Chapter 5
Author's
Notes I: The quote "A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man
contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral." is taken from
Antoine de Saint Exupery's Flight to
Arras.
Author's
Notes II: Amicitia, amo,
fides.- Friendship, love, faith in Latin.
Author's
Notes III: Thanks to Jedi Boadicea for letting me borrow her Auris Medallion
theory, as well as her Stasis wall spell (mentioned in her fanfic Memories
of Tomorrow: Dreams of Yesterday series)
Author's Notes IV:
As much as I would like to lay claim to Moody's quote on courage, I can't. It
is a mutated version (to fit this story) of a quote from Ty Murray, who was a
seven-time all-around world champion cowboy.
Usual disclaimer: Thanks to J. K. Rowling for giving us this world to
live in in the first place. It is all hers, I just feed off her dreams…..
Chapter 5
"So
how's my favourite grandchild this afternoon?"
Irina
skipped up to her grandfather and settled cosily next to him. The two of them
got along famously.
"Having
a witchcraft-free Easter now aren't we?" he asked, as he ruffled Irina's hair.
Irina
nodded. Despite being a Muggle, Grandpa Ivan was hugely fascinated with the
wizarding world. In fact, he had said so many times he wished he were a wizard.
He'd married a witch, Grandma Julia (who had died just last year) and heard
many magical tales from her. And it had made his day when his daughter Tamara,
and when Irina years later, were accepted into the Rastorovsky Institute of
Wizardry. He never stopped asking for stories about the school and wizarding
world in general, and Julia and Irina never tired of telling them.
"So,
how much chocolate did you stuff yourself with?"
"A
lot," Irina admitted. "I brought some Chocolate Frogs for you though."
Grandpa
Ivan's face lit up as Irina pulled out several packets from her pocket.
"Chocolate
Frogs. My favourite! I wonder what cards are in these now."
Grandpa
Ivan's eyes twinkled. "Young at heart dear. I like to call it being young at
heart."
After
a few moments' munching on the chocolate and flipping through the cards (all of
which he had already – Albus Dumbledore, Agrippa, Ptolemy, Hengist of
Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus), he turned back to Irina, who
was playing with Larky the dog.
"So,
did you get anything else? Besides chocolate, I mean? A fluffy Easter rabbit?"
Irina
grinned at her grandfather's twinkling eyes. "No, no fluffy white creatures.
But mum did give me this stone though."
She
pulled out a dull looking shard from her other pocket and shrugged. "Doesn't
look to be much, but she said it had been passed down the family, so that is
nice if nothing else."
Grandpa
Ivan took the shard from her and fingered it lovingly. "Yes, I remember this. I
used to tease your Grandma Julia about it. You know, what is it? Just a shard.
But she said it had been passed down the family as a sort of charm for several centuries.
Her great great great, goodness knows how many greats, grandmother Anastasia.
So it is almost like an heirloom, only it's not a diamond or ruby or sapphire
or something," he finished chuckling. "Take good care of it. It holds many
memories, and," winking at Irina, "might hold hidden powers."
"Has
it shown powers before then?"
"Not
that I know of. But that doesn't mean it doesn't posses them."
"Yeah
right. You'd think if it was powerful, it would gleam and shimmer and I would
be 10 feet tall, wearing a rich embroidered cloak and ruling the universe with
unstoppable power when mum handed me this."
Grandpa
Ivan let out a guffaw. "Still the idyllic belief in the control and power
department I see you have." He paused, and sobered up a bit. "Seriously though
Ira, power isn't all command and control over mankind, nor blatantly displaying
strength for the world to see. It can be anything. It can be belief, love,
friendship, memories, knowledge, anything you wish it to be and that means
something to you. Power, real power, comes from within, and is something
which you might not even realise you have until you need it. That, what
is within you, embedded in you, is powerful because no one can take it away
from you. Think, power of rulers in the world hasn't all been that stable. Look
at Napolean. Look at Hitler."
Irina
smiled and moved to lie across Grandpa Ivan's lap. She fingered the shard and
let the sunlight reflect off its sides.
"Still,
it is so small and wee looking." She paused, "I like the memories part of it
though. You know, that it had been in the family for so long."
"A rock pile ceases to be a
rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image
of a cathedral." Grandpa Ivan paused, and looked down at Irina, still fingering
the shard, but looking at his questioningly.
"It means envision what you wish something to be,
and you can make it happen. In a case like this though, I'd like to interpret
it as, seeing the shard as whatever you wish it to be, whatever meaning you
wish it to have. And sure enough, it will be that. It can be just a shard, or
it can you a lucky charm, or it can be a love charm. It can even be your
protective charm. Anything. The choice is limited only by your soul."
"Now you are getting to sound like our Divination
teacher," laughed Irina.
Grandpa Ivan grinned. "We Muggles like to call it
superstition. Just because we are "only" Muggles doesn't mean we don't believe
in magic or supernatural powers."
Still laughing, Irina sat up and brushed her hair
out of her eyes. "I have to go. Promised mum I'd be back by five." Brushing
herself down, she hurried out the door. "Thanks for the soul-searching advice
though," she said, before closing the door behind her.
"Anytime love."
In her room that night, Irina pondered over what her
grandfather said. Sure, she had teased him about sounding like their
exaggerating, irritating, soulful Divination teacher, but what he had said was
interesting. And what was more, she understood and agreed with him too.
Besides, it would be nice to have a sort of charm, girly as it might seem. She
wondered about thinking it as a lucky charm. Nah, too common. Love charm? Too
mushy. Her thoughts drifted to the owl she had gotten from her Beaubaxton's
penpal the previous term where she had described to her about her class making
Auris Medallions in class and how they acted as a protective/warning talisman
object. What did she say they were for?
She had said, "the Medallion would warn the
wearer, by turning numbingly cold, whenever dark magic was being worked against
them and that an exceptionally well made Medallion could also work somewhat
like a Sneakoscope, warning the wearer if he was in the presence of a dark
wizard."
In the end, her friend had managed to get the Medallion made without mishap, and was in fact, very chuffed with it.
"Well,
Auris Medallion or not," thought Irina, "It would
be a nice concept to use with this shard." In fact, with it having three sides to it tapering off from a round head
to a sharp point, she could have three words. Then there would be three times
the possibility of getting the true word. She was just relieved that, unlike a
real Auris Medallion, the shard would not explode upon a superficial word being
used. She hoped. Or else there would be three times the chance too, of carrying
out an unwanted explosion.
She
pondered for several long moments, thinking back to what her Grandpa Ivan had
said that afternoon. Finally, slightly nervously, but very determinedly, she
picked up her engraving quill, and slowly, carefully, engraved three words. One
on each side.
Amicitia.
Amo. Fides.
When
she finished, she examined her handiwork closely. The engraving was faint,
barely visible to the eye. But it could just about be detectable.
