Wishes
By: Airelle Vilka
Chapter 16 'Tis the Season
The next week, with the exception of the occasional disturbance of headaches, had passed by relatively quickly for Airelle. That appeared to be the case with everyone else. No one of the students knew what exactly had attacked Neville, or if they did, they did not seem to be talking. Bright, crisp, and sunny days had settled upon the school. Delilah was recovering steadily; Neville was back on his broom and practicing with Airelle every day now that the holidays were here; there was no peep from the Forbidden Forest, and everyone had nearly forgotten about the whole incident.
Well, not everyone. Of course, Airelle knew that it was the predominant thing on Dumbledore's, Snape's, and her mind, at least. She had not (unlike she'd said she would) mentioned the incident to her friend since the night of its occurrence; he did not wish to talk, apparently, of it. Airelle wisely left the matter alone; she did not need any more confrontations with Snape like the one she had on December 17th. As a whole, their relationship had not changed; they still spent frequent hours in their secret room, where Snape constantly kept a vigil over the fifty potions they'd concocted during their student days. He confessed that he was afraid they would be necessary after all. There was no word from him about the near-kiss… and she liked it that way. Snape was acting exactly as if nothing had happened. If it were on his mind, Airelle did not wish to go probing; she'd learned long ago to tread lightly when it came to his personal life. She had enough problems of her own. If Snape wanted to talk, he'd talk. But in the meantime, December 25th approached, with Airelle awakening rather late and enjoying her sleep, which for some reason seemed to be clear of nightmares. Perhaps it was the regular doses of Snape's sleeping potions from his personal cabinet… or maybe it was just because she'd put the worry, at least somewhat, out of her mind until January 1st, when classes would begin again. The missing notebook, however, was still missing, and anxiety about that could not be helped. Still, the Illusions professor consoled herself with the fact that when Delilah awakened, she could perhaps bring more light than Neville onto the matter. And then, Airelle would have a greater shot at knowing if the two incidents were connected. After all, Neville's presence near the library that night was just a coincidence… right?
Airelle knew it probably wasn't. But in any case, it was hard to think of Voldemort with the morning sun, the crunchy snow underfoot, and the fresh breeze that ruffled her bed-sheets if she managed to remember to leave her window open at night. It was as if a Cheering Charm had affected the whole school; even Snape and Filch did not seem so nasty (at least to Airelle) on the holidays. She could even picture Mrs. Norris decked out in a red reindeer nose and a holly wreath, but that was a stretch even for Airelle's vivid imagination.
With these thoughts in mind, Airelle Vilka awakened on Christmas morning to sounds of a large argument outside her bedroom door. She blinked several times to make sure that she was not dreaming, and then lay still in her bed, listening (thank heaven she had excellent hearing) through the canopy curtains and beyond.
"No! No, absolutely not. You knock… I'm leaving."
"Tracy! Are you mad? How will I tell her by myself? She'll kill me, and there'll be no witnesses!"
"Oh, Alica," the other girl replied in an exasperated tone, "she is not going to kill you. Just don't tell her we took it on purpose."
"So what am I supposed to—"
"Be quiet! She might be awake."
"Sorry." Alica's voice went lower. "What am I going to say, that we just wound up in that room by accident?"
"Don't tell her we were in there, genius!"
"Then what?"
"Say… say that we found it somewhere… and then decided to check it out because of the strange symbols… and then lost it in the library."
"She'd have to be really thick to believe that, Tracy."
"Not necessarily. No one knows who took it in the first place except us, right? So, we'll just leave that as a secret. That way, she'll believe someone else took it out of that room and left it. Then, we found it, and lost it again."
"All right… but if we get kicked out, you'd better run from me, and fast."
"I'm shaking in my boots, Alica. Really." And there was a small knock on the door.
Airelle stayed put, thinking. So, the two Ravenclaws had finally gotten up the courage to inform someone of the missing notebook. Airelle had half-expected this; Tracy Patts and Alica Tylon had been acting oddly reserved since the Yule Ball. One did not have to be Einstein or Descartes to guess that they suspected the very same thing Airelle did – that the disappearance of Tom Riddle's notebook and the attack on Neville and Delilah were somehow connected. Although, judging from their conversation, neither of them could tell Airelle anything new. After all, she and Snape had been in the room, invisible, when the girls had curiously taken the notebook. They did not know half of the danger, however – unlike Airelle and Snape, they were not aware that the book had once belonged to Lord Voldemort. Nevertheless, the Illusions professor decided to act surprised, and rose from the bed, sweeping aside the curtains. Another knock.
"I am coming, keep your robe on," she muttered, making her voice hoarse. The bottom hem of her long-sleeved, dark green nightgown (after being in Snape's bedroom, dark green did not seem so bleak anymore) swept the floor casually, hitting against her ankles. Over the years, Airelle found that walking barefoot on a cold stone floor did wonders in waking up a reticently sleepy person.
Yawning, she threw back the bolt on the door with one hand and made a feeble attempt to straighten out her hair with the other. She slept with it pulled into a loose braid; but by the end of a night, it was usually a mangled white mess. Finally satisfied with pulling it free altogether, Airelle turned the doorknob.
"Merry Christmas, Professor," Alica Tylon beamed from the other side of the doorway. Tracy was right beside her, and both had managed to plaster winning smiles onto their faces. Airelle almost burst out in mirth; they looked like poster children for laughing gas.
"Good morning," she nodded. "I take it you're not here to bring me any more… messages from Professor Snape, are you?"
At that, Tracy backed away, obviously recalling the fake note meant to send Airelle to the dungeons. Inadvertently, it had resulted in the Runespoor accident, which had caused her to spend several days in the infirmary. Airelle had stopped being angry with the girl for pulling the prank long ago, but it amused her to see the reaction.
"Err… umm…" Tracy said, her smile fading somewhat. "No, Professor."
