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Sunday, January 20, 1991. Mid-morning.


She had been hoping to see one of the Malfoy's famous white peacocks, but when the portkey deposited her on the grounds of Malfoy manor, there was only the silent, snow-covered landscape to greet her. The dirty white gravel of a carriage road crunched beneath her feet, kept, by unseen magic, mostly clear of snow, but not of the scruffy grass and weeds growing up through it, reassuring the observant visitor that the driveway was ancient and never actually used. Rita assumed somewhere on the estate was an old, disused out-building, filled with the accessories of an age when wizards had regularly hitched some hoofed animal to a carriage or sled, and the Malfoys had received visitors arriving by that means.

The portkey had brought her to a spot from which she could just make out the high, peaked roofs of the manor's towers, visible over the tops of the enormous yews and rhododendrons that had been allowed to encroach on the road here, creating the feel of a dark tunnel that she would emerge from once the lawns opened up in front of her. Behind her, the road wound through the woods, presumably leading off to some imposing wrought-iron gate, and, beyond that, an apparation point, then a wall of wards powerful enough to rival any in Britain. Most visitors would have begun at the apparation point; giving her the portkey had been a deliberate, if as-yet uninterpretable, gesture on Lucius' part.

She shivered and drew her cloak around herself. A gust of wind came through the bushes, blowing snow in her face and down the front of her robes. She tightened her scarf, but her neck was already cold and wet. She considered a drying charm, but thought better of it. She would be indoors shortly.

The road made one last turn around a stately cedar, and the house came into view. Malfoy Manor had gothic-style peaks and gables, with dark slate shingles and blue-green copper trim, all rising from a three-story, Rennaissance-style mansion of light stone that was noticeably more window than wall. The road continued on around the building, where she saw hints of dense hedges and formal gardens. Here, though, a stone walk took her the remaining hundred feet or so to the entrance. The front lawn was small, dotted with leafless shrubs that would no doubt be festooned with flowers come May. For now it looked quite bleak, waiting for spring (and, she thought to herself, her visit).

She stood under the little entrance portico and took a deep breath. The knocker on the door was a ring in the shape of a serpent, tail held in its mouth. She gave it a good solid two knocks, then waited. The only other sound was the wind in the trees — for the first time she noticed how striking it was to be free of the sounds of muggle machines. Even when she had been at Hogwarts, she had sometimes heard the sounds of aeroplanes flying in the distance. Rumor had it that Malfoy Manor was somewhere in the rural parts of Wiltshire, so it certainly might be isolated enough, but she suspected this kind of true peace and quiet was only achievable through magic. For all that she herself was a legendary source of noise, the silence was lovely. She wondered why more wizards didn't seek to create it. Yes, that would definitely go in her article.


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Lucius — they had been on a first name basis for years now — had met her at the door himself, and greeted her warmly with a kiss on the cheek. She returned the gesture, lingering just slightly longer than necessary.

"Rita! You look lovely as always. Dobby! Take Miss Skeeter's cloak."

After letting the nervous, bowing elf take her cloak and scarf, Lucius led her upstairs to a brightly-lit tower room overlooking the south lawn. Breakfast had been laid out for them on a table by the window. The entryway had been dim, and her eyes took a moment to adjust.

The table, laden with eggs and sausage, fruit and pastries, had been set for two. She looked up at him as he gestured to one of the chairs.

"Will your wife and son be joining us?" she asked.

"No, no, it is just the two of us today," he replied. "Narcissa and Draco are out visiting and won't be back until evening."

That sounded promising! Lucius had always been frustratingly difficult to get ahold of for more than a few brief quotes. Every few years he had taken her out to dinner in London somewhere and given her a decent interview, but this was the first time he had invited her into his home. Best not to question her luck, she had decided.

As they settled into their chairs, Lucius continued. "I'm afraid it's not a fancy French restaurant, but I didn't want you to think I was always trying to impress you."

She grinned and gestured dismissively. "Because you're certain you already have that taken care of! Yes, I know."