"Well,
it is really only me who needs the words anyway, as they might be useless to
the others," she thought, convincing herself the faintness
was okay. She picked up an empty locket she had had for several years. It was
oval-shaped, and instead of being flattish to allow for photos, was actually
round and hollow, room enough to slip the shard into. She gave a smile, as she
tucked the locket underneath her jumper.
* * * * *
1995 A.D. Hogwarts
"Karvitskaya!"
Katya stopped and faced Snape tentatively. "Yes?"
"Did you know that ornate jewellery is not part of the dress code here in Hogwarts?" he rapped, reaching forward for Katya's silver locket, which was hanging outside her robes, and flicking it up with the index finger of his right hand.
Katya glanced down anxiously at Snape's long, thin finger. "Sorry Sir, I didn't kn…"
"Enough! Five points from Gryffindor! And if I catch sight of it again, it will be confiscated."
"But Professor, it's my…"
"Silence! Unless you wish to have another ten points taken off."
Katya shut up immediately. She had quickly learnt that Snape could not be reasoned with when he was in a vindictive mood. She caught sight of a briefest flicker of expression registering on his face as he continued to gaze at the locket. But before it could be gauged, Snape had hardened his looks and flipped the ornament sharply back at her.
"In the future, Karvitskaya," he said shortly, "if you wish to break the school rules, do so without flaunting. Keep the offending ornament hidden where I cannot see it."
And with that, he swept off down the corridor. A small swish of wind followed, as if to further emphasise the presence of his vindictiveness.
"Bastard," grumbled Ron, glaring at the Professor's retreating back. "He made that one up on the spot. All because he just felt like taking points off us."
"At least he didn't confiscate it," said Katya, tucking the chain deep within her robes, under her polo-neck. She was rather taken aback, and a bit confused, over what Snape had just said. "It was a bit strange about the last part though. You know, if I want to break the rules, then do so sneakily."
"That just goes to show that bloody rule was made up!" replied Harry angrily. "I am sure if it isn't for Snape and his obvious hatred for the Gryffindors," in particular myself, he added silently, "the Gryffindors will have about a hundred more points each year."
Katya shrugged. "I guess you're right," she said, but it didn't stop her from thinking that Snape was indeed a rather intriguing character.
*
Snape sat down in his office, pulling a pile of parchment towards him. It was the fifth-years' homework, an essay detailing the Development and Trial-Testings of the Memory Liquor. He sighed. He had been feeling very tired lately, having sleepless nights about the dangers of his lifestyle at this moment in time. Keeping up appearances and covering up in front of Voldemort and the Death Eaters was a very exhausting job, and the last thing he felt like doing was going through a heap of sloppily done homework with a plethora of careless mistakes. Especially with that Neville. Now, if everyone could do theirs like that Granger girl. Shame she was in Gryffindor. She would have garnered a lot of points in his class for her house had she been placed in Slytherin. And that Russian girl wasn't too bad either.
His mind drifted back to when he had reprimanded her in the corridor about ornamental jewellery. True, he had made that up. But he could not bide frivolous charms and whatnots dangling about all over what should be a simple dress code of black school robes. That Lavender Brown was the worst. Snape would never forget the time she had feathers stuck in her hair.
"She looked like a flaming peacock," he thought, with all the irritated impatience of one who could not stand ridiculous fancifuls. His thoughts soon drifted back to that silver charm and he shuffled the sheets of parchment in front of him uncomfortably.
"Find me this shard, and do not fail," Voldemort had said.
Snape could
not shake off the dreading suspicion that inside that "frivolous charm" held
something. Something that, he thought, during that brief moment in which he
fingered it, seemed to be a shard of sorts. Could it be?
He fervently wished not. For a multitude of reasons. He wished to be able to, truthfully, plead ignorance to the Dark Lord's continuous questionings on his assignment's progress. He wished that such an artefact would not be in the possession of a completely clueless fifteen year old. He wished, perhaps above all, that Voldemort had been wrong all along regarding his visions, and that there was no existence of an outwardly innocuous, but deceptively devastating, artefact.
Snape heaved a weary sigh. For now, he, Severus Snape, could still remain in relatively truthful ignorance. But he was dancing dangerously on the border of close to knowing the truth. And knowing the truth meant heading along the fast-track to peril. Veriataserum and merciless administrations of the unforgivable Cruciatus Curse were potent enough to break through any Memory Charms or control of sanity to obtain the deepest, darkest secrets of even the most faithful of wizards.
Katya had unwittingly made his position difficult. "Stupid girl," he thought to himself angrily. "If she hadn't deliberately flaunted that damned chain." Well, if he hadn't been feeling vindictive and wanted something to vent out about either…. "but that is beside the point," he argued to himself. He couldn't confiscate that ornament as he normally would have done, as its investigation might have led to discovery of Voldemort's desire. Thus compromising his ability to feign ignorance on its existence and location. He just hoped that no more sightings of the charm would be in store.
Pushing away a greasy lock of hair that was stuck in his eye, Snape pulled Seamus Finnegan's essay towards him (which Snape noticed at a glance, was two inches short despite Seamus surreptitiously enlarging his writing). As he viciously slashed red marks across the untidy scrawls, grumbling out loud about the blundering mistakes in ingredients amounts, he heard the faint sound of a movement and whipped his head round to face the door where he thought it had come from.
There was nothing.
Snape shut his eyes in an attempt to drain his mind of all thought. He needed a break from all of this. The tension of being a spy can sometimes be overwhelming. Shaking his head, he turned back to his work. For several hours, he feverishly marked the pile of mistake-laden essays, letting his shoulder-length hair to tumble round his face, as if to shield himself from the demands of the outside world.
*
The month of
November rolled by rapidly and blended unnoticeably into December. The days
were shortening, and it got bitterly cold as snow fell and the frosty north
wind howled outside Hogwarts Castle.
Most of the students opted
wisely to stay indoors during the cold winter nights, in front of the cosy
fireplace in their common rooms. Days passed by relatively peacefully and
uneventfully. Harry, Ron and Hermione didn't get to visit Hagrid much. Partly
due to the nasty weather, and partly because they knew he was busy with
rounding up giants for the International Giants Committee (IGC). Harry hadn't
really heard from Sirius since the day three weeks ago, when his godfather had
visited Professor Dumbledore in order to discuss the possibility of conducting
a Fidelius Charm for Harry's sake. He did get a hasty note from Sirius telling
him, as usual, to take care ("He is getting worse than my Mum," Ron had said,
when Harry showed the note to him) and that he had still not managed to come up
with the ideal person as Harry's Secret Keeper yet. But he was on the look out.
There was also a brief P.S. with Lupin saying hi to all three friends.
With a couple of weeks to go before the Christmas
holidays, people were starting to talk about returning home, the usual Christmas
festivities, and for some lucky ones, travelling abroad.