"Relax," laughed Airelle, pulling her door wider open. "I won't give you detention." She winked, uncharacteristically; maybe Lockhart was rubbing off on her, too. "It is Christmas, after all."
"Oh," said Alica, nudging Tracy forward again. "That's good. Did you sleep well, Professor?"
"Divinely," she replied, wondering when they'd say something about the notebook. "And you?"
"Great." With that, Alica looked at Tracy, as if unsure what to say next. The latter shrugged, but Airelle spoke before either of them could utter anything.
"Would you like to come in and have some tea before breakfast?" she offered. Tracy and Alica were not likely to start speaking of the book right out in the corridor, for sure.
The two hesitated. "Erm…well, we all really ought to get down to breakfast," Tracy began. "I heard they decorated the House tables beautifully."
"Yes," added Alica, catching on, "they say everything's decked out. And Professor Flitwick even allowed, I hear, for the candles hovering above the Ravenclaw table to glow blue!"
"I am certain it shall be a dazzle, and splendid to watch," said Airelle calmly. "However, didn't you knock on my door for the purpose of talking to me about something?"
Alica suddenly looked uncomfortable and said, "Well… no, not really. We just wanted to say Merry Christmas… and say that… that… we are looking forward to taking your Illusions class next year."
"Aha," said Airelle, smiling as Tracy shot a death look at her friend. "Is that all?"
"Actually, Professor," murmured Tracy, despite the other girl's signals to be quiet, "there is something we wanted to tell you."
Finally, thought Airelle. "Yes, Miss Patts?"
"We—"
"—should be going to eat, all of you," came the words, but Tracy was not the one who'd spoken them. Closing her mouth, Tracy turned around, along with Alica. Airelle stayed next to her door, wondering how Albus Dumbledore always managed to appear at exactly the right moment in precisely the right place. It was a gift, she figured; the man was talented.
"Merry Christmas, Headmaster," she smiled. "And yes, we should all indeed head downstairs." In effect, Airelle was glad the wizard had shown up just then; Tracy and Alica could not shed any light on the notebook matter anyway. And if she really wanted to, Airelle could always corner them later. Perhaps she'd grown soft; as an Auror, she had never let people go like this before questioning. Or maybe she did not want to bother just now. Oh, bad excuse.
"I head there is a marvelous smell of chocolate wafting through the halls," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "The kitchen staff—" (by that he meant hundreds of house-elves) "—must have really outdone themselves this time."
"I am sure it will be wonderful," answered Airelle, now slightly abashed at addressing the Headmaster while looking like she'd just rolled out of bed – which she had, actually.
"Well then, Miss Tylon, Miss Patts," said Dumbledore, turning his head to the girls, "why don't you accompany me right now, and let's leave Professor Vilka to get ready."
Tracy and Alica could not complain, so they followed Dumbledore, still shooting mini-darts with their eyes at each other because of the notebook problem. Maybe I should not bother them too soon about it, after all, thought Airelle, grinning, and shut the door. But within two seconds, she opened it again because her nightgown had gotten stuck in the crack.
God, Vilka, you've become so inattentive, she scolded herself, albeit mildly. You'd probably lose your own head if it weren't attached to your body.
When Airelle finally reached the Great Hall, she was met with a veritable explosion of morning light and chatter. Surprisingly enough, not many students had gone home for the holidays; perhaps regular people (if not the Ministry) were finally realizing the truth about Voldemort's return, Airelle thought. It seemed as if many parents did not want to risk it, and chose to keep their children safe at Hogwarts. (Or as safe as it could be, considering the Yule Ball attack.)
Warm, dry snow fell from the sky-blue ceiling as far as the floating candles and then vanished. True to the abounding rumor, the aforementioned candles had been bewitched so they shone different colours above the respective House tables. Gryffindor had scarlet; Hufflepuff, a cheerful yellow; Ravenclaw had blue; and the candles above the Slytherin table shone green. They looked like four rows of hovering, flickering Christmas lights. The walls were, as during the Yule Ball, decked out in holly, pine, and even the occasional tufts of mistletoe (under which, Airelle noticed, several girls were lounging around conspicuously).
She had entered through the main doors, not a side entrance; thus, Airelle had to walk through the House tables to reach her seat. Oddly enough, she chose to go on a whim between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, the two leftmost tables from her view. As she did so, Airelle noticed a huge amount of talking concerning Dumbledore and people kept glancing at the professors' table, where the Headmaster was chatting animatedly with Snape, who seemed to be in a slightly better mood than usual. Airelle knew this at once by his expression; instead of his usual sneer, there was merely a sour look on the Potions Master's face. Airelle grinned and then shifted her gaze to the students again. She caught the pale eyes of Draco Malfoy, and he looked away, as if afraid she'd read something in them.
I do hope something smacks that boy over the head and stunts his growth into another Lucius, thought the ex-Auror darkly. After all, Malfoy, Sr. may have avoided the Ministry up until now, but when Voldemort strikes, he'll be there beside the Dark Lord. And I'll be waiting to catch the slimy git in the act. Finally.
She reached the other end, but stopped next to the edge of the Ravenclaw table, due to being accosted by Alica Tylon.
"Morning again, Professor!" she said brightly, holding up a mug of hot chocolate. Tracy, who was obviously not angry with Alica anymore and was right next to her, likewise saluted Airelle, this time with a piece of toast stuck on a fork.
"Yes, and Merry Christmas," Airelle replied to the girls, also nodding to the other Ravenclaws who were sitting nearby. "What seems to be the hot topic of discussion this morning?"
"Ohh," said Tracy, rubbing her palms together in anticipation, "Dumbledore is going to announce a surprise any minute now. He said it's his Christmas present to the students."
"Watch it be a gigantic cake," said Padma Patil, another Ravenclaw. "Maybe that's the good smell from the kitchens."
