Chapter Nine: Research and Realizations

When school went back in session on Monday, it was hard to find someone who didn't want to talk about the break-in. In Transfiguration, students kept asking McGonagall about what she had seen until she threatened them with a pop quiz and some rather nasty metamorphoses. Professor Flitwick grew so tired of the chatter in Charms that he cast a Silencing Spell on them, and even then notes were passed with abandon. About the only class where there was no talk of Sirius Black was Potions: Professor Snape had such a grave presence (and such a difficult lab for them) that for an hour at least, the conversation was subdued.

Theories ran around like headless cattle. Among the Slytherins it became popularly believed that Black was living with the werewolves in the Forbidden Forest. (The theory that he was in fact in love with a werewolf surfaced.) Some third-year Hufflepuff was going around raving about how Black could turn himself into a flowering shrub. Peeves, never one to miss an opportunity, began swooping down on passing students from behind, screaming, "It's Sirius Black, with a knife! Run, my pretties, run!" and then zoomed away, cackling insanely, just as they realized it had been him.

The S.S.A. got nowhere in their search for another passageway out of the castle. Mervin found out from a house elf how to get into the kitchens, and came back beaming with arms full of meat pies, but his was the only breakthrough. "It's very possible that there aren't any more," Richard said at the meeting that week, with a smug sort of glance at Evan. "The former members really did their homework. I mean, look at what they've already got. I wouldn't be surprised if they've found them all already."

The study sessions with Colin Creevey were going no better. He seemed to have some kind of mental block against learning Potions. What was worse, he had nothing better to talk about than the antics of one Harry Potter.

"He wasn't allowed to go to Hogsmeade," he babbled cheerfully, Potions notes lying forgotten on the table in front of them. "He was going to play cards with us, but he had some homework to do in the library."

"How notable," Beth said, glancing over his badly-botched homework. She was starting to see what Professor Snape had to put up with.

"I've still got his pictures from last year," Colin went on. "There's the one of him and Lockhart, and the one of him after winning the Quidditch match -- that's the one where he broke his arm, it was gruesome -- and the one during the --"

"Potions," Beth said in exasperation. "If you can just tell me the ingredients of a Forgetfulness potion, we can both go home happy."

"Good, I can go watch Quidditch practice!" said Colin enthusiastically. He scrunched up his face. "There's ginkgo biloba --"

"In order," Beth pressed.

"All right, all right." Colin took a deep breath. "First you put in the water and powdered toenail and boil it. Then you put in dried rosemary ..."

"How much?"

"A ... cup?"

"A teaspoon. What next?"

"Uh -- liver of, uh, newt --"

"Salamander, Colin."

"Liver of salamander -- then you let it boil, then you put in the ginkgo biloba."

"Right so far, but now all you've got is a pretty good memory charm. What reverses it?"

Colin thought hard. Then his eyes lit up. "Ash shavings!"

"Exactly!" As difficult as he was to work with, Beth had to admit that Colin was kind of cute when he got something right. "You're getting better at this."

"Think so?"

"Yeah." An evil idea crossed Beth's mind. "I'll bet Harry will be really proud."

Colin's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "Really?"

"Yup. If you hurry, I bet you can go catch him just as he's leaving for Quidditch practice."

"All right!" Colin scrambled to gather his stuff together and ran out the door. "Hey, thanks! See you next week!"

"See you!" called Beth cheerfully. The thought of Potter trying to prepare for practice while detaching Colin Creevey was a pleasant one, and when Potter arrived at dinner looking exhausted and annoyed, she felt the warm glow of a job well done.

The Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match was set for Saturday; uncharacteristically, the team wasn't practicing any harder than usual. When Bruce plunked down beside her and dug into the baked chicken, she asked why.

Bruce frowned. "Because we're not playing on Saturday."

"What? Why not?"

"Lower your voice! No one's supposed to know." Bruce started picking the meat off of his chicken. "It's Marcus's new game plan. We say that Draco's still injured and can't play. That way the game schedule shifts and throws the Gryffindors for a loop, since they're practicing as if they were going to play us." He didn't look especially pleased with the strategy. "He only just went and told Wood about it this afternoon, and the game's in two days."

Beth looked down the table at Draco, whose right arm was still bound up in a sling. "Is he still injured?"

