The Room with a Computer
Part III
Minisinoo
 

"He's an arrogant pretty boy," Snape said to Minerva McGonagall at supper, eyes on Summers as the Muggle teacher took food from a buffet.  The dining hall remained relatively empty, most of the students still in their common rooms, either celebrating or commiserating after the Quidditch match -- no doubt with pirated snacks.

Minerva glanced at her colleague.  "What makes you say that?"

"Did you hear about the courtyard incident earlier today?"

"I did.  It was horrible, and if you expect me to veto his deduction of points from Slytherin, you're much mistaken."

"I don't expect it, but he brought the incident on himself, coming here.  He doesn't belong, Minerva -- a Muggle among wizards.  Of course they're going to push boundaries with him."

Her eyes narrowed.  "Whether or not a Muggle belongs here does not excuse the fact that a student attacked a teacher and very nearly caused him to demolish the castle.  Have you seen what his eyes can do?  If that blast had hit the castle instead of a gable, it would have caused more damage than a wrecking ball."

"Then he's too dangerous to be teaching here.  And he shouldn't have told anyone that he couldn't remove the glasses.  His error."

She shook her head.  "What have you got against Professor Summers, Severus?"

"He's an insufferable know-it-all, and presumes on his looks."

Tsking, she said, "I think it has more to do with the fact he was wearing a Gryffindor scarf today, and has both Hermione Granger and Harry Potter among his student tutors.  I also think you should be grateful that he didn't ask for Miss Parkinson's expulsion, nor punish Mr. Malfoy for taunting him.  His reaction to what happened in the courtyard this afternoon strikes me as remarkably restrained, considering.  And -- after today -- I doubt the students will attack him again.  They've seen what his gift can do."

News of what had happened in the castle courtyard got around, and even those who hadn't seen the red blasts crumple a castle gable like a fist into a child's block tower looked at Professor Summers with new respect.  The girls who'd sighed as he passed now kept their distance, which Ginny found funny.  "I guess he really can't take the glasses off," Demelza whispered to her in class the next Monday while they worked on an internet assignment Summers had given them.

"No kidding," Ginny replied.  "He said so, didn't he?"  She checked her scribbled notes for Boolean search commands and tapped her foot to the music Summers was playing in the background:

And the battle's just begun,
There's many lost, but tell me who has won?
The trenches dug within our hearts,
And mothers, children, brothers, sisters torn apart.

"I thought . . . well, I couldn't imagine never being able to take them off," Demelza said.  "I wonder what color his eyes really are?"

Ginny just rolled her own eyes.  "Probably red, yeah?"

"That would be . . . weird."

"Is there a problem, ladies?" Summers asked, approaching.

"Er, no, Mr. Summers," Demelza replied, returning her attention to her computer monitor.

When Summers crossed the room to answer a question, Neville leaned in to speak to all four of them at the table.  "Have you heard what our end-of-term exam's going to be?"

"No," the others replied.

"He's taking us to London."

"London?" Demelza said, surprised.  "How is that an exam?  And how do you know?"

"I overheard Professor Sprout talking to Professor Sinistra."  Neville was blushing, probably for eavesdropping, but added, "We're getting a list of things to find and some Muggle money, then he's dumping us at Paddington station at nine in the morning.  We have to find everything, use the Underground, and make our way back to The Leaky Cauldron before sunset."

Ginny blinked, shocked by this news.  "But doesn't he know You-Know-Who is out there?  The teachers won't allow him to expose students like that."

"Apparently, they are," Neville said.  "He's got people to keep an eye on us."

"Aurors?"

"Some of them, plus a group Professor Sprout called 'X-Men.'"

"What the bloody hell are 'X-Men'?" Demelza asked.

Neville just shrugged.  "Dumbledore approved it, or that's what Professor Sprout said.  But I don't think she likes it, nor Professor Sinistra, neither."

Further conversation was truncated as Summers began pacing around the class again.

At lunch, Ginny told Hermione and Ron about her exam.  "The bloke's lost his bloody mind!" Ron replied.  "You're not going on this trip to London, Ginny.  Mum'd have a fit."

Hermione appeared merely thoughtful.  "I'm not so sure it's a bad idea.  Think.  You-Know-Who doesn't like Muggles.  I don't believe he or his Death Eaters would want to spend a lot of time in non-magical London.  It'll be pretty busy, too, what with Christmas coming and all."

"You-Know-Who's never worried about killing Muggles before," Ron pointed out as Harry, Dean and Seamus joined them.

"Who's never worried about killing Muggles?" Dean asked.

"You-Know-Who," Ginny said, and told them what Neville had confided earlier, plus Hermione's assessment of the danger, or lack thereof.

"Still think he's missing a few pages upstairs," Ron concluded when she was done.  "And I can't believe Dumbledore agreed to this."

