A/N
Here is part three of my little Greg series, describing his adventures in PoA.
Important note: I'll ignore the whole time-turner stupidity. While Dumbles may be insane enough to give a time-turner to a teenager, McGonagall would never be that irresponsible. So in this story, Hermione simply has more hours per week than other students (and I expect there to be many others as well with three or four electives instead of only the necessary two. So, please repeat with me: NO TIME-TURNER IN THIS STORY.
Thank you, pgeraci, for your study group idea.
I admit that I'm not too happy with this part. It got too long and too serious in the end. I don't intend to continue this story. Hope you still like it.
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The story got far longer than intended. For better reading, I split it into 3 pages. The whole 32k words story is already finished and I'll publish the pages within a few days.
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Greg and the Claws of Destiny
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Wolverine hobbled along the street. The broken arrow in his shoulder hurt but he was unable to reach it and pull it out. He felt the poison on its tip burning in his body. His other wounds were healing already, but far slower than usual. Something had been in the gas Venom used against him. It was a bad day when The Mandarin and Venom worked side by side, put their mad minds together to draw up some criminal master plan – a plan that was still mostly unknown to him.
Where is he? Wolverine wondered and looked around, searching for his ally. They had to vanish and fast. The cops didn't like 'Him' either, perhaps even less than Wolverine. A weak motion drew his eyes to a heap of broken glass and steel. Something had crashed to the ground over there – something spidery. There were police horns bleating in the distance, and Logan hurried to his friend's side. Peter called him a couple of days ago and since then they had been trying to catch Venom. So far they had only been able to knock out some of his henchmen, with Spiderman lamenting every time about Wolverine using lethal force against the thugs. What did he expect? He had claws and would use them. He was no ballet-dancer patting his enemies with a lace fan. He was a warrior.
Wolverine stared down at the broken body. Spiderman didn't look all too well. He pulled him up and put him over his healthy shoulder, grunting from the pain.
Perhaps this had one good side: perhaps Peter would now be more lenient towards violence in the future.
Logan sneered. There was no such thing like 'exaggerated violence'. In a fight violence was always adequate. You point a gun in my direction, and I'll cut you in half. Peter would learn it someday as well.
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Scene One – Tell me
Greg stopped his reading for a moment. He loved crossovers, he really did. It allowed heroes to work together that normally had no point of contact. Wolverine was one of his most beloved heroes, even more than Black Panther. He was a kind of modern samurai. Only, Greg would handle the whole Jean Grey matter differently. This blasted Cyclops got the girl in the movie. He wouldn't allow that to happen. The hero gets the girl, not the prat. That would be like Malfoy getting Millie. Greg sneered. As if Millie would allow that to happen. She would break the blond git in halves without breaking a sweat.
Millie. He missed her. She was a great girl, really. He hadn't been allowed to meet her since the school year ended. He hadn't been allowed to meet anybody since then. There had only been grounding and beating – interrupted by all-too short phases of healing.
The beating hadn't been unexpected. It happened before. It would happen again in the future. It was how some things were handled in the house of the Goyle family. Unexpected had only been the fact that his father stopped the beating every time before Greg became a bloody pulp. It hurt like hell, yes, but so far he hadn't suffered any long-lasting damage. Greg assumed that his mother had something to do with that fact.
Abigail Goyle was a taciturn woman. In public she stayed mostly silent and always a step to the left and half a step behind her husband. She didn't like Muggles or Muggleborn, but it was more a "they're unsavoury" dislike, not the violent one of the Malfoys or the "they're cockroaches" of the Parkinsons. She believed in hard work and silent endurance. Abigail Goyle, unlike her "friend" Narcissa Malfoy, didn't spoil her son and Greg assumed that she didn't even understand the concept of pampering. However, she got him his potions – self-brewed naturally, those modern apothecaries can't be trusted – and she healed his wounds. He got abundant but healthy meals – eaten at the small table in his room as you had to be deathly ill to be allowed to eat in bed. Greg absolutely adored his mother and hoped he would get a wife like her one day. Not that he had any doubts about marriage being one of the matters Abigail Goyle would handle herself instead of leaving it to the whims of his father.
Greg startled as he heard steps nearing the door. It wasn't time for lunch. Hastily he stored the comic away. He suspected that his mother knew about them. So far she hadn't addressed the matter, but like Greg she noticed far more than others suspected. While Greg looked like a younger image of his father, he was far more his mother's son – and proud of it.
The door opened and his mother stepped in. To Greg's surprise she wasn't alone. Vince was there and his mother as well. Hastily he sat up, pushed his duvet away and left his bed. He was wearing a sensible pyjama – not that silly silk stuff Malfoy preferred but long-lasting linen – and an old-fashioned dressing gown. Every motion hurt, but the look of his mother told Greg that she had expected such a reaction from him – and was proud that he willingly obeyed her wishes. If you're able to sit and read, he heard her voice in his mind, you're able to greet your guests in an acceptable manner as well.
He stopped three steps in front of Mrs Crabbe and bowed politely. "I wish you a pleasant day, Mrs Crabbe. Hello Vince." Greg's eyes rested on his mate for a moment, silently asking for the reason behind his mother's presence. Vince only shrugged, however. 'Don't know, don't care, as long as I can meet you', his eyes answered. Greg's tiny grin agreed. Greg and Vince were good at that silent talk. For years, they had been able to hold long conversations behind Malfoy's back.
"And a pleasant day to you as well, Greg," Mrs Crabbe rumbled in return, her look stony. Mrs Crabbe didn't smile – ever. She rarely ever expressed any emotions. When she got angry however, everybody better run for the hills. Grace Crabbe – Greg rarely met someone less appropriate to be named Grace. He still liked her, more or less. She treated her son well and there were always cookies at her home in every room, ready for the grabbing. Her girth spoke loudly of her life-long sugar cravings. "I heard you did well in school."
Greg nodded, unable to resist feeling happy under his mother's proud look. "He got EE in History, Astronomy and Charms," Abigail announced. "Only Transfiguration could have been better."
"I'll try harder next year, mother."
"See that you do." It was still obvious that she was far more content with his school achievements than last summer. Greg suspected that his grades had something to do with his mother protecting him. Without her protection – he had no doubt – he would have spent some time in St. Mungo's – after some 'unhappy accident thanks to his clumsiness'.
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This part of the conversation finished, Abigail turned around, walked towards the windows – Greg's room had two big windows allowing a nice view onto the garden – and summoned a table and six chairs, simple and sturdy ones like she preferred them, not some cosy posh. Six? Greg wondered, but stayed silent. They waited for a few minutes more, before they heard heavy steps announcing the last pair of guests. Millie, Greg recognized that special kind of noise. It wasn't too difficult, actually. Millie's left leg was an inch shorter than her right, prompting her to wear some special shoes. As far as he knew, it was the result of some severe leg injury before Millie even started Hogwarts. The result was a unique kind of walking. If Millie was here, the last guest could only be…
"Mrs Bulstrode," Greg bowed again. While Millie had inherited her mother's heavy bone frame, Greg was quite happy she took more after her father face-wise. Olivia Bulstrode had a very manly face, complete with a hint of woman's beard and a single black wart. She was the most heavily boned of the trio of women now dominating the room. Grace Crabbe was the fattest, to be impolite but honest, and Abigail Goyle was the most muscular, the reason being her regular use of Greg's gym. It was their little mother-son secret and never mentioned around their father. It was only another reason he adored his mum, the fact certainly helping that she could knock out Goyle senior with a single haymaker if she ever felt the urge – which actually had happened in the past.
