Squib Wizard
a Harry Potter fan-fic
by Ozma
sequel to "Squib Doors"
Chapter 10: Drowning Sorrows
Everything in this story really belongs to J.K. Rowling
Behind Hogwarts Castle, down a small hill, there is a desolate stretch of ground where rubbish
and other things that cannot be gotten rid of any other way have always been burned. Earlier today there
had been a roaring bonfire here. A great many items contaminated by the seeds of the vine-beast had been
destroyed in the flames.
Now, as a final precaution, Hagrid was sprinkling small, blue-green crystals of copper sulfate on
the blackened ground. The crystals would discourage plant growth on this spot. With Professor Snape's
written permission, Slytherin fifth year Pansy Parkinson had fetched the crystals from his supplies and she
had brought them out to Hagrid.
I'd seen the note, scrawled on a piece of parchment. Much shakier than the Professor's usual
neat hand, but still recognizable, Snape had written as if he could barely hold the quill. I didn't know who
had thought of the crystals or who had asked the Professor for his permission to use them. When I'd last
seen Snape in the hospital wing, he'd been in no condition to talk to anyone.
Poor, suffering soul. I ached for him. There was nothing I could do to help the Professor. There
was nothing I could do to ease the terribly heavy feeling of guilt in my heart. I could only try to drown it
for a little while.
The benefits of drunkenness are one of many things that Hagrid and I usually do not agree on.
I've never thought that excessive drinking is an acceptable answer to life's sorrows. All the troubles
you've tried to drown will still be there, waiting, when you finally sober up again. And then, the woes
must be faced anew with bleary eyes and a head that feels as if it's going to split with pain.
Well... I would never admit this out loud to Hagrid, but he's right. There *are* some occasions
when getting drunk is really the only thing you can do. For me, at least, the knowledge that a night of
carousing will inevitably be followed by a morning of suffering, satisfies my need for proper punishment.
It's as simple and neat as filling out a Detention Form and filing it away, completed.
Mrs. Norris did not approve of what I was doing. Her golden eyes were regarding me
reproachfully. I'd been anxious about bringing Mrs. Norris out with me, but she'd mewed so piteously
when I'd tried to leave her at the Castle's front door. She'd looked at me, noting my bruises, and the sling
supporting my sore right arm and wrenched right shoulder. My cat had decided that I could not be trusted
to wander about on my own. I would get myself in trouble. Hadn't I learned my lesson earlier today?
Her laid-back ears and lashing tail told me that I'd better not even think of bringing up a certain
Basilisk, either. She'd gotten herself Petrified once, just once, and I never let her forget it...!
The corridors of Hogwarts are all the world that Mrs. Norris has ever needed or wanted. She is
not often interested in seeing the world outside the Castle. It's a sentiment that I can sympathize with. I
feel the same way. Nevertheless, Mrs. Norris stayed beside me, standing guard like a small, dusty sentinel,
while I sat on the ground in the chill, evening air and drank whatever fiery intoxicant was in the bottle
that Hagrid had given me.
Hagrid had brought Fang with him too, but the question of dominance was quickly settled with a
hiss and a quick flash of Mrs. Norris's claws. Fang yelped and retreated, whimpering , to nurse his sore
nose. Shaking his head, Hagrid patted the boarhound comfortingly and returned to his work.
Fang, the great, slobbering beast, settled himself next to me, on the side opposite from Mrs.
Norris. He rested his head on my knee. The mournful look in his eyes urged me to be kind to another
creature who was among the walking wounded. Grumbling, I let Fang leave his head on my knee. He
drooled. Mrs. Norris ignored him, loftily.
Hagrid had finished spreading the crystals. He sat on the ground, just close enough to reach the
bottle when I passed it to him. Being too near Mrs. Norris makes him sneeze.
After a few moments, Fang got up and trotted over to lie beside his master.
Hagrid withdrew his battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. He pointed it and suddenly
there was a small, cheerful fire, burning in midair, over the site of today's bonfire.
He gave me a quick, furtive look, but I didn't comment. (Not even to remind him that he'd been
proven innocent, and he could have a proper wand now, if he chose.)