"Nah," replied Mel Bagpipe, another student. "I think the smell's just the breakfast pudding. I think it's going to be fuzzy slippers for everybody!"
"How about butterbeer?" offered someone else, and Alica grinned, turning beet red and facing away from Airelle's eyes.
"What about a dress-down day when school starts again?" called yet another voice.
"Ehh…what's a dress-down day?" a puzzled third-year asked.
"It's when students get to wear any clothes they want," said Airelle before Tracy could explain.
"How d'you know, Professor?"
"Well, I did go to Muggle elementary school before Hogwarts," Airelle laughed, and many turned to look at her.
"Are you Muggle-born, Professor Vilka?" asked Padma Patil, spearing some sausage with her fork.
Airelle nodded. "That's right, and I love it because I get the best of both worlds."
"Wow!" said Alica. "I'm Muggle-born, too!"
"Are you?" Airelle asked, smiling.
"Yep."
"Great."
Tracy started to say, "Well, I happen to be—" But she was suddenly interrupted by another girl, who playfully clapped her hand over Tracy's mouth.
"Ah, Patts here…" she said with a grin, "…even we have no idea where she's from. She could've come from a chicken's egg like a basilisk for all we know!"
The Ravenclaws roared with laughter over Tracy's muffled protests (although her eyes were shining good-naturedly). Over the noise, Airelle could hear snorts from the Slytherins due to the basilisk comment. After years of knowing Snape, Airelle was sure it would be useful for all the Slytherins to lighten up, at least a little. Grinning, Airelle bid a temporary farewell to her House table and headed towards the Top Table. And as soon as she sat down between Professors Flitwick and Lupin, Dumbledore stood up, long amber and red robes swishing.
"Merry Christmas!" His voice echoed throughout the Great Hall, drowning out most excited conversations. "Since so many of you have stayed for the holidays, a few of my colleagues and I have decided to arrange a little surprise for you all. Call it our Christmas present."
A hush fell over the crowd, and all eyes focused on the Headmaster. He cleared his throat and continued speaking.
"The weather today is excellent, no?" When no one replied, he said, "Ah, never mind, you'll understand later. But, let me begin. I know that last year, with the Tri-Wizard Tournament, certain activities were canceled, most notably Quidditch. Now, I know since this September, the House teams have been training hard, and already have experienced the excitement of the sport—" (he smiled in the direction of the Gryffindors, who had won the latest game) "—and the adventure it brings. I also know that a few of you have still been feeling a little down since the unfortunate incident at the Yule Ball."
Some murmurs broke out. Neville Longbottom, Airelle noticed, sank down slightly in his chair at the Gryffindor table. She caught his eye and gave him a reassuring smile. He'd been looking much healthier, but more quiet since the night of the attack, when he'd been so energetic. She guessed the night's adrenaline had left him…
"So," continued Dumbledore, "I think we need to lift your spirits a little. Tonight, at six o'clock, there shall be an extra Quidditch game."
For a second, there was silence. And then, the tables erupted with cheers. It sounded like a Muggle hydrogen bomb had detonated right in the middle of the Great Hall. Airelle would have bet the tapestries on the walls were shaking. Juice glasses clanked merrily as students toasted each other. It was a full five minutes before Dumbledore called for silence again.
"The game," he said, "shall be between two houses selected at random." He then turned his eyes to a first-year sitting at the end of the Hufflepuff table, closest to him.
"Mr. Clancy," Dumbledore addressed the boy, who looked positively terrified.
"Sir, I… whatever it is, I didn't do it," he sputtered, and the whole Hufflepuff congregation exploded into hysterics. Dumbledore was also smiling when the laughter had subsided.
"Mr. Clancy, I only wanted to borrow your hat," the Headmaster said. The boy stared at the elder wizard as if he were nuts, but took his pointed hat off and shuffled over to the teachers' table. Dumbledore took it, and Clancy scurried off.
"Thank you," he said warmly. "And don't fear, I shall return it shortly. Now," he continued, turning the hat upside down, "since the episode with the Goblet of Fire, I've decided not to use it, at least with this minor matter. We shall do it the old way. In my left hand," (and at this he opened his palm, revealing several white things) "are four identical sheets of parchment, each with the name and symbol of a Hogwarts House on it. Now, we simply put them in the hat, kindly provided by Mr. 'I didn't do it' Clancy." He tipped the papers into the hat, and closed the flaps over the hole. "And now we shake it—" (he shook the hat vigorously and let the flaps spring open again) "—and voila!" Now we need, so as to make certain no one is going to bewitch anything… a professor."
Airelle gulped as Dumbledore swiveled his head to the end of her side of the table. For a second, she thought he'd pick Lupin, but then—
"Professor Vilka, would you do the honours?" he asked. Airelle, having no recourse, stood up, upset to leave her scrambled eggs, and walked around to the front, stopping directly in the center opposite Dumbledore. Why did he have to choose me to do it?
"Please put your wand on the table, and roll up your sleeves," he directed, and Airelle obliged. She never thought a simple, 'pull-out-of-the-hat' choice could be so ritualistic…
Dumbledore handed Clancy's hat to her and said, "Reach right in there and choose the two Houses which will be facing each other this afternoon."
"Here we go," she announced to the Great Hall, whose occupants listened with bated breath. As Airelle reached into the hat, she thought of all the Quidditch matches she'd played in as a Ravenclaw Chaser, and how strange it must have been for Snape to root for Slytherin and yet know that his best friend was often on the opposing team…
Her fingers felt a rough edge of parchment and she grabbed on. Pulling the piece out, Airelle unfolded it. She did not even have to see the name; only the symbol.