A second later he had a Millie-shaped missile clinging to his chest. Greg winced under the strength of her hug, but he liked it nonetheless. His mother showed an indulgent smile as did Mrs Crabbe, while Mrs Bulstrode at least didn't comment. It was her kind of showing approval, as Greg had learned over the last years. Millie noticed Greg's reaction and pulled back. She didn't apologize but turned around and glared at his mother. Greg winced.
"He's hurt," Millie actually growled, sending a shiver down Greg's spine. She was an angry mother-bear right now, intimidating and quite dangerous. "He doesn't deserve this after everything that happened last year," she continued, her stance telling his mother off for not protecting her son against his father. To Greg's surprise his mother actually smiled approvingly to Millie's inappropriate behaviour. He hadn't expected that reaction.
"We gathered today," his mother declared without directly answering to Millie, "Because we wanted to hear more about the events of last school year. Please have a seat." It was clearly an order and the teenagers hastily obeyed.
"A few days ago," Abigail Goyle started, still standing and looking accusingly now, "Grace told me about a few things that apparently happened at Hogwarts last year. Things, I have to add, that I expected to hear from my son first."
Greg gulped. His mother was angry and, far worse, disappointed. "I apologize for disappointing you, mother."
Shoulders square and look straight in the eye; that was always better than some mumbled explanation. Abigail nodded curtly. It was forgiven for now, but not forgotten. "Explain your reasoning," she demanded.
"Professor Snape told me to stay silent about my part in the events, especially towards father." If his mother addressed the matter in the presence of her friends, she obviously trusted them enough. And Greg had no doubt that she wouldn't hesitate to obliviate them should the need arise. Abigail Goyle was fiercely protective of her own, perhaps the reason why she overlooked Millie's behaviour.
Abigail narrowed her eyes and scrutinized her son. She respected Severus Snape. He belonged to the incredible small number of men she respected, a list that certainly didn't encompass Headmaster Dumbledore – or Lucius Malfoy for that matter. "I understand," she dropped the matter to Greg's immense relief. He had started to learn Occlumency but wouldn't have been able to withstand a serious interrogation of his impressive mother. "Then tell me what you can about the events."
And so he did.
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A bit later, Greg was sitting in his bed again. Mrs Bulstrode and Mrs Crabbe had left after the conversation, while Millie and Vince had been allowed to stay for the rest of the day. They were sitting beside his bed, talking about the decision their mothers made.
The trio of women hadn't been happy to hear about the part Lucius Malfoy played in the events, or about the dangers their children had been put in. Even without telling his mother about his part in the fight against the Basilisk, he was quite certain that she suspected something.
"It wasn't so bad," Grace Crabbe tried to defend Malfoy. "He only wanted to get rid of the Mudbloods." Mrs Crabbe belonged to Mrs Parkinson's 'Muggles-are-cockroaches-party'. Greg's mother grimaced. Like Professor Snape she didn't like the term. Actually she didn't like to speak about Muggleborns altogether.
"And how do you expect such a beast to differentiate between them and our children?" Olivia Bulstrode barked. "That creature endangered our dearies as well."
Abigail nodded. "If he absolutely wants to get rid of the Headmaster – a basically laudable endeavour – he has to find another way. A Slytherin is cunning in his planning. He is neither brutal nor careless."
Mrs Crabbe and Mrs Bulstrode heartily agreed in the end. Lucius Malfoy was a disgrace to the House of Slytherin.
"I can't believe that mother allowed me to stay your friend," Vince grinned, stopping his cookie munching for a moment, "Or Millie's mother approving about her being your girlfriend." Millie blushed cutely, an impressive sight with such a big girl. Greg nodded and pressed her hand. He had been happy about that part as well. Going against Mrs Bulstrode and his mother wouldn't have been easy.
"How do you think our fathers will react?" Vince wondered. It was no secret that at least Goyle and Crabbe senior behaved like loyal and eager henchmen of Lucius Malfoy most of the time – a fact not completely approved by their wives.
Greg shrugged. "Don't know, don't care."
"We'll take care of your fathers," the ladies had simply declared. Nobody doubted that they were able to do exactly that.
He grinned. "I only hope they don't forget the silencing spells." His friends nodded. Those conversations could turn ugly. And the imagination of the make-up sex afterwards made Vince nearly lose his appetite – but only nearly.
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Scene Two – Buy me
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Like last year, Greg Goyle was wandering the streets of Diagon Alley with Vince Crabbe for company, the bag with his school things getting heavier after every shop visited. Unlike last year, there was no Draco Malfoy around this time. The blond git still wasn't on speaking terms with Greg – not that Greg actually cared. He had his mate Vince at his side and his mother at his back; nothing more counted.
"Wait until I'll tell my father." Greg snickered as he remembered the often used phrase. He would prefer his mother every day. And then there was Millie. She was at Madam Malkin's right now, getting a couple of new robes, and would join Vince and Greg somewhat later.
"Look," Vince nudge his friend and nodded towards Eeylops Owl Emproium. "Potty and Weasel." The duo just entered the shop. She wouldn't be far behind. Without thinking, Greg decided to follow them into the shop, with a bored Vince strolling behind.
There she was. Greg's face split into a smile. Hermione was staring at a couple of cats, like trying to choose the right pet.
"You should buy the orange one," he advised her.
"Oh, hi Greg," she greeted him with a dazzling smile. "Do you think so?" She stared at the orange-furred tomcat, biting her lower lip in a cute way.
"No way," Ron grumbled, rudely pushing between Hermione and Greg. "He's ugly."
Greg frowned. He had been called ugly himself more than once. Millie as well, and he knew how much it still hurt her. Actually, he had chosen the orange beast exactly because it wasn't your run-o-the-mill beauty. Nobody would buy him because he was "so cute". And the tomcat had watched Hermione with intensity, like he knew that she would be the right mistress for him. Certainly a clever guess with Hermione being the caring heart she was. "He's not ugly," Greg growled. "He has character."
"Then you should buy him yourself, Goyle," Ron sneered. "You certainly could use some character." So it was back to Goyle, Greg sighed. Apparently Weasel had used the summer break to return to his old behaviour and inbred Snake-hate. Potter at least had an apologizing expression on his face and Hermione even looked angry.
"I can't," Greg responded calmly.
"Too poor?" Ron bitched. Obviously the poor-family boy liked the idea of having something others didn't – as if a rat was something special. A rat – Greg grinned inwardly. Weasel had a rat. A cat would be perfect. He glanced towards the orange fur ball like asking: do you hunt rats? The tomcat bopped his head.
Hiding his grin, Greg walked away, ignoring how Hermione scolded the Weasel for his nastiness. He approached the salesman. "I want to buy the orange tomcat, complete with fur caring kit, carrier and some treats." The tomcat was cheaper than expected. Apparently most customers shared Weasel's opinion about his appearance.
"He's part Kneazle, very clever," the salesman explained. Greg liked this even more by the minute. He returned to the golden trio, where Hermione was still spitting fire.
"My father would never allow me to have a cat," he explained calmly and a little sad. "Only an owl would be acceptable. It's all about usefulness, not friendship and comfort." He shoved the carrier with the tomcat into her hands. "He's yours now, early birthday present and all," he stopped her objection. "On one condition: don't call him Tiger or Leo or something similarly unimaginative."
