Chapter Ten
Tracey
0o0
Astoria awoke the next morning to find that the cheerful snow of the day before had been replaced by a swirling blizzard. The castle was darker than it usually was during the daytime and the only view afforded by the windows was one of thick, white obscurity.
A chilly wind kept blowing out the fires in the braziers, making the library cold and musty as Astoria sat going over her final homework assignment for Professor Binns. Snow battered the wide windows with such a fury that it did not take much imagination to pretend that she was either underwater or sitting at the center of an unfinished universe.
"Dad wishes you a merry Christmas," said Theo, breaking the silence and blushing slightly.
"He sent you a letter?" asked Astoria.
Mr. Nott was not in the habit of keeping regular correspondence with his son. Astoria had a vague suspicion that this had more to do with Mr. Nott's relative confusion over what day it was rather than a lack of interest, but she also suspected that it bothered Theodore nonetheless.
"Yeah," said Theodore, making an amendment to his timeline of famous trolls. "He wanted to let me know that he'd be collecting me from King's Cross when break starts. I can't believe you're staying here! I was counting on you being at your aunt's house so that I would have a place to escape during the day. Christmas is going to be so boring."
"You could stay at Hogwarts?" suggested Astoria hopefully.
"Dad's already got everything planned out," mumbled Theo morosely. "If I change the arrangements now, it'll be an uproar."
"Well, tell him happy holidays for me," said Astoria. "At least you'll get a proper Christmas, you know. With family and all. It'll be just Daphne and I here and we don't even get to share a common room."
"Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle are staying too," Theo reminded her, smirking. "I'm sure they won't mind if you stay in the Slytherin dormitories with your sister over the holiday."
Astoria snorted. "Can you imagine?"
"I think Malfoy would quite like it, actually," said Theo, shooting Astoria a strange glance.
"Why's that?" Astoria asked, borrowing Theo's inkwell because her own was dry and clotting.
"Well, he certainly goes out of his way to hunt you down. I hardly ever have to talk to him when I'm not with you. You'd think sharing a common room would actually be a bit of a relief on his part."
"And you know how I live to make it easier for people to harass me!" added Astoria brightly. "It could be my Christmas gift. Two whole weeks of nothing but time to pick on me. He'd be hoarse in three days."
Theo shook his head and snickered. "Now that's what you get for the person who has everything."
"Money just can't buy a good pestering like it used to," Astoria sighed falsely.
Theo did not laugh but continued to stare at his textbook mutely, his shoulders rigid.
"What?" asked Astoria, looking around for the source of his discomfort only to find that the library was quite deserted. Astoria was about to turn back toward Theodore in concern when she spotted a long, dark braid behind the nearest bookshelf.
"Really, Theo!" Astoria huffed, putting her quill down the length of her book to mark her page. "This is getting ridiculous. Do you want me to talk to her?"
"Talk to who?" asked Theo irritably, still not looking up from his homework.
"Do you want me to say her name out loud?" asked Astoria threateningly.
"Whose name?" asked Theo stoutly, a faint crimson working its way up out of his robes.
"Pa—"
"Shut up!" Theo hissed.
Astoria grinned wickedly. "Why won't you just admit that you like her? That's the sort of thing friends talk about!"
"Girlfriends, maybe!" spat Theodore, loosening his tie a little. Emotions were not Theodore's forte and in the face of overwhelming ones he tended to grow angry and unsure of himself.
"It's natural, you know," said Astoria, trying to be reassuring but coming off rather patronizing for her efforts.
Padma pulled a book from the shelf and passed them both quietly on her way to Madam Pince, unaware of the intense scrutiny she was under.
"Very well then!" burst Theo tersely the moment she had gone. He threw his quill down and looked up at last. "If you insist, let's talk about it. Let's talk about feelings and be emotional together."
He pronounced the word 'emotional' so slowly and with such sarcasm that it came out sounding rather more like 'ee-mow-tional' and there was nothing Astoria could do to hide her amusement.
"Oh sure, laugh away!" said Theo, offended. "You're the one who keeps bringing it up!"
"Because every time she comes within twenty feet of us, you get all queer and freaky!" argued Astoria, employing great self-restraint to avoid laughing.
"That's the thing," said Theo tensely, "I don't even know if I really do like her! I don't know her at all!"
"Then talk to her!" Astoria moaned.
"What would I say?" asked Theo, his face betraying real confusion. "'I don't know you, but your presence makes me 'freaky and queer'?' People don't just go around admitting things like that!"
"How about, 'Geez, I see you studying in here all the time. What are you working on?'" suggested Astoria helpfully. "Don't you have any of the same classes together? Surely there's some assignment you two could work on."
"Ugh," spluttered Theo, looking as though the idea caused him physical pain.
"I could befriend her for you, if you like," said Astoria pensively, holding up a hand when Theo began to look alarmed. "I told you already, I knew her when I was younger. It wouldn't be very weird for me to ask her to help me with Charms or something. And then you can tag along and figure out if you have anything in common!"
"No," said Theo flatly. "I don't care if you two used to take baths together, I'm positive you'd end up leering at her like a vulture."
"Do I frequently leer at people like a vulture?" asked Astoria querulously.
Theo opened his mouth to retort when a shout overhead made them both fall silent.
"ATTACK! ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATAAAACK!"
"What the hell?" breathed Theo.
"Was that Peeves?" asked Astoria.
The sound of doors crashing open all along the hallway made them both rise to their feet. Forgetting their bags, both Theo and Astoria jogged out into the corridor. The majority of the sound seemed to be coming from upstairs, so they ran up the nearest flight of steps together, darting glances at one another until they ran into Ernie Macmillan, who seemed to be doing them same thing that they were.
