Something heavy sat right on Harry's back. He rolled over with a loud protest at being woken too soon and landed on the ground in a tangle with someone else. He struggled out of the encumbering folds of his cloak and saw a strange girl staring at him. She had brown hair liberally streaked with green and pink and a pale round snub-nosed face. One ear had earrings running right around the neat little outer shell, with one long feather hangeing from the other. The hair reminded him of Tonks and he felt a stab of distress that it wasn't the young auror come to get him and tell him his being locked out of the wizard world was all a dream.

The girl said, "Sorry, I didn't see you there. Stupid me. In a daze as usual. All my friends are always riding me for it."

She stared at Harry curiously, and he felt himself flush with embarrassment. He must look like the worst layabout imaginable. But then, that's what he was now, one of the idle, homeless. He was sure that his bruised face and dreadful clothes did little to recommend him.

He said, "Sorry," right back, though he didn't quite know what he was apologizing for.

The girl looked at him appraisingly and said, "What's your name? You haven't been out long, have you?"

"Out? What d'you mean, out?"

The girl said, "Not long at all, then. Out on the streets is what I mean."

Harry said, "Oh. Erm … I'm not. I mean, not exactly. I came up to London to see some friends and they, er, weren't there. I must have got the date mixed up or something."

The girl said, "Friends. Yeah. The kind of friends that are never there when you show up?" She looked at him some more and said, "I'm Annie. Annie O'Hara. What did you say your name was?"

Harry said, "I didn't." Warily he looked at her and found nothing too overtly threatening, so he said, "I'm James. James Black."

He didn't know why he was keeping up the use of the fake name, but somehow felt it would help him disappear more completely. He held out a hand and said, "Nice to meet you, Annie O'Hara."

She took his hand and shook it enthusiastically and gave him a thousand watt smile. She said, "I don't suppose you have anywhere to stay do you? I slept on a bench my first month here. It was awful seeing it was fall and lots colder at night than it is now."

Harry knew he must look alarmed. The thought of sleeping on a bench for a month or who knew how long did not sound very appealing.

He said, "And now? What do you do now?"

She said, "Oh, I doss down with a couple of friends of mine. It's not much, but I bet they'd let you stay there for a bit. Longer if you can bring in some money and help pay for things."

Harry said, "Do you always do that?"

"What," she asked.

"Invite people you've only met five minutes ago to stay?"

She laughed. "Oh, no. Only you look so young and quite lost. Runaway are you?"

Harry said, "No. I'm just on my own. And you don't look very old yourself."

She said as if she didn't believe him, but didn't care, "I see. Well, I'm eighteen now, and I ran away a year and half ago. My Mum re-married and I got right sick of the monster, you know. He knocked Mum about, and when he started knocking me about, I ran fast."

Harry said, "And what do you do now?"

She said, "I'm going to be an actress. But right now I play guitar, I'm a street musician. I sing and play near the tube stations and the tourists nearly always give something. Some days I do quite well. But one day, I'm going to be famous."

Harry looked at the girl with fascination. He thought that Aunt Petunia would have looked down on the girl and said she was no better than she ought to be, but Harry thought she was quite brave to be on her own like that.

He said, "I wish I could do that."

She said, "You don't play at all? Or sing?"

He said, "No. I've never had any lessons. And I dunno about singing. Doesn't everybody sing?"

"Well, of course not. Not so's anyone would want to hear you and pay you money for it." She looked him over once more and asked, "Speaking of, have you got any? Money, that is?" Harry shook his head.

She said, "Well, never mind that, luv. I'm sure you can find some kind of work. How old are you anyway?"

He thought fast and said, "Eighteen." He didn't want anyone reporting him to the authorities for vagrancy or something. He thought he could get away with being eighteen. He would turn sixteen in another two days. That thought was too painful. He assumed there would be no owls this year, now. Not one card probably.

So when Annie said, "C'mon then, I'll show you where it is," he stuffed his cloak back in his trunk and followed her to the big warehouse a couple of blocks down that looked like it was fit for a factory, not for people to live in.

They dragged his trunk and empty birdcage up four flights of stairs. The loft was one great room with huge windows, some of them cracked and broken. There was a tiny kitchenette and a small area curtained off by a sagging plastic curtain that had an old tin bathtub and toilet. The rest of the room was one great open space with several mattresses on the scarred wooden floor and a small rickety looking Formica table with two mismatched chairs. After a night on the run and sleeping on a bench in the cold, it looked perfectly beautiful.

Annie pointed to a mattress near the windows and said, "You can have that one."

Harry dragged his trunk over and placed it at the foot of the mattress. He thought wistfully of his comfortable four-poster in the boys' dormitory at Hogwarts. He reminded himself that this was a whole lot better than the cupboard under the stairs. Here, he could do as he liked and no one would tell him differently.

He looked at Annie and said, "Thanks. You just saved my life."

The door was flung open and a man and a woman entered. They had their arms full of grocery bags, which they dropped with a thud on the rickety table.

The man said, "Who are you?"

Annie said, "This is James. I invited him to stay for a bit. We really can use an extra, you know?"

The man looked at Harry and back to Annie. He said, "Another one of your little lost boys? They're getting younger and younger." He said to Harry, "So how old are you, James?"

Harry said coolly, "Old enough. And I didn't get your name either."

