Chapter 8 – The Board of Governors
Tuesday afternoon's History of Magic double found Scott, as per usual, not listening to a word spoken by Professor Binns. Through his far more titillating distraction – at present a fascinating Kate Bush song – he vaguely registered Alex's concerned glances in his direction.
Since he and Ethan had begun talking again, Alex had apparently since taken up a new source of anxiety: Scott's newfound moodiness. Since Friday's disastrous Potions lesson, Scott had been quick to anger and – even he had to admit – unbearable to be around. Alex had chalked this up to the events of the lesson, and he wasn't entirely incorrect. Scott reminisced about the endless fun that had ensued after Snape had swooped away from their table. Scott and Skeres had proceeded to attempt to brew a potion, and after a full twenty minutes, the potion had quite suddenly fizzled violently and erupted, spraying Scott with faulty Herbicide.
"Idiot boy!" Snape had raged at Scott, who'd been clutching at his face in agony, a horrible sizzling sound filling the dungeon. "Five points from Ravenclaw! Now get yourself up to the hospital wing and out of my sight!" He'd turned to Skeres, who had deftly dodged the explosion of toxic liquid. "Skeres, there's nothing you can do with your potion anymore. Take this buffoon up to Madam Pomfrey. Now!" he'd added when she showed every sign of refusing.
"Sir, please," Alex had offered, "I can take him, it's fine-"
"Ms Wroxton, I don't imagine Haworth would appreciate being left without a partner. Be quiet and return to brewing."
Scott and Skeres had left then, the latter angrily striding ahead of him as he struggled to walk straight.
"Just so you know, Carter," she'd fumed, "you owe me a new cauldron and potion kit now that you've ruined mine."
"Oh, fuck off," he'd muttered through gritted teeth, trying desperately not to cry out from the blinding pain.
The school matron, Madam Pomfrey, had fixed him up following this debacle, though she hadn't managed to stop him from hurting in ways other than physically. The fact that he'd earned his first detention, lost more points than he'd ever lost before, and been injured by his own incompetence only served to act as a side-note to his strongest source of rage. Since Foley's revelation he had, of course, hidden all of the money he'd been given by his parents in his dorm where he'd never have to see it.
He'd been distracting himself through music and schoolwork since, though he knew that Alex had not been fooled. When the agonisingly long lesson of History had concluded, Scott collected his marked assignment from Binns' desk. He glanced down at the results that he'd gotten and found that he was hardly surprised. Later, at dinner, Alex situated himself opposite from Scott and stared long and hard at him.
After several minutes of this, Scott had started to become fed up. "Something on my face, Alex?" he remarked, irritated.
"No, I'm just worried," he replied, his tone mirroring this admittance. "I thought you really liked History, Scott?"
"I wouldn't call lessons with Casper the Stodgy Ghost 'history'," he snapped. "If Binns doesn't want to act like a teacher, I can't be bothered being a student in his classes."
"You don't pay any attention in class," Alex pointed out.
"Like any of you listen to him, either. You're all half asleep, and-"
"We pay more attention than you," Ethan cut in fairly. "And we take notes."
"Exactly," Alex said quickly as Scott had turned to look at Ethan furiously. "It can't be good for your marks. I don't think you'd forgive yourself if you failed History of Magic-"
"On top of Potions?" Scott interrupted angrily. Alex looked abashed, but continued to watch him. Ethan focused on his food, wisely keeping silent. His Herbicide potion had apparently been so good that Snape had decided to provide it to Professor Sprout for her Herbology lessons. "What did you two get on our essay just now?" Scott demanded of them both.
Their faces quickly coloured with embarrassment, and they didn't respond for a moment.
"Sixty-six," Alex muttered.
"Seventy-three," mumbled Ethan.
Scott's hand dove into his robes, and he drew out three folded sheets of parchment, several times larger than either of the others' own essays had been. He brandished the parchment in front of their faces. "What does that say, eh?"
