Chapter 13: HomecomingSummary:Chapter 13! Bad luck! What do!
Chapter TextThe trip back to the campsite seemed to go much faster than the long trek in, and the only impediment was a crowd of terrified witches and wizards gathered at the edge of the wood. They saw Mr Weasley and went to intercept him, throwing questions at top speed. "What happened back there?" "Who conjured the Mark?" "Arthur! It wasn't Him, was it?"
"Of course not, whoever did it disappeared," he said impatiently. "Now step aside, please, we want our beds." He and Narcissa forced their way through the crowd, which slowly dispersed when it was clear no answers were forthcoming. Everything was quiet; they could hear the crackling of fires that had yet to go out, even.
Percy, Charlie, Bill, Sirius and Xenophilius were waiting for them at their own fire. "Thank Merlin!" Percy cried, shooting to his feet and dashing over, Bill and Charlie hot on his heels. "We were so worried!" He had a bloody nose and a black eye, but didn't seem to care, he was more concerned with his younger siblings. "You're alright, Fred? George?"
"Yeah, Perce, we're fine," Fred replied, enduring his concern stoically. "You're not gonna lose us that easily!"
Percy bit back a laugh at that. "We were so worried…"
"You alright, kiddo?" Sirius asked, putting an arm around Hazel's shoulder. "No broken bones or anything?"
"No broken bones," she replied, trying to smile and failing.
Behind them, Luna and her father were embracing and murmuring to one another, reassuring each other they were okay. "I'm taking Luna home tonight," he told the others, looking up at them. "Death Eaters at the World Cup, what's the world coming to?"
"I'll get my things, Daddy." She let go of her father and turned to Hazel. "Sorry, Daddy needs me right now," she whispered, hugging her tight and kissing her.
"It's fine, I'll see you in a week or so," Hazel replied, kissing her back.
"Thank you all for looking after my Luna," Xenophilius was saying, grasping Mr Weasley's hand in his own, and then Narcissa's. "You too, dear Hazel." They shook hands, and by then Luna was back with her pack. "Take a deep breath, my dear." He put an arm around Luna's shoulders, and together they turned on the spot and disappeared, hopefully back to their home.
"We can talk in the morning," Mr Weasley said sternly, "right now I want everyone back in bed, we should get a few more hours of sleep, and we'll try for an early portkey."
No one had any argument to that, so they filed into their tents once more, Hazel focusing hard on Occlumency; she knew she'd have nightmares otherwise. Annoyingly, the sleeping bag felt cold and empty without Luna by her side, and she tossed and turned for a while, the events of the night playing over through her mind's eye.
Who had cast the Dark Mark? What had happened to the Death Eaters? Did they rescue the Muggle family? "I miss Luna," she breathed, wishing with all her might for the slim blonde to be by her side again. Wish, wish, wish… she opened her eyes, and was irrationally disappointed when Luna wasn't there.
She sighed and turned over again, willing herself to fall asleep. Eventually she did so, and hardly a moment later she was being shaken awake once more. "Come along, Hazel," Narcissa was saying. She groaned and got up, pulling clothes on and checking her wand before hoisting her bag on her shoulder.
Outside, everyone was assembled, and she could tell by the sky that a few hours had passed. So why did it feel like she had just gone to sleep a minute ago? "Everyone here?" Mr Weasley called, glancing over their heads. "Bill, Charlie, Percy?"
"We'll see you at Sirius', Dad," Bill replied.
"Not me, I gotta git back to work," Charlie said apologetically.
"Alright, Charlie. Take care." Charlie shook hands all around, then followed the other two into the woods to disapparate. "The rest of you, follow me."
"Did they save the Muggles?" Hazel asked of Bill while they were walking.
"Yeah, once the Dark Mark fired off the Death Eaters disappeared right quick, and we caught the Muggles before they hit the ground," Bill replied. "After that it was easy to disperse the riot, the Ministry made a few arrests of the rowdier ones, and then we went back to the tent to wait for you lot."
"What happened in there, anyway?" Percy said. "I've heard nothing but crazy rumors about Mr Crouch's elf."
"Winky was involved," Hazel admitted, and with the help of the others she explained what happened.
They passed the cottage, which was closed and dark, and reached the rise where Basil waited; a large crowd was clustered around, demanding portkeys. "We'll never get through there," Mr Weasley said. "Oi! Basil! We'll make our own portkey!"
"I'm sure I didn't hear a word you just said, Arthur!" Basil called back. "See you at work!"
"Why's 'e get 'is own portkey then?" someone demanded loudly from the crowd.
"He's with the Ministry! And he's got his family with him!" Basil shot back. "Now get back in line if you know what's good for you!"
"What was that all about?" Hermione asked as Arthur went for the bin and rummaged around.
"Portkeys are regulated by the Ministry, you need authorization for each one," Sirius explained. "Usually, anyway. The charm isn't hard to cast. Ah, here, Arthur, let me do it, we can get straight back to my place if I do it."
"Right you are." Mr Weasley hefted a threadbare tire and went some distance from the crowd, setting the tire on the ground. "Everyone grab hold."
Once they all had a finger on the tire, Sirius pointed his wand at it and said, "Portus." The tire glowed a bright blue for a few seconds, and seemed to tremble beneath their fingers. Then he put his wand away and grabbed it securely, and the magic grabbed them behind their navels and whirled them away from the moor.
This time Hazel shut her eyes against the whirl of sound and color, and when they slammed back to earth again she let herself fall over; opening her eyes she found herself in the entrance hall of Number Twelve, and pushed herself upright again.
"Arthur? Sirius?" came Mrs Weasley's voice, and she hurried into view moments later. "Oh, thank goodness, you're all okay!" She hugged her husband, and went around checking everyone. "I was so worried! It was all over the wireless, and in the papers too!"
"What, already?" Percy said. "Damn them, those hacks at the Prophet will take any chance to make us look bad!"
Sirius plucked the newspaper from Mrs Weasley's grasp and hurried into the sitting room. "'Scenes of Terror at the Quidditch World Cup,'" he read, frowning at the headlines. Hazel saw a twinkling black and white photo of the Dark Mark, hovering above the treetops. He scanned a little further, then skipped to the end of the article. "Hmph, Rita Skeeter, of course."
"I knew it! She's got it in for us!" Percy said hotly. "Last week, Dad, remember? Accusing us of quibbling about cauldron thickness when we ought to focus on stamping out vampires?"
"Yes, Percy, I remember," he replied patiently. "I also remember what the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans say, okay?" He took the paper and scanned it himself. "Oh no, she mentioned me, too."
"Where?" Mrs Weasley demanded. "I didn't see your name anywhere!"
"Not by name, Molly, listen." He cleared his throat and held the paper closer to his face. "If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later remains to be seen."
"Bodies? There weren't any bodies!" Hazel exclaimed. "What's she on about, printing that?"
"Nobody was hurt, what was I supposed to say?" Mr Weasley sighed. "Well, even if I hadn't said anything she would have found a way to spin it badly, like how disgraceful it was that the Ministry had no comment for the press."
"Kreacher?" Sirius called, and the old elf appeared before him. "Get breakfast going, would you kindly? And put out a bottle of the good stuff too." The old elf grumbled something and disappeared again.
"So, you didn't finish telling us what happened, anyway," Percy added, turning to Hazel.
"Right." They went to the dining room and finished explaining the events of the night. "It sounds like Winky's in for a bad time, I feel bad for her."
"I do too, but unfortunately, Mr Crouch is within his right to punish her as he sees fit," Percy replied, shaking his head sadly. "And with the stress he's been under lately, it doesn't surprise me that he'd lash out like this."
"Can't you say anything, Percy?" Hermione said, sounding distraught again. "You work for Mr Crouch, don't you?"
"I can try, I guess. But, well, you saw how he is with me." He sighed and shook his head again. "Maybe I should ask for a transfer…"
"No, Percy, stay where you are," Mr Weasley said kindly, putting a hand on his son's shoulder. "He'll need all the help he can get in the months to come, you know that. And you'll be back at Hogwarts too!"
