit themselves as they entered the room. Ron and Harry gasped; even Sirius let out an exclamation. Remus merely folded his arms, leaned against one wall, and smiled. He looked almost smug. It wasn't the torches that had attracted such astonishment, however; it was the books.

Harry would never have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. It wasn't as big as the British Library, of course; but it could have swallowed three bookstores the size of Flourish and Blotts and had room for dessert. He estimated that the student-accessible part of the library -- minus the Restricted section -- was maybe half the size of this section. Row upon row of books, some with worn leather covers, some with cloth covers, all stored neatly on old but well-cared-for wooden shelves, met Harry's eyes. The young wizard also noticed racks holding large scrollcases (something he hadn't yet seen except for pictures in his History of Magic textbook).

"It isn't quite as big and impressive as it looks," Remus interjected, startling Harry out of the spell. "There is a certain amount of `lending' back and forth between this library and the one the students can reach, especially for senior year projects."

"As well there should be," came a feminine voice. Her modulated tone, soothing to the ear, startled all four wizards. They spun. A beautiful, regal ghost faced them, greeting them with a nod. "Knowledge should be available to those clever enough to seek it."

Harry gazed at the dead witch, and dared to breath again. "You're the Grey Lady," he gasped out. Ravenclaw's resident ghost raised an eyebrow and gave the young wizard half a smile, as if acknowledging his grasp of the obvious. Harry felt his cheeks grow warm; he covered it with what he hoped was a graceful bow. "G-greetings," he got out. "I hope we haven't disturbed you."

The ghostly lady's smile widened. "Hardly," she said. "There's usually not much activity in the library at this time of year. I am a bit surprised to see you here, however." She lowered her brows and frowned slightly at Harry, as if awaiting an explanation.

"Oh! Er..." Not quite knowing what else to do, Harry withdrew his special library card from his pocket and showed it to the ghost. "Th-the headmaster gave me this...for help with...a special project..." How much can I tell her? Harry wondered. This is Order of the Phoenix business...how secret do I need to be?

"Hmmm." The Grey Lady moved to get a closer look at Harry's card, walking right through a table as she did so. She stared thoughtfully at it for a few seconds, then treated the wizards to a Mona Lisa smile. "If that's a forgery, it's better than any of the Ravenclaws have managed during my time as their resident ghost," she observed.

Sirius opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. "Never mind," he mumbled.

Remus laughed. "Don't be chauvenistic, old friend," he said, squeezing the animagi's shoulder. "Slytherins and Gryffindors try to sneak into the Restricted section because it's obvious...it's right there, behind the rope. It takes true cleverness and determination to figure out that the teachers have access to the most interesting information...and that's what the Ravenclaws are known for."

"But it doesn't take any cleverness to read a sign on a door," Harry objected.

Remus' smile widened. "Do you remember ever seeing that sign before, Harry...or that door, for that matter?"

Harry's eyes widened. He turned to face Ron, who wore an identical expression. "No," he said hesitantly.

"Bloody brilliant," said Ron softly, awestruck. Then, "Whatever you do, Harry, don't tell Hermione about this; we'll never see her again!"

The Grey Lady covered a chuckle. "Yes, Sir Nicholas has told me about Miss Granger. I keep wishing she could spend some time in Ravenclaw Tower; it would do her a world of good."

"We'd never see her again," Ron repeated under his breath.

"Nevertheless," the Grey Lady continued, folding her hands in front of herself, "you have a reason to be in here, Harry Potter: a special research project. As to the rest of you --" she inclined her head toward Remus. "I remember you...both as a student and a teacher." She gave him a penetrating gaze; he did not flinch. "Do you have a research project?"

"Actually, yes," Remus admitted. Harry gave him a surprised look. "It's...private business." The Grey Lady made an open gesture taking in the whole library; as a former teacher, Remus would know his way around. He bowed gracefully to the ghost, then turned to Harry. "Don't worry, I'll be right nearby. Besides," he continued, nodding to the Ravenclaw ghost, "you're in excellent hands."

