Chapter Thirty-Six: Narrow Streets of Cobblestone
"Alright, listen, girls, I want you to be very careful! No backflips while you fly, no talking to strange Muggles, and no crossing roadways without looking! Severus will have my head if anything happens to you."
"Yes, Bosley," Mitchie mumbled, convulsing Chloe and Julie in seconds. Poor Uncle Ron didn't understand the joke.
"Uh, you can call me Ron, Mitchie, and it's Weasley-"
"I know, it was a joke, y'know, you're being so nervous-like..."
"Oh, I get it now!" Ron cracked up almost a minute after the two girls did. "And Chloe as Farrah, that's hysterical."
Ten minutes later all Three Witches were on their brooms.
"Look, I absolutely need to do a corkscrew. It's a moral imperative." Mitchie executed the stunt and went on her way. "That wasn't a backflip, though, so it's okay."
"I think it's starting to snow," Chloe observed.
"Snow!"
And with that, the giddy Yank executed a wild series of carefree little stunts (including no less than three quadruple backflips,) all the while catching snowflakes on her tongue like a peculiar game of Edible Quidditch. Julie and Chloe watched this madness continue for almost two minutes before Mitchie finally recovered her senses somewhat.
"This British snow is wonderful! Aren't you going to play a bit?"
"No, watching you was rather an amusement in itself," Julie replied, stifling a lot of mirth.
"You Euros can be so positively stiff sometimes. Eat a snowflake, it hasn't got any calories."
"If I really must," Chloe responded to the challenge, sticking out her tongue and getting a fluffy one. "I fail to see how this amuses you."
"I jus' like snow, tha's all. Maybe we can build an igloo if we get enough."
"And a big snow bunny with ears as tall as Hagrid is!" Julie cried gleefully. "I bet if we got some food color from the house-elves, we could even make a purple one."
"A snow bunny?" Mitchie asked. "I'd never considered that. I made a Snoopy once with a little Woodstock next to him, that was pretty cool. We don't get all that much snow in Pittsburgh."
"You're both mad. One Christmas my cousins made an entire creche out of snow, complete with sheep and goats."
"Speaking of, what sort of cribs do wizard babies use?" Julie asked. The other girls looked at her, dumbfounded.
"Y'know, Jules, whenever I make horny bunny jokes, I didn't think it applied to ferrets and their girlfriends."
"Merlin's ears, no! That's not why!" Julie looked perfectly scandalized. "I'm not even into that yet, thank you very much!"
"Well, then why the interest in baby cribs?" Chloe asked.
It occured to Julie that aside from her parents, Madam Pomfrey, the Headmistress and Minister Dumbledore, nobody knew about her incipient sibling yet. Cripes, what a blunder and three-quarters!
"We kept them in sort of plastic boxes at the orphanage, an' I sort of wondered what wizards use. I was a baby once upon a time, y'know."
"When knighthood was in flower," Chloe remarked. "Rub it in, why don't you, I'm only twelve years old!"
Her birthday had been December fourteenth, about a week ago. They were now heading out to Muggle London to Christmas-shop and, as it had been decided without the knowledge of Uncle Ron, to visit a few of Julie's Broughton friends and get a decent stock of contraband Cherry Coke. There was almost no way to get thorn soda in the UK, and poor Mitchie couldn't wake up without a caffiene fix. Actually, Chloe and Julie planned to use the Muggle Internet in the library to get to a certain wizard-encoded international sales site Madam Rosmerta had tipped them off to and owl-order a sizeable quantity of jaggers from America. The problem was how to temporarily ditch the Yank.
Somehow the three girls, all-British, Irish-American and English-French had all become inseparable over the past month. The Weasley boys, ever the humorists, drew a political cartoon of them crouched over a cauldron marked 'Thorn Soda' and left it on a table in the common room. Despite being referred to by everyone as the 'Three Witches' after this, the girls found it at least marginally funny and Mitchie went so far as to frame the thing and hang it on her bedroom door. A second cartoon depicting Tom and Tim as Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum appeared, but the style of drawing was really much different.
