Chapter Seventeen
Slytherin Triumphant
0o0
The weather the next day started off flat and grey and progressed toward stormy and unpleasant as the morning faded into late afternoon. Within Hogwarts' walls, the school was abuzz with gossip worthy of the tempest.
"It's a weird thing, isn't it?" asked George, pulling Astoria's hood up over her head and arranging it carefully about her ears. "Sirius Black trying to break in on a holiday?"
"I don't know if it's that weird," muttered Astoria, staring into fabric. George had pulled her hood so low over her face that it obscured her vision. "He's a felon on the run. How would he be keeping track of the date?"
"Still!" objected Fred. Unable to see, Astoria inclined her head toward the bookshelf he was leaning against to listen. "Isn't it a bit weird that he managed to break in on the same day as a Hogsmeade visit? What if he disguised himself as a student?"
Astoria's thoughts flashed back to the cloaked stranger's letter. Thankfully, she had erred on the side of caution and left the note in Hogsmeade.
That was nothing. Just a dodgy pub crawler...
"Now hold still," George commanded, fidgeting with the invisibility button near Astoria's sleeve. The fabric in front of her eyes suddenly shifted and the wool became as translucent as a layer of fluffy cobweb.
"How's your visibility?" asked Fred, pen poised over his notebook. "Should we tamper with the hood some more?"
"I can see you," Astoria decided, squinting. "Well, I guess you're a little misty, actually..."
"Misty visibility," muttered Fred under his breath, making a note on the page. "You mean I look blurry?"
"Yeah," confirmed Astoria, "but visible. It's like I'm staring at you through bath steam."
"Alright," continued George, eyeing the spot where Astoria had vanished intently. "Move about a bit."
Astoria twirled and Fred clucked his tongue.
"There," muttered George, bending low toward his brother, "see! I told you. There are ripples..."
"I'm visible?" Astoria asked, feeling more than a little foolish.
"No," called George reassuringly. "Well, not really. We can't see you at all when you're still."
"The air goes thick when she moves, though," grumbled Fred, making another amendment to his notes.
"Like heat ripples in the summer," explained George. "When you can almost see the air glistening?"
"I imagine that wouldn't be a problem in the dark," Astoria ventured.
"Try moving really slowly, Astoria," instructed Fred. His tone was all business.
Astoria crept mime-ishly across the library carpet on tiptoe.
"Are you moving?" asked Fred.
"Yeah," returned Astoria just behind Fred's shoulder, causing him to jump.
"Well, that's good at least!" whistled George brightly. "We'll just have to tell people we don't recommend, er...
"Moving quickly?" supplied Fred, annoyed.
"Hah!" chuckled George slyly. "That's what Angelina said this morning!"
To Astoria's surprise, Fred suddenly seemed rather flustered.
"What did Angelina say?" asked Astoria, now feeling invisible and left-out.
"Nothing," shot Fred with an air of stout indifference.
"Fred asked Angelina out at breakfast," explained George mischievously, unwilling to let Fred off the hook. "She said no."
"What? Why?" asked Astoria.
"Well, she didn't actually say no," Fred interjected defensively.
"She told him he was moving too fast for her," amended George, heaving a false romantic sigh.
"Asking her out was too fast for her?" puzzled Astoria. "What did she expect you to do first?"
"Really," agreed George, "she was bang out of order. Poor Frederick."
"It's not like that!" snapped Fred, exasperated. "She fancies that Hufflepuff seeker."
"Little tramp," added George lightly.
"Who is the Hufflepuff seeker?" asked Astoria, groping for her invisible sleeve. She fumbled with it until the cloak flickered back into the visible spectrum again. She pulled down the hood curiously.
"Cedric Diggory," puffed Fred, turning up his nose.
"Ah," breathed Astoria, working hard to control her facial expression. "Well, she's mad to fancy him, of course. He's positively hideous."
George met Astoria gaze, eyes twinkling.
"Oh, very funny!" sneered Fred, but the idea of accusing Cedric Diggory of ugliness was enough to make him smile.
"No one in the whole school is as handsome as our Fred!" declared George, clapping his brother on the back.
"An unbiassed opinion, that," muttered Fred.
"But a true one," Astoria insisted, smirking.
"What are you wearing?" interrupted a drawling voice.
Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had been shuffling past the nearest bookcase, but all three of them stopped at the gap between the shelves to gape. "Is that a circus tent?"
"Who's that?" asked Fred, peering about in his chair.
"Oh, I see," Draco's pale eyes snapped onto Fred and George, where they narrowed disapprovingly. "You're wearing Weasley's mum's dress."
Fred snapped to his feet.
Malfoy's derisive laughter flickered. Crabbe and Goyle were big, but Fred and George were older. Perhaps he did not like his own odds because Draco quickly elbowed Goyle forward, encouraging him to keep moving down the hallway.
"Speaking of bad taste," muttered Fred once they were gone. He glanced shiftily at Astoria.
"What does that mean?" asked Astoria tightly, prepared to be offended.
"It means that that Malfoy boy is only in second year and he's already a genuine prat," scoffed Fred. "Worse than that, I can't say that I like the way he looks at you."
"Which is how?" demanded Astoria blandly. "Like a loser in a bad cloak?"