We spent a while in companionable silence.
There were ghosts on this small hillside with Hagrid and me. Not real ghosts, like the ones in the
Castle. Just shadows and memories.
"Jus' like old times..." the big man said, gruffly.
I nodded. It almost seemed like the years had fallen away, leaving both of us younger. Two men,
many years dead, felt so near that I could almost see them.
Ogg, the gamekeeper before Hagrid. Old Apollyon Pringle, my predecessor as caretaker. The two
of them had been friends and they had spent many a night out here, drinking together over the years.
Hagrid, Ogg's apprentice, had been with them, sometimes. I'd joined them, now and again, too. Not to
drink, just to listen to their talk. Most of what I knew about Pringle, I only knew because I'd overheard
him talking to Ogg.
Sometimes it's soothing to take refuge in drink and the comforting safety of the past. Hagrid and
I sat quietly, passing the bottle between us, and remembered them for a while.
******
The muffled *clunk* of Alastor Moody's wooden leg was not as noticeable when he was walking
outside across the Castle grounds. Still, Hagrid and I looked up as he came down the hill towards us. Fang
whuffed a soft greeting to Moody, and thumped his tail. Mrs. Norris, now curled up in my lap, dozing,
slitted one golden eye open and blinked as the old Auror joined us.
The first bottle we'd started on was now empty. Hagrid pulled a second bottle out of another
pocket and opened it. Neither of us bothered offering the bottle to Moody. He'd pulled out his hip flask
and taken a seat on the ground between us.
"Lucius Malfoy's left the Castle..." The old Auror said, without preamble.
"Good," Hagrid growled.
Moody turned and looked at me. "Sweet Medea! You look like someone's used you for bludger
practice. Lucius Malfoy did that, did he?"
I did not bother asking how Mad Eye knew what had happened. I just sighed.
"Are you going to tell me that I should have killed him when I had the chance?" I asked him,
warily.
Moody shook his head. "No, Filch." He sounded disappointed with me, though.
"It would have been murder." I mumbled. Surely, he hadn't wanted me to kill the man in cold
blood...
Moody rolled his eyes at me; both the normal one and the magical one. He shook his head.
"Don't misunderstand me, Filch. You did the right thing," he said. "But it was for the wrong reasons."
I blinked at him, confused.
It was Hagrid who said, "Dumbledore wouldn't a' wanted Lucius Malfoy dead that way. Would
a' done no end o' harm. Made trouble fer the Headmaster, an' trouble fer Hogwarts."
"An,'" he added, after a moment, "yeh would a' been tossed straight inter Azkaban ter rot, jus'
like Ginny told yeh this afternoon."
I thought about it. Lucius Malfoy had always been able to cover his tracks, brilliantly. There'd
been whispered rumors of his involvement with Voldemort for years, but somehow, none of the dirt had
quite ever managed to stick. As far as the Ministry authorities knew, Lucius Malfoy was a wealthy
philanthropist and an upstanding member of an old and noble, pure blooded wizarding family.
If he'd been murdered at Hogwarts, by a member of Dumbledore's staff, while trying to visit his
injured son...
The thought of what the Minister, already defensive and mistrustful of the Headmaster, might
have done in response, made me shudder.
"You weren't thinking of all the consequences when you decided to take Malfoy on, were you,
Filch?" Moody said.
He was right. I was completely unaccustomed to thinking of how events in the greater wizarding
world and events at the school affected each other. Considering such matters made me feel as if the
ground were slipping out from beneath my feet. Keeping the Castle clean, and the students out of
mischief... those were the sorts of concerns I was used to dealing with.
Another gulp from the bottle was definitely called for.
"My reasons for sparing him were good enough!" I said, defensively. "There's rules, you know!
Just because you can do something, doesn't mean you *ought* to do it...!"
Frowning ferociously, Mad Eye took a long drink from his hip flask. Apparently Professor Snape
was not the only teacher who didn't like it when his students talked back.
"My point is, you've got to learn to look at a situation from every angle!" Moody growled.
"Think, consider every possible consequence. Then, you come up with a clear plan. Then, finally, you act
on it!"
