--------------------------------------------------------------------
"It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business."
"Dark enough, and sinister enough."
-- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Speckled Band
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"Weather like this always makes me depressed," Rilla said, looking morosely at the ceiling. She and Guin lingered in the Great Hall, which was unusually chilly and damp for October. Over her black Hogwarts robes, Rilla was wearing a thick fluffy sweater, and glared at anyone who mentioned it. "I don't like the cold!" she'd tell them, "And I don't care if it's part of the uniform." Unfortunately for Rilla, the sweater had a large, disgustingly cute rabbit on the front, with wide, distended eyes that stared forlornly out onto the room. She had received several comments about it, and those that had met her rarely roused wrath.
"I don't know," Guin said thoughtfully, as she glanced upward as well, "It's interesting, as well. There's promise behind it."
"You're crazy," Rilla said, watching gray clouds squiggle across the sky in a listless, depressed manner. "It's impossible to be happy in /that/."
A sudden explosion of lightning burst outside, immediately followed by a crack of thunder. Some girls in the hall shrieked and covered their heads, causing Guin to roll her eyes in disgust. From above, heavy raindrops began to fall, pattering down on the stone steps and onto the castle. Guin, still looking up at the sky – the ceiling – said absently, "I think one reason I like rain is because it makes you feel powerful..."
"It makes you feel /what/?" Rilla said, eyeing her friend askance.
"Powerful. The rain's falling, but you're warm and you're inside and dry. It's like mastery over nature. Rain makes the heat feel warmer."
"Crazy," Rilla repeated, with conviction.
"Let's go," Guin said, "Rain or shine, Snape's waiting."
"That's a wonderful way to cheer me up."
"As always, I am a paragon of merriment."
"That was a frightening statement, from you."
"I aim to scare."
"Hi, girls!" That was Holly Weatherfield, passing in the other direction.
"...Hi," Guin said, unenthusiastically.
"I hope the sun comes out soon," Holly said, "You both look rather pale."
"Thank you, Holly," Guin said.
"Oh, you're welcome!"
Rilla and Guin glanced at each other, and then at the girl. Scrutinizing Holly's face carefully, Guin attempted to figure out whether she was being serious, or whether she was just a very, very good actor. After a moment's thought, it was quite evident that Holly was in deadly earnest, judging from the beaming smile plastered on her face.
"Well," she said, waving at Guin, "I'd love to stay and chat, but I have Transfiguration! Toodles, girls!"
"Toodles," Guin repeated, once Holly had retreated from sight. "Now /that/ is depressing, not the weather at all."
"Right," Rilla said, shaking her head.
"Ril?"
"Yes?"
"If I ever start acting like Weatherfield, will you kill me?"
"Guin!"
"I'm serious," Guin said, chuckling as they walked down to the dungeons, "Will you?"
"Guin!"
"What?"
"That's... That's /morbid/."
"Your point?"
"I don't even want to think about that."
"Suit yourself."
"Fine."
"Well? Will you?" Guin grinned and dodged to the left as Rilla attempted to punch her in the arm. The Gryffindor flailed her arms futilely at her. "Ouch!" Guin yelped, as Rilla's palm connected with her shoulder. "Okay, okay, if I'll change the statement, if I ever start talking like Holly, just ignore me. And if I ever recover, don't remind me."
"Why do I even bother?" Rilla asked the ceiling rhetorically, as they moved deeper into the entrails of the castle. It was familiar ground, for Guin; not only were the dungeons and the potions classroom located here, but the entrance to the Slytherin Common room was not far away. The slightly damp stone walls had long ago lost their menace, and the melancholy air of the tunnels had a homey feel, for her.
"Because you're a nice, decent person, and I'm not?"
"Besides that."
"You're devoted to lost causes?"
"Could be," Rilla said. They paused before the low entrance to Snape's classroom. Several stairs led deeper into the room, and they could see the students sitting down and glancing expectantly towards Snape's desk. "Oh, no!" Rilla exclaimed, "We're late! Oh, that horrible Holly... If she'd hadn't been talking to us..."
"Ril, just /walk/!" Guin said, and they hurried down into the dungeon.
-----
"Miss Jackson? You had pressing business elsewhere?" Snape said, a sardonic smile curling his mouth. Rilla went pale and looked at the floor, lip trembling. Guin sighed and put a hand to her forehead. Her friend had always been a little afraid of Snape, and it didn't help that he was being sarcastic to her. The girl, though possessed of some inner fire, was not the bravest person on a normal basis – and Snape made her extremely nervous.
"I – I –"
"Come now, I know the life of a Gryffindor must be very occupying. Perhaps--"
"Professor!"
"Yes, Miss Marlowe?"
"I'm sorry, Professor, it was my fault she was late—"
Snape's glittering black eyes turned on her, brows raising in disbelief. "I'm sure, Miss Marlowe. A point from Gryffindor."
