Disclaimer: All characters and ideas associated with the Harry Potter series are the property of J. K. Rowling and the following companies: Warner Bros., Raincoast Books, Scholastic Books, etc. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended. All other characters and ideas are the property of the author, except for Minister Howard Jennings. He is the literary property of Tajuki: check out her fabulous works right here on ff.n.
Author's Note: This chapter was a long time in coming. There are still parts that I feel could have been better, but I guess this will have to do. Any comments or questions as regarding this and other chapters are of course always welcome. Russian phrases used in this chapter (hopefully accurately) are translated as follows: shavala—slut or whore; govn'uk—bastard. Literary characters mentioned are the property of their respective authors (mentioned in conjunction with them in the text). Ideas expressed, however, are the ideas of this author. A minor spoiler for The Count of Monte Cristo in this chapter—those of you who haven't read it, don't flame me for ruining it for you. Also, I highly recommend it!
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Ugly
'Cause I'm on the outside
And I'm looking in
I can see through you
See your true colors
And inside you're ugly
You're ugly like me
And I can see through youSee to the real you'
Staind, 'Outside'
It was snowing again—harder than yesterday, and the wind blew with more ferocity. Indira walked arm in arm with Jude down the busy street that created the heart of the village that was Hogsmeade.
"It'll be fun! You'll see!" Indira placated her friend as she tugged her into the warm, welcoming air of a small shop. They had avoided coming here on the weekend, one of Jude's many stipulations for joining her friend on this escapade. She had no intention of running into any of her students on such an embarrassing errand.
Jude grumbled a barely audible, "I doubt it," but allowed herself to be ushered into the dressmaker's all the same.
"Isn't it wonderful," Indira marveled, looking around at the silks and velvets that lined the walls, fashioned into brilliantly colored dresses modeled by plastic mannequins. "I love shopping!"
Jude watched in astonishment as Indira ran a hand over an expensive, fur-lined evening gown, appraising its quality like an expert. Her dark haired friend was definitely in her element—her exotic beauty would only lend to the splendor of such gowns. Jude however felt as much out of place as a rugby player in a ballet. Instinctively, she hugged her woolen navy coat closer and kept her distance from the numerous pink and ruffled things. Flowers and bows, beads and fur. This was not for her. She calculated the distance between herself and the door and wondered if she could get there before Indira could stop her.
Sensing she was at risk of being abandoned, Indira walked casually over to Jude and ushered her further into the shop, a gently restraining arm around her shoulders. "It doesn't have to be as bad as you think. Just loosen up and you'll be fine."
Jude had already disclosed her full feelings to Indira about the Yule Ball and her apprehension over anything to do with it. Indira had then excitedly proposed to her that they shop together for the event. Jude shook her head, fearing that Indira, in all her sweet and good-natured attempts to make it better, would end up making it that much more excruciating.
"Well, good afternoon, ladies," an old and very chipper woman accosted them. Indira smiled broadly. Jude feared her own attempt at a friendly smile appeared more like a grimace. The woman was decked out in a swath of tape measures and pins stuck about her like a giant pincushion. "I assume you are on the quest that has sent many ladies my way as of late?"
Indira nodded and explained their task. Then she and the woman bustled about, chatting easily over fabrics and styles. Jude looked around hesitantly, fingering some of the soft linens and satins. Within minutes, Indira had returned to Jude's side bearing a number of gowns in every shade imaginable. With her free hand, she grabbed Jude's wrist and pulled her to the back of the shop. "Into the dressing room you go," she said, pushing the girl behind a slatted, swinging wooden door, throwing the heap of gowns over the partition. "Now I want to see you in ever single one of those," she laughed as she resumed browsing with the old dressmaker. "Every single one, Jude," Indira warned for good measure.
Jude rifled through the pile of satin and brocade, her eyes growing wider with astonishment. Half of them were so richly embroidered and beaded that she could never in good conscience do more in them than stand stock still, daring only to blink, for fear of doing damage to something so delicate and beautiful. The other half were of brilliantly luminous colors that someone of her plain complexion and modest looks could never hope to pull off. Deep reds and blacks, only someone of Indira's beauty could hope to do the thing any justice at all. She would simply look ridiculous.
Sighing with all of the injustice she felt at the moment, she pulled off her jumper over her head, causing her hair to stick up in a sandy, statically charged halo. She smoothed it down with one hand and pulled the first gown off of the door.
A few of them were to Jude's liking, but Indira thought them too plain, not the right color for her, or lacking in some other way. Then, with a mischievous smile, Indira tossed her a rich, red wine colored heap of satin. "Try this one, darling. The color's stunning."
Jude held up the dress and her mouth fell open with astonishment. "Indira! We're teachers! I can't wear this!" It was indeed stunning—a sleeveless, elegant Marilyn Monroe inspired gown perfectly suited to a movie star or a celebrity, but not a particularly plain and modest Hogwarts teacher.
Indira simply smiled and shook her head. "Try it on anyway! It's gorgeous!" Her friend shoved her back into the dressing room and tossed the gown in behind her before retreating.
Jude held up the dress and smiled at her reflection. She could never wear something like this, but it may be fun to pretend just this once. Pretend that she was someone different, someone one-hundred-and-eighty degrees Jude Elliot's opposite. She pulled the dress over her head and marveled at how well it fit. Smiling and biting her lip, she pulled her short hair into a twist and modeled the stunning dress. Turning to admire the low back of the gown, she let her hair and her smile fall. The same girl looked out of the mirror—the very same girl she had been all her life, the same face…and the same scars. She could never escape this person, no matter how hard she tried. But at least for that moment…
"Well?" Indira asked beyond the doors.
"Well, what?" Jude retorted, surveying herself in the mirror once more. "If you think I'm coming out there wearing this, you're seriously mistaken."
"Oh, come on, Jude," Indira laughed. Jude hardly had a moment to react before her friend had seized her and was tugging her out of her hiding place. "Let's see."
"No!" Jude managed to cry before stumbling out into the middle of the shop.
"Why not, you look…" Indira broke off. Horrified, Jude noted the look on her face. It was identical to the astonishment written all over the old dressmaker's face.
"Good Lord, child! What happened to you?" the old lady gasped, pressing her hands to her cheeks and staring wide-eyed.
Jude simply groaned, rubbing her eyes with one hand. She had many scars. Some were easier to explain away than others. She'd never had to tell this story to anyone before and hell if she was going to break that record now. Deep marks crisscrossed her back, cutting pale latticework into her skin. Closing her eyes, she simply wished the questions and the interrogating looks from her friend would go away. Could it be too much to hope that she would just pretend she had not seen a thing? Would Indira ignore something like this?
A hand on her bare shoulder caused her to tense, her body becoming rigid. "Jude, how…" Indira stopped at a look from the girl. Jude was shaking her head.
"It doesn't matter how. All that matters is that I would do it again if I had to." Her expression was stony and brooked no further discussion of the subject.
"I'm sorry…" Indira tried to apologize.
Jude smiled weakly and squeezed Indira's hand. "It's not your fault. The dress really isn't my color anyway." Retreating back to the safety of the dressing room, she shot the flabbergasted old woman a cold glance. "I'll take the gray one," she remarked shortly before disappearing behind the doors.