He glared at me. "Your risks should always be carefully calculated in advance!"
"A Slytherin's carefully plotted stupidity can be more dangerous than even the most reckless
Gryffindor's foolhardy, spur of the moment cock-up!" I snapped.
"I know that the Headmaster put it a good deal more eloquently than that! But it's what he
meant!" I couldn't resist adding.
Moody's scarred face flushed with embarrassment.
Earlier today, while Poppy had been patching me up, she and I had talked about the terrible
dressing down that Moody had received from the Headmaster. The old Auror had conducted a highly
dangerous experiment on my Doors, one that could have cost him his life. Albus Dumbledore had not
been pleased with him.
Poppy had told me that Dumbledore had left the old Auror looking like a beaten puppy.
Moody and I sat and glowered at each other, while Hagrid smothered a laugh.
"I know that killing Lucius Malfoy would have been completely irresponsible and utterly
reckless..." I continued, waving the bottle for emphasis. "I know it would have been *stupid!*"
"That's enough out a' both o' yeh!" Hagrid said.
"An' speaking o' enough..." he reached over and tugged the bottle out of my hands. "That's more
'n enough fer you, Filch!"
I bit back a cry of protest, realizing that Hagrid was right.
Moody growled and grumbled, getting himself under control.
"My point..." he said, gruffly, "is that you should have used your head, before you decided to take
on Lucius Malfoy in the first place."
"I shouldn't have to tell you any of this, Filch! Lucius Malfoy is a powerful Dark wizard. He'd
just been hit in one of his few vulnerable places. He was worried sick about that boy of his. And you got in
his way!"
Concern, anger and frustration were all evident in the old Auror's gravelly voice. "He could have
caused you far greater harm than he did. You were lucky to get off with only bruises. He could have killed
you, easily! You don't mess about with an enemy like him. If you weren't prepared to take him out,
without mercy, then you shouldn't have provoked him at all."
"I-I wanted to keep him away from Professor Snape..." I said.
"Snape doesn't need to hide behind you! He can look after himself!" Moody snapped.
I shook my head, not saying anything. I knew it was useless. When it came to the subject of
Severus Snape, Moody's mind was closed. Poor Severus. He was so much more vulnerable than almost
everyone who knew him seemed to think. Only Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall seemed to
understand that Severus was more fragile than he seemed.
"You should have just left Malfoy to the Headmaster! Spared yourself unnecessary pain."
Moody's voice was quieter, now.
"Think, man," he said. "Did your interference really help Snape at all?"
"No..." I murmured.
Now, I was the one who felt like a puppy that had been beaten.
"I only put Malfoy in an even worse temper..."
I must have sounded as crushed as I felt. Hagrid gave me the bottle back. He patted my shoulder
awkwardly, and rather gently, for him.
I winced anyhow.
Hagrid changed the subject. "So, how did the Headmaster deal with Malfoy?" The half-giant
wanted to know.
Moody's harsh grin split his scarred face for a moment. "Albus gave our distinguished guest a
complete tour of the dungeons. Took him about, showed him all the damage. The Headmaster didn't have
to say more than a word or two. Everything pretty much spoke for itself."
He shook his grizzled mop of grey hair and sighed. "Some of the Slytherins were glad to take
Draco's distinguished father into their dormitories and show him what had happened in there, as well."
The old Auror's voice was hard. "I was down there, myself, helping with the clean-up. I saw
Lucius Malfoy's face, when he came back out into the corridor with the children. He looked ...shaken. His
face was white as the children's. He's a clever man, Malfoy. No one had to spell it out for him. Slytherin
house could have been decimated."
No one now was questioning the fairly obvious fact that the vine-beast had been an attack
primarily against the Slytherins. All of them. Making no distinction between those who were supporters of
the Dark Lord, and those who were not.
Moody took a long drink from his hip flask. His voice was full of pain. Alastor Moody was a
Slytherin.
Hagrid and I exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Strangely enough, no one really thought much
about the fact that the rebirth of He Who Must Not Be Named must cause deep, agonizing rifts in
Slytherin House. Hagrid and I were no different from most in that respect.