"But—" Rilla said, growing indignant.
"Miss Jackson, I would like to begin the lesson now. If you have any objections you may see me after class."
"Ril," Guin whispered, "Let it go." The two girls sat down at a desk, across the row from L'Argent and Ethan and behind Potter and Weasley.
"Now that this disturbance has been sorted out," Snape continued, sable eyes glittering, "We shall start the lesson. Today, you will learn the careful art of brewing a Freezing Fluid..."
Rilla frowned at the cauldrons as they set them on the table, heaving an emotional, eloquent sigh. Potions was far from her favorite subject, and, as Snape had remarked more than once, she should never, ever marry Neville Longbottom, for fear that between the two of them, they might accidentally destroy the world, or at least several nearby buildings. Guin had been forced to admit, Rilla made some memorable pratfalls – like the time she inadvertently sprouted two extra arms after drinking a new draught – or the time a spilled potion gone awry had boiled a hole straight through the stone desk and into the floor – or even the time when the exploding cauldron had caused the ceiling to rain lizard intestines for hours?
Guin, to her dismay, actually liked the class. Perhaps it was because Professor Snape was remarkably nicer to the Slytherins than to their opposite house, or because her years in Shadehurst had prepared her for the work, but she found Potions fairly simple, at least compared to Transfiguration. Something about the simmering noise the cauldron made was soothing, and even though the dungeons were chilly now, in the summer they were a cool relief.
"...Now add the worms' kidneys, please..."
Rilla refused to touch the slimy organs, and pleaded with Guin until the Slytherin, exasperated, threw up her hands and agreed. "Look, Ril, you can wash your hands when you're done..."
"I don't care, I am /not/ touching those things."
In front of them, Potter and Weasley were conferring quietly, their heads bent over their cauldron, which was emitting occasional spurts of icy blue bubbles, which hovered above the rim before popping in loud bursts. "I don't think it's supposed to be doing that," Weasley was saying, scratching his forehead for a moment.
"Definitely not," Potter agreed, "Maybe we need more ice?" They were working busily after a second's pause.
Guin examined the contents of her own cauldron, and was satisfied that they were correct. The liquid had a thick consistency, but was completely clear. Small sparkles drifted through its body, and all things considered, it was quite beautiful. That was fine; she just needed to let it simmer for fifteen minutes. The magic fire beneath was burning steadily – now she was free to ask a question that had been bothering her for the day.
Reaching forward, she poked Potter lightly in the neck with the end of her quill. He swatted at it, obviously assuming there was a bug flying around his head. Guin rolled her eyes and tried again; this time, he slapped his neck irritably, without even turning around. "You're unusually perceptive today, Potter," she drawled as he twisted around in his seat.
"Shut up, Marlowe," Weasley said.
Guin sighed. "Was I talking to you?"
"We wish you weren't," he replied.
"As always, your charm never ceases to captivate me. Can I have your babies?" ("/Guin/!" Rilla whispered, shocked.)
"Very funny," he growled, though his face had turned slightly pink, "Why are all the jokers put in Slytherin?"
"As much as I love bandying words with you, Weasley, I've got a pressing question for Potter." Something about Ron Weasley brought out every sarcastic instinct in her body to the fore. Perhaps it was his quite biased hatred of all things Slytherin and snake-oriented.
"What is it, Marlowe?" Potter said.
"So, is it true?"
"Is what true?" he asked suspiciously.
"The signed pictures," Guin said, enjoying the sudden crimson flush that moved across his face.
"Sod off, Marlowe, you know I didn't want him to do that—"
"You 'just did what you had to do,' I suppose?"
"Don't answer her, Harry," Weasley interjected, in a tone that was obviously meant to be dignified, and failed quite miserably.
"Your potion's boiling over," Guin pointed out helpfully.
Potter said several words that would definitely have caused his aunt to wash his mouth out with soap. It was just his luck, or lack of it, that Snape was wandering through the aisles examining the students' work. "Language, Potter," he said lazily, "Five points from Gryffindor." He turned away then, and Potter and Weasley made faces at Guin behind his back.
"Guin, don't you think you were a little mean to them?" Rilla whispered to her, as Weasley glared poisonously and Potter went back to his work.
Guin whispered back. "Ril, if he was handing out /signed photos/ then he deserved it."
"But he said that he didn't want them handed out..."
"But they were anyway."
"Guin, that's silly logic."
"That's what I do best."
-----
"Guin! Guess what?"
"Hmm?"
"Dumbledore's got a troupe of dancing skeletons booked for the Halloween dance, today."