The Grey Lady held up one slender, elegant hand. "A bit transparent, perhaps," she said, almost to herself, "but still excellent after all these years." She allowed herself a smile, then assumed a more businesslike expression. "And you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at Sirius. "I know you...as student, as fugitive, and as one wrongly accused of treason. Are you here to do legal research, perhaps?"

"Another time, perhaps," Sirius reflected. "But now, I'm here to help my godson," he explained, placing one hand on Harry's shoulder.

The Grey Lady nodded, then turned to Ron. "I can't venture to guess why you are here," she continued. "I see you rarely enough in the regular section of the library."

"Uh--" Ron began.

"He's with me, too," Harry spoke up. The Ravenclaw ghost fixed both young wizards with a quizzical expression. "To help me research." Ron glanced at Harry, then swallowed and nodded vehemently. "We make a good researching team." Ron kept nodding.

The Grey Lady frowned skeptically, but shrugged. "Very well," she said, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Since Madam Pince isn't here, I suppose I can play the role of librarian -- this is your first time in this section, after all." Again, she folded her hands in front of her, assuming an air of patience. "What do you need to research?"

"Er." Harry furrowed his brow, trying to figure out the best way to phrase the question. "Um, what do you know about...curse scars?"

The Grey Lady raised her eyebrows. "Not that much," she admitted. Then, raising a finger like a teacher giving a lecture, she added, "But the secret to true cleverness is not knowing a great deal; it is knowing where to look for the information you need." She smiled. "Come with me, Harry; I will show you to our Finder's Aides. I'm quite certain they will be eager and able to assist you."

* * *

By the time Mundungus Fletcher and Arthur Weasley finished chatting, they had completed arrangements for an inexpensive delivery of the warped nacelles -- first to the Burrow, then to Terri's apartment. Arthur planned to bring them personally, via Floo Powder, as he had quickly volunteered to install the nacelles once he grasped their operation. "It should be no more complex than what you did with your Ford Anglia," Fletcher said, a smug expression on his face.

"Oh...you, er, read about that?" Mr. Weasley asked, crestfallen.

"I saved it and put it in a scrapbook," Fletcher admitted, "in case...well, in case anybody needed a reminder." At Mr. Weasley's shocked expression, Fletcher held up a quelling hand. "Now, now, I don't really have anything against you, personally...and I do understand you need to do your job. But..." he dropped his hand, and sighed. "I have to make a living too, you know. And when the government refuses to replace damages at full value -- as it's doing with what happened out at the Quidditch World Cup -- "

"But Percy told me he saw --" Mr. Weasley began.

"I know what your son says he saw, he repeated it to me often enough,"Fletcher grumped. "He never checked under that cloak that was propped up by broomsticks, did he?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. When Mr. Weasley shook his head, Fletcher sighed. "That was the last 12-room with jacuzzi cloak I had...and that's a very rare item anyway, and hard to replace. If you come back in a couple days, though, I can show you a six-room cloak with a hot tub and full bath I picked up a few months ago...to prove that it's at least possible...if that'll help move my claim forward."

Mr. Weasley sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "My son does tend to be a bit, eh, overenthusiastic...and I think he has a blind spot when it comes to, er, unusual magic. Sometimes he has to see a thing before he can believe it's possible." Finally, he nodded. "How about I bring Percy with me around -- lunchtime on Wednesday, say? Then you can show both of us this wonderful item." He rubbed his chin, then glanced at the two American witches. "In fact," he continued in a low voice, "if you rent it out..."

After they shook hands and finished their business, Terri, Deidre, and Mr. Weasley ventured back out onto Diagon Alley. "Oh, before I leave you," Mr. Weasley said outside the shop, "I just wanted to let you know that you can Floo back to your home from the Burrow any time. The connection is all set up."

Terri nodded. "Probably this evening we'll go back then," she mused. "The cats will want to get out of the kennel...and I'd like a day at home before going back into work." Work. Reporting on cutting-edge technologies. Why does that suddenly seem -- unreal? Terri shook her head to clear it as Mr. Weasley Apparated back to the Burrow.

"Good, so we've still got a chunk of the afternoon left over for shopping," Deidre piped up cheerfully.

"And where would you like to shop?" Terri asked, one eyebrow raised. "Nowhere dangerous, I hope."