Bruce shrugged. "More or less. He's a good enough actor to pull it off if anybody checks, that's the thing."

"You're probably right," Beth agreed, thinking of Draco's innumerable mimicries. "He could go professional, and tour the country putting on Potter impersonations."

***

Marcus's strategy of backing out of the match was, unfortunately, a failure on at least one front: the Gryffindors had heard by Thursday night that they wouldn't be playing the Slytherins on Saturday. In Hagrid's class Friday morning ("Puffskeins 101", it was being called), the Weasleys and their cult had much to say about what a dirty trick it was, how Draco was obviously healed by now, the way that Slytherin would be trampled even if the game was months away, et cetera ad nauseum.

"Leave off it!" bellowed Bruce, hurling his Puffskein at the angry twins. It bounced off one of their foreheads and fell squeaking to the ground. "It's not like all fifty of us sat down in the common room and took a vote on it!"

"They were probably too busy sacrificing children at the time," Jordan said, brandishing his Puffskein like a Bludger.

All in all it was a tense and uninteresting lesson, and the Slytherins were grateful to leave behind Care of Magical Creatures and head inside for Defense Against the Dark Arts, griping about the Weasleys and their entire demographic. The Gryffindor-bashing hastily stopped as the teacher came in and strode to the front of the class ...

But it wasn't Professor Lupin.

"Is Lupin sick again?" asked Warrington.

"Well surmised," said Professor Snape acidly. He flipped idly through a copy of Demons and Dementors before picking up the class syllabus. "Once again I am forced to pick up the reins for a man who is periodically unable to fulfill his duties."

"You know more about the Dark Arts anyway," said Aaron, from the back of the room.

Professor Snape acknowledged the flattery with a very small smile. "I am afraid that the judgment of that rests with Headmaster Dumbledore," he said, in a tight voice. He scowled down at the syllabus. "Hexes and Dark Creatures ... well, well ... You should have had a grounding in the Forbidden Curses by now. What, if anything, have you been studying to this point?"

Melissa raised her hand. "Sir, we have a paper on countercurses due on Monday," she wheedled. "I wonder if we could take the class time to, eh ... work on it?"

The rest of her class immediately picked up on her cue. "It's a frightfully long paper," Antigone pouted cutely, winding a strand of blond hair around one long finger and looking up at Professor Snape with big eyes.

"Right, if we work on it now we have more time to work on Potions," added Mervin hastily.

"Why waste two hours on Lupin when we can only waste one?" Bruce reasoned.

Professor Snape's eyes glinted, and if anything he looked downright pleased with them. "Very well. Class is dismissed."

And he strode out the door.

Had they not been afraid of getting caught, the class would have erupted into cheers.

***

With class cancelled, Beth, Melissa and Bruce intended to take a stroll around the lake; unfortunately, it had begun to rain, so Melissa took them upstairs to see the new portrait -- a knight who simultaneously challenged all three to a duel -- guarding the Gryffindor tower. Afterward they went to the Great Hall for lunch, arriving at just the time they would have if they were coming from class and not an hour of free time.

"Proves your theory," Melissa pointed out once they were seated, chewing absently on a celery stick.

"Hunh?" asked Bruce, immersed in a gargantuan club sandwich.

She pointed the celery stick at him. "The one about the full moon under Scorpio making D.A.D.A. profs sick. For Trelawney, remember?"

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. "Huh, guess so."

There was a minute or so of silence broken only by the sounds of chewing and the rumble of thunder overhead. Then Beth said, "Wonder what he's got, anyway?"

Melissa shrugged.

Another lull in conversation. Without warning, Bruce went into a fit of coughing. Melissa whacked him on the back until a small chunk of lunchmeat flew out of his mouth and landed on the front of Mervin's shirt, where it was quickly dispatched by Gina.

"Are you all right?" Beth asked in alarm.

Bruce looked up at them, eyes bright. "I've just realized something," he said, sounding a bit awed. "I've got to double-check it -- but I'm pretty sure --"

"Pretty sure?" Beth repeated.

"Yeah, I studied them all last year, didn't I?" Bruce said absently. He jumped up from the table and dashed out the door.

Mervin watched him go. "And you say I'm weird," he told Melissa. Gina nodded smugly and slithered across the table to attack Bruce's abandoned hard-boiled egg.

