A/N: This is a miracle in my world, I'm actually managing to update at decent intervals. School is getting out soon, so I'll try to get one more chapter up before that, but then production will slow down.
Anyway...yeah, I really don't like writing Quidditch games, if you've noticed that I manage to skip most of them...what is there to say? People fly around, people score, people catch small winged objects, total armageddon occurs...
She could feel the glow of light through her closed eyelids.
Wherever she was, it seemed to be half-lit. She could tell she was laying down, aside from that, not much else. A bit afraid of what she would see, Bellacine slowly opened her eyes.
She was laying in a bed in the hospital wing, the only patient, as such, there. Sitting on an empty bed beside hers- she could hardly believe her eyes- was Hermione, being typical Hermione and doing her homework. Bellacine yawned a little.
Hermione looked up from her books and, seeing her friend awake, lit the lamp near her bed.
"Ow," muttered Bellacine, squinting her eyes shut against the brightness. "What happened to me?" She sat up, leaning against the headboard. "What's going on?"
"Long story," Hermione said softly, as though nervous of attracting Madam Pomfrey's attention. "Last night Sirius Black broke into the tower, into the boys' dormitories. And he almost would have killed Ron, but Ron yelled, and he ran. Everyone went down to the common room and you were already there, kind of slumped in a chair, so we thought you must be asleep. But when Professor McGonagall asked Sir Cadogan if he let anyone in, and he said yes, it turned out when Neville wrote down the passwords for the week he lost them somehow. So Neville started thinking that you let Black in or something like that, you know what Neville's like about you; Professor McGonagall went to wake you up- and you wouldn't wake up."
"I'm getting the weirdest sense of déjà vu; I almost think I remember this...but I don't." Bellacine frowned in concentration. But all she could wonder now was, why was Hermione, who suspected her of Merlin-knows-what, sitting here, chatting as if there had never been any disagreement between them? "Look, Hermione, sorry to ask you this, but..." Trying not to take the offensive but too tired and out of it to really care, she mumbled, "Ever since I came back from Christmas you've been mad at me and treating m like I've no right to exist, then all of a sudden I wake up and you're talking to me again like we're the best of friends. So what kind of mixed-up logic is that?"
Hermione's eyes started to well up with tears. "Bella- Bella, you could have died, and I've been such a- such an idiot and you could have been killed, or worse, and—I'm sorry!"
"S'okay," she muttered, understanding her friend truly was sorry, and quite glad things could attempt normalcy now. Half an hour later, after a heated argument with Madam Pomfrey, they escaped the hospital wing. "How long was I asleep for? It's- what- almost noon now?"
"Almost ten at night, Rip van Winkle. Madam Pomfrey said you'd been Stunned, and she told Dumbledore it would be better for you to wake up naturally than to put more magic into your system," she said.
A frown flashed across her face and stuck there as Bellacine's eyes widened. "Hermione, what day is today? Not the day of the week, but the date." Gears turned rapidly in her mind- time, date, where would he be—
"It's the twenty-sixth of February."
"Oh no," she breathed, too afraid to do anything but want to run.
"What is it?"
"Hermione," Bellacine said, and she was amazed her voice was so even, "go to the common room, now. Tell anyone you see along the way to go to their common room and stay there all night. Tell everyone in Gryffindor to stay in the tower all night. Make absolutely sure Harry is there, and preferably Ron too. Don't let anyone leave."
Hermione stared at her, a frown slowly creasing her forehead. "You know, don't you? It's a full moon tonight...About—"
"Do not say it!" she hissed. "We don't want anyone hearing us. We're probably not even supposed to know- well, of course we're not supposed to know, that's obvious, but if we're overheard I think I know what'll happen to us, and it's not something I'd wish on anyone." Bellacine started to slide around the corridor wall, until she noticed Hermione following her. "Go away. Go back to the common room."
