Little Bits of Junk
Title: Little Bits of Junk
Harry Potter/Raiders of the Lost Ark
Neville Longbottom/Marion Ravenwood
Length: Approx 11,000 words.

I don't know if it will all go in one post or not! Here's to finding out.

Little Bits of Junk

July 30, 1996.

Neville Longbottom had asked permission to visit his parents alone on his sixteenth birthday. He didn't know why he'd felt a need to do this, or what he expected to come of it, but the experience was disappointing. He'd let Mum pet him and smile at him, while Dad solemnly showed him a collection of dust curls he'd pulled from under his bed, which was what they did with him every time he visited--or at least every time he visited and they had some notion of who he was. He tried to tell himself that those visits were becoming more frequent, but he couldn't quite believe it. He imagined the pair of them fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, imagined them surviving for hours under the curse he'd survived for only a moment, and felt a deep pity--but only that.

After a few hours, he kissed them goodbye and left, bits of rubbish passed into his hands like jewels. He would put them into the box where he kept the rest, of course, but he couldn't remember how he'd once spun stories about what each gift really meant. Now they were just sad tokens.

He took a Muggle bus to the Leaky Cauldron, then flooed home, feeling low, hoping Uncle Algie had something amusing in mind for the evening. Instead, he found the kitchen empty, and heard low voices coming from the drawing room. He followed the sound of them.

"...but I still don't understand why you're here," he heard Gran say as he reached the door. "I understand your concern, but this... why would you ask me? I... Neville, I wasn't expecting you so soon."

Neville entered the drawing room. Gran and Uncle Algie were sitting with two men. The elder was the Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt, a man Neville had met only briefly, but during the rather memorable evening at the Department of Mysteries. The younger was Ron Weasley's eldest brother. Bill, Neville reminded himself, hoping he wouldn't slip and call the man Percy or Charlie or Fred.

Bill Weasley smiled. "I don't intend to spoil Neville's birthday. We can go now. We can talk about this tomorrow."

"No," Neville said, "it's all right, really. What's happened?" He sat down beside Gran.

Shacklebolt looked at Gran. "Mrs. Longbottom?"

Gran looked at Neville shrewdly, then turned back to Shacklebolt. "My grandson has proven himself admirably," she said. "What you may say to me, you may say to Neville, if he wishes it."

"Very well," Shacklebolt said. "We're here, Mrs. Longbottom, because the item stolen from the Muggle museum was replaced, quite carefully, with this." He pulled out a brooch with a large emerald in it. "Your maiden name is engraved on the back, along with several others--"

"--and I'm the only one left," Gran said, taking it with a curious, closed expression on her face. "I know. I know the names on this. But how...?"

"We don't know."

"What's happened?" Neville asked again.

"Do you know the British Museum in London?" Bill asked. Neville nodded and he went on. "They have a rather large Egyptology collection. A very small piece was stolen from in last night."

"What was it?"

"It's called the Feather of Maát," Shacklebolt said. "Nothing special about the Feather as a symbol; it's all over the place. But this particular representation was made by an ancient Egyptian wizard."

"Why was it in a Muggle museum?"

"We don't know," Shacklebolt said. "It was apparently sold to the museum for a modest fee in the Thirties. We had no idea it was there until it was reported missing. Bill has an interest in Egyptian business, and he happened to notice it."

"The only reason anyone was talking about it was that someone left the brooch there in its place, with the drawer open. Someone wanted to make certain we knew whose hands it was in."

"You-Know-Who," Neville said.

Shacklebolt nodded. "Yes."

Uncle Algie, who had been tapping his old gnarled fingers on the top of his cane, shook his head. "What would You-Know-Who want with some bit of ancient Egyptian trumpery? What does it do?"

"A wizard who wears the Feather between his eyes can see into any place he chooses to see," Bill said. "Including places protected by strong magic, like the Fidelius Charm."

"Or the protections around Harry's house in Surrey," Neville guessed.

"Well... yes." Bill looked surprised. "There were some scrolls written that talked about it, but it was made in the city of Tanis, which has been lost for very long time--buried under a sandstorm thousands of years ago. It surfaced in the nineteen-twenties, but no one has seen it since."

Shacklebolt took the brooch back from Gran. "Mrs. Longbottom, what does the brooch mean to you? Did it belong to you?"

Gran shook her head. "It was a gift. My friends and I, when we were very young. Our first year at Hogwarts." She sighed. "We were going to do everything together, of course. Grow up together, grow old together. Most of them died in the last time Lord Voldemort"--she straightened her back--"was in power. They were strong fighters. We all pooled our money at bought the brooch for our favorite teacher." She shook her head. "Isn't life odd, Mr. Shacklebolt? At the time, we would have lived and died for this woman, and now, I can't remember her name."

"Well, someone remembers her," Shacklebolt said. He raised his wand and said, "Maát priori locum," and a window opened in thin air. It showed a vast stone manor on a rolling green hill. Old-fashioned Muggle cars came and went toward the door. "This is the place where it was last known to be," he said. "It was stolen. It didn't appear in the museum for ten years; we don't know where it was in the interim. Does this place mean anything at all to you, Mrs. Longbottom?"

Gran looked at it with utter puzzlement. "I've never seen that home before in my life."

"Nothing at all?"

"I'm sorry." Gran shook her head. "I'll look through my papers if you'd like..."

"No," Shacklebolt said. "It was a bit of a long shot, really. I doubt we'd find them th-- GET BACK!"

What happened next happened too quickly for Neville to process it. There were popping sounds--in the middle of a home that was protected with security charms--and then there were three people in black cloaks and masks--a small, scurrying man, the woman who haunted Neville's dreams, and a lanky figure who was totally unidentifiable--his mask covered his entire face, and his hood was up, covering his hair. The adults in Neville's family had to dive for their wands. Having been in a secure area, they'd set them down on tables--not far, but far enough. Neville remembered seeing Gran's wand fly into Bellatrix's hand.

Spells flew back and forth, and Neville knew he drew his own wand, but he never had a chance to use it. The unknown Death Eater turned on him and said, "You're so clumsy, Longbottom. I could hear you a mile away!" Then he raised his wand, and said, "Cruc--"

Neville jumped out of the way. His feet tangled against Gran's fringed ottoman, and he went sprawling toward the carpet...

...but he never reached it.

Instead, as he fell, his field of vision was filled with the bright blue sky that appeared in the window Kingsley had opened, showing the house on the green hill, and then he was falling, further and further. Somewhere, far distant, he heard Bellatrix Lestrange scream incoherently--"No!"

And then he landed with a jarring thud on soft green grass.

"I'm--"

"Oh, no you..."

