Chapter 12: Heartburn

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"It hates me."

Wren couldn't help staring at the broken cage, the bent bars of the door and the splatters of dried up... it looked like blood but she wasn't going to say that out loud. Albus' forehead creased as he started pacing around his room. Normally, Wren would say something like, "Albus, you're being melodramatic. Your rabbit doesn't hate you." As another wave of nausea washed over her, she just swallowed and silently urged the room to stop spinning so much.

As bad as she felt now, she was thankful for any excuse to leave that miserable party. If she could keep from getting sick, that would be fantastic.

Wren took a slow breath and the room slowed down. "You did feed it, right?" she ventured.

Albus stopped pacing. "I'm not stupid. I took care of the rabbit, Wren. I even nicked fresh carrots from the kitchen."

The hurt in his eyes made Wren feel bad for even asking. Of course it hadn't been Albus' fault. But something had gone terribly wrong. That animal in the library was ghastly.

"How long ago did it... he... what do you call it, anyway?" Wren asked.

"Uh, I just called it 'the rabbit'. He got out two days, and I don't know what to do about it. You saw the thing. If I tell Madame Pince about him, she'll probably have him exterminated."

Tufts of rabbit hair clung to the remains of the cage. Her insides clenched uncomfortably, and she sank onto the nearest bed, leaning against the bedpost for support.

Suddenly, she was very aware of how she looked, wearing a corseted lace gown in Albus' room (on his bed even), and shot back up to her feet, but the chairs (that she could see) were piled with books, Quidditch padding, sweaters and discarded robes from last week. She sorted visually through socks strewn on the floor, past the wall full of Quidditch posters to the sea of shoes jumbled by the door, trying to find anywhere else to sit.

No empty chairs.

Wren brought her thoughts to a full stop. She was acting stupid. If Albus didn't want her sitting on his bed he would have said something.

Just be his friend, she chided herself.

Albus shoved a pile of things aside and perched on what used to be a writing desk, his blue eyes looking at her in concern, dark tousled hair, not so boyish anymore...

She eased back gingerly onto the edge of his bed. "I must have had too much pudding at dinner or something."

Slytherin beds were actually quite cushy (which squelched the rumor floating around last year that the dungeon rooms were nothing but slabs of granite... Wren couldn't remember how that had gotten started, and she hadn't really believed it anyway). Even though the rooms weren't round like hers in the Gryffindor Tower, she could still see around the room clearly.

Four canopied beds were draped in the traditional silver and green, different colors from her own room, but the hangings were basically the same style. The walls were bare, besides the Quidditch posters, but then there were no windows either. The place seemed so isolated from the rest of the castle, with the door closed and the greenish lamplight from the wall sconces.

There were odd bits on the bed next to his, including a decidedly girly hair clip on the pillow in a deep forest green, and a magazine that Wren was sure any boy wouldn't be caught dead with. The partially open sack of dung bombs that had been carelessly tossed on the covers had Wren guessing that was Scorpius Malfoy's bed. He'd obviously had company, which made her wonder if Albus had brought his girlfriends here last year...

Of course he had, Wren thought, so bitterly that it surprised her.

"Those are Serena's," Albus stated blandly, as Wren's eyes finished their tour around the room.

"Platt?" Wren remembered the pictures from the photography lab and then tried not to. "Are you joking?"

Albus sighed. "I wish. Scorpius hooked up with her a few days ago."

"A few days, and she's already leaving her stuff in the room?"

"Every time she's around, it's Quidditch this and Quidditch that, and oh have you seen my hair clip? Then she and Scorpius snicker at each other like they have some secret joke about it, and then they ask me if I wouldn't mind studying out in the common room for a while because I'm 'in the frame' too much." He used fingers for emphasis.

"She was taking pictures?" Wren tried extra hard not to think about the photo lab again. She fiddled with her camera, taking it out of the case and looking through the viewfinder at the cage, Serena's things... the floor... Bunny hated magic... "Maybe your rabbit hated her camera flash."

"Not likely. It disappeared before Scorpius lost his mind." Albus kicked a tuft of grey hair on the floor with his foot.

