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The Choice
Author: Phyllida
Date: 12-04-12 23:30
Lately, the nights had known no end.
Phyllida lay in bed, fingering the edges of the silver locket engraved with her family crest. The yellow chintz drapes were pulled aside; the streetlights outside pooled on the heirloom in her pale hand, catching the silvery, shifting imprints of holly and oak. She shifted restlessly, her eyes drifting over the pale walls of the guestroom. Her eyes passed over the laundry basket where Ptolemy had, begrudgingly, made his bed for the night. Like her, he was wide-awake; his bulbous, yellow eyes reflected their own light.
"What's the matter, Ptolemy?" she murmured, turning her head.
The cat gave her a look of exasperated forbearance, before affecting the supreme, practised disinterest unique to the feline race. Mid-stretch, he found himself impeded by the confines of his narrow berth, and pounced agitatedly onto the windowsill, almost upsetting a small vase with roses from Mrs Ross' garden. He stared through the mullioned glass at the dim, silent street, the Muggle lights reflected in the orbs of his eyes.
Phyllida rested her head back on the pillow, opening the locket. Inside, the painted-ivory miniature of her father was dozing, his head rested on the curve of the silver frame. His pince-nez was askew.
"I miss you, Papa. I shouldn't have run away." She meticulously cleaned a fingerprint from the ivory face. "This place is filled with Muggle things…and Nate…you were right about him. I'm sorry." Admitting this, even if she was all alone in the middle of the night, came as a profound relief; but why did she feel a queer, twisting sensation below her heart? "I promise, Papa, I'm going to prove your innocence. Good night."
The portrait of her father stirred, and shifted to the other side of the frame, but his slumber was not disrupted.
The streetlights flickered; a far-off noise, a police siren, or fire engine, perhaps – Phyllida was not familiar with the soundscape of Muggle Britain – droned on in the distance. Acceding defeat to the silent, padded warmth of the bed, she was just about to shut her eyes when a loud, screeching thud collided with the window. Ptolemy hissed and launched himself to the floor, arching his back.
An owl shrieked; Phyllida hurried to unlatch the window for the haplessly flapping messenger. The stunned creature flopped inside. It gave a disorientated hoot, looking around for a safe perch. Ptolemy had leaped onto the chest of drawers, and glowered menacingly at the intruder.
The owl, a large grey, seemed like it had flown through a storm, before being dragged backwards through a briar-hedge. It tottered towards the glass of water on her bedside table, submersing its small beak, as she examined the folded letter. The seal was a dark green, and bore a crest embossed with an elaborate, silver 'M'. Lifting the seal, she moved towards the window, where the orange glare of the streetlights illuminated the fine, copperplate handwriting in emerald ink.
Dear Phyllida ––
This letter may come unexpected, but your father's troubles have touched my heart. As you have nobody in the world to assist you, with your poor mother indisposed to usefulness, I feel it is my moral obligation to pledge you my support.
If you require legal advice, I suggest that you pay a visit to Mr Zabini at 68 Knockturn Alley. He specialises in these most particular cases - providing the challenge matches his mettle as a barrister.
You are in my thoughts, dear child.
Cloris Mockridge
Phyllida remained transfixed, gazing at the letter in her hand. The words in the old, Mockridge widow's flowing green hand had awoken the righteous anger of her conscience. It was there that she would find support for her father's cause; among the scions of great Wizarding families, not in the middle of a Muggle village, living in the house of a Muggle liaisons officer.
Drawing a sigh, she folded the letter carefully, placing it on the bedside table. She reached for the clothes laid out over the trunk, and dressed as if possessed by a listless spirit, her eyes glassy, and her mouth grim. She had made her decision.
She pulled a sheaf of parchment from her bag, and hurriedly wrote a faltering farewell note to Nate. Folding it carefully, she slipped silently into the corridor, avoiding creaking floorboards, her one hand on the rough, lime wall to steady herself.
