----------------------------------------------------------------
"And now has come the time
To talk of many things,
Of shoes and ships and sealing wax,
Of cabbages and Kings."
-- The Walrus and the Carpenter, Lewis Carroll
----------------------------------------------------------------
"Well, that was interesting, anyway," Guin said as they left Flourish & Blotts, watching the two combatants limp away, Mr. Malfoy glaring poisonously in their general direction. Guin made a rude gesture at his retreating back. Luckily, perhaps, he didn't notice, but L'Argent did, and laughed so hard that Guin was forced to pound him roughly on the back. "It wasn't that funny," she informed him dryly, a bit bemused.
"Yes, it was," L'Argent gasped, face beet red, "Master Lucius didn't see, but darling Draco did! His face, Marlowe, it was priceless."
"Well, I'm glad to know that, if nothing else, I can provide you with amusement."
"You provide me with more than that," L'Argent said, raising his eyebrows as he waited for her to ask what that could possibly be.
With an indulgent sigh, Guin played along. "What would that be?"
"Why, Marlowe, you give me a reason for living! If not for your barbs and insults, everyone would love me, there would be a void in my life, and then I would be sad." He beamed sardonically at them, a sunny, cheerful demon with the features of a child.
Guin wasn't watching, or listening, to him at the moment. "What's wrong, Ril?" Their friend was looking downcast, and a little angry. She shook her head mulishly. "C'mon, Ril, you can tell me."
"You didn't say anything," Rilla said, lower lip trembling dangerously.
"What?" Guin was confused.
"In the bookstore. He called me a Mudblood, and you didn't say anything."
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a leaping-to-the-rescue type, Ril."
"Yes, you are! You just won't admit it."
"I'm not a Gryffindor."
"You're my friend. You could have said something."
"I didn't think. I'm sorry."
Rilla paused. "Apology accepted. Let's get something to eat?"
"How about Cataldi's Wizard Pizzeria?" Guin suggested.
L'Argent said, "Sounds good to me."
"Yum," Rilla said, inspecting her pockets. Not all of her wizarding money had been spent, enough to split a pizza three ways. Still lugging their bags behind them, the children fished for spare change in their shorts pockets, so that they would have the money ready. The waitresses at Cataldi's were not know for their patience, and there was a constant influx of students and older wizards as well, many with families.
Suddenly, L'Argent stopped and said, "Let's eat somewhere else."
"Why?" Rilla and Guin asked. Cataldi's was in sight; she could see people sitting on tables set outside.
"I just – I don't want to eat there."
"You did a minute ago," Rilla pointed out.
"I changed my mind," he said, grimly.
"Well, we haven't!" Guin said, catching hold of his arm. "I don't know why you've developed a sudden aversion to pizza, but we haven't enough money with just the two of us, and you'll have to go along with it." They dragged him all the way there, ignoring his furious protests.
Cataldi's was a yellow-white stucco building with reddish clay tiles in neat rows on the roof. It proclaimed, in curling white letters across the wide windows, the words "Brick Oven – Magic Fire!" alongside other facts. ("Since 1909!") The wording changed every three and a half minutes, and in the courtyard, framed by low shrubs and stone flower pots, sat circular tables with red, green, and white umbrellas affixed to their centers.
As they stepped past the low, white iron gate, L'Argent cringed and tried to hide behind the two girls. Confused, Guin searched for the reason for his distress, but saw only a blonde girl sitting with her family. "Why so scared, Silverboy?" Guin mocked lightly, nudging him in the stomach with her elbow. He glared wordlessly at her for a moment.
"It's /her/," he replied.
"'Her?'" Guin asked, hiding a snicker.
The girl had seen them, and turned her face towards the entranceway. She was, Guin saw with some disgust, quite pretty, with regular, angelic features, no freckles or blemishes, a soft pink mouth, and wide, violet-blue eyes that were closer to royal purple. She was wearing a light purple dress with a touch of lace at the color – lace! – and soft kid slippers on her feet. The long golden hair was braided and hung long down her back. A friendly smile graced her face, transforming its simple prettiness to beauty.
Guin disliked her instantly.
