Chapter Eighteen - Voices from the Past

July 8 - 13, 2001

"Remember, you're nobody until you've been ignored by at least one cat," Deidre reminded Terri as she sat on the sofa, shaking her head at Claire. Esmeralda had forgiven Deidre for the kennel time by late in the evening after the two witches picked up their cats. Terri's cat Claire, however, had a longer memory, and considerably more dignity, so she continued to make a show of ignoring her human into the following morning.

Terri sighed. "That's easy for you to say," she muttered as she shook her head one more time and looked over the week's accumulated mail. She figured Deidre wouldn't hear that remark anyway; she was switching loads of laundry, and since their washer/dryer shared a niche with the indoor part of their central air conditioning unit, there would be too much noise. Claire normally loved attention, and would curl up on Terri's lap when she sat crosslegged on the couch. Now, though, she sat looking out one of the living room windows, her back to her human. Well, two can play at that game, thought Terri. After having felt something feline in her bed last night -- something that was not nearly as big as Esmeralda -- Terri knew which of them would break first.

Let's see: bill, bill, credit card offer to discard...hmm, that's interesting, Terri thought, opening an envelope addressed to her and Deidre in their landlady's handwriting. She grew even more intrigued when she saw that the woman was thanking the two of them for arranging to pay an entire year in advance. What the --? Her question was answered soon enough, though, when the letter mentioned "that nice British fellow" who came by to deliver the payment, and went on about him at some length. Gavin, you charmer, Terri thought, and shook her head in disbelief that anyone would bother charming Mrs. Kenswick.

The next letter -- minus a stamp -- was from Gavin Bones himself. He must have sent it by owl, the old traditionalist, Terri thought, smiling. Sure enough, her old professor was writing to let her know that her rent was taken care of for the year; since she'd volunteered her apartment as a safe house for the time that she'd be teaching at Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore thought the only honorable thing to do was to pay off the rent for the year. Apparently, he'd used his own funds -- "But don't worry, dear, I hear that he can well afford it," Gavin stated in his letter. Terri raised her eyebrows at that. If Dumbledore is independently wealthy -- and it sure sounds like he is -- then why is he the headmaster at Hogwarts? It's not like he needs the money. Terri remembered what Madame Pomfrey had told her about Remus Lupin -- how he'd felt called to teach. Did Dumbledore feel some kind of calling as well?

Terri's eyes lit up when she saw the next letter -- until she realized she'd be at Hogwarts for the event. Eric the Flute had sent her a progress report (by regular mail) stating that his committee had finally found a hotel for this year's American wizardry convention. It was the Adam's Mark in Philadelphia, and they'd managed to schedule it for sometime in November. "Since PhilCon won't be happening this year..." Terri rolled her eyes. She knew why that particular regional science fiction convention wasn't happening this year. The same crew that usually ran PhilCon had won a bid to host the WorldCon (the World Science Fiction Convention) in Philadelphia...to be called the Millennium PhilCon. The pun had been too good for fandom at large to resist. The WorldCon, which often attracted more than 5000 attendees, was usually held over Labor Day weekend. That was way too close to PhilCon's normal date for anyone to even dream of doing both of them. Hence, PhilCon's traditional hotel, the Adam's Mark, was free during PhilCon's traditional weekend.

And I'll end up missing the WorldCon, too, Terri thought with a sigh. She would be at Hogwarts by then. And I don't know if I can afford next year's WorldCon; that's out in San Jose! It'd be nice to make it back to California, but... She sighed again. The year after that was even worse; it was out of the country, though there were some folks who were willing to argue that Toronto wasn't really out of the country...and even if it was, Canadian dollars were a lot cheaper than American ones, so it'd actually be a less expensive WorldCon. Terri, for her part, wasn't convinced.

"Oh man!" Terri exclaimed as she continued to read the PR, so loud and frustrated that Deidre actually heard her.

"What's up?" Deidre asked, coming over from the kitchen, where the washer/dryer niche was located.

Terri gestured to the PR. "Not only is there an American wizardry convention we're going to miss while we're at Hogwarts, but they've got Hal Storm as the guest of honor!"

"Hal Storm?" Deidre asked blankly.

Terri waved her hand. "Of course you wouldn't know; what am I saying? He's probably one of the best weather wizards around, and he puts on one heck of a show!"

"Entertaining?" Deidre asked.

"And educational," Terri said, nodding. "He used to teach at the Salem Witches' Institute, before he retired; he's an excellent speaker." The red-haired witch sighed. "And we're going to miss it now."

Deidre shrugged. "Maybe something can be worked out. If it's a wizard's convention, wouldn't Hogwarts want to send some sort of representative or something?"

"I doubt it," Terri replied glumly. She turned back to the mail, while Deidre turned back to the laundry.

It wasn't too long before Terri found something in the mail that stopped her cold again. It was another letter...but this one was from Edward Weasley. Her father. How did he find out my address? Terri wondered. I thought I'd been careful about not letting that get around!

The young witch sighed as she thought back to the day of her college graduation. Her relationship with her father had been strained even then, but what happened that day had been the straw that broke the camel's back. The graduation itself went fine; like at least some of the graduates, Terri had tried to keep both a sense of humor and a sense of realism about the whole thing. On her black graduation robes, she'd pinned a lime-green button that read "Liberal Arts Graduate -- Will Think for Food." That earned her quite a number of smiles and laughs as she and the rest of her graduating class paraded to the outdoor area where the event itself would be held. The guest speaker was relatively brief, for which Terri was grateful; she disagreed with his politics rather strongly, and at one point during the speech she even considered writing a nasty letter to the school newspaper about how he'd been a thoroughly inappropriate choice.

