Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't make money off of them, though my character is original. And yes, most of the stuff in here that sounds familiar is most likely written by J.K., wonderful, amazing woman that she is.
Author's Note: I would like to thank everyone that's been reading and commenting so far- you all keep me going. And also many thanks to those who have added either this story, my other one, or both to their "Favorites" list. I am truly honored and humbled all at once. grins and bows
Now, I have a note about the first chapter. I recently re-read it, and discovered that I'm going in a completely new direction now then I was when I first started writing this story. XD Needless to say, I have a change to make about the first chapter. Rebecca's eyes are not blue, they are green, as they have almost always been with this character- I think I had a brain fart when I wrote the first chapter or something. rolls eyes And as for her eyes changing color… nix that. That was a really bloody dumb idea I had, so dumb that I can't even share it, as it is highly embarrassing.
So, if you notice that Rebecca's eyes have suddenly changed color, that's why. Anyway, onto the next chapter!
Chapter Seven: Flying Lessons/The Midnight Duel
There was a notice that night when Rebecca returned to the common room, pinned up on the wall. She groaned when she saw it, though it was so loud, others in the room with her hushed her severely. She cringed, then turned to go to her usual corner.
The Gryffindors and Slytherins were going to have a class that would begin on Thursday. That wasn't a problem. She only had Potions with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, so another class with people she liked was most welcome. Unfortunately, this particular class would be Flying lessons. Rebecca hated heights, didn't want to go near a broom that could fly, and knew nothing of the popular game everyone in this school seemed to talk incessantly about: Quidditch.
She reached her usual corner, the one the farthest away from the fire that had a table cramped into it. It was unusually cold here, but made her all the less noticeable when she stayed up till all hours of the night studying, meaning that it was less likely for people to bother or ridicule her.
Rebecca was just about to put her bag down, when she noticed that the table was already occupied by seven burly-looking boys. She gasped, and they all looked up at her. One looked familiar with his dark eyes and hair, and gruff expression. It was Marcus Flint, the older boy who had brushed her off on her first day of school.
"Seems like you've found the library," he grumbled, jabbing his head in the direction of her handful of books.
"I'm… I'm sorry," Rebecca said in a tiny voice, backing slowly out of the corner.
She knew him to be the Slytherin Quidditch team captain, this Marcus Flint boy. Perhaps he could help her. If it was any indicator about the last time she'd asked him a question, it was highly unlikely that he would. She chewed on her lower lip, then stopped herself, making sure she had good footing on the floor.
"Well, what is it, then?" Marcus asked, giving her a harsh look, though it wasn't quite yet a glare.
"I was thinking maybe you could help me," Rebecca said quietly. "…With Quidditch."
Marcus stared at her blankly.
"I have Flying lessons on Thursday, and I don't know anything about flying," she said, trying to make herself more clear.
Marcus scoffed. "What do I look like, a bloody teacher? Get out of here, you."
The six other boys with him, presumably part of his Quidditch team, laughed as Rebecca turned quickly and left the corner. She found another table far enough away from them and far enough away from everyone else where she hoped she wouldn't be disturbed. She started her Charms homework, thinking that if she got the hardest subject for her out of the way, the rest would go by quickly.
She had started to take a little more of an active interest in Herbology, but only because it tied in with Potions so well. It was still one of her lesser preferred classes, as the plants they discussed were typically boring and stable, whereas the third years and up Rebecca had heard talking about the class had found it more riveting, having to fight plants in order to complete lessons. That sounded more fun, at least, instead of taking notes on gillyweed and other rubbish like that.
Suddenly, Rebecca found her light blocked out by a shadow. She looked up and saw the face of Marcus Flint staring down at her. Her eyes widened slightly, and she sunk down into her chair, unsure of what he would do. If he attacked, she was virtually defenseless, considering that her spell work was still not the best, as she had a hard time remembering the spells fast enough in order for them to have any use to her.
She swallowed the lump that was developing in her throat, but before she could speak, he did.
"Your name's Rebecca, right?" he asked, his voice gravelly.
She nodded, unable to find her voice.
"And you're the one that's got Slytherin in an uproar, eh?" he continued.
"I… I guess."
"Well you're the Mudblood, aren't you?"
Rebecca straightened. "I'm not sure what you mean by that," she said, a little offended. Though she didn't know what the word meant exactly, she could tell it had horrible connotations to it.
"It means a muggleborn," he explained, sitting in the chair across from her, flipping it backward so he could sit with his arms across the back of it.
"Oh," she said. "Well then, yes, I guess that's me."
He watched her a minute, unspeaking.
"Did you come over here to make fun of me some more?" she finally asked, inflamed that he was disturbing her Charms homework—and just when she was almost finished, too.
He seemed stunned by this question and her tone. He smirked. "You wanted to know about flying, didn't you?" he said. "I came to answer your questions."
