Disclaimer: all place, characters and ideas belong to J.K Rowling. I own nothing except for Isabelle.
Chapter Eleven: Muddy Waters
October 30th 1976 – Dumbledore's Office
The Transfiguration professor was flushed with upset, confusion and frustration. Her usually perfected hair was threatening to spring free of its tight bun, unable to fight against the manic movement of her rushing around.
"We must stop this madness, Albus." Minerva cried. "Ten years ago when that boy was murdered and we, well, we all saw the mark in the sky. That was the beginning, wasn't it?" Her eyes darted to her superior. "It isn't a coincidence that the numbers have started to increase."
"Yes. Yes, it is a cause for concern, Minerva." Slughorn murmured.
"Concern? If only our minister were concerned as well! The missing names are at the back; in the tiniest column! The names of the muggle-born family are not once mentioned either."
Albus stared at the fire, where the Minister of Magic had just been. Her stern glare, cruel eye and fierce voice cast fear in many, but he found her rather overbearing. It was never the presence of a person that marked the Headmaster, but the contents of their words.
The other professors in the room were still taken aback. Kettleburn and Slughorn stood wringing their hands together, casting nervous glances around the room. The Astronomy professor was chewing on a cosmic cluster, here eyes wide.
These were the few Dumbledore had chosen to attend the meeting.
"Albus, we have to cancel the trip."
There was a beat of silence.
"No. No, we shall not cancel Hogsmeade."
Minerva McGonagall went beetroot red. She stood up from her chair and stormed around the desk. "Oh, I think not, Albus. First, I allowed the Ministry guards scaring all of the students at the start of term, then I allowed Quidditch without supervision, but this is too far."
"It is not too far. The trip shall be today, Minerva."
Slughorn nearly dropped his tea. "Albus!" he gasped. "What about my classes?"
"You have your first and second years."
"Why not just cancel it altogether? The threat is still there. What if they assume we would change the day? The children are in danger."
Dumbledore didn't reply. He thought the idea was absurd, if the rumours were true then surely he should know nothing at all.
"There will not be an attack today."
"I really don't believe–"
"Believe in what exactly, Minerva? Me?"
"Well, I, no. Albus, I don't trust in the world outside of Hogwarts. In here they are safe!"
"In here, they are prisoners. Hogsmeade is a justified mean escapism for them. Nothing can take away the joy of freedom. They will attend, and lessons will resume as normal Monday morning."
The room's sudden suffocating atmosphere evaporated. The professors exhaled, feeling the intensity of their conversation deminish. Minerva pursed her thin lips together and stared at Albus."
"Horace. Amalthea, Silvanus, please see to it that your houses have their noticeboards changed. And there's a list of professors to travel with the students today; see to it they're aware at breakfast."
They stared at his back, bewildered, but silent. But the interests of the students were at the heart of it's headmaster and with deep uncertainty, they left the room.
Albus removed his glasses gently. He took several steps back to his desk and lay them to rest atop the Daily Prophet.
MAYHEM AT THE MINISTRY!
"Reports suggest that fifteen files have been stolen from secure vaults deep within Gringotts. It has been questioned, in regard to the contents, whether they were part of level six protective policy, but with the lack of response from the Ministry of Magic, it has send the public in a spiral of worry.
Reports argue that the files were awaiting transfer to the Wizardry Registration Office, before being apprehended by thieves. It is suspected that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is behind the event with Antonin Dolohov, escaped Azakaban convict, assisting.
Indeed, it was also Dolohov who exposed the formation of the Knights of Walpurgis after a ring was discovered at the scene of seven muggle murders in 1962. Furthermore–"
"Enough. Don't read anymore. It's all too much," Millicent burst.
In the Gryffindor Common Room, four sixth year girls hovered around the copy of the newspaper. Isabelle's hands were curled around the sheets, almost to a worrying extent.
Amelia groaned. "Millie, it's the truth! Carry on, Isabelle."
"No, I won't hear anymore." She said brashly. Her cheeks flushed bright red against her pale skin. Looking down at her arms full of coat-hangers, she dropped them with a loud clatter. "You know, I don't care about your outfit either.
Isabelle watched Millie's eyes well up and her chest expand as she fought tears. She sniffled and fanned her face, rising from the sofa and leaving without another word.