But Harry was looking thoughtful, as well.  "Hermione has a point.  The Death Eaters would have to be stark raving bonkers to try attacking a student on, say, High Street or Chancery Lane."

"Well, I think 'stark raving bonkers' about describes the lot of them, don't you?" Ron retorted.

"I'm more worried that Voldemort might use a portkey to get someone off alone, like he did me and Cedric two years ago."  Predictably, everyone winced at Harry's use of the name, although by now, they should be used to it.  Harry sipped his soup.  "But I doubt he'll be lurking on the Tube, waiting for stray students."

"Thank Merlin for small mercies?" Ron asked sarcastically, even as Ginny added, "I don't want to run into Bellatrix Lestrange on the Tube, either, thank you very much."

"It's important that they know how to get around in the Muggle world if they need to," Summers said, facing down the other teachers in the staff room.  They'd waited for Dumbledore to leave the castle again before ganging up to challenge his plans for his end-of-term exam.

Flitwick was shifting in his seat.  "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would find the opportunity -- "

"-- not worth the effort," Summers finished.  "I've already discussed it with Dumbledore -- and Minerva, you know it."  He glared at her, supremely irritated that they were all trying to steal a march on him with the headmaster gone, perhaps thinking he'd change his mind when faced by their united front.  But he'd been X-Men field leader too long to knuckle under that easily.

"Scott, Scott . . . " Slughorn began, "I can understand why you might not appreciate the true danger presented by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers -- "

"I appreciate it fine.  But the middle of Christmas crush in downtown London means all kinds of deterrents.  I'm actually more worried about the kids once they get to Diagon Alley than I am while they're running around Hyde Park.  Dumbledore said Voldemort's followers" -- every single one of the others winced and Scott rolled his eyes behind his glasses -- "are still making covert attacks, not all-out assaults during broad daylight in crowded public areas.  Besides, the kids'll be in groups of six or eight, and I'll have my own people tailing them -- "

"What good do you think mere mutants will be against trained wizards who are unafraid to use forbidden curses?" Snape asked.

"Wizards need wands to perform those curses, right?  How well do you think a wand's going to work if it -- and the arm wielding it -- is frozen inside a solid block of ice?  I know a kid who can do that.  Or if the wand just . . . disappears from the person's hand?  I know another guy who can teleport faster than you can say 'abracadabra' -- or whatever the hell it is.  We're not as helpless as you think, and I'm getting really tired of the constant condescension."  He and Snape traded glares for a moment; the guy was as bad as Wolverine, Scott thought.  "These Death Eaters know how to fight you -- they don't know how to fight us.  I'm not even sure your curses would work on some of my team.  One you can't kill short of blowing him to little bits or dropping him in a vat of acid, and another can phase through solid matter.  I understand you actually have to hit someone with a curse for it to work; they'd go right through her."

The faces around the table showed frank surprise -- and doubt -- but Scott continued before any of them could get a word in edgewise, "Besides, Dumbledore has okayed this.  Until he says 'no,' the trip is on.  Knowing how to get around the Muggle world just might save these kids' lives if they're running from Death Eaters who don't."

"They all think you're a nutter," was Harry's greeting to Scott when he showed up for his tutoring hours on Wednesday of that week.  There were, at the moment, no students in the room.

"And what do you think?" Scott asked, amused, but conscious of the boy's wording.

Dumping his satchel on one of the tables, Harry slumped down in a swivel seat.  "I think you've got a point about Voldemort not trying anything that public.  But you'd better be careful.  He could find a way to get some students off alone.  There are ways to do that, you know, with magic."

"So I've been warned.  Dumbledore said he'd supply some kind of alert charm so the kids don't pick up something that's been spelled during the scavenger hunt."  Scott pulled out a chair across the table from Harry.  "And you just called him Voldemort.  Aside from Dumbledore, I think you're the first person I've heard do that.  They all wince when I do."

Harry shrugged.  "I've faced him four times now.  I think I've got the right."

Both Scott's eyebrows went up at that.  "You've faced him?  Personally?  Aren't you . . . a bit young?"

"You don't know who I am, do you?  Not really, I mean."

Resisting laughing, Scott doubted Harry knew quite how that had sounded.  "I assume you don't mean just that you're Quidditch captain and one of the more popular boys at the school."

"I'm only popular when it suits the rest of them," Harry replied bitterly.  "And yeah, it's a bit more complicated.  See, I'm 'The Boy Who Lived.'"  He made it sound mocking, then told Scott his story in flat, matter-of-fact tones that astonished or appalled Scott by turns.

Halfway through, Scott got up to shut the trap door, indicating the classroom wasn't open for students, and when Harry was done, Scott leaned forward, hands clasped on the wooden tabletop.  "After all that, I'm surprised you're not the one who's nuts."

Harry shrugged with one shoulder and stared out a window.  "You do what you have to do, I suppose."

Unconsciously, Scott smiled.  "That sounds like me."

