Chapter Text
❖❖❖
Natty looked up as familiar footsteps approached.
“Good morning, my friend,” she greeted Zag.
“Any objections to me sitting here?” he gestured at the empty spot at the Gryffindor table.
Natty looked questioningly at the only teacher in the Great Hall, Professor Garlick, who was roaming the length and breadth of the Hall.
Professor Garlick responded with a shrug and an expression that very clearly said Do I look like I care? It’s too early for this.
Zag offered a small smile of thanks, sat, and began loading his plate.
“Still can’t believe we escaped the Ashwinders,” he remarked to her.
“You may not realise it,” she replied, eyeing the rapidly-filling plate. “But you are the talk of the school since you saved me that day.”
“I’d ask how everyone knows about it,” he muttered, beginning to disassemble his sausages. “But in this place? Half the students have nothing else to do in their free time but gossip.”
“It may be my fault,” Natty replied, watching the plate begin to empty nearly as fast as it had been filled. “I told my mother in the hope that she would be more forgiving of what I had been up to if it came from me.” At least you are a neat eater, unlike most of the boys in this school. “She likely told the other professors, and, well, it is as you said,” she stopped to have some of her own breakfast.
“Only needed to be overheard by one student and the Hogwarts rumour mill would start up,” Zag commented, in the process of annihilating several eggs.
“Indeed. Unfortunately she might, in fact, have been even less forgiving than I’d hoped,” Natty said with regard.
Zag held up a finger while he processed his current mouthful, and then “If she knew what you and I had done and why, completely, I’d suspect she would’ve been proud of you,” he commented, loading the next fork.
Natty found that amusing, though not in a laughing-kind-of-way.
“If she knew more of what I had done, she would never let me out of her sight again,” she corrected him.
There was a few minutes of relative silence.
Watching you eat is an education in itself, Natty mused. It is a process I can only describe as ‘industrial’.
Zag prepared and loaded the next forkful while the current one was thoroughly chewed; he didn’t overfill his mouth, but rather ate in a way that minimised the idle time. It was the eating style of someone who aimed to consume the most food in the least time.
“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for his goblet. “Has Officer Singer done anything with the evidence we provided?”
“She has not,” Natty said in exasperation while he drained it. “Harlow is as strong as ever, and his activities are only becoming more extreme — and blatant. Someone needs to stop him, whether it is us or Officer Singer.”
“I have a bad feeling I know where this will end,” he replied, putting his goblet down, producing his wand, and tapping one with the other.
“Your ‘bad feelings’ would earn you good marks in my mother’s class if you included them,” she observed. “I do not know why you do not…” she noticed the contents of the goblet. “Do you not like pumpkin juice?”
“Loathe it. Pumpkin juice is hideous. It’s the way it feels in my mouth; like it’s moving. Or trying to hold onto my teeth. This is apple juice. Strained.”
“How did you get that?”
“Asked the kitchen elves very nicely. They wait for me to signal with my wand which goblet I’m drinking from and send it up here. I don’t ask how. Harlow really upsets you, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” she said. “If someone had stopped the monsters like him in Matabeleland, my father would be alive today,” her hand tightened on her fork.
“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to,” he supplied, between the… second serving of food.
“It was a beautiful day,” Natty replied, staring into the crystal ball of memory. “My mother had gone to tend to a neighbour who was ill, and so my father and I were galloping in the savanna.
Zag, fork having just entered his mouth, shot her a questioning glance.
“My father could become the most majestic giraffe — and he would carry me on his back, my arms around his neck,” she explained. “We were on our way home when we surprised a group of bandits who had come from our village. Harlow may be from your country, but men like him are everywhere.”
Zag made a sort of head-bob that indicated understanding and agreement and also this is very tasty.
“One of them saw me,” Natty continued. “Just as he removed the scarf from his face. He shouted, and aimed his rifle.”
That earned her a questioning “mmm-mmm?”
“Yes. I was in human form, and could have identified them,” she interpreted that correctly too. “My father reacted very fast, bowing his neck to protect me, but was hit by the shot.”
A sort of non-verbal ‘yes, I know what shot is; please continue’.
She did so.
“My father changed back into his human form as he fell; the bandits saw this and fled, terrified of magic. And then my father was gone, and it was all my fault.”
That earned an angry ‘mmm-mmm!’
She waited patiently for the current mouthful to clear.
“Nonsense,” Zag said in English once he was able. “Arrant nonsense. Did you pull the trigger? Did you organise the raid on your village? No. You are not responsible for the evil of other people unless you directly instilled it into them. Were you running Natsai Onai’s School For Bandits And Raiders?”