***

Bruce showed up at classes but disappeared again immediately afterwards. That made Aaron very excited.

"I'll bet he's come up with some brilliant new Quidditch move!" he babbled eagerly, after watching Bruce bolt out of Transfiguration. "He's the best Keeper we've had since at least Don Cutheart, and that was back when my Dad played for Slytherin."

Awe was expressed at this incomprehensible length of time.

As it went, Beth had a ton of Alchemy II homework that was a day late, so she didn't really miss Bruce's presence that evening in the library. When Madame Pince kicked everyone out at nine o'clock, Beth reconvened in the common room and sat up until eleven finishing problems and cursing herself for waiting so long to do them.

She was just double-checking her results on the final question ("Describe, with examples, the difference between an infusion and a solution") when a truly weird sound reached her ears: it was like the long, high note of a trumpet, or a crow's caw. She looked around. By now she was quite alone in the common room, and the only sound up until then had been her own breathing.

She went back to her work, but the sound went on and on. Beth was reminded of the fire alarm back in her primary school back in America. It was an ear-splitting racket, and it always sounded like someone ...

A cold horror dropped onto Beth's shoulders.

It sounded like someone screaming ...

From a long distance away.

Beth leapt to her feet, books spilling out of her lap. She raced to the door of the common room and tore it open. The volume instantly doubled, and Beth could hear the ululation of a very real human voice over the sound of rain pattering on the roof.

She made her decision in a moment. Closing the door behind her, she ducked into the dark hallway and began to run. Somewhere, somewhere in Hogwarts there was a woman in white, screaming wordlessly, a woman who no one else could see. Panting, Beth followed the noise through halls and corridors, stumbling up staircases and past sleeping paintings or suits of armor that watched her with curious detachment. The noise grew louder as she bolted into the Great Hall and between the long tables. She came out in the Entrance Hall, gasping for breath. It was outside -- it was just outside the door --

Over the wild shrieks and falling rain came another sound.

A meow.

Beth turned to see Mrs. Norris crouched at her ankles, yellow eyes luminous and malignant in the moonlight. She didn't take time to think. Beth shot out a foot and caught the caretaker's cat below the ribcage. Mrs. Norris went flying, howling her indignation, and would have probably landed on her feet had she not first gone crashing into the wall. Senseless, the cat sank down into a wiry gray mound and was still.

Beth whirled back to the broad doors. Too late she realized that they must have been magically locked; she couldn't budge them. She ran to a window. She had only time for a glance of wind-tossed white hair and wild eyes before the vision vanished and there was nothing but rain and lightning.

Staggered, Beth stared out at the grounds, unable to completely believe that the woman was gone and the evening sky was silent but for the purr of thunder. Why me? she thought to herself, in cold despair. Who is she?

She looked at Mrs. Norris lying crumpled by the wall. "Oh no," she said aloud. Then she ran.

Harming Mrs. Norris was the most wished-for and least acted-upon desire of almost everyone in the school. It was easily the biggest crime that Beth had ever done. Filch was going to find her, get her for this ... he wasn't going to stop at the detentions or the shackles, either, he was going to kill her ...

A shadow flickered in the corner of Beth's eye and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Panic-stricken, she whirled toward the shadow, expecting to see Filch or McGonagall or -- hey, why not -- the entire school bearing down on her.

She didn't.

There stood a small figure, surely no more than eleven, in a school cloak. Lightning crashed outside, and a flicker of light glinted on blonde hair and a round, fearful face. For a little while, the figure stood there and stared at Beth. Then it ducked into a door concealed behind a potted plant and was gone.

Beth would have stayed and stared longer, but the sound of boots echoing in the distance made her turn on her heels and bolt down to the common room.

She darted inside and slammed the door, panting. She leaned against the door heavily. How long could this go on? But there was someone else who heard it, someone else who knew ...

Beth took her place by the fire again, but made no move to pick up her books. Instead she watched the flames flicker in the cold stone fireplace. She knew now who she would have to talk to if she ever wanted an answer about the woman in white -- because in that one flash of lightning, Beth was sure she had seen the face of the relative that she had never met -- the first-year Hufflepuff, Louisa Parsimmer.

She stared into the fire as the night went on and on.