Harry glanced back at him.  "Hermione told us you're here because your school was attacked -- and your fiancée died."

As always, the mention of Jean made Scott's gut clench.  "That's right."  And he, in turn, gave Harry an abbreviated account of what had happened the previous spring, although a more complete account than he'd given to Hermione.  It included Magneto's attempt to mutate the world's leaders, then Stryker's plan to kill every mutant on the planet, thwarted by Magneto, who'd have had Xavier kill every human instead, had the X-Men not intervened.

"He could really have done that?" Harry asked, wide-eyed.  "Killed everyone with just his mind?"

"Yes."

"Wow, that's . . . bigger than Voldemort.  And I'm not sure who's crazier -- the army guy or Magneto."

"Both of them were reacting out of fear -- Stryker's fear of what mutants can do, and Magneto's fear of another holocaust.  He lost his family in the first one.  He's Jewish."

Harry frowned.  "Losing your family doesn't have to make you a killer."

"No, it doesn't.  But surviving the Holocaust would tend to make a person a little cynical about human nature.  I don't say that as an excuse," Scott added, "but as an explanation.  It's important to understand people's motivations."

"Does it make a difference, if they still kill people?"

"It makes a difference if you want to stop them."  He studied Harry's face, all hard and angry.  "If you have to fight this guy Voldemort, then you might want to study him as much as what he can do.  Most of history's great generals were great not because of their armies, or because they new better tactical tricks -- spells, if you prefer.  They won because they understood their opponents, and could turn that knowledge against them -- psych them out.  The worlds best generals were natural psychologists."

"Maybe that's why . . . " but Harry trailed off, then asked, "How do you know all that?"

"Because I read Sun Tzu and Clausewitz."  Then more seriously, "I read a lot of history, especially military history."

"Do you worry what's going to happen to you and your students -- being a mutant, I mean?  Do you think the Holocaust could happen again?"

"Unfortunately -- yes, I do.  And I worry every day.  But curling up in a scared ball seems counterproductive."

The kid grinned slightly at that.  "Yeah, I suppose so."  He was silent a while, then asked, "You must miss her -- your fiancée."

"We met when I was sixteen.  She was my friend a long time before she was my girlfriend.  So yeah."

"I miss Sirius, too.  I know I didn't know him very long, but --"

"He was your link to your parents.  Losing him was like losing them all over again."

Harry nodded vigorously.  "Yeah, that's it exactly."  He was silent a moment, then added, "It's my fault he died.  If I'd listened when they told me I had to learn Occlumency, I wouldn't have been fooled by Voldemort and gone off to the Ministry.  And Sirius would still be alive."

Scott frowned, hearing an echo of his own guilt in Harry's words.  "Hindsight is 20/20.  If I'd been quicker on the uptake in the prison, or shot to kill not to stun, I might not have been taken prisoner, or let them get the professor.  I'm supposed to be field leader, the one with all the tactical skills, but I lasted less than five minutes.  If I hadn't been taken, I couldn't have been forced to fight Jean -- and damage the dam.  She'd still be alive."

Harry had listened solemnly, and when Scott finished, said, "We make quite the pair, don't we?  I guess I could tell you it wasn't your fault.  But it just annoys me when people tell me it wasn't my fault with Sirius.  It was.  That's the hard part.  Maybe he or Dumbledore should've told me exactly why I had to learn Occlumency.  And yeah, I know Sirius hated being cooped up in that house.  But it doesn't change the fact it was my mistake that put us all at the Ministry that night."

"Your friends just want to make you feel better."

"I know.  But they can't.  It still hurts."  And Scott saw that the boy's eyes were wet.

He set a hand on Harry's shoulder.  "Yeah.  It does."  They didn't speak for perhaps five minutes, then Scott asked, "What was he like?  Sirius?"  And he let Harry talk about his godfather, then his parents, his friends, his struggles with the Ministry, Voldemort, and even about his conflicted feelings for Ginny Weasley.  Scott listened and asked a few questions to keep the boy talking; it was almost midnight before Harry ran out of words.  Scott had to escort him back to Gryffindor tower, lest Harry get in trouble for being out past curfew.

At the portrait that concealed the Gryffindor common-room entrance, Harry turned.  "Thanks.  For, you know, listening to me ramble.  It might not seem like much, but I appreciate it."

"Talking's underrated," Scott replied.  "It may not solve your problems, but it makes you feel better.  I had to learn that lesson, too."

"Yeah.  Well, good night, Professor Summers."

"You can call me Scott, Harry.  I'm not your teacher.  Sleep well."  And turning, he headed back up the stairs towards his own tower room.  He felt a little better himself, not from talking, but because he'd been able to listen.

