It's Friday morning and I'm starting to panic. My week is ending as it began, with me waking up early, muddling over the problem of premises. I've heard nothing from James since Jasper arrived with his order letter on Monday and I ponder the significance of this. There are three possibilities that I can think of, the first is that he's trusting me to get on, knowing that I'll contact him when I've solved the problem, the second is that he's giving me the silent treatment because he's angry with me for some reason, the third is that I'm laying in bed analysing his lack of contact like the fifteen year old that I am.
With a significant amount of disgust at myself I throw my covers to one side and shove my feet into my slippers with a consolatory level of aggression. I believe the time has come to pace the common room again. It's not as though I rely on James for counseling or anything, even when we were at school together he never coddled me. We were in different houses after all, I had to make my own way. It's kind of like me and Vincent, actually, and there's a point, I've only seen him once since I had a go at him on Tuesday. He had been walking through the entrance hall covered from head to toe with soil from a Herbology class and I'd been on my way up from Potions. As we passed one another he gave me this wicked glower, and then turned and talked to the Malfoy kid, purposefully ignoring me.
So maybe that's it, I'm concerning myself needlessly with whether or not James is giving me the silent treatment because I know that Vincent is. Ah! I'm so sleep deprived I'm becoming a moron. The gilt covered books glint at me maliciously from their shelves, the looped writing on their spines reflects the pale morning sunlight, and the marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw remains impassive. All the wisdom that she could summon to her could never provide me with the answer, only the method of finding it. I'd need to be a Slytherin for my house to lead me to the solution, and at that thought I laugh hollowly. I'm one of the few Deathlings that has escaped the double stigma of belonging to that house, and now I wish I hadn't.
The Gray Lady is normally good at showing up when I need a chat and today she fails in that duty. I pace for an hour and a half before I give it up for good, take myself back down to my dormitory and pull on some clothes. I have a pretty active day today, Care of Magical Creatures to start and Herbology to finish. Muggle Studies appears in the middle and that's sometimes good for a laugh, though normally deathly boring. In the last fifteen years it's become a compulsory subject, and I get that because it's no good trying to get the magical community to respect their non-magical counterparts if learning about them is seen as an optional extra.
I pull my black jeans on and a turtle-neck, Care of Magical Creatures can get cold out in the grounds, tuck my wand down the side of my boot and reach for my robes. Eva and Beth are sleeping late and I decide to leave them there. On the subject of muggle versus magical, quite a few magical families have phones now. I know this because Eva told me that when she was at school in her local village she'd be invited to other kids birthday parties and the parents of those kids would want to call her parents to arrange things. The Orphanage had one in case any of the magical kids did something weird at school and the matron, Mrs. Engels, was called to come and get them. This happened quite regularly, I was sent home once because I got a really bad cold and every time I sneezed a light bulb blew. This was apologised away by Mrs. Engels as something to do with pitch, and I had to stay at the Orphanage for a week until I'd stopped sneezing completely. Normally the incidents were harmless enough, but Vincent told me about a time when he was being picked on by this bunch of muggle kids, and the ringleader's hair went up in flames, he had to go to St Mungos and everything! I didn't laugh like I was supposed to. He told me this when I'd just been made his mentor and it disturbed me some. Having said that, he got picked on a lot at school, whereas I got through almost unscathed, so I can't judge.
I'm heading down the marble staircase and I see some first year Slytherin girls emerge from the dungeons. Struck by a sudden idea I loiter around the giant hourglasses and wait. Hufflepuff are doing very well this term, next comes Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and a small pile of emeralds in the Slytherin jar. The teachers really should award house points more evenly, Slytherin hasn't won the House Cup since Potter arrived at Hogwarts. My musings on the inadequacy of human nature are brought to halt when I hear laughter from the archway into the dungeons, I wonder seemingly aimlessly across the hall and appear at Vincent's side just as he emerges.
"Do you mind if I borrow you, Vincent?" I ask brightly. His happy smile shrinks to a sour glower quicker than I can blink, but he nods once and for the fun of it I take him into the chamber in which Professor Augustin interrogated me.
"So what's the deal, Vincent?" I ask as I shut the door. "You're not talking to me?"
"I've been concentrating on being average." He says with a smirk.
"My arse you have. I had Potions right after you did yesterday and Professor Pucey made sure to inform me of the level of genius I'm mentoring. Did you enjoy concocting your forgetfulness potion so much that you forgot what I'd told you?" He's smiling now. "What's so funny?"
"I have something that you want." This trips me up. He's wondering around looking at the tapestries and completely ignoring my scolding, it's not even touching him.
"What's that?" My tone is careful now. He's clearly in a dangerous mood and if he really does have something I want or need then I have to know and I have to have it. He turns to look at me from the other side of the room.
"Any luck with the Chamber yet?" I scowl.
"None. Why?"
