Katie, now in her seventh and final year, had dropped back to the reserves so she could better concentrate on her N.E.W.T.s – and, Harry suspected, because she missed Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, with whom she'd formed a tight Chaser trio bond. She walked in before any other members of the team, got one look at Ron where he was sitting with Harry by the fire in the common room, and pulled him away into a corner where she showed him a Concealing Charm to hide his hickey. 

"Thanks, Katie," Ron said. Overnight, the mark on his neck had not faded. On the contrary, it had deepened and stood out in stark contrast, all the more noticeable since his pimples had finally vanished. He rubbed the spot, which now looked like ordinary skin.

"You're welcome," Katie said, smiling. "Least I could do. And only fitting, since I had to learn that spell because of your brother."

"My brother? Which one?"

"George." Katie's eyes twinkled. "That first year we won the Quidditch Cup, and had that big party, and they smuggled in all the raspberry cordial and we all got so drunk? I ended up making out with him under that table over there, and he tried to hickey his monogram onto my neck."

"Blimey! I never knew that!" Ron gasped. 

"The first year?" Harry frowned. "Katie, you were twelve!"

"Girls are more precocious than boys."

"Were you and George going out?" Ron asked. "How come no one ever knew?"

"It was just one night at a party, Ron, is all. I don't even know if he remembered the next day, and we never talked about it. Lucky for me, Angelina saw me before anyone else and taught me the charm. I was afraid I'd have to go to Madame Pomfrey and she'd send an owl to my parents. So, where'd you get it?"

"Hogsmeade."

"Not what I meant. Who's the lucky girl?"

Ron's face flamed. "Um …"

Katie's voice dropped to a cajoling wheedle. "Come on, Ron. Was it Hermione Granger? We all heard the alarms last night and saw her come tearing out of the boys' dorm."

"And what's that all about, anyway?" Harry put in. "We try to set a foot on the staircase over there to the girls' dorm and the siren goes off and the steps turn into a slide, but the girls can waltz into our rooms whenever they like?"

"As long as they behave themselves," Katie said. "But the second there's misbehaving … well, you saw for yourself. It was Hermione, then?"

"She didn't do this!" Ron said, touching his neck again. 

"She must've done something."

"Well, she did kiss him," Harry said. 

"Harry!"

"Finally," Katie said. "It's about time."

Ron turned to her, baffled. "About time for what?"

"That she let you know. We're not that close of friends, but I'm not blind. I've been wondering for three years now when she was going to speak up. Let me guess. She found out you'd been with some other girl, knew she'd missed her chance, and did the most drastic thing she could think of to let you know how she feels."

"Girls just … just understand this stuff, don't they?" Harry asked.

"Three years?" Ron stared at Katie. 

"Oh, my god!" Katie clapped her hands and rocked on her heels. "You went to Hogsmeade yesterday with Luna Lovegood, didn't you? I thought I saw you together at the Three Broomsticks. That's who gave you the hickey!"

"Hermione's fancied me for three years?"

"Heads up," Harry said loudly. Other people were coming down the stairs. 

Moments later, the rest of his team shuffled, yawning, into the common room. Katie retreated to the couch, still regarding Ron with amusement. Harry told everyone to come in and have a seat, then broke the news about the match being cancelled. 

"We're going to reschedule, right?" Dennis Creevey asked. 

"We have to," Flash Gresham said. 

"McGonagall didn't say," Harry said. "Only that the Slytherins were in no shape to play today, not after what happened last night."

"Can you blame them?" Ginny said. "They must be getting pretty upset."

"Not that lot," Dennis said. "They just knew they were going to lose, and they're looking for any excuse to get out of it."

"A girl died," Harry said, his rancor aimed at himself as much as at Dennis. "And before you go saying it, so what if she was in Slytherin? We may not like them, they may be our rivals, but they're still people."

"Sorry, Harry," Dennis mumbled. 

"Well, if we're not playing," Flash said, "what are we doing today?"

