I do not own, or receive any benefit, from the Harry Potter Properties
Palimpsest
Horrid Happenings in Hogwarts: Chapter 4
By Larry Huss
After the fiasco at the Flying lesson, a sort of armed truce prevailed between the various groups involved. Gryffindor First Years didn't unduly provoke Slytherin First Years, partially due to Harry's constant exertions. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and Bulstrode tried not to provoke either Gryffindor, or the rapidly coalescing entente of the rest of their Year's Slytherin students. As that bunch had enough on their hands watching out for their dorm mates they avoided inter-house provocations also. Hermione wondered which historical analog was most appropriate: the post-Napoleonic balance of power, the run up to the Great War, or perhaps some version of the Cold War that seemed to be dying out in the Muggle world beyond their little pressure cooker in the Scottish Highlands.
Some upper Year students were making book on when the next explosion would take place, and its composition. Would there be a Gryffindor/Slytherin main event, as the divided House of Snakes tried to find common ground in a united war front? Would there be an in-house intestine conflict breaking out in Slytherin, with side bets on whether there would be rearrangements of sleeping arrangements. Would the upper Years join in? Each situation had its backers and its odds. Neville was in for 2 Galleons on the Snakes breaking out in internal guerilla warfare. Ron cursed his poverty that kept him from placing some gold down on a united front in Slytherin, based on an all out war with Hufflepuff. The odds for that outcome were simply too good for him to pass up happily.
When the next Flying lesson started… thankfully not from the point where brooms had to be introduced… the Gryffindors took to flying in pairs, with pairs of pairs watching each others' backs. Harry had got that from a picture called The Battle of Britain he had managed to catch at the Dursleys on television. Vernon had had a grandfather in the RAF, back in the day, and it was an important enough family landmark that on Remembrance Day he had always had the family watch the classic film. It was, for him, just another little way to show his freak nephew how brave, skilled and all-round wonderful "regular people" were. Actually, Harry had quite enjoyed the movie, and had no problem taking away from it little lessons that now finally became useful when he could marshal his own flying squadrons.
The Slytherins flew in two irregular, blobby formations that defied a simple description beyond the imprecise technical term "furball." As each group had riders of varying levels of skill, courage, and magical empathy for their mounts; after a few moments near collisions started occurring, angry words were exchanged, their putative instructor ignored, and finally the first hex of the day discharged. The Gryffindors spiraled higher and higher to get above the fray, and be in the best attack position to pick off any stragglers. They waited for the opportune moment to settle all their grievances and prejudices.
They waited in vain. Before that opportune moment occurred, the Heads of both Slytherin and Gryffindor had shot out (as fast as their own brooms could manage, after being neglected for years or even decades) to put down the expected bit of student rebellion. While it took Professor Snape several minutes (and 100 points) to get the anarchy subdued, Professor McGonagall was almost pleased (and so took off only 50 points from Gryffindor) to find her responsibilities, perhaps ignoring their instructor, but at least not involved in actual combat with anyone.
Several notable outcomes resulted from the day's instruction: For the rest of the term, Slytherin First Years were only allowed out of their Dungeon after dinner in pairs, and if attended to by a prefect, and on approved Library research. Hermione Granger became sure she had discovered the reason she had been instructed to support Harry Potter; he was born to create order out of chaos. Flying Instructor Rolanda Hooch retired early (barely 90 years old!), citing a desire to cultivate earthworms or other low-lying creatures. As a result, instruction in flying was put on abeyance for the year, or at least until a new Instructor could be induced to risk their life and sanity at Hogwarts.
A united front of the Captains of the various House Quidditch Teams were able to successfully plead their case that the members of the current First Year not be banned for life from Quidditch, as it would ruin the program for everyone. It was a narrow decision, and managed to become the first entry about this year's new students in the self-updating copies of Hogwarts: A History. Few groups had ever managed to make their mark so quickly, and as indelibly as this year's, and in certain quarters (Gryffindor Third Year Boys' Dorm, for example) a great degree of envy was expressed.
Ω
Hermione somehow denied herself the full expression of her pleasure at no longer having the opportunity to soar at a great height above the ground at immense speeds without either safety belt or parachute. It was hard, but she refused to publicly celebrate this turn of events. After all, some of her best friends were insane enough to enjoy broom based transportation. The fact that they all now had more time for substantive school work (or goofing off) was only admitted by three members of her Gryffindor Year. She respected their strength of character, and admitted it to them that Saturday night when two of them, Misses Patil and Brown, made their first attempt at getting Hermione's hair under control. In the event, a failure, but Gryffs have a fierce determination, and the young ladies promised that further attempts would be made.