“I— no,” she said, mildly shocked. Not by the outburst; she was used to, well, this sort of thing by now. No, it was that the plate was being loaded a third time. She was still on her first serving. “But he died protecting me, and if I had been capable of protecting myself, he would be alive today.”
“How old were you?” he asked, concentrating on his food.
“I was nine,” she answered.
“There you go. Not your fault,” as if that explained everything.
“You are going to have to catch that snitch for me,” she replied.
“You were nine years old,” he said, looking at her. “Seeing your father die before you was terrible, Natty. But it was not your fault; you were nine years old, the bandit was an adult, and he was armed. The fault is with the bandit, not you. And, well, my understanding of magical theory is that our magical power grows with age; at the age of nine very few of us would be able to muster the power to blow our own nose, let alone deal with a bandit with lethal intent, even if you possessed the necessary knowledge. If you had been capable of protecting yourself… but you weren’t; it’s not that you chose not to, it’s that you were not able to as a function of age, and that is totally beyond your control. As I see it, because all of the factors in question — from the bandit’s decision to attempt child murder through to your inability to affect the outcome — are beyond your control, there is no way you can be at fault… Sorry, am I being rude again?”
She had to think about that one.
“Not exactly,” she said. “I have been told that it was not my fault, but you are the first who has done me the courtesy of explaining why you believe that. Though you are rather strident. What about the fact that my father would not have been out there if he had not been giving me a ride in his animagus form?”
She waited for him to finish chewing.
“Then there’s a nonzero chance you would have both been killed in the attack on your village,” he said bluntly. “Grandmama has something she said to me a few times as I was growing up that I think might help you here, ‘scuse me.”
Natty waited patiently as another few forkfuls vanished.
“You know I grew up in a ‘pure-blood’ household, right?” she shook her head. “No? Thought I told you. I told someone. Anyway. I grew up a pure-blood household. The nearest scion before me is five years my senior, and the nearest one under me about four years my junior. That’s why there’s no-one else from my family here at all. I manifested my magical ability at age 15. You know what they call people like that?”
“I believe the term is ‘squib’?”
“Yes. Ugly word. The only reason I didn’t get adopted out to the Muggle wing of the clan is because I’m all that father really has left of mother, and he wouldn’t agree. I was very unhappy about my lack of ability — some of my cousins weren’t very nice,” his tone indicated that was an understatement. “One day I made the mistake of wishing, aloud, that I had magic; Grandmama was right behind me. She asked me why I would wish that, and I said if I had it, then they might have been nicer. ‘Might-have-beens are as ashes upon the wind’, she grumbled and walked away,” a knife stabbed the air. “She said that every time the topic came up after that. Might-have-beens are as ashes upon the wind.”
He paused long enough to clear the current forkful.
“I didn’t have the courage to ask her what she meant until last year,” he resumed. “And she said to me that it means speculating on what could have been doesn’t help you deal with what is. It just leaves you bitter, and angry, and with grit in your eyes. Ash in the wind. In other words; all thinking about what might have been if you were capable of defending yourself and your father is going to do is make you unhappy, and I’m being rude again and telling you what to do with your grief. Sorry.”
He retreated back behind his goblet.
“You mean well,” she conceded, having finished her breakfast while he monologued. “I know your aim is to help me come to terms with this; for that, I do thank you. And you would not be you if you had approached it differently,” she smiled to gentle the words. “Zagreus, I know you well enough to have known what I was getting myself into when I began telling you of this; the fault for what happens then is mine, and you cannot tell me differently.”
That earned her a muffled ‘hah’, followed by another set of ‘mm-mm-mm?’ noises as the remainder of the plate was demolished.
“What happened afterwards? My mother and I tried to go on without him, but it became too much for us there,” she said, again interpreting the noises correctly. “We moved; first near to Uagadou, and then later to Scotland.”
Zag pushed back his empty plate, satiated at last.
“I can see why your mother is concerned; the same reason my father sends me a monthly owl that is…” he sighed. “He’s trying. He really is. But he’s from a social background and an age and a culture where talking feelings just isn’t done, and sometimes his expressions of ‘deepest and most sincere affection’ read like a bank statement. And in each one, he asks me to come home alive. Not in those words, but it’s what he means. And it’s got nothing to do with all the everything,” he shook his head and smiled. “He’s remembering one of my uncles nearly ending up paralysed here while they were at school, and one of his uncles nearly getting killed. That has an effect. But I’m going to make a guess now; your mother didn’t foresee the events of that day.”
