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1: Nothing Important Happened Today2: Shape and Diverge3: Summer Night Showtime4: Integral/Extrinsic5: Some Internal Bell6: The Best Kinds of Monsters7: Remember October, November? Part 18: Remember October, November? Part 29: Unimprobable10. The Dark Line on the World11. Winterlude12: Three To Get Ready13: And Four to Go14: Our Holiday Home, Part 115: Our Holiday Home, Part 216: The Most Final Equality17: I’ve Been to a Marvellous Party18: Look Now Look Again19: What to Do While Waiting For the Other Foot to Fall20: So Helpfully Anomalous

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19: What to Do While Waiting For the Other Foot to Fall

“Alright; Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. I got this.” Scott stared hard at the wooden hoop on the floor before him.

Ron was doing the same. “Destination, Deliberation… What was the second one again?”

“Determination,” Hermione supplied. She looked slightly worried. “I was hoping for a bit more detailed instruction than that…”

The Apparition instructor was still giving directions and Scott listened in with one ear while the rest of his brain tried to figure out exactly what Apparition was. Teleportation usually had little to do with willpower and a lot more to do with technology, but standing in the Great Hall with a little wooden hoop to concentrate on didn’t seem to be a likely starting point towards forming a wormhole or taking a foray into hyperspace. Destination, Determination, and Deliberation? That was all that was involved? There wasn’t even an incantation to learn. Scott hadn’t the slightest idea how that was going to work, though at least it was a lot easier to grasp than quantum entanglement. Maybe this first lesson would be theory, and more explanation would be given at a different time.

It became apparent a few seconds later that he was supposed to figure how it worked, and quickly. The instructor began counting up to three, and Scott braced himself. He still wasn’t sure what was going to happen.

“—THREE!” Twycross shouted.

At the last second Scott stopped himself from trying and instead did nothing, standing in place. He observed as the students about the room humiliated themselves by hopping, sliding, falling, and otherwise flailing in efforts to cross spacetime. Ron, like Scott, stood still in confusion. Hermione did a sort of graceful sidestep towards her hoop and then quickly resumed her original position, her face embarrassed. Scott turned and looked over his shoulder to find Harry, who was regaining his balance after spinning in place.

For the second attempt Scott decided to at least give it a shot. He focused on the hoop, boring into it with his eyes. Destination — check. He then clenched his jaw and channelled an intense desire to enter the innocuous ring. I’m gonna Apparate right into you, you piece of shit, he thought, and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it. Determination — check. At the count of three, he combined his force of will with his target information, and deliberately stepped forward with the intent of skipping over the short distance.

A window in space sprang into being in front of him.

“Shit,” Scott blurted. He lashed out within the shape and slammed the aperture shut.

In retrospect, the results of his almost-Apparation weren’t particularly surprising. The wizarding methods which produced Apparition weren’t all that dissimilar from how he created apertures; he had to know where he was going, and then he cut a temporary hole through folded space.

Feeling no small amount of trepidation, Scott scanned the area to see if anyone else had noticed. Fortunately, his position on the right side of the room meant that only anyone behind him could have seen the portal, as it was one dimensional. It was lucky for him that Hermione and Ron were the only ones to his back.

Because the portal was a simple window in space, in that it had no edges and no sound to identify it, to an observer’s eye it would have appeared that everything in front of Scott’s hoop had been briefly magnified; an aperture was only truly easy to spot when it opened to a distant location that contrasted sharply with its surrounds. Ron didn’t seem to have noticed, but Hermione must have caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, because she gave Scott a look that said she knew that he had done something.

After that Scott didn’t bother trying to Apparate. He spent the rest of the lesson gazing half-heartedly at his hoop and wondering how he was going to pass his Apparition test. His interest was briefly recaptured when Susan Bones Splinched herself. He knew that some sort of magical effect had to be involved. From his own experiences with unfortunate losses of limbs, Scott was well aware that if Susan’s leg had been physically cut off of her body then she would have done more than just cry.

The instructor must have been used to colossal failure, because he showed no signs of disappointment as he dismissed the class after a solid lesson’s worth of negligible results. Scott fell into step with Neville and Ron on the way out of the Great Hall. They walked quickly to catch up with Harry and Hermione, who were discussing something up ahead.

“Well, that was complete rubbish,” Ron said, letting out a breath. “I didn’t even budge an inch.”

“All I did was fall over,” Neville said despondently.

Scott made a face. “And all I did was what I can already do.”

Ron looked over at him. “You did something?”

“I opened an aperture, which wasn’t the point of the class, I think. Maybe they’ll give me extra credit.” Realising that Ron probably didn’t know what he meant by aperture, Scott clarified by saying, “An aperture is one of those portal things I can make, you know, the ones that I can use to go places.”

“You made one right in the middle of the Hall? That’s brilliant,” Ron said, chuckling. “I can’t believe I missed it.”

“It’s a damn good thing that you did. I don’t think anyone saw it, so I lucked out.”

“Harry was talking to Malfoy before the lesson started,” Neville blurted out. Scott and Ron both turned to stare at him, and he shrugged. “I thought it might be important.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Probably asked the ponce if he’s a Death Eater or not.”

“Let’s find out,” Scott said.

The three of them increased their pace even further and caught Harry and Hermione at the foot of the stairwell.

“—wanted him to keep a lookout, Hermione, he specifically said ‘lookout’,” Harry was saying.

“And I said I believe you, but we don’t know what he meant by that,” Hermione argued.

“He meant ‘lookout’,” Scott said, coming up behind them and breaking into the conversation. “It’s one word and it has one meaning. You can’t dictionary your way out of this one.”

“I understand that, thank you, Scott—” Hermione said acerbically. Scott smiled to himself. “—but until we know why he was asking—”

“That’s why I’m going to keep an eye on him,” Harry said, interrupting her. “If I can see where he’s been going it shouldn’t be too hard to suss out why.” He threw a quick look at Scott, and then continued, “Information is ammunition, Hermione.”

“If you must,” Hermione relented. “Just don’t do anything untoward.”

“Do what she says, Harry, but notice that she didn’t mention me,” Scott said. “Whatever information you’re looking for, I’ll be happy to beat it out of Malfoy for you.”

“Only if you let me hold him down,” Harry said with a tight smile.

Ron shook his head. “If you think I’d let the two of you do that without me at least kicking him in the stones a couple times—”

“I simply cannot believe all of you,” Hermione said, cutting Ron off.

“I didn’t say anything,” Neville protested.

Scott shrugged. “You were thinking it.”

“Sort of,” Neville admitted.

“And while we’re on the subject of disbelief,” Hermione continued as if Scott and Neville hadn’t conversed, “Scott, what happened when you tried to Apparate?”

Scott’s suspicions that Hermione had noticed were confirmed. “I created an aperture by mistake.”

“There aren’t any side effects, are there?”

“Not really. It’s just a small hole cut into the universe.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You cut a hole into the universe?!”

“It’s not a big deal, universes have a great capacity for self-repair,” Scott assured her. “Natural apertures appear all the time: black holes, neutron stars, the focus of supernovas, etcetera. Something so small like what I made isn’t a threat. That being said, it’s never a good idea to go crazy and make a shit ton of apertures.”

“I’d still appreciate it if you didn’t cut any more holes into our universe. We have to live here, you know.”

“I absolutely guarantee that just me moving around through apertures will not create any issues. A single pinprick through your skin won’t hurt you; it’s the same principle on a larger scale.” Scott sighed. “I know you care about this stuff even if nobody else does, so a quick explanation. Apertures work under a principle that we call Bachaim’s Aperture. The principle itself is about four hundred pages worth of theoretical equations, so I’ll condense it by saying that essentially Bachaim’s Aperture states that the apertures are totally impossible. Every branch of science, hypothetical or proven, blatantly contradicts our ability to travel faster than light between and within any universe or dimension. On paper, what I did during the Apparition lesson simply can’t be done. It’s a mathematical absurdity.”

Hermione seemed vaguely troubled. No doubt Scott’s statement contradicted with her faith in the status quo of knowledge.

“So don’t bother asking for the details behind apertures; nobody knows how it’s done, only that it’s technically impossible. The usual saying goes that the apertures work because we need them to, so you might sometimes hear a facetious reference to Occam’s Aperture.”

Hermione got a laugh out of that, though she was the only one. The joke went far above the heads of the rest of Scott’s friends, leaving them looking blank.

“I don’t get it,” Ron said.

“Me neither,” Harry concurred.

Scott patted him on the shoulder. “That’s alright, guys, most people don’t — and it’s not that funny anyway.” He focused back on Hermione. “Will that pre-emptive summary suffice?”

“Just barely,” Hermione told him archly, but there was a smile playing around her lips.