Back home the senior Grangers read her biweekly letters with confusion, amusement, and deep interest. They were glad that their daughter had quickly found friends, and had seemingly escaped the social isolation of her previous school. But having received word of the War in the Air they had to wonder if their girl was at a magical (and co-educational) version of fabled St. Trinian's, whose motto "Strike first, Strike hard" had inspired generations of juvenile delinquents. They also wondered if it might not be wise, after all, to invest in a Post Owl as the transfer fees charged for getting their communications from the Muggle mail to the Magical one, and back again, were certainly starting to add up.
Ω
Slowly, the detentions imposed in the first week of the Term were worked off. Rooms that even the School House-Elves had neglected for decades were gone through with broom (non-flying), mop, and bucket. The marking safety-boundary stones that defined where the unpleasantly thorny brambles became the official Forbidden Forest were freshly whitewashed and cleared around. And Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had many long talks, and not a few arguments, as they hung up together in Filch's best maintained torture chamber (he being an eternal optimist on the likelihood that he would someday soon get a chance to use some of his wonderful toys). Despite the final end to those detentions (a certain number of more normally gained ones also occurred, of course), the First Years of both the affected Houses remained in the bad books of the respectable elements of those Houses, who felt that they would have to kiss the House Cup goodbye for the year. The Staff of Hogwarts imagined that they had finally regained control of events.
Ω
"What do you think?" asked Hermione Granger, as she turned around to let the assembled boys of Gryffindor House (except for the Third and above years who were off on a Hogsmeade Weekend Sunday, and the Second Years who were very conscious of their need not to be seen unnecessarily in the company of the childish and currently pariah Firsties) examine the latest iteration of a treatment for her wild hair. To her left the two artistes who had worked with various fluids and charms waited with bated breath.
"Better."
"Definitely more sheen."
"All right, I suppose."
"Smooth; use a potion on that?"
"I think my sister might need to use something like that. But it still needs some work."
Parvati and Lavender nodded to each other. Except for the ignorant "All right, I suppose." of Seamus Finnegan, the reactions were all that could be expected, and more, coming from a bunch of boys. There were some refinements that would have to be done, but still a warm glow filled them. They had been willing to attempt the impossible: make Hermione's hair look presentable. And they had triumphed! They caught Hermione flashing them a strong thumbs up, then they waved, and went back up to their room to clean up the bowls, clippings, and scattered paraphernalia. Seamus and Dean moved toward a corner, visions of winning at Gobstones dancing in their eyes. Harry and Ron had already made their turn to follow, when they were grabbed by the best coiffed person left in the room. Neville let loose a sigh of long suffering, his absolute best expression lately. Hermione had finally caught them all, and they were going to be involved in the next item on her mental agenda.
"I've noticed that we've each and all been getting differing results doing charms. Ones that we all really know, and shouldn't end up looking so different. So-" Hermione was interrupted by Ron right then, hoping to have at least a Sunday without a lecture.
"Everybody knows that different Wizards have different amounts of power… ah, Witches too, of course!" He had no desire to anger the girl who had devoted much time, and had developed skill in the careful placement of Stinging Hexes. Well done, on the sly, that talent had kept him from falling asleep in several DADA classes, and once in Astronomy. She was reasonable though, he admitted; she never interrupted a nap in History of Magic.
"Of course," she agreed, "but I remember that the wand seller mentioned my wand was especially good for certain things. I was too excited at the time to really pay attention. I mean… getting my wand! I've done a bit of research with my dorm mates, and to the extent they remember what was said their wands seem to act predictably in tune. And now I'm curious; do you remember what your wands are best for? Harry?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, to concentrate, and then shook his head.
"Ollivander, he had trouble matching me, everything either did nothing or… acted oddly. Finally gave me the one I've got: Holly and Phoenix feather, eleven inches and supple, as opposed to swishy, or I guess, limp. Never much mentioned if it was good for charms, hexes, or cleaning the wax out of my ears. He must have given you special treatment, Hermione. I bet you gave him your Number Four Stare, or something."