“She did not. She is an excellent Seer, but it bothers her that she did not See my father’s death coming. That said, she misses him greatly, so I believe she understands my need to seek justice in a small way, though that doesn’t mean she needs to like it, which is fair.”
“Would he approve?”
“Goodness me, now that is a good question,” she let out a breath. “He would worry, as my mother does, as your father does. But I think he would understand my persistence. My father never shied away from a fight for good, no matter how ruthless the foe. And I think he would have enjoyed knowing that I have a compatriot like you.”
She could see him digesting that, along with the immense breakfast he’d had, ears pinking a little as he picked up the compliment.
Where does he put it all? she wondered, glancing at the plate, and then at his lean frame.
“Revenge?” he asked simply.
“No,” she said. “Vengeance is not what drives me. That cup has no bottom, and cannot be filled; my father would not want that. He and my mother raised me to believe it is a privilege to fight for those who cannot—” bright blue eyes glanced at her, twinkling with amusem*nt, “—and, you don’t have to make that silence so loud. I know there is risk involved, but I feel it is worth it; I am glad you think so too.”
“Your father sounds exceptional,” he told her. “I’m sorry I never was able to meet him, and very sorry for your loss. For what it is worth, based on what you have told me, I think he would be very proud of you. Am I doing that thing where I mirror your speech pattern again?”
“You are,” she chuckled. “I thank you for your kind words; we all have our burdens, and my father had a saying about that.”
“’Rain does not fall on one roof alone’,” he quoted her. “Similar to ‘a burden shared is a burden halved’.”
“Exactly,” she said with a smile. “Soon, you and I will put an end to the Ashwinders, beginning with Harlow and his lackeys. And when he is gone, we will turn our attentions to Rookwood.”
He raised his goblet with a vicious smile, she raised hers, they clinked them together, and drank.
“Thank you for letting me eat with you, Natty,” he said, putting his back down, and getting up. “I’m afraid I have to go; Poppy wants to discuss the Hippogriff herd, and apparently I need to be there. Speaking of, have you had a chance to actually talk to her about your mutual issue yet?”
“Thank you again for saving me,” she told him. “You deserve all of the praise you have received. And no; but I shall ensure that we do so very soon though.”
As she watched him go, her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table… where Ominis and Sebastian had a sold five feet of empty space between them, and the latter was shooting angry glares at the former. A headache immediately bloomed in her temples.
Oh, no. Not this again.
❖
“How did you know about this place?” Imelda was curious.
“Chaos showed me.” Natty answered.
“Which one is that again?” Leander questioned.
“Zag is Chaos.”
There was a reflective pause from the room.
“Yeah, that fits,” Leander conceded.
“I’d have called him Painful, myself,” that was Timothy Jenkins, the Slytherin who had tried to pluck Kneazle whiskers for a Knut.
“Why is he here again?” Adelaide Oakes jerked an irritated thumb at the boy.
“Because I can give you an idea of how cranky he is depending on how awful the pre-breakfast run is,” Jenkins replied grumpily. “And I said I was sorry about it, Oakes. To Poppy and the Kneazles.”
“Focus, please,” Lucan intervened before Adelaide could get going. The Gryffindor third-year had turned out to be extremely effective at keeping them organised. “Timothy; how was this morning?”
“Sorry Lucan,” Jenkins said. “He was in a good mood this morning. We just did a light jog around the Quidditch pitch, one lap, then he told me to go eat and to have a great day.”
Imelda blinked.
“Very big change from last week when he dragged you around it five times. In the rain,” she said.
“It was sleet,” Jenkins said flatly. “It was coming in sideways. It froze on the stands. If it wasn’t for the pepper-up potion he force-fed me I’m sure I would’ve died.”
“Before or after the run?” Imelda asked.
“During,” was the flat answer from a man who knows what Hell looks like.
Even Adelaide managed to look sympathetic at that.
“Well,” Garreth said. “That rules chaos out. Whatever the problem is, it’s between trouble and strife.”
“Omnis and Sebastian, in that order, right?” Leander asked, receiving a nod in answer from Garreth.
“Are we sure it’s just those two?” Adelaide asked. “At least they were at the same table.”
“Yes,” Natty replied firmly. “Zagreus ate breakfast at the Gryffindor table because he wanted to talk to me this morning and had limited time to do it in. If he was upset enough to avoid eating with the other two, he would have not been in the Great Hall at all. And Timothy would be in pain.”
“Anything new Garreth?” Lucan asked as everyone else nodded at that.