"Dunno," rejoined George, scratching his chin, "but I agree with Fred. It's weird that he's always hanging around and insulting you. Comes across a bit obsessive. That wasn't exactly the first time that he's popped his head in to have a word."
"Yeah. Notice how he stormed off sneering the minute he spotted us?" frowned Fred.
"So what?" Astoria shrugged, becoming slightly uncomfortable.
"You don't want friends like him, Astoria," warned Fred grimly. "No matter how rich he is. It's not worth losing your dignity over."
"Excuse me?" gaped Astoria, not sure whether she was tempted to be more angry or shocked by the implication that she tolerated Malfoy more or less for his money.
"No use being all high and mighty about it," continued Fred, eyeing her carefully. "I'd just hate to see you fall in with a bad crowd. We hear stuff about old Draco, you know. Crummy stuff."
"Not just from Gryffindors, either. So don't call us biased," added George smartly.
"Well, thank you for the sage advice, friends," snapped Astoria, but her anger was short-lived. A goofy kind of grin was taking hold of her mouth. She realized that a part of her was expecting the twins to laugh and confess that they were her joking.
"Are you seriously warning me not to fawn over Malfoy?" Astoria breathed. "Can you even be saying that right now?"
"Dunno," muttered George, beginning to look slightly embarrassed.
"I am," pressed Fred stoutly. "Seems reasonable enough, too, what with all the drinking by the river together and fainting on him you seem to be doing."
"I couldn't help the fainting!" insisted Astoria, starting to feel very misunderstood.
"Look, I'm not trying to insult you," said Fred cautiously, backpedaling. "I'm just trying to pass along some solid, brotherly advice."
"I'll try to remember that," snapped Astoria tartly. "Should come in handy if I'm ever possessed by a mad desire to get at Draco's bank account by letting him touch my body behind a rock wall or whatever it is that you're implying."
Astoria was almost relived when Fred began to laugh. George mimed vomiting into her schoolbag.
"I probably wouldn't have taken it that far," smirked Fred. "I'm only saying that it doesn't do to be overly impressed by rich, arrogant assholes."
"Well, I'm not," clucked Astoria serenely, shrugging out of the invisibility cloak and folding it. "I'm not Pansy Parkinson."
"Who's Pansy?" asked George, his face still red from laughing.
"A third year Slytherin girl who would do anything—maybe even murder her own mother—just to get Malfoy to ask her out on a date," answered Astoria, smiling savagely at this rare opportunity to brutalize the kidnapper of her sister without the fear of retribution.
"Sounds like you're better off without her, too," snickered George. "If she would murder her own mother, she'd have no problem smothering a peer."
"Eh," shrugged Astoria, passing the cloak back to Fred. "She only has to wait a few more years. Malfoy doesn't really like her, but I'm sure he'll ask her out eventually. He'll need someone to excessively fawn over him at dinner parties."
"Have you opened the betting pool on the match this weekend yet?" asked Fred, switching subjects deftly.
"No," admitted Astoria, adjusting her school robes. "I'm waiting until Friday."
"The match is on Saturday," scoffed Fred. "Isn't that a little last minute?"
Astoria hesitated. In all truthfulness, she still wasn't convinced that Slytherin was going to play in the match on Saturday. The way that Malfoy was milking his injured arm so excessively made her nervous. The fact that his antics always seemed to make Flint smirk didn't help. Neither did the rain outside, which showed no signs of stopping. No, at this point, it seemed more than likely that Slytherin would back out rather than compete.
Fred and George insisted that waiting would bring down profits, but on Friday morning, Astoria's wariness paid off.
"Of course, we can't be expected to play!" drawled Flint over the roaring howl of wind and rain at breakfast. "Not while our Seeker's arm is still injured. It wouldn't be fair."
Astoria paused on her way down the table toward Theodore to listen.
"Especially when you consider how Draco was injured," continued Flint, smirking like the cat who got the cream.
"Backed out of the match, have you?" asked Astoria nosily. Turning away from Theodore, she slid her body in between Miles Bletchley and Marcus, effectively cutting off their conversation.
"It's a pity, isn't it?" returned Flint pleasantly, gesturing toward the rain-dark ceiling with one of his hands. "Who doesn't love to fly in a thunderstorm?"
In response, a great thunderclap rattled the eaves of the enchanted ceiling; the pumpkin juice in Miles' goblet rippled with the force of it.
"Ah!" sighed Marcus grandiosely. "If only Malfoy's arm was feeling a bit better!"
Across the table, Montague snickered.
"Who is Gryffindor playing now?" asked Astoria, imitating Flint's tone of false lightness.
"Oh, that's right!" leered Flint, smacking himself on the forehead. "You've got a little interest in the outcome of the match yourself, don't you?"
"Something like that," returned Astoria, smiling tightly.
"I really don't know who's playing," whistled Flint, miming innocence. "I suppose it could be anyone..."
"Didn't you just say it's going to be Hufflepuff?" grunted Miles stupidly, turning his confused gaze on Flint.
One of Flint's eyelids fluttered, stupefied by the amount of time he spent in the company of idiots.
"Hufflepuff, eh?" clipped Astoria. This tracked with Fred and George's guess as well.
