Dealing with Danger
Chapter 8: Hiding and Seeking (Year 3)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 8: Hiding and Seeking
Harry set down his Potions knife and covered a yawn with his hand before returning to coarsely chopping tulip leaves. He’d been up late the night before, working on his Animagus spells. After nearly a month at Hogwarts, he thought he might be getting close to finishing his list, but he wasn’t yet sure. Moony had promised to look over the Pride’s lists tonight.
He scooped up his tulip leaves in a double handful and walked over to the cauldron. Ron was stirring it constantly, counting under his breath. "...thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty..."
He changed direction, now stirring clockwise instead of counter-clockwise, and Harry began to drop the tulip leaves in, one piece for every count. "One, two, three, four..."
They were working on a Sealing Solution, something Healers used to close wounds that were too large to be healed quickly or had a magical prohibition against it worked into them. A lot of curses and hexes had such a prohibition, to make healing the victim more difficult. Snape had told the class this, with positive pleasure in his voice, and added that there was no point in inflicting damage if it could be healed by any half-trained child with a wand.
It’s not enough to be mean to us. He has to go after Meghan, too, doesn’t he?
Of course, the Sealing Solution’s properties meant they also had to be careful not to get it on themselves. If it got on their eyelids, their eyes would seal shut. If on their hands, their fingers would stick together. And if they got it on their noses or mouths, they had better pray that someone noticed quickly, because otherwise they would suffocate. Snape had enjoyed telling them this more, if anything, than telling them about Dark magic.
And now he’s just waiting for Neville to mess up.
Well, he was going to have a long wait. The Pride was on to him, and they weren’t about to let Snape’s vindictiveness make trouble for one of their own. As soon as they had realized what Snape was doing, they had rearranged partners for today, so that Draco could work with Neville and keep him from suffocating on his own potion fumes.
Of course, he could always start assigning partners. That would make trouble almost certain. Neville’s a million times better than he used to be, but he’s still not ready to work on his own, and he knows it...
The last piece of tulip leaf fell from Harry’s hands into the cauldron. Ron changed stirring directions again and began his count over.
Harry had a quick look around the room. Everything on the Gryffindor side seemed normal — Hermione was coaching Colleen through the final steps of thickening the solution, and Dean was starting to drop his own tulip leaves into the cauldron Seamus was stirring. Neville was scraping aloe vera leaves while Draco watched their solution bubble. Behind them, Lavender and Parvati were carefully sprinkling unicorn fur into their cauldron with Snape eyeing them critically, his back to Harry.
The Slytherins didn’t interest him very much, but he glanced at them anyway, seeing without great interest how they had partnered up, how they were working, what was going on. He was just turning away when a flash of movement caught his eye.
Something was soaring through the air, headed directly for Neville and Draco’s cauldron.
Harry’s hand was in his robes, yanking out his wand — he tracked the thing along a short portion of its arc, then shouted, "Protero!" before his brain could catch up with his voice and hand.
His spell struck the falling object straight on, blasting it out of its path and across the classroom, directly towards Snape —
Oh no —
It disappeared under Snape’s robes, and Harry prayed that he’d somehow gotten it wrong, that it wasn’t what it had looked like — he hadn’t seen it for very long, his eyes could have been fooled —
Snape turned, his black eyes glittering menace. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter, for doing magic in class without permiss—"
There was an explosion between Snape’s feet. The Potions Master appeared to levitate three feet off the floor as his robes billowed outward in all directions.
Harry gulped. He hadn’t been wrong. The thing in the air had been a lit firework.
I’m going to die.
He was aware of eyes on him — nine pairs of sympathetic, horrified eyes from the Gryffindor side of the room, and nine pairs of gleeful, delighted ones from the Slytherin, as Snape bore down on him, his robes singed and smoking and his face twisted in lines of rage.
xXxXx
"Really, Severus, I think you’re jumping to conclusions," said Professor McGonagall in her office. "Mr. Potter’s story seems reasonable enough, and if he were responsible for the firework, why on earth would he use a spell which you could hear — which you did hear — to move it towards you, when simply throwing it would have worked as well and left you unaware of his intentions?"
"I refuse to believe that one of my students would be foolish enough to throw a lit firework in class, Minerva," sneered Snape. "Particularly while working on a potion as potentially dangerous as this one."
Professor McGonagall was on her feet. "And you believe my students would be so foolish?"
"It is well-established that Gryffindor bravery often includes a certain amount of blindness to consequences—"
"And Slytherin ruthlessness does not?"