“My aunt’s noticed something is going on,” Garreth said, vaguely annoyed. “I managed to talk her into putting the thumbscrews away, so no-one else has to worry about her ‘gently questioning’ them, but Professor Fig is probably going to have a rough one-on-one meeting shortly. Nothing to do with the other two; just to do with chaos going off-grounds all the time.”
“Nothing we can do about that,” Imelda snorted. “I’ve seen what happens when people tell him he’s not allowed to leave the school; he nods politely, says ‘of course’, and is somewhere in the Forbidden Forest the instant the other person turns around. And no, I don’t know what’s going on between the other two morons. Or who caused it.”
“You have to ask?” Jenkins just sounded tired. “There’s a reason we nicknamed Sebastian ‘strife’.”
Imelda rubbed her temples.
“Let me guess,” Leander said glumly. “He’s pestering Ominis about something, again, and Ominis won’t be drawn on it, and Zag isn’t around while this is happening, and Ominis getting closer to that point where he starts hurling abuse in Central Hall. Again. That about it?”
Jenkins nodded.
“And we have no idea what it is,” Natty said. “Because they have learned how to be discrete about the subject matter, and did so at the most irritating time imaginable.”
“Does anyone have any good news to report?” that was Lucan again.
“Anne is doing well-ish,” Zenobia volunteered. The third-year had managed to grasp the idea of ‘do not speak about this’, but the price was at least one person was sacrificed to the Gobstone Queen’s hunger every time they convened. “Physically not so much; I think the cold weather makes it worse. But she’s wearing Mr Sallow down very patiently. I’m sure he’ll relent by the year’s end. She plans to be very sad all Christmas Day to put the guilt on him. I still don’t know what caused the fight between Mr Sallow and Sebastian though; she flat-out won’t tell me.”
“Excellent,” Lucan said. Of course Anne had told Zenobia about Sebastian not being allowed back home; Zenobia had noticed when Anne’s game was off.
“Well,” Natty said. “I think we can leave that matter in Anne’s capable hands. We need to get the other two back down to a simmer before Zagreus returns.”
“Where is he anyway?” Leander asked.
“Wait, let me just…” Garreth produced cotton wool and stuffed it into his years. “If I don’t know I can’t tell my aunt,” he explained as he did so.
“Poppy asked to see him,” Adelaide said. “Something about her grandma. I didn’t catch more than that.”
❖
The Forbidden Forest was dark and gloomy, even in the bright morning.
“…less of a meeting and more of a surprise, I suppose?” Poppy said, watching Zag wince visibly.
“They’re going to be pissed,” he said. “Snidgets or not.”
“Perhaps they’ll be able to tell that we’re sincere?” Poppy asked hopefully. “There’s something about them that’s so knowing. It’s almost unnerving.”
“Centaurs are people,” Zag said flatly. “They’re no more knowing than we are. The difference is that they live longer; it’s not some sort of special centaur-perception. It’s experience. Ever notice how Professor Weasley knows what shady sh*t Garreth is up to before he even does it? It’s because his father is her younger brother. She knows what he’s going to do because she’s seen it before.”
Poppy reflected on that.
“That might work to our advantage,” she said. “We’ve no secrets to hide, and they should be able to recognise the behaviour of honest humans.”
He seemed less certain than her.
“We can hope,” he conceded.
“Look,” Poppy realised that, for a change, she was reassuring him. “We’ll meet with them, we’ll tell them about the snidgets, and either they’ll be able to deal with the poachers or tell us how to. It’ll all be fi—”
Whatever the rest of her sentence was going to be was lost in the over-dramatic entrance of an extremely irate centaur herd, led by an equally over-dramatic younger male, who stomped ahead of the rest to ever-so-politely-inquire; “What do you think you are doing here, humans?”
“Please,” Poppy took the lead. “We were hoping to speak with you—”
“Ah,” said younger male cut her off. “I suppose you’d like a tale for your friends of the time you spoke to a centaur and ‘it’ spoke back.”
“Don’t need it,” Zag said. “Already fought alongside you. I recognise that neckpiece. I blasted a poacher away from your flank last week. You peppered him with arrows. Just outside the acromantula den. Good times.”
There was a shocked pause.
“He has you there, Elek,” another, older, centaur had arrived. “And although I know you would love to ‘pepper’ these two with arrows, it would be rude to harm one who has fought by your side. And in any case, we do not harm the young; it is not our way.”
Poppy watched as Elek tried to recover his anger.
“You forget your place, old fool,” he sneered. “I am the leader of this herd, and while you cling to ‘our way’, their kind continues to slaughter beasts like us without a care.”