"Really?" Guin said, interested despite herself. They sat in the abandoned classroom that had been discovered last year; Rilla on a chair, L'Argent in another, and Guin sprawled on several cushions that had been thrown haphazardly onto the floor. "That should be interesting." She grinned suddenly, slightly malicious. "Parkinson's going to be scared out of her mind."
Rilla giggled. "I can just see that. 'Eeee, Malfoy, there are BONES dancing on the stage! Save meeeee!'"
Guin shuddered elegantly and returned her attention to the book. "Maybe she'll be sick and unable to attend."
"I doubt we'll be that lucky, Ril," L'Argent said, pausing in his sketch. It was, from Guin's best look, a careful drawing of an owl in flight.
"Well, it never hurts to hope," Rilla said gloomily.
None of them, under any circumstances, would have predicted what happened next. Liadan, seated on the floor near Guin, suddenly turned to the wall and hissed loudly. The tiny kitten grew louder as the seconds went by and they stared, bewildered, at each other. By now her fur had stood on end and so had her tail, Liadan looked as though she had been struck by lightning, a tiny ball of hair sticking in all directions. And, from Rilla's pocket, a low noise came, sounding like a wailing wind whispering through willows.
"What the—" Guin exclaimed, as Rilla fished frantically in the pockets of her robe.
"Ouch! Jesus – ouch – don't touch it, don't touch it, it's burning!" Rilla yelped. On the floor, still wailing and emitting faint traces of steam, was the crystal that she had found in the Forbidden Forest last year. Guin and L'Argent had used it to find Rilla when a Dark Wizard kidnapped her, but since then, it had shown no signs of magic. Rilla had kept it all the same.
Now, however, all three children stared at it. There were misty shapes moving within the crystalline rock, indecipherable and quite different from the sharp, clear scene that it had shown near the end of last year. Rilla was sucking on her fingers, which had blistered painfully. "Mmf – wha' 'pp'n'd?" she muttered around her hand, wincing, tears springing to her eyes.
"I – I don't know. Liadan, stop that," Guin admonished the cat, who was still spitting viciously at the wall.
"Rilla," L'Argent said, in a surprisingly gentle voice to the crying girl, "Let me see your hand."
"No," she mumbled, tears streaming down her face, "'Urts."
"We should take her to Madam Pomfrey," Guin said lightly, trying not to show that she was worried.
"We'd have to explain how she was burnt," L'Argent said, frown crawling across his forehead, "Do we want to show Dumbledore the crystal?"
"Here," Rilla said with a wince, wiping her burnt fingers on her shirt and then holding them out.
L'Argent drew his wand from his robes and frowned at them. "I've been practicing this spell, but I don't know if it works. I'm not much of a healer..."
"Well, you know more than either of us about it," Guin said abashedly, "I didn't even think to research medi-spells..."
"Can you stop talking," Rilla said weakly, "And try something on the hand?"
"Sorry," L'Argent said quickly, closed his eyes, and flicked his wand. "Confortari." Guin watched with interest as the blisters smoothed themselves out slowly, ever so slowly. After a moment all that was left on Rilla's hand was a red rash over her fingers. The tears stopped and Rilla sniffed, turning her hand over and over to examine it.
"Thank you, Mikael. It – it hardly hurts anymore..."
Guin reached out a tentative hand to touch the crystal, which had gone blank in the intervening time. It was ice-cold, silent, and showed absolutely no sign of any sort of magic. "Strange," Guin said, "And Liadan's calmed, as well. I wonder what that could have been?"
From somewhere in the castle, a magical bell rang, signaling that the Halloween feast was to begin in a half-hour. "Oh, no!" Rilla exclaimed, "I have to change – I've got dirt /all/ over my robes and my face is red—" And she jumped up and ran from the room.
"You wouldn't even know," L'Argent said with amusement, "That just a minute ago, she was sobbing."
"Gryffindors," Guin replied, with an airy wave of her hand. They got to their feet and ambled at a more leisurely pace towards the Slytherin Common room.
-----
Last Halloween feast, Professor Quirrell had set a troll loose in the castle and the party ended in complete and utter chaos. Guin's favorite memory of the event was Pansy Parkinson almost strangling Draco Malfoy. It seemed as though exciting things (not to mention near murders) were always happening at Hogwarts, and Guin thanked whatever deities who might have been listening for the fact that she was magic. Perhaps, though, they might manage to have a feast where something didn't happen to disturb it. Guin changed into a cleaner set of robes and combed her hair quickly, time was running out before the Halloween feast was to begin.
L'Argent and Ethan were waiting for her in the Common Room, both with their faces red from scrubbing and their hair slightly wet in an attempt at looking neater. Ethan, with his flyaway brown hair, was a lost cause; it looked very much as though a family of birds or small mammals had nested on top of his head. L'Argent actually managed to pass himself off as presentable, though there was a smudge of dirt on his cheek that he'd missed. "Where're the girls?" she wanted to know.