"Thank you," Hermione hugged him. Luckily Millie wasn't there. While the big girl had accepted his friendship with Granger, they still weren't all too comfortable around each other. She had a closer look at her new pet and decided: "I'll call him Crookshanks."
Greg shared a look with Vince. His friend shrugged. He was a little disappointed, having hoped to watch an exciting brawl with Greg using the redhead to mop the floor. "Crookshanks would be alright."
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Scene Three – Calm me
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"Take that mad beast away." Greg heard Weasel's angry scream along the train's carriage. A broad smile erupted on his face. Apparently little Crooks was already having fun with that rat of Weaselbee's.
"He was here first," Hermione growled back. "He has a right to be here as well."
"He tried to eat Scabbers." Weasel whined. Potter was staying silent as usual. Greg liked him a tad more since last year, but still felt that he didn't deserve Granger's friendship and loyalty. Greg was certain she would risk her life to protect Potter without a second thought, and Potter didn't even stand up for her against Weaselbee.
"He's a cat, idiot." Greg's grin couldn't get broader, as Millie of all people jumped to Granger's defence. She didn't like Granger all too much, but she absolutely hated Weasel. "It's in his nature to hunt mice and rats – and contrary to your rat a cat is on the list of allowed pet types. It was written on our acceptance letters."
"And in Hogwarts, a History," Greg added, more to relax Granger than anything else.
"Your rat doesn't look all too well," Vince added without real compassion, looking like he wanted to decide if the rat would even be an acceptable morsel for a full-grown cat.
"It's the stress," Weasel responded, glaring at the cat like it was his fault.
More like it doesn't get enough to eat or is simply too old, Greg mused. It certainly did look aged. Whatever – with a last reassuring smile towards Hermione, Greg linked arms with Millie and continued down the train. He wanted to find a nicer compartment – far away from Weasel and Potty.
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"What is happening?" Millie asked, sounding a bit concerned. "Why are we slowing down?"
They couldn't be near Hogsmeade already, Greg decided. He stuffed the cupcakes and chocolate into his pockets. Despite the purchase of Granger's cat, he still had more than enough money to buy sweets for his friends and him – his monthly allowance had been generously increased by his mother under the condition that his grades didn't drop. He already had plans how to ascertain it.
It got colder and darker now. There were screams down the corridor and Greg glanced in that direction. He gulped as he noticed a cloaked "something". He immediately recognized it, having heard stories about Azkaban and its dreadful guards more than once. "A Dementor? What is a blasted Dementor doing on the train?"
"What?" Vince's eyes widened. Like Greg he knew about the nature of those creatures, about their effect on humans. "Chocolate is helping against their aura," he announced, remembering something his uncle told him, who had been human guard at Azkaban for some time.
Greg acknowledged the titbit of information and distributed some chocolate frogs, pushing one into his mouth, while watching what happened. For a while, a couple of those creatures glided up and down the corridor, like they were searching for someone. They had a fearsome aura, but neither Greg nor his friends were all too influenced by it. Sometimes it was good to be a little thick-headed and slow. For a second he wondered how Hermione fared.
"They're looking for Sirius Black," Millie whispered like not to draw their attention with her voice. She was the most well-read among the three, at least regarding newspapers. Greg nodded. That made sense. If he remembered the story correctly, Black had something to do with the death of Potty's parents. Now he had escaped Azkaban and was on the run. Did the boy know? Supposedly not. Potter had never shown much knowledge about the magical society and its history, not even about his own family. Greg frowned. He couldn't imagine not knowing such things about his own family. Potty was either totally self-centred or someone was keeping those knowledge from him. Perhaps both.
"Boah, what's that?" Vince pointed down the corridor. Some strange light was visible there. It was shaped like a kind of silvery wolf and it seemed to chase the Dementors away. "Who do you think cast that spell?"
"No idea," Greg shrugged. He listened down the corridor and heard someone sobbing. "Let's have a look at the measly Firsties." Millie instantly agreed. She had a big heart in her broad chest. Vince followed them, more because he didn't want to be alone. He wouldn't admit it, but those Dementors made him queasy and more than a bit.
While Millie invaded a compartment filled with Slytherin second years to calm them down, Greg stepped into another one filled with ickle Firsties. Have we ever been this small as well? Greg wondered, denying his own question. He certainly had always been a big boy. "Everything alright herein?" He asked, showing something he hoped would be a friendly, supportive smile.
He got some sobs in return. Two little girls were clinging to each other while a boy glared at them. Greg recognized him but not the girls. He was one of Nott's younger cousins. "Eat this," Greg handed out some chocolate. "Eat, it helps."
The girls accepted the chocolate and started to eat while the boy denied it. "You shouldn't squander your chocolate on those," the boy sneered.
Those? Greg wondered. Being Firsties, none of them had any house affiliation so far. Because they were girls?
"They're Mudbloods," the boy continued. The girls obviously didn't understand the word but the demeaning.
"And you're a spoilt brat and an idiot," Greg coldly returned, feeling a little warm and fuzzy as he noticed the thankful look of the girls. "And don't use that word again," he added with a light slap to the boy's head.
The boy pouted. "I'll use that word as often as I wish. My father…"
Now it was Vince' turn to slap him, harder than Greg had done. "Your father isn't around. And you'll listen to Greg if you know what's good for you." He actually didn't care about the word Mudblood, but he didn't like the idea of another "wait until my father heard about that" spoilt Slytherin brat. And he had no doubt that Nott would join his cousin's house. It was time to make the boy aware of the Slytherin pecking order.
Greg offered the girls the chocolate Nott had declined and left with a small smile, only to find himself face to face with Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones. It was no surprise really that the bleeding heart Hufflepuffs had the same idea he did.
Merlin, I'm turning into a Hufflepuff, Greg realized with horror. He exchanged a curt nod with the girls and went looking for Millie. Susan watched him warily while Hannah showed a little smile in return. Hopefully the rest of the day turned out to be better than the start.
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Scene Four – Hurt me
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"Why does he have claws?" Millie asked, pointing towards the comic Greg was just reading. Like Vince she was allowed to know about his slightly weird penchant, Greg trusting them enough to open up about it. "Wouldn't a spell be more effective?"
"He can't use spells," Greg mumbled.
"He's a Muggle?" Millie frowned. While she didn't hate Muggle, she still was her mother's daughter. In her mind Muggles certainly weren't on par with wizards.
Greg pondered the question for a while, before he slowly shook his head. "No, he is kind of wizard as well, only his magic works in a different way. It makes him very strong and able to withstand many attacks. And he heals very fast. If you hit him with a cutting curse, he would bleed for a few seconds but then the wound would close again. Even a Reducto to the chest wouldn't put him down for long. Some of his foes have equal powers, so he needs other weapons – like those claws."
Millie nodded. That seemed reasonable. "It would be nice to heal this fast after getting hurt." She thought about some of the 'educational sessions' she had experienced in the past thanks to her stern father. The boys agreed, knowing exactly what Millie was thinking about. Regeneration would certainly come in handy sometimes.
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"So we're together in Divination and magical Creatures as well?" Millie asked. She seemed very happy as the boys nodded. While Greg and she weren't in the kissy-kissy stage already, she liked to have him around very much, and Vince was alright too. Most of the other Slytherins ignored her or mocked her because of her appearance, now even more than before since she didn't belong to Pansy's entourage anymore.