Ethan glanced at the number and then back down at his dinner. Alex's lips thinned as he read the mark. "One hundred and twenty-one percent," he said quietly.
"What was that?" Scott asked, feigning deafness.
Alex sighed. "One hundred and twenty-one percent," he repeated, louder and clearer.
"One hundred and twenty-one percent," Scott said with relish. Ethan stirred his soup awkwardly. "I sure hope I don't fail History of Magic!" he cried sarcastically.
Alex's face was growing steadily redder. "Scott, I'm just trying to help. You've been in a state ever since Friday, and I thought I'd return the favour you did for me. But if you're just going to bite my head off-"
"Leave it, Alex," Ethan warned.
Alex spun to stare at him. "Ethan, you can't-"
"It's his business. We shouldn't get on his case about it."
Alex sighed and crossed his arms. They sat in silence for the rest of dinner, and when they'd finished, Alex spoke up again. "Well, maybe we can all head up to the common room and get some work done. Er, Ethan, want to practice some charmswork?"
"I won't be coming," Scott said shortly.
They blinked at him. "Er, why not?" Ethan ventured cautiously.
Scott pulled his dragon-hide gloves from his robe pocket. "Your memory's getting worse than Alex's," he commented unnecessarily. "I've got detention."
They separated in the Entrance Hall with a muttered "See you in Astronomy," and Scott found his way down to the dungeon where he was to serve his punishment. He found that Snape and Skeres had already arrived ahead of him. Skeres' death glare could have scorched steel, and Snape's icy look could have cooled it.
"We were beginning to wonder whether you had forgotten our little gathering, Carter," Snape said coolly. "Now that you are here, I shall explain what you will be doing as punishment. In these barrels," he began, indicating the enormous canisters that lined the dark chamber, "you will find several gallons of pure pus, freshly squeezed from Professor Sprout's batch of Bubotubers in Greenhouse Three. The pus is worth a great deal to the school, and will fetch a lofty price when the portions we decide we do not require are sold. You have been selected for the prestigious position of preparing the fluid for use.
"You shall extract, dilute, and preserve every last drop of pus in this room by the time you are done tonight. I shall return in six hours time, by which time I expect you to have finished. If you have not, you will return tomorrow night. Your instructions for the process are written on this," he said, almost cheerfully, as he handed them a sheet of parchment. He turned and swept from the room, only stopping at the door. He turned back around to face them. "Oh, and do be careful. Undiluted Bubotuber pus does curious things to exposed skin when touched," he finished maliciously as he finally left.
Professor Michael Foley stood before at least a dozen men and women. They were each seated in a horseshoe formation along an enormously long table. Michael stood in their midst, feeling uncomfortably claustrophobic at their curious stares. A few shuffled papers idly, whilst others whispered behind their hands to one another. A man standing off to the side held a scroll open before him and cleared his throat for silence.
"The Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is now in session," the Recording Secretary announced in ringing tones. "Members of the Board attending this meeting are as follows: Mr Lucius Malfoy, O.M 2nd Class, Chairman." Malfoy, an austere man with long platinum blond hair and grey eyes, nodded at the recognition. Michael knew the name well - Malfoy was old money. "Mr Josiah Gamp, A.D." A balding man glanced up at his name. "Madam Gravius, O.M 3rd Class." A tall woman with fly-about white hair inclined her head. "Junior Minister Lillian Derby, Improper Use of Magic Office. The Most Erudite Professor Simon Kilgrave. Mr Eamon O'Malley, Treasurer. Mr Leland Nostrum, Chancellor of the M.E.S.P."
Michael was feeling more than a mite bit anxious standing there awkwardly as the Governors were introduced. He watched Professor Kilgrave twirl his goatee with his half-finger and gulped surreptitiously. "Mr Mikhail Belov, O.M 3rd Class. Madam Selene Bobbin." Michael wished they would simply get on with the proceedings – he wasn't sure how much more pressure he could take. "Madam Muldoon. Master Jens Kuhlmann, W.C.A.," the Recording Secretary cleared his throat once again. "The Order of business this evening will be administrated by the Executive Secretary to the Board of Governors, Mr Titus Skeres, O.M 2nd Class."