As her piercing gaze fell on Neville, he made a small, involuntary twitch, but there was nowhere to escape from her; dinner wasn't for another hour, and he had heard her mention that she had learned the most useful unlocking charm. Now his dorm room was no longer safe, and he had no desire to retreat to the cold and sterile sanctity of the Boys Lav. In a small, obedient, voice he answered her.
"Never really went to old Ollivander; wand's m'father's. He was an Auror, a good one, so I expect it was an all-rounder. An Auror has to be able to handle all sorts of situations."
"And mine was my brother Charlie's. He's a Dragon Wrangler now, so it must be a good one, if he learned on it," said Ron. Then he saw that she had opened a wire-bound notebook, barely able to be fitted into a robe pocket. What was worse, she easily flipped it to a set of pages with little notes scribbled around the papers' margins, and huge open spaces for her testing results to be filled in. He knew he would not escape quickly this time as she got involved in creating her questionnaire or answer sheet.
"Ron, do a Lumos please, then concentrate and do one even brighter," Hermione asked.
Shrugging, Ron complied, first a dullish, one candlepower version, then, with a bit of a grunt, something almost twice as bright. He was a little startled at that, he had never tried to get more than the minimum out of a spell successful enough to get the Professor contented and ready to move on to helping the next student. Maybe he did have more in him than he thought.
Hermione made her notes: RW with RW… 2-3
"Harry," she asked, "give a go."
His first level attempt beat Ron's by a good margin. "Total effort now!" Hermione encouraged.
The flash caused a number of angry yells from a couple of Seconds who were trying to achieve a little privacy in a corner away from most public attention.
HP with HP… 4-12
HG with HG… 3-7
NL with NL… 1-1
"Well, glad that's over," said a mortified Neville Longbottom, who had just had every one of his fears about his own talents and value as a wizard confirmed. "Let's all go down to the Lake and throw bread to the Squid."
"No, time for the switch." Hermione said, putting her hand out in front of Harry. He took a moment considering her palm, mentally agreed that her hand was clean enough, sighed, and put his wand in it.
HG with HP… 2-5
Hermione panted a little, she had been really trying, and feeling, for the first time, her oft remarked-on magical core actually heat up. She passed the wand to Ron. Inspired by his earlier attempts he put more attention into the spell than he generally did in class.
RW with HP… 2-3
A little disappointed, he passed it on to Neville.
NL with HP… 2-5
"Bloody hell," Neville said. "Bloody hell."
After that Neville's wand was passed around the circle for testing.
RW with NL… 1-1
HP with NL… 1-2
HG with NL…1-1
"Bloody hell," Ron said, endorsing Neville's earlier comment. "Your wand's a dud, Nev."
A speculative look came over Neville's face. His results seemed all over the place. Could it be…?
The four of them were latish getting to dinner; Hermione and Harry were chattering away, and speculating on the theory and practice of wandcrafting. Neville and Ron were withdrawn and silent. Several spells had been attempted, and, in general, the results had been fairly consistent as first Ron's and then Hermione's wands had been given their chance.
Neville had performed better with the others' wands than his own. Not always a great deal, but always noticeably.
Ron had done noticeably better with Hermione's wand than his own and nearly as well with Harry's. He would have to do the unthinkable. Write a letter. To Charlie, and ask if there was anything peculiar about his passed-on wand; any quirks or abnormalities. He'd have to include a line asking Charlie not to tell Mum, or she'd start expecting him to start writing her every week, or some such foolishness.
Ω
Hermione Granger knocked with uncharacteristic timidity on the door to Professor McGonagall's office. As one of the Firsties involved, however tangentially, with the War in the Air, Hermione knew that she wasn't currently one of her House Head's most favorite people. Still, this had to be called an educational matter of great importance, at least as far as Neville and Ron were concerned. At the command of "Enter" that came out muffled as it went through the thick oak door, she turned the handle and entered, for the first time, McGonagall's inner sanctum.
The first thing that struck her was the scores of lamps, hanging from the ceiling, on the tables, stuck on many of the book shelves, and on the sconces sticking out of the walls. Evidently the Transfiguration Professor needed the light to properly enjoy the hundreds of photographs, moving and still, of past Gryffindor students that occupied every visible bit of area on the walls, tables, and shelves. Hermione stepped onto the carpet runner, and advanced a good twelve yards, until she was standing in front of the massive dark wood desk, raised on a dais, carved with enough creatures with stingers, fangs, and claws that a good-sized bestiary could be made just from copying the front face of it. There was a large, pre-renaissance style chair at side of the desk, for welcome visitors. Hermione was not invited to occupy it.