Neville rolled over and looked up at the sky, where a small window showed the drawing room. Bellatrix was leaning through it, her mask fallen away, and Neville saw a golden feather hanging between her eyes. Then a dark hand pulled her back, and the window abruptly closed on Gran's scream: "NEVILLE!"

Then there was silence and unbroken blue in the sky.

Neville got to his feet gingerly, certain that some bone had been broken in the fall, but everything seemed to be holding weight. A kind of numbness came over him.

"Gran?" he called.

No answer.

Behind him, a Muggle car chugged its way up a dirt road.

He remained sitting on the grass, blinking at the now solid sky, for several minutes. A part of him realized dimly that he was frightened of what was happening back at home, but for the most part, he was simply dazed--how had he gotten himself so quickly into this predicament? And how was he meant to get back?

And where, exactly, was he? And when?

He didn't know a lot about Muggle technology, but he'd just been on the Muggle streets this morning--he was still dressed in the Muggle clothes he'd worn to take the bus--and the cars that were making their way up the road looked nothing at all like the ones that had passed him. They were longer, sleeker, with white tires and open tops. Women with long scarves laughed merrily, holding dome-shaped hats to their heads to keep them from flying away in the slipstream. Men in cream-colored suits drank spirits from glittering glass bottles.

Neville stared at them blankly.

"Neville!"

The urgent whisper seemed to be coming from above him, and he looked back up. The window had opened again, lower this time, close to his eye level. Kingsley Shacklebolt, his eye swollen and his ear bleeding, was looking back at him. Beyond him, the drawing room was a shambles.

"Where's Gran?" Neville asked.

"She was hit with a Stunner," Shacklebolt said impatiently. "Your Uncle Algie took her to St. Mungo's."

"Why--"

"I don't know. Something about betraying the Heir of Slytherin. Bellatrix didn't stop to explain. Neville, we need your help."

"My help?"

"Yes. I got permission from the Time Division at the Department of Mysteries. The Feather of Maát hasn't been used or seen since the time you're in. It's had no particular effect until today. Get it back. Take it and bring it back. It will only change the events of this afternoon. It never should have been out of magical hands."

"But time changing--"

"Neville, do it." Shacklebolt looked over his shoulder. "I can't stay long. And I can't come back to help you. I would be... somewhat conspicuous among the Muggle elite of the nineteen-twenties. You just need to Transfigure your clothes to match what you see, or find new ones. It's an open party, as I understand it."

Neville nodded vaguely. "My Gran..."

"She'll be all right, Neville."

"And how do I get back?"

"Open this window. Use..." He looked around, then shook his head, frustrated. "Use my name. The spell would be Shacklebolt Priori Locum. It will show you where you last saw me, and you come through the way you left."

"I--"

"Neville, I trust you. I saw you in the Department of Mysteries. You can do it."

He closed the window again.

Neville took a deep breath. Of all the people to end up here... it should have been someone who could do something. Unless they'd hidden the thing in the leaves of a magical plant, Neville couldn't think of anyone less suited for retrieving it.

But he was all they had.

"All right, then," he said. He stood carefully and looked toward the road that led to the big house. More cars were passing. One pulled over to the side of the road, and a man got out of it, his pretty girlfriend at his side. They both appeared to be intoxicated, and were teasing one another as they dove for cover behind a screen of bushes.

Neville closed his eyes and tried to remember the man's suit. Cream colored trousers shiny white shoes, a puffy white shirt and an embroidered vest... at least he thought it was embroidered. It had been colorful and something had flashed in it, which he took to be a gold thread.

"Transfigure," he groaned. "Please let it work...."

It did. It took a few tries--Transfiguration would never be one of his great strengths--but finally, he got something that he thought would be passable. He started for the big house, going along the road that the cars were traveling. A line of brightly colored tents had been set up for the party, and people drifted in and out of them. A band somewhere was playing some kind of dancing music, with a lot of trumpet in it.

"...Marion, I'm sorry, but we do need to be here. Our hosts are expecting us."

Neville looked to his side. The man's voice was firm and loud. He was speaking to a girl roughly Neville's own age, whose dark hair was bobbed short under a domed hat. She wore a long-waisted dress with a short skirt, and little white gloves. When she spoke, her voice was strident--a bit shocking, actually, her words rough and cut off. "Dad, they know. I don't know how they heard about it, but they know. I thought it'd at least stay in Chicago."

"I don't know how they heard about it, either, Marion."

"Well, they look at me funny." Marion kicked at a stone on the ground. "What did Jones do, put out an ad in the newspaper?"

"Whatever he did, I'll make him pay for it," Marion's father said. "But you did show bad judgment."

"I'm not the one who had him practically living with us."

"I know. And I'm sorry. But life goes on." He smiled at her kindly. "I want you to go to that party and hold your head up. No hiding for my girl. You made a mistake, but you're not running away from it. Ravenwoods don't run away. Chin up, then."

Marion nodded and raised her head, and caught sight of Neville. She frowned. "What're you looking at?"

Neville moved on.

When he reached the door of the big house, he expected to be asked for a story, and had mostly figured one out--traveling in the countryside for the day, noted a big to-do, and so on--but when the door opened, the woman in the entrance hall didn't ask a single question. She was thoroughly inebriated. "Welcome!" she said. "What a pretty thing you are!" She pinched his cheek, then wiggled her hips. A long string of pearls clattered as she moved. She was wearing a dress cut like Marion Ravenwood's and smoking a cigarette on a long holding device of some sort. "Do you know the Black Bottom?" she asked, dragging Neville inside. "It's terribly fun!"

"Er... no..." Neville said, pulling away from her. She seemed unfazed by this, and moved on to another partner.

Neville slipped through the crowd, feeling more out of place than he ever had. He felt for his wand in the pocket of his dinner jacket, and grasped it for reassurance. From the corner of his eye, he saw Marion and her father enter. Marion headed straight for the table where several glasses of bubbly wine were set up in a neatly balanced tower. Her father steered her away from it.

"...oh, it's so interesting, don't you think, Ebbie?" a woman said, drifting in from a side passage. "Imagine burying people with so many things! I think I'd like to be buried with my pearls and my gramophone. What about you?"

"Open bar," the man she was with grunted. "Bury me with a bottle of gin." He led her over to the drinks. Neville peeked down the passageway, but was accosted by a woman a few years older than he was, who dragged him back into the main room and danced around him in a circle, flapping her arms wildly. Neville bowed to her when she finished and backed away, sitting down in a dark wood chair beside the window. He needed a plan. He'd never stolen so much as a bit of a sweet in Diagon Alley... how was he meant to even get to this Feather of Maát, let alone take it and get out?