Students were spilling out of classrooms and obstructing the view, but there could be no denying the ghastly sight before them. Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff that had nearly been bitten by Draco's charmed snake the night before, was lying on the ground petrified. Floating in the air horizontally, newly dark and most chilling of all, was Nearly Headless Nick.
Professor Mcgonagall raised her wand and a sonorous bang echoed off the stone walls. "Back to class!" she commanded furiously. "All of you!"
It was only then that Astoria spotted Harry with his back against the wall, looking both frightened and cornered.
Theo was tugging on the back of Astoria's robes like a small toddler so Astoria stumbled toward the stairs after him.
"I knew it!" Theodore hissed the second they were around the corner. "There's been another attack and Potter was caught at the scene of the crime!"
"Theo," said Astoria slowly, measuring her words carefully as they reentered the library because she very much wanted him to understand the matter as she did, "use your formidable deductive reasoning for a second. Nothing about what we just saw proves that Harry had anything to do with the attack. Being in the hallway doesn't mean anything. We were in the hallway too."
"Because Peeves started yelling," said Theodore reasonably.
"Still," said Astoria. "I know Harry a little. He seems like a nice guy. He's loyal to his friends." Astoria stressed this last point carefully. "His blood traitorous, muggle-born friends."
"Fine!" said Theodore, looking harassed. "I might not be Potter, but personally, I really hope it is."
"Why?" gaped Astoria, who could not think of a more disappointing or shocking candidate.
"You should hear the way everybody goes on about the Heir in my common room," complained Theodore darkly. "He's like a hero down there. I'd just love to see the look on Malfoy's face if it turned out to be Potter all along."
"Well, I wouldn't," said Astoria flatly, her insides strangely dull with the ache of unhappiness this would cause her. Wasn't the world a better place with a least one sodding hero in it?
"I guess we'll find out tonight at dinner," said Theo, missing the quivering look on her face. "We'll know by then if Dumbledore had to expel him."
In the end, Harry reappeared for the last class of the day looking ashen faced and shaky but determinedly not expelled. Astoria rejoiced at the sight of him, seeing it as a victory against Theodore's theory.
Fred and George did nothing to assuage the blossoming general opinion of Harry's guilt, however. They both turned up as the bell rang to escort Harry to dinner, frog marching him through the halls and shouting: "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin! Nasty Wizard coming through!"
Harry took it in stride and while he did not laugh, he did seem relived that the twins were not taking the idea of his attacking students very seriously.
"Not so close now!" Fred warned a group of third year Hufflepuffs who had strayed too near. "His monster bites!"
Most of the Gryffindors seemed to find this new act vaguely amusing but Astoria, who spent more time among the other houses, could tell that they were the minority. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables both eyed Harry darkly all through dinner and the Slytherin table had the audacity to actually declare itself nearly annoyed.
Malfoy in particular looked as though he had swallowed a lemon. When Fred and George got up to follow Harry toward the tower and demanded, "Should Harry pop off to the Chamber for a word with his servant? Team huddle!" Astoria very distinctly heard Draco whisper loudly to Blaise in return, "Did he just say Team Muggle?"
0o0
The term ended as the blizzard blew itself out. The grounds were buried a foot deep in untouched snow. With the exception of the deep tracks that led to the horseless carriages that had been used to convey homebound students toward the train station platform, the sloping lawn remained pristine and glistening.
Astoria rose around noon and found that the common room had been transformed overnight. Great wreaths of sparkling holly adorned the doorways and stockings had been hung above the hearth. Someone, (most likely a house elf) had even painstakingly sewn the remaining student's names onto these stockings, so that it was rather like they had been bequeathed clubhouse all their own.
The Weasleys, Harry and Hermione were the only other students in Astoria's house who had stayed behind, and they were all sprawled about in armchairs or on the rug in front of the fire in varying states of relaxation playing exploding snap when she descended from her dormitory.
"Astoria!" called George merrily from an armchair, putting down what looked like a pair of knitting needles. In his lap sat a half finished sewing project that she could only assume was destined to become a muff. "You're up!"
"I am," said Astoria, staring at the muff suspiciously. "What is that?"
"A sweater!" said George proudly, pushing the pale pink blob off his lap and kicking it out of sight under the chair. "A Weasley sweater to be exact. NOT that it's meant for your prying eyes."
"At least, not until it's finished," Fred amended mischievously.
"Why's that?" asked Astoria thickly. She stared in horror as his meaning dawned on her. "You don't mean I'll have to wear that?"
"Of course you will! Mum makes us all one every year, only I forgot to write her and mention that you'd be staying with us," explained Fred apologetically. "We don't want to bother her now."
"But never fear," pressed George, trying to ram the spool of yarn down between the cushions so that Astoria wouldn't be able to see it, "Fred and I have taken on the job of knitting you up a nice Weasley sweater so that you can match the rest of us!"
"Well, semi-match," amended Fred, tossing a pillow over the hastily stowed yarn. "We can't guarantee that you'll have armholes."
"Or even proper sleeves for that matter," added George.
"It looks like a bloody pot holder!" declared Fred miserably. "Who knew how hard sewing was? To think, mum makes seven of these every year! Eight last year, if you include Harry's! The woman needs a hobby."
"She has a hobby," insisted George unctuously. "She knits, you nit."
Astoria smiled politely and slipped toward the portrait hole, trying not to think about the horrible pink monstrosity destined for her back on Christmas morning.
Even though it was nearly lunch, the Great Hall still smelled like bacon and coffee and the lingering scent of so many morning meals was enough to make her mouth water. Astoria's primary goal, however, was to find Daphne and she was not disappointed. Daphne was sitting in the middle of the Slytherin table writing a letter but she was not alone; Tracey Davis was sitting with her as well.