"Fifty-fifty chance," shrugged Flint stubbornly. "Of course, Gryffindor has been training to play against us. Who knows what kind of strategy the Hufflepuffs will be using..."
"You just said that they have a strong lineup," insisted Miles, parroting Flint's words back at him like a homework project. "You said Diggory's got them all playing defensively—"
Flint reached sideways and struck Miles square in the chest without ever taking his eyes off Astoria.
Ignoring Miles' grunt of pain, Astoria turned to scan the Hufflepuff table for Cedric Diggory: he was jostling about and playing cards with his mates, exuding his usual, golden-haired glory.
"Holding back on me, are you?" asked Astoria distractedly, watching as Cedric got up and left the hall.
"No hard feelings, right?" smirked Flint. "Tell you what, you can put me down for five galleons on a Hufflepuff victory. I'm feeling lucky."
"Ill do that," murmured Astoria, her eyes lingering on Cedric's vacated seat. "It won't be such a joke when you you have to pay up. Excuse me."
Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot were still playing cards between two bowls of porridge when she came up behind them. Cedric's defeated hand lay abandoned beside a plate.
"Hi, Ernie!" called Astoria, enthusiastically interrupting them.
Ernie looked up. He was plainly so Astoria standing in front of him that, for just a second, his expression was nearly insulting.
"Astoria!" he offered brightly, recovering. Ernie pushed the pile of cards aside to make room. "We were just talking about the break-in last night! Dreadful, isn't it? How do you reckon Black got in?"
"I have got a theory!" declared Hannah Abbot. "Suppose Black transfigured himself into shrub or some other plant? No one would be looking for that—"
"And is it true that you found the portrait Black had slashed?" demanded Ernie.
"Think about it though—" persisted Hannah, "—a shrub!"
"Yeah, very dreadful," agreed Astoria vaguely. Then, unable to think of a single intelligent way to comment on the theory that Sirius Black's could transform into a perennial, she lowered her voice. "Listen, do you think you could do me a favor?"
"Sure," Ernie shrugged, looking more and more perplexed.
"Good," breathed Astoria brightly. "What class does Cedric have first period?"
"Oh," intoned Ernie and his expression darkened. "Of course. You're looking for Ced..."
"Yeah, that's right," agreed Astoria. "I was hoping for a word with him alone."
"Who isn't?" jeered Ernie, deflating. It did not take a paranoid disposition to imagine that he sounded a little disdainful. "You and half the year..."
"Cut it out, Ernie," hissed Hannah, elbowing her friend in the ribs.
"He's got Muggle Studies first period," admitted Ernie reluctantly, "but if you're looking to ask him to Hogsmeade, I'll level with you—I think he already fancies Ravenclaw's chaser."
"I'm not trying to ask him out," corrected Astoria defensively, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks.
Ernie arched a painfully skeptical eyebrow.
"I've just heard that you lot are playing the game against Gryffindor tomorrow," explained Astoria through gritted teeth. "I'm taking bets. I wanted to know what Cedric thought about his odds."
"Oh, that's right," murmured Ernie, recognition slowly lifting his features out of shadow. "You and the Weasley twins organize a pool on the games sometimes, don't you?"
"Mhhm," confirmed Astoria, thoroughly annoyed.
"Well, that's brilliant!" He tilted his jaunty chin upward, friendly once more. "You made me nervous for a second—I'm telling you, the number of weirdos who come around asking about Ced. He's too good looking for his own skin. He's self conscious, you know?"
Hannah leaned across the table. "He's very shy. People never think so because he's so handsome, but he is."
"Muggle Studies?" Astoria repeated. "What floor is that on?"
"The sixth," clarified Ernie. "Hey, listen, mind if I put a few sickles on the match?"
0o0
Astoria's Ancient Runes class was always dreadful but the promise of hunting down Cedric between periods held her through like a talisman. Her books and ink were already in her bag—when the bell rang, she pulled the strap over her shoulder and prepared to jog.
She had never been inside the Muggle Studies classroom before and she only had the foggiest idea of where it was located, but she knew that the entrance was on the same floor. Surely that was enough to get by on?
Zipping through the doorway at mach speed, she turned left and proceeded down a stretch hallway that she had never explored before. Passing a dozen sixth year Hufflepuffs at a clip, Astoria sped up until she found herself at the bottom of a tall circular staircase.
She jogged the steps two at a time, leaning on the old wooden banister for a support. Dazzling branches of lightning flared through long, slanting windows as she turned round and round. Finally, after a side-splitting sprint, the staircase ended in a circular stone lobby. A few feet away, a classroom door had been left ajar. Astoria crept forward to peer through the crack: Cedric Diggory was still inside, talking to a very tall and very thin woman with wildly curling hair.
Clutching at a stitch in her side, Astoria retreated to a set of nearby benches and waited awkwardly. Several minutes passed. She began to work on a believable excuse as to why she was waiting around a classroom for a subject that she did not take. Then she consulted her watch, mentally calculating how much time she had left before she was expected in Arithmany...
"I'll be sure to look it up!" called Cedric and, with a lurch, Astoria realized that his voice sounded much nearer.
The door sprang open.