Harry went to the window. The sky was still a heavy, seething mass of black and grey clouds, though the rain had slowed, the wind had lessened, and there was no more lightning. From Gryffindor tower, he could see the evidence of the storm's ravages everywhere. Broken boughs stripped of leaves littered the edge of the forest. The short, plump shape of Professor Sprout could be seen down by the greenhouses where she taught Herbology, tacking up sheets of canvas over missing panes of glass. Hagrid's pumpkin patch was flooded, the enormous orange gourds sitting like islands in a sea of muddy water. Hagrid himself, wielding a shovel in prodigious strokes, was digging out a trench to let the water drain away. 

He looked toward the Quidditch pitch and shocked himself with an oath that made the others huddle around him and press their own faces to the window. 

"We wouldn't have been playing today, anyway!" he said, aghast at the sight of the Quidditch field. 

Of the six tall goal hoops, three had blown down and one had been reduced to a charred stub, no doubt the result of a lightning strike. The stands had been ruthlessly battered by the wind, some tilting alarmingly. Large chunks of siding that had been peeled off them now lay strewn across the grass. And the grass itself was a swamp.

"Maybe we should get a crew together and fix it up," suggested Ginny. "I'll bet we could round up enough helpers."

"That's a good idea," Harry said. 

Gradually, more Gryffindors appeared in the common room. Harry kept an eye out for Hermione, but when it was close to breakfast time and she still hadn't put in an appearance, he took Ginny aside.

"Have you talked to Hermione at all?"

"Not since yesterday," Ginny said. She got an impish look. "I saw her come out of the boys' dorm last night, though, when the alarms sounded. Did she really kiss Ron?"

"Does everyone know?"

"Well, she must have kissed someone," Ginny said. "That's the rule. No kissing, no doing anything naughty with a boy, or else. And if it wasn't Ron, it must've been you. Everyone else was still down here."

"It wasn't me!" Harry said hurriedly.

"I didn't think so."

Her tone was so dismissive that he was taken aback. "Wait … what's that supposed to mean? Why couldn't it have been me?"

"You and Hermione?" Ginny scoffed. "Really, Harry."

He opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound totally stupid, and shut it again. 

"Besides," Ginny added, "we all know she and Ron have this thing going."

"What thing? Who all knows?"

"All right … I know. I thought it'd get to her, him going out with Luna."

"You tried to set him up for that. What are you playing at, Ginny?"

"He's got to make up his mind, is all."

"Ron? He didn't even know he had to."

"That's my brothers for you," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "Except for Bill, I swear, they're all a bunch of dunces when it comes to girls. Hermione's been waiting all this time for him to notice her."

"She has?"

"I've tried to tell her it won't work that way. Not with a Weasley. Do you know, Mum had to practically beat Dad over the head with a broomstick before he got the idea she was interested in him. And then she had to propose. If she'd waited for him to get around to it, they might never have gotten married." Ginny paused, giggled. "Except that they had to get married … so, really, it's Bill who's to blame."

"But what about Hermione? I'm worried that she hasn't come down yet. I don't like to think she's up there, hiding, afraid everyone's going to laugh."

"Which is exactly what she's doing," Ginny said.

"Well, it's not like I can go up there and talk to her," Harry said. "Will you?"

"I tried. Lavender and Parvati said she didn't want to see anyone."

"Could I have your attention, please?" Colin Creevey called, getting up on a tabletop to be seen. He relayed Professor McGonagall's message about the special assembly and Dumbledore's visit. 

"It'll be about the Slytherins, I bet," Katie said. 

Hermione still had not come down by the time the rest of them were ready to head for breakfast. Harry didn't like leaving her up there alone in her room, probably crying, but there wasn't much else he could do. As everyone else trooped out through the portrait hole, he scribbled a note – Hermione: everything all right? I'd like to help, if I can – and signed it and left it on top of her Arithmancy book, which she'd left on a table. 

