Chapter Fifty: Festal Preparations
"Sure is strange…You've got to pick up every stitch. You've got to pick up every stitch…Oh, no! Must be the season of the witch! Must be the season of the witch, yeah! Must be the season of the witch!"
-Donovan Leitch, 1968
"What's wrong with her?" a nervous Head of Gryffindor House inquired of the Hogwarts nurse.
"Epilepsy," Madam Pomfrey replied bitterly.
"Oh. Well, that's quite common, isn't it?" Snape asked.
"Organic epilepsy, yes. This is mechanical epilepsy," the nurse announced, looking about as homicidally offended as a kind nurse can.
"Mechanical?" Hermione asked, frowning. "I don't understand."
"Let me explain," Madam Pomfrey said, sounding more cynical than either professor had ever heard her. "Organic epilepsy is caused by the brain itself and there's no avoiding it, like allergies. Mechanical epilepsy occurs when something damages the brain, thus causing the seizures. Most commonly, it's caused by forceful, blunt trauma to the head." The nurse indicated a moving, translucent image on a large piece of what looked like flexible plastic. "In this case, Jennifer was beaten repeatedly with a hard and most likely square object."
"Textbook," a disembodied voice announced. Mitchie pulled Professor Potter's cloak off to reveal a grave expression.
"What do you know about seizure disorders, Miss Tyler?" Madam Pomfrey asked coldly. "Jennifer's problem is anything but textbook."
"No, I mean Lyff Grudgett hit her with a textbook," the Yank explained. "There's your blunt object."
"How long have you been up here? It's past curfew," Severus told the girl.
"Not to be insubordinate, per'fessor, but I know that." The American was already busy pulling out cards and boxes of Hogsmeade sweets from beneath the cloak and setting them out on Jen's bedside table. "Just per'tend I'm a very large owl delivering these."
"Is all of this from the Gryffindors?" Hermione asked, surprised and pleased by her House's behavior. The American grinned and indicated various heaps of sweets and cards.
"Well, all of this is from the Griffies, some of these are from Ravenclaw, the Hufflepuffs made these, and Alexei Malgryevic sent these from the girl Slytherins." The latter was a box of Pepper Imps. "According to him, they're Jen's favorite."
"Excuse me a moment," Professor Snape said, a very nasty expression on his face. It was clear that he had a few very nasty things in mind for Lyff Grudgett.
"Wait, Severus. I need you to owl Jennifer's parents."
"Haven't you done that yet, Poppy?"
"They refused the owl when they heard it was about Jen. I don't think they'll listen to anyone but the Head of Slytherin."
"She's deathly ill! What are they thinking?"
"Actually, per'fessors," the Yank said quietly, "Jen hasn't got an owl back from her parents since she dropped Grudgett."
"Oh, bloody hell!" Snape looked positively furious. "If those old clans cared as much about their daughters as they do about their damn bloodline maybe half the wives wouldn't kill themselves!" He stormed out and the remaining faculty sighed. Mitchie looked positively shaken.
"Half the females in Jen's fam'ly kill themselves?"
"It's not quite that bad anymore, dear, but it was when Professor Snape was a boy," Madam Pomfrey explained sadly. "I don't see what we're going to do if Jen's been disowned."
"Why? What's the treatment for epilepsy?" Hermione asked.
"There's two options. One is trying to regulate the disorder with potions, which in Jen's case would be like a death sentence. The other is simply to have the problem corrected entirely at St. Mungo's. There's a very low risk of relapses, and if there are any, they're usually just petit mal-" the nurse realized neither person had any idea what 'petit mal' meant and explained the term: "-little ones. The problem is that there's no way they'll do the surgery without insurance to cover it and her parents' consent. I don't see what can be done for her."
"I'm owling Blaise Zabini," Hermione announced. The Auror was an old school acquaintance of hers, and judging by Jen's middle name, not only the girl's aunt but her godmother. "If the Blodgetts haven't gotten to her first, odds are she'll take Jennifer's side in this matter."
It was likely. After a disastrous relationship with Marcus Flint that ended very much like Jen and Lyff Grudgett's, Blaise had put in for a transfer to the Auroriè Français and worked on the Continent ever since, only returning on occasion to see her older sister's family. Hermione was fairly certain Malfoy had worked with her and could be counted on to help convince her if necessary.
Professor McGonagall was right. She did worry about the kids in her House, even if they'd only been there a matter of weeks.
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Wednesday dawned cold and clear, a splendid sort of weather for February twelfth. Instead of reveling in the beautiful morning, however, the Gryffindors slunk silently down to breakfast. Most of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws looked sympathetic, but the Slytherins seemed oblivious as to why the Gryffindors looked like someone had died.
"Something wrong, Starcatcher?" Flint asked in a low voice, following closely behind the object of his desire and whispering into her ear. In seconds, both of the werewolves had leapt to her defense, pinning him to the stone wall just outside of the Great Hall.
"Get out o' here before I send y'," Donaghan threatened.
"Oh, it's you, McPhersen, and the wolf as well." Flint smiled a sadistic sort of grin. "Had any good bones lately?" he taunted.