Maybe it was because my teeth were already on edge that made what Dad did seem so bad, she thought. The speaker had tried, in so many words, to dictate how this year's graduates should tackle the future, and what HE saw as its greatest problems -- and, in a sense, so had her father. Oh, he'd had the best of intentions...and Terri didn't doubt it had taken some finagling on his part. But when he announced, at her graduation party afterwards, that she would be the newest employee at the big accounting firm he worked for -- and worse, that he'd landed her a position as a secretary -- that was a bit too much. She hadn't gone to college, graduated with honors, and gained a Phi Beta Kappa key to work as a mere secretary at some accounting firm in New York City! In fact, she herself had lined up an interview that very week with a publishing firm...granted, it was a temporary position, but it could easily lead to a lot more. So when Terri politely declined, Edward flew off the handle about how "ungrateful" she was -- he'd paid her tuition (which she'd paid back, at least in part, from summer jobs), he'd found her a good job and handed it to her on a silver platter -- and she had the NERVE to turn him down?! One thing led to another, and the argument ended with her saying that, if he couldn't handle her need to find her way on her own, then she never wanted to see him again.

Terri sighed. She'd been right about the job with the publishing firm leading to bigger things -- though not with that firm. Just three weeks before the temp job ended, she'd landed a permanent position with another firm -- the job she now held, writing about Muggle technology. Cutting-edge technology, she corrected herself, shaking her head at how quickly she'd fallen into the wizarding way of thinking. Okay, Dad, maybe I was a little ungrateful -- but you were a LOT presumptuous, she thought. He hadn't asked her, he'd just done it, and assumed she'd want that kind of job...or perhaps he even thought that someone with her type of degree couldn't get anything better. How wrong he'd been. Ah well, they say living well is the best revenge. With that thought, she finally opened the letter.

Dear Terri,

Just got notice from Gringotts that you've claimed your account. Good for you. Before you launch yourself completely into the wizarding world, though, there are a few things I need to explain to you. Honestly, I should have mentioned them sooner, but...well, there didn't seem to be a need, until now. Gavin told me you got your Apparator's license a while back -- do you think you could Apparate to my office one day this week for lunch? You know how your mother feels about this kind of thing.

Love, your dad,

Edward

Included in the envelope was a business card with the name of his accounting firm, his name, title, ("Senior Accountant" -- ha, Dad, you're moving up in the world, eh? she thought), address, phone number, and e-mail address. She wondered idly if he was any more comfortable with e-mail than a pureblooded wizard would be. Then she shook that thought aside as just so much meanness. Yes, she would go to see him, of course; she wanted to know what he had to tell her. Dad, you knew I'd be curious, didn't you? she thought. If it's about our English relatives, I really wish you'd told me sooner...then again, we can't change the past, can we? Just the future. Shrugging, she climbed upstairs to her computer to send an e-mail in reply to Edward's letter. Allowing herself the luxury of thinking like a tourist, she hoped her dad would take her to the restaurant on the highest floor of the building in which he worked. She'd never been to the top of the World Trade Center before.

* * * * * * * *

One of the first things Harry did when he returned to his Muggle relatives -- he couldn't think of it as home -- was release Hedwig from her cage. She thanked him with an affectionate nip that was a bit harder than it needed to be. "Okay, okay, the next time I'm going to be gone for more than a day, I'll leave the cage unlocked and the window open, I promise," he whispered to her as he raised his window. She replied with a dignified look and a flap of her wings; a moment later, she was gone, hunting for her dinner.

Harry watched longingly after her until she completely disappeared from sight. Wish I could just fly away like that, he thought. Then he remembered his Firebolt...and his Invisibility cloak. They might technically be magic, but he and the Weasleys played pick-up games of Quidditch all summer without any problems from whatever ministry looked for violations of the underage wizardry laws. If I can get away with the broom, I should be able to get away with the cloak...they're both magical objects that just work.

The Dursleys had not had a real chance to be mean to him since he returned. He'd simply marched straight upstairs to his room, ignoring whatever rant Uncle Vernon had prepared for his return...something about how he'd better not have disgraced himself or his relatives while he was helping Mrs. Figg's relatives "because there's few enough people who would be willing to keep an eye on the likes of you when we need it." Harry snorted as he recalled his uncle's histrionics. If he knew the truth about Mrs. Figg...about both Mrs. Figgs... Harry shuddered. If his uncle knew the truth, he'd never let him near the woman. And to think, I used to hate being with her.

Harry knew the Dursleys would make up for lost time in the meanness department as soon as they woke up. He sighed. I'd better turn in myself, he thought, getting his medicine. But first... Harry quickly unpacked his stuff and checked to make sure he'd brought back everything he needed: clothes, wand, shoebox with notes from the headmaster (I'll have to check through that soon, Harry thought, kicking himself for not bringing it with him when he'd gone to the library at Hogwarts), research materials...he couldn't find the Don't View Disk, but knew he hadn't lost it. Maybe one of the house elves collected it for Professor Dumbledore, he thought, remembering the fresh clothes and pajamas that had been set out for him over the past two days at Hogwarts.

For the moment, he forgot about the one item he should not have had with him, except as a tickle at the back of his mind. Can't believe I just took that old book with me...what was I thinking? Well, Hedwig's gone hunting, so I can't send a message about it...it'll have to wait until tomorrow. He hoped the headmaster would understand that it was a silly accident. He took the medicine that had been given to him by the elder Mrs. Figg, and spent the time until it took effect trying to figure out how to take all of his important magical possessions with him while escaping on his broom under cover of his Invisibility cloak.

The Dursleys slept in on Sundays, so Harry awoke not to the sound of someone banging angrily on his door to start breakfast, but to a flutter of wings and squawking coming from his window. "Quiet, Hedwig," Harry muttered, not coming fully awake. The squawking noise came again, and this time Harry realized it was coming from more than one owl. His eyes snapped open, and he sat bolt upright in bed.

The newcomer, a plain barn owl, looked like the ones used by Hogwarts. It had apparently arrived with Hedwig, who was drinking water from her cage without any concern. It flapped over to Harry's bed, landing on the young wizard's knees, and held out its leg. It was carrying a rather large letter, which seemed to contain a flat package of some sort. Harry quickly untied the letter from the owl's leg. Free of its burden, the owl ruffled its feathers and flew back out into the dawn sky.