As to the plans for the mission, all of the costumes had been finalized. Julie planned to have Uncle Ron and Draco in spiked collars like Claw the boarhound wore, and Chloe's veela gowns had been designed by Madame Delacour-Davies. (Actually, those sort of ticked Julie off, as the enchantments made even 'her Draco' stare.) Mitchie seemed unconcerned with what she wore, almost dangerously so until she pointed out to the others that only dark robes and a collar would be necessary. According to the lunar chart, she would most likely be meeting de Diablo as 'Mitch the Wolf.' Neither of the three was really scared of Santa Anna de Diablo yet. They simply didn't know anything about this threat. And only Chloe could consistently pronounce his name. Mitch still referred to him as 'day-Dyablo' with typical American bad Spanish.
In fact, most of the clashes between her and Chloe stemmed from the fact that the French girl was extraordinarily polished in her dialect and Mitchie could sometimes barely be understood. Americans did not generally get along well with the French and vice-versa, except for the ever-more-obvious fact that Mitchie did not like her native land. She considered herself more of an ethnically Irish-German Pittsburgher than any kind of American. Julie was guessing this was because of the time the Yank had spent in an orphanage, but there was probably a little bit of quasi-anarchy there as well. For as much as Mitchie seemed to like Headmistress McGonagall, she seemed to take an awful lot of joy in breaking the rules she made. Chloe did not like that much, either.
"Say, where is it exactly we're goin' to?" the Yank inquired.
"Cobham, naturally," Julie replied. "Goin' ter see all me pals from down the 'cade in there."
"Tell me that's not the local accent here!" Chloe protested in horror.
"No, not really. I don't talk like that."
"Yeah, tha'd just be ridiculous," Mitchie agreed in the twangiest, most steel-string Pittsburgh accent they had ever heard. Chloe actually cringed. "Y'okay, petit chat?"
"How do you stand sounding so –sloppy?"
Mitchie drew a small potion vial out of her pocket and squiffed it down, sticking her tongue out afterward to indicate how bad it was. True, the empty vial had smoke coming out of it.
"Look, it's English, just the 'Merican variety. I'm sort of homesick, so it's gon' ta be thick today. If worse comes to it, just read my subtitles."
"Subtitles? What are those?"
"Aw, nevermind. S'a joke, like when there's words along the bottom of a movie screen tellin' you what the characters're sayin'."
"I hate to say this, Mitch, but you're a loony."
"Boldly spoken, Julie. John Cleese himself coudn't have said it better."
"Speakin' of, Chloe, have you ever seen him do the French Taunter?"
"Mais oui! 'Go and boil your bottoms, sons of a silly person! Your muzzer was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!'"
"Thank you, petit chat. It's wonderful when a real French person says that line."
"My pleasure, mais americain ami. The 'Lumberjack Song' is ever so much funnier in French."
"Is it? Would you teach us the lyrics in thy native tongue, Mademoiselle Davies?"
Julie stifled a burst of laughter as she watched her two friends get along beautifully. It was nice to have a pair of good close female friends, for as fun as the Weasley boys were, it was bloody impossible to chat about guys and clothes and girly stuff with them. Her mother had pointed this out a little while ago, and Julie figured she knew what she was talking about. It was also a little funny to notice how Mitchie's sense of the bizarre mimicked Uncle Ron's, and Chloe's calm expertise seemed like Professor Mum. Julie had been prepared for Dumbledore's comparing her to her 'uncle,' but when things like this began to pile up, it was really quite unnerving, if not hilarious. She even had the scar and the Parseltongue.
'Cripes,' she thought dismally as her friends began to sing en francais as they flew along, 'I wonder how many of us Voldemort created all in all?'
But that was the kind of deep philosophical thinking that she and Draco would consider for two seconds and then laugh at. She thought of how he'd just smile and reassure her and felt much better. A second later she joined Chloe and Mitchie in the singing of Monty Python tunes in French; not a bad hobby, but one that seemed to be distressing the pigeons a bit.
