Before we get started, I've got a question: I've been rewatching Peaky Blinders lately. If you haven't seen the show I cannot recommend it enough. Cillian Murphy is gorgeous as usual and Helen McCrory is amazing as Aunt Polly. It's a TV show but the cinematography reads like a movie. It's a gangster flick set in Birmingham right after World War 1 ended. If any bit of that appeals to you even a little, I highly recommend giving it a try.
Now, my question. I'm already working on To Be a Slytherin and Only Forever. However, I've got some chapters stored up for both. I've got a plot bunny going for Peaky Blinders and I'd like to know if any of you would be interested in reading something by me in the Peaky Blinders fandom. It would be updated randomly, whenever I had the urge to work on it instead of on a strict schedule, but I've got a lot of it planned out in my head and I'm liking where it's going. However, I don't want to get started on something else seriously if no one's interested. There's a poll up on my bio now. Please go vote and tell me what you think.
I saw with a clench in my gut that my boy was back. No, not my boy, Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort. I was in Voldemort's past again, watching as he sat under a tree in perhaps the most depressing playground I'd ever seen. A few equally scrubby kids were darting around, some girls skipping a knotted jump rope and a half dozen boys trying to shoot hoops with a half-inflated basketball. A trio of older boys, probably fifteen or sixteen, had commandeered the swing set and were taking advantage of the only three swings that hadn't been broken – probably by them.
I saw their eyes linger on Voldemort – Tom, he was still Tom now, or did it even matter? – and watched as they nudged each other. It was pack mentality. Fear could be overruled by greater numbers and strength. Unfortunately, they weren't facing a normal young boy. Tom could tear them apart without even trying and not so much as blink.
"Hey, freak!" one of them called, and Tom flinched slightly, years of instinct kicking in. I knew that reaction well. Again I felt uncomfortably aware of how similar my childhood was to Voldemort's and I couldn't help but be sickened by the small twinge of sympathy I still felt for the monster who made me an orphan.
I watched as they came forward. I watched as they shouted abuse. I watched as Tom ignored them for his book, too far above those insects to even bother reacting. Until one of them threw a rock. It would have clocked him in the head – had it not stopped in midair and then zoomed back towards the boy who'd thrown it, who barely ducked out of the way. The older boys looked around and found themselves pinned by the narrowed grey-blue stare of Tom Riddle.
"Leave," he said softly, dangerously. "Or I will hurt you." It was said so confidently, so dispassionately, that even I shuddered. The boys nearly wet themselves in fear, fleeing for the relative safety of the swing set. I couldn't help but be impressed at just how powerful Tom was, and not just in the magical sense, at the control he had over those around him.
Tom's eyes suddenly flicked up and my mouth dropped open as he stared at me. A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips, turning his angelic face into something nearly draconic. His eyes stared through me, not at me. He couldn't see me, he was just taking a moment to revel in the very power I'd just been admiring. But still, seeing that look directed at me was enough to make me gasp and pant in fear, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.
I came awake with a jolt and a gasp, shuddering in my bed as I stared at the lanterns overhead. I closed my eyes, swallowing thickly, and draped a forearm across my face. This was the first time in a while I'd dreamed of Voldemort. Tomorrow I'd panic about what that might mean. Tomorrow I'd shiver at the memory of that look on Tom's face. All things tomorrow.
For now, sleep.
Divination was a joke on the best days. But when Umbridge walked in while Trelawney was drifting around passing out copies of the Dream Oracle, I was confident that this day would be particularly depressing.
"Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney," said Professor Umbridge with her wide smile. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?"
Professor Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgruntled, turned her back on Professor Umbridge and continued to give out books. Still smiling, Professor Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches behind Professor Trelawney's seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin.
Professor Trelawney pulled her shawls tight about her with slightly trembling hands and surveyed the class through her hugely magnifying lenses.
"We shall be continuing our study of prophetic dreams today," she said in a brave attempt at her usual mystic tones, though her voice shook slightly. I didn't need this lesson to interpret my last dream. I knew exactly what it was and shuddered at the memory.
It only made sense though. Dumbledore had said that I was connected to Voldemort in some way. The dreams had begun last year, when he began to gain power. It only made sense that now that he was back to his old self that connection would intensify. When I thought about it like that, it was actually a bit surprising that the dreams had waited until now to start up again.
"Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each other's latest night-time visions with the aid of the Oracle."
She made as though to sweep back to her seat, saw Professor Umbridge sitting right beside it, and immediately veered left towards Parvati and Lavender, who were already deep in discussion about Parvati's most recent dream.
Umbridge was already making notes on her clipboard. After a few minutes she got to her feet and began to pace the room in Trelawney's wake, listening to her conversations with students and posing questions here and there.
"What did you dream?" I asked Lily carelessly. She rolled her eyes and tapped her empty dream journal.
"What, you think I'm actually keeping track? What did you dream?" she countered. I flashed my own equally-empty journal at her and she smirked. "Excellent. A rousing round of 'make up schoolwork' then?"
"Sounds good," I said with a snicker.
"Let's see," Lily said thoughtfully. "Last night, I dreamed… Ooh!" she grinned. "I dreamed that Parkinson was getting strangled by some Devil's Snare."
"Good one," I praised. "So the subject would be 'Puginson….' Funny, there's not an entry for that," I said as I flicked through the Dream Oracle.
Professor Umbridge was making another note on her clipboard and Professor Trelawney was looking extremely put out.
"Now," said Umbridge, looking up at Trelawney, "you've been in this post how long, exactly?"
Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as though wishing to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a deeply resentful tone, "Nearly sixteen years."