"You are not doing something this recklessly stupid on your own," she retorted. "If any one of us goes, we both go. You could have died just last night and now you're- what? Planning to wander around the castle looking for a werewolf because you're worried about the rest of us- very nice, I admit, but incredibly stupid."
"No one else is going to die, and it's not going to be my fault if someone does. Go back to the common room," she demanded again.
Hermione started to glower resistantly, but the expression crossing her face slowly froze. "What do you mean, no one else will die? Who died?"
"Are you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow? Don't give me that look- I'm not changing the subject. Answer the question already."
"No, I didn't feel like going alone- Ron's mad at me, he thinks Crookshanks ate Scabbers, but he didn't , and if he did, it doesn't matter, that's what cats do! Yeah, I didn't sign up because of that, I didn't really care to go."
"Meet me in the library, then. One o'clock. We have to talk." Bellacine hesitated momentarily, then began to walk in the direction of the common room. Hermione breathed a small sigh of relief and set off after her.
"About what?"
"About why I left Durmstrang in the first place," she replied.
The next Saturday she found Hermione at a table close to the Restricted Section of the library, with stacks of books piled high on either side of her. It looked like she had half the contents of the library sitting within arm's reach. Bellacine sat down across from Hermione and lifted a book from the top of the stack.
"Muggle Studies? That used to be my favourite class. I wonder why I didn't sign up for it this year...What are you doing with all those books? It's February, for Merlin's sake, exams are months away."
"They're weapons, used to whap really annoying people over the head when they interrupt my homework time. And for your information, I actually do my homework outside of class, unlike certain people who do everything under their desk in History of Magic. Bellacine, that's meant to apply to you, you know." Bellacine stared innocently at the desk until Hermione slammed her Arithmancy textbooks shut with a sigh.
She continued flipping through the Muggle Studies book until her friend coughed expectantly. "Yes?"
"You told me to show up for a reason, so talk."
"Where am I supposed to start?" Where? How am I going to tell her everything in a few minutes? How am I supposed to tell a mudblood about a pureblood school and expect her to understand without asking questions? How can I make her understand?
"Start with Karkaroff. You've mentioned him before."
"Karkaroff. He was a Death Eater; he was in Azkaban for a few months and got himself out cos he ratted out half the old crowd; this was a few months before the Dark Lord fell. He's not a Death Eater more, not in the strictest sense of the word.
"As a teacher: he played favourites, he was judgemental, he was completely unfair most of the time, he was kind of racist if you know what I mean, and he was one of the best teachers at Durmstrang."
"What'd he teach?" inquired Hermione. "Or was he just headmaster, like Dumbledore is?"
Looking her square in the eye, Bellacine replied, "He taught. He taught a class that in all likelihood will never be taught at this school; he taught Dark Arts."
"What?" yelped Hermione.
"What?"
"But- Dark Arts- Bella, that's..."
Bellacine shrugged. "No, not really. Think about it. You have to know what you're up against, right? You have to learn what you're fighting to fight it properly. Yeah, you're learning stuff like the Unforgivables, but we all knew if we actually tried anything on someone else we'd be expelled. People have been expelled; you also lean self-control because it teaches you you can't go around shouting them at people you don't like."
"So...you left because you didn't want to learn the Dark Arts?" said Hermione, looking impressed and pleased. Bellacine shook her head and started to tilt back on the back legs of her chair. "Why, then?"
"It was the last night before school let out for the summer. Normally everyone would be running around like maniacs, packing, talking to all your friends, you know how it is. Usually on the last night we'd have this unofficial sort of Quidditch tournament; the year before last the team I was on won.
"So no one expected anything out of the ordinary, and then all of a sudden it's the feast on the last night- not as much of a big deal as I've heard it is here, Durmstrang doesn't have houses like Hogwarts does- and Karkaroff's telling us we're not allowed to go outside tonight. Nobody. What he doesn't tell us is why. I guess to get what happened next, you'll have to understand, Karkaroff- well, the way to put it is probably he was the sort of person you don't take seriously outside of class.