"Ravenclaw," she said loudly, and handed the paper to McGonagall as the House table in question broke out into clapping and whooping. Alica Tylon and Tracy Patts, among others, were jumping out of their seats with joy. Although Tracy kept maintaining that she had a hatred for sports of all shapes and sizes, it was well known that she was as avid a supporter of Quidditch as Alica. The other Ravenclaws were no less pleased, and clapped enthusiastically until Dumbledore quieted them again.
Airelle pursed her lips. What if the other house was Slytherin? Oh, she'd cheer for Ravenclaw, sure, but she also had a slight dilemma concerning Snape's reaction… they'd be on opposite sides of the field, again.
Her fist clutched the other sheet of paper and she drew it out of the hat slowly. The way her luck had been going lately, it was going to be Slytherin for sure. Every pair of eyes was on her. She unfolded the paper, read it to herself, and heaved out a deep breath.
"The second house is… Gryffindor."
The Gryffindors burst into applause, patting their Quidditch players on the backs. Faintly, Airelle could see Harry Potter, but he did not look too happy. Instead, his face was very concerned as he engaged in a conversation with his best friend Ron Weasley. Something was up, but Airelle could not place it as of yet. The excitement was too great; Hagrid was booming well-wishes to the Gryffindors diagonally from across the hall, probably bursting McGonagall's eardrums in the process. Dumbledore clapped with the rest, and restored silence one more time.
"The outcome shall not affect Quidditch Cup standing," he said; there was a groan from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and sounds of relief from Hufflepuff and especially Slytherin. "However," the wizard continued, "the winning team shall receive eighty-eight points for their House."
"All RIGHT!" yelled Tracy from the Ravenclaw table, along with many others who were applauding. Eighty-eight points was not too big a number, but just enough to arouse interest. And it could place Ravenclaw in the lead for the House Cup, if they win, said Airelle to herself as she returned to her seat.
"Now, that's not all," added Dumbledore, and quiet reigned yet again. "I have prepared a Selection Spell that shall choose, from among the professors, the referee for today's game."
Hmm…this should be interesting, thought the Illusions professor. The Spell will want a completely unbiased person, so it is safe to say that no one from Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, including myself, is eligible. It would be funny if it picked Snape… hehe, but no, he'd be prejudiced against Gryffindor, or I'll eat my hat. So, who's left? Maybe it shall be Professor Sprout… or Madam Hooch, even… it makes sense, she's the Quidditch teacher…
The Headmaster raised his wand up over the Top Table and said, "Vibirat!"
A blinding light exploded from the tip of the wand, hovered above Dumbledore for a second, and then melted into a glowing white orb the size of a golf ball. It bounced up and down in the air, and everyone watched as it moved swiftly back and forth over the heads of the professors, trailing sparkling dust in its wake. It reached Lupin's end, then moved back to Snape, where it stopped. Everyone stared (the Gryffindors' faces had dropped), and Airelle was about sure that it was going to pick him… but no, it was now above Hagrid… and McGonagall…Sinistra, Flitwick, Dumbledore, back to Snape, Vector, Flitwick again, Sprout, Airelle, then Lupin once more… And then, it swerved sharply to the left.
And dropped directly into Airelle's pumpkin juice glass. The Illusions professor goggled at it in shock, then glanced at Dumbledore, who shrugged and smiled.
"The Spell has made its choice… the referee shall be Airelle Vilka, Professor of Illusions."
There was tumultuous clapping at the Ravenclaw Table, and even some among the Gryffindors. Most people trusted Airelle, and knew her to be a fair teacher towards all Houses. But still, even she was not certain. She'd always been a player or even an onlooker, but never a referee. Not the one with the power to give penalties… did someone jinx the Selection Spell or what? Oh, this was not her morning – chosen twice, yeesh.
"Well, that's all, finally," said Dumbledore. "You can finish your breakfast now, we won't bother you."
Conversations broke out immediately, and Airelle noticed Snape sweep out of the Great Hall. Where is he going, I wonder? She was hoping to catch up, but was drawn into a talk with Flitwick on the fine points of dueling, watching the door all the while.
Airelle could not find Snape, even in the dungeons, and finally resigned herself to returning to her room empty-handed – or, rather, empty-minded. After giving Christmas presents to several of the teachers, she was trudging up a spiral staircase when she met Albus Dumbledore. He was holding a steaming mug of herbal tea and enchanting the railing to sparkle red and green whenever someone placed a hand on it.
"Ah, Airelle," he said, marking his last piece of railing with a flourish, "I was hoping to come upon you."
"Yes, Headmaster?" she asked, wondering what this was about. Had he found out something else about the Yule Ball incident?
"There is a slight problem with today's Quidditch game," said the wizard, smiling as if he knew what she'd been expecting.
"Indeed?" she asked, going up the steps so they'd be at eye level. "What is it, sir?"
"The Ravenclaw team is all here, but Harry Potter has informed me that two players are missing from the Gryffindors; a Chaser, and the Keeper, who happens to be the new team captain. They are very concerned."
"Oh, dear," said Airelle, thinking fast. So that was what Potter had been telling his friend at breakfast. "That's a… problem…hmm."
Dumbledore was looking at her intently. Airelle wanted so badly to say, 'You're always the one with all the answers, why don't you fix this?' But somehow, she had an idea that he asked her this for a reason. What could—
"Oi!" she exclaimed, clapping a hand to her forehead. "Eureka!"
"Tell me."
Airelle was speaking quickly now, and her face was radiant with joy. "What if--well, there's nothing in Quidditch rules, if I remember rightly…they say you can't switch players in the middle of a game… but if it were in the beginning…"
"I'm afraid I do not follow," said Dumbledore pleasantly, but Airelle had a feeling he knew exactly what she was going to suggest.
"Headmaster," she said, "since this is a special occasion, we may get two students to fill in for the two that are missing."
Dumbledore kept smiling as Airelle paced around the staircase, going up and down the same three steps as if she could wear them down. "That's it… it'll be a chance… it's absolutely perfect."
