On Monday and Thursday evenings Bagsy was busy on the Quidditch pitch, trying her hardest to fly faster, increase her agility, improve her aim and sharpen her game sense, all whilst facing the impossible task of getting Emmeline and Greenda to get along. Only making it worse was her concern as to why she was unable to contact Bontie.
On Tuesday evenings, after Potions, she'd try her hardest to convince Professor Blythurst why she'd, once again, need to raid his potion store. She couldn't reveal that she was replenishing a store of phoenix quelling potion for two very demanding orders. Winifred and Robin needed to take at least a vial a day, it seemed, to truly supress their fiery healing.
After their first day back in classes Mr Mortem had shown up again. It was with a proud and satisfied look that Bagsy had watched Mr Mortem poke Winifred's finger. Her potion worked perfectly, and there wasn't even a smouldering in her palm. The same couldn't be said for Mr Mortem's furious face as he left.
On Wednesdays Bagsy worked on Mezrielda's project. Mezrielda had the smart idea of putting the patch of grass from outside in Bagsy's private room. After Bagsy had thoroughly cleaned it of all moisture and blocked her window they could be certain that any dew to form on the grass, as slow a process as it would be, would not have seen sunlight or touched human feet.
Bagsy had suggested they ask Teresa for help in getting the chrysalis of a death's-head moth. If anyone knew how to care for a death's-head hawk moth so that it would create the perfect chrysalis, it was Teresa. But Mezrielda had told Bagsy they absolutely weren't telling Teresa about the Animagus plot, before getting a scary scheming look on her face that Bagsy hadn't plucked up the courage to ask about.
The next week, after her Thaumathletics lesson, which took up Bagsy's Friday evenings, she would find out.
Maisy, Paloma, Fiona, Killian and Bagsy were all standing at the edge of the Thaumathletics track, breathing raggedly from the lesson's exercise. Much to Jon and Itsuki's disappointment, Professor Kim had kept them in their original groups, and they hadn't managed to hang out with Bagsy yet.
Bagsy didn't mind – she'd actually grown somewhat keen on her current group. Paloma was at least as unfit as Bagsy was, with Maisy not far behind, so Bagsy didn't feel too self-conscious and whilst Fiona may have shared a ginger hair colour with Teresa, she was not unsympathetic, and only called words of encouragement as she and Killian easily completed the climbing walls and monkey bars minutes before the rest of the group. Or, at least, she called encouragement to the rest of them. She and Killian were ruthless in their competitive chants against each other and were both miles better than the rest of them.
'How are you so good?' Paloma gasped out, holding her side against what looked like a painful stitch. Even after a lot of running Paloma still managed to look like a model. Bagsy couldn't help feeling a little jealous.
Fiona and Killian grinned at each other.
Killian explained, 'Since we were kids we've always been out and about exploring the country side. I can't count how many scars I have from falling from places I shouldn't have been trying to climb.'
'I don't have even half as many scars as him,' Fiona laughed, 'because I think my way around obstacles, rather than just throwing myself at them with reckless abandon.'
Killian jabbed her in the ribs. Fiona jabbed back at him. Killian tried to grab Fiona's bun and untie it in retaliation, to which Fiona ducked and, laughing, ran away from him. Killian gave chase.
'How do they still have energy?' Maisy huffed. She was laying on her back on the ground, sweat lining her forehead. Bagsy shrugged. She had no clue. 'I hear they're both muggle-born. Muggle-borns are more likely to be better at none magic stuff like running.'
'Is that true?' Paloma questioned, not sounding convinced. 'Isn't that sort of rude to muggle-borns, or non muggle-borns, or something?'
Maisy sat up, looking important and puffing out her chest, her exhaustion suddenly forgotten. 'Of course, it isn't. It's the truth. Muggle-borns don't know about magic before they're eleven, so they know how to get by without it. They're more likely to be better at non-magical things because they will have practised them more. Of course, every person is an individual so some muggle-borns will still suck at exercise, I just mean, in general, they might be better.'
'When you put it that way…' Paloma murmured, 'it does make some sense, but I don't know, I feel like anyone, no matter who they are, can be good at running and stuff if they practise enough.'
Maisy took about two seconds to think on what Paloma had said, before nodding. 'You know what, I agree with you. I take by what I said,' she decided. 'You're right, I was wrong.'
'If we all keep doing Kim's exercises every week it won't matter who's right,' Bagsy grumbled, sitting down in the grass, 'because we'll all die from over exertion.'
It was a strange feeling making other people laugh, but when Maisy and Paloma found her comment funny, Bagsy couldn't help a small smile and a chuckle, too.