Lucius put on a look of mock-offence. "Of course not! I merely thought you would appreciate a different perspective on me, since you are always so intent on finding the 'real person' behind your interviewees." He smiled.

"And I am of course extremely grateful," she said, making eye contact and keeping it while she picked up a large strawberry and bit into it. "Mmmmm." Lucius kept her gaze for long enough to show he wasn't uncomfortable, then looked out the window, smiling. It had started to snow. He turned back to the table and served himself some eggs and sausage. He obviously wasn't going to initiate any insightful commentary on issues of the day. That was fine; she was used to taking the lead.


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She had kept to personal questions during the meal, asking about his family, the manor house, his childhood, and all the other things she routinely went through while digging for promising leads. She took copious notes. Not that she really needed them, but Lucius of all men would appreciate her careful attention to style. Besides, the ritual of fiddling with her quill gave her confidence and something to do with her hands if she got nervous or fidgety.

The elves had cleared the table, and Lucius was sipping his tea, watching her expectantly.

"So, to the real business. Is there, or is there not, a basilisk roaming the halls of Hogwarts? And what is the Board of Governors going to do about it?"

Lucius snickered. "Always direct. If only the members of the Wizengamot could be more like you." His smile looked quite genuine.

"Yes, yes, I will be sure to tell our readers how charming you are. The basilisk?"

"We have no proof it exists. There are eleven students and a staff member—"

"—also a cat?"

"I believe so. As I was saying, they are in the school's hospital wing suffering from an unusual paralysis. Visitors from St. Mungo's tell us they have never seen it before, but they all have insisted it must be due to a basilisk." He shrugged. "Under the circumstances, I think we cannot know for sure, and it seems unwise to leap to conclusions. Nevertheless, everyone knows the legend that Salazar Slytherin left a monster behind to defend the school in times of need, and it is only human to imagine oneself to be part of some epic story. So," he concluded, smiling, "there will always be believers."

"Come now Lucius, the legend isn't that simple! Everyone also knows the version in which the basilisk was left to purge the school of muggleborns. Surely that possibility influences the Board of Governors one way or the other."

Lucius laughed. The question was more opportunity than bait, and Rita knew it. "It might, if we agreed on anything, or had any ideas as to how to proceed — I speak only for myself, of course."

"Of course."

"So, in practice, no, I would not say that the Board is influenced by the story. It is true that Salazar Slytherin distrusted muggles, and by extension muggleborn wizards, but that was an eminently sensibly attitude for a British wizard at the time! Hogwarts isn't built like a castle for aesthetic reasons. Concerns about . . . the proper integration of muggleborn wizards and witches into our society are not new. Slytherin was simply a realistic man who, I like to think, planned for all contingencies." Lucius paused, smiling, as she took that down. "So, yes, Rita, given the hazards that muggleborns might pose to us, I would like to believe there is truly a basilisk in Hogwarts."

Rita looked startled. "A basilisk? You seem sure it wouldn't be an indiscriminate killer, but surely a thousand years is a long time for any enchantment to last on it."

Lucius shrugged. "We cannot know. I would of course like to believe it is a benevolent creature, if it exists. What we do know is that no one has, in fact, been killed. If it were truly a basilisk, it would have to be a magnificently well-controlled one, and if it were some other form of magic, modern or ancient, it would no doubt be very powerful. As I have told the rest of the Board, I believe that if some conscious entity is behind the paralysis cases, it could easily have killed had it chosen to. Yet it did not. We should not lose perspective."

Lucius paused, watching the snow fall, perhaps for dramatic effect. "But that was a week ago," he continued, "and for all of the truly elaborate precautions that Headmaster Dumbledore has caused the school to undergo, I hear that nothing exciting has happened there since. As much as I have great respect for the Headmaster, I am yet more confident that the magic of the Founders lives on in the school, safeguarding the students."

"So you aren't worried about Draco attending next year, then?"

Lucius blinked. Just a tiny hint of a flinch before regaining composure. "As a father, of course I worry! Just not about any basilisk left behind by Salazar Slytherin. I simply do not believe any magic of Slytherin's would harm a member of his own house." He smiled.

