Facing Danger
Chapter 20: Escapades and Escapes (Year 5)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 20: Escapades and Escapes
"So she’s been here three months," Hermione said, pulling her cloak tighter around herself as a gust of cold air swept down the corridor. "In that time, she’s expelled Harry, made Defense classes a mockery, put Professor Trelawney on probation—not that she’d be much of a loss, from what you tell me about Divination—"
"But Mr. Moony told Harry we were right about the..." Ron stopped abruptly. "Thing," he concluded lamely. "You know, the one with Harry and Neville and You-Know-Who in it?"
"That’s right, I’d forgotten." Hermione made herself smile at Ron, cursing inwardly at the awkwardness of the expression—not that he’d notice, he never does...
"Something in your shoe?" Ron asked.
"No, I’m fine."
"You were making a face..."
"I said I’m fine!"
"But what does the prophecy have to do with Trelawney teaching at Hogwarts?" Neville asked. "Just because she made a real one once..."
"Dumbledore wants to keep her safe," said Draco tautly. "In case Voldemort decides he wants the prophecy from its original source."
Hermione edged up beside her twin and matched his pace, wishing she dared touch his cheek and try to soothe him, but his straight back and folded arms all but shouted ‘leave me alone’.
"But she doesn’t remember it," said Ron, looking bewildered. "She goes over funny when she makes a prophecy, and then she goes back to the way she usually is and doesn’t remember thing one about making it. I bet she doesn’t even know she made the one about Harry."
Hermione nearly stumbled as heat seared across her chest. Ron swore, Neville winced, and Draco hissed under his breath, yanking his pendants out. "Whoever this is, I’m going to—" He stopped, eyes fixed on the medallions. "Harry," he said.
Hermione pulled her own pendants free and flipped through them until she came to the brightly pulsing wolf carving. "Harry," she agreed. "We should—"
A familiar chill swept over her, and her eyes blurred slightly. She leaned against the nearest wall, concentrating on the message blazing its impatient fire across her mind. "I will be so glad when you can come out of there," she muttered.
"What?" said Ron and Neville together.
"Harry’s talking to her," said Draco, slowing a bit. "What is it?"
Hermione stopped dead, blinking. "Harry, that doesn’t make any sense," she said. "Try it again."
In response, she got a very clear feeling of frustration and the sound of the Den-door opening, and the sense of being overlain by something else vanished.
"What doesn’t make any sense?" Ron demanded, in the same moment as Neville said, "What’s going on?" and Draco’s, "It’s bad, isn’t it?"
"I didn’t really understand it." Hermione caught her breath, then moved into a half-jog, the boys behind her. The hospital wing was the closest entrance to where they currently were. "At least I hope I didn’t..."
xXxXx
Dolores Umbridge sat in her office, going over her notes once more. It had taken more time than she liked to bring her informant to the point of giving her anything useful, but they had built trust slowly, doing favors for one another, and she thought she might at last have all she needed.
I know Potter leaves his hiding place on occasion, and I know I can be led to where he is. If she would only have told me where, or why... but no, she fears retribution by means of blood magic. Foolish girl. If only she knew how weak Potter’s stomach truly is, how he runs in fear from even the slightest hint of pain...
Dolores smiled as she thought about how she could use that.
Give him the options. Tell us what Dumbledore is planning, or suffer. As I told Cornelius, I expect him to break immediately, and if he does not, the Cruciatus leaves no physical marks. But once we have the information we need...
Well, we can hardly have him telling the world what went on, can we? And in the hands of determined and desperate people—like Potter’s criminal godfather or his tame werewolf—even the strongest Memory Charm can be broken.
A more permanent solution will be in order.
Dolores giggled, stroking her wand with one finger. I know just the thing, too...
xXxXx
Neville sat on the floor in the yellow bedroom, his eyes closed, knees hugged to his chest. Years of dreary hospital visits swirled around his mind, intermingled with parched deserts, dying jungles, and a nightmare he’d thought was gone forever. A nightmare of screams and shouts and gleeful, cackling laughter, laughter that deserved the name ‘maniacal’.