After the lesson was finished, and Kim had assured them they'd get to the magic part of Thaumathletics after a few more lessons to develop they're physical skills, and after Bagsy had had a refreshing shower, she found herself staring at a moth with what looked like a human skull patterned onto its wings. A death's-head hawk moth.
'Neat, isn't it?' Teresa boasted, showing it off to the other girls in the Hufflepuff girls dormitory. Bagsy had only popped in on Paloma's request as she'd managed to convince Bagsy to spend an evening with the rest of the Hufflepuff girls, and was now wondering what strings Mezrielda had pulled to get this to work.
'What made you get it?' Bagsy found herself asking before she could stop herself. 'Sorry…' she added, out of habit.
'There was an article about them in the daily prophet. They were looking for people to take them in as they had so many – I just had to help out, of course.' Teresa placed the moth in its habitat proudly.
'Can I see the article?' Bagsy asked. 'Sorry,' she added again. 'I don't mean to be nosy…'
'Stop saying sorry,' Teresa grumbled, scrunching up her nose in distaste. 'It's annoying. Anyway, yeah, here's the article, have at it.'
Bagsy took the paper from Teresa and scanned the part about the moth. It fit perfectly with the rest of the paper, except it sounded incredibly posh, as if it was trying to use the longest possible words for every sentence. 'A challenge of great proportions the governance of care over such a creature truly is' was the nail in the coffin that Mezrielda slept in. Bagsy was certain her friend had written and planted this article. How, she didn't know, but some high level, complex magic was her best guess.
'Thanks,' Bagsy murmured, putting the paper on Teresa's bed and leaving the room quietly.
'Where's she going?' Bagsy heard Paloma, sounding disappointed, ask as she hurried off.
'Missing Hufflepuff,' Teresa reminded Paloma. 'Never expect Bagsy to stick around. She's too busy to make time for us.'
Bagsy ducked her head low as she rushed into her private room, ignoring the rest of the conversation. If the moth's chrysalis was to be ready soon, then the only thing left to obtain was a weather machine. Teresa was right – Bagsy didn't have time for them. She had something to invent.
She'd checked her own body weight in books out of the library on weather and ways magic had impacted it. She started with background reading on mystical rhymes, such as rain, rain, go away and their roots in wizardry. Soon, she was narrowing in on specific spells that controlled the weather or atmosphere, but there was very little on how a person could build items to control it.
Thankfully, Bagsy had more books that focussed on potions that she could turn to, and read up on recipes that promised to cool or warm the drinker, but nothing seemed to link with affecting the weather outside of a person. You couldn't get the sky itself to drink a 'cool down' or 'warm up' potion.
Bagsy felt she needed to keep reading and, as she had often found herself doing this year when too busy, drank exhaust-gone to read more instead of sleeping. She would faint for a minute, and then wake back up again, feeling as though she'd had twelve hours of sleep.
When, come morning, she still hadn't found any answers she resigned herself to a tireless weekend of research. When Sunday evening rolled around, Bagsy was sitting in the nook of the library, absent-mindedly stroking the leaves of the stampelia on the windowsill as she read about rain dances and snow summons, Bill stretched out sleepily on her lap.
'I thought I could find you here,' a voice broke Bagsy out of her concentration.
Bagsy looked up abruptly, letting out a small yelp of surprise. Arice's tan face looked pleasantly down at her, his green eyes seemed nervous, though. 'A-Arice!' Bagsy startled. 'Hi!'
Arice sat down next to her, running a hand over his buzz cut short blonde hair. 'Listen, Bagsy,' he murmured, sounding unsure. 'I wanted to ask you something…'
'Oh?' Bagsy responded, a feeling of unease surrounding her like the dark weather clouds she was trying to control. 'W-what is it?' She didn't really want to know.
'Are you going on the Hogsmeade trip?' Arice asked.
Bagsy blinked at him, not understanding for a moment or two. 'That's this year, isn't it?' she checked. Arice nodded. 'When's the first one?'
'This coming weekend,' Arice explained.
Bagsy blinked again. 'Oh.' The term had been passing quicker than she'd realised. 'Yes. I suppose I'm going.' Arice shifted in his seat a little. Bagsy looked at him dumbly. 'Why do you ask?'
'It's because,' Arice began, his words slow and awkward, 'I was wondering if maybe, possibly, you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me?'
Bagsy thought of that mouse again, the one Bontie had trapped in a trap all those years ago. She had seen it stuck below the metal bar, wriggling desperately to get away from its horrendous situation. As Bagsy sat stock still, not even blinking anymore, she found herself relating to the mouse yet again.
