Chapter Two: "Friends in Need (Socially Speaking)"
The next day started like many others at Hogwarts: the sun was shining, breakfast was about to be served, the poltergeist, Peeves, was launching projectiles at unsuspecting first-years, and Marina Templeton stood outside the Great Hall awaiting the arrival of her best friend, Lyra Covington. As she waited, Marina leafed through a copy of the Daily Prophet; her father had given her an especially fast eagle owl to make the delivery extra early. As a family, the Templetons were known to be swift seekers of knowledge, and Marina followed the family tradition of being sorted into Ravenclaw, and preferring to have finished her newspaper long before any other students had even gotten theirs. As soon as the clever and unsentimental girl saw Lyra approaching, she folded up her paper, and said, "So, your mum made the front page of the Daily Prophet."
"Did something bad happen?" Lyra asked with worry.
"Oh no, just someone leaked her secret mission against what's-his-face to the papers," Marina answered without a tinge of surprise or interest.
"Who? I wouldn't think Orion or Vexin."
"Oh please, it was probably Gordon Lovegood. Merlin knows what a gossip and a freak he is." Marina was referring to an oddball of a fifth year Hufflepuff who was known for his independent student newspaper, The Babbling Badger. "But that's besides the point, Lyra. Last night something terrible happened that you don't know about. While I was walking to the library, ALONE, may I remind you, I was given this by another certain Hufflepuff fifth year."
She thrust a crumpled piece of red paper, which upon flattening and reading, Lyra realized was a love letter. "Oh, Marina, how lovely!"
"How lovely?!? How embarrassing is more like it. I can't believe Edgar Bones could do this to me."
Lyra gasped. "Edgar Bones? That's great. He's nice, and smart; he plays Quidditch, and he's really cute."
"You missed one important detail: he's a Hufflepuff!"
"I see your point." Lyra conceded. Hufflepuffs were nice, but the name of house itself suggested a certain lack of chic. She sighed, "Well, do you like him? At all?"
Marina squinted her eyes. "I hadn't really considered that. All right, let's weigh the pros and cons of dating Edgar Bones, shall we? If I say yes, the results could be utterly destructive to my social status at this school. It could forever tarnish my popularity."
"No offense, Marina, but you're not popular."
"Okay, I see your point...but you're missing mine. There are still more things to consider. Such as the fact that O.W.L.'s are only three weeks away, and I have to fully devote myself to my studies."
Lyra argued, "But, Marina, you've been preparing for O.W.L.'s since the beginning of third year."
She swallowed and said, "All the more reason more me to maintain my focus!" There was a moment of silence as she launched her hand out into the vague nothingness, towards an unknown goal she was singularly focused upon.
Lyra asked, "What do you plan on doing with all your O.W.L.'s?"
"What?"
"What do you want to do after Hogwarts? Do you want to become an Auror?" Lyra merely suggested the field that seemed hardest to enter.
Marina laughed. "Good Godric, no! Why would I want to do anything that dangerous?"
Lyra nodded and replied, "Well, then, what about a Healer?"
"Nah...blood freaks me out," Marina declared.
"So then," Lyra pushed, "why do you want to get so many O.W.L.'s?"
Marina looked as though for the first time in her life, she didn't have the answer to a question. She stammered, "To get...good...grades. So my dad will be proud and give me a sticker that sings 'You are a Winner!'"
"Do you really think your dad will ever do that?" Marina's father was a stoic figure and member of the Wizengamot who had been rumored to have not laughed in nineteen years.
Marina shook her head. "No. Still, I mean, I'm a Ravenclaw. The grades alone satisfy me."
"Maybe you should date Edgar Bones," Lyra said. "It might be good for you."
"How can you suggest that? We haven't even listed the pros yet! I'm not even done with the cons!"
Unfortunately for Marina, Lyra was being hailed by the Slytherins already seated in the Great Hall. She smiled, and said to her friend, "Hey, maybe you might actually have a good time! I'll talk to you later. My fellow Slytherins call. Bye 'Rina!"
"That's it? You don't want to finish analyzing the situation with me?" Marina cried.
"I'll talk to you about it later. I promise," Lyra called. As Marina waved good-bye and left to join the Ravenclaws, Lyra turned to inspect those at the Slytherin table she was joining. She had to be very careful among her housemates when it came to her friendship with Marina. Because Slytherins were known for their cunning and ambition, popularity and appearance meant everything and also meant staying within your own house for friends and companions. The only reason Lyra and Marina were so close was because their mothers had been best friends at Hogwarts, and so the two girls had known each other since a very early age. Their friendship had been solidified and tested long before they had entered school, and their being sorted into different houses couldn't change everything they had already shared. Sometimes Lyra wished she could find the same type of indefatigable loyalty in her own house, but as she sat down at her usual spot at the table that morning she could only look around and see the positive in those around her.