"But who in Gryffindor has the skill and the practice?"
She grinned up at the elder wizard. "I think, Headmaster, I know just the people…"
An hour later, Airelle Vilka stood outside the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, arguing intensely with the painting of the Fat Lady in front of her.
"I'm sorry, dear, but you need the password," said the portrait, ruffling her pink silk dress haughtily.
"What do I look like, a student?!" snarled Airelle, crossing her arms. I am a professor, for Merlin's sake!"
"Then, as a professor, you should know all the passwords."
"I forgot this particular one! It's not like I visit Gryffindor Tower often… can't a person get a break?"
The Fat Lady shrugged. "Sorry."
"Argh!" Airelle growled, kicking the air. "All right, then, I'll go back for the password, and I'll make the long trip back up here just for the purpose of yelling it in your face."
"Suit yourself," was the reply, and Airelle was just about to storm off when she bumped into someone.
"Ack—oh, excuse me, Professor!" It was Hermione Granger, and she was clutching a stack of books taller than Airelle. It was no wonder the girl couldn't see where she was going.
"Where on earth are you going with all of those?" asked Airelle, staring at her in disbelief.
"Oh—I was just…" panted Hermione, staggering over to the Fat Lady, "…tutoring some people in the library."
"Miss Granger," muttered Airelle, shaking her head and smiling, "that looks like the whole curriculum."
"Oh—well, here and there…" She reminded Airelle so much of herself, studious, running around with tons of books and papers. Except, of course, it wasn't likely that Granger went into the dungeons at night, like Airelle did.
"Well, goodbye, Professor, nice seeing you here…" she was saying. "Eh…oh, 'filibuster fireworks!'"
"That's better," grumbled the painting, and swung open. Airelle almost let the girl walk inside and leave her out there. Snapping out of her daze, she swept towards the frame and grabbed it before it shut.
"Miss Granger, I need to make an announcement in your common room," said Airelle hastily as the Fat Lady struggled to close.
"Oh, sure, Professor," Hermione replied, "come on in."
"Thank you." Airelle stumbled inside as the fifth-year Gryffindor dropped her load onto a table, causing people in the common room to jump and stare in their direction. Oh, good, thought Airelle as she recognized those she wanted to speak with. Just the audience I need.
"Greetings," she began loudly, and most conversations stopped. The five remaining members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team – Fred and George Weasley, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Harry Potter – were huddled together in a corner, and raised their heads as well.
"Merry Christmas," said Airelle. "I come bearing good news."
"What is it, Professor Vilka?" asked Ginny Weasley, peering from around a large, ruby-red armchair.
"Did Father Christmas get stuck in one of our chimneys?" grinned Fred Weasley.
"Or has someone turned Peeves into a plastic reindeer for the good of humanity?" added his twin George, and there were loud guffaws throughout the room.
"No, I'm afraid the news is not that good," grinned Airelle. "However, I have a feeling you shall find this piece of information better than anything else. Your Quidditch problem has been solved."
"You're serious, Professor?" asked Hermione, as Airelle headed towards a small table, where Ron Weasley was engaged in a game of wizard chess with Dean Thomas. He looked up just in time to see the Illusions professor towering over him.
"Eh… am I in a very nasty heap of trouble?" he asked.
Airelle laughed. "On the contrary, Mr. Weasley," she answered. "I've seen you on a broomstick. You have been, thanks to regard for your friend Mr. Potter, to all the Quidditch practices, and are familiar with their techniques. And you can often take quite a wallop from your sanity-challenged brothers." She looked pointedly at Fred and George, who shrugged and smiled angelically. "So… for this game, Mr. Weasley, you shall be the Gryffindor team's Keeper."
Ron stared at her as if she just told him he was the new Minister of Magic. "You're joking," said several people at once, including Ron himself.
"Not today," she replied. "You have until six o'clock… I believe that is… seven hours to practice – which you should, since your captain is not here to give you last-minute pointers. And that is not all." She crossed over to the fireplace, in front of which Neville Longbottom was poring over a Herbology textbook.
"Neville," she said, shining with delight like a proud parent that she'd never been, "here's your chance. You're going to be the Chaser they need for this game."
The boy brought the book down from his face and it fell on the floor. "I'm… I'm…a what??"
"But Professor," said Lee Jordan incredulously, "Neville is…well…" He trailed off, shrugging.
Airelle smiled. "Clumsy? Perhaps… but you'll be surprised how well he's been progressing."
"You've been giving him flying lessons?" asked Harry Potter, as Neville blinked in amazement at Airelle. She knew it was what he'd always wanted… to be on the Quidditch team just once… And since she'd been a Chaser herself, she had shown him Chaser air-tricks as well.
"That is correct," answered the professor, walking to the exit. "Let him show you what he can do with that broom of his. Good luck; I'll see you on the field at six."
And she walked out of the frame, leaving a very stunned Ron, a near-tearful Neville, a smiling Hermione Granger, and a wholly amazed Gryffindor House.
Airelle was practically skipping steps as she headed to her room to drop off some gifts she'd received from Flitwick, Dumbledore, and a few students. She felt happy for the first time in a while; she'd done something useful and good. And for Gryffindor, the opposing team, too. Snape was going to be apoplectic when he'd see Neville Longbottom, the infamous cauldron-melter, wearing gold and scarlet Quidditch robes.
And yet in the midst of her bliss, her Auror senses, though a bit dulled since her resignation, still informed her of a potential storm on the horizon. Voldemort would strike; she had no idea when or where. If the Yule Ball attack was just a preliminary test of Hogwarts security, this was bad. The perpetrator had gotten away squeaky clean, for the most part; a scouring of the Forbidden Forest was out of the question, and in any case, he was probably far away by now.
She turned the doorknob. Either that, or he was still in the school.