Lily sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Should we go after her?"
"No. No, she's not as unstable this time. We'll see her in Hogsmeade."
"That's a shame," Johnson said, eyeing her property that littered the ground.
"Why?"
"I was hoping to borrow her kitten heels." Amelia looked after her dramatically. In a blink, she was over it and held up an adornment of material. "Anyway! The real issue here is: Scarf on? Or scarf... off." Throwing it around her neck and swiping it away in an instant. She did it several times, moving to fix her blouse.
Isabelle eyed the clothes, half-interested. She snuggled back into the leather sofa and brushed a goose feather along her top lip. The cushions in the common room were bursting with them. "I think it looks nicer on." She offered. The Quidditch enthusiast looked disappointed.
"What about my chest?"
"Well, what about it?"
"Henry won't see it."
Isabelle rolled her eyes dramatically. "Fine. Fine, pop open the top button and when you're telling a story, scratch the skin of your collarbone and then he'll get an eyeful of that chest hair, you prima donna."
Lily's face crinkled with laughter. She shot Isabelle a wink and said: "yeah, Mia. I heard you were growing it out."
Amelia shot them a suppressed look. Letting the neck of the jumper snap back against her neck. "Yeah. It's nearly as long as your ego."
"Impossible."
"Why? Because you have no ego?"
"Because my ego exists in an abundance of evermore reality," she deadpanned. "It's impossible for it to end. Just like you body hair."
"Yeah, Amelia. Your body hair." A voice appeared behind the sofa, making all of their heads turn. James Potter had entered the Common Room, obviously on his way to breakfast before the trip. Behind him, were the other three and for a brief moment, Isabelle considered throwing a joke at Sirius about doing some revision.
She looked away from him and to a flustered Amelia Johnson.
"I have no chest hair!" She hissed. "The joke is over, Potter!"
"Yes, she does." Isabelle laughed loudly.
"Since when did you side with them?"
"Since it benefits my humour."
"What humour?"
"Oh, it exists just as much as your body hair does."
Sirius shook his head, smirking. "Ain't nothing wrong with a bit of it, Johnson," he called out. 'You're gonna need it for the game! It'll be bloody freezing!"
The boys disappeared out of the common room door.
"Honestly, I need some help and hair is the least of our concern. No matter how long it is, or whatever, I mean–"
"How long it is?" Lily's eyes widened.
"No, no, I didn't mean–"
"Well, scientifically speaking the average hair length is one centimetre. So, if it's really bothering you with the length then...? Is it a couple inches or something?"
"Oh, piss off. No!"
"Okay, two centimetres."
"Wrong."
"Right."
"Guess again."
"Three centimetres."
"Wrong."
"Five. Borderlining a werewolf, are we?"
"Mhm, no."
"Well, we'll keep guessing then!" Lily cried.
"I'm waiting until you say there's none at all!"
"We just want to know the truth! What size–"
There was a load noise making the girls jump. Isabelle turned around with eyes the size of dinner plates, but quickly deflated. Marlene had entered with Alice Longbottom, they had slammed a hefty book on the table in annoyance.
"My dick," Marlene snapped. "You bints. This conversation is over. My ears are starting to bleed. Go back to talking about Quidditch Amelia and get your scarves out of here. The professors are waiting for us all in the hall."
They took their leave quickly. Amelia with more clothes on than planned, but in a lighter mood.
The walk through the school was busier than usual. Students were rushing to change; shoving coats and boots on as they flew down the stairwell. Twice the girls were held up by the cases moving to the wrong corridor, and they were thankful to burst into the courtyard.
It was blustery. The wind had picked up over night, sweeping off decaying leaves which danced along the cobblestone at Isabelle's feet. She looked down, trying to envision their evermore green tinge turn to brown.
The third years were waiting around her with excitement. White papers were in their gripped fingers, awaiting approval from McGonagall. Isabelle remembered the thrill of her first Hosgmeade trip; seeing a wizard village.
It was also a historical landmark. Having read countless books before departure, it was an inner glee that gave her a spring in her step when she handed in her form. Herself and Lily spent all eight hours wandering down the alleyways, up to the woods on the other side and along the hillsides that surrounded the village.