Deidre rolled her eyes. "What do I look like, one of your twin cousins?" she asked, hand on hip. Then she shrugged. "I thought clothes shopping, but everyone wears robes around here. Hmmm. Is there someplace we can get potions ingredients? I just bet that there's some stuff native to the UK that's cheaper to try to get here than back home."

Terri shrugged. "Potions it is, then," she said.

The shop wasn't difficult to find. "Anna's Herbs & Apothecary Shop," read the weathered gray and green wooden sign. Terri quickly recognized lavendar, basil, parsley, mint, and a few other herbs sitting outside the shop in trays. Deidre squealed with delight when she saw comfrey, picking it up to show her companion. Terri glanced at the plant with raised eyebrows. Deidre knows about comfrey? she wondered.

"It's not that it's unusual -- we have it back home," Deidre explained. "But it's good for treating wounds. A friend of mine used it to treat a fingernail that was all black after getting slammed in a car door." Deidre shuddered, and Terri winced sympathetically. "She made some sort of plaster with comfrey. The nail still fell off, but it didn't hurt, and the new one grew in very fast."

After a quick look at the other plants outside, the two witches entered the dimly-lit shop. Strange scents greeted them -- earthy, botanical, medicinal. Part of one wall held rows of clear glass jars with potions ingredients, all in alphabetical order: alligator skin, aloe juice, asphodel...Terri wondered where the boomslang skin was, until she saw a locked cabinet behind the counter with a sign saying "Please ask for assistance." The plump, cheerful, middle-aged witch behind the counter was already taking care of other customers -- a mother and her daughter, from the look of it -- so Terri and Deidre continued browsing.

Deidre quickly found the beetles, and wondered if there were any with irridescent wings -- "They used to use those in embroidery, in Victorian times I think; they'd be great to set off a few dragon scales," she whispered to Terri.

"If they do, I'll bet they're set apart, and cost extra," Terri whispered back.

While Deidre continued exploring the ingredients, Terri made mental notes of what was available, and was pleased to discover that the store was well-organized and well-stocked. I wouldn't want to order a full year's supply of ingredients for the school from here, she thought, but this should be a good place to go if we run short of anything. She knew she would also have to check Hogsmeade for a similar shop before the school year started; after all, that village was closer to Hogwarts.

Terri had just discovered the store's limited selection of how-to and reference books (Herb Gardening for the Horticulturally Hopeless by Irma Weeder? That's a new one, she thought) when the conversation over at the counter grew loud enough that she couldn't help overhearing.

"Octopus tentacles? Are you sure your father said he needed octopus tentacles?" asked the one Terri had pegged as the mother. The woman spoke with an exotic accent that the American witch could not place. She had her arms folded over her emerald green robes, and was tapping one foot impatiently. Her large brown eyes stared down at her daughter with an expression that Terri immediately interpreted as "Not only do I think you're mistaken, but I can prove it."

To her credit, the daughter -- who was perhaps 11 years old -- did not flinch. She put her hands in the pockets of her black jeans, and looked up at her mother. "I checked the jar before we left today, and it's half empty," she said. "You know Daddy always like to replace stuff when --"

"That's very interesting," the mother interrupted, "because I checked the jar last night -- and it was nearly full. Now, I didn't use any octopus tentacles between last night and today..." The mother trailed off, and the daughter fidgeted slightly. "Show me your hands, young lady."

"But Mum --!"

"Show me your hands." Reluctantly, the girl withdrew her hands from her pockets, and showed them to her mother -- palms down. The mother turned them over. Terri could not tell from where she stood what was on the girl's hands, but the mother's eyebrows raised, and she frowned. The lady behind the counter looked very surprised. Finally, the mother sighed. "Sylvia, you've been making the Sticky Sucker potion again, haven't you?"

Sylvia seemed to gather herself for a reply. "Daddy said he wanted me to practice my potion making, so I'd be ready for the start of the term at Hogwarts," she said, a tone of defiance in her voice.

"And do you remember the rest of what he said? About how your practice was supposed to be under his or my supervision?" There was surprisingly little anger in the woman's voice; it was almost as if she had expected Sylvia to defy the rules.