"Quite a period," said Professor Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. "So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?"
"That's right," said Professor Trelawney shortly. Professor Umbridge made another note.
Tracey hissed sympathetically. "Old fool. Doesn't she know Umbridge is weeding out any pro-Dumbledore teacher she finds?"
"And you are a great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?"
"Yes," said Professor Trelawney, holding her head a little higher. Another note on the clipboard.
"But I think - correct me if I am mistaken - that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?"
"These things often skip - er - three generations," said Professor Trelawney. Professor Umbridge's toad-like smile widened.
"Of course," she said sweetly, making yet another note. "Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?" And she looked up enquiringly, still smiling.
Professor Trelawney stiffened as though unable to believe her ears. "I don't understand you," she said, clutching convulsively at the shawl around her scrawny neck.
"I'd like you to make a prediction for me," said Professor Umbridge very clearly.
Professor Trelawney drew herself up to her lull height, her beads and bangles clinking. "The Inner Eye does not See upon command!" she said in a scandalized tone.
"I see," said Professor Umbridge softly, making yet another note on her clipboard.
"I - but - but... wait!" said Professor Trelawney suddenly, in an attempt at her usual ethereal voice, though the mystical effect was ruined somewhat by the way it was shaking with anger. "I... I think I do see something... something that concerns you... why, I sense something... something dark... some grave peril..."
Professor Trelawney pointed a shaking finger at Professor Umbridge who continued to smile blandly at her, eyebrows raised.
"I am afraid... I am afraid that you are in grave danger!" Professor Trelawney finished dramatically.
There was a pause. Professor Umbridge surveyed Professor Trelawney.
"Right," she said softly, scribbling on her clipboard once more. "Well, if that's really the best you can do..."
She turned away, leaving Professor Trelawney standing rooted to the spot, her chest heaving. The woman swooped down on Harry and began loudly interpreting his death from the BS he'd scribbled in his journal, each one more gruesome and improbable than the last.
All the while, Professor Umbridge stood a few feet away, making notes on that clipboard, and when the bell rang she descended the silver ladder first and was waiting for us all when we reached our Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson ten minutes later.
She was humming and smiling to herself when we entered the room. We all took out our copies of Defensive Magical Theory, but before Hermione could ask any questions Professor Umbridge had called us all to order and silence fell.
"Wands away," she instructed them all with a smile, and those people who had been hopeful enough to take them out sadly returned them to their bags. "As we finished Chapter One last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence 'Chapter Two, Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk."
"No need to think is more like it," I heard Hermione mumble spitefully and raised an eyebrow.
"Well well, Granger has claws," Lily said quietly from my left, looking grudgingly approving.
Still smiling her wide, self-satisfied smile, she sat down at her desk. The class gave an audible sigh as we turned, as one, to page nineteen. I noticed that Hermione had her hand in the air again.
Professor Umbridge had noticed, too, and what was more, she seemed to have worked out a strategy for just such an eventuality. Instead of trying to pretend she had not noticed Hermione she got to her feet and walked around the front row of desks until they were face to face, then she bent down and whispered, so that the rest of the class could not hear, "What is it this time, Miss Granger?"
"I've already read Chapter Two," said Hermione bluntly, and I couldn't even pretend to be surprised.
"Well then, proceed to Chapter Three."
"I've read that too. I've read the whole book."
Professor Umbridge blinked but recovered her poise almost instantly. "Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counter-jinxes in Chapter Fifteen."
"He says that counter-jinxes are improperly named," said Hermione promptly. "He says 'counter-jinx' is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable."
Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows and I knew she was impressed, against her will.
"But I disagree," Hermione continued.
Professor Umbridge's eyebrows rose a little higher and her gaze became distinctly colder.
"You disagree?" she repeated.
"And here we go," I sighed, shaking my head. Gryffindors – they couldn't keep their heads down and their mouths shut, any of them.
"Yes, I do," said Hermione, who, unlike Umbridge, was not whispering, but speaking in a clear, carrying voice that had by now attracted the attention of the rest of the class. "Mr. Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively."
"Oh, you do, do you?" said Professor Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. "Well, I'm afraid it is Mr. Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."
"But-" Hermione began.
"That is enough," said Professor Umbridge. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before them, all the jauntiness she had shown at the beginning of the lesson gone. "Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor house."
There was an outbreak of muttering at this.
"What for?" said Harry angrily. I fisted my hands on the table in front of me.
"Don't you get involved!" Hermione whispered urgently to him.
"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," said Professor Umbridge smoothly. "I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them - with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects - would have passed a Ministry inspection-"
"Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher," said Harry loudly, "there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head."
Silence echoed in the classroom. I was the one that broke it with a mutter of, "God damn it, Harry…"
Then-
"I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Mr. Potter," said Umbridge sleekly.
I grit my teeth. I knew what that meant. Another week of having Harry carve his wrongdoings into his own flesh. I thought triumphantly of the murtlap essence bubbling away in the apprentice's lab and the antidote to Veritaserum well on its way to completion. The first batch of antidote would be done within the week and would keep for months while I continued to brew batches, building a store. The house elves were scouting and I'd noticed my jars of murtlap essence vanishing every now and then, the sparkling-clean empty jar returning a day or two later.
I would make Umbridge regret every bit of Harry's blood she shed if I had to take it out of her myself.
"And Miss Potter, stay a few minutes after class, if you would?"
The class turned to look at me. I blinked, surprised by the request, but nevertheless I inclined my head respectfully and demurred, "Of course, ma'am."
I spent the rest of class scanning the words on the page in front of me, retaining just enough to get through the assignments while the rest of my mind was wondering what Umbridge could want – it didn't take a genius to figure it out. She'd asked me to keep an eye out for Harry sowing dissent amongst the students and she was ready for her first report.