"Will you please try to socialize?"

Neville looked over his shoulder. Marion was behind the sofa, apparently having taken a glass of wine while her father wasn't looking, and her father was grimacing at her.

"They aren't exactly my crowd," she said.

"And put this down." He took the wine away from her. "This isn't going to help your judgment."

"Yeah, me and my lousy judgment again..."

"Try, Marion. I have to speak with Mr. Holmwood."

"Right."

Mr. Ravenwood went off to the far side of the room. Marion fiddled with her long pearl necklace, then strode off purposefully toward the door the young couple had come from. Neville stood to follow her, but just then, the door to the entrance hall burst open and his attention was diverted by the entrance of the young couple he'd seen outside. The man was still obviously a bit drunk, but that hardly made him unusual here. The woman was smiling broadly.

"Well, I'm here!" the man announced. "You may all begin to have fun now."

"Tommy!" a blonde woman said, sliding off a table she'd been sitting on and shimmying over to him, her gentleman friend in tow. "Why, Charles, weren't we just saying that a party is hardly a party without Tommy Riddle?"

Riddle opened his arms and bowed. He pulled the woman forward. "This lovely lady is my good, good friend"--he slapped her bottom--"Mertysa Marvolo. Make her welcome, will you, love?" he asked the blonde, giving Mertysa a shove in that direction.

Neville felt his jaw drop. What sort of way was that to treat a lady? But the other ladies took it as a matter of course. Mertysa herself was smiling, but Neville could see her eyes, even all the way across the room, and he had a feeling that Tommy Riddle was severely underestimating his "good, good friend."

He frowned.

Marvolo. Riddle.

He'd heard the names before, but he couldn't place them. Something mentioned in passing. Something...

For some reason, he associated both names with Ginny Weasley, but he couldn't make the connection. Relatives, perhaps, in her sprawling family.

At a posh Muggle party?

Mertysa Marvolo made her way over to a small, gilt chair, and crossed her legs prettily, waving one high-heeled foot in time to the music. Someone brought her a drink. When she moved to take it, the sun reflected on something pinned to her dress, then the gleam disappeared under the filmy gauze of her long scarf. She seemed to feel Neville looking at her, and looked back. A smile played over her face, and she nodded slightly, then stood up and came over.

"My, my," she said. "Aren't we far from home?"

Neville bit his lip. "Er, no. Not really."

She bent forward, and her scooped dress dipped. Neville could see all the way down to her brassiere. "A free piece of advice," she whispered, her lips nearly touching his ear. "Be careful where your eyes are directed. I don't think you want me asking around to see if anyone happens to know you."

She straightened, gave him a cool smile, then went back to Riddle, who was regaling a crowd with a tale of a recent trip to India, and how horridly the natives were behaving. Mertysa looped her arm through his and laughed merrily.

Neville backed out of the room, more because he found that he wanted clean, Mertysa-free air more than because he had any plan in mind. He found himself in a large, high-ceilinged room, where several party-goers were looking at items in glass cases. There were animal-headed gods, golden crooks and flails, funeral masks, all manner of ancient items. A few were declared "cunning," and one woman asked her husband to have a necklace made for her just like the one they were looking at. Neville wandered among them, wondering where the Feather of Maát was, and how he could take it and open a window with this many people around.

"...stop it, will you?" a strident voice said. "I didn't come back here for this!"

"What, did you think I wanted to talk to you about ancient Egypt?" A drunken laugh came from an alcove to Neville's left. "I know what sort of girl you are. I hear you're a bit of extra credit in your father's classes."

"Let go of me! Who told you that?"

"Come on, Marion... everyone knows."

"Everyone's wrong!"

Neville saw them, then, Marion pressed to the wall, a much older man hovering over her lecherously. She was snarling at him, batting at his shoulders with her fists. He seemed to find this amusing, and pushed her harder, getting one hand under the back of her thigh and trying to pry her leg up.

"Excuse me," Neville said.

They both looked around. "Where are your manners?" the man said. "Marion and I are having a private moment."

"I'll give you a 'private moment,'" Marion steamed, and stomped on the man's foot.

Neville didn't move. "As it happens," he said, "Marion's with me this evening, and I was looking for her. I'd hoped we could dance."

Marion's eyes darted back and forth, then she smiled and slipped under the arm of the man who'd been accosting her, who seemed to be momentarily wrong-footed. "That's right," she said, putting an arm around Neville's neck. "I'm here with--"

"Neville."

"--Neville here. So you go right on." As soon as he was gone, she let go of Neville. "Hope you're not expecting anything for that."

"No, not really."

"I saw you earlier. What were you doing, listening in?"

"I'm sorry about that, really. I just... I heard you, and I'd never heard your accent before. I wondered where you were from. I suppose I should have left, but I just--I'm sorry."

"Hmph." Marion shrugged. "I'm from everywhere. Mostly Chicago lately. But Jersey, too, and New York, and Boston and San Francisco and New Haven." She shuddered at the last. "Not to mention any place Dad can find that's covered with sand. I gotta say, this stuff looks better here than it did in Egypt. Or maybe it's just not having sand in my shoes when I'm looking at it."

"I'd imagine that's it," Neville said. "Your father found all of this?"

"Oh, yeah. Abner Ravenwood, grave robber and junk collector. I'm Marion Ravenwood, by the way."

"Neville Longbottom."

"Meetcha." She wrinkled her nose at the display. "Dad mostly keeps his stuff, but this guy Holmwood paid for the dig, so Dad had to bring his stuff here. So here we are."

"What is all of this?"

She shrugged. "The usual bits of junk. Ever since ol' Carter found King Tut, people will take anything with an animal head." She pointed at a necklace. "That was with some Pharaoh's kids that were buried. And this..." She led him to another case, which had a stone slab, decorated with stylized figures. "This bunch is showing some dead guy's heart to Maát, and see, that's her feather, and if he's a good guy, the feather makes his heart light or something, so he goes to heaven. If he's a bad guy... well, you know."

"The Feather of Maát?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, we got a bunch of pictures of it. Big ol' ostrich feather. She wears it in a headband. Looks like the world's first flapper. We found one little one that's on a headband. Made of copper or something. Dad says it's a good piece, but no one else likes it. Too small. It's over there." She pointed vaguely at a glass case in the back corner of the room. She didn't head in that direction, and Neville thought it might be a bit obvious to just ask her to show it to him. Her finger was running over the glass above the stone slab. "There she is," she said, tapping the glass with one short, practical nail. "Maát herself. See her?"