Astoria had quite taken for granted the fact that she and Daphne would be alone together for Christmas. So much so, that she had never stopped to consider if any of Daphne's Slytherin friends might be staying as well. Astoria could not prevent herself from being disappointed. It had been a very long time since she and Daphne had been able to be properly alone with each other and she could not help but view Tracey as an invasion.
"Hey," said Astoria awkwardly, sitting down and pulling a carafe of coffee across the table towards her.
"Hi!" Daphne beamed, forgetting about her letter and Astoria felt some of her fear subside. "Happy holidays! Tracey and I were just writing a letter to Pansy, telling her all about break."
Astoria sipped her lukewarm coffee, and tried not to pull a face. "Term only ended last night. Isn't that a little..."
"Premature?" prompted Tracey Davis sarcastically, eyeing Daphne with kind but slightly harassed eyes.
"Prompt!" Daphne corrected. "She told us to write straight away and let her know who is staying! This way she'll get the letter when she arrives home."
Astoria didn't know which was worse: the act of feeling obligated to write to Pansy as fast as humanly possible or the fact that Daphne seemed to think this was a pleasure instead of a chore.
"I'm sure Pansy will have plenty to do when she gets home," reasoned Tracey. "I say we table the letter until tomorrow and go outside and have fun."
This was a more reasonable request than Astoria expected from any of Pansy's friends and she took a moment to study Tracey curiously.
Tracey's short, concise blonde bob ended at her angular chin in thin, sharply trimmed but wispy tips. It looked soft as a fresh paintbrush and if Astoria had been able to freeze the world for a second, she might have run her fingers through it just to know what it felt like. Tracey's face, however, was not very feminine, Astoria decided, but there was something interestingly androgynous about the shape of it. Altogether, she reminded Astoria of a milky-pale boy that had not yet reached manhood, marked here and there across her cheeks by freckles.
"But I've already started," complained Daphne, pen poised obediently in her hand.
"So have the holidays," returned Tracey in a bored voice. "Not that anyone would know it."
Astoria could not help but feel that Tracey had a point. They were the only ones sitting in the otherwise deserted hall which still bore the evidence of the hundreds of people who had eaten heartily there hours before. Even the staff table was uncharacteristically empty, save for a few bottles and a forgotten fur cap.
"Where are the teachers?" asked Astoria lightly, trying not to look at the length of the letter Daphne was composing.
"Either at the train supervising or else sleeping in for the first time in weeks," suggested Tracey confidently. "Must be a relief for them not to have to worry about students getting picked off. There's only about twenty of us left and you'd have to be really stupid to stay if you weren't at least a half blood." Tracey ran her fingers through her thin hair, trying to force volume into its limp form and then pointed toward the staff table. "What do you think was in those bottles?"
Astoria's gaze worked across the green, wine shaped glass the teachers had opened that morning and grinned. "I don't know. Bet it wasn't pumpkin juice."
"Oh, don't!" whined Daphne as Tracey stood up, revealing herself to be surprisingly tall and almost painfully thin. "They'll all be back soon!"
"We'll hear them coming," said Tracey, dismissing the warning. "This hall is like an echo chamber."
Astoria sat back in her chair, both impressed and surprised. Tracey turned one of the bottles about leisurely, betraying no skittishness as she read the label.
"Madam Rosmerta's mulled mead!" she called to them, smiling in a self satisfied way. "I guess it's a good thing those carriages drive themselves. What's this?" Tracey's inquisitive fingers had a brown manilla folder.
Astoria pushed out of her seat and went to join Tracey. It occurred to her that she had never been behind the staff table before and the moment she found herself on the other side, the act began to strike her as a more rebellious than it had appeared from below. "
There's got to be ten bottles here," said Astoria, counting. "What's in the folder?"
"Hah," said Tracey, lifting a bottle up to the light. "Cheers! They missed one, look this hasn't even been opened."
Astoria's hand had stopped to hover over the manilla folder. Who knew what secrets it might contain? All of a sudden, she was fighting a mad, irresistible urge to grab the folder and run.
"Don't you even think about it, Astoria!" Daphne cautioned from below, punctuating a sentence tensely, wise to what was going on in her sister's head.
Astoria looked toward Tracey, prepared to judge from her new friend's facial expression how likely it was that she would tattle if Astoria made off with the folder. Tracey was already looking at Astoria in precisely the same manner regarding the bottle of mead that she had discovered.
Astoria raised an eyebrow and that was all the courage Tracey needed to tuck the bottle down the front of her sweater, where it bulged like a poorly concealed, wine-shaped secret.
The sound of the front door opening rattled through the hall.
Tracey was off the stage in the blink of an eye and after a split second's hesitation, Astoria snagged up the folder and followed.
"Why did you do that?" Daphne rattled. "You'll get caught! Why do you do these things, Astoria? It's annoying!"
Filch and Professor Flitwick entered the hall. Astoria sat on the folder she had just taken and spread out her skirt to cover it.
"This one here," Filch growled, pointing to a puddle beneath one of the enchanted Christmas trees. "The magical snow keeps melting."
Astoria grinned sheepishly but Tracey did not look at all embarrassed about her own bit of thievery.
"The second those two turn around," Tracey whispered, "let's make a break for the door and head outside. Put that letter away, Daphne!"
Daphne made a face of discomfort tinged with anger. It was clear that she would prefer to remain exactly where she was until she had finished writing and that she had no desire to take stolen goods into the snow.
"Come on," Astoria pleaded. "It'll be fun!"