Stuffed in a drawer in Isabelle's home were muggle polaroids of them both on that third year journey.
"Hey, Lily, do you remember when I took that photo of you just before you slipped over outside the pub?" The red head's hair matched her cheeks. With a snort, she nodded.
"Oh, God. How funny."
"It was, wasn't it? I should've bought it today."
"So I can fall over again?"
"I might have to push you."
"Not if I push you first!" Lily laughed and went skipping ahead. She caught up quickly with the others and looped her short arms around their necks.
"Alone again." A voice came from behind her. Isabelle looked up quickly. Alecto Carrow, beside her: Evan Rosier. "Naturally."
"Well, I–"
"W-Well, I-I w-was going t-to find my fwiends and use them as a shield against you nasty, nasty Slytherins! Wee' lamb, aren't you?"
"Hex her, Alecto." Evan spat. "Go on, show her what we've been learning in Defence."
Isabelle clenched her teeth together. "Defence against what? Me? How brave you are."
"You can talk! A fucking miracle. But, not if I sew your mouth shut. Tempus Tacendi!" He suddenly cried. Isabelle was blasted into the wall. She hit it with a fierce crunch, but her scream was silence.
A fire burnt her lips suddenly. Grabbing at her mouth she felt the skin moving, growing and covering her from the chin to the nose. Tears pricked her eyes as she slid down onto the floor and grappled at her face.
She fought to screech, to make noise, to bring attention to herself.
"Hey! Hey, come on! Evan. Alecto, what are you–?" Alistair nearly choked when he appeared. His eyes darted from the Slytherins to her, he hesitated at the pair, but went for the Gryffindor. "Isabelle, fucking hell."
"It was just a joke, Anscombe." Evan said with no reassurance. His voice was darker. "Tacera!" he spat again.
The fire disappeared from Isabelle's face. She pressed her hands to her mouth and felt the lips appear, the extra skin vanished, feeling like a dozen spiders for a brief moment. Alistair's hand tugged her to her feet, to which she felt shaky and heavily dependant upon him.
"See? A joke?" Alecto offered. She glanced between them, false humour on her face. It disappeared and her usual ugly frown appeared. "Or not. Come on, Evan. We'll catch you later, Anscombe."
Isabelle's heart began to slow from its dramatic entourage. She stood up straighter, doe eyes following them until they disappeared around the corner.
"You alright?"
Touching her lips, she nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."
"Hey, hey." He whispered and kissed her. It felt strange. Odd. Instead of exciting her, she felt disgusted after what had just happened. Kissing was the last thing on her mind, but Alistair gave her a grin that meant he thought he'd cured everything.
Hand in hand, they took a slow walk down to the village. Mainly as Isabelle pulled him back, forcing him to not catch up with anyone. She'd find Lily later and tell her what happened.
They reached the district in short time, welcoming the commotion of market day and wizarding pleasantries. Thrice, Ali was stopped by market-men trying to sell mystical objects, or vegetables, or clothing. Turning down another road, Isabelle looked upon a familiar set of shops and faces.
Madam Fitzgibbons was in the window of her grocery shop, her arms full of fresh vegetables. With a cap crammed on her frizzy hair and a stained white apron, she resembled a maid. She looked to be singing loudly as she was alone.
Swerving down another small street, Alistair led Isabelle in front of him. Her eyes landed on a bundle of cramped forms on the ground. It was, very obviously, someone homeless. The dishevelled, rugged appearance did not go unnoticed. One sat apart from them all, muttering to the wall.
Narrowing her eyes, she noticed he was muttering to a poster of the Minister for Magic. The Minister's face was scribbled over with dirt and nail marks. Isabelle shrunk into the Hufflepuff.
"All your fault. All your fault. He is coming. He is coming – in the dark, in the stars!" The beggar turned suddenly, ripping the poster off the wall and thrusting it at the students. "He is coming! Here! Here!"
"Fuck off, freak." Alistair snapped. He reached for his wand, but the homeless man recoiled quickly and fell to the floor. In a huffing mess, he stared off at nothing and ignored their presence.
Isabelle allowed Ali to shove her out of the street and grab her hand rather un-romantically.
