Author's Note
Prompt 2. Write about a character trying to find the good inside them. (10 points)
Bonus prompts: (word) magnificent, (word) angelic, (character) Blaise Zabini, (word) help, (colour) tomato red. (5 points each). Total: 35 points.
2152 words (excluding this note).
Solitary Badger
Ernie looked across the crowded and noisy Hufflepuff common room. Susan Bones had her head stuck in a book. There was nothing unusual in that, but he'd expected her to come over and speak to him. After all, Neville had approached him first; the newly forceful Gryffindor had waited until the end of the Herbology lesson before speaking to Susan. Surely, Ernie thought, that gave him some sort of primacy. He stared at the dimple-chinned girl, but her angular profile remained unmoved. Willing her to walk over and attempt to persuade him to change his mind was achieving nothing; there wasn't even any movement in her pony-tail. She turned a page, oblivious to his thoughts.
From his lonely sanctuary in the corner, Ernie surveyed the rest of the room, and pondered the polite refusal he'd given Neville Longbottom. His words, "Definitely not, sorry," were gnawing away inside his chest, but he'd knew he'd made the right decision. Given the school's current regime, any resistance, even inside the school, would be extremely dangerous. Without Harry Potter, what could a reformed Dumbledore's Army possibly hope to achieve? You-know-who was in the ascendant.
Why had Neville even suggested it? He, like Ernie, was a Pureblood. All they had to do was keep quiet, do nothing to draw themselves to the attention of You-know-who's followers, and they would be safe. What Neville proposed was tantamount to suicide. Why should he risk everything in a desperate attempt to help Potter? Why should anyone? How long could Potter possibly last? He might even be dead already.
Unable to make Susan Bones acknowledge his existence, Ernie gloomily turned his attention to the four first years crowded onto the comfortable, tomato red, leather sofa he'd always regarded as his own. He glared at them, but they paid no attention to him, either. The sting of words they'd used at the beginning of term, when he'd tried to move them from it, continued to make his mind itch with memories.
'There's four of us, and only one of you.'
'There's an armchair over there.'
'You're not so fat that you need an entire sofa to yourself.'
He'd wanted to protest. It wasn't his sofa, it was their sofa, it was the place they'd bagged in their first year, after they'd met and made friends on the Hogwarts Express and, by some miracle, all been sorted into Hufflepuff. Now, however, there was no them—there was only him. He was friendless and alone, and everyone ignored him. Why should he help? Why should he risk everything for Neville, and for the friends who had abandoned him to this lonely existence?
He attempted to find more pleasant memories. But his mind betrayed him, and instead took him back to the two other people who'd approached him during the day.
'Been to the Leaky Cauldron recently, Macmillan?' Blaise Zabini asked.
Slowly and deliberately, Ernie shook his head.
'That girlfriend of yours, Anna, is working there.'
'Hannah, she's a friend, not my girlfriend,' Ernie's correction was automatic.
'Hannah, that's her,' Zabini said. 'If she's just a friend you won't mind if I make a move during the Christmas holidays will you?'
'Make a move…'
Zabini made a groping motion with his hands. 'I never paid much attention to her while she was here. Let's face it, she was never exactly good-looking.' He blew out his cheeks by way of demonstration. 'But I think I'm going to have to change my opinion about her. Merlin, what a magnificent pair of tits she's got! Who'd have thought she could grow something like those monster melons in just a year? Or were they always there, hidden under her school robes. I swear she could balance a pint on each of them, maybe two! A right couple of handfuls; I'd love to stick my face between them. I might suffocate, of course,' Zabini chuckled, 'but what a way to go…'
With as much dignity as he could muster, Ernie ignored the leering Slytherin, turned, and left. Zabini's lustful laughter made his stomach churn, but Ernie said nothing.
I should have defended her, Ernie told himself. I'm a coward. I can't even speak up for my best friends.
"Best friends?" His mind used his Uncle Angus' voice to speak to him. It was never a good sign. "A dim-witted half-blood who failed most of her OWLs, and a Mudblood! They're your best friends? Ye're a disgrace to the name Macmillan!"
"Och, awaa an' bile yer heid, Angus, ye bigoted auld scunner." Aunt Moira's response to her husband made Ernie smile, until he realised that the four first-years were watching his grimaces, and laughing at him. He glowered, but they simply replaced their smiles with expressions of angelic innocence. Even the first-years knew he was useless. Trying to ignore them, he returned to his unhappy remembrances of the day.
'What did Longbottom want?' Zacharius Smith asked. 'Is he…'
'He was asking if I'd heard from Hannah or Justin, that's all,' Ernie interrupted Smith before he could ask about Dumbledore's Army. Ernie had been brought up to tell the truth, and he hoped that Smith wouldn't realise that the final two words of his reply were a lie. Neville had asked about Hannah and Justin, but that wasn't all he had asked.
Taking another look around the room, Ernie was just in time to spot Zacharius Smith averting his eyes. Smith, he realised, had been watching him closely, perhaps Neville had been right. Was Smith trustworthy?
Pulling the letter from his pocket, Ernie reread it. It wasn't long, and he already knew it by heart, but he needed to see her neat and careful script.
Ernie
I hope you're well. I'm working in the Leaky Cauldron, as a barmaid. Dad needs the money I make, and Tom managed to persuade the Snatchers that I'm better off here, working for him. After all, I did spectacularly badly in my OWLs, and I only had a couple of weeks at school last year before you-know-what happened.
Ernie paused. Even now, more than a year later, she couldn't write the words "before Mum was murdered."
