It is a lovely fall night at Offhand Manor.

The man known to both the Muggle and magical world as Dr. Marcus Reader sits in his study, a fine nib pen in his hand, as he composes a letter to Albus Dumbledore, currently headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Books and monographs on magical theory and history are neatly stacked at his elbow, ready for his quick reference. Scarlatti, as played by Glenn Gould in a recording never released to the public, wafts through Gradient loudspeakers powered by VTL equipment; Mr. Gould's occasional subtle throat-clearings, not audible on most home stereo gear, are present, but not obtrusively so. A glass of Lillet catches and mirrors the lovely amber of the flames in the fireplace, the sparks from the resiny, aromatic logs dancing like fireflies.

Hannibal Lecter has been communicating to Professor Dumbledore his theories concerning magic and entropy. He is particularly interested in how magic could perhaps be used by wizards such as Voldemort to halt or even reverse the flow of entropy, the inevitable breakdown of order into disorder, at least as it applied to their own persons. The entropy-retarding effects of magic are well-known and obvious; even without explicitly resorting to magical aids, witches and wizards age more slowly than the general population of humanity. And Nicholas Flamel and his wife Perenelle were able to use the Philosopher's Stone to indefinitely stall entropy dead in its tracks, until the Stone was destroyed to keep it from falling into Voldemort's hands.

Dr. Lecter believes that it is possible to recreate the Philosopher's Stone, and wishes to demonstrate this to Dumbledore: the faint scratchings of the pen's metal nib can be heard as one equation after another flows effortlessly onto the parchment. He conceives of many variations on the Brouwer-Kakutani Fixed-Point Theorem, and its possible magical applications in a closed system in reversing entropy's relentless flow. The early work of Stephen Hawking, in which the great Cambridge professor considered the possibility of entropy's reversal, is also revisited; Dr. Lecter peruses the vast spaces of his memory palace, re-reading his mentally stored copies of the many books of the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics.

Whether it would be wise to recreate the Stone, on the other hand, is another matter. But events in Dr. Lecter's personal history have sorely tempted him in the past to attempt to overthrow entropy's rule.

When he was six years old, Hannibal Lecter was the heir and scion of a wealthy Lithuanian count who had married into the even wealthier Visconti family of Italy. He lived a happy, privileged life, and the apple of his eye was his younger sister, Mischa.

When he was seven years old, Hannibal Lecter was a penniless refugee, his parents dead, his home burned, his beloved baby sister eaten for food -- all of this caused by the retreat of the starving, desperate German army in 1944 as they fled the Russians.

Ever since that time, what Dr. Lecter has wanted, more than anything in the world, is to undo that tragedy.

The arrival of Clarice Starling into his life may have blunted the keen edge of that desire, in addition to making him realize that committing a series of bloody killings, no matter how ingenious, was not a proper response to that tragedy -- that in fact, those killings had lowered him to the level of Mischa's murderers. But the efforts of both Voldemort and Flamel -- and probably those of Dumbledore himself, for if anyone alive knew the late Nicholas Flamel's heart and mind, it was his closest living collaborator, Albus Dumbledore -- raised some tantalizing possibilities.

But enough of that for now, decides the doctor. He spreads the parchment to dry, then caps the inkwell and places his pen in the pen-holder on his desk. He will hand the letter to Clarice so she can deliver it herself into Dumbledore's hands, the next time she goes to Hogwarts to check on Harry. As much as he loves sending things by owl post, it would be best not to send this that way.


~~~~~

The mood at Hogwarts was very odd. There were no overt hysterics -- it was as if everyone had somehow agreed that hysteria was a luxury they could not afford
at the moment -- but the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. People were always a touch on the edgy side, less patient than usual.

A giant memorial service had been held on the grounds of Hogwarts, both for the dead students and for the persons who had fallen at Azkaban, at which Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley had presided. It had helped matters, but only to a degree.

As Professor Snape had predicted, the parents of the dead fledgling Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy, insisted on pretending that they knew nothing at all about their children's having turned to the Dark Lord. This didn't sit well with those families who had lost members in repelling the attack on Azkaban, and who well remembered how readily certain families, such as the Malfoys, had joined with Voldemort during the years of his first rise to power; some of them had to be physically restrained from openly attacking Lucius Malfoy during the service.

After the service, the normal routine was resumed. Classes were held; Quidditch practices took place. Yet there was a joylessness about everything, even Quidditch; it was if several Dementors were hovering about the school, as they had during Harry's third year.

Finally, Dumbledore decided that it was time to do something that would help buck up everyone's spirits. To that end, he proposed a Celebrity Quidditch Match, with a team made up of selected Hogwarts staff and students facing a team of worthy members of the wizarding world. Proceeds from the ticket sales would go towards a fund set up for Voldemort's victims.

Clarice Starling, alias Lucy Stellanova, was one of the first persons that Dumblefore invited to be on the celebrity team that would challenge the Hogwarts team. She accepted immediately, with Dr. Lecter's approval and encouragement, when the owl bearing the invitation arrived at their residence one fine fall morning.

"You sit astride your Firebolt as if you were born on it, Clarice," Lecter said to her over breakfast at Offhand Manor. "I think you'd make an excellent Seeker."

"So does Professor Dumbledore," replied Clarice, an enigmatic smile on her face. "But I'll see if I can try out for a Beater position instead."

Dr. Lecter raised an eyebrow, then smiled in return. "As you wish, my love."