"Hello," said Cedric pleasantly, spotting her. "Sorry, were you going in?"
He hesitated, trying to catch the door before it slammed shut.
"Yes," Astoria lied smoothly. "I just wanted to ask Professor—er, the professor something before my next class. Only I've run out of time."
"That'll be my fault," admitted Cedric sheepishly. "I shouldn't have kept Professor Burbage so long."
Professor Burbage, thought Astoria, making a note to remember this detail.
"It's no problem," breathed Astoria, turning to follow him back down the twisting stairs. A beautiful, trusting fool, she thought guiltily, not at all surprised when he slowed his pace so that she could fall into step with his longer strides.
"Are you ready for the surprise quidditch match tomorrow?" she asked.
"You've heard about that?" jolted Cedric. "Word sure does travel fast around here, doesn't it?"
"Like lightning," agreed Astoria cheerfully. "Still, you must be excited. It's your first match as captain, isn't it?"
"Yeah," admitted Cedric, struck by this comment. "I guess it is."
Astoria waited for more, but no overt boasting about the prowess of his line up seemed to be forthcoming. She rapped her fist against the banister and plowed ahead boldly.
"You know," she began, watching his face carefully, "Fred, George and I have opened a betting pool on the game."
"That's fun," remarked Cedric. "I think I bet on a game last year, actually."
"You did," agreed Astoria blindly, hoping to set the right mood. Whether he had actually wagered anything she did not know: it was a detail she would never be able to remember without the help of her ledger.
"Wait," murmured Cedric, suddenly embarrassed. "Are you asking if I want to bet? Because I don't think I can if I'm playing..."
"Of course not!" said Astoria quickly, cutting him off. "Fred and George don't bet either. I keep everything a secret until after the match. I was sort of hoping that you might help me out a bit, though."
"What do you mean?" asked Cedric.
"What do you think Hufflepuff's chances are?" asked Astoria. Perhaps, by being very forward, she would avoid appearing as conniving as she felt?
"Er," said Cedric awkwardly, rubbing his neck. "I mean, Gryffindor has a solid team this year..."
"I know," admitted Astoria, trying very hard not to sound sharp, "but does Hufflepuff?"
Cedric let out a worried cluck. He cast his eyes around the hallway to check if anyone was listening; their walking had slowed. Astoria held her breath. For all of Flint's many faults, he had always let her bribe him. What she wouldn't give for another crooked captain!
"Well," Cedric admitted in a low voice, "I think it's the best team Hufflepuff has had in years. Then again, Gryffindor's had the advantage of training longer—I didn't think we'd play for another month."
"True," agreed Astoria, thinking it was very like Cedric to compliment another team while she was giving him an opportunity to blatantly brag about his own. "Only they've been practicing to play against Slytherin. That's got to be an advantage for you."
Cedric raised both of his shoulders and she understood that this was his way way of graciously admitting that she had a point.
"Do you think you can win?" asked Astoria.
They had almost reached the lower hallway. She needed to turn and make a run for the seventh floor the minute they reached the corridor if she wanted to avoid being tardy...
"Maybe," Cedric nodded. "Honestly, I think it will be a pretty even match."
Astoria smiled and on the landing they separated.
No one was waiting in the hall when she arrived for Arithmancy. A swift look at her watch confirmed that this was due to her profound lateness.
Astoria pushed the door open tentatively, eager to avoid drawing attention. To her surprise, Professor Vector had not yet arrived. Elated by her luck, she stowed her bag under the table and slid in next to Theodore.
Theo glanced at the clock on the wall behind the professor's desk and raised an eyebrow. Feeling Draco's attention shift toward them, Astoria shook her head, willing Theodore to stay quiet.
"Psst!" called Ernie Macmillan, taking advantage of Vector's absence.
Astoria ignored him.
"Hey!" Ernie persisted, tossing a paperclip toward her. "Did you find him?"
Astoria nodded a quick affirmative and looked away.
"Did you find who?" demanded Malfoy nosily.
"No one," Astoria shrugged evasively.
She put her chin in her hand to wait, watching the storm brew outside the windows. It was none of Draco's business, anyway. His fake injury was the reason that she had been forced to hunt down Diggory in the first place...
Draco let out a belated scoff.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Theodore also huffed.
"Vector's late," he griped, stating the obvious.
A dull buzz of chatter was starting to break out at both tables. Professor Vector should have arrived thirty minutes previously—it did not seem likely that anyone would end up chastised for talking.
"You sure picked a good day to ignore the bell," continued Theodore wryly, shooting Astoria a look. "Vector is never tardy."
"God, this place can't have more than three competent staff members between the lot of them," drawled Malfoy, sounding very bored.
"I like Vector," admitted Astoria, surprising even herself. "I find him wise and occasionally charming."
Theodore caught her eye and snickered.
"Charming?" repeated Malfoy in sneering disbelief. The foot he was resting on his knee began to jiggle irritably. "He's got to be, what—sixty?"
A paper airplane soared through the air and struck Theodore between the eyes. Light chatter was degrading into controlled chaos. Vector was no longer tardy—he was forty minutes late. In all likelihood, he had either forgotten about them entirely or else been prevented from coming to class at all.