"So, would you say you are confident that your son will be sorted into Slytherin House? And are you certain the basilisk will only attack students from the other three houses"

"I repeat that I am not convinced of the existence of a basilisk at Hogwarts. Nevertheless, as to Draco's sorting, of course! It is a foregone conclusion for a Malfoy. But that's a distraction. And I would appreciate you not discussing my son at length in your article." He paused to sip his tea. "Beyond, I suppose, portraying me as a loving father, if you wish."

"Of course."

"Hmm. Perhaps your readers could look at it this way: Consider, for a moment, the implications if a basilisk were specifically protecting Slytherins from the hazards created by the current policy of admitting so many muggleborn students to Hogwarts."

Rita nodded; vats of ink had been expended on this issue. Between Grindelwald and Voldemort, the number of pureblood wizards in Britain had been reduced to a small fraction of its value fifty years ago. Most magical children in the country were now either halfbloods or muggleborn as a simple matter of proportion, since the general population of muggles kept producing magical children at the same rate. And Albus Dumbledore, with a zeal exceeding any Hogwarts headmaster before him, did his level best to ensure that any muggleborn with halfway-adequate academic preparation would, without fail, receive a Hogwarts letter.

"Now then," continued Lucius, "remember that all four founders had equal opportunities, so far as we know, to leave behind powerful magic to protect their own. We are not hearing about such things. Yet, according to my good friend, Professor Severus Snape, there remains an abundance of anti-Slytherin, anti-pureblood prejudice at Hogwarts."

"So . . ." Rita began, then paused, but Lucius wasn't going to finish her sentence for her. "Are you saying, then, that Salazar Slytherin's protective magic, if it exists, is especially . . . justified in manifesting now?"

"I couldn't say. I would not dream of second-guessing the Founders like that."

"Of course, of course. But surely any dangers facing the school are nothing compared to those of the Founder's era?" Lucius looked annoyed; that was good! "Don't you think a basilisk is overkill?" she asked, trying to draw him out.

"What?" he said, putting down his tea and turning fully towards her. "Do you think muggles are somehow friendlier to wizards today? Rita." He looked her in the eye. She was puzzled. "Miss Skeeter? Who was the last muggle you spoke to?"

She remained silent for a moment, admiring his set-up. She really hadn't spotted that one coming. Better play it up; he earned it. She looked down at the table, then quietly muttered the name:

"Vernon Dursley."

Lucius leaned across towards her, pointing. "My dear Rita, if you take one thing from this interview, let it be to remind your readers of this: Today, it is only the paper-thin wall of the Statute of Secrecy, nearly impossible to enforce as a law, but honored by the wizarding world out of solidarity and fear — it is this alone which separates us from fates we can barely imagine. Albus Dumbledore placed Harry Potter with a family that was more embarrassed by magic than they were cunning or efficiently vengeful. What if it had been their own son who had gotten a Hogwarts letter, thanks to Headmaster Dumbledore's active solicitation of muggleborn and half-blood students for his own school? It would take only one dark-hearted individual to betray us all to the muggles, and we could only hope our obliviators were faster than muggle devices." Lucius stopped, as if he had gotten carried away. "Don't print all of that. Be sensible. Don't give any ideas."

He took a deep breath and continued on. "We are talking about muggles, remember! Who fight wars with their soulless machines, their poisons, their weapons that destroy whole cities! We would be less fortunate than Harry Potter, I am sure. The muggles would do worse than give us a few bruises and starve us, if they could, and yet we allow their children directly into Hogwarts? It is insanity!" He slammed his fist down on the table. Rita was doubtful whether Lucius genuinely cared about the issue, but he was a spectacular actor and his quotes would sell papers.

"It is the responsibility," he said, appearing calmer now, "of old families like the Malfoys to be the voice of sense at times like these. We have grown complacent, and if the treatment of poor Harry Potter was not enough to make Wizarding Britain see reason, who knows? Maybe the discussion provoked by a possibly-mythical snake will be more compelling than the abuse of a very real magical child."