When she arrived at his bedroom door, she rested her hand on the knob. An inconvenient sensibility washed over her; suddenly, she recalled the tender warmth of his sleeping form as they had lain on the grass, a year ago – she remembered her righteous flash of her anger as she had discovered that he supported the Wimbourne Wasps. Just beyond this insurmountable door, Nathaniel was sleeping peacefully. She could turn the handle and crawl into bed next to him; he could reassure her that her father was innocent, and that together they would prove it. To kiss him farewell; ah, she could revoke her cause in an instant! She wavered on the precipice of hope and despair.
But the chill truth came to her soon enough. Nathaniel Ross didn't believe her father was innocent. She had seen the prejudice in his critical gaze. And, however beloved they might once have been to her, she could no longer bear to look into those eyes that pronounced unlawful judgement on her father.
She stepped away, before her resolve could weaken.
Her black velvet cloak was hanging inside the small wardrobe in the guest room, disused since she had arrived at Tolpuddle. Solemnly, she robed herself, as Ptolemy watched; his pointed, globe-like gaze affirmed her choice.
(Anton) Flying Lessons
Author: Roger Bexley
Date: 12-05-12 14:35
The weather, which had started out remarkably cool and overcast, had improved a little by the time the flying lessons scheduled for the afternoon came around. Anton walked beside Petula and Valeria as they trod down the green slope towards the flat lawn where Professor Krum had already assembled the brooms in two, neat rows; half the crop of first years regarded him – with mostly excited expressions. Some, Anton noted, with a twinge of superiority, looked downright queasy. A blonde Muggle-born girl from Ravenclaw – her name was Wendy, he thought – stared at the broomsticks nervously, as though one might animate itself at any moment and hit her over the head.
Anton smirked. "Ah, I can see this is going to be fun."
Valeria wrinkled her nose at the sight of the brooms. "Perhaps. But those brooms, ugh, not what Uncle Kirley flies," she said.
Petula eyed the brooms distastefully. "I just hope I don't fall in front of the Muggle-borns, Mama never wants me to fly and Daddy gives in," the darker girl pouted.
"Pretty sure they'll all do far more falling than you will," Anton quipped reassuringly. "Though I'm sorry to say, Pet, I don't think anyone will be looking at you flying." He gave a cocky grin. "Not while I'm around."
Valeria couldn't resist, she stuck her foot deliberately out to the side. "I doubt any of them will be watching any of us if Professor Krum is in the air. Uncle Kirley says he's one of the best fliers he's ever seen."
Anton saw the blonde's foot too late, and stumbled a little. "Mockridge! Save your sabotage efforts for a Gryffindor or a Muggle-born, or something."
"Sorry, Avery, you needed to come down a peg or two," Valeria said, shooting him an innocent smile. "Besides, I had to practice."
"You don't need practice - you're lethal enough as it is." He snickered.
She smiled. "Why thank you, Anton, how sweet," the blonde replied while Petula smirked.
"Just think, she's like this with her friends, imagine how deadly she would be with others," the brunette said quietly. "Makes me glad I'm on her good side."
"Why do you think I was so careful to make friends with her on the first day of school?" He gave Valeria a pointed look. "I knew she'd probably jinx me if I ignored her."
"That or you thought I'd write to Grandmother, who would write your parents," Valeria added, careful to keep her innocent expression as they joined the rest of the class. "Though that's really not my style, unless I have no other options."
"No, you prefer something with more immediate satisfaction," Petula agreed.
The first years had all shown up. Professor Krum walked in front of them. A few excited giggles erupted from the crowd. Anton himself was a tremendous fan of Viktor Krum - and Seeker was his favourite team position.
"Welcome to your first flying lessons, students. I find it's best to avoid complicated instructions and start. How many of you have flown a broomstick before? Put up your hands if you have."
Anton and Valeria raised their hands, along with a handful of other students.
"Very good. Everyone, stand by a broomstick."
Valeria and Petula both stepped up to broomsticks, Petula automatically putting Valeria in the middle of her and Anton. It was safer for the other students that way.
Anton was jostled aside by a larger boy from his first broom of choice, and found himself facing what looked suspiciously like a Silver Arrow. Hardly what he was used to, but then again, it seemed to be relatively new, though a few of its twigs appeared less than streamlined.