The ceiling of the Great Hall was the same curdled black as the sky outside, clouds scudding by so fast that it made him dizzy to watch. Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table, where what seemed to be an argument was in process between Malfoy and Nigel Nox. 

Nox was a seventh-year, tall and slim and handsome in a shifty, distrustworthy way. Harry had read over the complete listing of Death Eaters and their crimes, which had been published in the Daily Prophet following Fudge's death, and a Lethia Nox had been listed among them. Nigel's aunt, she had been a Healer's Assistant at St. Mungo's before it was discovered that her main duty was killing off her Muggle-born patients as well as three wounded Aurors. 

"—staying here to die!" Nox was saying in a loud, carrying voice as Harry walked in. "And you're mad if you do, too, Malfoy!"

He was dressed in a traveling cloak. His trunk sat expectantly at the end of the long Slytherin table. A wicker cage was strapped to the top of the trunk, and from it came strange, unhealthy rustling, scurrying, and creeping noises. 

Harry scanned the table. There, halfway down, listening intently to Nox and Malfoy, was Jane Kirkallen. She had her hair back in its usual ponytail, threaded through the painted wooden snake-ring, and only looked a bit pale and peaky from her near-drowning. 

Blaise leaned over and nudged Jane, then indicated Harry. "There he is, Kirkallen. Got anything to say?"

Jane's dark eyes found Harry. "What could I possibly have to say to Harry Potter?" she said. "Thank you for saving my life? Is that what I should say? What do you think, Blaise?"

Harry acted like he hadn't heard and went to the Gryffindor table, trying not to grin at her slyness. She'd just thanked him in front of the whole school, and the rest of them thought she was being snide. 

"You were the one who first brought it up!" Nox hollered, towering over Malfoy. "You were the one who said they were murdered, and just last night you said there must be a curse on us! So how can you sit there this morning and tell me that I'm the one being irrational?"

"Mr. Nox!" Snape bore down on him in a frightful billow of robes. "I will not have this disgraceful display. Your parents will be here within the hour to take you home. Until they arrive, sit."

"What's that all about?" Harry asked in an undertone as he took a place between Neville and Ron. "What about a curse?"

"It's Malfoy," Neville said, not without a degree of satisfaction. "He's been telling everyone that Nott, Crabbe and Goyle didn't kill themselves at all, but that someone's been picking them off, one by one, because of how their fathers are all Death Eaters."

"Yeah, I heard about that," Harry said. 

"Only now it's even better," Ron said. "Devona Stormdark wasn't murdered, so now he's saying it has to be a curse. He's scared silly, the ferret-faced git."

"Nox is, too," Neville said. "So much that he sent an owl to his parents last night begging them to come and fetch him before something terrible happens to him, too."

"Because of his aunt," Harry said. 

Neville nodded. "My gran knows their family. My cousin Wilberforce is even married to a Nox, Dulcinia. Some of them are okay. But some, like Lethia, were born bad. She's dead, you know. Mad-Eye Moody killed her, way back when."

"What d'you reckon?" Ron asked Harry. "Think there's a curse?"

"Kind of a strange curse, if it is," Harry said. "What, some sort of 'sins of the father' kind of thing?"

A first-year with hair so red he could have passed for yet another Weasley brother leaned across the table. He'd been listening, and now he pointed out a scrawny boy at the end of the Slytherin table. "That's Edmund Hawke. He's got Death Eaters in his family. He said so in Potions class. His great-uncle went to school with You-Know-Who. Now he's scared, too."

"I hope it is a curse," Neville said viciously. "They deserve everything they get."

"Hang on, Neville," Harry said. "I know you've got reason, but –"

"But nothing! Death Eaters!"

"No, Harry's right," Ron said. "Can't blame a whole family if there's one or two bad eggs. Look at Percy, and how he turned out. I wouldn't like it if someone put a curse on me because Percy went and turned into a prat."

"Percy was always a prat," Ginny said. 

"I still hope it's true." Neville's jaw was set, and his clenched fists were set on either side of his plate. "And I hope Draco Malfoy is next."