'Moi vie c'est beau,' she decided.
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"Hagrid, why must you insist on bringing that pestilential beast around?" Hermione asked, shrinking back toward her desk at the sight of Squidgy in his carry-cage. "I know you love your pets, but really, it's a bloody rat."
"I'm sorry, 'Ermione," the half-giant apologized. "I was just wonderin' if yeh could make Squidge some kind of a restorin' draf,' 'e's got awful arthritis and 'e's missin' part of 'is ear."
"I'm not much up on animal potions, maybe Sev-"
"Hagrid, I suggest you take that beast to Eeylops and sell it as owl food, it'd be a damned sight more humane than what I can think of." Severus leaned against the doorjamb, glaring at the pet. "Has anyone checked that it is not an Animagus yet? I'm certain you remember what can come of rats."
"Squidgy? Naw, he's such a weak little fella, he couldn' do nobody any much harm, Sev'rus."
"I heard from the Scot that the beast was caught in Julie's room. Now what McPhersen was doing there I'm still wondering, but the fact remains that Peter Pettigrew was still at large." The dark-haired professor turned to his friend and seemed to relax just a little bit. "Hagrid, I of all people know how you love your pets. You can imagine, therefore, a little of what having a child feels like."
Hagrid looked decidingly at the rat, biting his lip and then looking right back to Severus. Wormtail felt more frightened than he had in the presence of Voldemort. Surely the kind gamekeeper wouldn't turn him over to a dangerous avenger like Severus Snape!
It occured to Wormtail that he was suddenly more afraid of Snape than of Voldemort. A cold pain began to burn in his chest, and then his shoulders, and his two front legs.
"Hagrid, as a favor, please just let me find out about this rat." Severus held out both hands to carefully accept the cage. And Hagrid relented.
"Be careful wif' 'im, Sev...Squidgy! He's fallen over!"
Indeed the rat had gone unconscious, paw to chest in a universal gesture that did not extend to rodentkind. Hastily, Severus drew his wand and pointed it at the unconscious beast.
"Revalus Animagus!" he shouted, throwing the glass cage to the ground, shattering it just as the form of Peter Pettigrew appeared, in cardiac arrest. "Hermione, get Poppy and owl to Dumbledore! Hurry!"
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A small choir of children in neat gray school uniforms was caroling on the steps of the library. Several similarly clad boys of about Donaghan's age were scraping and salting the walks nearby. The dark-haired Muggle in the red-and-green tartan coat looked at the school identification patches above every caroler's heart; they read 'Dennon School.' Her blond friend in the fitted designer jacket with the fur trim smiled as the began 'Joyeux Noel,' and the auburn-haired, bespectacled one in the Army surplus coat spattered with vintage rock patches merely grinned and tapped the black-haired girl on the shoulder.
"Old classmates?"
"Yeah, 'scept I don't know this lot. See that brick over there?" Julie pointed to a large building quite a way down Dennon Street.
"That's it?"
"That's the main hall of Broughton Orphanage."
"Excuse me," one of the shovelers protested in an over-polished accent much like Julie's own. "If you're here to make fun of the orphans, I suggest you don't do it around all these little'uns."
There was a pause as Mitchie almost moved to protect her friend, whilst Julie looked at the boy with a shocked countenance.
"Merridew, you bastard."
"It is not!" the boy exclaimed in wonder and surprise. "Dame Julie herself come to slum it now she's changed 'er dorm. Tell me, how big are those fat rats in Abercroft?"
"I wouldn't know, Jacky, I live elsewhere now."
"Meadow or Denningford, you surely aren't in juvie yet?"
"Nein, danke, I live with my parents now."
"Crikey, who'd adopt Little Gavroche 'ere?"Jacky reached over and clasped Julie in a friendly hug. "You've got taller since y'left, Crazy Starcatcher."
"My father's tall. They didn't adopt me, y'know."
"They are not!" Merridew picked his old friend up and swung her around in a swing-dance style. "Y'mean you've really found your parents and they wanted y'?"
"Impossible but true. My real las' name's 'Snape.'"