He hadn’t had that dream since the day he’d left for Hogwarts, the day he’d been dragged down platform nine and three-quarters by the tiny whirlwind which had turned everything in his life upside-down. Even when the dementors had come too close those few times in his third year, and he’d heard the screams and the laughter again, it hadn’t brought the dream back, and so he’d pushed it out of his mind, dismissed it as unimportant, refused to think about it.
Until now.
Now he knew.
"Neville?" whispered a voice close at hand, and Neville opened his eyes dully.
The room was dusky, but he knew the silhouette kneeling beside him. "Meghan," he said, acknowledging her presence without making it clear if he wanted her there or not. I’m not even really sure myself...
"Please, can I stay with you?"
For once, the little-girl tones in Meghan’s voice were not at all assumed, and Neville felt like a heel. Here I am scared to death, and I’m fifteen years old. She’s twelve. We’re all just expecting her to deal with it like we do, because she always can...
Except when she can’t.
He scooted back until he was sitting against the bottom of the bed, then opened his arms, and Meghan scrambled into his embrace and began to cry.
"I know now why Luna didn’t want to see anymore," she whispered between sobs. "Because I can feel just a little bit of what everybody is feeling, and it’s awful."
Another wave of shame rolled over Neville. "I’m sorry, Pearl," he said in her ear. "I never meant to do that to you."
"It isn’t your fault. I didn’t know it would happen either." Meghan rubbed her face against his arm. "I think it may be the Den. It kept Harry’s mind safe from Voldemort back before the blood bond—maybe it holds in all our emotions that same way, and I can feel them because they’re bouncing back and echoing and getting louder. And because we all feel the same way about this."
"The Ministry isn’t going to like it," Neville said, thinking aloud. "Twelve prisoners escaping from Azkaban all at once."
"Maybe it’s a good thing," said Meghan, though she shivered as she spoke. "Maybe it will mean the Ministry will have to see Voldemort is back..."
"They’ll work out some other way it could have happened," Neville said, depressingly sure of what he was saying. "Even though all the prisoners who escaped were Death Eaters."
Meghan gulped and clung tighter to Neville, and he tightened his own arms around her, gritting his teeth against the sound of remembered laughter. You don’t get anywhere near her, he thought fiercely towards the laugher. Not one step, or I’ll kill you.
Not that I wouldn’t anyway.
Bellatrix Lestrange. The name flowed in a way it shouldn’t have, far more beautiful than the person it described. Bellatrix Black Lestrange...
It seemed impossible that the delicate girl he was holding, or her fearless always-laughing father, or her quick-thinking cool-headed brother, could be related to her.
And if we want to talk about relations, there’s someone else who’s going to have a harder time of this than I will.
"How’s Draco?" he asked Meghan’s back.
"Upset." Meghan lifted her head to rest its side on his shoulder, freeing her mouth for speech. "He’s locked himself in the green bedroom and won’t come out. Luna’s in the bathroom—she was being sick, but now she’s done. Hermione’s with her. Ron and Ginny are in the red bedroom talking to their mum on Harry’s Zippophone."
"So where’s Harry?"
"He said he was going to go flying..."
xXxXx
Harry leaned forward farther and farther on his Firebolt, making sure to lean in at the same time—if he rammed into a wall at the speed he was going, not even Meghan would be able to help him.
So. What does Voldemort have on his side? The Ministry sticking its fingers in its ears and going "La la la not LISTENING", Umbridge doing her best to discredit Dumbledore every which way, whatever new Death Eaters they’ve recruited, all the ones who never got caught, and now a whole load of the ones who did...
He pulled out into the middle of the pitch, did two Sloth Grip Rolls in rapid succession, and started circling the other way. I don’t want to sound defeatist or anything, but aren’t we just a little outnumbered? And wasting time and energy fighting people who ought to be on our side?
As big as the pitch was, it still felt stifling, and Harry would have loved nothing more than to zoom down into the shed, hiss the password at the back wall, and shoot his Firebolt up that passage as fast as it would go...
Wait a second. Why don’t I? I’ll be going so fast there’s no way Umbridge would know it’s me, and that’s if she’s even looking out the window—I’ll feel loads better after I do it, I really need some fresh air, it’s only for a few minutes...