The rest of February flew by in a whirl of class work and weekend Apparition lessons. As time progressed, Scott found himself trying to read the shape of the universe increasingly less. It might have been the beginning stages of complacency, but he simply didn’t see much point in it anymore. The shape remained as occluded as ever. He made no further progress concerning the Death Eaters.

It was in the very last week of the month that a notice went up on the bulletin board. The usual Apparition lesson had been cancelled in lieu of the customary trip to Hogsmeade that the student body so eagerly anticipated. Scott and his friends took note of this on their way out of the tower on the morning of the 24^th.

“Wicked!” Ron proclaimed, enthused by the promise of a trip to Hogsmeade. “I was worried I might get an Apparition lesson for my birthday.”

“No, you get to celebrate in style,” Scott said.

“That guarantees a trip to Honeydukes,” Harry said, grinning at Ron.

Ron didn’t take the bait, replying with a certain dignity, “I think we all like Honeydukes.”

“Some of us more than others,” Hermione said fondly.

Scott started humming the tune to ‘I Want Candy’ but nobody else understood, so he stopped. The highly limited pop culture capacity of his magical friends often frustrated him. “Breakfast, anyone?” he asked, changing the subject. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want my bacon to get cold.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Perish the thought.”

On their collective way to the Great Hall, Scott was left to wonder what he was going to get Ron for his birthday. He didn’t feel knowledgeable enough about Quidditch to buy anything of that nature, and it was highly unlikely that Ron would be able to appreciate the latest videogame — not without an entire home entertainment system to go with it, anyway. Perhaps some sort of knife would do? Ron was a guy. Guys liked knives.

But how large a knife, and what kind?

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked, breaking Scott away from his concentration on cutlery.

“Knives. You like knives, don’t you, Harry?”

“I guess so.” Harry blinked. “Honestly, it’s not something I’ve given much thought.”

“If you had a knife, you’d understand,” Scott muttered, returning to his introspection.

Scott supposed the real question was, did Ron already have a knife? If he did, there was only one person who was likely to know. During his first break period, while the fifth-years were moving between classes, Scott went searching for her.

Normally the universe might have provided some assistance in locating a Prime, but as usual the shape proved unhelpful. Apparently Ginny was slightly too low on the scale of Priority to be obvious; he’d have to do his searching the old-fashioned way.

“Have you seen Ginny?” he asked the first group of fifth-year girls whom he thought had been in Ginny’s company at some point. For his trouble he received a mixture of giggles and blank stares. “Ginny Weasley? Someone? Anyone?”

“She has Potions in the morning,” a girl Scott recognised as a fellow Gryffindor volunteered.

Scott thanked her and sped off. His months spent wandering about Hogwarts were put to good use as he navigated the maze of hallways with ease and located the Potions classroom. He caught Ginny just outside the doorway. She was in the process of separating herself from a group of friends and entering the room when he grabbed her by the elbow and steered her away.

“What is it?” she said, looking a little put out at the way he had dragged her from the door.

“Hogsmeade, this weekend — you going?”

“Of course. You came over here to ask me that?”

“No, that was a side note,” Scott admitted. “Do you know if Ron has a knife?”

“A knife?”

“Yeah, like a pocket knife.”

“What would Ron do with a knife?”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“That’s what you’re getting him for his birthday?” Ginny shook her head. “You know he’ll just cut himself.”

“That’s okay, inadvertent self-mutilation is an important part of becoming a man,” Scott explained to her.

“Speaking from experience?”

“So would you say that Ron is a butterfly knife or a switchblade kind of guy?” Scott asked, ignoring her question.

“How should I know? Look, I have to go to class,” she said, pulling away from him.

“Thanks for nothing, Gin,” Scott grumbled as he watched her go.

Well, that had proved to be a fruitless side trip. Scott took a meandering route back to the common room, still preoccupied with his birthday conundrum. He could always ask Hermione what Ron would like, but he had pretty much already decided to get Ron a knife and Hermione was unlikely to be enthused by that choice of present. In fact, he was certain she’d oppose it. There was nothing to be gained from asking her opinion.

Oh well. He’d figure something out.

***---~**~---***

“Ginny!”

What was that? Ginny looked up from her paper, bemused.

“GINNY!”

Someone was calling for her. From the bottom of the dormitory stairs, judging from the echo and the fact that the voice was male.

“Gin and tonic!”

Oh. That had to be Scott. Ginny marked her place in her textbook and rolled up her parchment, standing to go and see what he wanted.

Scott’s voice came to her louder after she stepped outside the door to her dorm. “Ginny-Ginny-Ginger!” he sang in a syrupy falsetto.

Ginny scowled, hoping that not too many other students were listening in. “What?” she yelled back before he could create even more annoying nicknames.

“Ginnysis!”

She knew he had heard her. Now he was just being obnoxious. “Shut it,” she said crossly upon reaching the common room. “The whole house has probably heard you by now.”

“And you, my sweet little Ginnycide,” Scott responded, grinning at her.

“Did you actually want something, or were you just looking to get hexed?” Ginny asked him ominously.

“So quick to violence,” he reproached her. “I merely wanted to ask if you were still going with us to Hogsmeade tomorrow for Ron’s birthday.”

“Yes, of course I am,” she told him. She had already told Dean. He hadn’t been happy about it, but family was important. On the more ulterior side of things, she was looking forward to a day in Hogsmeade without her boyfriend. The tiresome aspects of their relationship were becoming increasingly pronounced.

“Excellent. You know, Harry will be there too,” Scott mentioned offhand.

Why had he said that? Obviously Harry would be with Ron and Hermione, he always was. Ginny wasn’t completely sure if Scott was insinuating what she thought he was, but she didn’t like it. “So?” she said defiantly, refusing to give him the reaction he was looking for.

He only smiled. “Just sayin’,” he drawled. He ambled over towards the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. “See you tomorrow, then.”

The next morning Ginny awoke and lay there for a moment, letting the sunlight streaming through the windows dispel the fog in her head. It was a few moments before she remembered that there was a trip to Hogsmeade ahead of her. With Harry.

She considered that while she brushed her hair. It had been apparent for some time that Dean was growing increasing chuckable, to the point where it was now practically imminent. Their joint snogging venture had reached its terminus.

None of that, however, had anything to do with Harry — or so she kept telling herself. Just because she was about to become boyfriend-less meant nothing in regards to Harry’s interest in her, or rather, the lack thereof. It would have to be enough that she could look forward to being blissfully single again.

That wasn’t to imply that she wouldn’t enjoy spending time with Harry. That was a given.

At breakfast she was able to use Ron’s birthday as an excuse not to sit by Dean, an arrangement that suited her well enough. She watched with amusement as Harry tried to use his fork to stab Scott every time he made a grab for Harry’s bacon.

“Knock it off!” Harry glared at Scott.

“I will — after I’ve stolen all your bacon,” Scott said mildly, munching on his ill-gotten gains.

“Get him, Harry,” Ron encouraged his friend as Harry made another attempt to spear Scott.

“Does this happen a lot?” Ginny asked Hermione, observing as the power struggle for bacon continued.

“I daresay breakfast wouldn’t be the same without it,” Hermione replied, sighing.

“Hey, slow down,” Scott was saying to Ron. “We’re going to Honeydukes today, remember?”

“Sod off, I’m enjoying a birthday breakfast,” Ron said. He took an especially large bite to emphasise his point. “You already wouldn’t let me eat those Chocolate Cauldrons this morning.”

Scott shrugged. “Why waste room on those?”

“Because they were a present!”

Harry frowned like he was trying to remember something. “What Chocolate Cauldrons?”

“The ones you got me,” Ron said to him.

Harry’s frown deepened. “I didn’t get you any.”

“Somebody did,” Ron said through another mouthful.

Harry resumed eating without further comment, though he still looked faintly troubled. Ginny wondered why an uneaten box of Chocolate Cauldrons was worthy of notice.

“You’ll get my present later,” Scott told Ron.

“Probably because he has to buy it in Hogsmeade,” Hermione said knowingly.

Scott shook his head. “That’s insensitive of you. How could I possibly forget a day like today?” He pointed up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. “Look, even the weather’s improved for Ron!”

Everyone looked up to see for themselves and Scott utilised the opportunity to steal every single piece of bacon on Harry’s plate.

When Harry looked back down at his substantially smaller meal he picked his fork back up again in one clenched fist. “Oh, you little gobshite—”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, but Ginny didn’t miss the smile the flitted over her face as Harry and Scott wrestled for possession of the fork and Ron encouraged them from the sidelines.

Ginny felt a little odd about that. When had her brother and friends become so comfortable around Scott? She knew that she had to have missed something, and experienced a small pang of hurt at her exclusion. She’d have thought that she might be used to that already, especially since a fair amount of that distance was her own fault. In her absence the others had become accustomed to Scott’s presence. She wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was she the only one who found him so unnervingly calculating? Every time he looked at her she felt like she was a puzzle piece, and he was trying to discern where she fit.