“But not those two,” the older one seemed amused. “Indeed, I do not hear you denying the male’s claim that he has aided you in ridding the world those of ‘his kind’ who do harm to beasts. I would even hazard that he approves of your actions in that regard.”
Zag indicated that he did.
“They have slaughtered no-one, save those who would do us harm,” the older one said, firmly. “While they are not our friends, they do not mean us harm; and so we should not do them harm.”
“Very well, Dorran,” Elek ground out. “Fine. But they had better leave here without any delay,” he cast an angry glance at the two humans, and departed with most of the herd, as swiftly as they had arrived.
“Foolish children,” Dorran chastised them. “Do you know what happens to wizards who wander here? Now—”
“Yes,” Zag said.
“What?”
“I said yes,” Zag replied. “I know what happens to wizards who wander here; I happen to them. Though I know you happen to them too, and so do the spiders. Big ones. With teef like thif.”
Dorran blinked. Poppy tried not to laugh hysterically.
I do love watching the reactions when you do that, she thought.
“You were…” Dorran started.
“Telling the truth about fighting them? Yes,” Zag shrugged. “I know that means I forfeit my claim to being ‘innocent’ in your eyes. But I don’t really care; the alternative is letting poachers,” he spat the word, “get in and out of your forest alive. You can’t be everywhere all of the time.”
Dorran digested this.
“It has a… logic to it. But I would still caution you to be careful. Now… why did you come here?”
Zag made a ‘tell him’ gesture to Poppy.
“The Golden Snidgets are still alive,” she said, now seeing Zag’s antics for what they were; buying her time to get her thoughts in order. “The poachers are after them, and we have reason to believe they have enough information to get them. They know the key to finding them lies in the moonlight, and if they don’t know what that means yet they will soon. Please; help us find them before the poachers do, so we can stop them.”
Dorran considered this.
“Very well,” he said gravely. “I will presume you act in good faith. In the south there is a cave within which lies what the poachers seek — a moonstone. Retrieve it, and place it in the henge in the forest. I will speak with the herd. Seek me after you have done this.”
“Cave. Moonstone. Henge. Got it,” Zag made a thumbs-up gesture.
Dorran’s expression very clearly was calling him ‘odd, even for a human’, but he nodded gravely again and departed.
“Isn’t moonstone everywhere?” Zag asked her quietly when he was gone.
“Yes, but I suspect this is a specific moonstone; we’ll know it when we see it,” she mused. “It’s a shame how quickly he left; I would have liked to clarify a few things. What was his name? ‘Dorran’?”
Zag gave her a look of disbelief.
“You’re asking me to remember the name of someone I just met? Poppy, how long have we known each other? I called Leander ‘Garreth’ yesterday. I called Natty ‘Imelda’ last week. I was this close to calling Professor Hecat ‘Professor Sharp’ on Wednesday,” the gap between his fingers was the width of a Kneazle whisker.
Poppy regarded him for a moment, and shook her head.
“Good point,” she conceded. “Well, if Dorran knows something we don’t, it’s the only lead we have; we should act on it. I can head to the library and start looking into that cave. You scout around and find where this ‘henge’ is. Agreed?”
“Scout, find the henge. Agreed.”
❖
N,
- Bad idea. He’s got something urgent to do. He will not tell me what. You throw the three of them together now and he’s going to be waspish at best.
-P
❖
By Merlin, a polite Headmaster Black is unnerving, Eleazar thought.
Actually no. Courteous, polite, using ‘please’ and ’thank you’ — Zagreus as Professor Black was giving him the screaming horrors. It felt like the entire universe was falling off its axis.
“…you might want to look for Madam Kogawa,” he told the student. “She’s taking to badgering the poor elf about Quidditch in the hopes that he can convince Black to change his mind.”
“She doesn’t know Bla— I mean, she doesn’t know me very well, does she Fig?” ‘Black’ replied.
“That… that is entirely too good,” Eleazar told him. “…and now can you please stop smiling. It is very disturbing to see Zagreus’s ‘I did a good job’ grin on the Headmaster’s face.”
That just turned said grin into Zagreus’s ‘that’s really funny’ one. Which was worse. There were just far too many teeth.
“Now, don’t worry about Black seeing you like this,” he told Zagreus. “I have told him that we’re to meet a liaison from the Ministry in Hogsmeade; appealing to the man’s vanity never fails. It should give you plenty of time.”