~~~~~~~~

There was an electric atmosphere on the day of the match. Hundreds of people had arrived to see the match and to see the cream of the wizarding world, both in the match and on the sidelines.

Reporters from the Daily Prophet were whizzing about on broomsticks, interviewing nearly everyone they could catch: Harry himself had to give three different interviews, and his guardians two apiece, before he and Clarice were mercifully hustled off with the other players to change into their Quidditch robes.

"I'm surprised Rita Skeeter isn't here," Harry said as they disappeared into the changing rooms. "You'd think she'd be all over an event like this."

Clarice snorted. "I'm glad she isn't," she said. "I'd have a tough time keeping my fist out of her face."

Soon, all was ready. The visitors' side, dressed in royal purple, took to the pitch first. Clarice had gotten her wish; she carried a Beater's bat, which she held over her shoulder like a rifle. Her fellow Beater, Jack Crawford, was alongside her; they shared a secret smile as they marched onto the pitch. Charlie Weasley, who had come back from Romania expressly for this match, was the Seeker; his appearance brought a roar from the crowd, who well remembered his playing days at Hogwarts. Florean Fortescue, bluff and hearty, was one of the Chasers. Mafalda Hopkirk, from the Ministry of Magic, and Celestina Warbeck, the singing sorceress, were the other two. Meaghan McCormack, Keeper for the famous Pride of Portree club, played the same position for the celebrity team; her appearance drew a wave of cheers.

Then the Hogwarts team, dressed in polychrome-and-gilt robes, strode onto the pitch. Hagrid came out onto the field as one of the Beaters for the Hogwarts side; his broom, the biggest Nimbus 2003 made, looked like a twig in his immense hands, and his bat looked like a small ruler. Madam Hooch, her sturdy figure bolt upright with pride, was the Keeper. Professor Snape, astonishingly enough, was the other one of the Hogwarts Beaters; he was apparently fully recovered from the injuries he had sustained at the beginning of the year, though he didn't look overly pleased to be part of the festivities. He held his bat as if he really wished he could be beating heads and not Bludgers. Professor McGonagall, on the other hand, cheerfully led her fellow Chasers Sprout and Sinistra out onto the pitch. Finally, Harry himself, as the Hogwarts Seeker, came onto the pitch, to tumultuous applause.

Professor Dumbledore, wearing referee's robes, stood in the middle of the pitch, silver whistle in one hand, broomstick in the other. He hopped onto his broomstick and floated over the pitch to address both the players and the crowd.

"I thank you all, my fellow wizards and witches, for taking time out of your lives both to play and to watch what I am sure will be a most memorable match of Quidditch," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying to every corner of the pitch. "This will be a red-letter day in the history of the sport, and I know that everyone concerned will honour this day by playing as cleanly as possible.

"And now, without further ado, let the match begin -- and may the best team win!"

With that, he blew on his whistle, and the two teams rose into the air.

The celebrity team may have had a few of what Lucy/Clarice was wont to call "ringers", but the Hogwarts side was certainly capable of holding its own. Hagrid was not the most graceful flier in the world, but he could smack a Bludger the length of the pitch and well into a knot of opposing players. Snape, for his part, wielded his bat with a savage intensity that caused everyone to stay well away from him. He also seemingly had eyes in the back of his head, for he could spot a speeding Bludger a good second before nearly anyone else on the Hogwarts side; only Harry had a better eye for the flying iron missiles.

The commentary was handled by none other than Arthur Weasley himself, and he was in fine form:

"Professor McGonagall has the Quaffle and is hanging onto it like glue... she hands it off to Madam Hooch, who scores! Hogwarts Point!"

"Now the visitors have possession. Celestina Warbeck is passing the Quaffle to Florean Fortescue, who is dodging a particularly heavy Bludger attack courtesy of Professor Snape -- but Lucy Stellanova puts up her feet and sends both the Bludgers hurtling back towards Professor Snape! Oh, what a mighty kick!"

"Kick-y! Kick-y!", roared the crowd.

"She can't DO that!" Snape yelled, outraged, as he smacked the Bludgers out of his way.

"Oh, yes, she can," replied a chuckling Dumbledore, who had seen the whole thing from his vantage point not fifteen feet away. "There is nothing in the rules that forbids a person from using his or her feet to deflect a Bludger."

It rapidly became obvious that while the visiting team had a very good Seeker and Keeper, the Hogwarts Seeker was just as good, if not better, and the Hogwarts Chasers were definitely better than those of the celebrity team. Poor Florean Fortescue was simply too heavy to be a good Chaser, and being saddled with an old Cleansweep Seven didn't help matters. The Hogwarts side soon was ahead by a score of four to three.

