Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I never will, either…
3
The piece of paper that fell out of Rose's bag was the summons Longbottom had sent her for an appointment to discuss her future. She had ignored it and, instead, took up residence in the least frequented corner of the library -- the one dedicated to history of magic. In front of her on the table she had player stats for all twenty international teams and their affiliated b-league teams. She had to say, the Harpies probably had the best model. Undoubtedly, they were shortly followed by the Tornadoes and then the Possums. The Cannons broke their plan by taking in Wood and now their whole program would probably go to the dogs. She bit her lip and flipped through a few pages, trying to find the history of the Cannon program she knew she had somewhere.
"Hello, Rose," Professor Longbottom said, taking a seat at the table.
"Err…hey," Rose replied, slowly putting the papers in her hand back on the table.
"I need to talk with you," he said. "Did you get my note?"
"Uh…"
"Thought as much. I received an owl from your mother asking me to tell you that when you return home, your father is going to be there."
Rose stared at him, unsure of what to say.
"There's still some mild paranoia left over from the curse," he continued softly. "But he's marginally better than he was. He's on a heavy regiment of potion in an effort to edge out any leftover negative effects and the ministry is monitoring him closely. He's going through a program right now to essentially re-establish history for him. It seems to be working well."
"Good," Rose said.
"Has anyone told you what happened to Al, yet? I think I was supposed to tell you that too."
"I know something happened…"
"Chris cursed his leg. Badly. Almost severed it. St. Mungo's couldn't save it. Right now, he's going through a difficult treatment. He's not returning to school this year. Ministry officials are also trying to figure out if Chris used an unforgivable in the little spat the boys had. It seems as if Hugo was under his control and he may also have done something similar to Libby."
"Chris wouldn't…"
"He's being sent to Azkaban, Rose, for a minimum of ten years. He's quite a bit of dark magic on underage wizards and he is not going to be forgiven for that."
Rose started gathering her documents and slipping them silently back into their sleeves, trying not to think about the mess she had made. If she had just convinced Fred and James that it was no big deal, that she was fine, that none of this was worth arguing over…
She slipped the folder in her bag and left Longbottom sitting alone at the table, not really caring. She didn't want to be around anyone. She didn't want to see anyone. She didn't want to hear anyone. All she wanted was to be alone. But that was impossible in Hogwarts, wasn't it? Privacy was a privilege reserved for Christmas break and summer vacation. Nothing she did would bring her further away from all of this.
Her bag slid under her bed and she flopped on top of it. It was her fault, wasn't it? All of this? She struggled to swallow and rolled over. Of course it was. Whose else would it be? Shivers ran down her body. A sense of hopelessness shrouded her mind. Despair wrapped around her heart. It was her fault. Hers. No one else's. If she had treated Chris better, done what he asked, been a better person…none of this would have happened. She drew a shuddering breath and slowly released it. She ruined his life. He had so much potential, so much magic, and now he was restrained to Azkaban, a permanent mark on his record forever. Burning tears leaked from her eyes.
She had ruined everything.
3
"You're coming with us," Fred whispered in her ear, grabbing her wrist and dragging her out of the common room.
"What're you…?"
"Hush, we're meeting up with Greg," James said, a mischevious grin on his face. "He wants to introduce some first years to the Biting Bowl."
"What?" Rose's voice didn't carry very far in the dark hallway. "Didn't you guys already do that?"
"Not to Ravenclaws," Fred muttered, stifling giggles.
3
"Alright, boys," Greg said, crossing his beater's arms over his chest. "You want to know how to get a nut?"
"A knut?" one of the Ravenclaws asked, crossing his scrawny arms.
"Yeah, a nut," Greg assured him.
"How?" another one asked.
"I'm gonna let my Gryffindor brothers take care of that one."
"You have brothers?" the girl asked critically.
"Figuratively speaking, Clearwater, now listen up."
"All you have to do is pet the bowl," James said with a shrug.
"And why should we believe you?" a fourth said. "You don't exactly have the best reputation, you know."
"Cause Fred'll do it first, won't you, Fred?"