At first, Harry saw no markings on either side of the envelope...not even a seal, though it certainly seemed to be sealed tight. The second time he turned it over, however, he thought he saw a tiny, faint pawprint where a stamp would have gone. Sirius?! Or Professor Lupin. Or maybe both. Or...would Professor McGonagall have written me? Or...is this Hagrid trying to be clever? Harry wondered. Well, there was one way to find out. He carefully ripped open the envelope...only, it didn't open. He got his finger in underneath where there should have been a seal, and tugged -- but no seal broke, and the parchment did not rip. He tried again. Not only did the parchment not rip, but an arrow suddenly appeared, pointing him back to the front of the envelope.

"What the...?" As he turned the envelope over, words started forming, in a flowing script that looked vaguely familiar. Mr. Padfoot would like to extend his greetings, and wonders at the memory of whoever is trying to open this package. Harry's eyes grew wide; he didn't know whether to laugh or be angry. Mr. Moony would like to add -- through the generous assistance of Mr. Padfoot -- that there are times when subtlety will gain what brute force will not. The young wizard thought he knew what the message was hinting at...but he also knew there was one other living person with the knowledge and background to make such an item. He wondered, with more paranoia than he cared to admit, if this was some sort of trap.

One look at Hedwig changed his mind. She was very intelligent, even for a wizard's messenger owl, and Harry felt certain she'd never allow anyone -- let alone another owl -- carrying a dangerous package to get near him. With one last look at the writing on the envelope, Harry smiled and grabbed his wand. He touched it to the envelope's "seal" and said "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The envelope popped open. Without wasting another second, Harry grabbed the letter and the small, square, flat package within. He recognized the handwriting immediately; it was from his godfather.

Hi Harry,

Moony and I knew you'd figure this one out. Just so you know, the seal was keyed not just to the pass phrase, but to your wand's core and wood SPECIFICALLY; Professor Dumbledore and Mr. Ollivander spent hours working that one out. While they were doing that, Moony, Moody, and I worked out a code, so we don't have to be quite this secure every time we want to send you a message. It's included in the little package...and so is something else that the headmaster thought you should have.

Overcome with curiosity, Harry opened the little package. He found a very thin book...and the Don't View Disk. A bit surprised, he turned back to the letter.

Don't lose it. Keep it with you. It's especially important that you have it on your person whenever you go beyond the yard surrounding the Dursley's house. Remember, your father's cloak isn't enough -- maps aren't the only items that can see through such things.

Harry raised an eyebrow. So I'm more invisible with the Don't View Disk than I am wearing my Invisibility cloak? he wondered. It didn't exactly make sense to him -- but then, there were many aspects of the wizarding world that didn't make sense to him at first glance.

Most importantly, it may be the only way we can get you safely to the Weasleys for the summer, and back to school when the term starts. We're working out the details now.

Harry wanted to cheer. I'm going to the Weasleys for the summer after all! He hadn't realized until that moment how much he had feared that the headmaster would insist he stay with his Muggle relatives until the term started, for his own safety. He turned back to the letter again.

By the way, as you may have guessed, Moony didn't change last night...though he did have quite a headache, and was not up to doing any complicated magic. Madame Pomfrey thinks this is a good sign, since he transformed only one night of the full moon as opposed to all three. I'm not entirely convinced; the headaches worry me. Which reminds me...

Harry winced; he had a feeling he knew what was coming.

...if you get any pain from your scar -- even the slightest twinge -- you need to send a message to Professor Dumbledore. No ifs, ands, or buts, Harry; this is serious. More than that -- this is war. I know you're too young to have lived through anything like this before; honestly, I hoped you never would. But now, that scar seems to be one of our better sources of information.

If it makes you feel better, pretend you're one of my spies reporting in on the enemy's movements. And if you should see a certain greasy-haired potions professor, you should...ah, never mind.

The young wizard grinned. He'd been right about what was coming, but Sirius had managed to take the sting out of it. He could easily picture his godfather's lopsided grin (and prankster's smirk) as he read that last paragraph.

One last thing: Professor Dumbledore told me to relay this message: "sometimes books may choose a different owner for a time." I don't know what he's talking about, but he seemed to think you would know. Personally, I'd be very careful with any book which showed that level of independence.

Harry felt goosebumps run up his spine. He knows about the book, he thought, ...and he's not doing anything about it? The young wizard didn't know what to think. Surely that meant the ancient tome at least wasn't harmful? But his godfather seemed to think otherwise. Harry shook his head and finished reading the letter.

If you need to get in touch with me, Hedwig will find me...or you can visit Arabella. She will always know how to reach me. Oh, and keep your eyes open for large, shaggy, black dogs. Especially if they're friendly.

Love, your godfather,

Sirius

Harry smiled as he read through the letter twice more before putting it away. The Weasleys for the summer...a close watch on his scar...that mysterious book...a possible breakthrough for Professor Lupin's illness in the offing...a new code...the Don't View Disk...it was a little much to absorb all at once. Well, I'll have enough time to think about it all while I'm doing Aunt Petunia's chores, he thought, sighing as he pulled on his clothes.

* * * * * *

For Terri, the next few days felt so surreal they could have been painted by Salvadore Dali. Her boss had half-expected her to give her two weeks' notice as soon as she returned from her trip abroad, so he was not surprised; in fact, he asked her to help in the interviewing process for a replacement. This happened Monday morning. That afternoon, she received an e-mail from her father (she had sent him her work e-mail address in her earlier message to him, with the caveat that "They're Muggles...and they do monitor mail and phone calls."). He wanted to know if they could meet "as we discussed earlier" on Wednesday. She checked her schedule, and winced. Wednesday was the 11th, and the "drop-dead" deadline for the monthly reports was the morning of the 16th. Well, it'll still be the 16th whether I go or not, and anyway, it's just for lunch, it's not like I wouldn't be getting away from the office to eat lunch anyway, she thought. Terri sent an affirmative reply and marked the lunch date on her calendar.

