The Flip Side
Chapter Twelve: PreYultide Distractions
"Who was it?"
"Some mudblood firstie."
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, his name is Colin Creevey – don't you ever listen to anything I say?"
"Who's that?"
"Like I said – some mudblood firstie."
"He's the one always running around with that Muggle camera. I've had to knock him about for being on the second floor corridor this week after curfew trying to get a photo."
"Yes, thank you, at least someone else pays attention."
"Oh, right, the little git who was taking snapshots on the train and then trying to get everyone to autograph their injuries."
"So, some mudblood firstie who deserved it."
Pucey put his hands behind his head and leaned back into the sofa cushion as his comment was received with a round of laughs in hearty agreement. He, Violet, Flint, Abby and Higgs were gathered in the common room preparing to head off to breakfast before their Monday morning classes. Bletchley came straggling out of the dormitories dragging a heavy-looking sac behind him.
"Bletch," Pucey began slowly, raising an eyebrow and getting to his feet, "what's all this about?"
"This, Adrian, is my most brilliant scheme to date," Bletchley grinned widely and reached into the sac. "You know all the trinkets I've collected over the years?"
"I assume you're referring to all the junk left strewn about the dorm that I step on when I get up to go to the loo in the middle of the night?" Higgs folded his arms.
"The very ones," Bletchley replied, causing the girls to giggle. "And I am going to pawn them off as ancient talismans meant to protect all the paranoid little mudbloods who think they could be next on the Heir's hit-list." He held one up as an example: a small marble stone carving of a moon with two faces.
"What, make profit off people's fear?" Abby's eyes shone. "Bletch, I think I'm in love."
"Oi, watch it," Flint, who was still humourless from Saturday, stepped in immediately, casting a warning glare at Bletchley.
The rest of the morning elapsed rather quickly and just before lunch the sixth-year Divination class received their term project that would be due first thing after Christmas break.
"By now you should each be in tune with your Inner Eye and the time has come to put it to the test," Professor Trelawney had announced at the end of class. "You must extend yourself into the future and read what is to come." Her eyes had been very wide as she excitedly explained the project. "It may be a dream, a prophetic trance or a vision while you are quite awake – the means does not matter. And you will provide a three scroll report in full detail."
"Three scrolls!" Violet grumbled. "She must think we've no other projects over Christmas!"
"I'll write to Mother," Abby offered. "I think she was quite good at Divination. Maybe she'll have a suggestion."
"At least it's a group project," Sam shrugged. "Pretty hard to keep record of a trance on your own." She, Violet and Abby, being the only three Slytherins in the class, had immediately partnered up and refused to take on anyone else.
"Oi! Look here!" Bletchley and Pucey were bounding up the tower staircase to intercept the girls on their way down. "We've sold the lot!"
"I don't believe it," Abby laughed at the handful of Galleons and Sickles Bletchley pulled from his weighted-down pocket. "People were actually thick enough to fall for it?"
"Ate it up like candy," Pucey nodded. "We even had Terry pretend to buy a couple – you know, to make it look like even someone as dead smart as him, and a Prefect to boot, could be superstitious."
"That's really quite clever, actually," Sam sounded impressed.
"Aye, well, it were Terry's idea," Bletchley admitted.
"That explains it," Abby snorted, and the group continued down to the Great Hall.
The rest of November slipped away fairly uneventfully. Flint became grouchier and grouchier as his classes became steadily more difficult in preparation for the year-end N.E.W.T.s, and his thoughts dwelled on Slytherin's next Quidditch match versus Ravenclaw that would take place in January. Their Captain, Roger Davies, had largely kept his team together from the previous year, and had been working extensively with his Seeker, Cho Chang, whose tactics were to master dangerous flying maneuvers to counter the speed of Malfoy and Potter, and outdistance the heavier but skilled Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory. Their first match against Hufflepuff took place at the end of the month, and Flint had sat in the bleachers and not spoken to anyone, studying their moves to see what he could expect, with the intent to then be able to get the rest of his team on the same page after beating some severe focus into Malfoy. The stress had reduced his already low tolerance for annoyance to absolute zero.
December began and Lucius Malfoy had written to inform both of his children that he and their mother would be away during the holidays and that they were to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. As expected, both Abby and Draco had thrown a fit at the thought. When Draco calmed down enough to suggest aloud to his sister the possibility of their father knowing information regarding the Chamber and the Heir, however, both somewhat reluctantly signed up to stay over the break and then immediately sent letters to Lucius demanding to know any details he could spare.