***
The day she'd been dreading dawned crystalline and cold. A new snow had fallen overnight, blanketing the world in an elegant cloak of pearl and diamond frost. It was a beautiful Christmas morning, but Jude was entirely too wound up to notice. It was safe to say that she had not slept more than a scant twenty minutes—maybe less—the whole night. She sat up in her familiar bed, the air cold enough that she could see her breath in her room, and hugged her knees to her chest. Biting her lip and shivering under her sweater, she tried to recall again the exact sequence of the dream that had startled her from her short rest. It seemed, though, that the dream had slipped away the second that she'd opened her eyes. Now the only images that she could recall were walls of green—leafy, like trees…or bushes of some kind—that stretched on in convoluted alleys, giving her the feeling of being trapped in a rabbit's warren. Hopelessly lost and hopelessly confused, she remembered that she had been searching for something. But what it was, she could not recall. In fact, she tried to think if she'd been aware at all of what it was she sought. That conclusion never came.
She shook her head and tossed the warm safety of the blankets away and flinched as her bare feet came in contact with the icy stone floor. Something about this dream was strange somehow…different from any other dream she'd had, as far back as she could remember. She frowned, puzzling over what it was that made her so uneasy about the dream. Bending to rub Darcy's ears as if to say, "Good Morning," to her dog, she caught the silver glint of her bracelet in the low light of early morning. And it struck her. Dreams—every dream she'd ever had, ever been haunted by—was of something in the past. Nightmares of what had already happened. This dream seemed so foreign because it was just that—foreign. She'd never seen the tight, claustrophobic confines of foliage before and she could never remember having frantically searched a place for something of great value, she assumed, before. She sat by Darcy, stroking her silky fur absently, puzzling over what it could mean, if indeed it meant something at all. Darcy's restlessness to make tracks through the newly fallen snow pulled her from her daze and reminded her that she could not possibly hide in her room forever.
***
Laughter, chatter. Jude heard it even from the third floor landing. Students already packed the Great Hall, and all were anxious to return to their snowball fights or other amusements that had packed their day already. She couldn't help but feel a little of the tension rise from her shoulders at such a pleasant sound. Darcy trotted happily along behind her and followed her into the noisy room. Karkaroff was already there, seated next to Professor McGonagall and Madame Maxime. Professor McGonagall eyed Darcy, apparently displeased by the sight of the dog. Jude studiously ignored the stern looks—Filch's wretched cat was always around yet she never minded that before, and surely she wouldn't grudge her the pleasure of Darcy's company for lunch on Christmas Day. She chose a seat farthest away from Karkaroff. Until she absolutely had to be civil and polite to the man, she maintained her distance. Indira smiled up at her from a pile of star charts she was looking over. Jude smiled a measured smile back at the woman. Indira had graciously ignored any recollection of the uncomfortable scene in the dress shop. Jude was thankful, to say the least.
"I was beginning to think that you weren't coming, dear," Indira said as she marked dark red swaths over the parchment in front of her. "Orion next to Scorpio," she tutted disdainfully. "You'd think students were trying to fail my class, not pass it."
Jude smiled at Indira politely. She pretended to know what she was on about, not willing to mention that she herself had been crap at Astronomy. To maintain her top spot in the class in her days at school, she had to work extraordinarily hard at it. The stars were for dreamers, like Indira. Jude had never been drawn to such romantic pursuits. But she would never say such a thing to her friend. Indira was fiercely loyal to her area of study, as were most scholars, Jude had learned. So she pretended to listen with fabricated interest. Darcy curled up at her feet and unenthusiastically watched as Mrs. Norris stalked in dark corners of the hall.
Dumbledore made a few cursory announcements, which Jude and most of the students ignored. She was just as eager as the students to be out of the hall again. Her close proximity to Karkaroff and Moody was unsettling, to say the least. Yet she'd promised Dumbledore to not only show up to the events of the day, but to be polite and charitable to their guests. Jude was doubtful that she could perform if it came to that. It felt as if time ticked toward disaster. She could sense it.
Looking out over the students as they chatted eagerly to one another, she and Indira maintained amiable and superficial conversation through the meal. Jude felt the sinking realization that, whatever Indira had thought during that day, she still thought it now. Only she was too good and kind to bring it up, Jude mused. She didn't blame her friend, though. It would pass, this awkward feeling, Jude told herself as she noted two identical red heads bent in conversation with a boy sporting dreadlocks. Everyone seemed excited about this evening. Almost everyone, Jude thought ruefully as she surveyed the head table. She knew of a few teachers that shared her sentiments. Still, they looked on it as a duty. She looked on it as sheer torture. Maybe there was still a chance she could convince Dumbledore to let her off…
"Bloody Hell!"
Every eye in the room turned to her as she dropped her goblet on the table and jumped up from her chair, flinging her hands. The goblet landed on the wooden table with a loud thud, only it was not a goblet. No longer pewter, no longer goblet-shaped at all, the vessel now scurried over the table and onto the floor with the utmost haste. It was a rat—a hairy, twitching, squeaking rat. Jude hated rats. She hated them!
The rat skittered onto the floor and down the hall between the wildly laughing Gryffindors and hysterically screeching Hufflepuffs, with Darcy hot on its heels. Filch and Mrs. Norris immediately pursued. It took a moment for Jude to catch her breath—it was quite a shock for a goblet to turn into a vile rat mere centimeters from her lips. As she looked up from the table, her eyes fixed on the two red heads, who high-fived each other—the Weasleys. They were the leaders of the laughing chorus. And she knew immediately—she'd just been one-uped. They'd gotten her finally. She grinned and shook her head, utterly astonished. Well, they certainly could pick their moments—she'd been very, very distracted as of late, and it was the perfect setting for absolute humiliation. Professors and students all present. They'd obviously watched her in the past months, they knew exactly, without a doubt where she would sit, by whom she would sit…She couldn't have planned it better herself. The sheer brilliance of it…
Her dissection of the prank was ended abruptly as she caught Professor McGonagall's furious glare. The other teachers looked only slightly less scandalized. She must look like a complete mental case, she judged and quickly sat, muttering a faint apology. McGonagall motioned for her to see her afterward. Jude knew that gesture—she'd known it since she was a student here. That meant big trouble. Could it get any worse, Jude mused darkly. And she remembered that it most definitely could and most likely would. Tonight.
***
"One of your most solemn duties is to uphold the reputation of this school, Miss Elliot!" McGonagall raged, pacing the length of her tidy desk, glaring murderously at Jude, who tried dutifully to look penitent.
"I was startled, that's all," she defended weakly, but her slight grin set McGonagall on another bout of pacing and glaring.
The Deputy Headmistress stopped suddenly and rounded on her. "This is no laughing matter! Must I remind you that we wish to present a favorable impression to our guests? A teacher…At this school…Using such…Profanity! In front of students, no less! I must say that I am very disappointed, very disappointed indeed!"
Jude flinched. She hated that. Being a disappointment. That's probably why McGonagall said it—she probably had a handbook somewhere on how to make people feel horrible. She uttered another weak apology, knowing that McGonagall would relent sooner or later. Probably later.
"And I assume you know who was behind this…this juvenile stunt?" McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line and looked at Jude over her rectangle spectacles. Jude knew she knew. How could anyone not? Still…
"No." Jude answered in a dull voice, hoping McGonagall believed her, or at least saw her point. Jude didn't want Fred and George to wind up in detention on a night that was supposed to be fun, that all of the students were looking forward to. "Must have done it myself. I should be more careful."