The Firebolt plunged towards the grass of the pitch, its head pointed at the broomshed built unobtrusively into one wall.
xXxXx
Draco sprawled face-down on the green bedspread. He’d had a bout of sobbing panic already, and was now moving into the dreary phase of his reaction...
Something wrong when I know exactly how I react to the news that my father’s running around loose.
He opened one eye and squinted at the moss-colored expanse in front of him. I dreamed of being a Slytherin once. Of being the person I would have been, if nothing had ever changed. Draco Malfoy, and proud of it.
I’m Draco still, and proud of who I am...
Half a smile made it onto his face. Two out of three. Not bad.
But if Luna’s vision is right, I’m going to die awfully soon, and after doing something so horrible that she says she never loved me. Something so awful she’d rather go away with my father. What could I do to her like that?
And how much of him is in me? Draco lifted one hand into his field of vision and glared at the too-pale skin and the fine down of blond hair on its back. Is it just looks, or is it something deeper? I’ve felt like him before, when I lose control, when I get really angry—I feel it snap inside me, and I don’t care anymore about who I’m fighting, I just want to hurt them and make them keep hurting for a long time...
Music suddenly blared out beside him, and he yelped, sitting up. What—where is that—what is it?
His eyes roamed the room, while his ears analyzed the sound. Two chords, four beats, two different chords, four beats... it’s hard, driving, it pushes...
A harsh voice began to sing.
Don’t come on so cocksure, boy
You can’t escape your genes
Alex’s girlfriend walked backwards into the frame on the wall, her hair tied back and her arms crossed across her chest. She wore an Egyptian costume, and it was she who was singing.
There’s no point in feeling pure, boy
Your background intervenes
Draco stared at her, unsure quite what to feel at the moment. The woman extended an imperious hand, beckoning.
Now listen good and listen straight
You’re not the master of your fate
Alex stepped into the picture, also in Egyptian garb, his face rebellious. The woman circled him, still singing.
To this you must be reconciled
You’ll always be your father’s child
At times acclaimed, at times reviled
You’ll wind up doing just what I’d have done
Alex moved away from her, watching her distrustfully. She grabbed his shoulder and leaned in, singing straight into his face.
Like father, like son
Alex pushed her away and took over the song.
Don’t assume your vices
Get handed down the line
He stalked across the portrait, glancing back at her angrily every so often.
That a parent’s blood suffices
To condemn the child’s design
On the extreme opposite side of the space, he whirled to face her.
I’ve done wrong, I can’t deny
But at least I know that I
Shouldn’t blame that on my stock
He sneered at her.
This may come as quite a shock
But I’m no chip off any block
A glance out at Draco.
I wouldn’t wish those words on anyone
Like father, like son...
The music trailed away, and Draco applauded. The pair took extravagant bows.
"Just thought you might need some musical encouragement," the woman said—Anne, that’s her name, Anne, Hermione told me. "Or a reason to laugh your head off." She squinted at her costume dubiously. "I don’t think I make a very good man."
"Better than some people," Draco said, flopping down on the bed again. "Nice song. Do you do that often?"
"What, make fools of ourselves?" Alex asked, sitting down. "All the time. It’s quite the rage this season, you know—aie!" He ducked away from Anne, who had just swatted him on the back of the head. "Stop hitting me!"
"Stop deserving it." Anne leaned on the back of the chair. "Ridiculous presentation or not, it’s true, Draco Black. You are who you are. No one else. Now get out of here for a little while. You’re just going to wear yourself out worrying."
"Yes, ma’am." Draco saluted from flat on his back, then sat up and marched to the door.
"Don’t go through the red bedroom," Alex called after him. "Ron and Ginny are in there."
"Right." Draco stopped at the door. "So where should I go, then?"
"Thou shalt not go through the other common rooms," said Anne sententiously, "nor shalt thou go through the hospital wing. The Headmaster’s office is right out!"
Draco groaned. "All right. All right. I get it. The kitchens it is."
"I got first pick for Heirs," Alex confided to Anne in a loud whisper as Draco shut the door behind himself.