Ethan said, "Jessica and Sally-Ann said they didn't want to bother waiting."
L'Argent said, "Blaise was gone before we got here."
Ethan said, "And the firsties left in a group."
"Let's go, then," Guin said, frowning at the clock on the wall. Its times changed as needed, and at the moment, the minute hand was inching dangerously close to 'Late to the Feast, Lazy.'
The boys agreed, and they walked through the portal hole and into the hallway. "Hey – look," L'Argent whispered, "It's the Dream Team." And it was, indeed. They stopped in the shadows to watch as Potter, Hermione, and Weasley were walking quickly to the dungeons, looking slightly shifty. Guin sighed. The Gryffindors had little talent for deception, and it was obvious that the three were doing something they weren't supposed to.
"So they get in trouble if they're caught," Guin said philosophically, "Let's go, I'm hungry."
Shrugging, the three Slytherins moved at a half-run to the Great Hall, just in time to catch the last words of Dumbledore's speech. "...Enjoy!" Guin sighed as they slipped into the seats. She could see Malfoy at the end of the table, chatting with Blaise Zabini about Quidditch, but across from Guin sat the three first years they'd met earlier in the year, Loren, Alisa, and Conal.
"'Lo," Conal said.
"Happy Halloween," Alisa said.
Loren said nothing, but watched them with a half-smile on his face. Guin examined the hall. It was draped with swooping black streamers, hanging from the ceiling and dangling over the tables, and someone had performed a Spider Charm, and new, ancient-looking webs connected the corners of the walls and the streamers. Hagrid's pumpkins, as always, leered unpleasantly on either side of each door. Guin had never liked them; she suspected that they watched the students carefully when the teachers weren't looking.
On a stage near the staff table creaked a troupe of dancing skeletons. Without fail, all of them were tall, skinny, and well, bony. Some sort of spell was holding their bones in place, and she spent several seconds trying to figure out what it was before giving up. They gavotted, they waltzed, they jitterbugged, and they performed the Charleston with effortless ease. Guin found it rather dull after a few moments of watching, and turned her attention once more to the Slytherin table, where the talk was animated, the conversation lively, and, for the most part, the faces friendly.
-----
After the feast, the laughing, chattering students spilled past the eerie pumpkins and into the hallways, heading back to their dormitories filled with food and camaraderie. Guin felt unpleasantly full and rather sleepy, and was looking forward to sleep. She had managed to shove her way to the head of the crowd, and L'Argent followed her, silent. They didn't need to talk, not in this scenario: hundreds of yelling students prevented any sort of potential conversation.
"What's that?" L'Argent demanded suddenly, shouting in order to be heard over the din.
Guin realized that water was soaking through her shoes, and glanced up obediently. She gasped: written on the wall, in large green letters were the words: "THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE." That was it, the only writing, a cryptic message but – hanging on the wall was – the still form of a cat. Mrs. Norris.
And Potter, Weasley, and Hermione staring openmouthed at her form.
Draco Malfoy shoved her aside, pallid features flushed crimson. "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
Guin elbowed him in the stomach, and hissed viciously. "Shut up, Malfoy!"
"Make me, Muggle-lover."
"Take that back, you little git—"
L'Argent pushed Malfoy aside, too, and stood next to Guin. "...Christ." The other students had seen, and the period of pure silence was replaced by more shouting, people trying to figure out what was going on, but no luck for any of the theories yet. Mrs. Norris wasn't helping, either, simply hanging from the torch, stone dead.
"This should be interesting," Guin whispered to L'Argent, nudging his attention into the direction of Filch, who had arrived on the scene.
"What's going on here? What's going on?" he shouted irritably, but then his eyes fell on the cat and he gasped loudly. "My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?"
Guin couldn't help snickering softly to herself, the whole scene had a sort of macabre comedy to it. Potter and Weasley were still gaping dumbly at the cat. "You! You!" yelled Filch, catching sight of them, "You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll—" His eyes glinted madly, and it looked as though he was about to lunge for Potter right there and then. Fortunately for the Boy Who Lived, Dumbledore appeared just then.
He calmly lifted Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket, and Guin noticed that she was completely stiff, and retained the same position that she had while hanging. "Come with me, Argus," Dumbledore said firmly, "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."
There was a glint of golden hair from the crowd, as well, and Gilderoy Lockhart ("Not /him/," groaned L'Argent) smiled winningly at Dumbledore. "My office is nearest, Headmaster – just upstairs – please feel free—"
"Git," Guin said again, glaring at the Professor.
"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said placidly, and the Dream Team was marched off miserably behind him, heads hanging. Filch was still yelling hysterically, despite their efforts to calm him. Guin rubbed her temples with a sigh, feeling a headache coming on.
"Let's go," she murmured to L'Argent and Ethan, "Nothing left to see here."