The Recording Secretary fell silent and sat at a side table, drawing a length of parchment and a quill towards himself. Another man, who sat to Malfoy's right at the opposite end of the horseshoe from Michael, cleared his throat. The man was dark of hair, though fair of complexion. He didn't seem to resemble the girl from Michael's Slytherin-Huffflepuff first year class, who was olive skinned and far shorter in height. He only knew the elder Skeres by reputation – a shrewd businessman, and skilled journalist.
"Plea Order Three-Three-One-Two: Presented by Professor Michael Archibald Foley," Skeres read, his voice crisp and diction pronounced. "Subject: Authority over Hogwarts Excavation. You have the floor, Professor," he finished, nodding at Michael.
Michael blew a breath out. "Distinguished Governors," he began respectfully, glancing at the shorthand notes that he'd scrawled on his palm. "As you know, this meeting was called because many have voiced concerns over the continued funding of my archaeological excavation. I can assure you that the excavation is, and will, make the progress that was promised by the Headmaster in July. The dig has begun on the third floor due to structural concerns, but we believe that results will begin flooding in within a matter of weeks. I ask that you have faith in me, as well as my team of experts, and to allow us primary responsibility of the dig, and of whatever we discover within."
He watched the Governors closely to see how they responded. Most looked impassive, though he was unnerved by Malfoy and O'Malley's sceptical glances at one another.
"You are aware, I trust," Malfoy drawled, "that many of our investors feel that this study would be better off in their... capable hands?"
Michael's breath caught, and he found himself anxiously clenching and unclenching his fists. He hastily stopped fidgeting and responded. "Would these investors be averse to being named?"
Malfoy merely smiled. "I would not wish to betray the trust of those who allow us to offer an education to so many young witches and wizards."
Michael nodded. "I reject the assertion that any profit driven excavation could perform my job better than I could. As the Headmaster pointed out earlier this year, this is an academic establishment, and therefore, any addition to the agglomeration of knowledge and learning should be the top priority of such an institution. An investor's pocketbook should not come in the way of history, end of story," he added fiercely.
Several of the Governors were muttering amongst themselves now. He saw Skeres eyeing him, and he was unnerved by his dark gaze. Malfoy whispered something in his ear to which Skeres nodded, and then shook his head.
Then Madam Gravius spoke. "Your point holds merit; however you are ignoring the fact that we run the risk of overspending on this venture. Funding from Educational Societies only gets us so far. No offense," she added, glancing at Professor Kilgrave.
"Oh none taken, none taken at all, Madam," Kilgrave said in unctuous tones. "I quite agree, of course. Funding is so much easier to find from those the Board are most friendly with. I sympathise, Foley, I really do," he simpered, not really sounding like it, "but how can we be sure that your excavation won't last far beyond what the Treasury will allow?"
"You have my word, and you have the word of Albus Dumbledore. Out of curiosity, why wasn't he allowed to attend this evening?" Michael queried, attempting to keep an accusative tone from his voice.
Titus Skeres chimed in. "The Headmaster is not typically called to sit in on meetings regarding school funding," he stated chidingly. "You may be a faculty member at the school, but your excavation has no relevance to the Headmaster's duties at the school – namely the organisation of the staff and school body. Please remain on topic, Foley, lest you do yourself a disservice." Skeres didn't quite glare, but his tone sent the same message.
Michael was beginning to panic. He couldn't prove to the Board that his excavation wouldn't drain funds, and it seemed that too much of the Board was more interested in appealing to shadowy investors – the identities of which he had a hunch.
"May I ask what window of time I have before the dig is rendered unprofitable?" he tried.
They each considered him for a moment, before O'Malley spoke begrudgingly. "Approximately four months, and that's pushing it."