To her left and right sat the two fifth-year girls in her house with whom she felt the closest: Bellatrix Black and Genevieve Brook. Both girls, like Lyra, came from highly respected pure blood wizarding families. Bellatrix, known as Bella to her friends, was by far the most beautiful and popular girl in their house. She had a clear complexion, glistening, long dark locks, and unnerving, heavy-lidded dark eyes. Her mouth had a cool, berry colored cut to it and her smile was both alluring and sometimes, demonic. Though Lyra often found herself too shy or cowardly to do anything exciting or different, when she was with Bella, she felt she had the strength of the whole world within her. Lyra attributed that power to Bella herself, and felt fortunate whenever her friend shared it with her, and trapped if Bella used it against her. Thus, she had learned a long time ago that it was best to stay on the good side of Bellatrix Black. Genevieve was far sweeter than Bella, but also weaker. She was the daughter of a gorgeous and sophisticated French witch who was widowed from her English born husband. The two lived off a large estate and were rumored to have over fifty house elves in their service. As a result, Genevieve cared little for schoolwork, and much preferred styling her blond tresses into ornate styles and practicing beauty charms. Despite their differences, Lyra felt close to the two girls. They had shared secrets, dreams, and girlish infatuations with each other and each possessed a potent amount of ambition.
Around them sat other important members of the Slytherin House. Across from Bella sat her boyfriend, Rudolphus Lestrange, a popular sixth year student. Next to him was Lyra's other older brother, Vexin, and Nicholas Nott, who was in sixth year and one of Rudolphus' best friends. Every morning Lyra considered herself fortunate to be seated in the center of this nexus of important people.
Genevieve suddenly interrupted the usual morning conversation by asking the question that was secretly prying on every other Slytherin's mind, "Are we going to have Professor Covington for Dart Arts today, or is she gone on some mission? Vexin, Lyra, what do you know?"
Lyra had been worried since the night before that she would be pumped for knowledge about her mother's dangerous mission, and was relieved when Vexin answered for the both of them, "She's on some sort of a mission for the Ministry of Magic. She didn't tell me what it was about, but I suspect it has something to do with You-Know-Who."
"Bet it does," Rudolphus said with a smile.
"I wonder if she's going to join his troops," Bella declared, and then added darkly, "or does she think she can fight against him?" She and Rudolphus met each other's gaze and snickered with glee.
Nicholas spoke, "I hate say it, but I would think she's supposed to be fighting against him. Especially since it's the Ministry of Magic that's sending her."
"Look, I don't know what she's up to," Vexin said defensively, "but I'm sure the Minister's not sending her to single-handedly take down the Dark Lord."
"As if she could. Besides, who would even want to? My father says the Dark Lord is going to save the wizarding world," Bella said with pride.
In a rare departure of character, Lyra found herself suddenly saying something against her formidable friend. "My mother thinks he's more likely to destroy it."
Bella glared at Lyra, and Rudolphus Lestrange dropped his fork. The sound of the silverware clinking off his plate attracted all attention at the table their way. As she looked around, Lyra noticed that every Slytherin now seemed to be staring at her in disgusted silence, waiting for her to do or say something that would give them permission to stone her.
The silence broke as Vexin said, "Aw, Lyra, you know that's not what she really thinks." Lyra quietly stared at her plate in horror, and her brother went on, "That's not what we really think."
She looked up and with a simper, replied, "Of course not." Bella smiled and with her appeasement, it appeared the rest of the table was satisfied to return to their breakfasts. Lyra decided that she would have to thank Vexin later for swooping in like that and saving her.
"How'd your potions essay go, Lyra?" Bella asked with a smirk. She was obviously trying to tease Lyra and get under her skin, for the comment about the Dark Lord. Lyra was probably one of the worst potions students in the Slytherin House, despite both the facts that her professor was her Head of House and Marina, one of the best potions students at Hogwarts, would have happily helped her.
"Oh, it went alright," Lyra fibbed with a bright smile.
Bella's eyes narrowed. "Really?"
"Well," Lyra admitted, "there were a few aspects of the Strengthening Solution that confused me, but I think I fudged it over the best I could."
Rudolphus replied with harshness, "O.W.L.'s are in three weeks, Covington. You can't fudge anything...especially in potions."
"He's right," Nicholas said. Murmurs of agreement came from around her. Lyra bit her lip and blushed; her fellow Slytherins had her cornered. There was simply only one thing to do. She wasn't going to like it, but she knew she had to admit her failing and ask somebody for help. Unfortunately, it would be suicidal for her to rush over to the Ravenclaw table and beg Marina for help. Though Marina would think nothing of it, the Slytherins would never forgive her for going outside the noble House of Slythern for aid, and Lyra had already gotten into enough trouble this morning as it was. There was only one other person to consider, and though he wasn't the last person she would go to for help, he wasn't her first choice, either.