"Mike!" the girl said happily. "Hi!!" The double exclamation points were audible.
"'/Mike/?'" Guin asked in disgusted disbelief, glancing at L'Argent. "You know her?"
"Yes, he knows me," the girl said, smiling at Guin, who resisted the urge to vomit, "I'm Holly Weatherfield! I'm in your year, I'm a Hufflepuff. I know you, you're Guinivere."
"It's Guin."
"But Guinivere is such a /pretty/ name. I wish I had a pretty name like yours. Holly's so commonplace, you know? Guinivere – it's something out of a soap opera!" Guin didn't have the heart to tell her that it was actually from Arthurian legend. And then, Holly Weatherfield made what could possibly have been the biggest mistake of her life. "Your nickname is so /cute/, though."
I was right, Guin thought grimly, I don't like her at all. "I don't do 'cute,"" she growled, glaring at Holly, who merely giggled. A giggler – bah! Holly's shining violet eyes conveniently missed the venom in Guin's pale green ones; she continued to beam at them as though each child had personally done something to cause her great joy.
"You don't do cute? I don't get it." Holly's face momentarily creased in a frown, but she was soon distracted, and turned on Rilla. "And you! You're Rilla Jackson. Your hair is so beautiful."
Rilla, she of the "beautiful hair," was watching the entire scene with a sort of bemused incredulity, lip trembling again, this time on the verge of laughter. "P – pleased to meet you, Holly," she managed after a moment, admirably fighting back snickers, the end result being that she looked somewhat sick, mouth and eyes twitching. Holly noticed, and was instantly concerned.
"Oh! Are you sick? Are you feeling all right? Are you going to throw up? Do you want to sit down?"
"Holly, dear, we must be going," the mother said, animating herself at last.
"Okay, mummy!" Holly chirped, and waved to them. "'Bye!" Leaning over, she kissed L'Argent on the cheek and sashayed off. "See you at school, Mike!" the girl chirped, and swept away perfectly with her perfect family.
"Please tell me she wasn't for real?" Rilla said, staring dumbfounded after the girl.
Guin, on the other hand, batted her eyelashes at L'Argent. "Oooh, Mike, I'll see you in school? Pretty pretty please with a cherry on top?" She twirled around him in a parody of Holly Weatherfield's gliding movements. "I loooooove you," she cooed, mocking.
"Oh, stop it, Marlowe," L'Argent growled, scrubbing irritably at his cheek, where, unbelievably enough, there was a faint lipstick mark.
"But /Mike/!" Guin said, imitating Holly's puzzled frown.
"Marlowe, quit it, you're going to give me nightmares."
"Really, Mikael, she must be the only one who calls you that," Rilla said, fighting a grin. "So, is it true love, then?"
"I don't even /like/ her!" he yelped.
With a straight face, Guin informed him solemnly, "You know, the lipstick on your face looks kind of like a heart."
"You," he told her, with equal gravity, "Are an evil, evil child."
"I know. It's my besetting charm."
"I could argue that."
"But you won't."
"Why not?"
"Because you know you'd lose."
"Yes," L'Argent said mournfully, "Your superior logic would wear me into the ground, leaving nothing but pitiful, mewling remains, begging for a release from their misery."
"That would have been frightening," Rilla put in, "but at least we know he's being sarcastic."
"Is it possible," Guin mused, "for him to be anything else?"
"I'm sorry, my dear lady, but sarcasm is part of the package."
Guin squinted at him. "Where did this package come from? Was it one of those mad bomber-men in shacks in the Americas?"
"Possibly," L'Argent said cheerfully, "But let's not worry about that – now that the pigtailed-terror is gone, let's get some pizza. I'm starving."
"Yes," Rilla said mischievously, "Kissing pretty girls does work up the old appetite."
"I didn't want her to do that!" L'Argent yelped, which sent Rilla into a gale of laughter.
"Right," she gasped, "Pizza. Now. Before I choke!"