His latest late night revelation had also been disturbing. She could, after some thought, understand his reasoning. He was right, in many ways; it was a war, and the Death Eaters were attempting to kill Ginny’s friends. Acceptance didn’t equal comfort, though. How could Harry just put it behind him? What did Scott and Harry know that the rest of them didn’t seem to? There had to be something. She just couldn’t think of what.

It was windy and wet outside when they started the walk to Hogsmeade. The snow had melted away and the sheen of water covering the world accentuated all the darker colours, especially the abundant brown of dead grass. The air was strong with the smells of wet soil and bark, still carrying with it sharp remnant hints of a fading winter. It was cold, but the bitterness had left and robbed the wind of much of its bite. Ginny took a deep breath and let the chilly air breed a slight ache in her lungs.

She noted with pleasure that Harry had fallen into step next to her. Just a little ahead of them Scott was constructing some sort of epic tale for Ron and Hermione involving killer crocodiles.

“What’d you get Ron for his birthday?” Harry asked her as they walked.

“A book of photos from the Cannons’ last season,” Ginny said. “You?”

“New Keeper gloves.”

Quidditch and food for presents. That meant a happy birthday for her brother. “Did Scott tell you what he got him?”

Harry shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t say.”

“He asked me if Ron already had a knife.”

“Really? Cool.” Harry actually looked pleased with the prospect. “I wonder if he’d get me one for my birthday.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. Boys. “Yeah, then the two of you can have matching missing fingers.”

“Hey, I can handle myself,” Harry said in a wounded tone.

“Harry, you can barely touch a broomstick without getting sent to the hospital wing,” she pointed out. “Merlin knows what you’d do to yourself playing with a knife.”

“I wouldn’t play with it…”

“We’ll see how long it takes Ron to hurt himself.”

“It’s a bet, then,” Harry agreed even though they had never discussed any terms for a wager.

It was funny how easily the two of them could fall into such byplay without having held a real discussion for months. Ginny had stopped caring what it meant. So long as it still held true, that was what mattered to her.

She glanced up ahead again. Scott had sprinted a goodly way forward and was amusing himself by stepping on the backs of Seamus and Dean’s shoes, tripping them up. “FLAT TIRE!” he crowed victoriously as they swore at him.

Ginny judged the distance between Scott and herself, and, seeing it was adequate, took the opportunity presented. “Harry, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“It’s about Scott.”

Harry’s demeanour shifted slightly towards guarded. “What about him?”

“Just something I’ve noticed; don’t you think that you’ve all become a bit too comfortable with him lately?” she asked carefully.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Harry said evasively. “We’ve known him for a good while now. He’s our friend.”

“But how much do you really know about him?”

Now Harry became outright defensive. “What are you saying?”

“Harry, it wasn’t that long ago that you didn’t trust him at all, and now it’s like he’s your best mate,” Ginny tried to explain.

“So he’s my friend, what’s wrong with that?” Harry said, a note of anger creeping into his voice.

Ginny refused to be cowed. If he wanted to get angry for no reason, that was his problem. “I just don’t think you should count on him like that.”

“At least he wants to help, which is more than I can say for most people!” he said roughly.

And that was reason enough to accept so dangerous a person as Scott into their midst? She knew that the indifference and deceit that he was so often subjected to were a sore spot for Harry, but that didn’t mean he should go running to Scott for help. “Harry, he kills people!”

“Then maybe it’s bloody well time that somebody did!” Harry retorted.

Ginny stared at him. “You’re not serious.”

“Aren’t I?” he asked harshly. “Here’s someone with some answers, who knows how to do something besides sit around and wait for Voldemort to kill somebody else, and you want me to turn him away? Maybe I like having someone around who knows how to fight, who knows how to win, Ginny! How to fight the real fight instead of this ‘good’ fight that everyone keeps telling me we’re in, someone who knows how to hit first instead of always hitting back, someone who will be on my side for once instead of deciding what’s best for me!”

The rage and resentment erupted out of Harry, leaving his bitter words sizzling in the silence that followed. His tirade had drawn the attention of Ron and Hermione. Hermione had one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and sympathetic. Ron just looked dumbstruck.

“You don’t mean that, Harry,” Hermione said in a small voice.

Harry seemed to fully realise all that he had said and reached up with both hands to rub at his eyes beneath his glasses. “…No, I guess not,” he sighed. “I don’t know what to think anymore. Maybe Dumbledore is right and Scott is wrong...”

“Right about what, Harry?” Ginny asked.

“Everything. Nothing. I don’t even know. I don’t know,” Harry repeated.

“I think, in his own way, Scott means well,” Hermione said carefully. “But, Harry, you can’t forget that Scott is essentially a soldier — and he tends to treat you like one too.”

“And that’s so wrong?” Harry muttered.

“I think you have to decide when it is, and when it isn’t, Harry,” she told him sagely.

He stared at her for a moment. “You give me an answer like that, and you’re getting on to me about spending too much time with Scott?” Harry chuckled tiredly.

“That was like everything Scott says,” Ron joked, gently nudging Hermione in the side. “Maybe it’s really deep, or maybe it’s just too weird to tell.”

“Well, I thought it sounded good,” Hermione defended herself, but she was laughing, too.

Feeling the need, Ginny reached over and took Harry’s hand. “I just want you to be careful, that’s all,” she told him.

“You know me, Ginny. Safety first,” Harry said, but his words were not bitter and he returned her gesture, gripping her hand firmly.

Ginny had to smile at that. Discretion was not one of Harry’s strong suits.

The conversation might have continued at that point if it weren’t for Scott’s sudden reappearance. “I see you guys are riding the slowmobile back here — need me to get out and push?”

“Some of us prefer to enjoy the walk,” Hermione told him.

“Okay, but the rest of us are moving. Ron, carry her if you have to.”

With the deep snows of winter now coursing their way through the gutters, Hogsmeade was a more active place. The comparatively milder weather meant that more were willing to brave the elements, and accordingly the number of students milling the streets had increased substantially from the last Hogsmeade weekend. Ginny pretended not to see when Dean gave her one last look over his shoulder before moving on. She was not going to be excluded from Harry’s inner circle today, not even for her boyfriend.

“Where are we going first?” Ron asked, though he was eyeing Honeydukes when he said it.

“It’s your birthday, mate,” Harry said.

“Honeydukes, then?”

“THY WILL BE DONE,” Scott intoned.

“It’s a good thing he doesn’t have enough money to make himself sick,” Ginny said to Hermione, loud enough so Ron could hear.

“You’re a riot, Ginny,” Ron said sarcastically.

“Yeah,” Scott joined in, surprising Ginny by siding against her, “that was so funny I’ll have to multitask. Look, I’m laughing while I walk into the store!”

“Astounding,” Harry concurred.

Ginny frowned after the boys as they entered the shop, put out that her joke had backfired. Hermione noticed her expression and smiled. “Scott’s an equal opportunity prat.”

Ginny decided to test her concerns on a different person. “And you don’t think it’s at all strange how you’ve accepted him?”

“Sometimes, yes.” Hermione made a wry face. “Scott would say I’m over-thinking the situation.”

Ginny stared at Scott through the front window of Honeydukes. He had a long string of black liquorice wrapped between his hands like a garrotte, and was pretending to strangle Harry with it. “How much do you trust him?”

“Don’t think that I don’t still second-guess him all the time — because I certainly do,” Hermione said. She looked reflective. “But he expects that. And in an odd sort of way, I think he even enjoys it. Isn’t that strange?” She paused. “Isn’t that Scott, I suppose I should say.”

“I don’t know,” Ginny sighed. “One minute we were all stuck with this mad American, and the next he’s supposed to be our best mate. How did that happen?”

“That’s what happens when you spend a lot of time with a person, Ginny. Scott is certainly likable enough… When he wants to be, anyway.” Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know if attacking Death Eaters is a good way to go about things, but I do believe that he’s doing it because he thinks it’s the best way to help us. That doesn’t exempt him from suspicion; but don’t we have to keep a close eye on Harry sometimes, too?”

That made sense. Ginny supposed the root of her problem was that she had missed the process of acceptance by proxy. She had been absent, as usual.

“You should talk to Scott about this,” Hermione suggested. When Ginny gave her a look of pure incredulity, she said, “I think he’ll surprise you. Besides, if you think he hasn’t already noticed your suspicion, then you’re being naïve. I’d be highly surprised if he wasn’t paying close attention to this conversation.”

Ginny looked back inside the shop and, despite the thick layer of glass separating them, Scott met her gaze and gave her a knowing smile.

“I’m going inside,” Hermione announced. “You should let Scott speak for himself.”

Ginny followed her in, still contemplating her words.

***---~**~---***

“What are they doing?” Ron said impatiently. He was referring to the two girls, neither of whom had entered the shop.