"What a bloody nutter." Ali muttered.
"Well, yes. But, I guess he's right. There is something coming. You-know-who is all the teachers talk about."
He laughed aloud. "You sound like such a muggle. They're always talking about nazism and stalinism. I read it in one of your mother's letters."
"What's that got to do with You-Know-Who? And can you, uh, not go through my things? I do believe the letter said 'Dear Isabelle', not 'Dear Alistair'." She grinned, but waited anxiously for what he said. It hadn't been mentioned since her fifth year, but there had always been an impending fear of a nuclear war.
"War exists in the Wizarding World as well as the muggle world, you know."
"Yeah, but will there be a war here? Probably not. It's just theorists getting themselves riled."
The escaped Death Eaters were staring out at her at every shop window. Isabelle couldn't stop looking at each one; their ugly faces screaming out the pictures. It started to rain as she hurried down the street, hitting her cheeks softly.
"Your hair is starting to go frizzy," said Alistair. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, trying to stay warm in the chilly weather.
"Your hair looks like it's been set on fire."
"Ooh, the cold seems to be making you snappy today."
She shot him a smile and starting giggling. They found themselves outside a rusty pink painted shop, the wood created a rustic look which was adorned with frills and bows. It hadn't changed in years, neither had Madam Puddifoot.
Isabelle used to think it was cute to look at, now after going so often, it was rather dull.
"I'll pay." Alistair said as they walked inside.
"No, no. I'll pay, it's my turn."
"Come on. It's our first Hogsmeade Trip. I haven't seen you all summer, so I'll get it."
"I did write to you."
"Look, I just, it is what it is. So, I didn't see you and I'll pay."
Frowning, she began to feel slightly irritated and was fighting not to cause a scene in front of the shop. "Well, you just threw that in. We haven't even had anything to drink yet."
Alistair didn't even look at her. "I'll pay," he finalised.
Isabelle watched him walked past her and lead the way to one of the few tables left. It was fairly full; of chatter and the smell of pumpkin spice. Puddifoot had decorated for Halloween, with tiny felt pumpkins floating above Isabelle's head and a minute band of skeletons on one of the fireplaces, jumping over one another. That was the only part she found cute.
"Isabelle!" Ali called. She looked up and hurried over to him. They took their seats just as the server appeared beside them.
"What can I get you, m'dears?" said Madam Puddifoot. She was a plump woman with her black hair that was pulled into a messy bun. Her red-checked apron matched her lipstick and rhinestone glasses.
"Two coffees, please." said Ali.
"Can I have a long macchiato actually, thanks." Isabelle input quickly.
"'Course, dear." Madam Puddifoot nodded quickly, taking the dirty cups and napkins off of their table. She squeezed her way back to the kitchens and disappeared.
Alistair ran a hand through his damp hair and eyed his girlfriend.
"You're still thinking about Alecto and Evan, aren't you?"
Isabelle looked up, suddenly aware of herself. She had been picking at the menu for a good few minutes and had scuffed the corner. Puddifoot would not appreciate that at all.
"No, I'm not," she muttered. Her boyfriend shot her a look which made her want to bury her head to hide the blush. "It's nothing, Alistair. Really, do you think I'm going to let a couple of Slytherins hurt me?"
"Yes."
"No. I'm fine."
"You can just admit it to me."
"Admit what? That I'm pathetic? Just drop it."
She recoiled her hand from his and leaned back in her chair, looking off to the rest of the room. Frustration flurried through her like a storm. When Madam Puddifoot returned with their drinks, she noticed the stand-offish mood and quickly hurried away.
Even Alistair took it upon himself to pour cream into her drink.
Isabelle watched him do it and an odd sense of annoyance made her fingers itch. There was something about him, the way he pushed her drink towards her, stirred it, and then settled to sip his own.
Movement around the salt and pepper pots caught her attention. Two enchanted plastic skeletons uncoiled from their position as napkin holders. They crawled onto the table and began running around.
Isabelle noted that there were several of these dotted around her, several were hanging from the floating candles above her and the rest were entertainment for the other couples.
Alistair's hand appeared, he flicked them and they shot off the table with a scream.
"That was a bit mean," she commented.
"They were annoying me."
