Letters and Trust
The next day is another Hogsmeade day, but Harry, Ron and Hermione scurry off before I can join them, talking about something they promised they'd do. Fred and George are nowhere to be found, and Fleur and Jess are too focussed on their books to join me.
I don't feel like going alone, though, so I mope around the castle for an hour or so before finding myself in the library, thinking over what we saw yesterday, the strange exchange between Snape and Karkaroff…and then I remember Malfoy's weird comment at the start of the class.
My father says he knows who you are, Malfoy had said, and people like you shouldn't take up with riff-raff like them.
I don't know what it means, but the fact that Malfoy claims to know so much about who I am is unnerving. I wish I could ask my mother, but any mention of my father, or any mention of anything from before she was admitted always brings on a crazy spell. I don't want to see my mother covered in long, bloody scratches and shouting nonsense at the orderlies who come to try calm her down. Plus I wouldn't get any information out of her, anyway. I know immediately I can't ask her about it.
Yet thinking about her makes me realize I haven't sent her a letter since just before Christmas. So I borrow a quill from the librarian and pull out a sheet of parchment and begin one.
Dear Mom,I scrawl quickly.
Happy New Year! Things here are interesting as ever, and I'm finding it hard to keep up with my classes, especially my fifth year ones. Professors around here seem to think that the best way to prepare for OWLs is to pile on so much homework it's as if I'm drowning in it. My extra lessons are the toughest to complete, though, as I just can't bring myself to wantto learn them. I get to spend all day tomorrow embroiled in the proper curtsies one is to give when presented to different levels of the aristocracy. Even barring the fact that I doubt I'll ever meet anyaristocrat, these protocols are based off of the traditional etiquette one would see in oh, about the eleventh century. Unless I figure out how to go back in time and seek out some Duke or whatever, this is all useless.
Anyway, I'd better send this off and get back to my homework. Hope all is well with you.
Love always,
ARA
I sign with my initials, first and middle, like Mom has specified to, and reread my letter to be sure I haven't given out anything more than general information. Mom has always been unreasonably paranoid about me writing down important details, I guess in case a serial killer ever hijacks the delivery owls and gets enough information together to track me down.
I don't understand it, but I follow the rules anyway, afraid of sending Mom off the deep end if I don't.
Later that week, I'm absentmindedly making my way to the library to take out a book of runes for my class, when Harry comes tearing up the corridor.
"Where are you going?" I call after him, but when he doesn't even try to answer, I take off running, too, sure that nothing good is happening.
We almost bowl Snape over just outside a big door in an area of the castle I've never been in. "I need to talk to Dumbledore," he says, panting. "Mr. Crouch is…the woods…and Krum…talking nonsense…"
"What are you on about, Potter?" Snape asks, seemingly unconcerned by Harry's desperation.
"Where's Dumbledore?" I ask, adding my voice to the cause.
"Here," a voice behind us says. I spin around and come face to face with Dumbledore. "What's the matter?"
"Mr. Crouch is in the woods," Harry repeats. "He's talking nonsense…something about a big mistake…he said Voldemort's getting stronger…kept giving instructions…talking like Percy Weasley was there."
"Let's go," Dumbledore says sharply, and then they're flying back the way we came. Not wanting to remain behind with Snape, I quickly follow suit, as Harry leads the way out past the Quidditch field, where oddly shaped rows of hedge look to be growing.
I left Krum with him," Harry tells Dumbledore.
What?" he asks tersely. "Where did you leave them?"
"He was right over here."
Dumbledore mutters, "lumos," and the forest lights up. A few steps in, we come across Krum, unconscious on the forest floor.
"Rennervate," Dumbledore mutters, and Krum instantly wakes up.
"Crazy old boot attacked me!" he says disbelievingly. "One second he was muttering gibberish, then suddenly his wand was out–"
But Mr. Crouch is nowhere to be seen now. Professor Moody joins the group.
"What's happened?" he asks gruffly.
Dumbledore explains, and Moody announces he'll go look to see if he can't find Mr. Crouch.
"Good," Dumbledore agrees. "As for you three, you all will head back to your respective dormitories. Any owls you want to send will wait until tomorrow, understood?"
He looks at Harry at the last bit, and I for one don't know who I'd want to write to immediately. Partway up the lawn, we split up and go our separate ways for the evening.
The next morning, however, I'm up early and out to the Gryffindor common room to meet Harry, Ron and Hermione. Harry had filled the other two in last night, and we sat down together, trying to make sense of why Crouch would show up talking nonsense out of the blue.
"I'm thinking it's time we sent an owl," Harry says, and he steps away to scrawl out a message.
"Who's he writing to?" I ask the others. They glance at each other before turning apologetically back to me.