Both Ginny and Percy Weasley had gotten more secretive but the twins didn't take much notice. As far as Fred and George could tell, Ginny was starting to feel the pressures of built-up homework, and Percy was annoyed with them for one broken rule or another. In any case, they were far too busy trying to figure out the identity of Slytherin's Heir. Most recently they had decided on Professor Sinistra, who had given them a double detention ("completely unjustified!") last Astronomy class when they had charmed their telescope tripod to tap-dance around the tower.
Oliver Wood, however, seemed to have totally forgotten his grievances after his team's big win over Slytherin and their Nimbus 2001s, and had taken to discussing Quidditch tactics with anyone who would listen. Amazingly, people began suddenly remembering pressing errands and had to run when Wood entered the room, leaving Katie as the only one who couldn't bring herself to disappoint him. The poor girl could only take so much, however, and finally suggested Oliver write to Charlie Weasley, which Wood thought to be a brilliant idea. He spent hours hunched over a piece of parchment that night, enthusiastically recounting every detail of the match and assuring the former Captain and Seeker that he was taking good care of his team.
It wasn't until the second week of December that anything that could be considered interesting happened. Draco had been fuming all through dinner about an accident in Potions class ("Potter did it, I know it!"), and while Abby and the others had tried hard to ignore his tantrum, it had been impossible not to notice the reaction at the Gryffindor table. Despite Percy's hissing at them to sit down and behave, George had clapped Harry Potter on the back and Fred had declared loudly enough that while he approved of Swelling Solutions, nothing beat an old-fashioned jaw-lock jinx. The Slytherins had collectively snarled.
Mid-December a notice had appeared in the House common rooms regarding the formation of a Duelling Club, the first of which was to be held in the Great Hall that evening. While Fred had thought it would be great fun ("And if a stray hex were to hit a certain Malfoy, so be it!"), George had won out in the end. With most of the school preoccupied, he'd pointed out, it would be the perfect opportunity to sneak off to Hogsmeade and replenish their supplies of sweets and gags.
So, at eight o'clock, with the majority of the student body gathered eagerly around Professors Lockhart and Snape, the Weasley twins (with the Marauder's Map tucked safely in George's pocket) slipped down the third floor corridor until they came to a statue of a very ugly one-eyed witch.
"All clear?" Fred asked quietly as he pulled his wand from his sleeve.
George unfolded the map and touched the tip of his wand to the parchment. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said clearly and the map slowly began to reveal its intricate layout of Hogwarts castle and its surrounding grounds.
"I don't see Snape," he said after a moment, "so unless he's already killed Lockhart I reckon he's still in the Great Hall. There's too many names squished in there to tell. Filch is…in his office – he must still be feeling poorly." He then noticed two names outside the library and moving toward the staircase on the floor above: M. Flint and A. Malfoy, but stopped himself before mentioning it. "And that's the lot. We're clear," he lied, and erased the map a little too quickly.
Fred raised an eyebrow and then pointed his wand at the statue and muttered "Dissendium!" George re-pocketed the map and he and Fred took one last look over their shoulders before climbing down into the now-revealed secret passage.
Abby looked up from the parchment in front of her as she suddenly became aware that the library was much quieter than it should have been; there were no whispered conversations, rustling pages or quill scratchings save for her own. A quick check of her wrist-watch revealed the reason: 8:05pm. The Duelling Club had begun five minutes ago. Abby swore under her breath and rushed to pack up her belongings.
"Whoa! Where's the fire, babe?" Flint caught her just before she collided with him as she flew out the door into the corridor.
"I'm late for the Duelling Club," she explained as she found her feet beneath her, grateful for his uncanny strength. If he had his footing, Flint was next to impossible to knock over.
"I know, that's why I came looking for you. I just came from there. It's Lockhart running it. Thought you might be convinced to give it a miss," he grinned suggestively.
She felt her insides twist uncomfortably. "Er, well, actually Marcus, I was looking forward to it—"
"You actually want to go listen to what Blockhead has to say about duelling?"
"Well, I talked to Professor Snape this morning and he said he would be there – though, he did sound a bit funny about it, now that I think of it," she admitted. "But at least if he's there, or maybe Professor Flitwick, it's somebody I can learn from. Like at Durmstrang..." She was talking quickly now and squirmed awkwardly as the skin on her back began to crawl.
"Look, babe, enough about Durmstrang, okay?" Flint sounded annoyed, then took a deep breath and tried to regain control of his temper. "I was just looking forward to getting some time alone with you."
"I know what you were looking forward to," Abby rolled her eyes and started walking toward the staircase.
"Well, who can blame me?" he replied, tailing after her. "You're fit! Most gorgeous girl in school! And well, we've been together a while now and, I just thought, you know, you'd want to take it to the next level."