"It's going to be a rather quiet time here, I
gather," said Hermione one morning as the Gryffindors made their way to
breakfast. "As far as I am aware, everyone seems to be going home for the holidays."
"Or in Lee Jordan's case, to Japan,"
interjected Ron, unable to, or rather, not even attempting to, conceal the envy
in his voice.
His jaw had dropped when George had told him of it a
couple of nights ago, also sounding rather jealous. However, he had winked when
Katie had shown up to take him for a walk ("You need a break from the
studying," she had said). "But Fred and I have given him an important
undercover assignment. He is to bring back all the secret recipes for jokes
from the Orient. We plan to make our joke shop cosmopolitan, you see," he
whispered, rubbing his hands in glee. Fred had been nowhere to be seen. He had
been "intensely studying" Charms with Angelina at the library. Charming
indeed. Ron smirked as he pictured the look on Madam Pince's face if she
caught the two Seventh-Years doing their "intensive studying" at the desks
situated the far end of the library, right beside the Restricted Section.
Ron was just about to tell the others of the twins'
non-prank related escapades when Harry said lightly, "Well, I am going to be
around, as usual."
Hermione fidgeted. "I owled my parents yesterday to
ask if I could stay on. There is so much studying I, we," she
emphasised, "have to do!"
Ron rolled his eyes and made a noise. Hermione ignored
him and continued, "and I would need the library for all that research we need
to do for the essays. And stuff."
Harry chuckled. "Hermione, you may be an absolutely
brilliant student, and ace all your O.W.L.s," he said, flashing her a cheeky
grin, "but lying would not be one of them. That has got to be the lousiest
excuse I have heard! C'mon, you can do better than that!"
"What do you mean?" retorted Hermione, though she
could tell Harry was secretly touched. "It's perfectly legit. Besides, the
O.W.L.s are only…."
"…a little over six months away," finished Ron.
"Yes, but the lying is still pathetic!"
Hermione made a playful lunge at him which he
artfully dodged and the two chased each other down the corridor into the Great
Hall. Harry followed at a more placid pace, shaking his head.
When he had settled down at the table beside his two
friends, Ron turned to him and said, rather apologetically, "I would stay too,
but Bill and Charlie are back for the holidays, and it is rare that we all get
together," he finished, shrugging.
"Don't be silly, Ron," Harry said, clapping his
friend on the shoulder as he took a sip of juice. "It would be cool for you
back home. Bet you you are looking forward to seeing Bill and Charlie too."
Ron couldn't help grinning. Then he pulled a face,
"Percy will be there as well, with Penelope. You know what this means. A
nightly five-hour lecture on the importance of long-lasting wizardry ink," he
gagged.
"What happened to the cauldron bottoms?"
"He finished that lot last September."
"Get Charlie to tell you all about dragons instead.
Tell him you need it for the O.W.L.s or something."
The three laughed. They all knew that Hagrid would
only be too happy to be teaching about dragons for their "Care of Magical
Creatures" classes. Who could forget about Baby Norbert?
"Well," said Harry, as he swallowed his bacon, "I'll
leave it up to you to discover the marvels of long-lasting ink development.
While Hermione and myself here," he said winking, "will dutifully recite off by
heart, all the books in the library. Oww!"
That last comment had earned him a swift, but firm,
kick under the table from Hermione. "You asked for that one!" she said.
Harry was still trying to search for a come-uppance
when the owl post came. Errol crashed down in the middle of the three, while
Pig fluttered in a few seconds later and landed in Ron's milk. Reaching forward
to lug Errol off the table, Ron detached three letters from the worn-out owl's
leg, while fishing Pig out of his glass.
"There's one for each of us. Looks like it's from
Mum," he said, as he passed the letters around. Then detaching the soggy piece
of parchment from Pig's leg, he saw that it was from Bill. The three friends
glanced quickly through their letters and then stared in delight at Ron.
"Did you get the same letter as I did?" asked
Hermione, barely able to conceal her excitement.
"I hope so," replied Harry as he peeked into her
letter.
"Oh Ron!" cried Hermione happily. "Your mum has
invited us to The Burrow for Christmas! She's already consulted my parents and
they have said yes!"
"And Dumbledore has agreed to me going too," added
Harry, scanning through his letter again, hardly able to believe his luck.
Ron was grinning from ear to ear. "It is
going to be crowded though," he added, a bit worriedly. The familiar look of
apprehension crossed his face as he thought of his friends being at his
cluttered family home. The house wasn't a luxurious mansion.
"Rubbish! Who cares? Part of the fun is it being
crowded and rowdy," grinned Harry.
Ron relaxed. Quickly scanning through the milky pulp
of Bill's letter, he laughed as he showed it to the others, "Looks like Bill
could do with some of Percy's Long Lasting Ink," he said, as they attempted to
make out what the smudged letter read.
Dear ole Ronnikins,
I guess you would have heard from Mum by now about
the Christmas plans. If Errol had not had a heart attack on his way to you that
is. That owl is really past his prime. Anyway, it looks like The Burrow is
going to be one, big, boisterous place these holidays. Just like it was the
last two weeks of the summer. Percy is going to go mad! He claims he has five
detailed Wizarding Ink reports to complete over Christmas. Let's hope Penelope
will get him to take his mind off things. J Charlie and I are looking forward to be as jovial as possible.
"Rascal!" laughed Harry.
Oh, actually the house is going to be even more
crowded than that.
"What? How?" aske Hermione.
There are going to be two extra guests staying as
well.
"Where are they going to go?" wondered Harry
out loud.
"Bugger!"
Cheers,
Your fantastically amazing oldest brother who still
has the long mane,
Bill
P.S. Remind Hermione not to bring the whole of
Hogwarts library back with her.
"I do not bring the library back with me!"
said Hermione defensively, though her eyes betrayed her amusement.
"Who cares about the floor?" said Harry happily. "I
will sleep in the coal shed if I need to."
"I wonder who those two guests are," said Ron
thoughtfully. "Probably his and Charlie's girlfriends," he added, with a wicked
glint in his eye.
"In that case, no fair!" came Fred's voice over
their shoulders. He had just received an owl from home too. "All of you would
have your beloved with you except for us!"
Both Ginny and Ron turned the shade of their hair
while Hermione and Harry feigned deafness.
"Don't worry," said George in a mock huff, turning
to Katie. "We'll whip you off to the French Riviera over the summer."
Katie and Angelina caught each others' eyes and
started giggling. Ron, deciding to change the subject, turned to Katya and
asked, "so, how are you going to spend your Christmas?"
"Oh, I'm going to Birmingham to stay with my
father," she replied laughing, seeing right through Ron's act of desperation.
After breakfast, the Fifth-Years were getting up to
head to Arithmancy when they heard a familiar sneer coming from behind them.