It was Daphne's last chance. Flitwick had bent down to reach the floor and Filch was peering over his small shoulder, waiting tensely to see the offending mess be removed. There would be no better opportunity for running. Tracey was already on her feet.
With a twinge of regret, Astoria twitched the folder out from underneath her own weight. Holding it close to her chest, Astoria ran as fast as she dared down the length of the table behind Tracey, who was snorting with laughter. They burst into the entrance hall and Tracey's sniggering suddenly turned into a sound of alarm as they nearly ran headlong into Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.
The mead bottle in Tracey's sweater slipped so far down that, for a moment, Astoria was certain it would shatter on the stone floor, but Tracey somehow managed to catch hold of it and duck under Crabbe's arm. Astoria was not so agile and she shoulder checked Malfoy and Goyle. Malfoy stumbled but Goyle remained unmoved; a mountain in a high wind.
"What are you doing?" jeered Malfoy, taking in both of their delighted faces with a look of surprise.
"Nothing," shot Tracey suspiciously, forcing what was clearly the bottom of a bottle back up into her sweater.
A sudden sound near the doorway caused them both to freeze all over again. Someone was whistling 'Jingle Bells" and approaching rapidly from the other side.
"It's Sprout!" Tracey hissed urgently. Hide that folder, Astoria! You don't know who it belonged to!"
But Astoria had nowhere to hide the folder. Her shirt was tucked in and she didn't even have so much as a hat to take off in order to cover it.
"Take this," whispered Astoria pleadingly, pressing the folder at Draco. "You've got a cloak on!"
"What are you talking about? What is this?" Draco sneered, slightly flabbergasted and unwilling to take on smuggled contraband of mysterious origins.
"Just take it!"
The whistling drew nearer. In a panic, Astoria grabbed Malfoy by the front of his robes and forced him backward against the wall. Draco made a stunned, nasal sound as she pushed him into the stone. Taking advantage of his pink faced shock, Astoria began to forcibly undo and stuff the folder into his cloak herself.
Draco wriggled and tried to grab her arm, but either because he was afraid to let her continue rummaging about in his clothing or because he was afraid of letting Professor Sprout walk in them while she was doing so, he relented just in time for Astoria to turn around and block the half-concealed folder from view.
"Happy Christmas, Professor Sprout!" Astoria called out merrily, nudging the folder further into Draco's robes with her hand because she could still see it, causing Malfoy to jump about a foot in the process. Crabbe stared at her ponderously.
Tracey had one arm across her chest and had turned her back to the door so that she could pretend to look at a suit of armor in a crown of golden spruce. Astoria could tell by the way her shoulders were moving that she was laughing silently.
"Merry Christmas, dear!" said Professor Sprout, waving a cheery hand at them. The moment she had gone through, Tracey doubled over and this time the bottle nearly dropped out the neck of her shirt instead.
"Come on!" Tracey dove for Astoria and grabbed her. Draco sill had the mysterious folder, however, so Astoria took hold of a nudging handful of his winter cloak and all three of them spilled out the front door into the snow together. After a second's pause, Crabbe and Goyle lumbered after them into the blinding whiteness.
Tracey was positively cackling with glee. "I said stash the folder," she panted at last, "not molest Malfoy!"
Malfoy scowled, confused and perhaps a little resentful of being pushed around without an explanation.
"What am I holding?" he asked in annoyance, withdrawing the folder. He was still faintly pink and there was something about his expression that spoke of wishing to save face.
"Look at this, it's Madam Rosmerta's stock," said Tracey Davis, handing her stolen bottle to Draco. He turned the faded label upward. A light snow was still falling. "It came from the teachers table about fifteen seconds before Filch walked in."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "This stuff is famous, isn't it?" he asked, balancing the bottle slightly as though testing its weight.
Astoria shrugged and turned toward Tracey, who seemed to know more than she did.
"Rosmerta only sells those in small batches," said Tracey knowledgeably. "I figure Hagrid and old Kettleburn must have got them to celebrate the start of the holidays."
"Isn't that just the Hogwart's staff to be drinking at breakfast," drawled Malfoy.
Tracey reached for the bottle in Malfoy's hand but he tugged it away from her somewhat maliciously.
"I should claim a smuggler's fee," he sneered. "You're lucky I didn't just sell you both out to Sprout."
Astoria, not wanting to be caught in the middle of a Slytherin bickering match, agreed before Tracey could try to strike a harder bargain. "We'll all try it. We owe it to Draco for making it out of the castle and look," she said, taking the mead out of Malfoy's hand, surprised when he let it go, "it's stronger than butterbeer. If you drank all this yourself, you'd end up trying to make out with Filch, Tracey."
Tracey made a sound halfway between a scream of contempt and a laugh.
"Yeah, Davis?" asked Astoria, grinning impishly. "That would just make your holidays, wouldn't it?"
Crabbe and Goyle were both lifting their feet and kicking snow like restless horses.
"What 'bout the Great Hall?" asked Crabbe, who did not seem to have any interest in the wonderland that was the frosted Hogwarts grounds.
"You two go," said Draco, waving them off without any interest.
Crabbe shrugged, but in the end, he didn't seem to care either way.
The path Astoria wanted to take led down toward the outskirts of the forbidden forest. She did not plan to penetrate deeply into its mysterious depths, but she did have a notion that it would be very pretty under the branches and that the snow might be lighter on the ground. With that reasoning in mind, they set off along the deep track that the rest of the students had used that morning, slipping and sliding where the snow had become compact and slick.
Malfoy stopped when the easy path ended, allowing Tracey to be the first to test the new ice. Astoria followed, running and then gliding across a frozen puddle, grabbing Tracey laughingly by the shoulders to stop herself from falling headlong into a bank of snow.
