A/N: It's been an age since the last update, so thanks for returning. Please find a recap below to ease you back into the action. If you're up to date, keep scrolling until you reach non-bold text. :)

Recap:

Sariah has vowed to repair the Ford Anglia to its former glory; rust & flat tires still stand in her way. During this, she's gained a burgeoning friendship with Scorpius Malfoy. Meanwhile, an unknown force has been deploying stolen dragons to wreak havoc on the muggle world; tensions within Hogwarts have flared against Scorpius. Currently, Sariah & Scorpius shelter in The Hog's Head. They've just agreed to trade driving lessons for tutoring, when-

***

 Strange clattering noises emanated from the chimney. Suddenly, a frenzied owl flew out into the fireplace, spraying soot and dust into the feeble fire. It buzzed around the room like an angry moth, spreading up dust like a storm cloud.  

"Damn it, Elrond!" the grizzled bartender shouted, "Get over here. What's so urgent you can't use the window, huh?"

The tawny owl hooted apologetically as it came to rest on the bar. The bartender removed a copy of the Daily Prophet from the owl's leg, and placed a selection of coins into the leather pouch on its free leg. He swore loudly at the cover story.

  Sariah leaned over, trying to glimpse what it was. The old man threw the paper onto the bar in front of Scorpius and stormed out of sight. She gasped at the headline: "Eight muggles dead in dragon vs ship, arctic skirmish"

"I don't recognize the symbol in the picture," Scorpius said. "It's not the Death Eater one." He turned to look at her, concerned. "It's the one you're always drawing on windows."  

***

"Wi-Fi bars," Sariah whispered.

In the picture, massive curved icebergs scalloped across the waves, unnaturally aligned on the wild sea. The ship's wreckage was scattered about them, like burnt matchsticks. Scorpius was right: the iceburg's formation was unmistakably similar to her doodles on the dewy windows of Hogwarts. 

She hadn't seen icebergs outside of a film or documentary, but the curling feeling in her stomach told her the design was not nature's own. She felt pulled the paper closer and scanned over it. Eight muggles dead. Drowned, frozen, mauled by dragons... each one sounded worse than the next. There were an unknown number still missing.

"Who would do this?" she breathed.

"No idea." Scorpius said. "But it says they were a black market whaling vessel. Whales are virtually extinct thanks to muggles. Maybe they did the world a favour."

"That still doesn't give wizards the right to set dragons on them!"

"Actually, it was just the one dragon," Scorpius said. He caught a glimpse at her glare before tacking on a: "Sorry." to the end of his statement.

"But why Wi-Fi bars? It doesn't make any sense: it's a muggle invention."

The barman emerged from his backroom and summoned the paper out of Sariah's grip. It scattered across the counter, a dog returning to its master.

"Wi-Fi bars, you said?" he mused, approaching them. "They're probably a weapon, muggles are good at making those." His blue eyes were fixed intensely on the picture. "The auror's will have their work cut out for them; whoever's done this. Hmm, Wi-Fi..." he chewed the word over and over in his mouth. "It probably stands for something."

"It stands for Wireless Fidelity," Sariah said. "It's a way of distributing internet access."

"Well, there's that. But I meant what if it stands for something other than what muggles would recognize in it?" He growled. "How about 'Wizengamot Fatalities'?"

"Not the way the rest of the world spells it," Scorpius snapped. "Come on, we should probably go."

They left The Hogs Head, shivering against the wind. Sariah stared longingly at the welcoming yellow lights of the Honeydukes shop, their window-full of sweets and chocolate just a speck in the white-washed distance.

"Did you want to make a last-minute stop?" Scorpius asked.

She shrugged. "I don't want to get caught for being here, you know?"

"You spend every free moment in the Forbidden Forest, Honeydukes isn't going to bite. Just avoid the Three Broomsticks, that's where the Professors usually end up." He reached into his pocket and bought out a selection of coins. "You don't have any money with you, right? Buy something good. I'll meet you back inside the Hog's Head, then we can head back to the castle."

Before she could protest, he hefted the whole sum into her hand, where it jingled heavily. It was more spending money than her parents could afford exchange at Diagon Alley each term. "I'll pay you back, promise," she said.

Her boots crunched through fresh snow drifts as she approached Honeydukes. Though almost a week had gone by, miniature cupids still beckoned to passersby in the window-front, the angelic forms diving in and out of scarlet cauldrons. Sariah stepped aside as the doorbell sounded and a pack of Gryffindors streamed from the store. An overwhelming blast of sugar and warmth swept out of the shop mouth to greet her. Her mouth watered. Inside, chocolate dragons snapped at one another, caged for an exorbitant sum of galleons. A swarm of students queued at the register and ran from aisle to aisle, comparing new products.

She left with a paper bag filled conservatively with Valentine's clearance chocolate hearts (anatomically correct and beating; not best-sellers for some reason), some liquorice mice, and a collection of chunky Kit-Kats that she'd found in the muggle specialty section. She'd be able to pay Scorpius back for this much, at least, Sariah thought, tucking the package of sweets into her robe pockets.

As she started off downhill to the Hog's Head, she noticed Rachel Skellis with a clique of fellow Ravenclaws at her side. It had been days since their confrontation in the DADA classroom, but time had only soured her reaction. For one heart-stopping moment, they locked eyes.  Rachel frowned, and muttered a few words to her friend. Her friend snickered. Then Ravenclaw clique surged towards her, spreading out into in a jagged arrowhead.