"So you'll help me when your friends aren't round?" she asked, raising her eyebrow. She was clearly annoyed, and she could feel it building up in her blood; she was afraid something might break again, so she tried her best to calm herself down.
A twinge of red came to Flint's ears, but he scoffed, shoving the chair into the table, sending a few of her papers rattling to the floor with the sudden movement.
"If you don't want my help, that's fine," he growled, turning to leave. "See if I try to be nice to you again."
Rebecca watched him stalk off, then sighed and got off the chair to pick up the papers that had fallen.
At three-thirty on Thursday afternoon, Rebecca made her way to the grounds, alone. As usual, she was the first to arrive, and sat down on the grass to wait for everyone else to show up. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under her. She looked at the forbidden forest, as she was sitting on the flat lawn just opposite of the forest; the trees swayed darkly at her.
There were already brooms set out, one for each student to use. Rebecca stared at them, trying her best to overcome her fear right now, before anyone else came for their lesson, but only managed to freak herself out more with just the thought of soaring up in the air. She stopped looking at the brooms, choosing to watched the trees from the forest sway in the wind instead.
After a few minutes, the other Slytherins walked down to where she was sitting, but all ignored her. She heard Malfoy whispering to the others, stealing glances at her, before the other would erupt in a flurry of giggles. She rolled her eyes at them, and stood, waiting off away from the rest of them for the Gryffindors to show up.
They finally did, and she smiled at Harry, who was the first one that she saw. He, Ron, and Hermione came over to her, followed closely by the boy Neville. Hermione introduced the two, and Rebecca smiled at him, sensing how uncomfortable Neville was, much like her.
Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk. Rebecca was fascinated by her eyes, and couldn't stop staring. Could she be, what her Transfiguration book called, an Animagus?
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" Madam Hooch barked, bringing Rebecca from her thoughts. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Rebecca looked down at her broom, feeling the twinge of nervousness explode throughout her entire body. She bit her lower lip, then looked back to the professor.
"Stick your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"
But I'm left-handed, Rebecca thought, then shook her head to keep herself from thinking anymore.
"UP!" everyone shouted.
She saw Harry's broom jump into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Rebecca's lay limp upon the ground, having only twitched a bit before settling.
Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Rebecca heard Harry and Ron chuckle when Hooch told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—"
But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.
"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle—twelve feet—twenty feet. His scared white face looked down at the ground falling away, then he gasped, and slipped sideways off the broom and—
WHAM—a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.
Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.
"Broken wrist," she muttered. "Come on, boy—it's all right, up you get."
She turned to the rest of the class.
"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."
Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.
No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?"
The other Slytherins joined in. Rebecca glared at Malfoy, edging further toward the other first year Gryffindors, who didn't seem to mind her doing so.
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped one of the Gryffindor girls.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-face Slytherin girl Rebecca had to room with. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry-babies, Parvati."
"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."
The thing Malfoy held in his hand glittered in the sun as he held it up.
"Give it here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch. Rebecca bit her lower lip, knowing what would inevitably happen.
Malfoy smiled nastily.
"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?"
"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"
Harry grabbed his broomstick.
"No!" shouted Hermione. "Madam Hooch told us not to move—you'll get us in trouble."
Harry ignored her. He mounted his broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared. Beside Rebecca, Ron whooped in appreciation as Harry went higher, his robes whipping out behind him. She watched nervously along with Hermione. Ron, however, didn't see the problem, and was beaming at Harry.
"He could fall, you know," Rebecca said harshly to him.
"No he won't—he's a natural!" Ron said, only looking away from the action for a moment.
Harry and Malfoy were talking, but because of the wind, Rebecca couldn't hear what was said. Then, Harry shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. Around Rebecca, a few Gryffindors clapped, impressed.
After a few tense moments, Malfoy three the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground. Rebecca watched as he landed amongst the Slytherins, grinning up at Harry, who was attempting to catch the glass ball. He caught it just a foot above the ground, then pulled his broom straight and toppled gently onto the grass with the ball clutched safely in his fist.
"HARRY POTTER!"
Rebecca was startled by the sudden scream of Professor McGonagall from behind them, and turned to look at the woman. Her lips were pursed into a thin, straight line as she ran toward them; Rebecca recognized it as her angry look. Harry got to his feet, trembling.
"Never—in all my time at Hogwarts—"
Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "—how dare you—might have broken your neck—"
"It wasn't his fault, Professor—"
"Be quiet, Miss Patil—"
"But Malfoy—"
"That'senough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."
Rebecca watched sadly as Harry walked nimbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle.
"Is he going to be expelled?" Rebecca asked nervously.
"Unlikely," said Hermione. "But I don't think it will turn out well."
The two girls exchanged nervous looks, and the class waited for Madam Hooch to return.