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Severus Snape was seated at the far end of the Slytherin table that morning, nose down in a book written in ancient runes and coated in a hide of dragon's skin. Across from him sat Evan Rosier and Claudius Wilkes, who despite being slightly more popular than Snape—mostly because they were beaters on the house Quidditch team—still considered the bookish and unpopular boy their best friend. To the rest of the school they were a trio of darkness; Snape seemed to know more about the Dark Arts and dueling than some of the Ministry's top trained hit wizards and Rosier and Wilkes took sadistic pleasure in torturing small rodents and Hufflepuff first- years. The three of them often sat by themselves, and preferred it that way. They all agreed they didn't need the rest of the school meddling in any of their plans, or perhaps they told themselves that lie instead of admitting most of their schoolmates were too afraid of losing their popularity, or limbs, to come near them. So, it was quite a shock when the boys heard the shy voice of Lyra Covington suddenly address them that morning.
"Good morning," she said. "How are you?" They stared at the girl trying to pleasantly make small talk with them in disbelief. Lyra smiled self- consciously, and said, "Getting ready for those O.W.L.'s are we?"
Snape cut to the chase. "What do you want, Covington?"
She swallowed, nervously aware that Rosier and Wilkes were starting to snicker, and said, "I...I was wondering if you could help me with something in potions."
"You can't honestly expect me to write your entire essay for you, Covington. Class is in twenty minutes," Snape said.
"I know," Lyra said quickly as she sat down next to him, still keeping a wary watch on his two friends. "I merely was hoping you could answer some questions for me."
He looked at Rosier and Wilkes, and then rolled his eyes, and said to Lyra, without turning to her, "Hand over your essay, Covington. I'll determine how serious the crisis is."
She didn't object to his harshness, totally aware this was kindness coming from Snape, and handed him the scroll of parchment she had been carrying in her satchel. He unrolled it, and while skimming it shook his head in deliberate disgust. "Good Lord, Covington, it's a wonder they haven't put you in Remedial Potions, yet. Then again, I suppose having your mother be on the faculty allows you to receive favoritism from the staff."
She didn't flinch, only asked, "Is it really that bad?"
"It's not completely hopeless," he replied.
Rosier piped up, "Yeah, you're lucky to have fallen under Severus' good graces."
"In case you didn't know, he's practically Potions Master around here," Wilkes added. "Aren't you, old boy?"
Snape didn't seem to be listening. He had taken out a quill, instead, and was marking key passages with checks. "You can't use newt bile for salamander blood, unless, of course, you want your cauldron to explode."
"Oh, of course, must have missed that--"
He continued, "And adding nightshade to the mixture will not result in a sleeping potion, but render it a poison. Those are the largest mistakes. The rest are a matter of getting measurements wrong."
"Thank you very much, Severus," Lyra said blankly, and began to scratch the mistakes out to correct them.
"A question, Covington," he said.
Oh no, Lyra thought, he's going to ask about Mum and her secret mission, and proceed to tell me how fabulous You-Know-Who is, and how we should all throw him a big party for being "Muggle Hater of the Year." She mumbled, "Yes?"
"How exactly are you expecting to pass your Potions O.W.L.?"
That was the last thing she expected Severus Snape to ask her, but upon reflection, she realized it really shouldn't have surprised her, and that she should prepare herself to be viciously taunted at least one more time this morning. So, she replied with every ounce of self-deprecating humor she had, "Oh, I don't know. I'll make a pact with a necromancer who will give me the answers in exchange for my eternal service to the cult of Osirus." Rosier and Wilkes both dropped their jaws with joy, as if they had each finally found their soul mate. "It was a joke," she explained. "I really have no idea. I suppose I'll study."
"Hasn't seemed to help you thus far," Snape said coldly. "Then again, one can not be blamed for one's failings. Indeed, there are few who possess the talent for potions-making."
Lyra sighed. "Yeah, so I've heard. I mean, Marina Templeton's tutored me in the past and--"
Snape interrupted, "Marina Templeton wouldn't know a beazel from a gillyweed."
"I don't know about that!" Lyra cried in defense of her friend.
Snape turned to her. "Look, Covington, I only bring this up because it's obvious you're in desperate need of help in potions, and I believe, despite appearances to the contrary, that is necessary to help one's fellow Slytherin when the rare crisis arises. So, if you're serious about passing your Potions O.W.L., I would be willing to help you."