But no, that was next to impossible. Dumbledore would know… then again, he didn't know about the fake Moody until he almost killed Harry Potter… Great, there was a comforting thought.
Airelle shook her head. Why had all these fears suddenly come back to her on Christmas Day? Just her lucky sense of paranoia, of course. Always brought her to a pit in the earth during the happiest moments.
Balancing her gifts under one arm, she pushed open the door with her other shoulder. But before she even walked inside, Airelle's internal alarms went off. There was someone else in the room. How had she known? It was easier than usual to figure out; her bedroom window was open. She'd left it closed since the previous night.
The curtains ruffled gently in the breeze, and a dead silence reigned. Airelle's muscles grew tense; 'dead' was not the word she wanted to think of at that moment. She twitched her free right arm, and her wand slid down the sleeve into her hand, which was already ice cold. From what she could tell, there was no one near the bed; she could see nothing in the mirror, or in the open closet. So, that only left one place…
The process only took a second. She dropped the packages on the floor, and whirled around to the other side of the door, raising her wand lightning-quick to the throat of—
"Jumpy, are we?" asked Snape, looking at her calmly from the end of her wand.
Airelle shook her head and dropped her shoulders in frustration. "…Are you trying to get yourself fried… extra crispy?"
The Potions professor kept a perfectly straight face. "I merely wished to pay you a holiday visit, since I did not get to do so this morning. Is that a crime?"
"No, but standing behind my door like an assassin is liable to get you killed. You're crazy!"
"Calm down," he replied, gliding past her and taking a seat on the chair opposite her bed. "I also wanted to make sure your skill hasn't gone down too far since your arrival here."
"Thank you for your thoughtfulness, but I'd prefer you warn me first."
Snape looked up. "Voldemort does not warn before he murders."
"All right, all right, it's useless to argue with you," said Airelle resignedly, bending to pick her gifts up off the floor. "So, where'd you disappear to this morning after breakfast?"
"You'll find out soon enough," his voice replied from behind her. "Have you heard about the Quidditch game yet?"
"Oh, yes," said Airelle, smiling and closing the door. "The Gryffindor team… is two members short."
"I suppose they shall just have to play with the five who are here," said Snape, his eyes glittering, not without pleasure. "They won't stand a chance, especially if the Ravenclaws are still as good as they were two years ago."
"Uh-huh," said Airelle slyly. Here was where she'd get to spoil the whole thing. Strangely enough, she was enjoying it, in a friendly manner. "But, umm… didn't you hear of what has been decided concerning the problem?"
Snape's smile dropped, just a little. "What?"
"Ah, nothing much," she answered, twirling a strand of her hair in a childish manner. "Just that… they're substituting players. Two students are taking the place of a Chaser and a Keeper."
"Who?"
"Ron Weasley as the Keeper, and…" She paused, relishing her next words and watching Snape carefully. "Neville Longbottom as the Chaser."
To Airelle's surprise, Snape chuckled softly. "I take it this was your idea?" he asked, crossing his arms.
She stared at him. "What if it was?…"
"Well, I hate to disappoint you, but that shall not do the Gryffindors any good. Weasley might provide for a semi-useful Keeper, but Longbottom, that bumbling embarrassment to wizardhood – he shall humiliate his House in front of the entire school."
Airelle snorted, and leaned against the door. "We shall see about that," she scoffed. "I have been teaching him, as you must know by now… and I have to say, the attack seemed to have improved his drive to learn."
"You are becoming too hopeful," said Snape. "Be realistic, Airelle."
"Well, I happen to think—"
"Just whom are you rooting for?" he interrupted, his eyes boring into hers. "Don't tell me you've abandoned your own House for the opposing team."
"I don't favor anyone," she harrumphed, moving towards her bed and sitting on it. "Unlike somebody I know."
"I'll pretend I did not hear that," said Snape coolly, and reached into his robes. For a second, just a second, Airelle thought he was actually going to pull out his wand and hex her. My God, have the nightmares affected you this much, you great big prat? He's not a Death Eater anymore, remember?
"This is why I left early this morning," he muttered, standing up and holding his palm out to her. On it was a medium-sized box, wrapped in bright emerald paper. Airelle took it and began to laugh.
"You waited until now to go to Hogsmeade and get me a Christmas gift?" she chortled good-naturedly. "Typical of you, Snape."
"You know, of course, I got you this only because of its apparent necessity, not because of some imbecilic holiday."
"Of course. And don't worry, I still won't tell anyone that the feared Potions Master actually got someone a present," Airelle kept laughing. He had always bought her very useful gifts during their student days; obviously, he had not since then… this was the first gift she'd received from him in nearly twenty years. As for the vice versa scenario – she was probably the only person from whom he'd ever received gifts in general. After all, other than his parents (who were now dead), and Dumbledore, Airelle was probably the only one who knew her friend's birthdate.
"Don't shake it," warned Snape as she brought the box to her ear. "It is fragile."
"I guessed," she replied. "It's so lightweight… may I open it?"
"No," he frowned. "I'd rather you waited until next Christmas."
Airelle snickered. "I take that as a yes." She reached to open the box, when—
"Oh, wait!" she exclaimed. "Before I unwrap mine… I forgot… it's only fair…"
She jumped up, leaving the gift on her bed, and knelt down, disappearing halfway under the folds of curtains reaching from the canopy. She emerged from under the bed, coughing, with a large and dusty box in her arms.
"What?" she asked when Snape raised his eyebrows. "I hide things under the bed. Is that worthy of a place in St. Mungo's or something?"
"No," he shook his head, and Airelle gave him the box. "What are you looking at?" Snape asked, seeing her watching him.
"Just waiting to see your reaction, that's all."
"This is childish," he frowned. "How many times have we done this? Open simultaneously, it saves time."