"So since when, might I ask, Weasley, did your
family home become presentable enough to entertain visitors?"
Their excited discussion must have carried across to
the Slytherin table.
"Since always, Malfoy!" retorted Harry, whirling
round to face the pale-faced boy.
"Oh, of course," continued Draco spitefully,
"Anything would have been better than that broom cupboard in your Muggle home,"
Malfoy snickered.
"For your pea-sized brain," began Ron hotly, "Harry does
have a bedroom at home!"
"Oops, my bad," mocked Malfoy, in perfect
insincerity. Then, turning to Harry and Hermione, he said with a taunting
glance at Ron, "make sure you bring some food and bedding supplies. The
Weasleys are so poor they are barely able to feed and clothe their own, let
alone Mudbloods and orphans."
There was a resounding slap and Malfoy found himself
on the floor, staring up at an absolutely raging Ginny Weasley who was
trembling from head to toe with lurid anger.
"Take that back, Malfoy!" she spat.
"Shan't," said Draco, in as light a tone as he
could, fingering the side of his face gingerly as he unsteadily got to his
feet.
Ginny would have knocked him to the ground again had
Ron and Harry not restrained her. "No one," she breathed heavily, "no one,
mocks my family's poverty. And no one dares mock my friends in front of
me."
She struggled from Ron's and Harry's grip and took a
menacing step towards Malfoy, who, to his credit, had the grace to step back.
She raised her fist as if to cast him another blow when she thought better of
it, turned on her heel, and stalked off with a cry of utter exasperation.
"Wow!" whistled Harry, gazing after her in awe, marching
out of the Great Hall. "What's got into her?"
"Have you been giving her Malfoy slapping lessons,
Hermione?" asked Ron in wonderment.
Hermione blushed, recalling the incident in their
third year where she had lost it and slapped Malfoy right across the face after
he had insulted Hagrid.
"No," she replied. "She came up with that all by
herself."
"C'mon," said Harry, throwing Malfoy one last look
of contempt before nudging Ron out towards the door, "we will be late for
Professor Vector."
"Oh no!" cried Hermione as she gathered up her books
and hurried out of the Great Hall with them. "Wait for me!"
Katya paused before heading off, fixing her gaze on
Malfoy who was still rubbing his cheek, which had turned bright red.
"What?" he snapped, insolently.
"Do you get any joy from mocking others? Or do you do
it just for the sake of doing it?" Her voice was calm and steady. And Draco
found that surprisingly disconcerting.
"I don't know what you are talking about," he
snarled, as he turned to head off to his class.
"I think you do," said Katya quietly. "And if you
are making a mockery of others just to cover up your own insecurity of pain and
anger, it is not working."
Draco stopped dead in his tracks and swung around.
Katya was already heading out of the hall in the other direction, her back to
him. She didn't say another word, nor did she look back. Draco stood staring at
her back until it disappeared from his vision. He had the maddening urge to
rush up and simultaneously beat her senseless - "How DARE you? How DARE you
say I am attempting to cover up any feelings? As if!" – and to - "argh!"
- admit that she was…. right.
"What makes you think I am covering up pain and
anger?" he muttered furiously under his breath as he stalked up to the North
Tower for Trelawney's class. "What makes you think Draco Malfoy is this poor
little rich boy? You think Draco Malfoy would really want to spend Christmas in
a cramped pigsty with a pack of unruly, uncivilised beings, having to sleep on
the floor? Draco Malfoy who has his very own private en-suite bedroom, a big
one too, at Malfoy Manor? Draco Malfoy who has house elves running round at his
bidding? Draco Malfoy, son of a well-established, respect-commanding
pure-blood, insecure?"
Draco almost laughed out loud at the last word. And
he would have had it not been actually very close to the truth.
He huffed and he puffed as he thundered on his way.
Climbing angrily up the rope ladder to the misty tower room where their
Divination class was held, he promised to himself that he would be in
control from now on in. He would not be thrown off by the stupid
psychological probing from those lowly Gryffindors.
Think Neville. Think Neville Longbottom.
He snorted as he recalled the image of the plump,
nervous-looking blundering boy whose claim to fame was being the Slytherin
House master's least competent student. A smirk spread across his thin face.
Yes, Neville Longbottom. The hopeless, brainless,
accident-prone squib.
How he ever managed to get into the
Gryffindor house for the supposedly courageous was beyond Draco's
comprehension.
"Yes," murmured Draco to himself as he
wedged the trapdoor to the tower room shut and turned to slip into his usual
seat between Crabbe and Goyle. "Think
Neville."
*
The weekend happened to bring with it fair weather.
Although still desperately cold, it had stopped snowing, or sleeting, or
raining. A crisp, wintry sunshine spread over Hogwarts and the howling wind
seemed to have blown itself out.
"Great day for a bit of Quidditch practice, don't
you think?" asked Ron during Saturday's lunch hour.
Harry nodded, and turned to Hermione, who was
discussing Tolstoy with Katya.
"Hey, bookworms, fancy coming with us for a walk?
Ron and I were thinking of playing some Quidditch."
"Why not?" replied Katya, looking up at the
enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall and noting the clear sky, "I might try my
hand at it myself."
Ron raised his eyebrows and gave a low whistle.
"And what makes you think it is so surprising?"
asked Katya.
Ron shrugged. "Nothing. Just haven't seen you play
before, that's all."
Katya winked and chuckled. "There's always a first
time for everything!"
After lunch, the four went to get their broomsticks
(even Hermione agreed to join in the fun) and made off for the Quidditch Pitch
together. It was a pleasant walk across the school grounds, with the crisp
crunching of snow beneath their feet, and the occasional brittle snap of a
fallen branch. The landscape was blanketed by a thick shroud of fine, powdery
snow, glaringly white, as it reflected the frosty December sunlight. The air
was chilly yet stimulating, and despite their numbingly cold extremities and
red runny noses, the four found the wintry air refreshing and invigorating.
"Come on," called Ron impatiently, running ahead,
slipping and sliding along the snow-laden path, "hurry up! I want to get up
into the air!"
"Ron, slow down. You just had lunch. You are going
to get appendicitis," said Hermione, trudging at her own pace a good several
few feet behind. She was pointing out to Katya the English names of the shrubs
that lay at the side of the path, as well as the few remaining animals
scampering in the depths of the white velvety snow.
"Who cares about appendicitis," grumbled Ron. "This
is the first day that we could play Quidditch properly for ages, and you go and
lecture on about appendicitis."
"You are going to want the lecture when you find
yourself clutching your stomach in considerable pain, by which time, it would
be too late," answered Hermione sweetly, as she turned back to Katya saying,
"and that, is a Peppypop Peppermint shrub. It's just like the herb plant, only
a lot bigger and more robust, strengthened through magic of course. The proper
name would be Mentha arvensis cultivara shruberas."