Amusingly enough, Cataldi's Traditional Italian Pizza was owned and operated by a man who looked as though he could have held his own in the House of Lords. Evelyn Epply-Schmidt had a passion for the round, tomato-covered pies that were his living. If given the opportunity, the lanky, pallid wizard would expound the virtues of the different sorts of toppings and cheeses, the different combinations that could form the perfect pizza... "Hello, Mr. Epply-Schmidt," Guin said, "A medium extra-cheese."
"G'day, Guin; Mikael; Amarilla," he said formally, bowing. "Coming right up."
"Hey, L'Argent! Over here! Bring the girls, too."
Guin turned to see who had spoken. "Oh, hello, Ethan," she called. Ethan Montgomery, one of the other Slytherin boys of their year, was close friends with L'Argent, though the gray-eyed boy spent more time with the girls than he did with his peers. However, considering that besides Ethan and L'Argent, the other Slytherin boys of their age were Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, Guin supposed that the two were thrown together by necessity.
Ethan had a round face and mouse-brown hair, coupled with deep chocolate, almost black, eyes. He was sitting at a table with the flame-haired Ravenclaw, Winston Freeman, who was resting his elbow on a thick book entitled, "Candide and Other Stories." They had split a basket of garlic bread, and Ethan swallowed hastily as the other three approached. "Take a seat," he said in a friendly manner. "Haven't seen you lately, Marlowe. Your mum hasn't killed you yet?"
"Not for lack of trying," Guin said, punching him lightly in the shoulder.
"I see the homicidal tendencies are inherited," Ethan said, with an exaggerated wince.
"Watch it, Montgomery," she warned him, as they all pulled out chairs to sit, "Or you might find out just how much I've learned."
"Eeek!" he mock-squeaked, pretending fright. "What's wrong, L'Argent? Garlic smell disagreeing with your delicate stomach?"
"Nothing of the sort," L'Argent said shortly, looking rather uncomfortable. "Well, it's nice to know that you and Marlowe get on well," the boy finished irritably.
Guin shrugged, and glanced at Rilla, who was blushing slightly as she glanced at Winston. That, Guin thought, would make an interesting development. If her friend was indeed interested in the Ravenclaw, Guin wished her good luck indeed – it'd probably be a miracle if Rilla could manage to distract the boy from his books. "Freeman, was it?" Guin asked him, grinning as he nodded. "Sorry – I have a horrible memory for names."
"That's okay," he told her. "Most people remember me, though. There aren't many Winstons around any more."
"A dying breed," Rilla said, with an affected look of tragedy.
"Right," Winston said with a nod. "If you think /my/ name is bad, my younger brother almost got stuck with worse – my parents were going to name him 'Marlborough.'"
"That's /horrible/!" Rilla exclaimed.
"Yes," Winston said, with a tiny grin that flashed very white teeth in his pale face, "But grandmum managed to talk some sense into them, and they settled on 'John,' 'Duke' for short."
"I bet he doesn't even realize what a terrible fate could have been his," L'Argent said, assuming the air of a philosopher.
"Parents," Winston said sadly, "can be cruel. The next child has the possibility of being named 'Voltaire.' You know, I think they're trying to traumatize us for life."
Guin extended a hand, all seriousness and confidence. "You will," she said, "have to be strong."
Winston laughed. "You were right, Ethan," he told the mousy-haired boy, who modestly flattened his bangs.
"Right about what?" Rilla asked curiously.
"Well, talking to people. It's not as bad as I thought."
"You see," Ethan said, "He spent most of first year reading in the Ravenclaw Common Room. Now, I know Ravenclaws are supposed to be bookish, but I thought that was taking it a bit too far!"
"All too true," Rilla said, with a shy smile.
The pizza arrived, and was set on the empty table next to them. Ethan and Winston both turned down offers of extra pieces, explaining that they had already eaten. "But," Winston said with a trace of irony, "We'll stick around to talk." The chatter was easy and fast, flowing from topic to topic; speculating about the new teacher, Lockhart, who all except Rilla despised already; discussing the new courses available; and of course, arguing about Quidditch.
Rilla, as the only Gryffindor at the table, passionately defended her team's chance at winning the Cup once more. "Of course we'll get it!" she said, "Harry's on our team!"
"He is human, just as we all are," Winston informed her gently, "And fallible."