Many of the families with children in Slytherin were ordinary, wizarding families. Ambition, a
love for power, a gift for subtlety and cunning, these things alone do not make a witch or wizard
inherently Dark. Teachers. Alchemists. Poets. Artists. Writers. Aurors. Musicians. Quidditch players. All
of these had been among Salazar's chosen, too.
"Lucius Malfoy looked like that up in the hospital wing," I murmured. "Shaken. The
Headmaster had made him think that Severus was too ill to protect the children because the Dark Lord
had used the Cruciatus Curse on him..."
Even the families who followed the Dark Lord most loyally could still fear for the safety of their
children. I had seen that in Lucius Malfoy's face.
"Then," Moody continued, "after Albus had shown Malfoy everything he'd asked to see, Malfoy
asked for some of those seeds we were finding everywhere down there. Albus gave him a few, sealed up
in an unbreakable vial."
"Was that wise..." I asked, nervously. "What if Malfoy gives them to He Who Must Not Be
Named? The Dark Lord might grow another one of those beasts!"
Moody's smile was a bitter, terrible thing. "Filch," he said, almost gently. "Where do you think
the vine-creature came from in the first place?"
I was shocked into silence. My one consolation was that Hagrid looked as surprised as I did. He
hadn't known either.
"Last year..." Moody's voice was even harsher than usual, "an agent of the Dark Lord was able to
literally plant the original vine-creature in the dirt floor of that dungeon storeroom." The old Auror closed
both his eyes as if something had hurt him, deeply. His gravelly voice shook.
"This agent considered himself the most loyal of the Dark Lord's servants. He wished to strike
back at the followers whom he considered less loyal than he was. He wanted to murder their children in
their beds. And he didn't care who else got hurt along the way."
"An agent of the Dark Lord...?" I faltered, trembling. "Last year... in the dungeons?"
"He's gone now, Filch. Can't hurt anyone, any longer." Moody rasped.
It was a few moments before his voice grew steady again. "When Lucius Malfoy investigates the
source of the attack that caused so much terror among the Slytherin children, and could have cost them
the lives of their Prefect and their Head of House, he will find that the evidence all points back to the
Death Eaters themselves. And, if anyone wants to know why the Head of Slytherin House was seriously
ill, and incapable of protecting his charges... well, they won't have to look very far for the answer to that
question either, now will they?"
I couldn't say that I really minded the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse taking the blame for my
reckless act against poor Severus. I still felt guilty though.
Moody laughed, without humor. "Ironic, isn't it? Albus hopes it'll give the Dark Lord's followers
something to think about, at any rate."
******
Mad Eye Moody, it seemed, agreed with Hagrid on the matter of drinking. Sometimes, it's
really the only sensible thing to do.
We made a strange procession through the corridors of Hogwarts, in the wee hours of the
morning. Hagrid considered it his duty to make sure that Moody and I both reached our beds without
falling down too many times, before he and Fang returned to his hut.
The three of us had to lean on each other in order to stay upright. Hagrid was singing in French.
(At least, I think it was French.)
Our inebriated condition appeared to worry Fang, but Mrs. Norris just looked utterly embarrassed
to be seen in our company.
We saw no one except Peeves.
The poor poltergeist just shook his head, speechless.
END OF CHAPTER TEN
Author's Notes:
Lyansidde: Thank you!! I don't think I can manage two chapters for Easter. I hope that one is okay...
Elspeth: Thank you!! No one is going to feel better in the morning after this chapter, either. ;-)
Leila C. Snape: Thank you!! Lucius is a bastard, all right, but he's a complicated one.
RioRaptor: Thank you!! Everyone really did mean well when they tried to protect Severus from the truth.
Say "Hi!" to Shadow...
Radka: Thank you!!
Lizard of Fire: Thank you!! Dumbledore meant to hit Lucius as hard as he could. The Death Eaters may
not care about the families of the Muggles and Muggle-borns they harm, but for the most part, they aren't
so devoid of feeling that they've stopped caring for their own children.
It is hard to have Snape actually cry in a fic, and not have him be out of character. (I wanted him to cry a
bit more, but he was insistent on being restrained about it.)