Ron rolled his eyes and was about to turn and
suggest racing Harry to the pitch when he saw a huge creature swooping down
from the sky.
"Look out!" He dived in front of the girls as the
creature swept down heading straight at the two still observing the Peppypop.
The creature, which Harry recognised as a gigantic
Golden Falcon zoomed straight at Katya, who gave a scream and raised her arm up
to shield herself from the sharp talons which came inches within her face and
neck. Ron blindly tried to fend it off as Harry picked up a stone and hurled it
into the air, in a desperate attempt to distract the eagle's attention.
Unperturbed however, the eagle headed directly at Katya once more, this time,
close enough to knock her to the ground from behind. And then, before the four
could recover enough to do it any damage, soared away into the sky and
disappeared as rapidly as it came.
"Kat, are you alright?" asked Harry breathlessly as
he hurried up to where Katya was spluttering, having accidentally swallowed a
mouthful of snow when she was knocked to the ground.
"Yeah," she answered rather shakily, "I think so."
She started up the path to the pitch. "Really," she said, as she turned back at
the others eyeing her with concern.
"Geez," ranted Ron, as they headed up to the pitch,
huddled together in a group this time, "what has that falcon got against you?"
They got to the pitch without further attacks, and
the two boys shot straight up into the air at once. Katya took several seconds
to gather herself together before she too joined them, dragging Hermione up
along with her.
"C'mon! It'll be fun," she cried as she tugged a
rather reluctant Hermione upwards at an alarming speed.
Katya had not been merely teasing when she said she would join the boys
for a flight, as they all soon found out. They watched with amazement as she
did some dives and loops, evidently enjoying herself thoroughly and seemingly
oblivious of the other three watching. After several minutes of letting loose,
she floated back to them, hair askew, cheeks flushed, with a huge smile on her
face.
"That was nice," she said, and laughed at the
astonished looks on her friends' faces. "Did you not think I knew how to fly?"
she asked audaciously.
"W-w-well, yes, of course," stammered Hermione.
"But we didn't know just how!" finished Ron. "Can
you teach me that loopy thing you just did?"
"Sure, of course."
"Er, I think I will just sit this one out and
watch," said Hermione warily.
Katya laughed as she took Ron off to teach him the
aerobatics. They messed about with that for a while, and then Harry showed her
some Seeker skills, including the Wrontski Feint.
It was a rather dishevelled foursome which made
their way back to the castle a couple of hours later, tired, but exuberant.
They were about halfway back when Katya suddenly hesitated, fumbling about with
the collar of her robes.
"What is it?" asked Hermione.
"I can't find my locket!" she cried, halting dead in
her tracks, feeling herself all over now.
The others stopped.
"What do you mean? When did you lose it?" asked Ron.
"I don't know," came Katya's frantic answer as she
started to trace her way back to the Quidditch Pitch, casting her eyes
desperately round the path they had just took.
"Did you have it when you came out?" asked Hermione,
joining her.
Katya nodded, and gave a sigh as she looked out
towards the huge expanse of the Quidditch Pitch. "It's going to take ages," she
moaned as she took it all in.
Hermione gave her a gentle rap on the head. "Kat,
please. Wake up." She turned to the pitch and called out clearly, "Accio
locket!"
Nothing came. She tried again, and then Katya tried.
Still nothing. The two boys appeared next to them.
"Do you suppose…." began Harry.
"What?"
"Nothing. It sounds a bit silly," said Harry shaking
his head. "Forget it."
"What?" persisted Hermione.
"Well," Harry said, hesistantly. "You know that huge
falcon that swooped down on us on our way out here?"
"Of course. How can we forget that?" said Ron.
"Do you think, well, I don't know," said Harry
throwing up his hands. "Do you think its claw might just have snagged the chain
and carried it off with it?"
"Er, well…" said Ron, trying to come up with an
answer to that.
Harry dropped his head, and shook it. "Yeah, I told
you it sounded lame. Just… just forget about it, okay?" he finished, reddening.
"Well," ventured Katya, still looking out towards
the pitch as if to catch sight of her locket floating through the air at any
moment, "it isn't entirely out of the question, I guess. And that bird did
come very near us, and it knocked me over." She sighed. "I guess that means
that that will be the last I see of the charm then," she bit her lip hard and
looked away.
Hermione tentatively patted her on the back as they
turned and made their way back towards the castle once more.
"It'll probably show up someday," she soothed, "you
never know. Sometimes things have a habit of doing this."
But she herself didn't really believe it, and she
knew that Katya didn't either.
"Hey, there. How's the magnificent Quidditch recruit
doing?" called out Seamus as the four climbed in through the portrait hole into
the Gryffindor common room.
Harry looked confused. "What new recruit?"
Seamus gave him a "who do you think I am talking
about look" and jerked his head towards Katya, who was still feeling all over
her robes in hopes of finding the chain tangled in her clothes somewhere.
Hermione was beside her, trying to soothe her.
"Kat? How did you know…" Harry asked, becoming
suspicious now of Seamus' cheeky grin and Lavender's giggles which she made no
attempt to hide.
"Let's just say we happened to see you lot messing
about on the Quidditch Pitch earlier on," Seamus replied, clearly enjoying
being maddeningly elusive.
"You just happened to see us?" challenged
Ron, narrowing his eyes, though Harry could see him fighting down a laugh.
"Seamus, there was no one at the bleachers," said
Harry. "We looked."
At that, Lavender gave an uncontrollable snort and
hid behind her "Unfogging the Future: An Intermediate Guide to Unseen Forces".
Seamus merely gave her a shove which sent her toppling to the ground, before
turning round to look reproachfully at the two boys in front of him.
"Ever tried to look underneath the
bleachers?"
Ron's mouth dropped open while Harry stared at the
laughing duo in disbelief.
"Underneath the bleachers? Who are you? Fred
and George?" asked Ron. "I thought only my brothers were crazy enough to do
things like that."
"Oh, you'd be surprised," replied Seamus airily.
"So," butted in Lavender, looking straight at Harry
and smirking infuriatingly, "what is going on between you two?"
"Me?" exclaimed Harry incredulously. "With Katya? Oh
get off it!"
Ron let out a guffaw and shot Harry a sly look, and
was rewarded with a swift and well-aimed kick at the eye of his ankle.
"We were just messing, having fun. Can a boy and a
girl not enjoy a rough and tumble on broomsticks without being suspected of
breeching a platonic friendship?"
Seamus and Lavender remained smug. What irked him
even more was Ron just standing there chuckling away. "So much for friends
sticking up for you," thought Harry, glaring at Ron.
"Katya," he said firmly, "is just a friend!
Please exercise your Cupid skills elsewhere."