He sat back and once again let her finish taking notes. This was wonderful! She could fill whole pages by writing about his beautiful house, charming mannerisms, gorgeous hair, and graceful, aristocratic hands . . . sure, those all sold papers, and she'd throw them in. But it was all so much better with Lucius giving her exactly what she wanted! It was turning out to be a very good day.

When her quill stopped moving and she looked up at him, he smiled, almost apologetically, saying "I think that's enough for now, don't you? Let's go sit somewhere more comfortable."


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"'Ohhh, Lucius,' I purred, as we sat together by the fire, safe in the knowledge that we had the rest of the afternoon to renew our friendship. 'Lucius,' I said again, taking his aristocratic hand in mine, 'I simply cannot thank you enough for giving . . . my readers this opportunity . . .' Reader, I tell you, I was at a loss for words as I looked into the gorgeous steel-grey eyes of this fascinating, misunderstood, and powerful man. It was all I could do to refrain from reaching over and tangling my fingers in those pale blond locks, pulling him to me at last—"

"Oh, cut it out you two. Now I know you're just making this stuff up!" Becky looked put out. Rissa and Sandra had snatched a copy of the Prophet from someone and were doing a dramatic reading of Rita's article.

"You know she was thinking it," countered Rissa, looking exasperated.

"Yeah!" said Sandra, "we were just saying it all out loud!"

There were quite a few students from up and down the table who had been listening in, hoping for a spectacle. From these came grumbling, and a sixth-year boy complained "what did you have to do that for? They were just getting to the good part, right, girls?"

"Yeah, Becky," said Sandra, "it was just a little further before she started unbuttoning his silk shirt—"

"—running her fingers down the pale, pale skin of his smooth chest," added Rissa.

"And," finished Sandra, pointing at Angie, "it wouldn't take much more before we had Angie on her back on the table, acting it out!"

Angie was sitting next to Sandra and had so far remained silent.

"See?" said Sandra, pointing at the spreading pinkness on Angie's face as attention was turned to her, "now she's blushing. You've ruined the mood."

"Right," said Becky, "because what I really want is to have someone writhing around naked in front of me during lunch."

This was followed by cries of "speak for yourself!" and "we can clear a spot down here!"

It was too much for Angie. She was out of her seat before anyone thought to stop her. The other Slytherins could only watch as a prefect stationed at the doors moved nervously to block her way; no one had so far had the nerve to simply run out of the Great Hall since the current safety regime had been instated.

Angie halted ten feet from him, a look of utter panic on her face as she realized she could get in serious trouble for leaving without an escort. "Hey, um," said the prefect, as Angie looked past him at the doors, barely acknowledging his existence as anything other than an obstacle.

Angie wasn't athletic, but she wasn't out of shape either, and she had the advantages of surprise, adrenaline, and motivation. She darted to the left. The prefect tried to intercept her. Directly in front of him, she attempted to change direction at full speed. She slipped, falling to one knee in front of him and catching her fall with her hands. The boy had a split second to stop himself from falling over her. In the short moment it took him to recover enough to grab for her robes, she sprung forward, launching herself under his arm and out of his reach.

She slammed shoulder-first into one of the heavy wooden doors, hitting it with just enough force to swing it open ten inches. It was enough for her to slip through, and she was gone before the prefect could catch her or any of the professors had thought to draw their wands.


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Severus Snape had watched the whole thing, but had not seen fit to intervene. Let Albus take responsibility for pretending to be paranoid. He gave a questioning look to the Headmaster, who looked like he wasn't sure what to do. Severus had seen that look countless times before, always in situations where either nothing was wrong in the first place, or else there was an obvious choice that sane people would make, and which Albus would go to incredible lengths to avoid choosing.

"I could go after her, if you like," Severus offered. "She will probably run directly to her room. Shall I go with her so that we can both be eaten by the basilisk together, should it choose this moment to make an appearance? Of course, at her current speed I have no chance of catching her. But perhaps it would make you feel better? For the sake of appearances, then?"