A sulky look was starting to form on Arice's face, his pleasant expression twisting into something annoyed. 'Can you say something?'
'I'll go with you,' Bagsy squeaked out, her eyes not looking at Arice, but passed him, as if there was nothing in front or around her to look at in the first place.
Arice beamed at her. 'Great. I'll see you next weekend, then,' he chimed before standing and walking away.
Bagsy didn't move, her back rigid and eyes wide. What had just happened?
Sleep evaded Bagsy that night, so she downed some exhaust-gone, allowing herself to momentarily faint on her bed, before reawakening minutes later with the energy of someone with twelve hours of sleep behind them. She pushed thoughts of Arice and the trip to Hogsmeade far from her mind. Instead, she focussed on her Charms essay, then filled in the ongoing results from her herbology project, then set her sights back onto creating a weather machine.
When she found more dead ends there, she set to mixing phoenix quelling potion. By morning, she'd filled eight vials – enough for four more days – and was out of ingredients.
That Monday evening, after Potions, Bagsy rushed to the potions store cupboard to gather what she needed. Her stomach lurched at the sight of the zout container. It was entirely empty of the viscous blue liquid. Bagsy realised that this was going to be a rather big problem.
'I guess they will have to leave Hogwarts, after all,' Mezrielda mused, not sounding the slightest bit bothered when Bagsy told her the dilemma at dinner.
Bagsy let her cutlery clatter onto the table. 'No!' she insisted firmly. Mezrielda seemed confused by her passion. 'It's not fair that they have to leave just because they're fierier than anyone else!'
Mezrielda smirked, 'And to think at the start of this term you were considering turning them in, wondering if they were evil and a danger to other students. You were half convinced they were doppelgangers.'
'That was different,' Bagsy sulked. 'It's clear they're not doppelgangers. Believe me, if they were there would be no doubt they'd deserve to be taken away by the Ministry. I've read how those things can steal people and infiltrate entire villages without anyone noticing!' As Bagsy shuddered at the idea, a scowl spread on Mezrielda's face at her words. 'But they're our friends, and they're not dangerous at all! They're different from the horrid creatures we learn about or see in books. They're just kids, like us.'
Mezrielda was uncharacteristically silent and avoided Bagsy's gaze, focussing too hard on her potatoes and gravy, pushing the morsels around her plate.
'Do you think I'm wrong?' Bagsy checked, suddenly uncertain of herself.
Mezrielda hesitated, then gave her head a minute shake.
'What is it, then?' Bagsy pushed.
Mezrielda looked up at her sharply. 'You're right,' she said, a steely resolve, a sudden determination, filling her face that Bagsy was confused by. 'It's not their fault they are what they are. They shouldn't be punished for it, because being different doesn't make someone automatically evil. Correct?'
Bagsy nodded. 'Exactly!'
'Good.' Mezrielda turned back to her food. 'Then I suppose you'll need to find some more zout, then.'
Bagsy let out a long breath. 'That's just the thing,' she whined. 'I actually don't know where zout comes from, and if I ask Blythurst he'll probably realise I've used up the whole store, and then I may lose access to all the other ingredients, too.' Bagsy put her head in her hands and groaned. 'And I still can't figure out how to make a weather machine, and I haven't even started work on reconciling Emmeline and Greenda, and-'
'You're doing too much, Bagsy,' Mezrielda said suddenly. 'Just how many projects have you taken on this year?' Bagsy didn't lift her head up or respond. 'How long do we have left before we need more zout?'
Bagsy's shoulders sagged. 'Four days.'
'That gives us until Friday before Winifred and Robin start getting their fire back,' Mezrielda hummed thoughtfully. 'How much time can you spare to figure out how to procure zout?'
Bagsy looked glumly at her food. She was already so busy but, then again, if she took some more exhaust-gone she could continue to use sleep-time for research and planning instead. 'Enough,' she answered Mezrielda, her voice strained.
Mezrielda shot her a look. 'Are you sure?'
Bagsy nodded. Mezrielda narrowed her eyes but left it there.
At quidditch training that evening, Ford was a bundle of nerves, which was very odd to behold, indeed.
'Listen, we have a good shot this year, we've been working hard,' he rambled on quickly as they stood, like lemons, on the quidditch pitch. Emmeline was examining her nails in boredom. Greenda was half focussed on nodding enthusiastically along with Ford, and half focussed on shooting hateful glances in Emmeline's direction. 'Teresa, I want you to work on your aim. Spend the sessions practising with Bagsy's mag-net bat and ball. Jonathan, Kat, you need to practise more switches and loops with me if we want to get past their defences. Emmeline, you've got to improve your agility, we can't afford to let so many goals in, and Greenda, please, please, spend every second you can practising catching those snitches!' Ford finished. Bagsy awkwardly shuffled her feet. 'Bagsy.' Ford looked directly at her. 'You know what to do.'