"By now it's eight, a bit closer to nine, o'clock, but it's still light out cos of the beliye nochi and all. Everyone's packed so we're just standing around aimlessly, and then I- I go to Anya, say...why don't we all go outside anyway? She's like no, Karkaroff told us not to, but since when has anyone listened to Karkaroff?
"We all end up heading outside- me, Anya, some of her brother's friends, their cousin Anton who no one likes much but we put up with him since he's good, the other team's Seeker, couple of other people- I don't remember who, just that we didn't have enough, we only had two Chasers on a team, and my friend Ilya, who was our Seeker.
"We're all playing Quidditch, it's getting late and they're starting to say we ought to go inside, and there are clouds covering up the sky, it's getting really dark. Ilya's almost got the Snitch. All of a sudden the clouds go back and it's a full moon and he's falling..."
Hermione looked up at her, her face aghast. "Oh ,Bella..." She reached out across the table, but Bellacine shrugged away.
"Don't stop me. Just let me talk. Well, he fell off his broom and essentially crashed on the ground. There- there was- there was a werewolf. It bit him. I don't know why, or if there really was a reason why. I don't know if it was an accident or if it actually meant to kill him, but in the end, Ilya died. Karkaroff had known there was a werewolf there, in the area, but I was the one who convinced them to go outside..." Bellacine trailed off.
Hermione sat silently for a few moments, completely at a loss. Finally, she asked, "Who else here knows?"
"Dumbledore does. He probably told all the teachers too, because Lupin knows. He told Harry- not anything particular, just that one of my friends was, well, murdered, and that's why I'm here."
"Oh. Okay." She stood and went around the table to Bellacine. "Are you okay, or would you like to stay here?"
Suddenly Bellacine was very grateful for whatever had transpired the night before she woke up in the hospital wing, if it brought back a friend. She stood as well and said, "No, I'm fine. C'mon, I 'm hungry, let's go find lunch."
They weren't the only third years remaining at Hogwarts, as she had expected they would be. When they came to the Great Hall, Neville was seated, isolated, at the far end of the Gryffindor table.
"What's he doing here?" muttered Bellacine.
"Professor McGonagall banned him from going into Hogsmeade for the rest of the year. When Sirius Black broke into the tower last week, he got past Sir Cadogan because he had a list of the week's passwords. Neville wrote the passwords down and left them laying out, that's how Black got them."
"I see," she replied. "So he can't go into Hogsmeade?"
"Just how oblivious are you?"
"Very oblivious, it's my middle name. Fine, so it's not my middle name, we don't need to get into that. Remind me never to tell you. Just pretend my middle name's oblivious- actually, I think that would be an improvement. You really don't want to know...my family has this tradition with names, I'm just incredibly grateful I didn't get it for a first name."
Hermione gave her a curious look but she turned away; they took seats together at the table end farthest away from Neville. Midway through her Yorkshire pudding she looked up and saw a tawny brown school owl hovering over Hermione's head. She coughed and gestured upwards.
"What-? Oh! An owl!"
"Go on, see what it says," ordered Bellacine.
Hermione caught the owl and relieved it of a scroll tied to its leg.
Dear Hermione (and Bellacine)
We lost. I'm allowed to bring him back to Hogwarts.
Execution date to be fixed.
Beaky has enjoyed London.
I won't forget all the help you gave us.
Hagrid
"Beaky?" inquired Bellacine.
"Buckbeak, his hippogriff. Hagrid went to the Ministry today for the trial. Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures- they though Buckbeak was a 'dangerous creature' just because he hurt Malfoy! Well, if Malfoy was enough of an idiot to insult him just when Hagrid said not to, he deserves it!" Hermione was sitting straight up, her expression harsh and her bushy hair starting to puff out.
"Calm down." Bellacine pushed back the bench. "Let's go find Harry and Ron- see if they're here, and Harry better be- they ought to know what's going on, even if Ron won't talk to you," she added, correctly interpreting the expression on Hermione's face. "We'll check the common room first."