"It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business."
"Dark enough, and sinister enough."
-- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Speckled Band
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"Weather like this always makes me depressed," Rilla said, looking morosely at the ceiling. She and Guin lingered in the Great Hall, which was unusually chilly and damp for October. Over her black Hogwarts robes, Rilla was wearing a thick fluffy sweater, and glared at anyone who mentioned it. "I don't like the cold!" she'd tell them, "And I don't care if it's part of the uniform." Unfortunately for Rilla, the sweater had a large, disgustingly cute rabbit on the front, with wide, distended eyes that stared forlornly out onto the room. She had received several comments about it, and those that had met her rarely roused wrath.
"I don't know," Guin said thoughtfully, as she glanced upward as well, "It's interesting, as well. There's promise behind it."
"You're crazy," Rilla said, watching gray clouds squiggle across the sky in a listless, depressed manner. "It's impossible to be happy in /that/."
A sudden explosion of lightning burst outside, immediately followed by a crack of thunder. Some girls in the hall shrieked and covered their heads, causing Guin to roll her eyes in disgust. From above, heavy raindrops began to fall, pattering down on the stone steps and onto the castle. Guin, still looking up at the sky – the ceiling – said absently, "I think one reason I like rain is because it makes you feel powerful..."
"It makes you feel /what/?" Rilla said, eyeing her friend askance.
"Powerful. The rain's falling, but you're warm and you're inside and dry. It's like mastery over nature. Rain makes the heat feel warmer."
"Crazy," Rilla repeated, with conviction.
"Let's go," Guin said, "Rain or shine, Snape's waiting."
"That's a wonderful way to cheer me up."
"As always, I am a paragon of merriment."
"That was a frightening statement, from you."
"I aim to scare."
"Hi, girls!" That was Holly Weatherfield, passing in the other direction.
"...Hi," Guin said, unenthusiastically.
"I hope the sun comes out soon," Holly said, "You both look rather pale."
"Thank you, Holly," Guin said.
"Oh, you're welcome!"
Rilla and Guin glanced at each other, and then at the girl. Scrutinizing Holly's face carefully, Guin attempted to figure out whether she was being serious, or whether she was just a very, very good actor. After a moment's thought, it was quite evident that Holly was in deadly earnest, judging from the beaming smile plastered on her face.
"Well," she said, waving at Guin, "I'd love to stay and chat, but I have Transfiguration! Toodles, girls!"
"Toodles," Guin repeated, once Holly had retreated from sight. "Now /that/ is depressing, not the weather at all."
"Right," Rilla said, shaking her head.
"Ril?"
"Yes?"
"If I ever start acting like Weatherfield, will you kill me?"
"Guin!"
"I'm serious," Guin said, chuckling as they walked down to the dungeons, "Will you?"
"Guin!"
"What?"
"That's... That's /morbid/."
"Your point?"
"I don't even want to think about that."
"Suit yourself."
"Fine."
"Well? Will you?" Guin grinned and dodged to the left as Rilla attempted to punch her in the arm. The Gryffindor flailed her arms futilely at her. "Ouch!" Guin yelped, as Rilla's palm connected with her shoulder. "Okay, okay, if I'll change the statement, if I ever start talking like Holly, just ignore me. And if I ever recover, don't remind me."
"Why do I even bother?" Rilla asked the ceiling rhetorically, as they moved deeper into the entrails of the castle. It was familiar ground, for Guin; not only were the dungeons and the potions classroom located here, but the entrance to the Slytherin Common room was not far away. The slightly damp stone walls had long ago lost their menace, and the melancholy air of the tunnels had a homey feel, for her.
"Because you're a nice, decent person, and I'm not?"
"Besides that."
"You're devoted to lost causes?"
"Could be," Rilla said. They paused before the low entrance to Snape's classroom. Several stairs led deeper into the room, and they could see the students sitting down and glancing expectantly towards Snape's desk. "Oh, no!" Rilla exclaimed, "We're late! Oh, that horrible Holly... If she'd hadn't been talking to us..."
"Ril, just /walk/!" Guin said, and they hurried down into the dungeon.
-----
"Miss Jackson? You had pressing business elsewhere?" Snape said, a sardonic smile curling his mouth. Rilla went pale and looked at the floor, lip trembling. Guin sighed and put a hand to her forehead. Her friend had always been a little afraid of Snape, and it didn't help that he was being sarcastic to her. The girl, though possessed of some inner fire, was not the bravest person on a normal basis – and Snape made her extremely nervous.
"I – I –"
"Come now, I know the life of a Gryffindor must be very occupying. Perhaps--"
"Professor!"
"Yes, Miss Marlowe?"
"I'm sorry, Professor, it was my fault she was late—"
Snape's glittering black eyes turned on her, brows raising in disbelief. "I'm sure, Miss Marlowe. A point from Gryffindor."