The man, who Harry observed was rather short and had long dark hair pulled back in a pony tail from a high forehead, said, "I'm Dave Byrd, but my friends call me Davey." He looked at Harry a bit longer before nodding and said, "Well, you're welcome here if you can help pay the freight, James."

Harry said, "Erm, well, I'm looking for a job and soon's I get one, I'll be able to pay my way."

The woman, who must have been only a couple of years older than Annie said, "You have to give Annie credit, Davey. She does know how to pick the cute ones."

Harry flushed with embarrassment, but he took her hand when she extended it and said, "Hi," when she said, "I'm Nora."

Harry asked, "So what do you do?"

Nora answered, "Well, I'm a model. I work freelance. Gives you much more freedom to pick your jobs and so forth. And Davey is our star. He plays in a band and they're really great. We think they're going to get an agent and a record deal quite soon."

Harry had never met anybody who did any of these things before. All of Uncle Vernon's friends were businessmen like himself. And of course, the other people he knew, Mr. Weasley, Bill, the teachers at Hogwarts, all had wizard jobs. Somehow, he felt that the wizard jobs were more the equivalent of Uncle Vernon's in terms of respectability. Well, he had heard the Weird Sisters play, but had no idea how they stood in the wizard world that way.

He asked, "So, do you make a lot of money, playing in a band?"

Davey gave him a sharp look, as if he were revising his estimate of Harry's age downward and said, "You do if you get a recording contract. Until then, I play on weekends and work as a bartender at the pub down the street to bring in money."

"And what do you plan to do to earn money, Jamey boy," Dave asked.

Harry opened his mouth, but really, he had no clue.

Annie answered for him. "He's going to come with me and sing back up when I play. And he can audition for that little theater they had advertised for this week. You don't need any experience to be an extra, and they actually pay something."

Dave looked pacified at that, although he said cynically, "Another ruddy actor."

Harry thought that was rich. He rather thought that making a living, as a musician was just as difficult. Uncle Vernon would have thought the whole lot of them very unreliable, from Dave's long ponytail, to Annie's string of earrings, to Nora's "freelance modeling". He wondered which was less respectable, being a wizard or being an actor/street singer.

Nora said, "I think that's nice. He's definitely got something." She looked at him critically and said, "But you'll have to do something about that hair. It's not really got the right messy look. It just looks...messy. And you'll need some make-up to cover up that bruise. I can take care of that."

Harry thought gloomily that his singing talent was dubious at best and he had no acting experience at all. He had more chance of earning money doing card tricks or sweeping the floor at Dave's pub than he did singing or acting.

But Annie and Nora were delighted with the idea and he really didn't want to annoy his new friends and lose the only shelter he had. Annie looked critically at him, too.

"What about clothes? You do have something better than that to wear don't you?" Harry shrugged.

She said, "Let's have a look, then. I'll have to help you pick something out. Get the right look. And you'll need a bit of a scrub, too. People give less if you look dirty. They think you're just begging instead of performing if you look too tatty."

Harry said, "Erm, now?"

She said, "Well, of course now. We've got to get in place to catch the lunch trade. If we hurry, we can get a spot by the Covent Garden tube entrance. People always think you're from one of the drama schools if you go there."

With feeling of gloom in the pit of his stomach, Harry opened his trunk to look for something to wear. The cast-offs from Dudley were just too awful. Every one had holes in it, or was so outsized that he looked like a tramp. Then there were his school uniforms which were too small as they had fit him last summer when he bought them and he had grown again since then.

Annie peered in at the trunk's contents from behind him. He felt uncomfortable and wondered whether it mattered that another Muggle might get a look at some of his wizard stuff. He shrugged off that thought. He was already shut out and they hadn't even let him in the Ministry to tell him or snap his wand.

"Books?" Annie said. "Why one earth are you dragging books around with you? You do have clothes, don't you?" Harry shrugged again. He stacked the books to the side being careful to keep her from seeing the titles.

He said casually, "Just stuff from school."

Dave said sharply, "I thought you're eighteen. What d'you need with school books then? You're not one of those arty types that writes poetry and trash like that, are you?"

Harry said swiftly, "That's rich, you calling me and arty type when you're the musician. And no, I don't...erm...write poetry."

Annie cut in. "Really, Davey. It's too bad he isn't. You can use some help with your song lyrics anyway."

Nora joined in, "What's wrong with his lyrics. I think they're grand. Like 'Love in the Afternoon'. That's a good one."

Annie said grudgingly, "That one's not bad. But all those devil ones are really nasty."

Davey said, "You just don't get them, Annie, luv."

Harry fished through his clothes quickly. He settled for the trousers and a shirt from his school uniform without the sweater, tie, or naturally, the over robes. He shut the trunk down firmly to keep out prying eyes and looked for a private place to change. The only privacy was behind the plastic shower curtain and he headed for it wordlessly, filled the bath with lukewarm water (the hottest it got), and slid quickly into the water to wash.