The next day, she received a frantic call from Deidre. "Terri, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I don't know how I did it, it just--" she babbled.

"What did you do?" Terri asked curtly. She'd been nearly finished with the "Advantages and Disadvantages" section of a report covering ERP software, and minded the interruption.

"I don't know!" Deidre wailed. "I was just trying one of the charms from the Hogwarts books, and I thought I was focused right, and I know I got the swish-and-flick thing down, but my hand must have jiggled or something, and --"

"Deidre." Terri cut her friend short, and glanced around the office. The editorial department used an open floor plan; not even cubicle walls separated one editor from the next. But this close to a monthly deadline, everyone at least looked busy. "Remember what I told you about my phone calls here?" she asked quietly.

"Oh Goddess, they're monitored, right? Oh no, I've gotten you into all sorts of trouble, and --"

"Maybe not." Lord and Lady, let the listeners be busy elsewhere, Terri thought. Besides, I'm leaving soon...they can't do very much to me. "Okay, never mind what you did...what are you upset about?"

"It's Claire."

Terri felt goose bumps run up her spine. Her cat was actually sleeping with her and curling up on her lap again, and now, to have something happen to her...! "What's wrong with Claire?"

"Um..." Deidre took a deep breath. "I don't know how I did it, but I made her fur all blue."

"You did what?" Terri allowed herself to relax fractionally. "How is she otherwise?"

"She seems just fine; I mean, she's doing all the things she normally does, but when she went past a mirror, she looked in it and all her hair stood on end and she hissed! And..." Deidre paused. "Terri, I don't know how I did it, and I don't know how to change her back!"

Terri could easily imagine Deidre wringing her hands in panic. "Whoa, calm down then," she said, breathing normally again. "This isn't the first time this has happened to Claire."

"It's not?" Deidre asked in surprise.

"No, it's not," Terri confirmed. Well, it was bright chartreuse last time, the young witch reflected, and I swore I wouldn't use her as a guinea pig after that, but... "It doesn't seem to harm her, really, and it'll go away after a while."

"It will?"

"Yes." Well, it should, with Deidre's skill, Terri amended mentally. "If it hasn't, I'll take care of it when I get back from work. She should be just fine."

After saying good-by to a much-relieved Deidre and hanging up the phone, one of her co-workers gave her a puzzled look. "Cat problems?" she asked.

"Er...yeah," Terri sighed. "Claire's having a bad hair day."

"Say no more," her co-worker replied, holding up one hand in a quelling gesture. "My aunt breeds long-haired cats; you wouldn't believe the hairballs!"

Terri turned back to her work, trying desperately to get the image of bright blue hairballs out of her head.

If Monday and Tuesday saw her world and the wizarding world beginning to overlap, Wednesday was even worse...if only for the anticipation. Terri had carefully parked her vehicle around the back of the building, in an out-of-the-way area where it would not be easily noticed. She brought her father's business card with her. Fortunately, the weather forecaster predicted that the day would be sunny and warm, and he seemed to have gotten it right. When she left for lunch, she went out to her car and climbed into the driver's seat as usual, but did not fasten her seatbelt. Instead, she looked at the card. Damn, I should have done a few practice Apparations at home, she thought. It's been so long I don't want to think about how rusty I am!

So Terri didn't think about it. Instead, she focused on the World Trade Center...its location in New York City, and her father's location within the building, as indicated by the card. It would be a blinder Apparation than she would have liked to do, but then again, it wasn't the furthest Apparation she'd successfully attempted. Taking one last look around to make sure no one was watching, she mentally hurled herself to her destination.

"Ack!" A headache greeted her at her father's office. Terri's hands went to her throbbing temples. This hadn't happened to her before when she Apparated. Lord and Lady, it's been too long since I've done this! she thought.

"Terri?" came an uncertain voice. She recognized it at once, even though she hadn't heard it in years. "Are you all right?"

"Dad." Terri looked up. It really was astonishing how much Edward and Arthur Weasley resembled each other, even though they were only second cousins. She half-expected him to slip into a British accent. "Yeah, I'll be fine...I've just gotten out of the habit of doing this, is all."

The young witch took a moment to look around her father's office. She'd managed to land in a comfortable leather chair directly in front of his desk. That cherry wood desk was surprisingly clean at the moment; tax season had ended three months ago, after all. It boasted all the appropriate accoutrements: a brass deskplate with his name and title engraved into it; a blotter-sized calendar AND a smaller desk-sized calendar for appointments; IN and OUT boxes; pens, pencils, a stapler, tape, paper clips, and an adding machine; and of course, a computer. Three six-drawer metal filing cabinets against one wall completed the picture. All things considered, the office was actually rather Spartan.

Edward nodded. "Your old teacher Gavin's gotten headaches from Apparating in here once or twice, too. His always went away when we got some food -- especially if I treated." Terri's father rolled his eyes, but he looked more amused than annoyed. "Come on, let's get lunch then, my treat."

Terri stood up, but stopped before they left the office. "I can pay for myself," she said evenly.

"Of course you can," Edward agreed. "But how often do I get to treat my daughter to lunch?"

Terri opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. She had to admit he had a point...and, with having just given her notice this week, she knew better than to turn down a free meal. Especially at New York prices, she reflected. "Not very," she conceded.

Edward paused just long enough to grab something out of his middle desk drawer, then gestured to his office door. "Nobody will notice that you didn't come in the usual way. Since you're with me, they'll just figure you're my guest." He smiled, and gestured to the door of his office. Was Terri imagining things, or was there just a little nervousness in his smile? Are you feeling as strange about this as I am? Terri wondered.

As she'd hoped, Terri went with her father to the restaurant at the top of the World Trade Center. It wasn't terribly fancy, but the view was not to be missed. Edward carefully located an out-of-the-way table where they could eat and talk without being disturbed -- or overheard. Terri picked at her food, waiting for her father to begin.