“Talking about me,” Scott answered casually. He looked closely at the label of an interesting candy bar he had picked up, noting that the list of ingredients included several spells.

Ron gave him a sceptical look. “Feeling a bit more paranoid than usual today?”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re talking about me.” He set the bar back down, deciding that the magical candy wasn’t to his taste.

“How do you know that?” Harry asked. He glanced out the window to where Hermione and Ginny were holding a conversation.

“Magic,” Scott said smugly. He palmed a chocolate coin and after a few rapid gestures, pretended to remove it from his ear.

Harry was unimpressed. “Why would they be talking about you?”

“Well, I am pretty damn handsome.”

“I’d disagree, but that lie is your entire source of self-esteem,” Harry said, grinning.

Somewhere behind Scott, Ron was laughing at him. “That’s harsh,” Scott said. “I expect better from you, Harry.”

“I don’t,” Ron chortled.

Scott ignored the two of them and focused on the girls outside. Ginny was voicing her suspicions, which were certainly justified. Part of this resulted from her nonattendance during important events, and Scott thought that he bore some of the blame. His overriding objective of remaining close to Harry had limited his interactions with some of his more peripheral Primes. He didn’t feel the need to win her over on a personal level so much as he wanted to placate her. Eyes narrowed, Scott watched as Ginny entered the store, following Hermione. It was important not to lose sight of the fact that Harry was craving Ginny in both the physical and metaphysical senses. Scott always appreciated Harry’s defence of his work, but if that was going to lead The Boy Who Lived into conflict with The Girl Who Needed to Love Him, then it wasn’t worth it. Harry could just fuck off and get a girlfriend.

Emerging from his musings, Scott wandered over to where Harry and Ginny were perusing a shelf, bypassing Ron and Hermione on the way without comment as they were having a private conversation. He listened in just long enough to confirm that it wasn’t about him, and then tuned them out.

“Almost ready?” he asked Harry.

“I think I’ve got everything,” Harry said.

“Cool. Oh, and I almost forgot — we might see my sister around today, so keep an eye out,” Scott informed them offhandedly.

Lila was nowhere to be seen when they all stepped out of Honeydukes. Scott mentally shrugged and followed the others on the way to the Three Broomsticks. If Lila wanted to show up, then she would. It was an entirely optional visit and there wasn’t any point in calling her.

The weather had picked up outside and the trees creaked and rattled their bare branches as they swayed with the gusts. All traces of the sun had been eradicated by the cloud front that rolled overhead, and Scott could tell there would be a high probability of rain come evening. The building storm brought a wind chill that lowered the temperature, and the students who had been strolling the streets earlier now huddled in their coats and cast furtive glances skyward, waiting for the first drops.

They ran into Neville and Luna near the post office. One or both of them must have been late coming down from the castle, because they were heading towards Honeydukes when Scott waved at them.

“Hey! Guys!” he shouted down the street, getting their attention.

The pair hurried across the cobblestones, Luna’s hair whipping about in a pale golden halo as a particularly fierce gust of wind came roaring through between the close-set buildings. “Hello everyone,” she absently greeted the group when she and Neville reached them. “Are you enjoying Hogsmeade today?” She received a chorus of affirmatives and moved her gaze over to Ron. “Happy birthday, Ron.”

“Thanks,” Ron said thickly, as his mouth was full of half a Chocolate Frog.

“Did you just leave Honeydukes?” Neville asked them a little breathlessly.

 “We’re going to the Three Broomsticks now,” Harry confirmed. “You want us to save you a seat?”

“That would be nice of you,” Luna said.

“We won’t be long,” Neville promised.

The Three Broomsticks was crowded when they stepped inside. Scott squeezed himself between the jostling patrons coming in and out of the front door, trying to find a clear space so he could see where everyone was going to sit. He caught sight of Harry’s back moving away to his right and followed, figuring that Harry must have spotted a table.

The crowd dispersed slightly as the bulk of it moved towards the bar, revealing a familiar head of dark blond hair whose owner was calmly sipping a Butterbeer at an empty table. Scott grinned. He should have known.

Lila smiled at Harry and Ginny as they seated themselves across from her. Scott took the chair next to his sister and surveyed the room, noting that Lila’s table was the only one which hadn’t already been taken. It stood to reason that if any beautiful woman could keep a table clear in a crowded pub, it was Lila. Her ice cold glare could put a damper on even the drunkest libido.

“Come here often?” Scott said, turning to her. He scooted his chair over to allow Ron and Hermione to sit at the end of the table.

“Yes, but it’s not for the company,” Lila retorted. She plunked her empty bottle down and stared at it, apparently deciding if she wanted another.

“Neville and Luna will be here in a minute or two, don’t let anyone take those chairs,” he told her.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Lila snorted. She suddenly leaned forward and startled Ginny by grabbing her hand. “Lila Kharan,” she introduced herself, “Scott’s sister.”

“Ginny Weasley, Ron’s sister,” Ginny said, returning the handshake. Harry’s eyes narrowed as he took this in, and Scott was sure he was remembering Lila’s specialties when it came to the lives of others. Scott smiled to himself. Harry’s reservations were entirely warranted.

“I’m sure we have similar stories of suffering,” Lila said, “though I doubt Ron could match this reprobate I have for a brother.”

“I make life interesting,” Scott declared.

“Yes, you certainly do that,” Hermione said with a sigh.

“Now that we’re all agreed,” Ginny said, “shouldn’t we get something to drink?”

“I’ll get some Butterbeers for us,” Harry offered, half-rising from his seat.

“What? The Chosen One deigns to order our drinks?” Scott placed one hand on his chest and leaned back as if shocked. When Harry scowled at him, he laughed and said more seriously, “I’ll get them. You’d better not in case elements of the Harry Potter Fanclub make an appearance. The public is a demanding mistress…”

Scott threaded his way up to the bar and ordered the requisite number of Butterbeers. While he was waiting, a surge of talk from the direction of his table drew his attention, and he looked over his shoulder to see Neville and Luna taking their reserved seats. Fortunately, he had already compensated for their inevitable presence when he had ordered and wouldn’t be short any drinks.

Upon returning to the table with the Butterbeer bottles Scott amused himself by sliding them across the tabletop to each person, a fun throwback to his bartending days. “Ah, that takes me back,” Scott said as he sent Lila’s drink shooting towards her.

She caught it with a deft hand and popped the cork out with her teeth. She spit the cork at Scott and he jerked his head to the left to avoid it. “Everything takes you back, Scott. Nostalgia is your natural state.”

“And here I am now, creating more good times to remember.” He leaned back in his seat. “Yep, good times. Speaking of which…” He reached into his pocket and extracted a large lumpy wad of wrapping paper.

Lila looked at it and rolled her eyes. “Why do you never bother to put your presents into boxes?”

“I already wrapped it,” Scott said.

“You put the present into a box and then wrap the box,” she said slowly, as if she were explaining something to a small child.

“Why? Nobody wants a box for their birthday. It’s just another annoying layer to open.” Scott handed the present to Ron. “Happy birthday, dick lips.”

“Cheers, wanker,” Ron replied, accepting the package. He eagerly tore it open and revealed a dull black stainless steel device. “Wow, thanks,” he said to Scott. “What is it?”

“It’s a butterfly knife,” Scott told him. “It flips open, see?” He took it from Ron and demonstrated, deftly unsheathing the partially hidden blade with a smooth flick of his wrist. “Easily concealable, sturdy and effective. Drab black finish for night work. Non-serrated blade for easy retrieval. If someone corners you in an alleyway, stick this in their gut and they’ll consider the benefits of leaving you alone.”

“Wicked!” Ron took the knife back and studied it closely, running his fingers over the flat side of the blade.

“Can I see it?” Harry asked, leaning over the table towards Ron.

“Geez, Harry, he just got it. Let the man fondle it for a second,” Scott said.

“This could be right useful,” Ron said. He closed the handle and tried to snap it open like Scott had, but only managed it halfway. “You think McGonagall would flip if I pulled it on Malfoy?”

Hermione’s lips had been compressed into a thin, disapproving line up until that point, and when Ron mentioned using the knife to threaten someone she apparently couldn’t keep her peace any longer. “A knife is not a toy!”

“I don’t know, that sort of depends,” Scott said thoughtfully. “If you’re peeling an apple, then I think it’s a tool, but if you’re playing mumblety-peg then that’s a game, so by definition it would almost have to be a toy…”

“You can play Russian roulette too, if you want, but that doesn’t make the gun a toy,” she countered.

“It’s just a little knife, Hermione. It’s not going to kill him to flip it open a few times.”

“I’m sure that’s quite easy for you to say, but we can’t all grow our fingers back,” she said snippily.

“I think I’ve about got the hang of this.” Ron tried to open his present with one hand again, succeeding slightly better than he had before.