"Hold out your right hand over the broomstick," Professor Krum instructed, walking along the line of students. "And, say: UP!"
"UP!" the student body shouted, to mixed results. A few brooms rolled over on the grass. Anton had managed to get his broomstick up, though it quavered a little in his grip, as though it was jittery with broomstick-nerves.
Valeria's eyes narrowed at the larger boy who'd pushed them down, but she held out her hand and said "Up" in a firm tone. The broom complied, though it seemed to not like being held in her grasp. Beside her, Petula nearly dropped hers, as it seemed rather excitable.
Anton sighed, tightening his hand around the broomstick. He felt a niggling doubt that this would not go well.
(Jasmine Serano) Empty Portrait Means Boredom
Author: Xiomara Sofia Serano
Date: 12-05-12 16:43
My mother was once again off shopping or having tea with someone and I was no longer in the presence of my tutor or Alexander and took the scant seconds that it would take them to notice that I'd vanished to retreat to the attic and the little treasure trove of toys that I had secluded up there.
I'd even brought some of my own dolls up there and had a nice little tea party type setting as well as a few other little things spread around so that I might actually have some where to play. I'd also moved the portrait of my hidden friend back over to where I was playing, and when I heard footsteps or voices coming that belonged to Poppy the house elf (annoying little thing), Alexander or worst of all my Mother I could keep him covered.
I hated that he would not tell me his name, and while I'd managed to get his frame cleaned and free of dust and cobwebs, his name plate was still badly damaged and scratched and for the hundredth time I could not cast magic or use spells to try and repair it to find out the information myself.
However, I did have an idea, and perhaps it was one my mother would approve. I could always delve into the family photo albums and records and see if I could find him or at least figure out his name so I could address him by it instead of "friend" or "Sir" or something along those lines.
Sighing, I pulled the cover off his portrait and frowned. He was not within his portrait, he must have wandered off to speak to someone else, but I heard no voices - which made me wonder where my friend had wandered off to without so much as giving me warning that he was going.
I could not help the petulance in my actions as I yanked the cloth back down over the empty interior shot, devoid of my oh so intelligent friend. With him not in the portrait I had little desire to play trivial games with my dolls. I'd honestly, wanted to tell him all about the new little divination trinket that my Mother had picked up. The mirror was unique and it as not the one that she was ultimately hunting but it was something of great power that would no doubt help her divination.
I stepped out of the attic and shut the door behind me, debating on how to spend my time. I could not go out and fly, Mother would surely have a heart attack were I to even be caught dead on a broom beyond what was required for mandatory flying lessons when I started at Hogwarts in a couple of years.
I headed out into the sprawling gardens after grabbing my favorite jacket and the book that I was currently in the midst of. It was something my friend had recommended to me, it was a bit tricky, and I'd made notes on a slip of parchment things that I had questions about because much of it was beyond my grasp of knowledge at the moment.
Assumptions
Author: Hermione Granger
Date: 12-05-12 18:40
Hermione sat in the staff lounge on Level Four and polished off the last of the chocolate cake Ron had picked up yesterday. She had brought what little remained of the cake with her to work this morning, after having a rather sizable slice for breakfast, of course.
When Medina Claggett swept in the room to refill her coffee mug, she found Hermione licking the crumbs out of the dish. Mortified, Hermione hastily lowered the dish to the table and ran the back of her hand over her mouth.
Medina waved at Hermione and smiled. "Blame it on the baby," she said. "All manners go out the window when you're pregnant. You have a valid excuse for eating less like a lady and more like a––"
"Pig?" Hermione finished. She got up and went to the sink to rinse out her dish. The temptation to polish off the remaining crumbs felt tremendous, but she somehow managed to keep them away from her tongue.
Medina laughed. "I was going to say 'man'. They can be such slobs sometimes, can't they?"
"Yes," Hermione agreed. "They really can."
Medina refilled her cup and turned to Hermione, who was dutifully cleaning the dish in the sink. The Head Healer's entire demeanor changed, becoming more rigid and serious, as she had been before finding Hermione in the lounge.