With that, he turned to head up to the dormitory,
not wishing to be faced with Seamus' cheeky grin, egged on by Ron's snorts, any
longer than was necessary.
"Besides," he said, turning round just before going
up the stairs, "it's not.. her," he nodded in the direction of the two girls,
"it's Gi…."
"Ohhh!" Seamus' eyebrows shot up into the tousled
hair on his forehead, as Lavender dissolved into yet another fit of giggles. "Who?"
he asked, with wide-eyed innocence, knowing full well the answer.
Harry glared at him before snubbing him by turning
his head in the other direction. "No one," he shot over his shoulder as he
thumped up the stairs.
Seamus turned to Ron with an amused look on his
face. "Hmm, I have to admit," he said, shooting a taunting look at Lavender,
still sprawled out on the floor, "that I wouldn't mind a feisty flyer like
Katya myself."
Lavender bolted upright and mockingly glared at him,
"What?"
Giving an impression of male preening, a perfect
mimicry of Gilderoy Lockhart (evidently one did learn something from the
airhead), Seamus put on a falsetto voice, "I wonder if her heart flutters when
she sees me. I wonder what praises she sings about my heroic ventures. I wonder
what feelings she harbours for me. All recorded faithfully in her personal
diary."
Ron gave a rude snort. "Yeah right, Mr. Inflated
Ego. For your information, Ms. Karvitskaya writes in her diary in Russian. And
I suppose you know Russian?"
"Oh," replied Seamus, still in the falsetto voice,
"did you not read my autobiography "Magnifique Moi"? In it, I proclaim myself
to be multi-lingual. I know 3689 different languages, including Gobbledygook, Yeti-yibberish,
troll-talkytink, and of course," he gasped as Lavender pulled him to the ground
and started pummelling him, "… Russian."
Ron shook his head in exaggerated sorrow as he
deftly leapt out of the way of the couple now scuffling across the common room
floor.
"C'mon," he said to Hermione and Katya, dragging
them off to a quieter corner of the room, where his chess set lay, "let's show
them how civilised human beings are supposed to behave."
*
"Moody's taking all of us together this afternoon!" called out Terry Boot to the Gryffindors as he tore past them in the corridor with his fellow Ravenclaws.
It was the last proper day before the Christmas holidays and everyone was feeling rather keyed up and exuberant. Harry couldn't help walking rather jauntily as he thought about how this time tomorrow, Bill would be arriving to pick them up and whip them all off to The Burrow. He had to pinch himself constantly to convince himself that this was not a dream. That it was really going to happen. Until he was eleven, he had never spent Christmas anywhere outside of No. 4 Privet Drive. And that didn't count since he spent the decade of festive seasons either locked in the cupboard at the bottom of the stairs, or slaving away in the house cleaning up after Dudley. Since entering Hogwarts, he had spent all his Christmases at the school, and they had been some of the best holidays he had had, especially since Ron had been with him for all of those, while Hermione had managed to convince her parents to let her stay for the past two years. But this was the first time he would be able to experience it as part of a family, and he had always fantasised about Christmases being cosy family occasions. Like those Christmas cards with a family gathered together round a glowing fire, stockings hung up on the mantelpiece, and of course, a Christmas tree with piles of presents underneath. He gave a contented sigh. He knew the smile on his face probably looked silly, but he couldn't help himself, and a glance at Ron and Hermione nudging and giggling confirmed to him he was not the only one feeling this way.
"What?
Wait! What are you taking about?" called out Dean, chasing the bunch of rowdy
Ravenclaws partway down the corridor.
"He
is taking the Fifth-Years from all the houses, in that big classroom at the
bottom of the stairs beside the portrait of Sir Cadogan," and with that, he
disappeared off with the rest to the Greenhouses.
"I
don't remember a big classroom beside that mad, raving lunatic of a knight,"
said Lavender.
"It's
been moving about probably," answered Ron. "Let's just hope it's there this
afternoon."
"Just
our luck though, a Dark Arts class with the Slytherins," Hermione made a face.
"What a perfect Christmas present."
"It'll
be interesting," laughed Seamus, "Ole Moody can handle that lot. Don't forget
about Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret!"
The
crowd of Gryffindors burst into laughter at that memorable moment as they went
off to Transfiguration.
That
afternoon, everyone headed to the big classroom situated beside Sir Cadogan's
portrait, and waited outside. Much to Harry's relief, the eccentric,
adrenaline-pumped, overly-imaginative knight was nowhere in sight. "Probably
off annoying some poor portrait elsewhere," he thought.
It
was rather a loud and chatty crowd, what with there being four times the usual
number of students, added to the excitement of everyone sharing a class with
someone like Moody. On top of the rapidly-climbing festive spirit. If Moody was
excitable enough with ten to eleven people per class, one could only imagine
what he would be like with forty. Harry couldn't help grinning as he found
himself actually looking forward to experiencing what promises to be an
interesting class.
A
familiar clunking sound coming down the corridor told them Moody was coming. He
surveyed the crowd briefly, his magical eye rolling three hundred and sixty
degrees round its socket before settling back into its proper (well, more
typical) position. Harry caught sight of the briefest flicker in his normal eye
followed by a quick purse of the lips. But it was gone as soon as it come, and
Harry couldn't help wondering if he was seeing things. Besides, Moody's face
was so badly scarred and deformed that it would be easy to misinterpret or
imagine things.
Moody
reached out to open the door, and barked his customary, "In!" and watched as
the Fifth Years filed into the classroom.
A
loud crackle sounded which carried to the end of the line where Harry, Hermione
and Ron were. Harry heard Susan Bones scream, together with a yell from Justin
Finch-Fletchley and several others as those at the front of the line hurriedly
stepped back, knocking over the ones behind in the process, nearly causing a
domino effect.
"What,"
said Ron, recovering from having Neville and Katya stumbling on top of him,
"was that?"
"I
have no clue," answered Harry, on his tip-toes, trying to look up the line to
see what had caused the commotion. "You
look, you are taller."
Ron
strained to see the front of the line. "Can't tell," he reported. "Moody is
just standing there like, you know. Maybe it's nothing."
A
drawl came from the middle of the line as Malfoy and his two huge, lumbering
sidekicks pushed their way to the front of the line.
"My,
my, my. Don't tell me these Hufflepuffs can't even enter a classroom. They are
the house for the dunces of course, but please. Stupid enough to have
their Head Boy killed…. "
A
furious uproar erupted from members of the other three houses. Malfoy didn't
get to finish his sentence when a loud crack! sounded. Ron's eyes darted
up the queue eagerly, whispering, "Bouncing ferret? Bouncing ferret? Bouncing
ferret?"
He
was most disappointed to see Draco still as he always was, with those around
him – exception being the Slytherins - eyeing him with utmost distaste. Moody
had apparently only cracked the air to put an end to both his sneering and the
commotion from the reactions.