She eyed Alistair in that moment and withdrew herself from the conversation. With a hand beneath his chin and balancing his stern face, Isabelle took note of the pang of annoyance she felt when she looked at him. He did not care to try and understand her.
Half the time she remained passive, not for herself; but to make people think that her perfected idiocy was something to be overlooked. Perhaps Ali hadn't reached enough to get that she knew exactly what he sounded like and what the Slytherins meant.
"My mother asked if you wanted to stay for Christmas this year."
Isabelle lifted the mug to her lips. Hot coffee touched her mouth and coated her throat, it was sour and good. "Sounds great," she replied. "But my grandma is coming Christmas Day. So, I'll leave the night before if that's okay."
"'Course. It would be great if you stayed at mine, anytime."
They finished their drinks in relative silence. With the occassional comment from Isabelle in between Alistair talking about something unimportant.
It was only when she excused herself that she felt some sort of relaxation.
Emerging from the toilets, she wiped her hands on her skirt and immediately found Alistair. He was stirring a fresh cup of tea and had a catalogue in his hands. Jargon & Joys - a high-end fashion brand in the wizarding world. He sat with his eyes focused on one of the pages squinting slightly.
"What are you doing?"
"You were right. I was being rude. This year, I'm going to treat you for Christmas. To make up for being an arse."
She couldn't stop her smile. Covering her mouth for a brief moment, before he took her hand and stood up.
"Don't be embarrassing," she flushed. "You don't even wish me a Merry Christmas."
"Yes, I do."
"Oh, no you don't. You wrapped my gift in brown paper last year."
"Kraft paper is festive."
Isabelle laughed on her way out of the door.
Before Sirius and Zelpha had been to Puddifoot's Teashop, they had been walking down a cobblestone path, hand in hand. She was clinging to his upper arm, her mouth wide with an abundance of drivel.
On their left were a row of stalls. Sirius looked at the pumpkin pasties, the chocolate orange slices and stringed-popcorn. A stout man with a spiralled moustache began trying to grab his attention.
"Helga," Zelpha groaned. "It's just some French advertiser. Too far from home. Come on."
Sirius ignored her. Something ticked inside of him, causing his fingers to untangle from Zelpha's and reach out for a leaflet. He sensed the gratefulness of the wizard without having to look.
"Merci. Merci."
Pointing to a basket beside the man, Sirius eyed it with curiosity. "Combien?" (How much?)
"Quatorze facilles." (Fourteen sickles.)
"A quelle, uh, heure est-ce que cela ferme," he pondered. (When do you close?)
"Trois heures, mais voulez-vous voir d'autres produits?" (Three O'clock, but do you want to see other products?)
Sirius shook his hand, beginning to grin. One of the only advantages he ever took note of from his lower year studies was being home-schooled by his uncle. Alongside the language and music, the food was a favourite delicacy.
"Nous sommes très pressés," he said quietly. (We're in a bit of a hurry.)
"Quelques palmier? J'ai des prunes? Ou des noix salées?" (some date palm? i have plums? or salted nuts?)
"Well, I, uh, I'll have some of the date palm; Le palmier?" The man started to nod quickly. Happily. He asked several other questions, before slipping a handful into a paper bag. "Oui. Oui, merci."
Turning away from the stall, fourteen sickles lighter, Sirius slipped a hand into the packaging and popped a date into his mouth. It was soft.
"You speak French?"
His eyebrows knitted together when he looked at her. "Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, not much though."
"Who taught you? Your personal tutors?"
He scoffed at her, feeling affronted.
"I mean I – I guess. It's just a language."
"Teach me something else in French, then," she whispered into his ear and all but dragged him to the other side of Puddifoot's teashop.
When they re-emerged from the teashop bathroom, Sirius was dragging a hand over his mouth. He pushed another through his shaggy hair, conscious of his messiness. Behind him Zelpha was pressing her front to his back, a giggly mess.
Sirius suddenly remembered his dates.
"Well, I... wanted to eat them." he stuttered. "It doesn't matter. Let's just get a drink."
He took a seat at a dainty table by a wall covered in art. Usually, it was bright pink flower arrangements or women dressed in gowns strolling around rich gardens. However, in regard to Halloween, they were paintings of pumpkin patches.