The headmaster didn't so much as glance at Severus' finely-crafted smirk, but continued looking sincerely worried. After a moment he muttered "Yes, yes, I suppose you had better. Thank you Severus."

Damn him.


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"Heh," said Bernard, watching Angie run by. "Looks like she got worked up and we were sitting too far away to watch." He nudged Oren, who had been listening closely to Sandra and Rissa's performance, at least as best as he had been able from twenty feet and five conversations away. It helped that the girls were being loud. Once he saw what happened with Angie, though, he tried to look very interested in his soup.

"Looks like Snape is going after her," observed Erwin.

Sometimes Oren had wondered why he had hung around with these two the first time around. He often wondered why he did it now. At the moment, Oren could come up with an endless stream of embarrassing things that Erwin or Bernard could be saying, but weren't, because they weren't sophisticated enough to come up with them.

Right, that was one of the reasons. Oren told himself that this helped him keep out of trouble and preserved his cover, and it wasn't just the social path of least resistance.


Although he was relieved to drop the conversation for now, Oren had to admit that the idea of something happening between Lucius Malfoy and Rita Skeeter was funny — at least in the way he envisioned it. Oren was pretty sure a faithfully enacted roleplaying scenario involving Rita and Lucius would end with Narcissa catching them in the bedroom — listening through the door, as Lucius went through his wardrobe excitedly talking about wonderful little shops in Italy, how to pair velvet with fabric of other textures, how hard it was to find heavily-charmed robes that also draped properly, and the nuances of getting Slytherin greens to match precisely across different materials and light sources. For this last, Oren imagined Erwin and Bernard's look of horror as he tried to explain metamerism to them; they vaguely knew Oren wanted to be a furniture designer, but tried their best to escape from any conversations that went down that route. He kept having to remind himself that this wasn't a very good test for whether he was blowing his cover, since Erwin and Bernard had reacted in precisely the same ways the first time around, too.

Oren really did know more about Slytherin green than anybody. And Lucius Malfoy — probably unconsciously, Oren conceded — really did do a good job of putting together outfits that stayed coordinated under all the weird light sources wizards made use of. Oren noticed those things. If he ever got stuck roleplaying Lucius Malfoy and needed to gain control of the situation before it got out of hand, he was tempted to swiftly take off his trousers, point to his crotch, and exclaim "Look! Look! My green silk boxers match my merino wool calf socks, even under the light of Snape's ridiculous green desk lamp!" That ought to stop them all cold, he imagined. Not that he had ever owned green silk boxers, or would be likely to wear them if he did.


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"Miss Crane, are you in there?" Snape had exercised his right as Head of House to go into the girls' dorm without setting off alarms. He had seen no sign of Angie along the way, and had no plan ready if there were no response to his knocking.

"Uh, yes," came a nervous voice from within.

"I take it, then, that you have not been eaten by a basilisk during your recent unexpected trip from the Great Hall?"

Giggling. "No."

"And you are not petrified?"

"Er, no."

"I'm sure the headmaster will be . . . relieved. Would I be correct in surmising that we would both be embarrassed by discussing whatever . . . prompted . . . your rapid departure?"

"Uh . . ." Silence for a moment. He waited. "Maybe. I think so."

Snape was certain the girl had run from the hall in response to teasing, but since she had been blushing and was not in tears, experience had taught him it was better not to draw further attention to the situation by asking more questions.

"Very well. I trust you will let me know if my involvement is required."

"Thanks, professor." She sounded genuinely grateful.

He smiled, and was briefly glad she couldn't see it.

"You are very welcome, Miss Crane."



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The evening after Rita Skeeter's article was published, Dumbledore summoned the four heads of house and the defense professor to his office. They were sitting there now, ostensibly planning, and in reality bickering. Everyone knew the meeting had been called in response to the article, although this had so far gone unmentioned.

"Perhaps we could trap it?" Professor Flitwick suggested. "It might be magic-resistant, but large enough iron bars ought to hold it."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I assure you I would have set such a trap myself if I had been able to devise a magical means of detecting the basilisk. I am certainly open to suggestions."