As they reached the trees, Astoria's laughter began to sound oddly muffled and close to her own ears. The heavy evergreen branches overhead sagged with snow and here and there, small saplings bent low to the ground, weeping icicles. Her breath rose in front of her like smoke from a cheerful fire, fading to nothing with each exhale. Tracey's eyes, which Astoria had just begun to think of as permanently serious and skeptical, were now wide with delight.
Astoria handed the mead back over to Malfoy and took the folder from him. Draco began to pull the foil off the top of the bottle, which was sealed with a cork and capped with wax. "I don't suppose either of you thought to bring a corkscrew?" he asked.
"This is why girls are handier than boys," said Tracey in a sing-song voice. She pulled out her wand and tapped the glistening wax cap. "Waddiwasi!"
The cork shot out and bounced off of a nearby tree trunk with a dull thwack, causing several inches of snow to rain down between the branches.
"A little warning might have been nice," said Malfoy snidely, eyeing the site of the sudden avalanche nervously.
"Snow never hurt anyone," said Tracey, unperturbed. "This mead tastes like chutney."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" asked Astoria, accepting the bottle and sniffing it. At first swallow it reminded Astoria little of spiced honey and she could sort of see what Tracey had meant by chutney, but a second sip proved that the mead was both seasonal and pleasant. Astoria passed it off to Draco and flicked snow off of the mysterious folder.
"So whats your deal, Davis?" Astoria asked, flipping the folder open. "Why aren't you at home for break?"
Tracey shrugged and sat down on a stump. "My grandmother is in St. Mungo's and my mother is staying in London with her 'till she recovers. I guess she thought Roger and I would have a better Christmas here."
"Roger Davis is your brother, then?" asked Astoria, prickling with interest. "Isn't he the captain of the Ravenclaw quidditch team?"
"Thinking of bribing him too, are you?" shot Malfoy, picking up on her enthusiasm and shooting her a sharp, knowing look.
"Wait, what?" asked Tracey, glancing between Draco and Astoria, aware that she had missed something.
"Nothing," said Astoria at once. "Malfoy's being weird."
Draco narrowed his eyes over the bottle of mead, but he did not go on to mention Marcus Flint's gambling commission.
"Roger's happy to stay, I think," Tracey went on. "He's got his O.W.L's this year, so it's a good chance for him to study. He's a Ravenclaw and they take that sort of thing too seriously for their own good."
"Must be hard juggling team captaincy and trying to bone up for the exams at the same time," remarked Astoria sympathetically, earning another reproving look from Malfoy.
"I guess," scoffed Tracey, who Astoria could tell was beginning to find the topic of her brother slightly boring. "The way things are going though, they'll have to close the school before he even gets a chance to take the test."
Malfoy scoffed. "They won't close the school. They'll just sack Dumbledore. Hogwarts is better off, I say. It's about time that we had a decent headmaster who won't let idiots like that Creevey in."
Astoria was busy reading the papers in front of her. It was a transcript of the minutes from the last meeting of the School Governors. While much of it was official and boring, certain snippets on the pages stood out to Astoria. Amelia Bones had suggested closing the school over break and hiring a team of Magical Experts to sweep the school from top to bottom...
"Is it true that Potter's a parselmouth?" asked Tracey curiously, paying no mind to Malfoy, whose opinion she had probably heard opined many times before in the Slytherin common room.
"Everyone seems to think so," remarked Astoria, liking this topic far less. "Weren't you at the dueling club?"
"Yes," said Tracey, "but as you're actually in Gryffindor, I thought you must know."
"I don't know any better than you do," said Astoria honestly. "It sounded real enough, though. I've never heard anyone make noises that way before."
"Neither have I," Tracey admitted, "but I'm not convinced Potter was actually sicking the snake on what's-his-face."
"Finch-Fletchley," supplied Astoria.
"Stupid name, that," said Tracey. "It almost looked like Potter was shaking his head, didn't it?"
"I've been thinking," said Astoria slowly, turning her attention away from the folder at last. "Isn't it possible that the real Heir attacked Justin because he wanted to make it look like Harry did it? You know, as a diversion and Justin was conveniently muggle-born enough?"
Malfoy's eyes were focused on Astoria watchfully. "Saint Potter, the Mudblood protector?" he sneered. "Why even bother? No one actually think's he's responsible."
"That's the thing, though," said Tracey, giving Astoria's words some consideration, "I think a lot of people do."
"If Potter turns out to be the Heir of Slytherin, I'll snap my own wand in half," Malfoy vowed fiercely.
The sound of crunching snow nearby made them all pause. Tracey looked up from her stump and peered over her shoulder nervously. The grounds had appeared quite deserted on their way down, but they were still in possession of a bottle of mead and a folder of secret information and that merited alertness in Astoria's book.
The crunching sound grew sharper. Astoria crouched down next to Tracey; it almost sounded as though the sound was coming from within the forest. Draco, perhaps remembering their last encounter with strange noises in the woods, went pale and ducked.
But it was only Hagrid, snapping through branches and swinging his his arms heavily. Or was it only Hagrid? Astoria looked closer, distracted by the trail of feathers he was leaving in his wake. Sure enough, in the place where Hagrid's arm should have been met by a glove, a very red and ruddy set of fingers was clutching a limp, dead rooster.
Three sets of eyes followed Hagrid as he passed some twenty feet away, heading in the direction of his cabin. Astoria could not tear her gaze away from the dead rooster, which was leaving a trail of fresh blood in the snow.
"What was he holding?" Tracey whispered, "It looked like it was dripping..."