There wasn't much point waiting for them to reach her, Sariah reasoned. She was outnumbered, out-skilled, and the probability that Rachel was making a peace-offering seemed minimal at best. Sariah turned, trying to quell the panic on her face, and headed up the hill.

She squinted against the snow - Sariah suddenly felt like she was trapped in a Snow globe. Hopefully, she could lose them and double back to the Hog's Head. If not... She tried to remember if there was a spell to turn snow into slick ice. That, at least would slow them down. A pair of fifth year Ravenclaws appeared at the top of the hill. Sariah ducked into a small alley. Tactically this was a poor decision; alleys were not a good place for confrontation. She broke into a sprint, hearing Rachel holler: "Get her!"

Apparently, wizards didn't believe in building in straight-lines, so the alley curved like a snake. This would make it harder for them jinx her, at least. Sariah picked left and right turns at random, only trying to lose the thudding footsteps behind her. Crooked houses loomed above on all sides. On impulse (maybe a side effect of seeing too many action movies) she knocked over a rubbish bin at a fork in the alley, and took the clear route. She took another right turn, and realized she'd been turned around. She was standing in the High street, this time almost opposite the Three Broomsticks. At least she'd lost them. Sariah slowed into a brisk walk, pulling her hood over her dreadlocks. A thrill shot through her, she'd done it. She'd lost them-

"Miss Brooks?" the discordant voice of Professor Zamboni called.

It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice-water down her back. She turned around slowly.

"I don't recall you signing up for this Hogsmeade village trip," he said.

"I'm, uh- sure I wrote my name down at some point."

"You did indeed. And yet I didn't mark you down this morning before you left the castle, Miss Brooks. Are you suggesting that I've come down with a case of acute memory loss? Or that my ink is selective?"

"I'm sorry Professor, I- I guess I overslept," she said sheepishly. "I didn't want to miss out."

"And you walked yourself all the way down to the village unaccompanied? What would your parents think if we let you traipse wherever you pleased? Perhaps evening detentions will remedy this. Monday, my office. I'm sure we'll something fitting for you to do."

Sariah watched his emerald bat cape billow in the wind, as he turned and entered The Three Broomsticks. Detentions. Plural. She'd be behind on homework, and not have a free moment to see the Anglia. She turned, finding the mob of Ravenclaws smirking behind her.

"Mission complete, over," one of Rachel's gang said, miming a walky-talky.

"Roger that," Rachel said, her blue eyes gleaming.

In union, they walked passed her into The Three Broomsticks. Sariah had to step aside to avoid their bony elbows and shoulders. She sighed, and turned back to the Hog's Head. When she stepped through the door pub's door, there was an eerie snuffling. She glanced over to its source: on the far wall was a massive head of a hog, all tusk and bristles. Sariah shivered. The Hog narrowed its eyes at her as she approached the bar. Scorpius wasn't there. She looked up and down the darkened tables and booths to see if he'd chosen a new spot, but the only patrons were a speckling of older wizards, with messy beards and hoods pulled over their heads like supporting-villain archetypes.

She tapped her fingers nervously across the sticky bar-top. The Daily Prophet was still there, the Wi-Fi icebergs rocking darkly on the cover. She noticed the date on its front, and frowned.

The ancient bartender shuffled over to her. "Back for another round so soon? Can I get you a Butterbeer?"

Sariah shook her head. She pointed upper corner of the Daily Prophet. "Why do you have tomorrow's Prophet?"

"I like my news fresh, is all." He grunted. If you don't want a drink, what do you want? It's certainly not the clientele."

"I'm looking for Scorpius. Have you seen him?"

"You two left together, so you'd know better than I do," he said, rubbing a greasy cloth around a heavy tankard.

"He- he didn't come back in?" she asked.

The barman looked exaggeratedly left and right, swinging his beard like a pendulum. "Apparently not. Sure you don't want another drink?"

"Just the one, then," she said. "While I wait for him."

"Good call." He brought a heavy glass over to her, and retreated into the back room.

She took slow sips of her drink. The bar was almost silent, with only the sounds of sputtering fire and disconcerting snuffling of the Hog's head for company. She felt ill at ease, as if she had sneaked into the library's coveted restricted section. A few times, she thought she heard a goat. The Butterbeer did nothing to soothe her growing sense of trepidation. Where had Scorpius got to? No matter how slow she paced herself, her drink sunk lower and lower in its glass. If Scorpius had a cellphone she would have just texted him. She wondered if the taxidermy Hog had a name, and felt the tips of her ears burning when the realization that she was waiting for no one sunk in. Frustration overcame embarrassment, as she pushed her drink away from herself. The barman raised his shoulders in apology as she left. She realized later he hadn't charged her for the Butterbeer. 

Taking the regular path back to the castle this time, the winter capes of other students dotted the trail. Her sweets seemed to weigh a tonne in her pocket. Had Scorpius been so desperate to ditch her that he'd suggested - and paid for - her diversion to Honeydukes? A darker thought took place. What if he'd been mobbed by the same group of students that had cornered him yesterday?

At dinner that night, she located his thin stature and pale hair, sitting at the end of the Slytherin table. He had the corner of the room at his back, safely within bolting distance of the exit. Occasionally, his eyes would dart nervously around the hall. Sariah stabbed at her potato hash cakes murderously, her anxiety melding into frustration. He didn't look across to her once.