Gradually, though, Ethan brought up something that caught everyone's attention. "What?" L'Argent asked, as he hadn't been really listening, up until that moment.
Leaning forward, Ethan looked mysterious and rested his chin on his fingers. "Two people have died at Hogwarts in the last fifty years."
"Really?" Guin said, thinking furiously as she tried to figure out when that could have been.
"Well," Ethan amended, "Maybe not /died/, but one died and one disappeared."
"Go on," Winston said, frowning. "This isn't in 'Hogwarts, A History.'"
"Well, the first one /was/ fifty years ago. They found this girl in a bathroom. But the really weird one was in our parents' time." He had everyone's gaze fixed on him now. "A girl, again. They kept it all hushed up, 'cos no one wanted the news to get out. But the facts are, this girl, she told the prefect that she had to use the toilet, but she never came back. Just disappeared. She was a Muggle-born, too, a Gryffindor. And then there was this Hufflepuff who killed himself, a while back, and a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw who got into a duel and killed each other--"
"Where'd you hear this, if it isn't in the books?" Guin asked suspiciously.
"Oh..." Ethan Montgomery said mysteriously, "I have my sources." Ethan's father was one of those rare Slytherins from a Muggle-born family, though he slid into the world of intrigue and magic with the ease of one born to it. As many remarked, "Martin Montgomery's more wizard than most wizards." He was a successful businessman, and had many contacts in both the wizard and Muggle worlds – hence, Ethan was usually better informed than any of the others.
"That," Winston said, "Smacks of myth, to me."
"I hope so!" Rilla said, shivering slightly.
"Look here, Ethan, you're scaring her," Winston added, causing grins to break out on the three Slytherins' faces. "What?" he asked after a moment, frowning at them. "Did I say something funny?"
The momentary sober mood had broken, replaced by light-hearted kidding. Lunch finished, they paid Evelyn Epply-Schmidt and went about their separate ways, waving goodbye. Guin, for one, forgot about the odd conversation started by Ethan Montgomery: she had more important, real-life problems to worry about, such as figuring out why Angeline was in such a wonderful mood.
"And now has come the time
To talk of many things,
Of shoes and ships and sealing wax,
Of cabbages and Kings."
-- The Walrus and the Carpenter, Lewis Carroll
----------------------------------------------------------------
"Well, that was interesting, anyway," Guin said as they left Flourish & Blotts, watching the two combatants limp away, Mr. Malfoy glaring poisonously in their general direction. Guin made a rude gesture at his retreating back. Luckily, perhaps, he didn't notice, but L'Argent did, and laughed so hard that Guin was forced to pound him roughly on the back. "It wasn't that funny," she informed him dryly, a bit bemused.
"Yes, it was," L'Argent gasped, face beet red, "Master Lucius didn't see, but darling Draco did! His face, Marlowe, it was priceless."
"Well, I'm glad to know that, if nothing else, I can provide you with amusement."
"You provide me with more than that," L'Argent said, raising his eyebrows as he waited for her to ask what that could possibly be.
With an indulgent sigh, Guin played along. "What would that be?"
"Why, Marlowe, you give me a reason for living! If not for your barbs and insults, everyone would love me, there would be a void in my life, and then I would be sad." He beamed sardonically at them, a sunny, cheerful demon with the features of a child.
Guin wasn't watching, or listening, to him at the moment. "What's wrong, Ril?" Their friend was looking downcast, and a little angry. She shook her head mulishly. "C'mon, Ril, you can tell me."
"You didn't say anything," Rilla said, lower lip trembling dangerously.
"What?" Guin was confused.
"In the bookstore. He called me a Mudblood, and you didn't say anything."
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a leaping-to-the-rescue type, Ril."
"Yes, you are! You just won't admit it."
"I'm not a Gryffindor."
"You're my friend. You could have said something."
"I didn't think. I'm sorry."
Rilla paused. "Apology accepted. Let's get something to eat?"
"How about Cataldi's Wizard Pizzeria?" Guin suggested.
L'Argent said, "Sounds good to me."