"It was a dead bird," sneered Malfoy, his distaste tempered by his confusion.
"It was a dead rooster," Astoria corrected quietly, her eyes still fixed on the crimson dots in the snow. After a long beat, both Tracey and Draco seemed to catch the difference.
"I thought the Heir of Slytherin killed all the roosters when he opened the Chamber of Secrets?" Tracey hissed. "Isn't that what he wrote on the wall with? Rooster blood?"
Even Draco looked disconcerted by this coincidence. "Let's get out of here," he muttered. "We should go sit near the owlery or something. This forest is mental."
0o0
The image of Hagrid and the limp, dead rooster clung to Astoria for the next few days like a bad memory, corrupting the seasonally idyllic image that the teacher's table would have otherwise cut.
Perhaps to make up for the horrors of the past semester, or perhaps because they were simply in desperate need of something to celebrate, the Hogwarts staff was determined to turn down and enjoy the holiday. Hagrid went on doing what he had always done, trudging about the grounds and joking merrily (tipsily?) with Professor Sprout at dinner. Still, Astoria could not shake the feeling that she had witnessed something incriminating and she found herself toying with the idea of telling someone about it.
"I saw Hagrid in the forest the other day," she informed Fred and George in the common room several nights later. Fred and George were engaged in a game of chess and as the presence of knitting apparatus was miraculously absent, Astoria was content to sleepily watch them play.
"Oh yeah?" asked George, encouraging his bishop towards Fred's rook. "He probably doesn't get any time off from his job when the students leave, does he? Hagrid must stay fairly busy all through break."
"I guess," said Astoria tensely. "It looked like he has a dead bird in his hands when I saw him, you know…"
Astoria stopped herself short of saying 'rooster', afraid that it would sound as though she was purposefully trying to come across as incriminating.
Fred frowned as George's bishop cruelly bludgeoned one of his pieces.
"Yeah, I saw him in the hallway the day before break started and he was swinging a dead bird around there, too," remarked Fred distractedly. "He must be having trouble with a fox or something. It's a pity he can't just put a charm on the chicken coop. Maybe George and I will have to go down and offer him a hand with some enchantments before term starts again."
"Yeah," said Astoria, feeling a little better at this suggestion. "You should do that. I'm sure he'd appreciate it. He'd never think to ask."
Perhaps it was possible that a fox had killed the bird Hagrid was carrying? That would certainly explain why he had looked so angry...
"Didn't Harry run into Hagrid down Knockturn Alley this summer?" asked George, eyes on the board.
"Yeah, he was looking for flesh-eating slug repellant," agreed Fred "I reckon the man really could use a few handy charms."
"Harry saw Hagrid down Knockturn Alley?" asked Astoria, her spirits plummeting again.
"Yeah," said George. "Remember when we lost Harry and we were looking for him? Well, it turns out Harry came out of Borgin and Burke's floo. Hagrid ended up having to rescue him from a creepy old witch."
"You don't think that's kind of suspicious?" asked Astoria tensely.
"What?" asked Fred, scowling as George's bishop took yet another of his pieces. "The dirty old witch? It's a bit dodgy I guess..."
"No," said Astoria emphatically, "Hagrid being down Knockturn Alley!"
"I dunno," murmured George reasonably. "How many places sell flesh-eating pesticides? Seems logical enough. Come to think of it though, didn't Harry say he saw the Malfoys when he was down there?"
"Yeah!" said Fred, snapping his fingers in recollection. "Lucius was trying to offload a box of Dark Arts stuff on Borgin! Dad thought it must be because of the ministry raids. Talk about suspicious! Someone should be keeping an eye on his kid. What do you reckon that little twerp, Draco is behind the attacks?"
He turned toward Astoria, who shrugged.
In truth, she was reasonably sure that Draco didn't know anything more about who had opened the Chamber of Secrets than she did, but she also could sort of see why the twins would be so quick to suspect him. Draco certainly made no effort to disguise his glee about the whole affair, strutting down corridors with as much haughty swagger as he always had. To avoid an argument, however, Astoria simply sat back in her seat and watched as Fred's last pawn was thrown bodily from the chessboard. Her creeping suspicions about Hagrid sharpened into a sense of alarm.
There was one upshot to her afternoon in the woods. Tracey Davis seemed have found the whole experience to be somewhat bonding and was now actively going out of her way to talk to Astoria. More curiously, perhaps because they had broken the ice by mutually stealing, Tracey seemed determined to go about it by pretending that she and Astoria had always gotten along famously.
"What do you think about Blaise?" Tracey asked the next afternoon.
They were sitting on a set of student couches on the third floor because Astoria could not go to the Slytherin common room to spend time with Daphne. It had been as much of a surprise to Astoria as it had been to her sister when Tracey had caught up with them in the hallway after breakfast and threaded her hands through both their arms, determined to tag along.
"I don't know," said Astoria. "I don't think about him much. He's funny I suppose, in that cruel, observant sort of way."
"He is, isn't he? I think he's rather good looking," Tracey admitted boldly. "Too good looking for me, maybe. His mother is supposed to be famous for her looks."
"Definitely too good looking for you," Astoria agreed, smirking. Daphne made a sound of protest on behalf of her friend so Astoria elaborated. "I think Blaise spends more time grooming than the three of us put together."
Tracey laughed buoyantly. Boys seemed to be a favorite topic of hers despite the way she claimed to disdain them, so she moved on at a rapid pace, tossing out names in a disposable, half invested manner. "What about Miles Bletchley? He likes to talk about you."
"He's a thug," scoffed Astoria thoughtlessly, opening a bag of pistachios that Beatrice had sent Daphne as an early Christmas gift.