The one beside his face was of a witch stood behind a a cauldron, in it was a bubbling green liquid. With a hooked nose, pale skin and a wart on face, it reminded Sirius of a what muggles thought they looked like. The look on her face made Sirius think she was plotting, scheming, churching and phizzing with murderous thoughts.
Puddifoot had really pushed it this year.
He watched her turning the ring over her hand. Zelpha didn't bother to cover the way she focused on the gold band. Sirius hated the thing.
"A crow?" She asked, eyes wide on the onyx emblem.
Sirius leaned forward on his elbow. "Yeah," he said. "It's just an heirloom."
"The Black Crest has three of them, doesn't it? How dark and mysterious you are, Sirius." He grinned and ducked his head.
Being sat drinking coffee was something Sirius enjoyed. It was a time to settle back and just listen to the commotion of others for a while instead of his own head. Sometimes silence was actually a thousand versions of his own voice.
"He asked me out, you know," she said. He lifted his head and followed her longing gaze. Zelpha had her lips pouted, a hand under her chin as she watched Alistair Anscombe. "In my second year. Alistair. I turned him down."
The Hufflepuff was sat with Isabelle. Her bored expression was what Sirius felt quite close to home, he wondered for a brief moment what Alistair was droning about. Probably himself.
Slumping into his seat, Sirius began to stir his latte. He idly watched the yellow and brown mixture merged, finding it more interesting in how a pumpkin could be made into a drink instead of Zelpha. If she wished Alistair was sat opposite her, then why did she drag him in here?
He said nothing and wondered what James was up to. Probably laughing with Remus and Peter.
Should I kill myself? Or have another cup of coffee? he thought.
"Then he asked Isabelle out. She's nice, I think. She teaches you Potions, doesn't she?"
Sirius eyed Zelpha. He'd been aware of her obsessive stalking for a while, but he didn't think she'd be so awful at trying to be subtle.
"Yeah, she does. Friday nights." But Zelpha already knew that part, probably.
"And, are you enjoying it? Or do you think she's uptight? Alistair sometimes talks about her being too quiet, unless they're doing other stuff."
Isabelle had moved her hand to cover her mouth. She was touching her lips in a nervously obsessive way, looking even more uncomfortable in her silence. Alistair looked like he was always talking.
Sirius looked back at Zelpha. "He talks about her like that?"
"Yeah, in the common room with Amos. Anyway, let's talk about Slughorn's Christmas Party. Are you invited?"
"I, uh, I don't know."
"Well, I was wondering if..." she went off into a tale of how wonderful she found dancing and parties. It excited her that they would be drinking champagne out of an endless fountain. Sirius picked a leather bracelet on his wrist until Madam Puddifoot wandered past again.
"Uh, can I have a caramel latter and a, uhm, peach tea, please."
Zelpha laughed loudly. "Peach tea? You're drinking peach tea?"
"Yeah, peach tea."
"Peach tea?"
"Is there an echo in here? Priscilla, can I have one and another caramel latte. Thanks, doll."
Zelpha blinked quickly and let it go. For the rest of the drink, she didn't bother him about his home life or Black name. Sirius was grateful to get away and rejoin with his friends. She'd be there for him when he needed her anyway.
Outside the teashop, he swaggered past Alistair and Isabelle who had also left the teashop. He rolled his eyes, overhearing them both being disgusting.
Alistair pressed a kiss to Isabelle's cheek, his voice muffled against her skin for a moment. "Love you. Catch up later."
"You too," she muttered.
Taking the side-alleys and cobblestone paths, Isabelle made her way back to the castle. She hurried down the cramped Hogsmeade spaces, the dampness filled her with nervousness.
Being alone left her open to her thoughts. She recalled how she must've looked with her mouth sewed shut, how ridiculous it must've appeared when she was gagging on words and babbling like a child. Cursing herself, she wondered how Alistair didn't chase them off or threaten them like they did with her. Was he trying to keep the peace?
Isabelle looked down and found she was in the street with the beggars. It was now entirely empty, except for one man. The same one who had been talking to himself. Even when he'd jumped at them both, she'd shown no strength or bravery at all.
God, he must think she was pathetic.
There was one tiny thought that was present in her, though. What was written on the poster?