The day the Americans were to arrive, students spent extra time outside despite the cold, hoping for a glimpse of the plane.  It couldn't land on Hogwarts ground . . . not without the engine cutting out.  So they were to land on a moor a bit west of the castle.  As New York ran six hours behind Greenwich time, it was nearing dusk before Hermione -- who was no different in curiosity than the rest -- caught sight of Mr. Summers coming out of the castle's main entrance.  Professor McGonagall was with him.

Summers looked neither right nor left but headed straight across the crowded courtyard and out the gate, then down the lane, McGonagall walking beside him the whole way.  They were half an hour out of sight when the heavy cloud cover overhead suddenly disappeared, blown away by powerful winds.  The sun, on the horizon over the lake, glowed gold, and overhead, something black passed, like a giant, dark eagle, a rumble shaking the ground in its wake.  A moment later, it came back, headed west again.

"What's that?" Ron asked, shocked, his hands over his ears.

"That, Ron, was a jet, slowing down to land.  They must have circled around."

Harry was on his feet, looking in the direction the plane had disappeared, beyond the lake.  His expression was thoughtful.  "Too bad your dad's not here, Ron," he said.

Ron just blew out, then turned back to his textbook.  They had end-of-term exams coming up in a few days.  "Don't see how the Muggles can stand to ride in something that loud."

"It's not that loud inside," Hermione said.

And though the students continued to hang around outside for another forty-five minutes, missing the start of dinner, Summers and McGonagall never returned the way they'd come.  "She must've taken them back to the castle by some other route," Harry said as he, Hermione and Ron finally headed in.

Initially at supper, there was much gossip about the Americans' arrival, and the black jet, but as the Americans never showed, talk at House tables soon moved to other topics, including Slughorn's Christmas party a week hence.  With Ginny, Hermione headed up to bed early and rose early the next morning as well, hurrying downstairs to breakfast.  But no strangers occupied any of the tables, nor was Summers at the head table.  She might have gone up to his tower classroom, but she had her own classes to worry about.

At lunch, there were still no strangers, and at supper, there were only stark faces from the first, second and third years who'd had Summers' mid-year exams.

"Bloody hell," she heard a second year muttering at she passed, though she thought the boy far too young for cursing.  "I thought his exams would be a cinch, you know?  But it was hard!"  He sounded indignant.

Hermione took a quick bite of the muffin on her plate, to avoid laughing.  When she sat down at her usual spot, though, the faces of Neville and Ginny showed no amusement.  "I've been hearing terrible things about Mr. Summers' exam," Ginny confided.

"What, that he's actually giving a serious test?"  Hermione poked at Ginny playfully with her fork.  "This is a school, Ginny."

"Easy for you to joke about it," Ginny said.  "He's not giving you marks."

Hermione patted her friend on the arm.  "I've been tutoring you, remember?  You'll do fine."

"When you're looking over my shoulder.  Tomorrow, we'll be in London -- and you won't be."

"You'll do fine."

But talking to Ginny gave Hermione an idea.  Finishing her meal quickly, she headed upstairs to Mr. Summer's tower classroom.  Focused as she was on what she wanted to ask, it didn't occur to her to make the obvious connection that if the Americans weren't running around the castle or eating in the Great Hall, they had to be staying somewhere.  Thus, when she knocked on the trapdoor to Summers' tower, she was completely startled by a girl's face that suddenly pushed through it -- as if she were a ghost, though she clearly wasn't.  "Yes?  Can we help you?"

"I . . . was . . . ah . . . whoareyouandhowdidyou do that?"

The girl laughed and her head disappeared back through the wood.  Hermione could hear someone calling out on the other side, then it was flung open and Mr. Summers was squatting there next to the girl.  "Hi, Hermione.  Don't mind Kitty.  She gets a kick out of scaring people."  And he offered her a hand to pull her up into the room.  Still in shock, Hermione took it, as Summers continued, "Hermione, this is Kitty Pryde.  Kitty, this is Hermione Granger.  The pair of you would be peas in a pod, I think, if you went to the same school."

Kitty peered at her, grinning.  "What?  They call you The Amazing Brain, too?"

"Something like that," Hermione replied, still recovering from her fright.  "How did you do that . . . bit . . . with the door?"

"My mutant power," Kitty explained as Mr. Summers strolled back to a large table that now occupied the far side of room, at which a number of people were seated, eating dinner.  Kitty led Hermione after.  "I can alter my molecular structure so that I phase through solid objects."  She paused and frowned slightly.  "Uh, did you understand --?"

"I was born a Muggle," Hermione interrupted, a bit impatiently.  "I was thinking about becoming a scientist before, ah . . . well, before I found out I was a witch."

Kitty's grin came back.  "I just got my early acceptance into the University of Chicago -- plan to major in physics.  I was hoping for M.I.T., but . . . "  she shrugged, and Hermione suddenly understood exactly what Mr. Summers had meant, that they were two peas in a pod.  "Did you come up here to help tutor?" Kitty asked.  "Cyclops said all the tutoring sessions are closed now."