Despite himself, Draco laughed. The way Alex and Anne played reminded him of someone...
Well, a bunch of someones. Moony and Danger, Padfoot and Letha, even me and Luna when she’s not seeing disturbing things.
He snorted, opening the kitchen door. And now I’m back where I didn’t want to be, thank you very much, oh marvelous brain. One of these days I’m taking an eggbeater to you.
Through the passage he slid, then pushed his way through the kitchen door and trotted into the entrance hall, with no particular destination in mind, just to keep moving, to stay away from the feelings, the thoughts, the—
"Oh!"
Draco’s train of thought ended with a jarring thud. He was sitting on his rump near the marble staircase, gasping for air, with Amanda Smythe nearby in like condition. "Sorry," she panted out after a moment. "Wasn’t looking...where I was going..."
"No, I’m sorry," Draco said, recovering his breath and pulling himself to his feet. "Let me help you."
"Thanks." Amanda took his hand and lifted herself gracefully up. "I heard the news," she said, looking at him directly, with no evasion in her green eyes. "I’m really sorry."
"Don’t be. I’m as safe as the next man. If, of course, the next man is Harry Potter."
Amanda laughed. "I’m still sorry," she said after a moment, the words erasing the smile from her face. "I love my parents so much. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have one of them hate me and want to hurt me."
"I love my parents too," Draco said, sitting down on the bottom step and scooting over to make room for Amanda. "Lucius is just... an accidental relation, you could say. Blood and nothing more."
"That’s true. But it still hurts you. I can see that." Amanda squeezed his shoulder. "So I’m still sorry. And you can’t make me not be."
"I... wasn’t trying to."
Amanda raised her nose loftily. "Meh," she said with great dignity. "Meh, I say!"
"Meh, you say," Draco agreed. "What does ‘meh’ mean?"
"Anything I want it to!" Amanda’s nose stayed in the air.
"And what do you want it to today?"
"That is none of your business."
"But you’re saying it to me. That makes it my business."
Amanda’s eyes narrowed. "Meh," she repeated.
"An all-purpose monosyllable," mused Draco. "I think I like it."
"I’m so glad," said Amanda, lowering her chin. "There was much thought of pleasing you when it was christened."
Draco frowned, then grinned as his mind ran the misquote to earth and found a pleasing rejoinder. "As bamboo shall draw the panda, so this ‘meh’ shall draw Amanda."
"Oh, very good!" Amanda applauded, and Draco felt an odd sensation under his ribs, not unlike the one he felt when he kissed Luna...
Oh, no. No, no, no. Get up, walk away, get out of here right now. You are the next best thing to engaged, Draco—not to mention, less than two years from being dead! You cannot be seriously thinking about this girl!
Draco took a bow from the seated position.
I suppose if our hearts listened to reason, we wouldn’t have literature.
xXxXx
Dolores’ back twinged. With a sigh, she stood up and stretched it, then began to walk back and forth across the office.
The plan would be a far better one if I were sure where Potter spends his time. The girl seems to think he remains in the Room of Requirement, but I doubt that, or why would it not respond to my need to find him and deliver him to me?
A lone flyer over the Quidditch pitch caught her eye, and she stood for a moment, watching the student zoom back and forth, loop fantastically tight, and swoop in and out of the goal hoops.
Perhaps it is time for another new rule. No students are allowed to fly unless during approved Quidditch practice. And I will find whoever that is and give him a week’s detention.
With order thus restored to her world, Dolores returned to her desk.
Now, the girl insinuated the presence of many people. A large organization, this, and obviously spread out over all the Houses. Just as well. The more discontent we can crush at once, the better...
But we need Harry Potter. Without him, everything falls apart. And with him...
Dolores smiled, her mind’s eye already painting her the picture.
With him, we have the world.
xXxXx
Harry stepped out of the Quidditch pitch into the main room and shook his head briskly. "All right?" he asked Luna, who was sitting rather forlornly at a small table in the middle of the room.
"Yes. Or I will be. It was just..." Luna shivered. "When Mr. Moony told us those names, I could see them all, the people they were and the things they did and what they’ve become, after so long in Azkaban." She swallowed convulsively. "And I saw what some of us might have been, if we were like them."