"But I didn't do anything dangerous!" Sylvia insisted. "The Sticky Sucker potion --"

"Isn't even taught at Hogwarts until the fifth year at the earliest," the mother finished. "And do you know why?" Sylvia mutely shook her head. "Look at your hands. You have red circles where your suction cups were, and from the looks of it, those will fade out in a few hours. You could easily have ended up with large bumps as the suction cups drew back into your palms -- or ugly flaps of skin -- or permanent suction cups, that would have had to be cut off." The woman sighed. "Please don't make me ground you from the lab for a week."

"Mum! No!" Sylvia sounded outraged and horrified. She hung her head. "I'm sorry, Mum," she said meekly. She even sounds almost convincing, Terri thought, hiding an empathetic smile as she remembered the times Gavin had given her similar lectures. The American witch saw the mother raise a skeptical eyebrow; apparently she wasn't entirely convinced either.

"Just be glad I was the one who caught you, and not your father. I'm going to have to ground you from the lab from now until noon tomorrow -- now don't protest, or it will be until dinner tomorrow, you understand?" Sylvia started to protest, but shut her mouth and nodded when her mother finished speaking. With a sigh, the woman brushed back her dark brown hair and turned to the witch behind the counter. "Better add a bundle of octopus tentacles to our order, then," she said. She placed a number of coins on the counter. "And can you please deliver that back to our house? We have some other errands today."

"Of course. Have a wonderful afternoon, Mrs. Snape."

As the woman and her daughter left the shop, Terri and Deidre turned to look at each other across the store, shocked expressions on their faces. One thought ran through both of their heads: That annoying, aggravating, totally disagreeable git has a WIFE?! And a daughter, too?

"May I help you ladies?" asked the witch behind the counter.

"Um, yes," Terri replied, shaking herself a bit, still stunned at the idea of Professor Snape having a wife and daughter.

What the American witches needed was quickly explained. The woman behind the counter --who turned out to be the "Anna" mentioned in the sign on the door -- made sympathetic noises when Terri explained that Deidre was a late bloomer ("Oh my dear, it must have been quite a shock for you!"). Between the three of them they figured out which ingredients would best be purchased in Diagon Alley, and which would best be saved to pick up back in the States. The shopkeeper was not only knowledgeable, but friendly and chatty, even introducing the Americans to other customers as they came in.

"The mother and daughter that came in here earlier --" Deidre ventured at one point when there were no other customers in the store.

"Ah yes, Elizabeth Snape and her daughter Sylvia," Anna said, nodding her head. Terri perked her ears up.

Deidre smiled, and shook her head. "That little girl surely isn't a late bloomer!"

Anna tsked, snorted, and agreed with Deidre. "She hardly could be, you know, what with her father being potions instructor at Hogwarts and head of Slytherin House," she said, as if that were a bad thing. "She came in here one day when she was six and said `Guess what? Daddy let me clean out the cauldron today!' Then later it was `Daddy let me wash vials today...and I only broke two!'" She waved her hands as she talked. "Mind you, if she wasn't so happy about it, I'd swear the girl was being hothoused." Anna glanced toward the door of her shop as if the customers being talked about had just left...or might suddenly walk in again. Then she sighed and shook her head. "And now she looks to be turning into a little rebel. Did you see that buzz cut she has? Just got it two months ago. Said her hair was getting in her way when she did potions, but if you ask me I think she wanted a whole new look for starting at Hogwarts this year."

"She's going into her first year at Hogwarts?" Terri asked too casually.

Anna nodded. "And I hope she's not Sorted for Slytherin, for her sake and her father's sake! Oh, I know he won't see it that way...what can you expect from a man? `Family pride' and all that, he'll expect her to be in Slytherin, practically all his family was...but you get a girl like that, and put her in the same House her daddy heads, and you'll see nothing but trouble. He'll either favor her so much she's spoiled rotten...or she'll have to prove herself twice as much."

Terri nodded. She knew about that little hang-up all too well. She thought about her own father...she'd knocked herself out making near-perfect grades, because that seemed to be the only thing he noticed, the only time he positively acknowledged her. Sylvia seemed to just be starting to rebel, what with cutting her hair and making potions while not under supervision. The red-haired witch wondered what other forms the girl's rebellion would take...and how much of that would come out in potions class.

