Chapter Ten: Warrington's Outrage
Aaron Pucey was released from the infirmary by the next day, looking more injured psychologically than physically. His wrist was in a splint, and his first two fingers were tightly bound between stiff boards.
"Two broken fingers and my wrist is sprained," he told them glumly, as the third-year boys eagerly assessed the relative coolness of his medical equipment. "Pomfrey says I might never have the grip to be a Seeker. I wanted her to speed up the healing, but she said she couldn't, she had to save that potion for 'serious emergencies." Here he called Madame Pomfrey a word that made Melissa look around to see if any teachers were listening. "Six to eight weeks. More on the fingers, maybe."
Warrington and Bruce looked sympathetic, but Beth noticed that they didn't seem to be meeting Aaron's eye when they said so. Uther Montague, Adrian Pucey, and Marcus Flint had been selected as Chasers, giving them a full complement of returning players in that position.
The teachers must have known when the Quidditch trials were over, because they really started piling on the assignments afterward. McGonagall was in fine form by the beginning of October, requiring a summary of the readings every class period, and everyone grew bitter when Flitwick enchanted his classroom door to open only upon the successful completion of a prescribed charm. The charm changed every week. Warrington was disconsolate.
"Of all the pansy classes!" he bellowed on the way from Charms to Potions one day. "Why would I want to get in and learn how to do some wimpy charm anyway?"
They had been forced to make flowers sprout from their wands that day, and Warrington considered it a personal affront.
"I think I could break Flitwick if I breathed on him." Warrington continued griping as they filed into the dank Potions dungeon and started mixing a brew that would painlessly dissolve ingrown toenails. "Dumb teacher. Who needs a stupid cheering charm."
"Certainly not you," Melissa intoned with a straight face. Beth sniggered.
A pair of Gryffindor girls, assuming they were being made fun of, sniffed superiorly and turned their backs to the Slytherin side of the classroom.
Melissa and Beth worked together, as usual. That meant that Beth got most of the disgusting jobs, like disemboweling earthworms and picking apart bubotubers, but she never really minded.
"I can't believe Bruce made the team!" Melissa bubbled, as Beth plucked feathers from a dead rooster. "That's two in our year, and we've never had anyone before. Quidditch is great, but it's more exciting when you know some of the players -- don't you think?"
"Sure," Beth grunted, pulling loose a handful of tailfeathers.
"The Gryffindors are almost all new," Melissa continued, with something of a gloat. "The rumor is that they got some firstie to be their Seeker!"
Both of them snorted. "Well, they're not supposed to be the smart peoples' house," Beth smirked.
Melissa snickered and stole a glance at the other side of the room, where the Weasley twins were huddled over their scarred and battered cauldron. "That's not the worst of it. Wood's back as Keeper, but all of their Chasers are only third-years, and they're all girls. And guess who the Beaters are."
"The dorky kid who ran away with the hat at the Sorting Ceremony?" Beth suggested evilly.
"The Weasleys!"
There was a sudden popping noise, and a pink puffpod erupted from Warrington's cauldron. It rose four feet in the air and bobbed there lazily as blooms sprouted all along its length. Warrington stared at it dumbly for a few seconds, then whirled to glare at the Weasleys, who were doubled over with laughter. "Professor!" he bellowed, fists clenched. "The Gryffindors -- the Weasleys --" The puffpod showered pink petals onto Warrington's head. The Gryffindors shrieked with laughter.
Professor Snape stalked over, wand clutched in one hand. "I don't think I have to guess who's responsible for this," he said in a dangerously soft voice, biting off each word. "That's twenty points from Gryffindor. Weasley, trade cauldrons with Warrington for the rest of the class."
The Weasley twins gawped at each other. "That's not fair!" Spinnet cried. Professor Snape turned on her.
"And another ten for criticizing my teaching method," he hissed softly. "Does anyone else wish to comment?"
The Gryffindors stared at him sullenly.