He was used to other boys being around as there were five altogether in his year's room at Hogwarts. It was the presence of the girls, women, on the other side of the curtain that unnerved him. For a moment, he thought wildly of returning to Privet Drive, where at least the unpleasantnesses were known and anticipatable. Then he thought better of it. He was quite sure he was going to be thrown out anyway once Uncle Vernon and Qunt Petunia had returned from the police station with Dudley. He sank deeper into the water and let it flow over him. He held his breath under it as long as he could and wondered what it would be like to simply let go of everything...to stop thinking...to stop being...to stop being Harry. He thought, here was the ultimate chance. Here, he was James, not Harry. The thought made him feel better. He could just become someone else here in the Muggle world and no one would know where he was or who he was. Would Voldemort just let him go, if he simply never came back? He closed his mind to the thought of Voldemort. Tried to think, prophecies are just words. They don't always come true. And what were the possibilities in his that he would kill, or be killed. Either way, his life would be over, destroyed.

From the other side of the curtain, Annie called, "Did you drown, or what? We've got to go, Jamey." Harry flopped out of the tub and threw his clothes on. He piled up the dirty ones in a ball to be dealt with later and got on his socks and trainers. Annie looked doubtfully at him. He supposed it must be the fact that his pants were too short and his sleeves left a good bit more wrist exposed than they should. They were all looking at him now.

Harry said, "What?"

Dave said, "What's that, your school uniform? Why don't you just put on the school tie and complete the picture? The coppers can stop you and we'll have the headlines tomorrow, Runaway Eton Boy Caught in Covent Garden. Or is it Harrow? I mean, what, your Daddy gave you a bit of a slap and you ran out in a snit without taking your pocket money?"

Harry said, "My father's dead and my Mum. And I don't go to Eton or Harrow."

Dave said more awkwardly, "Sorry about that. But if you don't go to Eton or Harrow, where do you go? Some fancy public school judging by that posh accent." Harry stared at him.

"You've never heard of the school I go to...went to. But I'm done with school now so it's none of your concern." He turned to Annie and said, "Let's go, then."

"Not so fast," she said. "First, we have a snack and Nora's going to cover up that bruise and I've got to tune my guitar." She turned over the a grocery bag and spilled out a pile of fruit, apples, oranges, peaches, and lined up the contents of the other bag, bottles of beer and cans of soda.

"Go on, then, take something. You must be perishing of hunger by now. You look like you haven't had a proper meal in months." She said, "Davey, what's your pick? Beer and an orange, same as always?"

Davey nodded and slouched over to the table. He flipped off the top of the bottle with his thumb and drank down the beer. Harry could smell it, the ripe yeasty aroma overlaid with alcohol.

"I'll just have a soda," he said and deftly caught the can of cola that Davey tossed to him. He thought it would be impolite to say he didn't care for fizzy drinks. The cola was cool and sweet and reviving. He cautiously took an apple, but no one seemd to mind. He put an orange in his pocket for later and hungrily bit into the fruit. Annie had got out her guitar and had started to tune it. Harry winced as the she turned the pegs and plucked the strings. It was so far out of tune, he wondered how she ever earned a shilling playing it.

Annie saw him wincing and said, "What's the matter, don't like it?"

Harry said, "Erm, no, it's just a bit out of tune, isn't it?"

Davey looked at him with interest. "I thought you said you'd never had music lessons."

Harry said, "No, I haven't. But anyone could tell it's off."

Annie said, "Well, how far off, then? Up or down?" He shrugged.

She turned the peg some more and he said, "Well, that's a bit better. More like that."

She looked at him some more and said, "I think you're going to be very useful, duckie."

And she made him say more or less for each string until the guitar was almost in tune. Then Nora attacked his hair; only of course it made no difference. He tried to flatten his fringe over his scar, but she didn't like that and wanted to push it off his face, to show his bones she said. Harry couldn't see why anyone cared about his bones and he was horrified when she pulled out a bottle of lotion and advanced toward him with it.

Annie said, "Hold still, Jamey, luv, we've got to cover those marks on your face. Someone'll call the coppers otherwise."

Harry said, "I'm not having make-up on me. That's for girls!"

Davey grinned and said, "Well if you want to be a ruddy actor, you'd better get used to it. They all have to use it. Even Big Arnold has to use it when he makes his movies."

Harry said, "I'll look like a total prat."

Uncle Vernon would have the most awful things to say. Harry could just imagine what other adjectives would be added to the ones like freak. Then he remembered, Uncle Vernon wasn't ever going to get to call him anything again. So, he let Nora pat the stuff on and tried not to flinch when she touched the part that was most swollen and hurtful. She pushed his hair off his face again and said,

"What about that scar? You must have been in the most awful accident. Was that how your Mum and Dad...?" She trailed off, perhaps because of the change in his face. Then she said, "I could cover that up, too if you like."

Harry said, "Why not? People always stare at it." And it was one more way of disappearing. No Harry, just James, and no scar to set him apart.

Annie looked at him approvingly. She said, "Well, that's much better come on, if we hurry, we can still get a really good spot."

Annie gave Harry the guitar to carry and they ran down the four flights of stairs and caught to tube to Covent Garden. Annie had enough change to pay for their fare there, but if they made no money, they'd have to walk all the way back. They came out of the rushing stream of people and Annie sped over to a corner, the one she thought was the best one, and held out her hands for the guitar. She then took the guitar out and left the case lying open beside her for people to throw change in as they passed.