"Yep," Fred said, walking confidently up to the portrait and running his hand over the bowl. He turned to Greg. "Knut, please."
"They aren't for you and you know it," Greg said, swiftly putting the lesser beater in a headlock. Fred struggled against him, but with no avail.
"You're ridiculous," the girl said. "I want to see Greg do it."
"Why? You think it's cursed against Ravenclaws or something? Do you know what kind of magical skill that takes? And, more importantly, do you think these two buffoons and a fifth year could pull it off?" Rose said, her voice tapering off to a whisper by the end.
"Don't push it, Rose," Greg said, briefly tightening his grip on the flailing Fred before letting him go. "And she's right, you know. None of us have enough magical ability to charm something like that."
"But you're a Ravenclaw. We can do anything we want to."
"Well, that may be true. But why would I want something to do harm to my own house?" Greg said.
"Exclusively his own house," Rose muttered too softly for anyone but Fred to hear her.
"Here's how it works," James said, pulling a money purse full of walnuts out of his pocket. "After all of you pet the bowl, you get your nuts."
"You guys are ridiculous," the girl said.
"So are you going to pet the bowl?" Greg asked, leaning on the wall next to the portrait. "It's virtually harmless."
"Virtually?" the girl asked.
"Yep. Won't actually do a thing. Honest."
"Ugh. Fine. But if I don't get my knut…"
She walked up and rubbed her hand against the bowl. She seemed surprised when it did nothing.
"Did it hurt?" one of the boys asked.
"Are you ok?" the other one pressed.
"I'm fine," she said.
"Really?"
"Yes, Tim. Merlin, you'd think you fancied me or something."
The kid was red-faced when he went to pet the bowl himself. He came away unscathed, too.
"The next one," Greg said, motioning to the bowl.
The second boy walked up and put his hand against the bowl. It disappeared into the portrait.
The boy screamed hysterically, trying to pull his arm out with his free one.
"That's never happened before," James said.
The kid kept screaming.
"Alright," Greg said, putting his hands on his shoulders. "You need to be quiet or peeves is going to find you."
"You guys are leaving me? It's sucking me in further!" He was now sucked up to his shoulder in the painting.
"No we aren't leaving."
The kid jerked forward, screaming slightly. The other two kids grabbed his free arm and tried to pull him out. They only succeeded in getting his upper body stuck in the portrait.
"What're we going to do?" the girl demanded, turning to Greg. "This is all your fault, you know."
"You two go back to your dormitory," Rose said. "Or else Filch is gonna catch you. We'll take care of him."
The two glanced at each other and, without another word, scampered into the hallway.
Rose, Fred, James, and Greg turned their attention to the kid whose legs were flailing in the air, his upper half stuck in the portrait. With every jerk of his body, he was sucked deeper into the portrait.
"Where do you think he's going?" Fred asked, picking up the kid's shoe that fell off.
"Kitchens," Rose said.
"In a few years, this kid'll laugh about this," James said, leaning against the wall.
"I wouldn't be so sure," Greg muttered, scratching his head. "Ravenclaws tend to hold onto embarrassment for a while."
"Ok, then in ten years. Whatever. It doesn't even matter," James said.
Only the kid's feet and angles dangled over the floor.
"We should go in when he's in," Rose said. "Make sure he's ok and stuff."
His toes disappeared and they heard a dull thud on the other side. Fred reached up and expertly tickled the pear. The picture swung open and the four of them entered the warm, sweet smelling kitchens.
"Toby!" Greg shouted.
"Greg!" The kid ran towards him, one shoe off, a pastry in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. "This place is awesome! How come we never get shown it?"
"It's technically off limits," Greg said.
The boy's face paled.
"Would Toby like another pastry, young sir? Or perhaps a pudding?" a house elf said, offering up a tray of sweets.
"I…I shouldn't be here?"
"No one cares so long as you're not caught," Greg said.
"But…but….but…"
"It's ok, Tobe, honestly." Greg ruffled the kid's blonde hair.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
He smiled.
"Ok. Can I have a pudding, please?"
"Of course, young sir, of course!"