McGonagall eyed her suspiciously for a moment and then sat behind her desk, shuffling papers. "Very well," McGonagall said finally, reluctantly. Jude knew her sense of justice, of respect for rules was fighting her desire to overlook this. "You may go."
Jude got up to leave, thanking the professor shortly and heading for the door. She was stayed with a word from the stern woman.
"Do try to maintain some decorum tonight, Miss Elliot. I don't know if I can handle another shock of that sort. I am an old woman, for pity's sake." She smiled briefly before bending back over her papers, waving a hand in dismissal.
"I'll do my best, Professor," Jude promised as she left.
Closing the door behind her, she turned and almost ran into two identically mirthful faces. "Admit it! You've finally met your match!"
"Nothing of the sort!" Jude huffed, turning on her heels and walking away from the boys.
"So?" the other called.
"So, what?" she returned, stopping to look at the boys.
"Are we next? Is she mad?"
Jude smiled. "No, it was an accident, right?" She smiled slyly as the boys exchanged stunned looks. "I really should be more careful."
"Really? Are you serious?" They were staring, open-mouthed.
"It was a good joke, guys. I needed that. And I suspect she was pretty impressed with the transfiguration." Jude smiled and folded her arms over her chest.
Fred and George smirked. "I wanted to try a toad, but Fred insisted on a rat. We had to ask Hermione to fix it up a bit."
"Yeah, George left the tail. Told her it was homework. Gullible girl, that one."
George nudged his brother. "I still say it should have been a toad."
Jude shook her head ruefully. "The rat was good."
"Hey, thanks," he replied, grinning from ear to ear.
"This isn't over, by the way." Jude rounded the corner and the boys were out of sight. She smiled a small smile and headed for the grounds to hunt Darcy down. Surely she should be done with her rat hunt by now. It was getting late in the day.
***
The mirror was small. This fact was normally more of a comfort to Jude. It was her least favorite thing in the room. Now it frustrated her to no end; it laughed at her, mocked her. She stood as far back in the small bathroom as she could and tried to fit more of her own image into the narrow expanse of glass, but all was to no avail. She brushed her hair and heaved a sigh, frowning. This was as good as it was ever going to get.
Patting Darcy on the head, she closed the door to her room with a snap, leaving her dog to the solitude, wishing she could stay behind the safe walls with her. She knew she could not. She set off down the hall. As she threaded her way through the students milling about in the hall, she felt a hand grab her arm. Turning, she faced Indira who beamed at her friend.
"So? What do you think?" She twirled once, modeling beautiful robes of burgundy and rich black. Indira looked like she'd stepped out of an exotic fairytale, something from Arabian Nights. She certainly didn't look as if she belonged in this drab castle in Scotland.
Jude smiled, a little self-conscious. Indira seemed pleased with her reaction. "The necklace is gorgeous," Jude managed after a small pause. It was a stunning ruby in cloisonné, of Middle Eastern design she guessed. It was the first thing to catch her eye, a fair task when the whole of Indira's appearance was a picture of regal elegance.
The dark woman waved a hand dismissively. "My mother's. It's been in the family for ages. She gave it to me before I left Riyadh. She'd be pleased to know it's finally being put to use." The story behind the necklace was probably interesting, as was every one of Indira's stories about objects from her home in Saudi Arabia. But Indira's attention had been diverted elsewhere, to Jude's displeasure.
She surveyed Jude with a frown. "That dress is perfect—the color, the cut. But…" She added a measure of caution to her voice. "What are you going to do with your hair?"
Jude wrinkled her nose. "What do you mean?" She held her hands out at her side. "This is it. This is what you get."
Indira tutted something inaudibly before she grabbed Jude by the wrist and dragged her up the nearest flight of stairs. "We can do better than that!"
After a considerable amount of effort, Indira seemed pleased. Jude was relieved. The woman had been tugging at her hair, twisting it, pinning it, doing God knows what to it, before frowning and taking it all down to start the process over. Finally, she stood back with a smile on her face instead of a frown. She clasped her hands together under her chin and beamed at Jude. "Lovely!" she said, ecstatically. "That wasn't so bad now was it?"
Jude looked at her apprehensively. She would have to take Indira's opinion—she wasn't exactly a biased observer of herself. Sucking in a deep breath, Jude turned to look into the mirror she'd had her back to moments before. The apprehension melted away as she studied the reflection. It really wasn't so bad, she thought with a weak smile. Indira had done a nice job, nothing too fancy and embarrassing. It was simple and elegant, she couldn't have asked for more. Her hair was no longer in the unremarkable bob she kept it in day in and day out: it was now off of her shoulders in a low twist that suited the cut of the gray dress she wore. She'd chosen the dress not out of any particular liking for the cut, the fabric or the color: really, the whole concept behind high fashion was completely lost on her. It was out of necessity that she found herself in gray satin—the neckline was high enough and the sleeves long enough. The color was of an unassuming, modest hue that, Jude hoped, would lend at least some obscurity to her. The last thing she wanted was to stand out tonight.
Happy enough with the plain, but elegant reflection, she let her eyes wander off the mirrored glass and onto the richly painted frame. She smiled. Indira would have a magnificent mirror in her chambers: she was beautiful and she lavished much attention on her appearance. And rightly so, she thought. Her mind wandered. It was strange never to have heard Indira mention a husband or fiancée back in Riyadh…or anywhere for that matter. Indira was as intelligent as she was beautiful. And for the life of her, Jude couldn't figure out what gives. But then, Jude was never forthcoming with such information herself. Maybe Indira knew something of the pain that Jude felt when she thought on Rhys. She missed him terribly.
"What's wrong, darling?" Indira asked casually as she bustled around her.
Jude let her fingers trail over the leaf pattern of the mirror's frame, lost in thought. Leafs: like the walls of the mysterious labyrinth of her dream. "Nothing," she said absently. Then she turned abruptly to face Indira. "Can I ask you something?"
Indira shrugged and smiled. "Shoot at me." Jude couldn't help but find humor in that. Indira was always bungling common English expressions, even though her mastery of the language was flawless.
Jude furrowed her brow, deciding whether or not to speak. "Do you believe in the portent of dreams?" she asked hastily before she could chicken out.
A furrowed brow told Jude the question was most unexpected. "I don't get you."
"I mean," Jude clarified, "do you think dreams mean things? Like…of things to come, maybe…warnings?" She felt foolish.
Indira considered this for a minute. "It depends, I guess. Some of mine couldn't possibly mean anything—some very strange things I can dream up, I can tell you." She laughed. "This is a question, I think, for Professor Trelawney."
Jude scrunched her nose and Indira giggled once more. "I'd rather not ask her."
"Why? Is there something bothering you, darling?" Indira asked, walking to her wide window and looking out on the bright sky studded with pearly stars.
Shaking her head, Jude hoped it was casual enough to defer the question. "No," she said, watching as Indira gazed admiringly at the stars.
Indira sighed like a lover. "Ask me anything about the heavens: the stars, the planets, their motions. But dreams? I'm afraid I haven't the imagination to invent meanings the way Sybil does."