Neville looked. The goddess on the stone was wearing a white dress and had bare feet and a human head. A large feather was stuck into a headband as she looked on. It was apparently a different part of the story from where the feather was already out.

"She was for truth and justice and seeing hearts of men and stuff like that," Marion said. "You know. I think."

"Sounds like you know."

"Yeah, well."

"If you know, why pretend that you don't?"

"Don't want to sound like a bookworm," she said. "I'm not," she added fiercely, as though Neville had accused her of this. "I don't even like school. I just pick stuff up from Dad." She sighed. "'Course, I'm not around anywhere long enough to do much else. What about you?"

"I like school."

"Yeah? What do you like?"

"Plants. Things like that."

"Huh." A bell rang. "Well, that's dinner. If you want to be my dinner partner, you can. Better than that guy," she said, jerking her thumb in the general direction of the man who'd been bothering her.

Neville nodded, wondering if anyone would bother him for an invitation before feeding him, but when Marion led him to a table in a room off the dining room, no one even questioned him. Apparently, people were used to strangers coming and going to these sorts of things.

A few boys from university were at the table with their girlfriends, and Marion introduced them quickly; they were apparently studying with her father this summer. A member of the staff came by with drinks (Marion took two glasses of wine for herself), and another brought bread. Neville was tearing into a dinner roll when a flash of white caught his eye. He looked up. Tommy Riddle and Mertysa Marvolo had taken the remaining two seats at the table. Mertysa smiled at him in that unpleasantly knowing way again, and waggled her fingers in a wave. "Tommy," she said to her companion, "be a love and get the lady with the drinks."

"What am I, your servant?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Unless you plan on catching a chill tonight, I think you should get the lady with the drinks."

Tommy rolled his eyes and went after the servant. Mertysa turned back to the table, conspicuously throwing her scarf back over her shoulder. She pushed her shoulder in Neville's direction.

On it was a golden brooch, set with an emerald. Around the emerald were four animals: a snake, a badger, an eagle, and a lion.

And Neville knew whose name he would find on the back.

She smiled at him icily. "Do you like my brooch?"

Neville nodded. "It's... it's unusual. Is that an emerald?"

"Trumpery glass," Tommy Riddle said dismissively, coming back with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Yes, exactly," Mertysa said. "It's worth nothing in monetary sense. But my students gave it to me, so it's priceless. Their names are on the back with a little message. 'We'll never forget you, Miss Marvolo.'" She shook her head and smiled fondly--though it didn't reach her eyes. "Girls always say that though, don't we?" She looked at Marion.

Marion shrugged and reached for a piece of bread. "Not me." She drained her first cup of wine and started on a second. "You don't look like a teacher."

"I imagine that contributes to the fact that I no longer am one."

"I bet you were a fun one," Marion said. "Not stuffy, like the old man up there." She jerked her thumb at the head table, where her father was still speaking earnestly to Holmwood.

"My students seemed to think so."

"Mertysa's just a barrel of fun," Tommy Riddle said. "Nobody knows it better than I." He looked at her body in a frank and appreciative way. She didn't try to shrink away from it.

As they ate dinner, Riddle entertained the table with stories of a trip he'd taken to New York, going on about the boorishness of American manners and describing some law about alcohol with great hilarity. At one point, he was expounding on the general level of stupidity among Americans ("What would you expect, coming from our rubbish piles?"), and Neville saw Marion flexing her fingers and glaring at him.

"Excuse me," Neville said, "but Miss Ravenwood is American."

Riddle shrugged, and continued his diatribe.

Marion rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about it," she said. "I've heard it all."

After dinner, there was some sort of entertainment--Neville didn't have a clear view--and Mertysa and Riddle went off to dance together.

"Hey," Marion said, "I'm getting out of here. Come along?"

"Where are you going?"

"Dunno. The dig-stuff, probably. It's better than here, anyway."

Neville thought about it. He did need to get back to the exhibits, if he was going to have a chance of getting the Feather of Maát, but he didn't want to get Marion into any trouble if people noticed them together. He also had a feeling that the smartest thing he could do to stop it from being stolen was stick to Mertysa Marvolo. On the other hand, Marion would at least know her way around, and if Neville could get to it before Mertysa...

"Jeez, Neville. I'm not proposin' marriage, here."

He smiled. "Right. Sure. Just woolgathering."

"Well, gather back in the gallery," she said. "It's stuffy in here."

He followed her out of the crowded dining area. She took his hand without thinking to lead him while she wove through the people, and didn't let go when the crowd thinned out in the drawing room. By the time they got to the gallery where the artifacts had been set up, they were alone. The lights had been turned off, but the high, wide windows let in bright moonlight.

"It's better in here," she said. "Dad'll have my hide, probably, but he's he one who keeps draggin' me to these things. I used to like 'em, but now...?" She shrugged. "I can see those mooks anywhere. Or mooks just like 'em, anyway."

"What happened to you, Marion?" Neville asked.

"Did a dumb thing," she said. She let go of his hand and took a few steps away. "There was a guy. Cute. Really cute." She looked up at the moon wistfully. "Indiana Jones."

"His name was Indiana?"

She snorted laughter. "His name was Henry, but no one called him that. It was always Indy. Even when we..." She sighed. "God, I'm an idiot."

Neville touched her shoulder. "You're not," he said. "You're quite brilliant, I think."

"Right." She perused a row of beads. "I'm just one more piece of junk Dad totes around."

"No. Just because of this... what did you say his name was?"

"Jones."

"Jones, then. It sounds to me like he's the idiot."

Marion smiled bitterly. She had pale green eyes, striking in her dark face, and they caught the light of the moon, seeming to glow. "I don't think it's gonna get in his way, you know?" She shook her head. "No. Jones is... brilliant. You should see him in the field. He knows... God, he can find his way around anything. Dad kept wishing he was on that dig"--she jerked her chin at the house--"and then remembering that he hates him now. That's brilliant me, you know. Messed up the whole business."

"I think you're a bit drunk," Neville said. "I'm sure you're a good helper to him, and you got some good things, didn't you?"

"Yeah." She sniffed. "I found the stupid Feather, and Dad said it was the best piece. Even if no one does like it."

"How did you find it?"

Marion looked at him warily. "I like Maát, all right? I like the bit with the feather and weighing the heart and I know it's corny, okay?"

"Sure."

"So, I saw all these glyphs with her, and I followed them. Dad would've gotten to it eventually, but he was working on a different part of the dig. I just kind of went over, and there was this box, and it had glyphs on it. Something about the stupid Feather letting people see things that were far away and... dumb stuff like that."

"Sounds dangerous."

"If it were real, maybe."

"You don't believe it?"