"But—" Rilla said, growing indignant.
"Miss Jackson, I would like to begin the lesson now. If you have any objections you may see me after class."
"Ril," Guin whispered, "Let it go." The two girls sat down at a desk, across the row from L'Argent and Ethan and behind Potter and Weasley.
"Now that this disturbance has been sorted out," Snape continued, sable eyes glittering, "We shall start the lesson. Today, you will learn the careful art of brewing a Freezing Fluid..."
Rilla frowned at the cauldrons as they set them on the table, heaving an emotional, eloquent sigh. Potions was far from her favorite subject, and, as Snape had remarked more than once, she should never, ever marry Neville Longbottom, for fear that between the two of them, they might accidentally destroy the world, or at least several nearby buildings. Guin had been forced to admit, Rilla made some memorable pratfalls – like the time she inadvertently sprouted two extra arms after drinking a new draught – or the time a spilled potion gone awry had boiled a hole straight through the stone desk and into the floor – or even the time when the exploding cauldron had caused the ceiling to rain lizard intestines for hours?
Guin, to her dismay, actually liked the class. Perhaps it was because Professor Snape was remarkably nicer to the Slytherins than to their opposite house, or because her years in Shadehurst had prepared her for the work, but she found Potions fairly simple, at least compared to Transfiguration. Something about the simmering noise the cauldron made was soothing, and even though the dungeons were chilly now, in the summer they were a cool relief.
"...Now add the worms' kidneys, please..."
Rilla refused to touch the slimy organs, and pleaded with Guin until the Slytherin, exasperated, threw up her hands and agreed. "Look, Ril, you can wash your hands when you're done..."
"I don't care, I am /not/ touching those things."
In front of them, Potter and Weasley were conferring quietly, their heads bent over their cauldron, which was emitting occasional spurts of icy blue bubbles, which hovered above the rim before popping in loud bursts. "I don't think it's supposed to be doing that," Weasley was saying, scratching his forehead for a moment.
"Definitely not," Potter agreed, "Maybe we need more ice?" They were working busily after a second's pause.
Guin examined the contents of her own cauldron, and was satisfied that they were correct. The liquid had a thick consistency, but was completely clear. Small sparkles drifted through its body, and all things considered, it was quite beautiful. That was fine; she just needed to let it simmer for fifteen minutes. The magic fire beneath was burning steadily – now she was free to ask a question that had been bothering her for the day.
Reaching forward, she poked Potter lightly in the neck with the end of her quill. He swatted at it, obviously assuming there was a bug flying around his head. Guin rolled her eyes and tried again; this time, he slapped his neck irritably, without even turning around. "You're unusually perceptive today, Potter," she drawled as he twisted around in his seat.
"Shut up, Marlowe," Weasley said.
Guin sighed. "Was I talking to you?"
"We wish you weren't," he replied.
"As always, your charm never ceases to captivate me. Can I have your babies?" ("/Guin/!" Rilla whispered, shocked.)
"Very funny," he growled, though his face had turned slightly pink, "Why are all the jokers put in Slytherin?"
"As much as I love bandying words with you, Weasley, I've got a pressing question for Potter." Something about Ron Weasley brought out every sarcastic instinct in her body to the fore. Perhaps it was his quite biased hatred of all things Slytherin and snake-oriented.
"What is it, Marlowe?" Potter said.
"So, is it true?"
"Is what true?" he asked suspiciously.
"The signed pictures," Guin said, enjoying the sudden crimson flush that moved across his face.
"Sod off, Marlowe, you know I didn't want him to do that—"
"You 'just did what you had to do,' I suppose?"
"Don't answer her, Harry," Weasley interjected, in a tone that was obviously meant to be dignified, and failed quite miserably.
"Your potion's boiling over," Guin pointed out helpfully.
Potter said several words that would definitely have caused his aunt to wash his mouth out with soap. It was just his luck, or lack of it, that Snape was wandering through the aisles examining the students' work. "Language, Potter," he said lazily, "Five points from Gryffindor." He turned away then, and Potter and Weasley made faces at Guin behind his back.
"Guin, don't you think you were a little mean to them?" Rilla whispered to her, as Weasley glared poisonously and Potter went back to his work.
Guin whispered back. "Ril, if he was handing out /signed photos/ then he deserved it."
"But he said that he didn't want them handed out..."
"But they were anyway."
"Guin, that's silly logic."
"That's what I do best."
-----
"Guin! Guess what?"
"Hmm?"
"Dumbledore's got a troupe of dancing skeletons booked for the Halloween dance, today."
"Really?" Guin said, interested despite herself. They sat in the abandoned classroom that had been discovered last year; Rilla on a chair, L'Argent in another, and Guin sprawled on several cushions that had been thrown haphazardly onto the floor. "That should be interesting." She grinned suddenly, slightly malicious. "Parkinson's going to be scared out of her mind."