"Do you mean evil, or trapped with dementors?" Harry asked, unable to stop himself.
"Yes."
How helpful. "Where’s Hermione?"
"In the kitchen." Luna waved towards it vaguely. "She said she would heat me up some applesauce."
"Oh. Um, I’ll go help her." Harry was already moving towards the door. Hermione in the kitchen wasn’t quite an unqualified disaster, but under certain circumstances it could come close.
He opened the door hastily, and Hermione jumped and looked around. "What?"
"Just...wanted to see if you needed help."
Hermione made a face at him. "Wanted to see if I’d destroyed your kitchen, you mean."
"Well, only a little. You don’t blow things up anymore. Much."
Hermione sniffed audibly and turned back to the pot she was stirring. "This is for Luna," she said. "So don’t you touch it."
Harry edged up to the stove and peered into the pot. "That’s a lot for just Luna."
"I want some too."
"Then there should be enough for three."
Hermione elbowed him out of the way. "Greedy. Get your own."
"Ow. Fine, I will." Harry went to the cupboard to get out bowls and spoons. "Ron and Ginny still talking to their mum?" he asked over his shoulder.
"As far as I know. They haven’t come out. Neville and Meghan did, but only to go over to the music room. Have you seen Draco?"
"No. And he’s not in the green bedroom, either, the door’s open."
Hermione shrugged. "He probably left, then. Maybe he went to talk to someone."
"Like who?"
"I don’t know. Come up with your own answers once in a while, why don’t you?"
"But asking you is so much easier." Harry dodged a spoon thickly coated with applesauce. "Are you scared?" he asked quietly, dropping his casual air.
"Some," Hermione admitted. "Especially after third year." Her hand went to her cheek. "I love Draco, and I love being twins, but I wish that had never happened."
"I don’t," said Harry, setting the bowls on the table.
"What?" Hermione whirled to face him. "You—you—"
"That night made you stronger, Neenie. You did your first Animagus. You saved Draco’s life, twice. And you bit a Death Eater." Harry grinned, and saw an answering smile, though weaker, on Hermione’s face. "If all we had were good times, how would we ever get strong? I don’t want the bad times. But I’m sure as hell not going to lie down and let them trample on me."
Hermione nodded. "You didn’t start the fight," she said. "But you’re going to finish it."
"That’s the Snitch. Now, how about some applesauce?" Harry picked the top bowl off the stack and held it out. "Philosophy makes me hungry."
xXxXx
Sirius shut the door behind him, leaned against it with his eyes closed, and tried not to pass out.
"Honey, I’m home," he said quietly.
"So I see," said Aletha’s voice from beside him, making him jump. "Cloak."
Sirius got his feet under him again and undid his cloak’s fastener, the green leaf pin Hermione had got him for last Christmas. A certain age group at the Auror Office had been looking at him with more respect since then, he realized dimly...
Rustling as Aletha hung the cloak on its hook, then the sound of her footsteps coming back. "We heard," she said, her hands starting to trace around his chest. "How bad was it?"
"Mmmm." Sirius leaned forward into her arms. "Can’t think when you do that."
"I’ll have to stop then—oh!" She squealed in surprise as he pulled her close.
"No, you don’t," he mumbled into her hair. "Don’t ever stop."
"If you don’t want me to stop, we need to find somewhere to sit down. I spent all day on my feet too, and your son is starting to make his presence known, so my back is none too happy with me."
"My son, is he?" Sirius slid a hand down Aletha’s front, getting only slightly distracted along the way, until he located the slight flare of belly, which he patted. "Attaboy, Marcus. Give your mama some grief."
Aletha slapped him lightly on the back of the head. "Stop that. He doesn’t need any encouragement."
"Well, need it or not, he’s getting it." Sirius kissed Aletha’s ear. "God, I’m glad I have you. I don’t think I could do this job without you."
"I’m always glad to help," Aletha murmured. "Now, about that sitting down..."
"Just lead me. It’s dark and I can’t see."
"That would be because you have your eyes shut."