"If'n y' don' leave Julie an' m'girl alone, Flint, I swear,"
"Oh, so you're into bestiality, are 'y', Scot?" Flint mocked Donaghan's thick accent. "Let's hope her bark's worse than her –er, bite."
The fight started immediately after that. Donaghan and Flint were soon throwing punches and attempting to throttle each other, wands forgotten. Unfortunately, the Slytherin was bigger and had had more experience with brutality, so a few moments had Donaghan being held a few inches off the ground by his neck. Mitchie leapt into the fray and succeeded in freeing her boyfriend by tackling Flint, but another instant had her in a headlock, Flint's knife at her throat.
"A little trick you showed me, Starcatcher," the Slytherin hissed. Mitchie was flinching from the blade as if it might burn her and making the sort of noise a scared puppy does. "Silver has such an amusing effect on werewolves, wouldn't you say?"
"Let 'er go," Donaghan implored huskily, barely having caught his breath.
"Flint," Julie threatened, her wand drawn and pointed at his neck. Flint pulled the American closer and moved the knife toward her throat.
"One word from you, Starcatcher, and she dies."
"Drop the knife or I make you," Julie responded.
"Isn't she something, Scot? So violent." Flint smiled again, this time at Julie. "Wouldn't you just kill to know who she dropped you for?"
"Let my friend go, Flint. You've got no idea what you're dealing with."
"Oh, don't I," he asked sarcastically, throwing the American to the ground roughly and moving close to whisper in Julie's ear: "Pureblood?"
"What did you call me?" she asked, paler than usual but still able to hide most of her shock.
"You heard me," the Slytherin said with a grin, and left.
Julie was now positively terrified, while the werewolves were kissing obliviously, relieved that neither one had been hurt in the encounter. For an instant she felt a momentary stab of jealousy that she couldn't get away with doing that, but the feeling disappeared as the professor in question appeared.
"What happened? They said there was a-" Malfoy noticed the American and Scot going at it like randy lemurs. "Julie, what-?"
"There was a scuffle with Matt Flint just a second ago." She gave Mitchie a royal nudge with her foot.
"Oh, yeah, there was-" the Yank agreed momentarily before Donaghan pulled her close yet again. Malfoy gave Julie a look of confusion and she shrugged, pulling him away both to prevent him punishing her insensible friends and to spare herself the sight.
"Flint was fighting Donaghan and Mitchie got into it, but the bastard got a knife to her throat. Silver blade."
"That little-"
"That's not the worst of it-"
"I'll kill him-"
"Draco, he knows!"
For a moment Malfoy stared at the fifth-year, shocked. Then the humor of how disturbingly this all resembled a Nicole Kidman movie from the turn of the century hit Julie like a brick and she was reduced to near-hysterical laughter. Being terrified had lots more to do with it.
"Are you alright?" the professor asked.
"It's just so…"
And Julie was gone. It was as if she had triple-dosed on one of Professor Flitwick's Cheering Charms. Giggling madly, she proceeded to explain, rather incoherently, just why this whole Flint business was humorous. Just before Malfoy could yank her off to Madam Pomfrey's to calm down somewhat, a loud 'Gaah!' was heard.
Turning around, Julie and Draco were treated to the splendidly ridiculous sight of the werewolves looking guilty as Professor Longbottom struggled to get up. He had neatly tripped over them as they grew closer to the floor, and first-years were giggling all around like mad. For a few seconds there was silence save the giggling, and then Malfoy and Julie lost it entirely. Another second passed before the Yank was giggling just as hard, and after kissing the Scot again to the first-years' applause, Mitchie succeeded in helping the grievously blushing professor and her boyfriend off the floor.
"Just testing the stone floor, you understand," she told the crowd of first-years, with a shining grin as if it were perfectly understandable two days from Valentine's.
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"And who's his uncle's little boy? Yes, you your uncle's little boy! Yes…"
Harry made absolutely no sense to anyone as he tickled A.J. and made him laugh. For a baby with such a notably dour father and studious mother, baby Albus was easily as prone to giggling as the small Potters. Lily had just learned to call the newcomer 'Ay-day,' and small Hermione insisted that bottles were not sufficient food for babies (not understanding the subtlety of what infants really ate,) and attempted to give her honorary cousin a teething biscuit, which was one of the twins' favorite treats. They were walking fairly well now for nine-month-olds, and starting to talk in what sort of resembled sentences. Most often they were given free run of a large penned area while Ginny worked at her desk, although Harry was fairly often found playing right with them.
In a kind of bizarre retribution for his own uncle's mistreatment, Harry had decided to be the best honorary uncle imaginable to his friends' and eventually Ron's children. Tom, Tim, and just about anybody else who liked babies had a shot at winning house points by minding the small ones on occasion, except lately Mitchie, Julie, and Chloe had cornered the game on that. Once 'Grandma' had come to see Lily and Hermione, only to discover them being given improptu riding lessons by Chloe and Julie on what appeared to be a large auburn wolf. Molly Weasley, having had six sons, was not an easy woman to surprise, but a werewolf with the grandbabies accomplished it.