"Ah, yes, you see," began Flitwick, gesturing excitedly, "given the castle's magic it may be impossible to detect directly, but what if the trigger condition were something extremely general? How heavy did you estimate this thing would be, Erasmus? Several tons?"

Eeles nodded. "Assuming," he began, counting conditions on his fingers, "that it's an adult, that written records of basilisk biology are accurate, and that it's actually a basilisk in the first place and not something that simulates the effect of one, sure. In that case I presume it would be two to five times the mass of a large python."

"Yes, yes," said Flitwick, waving his hands, "all your disclaimers apply, of course. We are nevertheless permitted to solve one problem at a time!" The rest of the staff nodded, and Eeles seemed content that he wouldn't be blamed for anything, so Flitwick continued. "What if our trigger was simply based on weight alone?"

"Wouldn't a large group of students set it off, then?" asked Sprout.

"No, no! Not necessarily," said Flitwick, "since we can have it check for humans, or the presence of non-humans! Although I imagine a full-grown basilisk would be quite heavy."

"Presumably," began Snape, pausing long enough for everyone to look expectantly at him, "you will warn your gamekeeper not to go . . . exploring." He ignored the exasperated looks of the others, and turned towards Eeles. "There is another problem, of course. Perhaps, Erasmus, in your previous . . . employment . . . you have had the experience of seeing a dragon in a trap?"

Eeles grinned. "Not directly, no, but I've heard it," he said, "from several miles away! Set the jungle on fire for acres around, too. And that was just when they had to catch a sick one! A basilisk would probably be the same size as the little dragons we had back in the Congo reservation — can't have a huge mountain of a dragon crawling around in the canopy. Jungle dragons are all the smaller, more agile type. Feisty buggers. Glad I just had to deal with poachers."

"It's a good point, though," Eeles continued, looking serious. "You realize trapping the basilisk will be the easy part, right? I'm sure you've got ideas for what to do with it when you've got it, of course, but whatever that is, I suggest you do it as quickly as possible, before word gets out that, you know, you have a real live basilisk here."

Most of the others seemed puzzled. "Thank you for the cautionary tale, Erasmus," said McGonagall, delicately, "but I assure you we have no idea what to do with it once, as you say, we have got it."

Eeles shook his head. "Eh, you'll figure it out. Sure, it'll take thirty of you to get it out of here, but animals are nice and predictable." He looked around the room, his gaze finally resting hopefully on Snape, who sighed.

"If I am not mistaken," offered Snape, looking at Eeles, "your point is that . . . disposing of a basilisk is a trivial problem, as it merely requires a small army of wizards?"

"Precisely!" said Eeles, happily, and missing any irony. "But you have no idea what a horde of lunatics — crazed would-be heroes — you will find on your doorstep if you aren't careful! Honestly, I have no idea why you don't have one now. Hm. You don't right?"

Dumbledore laughed and shook his head. "Not yet, unless you count the Ministry man with the dog."

Eeles nodded. "Good, good. That means British wizards are a skeptical lot, right? Won't go rushing in without proof?" For this comment he received a lot of uncomfortable looks. "Maybe they're just lazy?" he offered, netting a slightly different set of uncomfortable looks. He sighed and shrugged. "Well, in most of the rest of the world, people seem to have a pathological attraction to big dangerous animals. In any event, I think you ought to be prepared to have adventurers coming out of the woodwork if the basilisk ever does turn up."

"How fortunate," drawled Snape, a hint of a smile on his lips, "that we have you with us, then."

"Oh no, Merlin, no!" said Eeles, shaking his head and laughing. "Not my job this time! No, no, no! You hired me for a teaching position," he said, shaking his finger at Dumbledore, "not crowd control. Get your auror corps for that — they're the ones who're all trained to follow rules and exercise restraint and arrest people and so on."

Snape snorted; the others looked mildly horrified. Eeles threw up his hands. "I'm just saying," he explained, "all I really know about dealing with problem people is how to curse the shit out of 'em. Just warn your aurors and get a team from dragon restraint out here in time. That's all assuming the damn thing doesn't sleep for another century, of course. Personally, I'm hoping it's at least until the end of the semester, once I'm gone."