"You're right, thanks, Dad." Percy smiled at his father.
"Breakfast is served," Kreacher announced as he shuffled into the room, and plates full of eggs and sausage and beans appeared before them.
"Thanks, Kreacher," Ginny called, and the elf bowed. "So what was up with that skull thing? The Black Mark or whatever it was?"
"Dark Mark, Ginny," Mr Weasley said, repressing a shudder. "It was You-Know-Who's symbol, and his followers conjured it every time they killed someone. It's been thirteen years since it appeared last, but for some folks it may as well have been yesterday."
"It was yesterday, Mr Weasley," Hermione said. "Not even last night, either."
"Right, well, you saw the panic it caused, and how angry Barty and Amos were," he went on. "That was the kind of emotion it caused back then too. Fear, and fury, and panic…"
Hazel imagined what she'd feel, coming home and seeing that vast green skull hovering over her house, having to face the scene waiting for her within. It was a painful image, and it brought goosebumps all up and down her arms. "So what was the point of messing with Mr Roberts and his family, then?" she asked.
Bill laughed hollowly. "Torturing Muggles is their idea of fun, Hazel, and the rest of those idiots were too drunk or too angry about the match to care about right or wrong. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun."
"If they really were Death Eaters, then why would they run off when the Dark Mark appeared?" George asked.
"Because most of them told all sorts of lies to keep from being thrown into Azkaban," Narcissa said. "Crying to the Ministry about being coerced, about being controlled by the Imperius Curse and made to kill or torture. And after such public and vociferous denials, do you really suppose the Dark Lord would welcome them back?"
"Then whoever conjured the Mark might have been trying to scare them away, or remind them who their real master is," Hazel said thoughtfully.
"It's what Lucius would have done," Narcissa agreed. "He lied as loudly as any of them, but mark my words, behind closed doors he never gave up on the Dark Lord. He's probably out there even now, plotting to bring him back."
"Whoever conjured the Mark, they had to have been a Death Eater at one point," Mr Weasley said, finishing off his plate. "They were the only ones who ever knew how, after all." He leaned over and kissed his wife. "Kreacher's got nothing on your cooking, dear," he whispered in her ear.
"Oh you," she giggled, beaming at him.
While cleaning up, Hazel wondered if Narcissa would have any insight to offer about her dreams. It was worth bringing up, anyway, maybe when they were at Diagon Alley later!
Chapter 14: Shoppings and SpendingsSummary:Several things happen, not least of which is an involved conversation with Narcissa Malfoy. Hazel reacts accordingly.
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextHazel decided she needed a nap after breakfast, and got up a few hours later feeling a lot better. She found Narcissa in the library. "Narcissa, when did you plan on going to Diagon Alley?"
"Tomorrow, Hazel," she replied, glancing up from her book. "First thing in the morning too, so make sure you get plenty of rest."
"I will." She sat down next to her, twisting her fingers. "I, um, wanted to talk to you."
The blonde woman cocked an eyebrow at that. "You realize you're still underage, of course," she replied, before laughing at the expression on her face. "Oh Hazel, you really should be more subtle about your crushes.
"Ugh." Hazel looked away, wondering why everyone had to make fun of her. Well, whatever, she'd brought it up first. "Why the earrings, then? Draco keeps saying you're making him send them."
"It would be inappropriate for a woman of my standing to be involved with a schoolgirl," she replied in a lofty voice. "Think of them as reminders, if you will, of our gratitude for saving Draco's life."
"Send me something directly from you, then, and I'll happily wear it," she replied challengingly. "It doesn't have to be anything courtly or whatever, either."
"It would be terribly inappropriate either way, you know," she murmured, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, you do make me feel young again. Very well, I'll arrange for something subtle at some point this year, alright?"
"Alright. I'm certain it will be lovely, of course." There was a thrill going through her that she didn't feel with Luna, a thrill of something dangerous and forbidden. Narcissa was a successful woman in her own right, and mother to Hazel's friend; she carried herself with dignity and refinement, but no one kept a facade like that up so tightly who didn't have another persona hidden underneath, right?
It didn't matter, not for another two years at least.
"Listen though, that isn't what I wanted to talk about. I've, um, been having these dreams, see."
"Ah." The sparkle went out of her eyes, and she looked serious. "Yes, Sirius mentioned them in passing. You've been getting glimpses of the Dark Lord's plotting and actions, it seems?"
"Yes, and of Lucius, too."
That brought out a scowl. "That ungrateful bastard, even after everything I'm doing to him he still hangs off his master's coattails like a dog begging for scraps." She shook her head and sighed. "I won't lie and say I never believed in that stuff, Hazel. Ours was an arranged marriage, and I went into it knowing I was keeping my own family strong, but we eventually came to respect each other."
"Did you love him?" Hazel asked quietly.
She considered it for a long time. "In a way, I guess I grew to. He was the father of my child, after all, and we shared much. But where he followed the Dark Lord out of loyalty and lust for power, I only ever wanted a safe world for my son to grow up in, a world where he would be respected and admired. The events of your first year made it clear to me that serving that monster would not bring that about, however."
"I'm sorry you lost your husband," she said in a very small voice, unable to rationalize why she felt guilty for Narcissa's family falling apart, for her dreams coming to ruin.
"Don't be, dear, I'm not." Narcissa smiled again, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I had hoped he would learn his lesson, after I forced him to confess to his part in that diary nonsense, but perhaps a year in prison wasn't enough." She paused, then shrugged. "Ah well. He had one chance, and he blew it when he arranged for Lockhart and Pettigrew to escape."
"Yes, but I had other dreams too," and she explained about the kidnapped woman.
"Jorkins." Narcissa had a distant look in her eye. "Bertha Jorkins, possibly? I heard she went missing recently."
"She worked for the Ministry, right?"
"Yes, though Merlin knows how she got a job there." She rolled her eyes. "She isn't exactly the brightest candle in the box, and from what I heard she was shunted from one Department to another. It wouldn't have been hard for her to get caught up in their schemes, especially with Lockhart to lure her in."
"What's even worse is no one wants to listen!" Hazel ranted. "He's coming back, they've got some plan to bring Voldemort back and no one gives a damn!"
The sound of that dreaded name made Narcissa flinch slightly, but she controlled herself quickly. "You must be careful whom you speak to about these matters, of course," she warned. "It wasn't so long ago that monster was terrorizing England, and a lot of people would rather pretend he's gone for good. Like our dear Minister Fudge, for one."
"Not even Dumbledore seems to care, though!"
"Have you spoken to him directly?" she replied. "Or have you only been corresponding with dear Severus?" When Hazel had no immediate reply, she gave a sharp nod. "You can trust that he has conveyed everything directly to the Headmaster, and if some other matter is occupying their attention, then it must be significant indeed."
"What's even going on, anyway? What could be more important than Vol- I mean, than You-Know-Who returning?"
"I surely have no idea," Narcissa replied, and something about the renewed sparkle in her eye made Hazel think she was lying. "You'll find out soon enough, I'm sure."
It wasn't worth fussing about now, she realized. "I'm sure I will," she replied tartly. She stood up with a sigh. "I'm hungry, can I get you anything?"
"No, dear, but thank you." Narcissa went back to her reading, and Hazel went to the kitchen to see what Kreacher could come up with.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and she went to bed feeling unsettled and anxious. Why didn't anyone take her seriously? What the hell was this mystery event that was so goddamned important that Voldemort himself took a back seat to it? And most of all, why wasn't she Quidditch captain? A strenuous workout did little to alleviate these feelings, either.
At least she had shopping to look forward to in the morning, she figured, and that thought helped her sleep at last.
In the morning she dressed and went to breakfast, and true to her word Narcissa was getting ready to leave. "Who's coming along, then? Draco, Hazel?"
"I'll come too," Hermione said, and Ginny also stood up.