They had only turned down the Fat Lady's corridor when Ron and Harry turned the corner at the other end.
"It's my fault, I persuaded you to go," Ron was saying. "Lupin's right, it was stupid, we shouldn't have done it."
"What's Lupin got to do with anything?" Bellacine asked quickly. "Oh, forget it- you went into Hogsmeade again, Harry, didn't you?"
Harry nodded sheepishly.
"Well then-"
"Come to have a good gloat?" Ron interrupted, nodding towards Hermione, who was going teary-eyed. Hagrid's letter was getting wetter by the second. "Or have you just been to tell on us?"
"No," said Hermione. Her lips started to tremble. "I just think you ought to know...Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak is going to be executed. He- he sent us this." She held out the letter, but neither boy accepted it. Finally Bellacine stepped up, removed the letter from Hermione's grip, and held it out to Harry.
They read it quickly. "They can't do this," Harry said angrily. "Buckbeak isn't dangerous!"
"Malfoy's dad frightened the Committee into it," Hermione sniffed. "You know what he's like. They're a bunch of doddery old fools, and they were scared. Only I can't see any hope...nothing will have changed." She sniffed again, harder.
"Yeah it will. You won't have to do all the work alone this time," Ron said, almost without realising it. "I'll help, Hermione," he added after an awkward lull.
"Oh, Ron!"
Hermione flung herself at Ron, hugged him, and broke down sobbing. A look of absolute terror spread over his face, and he patted her self-consciously on the back. Finally, she let go.
"Ron, I'm really, really sorry about Scabbers..."
"Oh-well-he was old," he replied, looking thoroughly happy not to have a girl sobbing on his shoulder any longer. "And he was a bit useless. You never know, Mum and Dad might get me an owl now." Then he smiled feebly at Bellacine. "Er...you know, you're not that bad, for a Black."
"Shall I go to all the bother of acting insulted," Bellacine asked, grinning, "or shall we all be friends again?"
"Definitely the latter," Hermione, Ron, and Harry all said together.
A few nights later, they were all doing their homework at the common room tables when Bellacine said to Hermione, "You know, I'm very proud of you and all, but you might have shown a bit more consideration."
"Well, I'm sorry if I hit Malfoy, but he had it coming to him. I'm tired of him mocking Hagrid and I don't want to have to put up with it any longer."
"Hermione," she sighed exasperatedly, "you slapped my cousin. I don't care. I repeat: I don't care. That was one of the most hysterically funny things that ever happened, except maybe this one incident with a yo-yo that apparently believed in spontaneous combustion- never mind. Then you skipped Charms—"
"I didn't skip, I overslept!" Hermione said defensively."
"Yeah, yeah, tell it to the judge. Then you walk out of Divination. Now this in itself is a Very Good Thing, but this is where I come to the consideration bit: Because you quit, I'm stuck with Neville as my partner. Neville Longbottom, a.k.a. He-Who-Seriously-Hates-Me-For-Reasons-Undisclosed. In one class alone he has already invented several painful ways for me to die, also something involving house-elves, also something involving a hijab, and a few more slow-and-painful deaths."
"Sounds like fun," Ron whispered. She glowered at him.
The Easter holidays were very far in the opposite direction from relaxing; although at least Bellacine had been expecting them over Orthodox Easter, so she already had her homework done. Hermione, who still had a bizarrely large amount of homework to do, worked hard the whole time to get everything done. Harry too was working hard, what with the number of Quidditch practices Wood had imposed- the final match, against Slytherin, was fast approaching- and Ron was busy perusing anything that could help Buckbeak's case.
Bellacine was absolutely positive that all of Hogwarts was quickly entering the realms of insanity over Quidditch. Inter-House warfare, she imagined, had never reached such a pinnacle. In the next week alone, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin had leeks sprouting from their ears, courtesy one not-so-well placed jinx.
Finally, the day arrived. She, Ron, and Hermione traipsed out to the pitch a few minutes after Harry. The teams were already in the locker rooms, changing. The sun was blinding- the weather had been impeccable leading up to the match, thank Merlin.