After forking over some galleons, Terri and Deidre asked that their order be delivered to the Burrow. Then Terri asked if there were any similar shops in Hogsmeade.

"Oh, Hogsmeade," Anna said, waving her hand dismissively and clucking her tongue. "There's Dervish and Bangs, but they don't worry about keeping their stock as fresh as they should. And there's Herb's Herbs & More...he's a good'un with plants, I'll grant, and some animal products, but you're not going to find anything too rare, like I have here," she explained, slapping her hand on the counter. Terri looked appreciatively at the locked glass display area under the counter, which was well-stocked with the more expensive -- and rarer -- ingredients. "Going to visit Hogsmeade then?"

"Thinking about it," Terri put in quickly, before Deidre could open her mouth.

"It's a pity Hogwarts don't give tours," Anna reflected. "It's not far from Hogsmeade, and it's really a fine sight." She leaned close to Terri. "And between you and me, with their Herbology mistress and their gameskeeper...well, I've been trying to convince them to sell me some of their plants and other stuff for ages, but they won't do it. Finest quality, too, I've seen'em, but they won't do it." Anna rolled her eyes.

"Any idea why not?" Terri asked.

"Oh, lots of 'em," Anna replied. "Now if I were unkind, I'd say they were just trying to keep all the good stuff to themselves...but I know Professor Sprout, and I know Hagrid, and between the two of 'em there's not enough meanness to make up a wishbone. No, it's the Board of Governors...doesn't want an educational institution to get mixed up with selling stuff. Feh." Anna made a face. "As if there was something wrong with trying to make a little money. Please! They'd use it for the school. I think the board can't deal with a source of income for the school that they can't control -- afraid of the school getting independent."

Terri feigned interest; she and Deidre expertly disentangled themselves from the topic and shortly left the store. The trip back to the Burrow was uneventful, as, surprisingly, was their leavetaking. The twins did not attempt any practical jokes this time, wonder of wonders; Deidre felt almost insulted by this. So, after hugs all around, a swift round of packing, and two swift rounds of "Are you sure you got everything?", the American witches took some of the special Floo powder Dumbledore had given the Weasleys, stood in the fireplace, and headed home.

* * *

The Grey Lady led the three wizards over to a large bookshelf with a gold plaque on the top that read "Aides and Indexes." Almost as soon as the group drew near, Harry heard excited muttering noises. When they stood in front of the bookshelf, the muttering resolved itself into words. Harry realized the voices were coming from the books on the shelves -- indeed, several of the books seemed to have developed mouths in their spines.

"Ooo! New researchers!" came one high-pitched voice.

"And during the slow season, too!" came another eager voice.

"Pick me! I can help you! I know all the articles in Transfiguration Today!" cried a third.

"That's nothing! Pick me! I can tell you about all the books published on Divination for the last 500 years!" came an older-sounding voice.

"Oh, poo, nobody cares about that anymore -- and besides, you're out of date," came a child-like voice. "Pick me! I can send you to all the articles about growing and gathering your own potions ingredients!"

The clamor continued for another few minutes, while the Finder's Aides grew more and more eager, talking over each other, playing up their own abilities to help while putting down the others. The Grey Lady finally sighed and shook her head. Raising her voice only slightly, she exclaimed "QUIET!" and the books settled down at once.

"Thank you," said Harry.

The Grey Lady treated him to another Mona Lisa smile. "You would never think they all live together civilly on the same bookshelf, would you?" she said. Turning back to the books, she added, "You could at least wait until he asks his question, you know."

"We're sorry, Mistress," the child-like voice said.

"Please forgive the excitement," added the older-sounding voice. "But we were made to serve."

The Grey Lady frowned. "Fine, you're forgiven -- for now." She turned back to Harry, and gestured to the bookshelf. "Here is where your search begins. Ask a question, and they will tell you what they know."

"You mean -- they'll answer my questions?" Harry asked.

"Not quite," piped up an older gentlemanly voice. "We don't actually know the answers to your questions -- but we know where information that might answer your questions can be found."