"Yeah," Vince nodded. "Should be okay. Trelawney is funny, I heard."
"Hagrid certainly knows his stuff," Greg added. His not quite friendship but at least acquaintance with the half-giant was another secret he now shared with Vince and Millie. He had always been interested in magical creatures and Hagrid had never mocked him for being stupid or slow. Only the cookies were horrendous and the tea not much better.
Greg looked around. "And I'll take Muggle Lore as well."
"Why would you do that?" Millie asked slightly flabbergasted.
"Does your father know?" Vince wondered, sounding concerned.
"He doesn't so far," Greg shrugged.
"And when he learns about it?"
"I'll tell him that I wanted to know more about 'those unlucky ones without magic'. I'll make it sound like something similar to magical creature lessons." After a moment he added. "Mum knows about it. She's okay with it."
"Your mum is the best," Millie declared. Vince agreed. Greg smiled happily.
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"The Grim. I see the grim in your cup." Professor Trelawney looked quite sad. "You'll meet your death this year. Oh, poor boy."
They had been sitting in Divination for nearly an hour now, with Professor Trelawney immensely amusing most of her students. Greg looked around to watch the reactions. Draco and Pansy looked like a dream come true. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil nodded sadly, hanging on every word of their teacher like she was some kind of messiah. And Hermione glared at the woman like she wanted to smash her cup on Trelawney's head.
"I see," Vince suddenly started, his voice deep and full of foreboding. "I see a year full of adventures waiting for Pothead, with injuries, hospital stays and many potion detentions."
Weasel fumed, Potter actually grinned and Trelawney listened with soaring enthusiasm.
Millie continued, after a short glare in Weasel's direction. "I see a year full of detentions for Weasel; Gryffindors getting ill by watching his table manners. I see temper tantrums and howlers from his mother."
Weasel looked ready to attack her. Only the sight of Vince and Greg smirking, ready to defend their friend, kept him back. He wasn't completely stupid.
"I see a year full of danger," Greg declared. Many listeners shuddered, remembering all too well the Headmaster's speech about the Dementors located at Hogwarts. "I see Potter charging ahead, Weasel clueless following him and Granger coming to the rescue. I see Potter and Weasel doing their homework at the last moment, begging Granger for help again and again and again."
Hermione looked somewhat annoyed – perhaps the prediction simply hit too close to be comfortable. Potter actually looked a tad guilty. Perhaps he will learn something from this, Greg mused. Weasel certainly not. The Redhead gave a very convincing impression of a burning matchstick.
"Very good," Professor Trelawney clapped. "Very good; I feel it: you have the inner eye."
Brown and Patil actually glared at the snake trio in jealousy. Greg felt good. Millie smirked. Vince happily munched a chocolate frog.
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"You have to be polite," Professor Hagrid explained. "Hippogriffs are very proud creatures. Walk slowly, stop a couple of steps away and bow. If he reciprocates the gesture, he accepts you."
The explanation had been simple enough. Greg was walking towards another Hippogriff with Millie at his side, while Draco was speaking with Vince. His friend, while now even closer to Greg and Millie than before, still tried to be at least on speaking terms with the Malfoy scion. It was something Greg had mostly given up, at least as long as Draco was behaving like a rotten dunderhead – as he did right now.
"Hey, you ugly brute," he insulted the proud creature, walking towards it without the expected bow. "I don't know why they make such a fuss about you. You're nothing more than a…"
Vince had followed Draco, trying to stop him. Hagrid had been distracted by another group of students nearing a third Hippogriff. It was only Greg who noticed what was about to happen. And he reacted instantly. In a few seconds the Hippogriff would lash out against the stupid brat. Like so often in the past, he wouldn't be the only one suffering from his stupidity. Perhaps his sharp clawed hooves would knock some sense into the brat, but Greg doubted it. Just as Buckbeak lashed out, his hooves targeting for both boys as he didn't actually differentiate between Draco and Vince right now, Greg jumped his friend, pushing him away.
"Shit," he cursed as one of the hooves hit his shoulder. Right now he wished he had Wolverine's ability to instantly heal every wound. While Madam Pomfrey would certainly work her magic, right now it hurt like fire. At least Draco got hit as well.
"You alright?" Greg asked his friend.
Vince nodded. "Shouldn't I be the one asking this?" He wondered. "You're being the one bleeding on my robes and all." With a grunt Greg pushed himself from Vince and the ground, standing up a bit wobbly. It really hurt.
"He killed me, he killed me," Draco suddenly started to whine, not very convincingly – how many dead persons still had such a loud voice? – but nonetheless in an irritating way.
"Let me have a look," Hagrid demanded.
Draco jumped back, hiding behind Pansy. "Madam Pomfrey has to see this." He pressed his right arm against his chest. Greg frowned. There was blood, but not very much, and he didn't hear a bone break. Draco used his healthy arm to gesture towards Buckbeack: "this beast should be killed. That's a vicious monster. Wait until…"
"…my father hears about that," Greg and Millie finished in unison. Greg leaned on Millie for support and ignored Draco's glare. Greg felt a bit light-headed because of the blood loss. Perhaps it was because of this that he couldn't suppress a snicker when Draco started to complain about the pain, the whole performance ending with Hagrid closing the lesson and carrying Draco towards the hospital wing.
"Let me have a look," Hermione asked with a soft voice. Greg wanted to say no, but Millie had other ideas. After exchanging a long look with Hermione, she urged Greg to sit down and pulled his robe away. There was a long rip and much blood.
"Why do you care?" Ron complained.
"Because they're friends," Millie growled. "A concept you don't seem to grasp." After that she ignored the hated redhead, while Harry tried his best to calm down his mate.
Hermione cleaned the wound as best as she could and cast a spell to stop the bleeding. "We have to be careful getting him to Madam Pomfrey. I don't think I could use Mobilicorpus for such a long distance." She didn't even ask if Millie knew the spell as well, something that annoyed the big girl a bit. No, she actually never learned the spell, but still she hated to be treated like a dumbass. "Wait a moment."
Hermione stepped towards the trees and used a bit of magic to form some branches into a stretcher. Greg tried to object, but against Millie and Hermione he had no chance and somewhat later he found himself carried back like royalty – with Ron ambling behind and grousing the whole time.
"That was very brave of you," Hermione remarked after a while.
Vince simply grunted his agreement.
"It's the way he is," Millie said, with no small amount of adoration in her voice. "He's a hero." My hero, her eyes said.
Instantly, Greg felt far better, the pain forgotten. I'm a hero.
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Interlude 1 – Greet me
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Stalking through the field of ten-feet bamboo like a big predator cat on the hunt, Wolverine actually felt far more uneasy around this place than his masked face betrayed to the observer. The warlord of this chain of islands had offered him a chance to solve the dispute of the abducted children in a one-on-one battle. He only had to find and beat him in time.
What he regretfully forgot to mention was the magical aura of the place. Eternal fog was disturbing Wolverine's otherwise sharp senses, and there were eerie noises in the air, calling him from all sides and making him nervous – a feeling he hadn't often experienced in the past and didn't like one bit.
No, he wouldn't allow the warlord to beat him with his mind games. I'll find you, Wolverine grated his teeth, flexing his arms and extending his wicked claws for a bit. And then I'll shred you.