"So you have cousins?" Jacky asked, indicating the Yank and Frenchie.
"Naw, these are school friends, though you could put 'em cousin-ward. This is Chloe Madeleine Delacour-Davies and this is Michelle Isolde Tyler, we call the Yank 'Mitchie.' Witches, this is John Howard Merridew, otherwise known as Jack the Ripper at Denningford. Just don't turn your back on him an' everything'll go down smooth."
"Mademoiselle, lassie," Jack greeted both girls with the proper nationality. He was a tallish, lanky type with a querulous smile and terrifically disarming eyes. There was something about him that positively sang out 'criminal,' like the air Julie had sometimes, and boyish freckles augmented his redheaded charm.
"It's nice to meet you. Have you and Julie been friends long?"
Trust Chloe to be proper at all moments.
"Well, we detested each other for 'bout ten months, then y'might say we turned friendly under Queen Judy."
"We did a play together and became friends during rehearsals."
"Aw, Jules, give me a wee speck of credit there!"
"Alright, I was twelve, he was fourteen, we were cast opposite each other in 'Guys And Dolls.' 'Zhat enough credit?"
"You're leaving out the lessons!" Jack wheedled.
"For good reason, I've been applying your tutelage." Julie turned as if to speak to her friends a bit, only to be caught by the shoulder and spun around on the ice.
"To whom? Have you picked up a new housepet, Jules?"
"Tell me you're big-brotherin' and not jealous," Mitchie remarked with a laconic grin.
"Why? Is she bangin' a psycho now?"
Julie smacked him gently upside the head.
"I'm not now nor have I ever nor do I ever intend to bang anyone. It's icky."
"Well, a thankful child-care industry prays to keep you still in that mind, Julie. So dish, what's your ol' man like?"
"As frightening as she is," Chloe said with a smile. "Cynical, eccentric and biased; what more could a daughter want?"
"Stuff it, Emma," Julie warned.
"Her mum's lovely, though. D'you know both her 'rents are teachers at the school she 'tends?" Mitchie was giggling at the Emma Bunton reference. "Can I be Ginger if she's Emma?"
"Damned Americans."
"This is fascinatin,' Julie, give us more details."
"Why don't you tell me what's been on here at the orphanage?"
"Well, Miss Parkington's left to marry a fellow red-headed Romeo, not a bad sod if you don't mind he's a bit psycho and never heard of good Sir Arthur C.D., y'know."
"I knew that. How's the Crystal Ward?"
"Bad as always, Jule. None goin' so fast as- well, not many bad, but there's a girl in there who's snapped her leg like -you know- used to do."
"Jack, you can say his name. I don't want it forgotten or misplaced ever."
"He loved you, Jules, y'know that?"
"I had hoped he did."
"So, d'you 'ave any biological sibs like him?"
"Not at the moment, no." Julie raised an eyebrow to indicate to Jack and not the girls that this was a temporary state. He returned the raise with a wink and a half-smile. "And your love life?"
"Been seein' Rosaline for eight months now."
"Vet'ran cosmic!"
"Damn your weird slang and your show-off books!" Jack was smiling broadly, gald that his girlfriend met the approval of Starcatcher. "So what are you playin' checkers with in the school library?"
"Just because that's all we ever did!" Jack gave her an eyebrow that seemed to rise off his head. "Alright, besides my education, then. He's blond and glorious, that's all I'm going to say to you."
"Education?" Chloe asked.
"Just kissing. Still in practice, right?"
"Spoken for, old Ripper." Julie kissed Jack on the cheek. "The mess of us'd best get our errands done before the snow gets worse. I think you're pushin' a thankless plow."
"Hey, for five quid an hour, let it snow 'til your birthday, Jules! Deus dona-"
"Nobis pacem," Julie capped the phrase. "I'll see you later, git."
"In a while, shrew. Mademoiselle Chloe, Mitchie m'lass, it has been a joy to meet two such strong-willed ladies who can put up with Crazy Starcatcher."
"S'nice t'meet y'too," Mitchie shook his hand.