"I'll, uh, I'll stay," Ron said lamely, seeming put out by something.
"You sure you don't want different dress robes?" Hermione asked, and he shrugged sullenly. "Suit yourself."
"I'll stay too, Mother, if it's alright. I don't mind the dress robes I have now," Draco said, and his mother shrugged.
"What's his problem?" Hazel asked as they followed Narcissa into the hallway. "Did Mrs Weasley pick out bad robes or something?"
"Something like that," Hermione giggled.
They went outside, and found the fancy Malfoy car waiting for them. "Ooh, I remember this," Hazel said, climbing into the back. "Is there a house-elf driving again this time?"
"Trixy drives the car today, Miss Hazel Potter!" came a squeaky voice from the front. "Out for the shoppings and spendings, yes?"
"Correct, Trixy." Once everyone was seated, Narcissa tapped her arm rest. "To Diagon Alley, if you will."
The car pulled away smoothly. "We're mostly out for dress robes, though if any of you need other clothing it would be a fine time to pick that up." Underthings, she meant. Or at least, Hazel thought she meant that.
"If we knew what they were for it'd be alright, but how can we dress for an event we don't know about?" Hermione asked.
"How indeed?" Narcissa was amused, but Hazel didn't see what was so funny. Before she could say anything the car came to a stop, however. "Hide the car, Trixy, and await my signal."
Everyone climbed out, and there was the Leaky Cauldron. Resolutely ignoring the Muggle crowds outside, Narcissa led them through the door, where the ancient Tom still held his place. He saw Hazel and grinned broadly, but Narcissa quelled him with a glance, and they proceeded on through, passing into Diagon Alley quickly.
Twilfitt & Tatting's was a smaller, out of the way shop, yet the inside was well apportioned for an upscale clientele. A pretty middle-aged woman came out to attend them, and Narcissa stepped back. "This is your day, ladies."
Hazel's stomach turned at the sight of the frilly, lacy things young ladies were expected to wear, and pushed it all aside to get at the men's section. Immediately she saw a purple ensemble that seemed vaguely military, and fell in love with it. "That! It's perfect. Give me one of those."
"Did you get those from a Muggle shop, Hilda?" Narcissa asked, nose wrinkling slightly.
"The customer is always right," the middle-aged woman sighed, radiating disapproval, but Hazel would not be dissuaded. She was fitted for the outfit, and loved the way it felt; the shirt was tight and showed off the swell of her chest, and the kilt swirled about her knees. Hilda shook her head, but couldn't completely hide a smile. "The usual arrangements, Lady Malfoy?"
At Hazel's curious look, Narcissa elaborated. "More common shops may choose to muck about with coinage, high-end places like this prefer to invoice Gringotts directly."
Probably to save time and embarrassment, Hazel figured. "I'll be sure to repay you, Narcissa, of course."
"Of course." There was that indulgent and condescending smile, and Hazel rolled her eyes.
Hermione eventually settled on a light blue set of robes, and Ginny picked out a green fairy dress. They changed back into their usual things, and the fancy robes were packed up, to be sent on to Grimmauld Place once payment was received.
"Well, girls, shall we head back home for lunch, or eat out?" Narcissa asked as they stepped outside.
"Actually, could we get ice cream? Who else wants ice cream?" Hazel asked.
"Ooh, me, I want ice cream!" Ginny declared, and with that they went down to Fortescue's, where Florian himself still insisted Hazel and her friends could have all the ice cream they wanted free of charge.
Afterward, when they had all eaten as much as they could, Hazel got to her feet. "I want to do something that won't take more than a few minutes, and then I'll meet you all back at the Cauldron, alright?"
"Is it that optometrist again?" Hermione asked, and she nodded.
"What is an optometrist?" Narcissa asked, hesitating over the Muggle word.
Hazel slipped away while Hermione was explaining what the word meant, and true to her word it only took a few moments and another donation of sickles to get her glasses adjusted again.
"Ma'am, I have a question before I leave," she said to the receptionist after dropping the coins into the jar. "Could I get a permanent adjustment to my vision at some point?"
"Not until you're a little older, Miss Potter," she replied kindly. "You're still young, yeah? We like to wait until our patients' bodies are more settled and grown in before offering permanent fixes. And even then we require yearly visits to make sure the runes are still holding."
"You put runes on peoples' eyes?"
"Of course! Runes are one of the few ways regular wizardkind can effect permanent magic. Even so-called Permanent Charms can wear off after a long time if the caster isn't skilled or powerful enough, like Healer Gideon."
That made sense, she figured. "Thank you, ma'am." She bowed and turned to leave, looking forward to returning to Hogwarts at last. Holidays were great and all, but she really had to speak directly to Snape and Dumbledore, and let those festering nightmares out of her head!
Notes:Hopefully we're all doing well, what with the world as it is lately.
Chapter 15: A Rainy Day at King's CrossSummary:Back to school at last! What awaits our intrepid heroine and her intrepid friends?
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextPercy and Mr Weasley were hardly around the rest of the week, having to deal with the fallout from the Cup and the disastrous article in the Prophet. Hazel and her friends spent the time either reading or studying in the library, or practicing their spells in the ballroom. On the last day, everyone searched high and low for their things, reluctantly getting ready for Hogwarts; even Hazel, who had been eager enough to return before, was brought down by end-of-the-holidays gloom.
"It's been an uproar all week," Percy said despondently, toying with his cold supper that evening. "I've literally been putting out fires constantly because of all the Howlers."
Recalling the occasional disciplinary Howler at Hogwarts, Hazel winced sympathetically. She knew they'd explode if you left them alone. "Why all the Howlers anyway?" she asked, looking up from her book.
"Everyone wants to complain about the lack of security," he replied. "Just as many want compensation for ruined property, tents and the like. Mundungus Fletcher put in a claim for a two-story twelve-bedroom tent with a hot tub, but I know for a fact he slept beneath a tent on sticks."
"He was the dirty fellow who tried to sneak past the attendants," Ron put in, poking a bishop across his wizard's chess board. "Remember that?"
"Does Mr Weasley always work so late?" Hazel asked of Mrs Weasley.
"Certainly not, and he hasn't worked weekends since the days of You-Know-Who," she replied tiredly. "He'll miss dinner again, of course. Why he feels he has to work so much, it isn't even his department."
"Well," Percy said, looking uncertain, "maybe he feels he has to, you know, make up for his mistake, giving a statement that night."
"Come off it, there weren't any reporters in that crowd," Ron said. "They can't just lurk among other people, they have to announce themselves or something. Don't they?"
"Skeeter could just as easily have talked to one of them," Hermione remarked.
"No way, the article was written like she was actually there," Hazel said. "If she really was there, she broke the rules, and if she wasn't, she was misrepresenting what happened."
"Good luck catching her, Hazel," Narcissa said from across the room. "Rita's been reporting for the Prophet for years, and she's got a lot of influence. Just ask Arthur or Percy."
That sounded like Narcissa and Rita knew each other. Hazel decided to ask about it in private, if they had a chance to later on.
Mr Weasley came back in time, to much fussing from his wife. He looked even more worn down than before, and the cold soup didn't even phase him as he sat down heavily on the couch. "Skeeter found out about Bertha Jorkins," he said flatly, suppressing a yawn. "We're really in for it now."
Percy groaned. "I knew it, Mr Crouch has been telling Bagman for weeks he should look for her. It'll be all over the Prophet in the morning, you watch!"
Hazel started to speak up, but a sharp look from Narcissa made her reconsider. "Hopefully she doesn't find out about Winky," she said instead. "Did he really set her free?"
"He did," Percy groaned. "It was harsh of him, but as her master he was within his rights to punish her as he saw fit. And it'll be a bad look for him and all of us if it gets out that she was found with the guilty wand."
"Still got no idea who it was, then?" Ron asked, fingering said wand.
"Not a one," Mr Weasley sighed.