"The other deaths," she began, referring to several new patients who had died since Hermione had come to her with speculations about why some were dying when there was no possible reason why they should.
"I think I've found a commonality," Medina finished.
"What is it?" Hermione asked.
"They're all Muggle-born."
It wasn't a question asked on the hospital admittance form, but it did come up in discussion if a family history was needed for one reason or another. When other potential common factors hadn't panned out, Medina had considered what reasons there may be for someone to kill a group of individuals (for what else could it be but murder?). Wizarding prejudices came to mind almost immediately, and so after a bit of digging, Medina had discovered that all of the new victims shared one thing: the fact that their parents were Muggles.
Hermione turned off the faucet and frowned. "Have you checked the others yet?"
"No, but I'd like your help, and fast. If we can find out without a doubt that they others were also Muggle-borns, then I think we have something to bring to the authorities. I don't want anybody else dying on my watch, Hermione."
"I understand, and neither do I. I'll help you right away."
"Good, see me in my office when you are done here."
Medina left, and Hermione soon followed. If what Medina was suggesting was true, then there was a killer among them, and Hermione, being Muggle-born herself, possibly wasn't safe.
(Alexander) A Delicate Palate
Author: Mildred
Date: 12-06-12 01:59
"I cannot help but feel admiration, and disgust, whenever I see you eating, Mr. Campbell."
Alexander raised his eyebrow at Phineus, who still insisted on calling him by his surname no matter the times he had told him the contrary. They were having lunch alongside with the rest of the prisoners. However, Phineus barely touched his food. Instead he kept looking at his cellmate in fascination, while his plate was getting quickly emptied. It happened every meal and it made Alexander feel as if he was some circus' attraction, but he didn't say anything to Phineus about it.
He felt sorry for the man, who despite his efforts to show everyone his staying in Azkaban was temporary, was starting to languish. He was getting thinner and paler and the superiority in his eyes has been replaced by a feeling of defeat.
During the first days, Phineus had tried to contact the imprisoned Nott family but none of its elements seemed willing to accept him in their group and so now he would spend his time with Alexander who did not mind his presence.
"You will get used to it with the time," he told him.
"You know I will not stay here for longer, Mr. Campbell." Despite his voice seemed secure, his eyes filled with doubts and fears told otherwise. But Alexander let that pass. "And maybe, who knows, I can send you some homemade delicacies baked by my house elf."
"I thought you had said, the other day, that I did not possess a delicate palate like yours, and that was the reason for being able to call this food, while to you it was garbage. How could I appreciate those fine delicacies?"
Phineus chuckled.
"You tease me, Mr. Campbell. But I forgive you this time, because I am in a good mood."
And before Alexander could ask him the reason for it, he explained that he had received a letter from his daughter Phyllida, and that she would visit him soon. Alexander knew this would be Phineus' first visitation. He had learned that his cellmate had a wife, a daughter and a niece, however none of them had came to his encounter yet. He could not help to smile, feeling happy for Phienus' excited expression in his face. It was about time someone would visit him, he thought.
"Do you have any children, Mr. Campbell?"
The question came out of the blue. Phineus was the type of man who loved to speak about himself and who did not possess the slightest interest on the other person in front of him unless they had something he wanted. Once he realized Alexander was not a member of a distinctive wizarding family and did not had the means to hire a powerful lawyer or even the right influence inside Azkaban, he lost all the interest in his cellmate. He probably didn't notice the photo of Mildred and his wife that he had on their cell.
"Yes. I have a daughter."
Phineus wanted to know more and so he told him her name was Mildred and she was 12.
"I assume she attends Hogwarts? Which house was she sorted into? Forgive me my curiosity but I find these details good to distract myself from this awful food." He put his fork to his mouth, only to make a grimace. "I cannot eat this," he pushed his tray away. "Please continue."
Alexander thought it would be somewhat hard to tell Phineus about Mildred but it happened to be the contrary. Phineus also shared with him details about his daughter and he even regretted he did not have a photograph to show it to him.