Lyra really didn't know what to say. It was true that she needed help, and that Snape was a far better student than even Marina was. However, it could not be denied that Snape's teaching method was a bit rough and dehumanizing, and not at all the supportive approach Marina employed. Then again, it was saying something that Snape was actually offering his assistance in this matter. That was something she would never have anticipated. Lyra nodded to herself, and said to Snape, "Alright."
"Then, you're going to need to start immediately," Snape answered. Lyra did not want to imagine what exactly he meant by that, but by the smirks on Rosier and Wilkes' faces, it couldn't be pleasant.
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James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew were making their way to their dreaded Potions class when a swift streak of blond- haired excitement burst through their ranks and turned around to greet them. The girl was walking backwards, and facing the boys as she said, "Good morning chaps! Fancy a bit of a chat?"
"Christabel Watling," Sirius responded, in an impossibly melodramatic tone, "how dare you come along like that and ask me and my mates if we would 'Fancy a bit of a chat' with you! Not after you broke my heart, stomped all over my male pride, and told me that you'd rather we break up and just 'be friends'."
"Oh, get over it, Black," Christabel replied with a bored roll of her blue eyes. As enchanting as Sirius' sense of humor could be, ultimately it was one of the key things that annoyed her the most about her ex-boyfriend. She couldn't deal with his constant need to make everything a joke. Sure, she loved a good giggle, but there were some things in this world worth taking seriously every now and then...which brought her back to why she needed to talk to Sirius and his band of friends. "I desperately need your help with something, Sirius—and James' too, and Remus and Peter might be able to pitch in, too."
James flashed a huge grin, and said, "Ah, hero work! The only type of work I truly enjoy." Peter smiled supportively, while Remus laughed to himself.
"I've just received permission from Professor Dumbledore to organize, brace yourself, lads, a HOGWARTS QUODPOT TEAM!" She bobbled around with glee and was waiting for the boys to do the same. James and Sirius swallowed and looked at each other before responding to the insane girl jumping up and down before them.
James grasped Christabel's shoulders and said, "I know this is difficult for you to grasp, Christa, but you're English. The English have class; the English play Quidditch. Quodpot is an American game.
"Yes," Sirius added, "played by American hipsters who wear polyester robes and dance to disco music played by Muggles. They're wizards in the magical sense, but not in the cultural sense. So, they're not real wizards."
"Just like Quodpot isn't a real sport," James said, finishing for the both of them.
However, Christabel was not easily persuaded to this view, and with a crazed glint of a revolutionary in her eye, said, "But no! No! That's just the horrible stereotype we English witches and wizards must rise up against! I'm telling you, Quodpot is the way of the future!"
Remus cleared his throat, and sarcastically quipped, "If by the future you mean an age in which all forms of civilization have been abolished, then, yeah, I'm ready to agree with you." All three boys chuckled, and Christabel frowned.
"Please, please, guys. Just join, or sign up, or something! If your names are on the sign-up sheet, then others here will think it's okay for them to sign-up, too."
Peter said, "Aw, sure, Christa. I'd be happy to sign-up. I've kind of always wanted to play on a school team."
Christabel replied awkwardly, "Thanks, Peter, but I really meant James and Sirius. I think we all know they're like the two most popular boys in school and they're terrific athletes, to boot."
"So, what is it exactly that you like so much about Quodpot, Watling?" James said, crossing his arms. After being complimented like that, he felt able to hear the poor girl out one last time.
"Are you kidding? It's amazing. It's better than Quidditch!" James didn't like the sound of that, and neither did Sirius or Remus. Peter, however, was willing to hear about anything that might offer him the title of "prized athlete". Christabel continued, "I mean there are exploding balls!"
The boys laughed, and Sirius saw an opportunity. "You know, James, I could say so many things about how Watling gets excited about exploding balls--"
"But you're not," answered Remus like a gentleman.
"Oh no, I am!" Sirius said. "In fact, I'll start with--"
But before he could start, Christabel hit him over the head with the stack of books she was carrying, and ran off towards the Potions classroom in an embarrassed huff.
James said, "We are so heartless, and by 'we' I mean you, Padfoot."
"Ah, I know," Sirius sheepishly replied. "But Christabel knows I'm crazy about her, and I wouldn't ever say or do anything too cruel to her."
Remus arched his eyebrows. "Sounds like you still have a thing for her, Padfoot."
"Oh, I mean, she's cute as hell, don't get me wrong, and I am still miffed that she had the nerve to break up with me."
"Yeah, how did that happen?" James asked with a joking smile.
Sirius replied, "Shut up, Prongs. But I'll tell you, and you three already know this, what I really miss about the girl is that she could make a mean dung bomb. They were so small, and stank up a room for so long. I still can't figure out how she did it."
"You know, that might be the most romantic thing I've ever heard you say, and this is including the time you said that 'puberty had done Dorcas Meadowes well,'" said Remus.