"I still think Winky got a raw deal," Hermione said. "You all saw her, she was out of her mind with terror! How can anyone blame her for running away from those maniacs?"
"No one is blaming her, Hermione, but the fact remains that she disobeyed her master," Percy said tiredly, without the usual fire he'd have when defending his boss. "I'm going to bed, it'll be another long day tomorrow." He put aside the remainder of his supper and shuffled out of the room, heading upstairs. Taking that as her cue, Hazel did the same, and hurried through her routine so she could get to sleep that much faster.
The morning was wet and gloomy, with heavy rain pouring down from dark skies. Hazel didn't want to get up so early, but forced herself before Kreacher could be sent to make her. She got dressed and made sure she had everything before dragging trunk and cage behind her out the door and down the stairs. The house was quiet; was she the first person up?
In the kitchen she saw the strangest thing, and nearly dropped what she was carrying; a man's head, perched in the fireplace as if it belonged there! "Hello? Hello, who's there?" the man called, looking about.
"Uh." She hurried forward, recognizing the bearded face at last. "Mr Diggory? What's going on?"
"Ah, Potter, can you fetch Arthur for me, please?" Mr Diggory's head said urgently. "It's most terribly important, please!"
"Uh, sure." Setting her things down anyway she turned and hurried back out into the hallway. "Mr Weasley? Sir, where are you?" she called, wishing she'd bothered to learn where the others had been staying.
"Hazel? What's going on, why all the shouting?" Mrs Weasley said, poking her head out a door.
"Ah, Mr Diggory's head's in the fireplace in the kitchen and he needs to speak to Mr Weasley immediately. Said it was urgent," she reported.
"What could be so urgent at this hour?" the older woman muttered sourly. "Very well, I'll get him up." She shut the door, leaving Hazel to return to the kitchen.
"He's on his way down, sir," she said when she saw Mr Diggory's face again. "What's going on, anyway?"
"One of Arthur's friends is in trouble and he needs to help us sort it out," the man said, rolling his eyes. "Today of all days, I tell you!"
"I'm here, Amos!" Mr Weasley blurted out, still in his night clothes. He skidded to a halt in front of the fire, quill and parchment in hand. "What the devil's going on?"
"It's Mad-Eye, Arthur, he's got everyone in an uproar," Mr Diggory said quickly. "Set off every trap and jinx in his house this morning, not half an hour ago! Muggle neighbors heard the ruckus and called the, uh, the please-men?"
"Policemen," Hazel supplied. "Muggle law enforcement."
"How'd you hear about it, Amos?" Mr Weasley said, taking hasty notes.
"Ah, I came in early to catch up on my messages, found the Improper Use of Magic lot gearing up," the head in the fire explained. "Arthur, we can't let Skeeter find out! Between the Cup and Bertha being gone, it'll be a wonder if we still have our jobs by week's end!"
"Has Mad-Eye said anything?" Mr Weasley asked.
"Oh, he claims he heard intruders, so he jinxed the dustbins to attack them. All they did was fire rubbish everywhere and make one hell of a racket! That's what set the Muggles off, I reckon."
"And these intruders?"
Mr Diggory scoffed. "If there actually were intruders there I'll eat my hat, Arthur! There's probably a couple of shell-shocked cats covered in carrot peelings wandering about somewhere. Listen, if those brutes in Improper Use of Magic get hold of him, he's done for! You know what his record's like!"
"Right, right." Mr Weasley was still scribbling notes. "Exploding dustbins would be a caution at best, if my office gets there first. As long as he didn't actually attack anyone with his wand?"
"Knowing him, he leaped out of bed and fired jinxes out the window as fast as he could, but no one can prove it," Mr Diggory replied. "No casualties this time."
"Right then. I'll be off as soon as I'm dressed." He put the quill and parchment down and dashed off.
"Who's this Mad-Eye you guys were talking about, anyway?" Hazel asked, seeing that Mr Diggory was still there.
"Alastor Moody, but everyone calls him Mad-Eye," the man's head explained. "He was a great wizard, one of the Ministry's best Aurors back in his day; half the cells at Azkaban are full because of him. But he made just as many enemies too, so he's justified in being paranoid even at his age."
"I see." She heard Kreacher shuffling around behind her, muttering about breakfast. "Sounds like we're waking up, I should get going."
"Righto, have fun at school!" Mr Diggory's head disappeared with a small pop, and Hazel stood up from the floor just as everyone else was filing into the room.
"I heard Dad say something about old Mad-Eye?" Ron said, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah, apparently he's in trouble or something," she explained with a shrug. "No one really seemed too surprised though, just irritated it happened today."
Kreacher had toast and eggs ready, and everyone ate at top speed, even Mr Weasley when he came in, hastily dressed and ready for work. "Terribly sorry, everyone, but Mad-Eye's in trouble and I've got to get him off, he can't miss his new job." He made a hasty sandwich of eggs and toast and pepper, kissed his wife and went for the hallway to disappear to work.
Soon enough they had all eaten, and trunks and cages and luggage were gathered up. Sirius brought the old Ford Anglia round, and everyone piled in. "I wonder what we look like from outside," Hazel remarked, looking down the extended seating with twelve people all comfortably settled in.
"Nothing, the windows are magically tinted," Sirius explained from the driver's seat. "They'll just see Narcissa and I up front."
It was a quick drive to King's Cross, and Hazel spaced out most of it, propped against the rain-streaked window watching the bedraggled city go by while everyone else gossiped and chatted. Mostly about that Moody fellow, from the few snatches she bothered noticing.
Finally they arrived, and she got out of the car, going to the boot to get her stuff out. It was raining harder than ever, so that everyone got soaked through by the time they made it to the shelter of the station.
"Hurry, hurry, through the barrier," Mrs Weasley was saying, obviously leery of Muggle attention. Nothing kept them from passing through, though, and the sight of the great scarlet Hogwarts Express was enough to lift Hazel's spirits as she went through herself. The gloom of the past week was finally lifting, she was going back to Hogwarts at last!
"I sure wish I was back at Hogwarts this year," Bill said wistfully, watching the train with his hands in his pockets.
"Why's that, Bill?" Fred asked.
"Heh, you'll see," Bill replied with a grin. "You guys are in for a real treat! I've even got time off to come watch for myself!"
"What's happening at Hogwarts?" George demanded.
"Hurry, you lot, or you won't have seats!" Mrs Weasley insisted, chiding them to move along. The twins kept going, though they had mutinous looks on their faces. Hazel and the rest trailed in their wake, getting on toward the back of the train like they usually did.
"There she is," she said to herself, spying Luna sitting with Neville. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. "Hey guys, how's it going?"
"Luna was just telling me about the World Cup," Neville said morosely. "Wish I could've gone, but Gran didn't want to buy tickets."
"Daddy almost didn't go either, but I told him the Minister's brainwashing spells would be unattended while everyone was there," Luna explained vaguely.
"And yet he lets you go to Hogwarts?" Hermione said as they put their things away and sat down. "He's not worried about you being brainwashed or indoctrinated there?"
"No, not while Dumbledore is Headmaster." She took Hazel's hand and held it in her lap, humming quietly to herself. "Daddy trusts Dumbledore."
"Everyone trusts Dumbledore," Neville said simply. "More than they trust Fudge, anyway."
Hazel spaced out again, wondering who she should try and talk to about Voldemort. Narcissa's advice about being careful who she spoke to lingered in the back of her mind; she could trust Ron and Hermione, for sure, and Luna already knew. Draco was probably aware, since Narcissa and Sirius knew. Who else?
Neville, maybe? They had been through similar experiences, but did she know him well enough? It didn't matter. He deserved to know that Voldemort was coming back.
And he was coming back, she realized, a cold feeling settling into her guts. Whatever chance they might have had to head off his plans this summer was lost; unless she could convince Dumbledore to drop all his other schemes and focus solely on finding Voldemort's homunculus form before he could be truly resurrected, there was nothing else to stop them.