Before their lessons were finished for the day, Hermione invited Rebecca to come sit with them over at the Gryffindor table.
"No one will mind, I think," she told the nervous Slytherin as they walked to the Great Hall together. "Dumbledore might even like the show of houses uniting."
"Or he might faint from the shock of seeing a Slytherin at the Gryffindor table," Ron added.
Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.
The three of them took a seat at the Gryffindor table, where Rebecca was quickly introduced to the other first years. There was Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were best friends already, and Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil (who had a sister in Ravenclaw). Percy Weasley, who was another brother of Ron's, came over once he discovered a Slytherin in his midst, but quickly changed his mind once Ron said she was a friend of his.
Rebecca loved the excitement of meeting new people, and enjoyed that none of them judged her on what type of blood she had. She felt comfortable at this table, more so than she felt she ever could over at the Slytherin table. But, where was Harry?
He finally came to the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surprised to see Rebecca there, but he had even more surprising news.
"You'rejoking," Ron said, after Harry had told them all what McGonagall had done to him after they had left the grounds.
"Seeker?" Ron continued. "But first years never—you must be the youngest house player in about—"
"—a century," said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. "Wood told me."
Oliver Wood, Harry had told them, was the Gryffindor Quidditch team captain who had introduced him to the game.
Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.
"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone. Wood wants to keep it a secret."
He looked at Rebecca, and she nodded, smiling. The Slytherins would never hear a word of this.
Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.
"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood just told us. We're on the team too—Beaters."
"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."
"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."
"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found our first week. See you."
Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Rebecca shrunk in her seat, trying to go unnoticed. Hermione tried her best to shadow the girl by sitting forward.
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?" Malfoy said.
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. Crabbe and Goyle were, of course, huge in size compared to the normal boys their age, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.
"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only—no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel, I suppose?"
"Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's yours?"
Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.
"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."
His eyes fell on Rebecca, and he smirked, then left.
Ron and Harry looked at each other.
"Whatis a wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"
"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie. He added quickly, after seeing the look on Harry's face, "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."
"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"
"Throw it away and punch him in the nose," Ron suggested.
"Excuse me."
They both looked up, noticing Hermione was talking to them.
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.
Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.
"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying—"
"Bet you could," Ron muttered.
"—and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."
"And it's really none of your business," said Harry.
"Good-bye," said Ron.
The flick of her quill across paper was the only thing Rebecca heard late that night in her little corner in the common room. She was working on her Charms essay early, knowing that if she put it off, it would never get done.
Footsteps interrupted her thoughts, and she stayed completely still, trying her hardest to listen. She hoped that it wasn't anyone trying to bother her—she had had enough of that.
There was a long pause, then… snickers.
Rebecca raised an eyebrow. It was nearly eleven at night, and most of the other Slytherins had cleared out of the common room around ten. Why would there be anyone here? And it had sounded like they had just come into the common room from the hallway...
"Filch'll catch Potter for sure."
Malfoy, Rebecca thought, her brows furrowing. She clutched her quill tightly between her fingers, nearly breaking off the tip of it.
Crabbe and Goyle's chuckles resounded off the walls.
"To think I'd actually duel him," Malfoy scoffed. "Little twit. I doubt he could even cast Protego to protect himself."
Rebecca could practically see the smirk on the pale boy's face. She wanted to smack it off of him.
"D'you think Filch'll give him a detention with him?" Malfoy continued, though his voice was growing fainter. He and his cronies were leaving, heading for their dormitory.
Rebecca stayed where she was until she could no longer hear his voice. She stood up, closing her Charms book and stuffing everything into her bag, then hiding it under the table. She didn't have time to put it back in her dormitory—she had to warn Harry! One of her only friends was in trouble, and she couldn't just leave him to Filch.
Making sure her cloak was fastened, she went out cautiously into the halls of the dungeons, trying to remember the earlier conversation from lunch that had passed between Ron, Harry, and Malfoy.
The trophy room! she suddenly recalled, setting her path for her destination on the third floor.
She stayed in the shadows as much as she could. The moon was nearly full this night, though, which made her going a little slow. She had to hold her breath a few times when she was certain that she heard someone go by, but it always ended up being a ghost. Not Peeves, thankfully, who Rebecca had learned to avoid. She had been walking alone down to the dungeons one evening, on her way from dinner, when Peeves had dropped a water balloon. He had been aiming for her head, but Rebecca had been walking too fast for him. He cursed when he had missed, and Rebecca's shoes and her left leg had gotten soaked. Peeves had been worse than the Slytherins, making fun of her, and she had had to hold back tears as she ran from him, his song following her down the corridor.
Now, though, she crept craftily through the halls, finally reaching the trophy room. No one was here yet.
Then she heard the door opened, and held her breath, pressing herself against the wall most covered in shadows. She was relieved when she saw Harry's head poke inside the open door, and he was quickly followed by Ron, Hermione, and Neville. A strange group to bring along, she thought.