Rilla giggled. "I can just see that. 'Eeee, Malfoy, there are BONES dancing on the stage! Save meeeee!'"
Guin shuddered elegantly and returned her attention to the book. "Maybe she'll be sick and unable to attend."
"I doubt we'll be that lucky, Ril," L'Argent said, pausing in his sketch. It was, from Guin's best look, a careful drawing of an owl in flight.
"Well, it never hurts to hope," Rilla said gloomily.
None of them, under any circumstances, would have predicted what happened next. Liadan, seated on the floor near Guin, suddenly turned to the wall and hissed loudly. The tiny kitten grew louder as the seconds went by and they stared, bewildered, at each other. By now her fur had stood on end and so had her tail, Liadan looked as though she had been struck by lightning, a tiny ball of hair sticking in all directions. And, from Rilla's pocket, a low noise came, sounding like a wailing wind whispering through willows.
"What the—" Guin exclaimed, as Rilla fished frantically in the pockets of her robe.
"Ouch! Jesus – ouch – don't touch it, don't touch it, it's burning!" Rilla yelped. On the floor, still wailing and emitting faint traces of steam, was the crystal that she had found in the Forbidden Forest last year. Guin and L'Argent had used it to find Rilla when a Dark Wizard kidnapped her, but since then, it had shown no signs of magic. Rilla had kept it all the same.
Now, however, all three children stared at it. There were misty shapes moving within the crystalline rock, indecipherable and quite different from the sharp, clear scene that it had shown near the end of last year. Rilla was sucking on her fingers, which had blistered painfully. "Mmf – wha' 'pp'n'd?" she muttered around her hand, wincing, tears springing to her eyes.
"I – I don't know. Liadan, stop that," Guin admonished the cat, who was still spitting viciously at the wall.
"Rilla," L'Argent said, in a surprisingly gentle voice to the crying girl, "Let me see your hand."
"No," she mumbled, tears streaming down her face, "'Urts."
"We should take her to Madam Pomfrey," Guin said lightly, trying not to show that she was worried.
"We'd have to explain how she was burnt," L'Argent said, frown crawling across his forehead, "Do we want to show Dumbledore the crystal?"
"Here," Rilla said with a wince, wiping her burnt fingers on her shirt and then holding them out.
L'Argent drew his wand from his robes and frowned at them. "I've been practicing this spell, but I don't know if it works. I'm not much of a healer..."
"Well, you know more than either of us about it," Guin said abashedly, "I didn't even think to research medi-spells..."
"Can you stop talking," Rilla said weakly, "And try something on the hand?"
"Sorry," L'Argent said quickly, closed his eyes, and flicked his wand. "Confortari." Guin watched with interest as the blisters smoothed themselves out slowly, ever so slowly. After a moment all that was left on Rilla's hand was a red rash over her fingers. The tears stopped and Rilla sniffed, turning her hand over and over to examine it.
"Thank you, Mikael. It – it hardly hurts anymore..."
Guin reached out a tentative hand to touch the crystal, which had gone blank in the intervening time. It was ice-cold, silent, and showed absolutely no sign of any sort of magic. "Strange," Guin said, "And Liadan's calmed, as well. I wonder what that could have been?"
From somewhere in the castle, a magical bell rang, signaling that the Halloween feast was to begin in a half-hour. "Oh, no!" Rilla exclaimed, "I have to change – I've got dirt /all/ over my robes and my face is red—" And she jumped up and ran from the room.
"You wouldn't even know," L'Argent said with amusement, "That just a minute ago, she was sobbing."
"Gryffindors," Guin replied, with an airy wave of her hand. They got to their feet and ambled at a more leisurely pace towards the Slytherin Common room.
-----
Last Halloween feast, Professor Quirrell had set a troll loose in the castle and the party ended in complete and utter chaos. Guin's favorite memory of the event was Pansy Parkinson almost strangling Draco Malfoy. It seemed as though exciting things (not to mention near murders) were always happening at Hogwarts, and Guin thanked whatever deities who might have been listening for the fact that she was magic. Perhaps, though, they might manage to have a feast where something didn't happen to disturb it. Guin changed into a cleaner set of robes and combed her hair quickly, time was running out before the Halloween feast was to begin.
L'Argent and Ethan were waiting for her in the Common Room, both with their faces red from scrubbing and their hair slightly wet in an attempt at looking neater. Ethan, with his flyaway brown hair, was a lost cause; it looked very much as though a family of birds or small mammals had nested on top of his head. L'Argent actually managed to pass himself off as presentable, though there was a smudge of dirt on his cheek that he'd missed. "Where're the girls?" she wanted to know.