"Could I request to appeal another Plea Order this February, then? If you don't like the results I've gotten by then, you're welcome to strip my authority, or else do whatever you feel necessary. But if the Treasury can hold, why not see what comes about?" he pleaded.
"You're that confident that what you'll find is worth all this, then?" Selene Bobbin asked curiously.
"Desperate, more like," Josiah Gamp croaked.
"I am beyond confident that whatever my team and I uncover over the next few months will change the way we consider the history of these Isles, and of our Magical History," he piped up grandly, attempting to make a positive impression. "Believe me when I say that what we will gain from this excavation will not just be money, but a profound understanding of ourselves, our history, and this school that we each so deeply care for. Thank you. I hope you'll consider my request."
Skeres raised an eyebrow. "Well?" he asked brusquely. "Is that it? Very well, we'll put it to a vote, shall we? All in favour of allowing Professor Foley and his team their continued authority over the project, raise your hand and speak to the affirmative."
Madam Gravius' hand raised into the air. "Aye," she said shortly.
Selene Bobbin's hand followed hers. "Aye," she said, eyeing Michael appraisingly.
Leland Nostrum was next. "Aye."
Belov's hand was in the air, and he, too, said, "Aye."
Lillian Derby seemed to think for a while before finally doing as the others had done. "Aye."
Skeres waited for a while for anyone else to confirm their support, but none came. "Five in favour," he said delicately. "Less than half, I'm afraid."
Michael felt sick. They couldn't. Not when he was so close.
"Those against the motion to allow Foley control over the project please raise your hand and speak to the negative."
Malfoy led the Board in negative votes. "Nay," he stated imperiously.
O'Malley, after glancing in Malfoy's direction, voted the same. As did Gamp, and Madam Muldoon.
Skeres then raised his own hand importantly. "Nay," he said decisively. He looked around at the two who hadn't voted yet. "Professor Kilgrave, Master Kuhlmann?"
"Abstain," they both said.
Skeres looked incensed. "A resolution cannot be reached with a tie. I would ask that you consider which action you wish taken, as is your responsibility on this council," he thundered.
The two men seemed to think for a while, though they still looked indecisive.
"Sooner, rather than later, I should hope!" Skeres added furiously.
Michael's heart beat so thunderously that he was sure the entire Board must have heard it. He could feel a cold sweat creeping down his brow as he awaited one of the men to decide.
Finally, after much deliberation, Kilgrave opened his mouth. "Aye," he simply said.
It took both Michael and Skeres a few moments to register what the man had said. When it had sunk in, though, Michael almost collapsed from relief. His legs wobbled underneath him, and he stumbled into the long table.
"Very well," Skeres called contemptuously. "With six votes to five, with one abstention, Plea Order Three-Three-One-Two is accepted. Thank you for your time, Professor Foley," he said disingenuously. "Another meeting will be held in four months time to review your case."
They all began standing and chatting idly. Michael merely stood there, hardly daring to believe his good fortune. He'd been sure for a moment that there'd be Curse-Breakers infesting the dig site in their dozens by the following morning, but by some miracle, History had been rescued from the jaws of destruction. Selene Bobbin smiled at him as he stumbled out of the room. As he dashed down the corridor, he almost ran straight into Professor Dumbledore.
"Professor, Albus!" he cried, delirious with excitement. "They've let me continue, we're all good!"
"Excellent! I knew you could do it!" he smiled, looking genuinely proud. "I was just heading down for a nice hot chocolate in the kitchens. Would you care to join me?"
And so they set off, Dumbledore chuckling merrily as Michael described Skeres' furious face.
Scarlett glared at the tanned boy blocking her way. They'd been at this slave labour for over five hours now, by last check of her watch, and it hadn't become any less gruelling a task. Scarlett wasn't sure what was worse about it. Either the foul, viscous pus they were handling, or the foul, vicious moron she had to do it with. At present, his unseemly mass was blocking her ability to deposit her bucketful of odorous slime into the instrument where diluting chemicals were poured from.