"Damn!"
cursed Ron, looking disappointed.
"Mr.
Malfoy," said Moody in his raspy voice, speaking in a smooth manner in which
Harry had not heard from him before, "perhaps you should be given the
honour of entering the classroom first then?"
This
time, there was no mistaking the glint that was in Moody's eyes (both of them)
as Malfoy stared insolently at the Professor, and then calmly, almost cockily,
saying, "Of course. My pleasure."
He
headed into the classroom as the others looked on. Crrraaacckk!
This
time, Harry could see a web of lightning flash from where Malfoy had walked, or
attempted to walk, towards. What the…
Draco
let out a scream before he could stop himself. He stepped back and tumbled into
the clumsy figures of Crabbe and Goyle, who stayed upright simply due to their
burly bulkiness being able to support Draco's light frame easily. Several
sniggers undulated through the group of Fifth Years, now gathered in an
unorderly crowd round the classroom. Two red spots appeared on Malfoy's pale
cheeks as he angrily pushed himself upright and brushed himself down briskly.
Harry glanced up at Moody and was surprised to find the Auror non-chalantly
flicking away some imaginary specks from his robes. The teacher then took out
his Magical Eye and polished it right there and then in front of the class
before putting it back into its socket. After that, he calmly looked round at
the fifteen year olds clustered round the classroom door once more, as if what
he did was perfectly normal, like polishing a pair of horn rimmed spectacles.
Harry had the crazy image of seeing Moody with Dumbledore's half-moon glasses,
and half-expected the ferocious-looking Auror to start humming merry tunes the
way the headmaster did. He bit his lip to keep from smiling.
"Amusing?"
came a soft voice, but Harry heard it very clearly and turned red. He looked up
to see Moody again exercising the freshly-polished eye in its socket. He had
the attention of everyone, even the humiliated Malfoy. "Do you find it amusing
that you have not learnt the most basic lesson I have taught you for the past
fifteen months?"
His
face was hard-set and serious as he whipped out his wand and waved it at the
door, "revealo!"
The
air around the doorway shivered and shimmered, a mist of white formed, swirled
round the door frame and faded away, revealing behind it, the presence of a
white hot wall.
"A
Stasis wall. I should have known that!" Harry heard Hermione moan beside him.
He had to grin. Trust Hermione to chide herself for not knowing everything.
Moody reached forward to touch it. The wall fizzled and crackled as Moody
pulled away his hand quickly.
"Yes,
Miss Granger," he said, "the Stasis wall. Made of sharp, white hot particles of
charge. It can burn the skin, or the flesh even, if it's powerful enough and
under prolonged contact."
He gave the class a smirk, which twisted his war-beaten face such that it resembled gnarled tree roots. "I am highly disappointed with the lack of savvy on your part. Remember CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
The
class leapt collectively as his soft tone switched rapidly to that snappish one
he used for his favourite motto.
"Would
you have figured out about the wall on your own? You have to be on the alert,
you have to have your eyes and ears and mind sharpened and opened wide. You are
supposed to be practising CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
"Now,"
he continued, in a more regular tone, as he observed the wide-eyed faces staring
back at him, "does anyone here know how to break the Stasis wall?"
Hermione's
hand tentatively rose up, as if she were terrified of Moody using the Stasis
spell on her. Moody gave her a nod of approval.
"Thought
as much, Miss Granger," he said, giving her a smile, which served to twist his
face even more. "Go ahead."
Hermione
stepped up to the crackling wall, and with a flick of her wand, said clearly, "resolvo!"
The wall crackled once and faded away. Then, nervously, for good measure, she
flicked it once more and muttered, "finite incantatem."
Harry
noted that Moody gave yet another nod of approval and felt proud of his friend.
Trust Hermione. The class now peered uncertainly into the classroom, surveying
the innocent-looking furniture and atmosphere, before cautiously stepping in.
Malfoy hung back slightly, scowling, muttering, "how many more explosions must
we face before being able to take a simple class? The man's crazed. And
Dumbledore always hires such loonies."
If Moody heard Malfoy (which Harry was sure he did, what with him being, well, Moody), he didn't show it. As Harry and Ron joined up with Hermione at the back of the class, Seamus whispered at them, "the guy's nutters alright! If we had thought he was raving mad last year, this is nothing compared!" He sat himself next to Dean as Harry, Hermione and Ron looked at each other and exchanged secretive winks. They knew. But they weren't about to say anything.
Moody
limped over to the teacher's desk at the front. "A bit pointless, taking marks
off for your negligence at the start of the lesson," he growled, "as it would
be a collective deduction from all houses. But," his magical eye swivelled
towards Hermione, "five points to Gryffindor for Miss Granger knowing the
counter-curse to the Stasis spell, and another five for her having enough
brains to double check for presence of more traps."
With
a jerk of his robes, Moody thunked to the centre of the classroom, rested his
eyes briefly on each student in turn, and asked, "so what does it take to be a
good Auror?"
"Alertness."
"Awareness."
"Physical
fitness," laughed Terry.
"Initiative?"
suggested a Hufflepuff. Moody nodded.
"CONSTANT
VIGILANCE!" roared Dean.
Everybody
laughed, including Moody. "Very good," he said amiably. "But you also need character.
Courage. A belief to fight for the right cause. It is these things that keep
you going. It is these things which are key to your survival at times when
constant vigilance lets you down." He paused, "like today," he added, wryly.
"Yes,
to fight the Dark Force, you would need a certain about of guts, vigour, a
force that comes from within you. Knowing curses merely as they are, performing
detection spells as precautions, albeit useful, are not powerful enough if you
were to come face-to-face with the Dark Lord, or the most skilled of his
supporters. Or other Dark wizards for that matter. Being an Auror requires a
dedication to the belief of the good for others. It requires selflessness,
sacrifices. It requires courage."
The
class listened in awed silence at who was the Ministry's best ever Auror,
certainly a voice of experience. The impossibly scarred face, the wooden leg,
the years of emotional scars were more than adequate to suggest that Alastor
Moody had been through that, had sacrificed, and knew what he was talking
about. Harry began to develop a new respect for Moody. He was a cool teacher,
most definitely. But now, there was something else too. A selfless individual
who dedicated his career to the eradication of the Dark Arts, and who, must
hold a belief so strong, that his spirit still appeared intact despite these
rapidly-darkening times when many have succumbed to the doom and gloom of the
return of You-Know-Who. Not that everyone believed in that of course. "Fudge
for one, refuses to admit Voldemort has returned," Harry thought in angry
frustration.
Harry
saw Moody cast a quick glance at Neville, who was sitting white-faced, but
seemingly calm, at the front, wearing an unusually determined look on his face.
Had Harry not seen the scene with the Longbottoms in Dumbledore's Pensieve at
the beginning of the year, he would have been rather impressed and surprised at
the expression on Neville's face at present. Well, actually, he was still impressed.