On the wall behind the teacher there was etching of a typical Scottish Wizarding pastoral scene; deer in flight, pheasant on the rise, Lairds making their daily catch of ghillies. McGonagall looked at the girl, her face no more yielding than the petrified Ironwood of the desk, and waited…
Finally Professor McGonagall, having failed to out endure her, asked, "And what may I do for you, Miss Granger?" Her tone was less than warm.
Hermione wasn't sure whether to bow, salute, or curtsey, so she launched right into her piece; it was either that or flee in blubbering shame.
"M… Madam Professor, the boys and I were playing around with our wands… you know, doing spells, trying out each other's wands, and…" at that, Hermione pulled out her notebook and flipped it to the page of results, then placed it neatly onto the clean desktop. "We were just doing simple things like Lumos, and the Tickling Charm, and Wingardium, and such.
"So we collected some data on how well we did with each other's wands, and there was this oddity… "
Professor McGonagall seemed to be having some difficulty breathing, and her usual pale and somewhat freckled face was becoming quite scarlet throughout.
"… that Neville's and Ron's wands were really not doing anything much for any of us, but Harry's and my wands were actually pretty useable for all. And I wondered if you could tell us how we could, you know; test Nev's and Ron's to see if they were working right or something… "
Professor McGonagall finally blinked; her face had now gone pale, unnaturally pale. She ground out, between clenched teeth: "Miss Granger, different people have different natural tendencies, as do wands. Also different rates of biological maturation. Accordingly, differing in success at things is only to be expected, it will all even out, I'm sure."
"But Professor, nobody could get Neville's –"
"Miss Granger! You have been told!"
A moment passed, and then McGonagall began to speak in a more modulated tone of voice.
"Miss Granger, it is only to be expected that with so many young people here, just entering into their adolescence and their physical prime, that a certain degree of… experimentation might be expected. We try to be reasonable about that, the Infirmary is well prepared to prevent any unfortunate… outcomes to such experiments. We have even provided certain areas… never mind.
"But let me make it clear, Young Lady." Here McGonagall's voice had become harsh and strident again. "I do not hold with young witches either lending their wands to boys, or borrowing young wizards' wands, and risking the mingling and pollution of their pure Magical Cores! I do not care if so-called Progressives cite erroneous studies in the negative! It is improper, and will not be countenanced while I am Head of House, a Professor, or breathing!"
At a loss for a way to express her vehemence, she noticed the opened notebook on the desk, grabbed it, and threw it in Hermione's general direction. Hitting a free standing table it knocked over two framed photographs of past Gryffindor Quidditch stars, which fell to the stone floor.
Hermione turned, swooped to pick up her book, and ran from the room. The door opened of itself before she had got there. She thought of giving a suitable farewell cry as she left. Perhaps, "You're horrid!" Or better still, "Drop dead, bitch!" But she realized quickly enough that saying that might only lead to her getting carried away and really telling the old bat what she thought of her.
In any case, she didn't want to be put on detention for the next several hundred-odd days until the end of term. In the end the door even managed to close itself before she had had a chance to properly slam it. Even that small pleasure was taken from her. It wasn't fair, just not fair.
Ω
It was a major project that evening for the girls of her room to get her to tell them why she had been alternately silent and unresponsive as a rock and spluttering with incoherent rage since being seen to have left the Head of House's office. At last the persistent nagging of her friends, and being bribed from an unexpected box of chocolates, proved too much to resist. Afterwards, a serious discussion took place until past all normal bedtimes.
Lavender: "So's McG says if one of us fools around and gets a bun-"
Kandice: "The Infirmary is ready and willing to quietly-"
Parvati: "'Deal' with the situation."
Hermione protested, not very strongly, "She didn't say that in so many words."
Parvati: "So, Lavender, you're thinking of going for a Mediwitch, do you think you could-"
Fay: "Stuff like that's going to be important to know in a few years."
All eyes turned to her.
Parvati: "Planning ahead, are we?"
Fay gave her the best glare she could manage before giggling. "You've got to admit that Finnegan's got some nice moves. A girl should be prepared."