Soon enough it was seventy-ten. Lee Jordan screaming himself hoarse and almost every Gryffindor or Slytherin player having large objects pelted at them, or crashed into by the opposing side.
Harry almost had the Snitch- almost- then Bellacine could just see Draco zoom up behind him and yank back the Firebolt- then the flicker of gold was gone. She started shouting Russian swears at the top of her lungs. Gryffindor took the penalty shot, missed, then Slytherin scored again.
"Go, Harry, get it now, you're sixty ahead…." she muttered. Then the entire crowd seemed to simultaneously turn their heads to the far end of the field: Draco, diving towards a shimmering spot.
Bludgers flew at the two Seekers from both directions, impossible to tell who from, Harry kicked his broom faster- she thought he was close, but perspective was messed up from this point of view- he let go of the broom completely-
"GET IT, HARRY!"
There was a second of absolute silence-
"YES!"
"THEY GOT IT! HE GOT IT! WE WON, WE WON!!"
An explosion of red slowly sank back down to earth and was engulfed by a wave of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw students and teachers- Hagrid, covered from head to toe (a rather long distance) in red- McGonagall, sobbing into a Gryffindor banner- Ron and Hermione, grinning like maniacs—
She walked out of the bleachers and away from the Quidditch pitch; there would be time enough to celebrate later. She laughed and punched the air. They won! Not that she had that much in the way of House spirit, but euphoria like that filling the stands tended to spread.
A familiar voice interrupted her ruminations.
"If you're quite done with the one-person after party," Draco sighed. He was sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard, half in shadow, watching her unhappily.
"What do you want?"
"Go away."
"No, see, I like annoying people."
His gaze seemed to focus on her. "You're not wearing red. You didn't go back to Gryffindor Tower with everyone else."
"Yeah, well, I'm not a communist."
"Huh?"
"Red. It means communist."
Draco shrugged and moved his Nimbus Two thousand One off the bench. She took a seat without his spoken invitation. "What'd you go getting yourself put in Gryffindor for?" Bellacine glared sternly at him. "No, seriously, why did you go off and make friends with Potter and Weasley and the mudblood for?"
"Look, if you're going to tell me who I'm supposed to be friends with, you can shut up now. You don't have any real friends, you just have two golems who follow you around and do your bidding," Bellacine said. "I have friends, here and at Durmstrang. Real friends."
"Then why did you leave?"
"You know perfectly well why I left."
"Seriously, it's not fair. Mother wouldn't let me go to Durmstrang but of course, you get to go there. You get to do anything you want and they just treat me like a kid." He kicked at his broom where it lay on the ground.
"Has it ever occurred to you that it's because they don't care about you?"
He waved a dismissive hand. "They care plenty about you. They were worried when you didn't come home at Christmastime. It's not like they're planning to kick you out because you're in Gryffindor." Draco turned to look directly at her. "You are coming back home this summer, right?"
She shrugged. "Yeah. I can't show up in St. Petersburg for the whole summer, that would be kind of rude."
"Good. Know what?" She raised an eyebrow. "You need to play Quidditch again. You were really good when we used to play. I wouldn't mind playing against you, instead of Potter."
"You know I don't play anymore- and if I did, I wouldn't be Seeker."
"And you know what? You need to get over it." He cast a sideways glance at the elephant in the courtyard. "You-"
"GO AWAY!"
"Fine." He rose and walked a few steps away from her, then stopped and nudged something towards her with is foot. "Here. Give it back tomorrow."
When she looked up a good deal of time later, the Nimbus was lying before her. She picked it up and walked to the Quidditch pitch; it was quite deserted except for the scattered remnants of green and red that lay about the stands. The sun had almost sunk below the horizon.
Bellacine stood in the center of the field, facing into the sunset, feeling the wind. She kicked off from the hard ground.