Gramarye: Thank you!!
a Harry Potter fan-fic
by Ozma
sequel to "Squib Doors"
Chapter 10: Drowning Sorrows
Everything in this story really belongs to J.K. Rowling
Behind Hogwarts Castle, down a small hill, there is a desolate stretch of ground where rubbish
and other things that cannot be gotten rid of any other way have always been burned. Earlier today there
had been a roaring bonfire here. A great many items contaminated by the seeds of the vine-beast had been
destroyed in the flames.
Now, as a final precaution, Hagrid was sprinkling small, blue-green crystals of copper sulfate on
the blackened ground. The crystals would discourage plant growth on this spot. With Professor Snape's
written permission, Slytherin fifth year Pansy Parkinson had fetched the crystals from his supplies and she
had brought them out to Hagrid.
I'd seen the note, scrawled on a piece of parchment. Much shakier than the Professor's usual
neat hand, but still recognizable, Snape had written as if he could barely hold the quill. I didn't know who
had thought of the crystals or who had asked the Professor for his permission to use them. When I'd last
seen Snape in the hospital wing, he'd been in no condition to talk to anyone.
Poor, suffering soul. I ached for him. There was nothing I could do to help the Professor. There
was nothing I could do to ease the terribly heavy feeling of guilt in my heart. I could only try to drown it
for a little while.
The benefits of drunkenness are one of many things that Hagrid and I usually do not agree on.
I've never thought that excessive drinking is an acceptable answer to life's sorrows. All the troubles
you've tried to drown will still be there, waiting, when you finally sober up again. And then, the woes
must be faced anew with bleary eyes and a head that feels as if it's going to split with pain.
Well... I would never admit this out loud to Hagrid, but he's right. There *are* some occasions
when getting drunk is really the only thing you can do. For me, at least, the knowledge that a night of
carousing will inevitably be followed by a morning of suffering, satisfies my need for proper punishment.
It's as simple and neat as filling out a Detention Form and filing it away, completed.
Mrs. Norris did not approve of what I was doing. Her golden eyes were regarding me
reproachfully. I'd been anxious about bringing Mrs. Norris out with me, but she'd mewed so piteously
when I'd tried to leave her at the Castle's front door. She'd looked at me, noting my bruises, and the sling
supporting my sore right arm and wrenched right shoulder. My cat had decided that I could not be trusted
to wander about on my own. I would get myself in trouble. Hadn't I learned my lesson earlier today?
Her laid-back ears and lashing tail told me that I'd better not even think of bringing up a certain
Basilisk, either. She'd gotten herself Petrified once, just once, and I never let her forget it...!
The corridors of Hogwarts are all the world that Mrs. Norris has ever needed or wanted. She is
not often interested in seeing the world outside the Castle. It's a sentiment that I can sympathize with. I
feel the same way. Nevertheless, Mrs. Norris stayed beside me, standing guard like a small, dusty sentinel,
while I sat on the ground in the chill, evening air and drank whatever fiery intoxicant was in the bottle
that Hagrid had given me.
Hagrid had brought Fang with him too, but the question of dominance was quickly settled with a
hiss and a quick flash of Mrs. Norris's claws. Fang yelped and retreated, whimpering , to nurse his sore
nose. Shaking his head, Hagrid patted the boarhound comfortingly and returned to his work.
Fang, the great, slobbering beast, settled himself next to me, on the side opposite from Mrs.
Norris. He rested his head on my knee. The mournful look in his eyes urged me to be kind to another
creature who was among the walking wounded. Grumbling, I let Fang leave his head on my knee. He
drooled. Mrs. Norris ignored him, loftily.
Hagrid had finished spreading the crystals. He sat on the ground, just close enough to reach the
bottle when I passed it to him. Being too near Mrs. Norris makes him sneeze.
After a few moments, Fang got up and trotted over to lie beside his master.
Hagrid withdrew his battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. He pointed it and suddenly
there was a small, cheerful fire, burning in midair, over the site of today's bonfire.
He gave me a quick, furtive look, but I didn't comment. (Not even to remind him that he'd been
proven innocent, and he could have a proper wand now, if he chose.)