"Professors?" said Harry timidly, not sure getting their undivided attention was a good thing, but not knowing what else to do. Both of them turned to glare at him, and he had a sudden wish to sink through the floor.
"What is it, Potter?" asked Professor McGonagall sharply.
"May I go to lunch, please?"
"Go on," she said dismissively, waving a hand, her attention already back on Snape. "If you are so blind that you cannot see possible misdeeds in your House simply because it is your House..."
Harry shut the office door behind him and headed for the Great Hall gladly. Between two dueling Professors was not his favorite place to be.
xXxXx
At lunch, of course, the rest of the Pride wanted to know what had happened, and what was happening now, and what was likely to happen in the future. The general consensus was that it was a shame they hadn’t thought of slipping a lit firework under Snape’s robes before this, and that it was a fine thing to have happened even by accident. Fred and George were in awe, although they refused to believe Harry hadn’t done it on purpose.
"Don’t worry, we understand," said Fred in a pacifying tone as Harry tried to explain, for the seventh time, that he didn’t even own any fireworks. "You have to keep up appearances."
"But we can congratulate you all the same," said George. "A keen mind you have, young Harry. Genius, to think of using the spell, then claiming you didn’t because it would give you away. Sheer genius."
"Speaking of genius," added Fred. "Our beloved Quidditch captain has scheduled our first practice at long last. This Saturday, eight in the morning, though knowing Wood we won’t be on the pitch until ten."
"What about tryouts?" asked Ginny. "Aren’t you having them this year?"
"Wood doesn’t feel we need them," said George. "But then, if we hadn’t had them last year, we wouldn’t have had Draco ready to fly when Alicia got ill... we’ll talk to him. You want to fly with us, ickle Ginnikins?"
Ginny bared her teeth. "Call me that again and I’ll hex you. Yes, of course I want to fly with you. I always fly with you at home — why should Hogwarts be any different?"
"I suppose we’re just not used to thinking of you as old enough to play Quidditch," said George, taken aback. "I mean, real Quidditch, not the pick-up games we have at home. It’s a rough game, Ginny. You could get hurt."
"I could get hurt doing anything," retorted Ginny. "I’m a good Chaser. I want to play."
"Well, it can’t hurt to have another reserve player," said Fred. "You know you might not get into a game for at least a year? It’s Wood’s decision, and then next year whoever’s captain after he leaves school will decide who plays each game."
"I know. I just want to be part of the team."
"Well, he can’t stop you coming to practice," said George. "So do that. Just come along with Harry and Draco and Ron. Saturday at eight."
xXxXx
Humming under her breath, Aletha opened the freezer and pulled out a foil-wrapped package, peering at the label written in Danger’s semi-tidy handwriting.
Roast beef with potatoes and carrots. Excellent. She turned on the oven and slid the package inside, pulling off the parchment label so it didn’t scorch, then started laying the table. By the time Sirius finished what he was doing upstairs and she was done with her music practice, dinner would be ready.
Reheating is my best cooking skill. And Sirius isn’t even very good at that. That hadn’t mattered during their years in hiding, not with Danger around, and when they’d gone to teach at Hogwarts, they’d eaten in the Great Hall with everyone else. But now Danger was gone, off at Hogwarts herself, and the Blacks were home by themselves.
She didn’t leave us helpless, though. Before she’d left, Danger had made up several dinners’ worth of food and frozen it all in packages the right size for two people to share. The portions might have been considered overly generous by some, but not to anyone who knew how much Sirius could eat once he got started.
Molly’s given us a standing invitation to dinner as well. We try to give her at least a day’s warning before we take her up on it, of course, but that’s always pleasant. There had been friendly argument for years over whether Molly or Danger cooked better. Both women were inclined to give the laurel to the other, but the children of each family defended their mother vigorously. It had never actually come to blows as far as Aletha knew, but she also knew her Pack-sons, and Molly’s brood, and it was almost inevitable that an argument between them would lead to physical violence.
But as long as they don’t seriously injure each other, who cares?
And Danger’s scheduled a day or two every month to come home and replenish our supplies. Along with just visiting, of course. Danger and Remus had been there only two days before, in fact, the previous Sunday, with all the latest news from Hogwarts, like Ginny Weasley joining the Quidditch team as a reserve Chaser, and Severus Snape trying to pin the burgling of his office on the cubs, until Remus worked a spell proving none of them had been anywhere near there. In return, Sirius and Aletha had shared the news from the Ministry and St. Mungo’s.