Lavender: "And it almost sounds like, from all those broom closets and the Astronomy Tower jokes, that the Staff doesn't really expect the Prefects to actually catch all the couples. It's more like a game, maybe?"
Hermione: "The wands, though. What was that all about?"
Fay: "Well, I heard Great-Grandmother tell my older sister… she was trying to find out if Tessi had a boyfriend, the old gossip. Anyway, Great-Grandma said something like it's better to be touched in… you know, her Places, than to have a boy get his hand on her wand. But now that I'm thinking about it, she may have really been more about having Tessi giving her a chance to have another 'Great' added to her title, her being that way. Great-Grandmother Gytha is very… earthy, sometimes."
Parvati: "They say that a husband and wife in a good marriage can use each other's wands without any trouble at all."
Kandice: "Or maybe they just don't mind having their magic mixed."
Lavender: "That's just a story; wands can't change their nature, and they can't change yours, either!"
Hermione: "But who'd really know?"
Fay: "I'll write Great-Grandmother Gytha, she'll know."
Parvati: "My mum has some good contacts; she'll be able to tell us."
Lavender: "Matron Pomfrey should know; I doubt there's much stuff like that she hasn't seen."
Kandice: "I should have just gone into Ravenclaw after all; I'll hit the Library tomorrow."
Hermione: "I think I know just the man to write to."
Ω
While she was waiting for all the varied answers to be gathered, Hermione felt obligated to bring up the very faint, almost completely unlikely, really miniscule, possibility of magical mingling to the boys. They accepted the news, each in their own particular fashion.
Ron ran to the bathroom to do an immediate check that nothing was… missing, or diminished.
Neville sat silently for a moment, shook his head, and said, "I don't think it works that way."
Harry laughed, then suggested that, just in case, they not start exchanging wands, just as they hadn't for the month before the experiment and the weeks since.
Slowly the results came in: Great-Grandmother Gytha remembered stories like that from her youth, but couldn't remember any actual examples of hermaphrodite magic.
Matron Pomfrey shook her head and sighed, claiming it was a rumor that never died.
The Library was unhelpful.
Parvati's mother reaffirmed married cross-wand use, but said it might just be the result of people getting familiar with each others, and each others' wands, quirks. She also sent a box with dozens of fried, sugar glazed, and utterly delightful Indian pastries. Magical preservation ensured they were fresh for the day and a half they lasted.
Garrick Ollivander's reply was simple denial that the old hag's tale had any basis in fact. He also expressed a desire to take a look at Neville's wand, if they ever got a chance to drop in. It seemed, he said, to be one of the most negative conflict of affinities between wand and user that he had ever heard of.
When she told Neville about it he started to say something, then he just sighed and turned away. Puzzled, Hermione let him go. Later that day, in a deserted corridor, between classes, she asked Harry what was going on; maybe a boy could understand a boy's strange behavior.
"Hermione, you've got two parents. Nev, he lives with his grandmother; you ever wonder why? He uses his father's wand… why isn't his father using it? If your parents were gone, wouldn't you want to hang on to whatever you could of them? Think!
"If I had something of my parents… anything… I'd keep it, use it, no matter what. Anything."
With that he reached out and squeezed her shoulder, and then walked away. She felt very cold, and lonely, and stupid. She hadn't thought of the boys really being people, with a past, and needs, and scars on their souls. Stupid Granger, had just dashed in again, mouth blazing away, and hadn't realized all the casualties would be on her own side.
Ω
It was during the Halloween Feast, after the main course, and just before the desserts were due to appear, that it happened.
Hermione had tried to be good, to avoid the dangers of sugars, and to stay on the straight and narrow. She had thought it would be enough to just restrain herself, and not preach her parents' doctrine of the avoidance of dental caries to others, not to be a nag and a pain. But the House-Elves refused to find artificial sweeteners to use in their creations, and after the arrival of Parvati's comfort package from home Hermione couldn't resist trying just a bite, to prove to herself that she could take it or leave it alone. She couldn't. Chocolate cake and fruit tarts were her downfall. She worked off the calories with magic use, and regular swimming in the Black Lake (while well charmed for warmth), and brushed like no one's business, but she had to admit a failure of character. And the worst was that she didn't really regret her fall from grace.