Slowing down, she took quieter movements towards the homeless man and swallowed her anxiety. He was completely harmless, so feeding her curiosity could be a tiny step. Twisting her fingers in her scarf, she clenched her teeth together and hovered inches from him.
He was asleep.
Up close, Isabelle could see his gnarled hands and dirty skin. His stubble was untrimmed, a mixture of black and grey hair whilst the top of his head was bald beneath a beanie. Beside his fingers was a pile of posters. Tilting her head, she saw a death eater on one, apparently he was in Azkaban prison.
However, written on the poster was the word: free.
Isabelle leaned down and reached for the sheets. They rustled. She glanced at the sleeping man and flicked through them quickly, until she came upon the one of the Minister. In large black letters was the word: liar.
A sudden cruel grasp around her wrist caused her to shriek and drop the papers. Following the hand to its master; she met wide unloving eyes. They sucked her in.
"W-What? Let me go! Let go of my arm!" She cried, struggling to wrench herself away.
"We're a doomed race, chained to a sinking ship, as the whole thing is a dreadful joke! Mitigate, young witch, to the suffering of our fellow prisoners; decorate the dungeon with flowers and crocheted cushions, watch the cell burn!"
Isabelle blurted out an abhorrent string of blubbered noises. She sounded like a child, but she was so confused and scared that she could barely function the ability to hold her wand. When she grasped it, she clung to it like it was her only source of life.
Jabbing it in the eye of the beggar, she stumbled back when he cried out, a hand gripping his eye. "Liar! Liar, oh, they came! They came!"
Adrenaline took Isabelle to her feet. In a complete mess, she tripped and went sprinting out of Hogsmeade. Darting past other students and teachers made no difference. She was panting, sweating and trembling when she fell through the oak doors and into the castle.
Even making it up the stairs and into a flushed pile on her bed was fuelled by fear and embarrassment. She'd tried so hard and ended up with a bruised ego.
It was all that drowned her thoughts as Isabelle waited for Sirius Black that night. Thinking overtook her awareness of the time, until she realised she was in a room full of defeating silence. She looked up from her book.
The Library was empty.
It was not darkness that made her feel timid, but what lurked in it. She scolded herself for not being used to the cruelty shadows came with, especially as there were so many at Hogwarts. However, darkness of all that had touched her today was something entirely different. Beginning with the Daily Prophet, then the Slytherins and the homeless beggar, the world seemed to be trying too hard to prove a point.
That there was very little good left.
Isabelle looked around the corner to check the time.
It was eight.
Soon, the time ticked past nine, then ten, and then eleven.
Slamming her book shut at eleven fifty-four, Isabelle rolled her eyes hard and huffed. She packed her pieces up and left the library. Making sure to not be so passive-aggressive with the door, she closed it quietly.
Once again, she was a seashell battling the onslaught of fierce waves. That is, if the waves were night.
Sirius – that stupid, stupid boy. God, he must be having such a laugh over it now. Howling at the idea of her waiting for him, Isabelle thought.
The windows cast a moonlit shadow along the corridor. Over the years, the world had become etched in charcoal. Once vibrant hues of green had become a vivid dream. It was as if a God had choked up and vomited a blanket of darkness across the wizarding world.
It was only a matter of time before others began to notice.
Beginning to hurry along the castle, Isabelle's heart beat quicker with each sound of armour and far away ghost howl.
Rounding a corner, her eyes landed on a floating figure. A tiny, stout devil with a black paint brush in his hand.
Peeves the Poltergeist was doodling on a sleeping painting.
Isabelle chewed her lip and attempted to tip toe her way around him, but her foot caught the stone floor. Her trip made a fearsome noise.
Peeves let out a startled screech.
Clutching her chest, Isabelle felt as if she'd been shot. She stumbled back, breathing should have sprinted back to the Common Room.
"Wicked witch! Wicked witch! Aren't you cruel sneaking up on me!" Peeves' voice scratched her ear drum. "Oooh, it's Isabelle the Itch. An itch to me. Watch it! I might just scratch you out!"
He swooped down at her with his hands held up like a pair of magical claws. She tripped away from him with wide eyes.