Harry got a chill. There was no curse, of course not … curses didn't work like that, as far as he knew. It was a string of coincidences, nothing more. But if it were … if, somehow, the descendants and relatives of Death Eaters were targeted by some strong and deadly magic …

He looked up to the staff table. Professor Golden was there, seated near the end next to a high chair. Little Arcturus gabbled happily and kicked his bootied feet. 

Regulus Black had been a Death Eater. Sirius' brother, Arcturus' uncle. 

Nobody else knew, though. No one else knew. 

Not that, he realized, it would take a huge leap of logic to figure it out. The constellation names were a hallmark of the Black family. And Kreacher knew. Kreacher could have informed Narcissa, as he'd done once before. 

But why would Kreacher do that? Kreacher was delighted about Arcturus, delighted to have a legitimate son of the House of Black to serve again. No, Kreacher wouldn't tell anyone who might pose a danger to that baby. So Arcturus was safe. Nobody could know. Just as nobody else could know about Jane's parentage. 

Breakfast arrived, the platters and bowls suddenly filling with porridge, eggs, slabs of ham, blueberry muffins, sausage, toast. The smell of coffee rose from the carafes. 

So, if there was a curse … which there wasn't … Jane and Arcturus would be perfectly safe. 

Except, Harry thought, a triangle of buttered toast poised halfway to his mouth, if there was a curse, magic so subtle and strong and versatile it could make four different Slytherins die in four different ways, it wouldn't matter whether or not anyone knew about Arcturus' uncle and Jane's father. The magic would work no matter what. 

"Oh, there's Luna," Ginny said, and Ron dived under the table. 

Harry bent down. "You're not fooling anyone."

"Dropped my napkin," Ron said. 

"Right."

He emerged, flustered and guilty-looking. Harry surreptitiously scanned Luna, but didn't see any tell-tale bite marks on her. Either Ron hadn't left any, or Katie Bell wasn't the only person who knew the Concealing Charm.

Luna saw Ron, smiled, twiddled her fingers, and went to the Ravenclaw table like it was any other morning. She'd no sooner taken her seat than the post owls came in, heavily burdened with the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet. No other post but the most urgent came on Sundays, so the room was soon clear of wings and feathers again. 

ANOTHER DEATH AT HOGWARTS, one of the headlines proclaimed, and the story went on to say how one person had been killed and another injured in the storm that had swept through Hogsmeade the previous evening. No names were mentioned, pending notification of the dead student's next of kin. The story added that it was the latest in a string of school-related tragedies, but refused to speculate on any possible connections.

A sidebar said that the same storm had blasted half the countryside, causing upwards of a quarter million Galleons' worth of damage to wizarding establishments alone. Gringotts insurance goblins had been overwhelmed with claims and complaints. 

Neither Hagrid nor Professor Sprout was at breakfast, both presumably still busy with storm damage of their own. The rest of the teachers were subdued, and Snape in particular looked deeply troubled. No wonder … he had lost four students from his House since the start of term, two of them in extremely grisly ways. 

Ginny went up and spoke to Professor McGonagall, who nodded and then rose. 

"Attention, students," McGonagall said, rapping the podium. "As you know, Professor Dumbledore – now acting Minister of Magic as well as Headmaster-in-Absentia –"

"Wherever Umbridge is, it's got to be giving her fits," Ron said to Harry. "Remember how she was about Dumbledore wanting to oust Fudge, and replace him? And Fudge must be spinning in his grave."

"— return to the school tomorrow," McGonagall went on. "There will be no classes, but we will be having our special assembly at noon sharp, here in the Great Hall. I expect each of you to attend. In the meantime, Miss Weasley has suggested organizing a volunteer crew to tidy up and repair the Quidditch pitch, which as most of you probably know, was badly damaged during yesterday's storm."

Those who hadn't known jumped up in a rush and went to the windows, but from here all they could see was the fact that only two lonely goal hoops remained standing. Two Hufflepuff players and the current Ravenclaw Keeper exclaimed in anguish. 