Watch out!
.
"Watch out!"
Millie's arm stopped Greg just in time. He had been deep in thoughts while meandering through the library corridors, thinking about the best way to address the 'Puff girls he was looking for. Without Millie's timely reaction he simply would have run down the tiny girl that suddenly blocked his path. Actually, Greg felt like Wolverine right now: out of his comfort zone, the smell and noises of the library – or lack of them – disturbing him. While he had started spending more time in the library, it still wasn't his preferred abode.
"Sorry," Greg mumbled, throwing Millie a thankful look.
"No harm done," the girl chirped back, not even looking up from her book. Greg noticed she held the book upside down, only then taking a real look.
Ravenclaw, his mind noticed the colour of her tie and robes.
Blond, he added. Tiny, first year … no, second year as she wasn't newly sorted last week.
Millie gently pulled his sleeve, nodding towards the duo of girls' a dozen steps ahead. Greg had been on his way to speak with them, hoping to convince Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot to be part of his study group. They were 'Puffs – students without any real talent as everybody knew. However, they were diligent in their work, and – even more important – willing to speak with a snake. Last year, while his many visits to the hospital wing, he had made their acquaintance. After some initial distrust they had mostly relaxed around him. Sometimes they still stared at him like they waited for the other shoe to drop, but they apparently appreciated what he had done for the petrified students – one of them being the Muggleborn 'Puff Fitch-something.
Greg made a parting nod and moved to follow Millie. "Miss…"
"Lovegood," she supplemented, still not looking up from her book – a book about Australian creatures he had liked himself very much because of the many pictures. According to the author a couple of the mentioned animal species already became extinct while others survived only at very hidden places. Greg wasn't certain about the trustworthiness of the author and his work, but he liked it nonetheless.
"Lovegood?" He stopped and turned around. "Related to Xenophilius Lovegood perhaps?"
The girl nodded. Some emotion crept into her eyes, an emotion that hadn't been there a second before: hope, but mixed with fear. Why fear? Greg wondered. "He's my father," she responded, her voice a little bit shaky. Her eyes glanced to the shadows like expecting an attack.
"My mother spoke highly of him," Greg tried his best at soothing smile face – Millie noticed it and rolled her eyes. What Greg called "soothing smile" could easily make a crocodile proud.
"She did?" The girl asked with a rasping voice. Her face turning pink, she cleared her throat. "She did?"
"Yeah," Greg nodded. "They went to school together, and she always read your newspaper. Quibbler, isn't it?"
"Yes," the girl responded with her own smile, relaxing a bit.
"I liked the Billy the Gardener cartoon." Greg grinned. Millie had no idea what he was speaking about but watched the exchange with interest. She liked this carefree side of her boyfriend. Far too often he had to be careful nowadays, the Slytherin commons turning into a pit of vipers since their return. She didn't know that Abigail Goyle's preference for the Quibbler had spurred Greg's interest in all kind of creatures as a child. And while mother and son did their best not to annoy his father with the sight of "that imbecile trash", it had never been in doubt that Greg would choose "Care of magical Creatures" as one of his electives.
"It's one of my favourites as well," Luna grinned, slightly relaxing now.
"He had this funny head last autumn," Greg proved that he really knew the cartoon. It was a monthly addition to the Quibbler, a cartoon about a garden gnome giving tips about how to prepare the garden for all kind of unusual inhabitants – or how to keep them away in case of Nargles.
Luna's grin broadened if possible. The eagle head had been an addition by the cartoon illustrator, a little special for Luna getting sorted into Ravenclaw.
"We have to go, Greg," Millie interrupted.
"Oh, yeah, you're right." He threw Luna an apologetic look. "See you later, Miss Lovegood."
"Bye." Luna was already lost to the world again, deeply buried in her book.
.
"How do you know Looney?" Susan greeted the pair, her face betraying the feeling that she didn't expect anybody to object to the nickname.
"Don't call her that. Her name is Luna." Surprisingly it was Millie who growled back. She hated such nicknames, had herself been called all kind of unpleasantries in the past. And she remembered all too well another small girl that had been teased all day long for something she couldn't do anything about. The girl had died, and Millie had a crooked leg, but she would always remember her fondly.
Susan frowned, looking quizzical. Hannah shrugged, having no idea why the big girl objected. Slytherins weren't actually known for their kindness, especially not towards the weaker and weird ones.
"It's not nice," was all explanation they got. The matter was soon forgotten after Greg mentioned the reason of his visit.
"I have a plan and I could use your help…"
.
Scene 5 – Scare me
.
"You're ugly. You're stupid. What boy could ever like someone as you?"
Millie actually whimpered in the face of Boggart-Greg heaping insult after insult onto her, putting her fragile self-confidence into shambles. Hermione watched her with a pale face, her heart feeling with the big girl. While Ron had mocked her about "your Boggart certainly is Professor McGonagall telling you that you only got an EE in your latest assignment", she actually expected it to be something very similar to Millie's boggart. Even after two years of steady friendship with Ron and Harry, she still feared losing them, to be friendless again like she had always been in primary school.
"Ri…ddiku…Riddikulus!" Millie fumbled unable to complete the spell. She looked like she had expected the Boggart to turn into something else, and Hermione wondered what it could have been. After watching his girlfriend for a few moments more, realizing that she wouldn't be able to get rid of the Boggart, Greg stepped in front of her.
It was no surprise to him to see the Boggart react to the boy's presence, changing into the heart-breaking sight of a very dead Abigail Goyle. Despite being your typical "very manly" thirteen-year-old teenage boy, Greg had no qualms about admitting to himself that his mother was the most important person in his life. She was the one thing protecting him from his father's ire. She was the one adult who really cared about him as a person and not simply a way to continue the Goyle bloodline. For his whole life, she had been the one person praising him for his achievements, a parent willing to believe in him and to support his decisions. Abigail Goyle would be the first one to give him a good kick in the arse should he ever dare to speak to Millie like his Boggart did.
"Riddikulus!" Partly is was his natural thick-headedness that allowed him to execute the spell so easily, partly it was the pure anger and hot rage he felt right now about his Millie being hurt. His dead mother turned into another witch, a witch that was snarling and cursing at him for being a stupid kid, only to get hit by the sunlight. The light petrified her within seconds, leaving behind a helpless sculpture to the astonishment of the onlookers. Witch and sculpture looked very similar to a middle-aged Bette Midler actually, but only a couple of Muggleborn noticed this; or remembered that there had been a film at the cinema this summer, presenting the famous actor in a fantasy film/comedy about three witches getting beaten up by a bunch of kids, by delaying their wicked plans until the morning sun turned them into statues like some stone troll from Tolkien's books. More than one of the Muggleborns stared thoughtful at the boy. Luckily Draco Malfoy had no idea what all of this was about; it stopped him from making a mess with questions about how Greg knew the Muggle film in the first place.
Professor Lupin, who had been pondering the riddle as well what exactly Greg Goyle had done to his Boggart, flinched back as the boy suddenly tore into him. "What a stupid idea; to have students face their worst fears in front of the whole class. Shame on you!"
"What's he fussing about?" Ron mumbled loudly, a frown on his face. "Stupid snake."