The Grey Lady shrugged, making an open gesture with her hands as she did so. "As I said, this is the start of your search -- not the end of it." She raised one finger again, as if lecturing. "One other thing: when you ask your question, be sure to phrase it carefully. Otherwise, you might get more information than you really need -- or not enough. Or none at all. Or even lots of information, but on a completely different subject from what you're really looking for."

Harry furrowed his brow and frowned. He stroked his chin thoughtfully while staring at the books. "This may be harder than I thought," he said, half to himself.

"Take your time," piped up one of the books. "It's not like we have anything else to do, you know."

Ron had been watching the byplay with a look of bewilderment on his face. Finally, he dared to speak up. "Er -- Grey Lady? Does Harry's question have to be, er, phrased like a question? I mean, could he just say, `Tell me where I can find information on curse scars'?"

The Grey Lady smiled. "That is a sort of question, you know," she said. "But to answer your question --"

"No it doesn't!" called one of the books.

The ghost rolled her eyes. "Will you let me do the explaining?" she flung at the bookshelf impatiently.

"Sorry," it said. Then, "You were going to tell him about keywords, right?"

"I know about keywords," Harry said, just as the ghost opened her mouth. "Muggles use them, too, for sorting information."

The Grey Lady nodded. "Handy things, they are," she said. "Well, since you seem to know your way, I'll leave you to your research. If you need me, just call. Good hunting to you!" And with that, the ghost wandered through a nearby bookshelf, disappearing from view.

"What a helpful lady," Sirius observed as she left. Then, turning to Harry, he said, "Okay then, any thoughts on questions and keywords?"

"I think so," Harry said, then shrugged. "Enough for a first try, anyway." Sirius gestured to the bookshelf. Harry faced it square on, took a deep breath, and began. "I need information on curse scars -- curse scars that allow viewing of the person who laid the curse, curse scars that act as a warning, curse scars that --"

The books started muttering to themselves, while one called out "Hold on!" Then, the same one continued, "Curse scars...that would be Dark Arts, right?"

"Er, I think so," Harry replied.

"Okay, good start," another book called out. Then, "Curse scars that let you see the person who laid the curse? Ooo, that sounds like curse backfires. I can tell you where to find an article on the effects of curses that backfire, both on the curser and the one cursed. Does that sound relevant?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"Great!" cried the book. It leaped off the shelf; Ron reflexively stepped in front of Harry and barely caught it.

"How about communication through blood? That leaves a scar," one book asked hesitantly. "I can tell you where to find an article on blood bonding."

"I'm not sure that's relevant, but I'd like to see that," Sirius cut in. He gracefully caught the book as it leaped off the shelves.

By the time the books had finished making suggestions, the three wizards were holding a total of about five indexes between them. They took them over to the table the Grey Lady had walked through, which they found already stocked with parchment, quills, and ink. "Just thought you'd need this. -- GL" was written on one piece of parchment in a flowing, old-fashioned, feminine hand. Harry grinned. He was glad that the Ravenclaw ghost was so thoughtful. He wondered how involved she got with the Ravenclaw students. Had she comforted Cho Chang about Cedric's death? Harry pushed those thoughts to the side for the moment, resolving that he would write Cho himself. For now, he picked up a quill, mouthed a "Thank you" that he hoped the Grey Lady saw, and settled down to begin his research.

Harry opened the first index, then frowned and shook his head. The words and abbreviations on the page seemed to be written in some foreign language...or if they were in English, it was a version of English he didn't understand. "This doesn't make sense," he muttered.

Immediately a face appeared on the page -- life-like, three-dimensional, and in the same way that a face had appeared in a screaming book from the Restricted section that Harry had tried to open. The young wizard gasped and nearly closed the book.

"Whoa!" cried the face in the index, getting his attention. "I'm here to help, I didn't mean to startle you!"

"Oh," said Harry, as his heartbeat began to slow down.

The face rolled its eyes. "`Oh,' he says. Right. I suppose you've never dealt with talking books before, have you? Sheesh."

"As a matter of fact, I have," Harry replied, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. "And it screamed at me!"