"You would see she has the perfect physiognomy of a true Spore. She is my pride."
The meal was almost over when Phineus was called for a visit. Alexander could not help to notice how he adjusted his prisoner clothes and tried to compose his hair. He did not seem to like the way he would present himself to his daughter.
"I am in a deplorable state, Mr. Campbell," he sighed and then he stood up ready to see Phyllida.
But before doing so he pushed his tray towards Alexander.
"Finish this for me will you, Mr. Campbell? Don't act modest, I know you are still hungry."
And then he left leaving a puzzled Alexander behind him. There was one thing about Phineus Spore that he had learned that day: he might seem very shallow and superficial but he knew how to read people.
The game's afoot
Author: Peregrinus Hartcrofte
Date: 12-06-12 12:27
When Pip arrived at the Ministry of Magic via Floo, a young man was waiting to meet him. The young man introduced himself as Rhys Mawrth, who had been assigned to liaise with the Blackguard as they could not spare anyone with more seniority.
"We appreciate the Blackguard coming so quickly, given the sensitive nature of the crime." It was clear from the nervous trill in the young Welshman's voice that this was the first dead body he had ever seen, and it was causing him some distress.
"No need to be so formal, m'lad. We understand. Has the body been moved?"
"It has, Mr. Hartcrofte. The body was left in a major service entrance, so we moved it as soon as Forensics had taken a full Pellego scan. Their memories and the results of their scan are waiting in a Pensieve for you next to the body."
Pippin followed Rhys to the room on Level 2 where the body was being kept. The room itself was cold and sterile (thanks to a Sterilizing Charm on the doorframe), filled with the smell of burnt flesh. Pip drew his wand and cast a Numbing Charm on his nose to stifle the stink. He cast the charm on Rhys as well, when the young Welshman revealed that he was a squib.
After taking a look over the body and a trip into the Pensieve, he could see why the Ministry had called for assistance. The murderer had gone to significant lengths to disguise the victim's identity. Teeth had been extricated, the body had been burned beyond recognition … even Muggle science would be thwarted, as the corpse's bones had been alchemically petrified, destroying any genetic evidence.
"Judging by size and bone structure, such as it is, I would say we're looking at a female, between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. The murderer, and possibly the victim as well, I believe to be Norwegian, owing to the words carved into the chest: 'Pass opp Jabberwock, min sønn' – 'Beware the Jabberwock, my son'. It's a line from The Jabberwocky by Charles Dodgson, better known as Lewis Carroll. I suggest sending an owl to Durmstrang to see if any of their female students have gone missing. There is one other curious thing: it looks like the victim may have had a tattoo on her back, but the fire has obscured it. I wonder …"
With a series of gestures of his wand, Pip caused the image from the victim's back, barely more than a slightly different shade of char, to float in the air. With another set of flourishes, the image smoothed and sharpened, resolving into what looked rather like a map, but an incomplete one. Words resolved around the edges – in English, this time. "Less one-fourth of royal ten, when holy palmers kiss, will dragon's roar and flame replace the iron dragon's hiss."
"What does it mean, Mr. Hartcrofte?"
"Call me Pippin, Rhys. As for what it means … I believe it means that the game's afoot!"
Getting In Some Practice (Mason)
Author: Pyrrhus
Date: 12-06-12 13:20
Reaching the pitch Boris Samson waves up at Mason Jeffers, who is at the moment firing a quaffle past a small person on a broom. Boris keeps waving until Mason sees him then goes to sit on the grass along the sidelines. After saying something to the other kid Mason joins Boris a few seconds later. Coming in for a landing, he's off his broom and walking in one smooth movement that Boris somewhat envies but would never admit.
Laying his broom down Mason takes a post on the grass next to Boris. "Thought you were coming out before now."
"I was but I fell asleep for about twenty minutes then when I woke up I went to the commons to get something to drink and ended up having a snack too and then," Boris frowns, "I'm not really sure where the time went."
"Who was she?"
"Huh?"
"Who was there that made you decide to stay longer than just grabbing a drink and who made you lose track of time."