"Carter, move, or so help me I will force this pus into you and use you to dilute it," she threatened.
"You'll need a stepladder first," he replied insolently, still not moving from his own diluter.
"Who said anything about pouring it down your throat?"
This finally got him to move. She smirked as he scowled at her.
"That's the last of that barrel," she said when she'd finished storing the diluted pus. "We'd better get started on the last one now." They'd made good time, she thought. Carter had been unbearably slow for most of it, but he tended to pick up the slack whenever he was given a particularly good threat. She'd entertained herself by coming up with some particularly imaginative ones.
As the barrel tap poured the yellowish goo, it stalled. The taps occasionally did this - sometimes the pus would glue the faucet shut if it managed to dry enough. This time, Scarlett was struggling more than usual to get the tap unstuck. She'd stuck a gloved finger into the hole and was desperately trying to dislodge the fluid, but it seemed to be vehemently glued shut.
"I almost pity House elves," she caught herself admitting.
"I suppose you know what it's like, don't you?" Carter muttered as he stood behind her, waiting for progress from her end.
"Oh please, I don't treat my elves this bad," she fumed, managing to shove her whole hand into the socket.
"No, I mean you know what it's like to be two feet tall," he elaborated.
She gritted her teeth as she plunged her arm in and out of the tap hole. "One more comment, Carter, and I swear..."
"You'll call for Daddy? You said he's here tonight, why don't you go run to him, Skeres?"
"Don't you dare, Carter," she said in a deadly voice. He was putting too many toes over the line. He could mock her all he wanted, and she could give as badly as she got. But making fun of her family – did his insolence know no bounds? She certainly wouldn't stoop to that level. Well, with a few exceptions, she admitted to herself begrudgingly, but his mother's a Mudblood, and they hardly count.
"Going to get him to write some nasty articles, Skeres? 'Evil boy makes fun of little girl – read more on page 3'." He laughed at his own offensively unfunny joke. "Or maybe you'll- Watch it, Skeres!"
The tap had suddenly vibrated dangerously, and pus had leaked out from around its sides. Before it could burst, Carter had leaped onto her, shoving her to the ground. Her arm was wrenched painfully from the tap socket and pus began to flow freely from it as she crashed to the ground. The bucket that she'd half filled with slime was knocked over as she collided into it, and she was only saved from it touching her skin by her layers of clothing and gloves.
Carter shoved his own bucket swiftly under the flowing tap, catching most of the pus as it blasted forth. Her arm stung from the force exerted as her arm had been pulled loose, and from the uncomfortable way that she'd landed. She looked down at her pus-coated gloves, and back up at Carter who was busy with his bucket. White-hot anger bubbling inside her, she launched herself at him.
"What the-?"
Without thinking, she snaked her arms up under his robes and found the first bit of bare skin that she could. Beneath his shirt, her gloved hands clutched his lower back in a vice. He screamed in agony as he fell against the barrel. He shoved her off forcefully, and she landed painfully again. He stumbled over to the bench holding the diluters and began to tear his robes off, writhing in agony all the while.
She climbed to her feet, making sure not to touch the pus that she was now drenched in. Carter had now removed most of his clothing and was now twisting his head around to see the damage that she'd done. She was immediately repulsed at what she saw. His lower back was coated in a sprinkling of painful-looking boils. It made him look like he had some sort of horrific growth sprouting from his rear. She registered regret that was not swallowed by the vindication that she tried to feel.
"Look, Carter, I'm sorr-"
The door burst open. Snape stood in the doorway, looking thunderous. "What in Merlin's name is going on here?" he demanded.
They must have looked quite a sight. Scarlett coated in a layer of foul pus, Carter in nought but his pants, his back horribly disfigured.
"I thought," Snape said in a quiet voice that belied something far scarier, "that I could leave you two alone for a few hours without incident. Clearly, I was mistaken. You will both serve weekly detentions with me for the next month. I will attempt to remedy your mess, without your interference. Both of you leave. Now!"
