Jewel Of The Nile

Chapter Fifty-Five

One prolonged, elastic moment of perfect symbiosis may be all the universe can stand at a time. That, Sybil reasoned, would certainly explain why she’d never been allowed two in a row.

Or maybe it was her own brittle heart, too cold for too long, that would snap under so sudden and fervent a thaw. Whichever it was, it didn’t really matter; the moment had been sweet, for as long as it had lasted -- and then there had been that last thing he’d whispered, just before he left to return to the Ball.

I’d like to see the real you, someday. I bet you’re pretty.

Sybil could have wept, at that.

Only an eighteen-year-old boy could be so simple, so direct. So innocently perceptive.

I bet you’re pretty.

Oh, Harry.

It made her want ... oh, she didn’t know what. Made her wonder, enough to reach for her wand instead of the Ogden’s, and ponder the possibilities of those ubiquitous two words she’d, as a witch, directed at a thousand other things over the years, but never at herself: Finite Incantatem.

Would they work? She had no idea, and the encircling mirrors on the walls reflected back to her only her own uncertainty.

My own face.

Slowly, she rotated the wand in her fingers until the business end was poised over her heart.

My own face. My own ...

The tremulous sound of the initial consonant on her lips was drowned out by frantic pounding on the other side of the wall adjoining her classroom. Frowning, Sybil switched gears mid-charm, muttered something else entirely instead, and strode impatiently to the door, dressed once again in full Fruit-Bat regalia.

"Yes?"

It was Harry again -- no surprises there. What Sybil hadn’t expected was that he’d be accompanied, and yet he was -- Ginny Weasley was half a pace behind him, brown eyes wide with trepidation, clutching what looked like a paste ruby on a long silver chain.

"Just now," she gasped, holding it up at arm’s-length like a semaphore flag. "I was dancing ... and then Camilla looked at me and said - oh, how pretty, I didn’t know it changed colours! - and I looked down and said - well, it isn’t supposed to. And then I remembered ..." She trailed off miserably.

Sybil shot an inquiring look at Harry. He looked worried.

"Mortal peril," he said simply. Sybil frowned.

"Mortal peril? Who’s in mortal peril?"

"Draco," Harry said. "And Gabrielle."

Well, that’s news to me, Sybil thought, resigned, and asked the Obligatory Question even though she had the feeling she already knew the answer. "Aren’t they downstairs at the dance?"

Harry shook his head. "They went after Malfoy," he said. "I’ll explain later -- there isn’t time now. Can you Locate them?"

Later, Sybil would wonder why he’d chosen to come to her. Right now, however, it didn’t seem to matter so much.

"Come in, then," she said, and stood aside to let them pass. "If we’re going to be in time, we’d better hurry."

**

"I don’t think it’s any use," Ginny said faintly. "That bomb-shelter whatsit thingy – Draco said it’s Unplottable, remember?"

"Unplottable?" Sybil peered into her crystal ball – you could perform a Location Charm without one, of course, but she felt that using it focussed her results – then sat back with a shake of her head. "Well, then, they aren’t there anymore. Matter of fact, they aren’t even in Britain anymore."

"They’re not?" Harry leaned over her shoulder. "Where are they, then?"

"Alexandria," Sybil said absently, then jackknifed up with a start. "Wait a minute – that can’t be right. Severus is in Alexandria."

"Must be a popular spot," Harry said slowly. "Hermione’s there, too."

Again, this was news to Sybil – and not particularly welcome news, at that. "She is?"

Harry nodded. "Sent us all postcards just the other day," he said, "though I’m not sure how she finds the time. She’s working round the clock on some Jade Priestess thing or other. Something about two books that are really only one book. They’re written in …"

" … code," Sybil finished heavily. Her inward Emote-O-Meter was set squarely on fume. "No wonder Dumbledore suggested …"

Breaking off, she forced herself to focus on the matter at hand. "Well, that’s good news, then." In a depressing sort of way.

"It is?" Ginny looked skeptical. "How?"

"The two of them – Severus and Hermione – are working on the same project," Sybil supplied. "Malfoy had the second half of the Book, the half they were intending to Call as soon as they had the counter-potion figured. If all five of them are Locating in Alexandria right now – and they are – that means that Severus and Hermione have cracked the code and Called the book, somehow dragging Gabrielle and Draco along for the ride. Malfoy too, looks like. And four against one is pretty good odds."

Particularly, she thought, when one of the four is a permanently-pissed-off ex-villain with blood on his conscience, a jones for redemption, and half a death-wish that won’t stop following him.

"But …" Ginny shook the crystal pendant on its chain. "Mortal peril," she insisted. "Still. Can’t we do something?"

Harry was already nodding his agreement. Sybil sighed.

Gryffindors.

"Right, then," she said wearily. "The more the merrier. Just give me a second to focus."

This was just the sort of situation, she thought, when a telepathic link could come in distinctly handy.

Pity everyone didn’t have one.

**

Miss Granger? she telegraphed cautiously. Hermione? What’s happening? Where’s Malfoy?

No answer.

Hermione? Hermione, are you there?

Malfoy’s dead, said an unfamiliar voice – low, fruity, self-satisfied. He was old and tough, too. But I’ve had worse. I’ll have worse yet.

What?!? Sybil’s eyes widened. Who are you? Where’s Hermione?

The little witch? Oh, she’s here, purred the Voice. She’s a clever girl, she is. She’s keeping quiet.

What have you done with her?

Done with her? Nothing – yet.

The Voice lowered conspiratorially. I’ve grown rather fond of her, you know. I’m letting her stay as long as she can. But she can’t last forever, or I’ll never get Out. You understand.

No, Sybil thought frantically. No, I bloody well don’t understand. Explain yourself.

A struggle – not heard so much as felt – then Hermione’s voice, strained and cracking with tension: Trelawney. You’ve got to help me. You’ve got to come quick.

Are you all right? Are you hurt?

Hesitation. Gabrielle’s hurt, not me. Malfoy’s … Malfoy’s …

Malfoy, said the Voice, has served his purpose. He was surprisingly toothsome … or perhaps it’s just that it’s been so long. A chuckle. There are some young ones here – no question about how tasty they’ll be. Such pretty hair. Red and gold and white …

No! Hermione, sounding panicked. No! They haven’t done anything wrong! You can’t … I won’t let you …

Little witch, said the Voice fondly, you overstep yourself. Don’t forget your place.

A scream, reverberating across the Link like a sonic boom. Weeping.

Help, Hermione whispered brokenly, and Sybil heard the Voice laugh.

She won’t be here much longer, my dear, it said. Better come quick, if you want to say good-bye.

Oh. Oh, Christ.

"Hang on," Sybil said aloud, her face set in grim lines, and grabbed hold of two hands – one with peach-manicured nails, the other with a palm hard and calloused from hours spent gripping a broomstick. Both were clammy with sweat.

"What?" Harry demanded. "What is it? What’s gone wrong?"

"Shut up," Sybil said. "Shut your eyes, too, while you’re at it. Don’t let go. And don’t look down. Consecutus!"

She was going to get to the bottom of this … and fast.

**