"Listen," Annie said, "You just hum along with me and try to stay in harmony, okay. We'll work out something better for tomorrow." Harry nodded and tried to follow the tunes she was playing, various folk ballads, most of which he'd never heard. Amazingly, people stopped from time to time and threw in change, mostly shillings and a couple of times even a one-pound bill. Annie smiled her thousand-watt smile at those and kept singing. Harry thought her guitar playing was rather awful, but then what did he know? She did have a sweet voice, however, and people would stop and smile at her and those that did usually tossed in a coin or two. Every so often, a Constable in uniform wandered by and Harry would duck behind Annie and try to look like a tourist himself. He didn't think anyone was really looking for him, but he had no idea what stories Dudley might have told to get himself out of trouble. It had sounded like he was going to rat out Piers and Gordon, but Harry had an inkling his name was going to come up rather quickly despite that Sergeant's decision that Harry hadn't done anything.

After about an hour, Annie said, "Here, Jamey. Do you know anything to sing? My voice is getting tired and we can still get a bit more if go at least one or two more songs."

Harry said doubtfully, "I dunno many songs. I never had music, like I said."

Annie said impatiently, "I never had lessons either. But you must have learned a song or two at school. What about Greensleeves? Nobody can get out of school without learning that."

Harry thought, grammar school, the fourth grade end of year parents' visit. He'd been the only one in the class who had no one to visit for him, and they had sung that song as a group. He nodded and said, "I think I know a verse of that."

She smiled at him brilliantly and said, "All right. Just try it and I'll do the chorus with you."

He thought as he sang, how did I get myself into this? There were more people gathering and he tried to ignore them, but it was almost worse than facing a fire-breathing dragon, to have people staring at him while he sang. At least he'd had a broom to escape the dragon's flames; here, there was nothing to do to escape the people listening.

He broke off when he had gone through the two verses he knew and a lady in shorts with very sunburned legs said, "That's so sweet. Are you students at the Conservatory?"

Annie answered, "Yes, ma'am. We like to play folk music in our spare time, and it raises just a bit to help with expenses."

The gentleman with her said, "Ah, starving artists. Poor musicians. But it's the struggles that make the art."

The lady said to Harry, "Are you a student, too?"

He started to say no, but Annie said yes right away. "He's very good you know. But he's very shy. I always have a hard time getting him to come out here with me. He's really a violin player and he's really good."

Harry forgot everything in his astonishment and said, "Go on, I am not."

Annie said quickly, "He's ever so modest, too."

The lady said, "Oh, I just love those British accents. George, give them something. Who knows, maybe someday we'll see tham on Great Performances or something."

The man said, "Right you are, Gladys," and he dropped a five-pound note into the guitar case. The tourists strolled off discussing the ballet performance they were to see that afternoon.

Annie packed up the guitar and said, "Well, that was a great day. Let's go back and we can order in some takeout. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Harry said, "You lied to those people. You told them we're students at some conservatory. You told them I play the violin." He couldn't believe it.

Annie said, "Of course, I lied, duckie. They wouldn't have given us half so much if I said we were just layabouts trying to cadge a meal, now would they?" She patted his cheek and said, "Don't worry, you'll learn."

When they returned, Nora had twisted her long, skinny body into the most bizarre pretzel-like position he had ever seen. Her hollow eyes were closed and she was humming something under her breath. Dave was in the tub, also humming quite completely off key and as Harry passed, a fine spray of water caught him by surprise.

Harry said to Annie, "Is she all right?" He turned his head upside down to see if Nora was having a fit or something.

Annie laughed and Nora opened her eyes. Nora said, "Of course, I'm all right. Haven't you ever seen yoga before? Honestly, if you're eighteen, I'll eat a steak dinner for two all by myself."

Annie said, "You'd look a whole lot healthier if you did, Nora. Then maybe your agency'll hire you back full-time."

Nora pouted. "They will not, not if I eat such horrible fattening stuff. I only have to lose two more pounds and then maybe they'll hire me back. That girl they took on in my place is just awful. No style, none at all."

Harry stared at her. He couldn't imagine what she would look like if she lost more weight. She was already so stick thin that her chest was concave and Harry couldn't help noticing she had no more curves than a ten year old boy. Dave came out of the tub and splashed more water all over.

"So, Annie, how'd it go?" he said as he slung on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a skull and the words, Death Masters, in flourescent green in a circle around it.

Annie spilled out the money and said, "Look, we did great." She counted it quickly and said, "Ten pounds, fifty shillings. It's the best day I've ever had."

Harry averted his eyes from the T-shirt, which made him think of the Death Eaters and the Dark Mark, and said, "Yeah, but you lied to that lady about us being students at a Conservatory."

Dave guffawed. "What did you think she was going to do, tell them you wanted an easy hand out?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I don't like it. It's the kind of thing people can check very easily. And ...it's, like a cheat, that kind of lie."

Dave settled back on the bed and said, "Sheesh, kid, don't you get it? Who cares if it's a lie? It's about survival, choirboy, not about honesty." He looked again at Harry and said, "Maybe you had better go back to your fancy school. Looks like you are too good for the likes of us."

Annie said, "No way. He stays. It's on account of him we did so great. All he had to do was open his mouth and talk in that golden accent, and they threw in a five-pound note. Thought he was with the Royal Conservatory and plays the violin. It was brilliant."

Harry sat down on one of the rickety chairs. His heart had started to race when Dave had suggested him leaving. If they tossed him out, where could he go? He'd be sleeping on a park bench again tonight if he wasn't more careful.