"Thank you for the tidbit," Chloe observed with an overly mischievous pixy grin.
"Hey, don't believe what she tells you about me, ladies!" Jack returned to his shoveling as they walked off. "The teacher's car was totally her idea!"
"I don't believe that," Chloe observed as the girls walked on. "I suppose the phrase 'connect-the-dots' never occured to you?"
"Nonsense, that was one of the best things Jack's good for, Chlo'. If his conversation lagged, I just drew constellations on his face."
"That wasn't what I was talking about."
"Afraid of that."
"So, on a scale of one to ten?" Mitchie inquired.
"Scale on-?"
"Kissing the Lord of the Flies back there."
"Oh, a six-point-two. He has a harelip scar on the inside that's kinda neat."
"Hmm. I'd have to give Aldous a nine-point-eight. And that's not even bothering with lack of comparison."
"Arse over teakettle, petit chat. You can't avoid it any more than you can potholes or the snowflakes here."
"What's your opinion of Donaghan, Mitchie?"
"Are you really okay with me saying this?"
"Sure. He's been replaced in my closet, y'know."
The Yank smiled sheepishly and bit her lip.
"A perfect ten. I'm scared, though. Wolves mate for life, did you know that, guys? Made dating a bite and a half back home."
"Aww!" Julie smiled. "I'm glad you came along when you did, Mitchie. He's still a pretty good friend of mine and it was hurting to see him alone while I was off with my darling pet ferret."
"Speaking of-?"
"Nine-point-seven. Really perfect teeth."
"I suspected that. He is a nice dish, Julie."
"I think you two would make a perfect couple if not for the obvious fact that he's old enough to be your dad."
"Chloe, didn't you ever read de Maupassant or Gaston Leroux?" Mitchie asked.
"No, Mitchie, but I have read Franklin and Fizgerald."
"Well, those damn Yanks don' know a thing about relationships. If you want to talk about love, you need French people, or at the very least Italians. I think Professor Malfoy's cute with our Julie. And after all, gifted women crave the attentions of intelligent older men. D'you honestly think she'd be satisfied with Tom an' Tim?"
"Thanks, Mitch," Julie observed a bit sarcastically. "I needed that menage a'trois in my mind."
Chloe gave Mitchie a jokingly accusing glare.
"No more French lessons for you, smutbunny. I should never have let you see the dictionary."
"Sorry, chat."
"And besides, Tim and Tom fancy Hannah and Lucy now."
"Oh, you've noticed that?" the Frenchie asked the Brit rather cynically. "You're really having one of your swift days today, aren't you?"
"Hey, I've been just a bit occupied."
"Zhe question ees, by what?" Mitchie inquired in a ludicrous imitation of Hercule Poirot.
"Well, it's not like we're shagging, 'cause I don't do that."
"Don't, can't or haven't yet?" Chloe asked.
The Brit sighed as they walked into the vintage clothing store.
"Mostly latter two. He doesn't want to hurt me, whatever that's supposed to mean."
"Aww!" Mitchie said. "He thinks your dad'll kill him if y'get knocked up."
"Can you keep a secret, Wolfy?"
"If I must."
"I can't."
"Did your mum put you on the pill or somethin', smutbunny?"
"No, it's just that Hogwarts has an anticeptive charm on it."
"Vet'ran cosmic!"
"Julie, why'd you have to tell her that?"
"I d'know, mischief."
"That or she's still real good friends with Donaghan."
"You are this close to sounding like a slut, Mitchie," Chloe informed her, holding her fingers about a half-an-inch apart. "I'm beginning to regret helping you guys out in that Revolution you had against the Brits."
"Well, it's not like we didn't help you out with those Nazis and Fascists a couple of times, y'know."
"You only did it because we make the best champagne and cheese."
"Well, you only helped us out to tick off the Brits."
"Both of you! What do you think of this hat?"
"For whom?"
"D'know, you?" Julie placed the fedora on the French girl's head. "And this looks like you, Mitchie." The Yank was unceremoniously crowned with a leather Aussie slouch hat then.