Ministry news is almost uniformly bad. There’s still been no sign of Malfoy or Wormtail. It’s as if they don’t exist. But then there’s my news, which is exactly the opposite — my work’s going very well. Andromeda was so careful about note-taking. Thank heaven the forensic Aurors were able to clean up her notes, and thank heaven whoever killed her didn’t have time to burn them or steal them. Though I would have preferred losing the notes and saving her...
Aletha’s throat tightened. Part of the bad news from the Ministry involved Tonks, who was moving through her apprenticeship at a rate that frightened some of her instructors. She seemed to have sealed off her grief for her mother, or to be expressing it only in violence towards the targets and objectives on the courses the apprentices were set.
I hope she doesn’t think she’ll be put on the case when she’s qualified. Not even Sirius is allowed, and he’s far more distantly related than she is. But I suppose this is something she can do, to make up for all she can’t...
At least she’s not alone. Charlie Weasley had gotten a transfer to one of the dragon preserves in Wales, and he and Tonks were sharing a flat in London, since with Apparition and the well-maintained British Floo network he didn’t exactly have to live on top of his work. He wasn’t there all the time, since the dragon keepers took it in turns to be "on call" at the preserve, ready to respond to an emergency at any time, but when he wasn’t, Tonks could either work late herself or stay with her father.
Ted Tonks had come out of his private grief and was back at work. He, too, was living in a flat in London now, slowly going through the home he had shared with Andromeda and boxing things up, some to keep, some to sell, some to give away. When he was finished, he planned to sell the house.
I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Sirius like that. If that was me, looking through what was left of our lives together, choosing what to keep and what to discard, cleaning out the Den to get it ready for someone else to live here...
But it wouldn’t be like that for me. Even if I lost Sirius, I have Remus and Danger still. They’d be there with me, to help me through the worst of it. I might still leave here, but I wouldn’t do it alone.
Thank God for the Pack.
Aletha’s thoughts cycled back to the work she was doing, the work Andromeda had begun, which was going so well. She did all the preliminary things, determining the ingredients it will need, even what order to add them in. All I have to do is figure out proportions.
The only problem is, this looks like a long-term potion, something that needs a month or more to brew, and that’s not a problem exactly, just an inconvenience, and a nuisance. The childish part of me wants answers now. Am I doing this right? Will I be able to help Frank and Alice, finally, after all this time?
And what will happen if I do?
Even if she could actually bring the Longbottoms back from madness, would it be right, or kind, of her to do so? Their last coherent memories were twelve years old. They knew nothing of what had happened between now and then. Neville, to them, would still be a baby barely able to talk. They would never have met Danger, and would recall Remus wrapped in grief, Aletha likewise, and Sirius —
That could be a problem. We’ll have to make sure he’s nowhere around until we can explain things to them. As far as the Longbottoms had known when they had been attacked, Sirius had been the traitor who was responsible for James and Lily Potter’s deaths. Seeing him as a respectable (more or less) member of society, a husband and father, might take some work on their part. And when they found out how Neville and Meghan seemed to feel about each other...
Aletha laughed. Aren’t I thinking far ahead, then! Assuming I can do this, assuming it’s going to work, and worrying about explaining things to them! Stop borrowing trouble, Letha, you have enough as it is.
For as flippant as Sirius might be about his "light duty" bodyguarding her, the truth was that the last Healer who had worked on this project had been murdered. There was no telling if it had been this her killer was after, but there had been no sign that any other notes had been destroyed, altered, or removed.
Though if they’d been removed thoroughly enough, how would we know?
She shook her head. Enough of that. Time for music.
She sat down at the piano, shaking her hands to loosen the muscles, and listened absently to the clacking coming from upstairs.
Isn’t it funny that we both have hobbies that require pressing down keys?
xXxXx
The door of her office crashed open. Athena looked up, feigning shock and offense. "How dare you barge in here that way?" she demanded. "Who are you?"
Of course, she knew him. Everyone knew Marcus Thovine. But asking the question would throw him off balance for the few moments that were all she would need.
"I — I—" Thovine stammered.
Athena rose, staring at him with her best angry-elder look. "I assume you have a name?"
"I — yes, of course I do!"
"Then I suggest you tell it to me immediately, so that I may inform the police who it is that I wish escorted from my office."
"Police?" sputtered Thovine. "Why? I’ve broken no law, I’m perfectly within my rights—"
"You are uninvited and unwelcome here, young man, and unless you are one of my students, which I highly doubt, you have no business with me. Unless..." This would have to be played perfectly if it was to work at all. "Unless you have come for this?" She slid open her desk drawer and held up the small item she had found in the girls’ dressing room two nights before with her left hand, letting her right remain in the drawer.