Annie said, "Ta. I think we've got enough for a pizza or some Chinese. What do you think?"

Nora said, "I'm not eating. I'll just have another fruit and a beer."

Dave said, "Pizza. Or is that too low class for you, Prince James."

Harry said, "Pizza sounds great," In fact, he was starving and would have eaten anything.

Edgar picked up the bright blue bag and looked for I.D. or anything to confirm that it was Nancy Bell's. Inside the bag was a small leather wallet bearing the vicitm's name. There were books and a compact CD player with earphones, a small mobile phone and several other items that could wait inspection. Edgar had the unpleasant feeling that they were being watched.

Reminding himself of Fay's earlier warning about basic safety measures he said, "Hold onto this. I'm going to do a quick scan of the rest of the house to make sure there's nothing else of importance. You wait here." Fay looked as though she would argue, but Edgar wanted out of this house as fast as possible. He ran up the center stairs and peered into the rooms off the second floor hallway. They appeared to be bedrooms. Most were not only dusty, but the furniture in them was covered with plastic cloths and looked as if no one had been near them in fifty years. At the end of the hallway, it was a different story. There was a large suite, which must have been the master bedroom at one time. It had grand Palladian windows overlooking the back gardens and the large Jacobean style bed was covered in clean linens. Edgar inspected the room further. The wardrobe was empty, as was the chest of drawers. Large candles were grouped on the chest and above the mantel of the fireplace. The candles on the fireplace mantel were only half-melted and the ones on the chest were brand new. There was ash in the fireplace that was dark and new, just like the ash in the downstairs lounge. Other than the fact that the room had been recently occupied, though, there was nothing else revealed at first glance.

Edgar went up to the third floor, which must once have provided quarters for the servants. There were two other rooms that seemed to be occupied here, and one of them had the remains of a half-eaten meal left on a small table by the narrow iron bed. From the staleness of the bread, Edgar guessed the person had been there not less than two days before. He looked out the small window down to the grounds. All was eerily empty. He could see the gravel driveway at the front of the house. There was no rut in it where a car would have driven in. But then, if the people who had been here were the kind of people Edgar suspected, they wouldn't travel by car.

He ran down the stairs again and found Fay looking through the books. He said, "Someone's definitely been here recently, but there's no one here now. Let's get back to the Inn, and we can get a better look at that bag and label its contents for evidence."

Fay said, "Shouldn't we search the garage and the rest of the grounds?"

Edgar said, "I doubt there's anything to be found. There's no disturbance of the gravel in the front. I could see it from the window upstairs." He couldn't say why he was in such a hurry to get out of there. Fay would think he was a fool.

He said, "Besides, I'm starving."

She looked at him and said, "You didn't lose enough blood with that cut to make you light-headed. What's the problem, Inspector? And I thought we were going to talk to the villagers here at the local pub."

Edgar said, "Yes, very well. I suppose we can get a bit of lunch and a pint there." He picked up the bright blue bag and strode out the door, once again, not waiting to see if she was coming.

The pub at Little Hangleton was a tiny ill-lit place, with a small wooden bar, three tables and a pockmarked dartboard that had a dart sticking out of the center. The bartender was young and knew nobody. The other patrons didn't know anything about Frank Bryce, except that he'd been a very odd man, and not well liked at all. Edgar sat at one of the small tables with Fay and drank his pint in one gulp.

Fay stared at him. "That's not like you, Inspector. Something's giving you the willies on this case, isn't it?"

Edgar shrugged and she followed up staring at him with her bright blue eyes. "What do you know that I don't, Inspector?"

Edgar took a bite of his cheese sandwich and said, "Not a blessed thing."

He hoped his face was unrevealing and calm. He got up and bought himself a second pint to drink with the rest of his lunch. There was an old lady sitting at the end of the bar, not the same one who had been at the church with the vicar. Edgar watched her and wondered whether she would answer any of his questions. She had sat drinking a tiny glass of whiskey and said nothing the whole time that Edgar had talked to the bartender and the other patrons. He took another swallow of his second pint and left the rest of his rather limp sandwich behind.

"Good afternoon," he said to the old lady, although he'd greeted everyone generally before. The old lady nodded, but said nothing. He wondered if she was all there. Her eyes were a bright, bird-like brown and she reminded him of a very ancient robin, perched there and just observing the world from the safety of her familiar place.

"Have you always lived here, ma'am?" he asked.

The old lady tipped her head to the side and said, "That, I have."

Edgar said, "So you would remember the Riddle family, wouldn't you?"

The old lady gave a funny little cackle. "Remember them? Aye, I remember them. I was the day maid what came in to do for them before they died. I was the one that called the p'lice when they died."

Edgar felt that jump of excitement when he was going to get something really important. Something to break the case wide open. He said, "Can you tell me about it? What did you see that day?"

She looked at him and said, "I like you. I think you're a kind person. Respectful like."

Edgar waited. The old lady tipped her head again. He was irrationally terrified that she would suddenly sprout wings and fly away before she told her story.

Finally, the old lady answered: "Right. I never did tell that other p'liceman everything I saw. I might've told Hoskins, he's from around here. He'd understand. But the p'liceman that talked to me, he wasn't a good listener. Impatient-like. Not like you."

Edgar waited some more. The old lady would tell her tale in her own time, or not at all. At the table, Fay stirred impatiently, but Edgar signaled her with his hand, don't interrupt.