In fact, he was even more impressed with the pale-faced boy than he would have
been had he not known. He felt a pang as he recalled Neville's parents locked
away at St. Mungo's, in a state where they couldn't even recognise their own
son. And he felt a pang as he thought about Neville, how he visited them during
the holidays, and how it must feel to see his parents alive, but not knowing
who he was. And all this was because of Voldemort. Voldemort who killed his
parents, who tortured Neville's to insanity, who broke apart families, who
created fear and hurt and sorrow. Voldemort.
Harry
was rudely woken up from his thoughts by a cruel snicker from the Slytherin
group.
"Oh,"
scoffed Malfoy, apparently recovered from his humiliation at walking into the
invisible Stasis wall. "I am sure Longbottom has an awful lot of
courage. It has to be there somewhere. Gryffindors are supposed to be so
courageous," he mocked, as he went on, "personally, I have yet to figure
out how lily-livered Longbottom here could have been sorted in with the lions,
when he is scared of even Professor Snape!"
The
Slytherins sniggered at the last comment, as Draco smugly acknowledged his
fellow housemates. "Must have been an off moment for that old decrepit Sorting
Hat." More sniggers.
Neville
stiffened in his seat and turned even paler than before. His shoulders started
to slump, though, Harry noted with interest and pride, that the determined look
did not leave his face. Beside him, Katya gave his hand a squeeze and shot a
whisper of encouragement out of the corner of her mouth.
Harry
was speechless at how bold Malfoy was being in class. To publicly insult a
fellow student in the presence of a teacher was unheard of, unless maybe, if
the teacher had been Snape. But even then, Draco had never been as rude. Harry
wondered if it was the fact that Malfoy could threaten about getting his father
onto Moody and have the Auror done in. He was capable of that. He had tried to
do it with Buckbeak and Hagrid back in third year.
Moody
whirled round to face the smirking blonde, who returned his penetrating gaze
with one of impudence.
"I
see, Mr Malfoy. Lion courage, right? I suppose we may have a little… misunderstanding,
which we have to clear up."
He
shot Draco with a piercing stare with both eyes, a stare so sharp, that it made
Harry squirm even though it was not directed at him.
"What
is courage? What do you think is courage? Do you think it is only about being a
hero, a fighter, a warrior? Do you think it is only about being a fearless bull
charging headlong into danger? Reckless, I call that."
A
silence followed in which he paused to take a breath. And to acquire undivided
attention. He got it. The weather-beaten Auror began to pace along the front of
the classroom, the clunking of his wooden leg sounding out a rhythmical beat,
emphasising his words, which came out raspy and coarse, but utterly riveting.
"Courage
(thunk), true courage (thunk), is not about being storybook heroes
(thunk), legendary warriors (thunk), or fearsome conquerors (thunk). It does
not come from pills (thunk), secret potions (thunk), nor powerful curses
(thunk). Not even the three Unforgivable Curses (thunk). Courage (thunk), true
courage (thunk), comes from within. It (thunk) comes from being afraid
(thunk), afraid and wary of the consequences (thunk), but having the nerve to
venture forward anyway (thunk), if it is the right thing to do (thunk). Courage
(thunk), true courage (thunk), is about taking everything life hands you
(thunk), facing up to whatever challenges it throws at you (thunk). It is about
being the best person that you can be (thunk), either because of it (thunk), or
in spite of it."
A
profound silence settled over the class. No one made a sound. No one stirred.
The Fifth-Years, even the previously sniggering Slytherins, were silenced by
Moody's speech. Moody looked pleased to have commanded such rapt attention. The
grave look on his face softened a little as he glanced back to Neville, whose
face was still as white as ever.
"And
I believe Longbottom here," he said softly, yet at the same time his voice
reached the farthest corners of the big classroom, "possesses that type of
courage." He smiled briefly, and directed his next sentence at Neville, whose
pale cheeks were rapidly turning the shade of crimson.
"There
was a reason you got chosen for Gryffindor, boy. The Hat saw something in you,
something noble, something which even you yourself may not have discovered yet.
But it is there. Use it wisely."
The
bell rang. Moody nodded at the forty entranced wizards-in-training and said, in
a more relaxed voice, "that's the bell. You are dismissed. And Merry
Christmas."
*
It was a dark, yet cloudless night. The air was
chillingly cold, though there was no snow falling. The village streets were
more or less deserted at this late hour. A hooded figure slinked through the
town centre, and slipped into the catacomb of shady, snaking back-streets in
the old sector of the town. "Centre Noire", or "Black Central", as people
called it, was notorious for its dealings in Dark Magic. Keeping in the shadows,
the figure turned into a narrow, deserted alleyway, so dark that the ground
could only be seen due to the dull reflection of the moon upon the murky
puddles of sewage waste. The pale moonlight, filtering through the gaps in the
rooftops of the rickety buildings on either side of the alleyway, also faintly
lit up an old, rotten sign labelling the filthy lane as "E. Moore Alley".
Wrinkling his nose slightly in disgust at the grimy
surroundings, though the expression was masked by a face-cloth pulled over the
face, the person pushed open the back door of one of the buildings.
"I trust you brought the shard?" A cold, smooth
voice came from behind a wide armchair situated in the centre of the room.
"Yes, Master," replied the newly-arrived wizard as
he hurried forward and pulled out a silver chain upon which dangled a silver
locket. A thin, white hand reached out to accept the ornament.
"Yes," purred the first voice, now laced with
impressed approval, "you have served me well of late, Malfoy."
"Thank you, my Lord," replied the Death Eater, in
his usual suave manner. "As for Snape…"
"What of him?" snapped the first voice, now as cold
and hard as a tombstone.
"He does not know yet of the shard's disappearance,
my Lord."
"He knows of its location then?" The voice was now
dangerously slick, carrying in it the implication of a soul capable of
unleashing cruelty at it ultimate.
"I believe so, my Lord," replied Malfoy, with all the maliciousness of
a person wishing to witness the fall of a rival. "I cannot, of course, vouch
for Severus Snape's personal thoughts," he continued, his tone as oily as ever,
"but I can assure you the man has seen this locket. An invisibility cloak does
wonders for spying, and I can attest to him having touched it even, yet he made
no attempt to obtain it for the cause of the Dark Order," he finished, with an
unmasked air of triumph at so crudely maligning a fellow Death Eater.
"Really?" said the Master idly, fingering the locket
and the small shard that lay within. "We shall soon see about that, shan't we?
And I shall carry out the punishments I deem due. You are dismissed."
The chilling voice of Lord Voldemort was saturated
with untainted ruthlessness. Hidden behind the depths of the opaque blackness
of the Death Eater mask, Lucius Malfoy gave a malevolent smirk before exiting
swiftly from where he entered a few moments before.