Ron was showing off his little Krum miniature to Neville; Hermione had her nose in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4; Draco had his wand in his hand and was making green and silver sparks erupt from the tip. Luna had pulled out a copy of her father's magazine and was paging through it, though she smiled slightly when she caught Hazel looking at her.
Hazel smiled back and tried to focus on the conversations going on, doing her best to ignore her misgivings. Nothing I can do about it now. She preferred Just get it over with, frankly.
Notes:Today sucked, and I nearly missed my self-imposed deadline. Oh well!
Chapter 16: Plumbing IssuesSummary:In which Hazel learns that yes, you can in fact be too wet. Also yet another new teacher, but...
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextThe trolley witch came and went, and the weather outside managed to get worse, until it was so dark that the lamps were lit at midday. Even over the noise of the train, they could hear thunder rumbling and the relentless muttering of the rain pounding the roof and windows. "At least the drought is broken," Hazel said as they changed into their school robes, though she doubted the Dursleys would appreciate their gardens being flattened beneath the deluge outside.
The weather showed no sign of letting up either, and when the train finally pulled into Hogsmeade Station it was a solid, constant sheet of ice cold water, pouring down nonstop on their heads. Hazel was glad their luggage would be sorted separately, as the thought of dealing with heavy trunks and cages in this wet murk was vaguely horrifying!
They joined the miserable crowd in filing to the gates, and Hazel waved at Hagrid as they shuffled by. "I don't envy that lot having to sail across on a night like this!" she called out, remembering the warm, clear night of her own arrival at Hogwarts. "You reckon the lake might overflow?"
"The castle's gonna have plumbing issues if it does!" Hermione called back, as they finally got to the gates and could duck into a "horseless" carriage. Hazel's stomach turned at the sight of the fleshless thestrals, and she looked away, ducking into one of the last of them along with Hermione, Ron and Draco. It was a silent ride up, and not only because conversation would have been impossible with the noise of the rain overhead.
Hogwarts drew nearer, the countless windows blurred and shimmering through the rain. Lightning cracked and thunder grumbled as the carriages finally drew up to the steps; the four of them hurried out and dashed up the steps, eager to be out of the rain at last.
"The lake really will overflow if that doesn't ease up out there!" Ron declared, shaking the water out of his hair.
Hazel looked up, following the spray of water from Ron's hair, and grimaced. "Watch out! Peeves!" she shouted, pointing upward. The castle poltergeist hovered above them, leering and sneering, getting ready to lob fat red water balloons.
"Potty wee Potter all boiled in a bother!" Peeves cackled, the bells on his hat jingling maliciously as he took aim. "Whee! You're already wet!"
"Diffindo!" cried several voices at once, and the multiple Severing Charms caused the balloons to burst all over Peeves instead of the students, causing him to curse at them all and zoom away. Hazel smirked and lowered her wand to cast a Hot-Air Charm on herself to dry out, happy to finally not worry about a wet shirt and socks.
"What's the hold up in here?" a stern voice called from the doorway to the Great Hall. "Why are you all standing around?" It was Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House and the school's Transfiguration teacher.
"It was Peeves, ma'am, he had water balloons," Hazel called back, directing hot air on her friends and those in her immediate vicinity. "We're drying out now."
"Dry out on the way inside, move along," the Professor replied, beckoning for everyone to enter the Hall.
Hazel finished drying off and went on in, waving to Ron and Hermione as they split off for the Gryffindor table. The ceiling overhead was dark and grim, occasionally lighting up in time with the thunder rumbling outside. She and Draco joined their friends at the Slytherin table: Blaise and Millicent, Tracey, Daphne, Theo, and even Pansy by association. "Where's your badge?" Millicent asked, looking at the front of Hazel's robes. "You didn't make Captain?"
"Nope." She sat down, feeling an odd mix of gleeful anticipation and glum resignation. "Neither did Draco or either of you, by the look of it."
"We've asked around, no one else got it either," Blaise reported. "What are they playing at?"
A scamper of feet drew her attention, and she saw Colin Creevey hurrying up to her. "Alright, Hazel?" he asked breathlessly, doing his best to ignore the other sniggering Slytherins.
"I'm fine, Colin," she replied neutrally. "What's up?" The boy had looked up to her ever since his first day at school, a hero worship that hadn't gone away at all since then. But he took good photographs, so she tolerated his presence.
"My brother Dennis is starting this year!" he went on, oblivious as always. "Isn't it cool? My family's been Muggles as far back as anyone can figure, but Mum had TWO WIZARDS! I hope he's in Gryffindor!"
"Hey, the other houses are okay too," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Get back to your seat, Colin, before a prefect comes down on us." He nodded and scurried away again, and she turned back to her fellows. "My personal photographer," she joked, and the others laughed it off.
"Imagine if that little runt does come over here!" Pansy said derisively.
"Then we'll have a very eager and willing new firstie, Parkinson, that's what," Draco snapped, and she looked offended.
Hazel looked up at the staff table, where the seat taken by Remus last year was empty. Hagrid was likewise gone, though she knew he was still fighting his way across the lake. The rest were up there, she thought; tiny little Flitwick, on a stack of cushions next to the vigorous Professor Sprout. Then the pale-faced Professor Sinistra, who taught Astronomy, and next to her was Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin.
Snape had a prominent hooked nose and dark eyes, and his black hair hung heavy and greasy to his shoulders, yet despite that he was Hazel's favorite teacher. He had taught her Occlumency and Legilimency, and indirectly taught her the Unforgivable Curses that had so altered the course of her education last year. In return she gave her all to learning everything she could, especially in his Potions class. He saw her staring and nodded, and she waved back.
Next to him was Professor McGonagall's empty chair (she hoped that meant the firsties were here at last!), and finally Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster. Tonight he wore dark green robes that glittered with countless stars and moons, and his silvery hair and beard shone in the candlelight; he was leaning back in his chair, staring up at the stormy ceiling, lost in thought. Hazel wondered what he was thinking about, and doubted it was anything regarding Voldemort.
"I'm starving, where're the damn firsties already?" someone groaned, and she couldn't tell who it was.
Two things happened simultaneously at that moment; the door leading to the side chamber opened and Professor McGonagall appeared leading a line of wet, shivering little kids (had Hazel been that small in her first year? the back of her mind wondered); and the main doors swung open, admitting a hunched and cloaked figure.
"Ah." Dumbledore cleared his throat and stood. "Please welcome our fresh-faced first year students, as well as our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher: Professor Alastor Moody!" He led the Hall in clapping, but Moody's odd appearance did not inspire such merriment among most of those gathered, and the applause died out quickly.
"Moody? Mad-Eye Moody?" Hazel murmured, watching as the man lowered his hood and shook out his long gray mane of hair and began crossing the hall, moving with an ungainly limp; a dull clunk echoed with every other step, making her think he had a false leg beneath his robes. He leaned heavily on a long staff made of some dark wood, and his face was horrific; covered in scars big and small, with a large chunk of his nose gouged away.
The eyes were the worst part, however. One was small, dark and beady, focused singularly on the floor in front of him. The other, socketed into a kind of harness across his head, was bright blue and big as a chestnut, and worst of all was quite independent of his other eye, swiveling here and there and in every direction. Though, was it her imagination, or did it linger over the Slytherin table more than anywhere else?
"That's Mad-Eye, alright," Draco replied in a low voice. "Father couldn't stand him, he was quite glad when he retired from the Ministry."
"With a face like that, I'd bet everyone was glad to see him go," she replied.
The hunched old Auror finally reached the high table, where Dumbledore met him and shook his hand; they exchanged a few quiet words before he went to the empty seat and fell heavily into it, pulling a flask from inside his cloak and taking a long drink.
The Headmaster cleared his throat again. "Our apologies for the delay, let the Sorting commence!" he called, taking his seat once again.