"Oy, Astoria!" called Ernie eagerly, still not entirely satisfied with Astoria's subtle nod.
Seeing no other way, Astoria finally looked at him.
"What?" she hissed waspishly, hoping he would take the hint.
"You found Ced alright, then?" he insisted thickly.
"Yes," intoned Astoria swiftly, mentally berating Ernie for his obtuseness. She was not entirely comfortable talking about the betting pool in front of Malfoy but even worse, she did not want Cedric to find out that she had hunted him down on purpose.
"Why were you looking for Diggory?" demanded Malfoy at once. His eyes narrowed malevolently; first in Ernie's direction and then Astoria's.
"It was convenient. I needed to go up to Muggle Studies to hand in a paper anyway," Astoria bluffed, speaking loudly enough for Ernie to hear.
"Muggle Studies?" sneered Draco scathingly. "You don't take— Ung!"
Astoria groped about under the table for something to pinch and found the inside of Draco's knee.
"Oh," frowned Ernie, thrown by the way Draco had suddenly shot out of his skin. "Well, that's good. Was he was helpful?"
Malfoy jerked his leg away from Astoria's fingers. He smashed the table with his kneecap and swore loudly.
"Language, Malfoy!" snapped Professor Vector, surprising them all by striding purposefully through the doors. He looked very harassed. "Five points from Slytherin. Let that be a warning to the rest of you."
Malfoy shot Astoria a look of pure resentment and Astoria smirked at him triumphantly.
"I apologize for my lateness," continued Professor Vector tiredly, hefting his briefcase up onto his desk. "Especially because I must leave you to your own devices again very shortly. A member of staff was taken ill last night and I'm afraid the matter requires my full attention."
Theodore shot Astoria a significant look. She could read every question in his expression: Why would another teacher's illness require Professor Vector to miss a class? Why couldn't Madam Pomfrey take care of it herself?
"Pass these along, please," ordered Professor Vector, handing Anthony Goldstein a pile of worksheets. "I want every question completed and waiting on my desk before you depart for lunch. I think you'll find that they are quite demanding, so no more chit-chat."
Theodore waited for Vector to quit the room before leaning in toward her. "Which teacher do you think is ill?"
"Dunno," Astoria whispered back. "Lupin maybe? He's been looking pretty under the weather lately."
"Who cares?" sneered Draco vengefully, still rubbing his knee. "Lupin's about as robust as a disgraced house elf. I hope they quarantine him. He's probably contagious."
"Yeah," agreed Theo dryly. "The last thing you need is another visit to the hospital wing, isn't it Malfoy?"
"I suppose you'll go after class to claim your leg is broken?" added Astoria smartly.
A sulky blush worked its way out of Draco's collar. He flipped open his worksheet.
"Think what you want, Greengrass, but at least I don't have to play quidditch in this hurricane tomorrow..."
Draco picked up his quill but made no move to start on his Arithmancy exercises. A look of recognition slowly passed over his face.
"Oh, I see," he drawled softly. "Is that why you were creeping about looking for Diggory? Slytherin postponing ruined your little betting scheme?"
"Well," said Astoria, dropping her voice an octave, "something like that Draco. Only I knew Flint was going to pull a move once this rain started, so I didn't take any bets until today. Which means that nothing is ruined."
"You pretended to take Muggle Studies just to talk to Cedric Diggory?" snorted Theodore. "You're a proper psycho."
"Oh, as if I was the first person to do it!" scoffed Astoria offhandedly. "The poor, gorgeous idiot. At least my reasons were wholesome."
"You were trying to trick him into helping you make money off of people by participating in a scheme that is against school rules," Theodore reminded her pointedly. Plainly he took umbrage with Astoria's personal definition of 'wholesome'.
"Yes, but it's not as though I was keen to molest him. You should have heard Ernie earlier!" insisted Astoria. She attempted a gruff voice: "What do you want with our Ced?"
Theo laughed but Malfoy's foot was jiggling irritably again.
"Maybe he just thought you looked a bit piqued?" suggested Theodore.
"Or maybe he thought you looked like a desperate stalker," sneered Malfoy nastily. "But I suppose that's worth a couple of Galleons to you, is it?"
"No one thought that," muttered Astoria crossly, trying to remain dignified. "It sure was awkward when I realized that I had no idea what the professor for Muggle Studies' name was, though."
Theodore tilted his head back and laughed out loud at this absurdity.
"It's Burbage, by the way," smirked Astoria, "in case you ever need to pretend that you know her."
"Fat chance of that," spat Malfoy with more than his usual amount of venom.
"I think Padma takes Muggle Studies," continued Astoria nonchalantly.
Theodore stopped laughing at once, putting a thorough end to all conversation.
0o0
The sound of violent rain slamming against the windows woke Astoria at dawn the next morning. For a long while she continued to lay still in the dark, listening to the storm gust. A roar of wind competed with the applause of quivering trees; it was a wonder that she had ever managed to fall asleep at all. But it was Saturday and, rain or shine, the first quidditch match of the season would commence before noon.
A list of bets was tucked into the front pocket of Astoria's bag on the ground. Having taken these bets last minute, she thought they had done rather well. Of course, this was partially because of Fred and George's ingenuity:
"You think the game is too close to call, then?" Fred had demanded over lunch. "Why don't you take a few bets on something other than the winner?"