Harry and Hermione stayed silent, Harry because he didn't want to quarrel with his best mate, Hermione because she actually agreed with Greg but didn't want to say something against one of her favourite teachers. She had liked his lessons very much so far; she thought him to be the best DADA teacher they got since she started at Hogwarts. The Boggart lesson however could have been handled better. Even Professor Lupin seemed to be deep in thoughts now, distracted enough not to stop Greg as he gestured Vince to wrap up Millie's things before he gently pulled her towards the door.
Only the sound of the door closing behind the couple snapped Remus Lupin out of his thoughts. "Ehm … alright. We'll continue this next time. I want you to write six inches about your worst fear and how to turn it into something laughable."
"He should have started with this," Hermione whispered, low enough for Ron not to hear it.
Harry however did and agreed with a small nod. His Boggart would have been a Dementor, he just knew it; and he had no wish to face it with the class watching it. No, absolutely not.
.
Professor Snape had been worse than ever towards Neville Longbottom. The reason was clear to Greg, and it was only another reason to be unhappy about the whole Boggart lesson. Certainly someone – a Malfoy someone – had nothing better to do than to tattle about the lesson and how Neville turned his Boggart-Snape into Augusta-fashion-Snape complete with Vulture-hat. The dour potion master obviously hadn't liked this little tidbit one bit, but instead of confronting Professor Lupin about it, he had vented his anger on the poor boy.
"You should speak with Professor Snape about it on your next lesson," Millie told him a bit later. She was the only one who knew about his Occlumency lessons with Snape. Greg was no natural in the difficult art. He would never be able to stop an accomplished Legilimens from entering his mind, and Professor Snape had told him so. However, he was making progress at least, and soon he would be able to erect a feasible defence against someone like his father or even Malfoy senior who according to Professor Snape was only mediocre in that art. Greg was happy about the progress, despite the headache he got from every lesson. Professor Snape even gave an approving nod last time. Greg was so proud. Wolverine himself wouldn't accomplish better.
"I know," he nodded his agreement. "It's not Neville's fault."
He actually liked the boy. Neville was nice, shy and happy about anybody treating him with friendliness and respect – even a pair of sneaky snakes. He had – after asking Hermione, as Greg heard – agreed to join their learning group. It now encompassed, apart from Neville, Greg, Vince and Millie, mostly Slytherins and Hufflepuffs from year two to four, with Miles Bletchley, Marcus Belby and Katie Bell being the oldest so far. Katie only joined from time to time and mostly because she wanted to support Greg. She still hadn't forgotten his last-year hospital readings to Hermione and Colin Creevey, an action that earned him some hefty brownie points in her books. Betchley and Belby on the other hand hoped to get help from the others as they struggled with most of their classes. From Gryffindor only Vicky Frobisher added to their number as well, while Hufflepuff Roger Malone and Oliver Rivers joined Susan and Hannah after a while. They didn't really need those sessions, but wanted to protect the girls, still unsure about the seriousness of Greg's change of heart since he left Draco Malfoy behind.
He felt a bit sorry that Ginny Weasley had rejected his offer. While she always wore the small chain with the silver-encased tooth pendant – the tooth from Draco Malfoy she got as wergild last year – she had kept her distance to Greg, only smiling shyly and a little sadly when her brother wasn't around. At least she didn't change back to the "all Slytherins are evil" mode like Weasel-Ron did. The stupid moron obviously "recovered" from his phase of actually using his pea-brain and was convinced that Greg and Vince were still in leagues with Malfoy. Greg shook his head with a snicker. Somehow Weasel had convinced himself that Greg's behaviour was only one big plan to infiltrate the poor Gryffindors, only waiting to stab them in the back after he earned their trust. It was nearly a compliment, Greg mused, that the redheaded moron thought him capable of executing such a complicated long-term plan.
As if he ever would go back to the prat, Greg mused. There had been some quarrels in the Slytherin commons about "Slytherins stay to themselves", with Draco leading the mob. The frontiers were clearly drawn now, with Pansy, Nott – both cousins as expected – Blaise and a slightly uneasy Daphne Greengrass supporting Malfoy. Once Professor Snape actually had to step in and stop a fight. He told off both sides and since then they kept the quarrelling mostly under the blanket.
Over the weeks, the grades of the study group improved steadily, prompting Tracey Davis to join them after a while. Derrick and Bole, the worst students of the OWL class, wanted to follow her lead, but Draco stopped them, making them choose between study group and Quidditch team. They decided in favour of the team, unlike Vince who had quit the team when Draco tried to blackmail him as well. Vince is a real mate, Greg thought happily.
A number of Firsties from all houses, the pair of Muggleborn girls from the train among them, had started to study near their group as well, hoping to get help from time to time. They really did, and to everybody's surprise Millie had shown quite some teaching talent – and the necessary patience.
Yes, his study group was coming along quite well. He would never challenge someone like Granger or that 'Claw- Patil grade-wise, but he was really happy with his grades and overall progress.
And his mother would be as well. The sweets of the next term are secured.
.
Scene 6 – Trick or Treat (me)
.
The small but very mixed group certainly drew some attention as they followed the trail to Hogsmeade. It was the first Hogsmeade visit ever for Greg and his friends. He only listened with half an ear to Hermione's babbling about last month's DADA lessons. After the Boggart éclat, Professor Lupin had turned to safer matters like how to defend against Redcaps and Kappa. Greg had his own opinion about that stuff. While Redcaps were a real danger – mostly to Muggles and Squibs but also to less powerful Wizards like himself – he saw no sense in teaching the dangers of Japanese water demons. It had been interesting nonetheless and so he endured it with a patient smile.
"I really liked…"
Hermione went on and on. Greg had no doubt that she did it mostly to distract her troubled mind. In a way he benefitted from her long experience with the red-headed dunderhead. Apparently she was used to mostly silent listeners. An acknowledging grunt from time to time was everything needed to keep her happy. Greg glanced back for a moment and exchanged a small smile with Millie. His girlfriend was walking with Hannah and Susan, exchanging tips about where to go in Hogsmeade for clothes and other girlie knickknacks. Vince and Tracey came in last. They didn't talk as much as they were too different in mindset and preferences. Actually Tracey only accompanied them for protection as she had gotten into some trouble with Pansy and the Notts since joining Greg's group. Luckily the pug-nosed girl had stepped back a little, at least within the girls' dorm, since Millie roughed her up a bit – and threatened Daphne she would be the next if she didn't put her act together.
Pothead and Weasel – Greg had to suppress a growl, thinking about the dunderhead duo. Apparently, Professor McGonagall didn't allow Potter to visit Hogsmeade; a clever decision in his book, with a mass murderer out there to kill Wonderboy. Not that there would be many Slytherin tears on the horizon about Potter getting himself killed. Greg, Millie and Vince didn't share the opinion of their house about the boy-who-lived and his imminent death, but mostly because of Hermione and her sibling-feelings towards the boy. At least he hoped it was only sisterly love and not some crush she nursed. He could live without lovey-dovey eyes. And while he didn't want Potter's death, the Slytherin trio shared the urge right now to teach the black-haired git some manners about how to treat a friend.
.
"Why are you crying?" Greg asked. He felt helpless around crying girls, had always done.
Hermione was sitting on one of her favourite places, the one she always used when the red-headed menace did something stupid. Her eyes were red and puffy, her voice shaky from sobbing. "Crooks…"
Greg frowned. Crookshanks was alright as far as he knew. He had seen the tomcat only an hour ago, chasing Midnight around, the pitch black cat of some 5th year 'Claw. Crooks had a little crush on the beautiful cat, obviously. Equally obvious was it that Midnight thought different about the matter, something that didn't stop the orange fur-ball from chasing after her.