"So?"
A long-suffering sigh. "Never mind."
xXxXx
Meghan strummed a chord on her guitar, changing it rapidly up, down, down, up, up. Beside her, Neville idly picked out a melody. A note and up a fourth, down step-wise twice, back up a third and two steps up then back down...
"I know that song," Meghan said, stopping what she was doing. "Play it again."
Neville complied.
Meghan began to hum to herself, tapping out a rhythm with one finger. Slowly, her face grew wicked.
"What are you thinking?" said Neville nervously.
"I’m thinking we need to talk to the rest of the Pride," Meghan said, standing up and setting her guitar aside. "I have just the start of an idea—it needs other people to make it work..."
xXxXx
"Toilets," said Luna when Meghan had explained her ‘start of an idea’. "Seven toilets."
"Why toilets?" Neville asked, then flushed pink. "Oh. Wait. Never mind."
"But where are we going to find seven toilets no one uses so we can prank them?" Harry asked, setting aside his applesauce bowl. "We don’t want somebody else getting caught by this. It has to be Umbridge. It’s too good not to be."
"Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom," Hermione said promptly. "We can even get Myrtle to help. She’d do anything you’d ask her, Harry."
Harry put his head down on the table. "Don’t remind me."
Ron and Ginny chose this moment to make their appearance, and were just as enthusiastic about the idea once it had been explained. "We’ll need good timing," said Ron, doodling on the table with his wand, the basic layout of the halls around Myrtle’s bathroom taking shape. "And a lot of Animation Charms. That’s going to use up most of the stock we have with Fred and George."
"What is it there for, if not to be used?" Ginny asked. "And we know exactly how to do the timing." She handed Harry back his Zippophone. "We have four of them. That ought to be enough."
Luna smiled. "Now all we need is a hex that makes someone have to use the toilet right away..."
xXxXx
Hermione dug happily through the shelves in the Den’s library. "I think the Room of Requirement pulls books from here," she said over her shoulder. "This copy of Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed has the same little nick on the corner as the one I read upstairs..."
"How far do you reckon the requirement bit goes?" Ron asked, taking books as Hermione handed them to him. "I mean, if we required Umbridge all tied up, d’you think—"
"Ugh, Ron, of course not." Hermione swatted him on the shoulder. "It takes things that are elsewhere in the castle and brings them to where they’re needed."
"Umbridge is something that’s elsewhere in the castle," Ron pointed out.
"In the same condition they’re in when they left the places they started out at," Hermione said impatiently. "I really don’t think a room is going to be able to get rid of Dolores Umbridge for us."
"Be nice," Ron said wistfully.
"Yes, it would." Hermione piled one last book into his arms and steered him towards the armchairs in the center of the room. "It would also be nice not to have a war, not to have to come down here every time we want to see Harry, and to have—"
She stopped herself short, horrified at where her tongue had almost gone.
"To have what?" Ron asked, dropping the books heavily on the table.
"To have you care a little about anything around you," Hermione snapped, aware she was being too mean but praying it would cover up her lapse. "Would it kill you to show some consideration?"
"According to you, I wouldn’t know," Ron shot back. "I never tried."
He turned and stormed out of the room.
Hermione sank into one of the chairs, picked up the book on the top of the pile, and methodically beat her head against it several times. Then she opened it to the index and began looking for the word she needed.
Toilet... toilet... let’s see, tinder, toads, toffee... torch, whoops, too far... here we are. Toilet.
Flipping to the first of the indicated pages, she started to skim the spells listed.
Her mind tried to escape its task. Firmly, she pulled it back. I am working. I have no time for childish games. Besides, Ron’s already interested in someone else. I don’t chase other girls’ property.
But he isn’t hers! insisted a little voice in her mind. Or anyway, he shouldn’t be!
Hermione ignored the voice and continued working.
She wondered how long it would be before she didn’t hear it at all, even when she wanted to.
xXxXx
Dolores Jane Umbridge awoke the next morning in fine fettle. Her informant had indicated that there would likely be a meeting of the treacherous group this evening. At that time, she would capture Harry Potter and discredit Dumbledore forever. Headship of Hogwarts would be hers, and the future of wizarding Britain assured in order and stability.