"Wait a minute," Wren said. "This is going to sound strange, but remember at the library, when your rabbit started to glow and then disappeared? Has it ever done that before?"

"Now that you mention it, no. All it ever did was stare at me and growl."

"Bunny... sometimes he gets out of his cage even though it's locked, and I can't find him. Callie saw a light flash the night that I lost him..." Wren remembered the tiny rabbit and the light at the cottage.

"What are you saying? That these rabbits can Apparate?"

"Maybe."

"But that's impossible," Albus said. "I charmed this cage with so much stuff, all the anti-hexes and everything would prevent anything from getting out by magic..."

The bent bars were starting to make sense to her. "He was trying to escape from all of the charms. Bunny hates it when I even think about picking up my wand."

"I didn't know," Albus said, and he actually sounded sorry about it. "I didn't even think it was a real rabbit for a while. Just another trick so James could get a laugh."

He looked so down, but it clearly had nothing to do with the missing rabbit situation. In all the time she'd known him (which was a long, long time, since she couldn't remember a time when she didn't know him), Wren had never seen any kind of animosity between Albus and his brother, except for the occasional dispute over space or stuff, all small things, really. She'd assumed that they'd always had a decent relationship - and James had always treated her so big-brother-like. She couldn't imagine that he'd do anything truly horrible to his younger brother. "I know he's into pranks, but that sounds extreme, even for him."

"You didn't see him over the summer," Albus told her. When his face crumpled into a deeper frown, Wren felt even worse than before about how the summer had turned out. Gran wouldn't have minded if she'd gone off to spend some time at the Potters' house. She probably wouldn't have even realized Wren was gone.

Albus got up and started pacing the room again. "When he turned seventeen, it was like his brain shorted out. Everything had to be done with a wand in his hand. Most of it was directed at me." He said that last part quietly. "I felt like I had to protect myself."

"From your own brother?"

He lifted up his sleeve, and for a second, Wren braced herself, imagining horrific scars, but he'd just wrapped protective bracelets around his arms. Except there were so many, she realized, clear up his forearms all the way to his elbows.

"I got these when he wouldn't stop. And these," he lifted up the cuff on his pants to reveal the same type of bracelets around his ankles. "After he... did something unforgivable to the laundry, I didn't feel safe in my own home."

"What about Lily? Did he bother her too?"

"No. She'd squeal to Mum in a heartbeat... and did you see the way he looked at us in the corridor earlier?" He dug around in his trunk and unrolled a small piece of parchment. "Accio quill! I've logged everything since the whole thing started, just in case, you know..."

Albus scrawled something on the parchment and then handed it to Wren. There were dates and lists of spells, some of which she couldn't make out clearly. But the thing that drew the most attention was the sequence of numbers crammed into the margins, counting up to something. She pointed to the largest one. "What's this?"

"Oh." He took the parchment back from her. "It's been sixty-eight days since I've been pranked last, not counting the failed attempts at Diagon Alley. Sixty-nine if I get through tonight."

He tossed the parchment back in the trunk and let the lid slam shut. " I don't know why I told you all that. It's stupid really. Never mind."

"It's not stupid. I sometimes think I'm being watched. At home, it was Gran but I got used to that. But at school, I think my dad has the house elves spying on me. He just knows things."

Albus hopped back up onto his desk, knocking over a bag of gobstones that spilled onto his half-written Charms essay. "That sounds more like paranoia to me."

Wren made a face, thinking back to the start of the term, when she'd shoved the 'Seven Steps To Grieving' booklet into her trunk before her roommates found it. "I'm not making it up. Every time something happens, a book appears on my nightstand out of nowhere. Sometimes things are highlighted in the text... my dad never says anything about it, but it's so embarrassing."

A vivid memory from second year popped into her head, when she'd found a worn copy of Hogwarts Rules and Regulations on her pillow, complete with side notes about dangerous places like the Chamber of Secrets. The way the text had been marked was so familiar, that she just knew who it had been. She blushed suddenly. "Sorry. I never told anyone that before."