The dream was better tossed aside for now, Jude mused, watching as Indira collected a few things from a table nearby. Jude's eyes widened in mock horror as Indira turned to face her.
"Now for makeup!" Indira sounded giddy, like Sabine and her friends, when they were all students here, on a Friday night in their dorm room, giggling over boys and painting each other's nails. They were wretched, Jude remembered, recalling the fact that on those nights in particular, she could be found in the common room well into the morning.
Jude shook her head emphatically in the negative. "Indira, I already feel like a freak. Let's just leave it at that, please?" she begged.
Indira frowned. "But it would be so much fun," she pouted. "Just a little lipstick?"
Pursing her lips together and shaking her head once more, Jude refused. Turning back to the leaf-framed mirror, she gave herself one last appraising look. "This isn't me. It feels like I'm in someone else's skin altogether." She sighed heavily. "The sooner I'm back to just plain Jude Elliot, the better."
The woman was silent, staring at the girl for sometime before she finally spoke. "I'm sorry, Jude. I didn't know it bothered you so much. I just thought we could have some fun with it," she apologized.
"No," Jude returned swiftly. "You don't have to be sorry for anything. You've made this whole thing bearable. I don't know what I'd do without you." A sweet smile put Indira at her ease once more.
Glancing at the clock on the polished desk, Indira smirked superiorly. "Well, you'd be late, for one thing."
***
"You are here finally, I see." McGonagall's clipped tones were the first thing she heard clearly as she entered the noisy din of the corridor. Indira shot Jude a penitent look before skittering off to join Professors Sprout and Vector in conversation at a safe distance from the visibly hassled Deputy Headmistress. "And now that you are here, I suppose you wouldn't mind helping me round up our Champions?"
Jude shrugged. "Who are you missing?" She glanced over her shoulder and saw the usual suspects: Harry was standing next to a girl chatting animatedly to a gaggle of other girls. She was the spitting image of one of her students, Miss Patil. Maybe it was the same girl, she thought, although this girl seemed a little more audacious than the somewhat timid Padma she knew from class. Behind the two stood the scowling Bulgarian with…Hermione? Jude was amazed, but then checked her rude glances. Surely the poor girl was getting them all night. Of all people I should understand, Jude chided herself and looked away prudently, casually as if Hermione looked that stunning on a regular basis. The blonde French girl stood next to a tall, typically handsome boy who seemed very pleased with himself at the moment. Jude snorted. The girl was certainly aware of his good fortune. And behind them stood…
"Where's Cedric?" Jude asked, turning to McGonagall abruptly.
Rolling up a sheaf of parchment, she tapped it against her open palm. "I was hoping you could tell me. We're already five minutes behind schedule. Could you just poke around in the crowd for him? I can't seem to spot the boy anywhere." McGonagall wiggled her fingers at the mass of students, indicating where it was Jude should look. She quickly turned away from her, informing the other, present, Champions of their instructions. Jude was willing to overlook the rude gesture, assuming McGonagall was still in a bit of a tizzy over the incident earlier that day, and set off to look for Cedric among the throng.
Poking past several couples in gleeful conversation with each other, Jude spotted Ron with some of his mates. A disgruntled Padma stood by him and played with her bracelet. Padma caught her eye and waved. Jude returned it a bit awkwardly and smiled.
"Ron, Padma," she ventured. Maybe they knew the elusive whereabouts of her prey. Ron nodded in her direction, yet looked at her oddly, as if something was horribly wrong—like someone had written on her face while she was asleep. She ignored it. She knew she must look like a circus clown to everyone. "Have either of you seen Cedric Diggory?"
Ron shook his head and continued talking to the boys. Padma also shook her head disappointedly.
"I haven't seen him," Padma confessed. "But I did see Cho just a couple of minutes ago," she added brightly, in a conspiratorial tone.
Jude frowned. "Cho?"
Nodding, Padma confirmed, "Cho Chang. She's Cedric's date. I saw her going up the east stairs."
"Thanks," Jude said, heading off in that direction.
At the top of the stairs, Jude blinked and stopped dead in her tracks. She'd found whom she'd sought…and quite a bit more. Cedric leaned casually against the wall just off the landing, his arms wrapped around a raven-haired girl. They were practicing the time-honored tradition of sneaking around school and snogging in uninhabited halls. Jude looked away and cleared her throat judiciously, making sure she had the kids' attention before she continued. She didn't want to startle them.
They both turned quickly, a furious blush rising on Cedric's cheeks. The girl, Cho, was giggling profusely.
Fighting to keep the smirk from her lips, Jude got straight to the point. "Sorry to, er, interrupt, but McGonagall is ready for you, Cedric. The other Champions are already queued outside the Great Hall."
"Thanks, Miss Elliot," Cedric replied, grinning broadly.
Back in the throng of the crowd, Cedric now in place, Jude surveyed the students. They seemed, as a whole, to be enjoying themselves. One dour face she did catch, however. Malfoy wasn't book-ended by his thugs for once. In place of Crabbe and Goyle, a very pretty girl with an aristocratically upturned nose clung to his arm, chatting and using very exuberant hand gestures. She was surrounded by similarly animated girls. Malfoy looked mutinous, bored even. She looked away, but before her eyes left him entirely, she noticed a sly, mocking smile spread across his face as he noted her presence. She began to move in the other direction, but he'd quickly cut his way through the crowd and was at her side.
"Well, well, well," Malfoy smirked snidely, appraising his teacher. "You look almost presentable, Miss Elliot." He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the stone rails of the grand staircase. Her retreat had not been swift enough.
Taking a deep breath, she pasted on a false smile and turned to her student. "And Merry Christmas to you too, Mr. Malfoy, You look very nice yourself," Jude continued, trying her best to sound convincing but noting with a bit of satisfaction that he'd marked her sarcasm. In black, the boy looked like a priest—she wondered if he was at all aware of this. "Is that your date?" Jude questioned brightly, noting the piercing look he shot her as his smug composure faltered momentarily.
Scowling, Malfoy glanced over his shoulder at the girl still chattering amidst her friends. "Pansy," he spat a bit contemptuously, sighing as if his pride had been martyred to have had to ask any girl at that school in the first place.
Jude felt a twinge of regret for the boy. It must be difficult indeed to be such a devoted slave to your image. She smiled slyly. "Lovely girl," was her barbed reply as she watched Pansy take out a small mirror and examine her reflection. It didn't take long for the girl to smile, quickly satisfied with her appearance, and replace her mirror in her pocket. "You two seem perfect for each other."
Malfoy eyed Jude evenly. He said nothing, maintaining only a cold, hard glare.
Patting him on the shoulder, she blithely wished him a good evening and left him to scowl after her. She hurried to McGonagall's side as she gestured to her across the room.
"Yes, Professor?" Jude asked as she neared the woman, still reading sternly from a parchment, looking up momentarily every now and then.
"Madame Maxime has expressed substantial interest in Literature. Professor Dumbledore has requested that you join us at our table. That was your field of study, am I correct?" McGonagall questioned, noting the immediate skepticism on Jude's face.
Feeling the tension in her rise, she answered a simple affirmative and endeavored to keep her attitude and gestures neutral. Jude was almost certain that if Madame Maxime was to accompany the Headmaster, Karkaroff was sure to be there as well.