We spent a while in companionable silence.
There were ghosts on this small hillside with Hagrid and me. Not real ghosts, like the ones in the
Castle. Just shadows and memories.
"Jus' like old times..." the big man said, gruffly.
I nodded. It almost seemed like the years had fallen away, leaving both of us younger. Two men,
many years dead, felt so near that I could almost see them.
Ogg, the gamekeeper before Hagrid. Old Apollyon Pringle, my predecessor as caretaker. The two
of them had been friends and they had spent many a night out here, drinking together over the years.
Hagrid, Ogg's apprentice, had been with them, sometimes. I'd joined them, now and again, too. Not to
drink, just to listen to their talk. Most of what I knew about Pringle, I only knew because I'd overheard
him talking to Ogg.
Sometimes it's soothing to take refuge in drink and the comforting safety of the past. Hagrid and
I sat quietly, passing the bottle between us, and remembered them for a while.
******
The muffled *clunk* of Alastor Moody's wooden leg was not as noticeable when he was walking
outside across the Castle grounds. Still, Hagrid and I looked up as he came down the hill towards us. Fang
whuffed a soft greeting to Moody, and thumped his tail. Mrs. Norris, now curled up in my lap, dozing,
slitted one golden eye open and blinked as the old Auror joined us.
The first bottle we'd started on was now empty. Hagrid pulled a second bottle out of another
pocket and opened it. Neither of us bothered offering the bottle to Moody. He'd pulled out his hip flask
and taken a seat on the ground between us.
"Lucius Malfoy's left the Castle..." The old Auror said, without preamble.
"Good," Hagrid growled.
Moody turned and looked at me. "Sweet Medea! You look like someone's used you for bludger
practice. Lucius Malfoy did that, did he?"
I did not bother asking how Mad Eye knew what had happened. I just sighed.
"Are you going to tell me that I should have killed him when I had the chance?" I asked him,
warily.
Moody shook his head. "No, Filch." He sounded disappointed with me, though.
"It would have been murder." I mumbled. Surely, he hadn't wanted me to kill the man in cold
blood...
Moody rolled his eyes at me; both the normal one and the magical one. He shook his head.
"Don't misunderstand me, Filch. You did the right thing," he said. "But it was for the wrong reasons."
I blinked at him, confused.
It was Hagrid who said, "Dumbledore wouldn't a' wanted Lucius Malfoy dead that way. Would
a' done no end o' harm. Made trouble fer the Headmaster, an' trouble fer Hogwarts."
"An,'" he added, after a moment, "yeh would a' been tossed straight inter Azkaban ter rot, jus'
like Ginny told yeh this afternoon."
I thought about it. Lucius Malfoy had always been able to cover his tracks, brilliantly. There'd
been whispered rumors of his involvement with Voldemort for years, but somehow, none of the dirt had
quite ever managed to stick. As far as the Ministry authorities knew, Lucius Malfoy was a wealthy
philanthropist and an upstanding member of an old and noble, pure blooded wizarding family.
If he'd been murdered at Hogwarts, by a member of Dumbledore's staff, while trying to visit his
injured son...
The thought of what the Minister, already defensive and mistrustful of the Headmaster, might
have done in response, made me shudder.
"You weren't thinking of all the consequences when you decided to take Malfoy on, were you,
Filch?" Moody said.
He was right. I was completely unaccustomed to thinking of how events in the greater wizarding
world and events at the school affected each other. Considering such matters made me feel as if the
ground were slipping out from beneath my feet. Keeping the Castle clean, and the students out of
mischief... those were the sorts of concerns I was used to dealing with.
Another gulp from the bottle was definitely called for.
"My reasons for sparing him were good enough!" I said, defensively. "There's rules, you know!
Just because you can do something, doesn't mean you *ought* to do it...!"
Frowning ferociously, Mad Eye took a long drink from his hip flask. Apparently Professor Snape
was not the only teacher who didn't like it when his students talked back.
"My point is, you've got to learn to look at a situation from every angle!" Moody growled.
"Think, consider every possible consequence. Then, you come up with a clear plan. Then, finally, you act
on it!"