“Good work, Fig,” ‘Black’ replied. “I shall have to consider raising your salary. Now, I have very important Headmaster business to attend to that will keep me very busy, as I am very busy and very important. That troublesome, no-good, poorly-dressed St John boy will meet you in the map chamber. Good day.”
You are enjoying this far too much, Eleazar thought watching the ‘headmaster’ stride out. You even got the gait right. Merlin save me from clever students with broad senses of humour.
…I’m going to have trouble keeping a straight face, damn it.
❖
“Well, go on Sharp. Out with it man!” the Headmaster was being particularly pompous and insufferable at the moment, Aesop reflected.
“Very well,” he said, taking malicious pleasure in complying. “I’ve brewed the Cure for Boils you wanted. I can drop it by your office when it’s convenient.”
Black didn’t even blink at that.
“Of course, good work, Sharp,” Black replied. “Superb as always. But no need for the cloak-and-dagger. Have a student deliver it.”
Compliments from the Headmaster? Is it June already?
“A student,” Aesop repeated. “Very well sir, if you insist.”
“I do. They’ve nothing better to do, and you do. Like brewing a second batch. There are more coming on in places I do not want to mention. Now, I have places to be, as I am very busy. Very important.”
Watching the Headmaster stride away, Aesop sighed.
“Now, which student should I saddle with that unenviable task?” he wondered aloud.
Behind him unseen, Lucan Brattleby, having heard the entire exchange, promptly legged it. He knew exactly to tell this to; it would be all over the school inside a week.
❖
“Weasley!”
Garreth felt his heart plummet.
What could the Headmaster want? Please tell me he’s not going to try to be ‘mentoring’. So awkward last time. Like watching a mandrake opera.
“Don’t you have somewhere you should be?” Black was frowning at him.
“Oh, yes, Professor,” Garreth replied. “Uh, did you need something from me?”
“I’m looking for my house-elf. You haven’t seen him, have you?”
I think I’d rather be at that mandrake opera. Or Australia. I hear it’s lovely and warm this time of year.
“Ah, the little one-eared fellow? Yes sir. I saw him heading to the Great Hall moments ago. Muttering about your, uh, sterling graces, sir.”
“Excellent. Oh, and Weasley?”
“Yes sir?”
“I am watching you, Mr Weasley,” Black glared at him. “Mr Redding, who owns Honeydukes, tells me some of his Billywig stings recently went missing. You wouldn’t happen to know about that, would you, Mr Weasley? They are a prime potion ingredient. And I know you fancy yourself a skilled and creative potioneer.”
Garreth felt the floor drop out from under him.
How the hell could he know about that?!
“What?” he squeaked. “But, sir, I haven’t been near Honeydukes, I—”
“Bah,” Black cut him off. “That’s enough from you. Just know I have eyes and ears everywhere; you’d better watch yourself. Especially around that new Fifth Year. He’s trouble.”
No, he’s Chaos, the thought, in Imedla’s voice, skittered through Garreth’s otherwise suddenly-empty brain.
“I— I—”
“Enough. On your way,” Black strode off impatiently.
Well, there’s one for my diary…
❖
The Headmaster is coming this way. Oh, please let this not be another chat about my ‘plans for the holidays’. It was painful last time. I’d rather go another five rounds of fighting with Sebastian.
Ominis’s wish was not granted.
“Mr Gaunt, I need to talk to you about what plans you have for the holidays,” Black informed him. “I understand the Sallow boy is having a bit of trouble at home. This isn’t going to affect you, is it?”
How in Merlin’s name did he know about that? Ominis wondered.
“No sir. I intend to remain here for the Christmas break,” he said.
“And for summer? What then?”
“Well, Mr Sallow senior hasn’t said anything to me, so I assume the usual arrangement would be in place.”
The Headmaster sighed.
“Very well Mr Gaunt,” he said. “But please, if that matter cannot be resolved by, do try to work something out, discreetly. I don’t want another owl from your parents on the topic. They’re tedious. Good day.”
To his eternal surprise he found himself agreeing with Black on something involving his family. They were very tedious.
The Headmaster strode out through the doors, towards the Great Hall.
Something is very off, he thought. The Headmaster is never that short-winded with our ‘little chats’. And he’s never this supportive.
❖
“Professor Black,” Chiyo was being calm, polite, and sticking to the facts. “Again, it is not too late to reconsider your decision regarding Quidditch. We could still have trials, and a somewhat shortened season. It would be better than none at all.”
“But,” he objected. “The injury, Madam Kogawa.”
Oh, we’re on titles already, are we?