"Needless to say, there will not be a game today," McGonagall said. "I will be speaking with the team captains later to determine whether or not it will be rescheduled. Anyone interested in helping out with the field should gather in the entrance hall after breakfast. Mr. Filch the caretaker will provide the necessary supplies, and Madame Hooch will supervise."

Hermione still hadn't turned up by the time breakfast was done. Harry wanted to send Ginny up to talk to her, but Ginny had been put in charge of what Seamus called the Great Quidditch Clean-Up. He thought about asking Lavender or Parvati, took a second evaluating look at them, and decided against it. 

A good crowd collected in the entrance hall. Everyone from the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw teams – active players and reserves – plus at least a dozen supporters from each of the three Houses came in, wearing old clothes and over-cloaks. 

Even a few Slytherins showed up, sticking to themselves in a sullen group. They were led by Tiberius Flint and Blaise Zabini. Malfoy wasn't among them. Neither was Jane. Neither was Nigel Nox, whose parents pulled up in a thestral-drawn school carriage, loaded his trunk, and whisked him away with barely time for any farewells. 

Filch passed out galoshes, sturdy waterproof work gloves, and various tools from the equipment closet. He warned them that each and every single one had better be returned in good condition, but his threatening glower didn't have much force behind it. He'd been a hollow shadow of his former self since Umbridge left. Even Mrs. Norris' whiskers had a disappointed droop to them now. 

They went out, nearly fifty of them in all, and met Madame Hooch near the sad remains of the lightning-struck hoop. She was brisk and businesslike, dividing them into groups and assigning them tasks. Hagrid showed up to put his great strength to good use. Even little Professor Flitwick came down and performed the Levitation Charm to raise the three broken hoops back into place. The cries of "Reparo!" and "Scourgify!" rang in the air as they fixed and cleaned. 

By afternoon, the stands were in good shape, the worst of the puddles – some the size of small lakes – had been dried up, and only the one burnt hoop could not be mended. Harry, achy from the unexpected hours of hard work, wiped sweat from his forehead and saw Hermione nearby, saying, "Evanesco!" as she emptied a pool of muddy rainwater that had collected in a Bludger-sized depression in the turf. 

"Hermione," he said. "When did you get here?"

"I've been here a while." 

"Have you talked to Ron yet?"

"I have nothing to say to Ron," she said in a clipped manner.

"Listen, Hermione –"

She turned, swiping at her hair, leaving a smear of mud on her brow. "Just stay out of it, Harry. Please."

"I'd like to help."

"I don't need any help."

"You're my friends," he said. "You and Ron both."

"There is no me-and-Ron-both," Hermione said bitterly. 

"But –"

"Please, Harry!"

"All right," he said, backing down. "But you've got to work this out."

She would not say another word about it the rest of the day. As for Ron, he seemed to be doing his best to pretend nothing had happened. They both spent the evening pointedly ignoring one another. 

Since the Great Quidditch Clean-Up had gone so well, Professor Sprout drafted them to do the same for her greenhouses on Monday. The sky was still leaden, the rain steady as they re-potted plants from flooded pots and beds, mended window panes, and cleaned. They put in another muddy, exhausting morning, and Harry was almost relieved when Hermione mentioned that they'd better quit soon. 

"We'll need to be presentable when the Minister arrives," she said. 

"The Minister? It's just Dumbledore."

"There was a time, Harry, when you used to care what Dumbledore thought."

Stung, he shut up and finished the section of greenhouse he'd been repairing. 

Evidently, Professor Sprout had the same thought as Hermione, because a few minutes later she thanked them for a job well done, and recommended that they head for the castle. A messy line of students wended their way toward the entrance, tired but pleased with themselves. Once the work had been underway, even the Slytherins had shown a surprising inter-House spirit of cooperation. 

As they neared the stone steps, someone called out, "Hey! Look! What's that?" and everyone turned. 