Abby sighed, stopped at the top of the stairs, and turned to look at him. "Marcus, it's…it's not that I don't want to," she carefully chose her words, "but I just don't feel ready, all right? So, could you please not put pressure on me?"
Flint was clearly frustrated that she was not responding how he had hoped, but he kept his composure and forced a crooked smile onto his face. "Sure babe, whatever you say," he said finally, though his dark eyes were anything but friendly.
"Thank you," she shifted her armload to reach out and squeeze his hand, then kissed him on the cheek. "Are you coming back down?"
"Not in the mood," he shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Oh, almost forgot, Happy Birthday." He produced a small wrapped lump from his trousers.
"It's not til tomorrow," she smiled softly.
"Might as well have it now," he shrugged again and then tore off the paper for her as she had her hands full. Inside was a sculpted silver and jade broach in the shape of a roaring dragon. "Actually got it for you last year but kept it til now."
"That is so cool," she said as he pinned it to her cloak. She kissed him again. "Thank you."
"Does it…does it remind you of anything?"
She looked down at it again and bit her lip but shook her head. "Should it?"
"Have a think on it," he replied cryptically. "You'd best get a move on or you'll miss Lockhart make a prat of himself." She smiled and thanked him again and hurried off down the stairs. As he watched her go, his teeth began to grind.
There was a heavy blizzard that night and the twins had been extra careful upon their return from Hogsmeade so as not to bump into anybody; inquiries after their wet clothes and the snowflakes speckling their ginger hair would be a tad sticky to explain. There was a general sense of relief among the teachers the next day that it was Friday and also officially the last day of classes before the holidays. The fresh snow blanketing the castle and grounds was so enchanting that students were finding it nearly impossible to concentrate, preferring to discuss what they hoped to be getting for Christmas.
Professor McGonagall in particular seemed to land the most inattentive class in her morning sixth-years.
"Oi, Abby," Pucey turned full-around in his chair to speak to his friend sitting behind him. "Happy Birthday." He tossed her a pack of Droobles's Best Blowing Gum. It was their private running joke and he got her the same thing every year.
"Adrian, how did you know?" Abby giggled.
"Now, class, please pay attention to what you are doing," Professor McGonagall instructed aloud to her students as she walked up and down the aisles to inspect their progress in turning badgers into footstools. "This involves a rather tricky wrist movement that needs to be done absolutely right. As it is the season of giving, I'll let you know that it is very likely you will have to perform this spell on your N.E.W.T.s next year and I don't need to remind you how important those are, do I?"
"Old Flint get you anything nice?" Bletchley grinned and elbowed her gently in the ribs.
"Anything explaining why you were late getting to Duelling Club last night?" Pucey teased.
"Ade, watch what you're doing," Higgs said as he dodged Pucey's wand that he'd been absently waving around in a weak attempt to convince Professor McGonagall that he was indeed doing his work.
"Get your minds out of the gutter. I was barely ten minutes late," Abby rolled her eyes. "And please get girlfriends so you can stop thinking about me like that." As one of her two N.E.W.T. level classes that included the three boys but excluded Violet (Potions being the other), Abby rather enjoyed Transfiguration. No matter how good friends they were, every now and then she needed and appreciated a break from the relentless gossip queen.
"Won't stop me!" Bletchley laughed.
"But seriously, can we talk about that duel your Draco had with Potter?" Pucey turned the conversation around. "How weird was that?"
"Adrian! You nearly stabbed me just then!" Higgs protested.
"Mr Pucey, if you would please pay attention to what you are doing? This is very important," Professor McGonagall said firmly after looking up at the sound of Higgs' voice. Across the aisle, Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater cast irritated looks in their direction, clearly annoyed by their chattering. The Slytherins pointedly ignored them.
"Yes, Miss," Pucey replied to Professor McGonagall more as reflex than anything else as he still did not turn back around. "And then that serpent Draco conjured that Potter only started talking to? I mean in Parseltongue and everything! You all heard that, right? I'm not imagining things?"
"Mr Pucey! Watch what you are doing!"
Professor McGonagall's disapproving shouts were too late to do any good, however. As he emphasized the word 'imagining,' Pucey threw his hands out, inadvertently giving his wand more of a flick than he should have done. With a yelp of surprise, Higgs took the misdirected and unintentional spell squarely between the eyes and disappeared with a loud BANG! In his place, a fluffy badger had appeared, squinting up at Pucey with wet, beady eyes that looked unmistakably cross.