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The conversation went on in that vein for a while, allowing Severus to re-emphasize, in several different ways, that the idiocy of man was without bound, and most especially the idiocy of Hogwarts students. Eeles seemed to think this was for his benefit (as if the permanent staff had not heard it all before), and was gratified that at least someone had listened to him. Beyond that, though, Severus sat back, biding his time, and allowed Flitwick and Dumbledore to do most of the hashing out of details for the proposed enchantments.

Dumbledore had made a show of taking notes. Severus was never sure who the Headmaster thought he was fooling by that — it wasn't like the old man didn't already have some byzantine plan all set to go. Probably. But Dumbledore had to look like he was building consensus, didn't he, so the next bit came as expected: the final flurry of scribbling, the grave look, hands resting on the desk. "Now that's settled—" the Headmaster began, leaving just enough dramatic pause for Severus to interrupt and finish the sentence.

"—we will stop pretending the basilisk entered the halls under its own volition?" Severus waited, prepared to say something sarcastic about how obviously it was silly for him to suggest that, since it was too politically inconvenient around here to deal with reality for the foreseeable future, or, apparently ever — but, to his surprise, Dumbledore simply nodded.

"Surely you don't have a suspect, do you?" asked Pomona.

"Unfortunately, no," replied the Headmaster, in a tone Severus found unconvincing. That was worrisome. Apparently Minerva thought so too.

"Albus," she said, "if you know something that could help us preserve the safety of the students, you had better have a very good reason for keeping it to yourself." The others made noises of agreement. Dumbledore was notoriously difficult to influence this way; Snape was continually amazed how the Headmaster's friends were nevertheless willing to keep trying.

"I have only the usual overheard gossip and groundless aspersions cast willy-nilly upon students and staff alike in a time of great tension," said Dumbledore, sighing and looking around the room as if to indicate this was the final word. "As to a plan, it is my hope that we might appear to let down our guard, while relying upon a combination of continued vigilance on our part and whatever traps we might devise."

Snape had lost interest in the discussion at this point, and the other heads of house seemed relieved to have a definite plan. Eeles just shrugged, as if to say 'I'll go along with it, but I think you're all crazy.' It was a gesture he had used a lot lately, often accompanied by the gestures for 'what can you expect from a school founded by somebody who kept a basilisk for a pet' and 'sweet Merlin, why did I ever decide working with humans was a good idea?'




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Author's note:


I don't actually know which bits of the conversation between Rita and Lucius were real.

The description of Malfoy Manor, though, is directly based on the movie version, which involves CGI additions to the actual building where the Malfoy Manor scenes were filmed. I can only assume the additions were intended to give it a darker, more sinister appearance. Since I regard this as an unfortunate choice on the part of the producers, I don't think it's fully true to canon, so I decided not to play it up in the story. Nevertheless, it's way too good to waste completely, since when I saw it, I knew exactly what Oren would think of the movie version of it.

If you were to get Oren drunk enough — this would be very unlikely, as he would never drink — but if you did, and if the Malfoys weren't around (as he would genuinely not want to hurt their feelings), he would tell you that Malfoy Manor was an architectural monstrosity, born of class anxiety and slavish imitation of muggle culture, and designed by a misguided, aesthetically-challenged architect for a client who should have known better.

Pairing a gothic roof with a renaissance base would look unnatural to a muggle; on a wizarding building — unfettered by the limitations of muggle fashions and construction methods — it was an abomination. And, for the residence of a great family, it ought to be scandalous, yet the Malfoys continued to receive visitors, none of whom saw anything out of the ordinary about Malfoy Manor.

Oren would then point to buildings like the Hogs Head or even the Burrow, had he ever seen it, as examples of an authentic wizarding architecture — true expressions of the spirit of wizarding Britain in all its native genius and creativity — which there was no good reason at all not to emulate in buildings of less humble purpose.

He would probably then go on to quote John Ruskin until your ears bled.



This seems like a good place for a reminder that the opinions of characters are not necessarily those of the author. :P