He glared at me. "Your risks should always be carefully calculated in advance!"
"A Slytherin's carefully plotted stupidity can be more dangerous than even the most reckless
Gryffindor's foolhardy, spur of the moment cock-up!" I snapped.
"I know that the Headmaster put it a good deal more eloquently than that! But it's what he
meant!" I couldn't resist adding.
Moody's scarred face flushed with embarrassment.
Earlier today, while Poppy had been patching me up, she and I had talked about the terrible
dressing down that Moody had received from the Headmaster. The old Auror had conducted a highly
dangerous experiment on my Doors, one that could have cost him his life. Albus Dumbledore had not
been pleased with him.
Poppy had told me that Dumbledore had left the old Auror looking like a beaten puppy.
Moody and I sat and glowered at each other, while Hagrid smothered a laugh.
"I know that killing Lucius Malfoy would have been completely irresponsible and utterly
reckless..." I continued, waving the bottle for emphasis. "I know it would have been *stupid!*"
"That's enough out a' both o' yeh!" Hagrid said.
"An' speaking o' enough..." he reached over and tugged the bottle out of my hands. "That's more
'n enough fer you, Filch!"
I bit back a cry of protest, realizing that Hagrid was right.
Moody growled and grumbled, getting himself under control.
"My point..." he said, gruffly, "is that you should have used your head, before you decided to take
on Lucius Malfoy in the first place."
"I shouldn't have to tell you any of this, Filch! Lucius Malfoy is a powerful Dark wizard. He'd
just been hit in one of his few vulnerable places. He was worried sick about that boy of his. And you got in
his way!"
Concern, anger and frustration were all evident in the old Auror's gravelly voice. "He could have
caused you far greater harm than he did. You were lucky to get off with only bruises. He could have killed
you, easily! You don't mess about with an enemy like him. If you weren't prepared to take him out,
without mercy, then you shouldn't have provoked him at all."
"I-I wanted to keep him away from Professor Snape..." I said.
"Snape doesn't need to hide behind you! He can look after himself!" Moody snapped.
I shook my head, not saying anything. I knew it was useless. When it came to the subject of
Severus Snape, Moody's mind was closed. Poor Severus. He was so much more vulnerable than almost
everyone who knew him seemed to think. Only Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall seemed to
understand that Severus was more fragile than he seemed.
"You should have just left Malfoy to the Headmaster! Spared yourself unnecessary pain."
Moody's voice was quieter, now.
"Think, man," he said. "Did your interference really help Snape at all?"
"No..." I murmured.
Now, I was the one who felt like a puppy that had been beaten.
"I only put Malfoy in an even worse temper..."
I must have sounded as crushed as I felt. Hagrid gave me the bottle back. He patted my shoulder
awkwardly, and rather gently, for him.
I winced anyhow.
Hagrid changed the subject. "So, how did the Headmaster deal with Malfoy?" The half-giant
wanted to know.
Moody's harsh grin split his scarred face for a moment. "Albus gave our distinguished guest a
complete tour of the dungeons. Took him about, showed him all the damage. The Headmaster didn't have
to say more than a word or two. Everything pretty much spoke for itself."
He shook his grizzled mop of grey hair and sighed. "Some of the Slytherins were glad to take
Draco's distinguished father into their dormitories and show him what had happened in there, as well."
The old Auror's voice was hard. "I was down there, myself, helping with the clean-up. I saw
Lucius Malfoy's face, when he came back out into the corridor with the children. He looked ...shaken. His
face was white as the children's. He's a clever man, Malfoy. No one had to spell it out for him. Slytherin
house could have been decimated."
No one now was questioning the fairly obvious fact that the vine-beast had been an attack
primarily against the Slytherins. All of them. Making no distinction between those who were supporters of
the Dark Lord, and those who were not.
Moody took a long drink from his hip flask. His voice was full of pain. Alastor Moody was a
Slytherin.
Hagrid and I exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Strangely enough, no one really thought much
about the fact that the rebirth of He Who Must Not Be Named must cause deep, agonizing rifts in
Slytherin House. Hagrid and I were no different from most in that respect.