She didn't need telling twice. Scarlett sped out of the dungeon without a backwards glance, only slowing her pace when she'd reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room.
"Legacy!" she cried at the stone wall. It slid open and she dashed inside.
"Scarlett?"
It was Emile. Her best friend was staring at her, concern etched into his features.
"No time to explain, Em. I need to get these cleaned off," she panted. "You wouldn't happen to have any spares, would you?"
"Er, sorry, no," he apologised. "Erm, I think Lynn had some?"
"Right. Thanks, Em. I'd hug you, but you'd probably die if I did."
"That's okay," he said, unnerved.
After she'd dropped her clothes into the laundry pile, stolen Trinity Lynn's robes (she'd left a few Knuts as penance), and changed into them, she raced back down the stairs. She was disappointed to see that Emile hadn't waited up for her, though she knew he'd have been made to leave by whichever prefect had escorted them to Astronomy. She quickly left, swooping through corridors at blinding speed.
She didn't think there was much chance of being discovered by Argus Filch, the cantankerous caretaker – the man was rheumatic and slow. Peeves, the school's resident poltergeist, however, was the threat that weighed on her mind. The mischief-loving entity never got bored of sowing discord in the student body.
As she reached the fourth floor she quickly leaped behind a suit of armour. She'd seen a lone shape in the darkness ahead, and didn't much feel like dealing with whatever it was. She could hear a slow sliding sound from down the corridor and she wondered if it was Filch. She gave into the temptation of peeking around the suit of armour, and was shocked at what she saw.
"Carter?"
It was. He was clothed again, though he looked worse for wear. The look that he gave her would have sent most running for the hills, but Scarlett seemed to lack that wisdom.
"Why aren't you in the Hospital Wing?" she asked, vague concern surfacing against her will.
His hand twitched to his wand, though she was fast to respond.
"Flipendo!" they both cried.
The blue beams met in mid air, rebounding off one another and crashing into different locations. A window was shattered by his spell, and the armour she'd hidden behind lost its helmet to hers. She leaped back behind the now-headless suit of armour, waiting for Carter to appear around the side.
"Stop this, Carter, you're being stupid!" she shrieked.
"Stupid, am I? We'll see, Skeres, we'll see," he crowed, sounding somewhat deranged. "Flipendo!"
She saw blue light come from the opposite side of the armour and rushed around to jinx him whilst he was occupied, but instead ran straight into him. He'd tricked her into revealing herself, and she silently cursed her foolishness. He grabbed her around the waist, lifting her up into the air. She screeched, kicking wildly. He clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed further down the corridor. Carter hurried along the opposite way, carrying a squirming Scarlett, who was currently trying to draw blood from his hand with her teeth. The struggling pair found their way into an empty room off to the side, where they would be theoretically undisturbed. As Carter kicked the door shut, Scarlett saw her opportunity. She swung out her leg and managed to get it to collide with Carter's lower back. He cried out in agony and instantly dropped her. She scrambled to her feet and quickly tried to think of a curse to blast the moron into oblivion, when she was cut off by a voice.
"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"
She looked up in shock, breathing heavily. From where he was crumpled on the floor, Carter looked up too. "Haworth?" he moaned faintly.
Scarlett thought she vaguely recognised the boy, who was currently leaning against a cabinet, his arms crossed. He was so pale that he nearly glowed in the dark, and he was watching them with amusement.
"By all means, keep at your spat," he said, smirking. "I'm interested to see where this goes."
Carter was stiffly climbing to his feet. Scarlett span back around and raised her wand to hex him, but instead he charged forwards, head-first. She darted to the side, though he'd been too quick for her to avoid entirely. His shoulder met her chest, knocking her back to the floor. As she landed painfully on the floor, she raised her wand again.
"Flipendo," she gasped out.