"I'll save you a seat at dinner," Lily muttered to me as she packed up her bag and then left the classroom with the rest of the students. I nodded, sliding my book back into my bag and tossing it over my shoulder before approaching Umbridge behind her desk at the front of the room.
"You wanted to talk to me, professor?" I greeted respectfully.
"Yes, Miss Potter," Umbridge said graciously. She drew her oddly short wand from inside her pocket and I tensed despite myself as she raised it. All she did though was conjure a spindly wooden chair behind me. Umbridge slid her wand away and gestured invitingly to the uncomfortable chair, her saccharine smile stretching her toad-like face unattractively. "Please, sit."
I sat, pulling my bag into my lap and folding my hands across it. "What is it you wanted, professor?" I asked.
"I asked you to keep an eye on your brother, help me keep him out of trouble," Umbridge reminded me gently, but there was a bit of warning in her voice. "Yet he doesn't seem to be improving?" she said leadingly, her face folding into disappointment as she observed me.
"Professor, honestly," I said, interjecting a bit of frustration in my voice, "I haven't heard anything. We're in different houses of course, so there are things I don't hear… but as far as I can tell the only place he's this vocal about what he thinks happened in the maze is in your class."
"Really?" Umbridge asked innocently. "And why do you think that is?"
"He doesn't like you," I said bluntly. "He doesn't like anyone who doesn't completely and totally support Albus Dumbledore."
Umbridge's eyes flashed with interest. This was a topic I could tell she'd been itching to press me about and I'd just given her an opening. She licked her lips and asked carefully, "And how do you feel about our esteemed headmaster, Miss Potter?"
"I think he's a genius," I replied honestly, and Umbridge's eyes sharpened in dislike. "That can't be denied, you just have to look at his body of work… But I also think that most people are entirely too blinded by hero worship and refuse to believe that he has faults. Many, in fact, and some that are more dangerous than others."
I had never been as blindly devoted to Dumbledore as Harry was - probably because I saw things a little more clearly. I saw how much Dumbledore had goaded and gently nudged Harry to do. He had asked so much of my brother, pressures that Harry shouldn't have put on him. He steered Harry in the direction of trouble with an admonishing finger and an unsubtle wink and then pointedly turned his back to let Harry flail away. I didn't appreciate the tactic.
Umbridge seemed pleased by my response – no matter how much she hated him even she couldn't deny Dumbledore's brilliance.
"I see," she said softly. "And what of the Deputy Headmistress? What do you think of Professor McGonagall?"
"I can't speak ill of her, ma'am," I replied uncertainly, waiting for Umbridge to notice and pursue it. I was taking a calculated risk revealing this, but it would be better for me to tell Umbridge and let her think she coaxed it out of me than have her find out from someone else later.
"Oh, and why is that?"
"It's not…" I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "It's just…"
"This is a safe space, Miss Potter," Umbridge said caringly, spreading her sausage-fingers wide and gesturing to the room. "You can tell me anything, dear."
"It's just embarrassing," I said, forcing myself to flush. I tried to think of embarrassing things… slipping in the Great Hall, falling off my broom, Malfoy wet and naked…
My face flamed and my eyes widened. Where had that come from?!
I shook myself. I could examine that little slip later. For now, I needed my complete focus on the conversation at hand. At least that last image had triggered the flush I needed.
"I have… never been good at Transfiguration," I began delicately. "Or at least, it doesn't come to me as easily as other classes. I… don't like not being good at something, particularly when I have consistently ranked in the top three students in my year. It took a lot of begging and reasoning, but eventually Professor McGonagall agreed to… to tutor me."
I lowered my head to my hands, feigning shame. Umbridge seemed understandably suspicious. "Professor McGonagall is your tutor? I had… no idea."
"I try to keep it that way, professor," I shrugged. "I don't want people to know I had to have extra help. Really, she just recommends books for me to read that help me with the theory and then we meet to make sure I fully understand the text. But you can see why I'd be reluctant to speak ill of her seeing as she's gone out of her way for me."
"Yes, yes I can understand that," Umbridge said slowly. "But you said you were reluctant, not incapable…?"
I sighed. "Professor McGonagall carries quite a bit of house prejudice, despite thinking herself above that. She's as blindly loyal to Dumbledore as my brother is. She is an expert in her field, to be sure, but you have to wonder… most people who become Animagi do so for less than legal reasons. It does beg some questions…"
That was a fact. A large portion of Animagi had become so either to hide and disguise their identity or to more easily commit crimes. You needn't bother with sneaking when you could become, say, a gnat and just fly right into a bank.
"Yes, I've often wondered that myself," Umbridge said quietly. "Very well Miss Potter, I won't hold you back from your classes anymore. I do so enjoy our talks, you know. We must do this more often. Next time we speak, remind me to send a letter of recommendation to Cutler Barnes."
Cutler Barnes was the owner of a very reputable ingredient supply company. His business had the reputation of being able to procure just about anything and everything a brewer could ever possibly need, even when the ingredients were exotic or rare. Of course, things like that were ridiculously expensive, but Barnes was also known to be very generous to his friends who were brewers. An introduction to him could mean ingredients at a reduced rate.
It was a good play on Umbridge's part. An offer like that would ensure a second meeting. It could also be easily rescinded if I didn't have the kind of information she asked for. I'd need something to give her, even if it was something false, so long as it came from a seemingly credible source and had some small amount of truth.
