Halloween was miserable. The pumpkins were lit and floating in midair, yes, and the candles glowed with an unearthly light, but the only ones who could possibly have been having a good time were Professor Snape, the Carrows, and the Future Death Eaters of Britain (also known as Slytherins). I'd always gotten along with Slytherins before now, figuring it was better to have them as friends than enemies, but I was not in favour of the wholehearted support they gave the Carrows.
There was graffiti around the school these days. Filch was going mad trying to scrub it off, but he couldn't do magic, and I suspected the ones who had put it up there had known that and put it up with some sort of clever version of a Sticking Charm. In any case, most of it said the same sort of thing: Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting!
Dumbledore's Army!
It was a voice from the past. I had very clear memories of fourth year. In some ways, it had been my favourite year at Hogwarts. The many small rebellions against the Umbridge woman had been exciting, made me want to be part of a larger organization. Though I'd only gone to the initial meeting in the Hog's Head, then been scared off by Educational Decree Twenty-four, I'd still felt like I was part of something. Part of something good.
I'd only heard about what happened to them later, after Professor Dumbledore disappeared that year. It was abysmally hard sorting out truth from rumour, so I took everything I heard with a grain of salt.
Supposedly, the DA had been betrayed by some Ravenclaw girl. I reluctantly accepted this as truth, as Hufflepuffs were too loyal to stab anyone in the back and it would have been stupid for a Gryffindor to do it—they all hated Umbridge. Harry Potter had been captured and taken to Professor Dumbledore's office, where Umbridge and the Minister of Magic had tried to get a confession out of him. Then, well, either Professor Dumbledore had knocked them out and disappeared… or, alternatively, Mr. Fudge and three Aurors had been in St. Mungo's for a month and a half.
In any case, Dumbledore's Army was worth three Galleons and a Quibbler as a means of installing hope. For me, anyway. Some other people did not agree.
It was this, er, disagreement which made Halloween so miserable.
Rhiannon and I had maintained an uneasy balance for the past two months. I didn't talk about how You-Know-Who was a homicidal, Muggle-hating maniac, and she didn't talk about how Muggles were brutish animals who were infinitely inferior to wizards. It was the Unspoken Truce that we kept to preserve our friendship.
Besides, I recognized that she had never wanted this to happen. She had never wanted me or Selene to be Crucioed. She had never wanted to Crucio anyone herself, as a matter of fact. She just wanted Hogwarts, normal Hogwarts, without the Muggle-borns. Though hating Muggles was a trait installed in her from birth, she, like most people, only wanted tomorrow to be pretty much like today.
She was a product of her environment. I recognized that, and forgave her for it.
Most of the time.
We were sitting together, Rhiannon and Selene and I, as we always did. In these times, we couldn't survive without each other. We could barely survive with each other, if it came to that. There was pumpkin juice in each of our goblets, and an amazing feast spread out before us, but it was mostly untouched. Raindrops were pouring down from the enchanted ceiling, disappearing before they hit the tables. Up at the teachers' table, the Carrows were stuffing their faces. The rest of us were… less enthusiastic.
Don't mistake me for one of those weirdoes who think that house-elves should be free and get vacation days and wages and seven-hour workdays. I know they don't want that sort of thing. But it was wrong, the way the kitchen elves were being worked. Twenty-four hours a day! Seven days a week! Four and a half weeks a month! If a house-elf was lucky, they got an hour of sleep a day, and maybe a bite or two of bread in between making our next meal. It wasn't possible to survive in those kinds of conditions. I didn't know how many had already died from lack of food or sleep or overwork, but I did know that the Carrows and damn Professor Snape thought they were replaceable. Like machines.
I was a vegetarian, sort of. I refused to eat meat unless the animals had been treated really well. Chickens not stuck in tiny cages. Cows free to go and, er, eat grass, and, um, say "moo." (I was a city kid.) So eating pies that had been baked by a house-elf who was about to collapse from starvation seemed wrong to me in exactly the same way.
The trouble was, I didn't want to starve…
It's hard to compromise my natural idealist with my world-beaten realist.