Boris shrugs, blinking innocently at Mason. "I do not know what you mean."
"Riiiight, but whatever. How can you expect to have any hope of making the team this time if you hardly ever come practice?"
"I have no hope of making the team. You know that as well as I do. I do well enough in pick-up games, playing just for fun but you know I'm shite when it comes to the real deal."
"Maybe that's because you don't practice," Mason insists.
"It's because I'm just not that good."
"But you said you're trying out."
"Yes."
"But you don't think you'll make the team "
"KNOW I won't make the team," Boris cuts in to correct.
"Then why try out?"
Boris ticks off on his fingers. "It's something to do. It's fun more or less. There are usually professionals here helping Krum out so there is the potential for autographs and pictures. Even if not making the team, trying out tends to impress a certain sort."
"Certain girls you mean."
"Correct."
"So, your trying out for a girl. Would this happen to be the same girl who delayed you coming to the pitch today?"
Boris gives Mason that innocent smile again. "I have no idea who or what you are talking about." Grabbing the broom on the ground in front of him he says, "I'm ready of you are."
Mason pulls a face but picks up his broom as well. Seconds after that they are both in the air, joining others who are getting in some practice time before the Quidditch trials in just over a week.
After Flying
Author: Valeria Mockridge
Date: 12-06-12 15:59
Valeria put down the book she'd retrieved from the box Cloris had sent and looked over at Petula before looking at Anton. "This book has some healing charms, I could be nice enough to try one," she offered, an innocent smile warring with the mischief in her eyes.
Anton gave her a surly glare. "I said I wasn't hurt, Mockridge," he snapped as the other girl giggled. He sighed. "And I'll have both of you know, that model of Silver Arrow is confirmed to be an unruly broom. Unless somebody placed a jinx on it." He eyed Valeria with a subtle smile. "Haven't done anything to piss you off lately, have I?"
"No, if you had, I would've hexed you, not the poor broom," Valeria answered with a smile. "Besides, would I really offer to heal you if I was the one who caused the damage? Cauldron cake?" she offered, holding out the box of sweets that had been in with the books from her grandmother.
Petula took one and looked up from the book she'd pilfered from Valeria's box. "She has a point, she's the type to want to watch you suffer if you'd crossed her."
"I'm so glad we're friends," Anton snickered, stuffing his mouth with a cauldron cake. "Is there anything about Transfiguration in the books your grandmother sent you?"
Petula snorted. "It's better when we can watch her turn it on others."
"Some. And Aunt Nephele sent her and Uncle Kirley's old textbooks, along with the set they bought me before Professor Flint joined the staff and changed the texts. But most are hexes and other things. Grandmother was quite dismayed to hear we were dueling and she wants to be sure we're better prepared if it happens again," Valeria answered.
"Well why didn't you say so earlier?" Anton laughed, grabbing a volume off the pile. "I'm keen to expand my repertoire of hexes."
"Because otherwise, you would have never gotten your homework done before Flying," the blonde answered. "Also, Aunt Nephele and Uncle Kirley have both promised more books, as has Grandmother if she comes across anything useful." It was quite useful to be the spoiled niece/granddaughter at times, she was generally given everything she wished for.
Anton flicked the pages of Hexing for Duellists thoughtfully. "If your guardians keep sending you more books, you're going to run out of space for them, at this rate."
"Unless I get one of them to cast an Undetectable Extension charm on my trunk. Or we talk to Professor Snape to see if there are any unused rooms we could turn into a library that's part of the house. I don't particularly fancy sharing with the whole school," Valeria mused.
Petula's nose wrinkled. "No, no sharing with the whole school, but Professor Snape or Professor Quigley might know of a room we could use, we don't use the entire Castle as it is."
"There's more than enough unused rooms in the Dungeons...but there's no knowing what we might find there." Anton seemed excited at the prospect of facing unknown perils in the castle's less-travelled nooks.
"Probably nothing worse than a Boggart or some doxies," Petula said. "We didn't even see that when we were exploring the last time."