"Like what? The weather, or..."
"How about we ask people to bet what color robes Dumbledore will show up in?" George suggested quickly. "Charge everyone five sickles apiece. There's about a thousand colors Dumbledore could wear, right? So most people will get it wrong..."
Astoria heaved herself out of bed and began to search for her warmest sweater.
0o0
Between the pounding of the rain and the level of excitement in the hall, breakfast was a loud affair.
"You really won't come?" Astoria demanded, slamming her coffee mug down onto the tabletop. "Theo, please! You can help me keep track of the bets like last time! You liked doing it, remember?"
"No way," sneered Theodore. "It's disgusting outside—it's practically a hurricane. I'm staying here. If you were smart, you would too."
"I can't stay here!" Astoria hissed. "I have to keep track of the books! Damn it, Theo!"
"Sit with someone else!" suggested Theodore, looking very unmoved. "Beg your sister. Or tag along behind Malfoy. I'm sure he'd have you as long as you pretended to bump into him by accident—"
"That doesn't even make sense!" Astoria snapped, feeling the sting of his swift allusion to Daphne.
"No, it doesn't, does it?" shrugged Theodore indifferently, glancing up at the rain slashed ceiling.
Astoria tried everything she could think of, but in the end, it was no use. She had seen Theodore put his foot down before: when he was decided, he was as stubborn as an ox and no amount of pleading would move him. So, at half past eleven, Astoria made her way down to the pitch by herself.
The weather was just as bad as expected: her boots squished through the mud noisily, her raincoat poked the underside of her chin. Water trickled into her eyes. Astoria found herself at the entrance to the stadium, uncertain and half blind behind her hood. Despite the deluge, the stands were packed.
She spotted Draco nearby. Sandwiched between Crabbe and Goyle underneath a giant umbrella, he was eating an orange and laughing nastily at students without proper weather gear. Immediately dismissing Theodore's notion that she should sit with him, Astoria continued to survey the crowd.
The only empty seat left that wouldn't require her to slosh up the rain-slick steps was next to Tracey Davis. Surprised to find her alone, Astoria moved forward and seized this small mercy.
"Hi!" Astoria addressed her brightly, but the ring of desperation in her tone was cringe-worth.
"Hello?" returned Tracey distractedly, carefully watching the collecting crowd behind Astoria.
"Are you saving that seat?" asked Astoria. Perhaps Pansy, Daphne and Flora were already on their way?
Tracey shrugged carelessly. "Sit, if you want."
Astoria sunk down onto the bench. Feeling a strange tension radiating from Tracey, she pulled her hood down again. The storm was falling so heavily that she could barely make out the players when they trudged out onto the field. Her sweaty fingers scrabbled at the notebook in her pocket, afraid to withdraw it and ruin every page.
"Where's Pansy?" asked Astoria. Her gaze was fixed on Madam Hooch; she was preparing to blow her whistle.
"Who cares?" snapped Tracey.
Astoria's eyes twitched askance to peer at Tracey's wet, dark face.
"You two had a fight?" guessed Astoria, taking care not to sound overly interested.
"We've had about a dozen," scoffed Tracey hotly. "Slytherin's full of catty little bitches. Pansy's no different."
The players kicked off the ground and rose into the air. Astoria shifted guiltily in her seat. She knew that she ought to be paying better attention to the game, but she couldn't help but be distracted by the strange font of secret information sitting next to her.
"Is she very controlling?" wondered Astoria, curling her sweaty fist into a ball in her pocket. The day was wet, but almost tropically warm and she was starting to perspire. "Pansy, that is?"
"Not really," shrugged Tracey. "Well, a little I suppose. But she's too stupid to be properly controlling. Attention to nuance and what not, right?"
Astoria bit her lip, trying not to cringe.
"Oh," said Tracey suddenly. "You're wondering what happened with your sister, aren't you? I honestly have no idea. Bottom line, I think Pansy just hates you and Daphne really wanted to fit in."
Astoria swallowed hard. A part of her already knew that Daphne's choice to stop stalking to her had been her own, but it hurt to hear somebody else say so out-loud.
"So," continued Astoria swiftly, eager to change the subject, all too aware of the shameful inflammation in her cheeks. "Why have you been exiled?"
"What are you talking about?" demanded Tracey tensely.
"Why are you sitting alone?" Astoria scoffed.
"Oh," grunted Tracey, twitching her rain coat irritably. "That. It's stupid."
"I'm sure it is," admitted Astoria, privately smirking.
"It started with a quiz," murmured Tracey wryly. "Some Witch Weekly nonsense, you know? Pansy wanted us all to take it, but I had homework."
Tracey paused to empty water out of her sleeve.
"This morning, when I woke up, she had made everybody matching headbands for the game," she continued. "Only Pansy had conveniently forgotten to make one for me. They all left breakfast early, so I figured I'd just sit somewhere else until the cattiness blows over. The lot of them can match together, for all I care..."
Astoria snorted, sorely tempted to laugh. It was the stupidest story she had ever heard, but she was a bit afraid of offending Tracey by belittling it.