The face's eyes widened. "Oh, no wonder you're so jumpy!" It looked embarassed. "Truth is, I wasn't snapping at you so much as being annoyed with myself. We Finder's Indexes aren't supposed to be intimidating. So. You said this doesn't make sense. What, exactly, doesn't make sense, my young researcher?"

"Any of it," Harry replied, brushing back his hair. By this time Ron had leaned over and was following the conversation with an amazed grin on his face.

"Any of it. Well, that's pretty general; could you be more vague?" asked the face sarcastically. "No, no, ignore that; let's begin at the beginning, then. Open me up to the first few pages. We Finder's Indexes always include instructions on our use right at the start -- what we cover, what abbreviations we use, the works. Check it out. Then, if there's anything you don't understand, well, call me back."

"What should I call you?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"If you're as verbal in your frustration as you were before, you probably won't have to call me anything," said the face. "But most of the books just call me Frodad."

"Frodad?"

"Finder's Resource Of Dark Arts Defense," the face explained. Then, with a wink and a "See you later," the face flattened out into a normal page.

With a sigh of relief, Harry went to the beginning of the index and read the straightforward directions. Soon he was making notes for books and articles he might want to check for useful information. Taking his cue from Harry and the face, soon Ron was doing the same. "Wouldn't mind a try at questioning those indexes myself," he whispered to Harry. "I wonder what they'd say about the Order of the Phoenix?"

Harry nodded agreement, but put Ron's question to the side for the moment. He already had a list of three or four articles and a couple of books that he wanted to check. He thought of a more important question: how was he going to find these materials? He'd used the unrestricted section of the Hogwarts library, of course, but there were very few magazines...and you had to ask for them from Madame Pince. Sirius had apparently never been in this part of the Hogwarts library, either. Just when Harry thought he'd have to go looking for the Grey Lady, Remus staggered up, his arms wrapped around six books of various sizes. He half-laid, half-dropped them onto the table with a thud and a sigh.

"And that's just for starters," he groused, but there was a twinkle in the werewolf's eyes as he made the complaint.

"Wow, what are you looking for?" asked Ron, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

"Vampires, manticores, hags, centaurs, other werewolves...the usual," Remus shrugged. At Ron's expression, he chuckled. "Actually, I'm working on two projects. You'll see the fruits of one of them directly when school starts." He winked at the two young wizards.

Harry perked up. He must be talking about the Care of Magical Creatures class, he thought. Then, remembering his own problem, he said, "I've got some research materials I need to read, too, but I don't know where or how to find them in this area."

Remus smiled. "It's a little confusing and overwhelming at first, but it's really easy once you get a handle on the ordering system. Bring your list and come with me."

As Harry picked up his list and followed Remus, he noticed Ron leaning toward Sirius as if to ask a question. Shrugging, he followed the werewolf down the aisles of the huge library. They paused before one set of shelves with books that looked unusually uniform, as if they all belonged to the same encyclopedia set.

"These are bound periodicals," Remus explained. "These books, for example, feature all the issues of Transfiguration in Action from 1934 to the present. Now, these books are stored as sets, in alphabetical order by the title of the journal. Do you have any articles you need to read?"

Harry showed him the list, and the two wizards quickly located the appropriate volumes of the referenced bound journals. "Can I check these out?" Harry asked. It seemed unlikely, since Madam Pince wasn't around...but then, professors had to have their own way of getting books out of the library, and he now owned a professor-level library card.

"Alas, no," Remus replied. "All bound periodicals are strictly reference only -- they never leave the library. But I can show you how to make copies of the articles you need."

"Er, maybe later," Harry replied. He still felt a bit overwhelmed by this area of the library...the thought that he could actually copy some of the information and take it home staggered him. Then he remembered the rest of his research material. "Um, Rem --, I mean, Professor Lupin, I still have two more books to find. And they're real books, not articles in journals. You said something about the way this library is organized?"

Remus started slightly when Harry called him "Professor Lupin," and bestowed upon the young wizard a hesitant, grateful smile. "Ah yes, the ordering system," he said. "It does owe something of its inspiration to the Muggle world. Watch." With the air of a Muggle magician revealing a trick, Remus waved his wand at the tops of the bookshelves.