Carter met the floor with a crash, squawking furiously. She prepared to jinx him again when suddenly the door thudded open. Croaker and Wroxton both stood there, wands drawn and pointed at her. She swore angrily. Haworth swore disappointedly.
"What the hell is going on here?" the Wroxton boy spat out.
"Peeves," came a pained voice. Scarlett stared at Carter, who was climbing to his feet again. "We ran into Peeves on our way up from detention, and things... got out of hand," he muttered, not looking at anyone.
Scarlett was baffled to say the least. She couldn't understand why on earth he'd bothered to lie. He had the backup of two other Ravenclaws – she glanced at Haworth – three other Ravenclaws, and she was alone in a room with them all. They could have easily taken her down if Carter had wished to, and judging from mere moments ago he clearly did. So why-?
Oh, she realised, he really is an idiot. She almost wished that he was being pointlessly noble, rather than disaffectedly stoic. She could have respected that, at least. Instead, he was more content pretending that he was fine - that she hadn't hurt him as badly as she had.
"A real pain in the arse, that Peeves is," she muttered sardonically. "Really makes life difficult."
Croaker seemed to readily accept this excuse. Wroxton narrowed his eyes. "Haworth?" he demanded.
The pale boy glanced between Scarlett and Carter. "I heard something and came to investigate," he said, shrugging. "It was the poltergeist."
"Great," Carter muttered impatiently. "Can we go to Astronomy, now?"
The first thing they all saw as they left the room was Argus Filch, wheezing and panting, and the prefect Robert Hilliard.
"There they are!" Filch cried. "Windows smashed, armour vandalised! I'll have you up by your ankles in the dungeons!"
"Would someone mind explaining?" Hilliard asked grimly.
"It was Peeves," Skeres said simply. "He thought he'd get at us after our detention."
"It's true," Scott directed at Hilliard. "We were just trying to defend ourselves."
Filch let out a furious cry of "PEEVES!" and bustled off, his skeletal cat Mrs. Norris slinking after him.
Hilliard sighed. "Come with me, then."
Scott and the others followed him upstairs. Scott tried his hardest not to let his suffering show as he walked. He'd been in pain before, but he'd been kicked and hit the floor twice since Skeres had initially lathered his back in pus. Now it was all he could do not to start screaming in agony. He realised that Alex was watching him.
"What?" he asked a little roughly.
He simply shook his head and looked away. Thoroughly aggravated, Scott couldn't leave it there. "No, what is it? You're not still wanting to harp on about History of Magic, are you?"
"No I don't, but-"
"History of Magic, eh?" Hilliard cut in. "I don't think I should be saying this as your prefect, but make sure you drop that class as soon as you get the opportunity. I couldn't stand Binns, personally."
"Tell me about it," Scott muttered. "That man- er- ghost's about as engaging as a Flobberworm."
Ethan blinked confusedly. No doubt he didn't understand what could possibly be unengaging about Flobberworms.
"I think it's Binns' engagement with the subject that's the issue, not the students'," Hilliard remarked sagely. "If you want to be a good teacher, you have to be interested in whatever you're talking about. Binns just sits and reads notes. Doesn't help that he's dead, either," he added as an afterthought.
Scott considered this nugget of wisdom. He knew Binns was an incompetent teacher, but he obviously knew the material off by heart. He wondered just how long he'd been teaching, both alive and dead. That much time doing one job could drain the life out of anyone, figuratively and literally. But what if that could change? What if-
"Agh!" he gasped, tears springing to his eyes. As they ascended the spiral staircase of the Astronomy Tower, he felt several boils on his back burst, and felt the wet ooze of pus sliding down his back.
"You alright?" Hilliard asked concernedly.
He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut through the pain. "Yeah, I just pulled my back in detention," he grumbled, expertly keeping any trace of a wobble from his voice. "Snape really pushed us to the grindstone, you know," he chuckled weakly.
"Yeah," Skeres murmured quietly from behind him.
Recovering, he started back up to the top of the tower, resolutely not looking at Alex.