"Sure I do. Also in the Loch Ness monster and leprechauns." She wrinkled her nose. "But I just thought... well, you know, if they were putting all the story on the box, maybe it was something good. And besides, there was a marking on it about Tanis, and Dad loves Tanis, so I brought it to him. Peace offering. It's just a stupid little piece of copper, though."

"May I see it?"

She shrugged, and led him over to the neglected display. "There it is. In all its glory."

Neville peered through the glass cover. The Feather of Maát was a small, shining bit of copper, with a chip of red stone at the top. It depended from a leather headband.

"Mr. Holmwood put it on a new one to display it," Marion explained. "The old one was kind of rotted. There you have it. My big find." She gave a disdainful sniff and wandered away from it.

I could Vanish the glass, Neville thought. That would be simple enough. Vanish the glass, take it, open the window, and...

And it was Marion's big find. Her peace offering to her father. And he'd just used her to get close to it.

He was as bad as the Jones boy.

Then again, he did need to take it.

He followed Marion over to the alcove where he'd found her earlier. Newly made replicas of Egyptian clothes were displayed on mannequins here, and she was fiddling absently with an elaborately worked gold collar. "So where'd you come from, anyway?" she asked. "You've got my whole life story, and I already forgot your last name."

"Longbottom."

"Right. Longbottom. Where'd you wander in from? You don't act like you know anybody."

"I've been away at school," Neville said. "I'm on holiday, and I heard about all of this. Thought it would be a good time to say hello." He smiled, hoping it sounded more convincing to her than it did to him.

"I'm glad you did," she said, and came around the mannequin. "It's been awhile since I met someone nice. I was starting to think nice boys were a myth." She took the gold collar--really, mostly a necklace--off the mannequin and draped it around her own neck. "What do you think? Could I pass for an Egyptian princess?"

Neville laughed. "I think so."

"Let me see." She scrambled around him to look in a large standing mirror, and smiled at her reflection. "Hey, hold it on for me."

Neville went over to her and held the back of the collar together while she swept her hair up and posed in the mirror. "Oh, yes," she said. "There we have it. Queen Marion-tiri." She turned, letting the collar slip and catch on the neckline of her dress, pulling it down further than it probably was meant to go. She took Neville's hands and squeezed them. "What do you say, Neville Longbottom? Wanna be my royal consort?"

"Er..."

Marion laughed and stood her toes to kiss his cheek. "Come on. You've done your duty as the rescuer. You can get your reward." She looped her hands behind his neck.

"Marion, I don't expect any reward from you."

"I know you don't." She raised herself onto her toes again and pressed a kiss onto his mouth. "That's why I want to give you one."

Neville pushed her away gently. "You've had too much to drink..."

"You don't think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're beautiful, but--"

"But not good enough for the likes of you?"

"No! You just... you don't have to do that. I like talking to you."

She gave him a wary look and pulled away. "Fine," she said. "If that's what you want. I--"

She was interrupted by the shattering of glass.

"What the--" Marion drew back, frowning, then turned on her heel and headed back to the main gallery, ripping the necklace from her neck and holding it, forgotten, in one hand. Neville matched her step for step, but he was further back than she was, and still behind her when she stepped out into the moonlight, hands balled into fists on her hips. "Hey! Whaddaya think you're--"

She was thrown back with great force.

Neville caught her, but they were both pushed into the wall behind them.

Mertysa Marvolo stood beside the case that held the Feather of Maát, her facade of easy beauty broken entirely. Her lips were drawn back in a snarl, her hand raised, her fingers bent into claws.

Her empty fingers.

It took Neville a moment to register it--that had been a powerful blast for wandless magic. He didn't know why she wouldn't have a wand, and didn't have time to care. He raised his own toward the shattered case and called, "Accio Feather!"

Mertysa made a grab for it, but she hadn't seen it quickly enough. It flew into Neville's hand.

Marion's eyes were wide circles. "How did you-- what's going--"

"Later," Neville said.

Mertysa raised her hand again, and Neville realized that he had nowhere to back up to except for a closed off room. He felt a tug at the wand in his hand and snapped it back away from her.

"We have to get away from her," he told Marion.

"No kidding."

Mertysa had already gathered herself again and that unpleasant smile was on her face. "Not very powerful, are you?" she asked Neville. "Let's see how you stand against--" She stopped, and Neville heard footsteps blundering through the drawing room beyond.

"D'you have it?" Tommy Riddle whispered loudly.

Mertysa hissed sharply and lowered her hand as he lumbered drunkenly in. "Some thieves got to it before us. I think we should take it away from them."

"Right, right. Terrible thing, stealing from your host," Riddle slurred.

Marion sidled backward, looking down in a terrified way, grasping at Neville's hand.

Pulling at Neville's hand.

"You don't want to hurt us," Neville said. "We're the same, aren't we?"

Mertysa laughed, looking sideways at Riddle with an almost frightened expression on her face. "Hardly."

Behind him, he could still feel Marion moving slowly and unobtrusively. His mind was working at a strange, quick pace. She had no wand, and as soon as Riddle had approached she had... what? He could use magic against her--at least he thought he could, as long as he was armed and she wasn't--but something told him that her secret might have more power over her. "I'm sure you don't want any trouble..." he said.

"From you?"

"From me."

"And you could--"

"RUN!" Marion yelled, tugging hard on his hand and pulling him back into the alcove. She threw one of the mannequins toward the door as Mertysa tried to come through. Neville heard the thud as she fell. He pushed the other one over to block the door further, though not for long. Marion continued to tug him through the room. She pulled open a small door hidden behind a free-standing display case and dove down a dark stairway. Neville slammed the door behind them, raised his wand, and said, "Colloportus!" He heard Mertysa hit the door a moment later and start shaking the handle and pounding on it.

Marion slowed when they reached the bottom of the stairs. "What'd you do to the door?"

"I sealed it."

"Will she be able to get through?"

"Not until her friend leaves. Maybe not then. Not without a wand. I hope." Neville bit his lip. "You're, er, not supposed to have seen that. I'm supposed to modify your memory, though I'd guess you'd do better to have someone from the Ministry of Magic do it." It occurred to him to wonder why they hadn't arrived yet, actually, with several spells being thrown in a Muggle area, but, as with Mertysa's missing wand, he had no time to muse on the subject.

"Modify my memory? I don't think so."

"You're not meant to know about this."

"Yeah? So why'd you... Shh." She looked up. Neville could hear voices now. They crept up the stairs to hear better.

"...doing in here?" a man asked.

"Oh, Tommy and I were just coming to look at the lovely pieces again," Mertysa said, her voice low and pleasant again. "And we heard the glass break. It was that boy who was sitting with Ravenwood's daughter. She brought him back here, and he took it."


