Chapter 17

September 1st, 1990- The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Somewhere in Scotland

They couldn't all fit into the horseless carriages that took them up to the school, definitely not. So they split down House lines and the girls spent the entire ride speculating what pranks and disasters the boys were planning.

The Sorting was shorter than it had been the year before. The new first years had been born in the middle of the war; it was no wonder that there were so few of them. Ravenclaw got six firsties, including a "Chang, Cho!" and a "Carmichael, Eddie" as well as Marcus Belby, who Patricia was sure was related to Damocles Belby, the wizard who had invented the Wolfsbane potion. Gryffindor only got four, and the only girl was Katie Bell. She was quickly invited by Angelina to room with the second year girls, and accepted when the others made it clear that she was welcome.

The other new face in the room belonged to a clean-shaven young wizard who was sitting in the seat that Professor Darrow had occupied last year. The elderly Defense professor was nowhere to be seen.

After they finished eating, Dumbledore stood and delivered his start-of-year speech. "I am sad to inform you," he said eventually, "that Professor Darrow passed away over the summer." He paused and waited for the cries and exclamations to die down. "In his place, Professor Geoff will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts." Geoff waved and there was a limp round of applause that ended quickly.

Dumbledore wrapped up his speech and sent them off to bed. The Ravenclaws got a rude welcome from Peeves, who dive-bombed them with an endless bucketful of water balloons. Once the soaking wet second year girls had made their way up to their dorm room, Grace said what they were all thinking.

"This is rotten."

"At least it can't get worse," Violet said hopefully as she wrung her hair out the window.

"It can always get worse," Patricia contradicted grimly.

"I'm trying to be optimistic."

"I'm being realistic. Let's go find Penelope, maybe she knows some drying charms."

October 31st, 1990- Seventh-floor corridor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Somewhere in Scotland

Myrtle cheered as Nearly-Headless Nick hit the Bloody Baron with a knee-reversal hex. Waldo fired a stunner back and quickly fixed his knees while Nick's head was flapping all over the place as he dodged. "Hit him again, Nick!"

"Get him, Waldo!" Patricia cheered in retaliation. Myrtle's hand went through her head and she felt like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped on her.

The two ghosts fired spells at each other so fast that Patricia blinked and missed Nick getting hit by something that made spider legs sprout out of his forehead. Nick fired a volley of spells back and suddenly Waldo was without a mouth and had his eyelashes growing out in ringlets. Before he could undo the damage Nick hit him with one more spell and had him tied up with thick ropes.

"The victory goes to Sir Nicolas de Mimsy-Porpington!" the Fat Friar announced. "For the fifteenth time in a row." Waldo rolled his eyes, possibly, it was hard to see behind his eyelash ringlets, and shook Nick's hand grimly.

"Next time, Nick."

"Of course, Baron." Waldo floated away though the wall while Nick turned to their audience. "Well, did you find that more exciting than last year?"

"Oh, you did a wonderful job, Nick," Myrtle purred. Nick gave a sweeping bow.

"Thank you, my dear." Myrtle's cheeks turned from white to grey. She was blushing.

"What was that spell you used that turned his knees back to front?" Patricia asked.

"That, my fair lady, was the knee-reversal hex. Very useful for distracting dastardly villains so that you can make the killing blow!" Patricia nodded. She didn't bother asking if he could teach it to her. She'd learned last year that ghost spells were spoken upside down and backwards compared to regular spells. She'd look it up when she had the time.

As the rest of the ghosts floated away though the walls, Myrtle turned to Patricia. "What should we do now?"

"We could…" Patricia trailed off. Out of the corner of her eye she saw shadows moving across the floor. Her wand shot into her hand and she ducked behind the ballet trolls tapestry. Myrtle hovered in the middle of the corridor and watched as the owners of the shadows turned the corner.

"Oh, it's you," she said flatly.

"Hullo, Myrtle," Fred said cheerfully. "Have you seen Patty?"

"Don't call her Patty. Patricia is behind the tapestry." Myrtle floated away through the wall as Patricia emerged without so much as a goodbye, no doubt going for a sulk in her washroom.

"What're you doing up here?" George asked.

"You're missing the feast," Fred pointed out. Patricia shrugged uncomfortably.

"The Hallowe'en feast isn't my favourite thing. I never planned on going."

"You could tell us next time you decide to skip."

"We were getting worried."

"Thought you'd been eaten by a troll."

"Grace told us to look for you-"

"-and you know how scary she can be."

"Funny thing is-"

"-she never said what to do once we'd found you."

Patricia's stomach growled and she blushed. The twins grinned and linked arms with her. "Go to the kitchens," they said in unison. "Hang on," George said. He took the Marauder's Map out of his pocket. "Mischief managed."

Once they'd tickled the pear in the painting of a fruit bowl they entered the kitchens though the resulting door and were swarmed by house-elves. "Why is misters Weasley and missy Patty not being at the feast?"

Fred and George looked like they wanted to laugh, but instead they said, "Patricia isn't comfortable going to the feast. Could we eat down here?" The elves were delighted by the request and immediately set about gathering three plates of food and ushering the three children to sit at the kitchen's replica High Table.

"Only the elves get to call me Patty," Patricia hissed after they were seated. "Clear?"

"Crystal," George snickered. Patricia reached over and slapped the back of his head. A few of the elves laughed at him.

"So, are you having any luck with your animagus exercises?" Fred asked. Patricia took a sip from her goblet of gillywater.

"Some. I think my form has fur."

"Well, that's something. I've had nothing." Fred pointed his fork at his brother. "George thinks his might have a tail." Patricia shrugged.

"McGonagall won't let us actually try to transform until forth year anyway."

"Still, it would be nice to know something."

"You'll get it eventually, Gred."

"You know I will, Forge. What about your Patronus?" Patricia made a face.

"Professor Geoff practically laughed at us when we told him that Professor Darrow had been training us. We're making do on our own." Even with practicing every night, none of them advanced further than the silver mist they'd managed last year. Noe was sure they were doing something wrong, they hadn't practiced all summer after all, but none of the other teachers had time to help them.

"Well, you're all smart."

"And Geoff's a bigoted idiot."

"You got his werewolf lesson, right?" Patricia nodded. Geoff was so lucky she didn't know any good hexes, and that her roommates had practically been sitting on her to stop her from marching to the front of the class and stabbing him with her potions knife.

"None of us Ravenclaw second years like him, and Penelope's got the rest of our House actually thinking about what he says instead of just taking it as fact."

"That's good." Fred swallowed a bite of turkey. "He'll probably be gone by the end of the year anyway. According to Bill, Professor Darrow was the only Defense professor to last more than a year since he started school." Darrow had been teaching Defense at Hogwarts for two years, which was absolutely miraculous.

"Let's hope. If not we'll have to drive him out next year." Fred and George grinned.

"Why wait?"