"And I still stand by that claim, Moony. I still stand by it."
The next day started like many others at Hogwarts: the sun was shining, breakfast was about to be served, the poltergeist, Peeves, was launching projectiles at unsuspecting first-years, and Marina Templeton stood outside the Great Hall awaiting the arrival of her best friend, Lyra Covington. As she waited, Marina leafed through a copy of the Daily Prophet; her father had given her an especially fast eagle owl to make the delivery extra early. As a family, the Templetons were known to be swift seekers of knowledge, and Marina followed the family tradition of being sorted into Ravenclaw, and preferring to have finished her newspaper long before any other students had even gotten theirs. As soon as the clever and unsentimental girl saw Lyra approaching, she folded up her paper, and said, "So, your mum made the front page of the Daily Prophet."
"Did something bad happen?" Lyra asked with worry.
"Oh no, just someone leaked her secret mission against what's-his-face to the papers," Marina answered without a tinge of surprise or interest.
"Who? I wouldn't think Orion or Vexin."
"Oh please, it was probably Gordon Lovegood. Merlin knows what a gossip and a freak he is." Marina was referring to an oddball of a fifth year Hufflepuff who was known for his independent student newspaper, The Babbling Badger. "But that's besides the point, Lyra. Last night something terrible happened that you don't know about. While I was walking to the library, ALONE, may I remind you, I was given this by another certain Hufflepuff fifth year."
She thrust a crumpled piece of red paper, which upon flattening and reading, Lyra realized was a love letter. "Oh, Marina, how lovely!"
"How lovely?!? How embarrassing is more like it. I can't believe Edgar Bones could do this to me."
Lyra gasped. "Edgar Bones? That's great. He's nice, and smart; he plays Quidditch, and he's really cute."
"You missed one important detail: he's a Hufflepuff!"
"I see your point." Lyra conceded. Hufflepuffs were nice, but the name of house itself suggested a certain lack of chic. She sighed, "Well, do you like him? At all?"
Marina squinted her eyes. "I hadn't really considered that. All right, let's weigh the pros and cons of dating Edgar Bones, shall we? If I say yes, the results could be utterly destructive to my social status at this school. It could forever tarnish my popularity."
"No offense, Marina, but you're not popular."
"Okay, I see your point...but you're missing mine. There are still more things to consider. Such as the fact that O.W.L.'s are only three weeks away, and I have to fully devote myself to my studies."
Lyra argued, "But, Marina, you've been preparing for O.W.L.'s since the beginning of third year."
She swallowed and said, "All the more reason more me to maintain my focus!" There was a moment of silence as she launched her hand out into the vague nothingness, towards an unknown goal she was singularly focused upon.
Lyra asked, "What do you plan on doing with all your O.W.L.'s?"
"What?"
"What do you want to do after Hogwarts? Do you want to become an Auror?" Lyra merely suggested the field that seemed hardest to enter.
Marina laughed. "Good Godric, no! Why would I want to do anything that dangerous?"
Lyra nodded and replied, "Well, then, what about a Healer?"
"Nah...blood freaks me out," Marina declared.
"So then," Lyra pushed, "why do you want to get so many O.W.L.'s?"
Marina looked as though for the first time in her life, she didn't have the answer to a question. She stammered, "To get...good...grades. So my dad will be proud and give me a sticker that sings 'You are a Winner!'"
"Do you really think your dad will ever do that?" Marina's father was a stoic figure and member of the Wizengamot who had been rumored to have not laughed in nineteen years.
Marina shook her head. "No. Still, I mean, I'm a Ravenclaw. The grades alone satisfy me."
"Maybe you should date Edgar Bones," Lyra said. "It might be good for you."
"How can you suggest that? We haven't even listed the pros yet! I'm not even done with the cons!"
Unfortunately for Marina, Lyra was being hailed by the Slytherins already seated in the Great Hall. She smiled, and said to her friend, "Hey, maybe you might actually have a good time! I'll talk to you later. My fellow Slytherins call. Bye 'Rina!"
"That's it? You don't want to finish analyzing the situation with me?" Marina cried.
"I'll talk to you about it later. I promise," Lyra called. As Marina waved good-bye and left to join the Ravenclaws, Lyra turned to inspect those at the Slytherin table she was joining. She had to be very careful among her housemates when it came to her friendship with Marina. Because Slytherins were known for their cunning and ambition, popularity and appearance meant everything and also meant staying within your own house for friends and companions. The only reason Lyra and Marina were so close was because their mothers had been best friends at Hogwarts, and so the two girls had known each other since a very early age. Their friendship had been solidified and tested long before they had entered school, and their being sorted into different houses couldn't change everything they had already shared. Sometimes Lyra wished she could find the same type of indefatigable loyalty in her own house, but as she sat down at her usual spot at the table that morning she could only look around and see the positive in those around her.