"Yes, and he's too ugly for you. You're gorgeous," Tracey paused only to take a handful of nuts from Astoria. "What about you and Theo? He's kind of funny looking, but you two have always seemed awfully close. Does he secretly love you? I bet he does."
Astoria snorted and spit out a shell. "Nah, it's not like that. We're just friends. He fancies some Ravenclaw."
"Oh?" cooed Tracey, her interest suddenly razor sharp. "Which Ravenclaw?"
"I don't know," Astoria lied loyally. "It's just a feeling I've gotten from time to time."
"Well, I don't know about you, but I think Theo would make an awkward boyfriend anyway so maybe it's better that he isn't interested."
This was perhaps true, but Astoria didn't quite have the heart to come right out and say so.
"Do you know Blaise well, then?" Astoria asked, trying to flip around the spotlight. "I mean, do you talk to him a lot?"
"No," Tracey admitted. "I'm always with Pansy and she loves to make an awkward, obvious mess out of things."
Astoria grinned a little at this abuse of Pansy and used her teeth to work open another pistachio. "You ought to get him alone. I think your sense of humor would appeal to him."
"I suppose I can be a bit cutting, as well," said Tracey fairly. "But I'm too thin and I'm bitter. He's probably looking for someone gorgeous and stupid."
"He's stupid then!" said Astoria heartily, refusing to take the conversation especially seriously.
"He probably is," Tracey agreed, smiling wickedly. "My mother always said that women would be better off if we could just date each other. Maybe I'll give being a lesbian a try."
Daphne choked on her pistachio but Astoria laughed loudly as she thumped her sister on the back. "You and Pansy should make a go of it. The whole school would be in an uproar!"
"Pansy's mad about Draco, though," sighed Tracey, perhaps a little too exactly. "I don't think I have the charm to talk her into batting for the other team as long as he's single. You should hear the way she talks about Malfoy's family! You'd think he was a descendant of Merlin himself! I bet she knows his family silver pattern by heart."
Astoria snorted with laughter, not doubting this in the least.
"We should get together and pull off a coup," declared Tracey, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "Astoria, you move in and seduce Draco. Then, when Pansy is moaning about the school all brokenhearted and ready to give up men altogether, I'll make my move."
Daphne had gone slightly splotchy. "That's not funny, Tracey! Pansy is your friend and besides, you wouldn't really trick someone into becoming a lesbian!"
Tracey shrugged rather dispassionately. "I might."
Astoria continued to chuckle to herself, licking salt off of her lips. Tracey peered watchfully.
"You laugh," leered Tracey seriously, "but I think that would work. That's why Pansy hates you so much, you know."
"Because she knows I'm part of a secret plot to turn her into a lesbian?" asked Astoria scornfully.
"Because Malfoy's obsessed with you," snorted Tracey plainly. "He may strut around sneering and talking down to you, but it's no coincidence that he's always showing up wherever you are. If Pansy were really smart, she'd probably just make friends with you, because you don't seem to be interested in him that way."
Astoria snorted at this madness and was surprised to find that Daphne had turned to look at her with similar curiosity coiling beneath her dark eyelashes.
"Come on!" exclaimed Astoria, dismissing the notion as madness. After all, Tracey had thought that Theo was in love as well and this clearly marked her as a poor judge of interest.
"I dunno," said Tracey slyly. "I think if you were to change your tune and be nice to Draco for a change, he'd start singing a whole different song for you."
"What!" Astoria cried, clapping her hands over her ears in mock horror. "Daphne, make her stop!"
"I don't know," said Daphne thoughtfully. "He sort of does watch you a lot, Astoria. But I guess that could just be because he thinks you're the most likely to do something embarrassing."
Astoria laughed throatily, feeling this was a far more likely theory.
"Ok, fine. Not Draco," amended Tracey, smirking to herself. "Who do you fancy then?"
"I don't like anybody in particular," said Astoria, beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by the interest. "Why do you care so much?"
"Because your sister is painfully shy and I'm an angry feminist," said Tracey flatly. "Pansy's obsession gets dull after a while. You're annoyingly good looking and social, so I figure as far as romance goes, you're the best bet around here."
"Sorry to disappoint you," returned Astoria lazily.
"I heard Cormac MacLaggen invited you to his Christmas party," continued Tracey provokingly. "He's rather good looking. Not quite as rich as Draco, but I'm sure his family silver still has a lovely pattern."
"Probably a honey badger wearing tartan," guessed Astoria with a short laugh.
"Cormac asked you out?" asked Daphne slowly. "You never mentioned that!"
"Because he did it in a creepy, rude way right before break," said Astoria. "Has he been telling everyone?"
"No," said Tracey, grinning, "but I heard Draco making fun of the whole thing the other day so I figured it must be true. He seemed to have a lot of details to play with."
Tracey made the same motion with her hand as Cormac had done when he had told Astoria that he would keep her on the guest list.
Astoria rolled her eyes but Daphne put a hand to her mouth, insulted.
"Ew!" Daphne exclaimed. "Did he actually point at you like that?"
"Of course he did," joined a snide, drawling voice and they all looked up to find that Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had paused in passing down the hallway. "MacLaggen may have clout but he's entirely classless."
Tracey turned to Astoria and raised a meaningful eyebrow but Astoria pointedly ignored her, mentally grateful that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had not showed up a moment sooner and heard any more of their conversation.
"Say, Malfoy, what's your family silver pattern?" asked Tracey in an innocent voice.
Astoria shot Tracey an annoyed look of warning but Tracey didn't seem to care.
"My silver pattern?" repeated Malfoy dubiously, his eyes narrowing.