"Adrian!" Abby gaped at the creature that was formerly one of her closest friends. "What have you done?"
"But…how…I don't know!" Pucey sputtered, his eyes as round as saucers.
"Bloody hell, mate!" Bletchley jumped up to see the results of the accident. "Old Flint's going to murder you for turning one of his Chasers into the Hufflepuff mascot!"
"Now see here, young man!" Professor McGonagall was furious, but evidently not as furious as Higgs.
The black-and-white-striped creature leapt up from the chair before another word could be said and attached itself to Pucey's face with a furious screech. Pucey shouted in surprise and jumped backward out of his seat, crashing into the table across the aisle and knocking over the occupant's piled supplies. The noise upset the rest of the un-transfigured badgers (and one partially-transfigured footstool with furry legs and a tail), which all began to hiss and squeal and run around the classroom, looking for a place to hide. Several of the girls jumped up onto the tables in terror as the badgers scurried beneath their robes. Professor McGonagall tried unsuccessfully to regain order of her class, her shouts lost in the confusing medley of screeches and screams.
"Hold on, mate!" Bletchley finally came to his senses, jumped past Abby and took hold of the Higgs-Badger, pulling it loose from its grip on Pucey's cheekbones. "I've got – OUCH!" His victory was cut short as the furry creature sank its teeth deep into the soft skin of his index finger. Bletchley promptly dropped Higgs and stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth. Higgs hit the ground running and was quickly mixed up with the rest of the frenzied badgers.
"EVERYBODY SETTLE DOWN!" Professor McGonagall's voice rang loud and clear; she had pressed her wand tip to her throat and uttered "Sonorus!" a moment before. "NOT ANOTHER PEEP!"
And indeed, except for the hissing badgers, not a peep was heard. The screaming girls clammed up (but did not come down from the tables while the angry creatures still roamed the classroom floor). The students that had been frantically trying to collect their badgers stopped in their tracks. Bletchley, finger still in his mouth, shrank back to his seat next to Abby. And Adrian Pucey, even with fresh sets of tiny scratches adorning his face and the poor blind furry-legged footstool repeatedly bumping into his shin, shut his mouth tightly and prepared for the telling-off of his life.
But rather than yell and scream at him, Professor McGonagall, looking taller and more severe than any of them could ever recall her looking before, coolly pointed her wand at her throat once more and removed the volume charm by saying, "Quietus." She then strode over to Pucey and, looking him directly in his dark eyes, said, "Mr Pucey. You have exactly thirty seconds to locate your classmate and bring him to me to be returned to his true form, or you will be expelled. Do I make myself clear?"
Pucey gulped despite himself. "Yes, Miss."
"Twenty-eight seconds."
And with a desperate plea that brought a satisfied smile to the lips of every Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw in the room, many of whom were no doubt mentally documenting the scene to re-enact later, Pucey managed to coax Higgs out of the pack of still-agitated badgers with three seconds to spare. Professor McGonagall, an imperious look on her face, received the animal from Pucey's shaking hands and, with a swift flick of her wrist and another loud BANG! Higgs reappeared, albeit with black-and-white striped hair. After assuring him that it would return to normal in time, she sent him back to his seat looking rather bewildered. After permanently relocating Pucey to a seat across the classroom between two girls from Hufflepuff, she was just about to issue him a month's worth of detention before there was another disturbance that completely took her attention.
"ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"
Professor McGonagall was out the door to the source of the screams before they had even finished and the entire class was hot on her heels. There in the corridor lay the petrified body of a young Hufflepuff boy. Floating just above him, black and smoky and strangely horizontal, was Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Hovering near the ceiling and clearly the culprit of the disturbing shouts was Peeves the Poltergeist, looking positively thrilled that his bellowing had provoked such a reaction, as all the other classes on the floor had also spilled into the hallway to investigate. And standing in the middle of it all, wearing a face that was not dissimilar to how Nightshade looked when Narcissa Malfoy would catch him on her furniture, was Harry Potter.
Abby exchanged a shocked look with Pucey, suddenly remembering what he had been saying before the entire badger ordeal about Potter having spoken Parseltongue at the Dueling Club.
"Enemies of the Heir, Beware?" she half-whispered to him, referring to the latter half of the gruesome message from the wall of the second-floor corridor, as all hell broke loose around them. "Do you think it's possible?"
"No way," Pucey replied a little too quickly. "I mean, Golden Boy Potter the Heir of Slytherin? Come on, Abby – get real!"
"But he speaks Parseltongue!" she returned. "What's more Slytherin than that? And if he is the Heir…I mean, you don't get much more 'enemy' to Potter than a Malfoy!"