But, in any case, it was during the Halloween feast, with the Great Hall decorated with mid-air pumpkins and the like, just before the Elves cleared off the remains of the main course and the desserts made their welcome appearance, that Professor Quirrell burst into the Hall and declared the invasion of the safest place in Britain by a Troll. At once, from the Professor's table, the Headmaster sent orders for the students to return to their dorms, escorted by the Prefects of their Houses. Ron's spluttering protest was squashed without mercy, and their group was shepherded away. When Hermione commented, during the journey, that safety was more important than just gorging a bit more, he replied, in a cold voice.
"First, I got a listing from George of what the desserts were going to be… he's friendly with the House-Elves, is always going to the kitchens and cadging a few extras. They love that. And the Elves outdid themselves, he said. So I expect they'll be right ticked off that no-one will get to enjoy their work. So it's not just us growing boys who's suffering."
At that he gave a little yelp and hop; as Hermione's Stinging Hex touched him. She had become good enough to do them wandless lately, making her a greater danger than ever to those who engaged in sexist language.
He continued anyway. "And second, back in the Hall we have all the Prefects gathered, and a limited number of doors to watch. If we had stayed there all the Professors could have been put into search teams to find the Troll, while nobody would have to walk through the corridors in a long line protected only by two or three slightly older students, while the Staff sits around and discusses things over a glass or two of Madeira before getting around to doing the obvious."
Hermione sighed, "Point, game, and match for Weasley. I'll play you three games of Wizard's Chess to make up for the Hex. Deal?"
He nodded as they approached the Gryffindor Tower, unmolested. It wasn't often he was able to score one on her, but she was always willing to pay up when he came out on top. This time she had essentially given him a solid half-hour of playing time to have fun. None of the other Firsties gave as good a game, and his own brothers had long avoided playing with him and suffering the indignity of losing to Ron of all people!
It was when they had finished their last game, with the score of the little tournament three-nil, that they both didn't see the man who was there. Or at least who opened the Common Room door and exited the Tower. Ron bolted up, eager to follow him, but Hermione held him back with the pointed question of how would he know which way he went? They decided to check with their roommates, to see if anyone else had seen anything like this before. Was it another, less annoying poltergeist than Peeves? A transparent ghost? Or someone under a Disillusionment Charm?
In the end they were able to find and interrogate all the upper Years that they knew, and all of their own, except Harry, who seemed to have… become invisible. Or at least very absent. Or both. To deal with this situation a plan was formed, and a dedicated schedule of Watchers instituted.
Ω
It was Lavender Brown, who wasn't complaining at what friends asked you to do, and Fred Weasley, who was the reason she wasn't complaining, that saw the door open at around 1:30 in the morning, and no one come in. The querulous voice of the Fat Lady had stirred them from their torpor as the door to the Common Room opened. Lavender had been contemplating cute redheads, upper classmen, and the possibility that they wouldn't be already claimed when they realized a girl two years younger could be very interesting. He, on the other hand, was wondering sadly on the terrible charisma he seemed to have with Firsty girls; first Granger and now Brown. Even his own brother, Ron, encouraged them it seemed. He had been the one to drag (evidently at one of their urgings) him for this thankless task. George was having a field day about that, when he wasn't wondering why he wasn't getting anywhere with Angelina, or trying to figure out how the girl Firsties always seemed to know which was Fred and which was George.
They had had a fine time convincing the House-Elf that was in charge of cleaning the Gryffindor Common Room not to clean up the fine layer of ash that the fireplace had provided as material for the trap that was now being sprung. A rough outline like a string, the ends held a shoulder width's apart, was moving through the grey ash. Fred's automatic casting of a Body Bind was snapped off with all the speed of a talented Quidditch player. It was aimed with all the skill of the best Beater Hogwarts had seen in years, just two feet up from where the ashes were being disturbed. A moment later a great mass of the ash was lifted up into the air by the impact of a body falling prone onto the ground. The backs of someone's legs became visible, from the shoes to the knees. Fred was up and at the immobilized interloper in a flash, hauling him out of the way. There was probably hardly any damage to the still mostly-invisible person he hauled over to one of the couches in the room. Lavender was up and running to wake up the others. Per their agreement Fred called out "House-Elf Twiggy!"
