A little humour this chapter.
As a side note, the mini-adventure mentioned this chapter was one I just made up. In any case, I don't think my writing was the best towards the end, but hopefully you'll still like it. Enjoy!
As a side note, to reviewer westwindhowl, thanks for the review! I'll try to make Amy a little more major; the problem is the number of storylines I have going on, it's hard to give everyone a big role. And trust me, I'm not keeping it all straight in my head, I've got a document made up of notes that's three pages long!
The merry Christmas season had past; ruined only slightly by the wave of heat that washed through the castle. The Doctor had gone pale at the time; the Daemon had been called again. The second of three summonings. January had come quickly, with no one willing to mention the unexplained heat.
Amy sat on the TARDIS floor, swinging her legs off the edge as the Doctor flicked through a series of books below the glass floor.
"Hey, Doctor!" Amy called, "Are you actually going to do anything? Other than flicking through books?"
"Hey! Books are good," the Doctor looked up, after literally flicking through the pages, putting the book down after just two seconds
"Not when you flick through them that quickly," Amy rolled her eyes, muttering to herself
"Humans," the Doctor rolled his eyes, "Such slow readers." He put another several-hundred page book down after a few seconds of flicking
"Time Lords, such show offs," Amy retorted
"Yeah," the Doctor mumbled, distracted, hesitating on the first page of a book. "1971, but that was…"
Before he could finish the sentence, the book physically leapt out of his hands, thumping as it vibrated itself along the floor.
"Amy! Catch that!" the Doctor shouted, eyes wide as the book fled.
Rolling her eyes, Amy jumped off her perch, onto the area just below the glass floor. She landed on the living book, quickly picking it up. A momentary scream escaped her lips as the book acted as if it were trying to bite her, opening and shutting rapidly between her hands, pages rustling and shaking.
The Doctor darted up, running the sonic screwdriver up and down the spine. Several seconds later, it slowed; and the Doctor sighed in relief.
"What was that?" Amy said; more a statement of disbelief that the Doctor was carrying such a thing around in the TARDIS, than a real query.
"1971," the Doctor muttered, "A few books were treated with a special alien chemical, in an effort to murder the intellectuals of Earth, leaving it open for an alien invasion. Only problem was, they picked the biggest flop in the whole of literature to infect. This one must've snuck aboard," he patted the book fondly.
"And why are you reading all this?" Amy blinked, looking around at the piles and piles of books. They varied wildly, from books of myths and legends, to romances, to horror, and Amy was sure she even saw a copy of Winnie The Pooh.
"Research," the Doctor grinned, twirling on the spot, before darting forwards and picking up Winnie The Pooh.
"On?" Amy blinked, looking around at the books. They seemed to have nothing in common.
"Daemons, of course," the Doctor looked at the redhead shocked, she'd think it was something else, "I've told you, they've been coming to Earth for centuries. That kind of interference leaves traces."
Amy paused, before responding; looking around at the arrays of books. They seemed to have next to nothing in common. Books on mythology did seem to have an obvious link, and, Amy supposed, a few of those horror novels might be related, but then there were the romances, the children's books, and some that looked more like picture books, than any real novel.
"Right," Amy prolonged the word, sceptical. "How many Daemons are in Winnie The Pooh?"
"More than you think," the Doctor looked up, voice brimming with seriousness, eyes urgent. "Ever wondered why Eeyore's always so sad? Why Piglet's always scared? When Tigger arrived, do you know what he was running from? Do you know who keeps stealing Rabbit's vegetables? And, most importantly," the Doctor hesitated, dropping his voice to a whisper; "Who stole all the honey?"
A pause. Amy just stared into the Doctor's emotional eyes, silent, something between bemusement and horror in her eyes.
"I think you've just ruined my childhood," she eventually said.
"Yeah, well," the Doctor muttered, hesitant, "Don't be so quick to judge."
He returned to the child's book, grinning like a madman as he flicked through the pages. As he got to the end, he frowned, and went back to the start. Several seconds later, Amy hit him.