"Well, would you be so kind as help ease the burden of conversation for our guests?" McGonagall was staring over her glasses at Jude, demanding rather than begging that she concede.
"Yes, Professor," Jude relented dutifully, steeling herself up for one of her best performances in years. Pleasant, polite, interesting, witty, conversational Jude. She smiled reluctantly. A challenge.
McGonagall returned her glare to the parchment, reading over a list of some sort. "Lovely. Then it is settled. Madame Maxime will be seated to your left, and I to your right. I trust I don't have to remind you after your performance this afternoon? Decorum is of the utmost importance tonight." Her voice was stony.
Jeez, Jude wondered how long it would take the woman to forget that? It wasn't even that bad…just a little slip up. She murmured an affirmative and McGonagall nodded officially and bustled up to the doors of the Great Hall.
"Quiet. Quiet, please. Champions will enter first, followed by the rest. Please take a seat immediately." As she finished, the massive doors swung open to reveal a brightly lit, gleefully decorated hall, resplendent in deep reds, warm gold, sparkling pearl and crystal stars and icicles, festive garlands—every trimming imaginable. The amount of work the staff—namely Hagrid and Filch—had put in was something to marvel at. Jude was awestruck and couldn't help but allow a somewhat foolish smile of wonderment consume her distress.
As soon as everyone had taken their seats, Professor Dumbledore made a few cursory statements, officially beginning the event. Looking around, Jude mentally noted who was present…and then realized that Crouch was conspicuously absent, a Weasley in his place by Ludo who looked ridiculously giddy. She made a note to question Dumbledore about this—an absence at any other time would be no reason for alarm…but now?
Dumbledore finished and Jude's attention was immediately drawn to Madame Maxime. "I understand you 'ave attended a Muggle University, am I correct?" she asked politely in a heavy French accent.
Jude nodded modestly. "Cambridge. I earned a degree in Literature, in fact." She glanced sidelong at Professor McGonagall, who was smiling, quite pleased, but pretended not to be listening at all to what transpired.
Dropping her fork, Madame Maxime dabbed her lips with her linen napkin elegantly. "You do not say! Why I am big fan of Literature." She pressed her hand dramatically to her chest and stared wide-eyed at Jude.
Chancing a glance, she noted Karkaroff listening intently to their conversation while maintaining the pretense of carrying on another. His eyes slid sideways suspiciously in Jude's direction a few times, she saw. It gave her an uneasy feeling that he was gathering information about her, trying to piece her together, figure her out. She stole judicious glances throughout the conversation, keeping an eye on the man. Somewhere behind her, Jude could hear Indira's bright laughter. Turning, she saw Indira engaged in conversation with Professor Sprout. Grudgingly, Jude returned to her own tête-à-tête with Maxime, wishing she could be with Indira and Professor Snape.
"What eez it that you enjoy ze most, Miss Elliot?" Maxime asked, excitedly sharing her interests.
Jude thought a moment. "Well, literature of the Romantic period mostly. Hugo, Dumas…Tolstoy." At the last word, she chanced a glance in Karkaroff's direction. The mention of Russian Literature of the Imperial Era was bound to grab his attention. He was no longer pursuing his conversation, but bending his entire attention on her. "Dickens is one of my favorites."
"Ah, yes. Hugo eez my personal favorite, but I am prejudiced. 'E eez our finest writer, in my opinion. Writing does not get better than Hugo." Maxime spoke with emphasis and grandeur.
Jude nodded, sincerely agreeing.
"But it is all so clear-cut in the literature of that period, don't you think?" Karkaroff spoke suddenly. Still Jude had expected it.
Cocking her head slightly, a curious expression on her face she begged him to clarify. "How do you mean, Professor Karkaroff?"
He smiled condescendingly. "Right and wrong, black and white. It all seems so formulaic. Good versus evil. Hero against villain. Perfect against corrupt."
Jude frowned. "I do not think so, Professor. Take Les Miserables for example. It is perfect against corrupt, you say? Valjean is a flawed hero—he is a convict, he stole bread. The villain is a Prefect of Police, a man of honor and with a profound sense of duty. It seems as if your philosophy is reversed." She finished with a superior smirk, but lowered her eyes modestly as McGonagall shot her a warning glare. "But I'm sure you had your reasons for thinking that way. Please." She conceded the conversation to Karkaroff.
He puffed out his chest importantly. "Well, remaining within your realm of example, take Dumas. The Count of Monte Cristo owns one of the most righteous and profoundly pristine heroes. Edmond Dantes is everything a young man should be: ambitious, but not too ambitious, loyal to patron and father, devoted lover of virtuous Mercedes. The canon "good guy," to use a cliché. And he is on the crusade to bring about right, justice." He finished with a flourish.
Jude considered this for a moment. "Yes, I suppose. Dantes is the ideal hero. But he, too, is flawed. And that flaw only develops after he is imprisoned. He wishes to seek revenge on those who have wronged him, but after it is finally exacted, he realizes that it was wrong of him to have sought such ends in the first place. The story ends with a disillusioned hero who hardly knows himself, whose task has drained him of his noble righteousness. He is almost broken in the end. Not quite as black and white as you have suggested."
McGonagall cleared her throat and tried to change the conversation. The two-sided debate had grabbed the attention of the entire table and everyone stared, caught in the strange tension of the words and expressions of the two opponents. McGonagall was despairing of a return to pleasant and idle words.
"But the villain—Danglars is your typical nemesis. Personal advancement is his motivation. And he is willing to sacrifice another man's life for his ends." Karkaroff was staring, unrelenting harshness in his voice, thinly veiled by civility.
Jude shook her head belligerently. "But you forget, Professor, there are four types of villains in this story: Danglars, whom you have mentioned, is indeed self-seeking and overly ambitious. A typical villain, as you have put it. But he is aided by three others, all of which represent a certain sort of vice, a particular villainous characteristic. Fernand is the jealous lover—passion draws him on to collaborate in Dantes' capture and imprisonment. Villefort is not, at first, a villain. A precarious situation leads him to choose that path. The choice is between his family and reputation or justice for an obviously innocent stranger. He chooses to protect his career and family's good standing.
"And then there is the greedy, enterprising tailor." At this pronouncement, Jude's eyes and expression turned accusingly on Karkaroff. "He was along for the ride merely for profit. He didn't want to ruin a man's life, but if it paid well, as Danglars promised it would, he could live with himself. But, funny thing though. While said hero languishes in prison, cultivating his revenge, the first three become successful, rich, powerful. The collaborating tailor, though, has endured misfortune after misfortune. And when Dantes returns, he prepares to reward the tailor for his friendship to him, even though he was minimally involved in his downfall. He is ready to forgive him. Dantes gives the tailor a valuable diamond that he immediately sells to a merchant, whom he then kills. Greed. That was the tailor's vice—not pride, nor jealousy, nor ambition."
Jude was pleased to see Karkaroff flinch. She smiled slyly.
"Professor, do you remember in which order they were punished?" The question hung in the air for some moments.
Glaring daggers at the insolent girl, Karkaroff grudgingly shook his head. "I do not remember," he said thickly in Russian-tinged English.