"Yum," Rilla said, inspecting her pockets. Not all of her wizarding money had been spent, enough to split a pizza three ways. Still lugging their bags behind them, the children fished for spare change in their shorts pockets, so that they would have the money ready. The waitresses at Cataldi's were not know for their patience, and there was a constant influx of students and older wizards as well, many with families.
Suddenly, L'Argent stopped and said, "Let's eat somewhere else."
"Why?" Rilla and Guin asked. Cataldi's was in sight; she could see people sitting on tables set outside.
"I just – I don't want to eat there."
"You did a minute ago," Rilla pointed out.
"I changed my mind," he said, grimly.
"Well, we haven't!" Guin said, catching hold of his arm. "I don't know why you've developed a sudden aversion to pizza, but we haven't enough money with just the two of us, and you'll have to go along with it." They dragged him all the way there, ignoring his furious protests.
Cataldi's was a yellow-white stucco building with reddish clay tiles in neat rows on the roof. It proclaimed, in curling white letters across the wide windows, the words "Brick Oven – Magic Fire!" alongside other facts. ("Since 1909!") The wording changed every three and a half minutes, and in the courtyard, framed by low shrubs and stone flower pots, sat circular tables with red, green, and white umbrellas affixed to their centers.
As they stepped past the low, white iron gate, L'Argent cringed and tried to hide behind the two girls. Confused, Guin searched for the reason for his distress, but saw only a blonde girl sitting with her family. "Why so scared, Silverboy?" Guin mocked lightly, nudging him in the stomach with her elbow. He glared wordlessly at her for a moment.
"It's /her/," he replied.
"'Her?'" Guin asked, hiding a snicker.
The girl had seen them, and turned her face towards the entranceway. She was, Guin saw with some disgust, quite pretty, with regular, angelic features, no freckles or blemishes, a soft pink mouth, and wide, violet-blue eyes that were closer to royal purple. She was wearing a light purple dress with a touch of lace at the color – lace! – and soft kid slippers on her feet. The long golden hair was braided and hung long down her back. A friendly smile graced her face, transforming its simple prettiness to beauty.
Guin disliked her instantly.
"Mike!" the girl said happily. "Hi!!" The double exclamation points were audible.
"'/Mike/?'" Guin asked in disgusted disbelief, glancing at L'Argent. "You know her?"
"Yes, he knows me," the girl said, smiling at Guin, who resisted the urge to vomit, "I'm Holly Weatherfield! I'm in your year, I'm a Hufflepuff. I know you, you're Guinivere."
"It's Guin."
"But Guinivere is such a /pretty/ name. I wish I had a pretty name like yours. Holly's so commonplace, you know? Guinivere – it's something out of a soap opera!" Guin didn't have the heart to tell her that it was actually from Arthurian legend. And then, Holly Weatherfield made what could possibly have been the biggest mistake of her life. "Your nickname is so /cute/, though."
I was right, Guin thought grimly, I don't like her at all. "I don't do 'cute,"" she growled, glaring at Holly, who merely giggled. A giggler – bah! Holly's shining violet eyes conveniently missed the venom in Guin's pale green ones; she continued to beam at them as though each child had personally done something to cause her great joy.
"You don't do cute? I don't get it." Holly's face momentarily creased in a frown, but she was soon distracted, and turned on Rilla. "And you! You're Rilla Jackson. Your hair is so beautiful."
Rilla, she of the "beautiful hair," was watching the entire scene with a sort of bemused incredulity, lip trembling again, this time on the verge of laughter. "P – pleased to meet you, Holly," she managed after a moment, admirably fighting back snickers, the end result being that she looked somewhat sick, mouth and eyes twitching. Holly noticed, and was instantly concerned.
"Oh! Are you sick? Are you feeling all right? Are you going to throw up? Do you want to sit down?"
"Holly, dear, we must be going," the mother said, animating herself at last.
"Okay, mummy!" Holly chirped, and waved to them. "'Bye!" Leaning over, she kissed L'Argent on the cheek and sashayed off. "See you at school, Mike!" the girl chirped, and swept away perfectly with her perfect family.
"Please tell me she wasn't for real?" Rilla said, staring dumbfounded after the girl.