Harry gasped. Between each shelf, along the top, ran a tiny network of fine strands, as if spiders had been at work. Suddenly, the strands became invisible. Harry realized that Remus must have cast a spell that made them briefly visible. "What was that?" he asked.

"That, Harry, is the library-wide network, and it's the reason you don't see a card catalogue in here," Remus explained. "Oh, there is one, mind you, but most of the professors like this system better." He pointed to a small rectangular recess in the side of one of the bookshelves. "Put your card here, and ask for one of the books you want to read."

Harry looked at Remus in surprise, but hesitantly put his new library card in the recess. Then, he cleared his throat, and distinctly said, "I'd like Failed Spells and Their Frightening Aftereffects by Baruffio the Bewildered, please."

A pair of lips suddenly formed on the shelves just underneath where Harry had placed his card. "Hmmm," they said, in a deep, woodsy voice, "not on my shelves. But wait a moment..." A few seconds stretched, then the lips smiled. "Ah. There. Five shelves back and three to the left. Follow the web." And indeed, when Harry looked up, several of the filaments he had seen before were now visibly red. They moved in the direction that the bookshelf had indicated.

"Wow, thanks," said Harry, grinning.

"No problem," the shelves replied. "Oh, and here's your card back." As if on cue, the card quickly popped out of the recess on the shelves; Harry caught it in mid-flight.

When he made it to the indicated shelves, however, he met a most unwelcome sight: Peeves. The giggling poltergeist was attempting to juggle several books, while other books lay scattered on the floor -- the results of his failed attempts, no doubt. When he caught sight of Harry, he stopped juggling and grinned. "Want a book? Buy a book! Big bargains on Baruffio, my boy!"

It was then that Harry saw, to his horror, that Peeves was holding the book he wanted. "Yes, I want that book," said Harry, hoping the annoying spirit would actually behave for once.

"Ooo, lucky you," Peeves purred, dropping the other two books in his hands and grabbing the one Harry wanted with both hands. He then opened it, and made as if to rip the book. "This one is half off!"

"Peeves, NO!" Harry shouted, and made a grab for the book. Peeves just laughed, and floated up beyond Harry's reach.

"Ooo, I've seen grannies at bargain basement sales better behaved than you!" he quipped.

"Peeves, will you please just give me the book? Without damaging it?" Harry asked, trying not to beg or let his frustration get the better of him.

"Ooo, Potter's getting polite, saying please and everything! I'm impressed -- NOT!" Peeves responded, punctuating his comment with a rasberry for good measure.

Harry suddenly remembered someone who just might impress Peeves. He couldn't exactly imitate the Bloody Baron, as he'd done once while wearing his Invisibility cloak, but..."Peeves, you know who else is here with me? Remus Lupin. Remember what he did to you when you tried to gum up Filch's lock?"

"Faugh!" Peeves exclaimed. "He cleans up messes. Tries to clean up MY messes. Oh, have your book -- and make him clean up this ooky booky mess!" So saying, Peeves threw the book at Harry, and disappeared.

Harry dodged, and the book landed on the floor with a loud thunk! The boy wizard knelt down to lift the book off the floor, then, curiosity getting the better of him, he examined the other books. One in particular caught his eye. It was bound, not with leather or cloth like the other books, but with stained, elaborately carved wood. Some parts of the cover even seemed gilded. He could make out words on the cover, but they did not look like any language he recognized. The book seemed well-worn, as if it had been used and frequently consulted...and very old. When Remus called to him to see if he was all right, and he gathered himself together, Harry grabbed not only the book he came for, but this strange book as well.

Harry meant to show the book to Remus, but once he got back to the table, all four wizards buried their noses in books. It did not seem like very long after that (though it was in fact several hours) that it was time for dinner, and for Harry to return home. Sirius traveled with him via Floo Powder as far as Arabella Figg's house. Then, as Snuffles, he walked with Harry and Victoria Figg back to the Dursley's. Harry knew his godfather would head back to Hogwarts, to see Remus through the third and final night of this month's full moon.

Nobody noticed that day that Harry had taken a strange wooden book with him back to the Dursleys.