Scott smiled in a satisfied sort of way. “I knew you’d like it.”

Then he nearly fell out of his seat when someone poked him.

It wasn’t a poke in the literal sense. It was within the shape. There was no question about it, the feeling was unmistakable; someone had reached out into the swirling vastness of the universal geometry and nudged him none too gently. It was the metaphysical equivalent of a jab to the ribs.

There was only one other person at the table who could manage such a feat, and that was obviously his sister. Since manipulating a Kharadjai was useless, and she knew that he would feel it, there was a clear message implied. She wanted to speak with him privately.

Harry had noticed his reaction. “You alright?”

“Got a call incoming,” Scott lied. He reached into a pocket and extracted his phone. “I’d better take it. Be right back.”

Lila waited the perfect amount of time after he stood to say, in that level voice of hers that was always so misleadingly truthful sounding, “Excuse us, this could be important”, and followed him out.

The wind slapped him across the face when he stepped out onto the street, but it didn’t bother him much. He leaned against the side of the building next to the alleyway and waited until Lila settled herself next to him. “Where’s the fire?” he said.

Lila said nothing until a couple walking by had passed. “You’ve impressed upon me how your Primes are all smart people; I thought if I said I wanted to talk to you then they’d draw the right conclusions.”

“It’s likely,” Scott admitted. “What’s on your mind?”

“I was finally getting a feel for Harry and Ginny...”

“And?”

“And I don’t know what you want me to accomplish.” Lila tilted her head and shrugged. “I can see the wreckage of your various meddlings strewn about—” Scott was rather offended by that phrasing. “—but the effect is progressing without a clear cause. They’re on the brink, close enough to taste it. Ginny’s thread to Dean is so thin it might as well not even be there.”

“It’s still keeping Harry at bay,” Scott pointed out.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. This relationship seems to be ticking in time to a higher authority. I could do something, but I have my doubts that it would change anything. You might want to consider that perhaps the two of them are being pulled together against outside tension. Acceleration could break the chain and send them both back to where they started.”

Scott frowned, not at all happy about that. “So you’d advise a hands-off approach.”

“I’m almost afraid to breathe near them,” Lila stated bluntly.

“I hadn’t realised they were that precarious…”

Lila shrugged again. “It’s impossible to say with everything as contracted as it is. But those were my feelings. If the universe is going out of its way for this despite all the much bigger knots it has to unravel, then maybe you should let nature take its course.”

“Fine, I’ll let stupid nature take its goddamn course,” Scott grumbled. He kicked at a bottle someone had left in the alley, sending it spinning away into the darkness. “Not like I do much else these days.”

“Oh, not this again.” Lila rolled her eyes heavenward, probably searching for patience.

Scott didn’t care. He was looking forward to indulging himself in a pointless tantrum. “Yeah, this again. This same old shit, again,” he complained. “This universe just does whatever it wants anyway. Why’d they even bother assigning a Kharadjai?”

“If you’re going to hold a pity party, then let’s do it indoors where I can at least finish my Butterbeer,” Lila said brusquely. She pushed herself off of the wall and went inside without looking back.

“Okay, fine, walk away,” Scott muttered even though she couldn’t hear him. He sulked for a minute or two. What was the point of feeling sorry for himself if there was no one around to be miserable with him? Lila had robbed him of his chance to vent. Now his frustration had been shaken up but the pressure had no release. He clenched and unclenched his hands a few times and stomped his heel down on some skittering leaves. Then he kicked another bottle for good measure.

A well-dressed wizard stopped to stare as Scott sent the bottle spinning off into the alleyway, a sight shortly followed by the highly satisfying sound of breaking glass. Noticing the man, Scott whirled on him. “The hell you lookin’ at?!” he barked.

The wizard recoiled, clearly appalled at having been verbally attacked by what appeared to him to be a far younger man. “Nothing!” the man said. He opened his mouth like he was about to say more, but shut it under Scott’s glower and scurried off. Further down the street Scott saw the wizard hit his shoulder into another passerby and continue on without apologising.

Scott smiled darkly. Nothing helped a bad mood like spreading it around.

Feeling better, he returned to the heat of the crowded pub and the table where his friends awaited his return. He gave Lila a close look when he sat down but her face was impassive as she sipped at her drink. Until he knew what Lila’s story had been, he’d have to keep his mouth shut about the fake phone call or risk contradicting her.

“Everything fine?” Harry asked.

“Nothing to panic about,” Scott told him. “Checking up on me, you know… Government shit.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

Lila looked over at him. “Did they ask about me?” she said, deftly expanding the lie.

“Nah.” Scott changed the subject. “Hey, how much longer are you fags gonna be nursing those Butterbeers? There are things to do, people to see.”

“What’s your rush?” Ron said laconically. “It’s warm in here.”

“It’s warm in your mom, too,” Scott muttered, but not loud enough that Ron could hear him. The Weasleys were rather touchy when it came to family.

Scott was forced to wile away more time in the cramped pub. Usually he had nothing against pleasantly sitting around, but everyone else was enjoying their Butterbeers, and since he didn’t like the stuff, that made him the odd man out. He was keenly feeling the urge to explore more of Hogsmeade. He knew there were several points of interest he had yet to see.

With any luck, it wouldn’t take too long for the others to finish gulping down their sickly butterscotch drinks.

***---~**~---***

Ginny sat at the table in the crowded, noisy pub and studied the woman across from her. Her mind travelled back to the first occasion she had met Lila Kharan, on Christmas Eve.

She had already known that Scott had a sister. He had never made any secret of that fact, and as Ginny understood it his sister took care of him as his guardian.

So it was that when Ron had said that Scott and his sister might be attending supper on Christmas Eve, Ginny had expected to see an older woman, probably professional looking, who had the motherly strength necessary to corral a ward as wild as Scott would surely be; a parental figure somewhat similar to Ginny’s own mother.

Instead, the woman who had appeared at the door and invaded the kitchen was a tall, slim dark blond who looked no older than twenty and had the busty but streamlined figure of a model. Based on that alone, Ginny would have been predisposed to dismiss Scott’s older sibling as a probable ditz with nothing between her ears except a lot of information on skin care, if it weren’t for the fact that Lila’s manner was in sharp contrast with her appearance. A pair of cool gray eyes that were, if anything, even more calculating than Scott’s had examined Ginny, and they had been matched with a distant demeanour.

Now, sitting at a different table with Lila, Ginny’s initial impressions hadn’t changed. The woman was as perfect a porcelain statue, and just as impassive. Scott was always full of colour and motion. Lila might as well have been an ice carving.

Then she melted slightly in the minutes that followed their introduction. Her greeting to Ginny was jokingly formal, and she displayed a similar sense of humour to that of her brother, though much more understated. Ginny decided to hold off forming an opinion about the woman until she heard some impressions from her friends.

Ron received his knife from Scott not long after they had all got their drinks, and Ginny watched with a little trepidation as he rather carelessly tried to open it. She could just imagine her mum’s reaction if Ron lost a finger.

 “You alright?” Harry said. Thinking he was talking to her, Ginny turned to him before realising he had been addressing Scott.

“Got a call incoming.” Scott shoved his hand into his jacket and withdrew an odd black case. He looked down at it for a moment, confirming something. “I’d better take it. Be right back.”

Without further explanation the blond boy stood and strolled out of the pub. His sister set her drink down and pushed her chair back. “Excuse us, this could be important,” she said in her unruffled voice, and followed Scott out.

“Oh, are they leaving already?” Luna said vaguely. She was collecting everyone’s Butterbeer corks and placing them in her coat pockets.

“No, he’s just had a call. It’s a Muggle thing,” Harry said.

Luna’s eyes widened slightly in interest. “I learned how to imitate the mating call of a female Snorkack. Would you like to hear it?”

“Er, maybe later…”

“Here, Luna — I found another one.” Neville distracted the dreamy girl by handing her another cork, which she accepted from him with a smile.

“Maybe she’d make you a cork necklace if you asked her nicely,” Ron sniggered quietly to Hermione.

“I’m not sure I could get away with that kind of fashion statement,” Hermione said.

Ginny turned her attention back to Harry. He was playing with his Butterbeer, sliding the bottle across the polished wooden tabletop from hand to hand, eyes far away. His skin was slightly flushed from the heat and tendrils of his untameable black hair were plastered to his temples. She barely resisted the urge to brush them away, feeling the strong rush of attraction that she always did whenever she was close to him.

“So do you trust Lila too?” she asked him quietly. He snapped out of his thoughts and looked at her sharply, but when she smiled to show that she wasn’t serious, he relaxed.

“I realised something today, after what you said,” Harry told her.

Ginny leaned in closer. “And what’s that?”