The old lady continued, "See, the day they died, I came late to work. My husband, he was my going out friend then, he kept me out a bit late the night before. We were but young and giddy then. Younger than you and your pretty lady copper.

"I started doing the beds upstairs and the dusting and I heard a knock at the front door. An' I was the only one working there that day. Frank, he was the gardener, he was off in the gardens by the far side of the property. Well, I was on the third floor, and I looked out the window to the front and there was a boy there, a teenager. Not more'n sixteen nor seventeen, I thought. I noticed because he was good looking. Nicer looking than my husband, and I was right fond of him, but you can't help noticing these things."

Edgar said, "You're quite right. You can't help noticing."

The old lady nodded at him and said, "The old man, Mr. Riddle, he let the boy in and I crept downstairs very soft, because I was that curious. The Riddles didn't have many visitors. Thought they was above the rest of us, here. I heard them talking. The boy, he said he was Tom Riddle's son and he was here to claim his inheritance. Or something like that. He sounded very charming. Well, I peeked in at the lounge where they was sitting and I heard Tom Riddle say, 'I have no son. You must be mistaken. I'll not be taken in by a charlatan.' That's what he called the boy, a charlatan." She nodded to herself again and tipped her head the other way remembering.

"Then the boy, he got angry. He said that was too bad, because he was going to have payment--that's the word he used--payment for what they had done to his Mum and to him. Then he pointed this stick at them and said something. I don't know what. And a green light came out of the stick. Three times he did. And three times the green light came out, right one after the other. Then he laughed and he left. And I never saw hide or hair of him again. When I crept into the lounge, there they were, all three of them, dead."

Edgar said, "Why didn't you tell anyone? You didn't say enything, not even when they charged Frank Bryce."

The old lady said, "Ah. I told the p'liceman that Frank couldn't've done it, but they didn't listen. And I was afraid to tell anyone or say anything about the boy. I didn't know if he was lurking around and if he'd kill me if I said."

Edgar said, "Thank you for telling me that. Would you be willing to sign a transcript of that? Sergeant Kray has been taking notes."

The old lady said, "All right. Might as well. If he comes back, he can't hurry me to my grave faster than I'm hurrying myself these days."

Edgar gestured to Fay to have her show the notes to the old lady and get her to sign them. He drank the rest of his pint and felt the terror rise in his throat. He knew that Fay must think the old lady was senile or loony. He knew better.

As they walked back out to the car, Fay said, "This is the weirdest case we've ever had. Sticks with green killer light coming out of them. I'd as soon believe they were killed by magic."

She laughed, a lovely bubbly sound and said, "Next thing you know, someone will come out of the woodworks claiming they were all abducted by aliens and their experiments went wrong." She looked sharply at Edgar and her faint kitten smile faded. "You don't really believe she saw that, do you?"

Edgar said, "I don't know what I believe yet. What I know, is that either Nancy Bell was in that house, or someone met with her and took her bag away with him after she was dead." He added, though he didn't believe it for a second, "For all we know, Nancy may have been meeting her boyfriend, or a friend unknown, at that house. The biggest bedroom upstairs had clean linens on it and there were two other rooms, old servants' rooms, which were recently occupied. So that's another thing we know. Someone or several someones, have been using the Riddle house and they're almost certainly not the real owner." He looked at Fay.

She was nodding thoughtfully and said, "This whole thing gets more and more mysterious. There's got to be a link somewhere. Something links the death of the Riddles, the death of Frank Bryce, the disappearance of Sarah Bell and the death of Nancy Bell. Whether it's murder, or something else, I don't know. And how they connect to the deaths of those other two girls, if at all, is another question."

They had reached the car, a brand new silver Miata that took up an unreasonable portion of Edgar's paycheck. Edgar leaned against the car and tried unsuccessfully to brush more of the dirt and stains off his suit.

Fay smiled very faintly again and asked, "What is that one can't help noticing, anyway?"

Edgar said, "What?"

She repeated, "You agreed with the old lady, that one can't help noticing things sometimes. What is it that you can't help noticing, Inspector?"

Edgar leaned back against the car and folded his arms across his chest and looked at Fay assessingly. With only the smallest of grins of mischief, he answered, "Your very long and lovely legs, Fay, that you've been swinging so charmingly at me all day."

Fay stared back at him in surprise. If she'd been a real cat, and Edgar pictured her as a rather elegant Siamese, her ears would have been laid back and her back arched in annyoance.

She said, "That's the second time you've called me by name today, Inspector. To what do I owe this sudden honor?"

Edgar smiled and said, "After six months of working together, something like twenty corpses and one nasty shoot out, I think first names are appropriate, don't you?"

Fay looked both surprised and gratified. She said, "So what do I call you? E.A.? That's what's on your sign. What is your full name anyway?"

Edgar said, "It's Edgar Allan. But if you tell anyone, I call have to give you a demerit." He added, "You can call me E.A. or Allan."

Fay said, "Why not Edgar? That's a good English name."

He answered abruptly, "My dad was also Edgar. I think of him as Edgar."

She said, "Was?" He nodded and opened the passenger side door for her. Driving would keep him occupied and diminish the unpleasant memories that threatened to overwhelm him.