"Ow!" he looked up, hurt, at the redhead. "What was that for?"
"You almost had me believing you," she said, "You're meant to be working, not just reading a book you like."
"Oh," the Doctor's face fell, "You're sure?"
Amy just stared at him.
Several seconds later, like a child who'd just had his favourite toy taken away, the Doctor reluctantly put Winnie The Pooh down.
The Time Lord went back to work, reading through other, more related, stories. While he wasn't looking, Amy picked up the book, found a seat, and began reading it herself.
O
The Great Hall. January, the students were buzzing with the characteristic fervour of the new year, and perhaps something else.
The owls had soared high above, dropping the parcels and letters and gifts, including the latest newspaper, the Daily Prophet, announcing a breakout of Azkaban. A number of Death Eaters had escaped the supposedly inescapable prison; and the screaming, furious, faces on the paper were enough to strike fear into many of the students.
Several Slytherins had the paper flattened, making one of the pages entirely exposed, and clear, on the table: pictures of all the escaped Death Eaters glared out of the pages.
They were pointed at some of them, recounting the trivia they'd learned, naming a few atrocities committed by each, as if it were all a big joke. Laughter, sniggering.
They'd even turned it into a game of sorts; folding over the page, hiding the text describing their past crimes, leaving them to guess what slaughter had been performed by each Death Eater.
"That one," Goyle pointed at a rough-shaven man, "He's brutal, he is. Killed…Fabian someone."
"He's better," another Slytherin, a girl, interrupted, pointing at another image; "Expert at the Imperius curse."
"That one's a Ministry spy though," Goyle pointed at another.
"You should see what he was up to at school," the Slytherin girl pointed at the same picture again: Mulciber
"Rookwood was in the Department of Mysteries," Goyle argued, sounding unintelligent yet possessed with obvious glee at the 'contest'. He tapped the picture of the Death Eater again, "And got caught way after your guy."
"Mulciber actually did something," the girl retorted, "Rookwood stayed in his comfy Ministry position for ages. Hardly a challenge."
"Yeah, but-"
"What's that?" Draco Malfoy interrupted the argument at that point, looking over at the paper.
"Azkaban breakout," Goyle blurted. "Loads got out."
"Did they r-" Draco stopped speaking at that point.
He looked down at the paper; eyes wide, pale. His mind had gone blank: instead of thinking of what to say, it had been filled with one thought, one all-consuming thought that wiped all else away.
No.
His eyes skimmed over the paper; a shiver rippled through him. One thing he thought he'd never see, one thing he'd hoped not to see. But now it was clear.
"Who's that one?" Draco asked, struggling to find his voice again.
Goyle frowned, looking at the picture, he read through the paper, looking up at Draco. He was about to speak when Malfoy snapped.
"Forget it. Give me that," the blonde snatched the Prophet away, marching out of the Great Hall.
He made it about three steps, before he fell onto the wall, trembling.
O
Harry was sitting by the Patronus statue; his first time to this wing of Hogwarts for quite a while. Draco's words last time had stung; he wasn't sure what to say to the Slytherin, indeed, whether they should talk again after it.
The wave of heat had started the change however. Another one; triggered by the woman, if Malfoy was correct. A scorching surge through the castle, creating fear in everyone-yet another inexplicable wave-and the same which had caused the impenetrable barrier around Hogwarts.
The Doctor had helped with the dome; while it was still in place, he was able to transport many things to and from the school. While it was never explained, several students reported seeing a blue box capturing and releasing flocks of owls and people. Then again, some people had also reported trying to sneak into the blue box, while it waited by the shield, and they'd come out saying it was bigger on the inside; so Harry didn't really trust them.
A few had also mentioned falling into a swimming pool, come to think of it. Harry wasn't totally sure what to make of that.
Actually, Harry remembered seeing a blue box; he'd gone into the Room of Requirement, trying to find a way to help Hogwarts, defeat Voldemort, and stop whatever was causing the waves of heat. Instead of the normal Dumbledore's Army classroom, he'd found the police box.