She felt so good that she allowed herself a small swagger in her walk as she descended the stairs towards breakfast.
xXxXx
"You’re covered," Neville whispered as Umbridge strutted into view in the second floor corridor.
Ginny took careful aim. "Balneo!"
xXxXx
Dolores stopped, frowning.
How odd. I didn’t have to do that when I left my quarters, and they’re only one floor up from here. Should I go back?
She looked around and smiled. A girls’ toilet was just down the hall from where she stood.
What luck.
Hurrying down the hall, she pushed the door open wide and entered.
xXxXx
Across the hall, under the Invisibility Cloak, Hermione tapped her open Zippo twice against the wall.
Stage One is complete. Stage Two, go.
xXxXx
"Hello," said a melancholy voice.
"Aaahh!" Dolores leapt back, her heart pounding, as a sad-faced ghost zoomed out of one of the stalls.
"Do you need to use the toilet?" the ghost asked. "Don’t use mine, please, I was just getting ready for a good cry. I’m Moaning Myrtle. At least that’s what they all call me." She sniffled. "How would you like to be called that?"
"I don’t think I’d like it, dear," said Dolores, edging along the cubicles. She couldn’t stand ghosts, but this one seemed harmless—she’d just do what she needed to do and get out quickly—
"Aren’t you looking for Harry Potter?" Myrtle asked, wiping away a tear before it could spot her glasses. "He comes in here sometimes, you know." She giggled, a very hollow sound. "I think he likes me."
"Does he." More proof that he’s mad, in case I needed it. "If you’ll excuse me, Miss Myrtle, I rather need to—"
"Oh, I understand." Myrtle sniffed again. "That’s another thing I can’t do anymore. Ever since I died. You’d never think I’d miss it, but I do..."
Dolores tuned this out and ducked into the cubicle, barely repressing a shudder.
When I am Headmistress of Hogwarts, the first thing I will do is banish all the ghosts.
xXxXx
"You set it up, right?" Draco’s voice whispered through the Zippophone.
"Well, if I hadn’t, I couldn’t do anything about it now," Hermione hissed. "Yes, of course I set it up."
"Both of you shut it," Ron’s voice overrode them. "Neenie, get in close. Listen for the flush, then count five, then set it off."
Hermione bit back an indignant comment about knowing what to do without being told and simply said, "Right." Tiptoeing across the hall, she put her ear to the door.
xXxXx
Dolores turned a deaf ear to Myrtle’s prattling, until a familiar name caught her attention.
"...Potter was here earlier. He’s so sweet sometimes—he wanted me to help him with something..."
"Harry Potter was here?" Dolores demanded, hastily letting her robes down and shoving open the door of her cubicle. "When?"
"Oh, yesterday." Myrtle shrugged. "Or the day before. Time doesn’t mean so much when you’re dead."
"Think very hard," Dolores said urgently. "When, exactly, was he here?"
"Well, it can’t have been more than two days ago," said Myrtle, floating lower and lower in the air as she thought, "because two days ago there were a lot of girls in here, and they didn’t notice the labels, so they can’t have been there then, and Harry put them there."
"Labels, what labels?"
"These labels," said Myrtle, floating over Dolores’ cubicle and pointing. "Look at the top of the tank."
Dolores turned and went back into her cubicle to look.
Pasted across the top of the tank was the word "Dopey".
Dolores ground her teeth. Juvenile, disgusting, and pointless. No surprise that Potter did this.
"You forgot to flush," Myrtle pointed out, hovering above her.
For a second, Dolores was tempted to leave the toilet unflushed and storm out, but her hand went to the lever automatically. Myrtle has helped me. I now know of another place Harry Potter can sometimes be found. And where he once was, he may return again. There is no reason to make a mess in Myrtle’s home.
She pushed down on the lever. "Now think carefully, please, Myrtle," she said, looking up at the ghost as the toilet flushed with a loud whoosh. "If you can remember when Harry Potter was here, it could be very helpful to me. And I reward those who help me. What do you say?"