As he heard the First Year dorm rooms being alerted, Fred found the edge of what was obviously an invisibility cloak, and began to pull it up and off the person inside. Meanwhile Twiggy (not to be confused with Macci, who did the bathrooms and stairs, or Bliggi, who was the specialist in bed chambers) appeared and began to eliminate the ash that had been spread over much of the entranceway area of the room. It was doing an odd thing, for a House-Elf; it was muttering that now it could finally get some sleep, if the Young Masters didn't want it to polish the ceiling, blindfolded and upside down.
Fred wasn't completely surprised that when the cloak was completely off and a rigid Harry Potter was revealed.
"Hope you didn't get too bruised, falling down, Harry. But that's the luck of the draw, when you go all Unseen Prowler; no one knows where you are, and things happen. In fact, I had a great-uncle who Disillusioned himself and went to have some fun with a Muggle farmer; got himself run over by a cow-catcher or something when the farmer didn't see him in time to stop. Oh, here's the guys!"
The entire population of the Girl's First Year dorm had come down… they'd been up doing each other's toenails anyway while waiting from Lavender to come up and Hermione to take the long Graveyard Shift. From the Boys section only Neville and Ron came down. Seamus wasn't any use the next day without his 10 hours, and Dean hadn't gotten the alert. He had taken a series of potions to deal with a bad cold that had totally knocked him out. Fred sighed, evidently she hadn't risked going up to the Third Year Boys' room, and that meant he'd have to tell George all about things in the morning.
Hermione was staring at the rigid Potter, her eyes fiery. As she drew in her breath to begin her denunciation of someone so thoughtless as to have come to school with a wonderful thing like an invisibility cloak (Lavender had been quick with her alert, but thorough), and not tell his best friends, and who was capable of going out into the Troll plagued corridors of their school alone, and not let those self-same friends come along to help if he got in trouble… Ron put his forefinger up to her lips.
"Less hands up," Ron said.
"Nggh-" came out through Hermione's closed lips; that grunt the minimum sound she could make, while trying to suppress all of the things she had been about to say. Ron had got her balanced again. Finally she gasped out in a small voice, "Weasley scores again." He smirked.
"Finite." Fred said, and Harry turned from a rigid board, arms hard against his side and legs locked together, into a far more cooked-spaghetti-like posture.
"Ow!" came from Harry, followed by, "You could have been a little more careful about how you dragged me here. Did you have to knock into every table and chair on the way?"
"Unseen Prowlers have to take what they can get," Fred replied heartlessly. Lavender thought of how tough and manly that sounded.
Neville picked up… something that made parts of his fingers seem to disappear. "Give. From the top. All the way to the present."
Looking at all those around him, with no gap in their ring to escape through, Harry decided to come clean.
"When we got back from the Feast, while you were down here all talking, I went up to the room, to get my stuff and brush my teeth. I mean, might as well, the fun was over for the night, and Hermione always does that sniff-thing in the mornings when we go to breakfast."
Miss Granger blushed as the others turned their gazes to her. And she had thought she had been so subtle…
"Well, "Harry continued, "there was this box on my bed with a letter on top of it. Said, and I may quote," he pulled a tri-folded piece of parchment out of an inside pocket of his robe, and read from it, "'This belonged to your Father, use it wisely.' I opened the box, but there seemed nothing in it, but you know how it is, I sort of just stirred my hand in and felt something. Didn't take long to figure out what it was.
"Well," he repeated, "who wouldn't put on their family's Invisibility Cloak and go see how the professors were dealing with a Troll in the Castle?"
There was a murmur of agreement from all those gathered.
"And it would be safe as houses, I couldn't be seen, and I'm wearing trainers, so no noise."
"Suppose it smelled you?" asked Parvati.
"Took a shower this morning. Like I said, safe as houses. Learned a bit too. Did you know that Quirrell was supposed to be an expert on Trolls?"
"Shouldn't he have said what type it was then, back at the Feast?" asked Kandice. "People with expert knowledge always try to show it off with being persnickety about names." Her eyes shot to Parvati.
"Give it up, K. You'll just have to deal with being the only colour-blind girl in Hogwarts. And I think putting red highlights into Hermione's hair was brilliant!" Lavender retorted.
Neville short-circuited the approaching storm. "If he's a Troll expert, why'd he get all faint? I mean, the DADA teacher should have been able to do better than that, shouldn't he?"
"Those who can, do. Those who can only talk about it, teach?" Fred contributed.