This Halloween I had more willpower than most days. I ate sparingly, mostly what the house-elves hadn't had to work hard to make. Apples. Pieces of cheese. Pumpkin juice, which you could get from manufactured bottles. Things like that.
I can't decide today whether I wish I hadn't stuck to this or that I'm happy I did. Because Rhiannon, noticing, said, "I thought you liked pumpkin pie, Callie."
I did. It was my favourite food in the world. It was taking an enormous amount of plain stubbornness not to cut myself a slice. "That's right," I said.
"Don't you want some?"
"Nah," I said, hoping desperately that she wouldn't guess my reasons for not eating the delicious-smelling, golden-brown, disturbingly yummy-looking pie. With vanilla ice cream. My hands were practically twitching in need.
Unfortunately, Rhiannon was a Ravenclaw. We can be cowardly, lazy, and have no common sense whatsoever, but we are smart. She narrowed her eyes. "Callie…" she said dangerously.
"Rhiannon…" I replied in the same tone, hoping to turn it into a joke. It didn't work.
"Callie, take some pie," she ordered me, her voice deadly.
"No, thank you. I'm full," I replied, deadly as well.
"You've had cheese, an apple, and pumpkin juice," she said, raising an eyebrow.
"And a carrot."
Rhiannon rolled her eyes. "A carrot. Of course. How did I not guess? You're absolutely full, really stuffed, with cheese, an apple, pumpkin juice, and a carrot."
No one could do sarcasm better than Rhiannon. I liked it when she was sarcastic, usually. Usually it was funny. Usually the sarcasm wasn't directed at me. I wasn't in the mood.
"Oh, shut up," I said moodily, and took another bite of the offending carrot.
Her face darkened. "Don't tell me to shut up, half-blood."
She regretted the word as soon as it came out of her mouth, I could tell, but I'd had enough. Enough of her offhand anti-Muggle comments. Enough of her casual support of You-Know-Who and his people. Enough of the Carrows, enough of this trapped feeling, enough of Hogwarts not being Hogwarts any more, enough of Dumbledore being dead, enough of Harry Potter not coming, enough, enough, enough!
"Any Muggle on the street would be justified in telling you to shut up," I hissed. "You and your Death Eater parents."
"Um," Selene said nervously, sitting between me and Rhiannon. "Callie-"
"Shut up about my mum and dad!" Rhiannon said angrily.
"Rhi…" began Selene hesitantly.
"Your mum and dad are murderers and Muggle-haters!"
"My parents never killed anyone!"
"Er, Callie, Rhi-" Selene tried again.
"They as good as! D'you know why all this horrible stuff is going on? Because of people like them!"
"It's not horrible, it's the new order!"
"The new order is getting me Crucioed!"
"You two, um, maybe you should-" started Selene.
"If you don't support it, then you deserve it! That's the point!"
"Hel-lo? Thought police?"
"SHUT UP!" bellowed Selene. People from along the table stared at her. She lowered her voice. "Rhi, Callie, stop it! Just stop it! You're friends! Remember what that means? Friends?"
"I'm not friends with anyone who's a Muggle-lover," Rhiannon hissed.
"I'm not friends with anyone who kills innocents," I hissed back.
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
I stood up angrily, hit my legs on the bench, climbed over it with a scowl, and stalked out of the Great Hall. My dramatic exit was ruined as I tripped over thin air when I was almost at the door and nearly landed flat on my face. Graceful I'm not.
Later that night, I heard Rhiannon come into the dormitory, Selene behind her. In a book, I thought, I would make up with the both of them, and we would all promise to be kinder from now on. In a book, things would gradually get better from that day onward. In a book, we'd be able to hold our own against Professor Snape and the Carrows, showing spirit and courage. In a book, Harry Potter would return, and be the Chosen One, and defeat You-Know-Who. In a book, Dumbledore wouldn't have died. In a book, yes, I could be friends with Rhiannon again.
Yeah, right.
Books, I thought to myself as I stared at the ceiling of my four-poster bed, my vision swimming with tears, have happy endings.