"It's not really our secret to tell," Hermione says.
"What's going on, Harry?" The others have all stood up to make their way to the owlery.
He hesitates for only a moment. "Come on, I'll tell you on the way. What I tell you has to stay secret if you want to know."
"Of course," I agree, and that's how they fill me in on the incredible story of last year, up to where Sirius, who is actually innocent, and Buckbeak the Hippogriff escaped certain death. He concludes the story as we reach the owlery, where we quickly send the owl off.
"We need to find out if Professor Moody found Mr. Crouch," Hermione says once the owl's out of sight.
"If we had the Marauder's Map, this would be much easier," Harry says a little wistfully.
"Shh," interrupts Ron. "Someone's coming."
"I'm telling you, that's blackmail!"
"That won't matter if we get our money, though, will it?"
The twins come bursting through the door at that moment, freezing as they spot the four of us.
"What are you doing here?" Fred asks. He carefully tucks the envelope in his hand behind his back, hiding it from view.
"I could ask you the same thing," Ron retorts.
"Fine, then, we will all just go our separate ways," George says easily, motioning for us to exit.
"Who are you blackmailing?" Ron asks, not budging.
"Nobody," Fred says, glancing at George. "We were only joking."
"You're going to get into serious trouble," Ron continues, looking back and forth between his brothers.
"Mind your own business," Fred snaps, quickly tying his letter to a bird and letting it loose. "Later."
He and George quickly exit.
"They're not serious, are they?" Hermione worries.
Ron hesitates before answering. "I don't know. They've been obsessed lately. They've only got one year left here, and I think they're worried about saving for after they're done. They want to open up a joke shop, but…well, Mum and Dad can't really afford to help them at all. They've got to make their own way. I don't know how far they'd go, really. They're not bad people, but if they're desperate…"
"They wouldn't use blackmail to reach their goals," I say, certain of it. "Not unless someone deserved it. I'll see you guys later." I don't wait for a reply before following Fred and George.
I catch up to them about halfway back to the common room.
"That's it," I say, covering the last few feet between us. "You're going to tell me what's going on."
"We've told you," Fred says, "it's nothing."
"And I've told you," I snap back, "I don't believe you." I look first at one, then the other, their golden brown eyes identical even in the way they meet mine stubbornly.
"I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about," I say in a calmer tone. "You can trust me."
They exchange a look before turning back to me.
"We made a bet this summer with Bagman, at the World Cup," Fred begins.
"All our savings," George continues, "on Ireland winning the game, but said Krum catch the snitch."
I was in Canada at the time, so I didn't see it happen, but I'd heard plenty since I'd been back in the wizarding world. More than once the topic had come up out on the Quidditch pitch this year. "I thought that's what happened, though."
"Yeah," Fred confirms. "And Bagman paid us out that night."
They pause, and I don't see what exactly the problem is here.
"In the morning, the money was gone," George says quietly.
"Leprechaun gold," Fred explains. "Only lasts a short while."
"At first we thought there'd been a mistake," George takes over. "So we've been writing to Bagman, trying to explain the mix up."
"But he hasn't been answering our letters, and he's avoiding us here at Hogwarts."
"And in Hogsmeade," I say, feeling my blood pressure rise. Everything starts clicking together then.
"Exactly," Fred nods. "And we're thinking now that he's cheated us."
"What are we going to do about it?" I ask, ready to spring into action.
"Nothing we can do," they say together. Fred says, "Being underage, we aren't even supposed to be betting to begin with. Not much we can report him on. We don't want to resort to blackmail, but…"
"But that's all your savings!" I exclaim, imagining how it would feel to lose all that work, all their earnings they'd put towards their joke shop dream.
"We've just had to start over," George shrugs.
"We need to tell someone," I insist, pacing the floor. "Your parents, or–"
"George and I aren't telling anyone," Fred says firmly. "Especially not Mum. And you just promised not to say a word."
"And I'm already regretting it," I say darkly.
My mood soured, I escape to the cool late winter air outside, walking briskly back to the carriage. I'm still worked up when I reach my destination, so I continue a little farther until I reach the horse corral. I put Gem through all his training practices again and put the reins on for the first time, teaching him to lead from on the ground for now.
At dinner time, I leave the horses, but return to the carriage instead of going up with the rest.
"Aren't you coming?" Fleur asks, pausing in the doorway.
"Not tonight," I say. "I've got tons of homework, and I haven't even started it yet. You guys go on ahead, I'm not really hungry."
The last part's true – I'm not hungry, mostly because I'm too angry for food. Instead, I tackle my homework as viciously as if it's Bagman I'm facing, and not my History of Magic essay.