"Then let's go ask Professor Snape and see if he has any suggestions on where to start," Valeria said, marking her place in Curses, Hexes and Jinxes for Sneaky Witches, a particular favorite of her Grandmother's if the inscription was to be trusted. "He might also warn us if there are any silly rules we need to be aware of."
Anton laughed. "You're already worrying about rules? Oh no, no, my friends. That won't do at all."
"Only so we have more time to plan around them," Petula said with a shrug. "It's easier to argue them if we know what they are ahead of time."
Valeria nodded. "It does take less time if we're prepared, and being aware certainly doesn't mean following the rules."
"I see you're both in training to become criminal masterminds," said Anton, laughing. "Far be it from me to stop you."
"Smart lad, you're learning," Valeria said with a grin, getting to her feet and making sure she tucked the books the others weren't currently reading into her bag.
A Secret Revealed - Mockridge TownHouse
Author: Nephele Mockridge
Date: 12-06-12 21:04
The clock ticked inexorably towards midnight. A black cat sat in front of it, watching as if hypnotised. Any second now, any second...
There came the sense of stretching, muscles being pulled out like a wire. She bit her cheek until it bled, stifling the scream. She could not, dare not, wake the house's occupants. Black fur melted back into pale skin. Limbs elongated. Cats ears moved along her head, becoming more human as they went.
Cassandra shivered. Naked and cold, she wrapped her arms about her waist and looked about frantically for some kind of cover. There was nothing.
Nephele!
She looked along the corridor as if her friend was about to materialise, but she was long abed. Cassandra wondered what the odds were of her being able to sneak into Neph's room and steal a robe.
The chill night air started her into action. Bare feet padded soundlessly along the hallway. She was sure this was the door. Carefully she tried the handle. It turned. The door opened a crack.
The room inside was dark. Soft, steady breathing came from the dark shape she presumed was the bed. Stealthily, she peered inside. Something that looked like fabric was draped over a chair. Sneaking inside, she grabbed it and scurried back outside.
It was tempting to race along the corridor, but she didn't want to wake anyone. Restraining the impulse, she pulled Nephele's robe on and walked more slowly and cautiously along the landing and down the stairs.
The Floo powder was in a box on the mantlepiece. She stretched up to grab it.
The lamp flared to life behind her. "You know, you really should consider that both Nephele and myself are suspicious enough to ward our doorways, just in case," Kirley drawled, raising an eyebrow at Cass in his sister's robe without either of her cats.
Cassandra gave an involuntary yelp and whirled around. She clutched the box of Floo powder to her chest.
"Are you trying to give me heart failure?" she demanded.
"You're the the one sneaking about my home," Kirley said, trying to hide his amusement. "And in Nephele's robe too. I'd wonder if that meant something, but I don't think my twin could've hid that from me this long. And since I don't see any trace of either of your cats, I'm guessing you didn't just show up for them."
"Quit teasing the poor girl, Kirley," Nephele said from the doorway, wrapped in a second robe that she kept hanging in her room. "Cassandra, I think what my brother is trying to say, is that we would like an explanation."
"Well, it was sneaking about your home in Nephele's robe or sneaking about your home naked. I thought the first option might be better," Cassandra retorted, glaring at Kirley and pondering the odds of hitting him with the Floo powder box if she threw it at him.
A soft yowl came from the doorway and the second black cat, Malantha, slunk into the room. She trotted over to her mistress and wound about her ankles.
"I think we meant why you'd be sneaking about at all," Nephele said.
Kirley tilted his head. "I don't know, the second one could have been entertaining," he said thoughtfully.
Cassandra bent to pick up Malantha. Playing for time, she said, "You have my cat."
"Funny thing about that," Kirley said. "There were two of them. And somehow, I don't see you sneaking over here naked to get them. Not to mention, I'd know if you Flooed in and you certainly didn't apparate in."
"The way you did into my shop?" she challenged. "Breaking and entering is a criminal offence, you know."
"Which you would only know if you'd been at the shop when I was there," Kirley said with a shrug. "And since I've seen your owl and Malantha before, that leaves only one option. And it means you came dangerously close to ending my family line before it starts."