To her left and right sat the two fifth-year girls in her house with whom she felt the closest: Bellatrix Black and Genevieve Brook. Both girls, like Lyra, came from highly respected pure blood wizarding families. Bellatrix, known as Bella to her friends, was by far the most beautiful and popular girl in their house. She had a clear complexion, glistening, long dark locks, and unnerving, heavy-lidded dark eyes. Her mouth had a cool, berry colored cut to it and her smile was both alluring and sometimes, demonic. Though Lyra often found herself too shy or cowardly to do anything exciting or different, when she was with Bella, she felt she had the strength of the whole world within her. Lyra attributed that power to Bella herself, and felt fortunate whenever her friend shared it with her, and trapped if Bella used it against her. Thus, she had learned a long time ago that it was best to stay on the good side of Bellatrix Black. Genevieve was far sweeter than Bella, but also weaker. She was the daughter of a gorgeous and sophisticated French witch who was widowed from her English born husband. The two lived off a large estate and were rumored to have over fifty house elves in their service. As a result, Genevieve cared little for schoolwork, and much preferred styling her blond tresses into ornate styles and practicing beauty charms. Despite their differences, Lyra felt close to the two girls. They had shared secrets, dreams, and girlish infatuations with each other and each possessed a potent amount of ambition.
Around them sat other important members of the Slytherin House. Across from Bella sat her boyfriend, Rudolphus Lestrange, a popular sixth year student. Next to him was Lyra's other older brother, Vexin, and Nicholas Nott, who was in sixth year and one of Rudolphus' best friends. Every morning Lyra considered herself fortunate to be seated in the center of this nexus of important people.
Genevieve suddenly interrupted the usual morning conversation by asking the question that was secretly prying on every other Slytherin's mind, "Are we going to have Professor Covington for Dart Arts today, or is she gone on some mission? Vexin, Lyra, what do you know?"
Lyra had been worried since the night before that she would be pumped for knowledge about her mother's dangerous mission, and was relieved when Vexin answered for the both of them, "She's on some sort of a mission for the Ministry of Magic. She didn't tell me what it was about, but I suspect it has something to do with You-Know-Who."
"Bet it does," Rudolphus said with a smile.
"I wonder if she's going to join his troops," Bella declared, and then added darkly, "or does she think she can fight against him?" She and Rudolphus met each other's gaze and snickered with glee.
Nicholas spoke, "I hate say it, but I would think she's supposed to be fighting against him. Especially since it's the Ministry of Magic that's sending her."
"Look, I don't know what she's up to," Vexin said defensively, "but I'm sure the Minister's not sending her to single-handedly take down the Dark Lord."
"As if she could. Besides, who would even want to? My father says the Dark Lord is going to save the wizarding world," Bella said with pride.
In a rare departure of character, Lyra found herself suddenly saying something against her formidable friend. "My mother thinks he's more likely to destroy it."
Bella glared at Lyra, and Rudolphus Lestrange dropped his fork. The sound of the silverware clinking off his plate attracted all attention at the table their way. As she looked around, Lyra noticed that every Slytherin now seemed to be staring at her in disgusted silence, waiting for her to do or say something that would give them permission to stone her.
The silence broke as Vexin said, "Aw, Lyra, you know that's not what she really thinks." Lyra quietly stared at her plate in horror, and her brother went on, "That's not what we really think."
She looked up and with a simper, replied, "Of course not." Bella smiled and with her appeasement, it appeared the rest of the table was satisfied to return to their breakfasts. Lyra decided that she would have to thank Vexin later for swooping in like that and saving her.
"How'd your potions essay go, Lyra?" Bella asked with a smirk. She was obviously trying to tease Lyra and get under her skin, for the comment about the Dark Lord. Lyra was probably one of the worst potions students in the Slytherin House, despite both the facts that her professor was her Head of House and Marina, one of the best potions students at Hogwarts, would have happily helped her.
"Oh, it went alright," Lyra fibbed with a bright smile.
Bella's eyes narrowed. "Really?"
"Well," Lyra admitted, "there were a few aspects of the Strengthening Solution that confused me, but I think I fudged it over the best I could."
Rudolphus replied with harshness, "O.W.L.'s are in three weeks, Covington. You can't fudge anything...especially in potions."
"He's right," Nicholas said. Murmurs of agreement came from around her. Lyra bit her lip and blushed; her fellow Slytherins had her cornered. There was simply only one thing to do. She wasn't going to like it, but she knew she had to admit her failing and ask somebody for help. Unfortunately, it would be suicidal for her to rush over to the Ravenclaw table and beg Marina for help. Though Marina would think nothing of it, the Slytherins would never forgive her for going outside the noble House of Slythern for aid, and Lyra had already gotten into enough trouble this morning as it was. There was only one other person to consider, and though he wasn't the last person she would go to for help, he wasn't her first choice, either.