But he didn't. This wasn't at all like the outgoing, boisterous man she'd known growing up. Taking a deep breath, she resorted to humor to see if she could get the ball rolling. quot;So," she began. "I'm probably wondering why you called me here today."

Edward snorted, clearly taken off guard. "Well, Gringotts contacted me when you picked up your account," he began, shifting uncomfortably in his plastic chair. "I asked Gavin if he had any idea what was going on with that --"

"And he told you." Terri rolled her eyes. "What is he, your spy?"

"Now wait a minute." Edward put down his fork. "That was uncalled for! I mean, how else was I supposed to find out --"

"Find out what?" Terri glared at him. "If I had wanted you to know anything that was happening in my life, I would have told you myself." It's none of your damn business, Dad; stop trying to meddle in my life!

It was Edward's turn to roll his eyes. "Terri, please don't make this any harder than it has to be. The truth is, if you're venturing into the wizarding world -- especially in the UK -- there are a whole lot of things you need to know --"

"Oh, you mean like all about my British cousins?" Terri asked, her voice unnaturally high-pitched.

Edward winced. "Er, you found out about that, eh?"

"I should say so. I stayed with Arthur and his family the whole week I was there," Terri replied. She stabbed at her chicken salad in irritation.

"You did?" Edward's eyes widened. "With Arthur? Merlin's beard! How is my barmy cousin? Is he still collecting batteries?"

Terri supposed she should have been angry, but her father's reaction was so unexpected -- right down to the British and wizardly expressions, which she had never heard him use before -- that all she could do was laugh and shake her head at him in amazement. "Barmy as ever, Dad. And he collects plugs, too." She sighed. "Right. So why didn't you tell me about my relatives sooner? And about my Gringotts account?"

Edward sighed. "I didn't tell you about the account because...well, because I promised your mother." At Terri's raised eyebrow, he continued, "She's always been uncomfortable with the wizarding world -- and it's no wonder, really, most Muggles are." He paused, and sighed. "Most Squibs are too. Anyway, she thought that if you knew about the account, you'd dive headlong into that world, without even looking back." He shook his head. "Frankly, she's been afraid of that ever since you started blowing bubbles when you were three years old."

Terri scratched her chin. "But...I don't understand. Lots of three-year-olds blow bubbles, Muggle or wizard alike."

"That's true," Edward agreed, raising his fork for emphasis. "But lots of three-year-olds don't blow big bright blue bubbles with pink polka dots that stay around for over an hour."

"Oh." Terri looked down at her food, embarrassed. "You never told me I did that," she said softly.

"You...weren't supposed to know," Edward said. "We were both stunned that you were that precocious." Hesitantly, he slipped what he had taken out of his desk onto the table. It was a worn-looking parchment envelope. "Um. You knew you got a letter from Salem, but what you didn't know..." He sighed, and pushed the letter toward Terri.

Terri stared at it. The address, written in green ink in a firm hand, showed her name, but her parents' address in New York. She turned it over, and immediately recognized the Hogwarts seal. Her eyes widened; it was rather like finding out, after graduating from the local community college, that you were also accepted to Harvard. She looked at her father, demanding an answer without saying a word.

Edward nervously brushed his balding scalp. "You-know-who was at the height of his power when you received this -- it arrived the same week as the one from Salem, by the way." Edward shook his head. "Your mother was scared for you -- and frankly, so was I. By the time we figured it was safe, we'd set you up with Gavin, and that was working out too well to risk disrupting."

"Oh." Great. Unknown relatives, unusually talented...what other surprises do you have for me, Dad? Terri thought, twisting her mouth as if she'd just bitten into a lemon. And is there anything else you're going to blame on Mom?

Edward sighed. "I'm sorry, really...I know I've handled this badly. But..." He held his hands out in a helpless gesture. "I'm not exactly equipped for it. I..." He shook his head. "I know, this is going to sound crazy, but your mom didn't want you to grow up different, and neither did I. I know what it's like...to be different." He looked down at his food. "I left the wizarding world because it's so hard on people who are different. Here..." He looked around, his gaze taking in the whole area. "I'm no different from anybody else. What would have been a handicap doesn't matter."

"That may have worked for you, Dad, but not for me." Terri couldn't completely keep the anger out of her voice. "I'm different in the Muggle world, and it does matter." She startled herself with her words and her vehemence. She'd lived comfortably in the Muggle world for years, even doing fairly well...why was this bothering her now? "You gave me the education I needed, but you tried to keep me out of the world where I wouldn't have been different. You let me think you were just a Muggle, that I was -- Merlin's teeth, Dad, you kept my whole heritage away from me! You --"

"I hid you the best way I could! Don't you know what You-know-who did to half-breeds and Muggle borns?" Edward sighed as Terri shook her head. "Trust me, you don't want to know. Or maybe you should ask the headmaster at Hogwarts why there are no wizarding universities today...why all the wizard schools only go up to twelfth grade or seventh year or such. Grindelwald started it, but You-know-who finished it."

Terri's eyes widened. She opened her mouth, closed it again. It was true; when she'd done the research to find an appropriate place to pursue her doctoral project, she hadn't found any university-level wizardry schools; Hogwarts was as close as she could get. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

Edward shook his head. "Go ask," he said. "You'll see what I was trying to protect you from. And besides, it's better that you hear it firsthand. If You-know-who really has come back, maybe you'll think twice about --"

"Just a minute." Terri held up her hand to stop him. "What is this? Are you trying to keep me from going into the wizarding world again? Damnit, Dad, if Voldemort has returned, Hogwarts is the safest place around for any witch or wizard! Or didn't you know that Professor Dumbledore is the one wizard Voldemort fears above all others?" Terri glared at her father while he winced every time she used the Dark Mage's name. "And on top of that, I'm researching portable curse protection at Hogwarts -- so anyone, including Muggles, will be able to wear jewelry that really does protect, and for a lot less gold than what's available now. How can I not go?"