“It’s not about knowing Scott… Not really.” Harry glanced at the door but the siblings hadn’t made a reappearance so he continued, “I do think I know him, or enough, at least. But it’s more like how you trust a doctor, or a nurse… It’s his job. I guess you can always count on him not wanting to get fired.”

She was silent for a moment while she mulled that over. “So if he doesn’t help us he won’t get paid.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t think it’s the money that matters to him. I get the feeling he does this because it’s what he’s good at.”

“How much help has he really been, though?”

“Dunno. But neither does he.” Harry smiled wanly. “He’ll have to wait to prove himself until the next time someone tries to kill me. Lucky for him, it’s bound to come up again.”

“That’s not funny,” Ginny said sharply. How could he joke about that?

“Sorry,” Harry apologised, but he didn’t sound very sincere.

She felt like telling him off some more, but was briefly distracted when Lila returned to her seat. The older woman said nothing and resumed drinking her Butterbeer, so Ginny turned back to Harry. “I mean it,” she said.

“I know, I said I was sorry.” Harry didn’t meet her eyes.

“But you don’t look like you’re sorry.”

“It was just a joke, Ginny,” Harry said, frowning at her.

“No, it wasn’t,” she said quietly but in a hard voice. “There isn’t much that’s less of a laugh.” She never wanted to hear him talk like that again.

“Okay! It wasn’t funny,” Harry relented. “I’m sorry. Really.”

She was sure he still didn’t understand her reaction. But that, she supposed, was just part of who Harry was. His own safety had never been of all that great importance to him. Some people might have considered that selfless; Ginny thought it was absolutely selfish. Sometimes it seemed like he didn’t even care what it did to everyone who loved him when he was nearly killed.

She couldn’t think of any way to phrase these thoughts without creating another confrontation, so she settled for saying, “I just don’t like it when you talk that way.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said yet again. “I won’t do it again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Harry,” Ginny sighed. Harry gave her a hesitant smile and she was happy to be able to return it.

Scott came strolling back over to the table and sat back down. He gave his sister an odd glance, which she ignored.

“Everything fine?” Harry asked him.

“Nothing to panic about,” Scott said with an offhand manner. “Checking up on me, you know… Government shit.”

Harry nodded his understanding, though Ginny figured he probably didn’t understand at all.

Lila looked over at Scott. “Did they ask about me?” she inquired.

“Nah,” Scott said. “Hey, how much longer are you fags gonna be nursing those Butterbeers? There are things to do, people to see.”

“What’s your rush?” Ron said laconically. “It’s warm in here.” Ginny was inclined to agree. She wasn’t ready to brave the wind again.

Scott muttered something in an insolent tone of voice, but subsided back into his chair and didn’t complain any further.

“What’s his problem?” Ginny asked Harry in a whisper, indicating Scott.

“He’s not very keen on Butterbeer,” Harry told her in a low voice. “Let’s take a really long time to finish ours.”

Ginny gave him a wicked grin and picked up her drink. She made sure to meet Scott’s eyes as she took a long, slow sip of it.

Half an hour later, when they all exited the pub and huddled against the wind, Scott was decidedly antsy. He ran ahead of them while coats and scarves were adjusted for maximum protection against the weather.

“That’s it for me today,” Lila said, looking down at her watch. She turned to Ginny. “It was nice to see you, Ginny. Good luck with your triangular problem. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you which one to pick.” With that, she strolled off in the opposite direction.

Ginny swallowed hard and hoped that her pinking cheeks would be passed off as a result of the scouring wind. She quickly glanced at her friends. Harry, Ron and Neville all looked blessedly clueless, and Luna was impossible to read, but Hermione’s face was tellingly smug.

“What’d she mean by that?” Harry asked curiously.

“How should I know?” Ginny said misleadingly. “You’ve been around her more, you tell me.”

She must have replied more snappily than she had intended, because Harry leaned away from her, frowning slightly. “Alright… I was just asking…”

Ginny sighed. “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” she lied. She hastened to change the subject. “Hey, where’d Scott run off to?”

“He went up towards the Shack,” Ron said, pointing to Scott’s distant figure. “OI! SCOTT!”

But Scott must not have heard Ron’s shout over the wind because he continued up the wet path towards the hill where the dark form of the Shrieking Shack stood.

“Now what is he doing?” Hermione said exasperatedly.

They hurried to catch up with Scott, walking quickly up the soggy slope that led to the Shrieking Shack. Ginny stayed behind Harry’s larger form, utilising him as a handy windbreak. Up ahead she could see Scott peering through the bars of the wrought iron fence that surrounded the Shack.

“Scott!” Hermione called when they were closer. He turned around and raised his arms in silent question. “What are you doing?”

“Checking out this house!” Scott shouted back. He faced the Shack again and began climbing the fence.

Harry ran up and grabbed the back of Scott’s jacket, pulling him back to the ground. “You can’t get in that way,” he said.

Scott’s eyes lit up at the implied challenge. “Wanna bet?”

“It’s sealed with magic, there’s only one way in,” Harry told him.

“Yeah, but I could break in—”

“There’s nothing inside,” Harry said. “Besides, Dumbledore wouldn’t like it if you broke the enchantments. They were put there for a reason.”

Scott studied the battered old house. “This is an important place,” he stated.

Ginny looked to her friends, but none of them seemed to know what he was talking about either.

“Sure, a lot of important stuff happened here,” Ron said.

“Yes, I can see that…” Scott leaned into the fence. “But something important is going to happen…” His eyes went unfocused. “That chill of heart surrounds this place of distant rooms and vacant space.”

“What’s going to happen?” Hermione pressed him, disregarding his random soliloquy.

For a few long, silent seconds Scott stared hard at the structure. Then he shrugged and turned away, and the moment was broken. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing.”

“Scott, if there’s something that you should tell us—” Hermione began.

“I don’t know!” Scott half-shouted before she could start into him. “The house is important somehow. I don’t know why.”

Harry gazed at the Shack. “Maybe it’s just because of what already happened.”

“And if that wasn’t important, then I don’t know what is,” Ron muttered.

“Yeah, could be,” Scott said, but he sounded unconvinced.

The wind howled down the chimney of the ramshackle house and the windows rattled in their settings as the group looked upon the Shack and wondered why it had drawn Scott to itself.

“Anyway, that’s the Shrieking Shack,” Ron told Scott suddenly. Neville jumped slightly, startled, but it put an end to the mood. “Famous building, supposed to be haunted. It isn’t, though.” He paused. “Not much else to say about it.”

“It would be a much nicer place with some flowers out front,” Luna blandly commented.

With some effort, Ron managed to badly suppress a violent snort of laughter. “There is that,” he said in a strained voice.

“All in all, a charmingly bucolic locale,” Scott summarised. “It’s a fixer-upper, but the neighbourhood is so attractive…”

“You can live here if you want,” Harry said, turning to go, “but I’m not going to visit you.”

On the walk back to the castle Ginny realised that she had never cornered Scott like she had intended. She had never had a very good opportunity. It was unfortunate, but she’d have to wait until another time. There wouldn’t be any chances to isolate him on the way to Hogwarts. And after all, their conversation might well involve shouting.

She tucked the task away for future reference, awaiting the proper moment to confront him.

***---~**~---***

“You could do a pretty interesting study on human habits with that thing,” Scott was saying as he followed Harry down the hallway. It was a week after Ron’s birthday, and the school was embroiled in yet another Quidditch match. Harry, however, seemed mainly embroiled in obsessively watching the Marauder’s Map. “You know, if you ever used it for anything but trying to find Malfoy.”

Harry looked at him sharply. “You think I’m wasting my time?”

“No. But your team isn’t going to feel that way if you don’t get to the pitch in the next five minutes.”

“No need to remind me,” Harry said grimly, and sped up his pace.

The corridors were deserted as most of the castle’s population had already made their way to the Quidditch pitch for the upcoming game. Harry was running late, a result of his fixation on tracking Draco Malfoy.

That proved temporarily pointless when they ran right into Harry’s quarry.

Malfoy, predictably, greeted them with a sneer. Two young girls, both of whom looked decidedly unhappy, trailed at his sides. Scott didn’t recognise them but thought they were probably second-years.

The Slytherin opened his mouth, no doubt for some acerbic remark, but Scott knew that Harry didn’t have time to be drawn into a fight. He decided to cut the confrontation short.

“Suck a dick, Malfoy,” he said loudly, without preamble. Malfoy’s mouth snapped shut as he was temporarily frozen with rage by the unanticipated insult. Scott grabbed Harry’s elbow and propelled the two of them past their human obstacle before he could devise a retort.

But even once they were already past, Harry sent a longing glance over his shoulder. “I’m about ready to sod the game,” he muttered. “This is my chance to find out where he’s going!”

“You can’t sod the game, everyone’s counting on you,” Scott countered.

“Shit.”

Scott eyed him. “How important does this feel?”