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Severus Snape was seated at the far end of the Slytherin table that morning, nose down in a book written in ancient runes and coated in a hide of dragon's skin. Across from him sat Evan Rosier and Claudius Wilkes, who despite being slightly more popular than Snape—mostly because they were beaters on the house Quidditch team—still considered the bookish and unpopular boy their best friend. To the rest of the school they were a trio of darkness; Snape seemed to know more about the Dark Arts and dueling than some of the Ministry's top trained hit wizards and Rosier and Wilkes took sadistic pleasure in torturing small rodents and Hufflepuff first- years. The three of them often sat by themselves, and preferred it that way. They all agreed they didn't need the rest of the school meddling in any of their plans, or perhaps they told themselves that lie instead of admitting most of their schoolmates were too afraid of losing their popularity, or limbs, to come near them. So, it was quite a shock when the boys heard the shy voice of Lyra Covington suddenly address them that morning.
"Good morning," she said. "How are you?" They stared at the girl trying to pleasantly make small talk with them in disbelief. Lyra smiled self- consciously, and said, "Getting ready for those O.W.L.'s are we?"
Snape cut to the chase. "What do you want, Covington?"
She swallowed, nervously aware that Rosier and Wilkes were starting to snicker, and said, "I...I was wondering if you could help me with something in potions."
"You can't honestly expect me to write your entire essay for you, Covington. Class is in twenty minutes," Snape said.
"I know," Lyra said quickly as she sat down next to him, still keeping a wary watch on his two friends. "I merely was hoping you could answer some questions for me."
He looked at Rosier and Wilkes, and then rolled his eyes, and said to Lyra, without turning to her, "Hand over your essay, Covington. I'll determine how serious the crisis is."
She didn't object to his harshness, totally aware this was kindness coming from Snape, and handed him the scroll of parchment she had been carrying in her satchel. He unrolled it, and while skimming it shook his head in deliberate disgust. "Good Lord, Covington, it's a wonder they haven't put you in Remedial Potions, yet. Then again, I suppose having your mother be on the faculty allows you to receive favoritism from the staff."
She didn't flinch, only asked, "Is it really that bad?"
"It's not completely hopeless," he replied.
Rosier piped up, "Yeah, you're lucky to have fallen under Severus' good graces."
"In case you didn't know, he's practically Potions Master around here," Wilkes added. "Aren't you, old boy?"
Snape didn't seem to be listening. He had taken out a quill, instead, and was marking key passages with checks. "You can't use newt bile for salamander blood, unless, of course, you want your cauldron to explode."
"Oh, of course, must have missed that--"
He continued, "And adding nightshade to the mixture will not result in a sleeping potion, but render it a poison. Those are the largest mistakes. The rest are a matter of getting measurements wrong."
"Thank you very much, Severus," Lyra said blankly, and began to scratch the mistakes out to correct them.
"A question, Covington," he said.
Oh no, Lyra thought, he's going to ask about Mum and her secret mission, and proceed to tell me how fabulous You-Know-Who is, and how we should all throw him a big party for being "Muggle Hater of the Year." She mumbled, "Yes?"
"How exactly are you expecting to pass your Potions O.W.L.?"
That was the last thing she expected Severus Snape to ask her, but upon reflection, she realized it really shouldn't have surprised her, and that she should prepare herself to be viciously taunted at least one more time this morning. So, she replied with every ounce of self-deprecating humor she had, "Oh, I don't know. I'll make a pact with a necromancer who will give me the answers in exchange for my eternal service to the cult of Osirus." Rosier and Wilkes both dropped their jaws with joy, as if they had each finally found their soul mate. "It was a joke," she explained. "I really have no idea. I suppose I'll study."
"Hasn't seemed to help you thus far," Snape said coldly. "Then again, one can not be blamed for one's failings. Indeed, there are few who possess the talent for potions-making."
Lyra sighed. "Yeah, so I've heard. I mean, Marina Templeton's tutored me in the past and--"
Snape interrupted, "Marina Templeton wouldn't know a beazel from a gillyweed."
"I don't know about that!" Lyra cried in defense of her friend.
Snape turned to her. "Look, Covington, I only bring this up because it's obvious you're in desperate need of help in potions, and I believe, despite appearances to the contrary, that is necessary to help one's fellow Slytherin when the rare crisis arises. So, if you're serious about passing your Potions O.W.L., I would be willing to help you."
Lyra really didn't know what to say. It was true that she needed help, and that Snape was a far better student than even Marina was. However, it could not be denied that Snape's teaching method was a bit rough and dehumanizing, and not at all the supportive approach Marina employed. Then again, it was saying something that Snape was actually offering his assistance in this matter. That was something she would never have anticipated. Lyra nodded to herself, and said to Snape, "Alright."