"How have you been going about it?" I realise he's probably got a book that will give me a clue and I narrow my eyes. He's got nerve, that's for sure. Here he is, a first year Slytherin with barely any spell-knowledge, riddling with a Ravenclaw who could bring him to his knees in less than a second. Having said that, he didn't need a wand to set that kids hair on fire, so I decide to play along.
"Looking through books, trying to get a stroke of inspiration. Why? Does Slytherin house have knowledge that Ravenclaw doesn't?"
"Clearly." He says, turning back to a tapestry that depicts a burning witch and a mob. "But the information you need comes from Gryffindor."
"Oh spit it out, Vincent, I'm hungry." And tired and impatient, but I leave those ones out.
"I can get you into the Chamber." He says this to the wall.
"And how's that? You've found a book that tells you that only a Slytherin can get in there and you think it will open for you? Or have you been doing a touch of genealogy and discovered you're somehow his heir?"
"I've already been down there." He turns to face me now.
"How? When?" He's looking me straight in the face for once, his creepy eyes triumphant. I give myself a shake.
"How? Because I've been talking to people rather than ignoring them. When? On Tuesday."
"Tuesday?"
"Tuesday."
"And when were you thinking of telling me?" He moves on to the next tapestry.
"I was going to tell you straight away. I thought we could go together, but then when I came to talk to you, you had a go at me for no reason and I decided to go on my own." He glowers into the wall.
I'm quiet for a little while. It's easy to be angry with myself at the moment, and I can see why it happened like it did, but I'll be damned if I apologise.
"Alright, Vincent. When are we going down there?" He turns in my direction, eyes wondering somewhere near the ceiling.
"Tonight if you like. Can you do a spell that will get us out of a really deep hole?"
"Yes, I think so. Wouldn't levitation do it?" He shrugs and heads for the door.
"Whatever. I can get us out anyway, but it would make things easier if you could help. I really want some sausages." His hand is on the door latch and he pauses. "Anything else?"
"Meet you in the Entrance Hall after dinner?" I ask, helplessly. He nods once and leaves the room. I feel like I've been interrogated twice this week and I don't like it. My bruised ego is greatly massaged by the thought of our forthcoming adventure. I'm burning with questions, but I guess they'll have to wait until later. I hurry into the hall and slump into a seat opposite Eva and Beth, who are slumped in their seats looking sleepy, clutching large mugs of coffee.
"Where have you been?" Beth asks, dipping a single toast finger into a soft boiled egg.
"Performing duties as a mother hen." I say, grabbing some toast and considering the virtues of scrambled eggs as opposed to marmalade. Marmalade wins. There's a rushing sound overhead and owls pour into the hall. No Jasper. I'll send James a letter with one of the school owls after Herbology. An Eagle Owl carrying a bag of newspapers lands next to Eva, who puts her four sickles in his pouch and takes one, giving him a tip in the form of a crispy bit of bacon. The owl takes off again pausing throughout the hall so that student subscribers can pay up.
"What's the damage today?" I ask, pouring myself a steaming mug of tea from a large pot on the table.
"Shaklebolt's threatening to retire again." She says in a bored voice. "But he says that at least once a year so it's not really news anymore."
"You say that, but Huxley looks like he could actually do the job, so this time there's someone who might be able to take over." Beth says, as she attacks her now yolk-less egg with a spoon.
"I'll believe it when I see it." Eva replies, skipping through. "Ok, nothing interesting, so how about we hear our fates with Mistress Patil?"
I groan, but lean forward so that I can hear the damage. Mistress Patil performs the same function for the Daily Prophet as those muggles who write horoscopes for fashion magazines. She's a bit of an institution, having read the palms of most of the notable witches and wizards of the age, and authored three books. Rumour has it that she's constantly trying to get a post at Hogwarts as Professor of Divination, but Vector won't have it.
"Astrid, you're supposed to be humble today so that you might learn the things you need to from others." Eva begins, scanning my prediction.
"Hah," Beth grins, "Good job we don't have Potions today." I laugh at this, but I'm a bit unnerved by the accuracy of it. Still, they're meant to be vague enough to apply to everyone so I shake it off.
"Beth, uncertainty and shifting grounds can mark the day's outcomes, and confidence may retreat in the face of a challenge."
"Ah hah!" I say, triumphant. "We're doing Hippogriffs first thing, you'd better be careful Beth."
"And I'm going to receive high praise today, and I should use this to bolster my position for later in life." Eva says, folding up the paper, shoving it in her bag, and taking a last gulp of coffee.
"You always get the best predictions." Beth moans as we all stand up.
"Not always. I got a death omen in the first week of May."
"We all did." I point out. "It was the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. It's tradition."
We refresh our mugs with coffee and tea and take them with us into the grounds. This is strictly against the rules, but it's the first lesson of the day and a fine drizzle has settled over the grounds. These factors combine with the sense of entitlement that getting to OWL year brings, and see us nursing our beverages all the way down the rocky path to the classroom cabin at the edge of the forest.