“I have to know what he’s been doing. I know he’s been up to something all year,” Harry stated.

“You want me to follow him?”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, you could!”

Scott shrugged. “Up to you.”

“All that whinging you did over taking orders from Hermione, and now you’re letting me decide?”

“You’re the Priority One. That gives you a little more weight to throw around.”

Harry grinned. “Alright, but don’t tell her that.”

“It’s your mission; make the call,” Scott said. “Go or no go?”

“…And you’ll actually do it?”

“Go or no go?”

Harry looked back in the direction Malfoy had gone. “Go.”

“On the move.”

It wasn’t difficult to track Malfoy. Scott always lagged one corner behind, moving on silent feet with practiced stealth. On longer hallways he darted from doorway to doorway and made use of the limited cover offered by the occasional suit of armour and various other decorations.

As they climbed higher in the school Scott began to entertain a strong suspicion regarding their mutual destination. When Malfoy turned down one specific hallway this suspicion was confirmed. Scott knew that particular corridor was a dead end. Unless Malfoy had been taken by the sudden urge to view some tapestries, there was only one reason to venture down that hall — the Room of Requirement.

The purpose of the two girls also became apparent when Scott carefully peered around the edge of the wall. They were standing guard, which, while still devious, was decidedly more innocent than the other reasons he could conceive of for taking two girls to a secluded room.

He had a number of means by which he could quickly dispose of sentries, but he wasn’t particularly enthused by the prospect of knifing or strangling two young girls. Ideally, the situation called for a less than lethal approach.

Of course, he reasoned, there was little to be gained from taking such action. His mission had been to track Malfoy to his hiding location, a task that had already been accomplished. It would be impossible to enter the Room of Requirement through an aperture unless Scott knew the form that the room had taken, and attempting an open frontal entry would compromise his secrecy. No, in this case the best course would be to return to Harry and report.

So he slipped away, down the staircases, through the passageways and out the entrance hall. The grass on the grounds outside was dry in the spring weather that, while still chilled, had lost the bite of winter. Only the faintest breeze stirred the tops of the trees and the sun played hide and seek with the aid of intermittent clouds. He took his time making his way to the Quidditch pitch. He had never been all that taken with the sport, and felt little need to hurry to catch more of the game.

The game was in full swing when he entered the pitch. The cheers of the students were nearly deafening as another goal was scored. He climbed the stairs up to the Gryffindor section of the stands and located Hermione near the front. He had to step on a few feet to reach her, but several muttered apologies later, he was comfortably seated.

“How’s the game?” he shouted over the crowd.

“It’s going well!” she answered, clapping excitedly as Ron made a swooping save. “No sign of the Snitch, though.”

Scott looked around, expecting to see Neville and Luna nearby, but was instead surprised to find the small figure of Kylie behind him. Her strawberry blond head was wrapped in an enormous scarf, over which her eyes just barely had room to peek.

“Hey, Kylie!” he greeted her. Her scarf moved slightly so she must have responded, but Scott couldn’t hear her. “Is Trevor around?” He couldn’t imagine the shy girl going to a Quidditch game without her energetic friend.

Kylie pointed down towards the pitch. Scott followed her indication and spotted Trevor standing at the railing, where he was looking excitedly at the feebly moving form of a Hufflepuff Beater who had fallen from their broom.

“He should have ducked sooner,” a familiar, dreamy voice was saying from the announcer’s booth. “Perhaps he was distracted by a cloud — that one looks like a horse, if it were lying down… No, there’s a horn now, so it must be a unicorn…”

Scott’s eyes widened. “Is that Luna?”

“She’s commentating today,” Hermione said, “though I’m not sure how that happened…”

“Then where’s Nev?”

“I think he went with her before the game… Oh, catch it!” she exclaimed, and sure enough, Ron rolled over and caught the Quaffle with his fingertips before it passed through the hoop. With an easy toss he threw it to Ginny, who managed to score a goal not fifteen seconds after.

“Dominating!” Scott chortled gleefully.

He had never felt all that great an affinity for Quidditch, but couldn’t help cheering his friends on to victory. The Gryffindor team was a well-oiled machine, and though the Hufflepuffs tried their utmost, they stood little chance. The score became increasingly uneven as the momentum of the game remained firmly in the hands of the Gryffindor Chasers.

It wasn’t long before Harry was holding the Snitch and the stands erupted in victorious cacophony. When the players began to troupe back into the locker room, Harry looked up from the field and met Scott’s eyes. Scott nodded once in verification, and Harry picked up his pace, clearly eager to talk.

Scott was leaning against the wall to the left of the exit when Harry rushed out, still straightening his robes. “Well?” he said anxiously.

“He went into the Room of Requirement,” Scott said. Ron had yet to emerge and Hermione was in conversation with Neville and Luna, so he wasn’t overheard.

“Of course,” Harry breathed. “He’d had it from the DA… The prick is using our idea…”

“You didn’t think he’d have any of his own, did you?”

“Nah…” Harry was deep in thought. “Did you get a look inside?”

Scott shook his head. “Couldn’t. He’s got those two skirts keeping lookout.”

Harry looked at him sharply. “Keeping what?”

“Lookout. Checking the coast. Peepin’ the fuzz.”

“I know what it means — he said it before, talking to Crabbe.”

“Right, during the lesson,” Scott said, recalling the conversation between Harry and Hermione.

“Yeah.” Harry frowned. “I just don’t see Crabbe and Goyle backing out on him… They haven’t got the brains, not even between them…”

“And you didn’t recognise the girls?”

“Nope.”

They were both silent for a moment, mulling it over. “Okay, so we must be missing something,” Scott said slowly. “Let’s lay out the options, that usually helps. The simplest explanation is that those girls are Slytherins that Malfoy’s drafted to do Crabbe and Goyle’s dirty work when they’re busy. He could certainly do that given the political climate in his House.”

“Sure, he could get a lot of help,” Harry agreed. “Who’s going to say no to a Death Eater?”

“We just told him to go suck a dick, so obviously we’d say no — but we’re not Slytherins. Option two is that the girls were simply there by coincidence alone, and they have no connection to whatever Malfoy is doing in the Room. Crabbe and Goyle would be off painting their nails somewhere or something.”

“Yeah, right,” Harry said immediately.

“I agree. Option three is that the girls are other Death Eaters who’ve infiltrated the school in order to assist him, so they’d be higher in the hierarchy than Crabbe and Goyle. But if they’re Death Eaters, then why would they stand guard instead of doing whatever important thing Malfoy’s doing?”

“And why would they be so young?” Harry further discredited that theory.

“That’s a problem.” Scott crossed his arms. “We need more options. We don’t have any real viable alternatives to option one, and if that happens, it usually means you’re not thinking hard enough.”

“Okay, um…” Harry stared at the floor for a second. “…Maybe Malfoy Imperiused them!”

“Why? Why not just use Crabbe and Goyle? Is having a couple extra hands worth the risk of using an Unforgivable?”

“Oh, right… We’re supposed to think of why the girls instead of them…”

“The simplest explanation rule, ala Occam’s Razor, only works when you can discard every other explanation as being unlikely, completely ridiculous, or impossible to counter,” Scott stated. “If you don’t have a choice, or enough time, then you might as well go with what makes the most sense. But we do have a choice, and we can follow up on these theories, so we need to figure it out.”

“Maybe… They are Crabbe and Goyle…”

“How would that work?”

“Polyjuice!” Harry’s eyes widened. “He could be turning them into girls so no one will recognise them!” He shook his head in disbelief. “No wonder Crabbe was so unhappy. Can’t really blame him.”

“Easy, now.” Scott held up a cautioning hand. “Don’t jump to conclusions. We need to see if we can identify those girls and anyone else he’s been hanging around with lately that he didn’t use to. If they aren’t Slytherins, then you could be right.”

“You think you can follow him again?”

“Enough to get some evidence for your theory. What I’m more concerned about is how we’re going to get into the Room.”

“He did the same thing to us when we were holding the DA there,” Harry said dismissively.

Scott threw a quick glance in Hermione’s direction and leaned in closer towards Harry. “If we get into the Room, and we confront Malfoy, then what? What’s the outcome?”

“Depends on what he’s up to, doesn’t it?”

“I’m just thinking, if he’s really a Death Eater…” Scott looked towards Hermione again. “Well, there wouldn’t be a better time to remove him.”

Harry went still. “No, I wasn’t… I wouldn’t… We’d go tell Dumbledore, was what I was thinking, Stun Malfoy first…”

Scott decided not to press the issue. “Whatever you want.”

“Capturing him could be useful, right? He might know things,” Harry said, looking relieved that Scott hadn’t insisted.

“He might,” Scott agreed, playing along. “Hopefully we’ll find out.”

“If you wanted to beat some answers out of him, I wouldn’t say no to that.” Harry grinned viciously.