Thovine went dead white. "I — I’ve never seen that before," he blustered. "I have no idea what you’re talking about — but I do have business with you. I want to see one of your students. The Collins girl, Agnes Collins. I have reason to believe she stole something valuable from me—"
"Poppycock," said Athena bluntly. "Mr. Thovine, you are becoming not only unwelcome but boring. Remove yourself immediately, or I shall be forced to send for the police."
"You’ll send for no one, you old bag!" Thovine’s hand went to his pocket.
"Sirius!" called Aletha’s voice from downstairs. "Dinner!"
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Every time," he complained aloud to the typewriter, standing up to stretch his back. "She never catches me in the middle of a boring passage, oh no. It’s always the action scenes, the ones that really ought to be written start to finish in one go if they’re to be any good..."
"You can come or not, but it’s just going to get cold if you don’t!"
"All right, I’m coming!" Sirius shouted back. "You be good, now, Mr. Thovine," he said to the typewriter. "Don’t try shooting Athena till I get back. Of course, you wouldn’t manage it anyway — she’s got a pistol in that desk drawer, and she’s a faster draw than you are..."
He had a feeling Minerva McGonagall would either love him or hate him forever for this book. Possibly both, depending on if and when he told her the true identity of the author Valentina Jett.
But worry about that another time. Right now, I smell food.
He descended the stairs two at a time.
xXxXx
"Three, three, five," Harry chanted under his breath. "Three, three, five."
"Three, three, five, what?" said Draco from the other side of the table.
"It’s a general unlocking sequence," Harry explained, looking up from his Arithmancy book. "In case you’re up against a locking spell you don’t know the counter for."
"So you say those numbers, and the door just comes open?" asked Ron skeptically.
"No, it’s not like that," said Hermione. "You have to use your wand. But you perform actions in those numbers. Things like tapping the doorknob, or waving your wand in a circle, or up and down, or side to side. You do three of one thing, three of another, then five of a third, concentrating on unlocking, and if you do it right, it opens."
"That sounds really complicated," said Ron. "Think I’ll stick with Alohomora, thanks."
"But a lot of things are charmed against that, Ron," said Hermione. "What if you run into one of those?"
"I’ll make sure never to go on an adventure without you along," said Ron. "And then you can do it for me."
"Are there other sequences like that?" asked Draco over Ron and Hermione’s squabbling. "Like one for locking?"
Harry nodded. "Basic locking is seven, ten. There’s other ones, but that’s the simplest."
"Wouldn’t be much good if you were in a hurry."
"Arithmancy’s not really for being in a hurry. You need Charms or Transfiguration for that. It’s more like Potions. You don’t usually use a potion in a battle, but before or after, it might be just what you need."
Draco nodded. "Like a healing potion after, or one to give you extra strength before. It’s the same way with Ancient Runes. You wouldn’t stop in the middle of fighting to write something in runes, but if you want to set a charm or a curse on an object permanently, writing it in runes is the best way to do it."
"Exactly. Professor Vector called Arithmancy a building block for a lot of the more complicated magics — she said the Gringotts goblins use something a lot like it to safeguard their vaults."
"They take pride in customizing the security on each vault to the vault number," said Hermione, breaking off her argument with Ron. "The really high-security vaults have especially magical numbers, like seven or thirteen, in them."
"I didn’t know that." Ron looked interested in spite of himself. "So vault number seven hundred thirteen would be higher security than vault number six hundred twenty, maybe?"
"Definitely."
"Say, where’s Neville?" asked Harry, realizing who was absent from their group. Ginny and Luna were at class, and Meghan had her duties in the hospital wing, but Neville took most of the same classes they did. He should be here.
"He’s in the library with Meghan, helping her with something," said Hermione absently, tapping her quill on her parchment. "Some secret project or other, they’re being very mysterious about it. I don’t really know what it’s all about."
Percy climbed through the portrait hole, a roll of parchment under his arm, which he proceeded to tack up on the notice board with his wand.
"What’s that?" asked Draco, looking over his shoulder.
"Don’t know." Harry put his book aside. "Let’s go find out."
The four crossed the room to the notice board. "Come to see about the latest school club?" Percy asked them. "It looks very interesting — fine way to build inter-House cooperation, if you ask me..."
"A fighting club?" said Ron, staring enthralled at the poster. "Wicked!"