Smiling a bit regretfully, Jude knew she'd overstepped her bounds. McGonagall was furiously trying to catch Dumbledore's attention, silently imploring him to intercede. The Headmaster simply observed the conversation, his expression unreadable. Jude knew she'd catch hell for this later. Yet she decided to plunge in, head first. Screw caution. She'd had enough of tip-toeing around this man. Finally, he would know her mind.
"It doesn't really matter." She noted his shoulders fall with the release of tension. "But, greed was the first vice to be punished," she added as an afterthought, striking the blow. "Those guys always die first in books, in cinema…it's almost a standard. The foils, the ones who have little more stake in the dastardly plot than mere profit, they are always the first to go. Funny, though…no one ever seems to miss them much." Jude allowed a frigid silence to pass. She stared at Karkaroff for ages, gauging how her words struck him. His teeth were clenched, but he maintained a polite smile plastered on his face.
Jude broke into a wild grin, laughing. "You must forgive me," she said, turning to Madame Maxime. "I do tend to get a bit carried away by the subject." She sensed rather than saw Karkaroff's tension falter a bit. Truly, her words must have struck a chord with the man to have caused such anger in him.
"Do not apologize, dear. You obviously love your field of study. Tell me, do you teach zee same thing here, at 'Ogwarts?" Madame Maxime held a genuine interest. McGonagall had fallen into polite rapport with Karkaroff, his feathers slowly unruffled.
"No. I teach Muggle Studies here." She felt eyes on her. Karkaroff was staring in shock, although he quickly recovered and was engaged once more by McGonagall. Surely he had already heard? But perhaps he hadn't. Jude brushed it off.
A light waltz picked up in the background. Strings punctuated the one-two-three time in light, airy prose.
Karkaroff smiled brightly and informed them this was a Russian waltz. Jude could believe it—it spoke of elegance and opulence of that long forgotten world of tsars and grand aristocratic families. The St. Petersburg of the waltz era stood in stark contrast to the concrete-gray, bleak, joyless Russia of today. As Karkaroff stood in stark contrast to his starry-eyed remembrances of his lost world. It must be the idea he held to—the idea of Imperial Russia—for, she knew, Karkaroff was far too young to remember the Bolshevik Revolution. He, in all likeliness, hadn't even been born then.
Her musings were cut short as Karkaroff stood abruptly. "I cannot, in good conscience, allow such a wonderful melody pass in obscurity without a dance. Miss Elliot, would you do me the great honor?"
The shock on her face must have been apparent, for she felt McGonagall's sharp elbow connect roughly with her side. Jude blinked, startled, and stared blankly at the Deputy Headmistress. Her furiously cheery grin reminded Jude that it was her duty to be polite and gracious. She immediately spoke the opposite of her feelings and accepted.
Fighting courageously to keep the enraged blush from consuming her cheeks, she stood with the insufferable man and stepped into the midst of curious and mocking eyes. She could feel them, piercing, searching, laughing. She knew she was going to make a fool of herself, it was just a matter of time now.
But the Russian knew how to waltz, and he was fortunately a strong leader. It didn't matter what she did, he was in control. And he seemed to revel in that fact. She had the upper hand at the table…that embarrassingly telling conversation. That was his motivation for extracting her from their company.
She said nothing. And for a while he maintained the silence, allowing the arpeggios of the violins the monopoly on sound. As soon as it was apparent that there would be no embarrassing slip-up on Jude's part, attention for their dance waned and even a few couples joined them on the floor. Then he spoke.
"So you are the new Muggle Studies teacher here? Is this your first year?"
Jude frowned momentarily and then simply answered the question. She would bide her time, discover his game, and then beat him at it. It had been child's play for her when she was a kid to best this guy. What made him think he posed more of a challenge to her now? That is, if he even recognized her. It was silly, really. She knew he recognized her. But why the charade? Why the pretense that she was unfamiliar?
"That is very interesting. And a graduate of a Muggle University? My, you have changed, Little Bird."
Her lips curled into a cold smile. A pet name, almost forgotten. Everyone among the dissenters held that epithet for their Master's little spy. His Sparrow. They mocked her, but they feared her as well.
"As have you, Igor. Headmaster of Durmstrang? Tell me, whom did you have to blackmail on the Board to get that position? I can't imagine you got it on merit. And that is your usual method, am I right? Blackmail?"
She felt his grip on her hand tighten threateningly. But it was an idle threat; he knew it as well as she did.
"You don't fool me as you have, no doubt, fooled Dumbledore. I know who and what you are, what you still are, even though you claim to be reformed."
"And you. You don't even claim that. What secrets did you hold over them, huh, Igor? That was ever only your one strength, the only thing that kept you alive when you made enemies on every side of the fence. Very stupid of you, Igor. Very stupid."
His grip tightened even more. She only smiled viciously.
"Tell me: who is paying you to get to Harry? I know you're behind it. Who wants him dead, besides the usual suspect?"
He flinched. "I don't know what you're talking about. You are the one behind it. You are still His little shavala." He spat the word with as much malice as he could muster. "You never betrayed him. You have everyone fooled into thinking that you care only for that boy's safety. But you care only about serving your Master. You always have."
She smiled cruelly. She understood enough Russian to know it was a cheap stab. "Not up to your standard, Karkaroff. I thought you had a gift for bullshit." They continued to move around the floor, lost in their war of words. Jude was determined to find out what was up. He was scared, she could tell. But of what? Of whom? "You may have changed your suit, Igor. But you're still the same govn'uk you've always been. You're only in it for the money, that's the way it's always been. Is someone paying you to get the boy, to kill him? Lucius Malfoy, maybe?" She watched, gauging his reaction. It seemed to speak of sincere confusion. He didn't know what she was talking about. Lucius wasn't behind this. "So what is it, then? You think that if you get Harry, Voldemort will welcome you back with open arms? Is that it?"
He flinched. Jude couldn't guess if it was because of the name or she'd hit a nerve. She'd gotten somewhere.
"During the war, you were a profiteer. Working for the Germans against your fellow Russians—not a good position to be in when Hitler and his regime fell, was it? The KGB has been on your tail ever since. You can't go back to Russia now, can you?"
He looked mutinous.
"Even if you were brave enough or smart enough to slip past the KGB, there's the Russian Mafiya, which you've pissed off enough times to put a substantial hit on you. Very impressive, I must add. Your black marketeering finally paid off, but not in a good way. Russia is as good as gone to you. So you move to England, am I correct?"
Karkaroff said nothing, a stony expression replacing any emotion.
"You couldn't possibly conceive of earning a decent living though, could you? Your only talent was twisting arms—gaining secrets on anyone and everyone. Blackmail has ever since been your game. This set you at odds with the Ministry then, did it not? You blackmailed Jennings and got burned. But you had little elsewhere to run. You stayed and threw in with Voldemort. Stop me if I'm way off here…"
Still, he was silent. Her resolve hardened to move him.
"Under Him, you were able to ply your trade without hindrance, as long as you remembered your place. But you couldn't; compliance wasn't the way you played. Malfoy's ambitions drew you as it did others."
He faltered. "How did you…?"