Nephele smothered a laugh. Her brother had a point, and it certainly would've explained Callie's cat back in school.
Cassandra bristled like a cat that had had its fur stroked the wrong way. She glared at Kirley, hugging Malantha to her chest in a defensive fashion. The cat patted her cheek with one paw as if trying to soothe her.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she bit out. Her embarrassment was acute and it made her words sharper than she had intended.
"I could always drop trou and show you," Kirley said in an amused fashion, "but I don't think my sister would appreciate that."
Nephele reached out with a gentle hand. "Cass, you don't have to hide from us, we won't betray your secret."
Colour flamed across Cassandra's cheeks and she gave Kirley a look that should have made him drop dead on the spot. Then her gaze met Nephele's. The gentleness in her friend's expression was difficult to bear. Her own gaze dropped.
"It's embarrassing," she muttered.
"So is being that one's twin," Nephele said, ignoring Kirley's protest. "Cass, Kirley and I want to help. Even if he is an arse, he can help."
"I'm not sure anyone can help," Cassandra said. She sighed, and then decided to stop fighting the inevitable and tell them the rest.
"There's a curse on the Catesby family. It goes back generations. In the medieval period a witch, jealous of one of my female forebears, said that 'as a cat she was called, and a selfish cat she was, then a cat she would be'. Over the next three days and nights when the moon was at its fullest, my ancestor was transformed into a black cat.
"At the end of that period, she returned to her human form and records suggest that she believed that was that. But it wasn't. The next time the full moon approached, she transformed again, and the same the next month and the next and the next."
Cassandra's fingers stroked through Malantha's fur. "The curse did not die with her either. When she died, the curse passed to her daughter. So it has gone on for generations, the curse being passed down to one female member of the bloodline each generation, each new victim only being revealed when the previous one dies. Before me it was my Aunt Idonea."
"Who died when we were at Hogwarts. I remember you leaving for the funeral," Nephele said quietly. "And then you started hiding in Callie's dorm when you were transformed?"
Kirley wisely stayed silent. He really did want to help, and what Cassandra was forced to suffer seemed horrible.
"Callandra knew it could have been her," Cassandra said softly. "When Aunt Idonea died, we knew there was a chance it would be one of us next. We were both females of that bloodline. But until the next full moon, nobody knew for sure who would be next."
"She would have protected you either way. Even Slytherins are loyal to family, most of the time," Kirley said with a shrug.
Nephele looked at him. "Stop that, you go out of your way to protect Valeria and I, and even Mother, despite her meddling and mischief. We look out for our own. And, Cass, that includes you. You are welcome here, whenever you need to be, and I promise, no more cat carriers."
She shot Kirley a sidelong glance. "Oh, I don't know. I can think of one person who could end up in a carrier just as soon as I've got my wand back," she murmured, but there wasn't perhaps as much heat in her words as there might have been earlier.
"In my defense, I didn't know it was you and not a regular cat, plus I had to catch your other one there. Had I explained, I doubt you would have been ready to listen then either," Kirley said, getting to his feet. "Cassandra, you'll be safe here, whenever you need it. You can have an Unbreakable Vow on it, if you want."
She shook her head. "No, I'd never ask that of anyone," she said; the result of breaking an Unbreakable Vow was death. She drew in a breath. "Thank you. Both of you. I appreciate the concern, but this isn't a problem that either of you can fix. All I want is to go home."
"No, but we can offer somewhere safer than your shop to hide out when you need it. And I can do some research, see if there might be a way to mitigate the effects, like a variant of the Wolfsbane potion," Nephele said. Cass smiled, just a little. That was so very Nephele. She did not bother trying to argue with her. She knew the futility of it.
Kirley nodded. "Go on back then, I'll stop by in a few days to get Nephele's book."
Cassandra hesitated for a second, then nodded. "It'll be ready for you to collect," she said, then took a pinch of Floo Powder and tossed it into the fire. Stepping into the flames, she said clearly, "Ravenscrofte Books." She spun around and vanished.