"Weasel and his stupid rat again?" Greg guessed. Hermione's small nod affirmed his idea.
"He was chasing him around and tried to hurt him," Hermione explained.
Greg's frown deepened. "Crooks the rat or Weasel the cat?" He asked.
"Both," Hermione hiccupped. "He's calling Crooks a beast and all. A menace…"
Greg grinned. "Weasel would know everything about being a menace, wouldn't he?"
The statement at least prompted a small smile from Hermione.
.
Since then Weasel the prick hadn't been on speaking terms with Hermione, and Potter – again – had allowed it to happen. Like so often, Hermione's supposed best friend kept his mouth shut and stayed at Weasel's side. Perhaps a fist in the face would teach him the wrongs of his ways, Greg mused darkly.
Naturally, Weasel's recent behaviour hadn't stopped him from glaring at "Granger the traitor" when she passed him in the entrance hall, accompanied by Greg and his friends. Stupid prick that he was.
.
"What do you think will happen to Harry?"
Hermione's out of nowhere question caught them by surprise. They were gathering the troops for the return trip after some nice hours in the village. Millie and Hermione had gotten along more or less, even teaming up for a trip to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop after the group had plundered Honeydukes of all things edible.
Greg looked up from his bag. Luckily, he had remembered in time to buy something for Hagrid as well. The big man with the even bigger heart had accepted Greg's apology for past behaviour without hesitation. It certainly had helped that Greg had convinced Hermione to accompany him on that dreaded trip to the ComC Professor's wooden hut. Hagrid had been unhappy because of the fuss Malfoy created about the Hippogriff matter, but had been thankful about Greg's moral support and Hermione's assistance in finding arguments for the pending hearing. Still, Greg thought that some sweets were in order to show Hagrid that Greg's former hesitance to speak with him had nothing to do with his opinion about him and his giantish heritage.
Right now, the bushy-haired girl was playing with a small package of sweets she bought for Potter and looked thoughtful. The boy certainly didn't deserve it. Perhaps he had a chance to spit on it later when Hermione wasn't looking. Vince would like it, and Millie would be a little disgusted. "Why should anything happen to him?" Greg wondered loudly.
"It's Halloween," Hermione answered with a shrug. "Every Halloween something happens to him."
He thought about it for a moment. She was right, actually. First year there had been the incident with the troll – the one that started this friendship between a lion and a snake. Last year there had been the case of the petrified cat. Mrs Norris hanging from the wall, what happy days, Greg smiled. Not to forget that little incident twelve years ago with a Dark Lord failing to kill the boy.
Greg sighed. "We'll see. We can only hope." He didn't care to explain if he hoped something good or bad to happen to Potter.
It was only a couple of hours later, right after the feast, he learned about the newest case of "Potter Halloweenitis": Sirius Black had tried to force his way into the Gryffindor commons.
Trick or Treat indeed.
.
Interlude 2 – Collect me
.
Greg was in a good mood as he sauntered down the corridors of Hogwarts towards his destination. The last couple of days had been good to him. While Millie hadn't allowed Vince and him to rough up Weasel and Potter like he wanted to, Lady Fate hadn't been a bitch for once but decided to make him happy. At the Gryffindor Hufflepuff Quidditch game – Malfoy was still milking his "terrible injury" and got the first Slytherin game delayed by a few weeks – there had been some Dementors around, their presence unseating the golden boy in mid-air. What a lovely sight, Potter plummeting to the ground like a shooting star. Only Hermione's anxious scream had spoiled the mood a bit. Did she really expect Potter to get seriously injured with the Headmaster around? Dumbles would never allow something to happen to his precious boy, Greg sneered. And the best thing about the incident? Potter's broom got within reach of the Whomping Willow and was a better kind of firewood now. Potter had been in tears about it, Weasel even more so. Splendid.
No, he hadn't forgiven them their behaviour, even after they graciously allowed Hermione back into their little group. Not that he liked the girl much more right now. She had looked a little sad and guilty, but still she turned her back on him as soon as the terrible duo welcomed her back. Millie of all people had tried to explain: "they were her first friends. You would be the same with Vince." He understood her reasoning. Still it was silly to compare a mate like Vince with a prick like Weasel. Sometimes his girlfriend was simply too nice.
A second reason for his good mood was Professor Snape's announcement that he would take over teaching DADA for the rest of the week. Professor Lupin wasn't feeling well – again – and for once there would be something to learn "worth your time", his house head promised. Greg was eager to see what Professor Snape had in mind.
Concentrating on the way ahead, he noticed a pair of 'Claw girls coming down the corridor. Apparently, they had left a secondary corridor only seconds before – a secondary that led nowhere as far as he remembered. The girls giggled and bantered in a playful manner. They were whispering and far too happy not to give him the creeps. It was one word in their banter however that nearly made him stop: "Looney."
He waited for the girls to round the next corner, before he turned back and entered the side corridor as well. A window, looking down onto the Forbidden forest; a single door on the left, to his knowledge leading to a small storage room Argus Filch used; on the right wall was a medium-sized painting.
"Hello boy," the man in the painting greeted him. "Good to see you again; feared you'd totally forgotten about me."
"Never, Sir," Greg responded, doing his best to stand at attention. It was one of the few things he had learned from his father. "How are you doing on this fine day, Commander Pomeroy?" He had visited the painting a couple of times before, and came to like the gruff old man. Commander Pomeroy had been one of the few pureblood wizards who turned their back to the magical world and entered the Muggle society. Sometime in the 19th Century he had been an officer of the Royal British Navy, and he still loved to tell stories about the good ol' times. And Greg liked to listen. It was like comics, only with sound.
"Quite well if a tad boring, boy. Not many visitors around."
Greg nodded gravely. "Speaking of visitors: you didn't happen to notice a pair of girls in this corridor a couple of minutes ago?"
"Right you are I noticed them," Commander Pomeroy puffed his chest. "Giggling and cackling, the lot of them; not very ladylike, I have to remark." He shook his head sadly before he nodded towards the door. "Went in there; certainly had something unsavoury in mind. I simply know it. Have a book hidden therein."
"A book?" Greg asked with a deep frown.
"My eyes are sharp as ever, young man."
"I didn't doubt you, Sir," he hastened to placate him. "I only wondered."
"Certainly something they don't want to be caught with, something about dark magic or…" he looked around to assure that nobody was listening. "Or sex," he added with disgust in his voice."
Greg widened his eyes comically. Commander Pomeroy nodded curtly. "You'll see," he affirmed.
"I'll better have a look," Greg agreed, hoping that the painting was wrong. He had no interest in books about dark magic and Millie wouldn't be all too amused about the other kind. However, he expected something quite different. So, he approached the door and tried to open it. Regretfully the door didn't budge.
"They closed it magically," Commander Pomeroy superfluously explained.
I hadn't guessed, Greg groaned inwardly. Luckily, Vince and Greg had learned the Alohomora spell in between. The spell was really helpful from time to time for getting something to eat. Hermione had used the spell in her first year already; the friends had learned it a year later. Now he was mediocre competent in using it, something that allowed him to enter the cobwebbed room without much difficulty.