"Anywaaay… " Harry broke in with his story again, "by the time I got to where the roaring was Sinistra and Vector had the thing under control. They'd put this spell on it, don't know the name, but there was a ball of darkness right around its head. It was sitting down and, I swear, it was crying. There were some bashed up suits of armor, and a picture knocked off the wall. They must have played some rough blind man's bluff with it, 'cause it was tame as anything when the Headmaster showed up a few minutes later. They took the Darkness off it, and he led it right out the back door, and pointed it to the Forbidden Forest. It took off running.
"Wonder how it ended up in the Dungeons, though."
That puzzled all of them; only Fred seemed to have a glimmer of an idea, and he wasn't talking. The next half hour was spent on trying on the invisibility cloak and doing spooky voices. Harry, for a promise of secrecy (to the extent something known by nine can be a secret. Well, ten. If Fred knew, George was a given to be told) promised to consider lending it to the cabal if they had a convincing case for needing it. Then it was to bed, after the most memorable Halloween feast even the most jaded witch or wizard present could remember.
Ω
"I'm not really that kind of a girl. I'm not really that kind of a girl," Hermione Granger kept on saying to herself. But she knew she was lying. She was that kind of a girl; she had thought it up, and somehow she was going to do it. But she needed some help; she'd never done anything like it before, and she didn't want to either corrupt or incriminate the innocent. So her roommates were out. Neville was obviously excluded. If she tried to get Ron into it, Harry would end up knowing, and helping. And it wouldn't really be doing a very good job of "H Potter trainhelpalways" if they were caught and he was expelled from Hogwarts in disgrace. She could think of only one place to go for the needed expertise, the needed daring, and disrespect for all decency. She would have to get more deeply involved with one (or more) of the tallest non-prig redheads in Gryffindor, and accept the consequences. Luckily, she had something up her sleeve, an earnest of her value. She was due to make a payment; it should prove her worth.
It was getting toward evening when she was able to isolate one of her potential targets out on one of the battlements of the castle, gazing off in the general direction of Hogsmeade, and no doubt planning the moral ruin of Angelina Johnson that weekend. Hermione sidled up to him and gave a subdued "Hi, George. Got a moment?"
"Cripes! Where the hell did you come from?'
Finally abandoning his pride he asked the question that had been bothering him for over a month.
"And how do you know I'm not Fred? I'll get George for you, if you're becoming an unfaithful little flirt, after all we've been to each other, if that's what you want."
"Angelina Johnson; you blush when you think about her, easy as pie to spot you."
"How did you know I was thinking of the divine Angelina? Oh… ah… yes, perhaps I am George, after all. But how did you know I was thinking of her?"
"George, George, George. I'm a witch. We know things like that. Anyways, I've finished a good amount of the Potion. I think we should spot for each other when we take it, just in case… just in case. If you find it works right, I might have a job for you, a prank of virtue that you can think of as a gold star in your secret album of pranks."
"Potion, right. Witches know what we're thinking? Pull the other one! I don't get slapped half enough for that to be true. Tonight, we'll meet up in the Common Room after dinner, find a quiet classroom, and discover our inner Beasts. How is this thing supposed to work; we do a sudden flash to our other form, and then have to discover how to do it on purpose?"
"No, we see the world for a while as our animal form would, doing things the animal does. So, you'll probably see yourself chewing your cud or something, and I'll look out over the wide savannas I control as Queen of the Beasts. Something like that. Gotta go now!" And she slipped away.
She'd never reveal the witches' secret of how the girls of Gryffindor knew which Weasley was which. It involved Fay's knowledge of how to manipulate the laundry-doing House-Elves, Hermione making up a batch of itching powder, and Lavender having access to some of the less sensitive records from the times she helped out in the Infirmary. One itched, one didn't, one was positively identified by record as Fred Weasley. George Weasley had a location tag (a minor spell, the other half of the' Point Me' Hermione had been using for months), put on him by Kandice (who hated to be left out), and each of the girls had learned how to perceive the Charm's pull. The pleasure of continually Pranking the Pranksters of Hogwarts was a gift that kept on giving.
She'd put forward her proposition tonight, to both of them. They'd have located a secure spot; it would be safer that way. She just hoped it wouldn't cost her more than she could afford to pay. Well, she was committed now; the die was cast, the Rubicon was crossed, and the cliché was spoken. That she was that sort of girl would be out in the open, a scheming and manipulative witch. She could no longer deny it.