Ethan said, "Jessica and Sally-Ann said they didn't want to bother waiting."
L'Argent said, "Blaise was gone before we got here."
Ethan said, "And the firsties left in a group."
"Let's go, then," Guin said, frowning at the clock on the wall. Its times changed as needed, and at the moment, the minute hand was inching dangerously close to 'Late to the Feast, Lazy.'
The boys agreed, and they walked through the portal hole and into the hallway. "Hey – look," L'Argent whispered, "It's the Dream Team." And it was, indeed. They stopped in the shadows to watch as Potter, Hermione, and Weasley were walking quickly to the dungeons, looking slightly shifty. Guin sighed. The Gryffindors had little talent for deception, and it was obvious that the three were doing something they weren't supposed to.
"So they get in trouble if they're caught," Guin said philosophically, "Let's go, I'm hungry."
Shrugging, the three Slytherins moved at a half-run to the Great Hall, just in time to catch the last words of Dumbledore's speech. "...Enjoy!" Guin sighed as they slipped into the seats. She could see Malfoy at the end of the table, chatting with Blaise Zabini about Quidditch, but across from Guin sat the three first years they'd met earlier in the year, Loren, Alisa, and Conal.
"'Lo," Conal said.
"Happy Halloween," Alisa said.
Loren said nothing, but watched them with a half-smile on his face. Guin examined the hall. It was draped with swooping black streamers, hanging from the ceiling and dangling over the tables, and someone had performed a Spider Charm, and new, ancient-looking webs connected the corners of the walls and the streamers. Hagrid's pumpkins, as always, leered unpleasantly on either side of each door. Guin had never liked them; she suspected that they watched the students carefully when the teachers weren't looking.
On a stage near the staff table creaked a troupe of dancing skeletons. Without fail, all of them were tall, skinny, and well, bony. Some sort of spell was holding their bones in place, and she spent several seconds trying to figure out what it was before giving up. They gavotted, they waltzed, they jitterbugged, and they performed the Charleston with effortless ease. Guin found it rather dull after a few moments of watching, and turned her attention once more to the Slytherin table, where the talk was animated, the conversation lively, and, for the most part, the faces friendly.
-----
After the feast, the laughing, chattering students spilled past the eerie pumpkins and into the hallways, heading back to their dormitories filled with food and camaraderie. Guin felt unpleasantly full and rather sleepy, and was looking forward to sleep. She had managed to shove her way to the head of the crowd, and L'Argent followed her, silent. They didn't need to talk, not in this scenario: hundreds of yelling students prevented any sort of potential conversation.
"What's that?" L'Argent demanded suddenly, shouting in order to be heard over the din.
Guin realized that water was soaking through her shoes, and glanced up obediently. She gasped: written on the wall, in large green letters were the words: "THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE." That was it, the only writing, a cryptic message but – hanging on the wall was – the still form of a cat. Mrs. Norris.
And Potter, Weasley, and Hermione staring openmouthed at her form.
Draco Malfoy shoved her aside, pallid features flushed crimson. "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
Guin elbowed him in the stomach, and hissed viciously. "Shut up, Malfoy!"
"Make me, Muggle-lover."
"Take that back, you little git—"
L'Argent pushed Malfoy aside, too, and stood next to Guin. "...Christ." The other students had seen, and the period of pure silence was replaced by more shouting, people trying to figure out what was going on, but no luck for any of the theories yet. Mrs. Norris wasn't helping, either, simply hanging from the torch, stone dead.
"This should be interesting," Guin whispered to L'Argent, nudging his attention into the direction of Filch, who had arrived on the scene.
"What's going on here? What's going on?" he shouted irritably, but then his eyes fell on the cat and he gasped loudly. "My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?"
Guin couldn't help snickering softly to herself, the whole scene had a sort of macabre comedy to it. Potter and Weasley were still gaping dumbly at the cat. "You! You!" yelled Filch, catching sight of them, "You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll—" His eyes glinted madly, and it looked as though he was about to lunge for Potter right there and then. Fortunately for the Boy Who Lived, Dumbledore appeared just then.
He calmly lifted Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket, and Guin noticed that she was completely stiff, and retained the same position that she had while hanging. "Come with me, Argus," Dumbledore said firmly, "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."
There was a glint of golden hair from the crowd, as well, and Gilderoy Lockhart ("Not /him/," groaned L'Argent) smiled winningly at Dumbledore. "My office is nearest, Headmaster – just upstairs – please feel free—"
"Git," Guin said again, glaring at the Professor.
"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said placidly, and the Dream Team was marched off miserably behind him, heads hanging. Filch was still yelling hysterically, despite their efforts to calm him. Guin rubbed her temples with a sigh, feeling a headache coming on.
"Let's go," she murmured to L'Argent and Ethan, "Nothing left to see here."