Albus waved at the closed trunk where he'd thrown his tally sheet in. "As much as I love a good prank, this isn't funny either. I guess that makes us even. I told you one of my secrets and you told me one of yours."

Wren wrinkled her nose. "Does that make us like some kind of creepy club? Because I'm really not into that sort of thing." It didn't matter how fluttery her stomach got with Albus around, there were some things that Wren had to draw the line on.

He laughed. "No, of course not. At least you're talking to me again."

Even after all the craziness of the last few weeks and the entire summer, her friend, her very good friend Albus was still the same as ever. She shouldn't have shut him out. Or Rose or Callie either... but mostly him. Actually, now that she thought about it, her stomach was perfectly fine for once.

"I'm really sorry about the last few weeks, Albus. And the summer, too. I don't know what was wrong with me. Well, I do, actually."

She'd felt so overwhelmed when Gran had sunk into her condition, and then when they'd had to move, she'd been too focused on Bunny... and Gran... and then Bunny again... and now the Hospital papers... everything piled up on top of her again, making her clamp her mouth shut.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

She smiled weakly. "Thanks."

Albus grinned. "Hey, if you weren't Wren Longbottom, the Herbology Professor's closely watched daughter, we could sneak over to the kitchens for a snack and actually get away with it."

"Very funny," Wren said, wondering how he could still make jokes after everything. "I don't want another rules book to end up on my pillow." She twirled the edge of a frayed silver thread around her finger. His rabbit was still missing, and she hadn't really talked about anything, but she still felt better than she had in a long time. She'd missed all of this (minus the dirty socks and the sweaty Quidditch padding), she'd missed him, even if it was sitting around and talking about nothing, and she didn't want to leave.

But it was late. If she stayed any longer, she'd have to sprint to make it all the way back to the Gryffindor Tower before curfew, and she wasn't in any condition to move beyond a slow shuffle.

Wren stood up. "I'd better go, I'm feeling..."

She tried to focus on something, anything at all, and then her limbs felt weak and she felt like she'd just lost control of everything. It would have looked better if she swooned, but the way she hit the floor was anything but graceful.

Albus' worried face hovered over hers. "What happened?"

"Uh, I don't know." Wren tried to blink back the sudden fog that blanketed her brain. Albus had managed to slow her fall and she hadn't hit her head on anything. But that didn't stop the pounding inside or the blurred vision. She rolled to her elbows as her stomach lurched.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Nigel Summers didn't remember how he'd ended up curled into a ball on the floor next to the circulation desk. All he knew was that it was comfortably warm where he was. The carpet was thick and soft, and he'd been having such a good time naming costumes and discussing research materials with the librarian. From somewhere far away, Madame Pince's cackling voice echoed through the empty stacks as visions of the party came back to him in vivid splashes of color.

Unholy mother of all Minotaurs! He'd fainted at the party in front of his students!

He sat up, and immediately regretted the hasty move. His ears rang and his head pounded with the worst pain he'd ever had. Everything hurt when he tried to move, or even open his eyes. Nigel sat very, very still for a few seconds, holding his breath. Then, slowly, he breathed in.

That was good. He exhaled just as carefully, and then took in another breath. Breathing. Breathing felt good. After a few minutes, he oh so slowly eased himself up against the solid desk, patting his hands around the corners so as not to bump his head against anything sharp, and tried to take stock of his situation.

"How did you like the punch, Meester Summers." Madame Pince's voice came from somewhere on the other side of the desk. Nigel didn't want to risk opening his eyes yet. He felt like it wouldn't be worth the agony to actually see. He already knew what the librarian looked like anyway. By the sound of things, she was moving away from him. But then curiosity got the better of him and he cracked one eye open, this time, without the (literally) blinding pain.

Her voice seemed to fade in and out with his vision. "Don't you worry. I spent a lifetime surrounding myself with things that didn't talk back. Completely worth it, I must say."

A key ring jangled. A loud creak echoed through the library. Something scratched across the carpet and thunked off to his left. He continued inching his way up until the top of his head brushed against the edge of the desk.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Watch the corners."