“Professor, more than one student has taken a Bludger to the head on our pitch. I daresay it knocked some sense into most of them. And she’s fine now — the fact that she happened to be a pure-blood, well, that’s no reason to—”
“What nonsense,” Black cut her off. “That you would trivialise the health of a student over a silly game.”
“A silly game?” she was outraged. “I— you are quite impossible sometimes. Sir. I’ve a good mind to write to the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry about you.”
“Oh, please do!” he said in response. “I can even provide the parchment. And feel free to make use of one of the school’s owls. Now, have you seen my house-elf?”
“I— parchment?” Chiyo wasn’t aware she could get this outraged. There had to be another word in English for it. “Very well. I will! And with pleasure. And I spotted Scrope in the Great Hall. Seems to be avoiding me.”
“We should all be so lucky,” Black muttered, managing, against all odds, to infuriate her even further. “Good day, Madam Kogawa.”
“Which god did we offend to deserve him as a headmaster?” she muttered as he left.
❖
Cressida closed her eyes in dread. With luck, it was just a boggart, or a hallucination, or maybe this was a bad dream…
“Miss Broom!” Headmaster Black. In the flesh. In front of her. “A word.”
Oh god, it’s real, Cressida thought, forcing her eyes open. What did I do to deserve this?
“Oh, Professor,” she injected cheer into her voice. “This is an interesting surprise. It’s ‘Blume’ by the way.”
“Remind me of your area of affinity, Broom,” Black said. “O.W.L.s are swiftly approaching!”
Oh sweet merciful Lord, he’s trying to be a supportive teacher.
“Charms, sir. Nonverbal spells. I might work on one that makes me disappear.”
“Keep at it, Broom,” Black told her. “I could use that in boring meetings. You do well enough and you’ll be as invisible as that wretched new Fifth-Year seems to be.”
“He’s not invisible, sir,” Cressida bit. “I’ve seen him at the library. He helped me with my, er, heavy books. He was really nice about it too.”
To her surprise, that seemed to throw the Headmaster, who simply said “Hmph” and strode inside, muttering about his “blasted house-elf”.
❖
Matilda breathed a sigh of relief. She really didn’t want to play hunt-the-Headmaster today.
“Professor,” she greeted him. “I need to speak with you.”
“And I with you,” he replied. “How delightful to see you.”
“Sir?” she said, confused.
“I need to have a quick chat about Professor Fig,” he said.
“Oh. Very well.”
“I’ve decided to give him a bit more, ah, leeway with his time,” he told her.
“’Leeway’ Professor?” she replied. “Are you sure that’s wise. I confess I do worry for his students. He’s rarely here as it is.”
“Exactly!” Black said triumphantly. “And I want to keep that way. An ideal situation for all of us.”
She blinked.
“I see,” she said, carefully neutral. “But sir, if I may, I am wary of how much time young Mr St John…” Black stared at her blankly. “…he’s the new fifth-year, sir. I’m wary of how much time he seems to be spending away from the Castle, supposedly on Professor Fig’s behalf. I’ve heard unsettling rumours about his escapades. Everything from sneaking into the Forbidden Forest to confronting Ranrok’s Loyalists and Rookwood’s lot.”
“Oh goodness me Professor Weasley,” Black dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. “You know what the rumour mill of the school is like. Students with far too much time on their hands and nothing better to do than gossip and concoct nonsense about everyone and everything around them. I heard the young Onai girl was seen in the Hog’s Head — can you imagine such a thing? If there is one place I cannot possibly imagine the daughter of Professor Onai going, it is there. And I am certain that she would never attend in bright pink robes, Qudditch Goggles, and a top hat. Perhaps Madam Kogawa’s suggestion of bringing back Quidditch isn’t such a terrible notion; it would give them something else to talk about… but then again, the injuries. Hmph. No. Never you mind, Professor Weasley. I shall keep an eye on Professor Fig, and if that new fifth year is trouble, I shall handle it. You simply keep doing the wonderful job you are doing. And it is simply wonderful.”
Matilda was starting to get suspicious; the speech pattern was oddly familiar. But the compliment had the same effect on her mind as a rather large rock did when dropped into a runaway cart’s tracks.
“I — well — I — um,” after several false starts, she tried again. “Thank you, Headmaster. But I am happy to look into—”
“No, no, don’t take up your valuable time with banality,” he told her. “That will be all, Professor Weasley. Now, please excuse me. Good day.”
Matilda watched him enter the Great Hall, then turned to walk to her classroom.
I am never, ever, going to understand that man.