Marion winced.

"Marion wouldn't help someone steal," another voice said, and Neville thought it was Professor Ravenwood's. "Especially that. She found it."

"And possibly doesn't want it sold," another man said.

"Probably not worth much, anyway," Tommy Riddle said. "They went through that door."

The door was rattled again then, quite hard, but the spell held.

"Can they get out?"

"There's door to the gardens down there."

"Well, let's find them."

Much shuffling came after that, and Marion gave Neville a frightened look and took his hand in both of her own. When the movement slowed, almost enough for Neville to be comfortable opening the door, he heard Tommy Riddle say, "Are we going after them?"

"No," Mertysa said. "I think we'd best go back to the party and look innocent."

"They'll talk."

"Of course they'll talk, Tommy. That's why you and I are going to go back and dance and socialize. We certainly wouldn't do that if what they're going to say were true, now would we?"

There was a clacking of high heels, and then silence.

"Are they gone, do you think?" Neville asked.

"Only one way to find out." Marion reached for the door handle.

Neville pulled her down. "No," he said. "There is another way. You've seen quite a lot already. You may as well see more... if there's anything to see." He glanced to either side, then put the headband around his forehead, letting the feather rest above his nose. "Do I look like an idiot?" he asked.

She nodded. "Oh, yeah."

"Well, let's see if this works." He closed his eyes and frowned, having no idea how to activate the Feather. In front of him, Marion was biting her lip anxiously.

And he could see her.

"It works," he whispered. He turned toward the door, and could see the alcove beyond it, then cast his mind further and saw the drawing room. "There are still people up there," he said. He tried to see further--there were still people dancing and eating with the main group, apparently unaware that anything unusual had happened

"What about the ones checking the door down here?"

"I'm not sure how..." Neville focused his mind as well as he could trying to remember the voices of the men who were going to see if they'd come out the outer door. Nothing happened. He thought of Marion's father specifically, of the intense look on his face at dinner while he'd spoken to Holmwood and now he was coming down the hillside, to the place where the cellar wall became visible as the ground dipped below. A wooden door was set deep in the wall near the bottom of the hill.

Holmwood stopped and reached for the door handle. Neville heard a rattle in the distance, but his eyes were on the group before him. Holmwood turned and shook his head. "The door locks from the inside," he said. "They couldn't re-lock it if they'd left."

"Are you sure?" Ravenwood asked.

"Yes. It's a wooden bar across the door."

"Then they're still in there. We'll unstick the door off the alcove and bring them up," a stranger said.

The rattled again, and Neville opened his eyes. He could see Marion in the dimness, biting her lip. "What is it?" she asked.

"They're going to come up around here again. We can slip outside."

"Why don't we just tell them what happened?"

He took a deep breath. "Because we have the Feather out of here."

"You are stealing it, you son of a--" Marion made to slap him, but he caught her wrist. "You're just using me. My great judgment again. You're using me to take something from Dad!"

"No, I'm not. Really, Marion, I didn't expect to meet you at all. But this... it doesn't belong here, and I have to take it somewhere safer."

"Right. And she's just trying to save the world."

"I doubt that." He sighed. "Marion, I can't convince you. I wouldn't know where to begin. All I can do is say that I'm sorry if I hurt you. Tell them you chased me down here, but I got away. If the Ministry doesn't come first and modify all of your memories."

"Where do you think you're--"

Neville raised his wand. "Shacklebolt priori locum!"

In the darkness of the cellar, a bright window opened, and the light from Gran's drawing room poured in. The table on which Neville's birthday presents had been piled was tipped over now, spilling several new robes onto the floor among the shards of a vase and dispirited flowers. It seemed to be at floor level, though to dive into it, he would seem to be going into empty space above the stairs here, but--

"What's going on, Longbottom?"

He looked back. "I'm taking it away, Marion. I know it's yours and I'm sorry, but I have to get it back to someplace safe."

"To her?" Marion asked, and Neville turned.

Through the shambles of the drawing room, he saw a thin figure in black robes. She was scurrying forward crab-like, her mask askew, the Feather of Maát still hanging between her eyes, a mirror of it on his own. Her fingers were blood-stained. Neville looked more closely at the window and saw a motionless form. What he took for a moment to be a shadow was a spreading darkness beneath him.

"Ooo," Bellatrix said. "Look who's been a little fool! Think you can take it, do you? Think you can defeat the heir of Slytherin?" She lunged forward, and one bony hand broke through the window, into the cellar.

Marion screamed.

"Finite incantatem!" Neville said, and the window closed on Bellatrix's frustrated shriek.

"All right," Neville said. "Perhaps not yet. We have to get out of here."

Marion was breathing quickly, looking at him in terror. "What in the hell is going on here?"

"Let's get out of here before they come back here," Neville said. He cast his gaze toward the outside. The area around the door was clear. He took Marion's hand and led back her down to the bottom of the stairs, fumbling through the dark cellar to the wooden door near the back of the house. He opened it, and moonlight and cool air flooded in. "Come on," he said. "We have to get away."

Marion looked over her shoulder, and slipped out after him, closing the door.

Neville looked around. "I don't know where the Ministry is," he said. "I mean, I suppose, if we went to London... But I don't know who they are now and they won't know me, and... And I need to take this out of time. I need it to be nowhere at all."

"That woman was crazy."

"Trust me, I know." Neville touched her shoulder. "Marion, please. The only way to keep her from getting it is to make sure it never gets to the British Museum."

Marion drew back and looked at him shrewdly, her drunkenness falling away like a light cloak. "All right," she said. "I'll let you get out of here. But you're going to do some talking before I let you out of my sight. Got it?"

Neville let Marion lead the way, though he really didn't have any reason to believe she knew the house any better than he did. His mind was slightly numb, like he'd fallen from his broom and landed headfirst on swampy ground.

At first, when the window had closed, there'd been a rush of energy, a kind of confidence he wasn't at all used to--after all, he'd just thwarted Bellatrix Lestrange, taken something from her that he wanted. But as Marion led him down the stairs into the dark cellar, weaving between shelves, heading for the door to the gardens, the energy was getting cobwebby and murky.

Had that been Kingsley on the floor, bleeding? What had happened there? Why had Bellatrix returned? What did it mean that she still had the Feather of Maát?

"Here it is," Marion said. She leaned against the wooden slats of the door. "I don't hear anyone. Can you... you know, do that Feather thing again?"