She stepped out of the shadows, and she heard one of them gasp from her sudden appearance. She went quickly to them and hugged Harry.
"Thanks goodness you finally showed," she said in a very quiet whisper. "I heard Malfoy in the common room, he's sent Filch after you!"
"What?" Harry said, just as quiet, his face screwed up in a mixture of anger and frustration.
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."
Rebecca's eyes widened, and she caught Harry's look. Filch was just outside the room, speaking to Mrs. Norris, his horrible cat. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the others to follow him; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.
"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."
"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run—he tripped, grabbed onto Ron's waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.
The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.
"RUN!" Harry yelled, and the five of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following—they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Rebecca close behind Harry, who was leading, without any idea where they were or where they were going—they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.
"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.
"I—told—you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "I—told—you."
"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Ron, "as quickly as possible."
"Malfoy wasn't ever going to come," Rebecca said, trying to catch her breath. She was leaning against the wall, her head thrown against it as well. Her eyes were closed. "He was trying to get you in trouble."
"Thanks for trying to warn me, at least," Harry said gratefully to the girl.
"Would it be safe for you to try and go back to your common room alone?" Hermione asked Rebecca.
"I dunno," she answered honestly. "Probably, though. I'll have to get my bearings, first, but I think I can make it."
"Let's go," Harry said.
Rebecca started to go with them, knowing that it would be easiest to at first. They would be going the same way for a while, then she would break off from the Gryffindors and go her own way. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.
It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.
"Shut up, Peeves—please—you'll get us thrown out," Harry said.
Peeves cackled.
"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."
"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."
"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."
"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves—that was a big mistake.
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"
"I'll tell the Bloody Baron on you," Rebecca growled at Peeves as they ducked under him and ran for their lives.
They ran right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door—and it was locked.
"This
is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door. "We're
done for! This is the end!"
They could hear footsteps, Filch
running as fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.
"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, "Alohomora!"
The lock clicked and the door swung open—they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.
"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."
"Say, 'please.'"
"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"
"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.
"All right—please."
"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.
"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay—get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. "What?"
Harry turned around, along with the rest of them. Rebecca saw, quiet clearly, what. She bit her lower lip, looking into the corridor that they had all thought was a room. This was the forbidden corridor. She saw exactly why it was forbidden.
They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.
It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Rebecca figured that the only reason they weren't dead is that they had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that. Its growled were growing thunderous in the small corridor.
Harry groped for the doorknob—between Filch and death… Well, that was easy.
They fell backward—Harry slammed the door hut, and they ran, mostly flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared—all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.
Rebecca had followed them, having been too scared to think. Once they reached the Gryffindor common room, she paused, unsure of what to do. Could she go inside the Gryffindor common room? She had already broken about twenty rules tonight, she was sure, so what was another? (If it was in fact a rule at all.)
"Where on earth have you been?" the Fat Lady asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.
"Never mind that—pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room, Rebecca following close behind, and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.
Rebecca looked around the common room. It was so different from the Slytherin's. They actually had a portrait, not a blank wall, for the entrance; their furniture was soft and looked comfortable and inviting, whereas theirs was comfortable, but looked too foreboding; the red was prominent, but she thought she preferred the dark green and silver to these bright colors.
It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.
"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."
"It's a Cerberus, Ron," Rebecca clarified, looking at him.
"A what?" the boy shot back, a confused look on his face.
"A Cerberus," Rebecca repeated. "In Greek mythology, there was a Cerberus that guarded the entrance to the Underworld."
"Exactly, it was guarding something," Hermione said, having gotten her breath back as well as her bad temper. She was glaring at the boys.
"Excuse me?" said Ron, not utterly lost.
"Didn't you see what it was standing on?" Hermione continued.
"The floor?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."
"No,not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something, just as Rebecca said that it's supposed to do."
She stood up, glaring at them.
"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed—or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."
Ron stared after her, his mouth open.
"No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?"
Rebecca then stood up. "Er… I think I need to get back to my own common room," she said, not feeling comfortable here. "Sorry I didn't warn you in time, guys."
"Thanks again, though," Harry said, looking at her, as if just realizing that there was a Slytherin in their common room. "You tried, at least."
Rebecca nodded, feeling defeated. She turned to leave, but then looked back to him. "And don't worry, the Slytherins won't find out the password," she added, before leaving.
She made it back down to the Slytherin common room, having to skirt by Professor Snape once she had reached the dungeons. He had been coming from the common room, it looked like, probably checking on the students. What if he'd seen her up, had she not gone to warn Harry, doing her Charms essay still? She didn't know, nor did she care at the moment. Once she was sure he was out of hearing, she entered the common room, gathered her things, and went to bed.