The entire ten pounds, fifty shillings was spent on the pizza. They feasted on pizza and soda (beer for the others) and the remainder of the fruit. Harry would have quite happily gone to sleep afterwards, but Dave and the others were insistent that he joined them at the pub where Dave worked.

The Black Jack was a dark traditional pub. There was a long oak bar, a dartboard, scuffed wooden tables and chairs, and a cloud of smoke darkened the already dim main room. There were two other rooms that were attached. One was a games room; with a big screen TV showing football games, billiard tables, and a jukebox, on which some kind of loud heavy metal rock was playing. Off to the other side, was a smaller side bar with a tiny stage and small round metal tables. The low ceiling was made of pressed tin tiles and Harry thought this smaller room might have been the original pub, as it looked the oldest of all. Dave was working the bar in the smaller room and he put on an apron from beneath the bar and slid drafts of beer to Nora, Annie, and Harry. He didn't bother asking Harry his age again.

Harry took a cautious sip of the beer. Dave was watching him and Harry didn't want to let him think he was too young. He had a feeling Dave would persuade the others to toss him out, from the loft as well as the bar, if he found out Harry was actually underage. The beer was much stronger than the butterbeer he was accustomed to and made his eyes water. He turned away to look at the other patrons. In a corner to the side of the stage, a small woman had claimed a table and had covered it in a lacy black cloth. She wore numerous chains of beads and shawls and reminded Harry of Professor Trelawny, except that she didn't wear glasses.

There was a skinny, tall man at the end of the bar who was dreadfully pale and had several long fingernails painted black. If Harry hadn't seen him washing down a handful of crisps with a glass of whiskey, he would have thought him a vampire. Then there were the two women at the front table. They had tattoos on their arms and cheeks, wore black leather mini-skirts and knee high boots and had painted their lips and fingernails black. One was smoking from a cigarette holder and was looking Harry up and down with an expression he found uninterpretable and somehow scary. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that the place was a counterpart to the Leaky Cauldron, but opening into Knockturn Alley instead.

He turned back and glanced at the other end of the bar and wondered if he dared suggest to Annie that he'd like to go back to the loft. He decided not to just yet. Dave was watching him again so he took another swallow of his beer and found it went down easier the second time. Nora had moved into the larger bar. He could see her perched on a stool, her long legs wrapped around each other in stork-like fashion, chatting up a big man who wore denims and had gold rings flashing on every other finger. Annie was devouring a plate of crisps and talking to Dave about the upcoming audition she hoped would change her career. Harry wondered if her acting was any better than her guitar playing. He hoped so. She had been nothing but kind to him and he liked her certainty that things would only get better.

The lady in the corner with the lace covered table beckoned to him. Harry looked around to see if there was someone else she actually was waving to.

Dave moved closer to him and whispered, "Go on. That's Madam Blavatsky. She's a regular here and the boss likes to keep his regulars happy." Harry felt horribly uncomfortable, but he thought he oughtn't to make trouble for Dave who he guessed was responsible for paying most of the expenses of the loft. He took another sip of the beer and pushed it aside-- hardly noticing that Dave had filled it up again--and went over to the corner table.

The lady, Madam Blavatsky, had a huge mass of curly hair partially covered by a crimson silk scarf. She reached out and took his hand and said, "You are a newcomer here. Young, but I sense yours is a very old soul."

Harry wanted to pull his hand away and run right out. He didn't know why he should feel so uncomfortable. It wasn't as if he hadn't met witches and wizards that made everyone here look quite ordinary. He assumed that Madam Blavatsky was one of those Muggles who had a fascination with magic and ESP and who attempted to make a living out of other credulous Muggles. She turned the palm of his hand over and Harry panicked. What if she really were a witch and knew who he was?

He tried to pull his hand away, but she grasped it more firmly and said, "Be calm, dearie. I always give a free reading the first time around. Later, when you find I've told you the truth, you'll come back and cross my palm with silver and gold for the telling."

She chuckled hoarsely and said, "They all do."

Harry goggled at her. Feeling Dave's eyes on him, he went still and waited for her to look at his palm. He was quite sure she would shriek and tell him he had the shortest lifeline she had ever seen and would surely die young. That, of course, was what Professor Trelawny had predicted for him, except for last year when she had defiantly told Umbridge that he would have a long life and have twelve children. He had quite liked Professor Trelawny for the first time that time.

Madam Blavatsky looked at his hand and worked it around to see it in the dimness. She closed her eyes and a vertical line creased her forehead. She seemed to be working very hard even though she was doing nothing but holding his hand. He had to restrain a wild desire to laugh.

She looked at his hand again and said, "You have had a very quiet, rather dull life until now. But I see a new lifeline developing, a branch that tells me you have excitement and adventure in store for you. I see vast wealth, and a great passionate love for the wrong person. But someday, you will open your eyes and find the deserving one and be happy."

Harry said, "Erm, are you sure about that new life line?" He was thinking, the last thing one could say about his life so far was that it had been quiet and dull. Being nearly murdered any number of times, killing the basilisk, helping his godfather escape--none of those experiences could qualify for quiet or dull.

She drew herself up as if she were very offended and said, "Perhaps you think you know better than Madam Blavatsky. What do you think it means, if you know so much?"