She smirked slyly. "I was his best spy. Of course I knew. You and that band of traitors were plotting to overthrow his reign of terror and set up your own. Under Lucius Malfoy. But you bided your time, waited for the Aurors, who were being tipped off, to finish Voldemort's forces, or, at least, weaken them. But, unluckily for you, he fell before Malfoy's plans could be solidified into something more than traitorous talk. The reign of terror was over and the last of Voldemort's supporters, even that band of dissenters, were hunted. You sold out. A few years in Azkaban and you were out. You made many enemies, too many. So, once again you left. To the Black Sea. To Durmstrang, as I now see." She stopped and examined her opponent. He looked unsettled. She'd just laid out his life, nice and neat, like a surgeon dissecting a cadaver for her audience. "But why did you come back? Not for some silly tournament. No. It's too risky even for a prominent figure like yourself." She said, smoothly mocking him. "He won't take you back, Igor. He doesn't forgive. He has no mercy."
But he did not flinch. "You will not fool me. My question to you now, if you don't mind me asking, is what do you want from me? That talk—what did you mean by the little lecture on villains? A warning maybe? A threat? Do you think you will be able to frighten me? I left England to begin a new life, away from this wretched island full of those who would see me dead. I was a small fish, inconsequential. What does he want from me?" His voice was tense, almost pleading.
She couldn't help but betray a little of her confusion. Either he was acting, giving the performance of his life, or this was for real—he really believed that she was still Voldemort's right hand and that she was targeting him. It was an act, she decided. "As far as I know, he doesn't want a damn thing from you, Igor. But you'll have to ask him that yourself. I haven't talked to him in thirteen years." She prudently excluded her brief encounter with her much altered Master in Harry's first year, just three short years ago. He didn't need to know nearly as much about her as she knew about him.
His hand clenched her own brutally hard now. She gritted her teeth and ignored the pain. "Leave. Leave this school," he hissed. "Leave me in peace! You won't get what it is you want from me. You forget that I have survived worse than some upstart little girl. The KGB, the Mafiya…all of the Death Eaters in England. Leave."
Jude laughed maliciously. "I don't bow to anyone. Especially not you, Karkaroff. I am not afraid of you. Just try and make me leave."
For the first time, he smiled. It was a cold, malicious smile. A fox that has cornered a rabbit. She fought to control her rapidly beating heart, forcing herself to calm down. He was stellar at getting information. She wondered what cards he held that she was unaware of.
"You have secrets just like everyone else, Miss Elliot. But only a few know them, regretfully." He leaned in closer to her. Grabbing her wrist, he brought her hand in front of her face. He examined the silver band on her wrist. "Interesting trinket, Miss Elliot."
She jerked her hand from his grip. They had stopped their waltz and were staring maliciously at each other, the world having long ago ceased to exist.
"Everyone here already knows who and what I was," she spat viciously.
"Who and what you still are," he corrected. "But do they know what you did?"
Her blood ran cold. "What are you talking about," she said, endeavoring to maintain composure.
"That night. The night your Master fell. I know what really happened." He stayed her attempt to leave.
She laughed carelessly. "You are so full of shit, Karkaroff. You don't know anything."
"You murdered James Potter; your Master didn't."
She froze. It wasn't possible. She swallowed hard, her head buzzing, a fuzzy mess that she tried to gain control of. She needed to think quickly, but her faculty seemed to abandon her.
Shaking her head, she finally managed a weak, "How in the hell would you know anything about that night? You weren't there."
He nodded judiciously. "That's true. But I had the opportunity to speak to someone who was there. I ran into a very frantic comrade hours after the news had spread of our Master's defeat. Pettigrew told me some very interesting things."
Jude swallowed again. She couldn't breathe. This wasn't possible, because…because…
"Peter wasn't there either. He's a lying son of a bitch. And you still don't know shit." Her answer was shrill and frantic. She was losing it. Everything swirled in a colorful chaos. She still couldn't breathe…
"He was there. He had a…change of heart. Wanted to stop his Master from killing his friends, the poor bastard. But he got there too late—he saw you off his childhood buddy. I don't think he forgave you for that." Karkaroff was shaking his head mournfully, yet he was smiling triumphantly.
He stopped, frozen. She blinked, equally shocked. Apparently, he'd felt it this time as well…it wasn't just her. That twinge of acute pain at her wrist. He was calling again.
Summoning up the last of her courage, she shoved Karkaroff away roughly. "It's not true," she shouted. Everyone's eyes were on the pair, but she noticed little beyond her immediate terror. This couldn't be happening.
Nodding toward the Headmaster, Karkaroff shrugged. "I could pass the word along to Dumbledore. We'll see who he believes."
"No!" she shouted frantically.
"Then leave!"
Taking a calming breath, she beat her wildly thrashing feelings into submission. "Never," she hissed before she turned on her heels and stalked angrily out of the Great Hall.
Stampeding up the stone steps, she let her footfalls crack the silence of the corridors. Her anger had not abated as she reached her room. Slamming the door open against the wall, she saw Darcy jump to her feet. Ripping her cloak off of her chair, she beckoned the dog to follow. She was about to boil over and needed to blow off some steam before she exploded.
***
He was mildly intrigued to see Jude dancing. She didn't dance.
But now she was…with Karkaroff.
Glancing around, he noticed Sinistra, brow furrowed, staring as well. So this was odd not only to him.
Others joined them. Their faces were in stark contrast to the first couple. Jude looked stern and mutinous, Karkaroff looked haughty and superior. They were talking. He wondered what of.
After a short space of time, they were no longer waltzing. They were arguing hostilely in the middle of the room. It hadn't reached the point where they drew much attention, but it would soon come to that. He glanced over at the Headmaster. He seemed oblivious to anything transpiring elsewhere as he and McGonagall engaged Madame Maxime in deep conversation. Finally, he decided to intercede. People were beginning to stare. It was then that she shoved the large Russian hard and flew out of the room in a rage.
Striding over to Karkaroff, Professor Snape scowled at the man. "Igor, what was that about?"
He shrugged elegantly and smiled shyly. "She is quite unstable, your new professor."
"She is nothing of the sort. Quit playing games, Igor. What did you say to her?"
"Nothing of significance."
"Igor, I told you. She isn't behind this. She isn't a threat."
"Leopards don't change their spots that easily, Professor. She is not as innocent as everyone is willing to believe."
"She is only as guilty as you are, Igor," Snape informed him in a clipped tone. "Or I, for that matter."
"But how else could he know that I am here?" Karkaroff hissed, rolling up the billowing sleeve of his robe. "Why else? It is a threat…and she's behind it!"
Professor Snape made an indignant reply. "Not only you, Igor. He hunts us all. You, me…her. She's as much of a target as you are. Maybe more." He fell silent as he cautiously looked around the room. Igor persisted with the conversation. After a vain attempt at quelling his less than prudent talk, Snape beckoned him outside. Igor followed, glowering.
***
It was biting cold outside. Jude wrapped her cloak around the gray satin, but still she froze. Her breath came out in icy white puffs. Darcy raced around in the moonlit snow. Expelling a tense breath, Jude willed herself to relax. It wasn't as bad as it seemed, she told herself.
Darcy bounded up to her, stopping just short of where she stood, throwing crystal snow into the air all around her. She couldn't help but smile. Darcy held a stick out for her to throw. Jude took it and threw it as far as she could. It nearly reached the edge of the forest. Darcy repeated the game over and over and Jude felt the tension melt a little as she went through the motions with a soothing rhythm.