Neville nodded and closed his eyes, trying to picture the area outside the door, the men he'd seen there a moment ago. His sight took a dizzying leap, and he found himself near the front of the house, among the parked cars, where Marion's father and the others were looking into all the windows. He opened his eyes. "They're gone," he said.

Marion lifted the wooden bar that held the door closed and set it aside. There would be no way to seal the door other than magic once they were outside, but Neville didn't think it mattered. Marion would be able to say that she'd found him hiding in the cellar and then followed him out after they left.

She opened the door, and moonlight spilled in, reflecting from her dark hair in a kind of ghostly radiance. Had she actually tried to kiss him upstairs?

And had he stopped her?

She bent over quickly and pulled her high-heeled shoes off, tossing them unceremoniously into a corner. "Nobody'd believe I chased anyone in those," she said. "Besides, the heels leave holes in the grass. Easy to follow."

"I wouldn't have thought of that."

"That's 'cause you've never worn heels. C'mon."

She glanced quickly back and forth, then went outside. Neville followed. She held her finger to her mouth--unnecessarily--to signal him to be quiet, then pointed ahead at a shadowy patch of woods twenty yards away. He nodded.

Marion bit her lip, took a deep breath, and took off at a run across the open area, her dress catching the moonlight, making her seem ghostlike as her feet disappeared into the shallow ground mist. She reached the tree line and slipped into the shadows, ducking behind a tree. She leaned around cautiously and beckoned for Neville to come.

Neville glanced up at the house briefly, hearing the laughter of the guests, the calls of searchers elsewhere on the grounds, the pleasant dance music. Then he ran.

He reached Marion seconds later, and she caught him before his moment drove him into the trunk of an oak. "Okay," she said. "We're clear. Let's find a place to talk."

"All right."

At a slower pace, picking their way among the roots and ground plants, they went deeper into the forest, until the moonlight came only in occasional dappled patches. Ahead, Neville could see a large open area; it seemed to glow with silver torches, though of course it was only moonlight seeping in. When the reached it, he saw that it was a natural meadow, dominated by a large natural rock formation at the center. The grass was dotted with tiny wildflowers, and a stream at the far side was lined with gently swaying willow trees.

"Wow," Marion said, looking up with plain delight. "This is pretty. I didn't know this was here. I guess you never know, do you? Let's get to the willows, in case anyone comes." She set out across the meadow, looking up at the rocks and the stars as she went, and Neville followed her. When they got to the willows, they found a large rock at the stream's edge, behind the veil of the willow's leaves, and they sat on its relatively flat top. It was a close fit, and facing one another, they were knee to knee. Marion gathered her skirt and pooled it in her lap to cover herself, though she was showing quite an embarrassing amount of her legs. "All right, Neville," she said. "Tell me why I'm supposed to let you get away with stealing stuff from my dad."

Neville carefully took the Feather of Maát off his head, and held it in one hand, looking at it as he spoke. "I was born on the thirtieth of July in nineteen-eighty," he said. He waited for Marion to say she didn't believe him, but when he looked up, she was just listening with a slightly skeptical--but not unkind--look on her face. "I can't tell you much about what happens between now and then."

"Don't want to know, anyway."

"Hmm."

"But somehow, this"--he gestured with the Feather--"ends up forgotten in a box in the British Museum, until the woman you saw got her hands on it. She can't get it. We didn't even know it had been found."

"We?"

"Wizards and witches."

"Right. And what about the leprechauns? Do they know?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Leprechauns aren't particularly bright."

She laughed. "I like you, Neville."

"Really?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I?"

Neville didn't answer that. He just looked down at the Feather. "The problem is," he said, "that I don't know why Bellatrix--the woman--still had the Feather. If I've got it, then it isn't stolen, so how does it end up where it ends up?"

"Maybe she'll take it back from you or something."

"Possibly." He frowned. "I don't know why the Ministry isn't here. I don't know why she doesn't have a wand. Something is happening, and I just..." He shook his head. "Marion, I have to get this to London. To the wizarding authorities. I thought I could just take it back, but that's not going to work. I'll have to bring it somewhere safe and then go back."

"And if she gets you on the way to London?"

"I don't know. I don't even know where I am, actually." He felt panic trying to rise. "I don't know what's going wrong, I don't know what I'm meant to--"

He broke off abruptly as something warm and soft brushed against the corner of his mouth. When he turned his head up, his nose bumped against Marion's. She put her hand on his cheek, leaned in, and touched her lips to his again.

At first, he wasn't sure what to do. He'd kissed Ginny Weasley good-night after the Yule Ball, but that had just been a brief sort of peck, and this was... not. Marion's lips had covered his fully, and he could feel her tongue teasing against them. He opened his mouth to tell her this, and she claimed him fully.

Finally, she pulled away. "Feel better?" she asked.

Neville blinked. "I... well... thank you... I... why?"

"You were getting upset. I thought you needed to calm down a little."

"Calm isn't precisely what I'm feeling."

She smiled and patted his face, drawing her long fingers down his cheek. "You're sweet," she said.

"I'm leaving," Neville said helplessly. "I can't stay here."

"Didn't ask you to." She looked around. "We're not far from the road," she said. "You could go up there, get a ride to London from someone, or at least partway."

"And if Mertysa catches me on the way?"

Marion thought deeply, then abruptly grabbed the string of pearls around her neck and yanked it hard. It left a red weal as the string broke. She handed it to him. "I'll run back and say that you asked me for money to go to, um... what's a good place other than London?"

"Birmingham?"

"Birmingham. I wouldn't give it to you, so you grabbed my necklace to sell, and you're probably heading out that way as we speak. They'll go the other way. You get to London and find out what to do."

"How do I get to the road?"

"Well, I was walking around, and this stream runs up along the edge of the property. Follow it out to the wall and you're free."

Neville considered it. It wasn't what Kingsley had told him to do, but he'd obviously done something wrong. He needed help from the Ministry; he just hoped they were better now than they would be in seventy years. "All right," he said.

"Good. I'll head back, you wait a minute, in case someone is watching, then run upstream."

Neville agreed. It took a moment to hide the Feather of Maát--it would hardly do for him to be wearing it or carrying casually, and he finally ended up wrapping the leather strap around his ankle and letting the Feather drop into his shoe.

They slipped down off the rock and Neville walked her to the edge of the curtain of leaves. She slipped through it, then ducked back inside and kissed him again, grinning and winking. Then she dashed across the meadow. No one moved after her.

Neville went to the stream and found a vague path along its banks. He followed it out of the copse of willows, letting it lead him toward a pasture he could see dimly through the shadows. The stream was fast running and made a cheerful, burbling noise, and he never heard the footsteps on the springy ground until a long, thin arm grabbed him around the waist and yanked his wand from his pocket in a smooth and practiced motion.