"Good." Professor Snape strode back to the front of the room and resumed the lesson, while Warrington triumphantly snatched the Weasleys' battered cauldron.
Near the end of the class, Snape cleared his throat.
"The first trip to the village of Hogsmeade has been scheduled for the Saturday after next." Excited buzzing filled the room. "As the head of your House, I will be accepting permission forms from the Slytherins until the day of the trip." He scowled at the Gryffindors, giving the Weasley twins a special glare. "Everyone else should turn in their forms to their respective heads of House. As unworthy as they may be to actually attend."
The Slytherins giggled; the Weasley twins gaped at Professor Snape in wordless outrage. Johnson looked as if she wanted to say something and was making a great effort to hold it back.
"Class is dismissed."
The Gryffindors practically rocketed out of the dungeon, clamoring about recent injustices. A handful of Slytherins stayed behind to help clean up.
"They must have stolen that puffpod seed from Sprout," Beth said, on her hands and knees beneath Warrington's desk. She stood with a pile of pink petals in one hand and tossed them in the garbage.
"Ugh, there's beetle's eyes all the way over here!" Melissa exclaimed from a far corner.
Professor Snape granted them a thin-lipped smile. "I may live for a century more and never comprehend how the Gryffindors manage to make such a mess in such a short span of time."
Melissa snorted derisively, bringing the beetles' eyes to the trash can in the front of the room. "You should see their common --"
She broke off and flushed a deep red.
"-- their common book-covers and knapsacks," she finished, stammering. "Battered and such. Awful how they treat them."
She gathered her cauldron in her arms and rushed out the door.
"What's wrong with her?" demanded Bruce.
Beth shrugged. "Didn't mention. Come on, it's lunchtime."
Having lunch after Potions was possibly the worst scheduling job in the school's history. After two hours of straining the fat from dead badgers' paws, Beth was in no mood for shepherd's pie. She watched Bruce devour his own with slight disgust. Across the table, the other third-years chattered excitedly about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.
"Adrian's told me all about it," bragged Aaron Pucey. "There's a joke shop with exploding quills, wands that catch fire and fake chocolate frogs that blow up in your face --"
Beth caught an unpleasant glimpse into Aaron's childhood.
"There's supposed to be one of the biggest candy stores in England," added Mervin Fletcher, looking enthused for one of the first times in his life.
"I thought that was Willy Wonka's," said Beth dryly.
She was met with blank stares.
"Er -- never mind."
"I want to see the Shrieking Shack," Warrington interjected in a gravelly voice. Beth noticed that his deep voice was cracking less and less often these days. In fact, he was shaping up to be a pretty muscular fellow all the way around, if his success as a Beater was any indication.
"The what now?"
"Shrieking Shack. Most haunted house in Europe -- I think that's an overestimation though. Hasn't been a good howl for ten-odd years." Riggs finished his dissertation and buried his nose back in the Daily Prophet.
Beth hadn't even noticed that he was sitting nearby. "A haunted house, that sounds fun. Never seen one of those."
Bruce started to laugh and choked on his shepherd's pie. "Beth, you live in a haunted castle," he blurted, coughing and laughing at the same time. Warrington beat him on the back a few times.
Beth scowled. "Oh, shut it."
Breaking in with a smile, Aaron chirped, "Hey Beth, how many Ravenclaws does it take to light up a wand?"
Beth grinned despite herself. "How many?"
"Just one, he spent all term studying it, aren't Ravenclaws the cleverest?"
The Slytherins busted up laughing. Some passing Hufflepuffs gave them a suspicious look. That made them laugh harder.
"Yeah, beware, we're plotting how to kill you all!" Aaron called after them, wiping away tears of mirth.
"Pass me the poison," Warrington boomed.
Only Riggs was unmoved. "They've never trusted us, and they never will," he murmured prophetically, staring down at the newspaper. His voice was so quiet that no one but Beth caught his words. "There should be a society for Slytherin acceptance."