It seemed like he was remembering another moment, a long time ago...something that had perhaps led inevitably to this moment now. "No," he said at last. "You can't not go. It's just...well, you're going somewhere I've never been, in a lot more ways than I can say. And I...I can't protect you. I can't even advise you." He smiled wryly. "That's not exactly a role I'm used to, Short Stuff."

Terri snorted at his use of the nickname he'd given her long ago. "Watch it, Dad, or I'll turn your hair purple and spiked, and you'll have a lot of explaining to do."

"Don't you dare." His look of fear wasn't entirely fake.

"Don't worry, I won't. Mom would kill me." And I don't really want to get you fired, Terri thought without rancor.

The rest of lunch was more relaxed. Terri felt she understood her father better than she ever had before. What must it have been like, to grow up without magic in a world where nearly everyone can use magic in some form or another? And once he found a place where he was on an equal footing...how he must have delighted in having some measure of control over this world -- his world -- that he had never had before. How he must have wanted to give his daughter the best advantages he could! But he could only do that in the Muggle world...not in the world he'd left behind. I wish he could have seen that sending me all the way into the wizarding world...even putting me up with our British cousins!...would have been the same as his going into the Muggle world; I would have been in a world where I wasn't different, where I could be accepted, where I wouldn't have to hide part of myself, where I could compete on an equal footing. Oh, Dad. Terri shook her head at the thought. She didn't know whether she felt sorrier for the time she'd lost not knowing about what her father had told her, or for her dad for not understanding. But she really couldn't hold it against him for not knowing any better.

When she finally Apparated back to her car (still in the parking lot at work), it was with the oddly satisfied feeling of having Something Major Settled. She wasn't quite sure what, exactly, was settled...but she was fairly certain she'd never again have to worry about her father thinking she needed his help running her life.

* * * * * * * * * *

Aunt Petunia kept Harry so busy with chores both inside and outside that it was several days before he found the time to look at the mysterious wooden book again. One night, after he'd finished his Charms essay ("Compare and contrast the casting and uses of the Summoning vs. the Repulsion spells"), he thought about the book again. Or, more precisely, the book reminded him of itself. As he put his homework away under the loose floor board in his bedroom, there it sat, on top of everything else he'd stashed there. But he distinctly remembered putting it at the very bottom, underneath all of his other school items!

He carefully removed the book from its hiding place, put his homework away, and pushed the board back over his stash. Grabbing the flashlight he'd used to help him do his homework under the covers, he examined the strange tome. The first thing he noticed was that it wasn't as big as he had thought; not much larger than a modern hardcover book, in fact. The cover was ornately carved with lions in bas relief; though showing significant signs of wear, Harry could see the remains of gilding on some of the lions. Along the lower edge of the front cover stood two lions, facing each other, and rearing up on their hind legs; between them, also rendered in bas relief, sat a large Greek-style urn.

Harry tried to make out the lettering on the cover, but it might as well have been in another language. Indeed, some of the letters appeared runic in nature. The young wizard stroked the cover, running his fingers over the letters, half-hoping his hands could make some sense of what his eyes didn't understand. As he ran his hands over the title...

"Ouch!" Harry dropped his flashlight as he felt something stab sharply into his finger. Reflexively he brought his finger to his mouth, and tasted the iron tang of blood. Fearing the worst, he groped for his flashlight, and checked first his finger, then the book. His finger looked as if it had been stabbed with a fine needle; only another drop or two came from it before it stopped bleeding. As to the book...at first, when he shined his light on it, he thought he saw a drop of blood; but his hand was shaking a bit, and he couldn't be certain. When he focused clearly on where he thought his finger had been when it was stabbed, he saw no blood...nor anything that looked sharp enough to stab him.

"Bloody old book," he muttered, but goosebumps went up his spine just the same. Taking another look at the letters on the front cover, he realized he could make out what it said; apparently, it was just the strange shapes of the letters, and their decoration, that had thrown him off. Draped in leafy vines, the letters spelled out the words "Dreams and Visions."

Dreams and Visions? What's that supposed to mean? Harry wondered. Was this book written by someone of Professor Trelawney's ilk? Great, I accidently stole a book by some fluffy Diviner, Harry thought, rolling his eyes. Nevertheless, now having the book in his possession, he slowly, cautiously opened it.

The words on the first page were again difficult to read. Harry quickly saw that it was some sort of handwritten dedication, and that the author of the dedication spelled words even worse than Hagrid. After a few minutes, however, he made the appropriate "translation," and quickly adjusted to the author's strong, clear written words.

To My Dearest Sister,

On this, your wedding day, I give you this book, perhaps the most precious thing I can give you that I have not given you already. You have told me that my vision is far greater than yours; and yet, if it were not for your everlasting faith in me, in what I and my companions sought to accomplish, that vision would never have become real. I can never repay you, except to remind you that, even as you wear another man's name, you will always be my sister. It shall always be your right to come to me for whatever aid you may want or need, and always be my glad task, nay, highest privilege, to grant you whatever aid and comfort it may be within my power to give.

I give into your keeping this book, and its pages, which are empty, in the hope that you will fill them. I will not see you suffer as you have before, from those who did not believe in your special gift -- yes, gift I say, not curse as you have often insisted. Here is a safe haven for all that you have seen before its time. As you have believed in me, so do I believe in you; too much that you have seen has already come true for me to do otherwise. If your bridegroom refuses to believe you, my dearest Cassandra, and I am beyond your reach, think of this book as an extension of myself, and my love. I beg you, do not deny those special talents that are yours; it is only in their acknowledgement and their expression that you will find peace.

I pray for your joy and prosperity always.

Your loving, devoted brother,

Godric Gryffindor

Harry gasped when he finished reading the dedication. Godric Gryffindor?! If this was the same Godric Gryffindor who helped found Hogwarts, surely this book must be close to 1000 years old! Abruptly, he slammed it closed. His mind seemed to be going a mile a minute, trying to digest what he had read. Godric had a sister. The sister had married. More importantly, from what he had read, the sister was a seer; her "special talent," if Harry understood correctly what her brother had written, was Divination. The young wizard thought back to the weekend meeting with Professor Dumbledore, and suddenly it all made sense. Hadn't the headmaster said that Gryffindor had written into the school's bylaws that Divination should always be taught at Hogwarts, because he had known a true seer? Of course. When was the last time someone looked at this book? Harry wondered. Who else knows about Cassandra Gryffindor, true seer? Professor Dumbledore, certainly; for just a wild moment, Harry considered sending an owl to Hermione to ask if there was anything in Hogwarts, A History that mentioned Cassandra.