"Four teams, one from each House," Hermione read from the poster rapidly. "Practices twice a week, competitions once a month. For each competition, the Houses will be randomly paired up, each pair acting as allies. Styles of competition will vary." She frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Like we did over the summer," said Harry. "Sometimes it’d be fighting to the last man, sometimes we’d have to capture a place and hold it, or find a thing and bring it back."
"Houses randomly paired up?" Draco frowned. "We could end up with Slytherin. They’re as likely to sabotage us as they are to fight our enemies."
"That sort of comment is precisely the reason this club is such a good idea," said Percy. "We all need to learn to be a little more tolerant of the other Houses in this school. We’re all Hogwarts students, there’s no reason for this ridiculous infighting."
"Are you planning on joining, then?" asked Ron.
"Yes, I think I will. I see no reason not to, it shouldn’t interfere too much with studying for N.E.W.T.s, and it will give me a change of pace. Not to mention looking quite good on a resume."
"Everything with Percy comes back to that," said Ron under his breath as his brother walked away. "His job, his career, his future. Doesn’t he ever think about how much fun things might be?"
"Well, he has to think about fun a little, at least," said Draco. "Otherwise he wouldn’t be going out with Penelope Clearwater."
"Even that might be about where he wants to go," said Hermione. "If he’s thinking about what will impress people, having a pretty girlfriend — or fiancée, or wife — might be important for him."
Ron shook his head. "I think he’s really interested in her," he said. "They don’t act like it’s just business or whatever."
"I didn’t really think that," said Hermione. "I was just pointing out that it could be."
"And maybe saying it’ll be a change of pace is Percy’s way of saying he thinks it would be fun," said Harry. "I guess it’s against the rules for the Head Boy to actually enjoy anything."
"Tomorrow night at eight," said Draco, reading from the poster. "We don’t have practice that night, do we, Harry?"
"No, it’s tonight..." Harry swore, looking at his watch. "I’ve got to finish those problems before dinner, I won’t have time after."
"And I should get that translation done," said Draco, leading the way back to the table around which they had been doing their homework.
"I have to write up something about how I use Divination in everyday life," said Ron, making a face. "I don’t use Divination in everyday life. I always thought what you did with tea leaves was chuck them in the bin, and normal people don’t trace out lines on other people’s hands and tell them they’re going to die next Tuesday from a hippogriff attack."
"Make something up, then," advised Harry, opening his Arithmancy book again. "If you’re right about Trelawney, she’ll never know the difference."
"Good point." Ron dipped his quill. "I use Divination all the time in everyday life," he muttered, scribbling. "In the morning, I look for patterns in my porridge to tell me how my day will go..."
"Faker," said Hermione without any real rancor in her voice.
"You try it," said Ron.
"No, thanks. There’s a reason I’m not taking Divination."
"Because Moony told you you wouldn’t like it?" suggested Draco.
"Shut up."
A contented silence fell over the four.
xXxXx
Ginny pressed herself against the stone of the archway she hid within, her heart pounding. She held her wand against her chest, ready to bring it down at a moment’s notice, as soon as the person she could hear around the corner got into range —
"Ha!" she shouted, leaping out and swinging her wand down hard. A spray of red-orange dye shot from the tip, coating Colin Creevey.
"Aww," Colin complained. "How was I supposed to know you were there?"
"You weren’t," said Professor Granger-Lupin, coming around the corner. "But you should have been more aware of your surroundings, and walking more quietly. If Ginny hadn’t heard you coming, you might have passed her by."
Colin frowned, but nodded.
"Switch roles," Professor Granger-Lupin instructed. "Colin hide, Ginny seek."
Ginny hid her eyes and began to count. The first practices of the Combat Club were just this — glorified hide-and-go-seek through the halls of Hogwarts, with both sides armed with fake wands. Fred and George had constructed them to Professor Lupin’s specifications, so that the students who had joined the Combat Club wouldn’t be tempted to use illegal spells against one another.
There’s dye everywhere, all over the place — Filch is going to hate us, unless the teachers clean it all up afterwards...
But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was finding Colin and taking him out before he had a chance to do the same.
One-on-one at first. Next week, pairs. Then threes and fours, then groups of six or eight. By the time of the first competition, we’ll be ready.
She set off, taking care to set her feet down softly, and listening to every rustle and breeze as though Colin might be behind it. That was how one survived.
xXxXx
With the Combat Club taking up most of his evenings that weren’t full of Quidditch practice, homework occupying his free afternoons and weekends, and finishing his list of Animagus spells any time he had a spare minute, it didn’t really surprise Harry that Halloween was on him before he knew it. He had an extra reason to be excited about the holiday this year — his first ever Hogsmeade day would be on Halloween. Even though only he and Draco had to stay with a chaperone, still, that was better than not being allowed to go at all.