Many of the families with children in Slytherin were ordinary, wizarding families. Ambition, a
love for power, a gift for subtlety and cunning, these things alone do not make a witch or wizard
inherently Dark. Teachers. Alchemists. Poets. Artists. Writers. Aurors. Musicians. Quidditch players. All
of these had been among Salazar's chosen, too.
"Lucius Malfoy looked like that up in the hospital wing," I murmured. "Shaken. The
Headmaster had made him think that Severus was too ill to protect the children because the Dark Lord
had used the Cruciatus Curse on him..."
Even the families who followed the Dark Lord most loyally could still fear for the safety of their
children. I had seen that in Lucius Malfoy's face.
"Then," Moody continued, "after Albus had shown Malfoy everything he'd asked to see, Malfoy
asked for some of those seeds we were finding everywhere down there. Albus gave him a few, sealed up
in an unbreakable vial."
"Was that wise..." I asked, nervously. "What if Malfoy gives them to He Who Must Not Be
Named? The Dark Lord might grow another one of those beasts!"
Moody's smile was a bitter, terrible thing. "Filch," he said, almost gently. "Where do you think
the vine-creature came from in the first place?"
I was shocked into silence. My one consolation was that Hagrid looked as surprised as I did. He
hadn't known either.
"Last year..." Moody's voice was even harsher than usual, "an agent of the Dark Lord was able to
literally plant the original vine-creature in the dirt floor of that dungeon storeroom." The old Auror closed
both his eyes as if something had hurt him, deeply. His gravelly voice shook.
"This agent considered himself the most loyal of the Dark Lord's servants. He wished to strike
back at the followers whom he considered less loyal than he was. He wanted to murder their children in
their beds. And he didn't care who else got hurt along the way."
"An agent of the Dark Lord...?" I faltered, trembling. "Last year... in the dungeons?"
"He's gone now, Filch. Can't hurt anyone, any longer." Moody rasped.
It was a few moments before his voice grew steady again. "When Lucius Malfoy investigates the
source of the attack that caused so much terror among the Slytherin children, and could have cost them
the lives of their Prefect and their Head of House, he will find that the evidence all points back to the
Death Eaters themselves. And, if anyone wants to know why the Head of Slytherin House was seriously
ill, and incapable of protecting his charges... well, they won't have to look very far for the answer to that
question either, now will they?"
I couldn't say that I really minded the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse taking the blame for my
reckless act against poor Severus. I still felt guilty though.
Moody laughed, without humor. "Ironic, isn't it? Albus hopes it'll give the Dark Lord's followers
something to think about, at any rate."
******
Mad Eye Moody, it seemed, agreed with Hagrid on the matter of drinking. Sometimes, it's
really the only sensible thing to do.
We made a strange procession through the corridors of Hogwarts, in the wee hours of the
morning. Hagrid considered it his duty to make sure that Moody and I both reached our beds without
falling down too many times, before he and Fang returned to his hut.
The three of us had to lean on each other in order to stay upright. Hagrid was singing in French.
(At least, I think it was French.)
Our inebriated condition appeared to worry Fang, but Mrs. Norris just looked utterly embarrassed
to be seen in our company.
We saw no one except Peeves.
The poor poltergeist just shook his head, speechless.
END OF CHAPTER TEN
Author's Notes:
Lyansidde: Thank you!! I don't think I can manage two chapters for Easter. I hope that one is okay...
Elspeth: Thank you!! No one is going to feel better in the morning after this chapter, either. ;-)
Leila C. Snape: Thank you!! Lucius is a bastard, all right, but he's a complicated one.
RioRaptor: Thank you!! Everyone really did mean well when they tried to protect Severus from the truth.
Say "Hi!" to Shadow...
Radka: Thank you!!
Lizard of Fire: Thank you!! Dumbledore meant to hit Lucius as hard as he could. The Death Eaters may
not care about the families of the Muggles and Muggle-borns they harm, but for the most part, they aren't
so devoid of feeling that they've stopped caring for their own children.
It is hard to have Snape actually cry in a fic, and not have him be out of character. (I wanted him to cry a
bit more, but he was insistent on being restrained about it.)
Gramarye: Thank you!!