I'd need Snape's advice for this. Subtlety was a strong point of mine but these were murkier waters than I was used to treading. One wrong word or one too many false tips could put me on Umbridge's radar in a bad way and that was something I really didn't need considering how much power she had, and likely how much more power she would have in the future.
I couldn't suppress a small shiver of excitement though – I was enjoying this. I was loving the intrigue and the careful wording, dancing around the truth while dangling it in front of Umbridge's nose. It gave me a secret little thrill to deceive her, to know she believed whatever I told her when the truth was something else. It made me happy to be the one in charge of the situation, almost as happy as being on a broom or brewing.
"That would be wonderful, Professor, thank you!" I said earnestly, and I didn't even have to feign it. This was what I was doing this for – Umbridge's contacts. Even if I came out of this with nothing more than an acquaintanceship with Cuthbert Barnes, it would still have been completely worth it because that could lead to bigger and better things. Networking was critical in any business and Umbridge was offering me a plum contact to lure me in. She knew what she was doing.
I would just have to play the game better.
"You're doing well, Potter," McGonagall encouraged. I scowled.
"I haven't managed anything," I countered as I closed my eyes and again began to try and forget my human form, just like McGonagall had instructed. It was hard to believe that something that was taking me literal weeks to accomplish would one day be as simple as breathing to me. McGonagall could shift at the drop of a hat – I couldn't wait for the day when I could do that.
But then again I suspected once you'd fully assumed a form once it became much easier. You knew what you looked like, you knew what you became from the inside out and it was easier to adopt that body once more.
My fingers ached slightly but I refused to allow them to distract me as I tried hard to let myself drift. I wasn't a person, I was just a consciousness… weightless… drifting about… soaring like a bird… A phoenix…
Just as I felt like I was getting somewhere, I was distracted.
"Well done Potter," McGonagall said proudly. I opened my eyes, ready to tell her off irritably. I was making progress! But I hissed in pain as my fingers throbbed and glanced down. My eyes blew wide at the sight of the tips of my fingers emerging from the feathery wingtips they'd been.
"Progress," McGonagall said bracingly. "That's far better than most people can expect within their first few weeks of trying. It was only a few feathers, but soon it will be more, then entire wings, and then who knows?"
I was grinning for McGonagall's sake but I couldn't help but be a little disappointed that it wasn't more even though I knew I should be grateful to have achieved that much.
"Again," I said, closing my eyes, but McGonagall placed a hand on my shoulder.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "You've done enough for one evening, Potter. We'll continue next week. But feel free to practice when you have a few moments of privacy," she offered. I nodded in approval and let her guide me to the chair across from her desk. McGonagall busied herself with making tea. Unlike with Umbridge, I didn't worry about Harry's Head of House drugging me.
"You have been studying with Professor Snape as well, haven't you?" McGonagall asked. I nodded. "And how has your Occlumency been going?" I scowled. "That well?"
Objectively, I knew I was probably doing decently. My emotions got away from me every now and then, but usually only when I was incredibly angry or afraid. I knew that while I would never be that angry or afraid of Snape, I would be if confronted with Voldemort himself.
Also, I doubted Snape was going on easy on me. I had yet to block him for more than a few seconds before he broke through my defenses and brutally scoped through my mind. He found embarrassing things, sad things, angry things. He was particularly annoyed by the few memories he'd come upon of my childhood.
But I still suspected that the training of separating myself from my emotions was helping me with my Animagus training, and vice versa. McGonagall and Snape had both said that I was doing better than expected and I think it had to do with the fact that both required a similar mental state of nothingness. I wondered vaguely if Snape would see a form if he looked in McGonagall's mirror, or if McGonagall stood a chance of keeping Snape out of her mind.
"I've noticed Professor Umbridge seems very fond of you," McGonagall said slowly.
"She does," I agreed shamelessly. Were it Snape bringing this up I would have happily started spilling all about the handful of successful deliveries the house elves had made for me – mostly Dobby popping murtlap essence into Harry's bag when he wasn't looking. But though I trusted McGonagall more than, say, Flitwick, I still didn't think it would be wise to brag to her about my evil plan to take down our friendly neighborhood toad.
"It's easier for me if she feels that way," I said with a careless shrug. "Not to mention Harry's doing a wonderful job of making me look much better by comparison."
McGonagall frowned slightly. "Yes, I heard about his most recent bout of detention. Miss Johnson is incredibly upset."
I snorted. I didn't blame her. Even without sibling favoritism Harry was easily one of the best players Gryffindor had. He'd already missed practice for his last bout of detention and now he'd gone and gotten another one? She must be frothing at the mouth with rage right about now.
Still, I couldn't help but be a little pleased. Maybe with Harry out of practice Slytherin would have a shot at the Quidditch Cup.
I said as much to McGonagall, who scowled at me dangerously.
"Gryffindor still has six other brilliant players," she countered, and that spiraled off into a discussion of Quidditch, safely away from the topic of Umbridge and any relationship I might have with her.
Professor Umbridge and her clipboard were sitting in a corner of our Transfiguration class. It was like she was bloody everywhere these days.
"Excellent," whispered Ron, as we sat down in our usual seats. "Let's see Umbridge get what she deserves."
"I wouldn't count on it," I sang under my breath.
Professor McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Professor Umbridge was there.
"That will do," she said and silence fell immediately. "Mr. Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework - Miss Brown, please take this box of mice - don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you - and hand one to each student-"
"Hem, hem," said Professor Umbridge, employing the same silly little cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Seamus handed back my essay and I smirked at the O at the top of the page. All the research I'd done on Animagus transformations had definitely helped my Transfiguration grade.