"It needs a feather," Mitchie decided, checking her reflection out. "What about this one for you, Julie?"
The item in question was a black satin top hat with rhinestones sparkling on the band. Chloe cracked up entirely when she saw it.
"'The French are glad to die for love...'"
"Oh, no, Mitchie, you're dating the Scot right now."
"Can he sing? I kind of wondered."
"Aw, Yank, he's glorious."
"He does kind of remind you of Ewan McGregor, then, doesn't he?" Mitchie switched the Aussie hat for the 'Moulin Rouge' one and began to giggle surreptitiously. "Cripe, this looks funny on me."
Chloe suddenly had a flash of inspiration looking at the hat.
"Why don't you ask your Aunt Judy to do 'Moulin Rouge' as our next musical?"
"Chloe! You're a genius!" Julie exclaimed. "I wonder if I could be 'Nini Legs-In-The-Air'?"
"You guys!" Mitchie protested. "That could be awful!"
"You're only saying that because you'd get the lead, Mitchie. Naw, Jules, you're still too nice."
"I can do evil, though."
"I don't want to think about this now!"
"Who would be Zidler? 'Fessor Neville?"
"He could do it, yeah."
"Guys, please, this is just not a good idea!"
"Do you think your dad could be The Duke?"
"Draco'd do a better job."
"Julia Snape!" the Yank exclaimed in shock.
"Oh, Mitchie, stop protesting. We're just playing around."
"Yeah, there's no way Miss Parkington would let us do that show at school."
"You're a witch, how did you even see that, Chloe?"
"Field trip."
"I took she and Tom and Tim after we won our second Quidditch match."
"They still show it?"
"At the art house down the road a bit, they have 'midnight madness,' yeah."
"Merlin's hangnails! You took an eleven-year-old out to that?"
"It was glorious," Chloe remarked.
"I thought you'd think so, you!"
"Well, how'd you see it?"
"They run it on Muggle cable on Baz Luhrmann's birthday every year. My foster folks like art films and musicals."
"So they're Muggles?"
"Well, the guy is, but the chick's a witch. I didn't like 'em much, they didn't let me read books from the adult section of the library."
"And you're on about me seeing 'Moulin Rouge.'"
"I mean the section where they keep books like 'Les Miserables' and 'Silas Marner,' chat."
"You say 'didn't,' you're not planning on going back?"
"That's why I came, actually. Your Minister Dumbledore's giving me English wizarding citizenship until I turn eighteen in exchange for my help on the mission, see? I don't really care for my foster parents much."
"Why not just emigrate and be English forever, Mitch?"
"Because I still love Pittsburgh. It's my home, y'know. You're a witch, but you still come visit Dennon Street. You can't really sever yourself from a place you love." For a moment the Yank was quiet and shut her eyes to keep from crying with homesickness. "But I am loving England. It's marvelous here."
"Where else could you find such hideous clothes?" Chloe inquired jokingly, holding up a black leather vest. "It's got no form and no lines whatsoever. Talk about the English stiffness!"
"Say!" Julie looked at the vest with a mischievous smile. "That might not make an awful bad coat, you know." She picked up another garment from the leather rack, a jacket with a nasty burn down the front. "These sleeves sewn to this vest, take in these seams...we'd have ourselves a lovely thing."
As she said this, Julie pulled the burned coat on and put the vest on top of it, holding the seams to indicate where she would alter the main central lines.
"Slight problem, Jules, there's no way that'll fit any of us." Mitchie indicated the sleeves that almost entirely hid her English friend's hands.
"It'd fit Donaghan."
"Would he like this?"
"I don't know, maybe."
"Well, Yank, you're the one dating him," Chloe said.
"I kind of think black makes him look a bit too...he needs color, y'know? Now if you added detail stitching to the vest lapels here-" Mitchie pulled the lapels out almost to Julie's shoulders, "-red, I think, and put maybe different snaps...no, I think this coat is saying 'Uncle Ron' to me."
