The recently defeated Slytherin Quidditch team sulked around for weeks afterward. Aaron Pucey, on the other hand, must have felt either pity or superiority, since he started talking to them again, even offering a bit of patronizing sympathy every once in a while.
"Who knew the kid would be that good?" he reasoned in Potions one day, as Bruce and Warrington ground their teeth beside him. "No one even guessed that Potter --"
"A POX ON POTTER!" roared Warrington, banging his fists on the table. The Weasleys, engaged in dicing narwhal entrails, looked up at him and snorted back laughter.
"Are we having trouble coping with defeat?" asked Spinnet sweetly.
"Just jealous," Lee Jordan chimed in, a big grin on his face.
"Right, I wish we had a bunch of firsties on our team, just like you," Melissa shot back.
"Our firstie kicked your seventh-year's --"
"Enough, quiet down," Snape broke in casually. The class started putting away their supplies. "Slytherins, you must let me know which of you will be staying for Christmas break. If the Gryffindors ever cease their giddiness, they may do likewise to Professor McGonagall."
Johnson scowled back at him and murmured something to Spinnet, who raised a hand to hide her giggles.
"Class is dismissed."
Beth kicked the wall angrily as they left the dungeon. "How do the Gryffindors manage to ruin every class?" she demanded. "For once, I'd like to have Potions with someone else."
"Who?" snorted Melissa. "The Ravenclaws? 'Look, professor, I just discovered five new kinds of dust. They gathered on me while I was reading.'"
Bruce cracked up.
"Hey, Melissa," said Aaron, giving her a nudge, "How many Hufflepuffs does it take to light up a wand?"
"How many?" asked Melissa gamely.
"Two, trying as hard as they can, and they never give up until they get it, those plucky Hufflepuffs."
They howled with laughter, and the Gryffindors gave them a wide berth as they passed.
The days got colder and shorter as November went on. The Quidditch team eased up on their practices, not having another game for a few months; likewise, the SSA decided to scout around the corridor over Christmas and did nothing else productive. That wasn't much of a relief, though, thanks to the homework in the other classes. By the time Christmas rolled around, Beth was more than ready to hang up her robes for a few days. Besides, she hadn't heard from her father recently, and was eager to catch up with him and Mr. and Mrs. Scamander.
On the morning of December 23, almost the entire population of Hogwarts boarded the fleet of horseless carriages and bumped along the dirt path to Hogsmeade station, where the Hogwarts Express waited, steaming. They poured out into the station, clutching their bags and pets tightly.
"Professor!" A sweaty, grimy man came up to Professor Sprout, who stood watch over the students.
"Yes?"
"Goin' ter be a bit of a wait," he huffed, mopping his face with a greasy handkerchief. "Whole nest of faeries went an' hatched in one o' th' compartments. Didn't see til we pulled 'er out today. Might want ter warn yer students."
"How long should it be?" Sprout worried.
"Hour. Mebbe two."
Professor Sprout turned to tell the news to the assembled students, but everyone in their third year and older was already gone.
Bruce, Melissa, Beth and Mervin dashed along the main street of Hogsmeade, giggling madly. "Wonder if Sprout will let the little 'uns go?" Beth wondered.
"Can't trust 'em to be back," Bruce grinned. "And us --"
"You can't trust us either," laughed Melissa. "Which way?"
"I need to get a Christmas present for Dad," Beth spoke up. "Is there a gift shop around?"
"Lord Fossecker's Curios," Mervin said. "On the way to the Shack."
They spent half an hour in Fossecker's trying to pick out something for Mr. Parson. Beth eventually settled on a Remembrall, a little while marble that glowed red when the owner had forgotten something. "Not that it will help," she commented at the cash register. "He'll just think it's a cute red Christmas ornament. Darned if he ever finds out that it's white sometimes."
All the rest of them remembered Christmas shopping that needed to be done, so they darted back to Honeyduke's and again to Zonko's. They came out poorer but happier, armed with enough sweets and magical tricks to make it through break.
Melissa looked at her watch. "It's been an hour. Think they're ready yet?"
Mervin bit him lip. "Maybe not. It would only take a few minutes ..."
"To what?"
Mervin nodded his head toward the Shack, far in the distance.
Beth squealed with joy. "Good idea! Let's try it again!"
"But the train's leaving," argued Melissa.
"Maybe not," said Bruce. "Come on. It's worth a try. You can go back, we'll just have fun ducking the guards without you."
"Oh, go on," Melissa huffed. "I'll be on the train. Heaven knows what will happen if they leave without you."
"Take my stuff, will you?" begged Bruce.
"Oh, me too," agreed Beth. They piled their packages into Melissa's arms. "Thanks!" They left her struggling to hold an armful of parcels, and dashed down the road.
Mervin slowed down when the shack came into sight. "All right, here's the tricky bit," he murmured, a little under his breath. "There's goblin guards all around, see? But they walk around in little paths on each side, so sometimes there's a whole corner where no one's looking. Now, I've scouted this out, and on the east side there's a big bush by the wall. If we time it just right, we can sneak up and hide behind it and no one'll know."
"You're brilliant!" Beth laughed appreciatively.
Doing their best to look casual, they strolled around the shack and stood in a little group about thirty feet from the perimeter. The bush was in plain sight, and with some squeezing, they could all fit behind it. Beth could feel her pulse run high.
"Got to make this quick," Mervin was muttering. "Watch me. Few more rotations. See, that one's slower than the other ..."