Whatever the case, he'd left the room, and re-entered, to find the old, familiar classroom.
Still, that tall box, comforting blue, unexpected, it reassured him, stayed in his mind. Had the Room consciously chosen for him to see it? Was it an answer to any of his questions?
Stop the masked woman's cult. Stop Voldemort.
Could a box, even if it were bigger on the inside, do that?
Harry shivered, just thinking of it. Since last year, the Dark Lord had been on his mind, almost constantly. The one who killed his parents, now alive again. Somewhere; even if the Ministry was too scared to admit it.
"Hey," a voice brought Harry out of his reverie. Draco's; yet something was off.
The black haired boy looked up at the Slytherin. Malfoy stood there, paler than ever, scared? No, not the right word. Shaken, perhaps. Definitely shaken; as if the world had been taken out from beneath his feet.
The blonde took a few unsteady steps, resting on the pedestal beneath the stone wizard.
"Sorry about-" Harry began
"Oh, shut up," Draco muttered, interrupting tersely. "You Gryffindors, it's all chivalry and ego with you. Don't bloody apologize, I don't care."
Harry hesitated, stopping. He couldn't say anything; Draco was shaken by something, he was taking it out on whatever he could.
It surprised the Boy Who Lived, a lot of the time: the Houses of Hogwarts. Most of the time, you could barely see any difference. And then, small, specific moments, and the divisions become oh so clear. Like now: a Gryffindor would take the blame, a Slytherin would dismiss it. A Hufflepuff would try to allay any misconceptions, a Ravenclaw would think up a solution.
Small things. Harry still found surprisingly little major differences between the Houses.
"Sorry, but I j-" Harry began again.
Draco smacked his wand on the statue; a resounding crack, signalling impatience. For one moment, Harry thought the blonde's wand had snapped; before he saw it, still firmly clasped, intact. Several sparks shot out the end.
"What-" Harry began again, trying to have a decent conversation with Draco, for once, instead of a few words with an irate response.
"I know who she is," Draco said, a clear statement.
Silence. Harry wanted to ask, wanted to gasp, wanted to do any number of things: yet when he tried, he found he couldn't. He didn't want to know; too scared. The small sightings he'd had of the woman were enough to cause that.
Flash. Crucio. Flash. Kill Cedric. Flash. Stupefy!
Everything she'd done had been for harm; sheer joy for her, sheer torture for all else. Draco had mentioned other atrocities, ones Harry didn't want to hear about. The blonde went paler thinking of Umbridge's death; and was she really responsible for the waves of heat?
"Vetis," Draco muttered. "She's summoning some creature called Vetis: that causes all those waves of heat, made a metal snake come to life. I- She wants to kill you."
"I know," Harry closed his eyes, remembering.
The black graveyard; fleeing from Lord Voldemort, risen again, running for the Triwizard Cup. Almost there; it would take him back to Hogwarts, save him-
Flash. The masked woman; stepping out of thin air. "Stupefy!"
Harry fell to the dirt, stunned, at the Dark Lord's mercy. The woman sneered across; pleased with herself. Ecstatic.
"She tried to kill me, last year," Harry said, "The Third Task. At the graveyard."
"Of course she would," Malfoy muttered, bitter.
"Why?" Harry frowned. He was about to say more, but stopped. What could he say?
In response, Draco lifted a copy of the Daily Prophet. The latest edition; wordless, the Slytherin threw it towards Harry. The Gryffindor caught it, peering at the page.
Instantly, he froze. That name. He'd heard it before; Dumbledore had mentioned it, a while ago, after consulting some yellow book.
"But that's impossible," Harry murmured; not in outrage, or disbelief, just a quiet statement
"It should be, huh Potter?" Draco rolled his eyes. "Only just escaped, yet she's been here for the last few years. I don't think she cares. Still, it's her wearing the mask."
Harry struggled for something to say; but there was nothing. Just disbelief, anger, fear…
And on the paper, tangled hair swung loosely to the sides of a pale, shouting, insane face. Bellatrix Lestrange glared out at the world.