"Just humor me," she replied, putting the small box in her lap again.
"I do not humor anyone," Snape answered, but pulled on the ribbon anyway. He tried to open the box with his hands, but failed; meanwhile, Airelle was trying extremely hard not to laugh.
"How the hell did you wrap this?" he mumbled, getting irritated and pulling out his wand.
"It's glue… a Muggle invention. It sticks to things to keep them together. Like Spello-Tape," she said, now smiling outright (it was safe to do so because Snape was still busy with the box).
"Muggles make the strangest things," he muttered, scowling, and pointed his wand in a murderous manner at the box. "Abrete!"
The edges sprang open with a pop, and Airelle turned her face away, coughing as the Cushion Spell inside it dispersed into the atmosphere, collecting in a gray cloud around Snape's head at the moment. When it cleared, the Potions professor looked no less aggravated than he did before he opened it.
"Have a look inside," urged Airelle, sitting cross-legged on the bed now and fixing her collar. Snape looked at her for a second, then down into the box. One of his black-sleeved arms reached into it and—
"A candle-holder?"
"I'm so proud of myself; I bought it spontaneously at Diagon Alley when I was buying supplies, before I even knew I was going to meet you," she replied, smiling. Snape, in the meantime, turned it over in his hands. The shape was that of a silver snake, curling up in spirals around a pike as tall as the length of Airelle's head. Its eyes were made of black obsidian; the head was flat and supported the candle. But the most interesting thing was that the snake had wings; webbed and silver, like those of bats or dragons, they were spread out from the top half of its body in a half-aggressive and totally impressive fashion. The tongue was as black as the eyes, and slid out through the closed, lipless mouth in an arrogant and seductive fork. Airelle, for her part, had no idea why she'd bought it in the first place; it had not been because of a premonition or anything. She just liked the wings, and often, she grew tired of all the eagle Ravenclaw figures in her room. Airelle had actually planned of leaving the blasted thing at her Muggle home altogether, but it had somehow ended up in her travel trunk, bound for Hogwarts. Go figure.
"It's not just any candle-holder," she added, sounding even to herself like she was part of a TV show, telling the contestant what he'd won. "It is a Correspondence Candle-Holder."
"I have never heard of those," he replied, tracing a fingertip over the outline of the projecting wings slowly and deliberately, as if memorizing every curve.
"That's because they're very rare… used by Ministry heads and all," she answered. "I bought this one in an antiques shop."
"How does it work?"
"Easy. Every candle that is lit in this holder automatically becomes bewitched. If you have some important letter and do not wish anyone to see it without your knowledge, you can hold it up to the flame and it will burn without ashes. Then, if you need the letter again, you simply light the candle, hold your hand over the fire, say a password of your choice, and something to identify the particular letter, and you'll get it back."
"So this regurgitates letters that you want for your eyes only?"
"That's right."
"Excellent," he said, looking Airelle in the eyes. "I shall make good use of it."
"You better," she replied, dropping her gaze to the box in her own lap. "I would've kept it myself."
"Now open yours," he said, and Airelle did not bother with manual labor. She simply drew her wand and used a spell to peel the wrapping open. A rush of wind flew at her, and she recognized it as an Air Confinement Charm, combined with a mild Sleeping Charm. But you'd only need an Air Confinement Charm for something that was… breathing…
She pulled out the wire-mesh, and sure enough, it was a cage. And inside, on the floor, was cuddled a heap of feathers the size of a tennis ball. It ruffled, shaking off the Sleeping Charm, stuck out its head from the rest of its body, and blinked its huge, chocolate-brown eyes at Airelle's black ones. She could see her startled reflection in them. The creature clicked its beak and hooted expectantly.
"Holy smokin' gnomes!" she exclaimed. "You've gotten me an owl!"
"Your expanse of vocabulary," said Snape with a hint of amusement, "never ceases to amaze me."
Airelle wasn't even able to come up with a quip to counteract her friend's; she was too busy goggling at the owl. It seemed to have awakened completely and was now jumping up and down, reminding Airelle of herself when she'd had one too many butterbeers.
Snape watched as the Illusions professor opened the cage and scooped the bird out, holding it tightly as if it would fly off. "Wow," said Airelle as it nipped her finger affectionately, "he—"
"She," Snape corrected. "Hogsmeade is having a Christmas fair tonight, apparently, and I bought her from a passing dealer. Maybe unwise, but I checked her for jinxes and she seems clean."
"She," Airelle repeated, "looks just like Excalibur. The same enormous brown eyes… except, of course, this one is black-feathered."
"I must confess," said Snape, "I've seen dark gray owls, but never a pure black one before. I had to run her through spells to make certain she wasn't transfigured before I bought her. The dealer was not pleased; I believe he took offense at the fact that I found him untrustworthy."
"You had reason; I've never seen one like this either," replied Airelle. Ever since Excalibur's untimely demise, she had used Ministry business owls to deliver her Auror messages and stay with her during the holidays. But she had never had another, personal owl, until now.
"What shall I call you?" she wondered aloud as the little owl sank its claws into her wrist in a very homely manner, using it as a perch. She suddenly recalled her stay in the Hospital Wing after the Runespoor accident. Airelle had received a small pile of get-well gifts then, but only had a chance to open them the week before Christmas. A certain one had caught her attention – oddly enough, it was from Alica and Tracy. No, not a Dungbomb, as Airelle had feared… but a book, a Muggle fantasy entitled Avalon. Airelle, being a fan of Arthurian legend, had read it before, but it had been a nice addition to her mini-library nonetheless. Now, her mind wandered back to it, and –
"Avalon," she announced, petting the inky-black feathers. "Henceforth, your name is Avalon."
The owl hooted again; she seemed to like it. Apparently, so did Snape.
"A tribute to Excalibur, I see," he said, and Airelle nodded slowly.