"Richard would be so proud," said Beth.
At once, the goblin guards reached the ends of their cycle and turned their backs to each other. They marched a few paces, not looking back ...
"Now!" hissed Mervin.
They scrambled up the slope and crouched giggling behind the shrub, barely daring to breathe. Mervin held a finger to his lips; they paused in tense anticipation. Beth knew that any minute a goblin would reach down and haul them out with a rough, gnarled hand; Bruce's eyes were alight with adventure. They heard the rhythmic crunch of footfalls in the snow. Closer ... closer ....
The goblin strolled past.
Everyone let out their breaths in one short gust. "Now how do we get back out?" Beth demanded, her voice an excited squeak.
"Hush," said Bruce suddenly.
They froze. From the silence rose a voice, barely audible, a masculine voice, with an edge and a bit of a growl to it.
Mervin pressed his ear against the side of the shack. In there, he mouthed, pointing to the wall, his eyes wide. They all drew closer to the wall, silent and still as they could be.
"It's a beauty." This voice was different before -- higher, more nervous.
"Norwegian. Had to ..." The first, gruffer voice faded out for a moment. "...just to get it in."
"The mangy fool will kill for it." A high-pitched laugh followed, making Beth shudder at the thought of what the speaker meant.
Bruce started combing the side of the shack with his hands. In a few minutes, he bent his head close to one of the cracks. After one look inside, he drew away with a gasp.
"What?" demanded Beth, in a frightened undertone.
"Come on, we've got to go," he breathed. "Tell you on the train. We have to go!"
An enormous THUD came from inside the shack. They needed no further persuasion. In a trice the three were sprinting away from the shack as fast as they could run, not even heeding the angry grunt of a goblin guard, and they didn't stop until they were in the train station. They poured into their compartment, panting, barely a few minutes before the Hogwarts express pulled away.
"See, I knew you'd be late," Melissa sniffed.
"Not -- that --" said Beth, still gasping for breath. "We were at the -- Shack -- and we heard these -- two -- people --"
Between them, they spit out the story and caught their breath in another few minutes.
"And I saw a crack between boards, so I looked in," Bruce finished, looking somber, "and I saw who was talking."
"Who?" everyone demanded at once.
"It was Kettleburn. Kettleburn and Quirrell."
"Kettleburn! How'd he get into the Shack?" Mervin was livid, Beth guessed with jealousy.
"Must be a secret passageway from the school," Melissa guessed excitedly. "What did you say they were talking about? A beautiful Norwegian?"
"And a messy fool," Beth added.
"Mangy," corrected Mervin.
"Whatever."
"This is serious," Bruce mused, heavy brow furrowed in concentration. "We've got to report to the SSA as soon as we get back. I wonder if it has something to do with the corridor."
"Oooh. Maybe," Beth said, in wonder.
The passing of the food cart interrupted their conversation. They spent the rest of the trip making wild theories about what exactly Quirrell and Kettleburn would be doing in the shack. Melissa's suggestions were laughable, and Mervin's were vulgar. The one thing they agreed on was that it was exactly the kind of thing that made Richard leap for joy.
At the train station in London, Beth found her father waiting with a taxi. It took most of the rest of the day to drive back, during which time she told him as much as she could without making the taxi driver suspicious. She left out anything about the SSA, but only realized it later. She had grown totally accustomed to keeping the group's activities a secret.
Two exciting days later, they had Christmas dinner with the Scamanders, and it was as American as they could make it: turkey, cranberry sauce, and plenty of thick, salty gravy. Beth's father even brought out his favorite recipe for green bean casserole. They stayed up and talked until eleven o'clock; then the Scamanders, complaining cheerfully of the hour and the fullness of their stomachs, flew home, and Beth went back to her room full and happy.
She felt too alive to go to sleep right away, so she lay in the dark with a grin on her face for a while. Who cared what family she might not have, she thought staunchly, it was the family she did have that counted.
Something crunched outside the window.
Beth grew still. It was the sound of footprints, slow feet in the crusty snow. Carefully, she slipped from her bed and crept to the window.
Against the light of the moon, Beth could make out a stooped figure shuffling through the backyard. The slow, bent form was unmistakably her father.
Half disbelieving, Beth watched as her father raised one arm into the air. From his open palm, a small dark form rose into the sky. At that distance it looked like a black Snitch, with a round body and wide wings. Flapping a few times, the creature hovered; then it took off into the night.
William Parson stood and watched the creature fly off; both were silhouetted against the bright moon. After a few minutes, he turned and began to slowly walk back to the house.
Beth yanked the curtains shut and leapt into bed. She forced herself to breathe deeply. Soon, she heard her father come in and latch the door; he came down the hall and peeked into Beth's room; then, mercifully, he went back to his own bedroom and shut the door.
Beth lay staring at the ceiling, her heart beating fast. Why would her father be sending messages by moonlight, with a strange small bird, when they had a perfectly good owl and an equally good postman? Beth couldn't imagine her father doing anything even remotely shady; he was the kind of man that didn't walk on the grass and turned people in for littering. What could he be sending?
And another thing. Who would be receiving the letter?
Since her mother had died, William Parson's contact with the wizarding world had been minimal, and to Beth's knowledge it had mostly to do with her. He still sent owl post to a few friends from the United States, and kept up with the Scamanders and a few of his wife's old friends. Beth had seen him send all of them letters by daylight before.
Had something changed?
In the dark, Beth lay worrying until she sank into sleep.