Guin, on the other hand, batted her eyelashes at L'Argent. "Oooh, Mike, I'll see you in school? Pretty pretty please with a cherry on top?" She twirled around him in a parody of Holly Weatherfield's gliding movements. "I loooooove you," she cooed, mocking.
"Oh, stop it, Marlowe," L'Argent growled, scrubbing irritably at his cheek, where, unbelievably enough, there was a faint lipstick mark.
"But /Mike/!" Guin said, imitating Holly's puzzled frown.
"Marlowe, quit it, you're going to give me nightmares."
"Really, Mikael, she must be the only one who calls you that," Rilla said, fighting a grin. "So, is it true love, then?"
"I don't even /like/ her!" he yelped.
With a straight face, Guin informed him solemnly, "You know, the lipstick on your face looks kind of like a heart."
"You," he told her, with equal gravity, "Are an evil, evil child."
"I know. It's my besetting charm."
"I could argue that."
"But you won't."
"Why not?"
"Because you know you'd lose."
"Yes," L'Argent said mournfully, "Your superior logic would wear me into the ground, leaving nothing but pitiful, mewling remains, begging for a release from their misery."
"That would have been frightening," Rilla put in, "but at least we know he's being sarcastic."
"Is it possible," Guin mused, "for him to be anything else?"
"I'm sorry, my dear lady, but sarcasm is part of the package."
Guin squinted at him. "Where did this package come from? Was it one of those mad bomber-men in shacks in the Americas?"
"Possibly," L'Argent said cheerfully, "But let's not worry about that – now that the pigtailed-terror is gone, let's get some pizza. I'm starving."
"Yes," Rilla said mischievously, "Kissing pretty girls does work up the old appetite."
"I didn't want her to do that!" L'Argent yelped, which sent Rilla into a gale of laughter.
"Right," she gasped, "Pizza. Now. Before I choke!"
Amusingly enough, Cataldi's Traditional Italian Pizza was owned and operated by a man who looked as though he could have held his own in the House of Lords. Evelyn Epply-Schmidt had a passion for the round, tomato-covered pies that were his living. If given the opportunity, the lanky, pallid wizard would expound the virtues of the different sorts of toppings and cheeses, the different combinations that could form the perfect pizza... "Hello, Mr. Epply-Schmidt," Guin said, "A medium extra-cheese."
"G'day, Guin; Mikael; Amarilla," he said formally, bowing. "Coming right up."
"Hey, L'Argent! Over here! Bring the girls, too."
Guin turned to see who had spoken. "Oh, hello, Ethan," she called. Ethan Montgomery, one of the other Slytherin boys of their year, was close friends with L'Argent, though the gray-eyed boy spent more time with the girls than he did with his peers. However, considering that besides Ethan and L'Argent, the other Slytherin boys of their age were Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, Guin supposed that the two were thrown together by necessity.
Ethan had a round face and mouse-brown hair, coupled with deep chocolate, almost black, eyes. He was sitting at a table with the flame-haired Ravenclaw, Winston Freeman, who was resting his elbow on a thick book entitled, "Candide and Other Stories." They had split a basket of garlic bread, and Ethan swallowed hastily as the other three approached. "Take a seat," he said in a friendly manner. "Haven't seen you lately, Marlowe. Your mum hasn't killed you yet?"
"Not for lack of trying," Guin said, punching him lightly in the shoulder.
"I see the homicidal tendencies are inherited," Ethan said, with an exaggerated wince.
"Watch it, Montgomery," she warned him, as they all pulled out chairs to sit, "Or you might find out just how much I've learned."
"Eeek!" he mock-squeaked, pretending fright. "What's wrong, L'Argent? Garlic smell disagreeing with your delicate stomach?"
"Nothing of the sort," L'Argent said shortly, looking rather uncomfortable. "Well, it's nice to know that you and Marlowe get on well," the boy finished irritably.
Guin shrugged, and glanced at Rilla, who was blushing slightly as she glanced at Winston. That, Guin thought, would make an interesting development. If her friend was indeed interested in the Ravenclaw, Guin wished her good luck indeed – it'd probably be a miracle if Rilla could manage to distract the boy from his books. "Freeman, was it?" Guin asked him, grinning as he nodded. "Sorry – I have a horrible memory for names."