Cyclops?  "I know," Hermione said.  "I had something to ask Mr. Summers . . . " She trailed off.  She had a feeling she'd be turned down, but would rather be turned down by Summers than by a girl only a bit older than she.  They'd reached the table anyway, and Kitty plopped down in the one empty seat as Hermione paused behind Summers' chair.

He turned towards her, and Hermione finally glanced around the table curiously at the others seated there -- a number of adults and some older teens.  A few didn't look quite . . . human.  "You're the X-Men?" she asked.

Summers grinned.  "Yes.  This is my team."  He gestured to people in turn.  "Ororo Munroe, called Storm; Hank McCoy, called Beast -- he's the one I told you about who hangs from the ceiling --"

Hermione tried not to gape at the big man who was completely covered in blue fur yet wore a pair of little glasses perched on his nose that looked remarkably like Harry's.  The one beside him startled even more, with blue skin, pointed ears, yellow eyes, fangs, and a spade-tipped tail.

"Kurt Wagner, called Nightcrawler," Summers went on, "and Logan, called Wolverine; plus Betsy Braddock, Psylocke -- she's from England, a friend of the professor's, and met us when we arrived.  The others are trainees -- Piotr Rasputin, called Colossus . . . "

Hermione could see why.  The young man looked to be almost as big as Hagrid, but she doubted it was from Giant blood.

"Bobby Drake, called Iceman; Rogue and Jubilee; Dani Elk River, called Mirage; Sam Guthrie, called Cannonball; Jimmy Proudstar, called Thunderbird; and Kitty Pryde, our Shadowcat, who you already met.  Folks, this is Hermione Granger.  She's been my chief student assistant here."

The people gathered around the table murmured hellos and (mostly) smiled at her.  The man with the funny hair whom Summers had called Wolverine didn't look like he ever smiled.  "Why the nicknames?" Hermione asked.  She wasn't going to say that they sounded rather silly.

"They're like pilot call signs," Summers explained.  "They allow us to communicate over a radio without giving out name, rank and serial number -- so to speak."

"And yours is . . . Cyclops?  Like the monster in the Odyssey?"

"That's right -- but hopefully I'm not quite as stupid."

"I wouldn't bet on that, bub," Wolverine said while reaching for another piece of bread.  He flicked a knife out of his . . . knuckle? and speared the bread, dropping it onto his plate.

Summers just raised his middle finger at Wolverine while the rest of the table laughed and Hermione struggled not to be scandalized.  It wasn't very teacherly.  Yet he seemed more at ease here and it struck her that 'Cyclops' was a rather different person than the Mr. Summers she and the rest had come to know that autumn.

Conversation around the table resumed and Summers turned his full attention to her.  "What did you need, Hermione?"

"I wanted to ask to come with you tomorrow."

His mouth opened just a little in surprise.  "Don't you have classes?"

"Yes, but, well . . . I thought that perhaps I could help."

Rising from the table, Summers walked a little away, motioning her to follow.  A few of his friends glanced in their direction, but didn't comment.  Hands on hips, he studied her face before saying, "You're a Muggleborn witch, Hermione, and I understand that it's people like you, or witches and wizards married to Muggles, who've been the most prominent targets of Voldemort's campaign.  Part of why Dumbledore even agreed to this exam is that the students going to London aren't Muggleborn.  Taking you would be tantamount to painting a big target on your back."

Supremely irritated, she put hands on her own hips in a matching pose to his.  "Sir, while I appreciate the concern, I think you're overlooking a few things."

Both his eyebrows went up in question, so she continued, "If Vol- . . . You-Know-Who is after Muggleborn witches and wizards, how much more would he be after a Muggle who's teaching witches and wizards?  And worse, teaching them to do Muggle things?  If I have a target painted on my back, I think yours is just a bit bigger!"

Abruptly, he grinned, as if she'd amused him -- which pissed her off.  "I'm aware I might be high on Voldemort's hit list -- assuming he can be bothered with me at all.  But I'm an adult, trained in self-defense and fighting techniques, with an alpha-level mutation -- as is almost everyone else in this room, or they wouldn' t be here.  Voldemort and his Death Eaters would do well not to tangle with us.  We may be 'One-Trick Ponies' in Professor Snape's opinion, but we're ponies the size of Clydesdales."  He patted her shoulder, "I think we'll be okay.  I'd rather not take you out of classes.  Your Head of House wouldn't appreciate it."

"But who's going with you?  Besides them," she jerked her chin at the table behind.  "The other teachers have classes, too, don't they?  You need a witch or wizard with you, I think --"

"Dumbledore is going with us," Scott replied.  "And I understand there will be a number of aurors there, as well, in case we need them."  He lowered his chin and looked at her from behind those glasses.  The room was dim enough that she thought she could see a reddish glow, and she recalled Harry's description of the powerful red beams that had erupted from his eyes when Pansy had pulled the glasses off his face.  She hoped he was right and he was powerful enough to stand up to Death Eaters.  "So, thank you.  Again.  But you go to class tomorrow, and don't worry, okay?  I'm pretty good at worrying all by myself, trust me."