"Yeah," Tracey went on in a high, false falsetto. "See, I'm trying to dredge up a date for Astoria and she seems to think Cormac's silver is beneath her. What did you say you thought it would be, Astoria? A honey badger wearing tartan?"
It struck Astoria that while Tracey could be genuinely funny, there was something unreliable and treacherous about how she chose to express that trait.
Draco had the good grace to look vaguely self-conscious.
"You're trolling for boyfriends based on silver patterns now, are you?" Draco asked, sneering unconvincingly. "I suppose that eliminates Gryffindors in general, being a matter of taste."
"Oh, no," said Astoria hotly. "Tracey's only helping me because she has nothing better to do with her time now that she's decided to give up on boys and become a lesbian."
Tracey shifted uncomfortably. Apparently she did not like the shame shoe half as much when it was on the other foot.
"MacLaggen's family crest is a bear, anyway," sneered Malfoy, somehow overlooking this comment about Tracey's lesbianism,
"Bears in tartan, then," amended Astoria pertly, grinning again despite herself.
"Have you really gone gay?" continued Malfoy insolently, switching his gaze to Tracey.
"Of course she has," announced Astoria, grinning even more widely, "and if someone doesn't swoop in with a proper set of family flatware soon, I'm liable to join her."
"Astoria!" whined Daphne exasperatedly, trying very hard not to smile.
Tracey cackled madly, her head lolling back against the sofa in delight.
"Save us, Malfoy!" Astoria pleaded gravely. "Please save us from a life of lesbianism, we're begging you!"
Malfoy blushed and eyed her the same way that he might eye a raving lunatic, shocked past the point of his usual ability to employ sarcasm. Tracey rolled forward off the couch, snorting unattractively.
"Yes!" Tracey gasped. "Quickly! Describe your family silver to us in great detail! It's the only way!"
Malfoy made a face. "Did you two polish off a second bottle of mead for breakfast?"
"We should have done," misted Tracey longingly, heaving a great breath of air and pulling herself back up to sitting position. "I might have managed to get a better confession out of Astoria that way. As it stands, I've only managed to make her admit that Blaise is rather good looking but apparently he grooms himself too much for her."
Malfoy shot Astoria a hasty, compulsive look and scowled.
"I'm just saying," said Astoria, "there's no way that he doesn't spends ages on himself."
"You would know, Malfoy!" cried Tracey hastily. "You share a dorm with him! How long does it take him to get ready in the morning?"
"More or less than forty-five minutes?" asked Astoria.
"I don't know," said Draco, annoyed. "I've got better things to do than watch Zabini do his hair in the morning." He glanced sideways at Astoria again. "I suppose you prefer Nott's way, then? The way he wears the same tie for a week? Or is he too groomed for you as well?"
"Poor Theo," Astoria sighed, shaking her head softly. "He's so messy. Some grooming is necessary, but I think I'm too vain to ever date anyone prettier than me and Blaise definitely is. "
"Well, there's no danger of that with Nott," continued Malfoy cruelly.
Tracey cracked up again. "Lord, can you imagine if Astoria and Zabini ever had children?"
"Not really," shot Malfoy snappishly.
"They'd have dark, beautiful, murderous little babies," Tracey insisted.
Astoria actually covered her laughing face to conceal her horror at the very idea.
"If you two are just going to sit around plotting your future children with Zabini, I'll leave you to it," said Malfoy shortly, clearly not enjoying the conversation half as much as they were.
"Who do you suppose is the best looking boy in the school, Astoria?" asked Tracey, glancing at Malfoy shiftily as though she was almost keen to egg him on.
Malfoy paused, torn between annoyance and curiosity.
"I don't know," snorted Astoria, not quite liking the look on Tracey's face, which was full of purposeful manipulation.
"Yes but if you had to pick," said Tracey commandingly.
"Diggory maybe?" admitted Astoria noncommittally.
"Talk about honey badgers in tartan!" sneered Malfoy nastily, his scowl deepening.
"Yeah," agreed Astoria, keen to keep Draco from becoming somehow offended. "Cedric's always running about grinning at everybody like a model schoolboy. He's probably really stupid."
"He is gorgeous though," Tracey sighed.
"He's not that good looking," argued Malfoy, prickling, unable to resist having a go at Hufflepuff's resident pretty boy. "He's an awful seeker."
"You know who you should date, Astoria?" exclaimed Tracey, clearly eager to push Malfoy as far as she possibly could. "You should date Harry Potter. He's famous and you're already in Gryffindor, so it wouldn't exactly be a whole step down for you."
Malfoy looked as though he had been pinched hard and his entire face twisted. "Forget this," he sneered. "Come on Crabbe," he pushed his friend roughly, "we're out of here."
Tracey watched Draco go with a cruel smirk.
"What was that about?" asked Astoria, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the way the conversation had just ended.
"Nothing," said Tracey, smirking to herself privately. "You really should date Harry, though. It would be such a laugh and I think in the end, Malfoy would have to murder you both."
0o0
Poor Draco. I really do abuse him so, but I'm afraid in this case, it was sort of necessary in order to properly introduce Tracey. I know the last two chapters have had a touch of filler going for them, but I needed to add Cormac and Tracey Davis before the third year and now seemed like as good a time as any.
In any case, I'll get the chapter with Christmas day actually in it up before the weekend is out.
Also, for the sake of political correctness (in case I have left any doubt) I certainly mean no offense to lesbians anywhere nor do I wish to suggest that there is anything wrong with identifying this way. My intent was for Tracey and Astoria's conversation to be read as immature, not intolerant.
As always, feel free to drop me a line and tell me what you think! Reviews are incredibly motivating and I love to hear your ideas!