Professor McGonagall had the Quaffle again, expertly dodging the Bludgers sent her way by Jack Crawford. She was speeding towards the visitors' goals when suddenly, she saw several strangers on broomsticks flying overhead. Their wands were out and pointed at the Bludgers, which suddenly all reversed their courses and headed straight for Harry Potter.

"Finite Incantatem!", she cried, and just in time, too, for one of the Bludgers was within five feet of Harry before it suddenly stopped in mid-air and fell to the ground.

Crawford was the next to react. "Stop the match! We're under attack!" he bellowed, in a voice loud enough to be heard across the entire pitch. The roaring crowd suddenly fell silent in shock.

In a flash, everyone had their wands out and aimed at the intruders. There looked to be at least a dozen of them, flying in from all directions; not being able to Apparate on the grounds at Hogwarts, they had apparently chosen to Apparate in the closest airspace they could find.

Professor Snape was the closest person to Harry at the moment. "Potter, get down to the ground NOW!" he bellowed, throwing himself between Harry and a fast-moving attacker on a Nimbus 2001. Harry did as he was told, but couldn't help drawing out his own wand; he yelled "Expelliarmus!" at the top of his lungs, knocking the speeding wizard off of his own broom just as he was about to blast Snape. The wizard hit the ground as Harry landed next to Dr. Lecter, who immediately wrapped him in a bear hug.

"Stay here until it's all over, Harry," Dr. Lecter whispered in his ear. "They shan't be able to harm you, so long as I'm encircling you. I'll deflect whatever they send."

"But what about Lucy?" cried Harry, still holding his wand out in front of him; it was a measure of his new-found mental strength that he still had the presence of mind, even under extreme duress, to remember to call Clarice by her alias.

Dr. Lecter smiled. "She'll be all right. Watch."

Clarice, Snape, McGonagall and Crawford were in the thick of it, stunning and disarming the invading wizards right and left as the crowd cheered. Charlie Weasley was also giving a good account of himself, protecting his startled fellow celebrities until they were able to recover from the shock and fight back themselves. Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley were kept busy floating the stunned-and-bound attackers down to the ground; they were aided in this endeavor by Alastor Moody, who had been watching the match on the sidelines near Dr. Lecter.

Suddenly, three of the remaining attackers converged on Clarice. They apparently didn't have the ability to fly with a broom in one hand and a wand in the other, because none of them had their wands out.

Quick as lightning, she reached behind her and pulled out a second wand from a holster on her back. Then, with a wand in each hand, she shouted "Stupefy!", and the wizards on either side of her dropped off their broomsticks.

The third wizard was not fazed by this; he merely tightened his grip on his broom and stayed the course. And when he got within range, Clarice reared up the front of her broomstick, put up both of her feet, and smacked him full in the face. He tumbled down to earth, knocked unconscious.

It was over in less than two minutes.

Most of the attackers had been subdued; a few of them, either smarter or more cowardly than their fellows, had apparently turned tail almost immediately, without firing off a single spell. Fifteen people lay, unconscious but largely unharmed, on the ground.

"Take them away separately and jail them separately," growled Moody as several Ministry representatives made their way onto the pitch to remove the captured attackers. "We don't want them killing themselves before we have the chance to interrogate them." He then turned towards Clarice, who had just landed on the ground with Jack Crawford.

"Miss Stellanova," he said, stumping towards her on his wooden leg, his face grim.

Clarice looked him straight in the eye. "Yes, Mr. Moody."

"You are insane."

"Yes, sir."

"You are foolhardy."

"Yes, sir."

"You had no business taking on that lot with less than three months' worth of magic under your belt."

"Yes, sir."

"You're an Auror."

Clarice's eyes widened. "Mr. Moody?"

Moody's face was split by a wide smile. His magical eye was spinning in its socket. "Crawford's been after me to hire you, but I hadn't made up mind -- until now." He pulled out a small silver badge and handed it to her. "Put it on, Stellanova. You're an Auror now, or will be eventually when I'm done with you."

Clarice read the embossed legend on the badge: Semper valoris. She couldn't quite keep her hands from shaking as she pinned the badge to her chest. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," she said, her eyes shining.

"My pleasure," he replied, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "That was the damndest display of virtuosity on a broom I've ever seen, lassie. I'll never forgot the sight of that wretch's face as your boots smashed into it. And that's smart of you to carry a spare wand. I've a mind to make that practice mandatory for all Aurors." He paused for a moment, gathering in both her and Crawford in one glance. "Now, you're by no means
home free. There's a probationary period while you get your Auror training. But there's no doubt in my mind that you'll make it. You're smart, you're tough, you've got guts."

"I'll try to justify your trust in me, Mr. Moody."

"Don't 'try'," growled Moody, "just do it. You know how." He suddenly grinned again. "I know you know how."