"Piss off, you foul thing!" She stomped. He cackled loudly and burst into song:
"Izzy Itch of which I'm not fond! She can't stop crying! She can't use her wand! Boo hoo–!"
He came towards her, the brush in hand. Isabelle's life flashed before her eyes rather dramatically when a cackle took the poltergeist's attention.
"Can't wait to stick these in it! Now, where's Peeves? Oi, Peeves? We've got a job for, oh, Isabelle. Hello."
Remus Lupin appeared from around the corner. She jumped again, her poor heart pounding like a drum inside of her chest. He was carrying a woven bag on his shoulder, behind him was Peter, James and Sirius. They all slowed down and looked between the ghoul and the Gryffindor.
Isabelle blinked.
"Not bothering one of our friends are we, Peeves? You do remember the jinx I put on you, don't you?"
Everyone in the corridor looked at Peter. Mixtures of shock from Isabelle and pride from the other boys.
The Hogwarts poltergeist quivered at the boy. His cool presence left Isabelle as he floated up.
"O-Of course, sir. 'Course Peevesy remembers. Only respect for marauders and his friends, only respect!"
"Filch is on the first floor, sweeping. Go stalk his office, or something."
Peeves nodded quickly. The bells on his trousers and hat jingled and then the noise was gone as he apparated.
"Thanks, Peter. I was about to hex him myself."
"It's alright. He's a wanker."
Isabelle laughed. He was so different. Maybe it was the lateness of the eve, or the way his friends held their own. She couldn't deny the type of overbearing strength they emitted when together.
"What are you doing up so late?"
Her eyes slid to Sirius and she scowled. He looked confused, coming closer with the others.
"Jeez' we haven't even had one conversation. What have I done this time?" His face dropped and he sighed, slapping a hand to his face. "Oh, shit. I forgot about revision."
"Yeah, you forgot. I've been in the Library."
"God, I'm sorry. Reschedule?"
"Re... Reschedule? I've been here for three hours."
"Well, I... I can't really say anything else. I just forgot."
"How do you "just forget", we've had revision for the entire term!"
"Well, shit, Williams. I don't know what you want me to do. I won't forget next week."
"Next week? You mean tomorrow. I have the Potions room booked for you. Good thing I ran into you tonight, isn't it? Or I probably would've been picked on by Peeves again! Walking back at midnight!"
"Shit. Uh, tomorrow's halloween, Williams."
"And?"
"Well, I..."
"Oh, right. Forgive me, there's a Gryffindor party which is more important than your exams." Sirius went to answer back and the feeling of complete embarrassment overcame her, she sighed dramatically and exclaimed: "Fine! Fine!"
He looked shocked for a moment and did not move from his spot. "Be there next week," she hissed and stormed off.
Sirius' eyes followed her and when she disappeared, he let out a long breath. A hand touched his shoulder, a familiar one. James swallowed.
"What were you saying again?" He asked.
Sirius lifted his gaze to him and a sudden heaviness crushed his chest. "Reg gave me a letter from Al. He's at St. Mungos, he doesn't think he's make it past February."
"You gonna go to London to see him?"
"He said not to. The Will he's writing is being monitored by Walburga. So, I'll have to see him at Christmas."
"And... are you alright?"
"'Course. Let's get these decorations up."
Sirius took the box from Remus and hurried ahead, the boys followed him and soon it was back to laughter; excitement for the oncoming storm of All Hallow's Eve.
References:
- Madam Fitzgibbons is the name of the housekeeper in Outlander by Diana Gabaldon.
- Nazism and Stalinism were real issues in the 70s, the threat of a nuclear war was something many worried about.
- "The windows..." Angela Abraham's short story.
- "if she wished Alistair was sat opposite her..." – from the goblet of fire with harry and cho!
- "The look on her face made Sirius think she was plotting, scheming, churching and phizzing with murderous thoughts." Is from Roald Dahl's Witches.
- Isabelle's internal monologue 'buying flowers herself' & the beggar on the streets' monologue is a reference to Virginia Woolf's Mrs Dalloway! There are so many themes of warfare, repression and suffering that are similar to what is to come for our marauders.
had to re-upload this chapter bc my computer messed up the update
please review! let me know what you think of the characters and anything you do/don't like! PLEASE!