McGonagall had waited patiently for Moody to arrive, and now she stepped forward once more, placing the familiar three-legged stool and the ragged old Sorting Hat before them all. A rip at its brim opened, and to the obvious astonishment of the new students it began to sing! It sang of the four Founders: Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw, and of the virtues and qualities each prized most in their students. And it ended with an admonishment not to give into fear, for it would peer into each student's head and determine where they belonged!
Everyone clapped afterward, and despite her empty stomach Hazel clapped right along with them. "I wonder if the Hat ever gets bored," she said mostly to herself. "Sitting in the Headmaster's office all year, composing a new song."
McGonagall now reached beneath her robes and withdrew a long scroll. "As I call your names, please approach the Hat, sit down and put it on," she called out firmly. She started calling names, and Hazel let her attention drift; the Sorting was important, yes, but everyone had to endure the Hat's invasive scrutiny to be Sorted into their House.
Colin's brother Dennis was put in Ravenclaw, she noticed. She saw Luna clapping with the rest of them and hoped she'd have a new friend.
In the end, Slytherin had five new students, and McGonagall rolled the scroll back up and carried it, the stool and the Hat out of the Hall. Dumbledore rose once more. "I have several announcements to make, but they can wait for later! For now, tuck in!"
Just like that, the tables were suddenly groaning beneath the weight of the vast Start-of-Term Feast. The entire hall broke out in chatter and gossip as everyone filled their golden plates and goblets with whatever they wanted; for her part, Hazel reached for curry and roast beef and garlic bread, eager to fill her empty guts so they'd stop growling hungrily.
Colin and Dennis, she noticed, were trying to shout at one another across the Hall. "Colin! Colin, I fell in the lake!" the tiny firstie cried, while his immediate neighbors winced from the high-pitched squeak of his voice.
"No way! How'd you get back in the boat?" his brother yelled back.
"I dunno! Something grabbed me from beneath and lifted me out! It was so cool!"
"I bet it was the giant squid!" Both boys seemed overjoyed, beyond ecstatic, at the thought of a giant squid in the lake. "Oh, Dennis, look behind you! See that black-haired girl at the Slytherin table, in the glasses?! That's Hazel Potter, Dennis! From all those pictures I showed you?!"
Dennis turned around so fast his neck popped audibly; Hazel smirked and waved, and he nearly passed out from joy. Pansy scoffed and rolled her eyes, and Hazel wondered why she wasn't eating like everyone else.
Eventually, after everyone ate their fill and were thinking fondly of their beds, the food disappeared and Dumbledore got to his feet, and silence fell at once so that the only sounds were the wind and the rain and thunder. "Well, are we all fed and watered adequately?" he asked, and everyone laughed. "Excellent, excellent. As I said, though, I have a few things to say, some of which are more important than usual, so please give your attention to the front of the hall.
"First, the usual reminders from Mr Filch regarding the objects banned in the hallways, which has been expanded to over four hundred and forty items; the full and exhaustive list can be reviewed in his office, and questions should be directed to Mr Filch himself."
Muffled laughter rippled through the students; none of them took the cantankerous old caretaker seriously in the least, except when he was overseeing detentions. Dumbledore seemed to be suppressing his own chuckles with some difficulty.
"And of course, I would be remiss if I failed to remind you that the Forbidden Forest is, in fact, forbidden, as is the nearby village of Hogsmeade if you do not have a signed permission slip." He cleared his throat and stood a little straighter. "It is also my regretful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Championship will not take place this year."
"What!" several people cried at once, Hazel among them. "No Quidditch?" "Has he lost his mind?!" "What could be more important than Quidditch!"
"Many things, Mr Weasley," the Headmaster replied gravely, raising his hands in a gesture for silence. "Chief among them, an event taking place right here at Hogwarts, that has not occurred for over a hundred years. An event that I promise will thrill and excite you all!"
The Great Hall was silent once more, everyone hanging off Dumbledore's words. Hazel felt a thrill of anticipation, knowing that months of anxious curiosity were finally about to be answered!
"Preparations for this event have taken up the time and energy of all our staff, from myself down to Mr Filch, and we all are as eager to see it play out as you will be! Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls and ghosts alike, it is my honor and privilege to announce that this year, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament!"
Half the hall was stricken into awed silence; the other half was equally dumb, but more from confusion than awe. Hazel was trying to recall if she'd read about the Tournament before, and was certain she had, but where?
"I see some of you are confused, and rightly so. I beg the forgiveness of others while I indulge in a brief explanation of what this means." He went on to explain how the Tournament had been started roughly seven hundred years ago, as a competition between Europe's three largest schools of magic: Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and their very own Hogwarts. Each school had a champion chosen, and the three champions pitted themselves against three tasks; they took it in turns to host the Tournament once every five years, and had been widely regarded as an excellent way of establishing and reinforcing ties among the students and schools.
"Until, that is, the death toll mounted so high, they were forced to discontinue the Tournament," he finished.
"Death toll?" Hazel murmured, cocking an eyebrow. She wasn't the only one; those two words echoed in whispers across the Hall, some panicked, some excited.
"There have been attempts to restart the Tournament since then, and for various reasons none of them succeeded," Dumbledore went on once the muttering had subsided. "However, multiple Ministries of Magic across Europe have been working tirelessly alongside the three schools to ensure a safe resurrection of this fabled competition, especially over the summer. This time, there will be no mortal danger for anyone involved!
"Our foreign friends will arrive in October, led by Madame Maxime of Beauxbatons Academy and Headmaster Karkaroff of Durmstrang Institute, and an impartial judge will decide among the potential competitors which are the most worthy to represent their schools. The final winner will receive the Triwizard Cup, a thousand galleons in prize money, and glory unending!"
A thousand galleons! It sounded good even to Hazel. Excitement rippled across the Hall once more, as the students imagined themselves champions.
"Before you get ahead of yourselves, let me add one more thing: everyone involved, myself included, have decided that one way to ensure as little danger as possible will be to impose an age restriction upon the competitors. In short, you will only be eligible if you are seventeen years of age or older." Mutinous, outraged whispering broke out across the hall, especially from the Gryffindor table. Dumbledore raised his voice to be heard over it: "We all felt such a measure was required, for despite all our precautions the tasks we have planned will be incredibly dangerous and difficult, so much so that an immature witch or wizard will be plainly overwhelmed. And we will not risk our students so foolishly again."
Hazel thought of the seal on her magic, that would only go away when she became of age herself. No doubt this was what he referred to.
"I will personally ensure that no underage students will be able to attempt to hoodwink our impartial judge," the Headmaster went on, his gaze lingering on the Gryffindors as he spoke. "As I said before, the foreign delegations will arrive in October, and I expect all of you to be on your best behavior as you represent England and Hogwarts, and to give your sincere support to the Hogwarts champion once they are selected. And now, the hour grows late, and I know you all are eager to resume your lessons in the morning! Off to bed with you all!"
He finally sat down, and in response the students all rose with a scraping of benches and thronged toward the doors. Prefects called for order, herding first-years into queues so they wouldn't get lost, and the two Heads supervised from behind.
"What do you reckon?" Draco asked Hazel as the Slytherins filed out of the Great Hall. "Going to try and enter when the time comes?"
"I might, yeah," she replied, watching as most of the Weasleys were still seated in mutiny, glaring up at the high table. "Money and glory, eh? Who d'you reckon's gonna judge us?"
"Who knows? A bit of Aging Potion ought to do the trick though, the judge won't know the difference."
"True. Come on, we've got a month to worry about it and new classes first thing tomorrow, let's get to bed."
Notes:Nothing much to say today. Stay frosty, everyone.
Chapter 17: Cows, Skrewts, & Omens (oh my!)Summary:First day back! Most of it anyway. Lots going on, as usual.
Chapter TextThe Tournament was all anyone could talk about, and the prefects had to call for order at curfew. Hazel and her dormmates trailed off to the dorm, taking their time with getting ready. At least until she noticed something wrong. "Parkinson? Why are you-?"
"N-Nothing! I'm fine!" she replied nervously, hurrying to pull her pajamas on.