And if they had to have a chaperone, Moony was probably the best one they could have wanted. His lessons were certainly proving to be as interesting as Harry had hoped. They were studying Dark magical creatures, like Red Caps and kappas, and grindylows were next on the schedule.
Harry had lingered after one class, widened his eyes appealingly, and asked in a whisper if it was true they’d be studying werewolves near the end of the year. Moony had tapped him lightly on the head with what Harry had thought at the time was his wand, then shooed him out of the room. It wasn’t until he got back to the common room and Draco asked if he wanted to be Ron’s brother these days that he realized it had been one of the Gryffindor Combat Club wands, and his hair was covered with red-orange dye.
It was a good thing that Danger’s taming power not only kept Moony safe during his transformation, but cut down on the ill effects before and after, Harry thought as he got dressed on Halloween morning. Otherwise, Moony would have been too tired and achy now, two days before the full moon, to go anywhere other than his office, much less escort six excited children through Hogsmeade.
Six, because no one had been able to come up with a good reason why Meghan shouldn’t go. She wasn’t a student, so the third year rule didn’t apply to her. Madam Pomfrey might have been able to forbid it, but by the time anyone thought to apply to her, she had already charged Meghan with some errands in the village. And Padfoot and Letha, when asked, had given their permission, so to Hogsmeade Meghan would go. Ginny was highly disgruntled about this, Luna her usual philosophical self, asking only that Draco bring her back a levitating sherbet ball or two.
When Harry finished his breakfast and joined the rest of the Pride, Moony, and Danger in the entrance hall, Filch was walking up and down the line of students peering at them suspiciously. He gave Meghan a thoroughly nasty look, but said nothing other than, "Well, as they’re with you, Professors."
As they approached the gates of Hogwarts grounds, Harry felt a familiar and unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach. He had forgotten that to leave the grounds, he would have to pass by the dementors. Draco, too, looked uncomfortable, swallowing several times in a way that didn’t seem to have anything to do with breakfast. Ron was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, seemingly impatient with the slow pace of the line. Hermione twisted a handful of her cloak. Meghan made an unhappy sound in her throat. Neville put a hand on her shoulder, and she laid hers on top of his.
Moony drew his wand and murmured something. A silver mist flowed from the tip of his wand and surrounded the group, and Harry felt the chill inside him ease. The dementors drew a little back from their group as they walked out the gates, and before they were very many steps down the path, Harry felt entirely better.
Nothing else is going to go wrong today, he decided. Nothing else at all.
xXxXx
Danger split off from the main group as they entered Hogsmeade. She had her own errands to run, most of which were purely personal.
Some supplies for my handicrafts. That used bookstore I’ve heard about. And some presents — Christmas is coming, faster than we like to realize...
"All righ’, there, Danger?" asked a voice she knew well.
"All right, Hagrid," she said, turning. "You?"
"All righ’. Which’s more’n I kin say fer one’o my poor little knarls. I didn’ think ter bring ‘em in last night, an’ he’s gone an’ caught a chill — an’ I can’ dose him the normal way, yeh know how knarls are."
"Yes, I know." Knarls were almost indistinguishable from hedgehogs, the only difference being that knarls were paranoid and would see a bowl of milk not as a gift, but as an attempt to poison them. Hagrid’s usual tactics of leaving sweet potions or syrups where the sick creatures would find them obviously wouldn’t work with a sick knarl.
"Madam Pomfrey tol’ me Meghan migh’ be able ter help, an’ that she was down here in the village. Yeh wouldn’ know where, by any chance?"
"Let me think about it a moment." Danger closed her eyes, supposedly thinking, in reality tapping Remus’ mind and asking, wordlessly, if she might come in. He allowed it, and she looked out through his eyes at shelves filled with sweet treats and delights.
"Honeydukes," she said, opening her eyes. "That’s where they said they were going first."
"All righ’, I’ll try there. Thanks."
"You’re welcome. We’ll see you at the feast, won’t we?"
"I migh’ be a little late, but I’ll be there." Hagrid strode off down the main street of Hogsmeade, scattering the crowds of students by his mere presence.
Danger smiled, then turned to be off on her own errands.
xXxXx
"A sick knarl?" Meghan repeated. "I think maybe I can help. Madam Pomfrey taught me one of the spells she uses to give people potions when they’re too sick to wake up. Maybe I could use that on the knarl. May I, Professor, please?" she asked Remus.