The clouds over the lake were lit from behind by an orange glow that brightened as they watched. It concentrated into a single brilliant spark, and then the clouds parted as what looked like a large burning wheel spun through them. 

"It's a bloody UFO!" Dean Thomas shouted. 

The spinning disk of fire whirled nearer and nearer, descending as it did toward the castle. It was flanked by shapes like fiery archangels, gliding on wings of flame. 

"It's crashing!" Neville cried. 

They scattered away from the door, a few of the girls screaming, as the disk of fire spun in fast and low. Harry could feel the heat baking from it, riffling his hair and drying the mud on his cheeks to a cracked plaster. Steam rose from the damp ground. The grass directly beneath the disk turned crisp and brown, curling in on itself. 

The fiery figures were discernible now, and awestruck silence fell over the students as they regarded these startling visitors to Hogwarts. 

Each was eight feet tall, humanoid lions or leonine men covered with white-gold fur. Their wings were feathered in flames, and their manes, tail tufts, and eyes also blazed with scarlet-orange heat. Their paw-hands gripped golden spears. They wore gold belts set with rubies, and from the belts hung golden loincloths.

As the disk touched down, it stopped spinning. The air above it was a shimmer of heat-ripples, distorting vision. Then the ripples cleared, and the fire on the disk went out, revealing a slightly curved golden platform upon which stood Albus Dumbledore. 

He wore deep crimson robes sewn with astrological and alchemical symbols in silver and gold, a matching crimson velvet cap, and his usual half-moon spectacles. His long silver hair and beard weren't so much as singed from the flames, and he looked around at the gape-mouthed students with Dumbledore's old, familiar, kindly smile. 

The lion-men flanked him as he stepped down from the disk, their wings and manes and tails still afire, their eyes like topaz ignited. 

No one spoke. 

"Hello," Dumbledore said, mildly enough. 

The doors burst open, spilling dozens of other people out into the gloomy grey day and the dazzling golden firelight. That light played across their wondering faces in a way that made Harry think of young children seeing their very first Christmas tree. 

Professor McGonagall halted at the top of the steps, with Snape at her elbow and the other teachers clustered around them. McGonagall's hand pressed the base of her throat. 

"Albus, my goodness!" she breathed.

Hagrid bodily picked up motionless students and set them out of his way like they were pieces on a non-wizard chessboard, forming a path for himself through their ranks. A wild, rapturous grin showed through his bushy dark beard, and his eyes were dancing with feverish curiosity. He marched right toward the nearest of the flame-winged lion men – even at eight feet tall, the lion-man only came up to Hagrid's collarbone – and would have reached right out and touched him had Firenze not galloped with a clatter of hooves on stone down the front steps and batted Hagrid's huge hand away. 

"I fear they do not care to be touched," Firenze said. "And you would be burned, friend Hagrid."

"Aww," moaned Hagrid, but consented to be towed away, his gaze never leaving the lion-men. 

"I told you," Luna Lovegood said clearly. "I told you that the Minister of Magic had his own private army of heliopaths. But you didn't believe me."

Hermione bit her lip so hard Harry saw beadlets of blood well up, and he thought for a moment that she would leap on Luna and they'd have a clawing-and-spitting catfight right there in front of Dumbledore and the entire school. He took her arm in a warning grasp. She shook him off angrily, but managed to refrain from attacking Luna. 

Dumbledore turned. "My dear Miss Lovegood," he said gently, "these are not heliopaths. These are aureliphim."

"Heliopaths, aureliphim," Luna said, in a "you say toe-may-toe, I say toe-mah-toe" kind of way. "Spirits of fire. You can't expect the Quibbler to get everything exactly spot-on every single time."

Now Hermione looked like she might throw up. Firenze shifted his weight, clearing his throat, perhaps insulted but too polite to say so in front of such a large audience. Other people whispered and murmured, and eyed Luna with a new quality that was not respect, but was far removed from the pity and contempt with which she was typically viewed. 