"Right then, everyone, listen closely - Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention - most of you have now successfully Vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have got the gist of the spell. Today, we shall be-"
"Hem, hem," said Professor Umbridge.
"Yes?" said Professor McGonagall, turning round, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line.
"I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec-"
"Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom," said Professor McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Professor Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee. I hid mine behind a scowl when Umbridge's eyes flicked to me momentarily. "As I was saying: today, we shall be practicing the altogether more difficult Vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell-"
"Hem, hem."
"I wonder," said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, "how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking."
Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously. Looking supremely unconcerned, Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more.
"As I was saying: the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be Vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So - you know the incantation, let me see what you can do…"
Professor Umbridge did not follow Professor McGonagall around the class as she had followed Professor Trelawney; perhaps she realized Professor McGonagall would not permit it. She did, however, take many more notes while sitting in her corner, and when Professor McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, she rose with a grim expression on her face.
And when we walked down the lawns towards the Forest for Care of Magical Creatures, we found Umbridge and her clipboard waiting for them beside Professor Grubbly-Plank.
"It's getting ridiculous," I muttered to Lily, who nodded in agreement as we joined the knot of Slytherins already there.
"You do not usually take this class, is that correct?" Umbridge asked as we arrived at the trestle table where the group of captive Bowtruckles were scrabbling around for woodlice like so many living twigs
"Quite correct," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid."
"It's the oaf's lucky day he's not here, isn't it?" Malfoy whispered to Crabbe and Goyle, and as much as I normally would have told him off for talking about Hagrid like that, I couldn't help but agree with him in this case. Umbridge would have been only too happy to find an excuse to remove a Dumbledore supporter as literally and figuratively big as Hagrid. And it honestly would have been easy to find a reason to sack him, the sorts of things he brought to class. Fascinating stuff, but dangerous.
"Hmm," said Professor Umbridge, dropping her voice. "I wonder - the Headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me any information on the matter - can you tell me what is causing Professor Hagrid's very extended leave of absence?"
"'Fraid I can't," said Professor Grubbly-Plank breezily. "Don't know anything more about it than you do. Got an owl from Dumbledore, would I like a couple of weeks' teaching work. I accepted. That's as much as I know. Well... shall I get started then?"
"Yes, please do," said Professor Umbridge, scribbling on her clipboard.
Umbridge took a different tack in this class and wandered amongst the students, questioning them on magical creatures. Most people were able to answer well, so at least Hagrid was safe for now, which was a relief.
"Overall," said Professor Umbridge, returning to Professor Grubbly-Plank's side after a lengthy interrogation of Dean Thomas, "how do you, as a temporary member of staff- an objective outsider, I suppose you might say - how do you find Hogwarts? Do you feel you receive enough support from the school management?"
"Oh, yes, Dumbledore's excellent," said Professor Grubbly-Plank heartily. "Yes, I'm very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed."
"Well, she just stepped in it," Tracey muttered.
Looking politely incredulous, Umbridge made a tiny note on her clipboard and went on, "And what are you planning to cover with this class this year - assuming, of course, that Professor Hagrid does not return?"
"Oh, I'll take them through the creatures that most often come up in OWLs," said Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Not much left to do - they've studied unicorns and Nifflers, I thought we'd cover Porlocks and Kneazles, make sure they can recognize Crups and Knarls, you know…"
"Well, you seem to know what you're doing, at any rate," said Professor Umbridge, making a very obvious tick on her clipboard. She turned to Goyle and asked, "Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?"
Goyle gave a stupid grin. Malfoy hastened to answer the question.
"That was me," he said. "I was slashed by a hippogriff."
"A hippogriff?" said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling frantically.
"Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do," said Harry angrily. Both Ron and Hermione groaned. Professor Umbridge turned her head slowly in Harry's direction.
"Really Harry?" I snarled.
"Another night's detention, I think," Umbridge said softly. "Well, thank you very much, Professor Grubbly-Plank, I think that's all I need here. You will be receiving the results of your inspection within ten days."
"Jolly good," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and Professor Umbridge set off back across the lawn to the castle.
I sat at a table in the back corner of the Library, pouring over several books and surrounded by essays. It was my night off from extra lessons, meaning that I had the time to fully devote myself to my schoolwork. Unfortunately, that meant I was trapped in a spiral of essays.
After nearly two hours at work my hand was cramping but I had finished my essays for Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and Transfiguration, plus a star chart for Astronomy. Despite the fact that they knew what my evenings consisted of most days, McGonagall and Snape refused to allow me any leeway in my work, not that I had expected they would.
I cast a quick drying spell on all of my essays to make sure they wouldn't smudge and tucked them into my bag, ready to be presented over the next two days to the appropriate teachers. I put away my quill and ink and the two textbooks of my own I'd used. Then I turned to my pile of Library books and sighed. It would take at least another five minutes to get them all put up.
"Hey, Potter, I heard you've got that bowtruckle book Grubby-Plank recommended."
I looked up. Malfoy and Zabini had popped out of nowhere and were standing there patiently, arms loaded down with books. It seemed they were settling in for a marathon session of essay writing as well.
"Oh yeah, it's right here," I said, pulling it out from under a pair of Herbology books. "Chapter six has most of the information. There's some stuff here for other essays if you want to use it," I offered, pleased that I wouldn't have to put the books up myself and could dump it on Malfoy and Zabini.
"Great, thanks," Zabini said eagerly, setting his books down and observing the titles I already had. "Why do our own research when we can get you to do it?"
I rolled my eyes. "It's a mystery to me how you get as many dates as you do talking like that, Zabini."
He winked at me and smirked. "Just my natural charm, I guess," he said smugly. I rolled my eyes again.