"I say..." Myrtle floated up to the bathroom’s window to look out. "I say..."
xXxXx
Five.
Hermione bent down and touched her wand to a certain stone in the floor. "Eo," she whispered.
xXxXx
Dolores jumped as the sound of rocks smashing together reverberated through the bathroom. "Earthquake!" she screamed, running from the cubicle. "An earthquake!"
"But it’s not moving!" Myrtle screamed back, her hands over her ears. "It’s just—"
The noise stopped.
Slowly, Dolores took her own hands away from her ears. "What was it?" she wondered aloud.
The door of the far toilet cubicle burst open, making her shriek.
"Heigh-ho!" bellowed the toilet, which bore the word "Doc" across the top of its tank.
Six other cubicle doors opened simultaneously. "Heigh-ho!" chorused six other toilets, each labeled with a word—Dolores could see "Grumpy," "Sleepy," and her own "Dopey" from where she stood—
"Heigh-ho!" sang the three of the toilets closest to the end, marching out of their cubicles and down the row.
"Heigh-ho!" sang the next two, falling into line behind the first ones.
"Heigh-ho!" sang the last two, one of whom was Dopey. Dolores edged out of the way as the toilet left its cubicle.
"Boo!" screeched Myrtle suddenly, shooting directly at Dolores’ face. Dolores screamed and ducked back—
Falling onto the open seat of Dopey, which was waiting behind her.
The toilet seat contracted around her, holding her there.
The door of the room opened as if by magic.
"Heigh-ho," sang the toilets, marching towards the door, "heigh-ho, it’s off to school we go..."
Dolores fumbled inside her robes for her wand—if she could just get the charms off herself, the toilets would be easy enough to deal with afterwards—
"Need help, Professor?" Myrtle said loudly in her ear, causing her to jump.
Her wand clattered to the bathroom floor.
"Oh, don’t worry about this," Myrtle said, swooping down to it lovingly. "I’ll take very good care of it."
Dolores moaned aloud over the whistling of the toilets.
xXxXx
Hermione was using one hand to hold open the door and the other to stifle her giggles. As Professor Umbridge was carried past, she had to switch to using a foot to hold the door, because she couldn’t hold back her laughter with one hand anymore.
This is priceless. I hope she leaves after this, because we’ll never top it.
xXxXx
The toilets paraded down the stairs and around the entrance hall once, then into the Great Hall, all the time singing lustily.
"Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho..."
Those students who were Muggle-born or half-blood sang along.
"Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho-hum."
Two or three teachers trotted behind the cavalcade, alternately calling half-stunned reassurances to Umbridge and trying spells ineffectually on the toilets. The rest had taken themselves out of the Hall. Probably, Harry thought from his perch on the Gryffindor table, so they wouldn’t laugh themselves sick in front of the students.
He’d never been so glad that no one could hear him when he was walking, because if he’d been audible, he would have been scaring the owls out of the Owlery with his guffaws.
The toilets changed key. Umbridge’s moaning did not.
"Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to school we go..."
xXxXx
Finally, Dumbledore appeared on the scene—the final humiliation, to have to be rescued by that doddering old man—and dealt with the trouble quickly and competently. Two waves of his wand and Dolores was free, two more and the toilets were still, a final three and they were gone.
"This incident will be investigated to the best of my ability," Dumbledore said gravely. "And the perpetrators will be dealt with as fully as their crime deserves. I would ask you all now to have a seat and eat your breakfast. You have a day of classes to attend."
As the students straggled back to their tables, Dolores caught the eye of her informant and gave her a stern look.
The girl nodded once, slowly.
Excellent. The meeting will be tonight.
Straightening her robes, Dolores walked up the Hall to take her seat at the High Table.
Tonight, everything I had hoped this job would bring me will be mine. I will have the power, I will have the prestige, and most of all—oh, yes, most of all—I will have Harry Potter. He will be mine.
And when I am finished with him, no one else will ever want him again.
Author Notes:
...yeah, don’t think there’s anything I can say here, except enjoy DH.
Oh, yeah. The songs are "Like Father, Like Son" from the musical Aida and "Heigh-ho" from the movie Snow White and the Seven
Dwarves.