"It could be worse," ventured Astoria lightheartedly, unbuttoning her coat. Better to be drenched than to swelter...
"Yeah," agreed Tracey, laughing freely. "I could be wearing a matching headband."
Astoria cackled appreciatively.
It was almost a wonder that Tracey was friends with Flora and Pansy at all. She certainly seemed to be cut from a different cloth. Astoria's thoughts flashed back to the time Tracey had stolen a bottle of wine in front of her. This did not strike her as the kind of behavior Pansy was very likely to find amusing.
Perhaps it had something to do with the unity? Slytherin was notoriously exclusive when it came to loyalty. Almost everyone Astoria knew from that house had a rather binary way of separating people into two groups; 'the ones who belonged' and 'the ones who didn't'. More often than not, this pecking order was decided at birth. Maybe Tracey did not feel as though she had much of a choice in picking her friends? Perhaps she thought that it was either the Slytherin girl pack or no one at all?
"Woah," Astoria gasped suddenly, scrabbling for the buttons on her coat.
A wave of deep and frightening cold had just swept over the crowd, stealing the breath right out of her chest.
The amused look on Tracey face quickly shifted toward one of pain. Astoria knew that she felt the change as well.
"What's happening?" asked Tracey, sounding panicky.
This was not a regular draft; this was a penetrating force—it was the chilly vacuum, devoid of all hope, that categorized the presence of Dementors.
Sure enough, the moment this thought crossed Astoria's mind, she began to spot them. Several figures in hoods were hovering close to the grassy lawn of the stadium; five dark forms—no, ten—closing in below the stands.
"Oh!" gasped Tracey, springing to her feet.
"Hold on!" commanded Astoria grimly, reaching out to grab Tracey's sleeve. Surely panic was the worst tact to take? Who knew what might happen to a person running away from the Azkaban guards? "You'll faint on the steps..."
It was the last thing she managed to say. Her voice was beginning to sound very far away. Astoria struggled for breath, suddenly desperate for air. The same feeling of sheer dread that she had experienced on the train was creeping back into her chest.
Nobody is coming to help you, she realized suddenly. The teachers are going to run away and leave you here. Because that is what people do.
Astoria thought of father, who had spent a life-time running away from responsibility. Then, she thought about the mother that she had never met.
You've never met your own mother.
Astoria staggered and the motion seemed to knock some sense into her. She looked about and was surprised to find that she was standing, clutching Tracy's arm with bone-tense fingers. Tracey was staring at her helplessly, silently pleading for help. She had the wildest, most terrified eyes Astoria had ever seen.
It's just a trick, Astoria thought desperately, squeezing her own eyes shut again. It's the Dementors, it's not real...
"Sit," Astoria insisted hollowly, pulling Tracey back down into her seat.
The world around them had fallen into chaos. People were reacting to the silent tempest of terror. Vivid movements drew her attention toward the field; someone had fallen onto the turf...
Without warning, a flash of white light suddenly filled the air and a spectral bird swept across the stadium like a mirage. The word came rushing back in a burst of warmth.
Astoria could feel the wet heat on cheeks again. She was shivering violently in her rubber raincoat. The Dementors had retreated. Meanwhile, on the quidditch field, Dumbledore standing with his wand held aloft.
That's where the bird came from, thought Astoria. One mystery solved. But who was sprawled out on the ground near Dumbledore's feet? Fred and George were there too, she realized. They were trying to rouse the fallen player...
"It's Potter," said Tracey roughly, reading Astoria's mind. "He fainted on the train, remember? He must have fallen off of his broom."
"What are they going to do if he can't play," muttered Astoria, clinging to facts. Anything to avoid thinking about how far Harry must have fallen.
"He doesn't need to," said Tracey, pointing toward Madam Hooch, "look."
Beside Madam Hooch, talking very quickly and making desperate motions, stood Cedric Diggory. He was gesticulating with one hand, but in the other he was holding a tiny, fluttering golden ball.
0o0
"We lost," moaned Dean Thomas dejectedly. Students were beginning to treck back through the mud toward the castle. "By a hundred points! It's not even fair! There was a bloody Dementor attack!"
"Ced caught the snitch, fair and square," argued Ernie Macmillan stoutly. "The Dementors were a bad touch, but Hufflepuff won the match!"
"Because our seeker fainted!" yelled Dean accusingly.
Astoria hung back, not wishing to move through their fight. Tracey was still lingering by her side, her breathing shallow and disordered.
"Do you have any Chocloate Frogs in your pockets?" Astoria asked her quietly, remembering the difference chocolate had made on the train.
"No..." heaved Tracey, green as a cucumber.
"Dumbledore says Harry is fine!" argued Ernie. "He charmed the ground before Harry fell! No harm, no foul!"
"Ugh," panted Tracey. "Those things make me feel sick. I think I'm gonna—"
"Deep breaths!" cried Astoria sharply, beginning to scan the crowd for assistance. "Here, sit on this rock wall."
Tracey did as Astoria suggested, desperate for any kind of relief. A humid ray of sunlight was poking timidly through the clouds above. Tracey tried to to take off her coat but she was shaking too violently to manage the sleeves.