"Sure, right. I'll see you at practice tomorrow," I said to Malfoy before hefting my bag over my shoulder and starting off.
"I'll see you at practice tomorrow," Blaise repeated as he and Draco watched the retreating back of Lorena Potter, her long red ponytail swishing behind her. He looked at his friend pointedly. "Now that's a bit more polite than Potter usually is with you, isn't it?"
Draco shook his head and stared pointedly at the book in front of him as he opened it and flicked through the pages to the section he needed. "She's just trying to get along because we're prefects."
"I know that," Blaise said bluntly. "And you're not taking advantage of it."
Draco looked up sharply. "Excuse me?"
"Don't even try and deny it, mate, I've known for years. Ever since second year you've had a crush on Potter," Blaise said firmly. "And you've told me as much before so don't try and weasel out of it. You've been sending her white tulips for years!"
Draco's eyes narrowed. "You will not tell her…"
Blaise waved a hand carelessly. "Of course I won't, that's your business. But you know as well as I that the time when you and Potter have even a little bit of a chance… well, it's going to end soon," Blaise said grimly.
Draco went quiet. He knew exactly what Blaise meant. Voldemort was back, and that meant that very soon Lorena could be on the run, fighting a war, or worse. If he wanted to have even a short few months with her in his life, even in secret, he would have to make a move soon and he knew it.
That's why he'd been different this year. 'Decent' she kept saying. He knew that the time of catty remarks had passed and that if he wanted to have her he needed to get serious. Blaise was right – those flowers could be a good in for him. Girls loved romantic things like that, right? But he still couldn't bring himself to make any kind of real moves towards her. He was so afraid she would turn away from him, would laugh, that he would lose what little progress he'd made…
"You've been better," Blaise pointed out. "You and Potter have moved past the verbal equivalent of pulling each other's hair, at least," he said pointedly. Draco winced. "She's a Potter and you're a Malfoy. You know what that means."
"Of course I do Blaise," Draco snapped, his voice low and angry. "You think I don't?"
"I think you do, but there's a difference between knowing and accepting," Blaise countered swiftly, narrowing his eyes. "Draco, if you really want her and I know you do – then you're running out of time," he said grimly. "She may not survive what's coming-"
"Don't," Draco said hoarsely. "Don't say that Blaise."
Blaise shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry but it's true. Draco, if you want her, you can't waste even a second and you know it. So why are you dragging your heels? You know what you have to do. Now go do it."
"It's not… that simple," Draco said, his voice strained.
"And whose fault is that?" Blaise said bluntly. "If you had just told her instead of waiting around you might have had years with her. Now?" He shrugged helplessly. "It's probably a matter of months, let's be real."
"I know," Draco groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I've had girls falling all over me for as long as I can remember."
"You and me both," Blaise said drily.
"So why is Lorena so hard?"
Blaise scoffed. "Seriously? That's easy - because you actually care about her."
I met Malfoy outside of the Slytherin Common Room. I was running later than the time we'd agreed to meet up, but there had almost been an incident with my murtlap essence that I had to handle. There were now crates of the stuff piled in the corner ready and waiting for distribution. My antidote to Veritaserum was coming along more slowly, but I had built up a decent store thus far.
I was waiting for the inevitable crack down. People thought Umbridge was bad now? Signs of her influence were just starting to be felt. The teacher inspections were only the first step –then would come probations, firings. Who knew what Hogwarts would look like after that? Umbridge was already strutting around the castle like she owned the place – she was giving lectures on proper dress, shutting down games of Exploding Snap and studying in the courtyard. Already she was worming herself into the school and was ready to start prizing it apart.
I was waiting for the rubble to start to flake away.
"Have you been brewing?" Malfoy said in surprise, staring at my slightly-frizzed hair. He reached out and plucked a shred of leaf from my hair. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled cautiously. Unsurprisingly, he was able to identify it. Damn him and his potions knowledge to a hell of Umbridge's pink lacy kittens.
"Knotgrass," he identified it.
"A bit," I mumbled absently, trying to smooth down my hair.
"So what have you been making?" Malfoy asked as we started to walk on our habitual route through the castle. It was still strange to think of anything to do with Malfoy as civil and habitual, but that's what our rounds were. We actually managed to have conversations that didn't involve biting each other's heads off or trying to slaughter each other. Much as it still periodically caught me off guard, I was starting to get used to it – even enjoy it.
Malfoy was smart, much as I'd hurled the opposite in his face for years. He could almost rival me in terms of Potions knowledge and he was better at Transfiguration than I was – for now. I liked talking with smart people. He could keep up with me and I with him and it was a good feeling, to talk to someone who was interested in what I had to say instead of telling me to stop showing off or rolling their eyes and ignoring me.
That didn't mean I was going to tell him I'd been brewing murtlap essence. If that got to Umbridge she was smart enough to be able to figure out why. I needed her to believe I was firmly on her side and while I could probably cover my butt on that one it was a strike against me I didn't need. The last thing I wanted was for Umbridge to start watching me closely and realize I disappeared off to the apprentice's lab.
"That's none of your business," I replied firmly, hoping Malfoy wouldn't bother to press.
He looked at me sideways, faintly surprised. "Wha- why? Are you brewing something illegal? Brewing up love potions in your spare time?" He bobbed his eyebrows.
I scoffed. "Hardly," I sneered.
"Then why not tell me," Malfoy coaxed. I sighed and raised a hand to my temple. I rubbed there wearily.