Our friend told me what happened after I left last year. Bad times for everyone. He wants you to know he's fine, and living in a world of his own. He's safest there. We're doing what we can to help, but we miss you.
Your friend
Hannah
"Doing what we can to help." Those words were the ones which resonated with him. Outside Hogwarts, Hannah and Justin were making themselves useful. Ernie was in no doubt that "our friend", was Justin, and "living in a world of his own" meant that he was alive, and in the Muggle world.
Hannah's mother had been killed by the Dark Lord's followers. Hannah was working in a pub and being leered at by creeps like Blaise Zabini. Justin was in hiding. Ernie knew that the only crime his well-spoken friend was guilty of, was being a Muggle-born; these days that was all it took to get someone thrown into prison.
Ernie straightened his back, and leant forward. His two best friends were gone, Hannah's mother had been murdered, and his response was to do nothing. He was sitting alone in the common room, moping. Hannah's words were the alarm bell. They woke him, made him realise how pathetic, what a poor excuse of a Macmillan, he was. Refolding the letter, he placed it back in his pocket. As he did so, he realised that Smith had been watching his every move.
Ernie's grandmother, on his father's side, was a MacLeod, a fierce little Hebridean. She had dispensed her wisdom sparingly, but he would never forget the only occasion he had he'd mentioned You-know-who in her presence. With a slim, stiletto-like forefinger she had poked him in the stomach.
'Remember this, Ernest; all evil needs is for a good man to ignore it!'
He liked to think that he was a good man. But if he ignored everything that was going on, if he walked away from Neville and the others, would the man he saw the next time he looked in the mirror be a good man?
No, he decided. He had to make a stand. He was more than simply a Macmillan, he was the heir. One day, though hopefully not for a very long time, he would be the Macmillan of Macmillan. His clan's motto, like that of their Muggle kin, was "Miseris succerere disco"—"I learn to succour the unfortunate". That was what he must do.
Tomorrow, he would seek out Longbottom, and he would rejoin Dumbledore's Army. He would do it for his two best friends, the half-blood and muggle-born. He would do it for Hufflepuff house, and he'd do it to prove to himself that he wasn't the sad, lonely and pathetic boy he was now convinced everyone believed him to be. It was time to prove himself a true Macmillan.
His decision made, he stood and walked straight across to Susan Bones. She lifted her head, and stared at him dismissively.
'Smith is watching us,' she hissed through barely parted lips. He began to turn his head. 'Don't look round, you idiot!' she added.
'Sorry.' Despite the harshness of her words, he knew he'd made an error. He'd never been close to Susan Bones. No one was, he was a loner by circumstance, but she was a loner by design. He'd always been so close to Hannah and Justin that he'd never needed to pay any attention to her. Susan's sibilant scolding was a reminder of how dangerous the path he'd chosen would be. Speaking to her in sight of Smith, so soon after their separate conversations with Neville, had been a mistake. There was no going back, he couldn't undo his foolish action. Foolish action! He had had an idea.
'Slap me!' He suggested.
For the briefest of moments her serious, almost emotionless, face expressed surprise.
'He can't hear us. I have a plan. I've just made an improper suggestion to you, and you're annoyed, so…'
He got no further. Susan stood, and smacked him on the cheek. It was a solid slap, and the loud crack of flesh against flesh resounded around the common room, bringing silence in its wake. All eyes moved towards the altercation.
'Creep,' Susan announced loudly. Slamming her book shut, the fair-haired girl picked it up and stormed off to the girl's dormitory. Ernie, his cheek burning, didn't have to feign embarrassment and pain. He was left to face the still staring occupants of the common room. Zacharius Smith was at his side in an instant.
'What was that all about?' asked Smith eagerly. 'Did you ask her about Dumbledore's Army? There are rumours that Longbottom's trying to restart it. Is he? She was a member, like we were, but none of the others have said anything about it to me.' He lowered his voice conspiratorially. 'I know people who want to know what they're planning. It could do us both good.'
'I don't know anything about Dumbledore's Army,' said Ernie firmly, worried by Smith's words. He was astonished at how easy the lie was. 'I… I misread a signal, and said something I shouldn't have, that's all.'
'Misread a signal?' Smith laughed. 'I've never seen stone-face Bones actually make one. What on earth did you think you saw?'
Ernie shrugged, and let Smith continue.
'She's half-blood like her mother, you know,' said Smith said. 'Unlike us. If anyone's likely to re-join Potter's old gang it's her. Perhaps we should keep an eye on her.'
Hannah's a half-blood, too, Ernie thought grimly. He looked into Smith's face, and realised that his fellow Hufflepuff was staring at the pocket where he'd placed Hannah's letter. Realising he'd been right to be suspicious, and forcefully shaking his head, he tried to put Smith completely off the scent.
'I don't think she will,' Ernie said. 'She's too scared to do anything. You know that You-know-who killed her Aunt Amelia, don't you? I thought everyone knew that.'
'Of course I knew,' said Smith dismissively.
Walking across to the fireplace, Ernie pulled out Hannah's letter and threw it into the flames. As he watched it ignite, blacken, and turn to ash, he comforted himself with the knowledge that he knew it by heart; the look of anguish on Smith's face was extremely heartening, too.
'What was that?' asked Smith.
'A letter,' Ernie started with the truth. 'I thought it was from Susan, because that's what it said. I should've realised that she'd never write those things. Someone must've been trying to embarrass me, or her. They succeeded. It wasn't you, was it?'
Lying to Smith was remarkably easy.
'Certainly not,' Smith protested. 'If you need a friend, someone to trust, I'm here for you, Ernie.'
No, you're not, Ernie knew with a burning certainty. He said nothing.