But no. He stifled a yawn. He'd already been up late doing his homework, and needed to get some sleep. Putting the book back into its place under the floorboard, Harry climbed into bed. He felt so tired he forgot to take his medication; even so, he soon drifted off into a deep slumber.

He felt himself flying, but not on a broom. For the second time in a dream, Harry felt as if he rode atop a winged animal, sailing over the countryside. With a horrid feeling of deja vue, Harry realized they were approaching a painfully familiar ivy-covered house set high on a hillside. He didn't want to go there; he even tried to steer his mount away, urging it with his voice and his body, but the creature ignored him. They reached the same dark and broken window in the upper story of the house that Harry remembered from that previous dream...only now it was boarded up, and very recently, to all appearances. Unfortunately for Harry, the boards didn't matter; he and his mount glided through as if they were ghosts. The gloomy passageway that Harry remembered from the last time now had torches set in wall scones, none of which had been there before.

Harry wanted to look away when they reached the room at the very end of the passage. His mount stopped outside the door...and growled. Harry started. For the first time, he looked down at the creature, and saw that he had not been riding on the back of a large owl this time. He shivered as he gazed into its eyes. No, this was no owl. It was a winged lioness, and it gazed at him with bright green eyes that seemed to say "You know what to do, and if you don't do it, you'll have to deal with me." Harry gulped.

The door to the room was open, as it had been last time. Slowly, he entered the room. Again, there had been some changes. The room was now clean, from floor to ceiling; like the passageway, it also boasted wall scones with lighted torches. A fire cackled in the fireplace. Near the fire stood the man Harry recognized immediately as Wormtail, while a giant snake lay curled up on the hearth rug. But neither of these figures attracted Harry's attention, for they were not part of the tableau playing itself out before his eyes.

Harry had heard the scream first, then turned to look. Voldemort stood in front of the only window in the room, pointing his wand at the black-robed, twitching figure on the floor at his feet. At first, because the person was so slim, Harry thought it might be Professor Snape...but no, this person had short silver-colored hair, not shoulder-length greasy black hair. The young wizard felt...strangely grateful. If that had been Snape that Voldemort was torturing, then it meant he wasn't succeeding with the spy mission, Harry rationalized.

"My lord, please reconsider," came a voice. The voice came from another dark-robed man who had his back to Harry, but Harry recognized the voice...and the man's long platinum-blond hair...all too well. "I believe he has...other uses that would serve you better."

Voldemort stopped pointing his wand at the prone figure; a groan and a sigh from the floor also told of its being released from the spell. "Serve me better?" The dark mage barked a laugh. "Karkarov should have served me better these 14 years ago and more! He only begins to understand that now...don't you, Karkarov?" Voldemort directed the question to the figure on the floor. It had turned over. Harry could see his face now, and barely held back a shout. Durmstrang's headmaster -- former headmaster, Harry supposed -- no longer had a goatee. Indeed, it looked as though it had been ripped out of his face. The rest of that face reflected such suffering and exhaustion that Harry almost felt sorry for him. Almost. As Karkarov looked up toward Voldemort and gave the dark mage a submissive look and a weak nod, Harry's heart hardened toward the wizard.

"Yes, all the more reason he should be made to serve you better now, my lord," Lucius Malfoy said smoothly. He gestured to Karkarov as if he was pointing at a cow. "True, his -- energy -- will strengthen you, but remember...he has been headmaster of Durmstrang for many years now. As such he is as tied into the network of witches and wizards concerned with the school as...as any headmaster. He has information...and influence. He would make a good addition as you seek to reclaim your dominion."

Voldemort looked at Malfoy as if he were mad. "Had influence, you mean. He did not return with his students -- and he fled like the coward he is." The dark mage pointed his wand again at Karkarov, who had barely managed to prop himself up on his arms. "Crucio!" With a shriek, Karkarov collapsed, trembling, back onto the floor. But, for whatever reason, Voldemort did not draw out the torture this time, and released the spell after a few seconds. He stared at the now-unconscious Karkarov with contempt, then turned back to Malfoy. "You would counsel me to accept this -- this -- insect back into the fold, knowing that he has already betrayed me once?!"

Insect? Why not? You've already got a rat and a snake, Harry thought, a bit hysterically.

"Yes, master, I would," Malfoy replied. "Not without reservations," he added hastily, as the dark mage glared at him. "But you can retrieve much useful information from him -- and not so many people know about his fleeing. He may well be able to resume his post as Durmstrang headmaster, with a suitable excuse. Under the Imperio, he could be a quite useful asset indeed."

Wormtail spoke up then, nervously, for the first time. "But master, we already tried that once, with Crouch, and it didn't succeed. He was too strong...he..." The rest of his statement was choked off in a scream as Voldemort focused his wand and his wrath on the rat Animagi, speaking the single word of the Cruciatus curse.

"Yes, he broke free, thanks to your blunder," Voldemort said angrily, releasing Wormtail from the spell. "It is not wise of you to remind me of this."

"My lord," Malfoy cut in, "Crouch was a fairly strong-willed man. Did he not succeed in keeping his own son under the Imperio for years? Karkarov, on the other hand..." He made a gesture toward the prone wizard that was half-indicative, half-dismissive.

Voldemort looked from Malfoy to Karkarov, then back to Malfoy. His face grew thoughtful. "Yes, I see," he said, nodding. Then he shook his head. "You have not convinced me, Malfoy. But you have succeeding in sparing his miserable life...at least for the moment. I must consider your suggestions. Wormtail, show them to the guest room."