I was tired. Not in the sense that I needed sleep but in the bone-deep way that dragged you down. I was still functional of course – I knew better than to let myself get to the same point as I had been when Snape laid into me during the Triwizard Tournament last year. But weariness had made a home and settled down somewhere inside me from the extra lessons, Quidditch, the constant brewing, keeping up appearances both to Umbridge and the Slytherins. It was a massive weight to carry and while I was capable that didn't mean it didn't tax-
"Potter."
A hand rested on my shoulder, pulling me up short and turning me. I froze, looking from the warm, pale, long-fingered hand on my shoulder up to the boy it belonged to.
"Malfoy…" I said uncertainly. I thought I saw a flicker of something like disappointment behind those pretty grey eyes of his, but his hand dropped free of me.
"Are you alright, Potter?" he asked slowly, eyes combing over me. More surprising than the fact that he had noticed – which was actually quite mind-blowing as not even Lily or Tracey had noticed and they were the classmates I spent the most time with – was the fact that he actually seemed to care.
"Why does it matter?" I countered swiftly, falling into the old pattern of verbal attack and defend. Malfoy tightened his jaw and shook his head.
"No, we're not doing that," he said shortly. "I'm not going to let you lash out and change the topic, Potter."
I opened my mouth wordlessly, eyes wide. "I-I wasn't…" Only Harry had ever called me out on that. And now Malfoy was doing it? The thought sent my head spinning and I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I had a wall to my back and Malfoy to my front.
Malfoy looked at me knowingly. "Yes you were. That's what you always do."
"I-I don't-"
"You do-"
"Stop it!" I lashed out, pushed Malfoy back. He staggered slightly, his eyes widening. "Stop doing that!"
"Doing what?" Malfoy demanded, rubbing his chest and looking annoyed. "Merlin, Potter. You know, you're stronger than you look…"
"Stop acting like you know me," I snapped at him. "You don't. You and I have been sniping at each other for years but that doesn't mean you know anything about me."
Malfoy's eyes darkened. "You think I don't know you? Please, I know you better than most people."
I scowled at him helplessly and cast around the hallways for something to distract me, some student to jump down the throat of and slap with so much detention they'd be there after graduation, but there was nothing. Nothing but a tapestry a couple of feet down the hall that I knew had a small niche behind it that was perfect for private conversations.
I seized Malfoy's wrist and started walking. I knew he could tear away and demand an answer at any moment but he didn't, and that threw me off even more as I swept the tapestry out of the way and pulled Malfoy behind it with me. I dragged out my wand and pointed the tip at his face.
"Lumos," I said, and I was horrified when it came out a little hoarse. My wand tip flared, illuminating Malfoy. His chest nearly touched my raised hand. If he breathed deeply, we would touch. I hadn't considered just how small the alcove was, he was too close, he was way too close, and how did he see something that only Harry had seen?
"What are you doing?" I demanded of him. Malfoy's eyes widened incredulously.
"What am I doing? You're the one who dragged me back here-"
"No, I mean what are you doing?" I repeated furiously. "You're being nice to me, you're acting like we've been friends for years and I'm all for people turning over a new leaf but you've done it so fast and you've been… you've been good to me Malfoy, good to me when for years the nicest you've ever been was to insult my brother instead of me personally and I don't know what triggered it, but I've been through a lot lately that I don't understand and I really can't handle it if you're trying to pull some twisted prank, I really can't not with… not with… with everything…"
My throat had closed up until I was nearly gasping out my words and it as taking everything in me not to burst into tears in front of Malfoy but I was just so confused and so tired and I wanted answers, damn it, I was sick of being in the dark. Sirius didn't have anything to report on the Malfoys so I had nothing to blame Malfoy's sudden personality transplant on. I was floundering in a relationship that had been the same for years. The sun was up, the grass was green, Malfoy and I didn't like each other. Except Malfoy suddenly did like me and I… didn't mind him.
"Lorena, breathe," Malfoy insisted worriedly, grabbing my shoulders and dragging me closer to him until we were practically chest to chest. I couldn't help but think Rita Skeeter's quill might explode with excitement if she was there.
He was looking down at me like he was really concerned, like he really cared, and that was weird because Malfoy didn't care about me, right?
"If there's another shoe waiting to drop," I rasped, "tell me now Malfoy so I can hex you and get on with my life. Because so help me-"
"I'm not trying to pull something, I promise," Malfoy assured me, eyes soft and damn him, he still looked worried about me. He was still acting like he cared.
I looked up helplessly. "Then why-?"
"Because it's all…. A little silly…"
"Silly?" I questioned hotly. "You think it's silly for me be suspicious?"
"No! No that's not what I meant at all!" Malfoy said hastily. One hand released my shoulder to rake frustratedly through his hair. "You're right to be suspicious – we've never been… been friendly."
"Understatement," I sniped, and got a blast of annoyance from those grey eyes that were entirely too attractive and sparkly in the dim light of my wand.
"Stop it and let me talk," Malfoy barked. "I know we've never been friends Potter, but all of the stuff we've said and done to each other… Look, no matter what Umbridge or the Ministry or the Prophet says we both know the truth. He's back," Malfoy hissed, his voice dropping quietly and his eyes darting around as if he expected Voldemort himself to loom out of the shadows.
"You're really not helping me calm down-"
"I know, I know," Malfoy said, and the hand still on my shoulder moved off to rub up and down my bicep soothingly. I frowned, turning to look at the hand in shock. That couldn't be Malfoy's hand, could it?
Malfoy saw the look, and I was surprised to see real, genuine hurt flash in his eyes before he pull his hand back. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath before opening them again and continuing.
"Whatever petty school fights we've had… they're nothing compared to what's coming. You and I both know, probably better than anyone, that there's a war coming. Things are going to get very real very quickly and… and it's time to grow up. We're not children anymore, Potter," Malfoy finished simply.