And for some reason, that made her grin back at him.  Then she glanced down between her feet and gave a little shrug.  "All right.  But, well, you'll let us know that everyone's okay tomorrow night, right?"

"I'm sure you'll hear if they aren't."

"Are you coming back here, after the tests?"

He shook his head.  "No, I don't think so.  Well, I'll be coming back long enough to pack my things, but then I'm heading to the States with my team.  Slughorn was trying to get me to come to his Christmas party -- I think he's decided I'm a novelty."  He shrugged.

"I'd try to talk you into coming as my guest -- but, well --"

"I don't think Ron would appreciate me coming as your guest," Scott replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up.  "Besides, I'm too old for you."

"I wasn't implying anything like that, and Ron not liking it is the point.  Besides, how did you --"

"I have eyes.  And ears.  And you sure do talk about him a lot for a boy who annoys you so much."

She blushed furiously.  "Yes, well, he's a prat.  And more interested in Lavender Brown's chest."

Summers broke up laughing.  "Most boys are, at that age.  We grow up eventually; give him a few years."

Resisting rolling her eyes at that, she held out her hand to him, formally, as she had that very first day they'd met.  "If I don't see you again then, good luck, sir.  I'm glad to've met you."

He took the hand and gripped firmly.  "You, too, Hermione.  And if you're ever in the States and the New York area, head up to Westchester County.  I'll show you around my school."

"Perhaps I will."  She let his hand go and returned to the trapdoor, leaving the warm, yellow room full of people, and trying not to worry about how they'd all do tomorrow watching over witches and wizards in London with You-Know-Who and his followers out there, too.  She hoped that her earlier thoughts were correct, and You-Know-Who wouldn't bother coming after them into very public, Muggle areas.

"So, what else is on the list?" Ginny asked, leaning in to look over Neville's shoulder.

"We're almost done," he said.  "We've got to visit a florist and ask for prices on arrangements, for a funeral or a birthday, we get to pick --"

"But I don't know anyone who's died or who has a birthday," Demelza protested.  She'd been terminally confused on the whole trip, and Ginny resisted sighing.

"It doesn't say to send the flowers anywhere," she pointed out.  "It says to ask about prices.  The point is that if we ever need to know how to send flowers, we could.  That's the point of all these things, Demelza."

"After that," Neville continued, ignoring their sniping, "we just have to send a text message to Dr. McCoy that we're done, get on the Tube and head back to meet him at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Okay," the other seven said, and Demelza asked, "How will we know what a florist's shop looks like?"

"We might try looking for flowers in the window," Ginny suggested.

Neville headed for a phone booth.  "We might also try the phone book," he suggested.  "Get an address."

Neville had -- somewhat surprisingly to everyone but Ginny -- emerged as the leader of their group.  If he'd been confused at first in class, about halfway through the autumn term, he'd suddenly got the hang of things and was now better at Muggle matters than almost anyone else in their hour.  They were well ahead of all the other groups today, except one of the Ravenclaw bunch.

Groups had been divided along House lines, roughly two groups per House of mixed fourth and fifth years (and a few older, such as Neville), each watched over by a pair of X-Men and one auror.  The groups had a list of things to accomplish, with the first group back to the Leaky Cauldron promised a pizza party for supper that evening.  Thanks largely to Neville, it seemed that Ginny's group might actually have a chance at that party.

There had been absolutely no sign all day of You-Know-Who.

Ginny and the rest of her group waited for Neville to return, their X-Men guard dogs standing off to the side, keeping an eye on them.  The X-Men been instructed to stay near but give no assistance in solving the puzzles that Mr. Summers had set for his students.  The two assigned to their group were (she'd gathered) 'heavy hitters':  Storm and Psylocke.  And Ginny knew why, too.  Of the Hogwarts' groups in London, hers was considered among the higher risk, as she and Neville both were in it; so, too, was the Ravenclaw group containing Luna Lovegood -- ironically, the very group that had proved to be their biggest rival so far.  That group was being watched over by none other than Mr. Summers himself and a young woman with curly dark hair called Shadowcat.  'A long- and short-range fighter with each group," Mr. Summers had explained.  Remus Lupin was the auror assigned to Ginny's group -- back from wherever it was he'd recently been -- and Tonks was following the Ravenclaws.

Neville was trotting back towards them now, a slip of paper in his hand, glancing both ways as he crossed the street.  (So far, Demelza and Diana had both got themselves hooted at for walking out in front of traffic.) Neville was sporting a black Pink Floyd shirt -- one of their assignments had been to visit a record store and find a t-shirt advertising a Muggle band they'd liked best from those they'd been introduced to in class.  The boys had all changed into their shirts in a public bathroom, though Ginny, Diana, and Demelza were carrying theirs.  Ginny had picked Elton John.