"If I might present Rayyid," Dumbledore said, with an eloquent gesture toward the tallest of the lion-men. "He is the leader of the new Azkaban guard, some of whom you now see before you."

Another wave of murmurs and whispers went through the crowd. Harry felt a surge of hope. Surely these creatures, all fire and courage and heat, would be more than a match for any icy, soul-sucking dementors … let alone Voldemort's other followers. 

"They also, at the insistence of the rest of the Ministry, are my … personal escort," Dumbledore said with a hint of embarrassment and self-effacement.

Harry, who had once witnessed Dumbledore overpower two Aurors, Fudge, Umbridge, and Percy Weasley with a single hex, and who had also witnessed Dumbledore duel Voldemort to a standstill without breaking a sweat, didn't reckon that the aureliphim would be much use in that regard. If there was any threat so dire that Dumbledore couldn't handle it himself, or handle it with the assistance of Fawkes the phoenix, all the aureliphim in the world wouldn't matter. Still, he could see the point of the Ministry. They could not afford to risk Dumbledore, not so close on the heels of losing Fudge. 

"Perhaps we should go inside?" suggested McGonagall, glancing edgily at the lowering clouds and the hazy grey line of rain moving toward them across the lake. 

Dumbledore agreed, and for a few minutes there was the bustling hubbub of movement as everyone went into the Great Hall. The Great Quidditch-and-Greenhouse Clean-Up Crew mingled with the others, still filthy and disheveled, but no one much seemed to mind. 

Two of the aureliphim took positions on either side of the door. Two others moved to the head of the room, standing at opposite ends of the teachers' table. The fifth, Rayyid, stayed impassively beside Dumbledore, arms folded across his furry chest, burning eyes fixed on the assembled hush of students. 

"I know the confusion, distress, and grief you must be feeling," Dumbledore said, addressing them from the podium. He inclined his head toward the Slytherin table. "Your House most of all, having lost four of your own. I assure you, everything that can be done for the families of the deceased students, and everything that can be done to ensure your own continued safety and well-being, is being done."

Few of them looked comforted, Malfoy least of all. A solemn mood fell over the other tables as the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws all found themselves in the awkward position – Harry knew it too well by now – of feeling sorry for the Slytherins. 

"Please remember that every one of the faculty will be more than happy to help you come to terms with these recent events in any way possible," Dumbledore went on. "We shall be holding another memorial service tomorrow in the school chapel. I've spoken to the Stormdark family, who request that in lieu of flowers, donations be made to any of several worthwhile charity causes. Should this be something that interests you, I will be posting the information in the common rooms of each dormitory."

Like a crushing blow, Harry was struck with the knowledge that there had never been a funeral for Sirius. No memorial service, no charitable donations, no headstone, no flowers. His gaze sought out Gwenna Golden, who sat with Arcturus on her lap – the baby stared in open fascination at the nearest of the aureliphim. With no body, there couldn't very well be a burial, but they had to do something in Sirius' memory. 

When the assembly was finished – Dumbledore having spoken for another twenty minutes before opening the floor to questions and then fielding several about the Ministry, Fudge, the aureliphim, and his eventual return as headmaster – he raised his hands to quiet the students. 

"Now, I will release you to the rest of the day's pursuits," he said. "I hope to see many of you at the memorial service tomorrow evening. And I should request that the following students to report to my office immediately: Jane Kirkallen, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Luna Lovegood."

He left the Great Hall by way of the door Harry had once used to meet with the judges of the Triwizard Tournament, his aureliphim in his wake. 

"Go on, you four, go on," McGonagall said, making shooing motions. "Lunches will be saved for you. Go on."

Harry and Ron got up. Luna left the Ravenclaw table and ambled dreamily toward the door. Over on the far side of the room, Jane rose from the Slytherin table, pale but calm. As she passed behind Malfoy, Harry saw him tug on her sleeve, then whisper to her. He read the words "I will" on her lips as she replied.

Then the four of them headed for Dumbledore's office.

**

Continued in Chapter Twenty-Two: The Line of Derwent.