❖
Scrope was very confused. First Master had barked at Scrope as if Scrope was in trouble. Then Master had demanded Scrope remind him of the password to Master’s office. Scrope had objected, because Master had made Scrope swear to never tell anyone, not even Master himself.
Master had been profoundly unimpressed by that, offering to give Scrope a matching set of ears.
Then Master had confirmed the password, including the translation, with Scrope. Scrope did not know what was going on. Scrope hoped that Master wasn’t unwell. Master did seem a bit off.
And then Master had astonished Scrope.
Scrope had been presented with Apollonia’s diary. Master had confiscated it from a student. Scrope had asked Master what Scrope was meant to do with it, and to Scrope’s astonishment Master had made Scrope so very happy.
“Whatever you wish, Scrope. It’s your treasure. Consider it recognition of your loyal service; and remember that even when I am very angry with you, that you are a very good house-elf. Now, resume your duties. I have important business to attend to in my office; I am not to be disturbed for at least the next hour.”
Scrope was nearly moved to tears by that, but Scrope remembered that Master required decorum, and simply bowed his head in thanks.
Scrope decided that Scrope would remember this; Scrope knew now that Scrope was a very good house-elf, no matter what anyone said.
❖
“What are you doing here?”
Sebastian glared. It was wasted on Ominis.
“I was told you and Zag wanted to speak with me.”
“Very funny Sebastian,” Ominis was very irritated. “I was told you wanted to talk to me again. We agreed to leave it until Zag was done and had the time to spare.”
“For the eighth time, Ominis, you misunderstood me, I was—”
Sebastian’s response was cut off by the woosh of Zag’s broom being dismissed.
“Imelda said you both needed to talk to me. What is it?” Zag had arrived pre-annoyed.
Ominis sighed. Zag pre-annoyed never meant a good conversation.
“Sebastian has been pitching ideas at me that he says you’ve agreed to, but I know you haven’t because we said we’d discuss them together—”
“That’s not what I said,” Sebastian interrupted. “I said I was sure Zag wouldn’t object to them because his concerns are different. But I knew you would so I was trying to give you a sort of advance warning so you—”
“You started doing that now?” Ominis interrupted him. “First time for everything, I suppose. Or is it that you wanted to get one of us agreed ahead of time so when we all sat down to talk it—”
“Of course not,” Sebastian interrupted. “I know better than to try ‘but he said it’s OK’ on you two. I know you talk to each—”
“We only talk—” Ominis’s interruption of Sebastian’s interruption was interrupted by an extremely annoyed Zagreus.
“If you two are quite done,” he snapped. “I have somewhere I urgently need to be, and it is not here, watching the two of you snarl at each other like a pair of hungry dogs over a bowl of meat.”
“I told Sebastian we were going to wait until you were available, and ideally not out here—”
“Then wait,” Zag snapped again, which was rather unfair.
“Can you let him finish explaining, or are you in such a rush to be a jerk that you had to leap down his throat too?” Sebastian snarled at Zag, who glared at him.
“I have to be not here now. Before I say something we all regret,” Zag replied, taking to the air.
“I had it under control,” Ominis grumbled. “You didn’t have to join in. You know what happens when he feels like he’s under siege.”
“Oh come on now Ominis, he was being unfair—”
“Sebastian, just stop talking,” Ominis took a swift step closer and dropped his voice, making it impossible for anyone to hear them. “You told me he’s about to do the next one of these ‘trials’. You’ve told me how incredibly dangerous they are, though the details are still a mystery. There’s a chance he might die, and now the last words we had with him were angry words.”
Sebastian gulped.
❖
Poppy turned to the others. She wasn’t even a little smug and definitely did not look extremely pleased with herself. Behind her, the Jenkins boy, who had taken Poppy’s side in the argument, making for a very strange scene, was openly smirking.
“So,” she crossed her arms. “Did that go as well as you thought it would?”
Natty was frowning. “I wish we had been able to hear the last part of it, but Ominis is too good at knowing how far his voice carries.”
Imelda just sighed.
“All right, bad timing,” she conceded. “Fine. Poppy, next time we’ll ask you to find out when Zag will be available before we try to put the three of them in proximity.”
❖
“Approach the Pedestal in the antechamber, and read the book that appears,” the portrait of Headmistress Fitzgerald instructed him.
“I suspect there will be more to this than just reading a book,” Zag replied.
“Your suspicions are correct,” she told him. “We will speak more when you are finished. Be wary; this trial is no less dangerous than the others.”
Zag climbed the stairs where, yes, there was a book.
Huh. Looks almost new.
He picked it up, and opened it, and was drawn in.
The book fell to the floor of the empty room.