Now, joining the rest of them, Neville waved the paper.  "Address.  I called, too, and they're only about three or four streets from here, that way."  He pointed, and the rest of them followed after him like ducklings behind a gander.

"Mr. Summers had better give you an O for this exam," Ginny told him.  "We wouldn't be half so close to being done without you."

Neville blushed, but Demelza protested, "We've all helped."

"Helped, yes -- mostly helped get us lost a few times."  Ginny looked speculatively at Neville.  "You know, if doing something with plants doesn't pan out for you as a career, Neville, you might consider Dad's department, working with Muggle objects."

He appeared thoughtful at that suggestion.  "Maybe," he replied.  "I like plants better, though."

"You are interested in plants?" asked an unexpected voice and the rest of them turned to look.

The white-haired X-Woman who'd been walking off to the side now moved closer and was looking at Neville with real interest.  He seemed completely tongue-tied at the attention, however.  The woman -- Storm -- was spectacularly pretty, and Ginny had overheard a couple of Ravenclaw boys whispering that morning before starting out, asking why they couldn't have teachers who looked like that at Hogwarts, and could they perhaps fake a mutant power in order to change schools?  "I mean, her for history class, or Binns?  Gimme the cleavage!"

Mr. Summers, who happened to have been standing almost right behind them, had leaned in to whisper, "Her cleavage could kick your ass, Philip, so I'd be careful with the cracks."

Ginny and Demelza had nearly fallen over laughing at the look on Phil's face.  Now, Ginny said to Storm, "Neville is probably the best in his year in Herbology.  Professor Sprout says he's a natural."

"Professor Sprout?" Storm asked.  "Your Herbology teacher is named Professor Sprout?"  And she laughed, then said, "At Xavier's, I am in charge of the gardens and atrium.  I find working with plants both a subtle art and a soothing one."  And now, instead of just looking embarrassed, Neville was nodding enthusiastically.  "Do you have a favorite type of plant?" Storm asked him.  "I have been working of late with orchids and hibiscus.  I prefer tropical flowers."

She may as well have opened the floodgates.  Neville began chattering about various magical water species with great enthusiasm, and Ginny resisted rolling her eyes -- but the American teacher not only remained interested, she asked a number of leading questions to keep him talking.  By the time they'd reached the florists, the conversation had turned and she was describing her orchids while he listened with interest.  The lead Ravenclaw team was there already, Ginny noticed with annoyance, but quite a few of their jaws dropped when they saw Neville Longbottom, Mr. Forgetful-and-Awkward, engaged in animated conversation with the stunning black woman of the shining white hair.  Mr. Summers, however, seemed a bit . . . smug, Ginny noticed -- and it struck her that he must have known perfectly well not only Neville's interest in plants, but his teammate's, too.  She didn't think Storm's appointment to safeguard their team had been entirely coincidental.  And in that moment, he went up several points in her estimation.

It happened just then, too -- all out of the blue and unexpected.

A black-haired woman dressed in a long black cloak suddenly stumbled into Neville, and Ginny heard her hiss in his ear.  "Come with me, or else I'll kill every person in this block, wizard or Muggle.  You and I have unfinished business, Longbottom junior."

Neville's face appeared . . . startled.  And Storm, who'd been talking at the moment, her back to him as she studied a rack of flowers, didn't notice anything amiss.  But Ginny knew that mad, transported face.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

Three things happened then in quick succession.

Glancing down, Ginny saw the slight protuberance of the woman's arm beneath her cloak, cocked at an angle, concealing what Ginny could only suppose to be a wand; it was driven hard into Neville's side.  And Ginny remembered what Mr. Summers had told them in their very first class about being ambushed in a public place.  'First, you start shouting, got it?  At least if there's anyone else around.  Even if your attacker says he has a knife or gun and will kill you if you don't go quietly, that doesn't matter.  Scream anyway.  You may still wind up shot or stabbed, but the noise and the fear of being caught will upset him and possibly throw off his aim.  You're likely to survive it.  But the chances of you surviving if you do go with him are very low.'"

So Ginny Weasley screamed bloody murder because it was clear Neville Longbottom was too startled to do so.  Her scream shocked everyone in, or just outside, the florist shop -- Bellatrix Lestrange, not least.

Jerking around, Lestrange's black eyes met Ginny's, and Ginny was aware of Mr. Summers shouting, "Shadowcat -- secure Neville!"

Neville was hit from one side by the curly-haired girl, who knocked him right through Lestrange.  Literally through, as if the both of them were made of air.  Then the girl had Neville by the wrist and was hauling him off through the crowded street, passing through people, lamps, and even a stray mailbox.  "Hold your breath and whatever you do, don't let go of me!" she shouted.  They were quickly lost from view.