Bagsy gulped. Ford would rather her work on her Emmeline and Greenda project than practise. She felt a little hurt, to be honest. Was her contribution to the team so unimportant that her skills could be spared for therapy on the other members? 'Sure,' Bagsy murmured sheepishly, and tried her best that session to complete her task. 'Hey, Greenda, think you could help Emmeline practise her defensive drills?' she suggested once the session was well under way.
Greenda shot Bagsy a confused look but shrugged. 'Alright.'
'Ow!' Emmeline spat a few minutes later as, for the fifth time, Greenda threw a quaffle directly at her, causing Emmeline's head to crack painfully to the side. 'You're doing that on purpose!'
'The other team won't go easy on you, so neither will I,' Greenda reasoned.
'The other team are aiming for the goals, not concussions!'
'Doesn't matter what they're aiming for,' Greenda said. 'If you're the keeper they'd have to be blind to miss.'
'What was that!?' Emmeline roared, flying towards Greenda.
Bagsy swiftly flew in-between the two. 'Hey, hey, hey, now!' she squealed apprehensively.
'Get out of my way, squib,' Emmeline growled at her. A second later Emmeline's face fell as she realised what she'd said. 'Oh, Bagsy, I'm so sorry-' The apology was half-way onto her lips before she was abruptly shoved from her broom by Greenda.
Moving quickly, Emmeline managed to grab onto the wood of her broom and hung there, sucking in breaths, her eyes squeezed shut. Bagsy was thrown suddenly back to the beginning of her second year, when Emmeline's broom had malfunctioned and nearly thrown her off of it. Something on Emmeline's face said she was experiencing a similar memory recall.
Bagsy reached out and helped Emmeline back onto her broom, looking in shock at Greenda, emotions writhing within her. Anger, frustration and fear, aimed at both Emmeline and Greenda.
'Bagsy,' Emmeline said in a small voice as she gripped her broom, head turned down. 'Can you tell Greenda that I hate her.' Emmeline's voice was low and rough, and filled with tremors. Bagsy realised Emmeline was shaking. If she had fallen she would have been okay – they weren't high enough for any serious injuries and the floor below then was soft and covered in sand. Still, Bagsy couldn't shake the judgement that Emmeline seemed… petrified.
'Bagsy,' Greenda said, and Bagsy looked over at her. Greenda looked guilty and furious at the same time, her eyes dark. 'Can you tell Emmeline that, mistake or not, if she ever uses that word as an insult around me again I'll punch her teeth in.'
Bagsy felt as if she was a statue of ice. Before she could react, Emmeline's head snapped up, tears in her eyes, and she was yelling at Greenda, who responded in kind and Bagsy, feeling a desperate, panicked coldness spreading throughout her, tried to cut over them and stop their quarrelling.
Training for Greenda and Emmeline was cut short that night. Ford cast a harsh look of disappointment at Bagsy and she wondered how she'd managed to make everything so much worse.
Bagsy hung back as they packed their kit away in the team tent. Soon, it was just her left. Or so she had thought when, suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Bagsy nearly leapt out of her skin, seeing blindingly white hands, or dark violet eyes, or Mr Mortem's gaunt face in her mind, before she realised it was just Ford.
'Sorry if I startled you,' Ford murmured, sitting down on the bench next to her quidditch bag. Bagsy swallowed and nodded numbly. Ford's head was still an inch higher than Bagsy's, even when he was sitting down and her standing up. 'The Greenda and Emmeline thing…' Ford trailed off. 'It's going to take a while, so don't sweat it. Keep at it, okay? If you can get it to work we could win this year, or at least come second.'
Bagsy, feeling a little better knowing Ford wasn't angry with her for her failed attempt, nodded quietly.
Ford shifted awkwardly. Bagsy was aware she looked like a kicked puppy but couldn't bring herself to brighten up. 'So, uhh…' Ford coughed awkwardly. 'I hear you're having boy troubles.'
And just like that, the kicked puppy snapped to attention. 'Huh!?' Bagsy gasped, unable to form words and feeling her face flush a deep red.
'I thought I could be of some help?' Ford offered, looking incredibly uncomfortable. 'You know, as a boy myself–'
'Who told you about Arice!?' Bagsy squeaked, taking a step backwards, feeling like the tent was folding in around her.