Nigel tried to surmise exactly what had been going on at the moment of his worst nightmare ever: showing weakness in front of a group of students. They'd started off neatly enough. There were at least twelve students present. That was eighty-five percent of the class, if his math was still functioning. Eighty-six if he rounded up.

He had to admit that the students' costumes had been remarkable. Even with the three King Arthurs and Godric Gryffindors, there was plenty of creativity in the group.

"But you know what I miss, my dearie? Friends. Careful with the corners, my sweet. We're almost there," Pince's voice soothed, notably closer. "There's someone here I want you to meet. He's become a very good friend of mine, you see. And in just a moment, he will become your friend too."

Nigel blinked his eyes open to see who exactly it was that Madame Pince was talking to, and was hit again with a searing pain. Everything blurred, including the punch bowl sitting on the large oak desk across the room. He remembered Madame Pince offering him an "adult beverage", the jolt... numbness, and then nothing.

Did the students all go back to their rooms? Ethelred the Every-Ready, Uric the Oddball... Had Madame Pince sent for the nice lady in the Hospital Wing? Nigel had so many questions, a million tiny needles poking at his brain.

The shuffling and sliding started up again. He heard a grunt. They must be bringing a stretcher for him.

"That should do it. Come along. No time to dawdle when we have a guest waiting."

She's bringing help. Nigel Summers relaxed himself against the desk, which was nice and solid behind him. He thought for one second about hoisting himself into a chair, but opening his eyes was one thing. Even considering moving any other part of his body was too excruciating to fathom. Soft footsteps padded closer to him. She was getting closer, the nice old lady.

"Don't try to move, dearie. You need rest. The others had to leave early, I'm afraid."

Good, he thought. Queen Maeve and Alberta Toothill didn't need to see him sprawled out on the floor.

"They're not ready. But I've made some adjustments, so next time they will be."

What's she talking about? Another party? Professor Babbling had approved the concept of the Book Club, but after tonight's behavior, he couldn't well ask her to condone another one. Or perhaps there was a chance that he could persuade the librarian and the Healer that his mentor didn't need to hear about this little mishap. He was going to be a stand up teacher from now on... literally. No more drinking on the job.

A muffled grunt startled him. He tried to open his eyes again, but the pain hit, right over the bridge of his nose. Searing, unbearable. His head was on fire. Nigel shut his eyes and concentrated on his breathing.

The shifting and sliding came closer, but if he opened his eyes or tried to move, it was like needles through his eyes. He remained very still. Madame Pince was right there. Relax.

The labored breathing was not his own. Nigel wanted to see it, but he was afraid of the pain. A puff of hot breath on his face startled him and he flinched away. It stank like the sewers, and he would know, having mucked them out last week.

Nigel cracked an eye open. If he had the strength, he would have screamed.

Large, grey. Black pools for eyes. He lay frozen against the desk when it opened its maw, spittle splayed across the oversized incisors. He always thought he'd been destined for greater things, but his twenty foot dissertation on Magical Beings didn't answer the burning question in his head at that moment.

What were vampire fangs doing on an oversized rodent?

His professors had warned him about not balancing his education with field knowledge, his last thought before sharp, needle-like fangs slid into his neck.

A sick, slurping sound. Summers drifted. He didn't even realize that his eyes were still open, staring into nothing.

Madame Pince's crackly voice echoed all around him. "Do you like what I've brought you? Tomorrow, I can bring you more. Ah, you're feeling better already. That's good. That's very, very good."

When the pain receded, he was grateful. The slurping stopped. There was something wet and hot running down his neck, soaking into his shirt. All he could think was that it would ruin the starch on his collar.

He floated for a time as the shifting and sliding moved away from him. His head cleared. He felt better. That wasn't so bad. Nigel Summers had a great need to snack on raw carrots and to prepare for something important that was coming. Something very important. An honored guest.

A million things ran through his head, a million gnats buzzing around, telling him how he could help. How he could help her get ready, but there was a greater need overshadowing the preparations.

She is hungry.

He could help with that too. Madame Pince's face came into focus. "There now. How do you feel?"

"Better," he agreed. "Everything's in order." He brushed off his robe, the ordeal forgotten. He knew what needed to happen next. "We have work to do."