“Please, ‘beat’ is such an ugly word… I prefer to call it ‘nonverbal persuasion’.”

“You do, do you?” a sharp voice said over Scott’s shoulder.

Scott sighed and turned to face Hermione. “Yeah, I do.”

“And just who were you planning on nonverbally persuading?”

“Now, you know I can’t answer that,” he said chidingly. “That would violate persuader-victim confidentiality.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’m sorry, was that funny? I seem to have forgotten to laugh. Perhaps if you stay still for a moment, it will come to me.”

“Excellent form,” Scott congratulated her with an appreciative grin. “Calm, frosty, and with eviscerating sarcasm.”

Predictably, this compliment did nothing to mollify her. Her voice rose several octaves. “Scott, you can’t simply go around and injure whatever students you please—”

“Which is fine, because I wasn’t planning on it,” he interrupted. “Now is there any particular reason why Ron is being slower than the hills, or is today just the day for hanging around in the locker room?”

“He probably hit the showers,” Harry said. He looked down at his wrinkled robes. “I was in a bit of a hurry.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. “Harry, that’s disgusting.”

“I’m not too bad, I think…” He cautiously sniffed himself.

“My eyes aren’t tearing up, so you must be fine,” Scott said.

“I think your standards are in need of revision,” Hermione said, backing away from both of them.

***---~**~---***

It was later that day, during the evening following the game, that Ginny was putting the finishing touches on a Transfiguration essay. With a final flourish, she penned the last few words and dropped her quill, looking over her work with satisfaction. It was, perhaps, not a paper worthy of an Outstanding, but still more than adequate. She stood and left her homework where it lay, wanting to get out of her room and away from learning. She needed a break.

It had been difficult to sit down long enough to write anything; she was still filled with energy, a legacy of their victory that afternoon. The stairs flew beneath her feet as she jumped several of them and rushed down into the common room, hoping to find one of her friends with whom she could relive the highlights of the game.

Instead the common room was disappointingly bare. She checked the clock and was dismayed to find that she had spent far more time on the essay than she had intended. It was getting late, and much of the student body had already retired for the night, exhausted after attending both the Quidditch match and the after party.

Of the few that remained, the only one that she knew well was Scott. He was slumped in his usual armchair, eyes closed, with three large textbooks open and sitting haphazardly on his lap. Several papers lay on the table before him. When she approached him he didn’t stir, and she couldn’t help but peer curiously at some of the notes he had scribbled down.

Quarter rotation of the wrist with short flick. Entropy demands the school spells be refueled. (100\100 efficiency is thermodynamically impossible) (/_\S = q/T) Does it heat the school? Second law states that Accio must slightly heat the object or wand, air :  not a closed system? could you burn your hand if you cast too many spells? Could (possibly impossible) absolute zero be maintained with spellwork? T -> 0, S-> C expressed Keeping in mind that heat is not temperature. Diffused? p = w\t = (mg)h\t Don’t think it’s a true isolated system. Maxwell was right?

Only the first line made any sense to her; the rest might as well have been Mermish.

“It’s not polite to pry,” Scott said, his eyes still closed.

“I’m not bad at Charms, I’ll have you know,” she retorted, looking at the subjects of his books. “I might have been able to help.”

“My problems aren’t subject to solution,” he grumbled. “It’s an issue of incompatibility. Or so I keep telling myself.”

Ginny seated herself on the couch across from him. “I need to talk to you.”

“I know.” Scott rubbed at his eyes and then leaned his head against the side of the chair. He still hadn’t looked at her.

She’d had a million things to say to him, but that was before she’d thought them through. Time had brought with it the chance for reflection, and she had realised that most of the things she had wanted to call him on didn’t really matter anymore. Scott was part and parcel with the company he kept. Trust was irrelevant — he was already a part of life around Hogwarts. She didn’t have to trust him. He just had to be tolerated.

Her confrontational speech had been boiled down to a single bullet point. “Actually, I guess I just have something to say to you.”

“Which is?”

“Harry lost someone very important to him last year,” Ginny said quietly. “It really hurt him a lot.”

“Sirius? I’m aware. We’ve touched briefly on the subject.”

“The thing about Sirius is, he was really on Harry’s side. Harry was more important than anything else.”

For the first time, Scott opened his eyes. “Where are you going with this?”

“You’re kind of like Sirius, a little bit,” Ginny said seriously, “and Harry really believes you can help him.” She looked Scott firmly in the eye for a moment. “You’re a terrible person if you take advantage of that.”

For a long moment Scott gazed back at her, his expression unchanged. “I’m not here to replace anybody,” he said finally. “I’m not even here to be anyone’s friend. If it happens, great. Life becomes that much more pleasant. But it’s not my intention to be a surrogate anything. If you don’t like me, you don’t have to. Just work with me so we can get this done.”

“This isn’t about me,” Ginny said heatedly. He was twisting her intentions! “I’m just telling you not to toy with Harry like that! He doesn’t need that, least of all now.”

Scott shook his head. “Exploiting this supposed vulnerability of his which, by the way, I have yet to see in him, isn’t necessary. Harry’s already been willing to accept my help, there’s no point in ‘toying’ with his emotions.”

“You might as well just say you would have if it was in your best interest!” Ginny seethed. “Why does everything have to come back to this big mission of yours? Why can’t you just not do it because Harry’s your friend, because you respect him?”

“He couldn’t earn my respect before I got know him,” he countered.

She stared at him in disbelief. “What, I suppose defeating and escaping You-Know-Who more than once isn’t heroic enough for you?”

He shrugged. “Great deeds don’t guarantee that you’re not a total douche. You want to prove yourself to me? Then prove yourself to me — not the public, not your momma, not your girlfriend.”

Scott was looking pointedly at her when he said ‘girlfriend’ and she fought a blush, gritting her teeth. Her relationship or the lack thereof with Harry was not the issue at stake, and he couldn’t misdirect her that easily. “You’d think it would at least get him a chance before you used him however you wanted.”

“Who says it didn’t?”

“You did!”

“No, I didn’t. You inferred it. It’s not my fault you chose to reach beyond the literal context.”

Ginny was beginning to fully understand just what it was about Scott Kharan that drove Hermione so often to the higher plateaus of fury.

“If you take advantage of Harry’s trust,” she grated, “you will answer to me.”

“I’d expect as much,” Scott said dolefully. He had a resigned expression on his face. “It seems I’ve spent most of my time here working under the demands of entropy and other women.”

***---~**~---***

Addendum:

I am often asked by colleagues why I continue to provide a foreword for these volumes. At a certain point, it must be wondered if there is anything left to say. The overview which follows this page provides all the pertinent summarization, so I am not required to do the same, and all the fine minds who have contributed to this collection are recognized on both the cover and within the table of contents.

            In truth, I sometimes wonder as well. There is no single idea at work within this volume with which to capture in brief, no overarching concept save the pursuit of science in its purest form. These theories are disparate, and united only by the common thread of progress, and perhaps even a faint hint of the greater good. We would like to believe, certainly, that our work is indispensable to the future.

            Regardless of its importance, it is understood that this volume was published by us, and will be read almost solely by us. It is coached in terms of mathematical density and ultra specific jargon. No one not fully immersed in the field of its origin could understand the meaning behind any one of these works. Everything, we believe, can be explained, even if it is only to each other.

            But as I deliver unto you yet another batch of theories distilled from our greatest scientific minds, I begin to question the purpose of it. I begin to question our methods of distance and formula. Men of science, it has been said, are not to be preoccupied with philosophical notions and intangible concepts.

            And yet, are we so bent on understanding that we forget the beauty in our world? Does a microscope strip the subject of mystery, or magnify it? Can a physicist still see the poetry of motion even as he describes it in numbers? Have we forgotten the delicate workings of the atom, the dark depths of the event horizon, the subtle dance of quantum shifts? In our quest to explain, have we ceased to enjoy?

            To the uninitiated, these theories within cannot be easily grasped. They are unexplained. To the common man, they are as magic. And to us, they are mundane.

We might wonder, then, if science is the magic for the untrained eye, then where is ours?

— Dr. Albrecht Kresser, Foreword to Modern Science Periodical’s Collected Theorems Volume CXLVII

Chapter Navigation:

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1: Nothing Important Happened Today2: Shape and Diverge3: Summer Night Showtime4: Integral/Extrinsic5: Some Internal Bell6: The Best Kinds of Monsters7: Remember October, November? Part 18: Remember October, November? Part 29: Unimprobable10. The Dark Line on the World11. Winterlude12: Three To Get Ready13: And Four to Go14: Our Holiday Home, Part 115: Our Holiday Home, Part 216: The Most Final Equality17: I’ve Been to a Marvellous Party18: Look Now Look Again19: What to Do While Waiting For the Other Foot to Fall20: So Helpfully Anomalous

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