Mertysa Marvolo swung him around. "Where is it?" she demanded. "Accio Feather!"

Neville was thrown to the ground as the leather strap wrapped around his ankle tugged ferociously, the Feather striving desperately to reach Mertysa. He grabbed at it, wrapping his hands around his ankle protectively, keeping it from moving.

"Do you think I can't get it away from you?" She glared at him. "Who sent you? Was it Dumbledore? Is he still keeping tabs on me, trying to keep me out of trouble?"

"It wasn't Dumbledore."

"The Ministry then. The Aurors. I thought my Concealment Concoction would keep them away." She paced, then abruptly tried to Summon the Feather again. Neville didn't let it go, but she dragged him forward along with it. "Let go," she hissed.

"No. What do you want with the Feather of Maát, anyway? Why are you giving it to a Muggle museum?"

She frowned, suddenly puzzled. "What are you talking about, boy? It's not going to a Muggle museum. It's my ticket back inside. I'm bringing it to the Ministry myself."

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie?"

"Are you exiled?"

She laughed madly. "Ah, yes. Exiled. Murdered but still alive is more like it. They took my wand and snapped it. It's been in my family since Salazar Slytherin--ebony and basilisk skin." Neville went cold, remembering the message written on the wall: "Enemies of the Heir, beware." The creature in the Chamber of Secrets had been a basilisk. The Heir of Slytherin. Mertysa didn't notice his reaction. She just kept raving. "And they snapped it. They snapped Slytherin's wand like a common Ollivander's trinket. All because I taught my girls that they could use their power any way they liked, just as I do."

"To lie to a Muggle boyfriend?"

This seemed to stab her. "What Tommy doesn't know won't hurt him." She shook it off. "Not just how to control men. Men are rather easy to control, really. It hardly requires my expertise."

Neville tried to squirm backward, but she caught him. She was certainly controlling him... but the Feather had ended up in a Muggle museum. He wondered if her control over Tommy Riddle was considerably less than she imagined.

"No, I taught them the old ways. I taught them to use everything available to them to defend themselves and the magical world against Muggles. And for this, I was exiled. But that's going to get me back. Of course, they Obliviated my girls. So much for remembering me for ever." She smiled. "Why deny it to me? I'll only bring it where you're taking it. And they'll see that I'm doing my part to uphold the Statute of Secrecy, and--"

"No." Neville swallowed hard. His heart was beating in a quick tempo. "I'm not giving it to you," he said. "I don't know what you really mean to do with it, but you can't have it."

"I'll do exactly what I said I would."

"You won't." He bit his tongue on explaining how he knew it. "I'm taking it."

She laughed again, this time genuinely amused. "Oh, really. I don't think that's likely. I could match you when I didn't have a wand. Now, I have yours."

"Yeah?" someone said.

Mertysa, taken by surprise, turned. Something flew out of the darkness, and there was a crash, then Mertysa crumpled to the ground.

Marion stepped out of the woods. She pointed at the ground, where several small dimples appeared in the dirt. "High heels," she said. "Idiot."

Neville grabbed his wand compulsively away from Mertysa's hand. She made weak grab for it, but Marion kicked her hand away.

"Get it out of here before she wakes up," Marion said. "We've got her right here, so she can't take it again."

Neville heard a series of pops in the woods behind Marion, and saw a figure starting to move up through the trees. On the ground, Mertysa turned her head slightly, and her eyes widened. "Aurors," she muttered, then disappeared with an audible pop.

"Jeez, Neville, go now," Marion whispered. "Do that window thing again."

"They'll Obliviate you, Marion."

"Let me worry about that. You get out of here if you can."

Neville looked at the approaching Aurors, then raised his wand. "Priori locum Shacklebolt," he said, and the window opened. Gone was the hunched figure on the floor, the spilled flowers, the broken vase. The drawing room was tidy and empty.

"You there!" one of the Aurors shouted. Neville thought about staying, turning it over to the authorities, letting them handle it.

But that wasn't what he'd been sent to do.

He looked at Marion. "Thank you," he said.

"Any time. Get out of here." She turned away, facing the Aurors, and Neville jumped through the window, coming to a skidding stop against Gran's sofa. He looked up. On the other side of the window, he saw an Auror pull Marion out of the way and reach for the opening.

"Finite incantatem," Neville said.

The window closed.

He was alone.

He sat on the floor for several minutes, looking around the ordered room, unwinding the Feather of Maát from his ankle. She'd never gotten it. It hadn't been in the museum. Bellatrix hadn't stolen it.

And Kingsley Shacklebolt would have no memory of allowing Neville to break the law and travel back in time.

He considered this, long and hard. Kingsley could probably be convinced, but it would be a right mess all around, and the Feather would probably end up right back where it started--the magical world wasn't the safest place to hide things from Voldemort.

Neville pulled himself up onto the sofa, and wrapped the leather strap around his forehead, allowing the Feather to depend between his eyes. He looked, sure for a moment that he would see nothing, and then smiled.

Perfect.

---

Washington, D.C. Two days later.
Marion Ravenwood leaned heavily on her walker, her fingers, her wrists--really every joint in her body--aching from a week of rain. This damp basement warehouse was no help, but she could hardly do the work she meant to do elsewhere. They'd certainly covered their tracks in the paper trail. She'd need to physically open crates if she ever meant to find it again.

And she'd promised that she would.

She'd been looking for twenty years now, ever since she'd been appointed archivist here. She didn't think her higher-ups would care for her daily hobby of Ark-hunting, but they never came here, and she suspected they believed her to have died at some point anyway. It was a worthless position to them.

To Marion, it was the only position.

She was just starting down the widest of the aisles when the freight elevator opened behind her with a soft bell tone. A metal cart rattled out of it.

"Hey, Dr. Ravenwood!" the pimply-faced boy pushing it said. "Anything going out?"

"No."

"Got something for you," he said, pulling out a small but bulky package and tossing it to her.

She thanked him and frowned at the old-fashioned handwriting. It looked like it had come from a fountain pen, the sort you dipped into an inkwell, but who used those for anything other than pretentious wedding invitations now? It had no return address.

She opened it.

Her eyes widened at the tiny artifact inside... and even more at the leather strip, which should have aged seventy years, but looked as new as it had when Dad had fitted it for display. A piece of paper--parchment, actually--fell from the package, and she picked it up.

Marion, it said. I imagine you won't remember me, but I thought you'd like to have this back, as you found it, which makes it much more yours than mine. It's dangerous, though. You might want to hide it, if you can think of a good place...

Marion looked up at the mountains of crates around her, and smiled.