"Thank you," she replied. "I've wanted an owl for a long time, but never thought I'd find one that reminded me of Excalibur so much."
Snape's subsequent expression told her he'd acknowledged her thanks. His eyes went down to the Correspondence Candle-Holder once more, and he placed it back in the box, from which tattered remnants of wrapping paper were still hanging like shiny streamers.
Airelle rose and set Avalon's empty cage close to the windowsill, leaving the little owl to bounce around in a half-hysterical fashion on her shoulder. She glanced back at her friend, who was now staring sullenly in the direction of her bedpost.
The Illusions professor had meant for her next remark to be funny, witty, or even encouraging. But instead –
"So you're worried, too."
He looked up at her, and his eyes were tired. Obviously, the Christmas Spirit of relaxation, however little it had affected Airelle, hadn't touched him at all. "Yes," was all he said; but that one word meant anxious days, sleepless nights, and a troubling emptiness of the heart.
Airelle stood next to him near the table, as if her presence there could alleviate anything, and stared down at the floor. When she finally could not take counting another crack in the stone anymore, the ex-Auror slammed her fist down on the table so hard that Avalon zoomed, screeching, to the opposite side of the room.
"Damn it!" she said loudly, clenching her teeth as hard as her fist. "Why did that coward not show his face at the Yule Ball? He left us all here high and dry, waiting for another strike… Fudge is still being a stubborn idiot… and this happens right before Christmas, to ruin our holiday and keep us all sitting on pins and needles!"
"Voldemort's followers are like that, Airelle," said Snape calmly. For a second, it made her wonder if he'd been that cowardly himself. During that time, she had only seen him once, unknowingly, but what about all the other years he'd spent as a Death Eater? "Do you think a coward," he continued, "would go against Dumbledore, or anyone here?"
"I know, Snape, I know," she replied, frustrated. "It's just…"
"You want to help me, and cannot," he finished. Airelle stared at him.
"What do you mean, I cannot help?"
"Voldemort shall call on me anytime soon," said Snape darkly. "One of two things will then occur: either he explains to us all what has happened, or he shall accuse me of treason and kill me."
"Snape, you can't! Dumbledore—"
"—can do nothing, Airelle. If I do not go when I am called, then Voldemort will surely know I am working for his enemy's cause… and then, not even Hogwarts shall be safe for me. No, I must bear it out and see what the Dark Lord can tell me about last week's attack."
Airelle sighed. Snape was right; if Voldemort were involved, as the Dark Mark suggested, then he'd be the last hope to figure out who attacked Neville and Delilah. And if Delilah Haze did not awaken – then Voldemort would be the only hope.
"I swear, Snape," she muttered after a while, "if Voldemort murders you… I will decapitate him, gouge out his eyes, and turn his scaly head into a Muggle bowling ball…"
The Potions Master chuckled sardonically. "Believe me, many people would love to see that happen. Unfortunately, I must maintain my charade, and so do you."
"How?"
"Play stupid; pretend you do not suspect anything. Voldemort may be evil and insane, but it is his intelligence that has gotten him to the point where most wizards are terrified to speak his name. If he is behind the attack, he shall be watching us. And the last thing I need is for you to end up in his clutches."
Airelle gazed at Snape; rarely had she seen him this distressed. It was his eyes that showed it; on the top was that same impenetrable exterior. But she knew him better than that.
"Everything you say makes absolute sense," she replied, "except for one measly detail: have you somehow FORGOTTEN that you're risking your life here? If you die—"
"If I die," Snape interrupted, matter-of-factly, "it shall be for mistakes of the past, not the choices I make now. You must understand that, if you are to work with me."
Airelle sighed. But you've made amends for your past by now. You don't deserve to die, she thought. You've left once already, on Graduation Night. You'll never know it, but I don't think I'll be able to deal with it a second time.
Avalon broke the ensuing silence, flying with a sweep of small black wings back onto Airelle's shoulder. As with Excalibur, this one could feel Airelle's pain as well. Oh, bad word. This was not pain yet, mere anxiety. Airelle hoped the real pain would never come.
"Well… I suppose we can maybe strike this out of our agenda, at least for today," she finally said, semi-pleadingly, as if this were the last Christmas in ages. She had to admit that even thinking about the possibility of Voldemort's actions was unpleasant. Snape was silent; his face was still drawn.
"We have put extra spells up," continued Airelle, looking outside the window. "We even have security trolls…and besides, the Quidditch game should start – wait a minute!"
She leaned out of the window, and sure enough, there were crowds filing toward the gigantic playing field. The predominant colors were red and blue, and many carried giant signs and flags.
"Oh, dear… Snape," she exclaimed, "it's almost six! I'm refereeing, I must go!"
She went to the doorway, but stopped when her friend did not move.
"Aren't you coming?" she asked, nudging Avalon off her shoulder and motioning her toward the direction of the Owlery for food and rest.
"Perhaps," said Snape idly. "I'll think about it."
"Well," she answered, "I have to leave, but… all right, suit yourself." As always, it did not do any good to argue. Perhaps it was better that she'd leave him to his plans, anyway. "Avalon, get off me!"
It was no use; it seemed like the owl was glued to her robe. Avalon hooted happily and nipped Airelle's ear, blinking her oversize eyes like a cherubim.
"All RIGHT!" she sighed defeatedly. "You can come to the Quidditch game with me."
Snape just shook his head as the owl jumped up and down joyfully, nearly tearing Airelle's collar to shreds.
"Persistent little thing, aren't you?" Airelle asked as she gestured a farewell to Snape and headed downstairs toward the Quidditch field. "But don't you even think of broomriding with me during the game. I don't want any backseat dri… err, fliers."
To Be Continued…
A/N: Avalon's name is dedicated to one of my close friends, who is a far greater fan of Arthurian legend than I am; you know who you are. hug