"I'm going to go see if I can find a chocolate for you," decided Astoria. "You stay here."
Tracey raised a hand, but the motion was so lifeless that Astoria could not tell is she was waving her away or imploring her to stay.
Hopes secretly pinned on Professor Lupin, Astoria only walked a few feet before she spotted Theodore Nott instead. He was jumping up and down, trying to peer over the heads of several Ravenclaws.
"Oy!" Astoria hollered, causing Anthony Goldstein's head to snap to attention. "Not you," she corrected irritably, scooting past.
"I saw!" panted Theodore. "I was in the nook near the Divination tower and I saw them come swooping down toward the field."
Theodore was nearly as breathless as Tracey and very red from running.
Astoria hesitated: "Did you...rush down here to save me?"
"No!" exclaimed Theodore angrily. "Well, yeah, sort of! I remembered how sick the Dementors made you on the train. And I felt bad for telling you to sit with Malfoy..."
Astoria stared at him in disbelief. A small smile curled her lips. The Dementor fog was fading; she felt nothing but softness.
"Obviously it wasn't urgent," Theodore huffed. "You're clearly fine."
"I am you dear, sweet thing," said Astoria, fighting the urge to hug him. "But Tracey isn't. I think she might hurl on the rock wall. Come and help me find chocolate."
"I've got some," offered Theo quickly.
"Theo," began Astoria dubiously, "were you seriously sitting in the tower all alone eating bon-bons and watching the game anyway?"
Theodore stalwartly ignored this. Instead, he made long strides across the grass toward Tracey.
Tracey was busy spitting into the grass when they reached her. She grimaced and Astoria wondered if she was trying to dislodge something from the bottom of her stomach.
"Theodore's got chocolate," announced Astoria, falling into a crouch.
"Here," muttered Theo, pulling a half eaten candy from his robes pocket. He plucked bits of lint and stray tobacco away from the foil and tried to hand it to her.
"I am not eating that," refused Tracey flatly.
"It'll make you feel better," Astoria pleaded.
"Fine," Tracey moaned, seizing the chocolate. "Give it here. Ugh, do you ever wash your pockets?"
The first bite brought color back into Tracey's face. By the time she reached the tinfoil, she was licking the chocolate off of her fingers gratefully.
"That's magical," Tracey gasped. "I feel fine. It took me all night to get over the Dementors last time."
"Did you need any of that, Astoria?" asked Theodore accusingly, eyeing the wrapping of the chocolate bar on the ground where Tracey had dropped it.
"I'm alright," Astoria answered, surprised to find that she really was.
Unlike the Dementor experience on the train, this attack had not left Astoria feeling drained and dejected. Instead, she felt determined. Almost as though, by conquering her own fear, she had burned away its chilling hold over her.
Because Dumbledore had made the Dementors go away, she realized foolishly. Because her fear had not drowned her after all.
"Come on, let's get back to the castle," sniffed Theodore, offering a hand to Tracey. Feeling more like herself again, Tracey scoffed and bounced up from the rock-wall on her own steam.
They were halfway up the hill when a loud, slightly intoxicated voice made them all turn.
"Tracccceeeeeyyy!"
Astoria eyed the drenched green landscape, unable to spot the source of the commotion until a bush near the edge of the woods wobbled.
"Who is that?" asked Astoria.
"Flora," sighed Tracey, unable to conceal her annoyance.
"Come here!" squealed Flora.
"She sounds hammered," observed Theodore dubiously.
Astoria could see them now: a cluster of Slytherins standing beneath the cover of the trees. Astoria was certain, unless she was very much mistaken, that the boy nearest to them was Marcus Flint.
"Brilliant, look—she's with Greengrass!" announced the decidedly male timbre of Flint's voice.
Tracey sighed and started slowly off toward the trees. Theodore had already turned, recommencing his journey toward the castle.
After a brief moment's hesitation, Astoria decided to chase after Tracey.
"Wait!" called Theodore, taken by surprise, "where are you going? Marcus Flint just wolf whistled at you!"
"Yes," Astoria agreed, "he did." A strange determination was thudding through her veins; thick and stubborn. "But if Flora is down there, then so is my sister."
"Who cares?" demanded Theodore, breaking into a distressed jog.
"I'm sick of letting Pansy push her around!" hissed Astoria, proud of the fire in her tone. "If Daphne wants to ignore me, that's fine, but I'm not going down without a fight!"
"What?" spluttered Theodore.
"I'm done curtailing to Pansy!" Astoria snarled. "She can wreak all the chaos she wants with her headbands and her snide-asides, but she better prepare herself for a fight."
Tracey turned, allowing Astoria catch up with her. She'd obviously heard the tail end of this conversation too, because she raised an eyebrow, positively ecstatic. Whatever it was that Astoria was about to do, she was prepared to witness it.
Theodore moaned.
0o0
I'm sorry if this chapter feels a bit 'odds and ends'. It definitely serves as a bit of a spring board for the next chapter.
In any case, Marcus Flint was my spirit animal for this section. Something about his rude commitment to his cause and his status as 'the oldest male' on his athletic team really cracks me up. Expect to see more of Flint, because I secretly cherish the idea that the younger boys on his team might be forced to listen to his advice.