"Down at your house?" Remus asked Hagrid. The gamekeeper nodded. "All right, Pearl, but as soon as we get back, no later, and come straight back up to the castle afterwards. I don’t want you wandering around on the grounds after dark, understand?"
Meghan nodded. "I will."
"Yer a good girl, Meghan," said Hagrid, stroking her braids gently with one massive finger. "Run along, now."
Meghan giggled and squeezed between a large third year and a small fifth year in search of her Pride-mates.
"Don’t tell any of the others that," advised Remus. "‘Run along,’ that is. They see it as talking down to them."
"I wouldn’ say it ter them," protested Hagrid. "On’y said it ter Meghan ‘cause she knows how I mean it. Friendly, like."
"I know." Remus smiled up at his friend. "They like you a lot, Hagrid. Harry says your lessons are interesting. What do you have them studying now, besides knarls? Mokes, was it?"
Hagrid nodded. "Af’er Halloween, I think we’ll start mooncalves. Not sure if I kin get one, but we kin talk about ‘em, learn what Muggles think about where they dance — flyin’ saucers an’ aliens an’ all. No need ter look ter other planets fer answers when they’re all righ’ here."
Remus laughed. "Yes, but the Muggles don’t know that."
A crash from elsewhere in the shop made both wizards start. "I’d better see what that is," said Remus, already moving. "I’ll see you at the Feast, Hagrid."
"See yeh at the Feast!"
The source of the sound had been a Slytherin fourth year trying to climb shelves without making sure they were fully fastened down first. The proprietor of Honeydukes was scolding him shrilly. The Pride looked quite happy to see Remus.
"We’ve bought all we want here," said Harry over the lecture the witch was giving the embarrassed student. "Can we go to Zonko’s now?"
"Is there any way I can stop you?"
"No," said Draco and Ron together. They looked at each other and grinned. Ron went on. "I don’t have to stay with you, sir, so I took orders. If you won’t let Harry and Draco go, I’ll just go for them."
Remus nodded, satisfied. "As it should be. Follow me, then, Zonko’s it is."
xXxXx
At Zonko’s, while the boys browsed the shelves happily, Hermione suddenly realized something.
Hagrid! He was right there — I could have asked him my question!
One of the textbooks the class had been using for Care of Magical Creatures claimed hippogriffs had no sense of smell. The other text said that they did, that in fact their capacity to detect and identify scent was quite good. Hermione didn’t like contradictory information. She wanted to know the answers, pure and simple.
And I could have asked Hagrid while he was talking with Moony and Meghan about... whatever they were talking about. I didn’t hear.
Maybe I can slip down to his house before the feast. I know I won’t be allowed out after, that’ll be bedtime, but beforehand I should be allowed.
xXxXx
Unseen by anyone, a third year stepped into an alley. He took parchment from his satchel and an ever-loaded quill from a pocket, held the parchment against the wall with one hand, and scribbled a note on it with the other. He scratched his head with his quill-holding hand once or twice while he wrote, and when he was done, he laid the note on the ground and dusted his hands off over it. Then he folded it into an irregular shape, dropped it to the ground and stepped on it a few times, and weighted it down with a rock before walking away.
There. Now he owes me. He’s supposed to do things like that, I saw the letter myself. He grinned meanly. After I stole it from him.
But he didn’t hear them talking. I did. So I did this for him, and now he owes me.
He liked having people owe him. It made life much more interesting.
xXxXx
Meghan slipped out of Hagrid’s house, smiling. The sleeping knarl had responded beautifully to her spell, opening its mouth for the potion it needed without ever waking up in the least. She wished Healing could always be that easy — a simple spell, a simple potion, and the patient would get better, with no more pain or mess or trouble.
But if everything was that easy, then there wouldn’t be any challenges. And I love challenges.
She set off up the lawn towards the castle. It was getting dark, and the feast would start soon. Hagrid had offered to walk up with her, but she didn’t want to wait for him and possibly be late. Rumor had it that Nearly Headless Nick would be singing a song this year, a song he’d written himself to celebrate his five hundred and first deathday, and reenacting his botched beheading for everyone’s entertainment pleasure. She didn’t want to miss that.
She had no warning, nothing to upset her or anger her, no emotion that would register on her pendants. All that she could ever recall was a vague confusion — why was the ground suddenly rising up to meet her?
xXxXx
Hermione hurried down the stairs, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and The Monster Book of Monsters firmly clutched in her arms. She had been thinking of putting this off until tomorrow — it wasn’t that urgent, it could wait — but Luna, of all people, had seen her looking at the books, figured out what she wanted, and urged her to go.