Meanwhile, Lestrange herself was hit from the other side by the purple-haired woman, Psylocke, who sailed through the air, twisting as she came, her outstretched boot smacking Lestrange full in the jaw.  Both women spun into the side of a London taxi while pedestrians screamed and scattered.  Bouncing off the side of the auto, Lestrange howled in furious rage and pulled her wand.

But Psylocke wasn't there.  She was somehow behind Lestrange, her arm around the woman's throat.  "Drop it!" she bellowed.

Behind Ginny, Summers was shouting to the students -- "Down!  Everybody down!"

Most of the onlookers took his advice and hit the pavement, including Ginny, who was no fool.  Idly, with some insanely cool part of her mind, she wondered how many memory-altering spells this event was going to require.  And if everyone could possibly be caught.  Muggles were scattering everywhere, fleeing the struggling women on the sidewalk.

Ginny became aware then of the growing wind, tugging at her hair and clothing, and she saw Storm standing with arms outstretched -- eyes white.  All around them, sidewalk snow was swirling madly and a fog rose, obscuring what was happening at the whirlwind's center.  Somewhere, Ginny could hear Remus Lupin shouting something to Tonks about not hitting the bystanders.

Psylocke and Lestrange were howling obscenities, Lestrange attempting to get a bead on Psylocke with her wand, while the other woman dodged with a grace Ginny could scarcely credit, as she watched through spread fingers.  Part of her was petrified, part was bloody impressed.  Psylocke didn't move like a woman who had normal bones.

Abruptly, from behind her, a brilliant red beam lanced out, striking Bellatrix Lestrange's wand arm.  Ginny heard the distinct 'snap' of a bone and Lestrange screeched in pain and rage.  The wand went spinning amid the swirling snow, and Cyclops leapt after, grabbing it and -- right in front of Lestrange's face -- snapping it in two.

Expression even less sane than usual, Lestrange snarled at him like a panther.  "Filthy Muggle freak!" she howled, ripping free of Psylocke's grip.

And before any of them could grab her, she'd made a little sideways step, turn -- and apparated right out of there.

"What the fuck?" Cyclops shouted.

"She's gone," Psylocke said, needlessly.

"She disapparated," Lupin explained, pushing through to join Cyclops.  "She didn't need a wand to do that.  But she won't be performing any more spells for a good long while without that wand, and it's not easy to get a new one these days for Death Eaters."  He pointed to the broken pieces still in Mr. Summer's hands.  "She may not be dead -- but she's down and out for a while."

"Why Neville, of all people?" Summers asked.

"Bellatrix Lestrange is one of three Death Eaters who tortured his parents till they lost their minds," Lupin said quietly -- but Ginny was close enough to overhear.  "I guess she couldn't resist the chance to finish the job."

"Bitch," Summers muttered, glancing around at the crowd of people ringing their little group of students, aurors, and X-Men alike.

"We'll need to adjust memories," Lupin was saying.

"No, we don't," Summers told him as Psylocke turned to the crowd, a wallet pulled free from a pocket in her uniform (although for the life of her, Ginny couldn't decide where that uniform might have a pocket).

Turning to the crowd and holding it up, she said loudly, "I'm with Interpol.  We apologize for the disturbance, but there's no more danger; please go back to your shopping."

Rather to Ginny's astonishment, most of them did.  Lupin and Tonks seemed just as startled.  "How --" Tonks began, but Summers -- Cyclops -- nodded to Psylocke.

"She's a telepath.  A little suggestion . . . "

"Amazing . . . " Lupin said softly.  "Is she really with Interpol?"

"Actually, yes, she is," Summers replied as Psylocke strode over to join them.  "Special Agent Elizabeth Braddock."

"I didn't erase their memories," Braddock said in a voice that was devoid of an American accent.  "Only erased their fear.  They'll remember today, but will have seen a mutant criminal stopped by mutant defenders.  There are worse public-relations messages."

"Bellatrix is a witch, not a mutant," Tonks protested.

"To these people," Storm replied, as she joined them, "there is no difference."

After that, Scott called an immediate halt to the exercise.  All student groups were escorted back to the Leaky Cauldron, where Dumbledore was waiting along with Nightcrawler and Beast -- the latter two being unable to travel incognito in London, due to their mutated appearance.  The group who had been furthest along on their list got the pizza party . . . which meant the Ravenclaws.  But Ginny didn't think anyone felt that festive, and didn't mind being shuffled back to Hogwarts with the rest.

Ron was waiting for her and (a bit uncharacteristically for him, perhaps) hugged her hard when she emerged from McGonagall's office with Neville.  Harry was with him.  "How did it go?" Harry asked.

Ginny turned to glance at Neville, who still appeared a bit shell-shocked.  "Well, we had a bit of an adventure . . . "