She turned abruptly as she heard a sharp whistle. The
dog bounded past her to a new figure coming down the castle steps. The figure
took the stick from Darcy's jaws and held it teasingly over her head. As he
strode over to her, the dog leaped around excitedly, she noticed the glint of
silvery-blonde hair. She rolled her eyes and massaged her shoulders.
"Great," she muttered
under her breath.
He tossed the stick and Darcy bounded wildly after it. He closed the distance between them. "And I thought this night was going to be hopelessly dull. Thanks for the entertainment, Miss Elliot."
Jude huffed. "No problem, Mr. Malfoy." Her sarcasm was biting.
He pretended not to notice. "Karkaroff is an ass. He was around my father a lot before he left. I only remember him slightly. My father never had much to praise him about, so he mostly trashed him."
Jude smiled. "It was nothing." She answered his unasked question. It was really none of the kid's business, but she didn't feel like keeping up the biting tone. Her fury was spent on Karkaroff. "He was just trying to ruffle feathers and I let him get to me. It was a bad move on my part, I admit."
The boy laughed. "McGonagall will have your ass tomorrow."
"Yeah, I guess." When Darcy came back with the stick, Jude handed it to Malfoy. "I don't really care. She never wanted me to teach here anyway. She and the entire Board." She couldn't guess why she was telling this boy anything. She was his enemy, he'd said so himself.
"I wonder why?" he said sarcastically, but the ice in his voice melted prematurely. He wasn't up to a war of words tonight. Jude wondered, "What gives?" She observed the kid. He seemed pensive, somewhere else.
"Where's Pansy?" she asked with a slight smile.
He snorted. "She was getting tedious. I think she's flirting with Terrance Higgs now. It was Marcus when I left. I think she's trying to make me jealous. I guess she doesn't understand that the person has to give a damn about her in the first place to be jealous."
"Ouch," Jude said, leveling a scrutinizing glance on the kid.
"Don't worry, she's earned it."
Jude laughed and tossed the stick for Darcy. Malfoy smiled.
"Your dog is nice. Where did you get her?" He gave the dog an appraising look.
"From a friend," Jude answered vaguely.
"Really? You have friends?" He grinned maliciously, then checked his attitude as he saw her drop her gaze to her feet, endeavoring to smile cheerfully. "Where is your friend now?"
She rubbed her neck. Was she really having this conversation? What the hell did a fourteen-year-old bully care? Still, she felt herself compelled to answer. "He's gone," she said cryptically. She couldn't keep the regret from her voice.
"Oh," was the only reply he gave.
Jude thought of a way to change the subject. Hearing a buzzing noise like a bee, she swatted impatiently and frowned. Wasn't it a bit cold for annoying bugs?
Malfoy was staring oddly at her. "You are crazy, aren't you?"
She frowned. "Very funny, Malfoy. There was a bug."
"Yeah, sure." He continued to stare, skeptical. After a while, he ventured a question. "Miss Elliot, why do you call everyone else in class by their first names, but you always call me Mr. Malfoy?" He wrestled the stick from Darcy and threw it again.
Jude furrowed her brow in thought. "I don't know," she offered finally. "I guess it's because you strike me as one who is used to every courtesy being paid you. I thought I was being respectful, or polite. Does it bother you?"
He thought on this for a moment. "No," he said after a while. "So, what did Karkaroff say? Was it about…You-Know-Who?" He was smiling slyly. He didn't want to change the subject. He was curious. That was the whole point of the conversation. Jude decided to level with him.
Sighing, she finally relented. "He wanted to know if I was still His servant. He thinks I'm behind Harry's name being put into the goblet. He thinks I'm trying to kill him for Voldemort."
Malfoy smiled. "Harry's a prat. He probably put his own name in."
Jude made a disbelieving gesture. "He didn't put his own name in. But I certainly didn't either."
"And does it bother you that Karkaroff thinks you're still loyal?" Malfoy asked appraisingly.
Jude looked at the boy discerningly. "You have an awful lot of questions tonight, Malfoy? Why do you want to know all of this? Are you feeling out your enemy?" It was meant as a joke, but his reaction spoke that he'd not taken it as so.
He became rigid, cold. "Maybe. Everything is a conspiracy to you, isn't it, Elliot? You think I'm trying to get information from you for my father? He doesn't care about you, he's not afraid of you. Why on earth would he be?"
Jude just laughed and shook her head incredulously.
"Look, I had no ulterior motives. My father didn't put me up to anything." Looking away distracted, he added, "He never would."
Jude was taken aback. There was a note of disappointment, of distress, although very faint, in that statement. She let it go.
Calling Darcy back from the edge of the forest, she gave him an odd look. Maybe she was wrong. "It's getting cold, Draco," she said. "You'd better get back up to the castle."
He blinked, a look of startled surprise flitted across his face. He nodded and left without another word.
As Darcy slid to a halt by her owner, Jude looked over her shoulder. Draco was gone. She shook her head and made the same path back to the castle.
***
"It was nothing, Professor," she said, not even convincing herself. "He was just trying to upset me and I let him." She turned from the blank expression of Dumbledore to the stern looks of McGonagall. "I shouldn't have said those things I said at dinner. I will apologize if you require it," Jude finished. It was very late at night and she was tired and restless at the same time.
Professor McGonagall shook her head ruefully. "I daresay it was a bit uncalled for, but Madame Maxime was surprisingly entertained. You made quite an impression on her. Therefore," she sighed heavily, removing her rectangle spectacles and rubbing her eyes, "I will overlook it."
Jude nodded.
"Thank you, Professor McGonagall. Will that be all?" Dumbledore interceded. McGonagall gratefully relinquished the conversation to the Headmaster. She left the room swiftly and wordlessly.
Dumbledore turned to Jude with an unreadable look. "I really am sorry, Professor. It was completely…"
He held up a hand to stop her. She fell silent. "I have heard something very interesting tonight. Igor has informed me of something…rather distressing."
Jude nodded. She'd expected this. Yet her heart fell all the same at the grave tone of the professor.
"It is true, then?"
She nodded again.
"I think I understand that this was the subject of conversation just before you walked out tonight?" Dumbledore folded his hands in front of him.
"Yes," she managed weakly.
He shook his head wearily. "It would have been hard to have told anyone such a thing, so, naturally, I don't hold you responsible. You were young. You only obeyed orders. And for that also I do not blame you. But you cannot run from this. You cannot."
Jude looked stricken. "You want me to tell him?"
"I think it is imperative that you tell him sometime. But not yet. He has much to deal with."
Jude nodded. "I will leave if that is what you wish. I can no longer be expected to protect the child of the man I murdered."
"No," Dumbledore said emphatically, holding up his hand. "I do not wish for you to go. In fact, it is absolutely necessary that you stay. Things that even I do not understand are working against us. My trust in you has not been shaken, Miss Elliot. I still believe that you are the best suited to the task. You must continue to look after the boy. Now more than ever."
She lowered her gaze and stood silently for a moment in thought. There was something else she thought he should know.
"It has happened again," she said, holding out her left wrist. "And this time, it was stronger. I think he's calling everyone back to him."
Dumbledore surveyed her evenly. He then frowned and closed his eyes. "This is what I have feared."
Jude endeavored to gain control of her emotions, but she had to confess that she too feared. Looking back at Dumbledore, her face bore a pained expression. "But what if I cannot fight it?"