"She's right, Pansy, you're skinny as a rail," Daphne said. "Is something going on at home?"
"No! I'm fine, you're all just cows!"
"Oh, fuck off with all that." Tracey flicked her wand and yanked her sleep things away from her. "Is it your father again? Has he been a shitheel with you?"
Pansy was in tears now, and had grabbed the blanket off her bed to cover herself with. But they'd all seen her skinny, underfed frame by then. "Leave my father out of this! He only wants what's best for me!"
"Lemme guess, he wants you to marry some pureblood boy and spend the rest of your life pushing out babies and being eye candy at parties, right?" Hazel guessed. "Carrying on the lineage or whatever? That's what's best for him, not for you."
"Everyone knows her dad wanted a son," Daphne said sympathetically.
Despite herself, Hazel felt bad for Pansy. And she couldn't stand by while someone was suffering in front of her. "You don't wanna die, Parkinson, do you?"
"Wh-What?" she replied, a bit dumbly.
"You're gonna kill yourself if you don't start eating again," Hazel went on harshly. "Take it from me, I've been closer to death than most witches, so I know what it looks like. I don't care what your father has planned for you, you're not gonna achieve it like this! That's Muggle league stuff!"
"How dare you!" Pansy shot back, closer to tears than ever. "I t-told you, my father only wants what's-"
"And I'm telling you that's horse shit," Hazel went on. "Is it true, what Daphne said? About how he wanted a son instead of a daughter?"
"W-Well, I mean, it…"
"It's true, Hazel, believe me," Daphne said instead.
"There you are, then. But even aside from all that, how do you plan on living up to your father's wishes when you're starving and weakened? How do you plan on succeeding at school when you can't think over the sound of your own stomach? How do you plan on seducing a boy when your tits are as flat as boards?"
"C-Cow," Pansy muttered, sounding defeated. "Why do you give a damn, anyway? You hate me."
"I don't hate you, but I do give a damn about you disgracing us," she replied, deliberately throwing Pansy's words from last term back at her. "We're all in Slytherin together, right? Promise you'll stop starving yourself?"
"Fine." She took a few shuddering breaths and calmed down slowly. "You're still a cow, though."
"Better a cow than a stick." Quidditch wouldn't be canceled forever, she had to keep her figure. "Now come on, we should get to bed before the prefects hear us yelling at each other." Crisis temporarily averted, they went on getting ready, and despite the chaos of the day Hazel fell asleep quickly.
In the morning she rose and got dressed, and found the common room quiet as ever. "Will I ever wake up before you?" she said as she approached Blaise and sat down across from him.
"Doubtful," he replied, smirking. "Quite the eventful summer, wasn't it?"
"For sure!" She spent a few minutes telling him about what happened, leaving out her dreams of course, and when the time came they went up to breakfast like always. The storm had finally blown itself out, though it was still an unsettled and cloudy sort of morning.
"A word of caution, Potter," Snape said quietly as he handed her schedule down. "Professor Moody has an unconventional curriculum planned, and I suspect he may place unusual or unreasonable requests upon his students." His black eyes bored into hers for a moment, and she saw he was quite serious. "If he should happen to call on you, just get it over with and do as he asks. Am I understood?"
"Yes sir." She accepted her schedule and glanced down at it. "Sir, when can we meet up to go over my dreams?"
"After dinner tonight," he replied after a moment's thought. "Enjoy your first day back, Potter."
"What was that all about?" Draco asked once Snape had moved on down the table.
"I dunno, but we've got Charms first thing this morning, and then Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffs," she said, glancing down the table to make sure Pansy was eating again. She did seem to be, so she looked more intently at her schedule. Nice and full, just the way she liked it. And with the lessons she'd learned last year about pacing herself, this year was gonna be nice and smooth!
That prediction held true, for a while anyway. Flitwick began the year with the Summoning Charm, which Hazel already had a fair bit of practice with, and she got thirty points when she demonstrated a perfect Summoning on her first try.
"This isn't your first time practicing this spell, is it, Miss Potter?" he asked shrewdly, though he had a wide smirk on his face.
"No sir," was all she said, trying not to laugh. He wouldn't like it if she told him where and why and how she had practiced this spell last year, she figured.
Care of Magical Creatures took place on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, like it always did. Hagrid and Charlie were both waiting for them, next to a fenced in area populated by numerous wooden crates open to the cloudy sky. Rattling noises and small explosions came from the crates, and Hagrid's massive boarhound Fang was pawing and barking at the gate.
"Mornin'," Hagrid said happily. "We gots a real treat fer yeh t'day, lil project Charlie 'n me been workin' on mos' a' th' summer! Blast-Ended Skrewts!"
"Blast-Ended whats?" Hazel asked, peering at the crates.
"Let's wait for the Gryffindors," Charlie said patiently, though she could tell he too was proud and eager to get started. "They won't wanna miss this!"
Moments later the lions appeared and approached, and Hazel nodded to Ron and Hermione. "Watch out for Herbology, we're starting bubotubers," Ron said in a low voice as they gathered at the fence.
"Everyone here?" the Professor called, looking from face to face. "Right then. Blast-Ended Skrewts! Come on in and don't be shy, they're too small to be a hazard just yet."
Lavender Brown seemed apprehensive as she approached the nearest crate. "What do you mean, haz- EURGH!" she squealed, leaping back immediately. "What in Merlin's name ARE they?!"
Eurgh was about right, Hazel thought, pulling her scarf over her mouth as she peered into the nearest crate. Six inches long, pale gray and slimy and apparently blind, judging by the way they crawled over each other and bumped into the walls of the crates. There were hundreds of the lobster-ish things, and they smelled very strongly of rotted fish. Sometimes they'd shoot sparks out of one end, propelling themselves several inches forward.
"On'y jus' hatched!" Hagrid said proudly. "Raisin' 'em's gonna be yer project this year!"
"Why would we want to raise them?" Pansy asked coldly. "What do they do? What's the point of them?"
"Never you mind, Parkinson, that's for next lesson," Charlie said, firmly but hastily. "Come on, try feeding them. We got frog liver and ant eggs and chopped up grass snakes, put some of each in there and watch out for when they blast off!"
"They don't even have mouths," Hazel muttered a few minutes later, after trying to tempt the skrewts with handfuls of frog liver and ant eggs.
Ten minutes later something happened; Dean Thomas gave a yelp and leaped away from his crate. "It got me!" he said angrily, cradling his hand.
"Told ya to watch for blasting off," Charlie said, hurrying over to check on him. "Not to worry, Thomas, hold still." He drew his wand and flicked it over the boy's hand, and the burn faded away. "Good as new, eh?"
"Thanks, Professor," Thomas muttered, not in any hurry to go back to the skrewts.
"This is so stupid!" Pansy declared loudly. "Why are we keeping those things alive anyway? Who'd want pets that burn and sting and bite all at the same time?"
"Oh shut up, Parkinson," Hermione snapped. "Who cares if they aren't pretty? Dragon's blood is hugely useful and magical, but they don't make good pets either!"
"Ten points for Gryffindor," Charlie remarked with a nod.
Eventually class was over, and they wandered back up to the castle. "At least they're small, eh?" Ron said with a smirk.
"For now," Hazel said, rolling her eyes. "Just you wait, once we find out what they eat they'll be six feet long."
"Just between us I thought Parkinson had a point," Hermione added, glancing around to make sure Pansy wasn't within earshot. "I have no idea what Charlie and Hagrid are thinking, they must have bred them specially over the summer."
"I really hope they got permission if that's what happened, there's a Ban on Experimental Breeding and if you run afoul of that it's bad news," Ron said.
"Yeah, but would they show them to students if it was some rogue project of theirs?" Hazel replied. "You know how Charlie is on safety and stuff, no way would he do something illegal. I'm sure it's under control." They had to be for the Tournament, she figured, no way would they waste a whole summer fucking around while the rest of the school was in overdrive getting ready. But she didn't say so out loud, just in case she was wrong.