Wormtail painfully rose from his place on the floor to obey his master. Lucius slowly drew his wand, pointed at Karkarov, and said "Mobilicorpus." Karkarov's body rose, and, guided by Malfoy, floated with him and Wormtail to the guest room.

When they left the room, Harry did as well, and tried to mount the lioness. I've seen enough, I've got to get out of here, he thought frantically. The winged lioness, however, was having none of it, and growled. Grabbing onto Harry's clothing with her jaw, she half-dragged, half-pushed him down the hall after the three wizards.

"Okay, I get the message," Harry whispered, and followed the men into the room. Wormtail let Malfoy settle Karkarov on the room's king-sized bed, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to be watching; surely there wouldn't be anything more important tonight than what he'd already seen? Besides, with Karkarov unconscious...

But Karkarov didn't stay unconscious very long. He came to with a groan, and when he did, he grabbed Malfoy's robes with more strength than Harry would have thought possible, given what he had clearly been through. "What did you think you were doing in there?!" he demanded hoarsely. "You sold me out!"

"I saved your life, you fool," Malfoy spat, pulling away from the wizard with distaste. "How long do you think you could have hidden from him -- from his wrath? And not least of all, from the rest of his Deatheaters, who would have gladly served you up to him on a silver platter so they could get into his good graces."

"Oh, as you just did?" Karkarov demanded. "We had an agreement, Lucius -- "

"And we still have an agreement," Malfoy hissed. He drew closer to Karkarov then, and looked around, as if he feared being overheard. "But now is not the right time to strike. The Dark Mage is paranoid; he expects to find betrayal. He must be lulled, stroked, flattered, and above all, he must become successful."

Karkarov's eyes bore a look of horror. "Successful? Are you mad? Do you beg the bear to attack?"

"If he is attacking others, he will not be attacking us," Malfoy whispered back, exasperation in his voice. His lips slowly curved into a very nasty grin. "He will not look behind to see the wand pointed at his back...because he will believe we are covering it while he moves forward."

"But we don't have much time!" Karkarov insisted hoarsely. "If he completes the ritual that makes him immortal --"

"There are ways to delay that," Malfoy replied. "You forget, I was involved with it the first time around. I have certain -- resources -- at my disposal that I can bring into play." The blond wizard nodded thoughtfully. "There are a number of parts to the ritual. For instance, the proper oils and lotions must be applied...bathwater must be prepared, in a manner so complicated as to rival the brewing of a potion...and then there is also the creation of a very particular potion itself, whose ingredients are quite rare and dangerous to gather, and whose creation is so esoteric that I doubt more than five wizards now living can hope to create it successfully."

"But what does that matter if...oh." Karkarov stopped, understanding slowly dawning on his face. "The Dark Mage...cannot create it himself?"

"That I don't know...but he didn't do it last time." Malfoy frowned. "Sleep, Karkarov. You will probably need your strength tomorrow."

Harry's jaw dropped. Had he understood correctly? Was Malfoy actually attempting to orchestrate Voldemort's downfall? Before he knew what was happening, Harry felt himself nudged onto the back of the winged lioness, and was soon flying back out of the house and over the countryside again. But the creature did not take him home -- rather, it took him to another place he recognized, but one he looked upon much more gladly: Hogwarts Castle. Strangely, though, it was broad daylight, instead of the night that he'd left behind at the other residence.

Like ghosts, Harry and the lioness flew through the walls of Hogwarts, finally ending up inside Dumbledore's office. The headmaster was sitting at his desk, consuming breakfast while gazing at a parchment he held in one hand. He looked up at the sound of footfalls, and smiled faintly as Sirius entered the room. The professor gestured the animagi to a chair.

"I see you've read it," Harry's godfather said with no preamble.

Dumbledore laid down the parchment. "Indeed. The letter was most enlightening." He paused, and glanced back at the parchment. "I am surprised that Lucius is moving so quickly."

"I'm surprised he didn't move sooner," Sirius insisted, leaning back in his chair and stabbing with his hand at the parchment on Dumbledore's desk.

"Which is one reason I am glad to have your services," the headmaster reflected softly. "I expect deliberation, and you expect haste. It allows us a balanced view of the possibilities."

Sirius nodded, then held his hand out, palm up, towards the headmaster. "That's all well and good, Headmaster, but the question remains: now that we know this, what should we do?"

Professor Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Before we answer that question, perhaps we should ask another: what exactly is it that we know right now?"

Sirius rolled his eyes, as if being asked the most obvious question in the world. "If Harry is right, we know that Malfoy is plotting some sort of betrayal of Voldemort, that it involves Karkarov, that --"

"No." Dumbledore cut him short with a word and a gesture. "That is only part of it, and perhaps not even the most important part." He peered gently at the Animagi over his half-moon glasses. "Tell me, Sirius: did you read the entire letter?"

"Of course I did." Sirius shifted uncomfortably then. "Well, except for the post script; I wanted you to see this information as soon as possible, so --"

The headmaster smoothly handed the parchment over to the Animagi. "Please read the post script."

Sirius gave the elderly wizard a questioning glance, but accepted the parchment and began reading. His eyes widened as he read it through once, then quickly read it through again. He looked up at Dumbledore, staring in shock; at the headmaster's slight nod, he quickly read it through a third time. "Merlin's soul," he breathed at last.

Professor Dumbledore nodded again...and turned his gaze to exactly where Harry was standing. What? But...no one could see me at Voldemort's! Harry thought, nearly panicking. "Yes...I think you understand now," he said slowly, but whether it was addressed to Harry or Sirius, the boy wizard couldn't tell. Suddenly, the face of the winged lioness was in front of him, green eyes glinting intelligently...

And he woke with a start, heart racing. But he knew what he had to do. Quickly, before he had a chance to think, Harry grabbed his flashlight, parchment, quill and ink, and wrote down his dream in full detail. There would be time for encoding it later; now, he had to make sure he had it all down so that it would arrive at Hogwarts before breakfast.