"Then, you're going to need to start immediately," Snape answered. Lyra did not want to imagine what exactly he meant by that, but by the smirks on Rosier and Wilkes' faces, it couldn't be pleasant.
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James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew were making their way to their dreaded Potions class when a swift streak of blond- haired excitement burst through their ranks and turned around to greet them. The girl was walking backwards, and facing the boys as she said, "Good morning chaps! Fancy a bit of a chat?"
"Christabel Watling," Sirius responded, in an impossibly melodramatic tone, "how dare you come along like that and ask me and my mates if we would 'Fancy a bit of a chat' with you! Not after you broke my heart, stomped all over my male pride, and told me that you'd rather we break up and just 'be friends'."
"Oh, get over it, Black," Christabel replied with a bored roll of her blue eyes. As enchanting as Sirius' sense of humor could be, ultimately it was one of the key things that annoyed her the most about her ex-boyfriend. She couldn't deal with his constant need to make everything a joke. Sure, she loved a good giggle, but there were some things in this world worth taking seriously every now and then...which brought her back to why she needed to talk to Sirius and his band of friends. "I desperately need your help with something, Sirius—and James' too, and Remus and Peter might be able to pitch in, too."
James flashed a huge grin, and said, "Ah, hero work! The only type of work I truly enjoy." Peter smiled supportively, while Remus laughed to himself.
"I've just received permission from Professor Dumbledore to organize, brace yourself, lads, a HOGWARTS QUODPOT TEAM!" She bobbled around with glee and was waiting for the boys to do the same. James and Sirius swallowed and looked at each other before responding to the insane girl jumping up and down before them.
James grasped Christabel's shoulders and said, "I know this is difficult for you to grasp, Christa, but you're English. The English have class; the English play Quidditch. Quodpot is an American game.
"Yes," Sirius added, "played by American hipsters who wear polyester robes and dance to disco music played by Muggles. They're wizards in the magical sense, but not in the cultural sense. So, they're not real wizards."
"Just like Quodpot isn't a real sport," James said, finishing for the both of them.
However, Christabel was not easily persuaded to this view, and with a crazed glint of a revolutionary in her eye, said, "But no! No! That's just the horrible stereotype we English witches and wizards must rise up against! I'm telling you, Quodpot is the way of the future!"
Remus cleared his throat, and sarcastically quipped, "If by the future you mean an age in which all forms of civilization have been abolished, then, yeah, I'm ready to agree with you." All three boys chuckled, and Christabel frowned.
"Please, please, guys. Just join, or sign up, or something! If your names are on the sign-up sheet, then others here will think it's okay for them to sign-up, too."
Peter said, "Aw, sure, Christa. I'd be happy to sign-up. I've kind of always wanted to play on a school team."
Christabel replied awkwardly, "Thanks, Peter, but I really meant James and Sirius. I think we all know they're like the two most popular boys in school and they're terrific athletes, to boot."
"So, what is it exactly that you like so much about Quodpot, Watling?" James said, crossing his arms. After being complimented like that, he felt able to hear the poor girl out one last time.
"Are you kidding? It's amazing. It's better than Quidditch!" James didn't like the sound of that, and neither did Sirius or Remus. Peter, however, was willing to hear about anything that might offer him the title of "prized athlete". Christabel continued, "I mean there are exploding balls!"
The boys laughed, and Sirius saw an opportunity. "You know, James, I could say so many things about how Watling gets excited about exploding balls--"
"But you're not," answered Remus like a gentleman.
"Oh no, I am!" Sirius said. "In fact, I'll start with--"
But before he could start, Christabel hit him over the head with the stack of books she was carrying, and ran off towards the Potions classroom in an embarrassed huff.
James said, "We are so heartless, and by 'we' I mean you, Padfoot."
"Ah, I know," Sirius sheepishly replied. "But Christabel knows I'm crazy about her, and I wouldn't ever say or do anything too cruel to her."
Remus arched his eyebrows. "Sounds like you still have a thing for her, Padfoot."
"Oh, I mean, she's cute as hell, don't get me wrong, and I am still miffed that she had the nerve to break up with me."
"Yeah, how did that happen?" James asked with a joking smile.
Sirius replied, "Shut up, Prongs. But I'll tell you, and you three already know this, what I really miss about the girl is that she could make a mean dung bomb. They were so small, and stank up a room for so long. I still can't figure out how she did it."
"You know, that might be the most romantic thing I've ever heard you say, and this is including the time you said that 'puberty had done Dorcas Meadowes well,'" said Remus.
"And I still stand by that claim, Moony. I still stand by it."