"I’ll tell everyone where you went," she said. "So no one worries. Harry and Draco do that a lot, don’t they?"
"I think they have to," Hermione replied. "It’s part of being who they are."
Luna nodded. "They should know by now worrying doesn’t change anything," she said. "But I suppose if it makes them feel better, it’s all right." She’d smiled. "But if I tell them, then they can’t worry, so they’ll be unhappy."
"Perfect," said Hermione, grinning. "Make them miserable. Just what I love."
Luna nodded again, smiling widely. "Me too. They’re funny when they’re miserable like that."
Hermione smiled herself, recalling the conversation, as Hagrid’s hut drew nearer and nearer.
I like Luna. She’s a little funny sometimes, and she believes all kinds of strange things, but she’s a good friend, and she’ll always listen to you, whether you think she’s listening or not. And she doesn’t care what other people think. We could learn from her...
A low cry made Hermione jump nearly a foot. "What in — Crookshanks!" She saw with relief the bushy orange fur of her cat in the growing twilight. "You frightened me! Don’t do that!"
Crookshanks ignored her, circling around a spot and yowling uneasily. Hermione, curious, came to see what he was looking at and frowned. Some crushed grass was all, as if someone had lain down here. But most people didn’t lie out on the grass anymore, now that it was October, nearly November, and likely to be cold and damp.
She sniffed. The odor of freshly broken grass stems came to her. This just happened. Within a few minutes, or I wouldn’t be able to smell it like this from so small a patch. What’s going on here?
Crookshanks turned slowly, towards the Forest, and hissed, the hair on his back standing up. Hermione peered in the direction he was looking and felt the hair on her own back prickle. Was that a moving shadow, on the fringe of the Forest — or something else?
She shifted her books to her left arm and drew her wand.
"Lumos!"
The light-giving spell illuminated a figure all in black. A man, it was a short, plump man, clothed in black and masked in the same color, as Hermione saw as he turned to face the light —
And draped over his shoulder was an unconscious Meghan.
Hermione shrieked in anger and ran forward, the heat of battle rising in her chest, and felt an answering rumble against her arm —
The Monster Book!
She dropped Fantastic Beasts without a qualm, it couldn’t help her now. The Monster Book was large, but she thought she could manage it, even with just one arm.
Throw it like a Frisbee —
The man seemed to be frozen in shock, but she couldn’t count on that lasting long, she had to act now.
"Get him!" she shouted, and flung the Monster Book at his head. It flew from her hands, snapping, and attacked the man’s face. He yelped in surprise, dropped Meghan to the ground, and vanished —
No, he hadn’t vanished — for where he had been, there was something small and gray —
"Crookshanks!" Hermione screamed at the top of her lungs, and the cat bolted past her, chasing the tiny creature, which had disappeared into the Forest.
Nothing I can do about him now — Crookshanks will either catch him or not — I just hope he comes back all right — Crookshanks, that is, not him —
Hermione’s body moved independently of her babbling mind, running to Meghan’s side, first making sure she was alive, then touching her wand to her sister’s chest. "Ennervate!"
Meghan breathed in sharply and opened her eyes. "Hermione? What’s going on?"
"No time, get up, we have to run..." Hermione pulled Meghan to her feet and half-dragged the smaller girl along the edge of the Forest towards Hagrid’s house, ignoring the books that lay in the grass. Books could be replaced. Lives couldn’t.
It only took a moment or two to reach Hagrid’s hut, but it was too long for Hermione’s taste. She pounded on the door when she got there, holding Meghan up with her other arm, and dashed inside as soon as Hagrid opened the door. "Close it, quick," she panted, falling into a chair. "It’s not safe."
"What’s wrong?" Hagrid shut the door and crossed quickly to her. "What happened?"
"My head hurts," said Meghan in a small voice. "And I don’t remember anything between starting up to the castle and seeing Hermione."
Hagrid lifted her gently off her feet with one hand and laid her in his armchair, draping a handmade blanket over her. "Lie still there fer a while," he told her. "What happened?" he asked Hermione again, more urgently.
Hermione pressed a hand to her chest, where her pendants were still uncomfortably warm. Meghan was pulling hers out of her robes. "He tried to kidnap Meghan — he must have Stunned her from behind — he was trying to get away with her — I don’t know how he got onto the grounds in the first place..."
"Who?" Hagrid demanded.
Hermione took a deep, trembling breath. "Wormtail," she said. "It was Wormtail."
Meghan made a little mew of fear and hid her face in her hands.