Harry was feeling very tired and rather floaty, as if he were swimming lazily under water. He looked at his hand and answered, "I think that line, I think it means that I am going to be in very great danger of being killed. That's what I think it means." He pulled his hand away and all the other people in the bar stared at him in astonishment. He bowed to Madam Blavatsky with a flourish and walked a bit unsteadily back to the bar to ask Dave where the lavatory was.

Dave pointed to the main bar and said, "You know, you have got style, for a kid." But Harry didn't care what Dave thought at that point. He only wanted to get to the lav before he made a total fool of himself.

Harry had thought, hoped, that they would return to the loft once Dave's shift at the Black Jack was done. He was wrong. The main pub and the room with the TV and billiards closed at eleven p.m. sharp. The little side room, however, had no windows, and no separate exit and it stayed open past one in the morning. Several customers, who must have been in the know, wandered into the small bar shortly before the main room closed and the front door was locked. The tiny room was now quite full and Dave continued to pour whatever the customers requested.

The pale, skeletal man with the black painted fingertips pulled out a deck of cards and several of the customers moved over to the only vacant table to play cards, tossing pound notes on the table at the end of each hand and cursing when they lost. Harry watched in fascination as the black painted fingernails flashed the cards about. He could have sworn he had seen the man adjust the cards he was dealing on more than one occasion.

The cards whirred as he shuffled them and Harry had started to think the cards were tiny snitches, little winged things just waiting to be caught. His head hurt and he was on the point of dropping it into his arms and simply going to sleep when an argument developed between the dealer and another player. The player insisted that the dealer allow him to shuffle for the next round before the dealer played the cards. The dealer inclined his head and allowed the other man to shuffle before taking the cards back once again. The hand was dealt and the dealer flushed with annoyance when he looked at his cards. They played the first round and the angry player threw a fifty-pound note on the table and folded his arms in a challenge to the dealer.

The dealer said, "Play your cards then, but no matter. I know you cheated."

The other card players cursed angrily and the angry one said, "Prove it."

The dealer said, "A child could see it. We all saw it."

The angry one smiled grimly and said, "If a child could see it, ask the child sitting over there what he saw."

He turned to Harry and said, "Tell them, you, what you saw. Go on, tell them. You were watching." Harry looked from the dealer to the angry one and around the room at Dave and Annie and Nora. Madam Blavatsky was watching him with amusement and the other card players were also just short of laughing. Dave made a gesture, a sort of minute hand signal, but Harry had no clue what he wanted.

He shrugged and said, "I saw him put a card up his sleeve, the ace of spades. And I saw the dealer alter the deal when he handed the cards to these other two. And I saw both of the other two substitutes a card while they thought no one else was looking. That's what I saw."

The angry one's face darkened to puce and he shoved his chair back in to the wall to reach for Harry. Dave swung something from under the bar, a gun, and pointed it at the angry one.

The dealer, on the other hand, laughed. "It's a very clever fledgling you've brought us, Davey. Very clever. And you, my former friend, are banned from this game from now on. Everyone cheats at the Black Jack, as all know. Everyone cheats and no one calls anyone else on it. It's the one who cheats best that wins as everyone knows." He nodded to Dave who pointed the gun at the angry one as he unlocked the back door of the main pub to let him out.

The dealer said to Harry, "I am Black Jack Crowley and the pub is named for me because it's mine. And seeing as how you so kindly and accurately told us how my former friend Beau cheated, I'd like to know your name so I can make you an official member of the club."

Harry wasn't so sure how high of an honor that was but he had just barely enough sense left not to say anything. He almost blurted out that his name was Harry Potter, but remembered just in time to say, "My name is James. James Black."

The dealer stared at him and laughed even more. "Now there's a rich coincidence. Jack Black the kid comes to the Black Jack."

He said to Dave, "Bring him back tomorrow. Let's see if he's as clever sober as he is drunk."

Harry said with great dignity, "I am not drunk. I have never been drunk in my life."

He couldn't figure out why everyone laughed this time. Madam Blavatsky laughed so hard, she knocked her drink over and Dave had to sweep up the glass and remnants of her whiskey from the floor. But he didn't seem to care as he was laughing, too.

As they started to walk out the back door, Black Jack summoned Harry over and said, "Here's this for your clever eyes," and handed him a ten-pound note.

When they returned to the loft, Harry fell onto the bare mattress fully clothed and fell asleep almost instantly. He dreamed he was swimming under water. The merpeople were chasing him, shaking their tridents at him and the Merchieftainess had Mrs. Weasley's face. He sped away from them and swam into a dark cavern. The floor of the cavern was littered with shiny stones of precious emeralds, diamonds, sapphires and rubies. He was searching through the stones, looking for one special one, but it eluded him. He climbed out of the cavern onto a slippery stairway cut from the rock of the cave and crept up the stairway silently, stealthily. He pushed open a door cut into the rock and saw the old man poking the fire with his tongs. The fire leapt high, the flames were ruby red, then bright white, and the metal in the chamber was a red-hot, a white-hot liquid mass. The old man stopped in the middle of pouring the metal. The hand holding the tongs shook and he abruptly threw down the tongs and the metal spilled out into the fire. The fire flared up brightly, blindingly. It was searingly hot and the liquid metal ran from the fire and dripped onto the stone floor, melting the very stone, hissing as it met the cold rock. Fury enveloped him and someone spoke a word, "Crucio!" and the old man screamed, and screamed.