"Clothing speaks to you as well?" Chloe asked rapturously. "Maybe you're part French, mais americain ami."
"D'know, I might be. Mostly Irish, we dress well as well."
"I've got a glorious idea! Let's get a whole great mess of totally train-wrecked clothes, then tonight we'll have a party in my room and turn 'em into stuff!"
"A sewing bee! Just before the Puritans burn us at the stake!"
"Huh?" the two Europeans asked.
"Sorry. Witch joke. I think that'd be fun."
About four hours later, three very well-burdened witches ducked into the alley and turned their wands on their packages. One 'Reducio' on the purchases and one 'Engorgio' on the doll-sized school robes they drew from their pockets later, they pulled their brooms out from behind the Dumpster and took off for Hogwarts through the thickening snowstorm.
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"Girls!" Uncle Ron cried as the witches landed. "Harry was about to go after you! Are you mad?"
"Not incredibly, just enough to be int'resting."
"That rat they caught in your room was Peter Pettigrew! He's had a heart attack and he's back in his human form."
"Peter who?" Mitchie asked.
Julie's eyes went glowing red.
"Uh, he's a rat Animagus, once almost killed Julie's mum." Chloe explained as if the American'd missed part of a conversation of brooms and Snitches.
"So it's an okay thing she's storming off like all hell's breaking loose?"
"I'm not sure. Her father got to Scabbers first."
"Who's Scabbers?"
"Pettigrew used to be my pet rat, I called him Scabbers. Hagrid called him Squidgy."
"Oh, so that's the one."
"Yeah, they also call him Wormtail. Glad we're all caught up!" The first year grabbed the Yank by the collar and began to drag her into the school. "If we could kindly go prevent the act of righteous homicide?"
"You aren't saying-?" Ron suddenly realized Julie'd stalked off with murder in mind. "You don't really think she'd-?"
"I d'know. Let's not find out!"
And with that, Mitchie pulled free of the others and loped off to chase Julie down. The black-haired fifth-year was moving very quickly, but the American was catching up very rapidly. As Julie bolted up the stairs to the hospital wing, Mitchie began to race after her on all fours. By the time a very agitated Julie flung the door open, a reddish-brown wolf was following her in hot pursuit.
"Julie!" her father cried. "You're alright!"
"Of course I am," she answered in an icy tone. "Where's Mum?"
"She's fine. Pettigrew's in custody over there." Snape pointed to the worn, balding man lying on a hospital bed, handcuffed to the bars of it. He was unconscious but evidently just waking up. With a slow, measured tread, Julie moved toward the bed with a glare of death. Wormtail opened his eyes and saw her looking down at him.
"M-my Lady?" he mumbled in abject terror.
"I'm not your lady, rat. I'm not your anything." Slowly and deliberately, she went to draw her wand, but stopped when she saw the wolf standing there. "Mitch?"
The red wolf smiled a doglike smile and wagged her tail at her.
"You look better than I expected as a wolf, Miss Tyler," Professor Snape observed. Mitchie barked quietly and sniffed his hand as a dog might. "I don't suppose you'd consider guarding this rat for me?"
"Whuff," Mitchie observed in her wolfish way.
"I'll take that as a yes."
"Grrrr," the wolf told Wormtail, putting her paws up on the side of the bed.
"Thank you, Yank, I don't want to be near this slime." Julie stepped away from Wormtail's bed rather angrily, then relaxed as she got further away from him. The rat-man, was, of course, terrified. "Dad, where's Mum?" Julie asked.
"She's in the Potions room. Come on."
The Snapes left as if leaving a prison cell. Wormtail relaxed a little and reached his manacled hand up to pet Mitchie's head.
"Nice...wolfy-"
"Ruff! Ruff! Grrrrr!"
The wolf snapped and barked, then sat back on her haunches and smiled at him. Madam Pomfrey brought the American a dish of water and placed it on the floor.
"Just in case you get thirsty on guard duty."
Mitchie reached up a paw to shake hands with her and then gave Wormtail another intimidation growl. 'Ahh,' she thought, 'this is the fun part here.'