I just stared at him.
He was right - he and I both knew what was coming. The world was about to crash down around our ears and we were going to be pushed into the same roles as our parents were during the First War. We were going to have to be soldiers because with the people we knew, the people we were, we couldn't be anything else. There was no question that when the battle lines were inevitably drawn, we would be standing on opposite sides.
Which begged a very important question.
"So what… you've decided that you want to be my friend at the exact time when that would be incredibly dangerous for you?"
A hint of Malfoy's swagger came back as he flashed me a pearly-toothed smirk. "What can I say? I like to live dangerously."
"No you don't," I said simply. "You're a coward Malfoy. And I don't say that to be disparaging, I say it because it's true, but there are worse things to be," I added hastily when his eyes flashed. "My question is… why now?"
Malfoy actually looked pained as he stared at me like he was willing me desperately to understand something. His hands came up again, and this time they cupped my jaw, elegant fingers fanning down the sides of my neck.
"Because if I don't do it now, I might not get the chance," Malfoy said, and the fear in his voice was undeniable. Fear of the future, fear of fighting and duels, fear of spells thrown from the wands of people we'd known for a large portion of our lives… Fear of death.
I sucked in a breath. Suddenly this had shifted – these weren't the kinds of things you said to someone you wanted to be friends with, someone you wanted to hang out with on the weekends and grab lunch with. These were words you said to someone you…
Iliya had theorized, Hermione had given me calculating looks, Ron had been suspicious, but now I was being forced to face the fact that they all may have been on to something, that they had seen something I'd been completely oblivious to, a something that spun my head and made me want to sprint down to the apprentice's lab and hide in the familiar safety of cauldron steam.
"Malfoy," I said hoarsely. "I don't… What is it you want from me?"
Malfoy opened his mouth to respond but seemed to think better of it, closing his mouth and shaking his head. "No, not yet." He cut me off before I could even get the protest out. "I'll tell you soon Potter, but I need more time."
"Time for what?" I asked blankly.
Malfoy's answering smile was soft and painfully sweet as he said, "To make you feel the same."
And then he was gone, the tapestry flapping behind him as he ducked out into the corridor. My knees felt shaky, as if I couldn't support myself without his hands on my jaw holding me up. I sagged back weakly against the wall and slid down to rest at the base. My mouth was open and I stared helplessly at the darkness opposite me where only a moment ago there had been gleaming platinum hair and stormy eyes looking at me like they cared…
"Dear god help me," I whispered, because I wasn't an idiot. I'd seen that look before on the faces of my classmates and I knew what it foretold, I knew that it meant kissing under mistletoe and trips to Hogsmeade cuddled in each other's arms, but I could never have that. Not with Malfoy at least. It was a possibility I'd never even considered.
But at the same time… some part of me wanted to pretend. To pretend that the world wasn't two moves away from falling to shit at every second and that I was a normal girl with a normal life who went on normal dates with normal boys and had normal friends and a normal family. I had been stripped of any and all normality so long ago that maybe I should have expected that when this came – if it ever had – it wouldn't be normal.
I felt so damnably weak for breaking down over this, pathetic for being so thrown off by the idea of someone caring about me. I wasn't unfamiliar with being cared about. The Weasleys, Snape, Hagrid… then again it had always felt kind of like Hagrid and the Weasleys cared about me because I was Harry's sister, Fred and George being the exceptions.
For so many years I'd been successful at keeping people at arm's length. When I first came to Hogwarts I'd been ready to make friends and be happy. I'd quickly realized that wasn't going to happen and so devolved into the same mask I'd used against the Dursleys for years – crassness, anger, sarcasm. It was a tried and true defensive mechanism to keep people at arm's length and I was content to sit with Tracey and Lily and act like we were the best of friends and then go off on my own to read or visit Snape or cause mischief.
But what did Malfoy do? He called my bluff, ripped off the mask and forced me to acknowledge that there was a girl underneath it that did want someone in her life. The mask I'd thought had become who I really was over the years had been pulled off and I was reminded of who I really was… someone that the mask would have turned up her nose at and sneered insults to. God, was that really all I had become?
I could almost imagine the molten silver of Malfoy's eyes peering at me from the darkness with that damned caring expression in his eyes, like he really and truly gave a damn about me.
Once upon a time Harry had looked at me like that, had been the only one to look at me like that. He hadn't looked at me like that in… god I couldn't even remember the last time. He still felt it somewhere, he was too good of a person not to, but I couldn't help but think that it was now mixed with a little bit of shame, and little bit of distrust, a little bit of anger. Distance and forced separation had poisoned us and while we'd come through, the aches and scars of it still remained.
I feared so much that I was becoming the sort of person who deserved to have those sort of feelings come from her twin, but despite all of that, Malfoy, who had seen me at my worst, was looking at me like someone who had seen me at my best and I had no idea how much I'd craved that until it had happened.
I wasn't a fool – I didn't love Draco Malfoy. I didn't even trust him. But I did like him and I did think that he was perhaps closer to understanding me than anyone but Harry – he'd just proved that, hadn't he? So if it was ever going to happen to me, maybe this was it. Could I risk letting the sort of caring I'd been denied for so much of my life passing by?
That was an easy question. No, not even for a second. So I wouldn't pull back no matter how much this scared the hell out of me. I would let Malfoy do what he would, I would talk to him like I would have yesterday before all this happened and I would see how things played out because if nothing else I owed him that much just for the way he'd looked at me, for the way he'd made me feel for just a second…
Like I deserved to be loved.