"That's okay," he told her. "Most people remember me, though. There aren't many Winstons around any more."
"A dying breed," Rilla said, with an affected look of tragedy.
"Right," Winston said with a nod. "If you think /my/ name is bad, my younger brother almost got stuck with worse – my parents were going to name him 'Marlborough.'"
"That's /horrible/!" Rilla exclaimed.
"Yes," Winston said, with a tiny grin that flashed very white teeth in his pale face, "But grandmum managed to talk some sense into them, and they settled on 'John,' 'Duke' for short."
"I bet he doesn't even realize what a terrible fate could have been his," L'Argent said, assuming the air of a philosopher.
"Parents," Winston said sadly, "can be cruel. The next child has the possibility of being named 'Voltaire.' You know, I think they're trying to traumatize us for life."
Guin extended a hand, all seriousness and confidence. "You will," she said, "have to be strong."
Winston laughed. "You were right, Ethan," he told the mousy-haired boy, who modestly flattened his bangs.
"Right about what?" Rilla asked curiously.
"Well, talking to people. It's not as bad as I thought."
"You see," Ethan said, "He spent most of first year reading in the Ravenclaw Common Room. Now, I know Ravenclaws are supposed to be bookish, but I thought that was taking it a bit too far!"
"All too true," Rilla said, with a shy smile.
The pizza arrived, and was set on the empty table next to them. Ethan and Winston both turned down offers of extra pieces, explaining that they had already eaten. "But," Winston said with a trace of irony, "We'll stick around to talk." The chatter was easy and fast, flowing from topic to topic; speculating about the new teacher, Lockhart, who all except Rilla despised already; discussing the new courses available; and of course, arguing about Quidditch.
Rilla, as the only Gryffindor at the table, passionately defended her team's chance at winning the Cup once more. "Of course we'll get it!" she said, "Harry's on our team!"
"He is human, just as we all are," Winston informed her gently, "And fallible."
Gradually, though, Ethan brought up something that caught everyone's attention. "What?" L'Argent asked, as he hadn't been really listening, up until that moment.
Leaning forward, Ethan looked mysterious and rested his chin on his fingers. "Two people have died at Hogwarts in the last fifty years."
"Really?" Guin said, thinking furiously as she tried to figure out when that could have been.
"Well," Ethan amended, "Maybe not /died/, but one died and one disappeared."
"Go on," Winston said, frowning. "This isn't in 'Hogwarts, A History.'"
"Well, the first one /was/ fifty years ago. They found this girl in a bathroom. But the really weird one was in our parents' time." He had everyone's gaze fixed on him now. "A girl, again. They kept it all hushed up, 'cos no one wanted the news to get out. But the facts are, this girl, she told the prefect that she had to use the toilet, but she never came back. Just disappeared. She was a Muggle-born, too, a Gryffindor. And then there was this Hufflepuff who killed himself, a while back, and a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw who got into a duel and killed each other--"
"Where'd you hear this, if it isn't in the books?" Guin asked suspiciously.
"Oh..." Ethan Montgomery said mysteriously, "I have my sources." Ethan's father was one of those rare Slytherins from a Muggle-born family, though he slid into the world of intrigue and magic with the ease of one born to it. As many remarked, "Martin Montgomery's more wizard than most wizards." He was a successful businessman, and had many contacts in both the wizard and Muggle worlds – hence, Ethan was usually better informed than any of the others.
"That," Winston said, "Smacks of myth, to me."
"I hope so!" Rilla said, shivering slightly.
"Look here, Ethan, you're scaring her," Winston added, causing grins to break out on the three Slytherins' faces. "What?" he asked after a moment, frowning at them. "Did I say something funny?"
The momentary sober mood had broken, replaced by light-hearted kidding. Lunch finished, they paid Evelyn Epply-Schmidt and went about their separate ways, waving goodbye. Guin, for one, forgot about the odd conversation started by Ethan Montgomery: she had more important, real-life problems to worry about, such as figuring out why Angeline was in such a wonderful mood.