"Amateurs," Greg groaned as he noticed the foot prints leading through the room. He didn't need to have Wolverine's senses to guess the "hidden stash" of the 'Claws. Moments later he had the book mentioned by Commander Pomeroy in his hands. It was a collection of photographs, actually, a collection belonging to Luna Lovegood as the book title proudly announced.
Greg sat down on a dusty crate and had a closer look. There were pictures of a pair that could have been Luna's parents. He remembered a picture of her father in the Quibbler – only he had been twenty years older then – and the woman was a spitting image of Luna. A wedding, a couple of pictures from a visit to the sea and others from a picnic with toddler-Luna followed. He smiled broadly as he noticed a picture of Luna helping her father with the printing press – the girl was messed up with printing ink and her father didn't look much better. Luna grew in the pictures over the next pages, but the presence of her mother stopped after a while. He didn't remember what happened to her mother? Did she leave – or die?
Greg gently closed the book. Whatever the reason for her absence, Luna would certainly miss the book. "Stupid bitches," Greg cursed loudly and kicked the crate. Hiding something like this was a malice Malfoy would commit – or those blasted 'Claws apparently. Weren't they meant to be family to Luna? And they called his house evil, Greg sneered. Carefully he stored the book in his bag, closed the door and said his farewell to Commander Pomeroy – not without promising his return next week.
He had a certain tiny professor to visit.
.
Scene 7 – Condemn me
.
"Professor Lupin," Severus Snape uttered the title like it caused him pain, "is feeling a little under the weather. So I'll fill in for today, giving you a chance to actually learn something useful."
The reactions were as expected: Malfoy and his cronies looked like Christmas had come early and the Gryffindors groaned in annoyance, their mood not getting any better as Snape started to lay in on Professor Lupin and his supposed faults, his critic even worse than usual. The bitter enmity had even been a matter of Greg's last letter to his mother. Regretfully, she only knew that the hate dated back to Professor Snape's own schooldays but had no details about its reasons.
Greg glanced towards the golden trio that was a trio again. Pothead looked worse than before, partially because of Snape certainly, but another reason Greg expected to be the news about Sirius Black. Somehow the boy-wonder had learned at last about Black's betrayal of his family, how he had caused his parents' murder and the assumed reason of his break-out: he was out there hunting Pothead. This alone wouldn't trouble Greg all too much. While he got along a little better with the golden boy these days than before, they still couldn't be called friends. However, someone endangering Pothead would be a danger to Hermione's health as well. She was far too loyal and stubborn not to try defend her friend even against a known mass-murderer. Bloody Gryffindorks!
"Today we'll focus on the details of Werewolves," Snape continued. "We'll speak about how to identify them, what makes them apart from other wizards, why they are dangerous and," he grinned evilly, "how to put them down."
Greg's ears pricked up. Werewolves had always interested him. He already read a couple of books about the matter, starting with "running with werewolves", Lockhart's ridiculous novel, up to far more serious books covering the material. He hadn't expected to have the topic covered this early. If he remembered correctly, it belonged to the year four or five curriculum. While some of the books spoke about "possibilities" and how to integrate them, about strange Indian packs that lived "in harmony with their inner wolf", Greg expected Professor Snape to follow the more wide-spread line of fear and hate: Only a dead werewolf is a good werewolf.
Snape didn't disappoint him.
.
In silence, Greg sat down at the table Hermione was occupying on her own. He had waited for her friends to depart and even left Millie behind to have this serious discussion in private. Hermione glanced to him before staring at her book again, her cheeks blushing a little in embarrassment and no small amount of guilt. For a while neither said a word, before the girl broke the silence.
"Greg, I'm sorry…"
Sorry, that I returned to my other friends. Sorry, that I left you again and wasn't brave enough to stay friends with you. The words were there, unspoken. Greg heard them nonetheless.
"It's alright," Greg calmly responded.
Hermione looked up, her eyes wide in surprise. There wasn't the mocking, the haughty return she would get from Ron. There was simple acceptance only.
"Millie explained it to me," he continued, a small smile playing around his lips as he thought about his girlfriend. It did more to convince Hermione about his seriousness than the words itself. Only a few friends were allowed to see this side of him. And she apparently still belonged to this special circle.
"She did?" Hermione asked hoarsely.
"Yeah," Greg nodded. "They were your first friends and all. Naturally you'll try to get back to them." He frowned for a moment, looking troubled. "I won't lie to you: I'm still a little pissed right now," her blush deepened, but she didn't chastise his language. "But I'm still your friend."
"Thank you," she responded with a small voice.
Greg curtly nodded, closing the matter – for now. He put the paper he had been holding the whole time and pushed it in front of her. It was his essay about Werewolves.
Hermione stared at it and frowned. Naturally she had already done the essay herself, days ago actually. Most students had stalled the work, hoping that Professor Lupin would cancel it after his return. She expected that to happen, especially after her own … realizations … about the professor's "malady".
"You want me to proof-read it?"
"No," Greg shook his head. "Hannah already did it." His response actually hurt her a bit. It was an open secret – at least to her friends – that Hermione got a big part of her self-esteem from her "know-it-all" status, despite her hating the nickname. She was one of the best students around and, starting back in primary, many others only endured her sometimes bossy behaviour because of her schoolwork help.
"I'm not your friend because I want you to do my work," Greg calmly explained, his words telling her that her thoughts had been wide open on her face. After a moment of embarrassment, they caused a wave of happy feelings in her gut. Trying to distract herself from comparing Greg with Ron's past behaviour, she pointed towards the paper: "what about this?"
Greg's face turned a little sour. He breathed deeply, struggling for word. Hermione calmly waited for him to start, an uneasy feeling gripping her. "He's a werewolf, isn't he?"
Hermione paled, her eyes widening. He knew? He knew.
Greg nodded, like expecting her reaction. "I knew you'd realize it as well."
Hermione gulped. "Did you tell anybody?"
"Nobody so far," his response relieved her fears.
"Please don't tell anybody," she urged.
"Why not?" He simply asked.
Yes, why not, she wondered herself. Hermione knew that he didn't like Professor Lupin, not like Harry or she did. "It would be unfair to him," she tried to argument, his face telling her that he wasn't convinced. "He's a good teacher." Greg scoffed. "Yes, he is," Hermione repeated, "better than the two teachers before."
He lifted a single eyebrow. Not much to beat there.
Hermione sighed. "He deserves a chance."
"And what about the students?" Greg wondered. "He's a danger to everyone."
"He's not," she yell-whispered struggling to keep her voice down in case Madam Pince was around. "He's really not. Harry told me Professor Snape had him drink a potion."
"Wolfsbane?"
Hermione nodded. She didn't know for sure but it had to be. "I think he's locking himself up for the dangerous nights and he's drinking the potion. He's no danger to us."
"Are you certain?" Greg asked anew, "really certain? Certain enough to bet the lives of the other students on it?"
Hermione gulped again, looking like fainting right now. Dumbledore trusts him, she wanted to say, but kept her mouth shut. Greg wouldn't accept that argument, holding the headmaster not in the same high esteem as she did. "I trust him," she simply said in the end, trying to sound more convinced than she actually felt. Apparently it was enough for now.
"Alright," Greg accepted it. "I'll keep my mouth shut about it – for now. But I'll watch him closely." And I'll write mum about that silver knife of hers.
"Thank you." Hermione could only hope that her decision proved right.
.
A/N
See you on Wednesday.