A few slow circles around the stadium to get the hang of flying again, weaving through the goalposts at either end and it was near dark now; she streaked faster and faster, laughing, whooping. She had forgotten how good this felt.
She flew higher and higher, and then, with nowhere else of any interest to go, flew towards the Forbidden Forest. Over a gap between the trees, Bellacine glanced down and saw four-legged creatures moving through the undergrowth. She recognized them immediately- thestrals.
She spiraled down and dismounted onto a layer of dead leaves: This section of the forest seemed deserted by human life. The thestrals stared at her curiously. They had the appearance of reanimated dinosaur skeletons, though much smaller, and were gathered around the carcass of a fox. The thestrals abandoned the fox and encircled her.
"H-hello." The single word hung in the heavy stillness of the air. One of them stepped closer. She extended her hand to it; it nipped softly at her fingers. "I'm Bella Regulovna." She did not know why she felt the compulsion to introduce herself like this, Russian style as taught long ago by Anya.
Suddenly, the sound of hoof beats broke the still air. All the thestrals except for the one still nibbling her fingers glided away, half flying. Through the trees she could see horse-like shapes moving towards her in the dim light. Bellacine took out her wand.
A herd of centaurs- no, not exactly a herd, as there were less than ten- armed with strung crossbows, stepped into the small clearing. "What business have you in this forest, human?" asked the centaur in the lead.
She nervously looked from centaur to centaur, many of them still holding their crossbows on her; she stepped forward and lay her wand down on the forest floor in a gesture of surrender. "I'm...I was just flying over the forest and I looked down and I could see thestrals down here and I came down just to see them..."
"Who are you?" demanded another rudely. The first centaur seemed surprised.
"You see the thestrals? Who are you, human?" he repeated.
The thestrals behind her stepped forwards; Bellacine felt its footsteps and heard a faint clacking noise of bone. "Bella Regulovna."
The first centaur: "You lie, human."
"How do I lie?"
He spoke again, whilst the other centaur who had spoken frowned. "You are English. You are not Russian. Give me your English name, and your surname, and we shall let you pass. But be warned: this is not your land, human. Do not come into this place again, lest you be not so fortunate. "
"Bellacine Black," she said brazenly, hoping he would not choose to comment on her family, on Sirius Black- if centaurs knew of such things-
"Bellacine Black, the daughter of Regulus Black. You are the girl from Durmstrang. You can see thestrals- of course, I remember. Dumbledore is a good man, he tells us many things. We will see you to the forest edge, the thestrals also, I think, and then you will leave us. Be careful- there have been dangerous creatures in this forest, no one can say precisely what. Even you need to be careful."
"There are dangerous creatures in the castle too, sir," said Bellacine. "There are humans, and there are monsters." She picked up her wand from the forest floor; the centaur herd departed but for the first and a few others, who followed her to the edge. She was not sure if they followed for her safety or to make sure she left. Only when Bellacine stepped out of the trees did she realise the thestrals had vanished long ago.
Seeing her confused glance, the centaur smiled a little. "They do not like the light." Although the last vestiges of sunlight had disappeared from the sky whilst she was in the forest, the sky was still tinged pale gold.
Bellacine nodded, and a question came to mind that had first occurred to her in the 'horseless' carriages that they took from the Hogsmeade train station into Hogwarts. "Do you know exactly what they are?" she asked. "Thestrals?"
"What is a human, exactly? What is a centaur?" he replied. "Of course there is speculation. They have an excellent sense of direction; some say they guard your islands of Atlantis and Buyan- you know that name, Bellacine Regulovna Black. Others see other traits: they recognise people they have never seen, their taste for blood- they do not harm or kill, only partake of remains they come across- also, their appearance" –or lack of it- "draws much attention...as they can only be seen by those who have seen death come."
Not that she had expected a straightforward answer...
"Some say their minds are the spirits of the dead..."
Bellacine gave Draco his broom back later that night. Asleep, she dreamt again the nightmare of Durmstrang and Ilya absent; the next morning the sky was the colour of blood.