"I guess you're right." Ron grinned and shrugged it away. "I've got Divination next, what about you guys?"
Hazel rechecked her schedule. "Yeah, same here. That's good, I hate going up there after eating. The incense makes me sleepy."
"Still can't believe you haven't dropped that class yet," Hermione sniffed. "Even after what happened last term."
Hazel and Ron went off toward Trelawney's tower, while Hermione went to enjoy a free period. "I don't remember ever seeing you in Divination, Ron, and I know I was with the Gryffindors."
"I mostly kept in the back and dozed off," he admitted. "Though sometimes I think I can see something, I really can. Maybe I've got the Sight?"
"Maybe." They were nearly there, and there was a queue already forming; Hazel fell in behind Ron and waited for the trap door to fall open.
Moments later it did just that, and they filed one-by-one up the ladder. Hazel took her usual spot along the wall, by the window that opened, and Padma joined her. "Oh, I thought you were gonna drop this class," she said, surprised.
"Nope, my sister wouldn't like it if I dropped out," she replied, and Hazel nodded, remembering their chat last year.
When everyone was settled in, Professor Trelawney made her appearance, pushing the beaded curtains aside and striding in. Gone were the shawls, scarves, long hair and glasses; she had Muggle jeans on and a heavy, colorful sweater, and her sharp eyes jumped from face to face. "Good morning, class. I must begin the new term with an apology; the Sybill Trelawney who taught you last year was not the real me."
"I heard you were cursed, Professor?" Lavender called, raising her hand.
"By my own stupidity, yes," Trelawney agreed. "I thought I had found Rowena Ravenclaw's Lost Diadem, you see, but it was a malicious fake, and I wore it for years and years, convinced I was wiser and more prophetic. If it weren't for Miss Potter and her friend Miss Lovegood, I would never have been free of that rotten thing."
"It was my pleasure, ma'am," Hazel said modestly.
"In any event, I must give out a short quiz to ascertain how much I should go back over before moving on with the curriculum, so quills at the ready!" She flicked her wand and several sheets of parchment flew out, one to each student. "Please answer honestly, this is for my good as well as yours."
The writing was cramped but legible, and like Trelawney had said was a review of the basics of last year. Hazel filled hers out quickly, to the best of her memory, and next to her Padma did the same thing.
When everyone was done, the professor collected the sheets and glanced over them quickly. "That's a relief, you all seem to be up to snuff," she announced, clearly relieved. "Sadly we don't have time to start on new material, so I'll let you all go early. Enjoy your lunch."
There was a rustling and a shuffling as everyone got their books and things and went for the trap door, until she spoke up again: "Miss Potter, would you stay back for a few moments, please?"
When everyone was gone, she turned to the professor. "What's up, Professor?"
"My dear, I had to speak with you in private," she began, flicking her wand to close the drapes and windows. "I received several unpleasant omens over the summer, some of them concerning you. I saw you were anxious and preoccupied, and that the things you were worried about have very high chances of coming about." She guided them to a table and sat down. "Would you tell me of your fears, my dear?"
"Er, ok." Hazel sat down too, and told Trelawney all about the prophecy she had heard, and the dreams she'd had about Voldemort and his minions, and the steps she had taken to deal with them. "I've been warned not to spread it too freely, as people could either panic or merely dismiss my warnings out of hand."
Trelawney had at first been horrified, and then her expression turned thoughtful. "Poor Bertha, to be used and thrown aside so violently. This does not go well with the omens I foresaw, or the prophecy you claim I made."
"You don't believe me?"
"It would make no difference. True Prophecies are rare, and the prophet rarely remembers them. But there were other things I saw, my dear, darkness and pain and great adversity; this will be a difficult and painful year for you, I am afraid."
The words put a shiver down her spine. "With that mad Tournament coming up I'm not surprised," she replied. "Good thing they aren't allowing underage competitors this year."
"That's not all. I saw contradictory omens too; you were born at the death of July, under the influence of Mars: your dark hair, your proud stature and acts of bravery in a den of snakes attest to this! But I saw you, under the baleful eye of Saturn, with the signs of one born in midwinter! What could that mean?"
"I have no idea. Are you sure it was me?"
"Of course I was!" Trelawney sniffed. "I am not the hare-brained nitwit you met this time last year, my dear, I know what I See. The omens are contradictory, but there is nothing bright awaiting you, or any of us."
Hazel wasn't sure what to think of all this, but with everything she knew for certain, none of it boded very well. "My biggest concern is Vol- I mean, You-Know-Who, Professor. We have to stop him somehow!"
"Yes, but the Headmaster is preoccupied with the Tournament, as you well know. You have been working with Severus on these matters, you should continue trusting him. He has a… unique insight into the Dark Lord's machinations."
"That's not surprising." And it wasn't. After all, who had shown her the Unforgivable Curses in such detail? Who had punished her, not for casting them, but for being caught doing so? Who had indirectly shown her how to use them without giving in, or the loopholes in their Unforgivable status?
For all she knew, maybe he'd been a Death Eater when he was young!
…come to think of it, wouldn't that explain a few mysteries? Like why he'd drifted apart from her parents, or why even Dumbledore had assumed he wouldn't make it to their wedding?
No, no, she was looking for questions her new answer could solve. Why would Dumbledore trust a Death Eater to teach in his school? That was so stupid, she felt dumber for even considering it.
"I have a meeting with him tonight, in fact. I should get going or I'll miss lunch." She stood up, clasped hands with her professor, and went for the trap door.
After lunch was Arithmancy, where they basically reviewed the summer assignments and got an overview as to what they would be learning going forward. Then Herbology, where sure enough they were messing with bubotubers, which looked less like plants and more like thick black slugs stuck vertically in the soil. Each one was pulsing and squirming and were all covered in large, shiny boils full of fluid.
"Dragon hide gloves on!" Professor Sprout said briskly, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention. "These bubotubers need squeezing! Take these bottles, start popping boils and gather the pus in-!"
"Sorry, the what?" Draco interrupted, sounding revolted.
"Pus, Malfoy, and don't interrupt me again or it'll be five points from Slytherin," she replied sternly, not at all her usual cheerful self. Hazel figured it was the stress of the Tournament. "Now, as I said, you must collect the pus in these bottles. And don't let it touch your skin or you'll wind up looking like a bubotuber yourself!"
"Did someone get the pus on themselves in an earlier class, Professor?" Hazel asked as she pulled her gloves on and approached her plant.
"Yes, sadly." She shook her head and sighed. "But it's not my place to gossip about the students, Potter, carry on!"
Popping the boils was stomach turning, but weirdly satisfying. Each boil was quick to explode and expel large quantities of petrol-smelling, yellow-green fluid, which they carefully collected in the bottles as indicated. By the end of the lesson they had gathered several pints, though a shout from the other end of the greenhouse interrupted them; Crabbe and Goyle, it turned out, had just dropped a bottle and gotten pus all over their hands and arms.
"To the hospital wing with you both!" Sprout declared, waving her wand to clean up the mess. "Ten points from Hufflepuff and more detention for each of you!" They ran out of the greenhouse, clutching their hands and moaning from the pain; even as she watched, Hazel could see their skin erupting in boils just like the plants.
"No one else spilled any?" Sprout demanded, turning on the others. "No? Good, good." She returned to the front of the greenhouse and made an effort to calm down. "I do apologize, dears, I haven't quite been myself since this Tournament thing started."
"We don't blame you at all, Professor," Draco said smoothly, handing her his bottles. "What is this stuff used for, anyway?"
"Believe it or not, once you dilute and treat it some it's an excellent remedy for acne, pimples and boils," she explained, checking each bottle to make sure it was securely corked. "Better than using spells, you know, you're as likely to take your nose off as anything else. This should be enough for Madam Pomfrey, though."
"That happened to Eloise Midgen, I heard," Hannah Abbott whispered from behind Hazel.