'No one!' Ford assured her. 'Well, not about Arice, anyway. Greenda told me you were having trouble with a boy and asked me if I could-'
'She what?' Bagsy breathed, her eyebrows shooting up. Greenda had promised her she wouldn't tell anyone. Bagsy had trusted her.
'She was concerned for you, and thought I-'
Bagsy grabbed her bag and rushed from the tent, hiding her furiously red face in her hands.
'Bagsy!' Ford called after her but didn't follow.
Bagsy locked herself in her room that night and threw herself into work, weather machines, and anything that wasn't Arice or Tod related. She was dreading Tuesday evening, when she had Herbology. Sure, it was only theoretical Herbology on a Tuesday, so she didn't need to work on her project with Arice, but that didn't change the fact that Arice always sat next to her, anyway.
When Tuesday evening eventually descended upon her, and Herbology began, Bagsy fidgeted the entire time, avoiding looking at Arice as nerves knotted in her stomach.
'What's got you so worried?' Arice asked towards the end of the lesson as they were writing notes on the different shadow densities caused by different leaves and which ones were signs of danger.
'Huh? What! I'm not worried!' Bagsy exclaimed, sitting rigid. Arice didn't look convinced. Bagsy wasn't good at lying, so she grabbed something true to use instead. 'I've run out of zout and I need to figure out where to get it from!' she gasped out, as if all the oxygen in her lungs had been transfigured into syrup.
Arice frowned. 'What's zout?'
Feeling a little eased by the casual question, Bagsy managed to string together a sentence. 'It's this blue, vicious liquid.'
Arice nodded thoughtfully. 'So, you don't know where it comes from?' he checked. Bagsy nodded. 'Then why not do what you usually do?' he suggested to a very perplexed Bagsy.
'What do you mean?' she asked, frowning, her nerves evaporating to make way for her confusion.
Arice gestured thoughtfully with his hands. 'It's like you said the other day in our lesson. You don't know all this stuff, you just make guesses based on what other things you already do know.' Bagsy stared at him blankly. Her stare remained, the time stretching out, and Arice squirmed under the intensity of the look. 'Bagsy?'
Bagsy didn't respond. She was thinking, her eyes narrowed to thin slits, her gaze drifting to her right in contemplation. Arice had a point, but nothing was coming to Bagsy's mind. 'I'm drawing a blank,' she admitted, hanging her head in frustration.
'Describe zout to me,' Arice suggested. 'Talk about it. Maybe that will help.'
Bagsy took in a breath. 'As I said, it's this blue, viscous liquid.'
'What does it do?'
'That depends. But so far, I've only known it to be used as a kind of targeting ingredient – something that helps isolate and effect something in a person's body.'
'Right.' Arice nodded. 'Anything else?'
Bagsy worried her bottom lip. 'I don't think so…' She paused. Zout was used in the phoenix effect quelling potion, but she'd first discovered it from her sister's recipe for the draught of silver cleanse – a potion that helped restore lost memories. Of course, now she had no clue what to do with zout to makethat potion, courtesy of Tod's memory wiping.
Then an idea struck her, and Bagsy's eyebrows shot up.
Arice smiled. 'There we go.'
'Weeping weeds!' Bagsy cried, a little too loudly. The reason the weeping weeds cried was because their true name was forgotten. Maybe what they were crying was a substance they hoped would help people remember, hence why it worked in the draught of silver cleanse, a memory regaining potion. Maybe what they were crying was zout.
'What do you need?' Professor Wattleseed called.
'N-no, I said weeping weeds, not Wattleseed…' Bagsy trailing off awkwardly.
She didn't feel nervous for the rest of the lesson because she was too busy forming a plan. On Friday, Winifred and Robin would start to regain their fire powers, but it wasn't until Friday morning that she'd have her practical Herbology lesson. With a shudder, she remembered seeing the weeping weeds just a short walk into the forbidden forest right by the clostra boab patch. 'Arice,' Bagsy said suddenly, 'can I ask you a favour?'
Arice tilted his head. 'Of course. I still owe you that favour from first year, remember?'
Bagsy winced guiltily. She didn't tell him that he had actually already fulfilled that favour but couldn't remember because Bagsy had let Tod wipe his memory. 'Nice,' Bagsy murmured, feeling hypocritical. 'I'm going to need your help with something on Friday – and I'm going to need you to trust me enough not to ask why.'
Arice paused. 'Can I trust you?' he asked. Bagsy nodded and when that was enough for Arice to be on board, she couldn't help but appreciate that she wasn't the only one who valued trust.