Another amusing situation was when Sirius Black had come to visit his godson. He inquired after the twins, only to be told they were 'racing.' A split-second later, small Lily and Hermione appeared in Muggle backpacks with legholes, shouting for the 'ponies' to go faster. Sirius nearly swallowed a tonsil when he saw the one carrying Hermione looked a damn lot like Severus Snape.
"Who are- oh."
It was the first time Julie and Sirius had met.
"You must be Mr. Black. I'm Julie Starcatcher." A half-pause later, she added "Snape," still not quite used to it.
"Ah, yes…I've –er, heard a lot about –erm, Quidditch, and the -Seeking." The poor man was flustered. Snape's dark hair and nose on a female –yikes! "You play for the Gryffindors?"
"Yes, sir. Daddy felt it best I should go in that House. This is Mitchie Tyler-"
"Cass and John's daughter!"
Mitchie beamed. "I worked with your parents after the war. You look just like your mum."
"Thank you," the American blushed fiercely.
Just then, Lily and Hermione began to protest and tug their ponies' ponytails. All in all, Black had gotten more used to his old nemesis' daughter in her mum's presence, where Julie appeared just as much Granger as Snape. Her appearance tended to startle lots of people at Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny's parties, such as the time Bill Weasley came up from Egypt to see his nieces. Somehow the news of the events of September, and for that matter, sixteen years ago, had not reached him, and he accused Ginny four times of 'putting him on, old Snape's got a kid?' Finally, he went to dinner in the Great Hall still in disbelief, just in time to see Julie and his nephews walk in laughing. Harry still found Bill shooting pumpkin juice from his nose to be one of the funnier anecdotes.
But by and large, the best reaction to the younger generation had been from Harry's estranged cousin. Out of politeness, he had sent a courteous note announcing his daughters' birth, and apparently Dudley was stupid enough to be shocked by what the three Gryffindor witches did at Broughton. Mitchie had spent a good ten minutes detailing how they had frightened the opprobrious man out of adopting Julie's old school friend, though she did seem to feel rather bad for the poor woman Dudley was married to. The Muggle equivalent of a Howler Harry had gotten relating the anecdote in Dudley's scrawly penmanship was still in pride of place impaled on Ginny's corkboard, where she would glance for a quick laugh or inspiration while writing.
Watching A.J. during odd meetings and the potions convention a week ago was a lot of fun, Harry had decided. Three babies made for more work than the Quidditch World Cup sometimes, but all the happy giggling was worth it. His ex-professor had definitely softened in his estimation since A.J.'s birth. There's something about seeing a grown man play peek-a-boo with his baby that makes everyone look better. In fact, Ginny had been talking about a short trip to see Charlie next month and leaving the girls with the Granger-Snapes…maybe it wasn't quite such a bad idea.
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"And this year, not only will I reiterate that Love Potions of any kind are strictly forbidden," Professor McGonagall looked at Tom and Tim scathingly, "but for this year's Valentine's Day dance, alumni and students' parents are invited."
A mixture of horror and elation greeted this message. Most Gryffindors stood and applauded, as did many students from other houses, whilst anyone with worries about their grades or behavioral records slouched down in dismay. Jen, having just been released from the hospital wing, was among the distressed of course, whilst Tom and Tim were almost obnoxiously happy. To some the idea of having their parents or older siblings present was marvelous; some, hoping to have gotten in a few Valentine's Day kisses, were less pleased by it.
"Also, there is now a large sealed box with a slot in it at the entrance to the Great Hall, and another in the library. Any valentines you wish delivered anonymously can be deposited there. And no, there will be no cupids, don't even ask."
"Wonder what-all kind of Valentines you lot get," Tim mused, gesturing with a piece of bacon at the Gryffindor fifth-year girls and Chloe, who were seated together to discuss dress robes.
"Suppose there'll be very many rhyming ones, like last year?" Tom asked.
"Ten Sickles says Chloe gets a rhyming one," Mack suggested, giving the first-year a friendly grin and passing the plate of sausages. "And one of those suicide threats for Jules."
"What?" Julie asked, a bit disgustedly.
"You know, 'go out with me or I'll poison myself,' that sort of thing."
"How depressing," Mitchie remarked, looking at her fork. "One would much prefer a nice self-defenestration threat, so much more civilized."
"Mitch!" Tom, Tim, and Mack cried in unison.
"That's horrible! No man would ever…nevermind."
"What you mean, boys, is 'emasculate,'" Chloe observed in her flawless way. "'Defenestrate' means to throw out of a window."
"Crikey, Yank, big words today," Jen said.
"Well, the swelling on her tongue's gone down since yesterday," Julie observed snidely. "Must have sprained it, she did, with that rough workout."
The tale of yesterday's snogfest was quickly related to Jen, who looked like she could do with some cheering up. Several heartless jokes were then made at the American's expense, until Donaghan appeared late to breakfast and greeted her somewhat spectacularly.
"Get a room, wolfies," Chloe suggested sarcastically. At this both of them stood up as if thinking it a lovely idea and convulsing the others, until Mack realized she had called them both 'wolfies.'
"Donaghan, you aren't-?" the Chaser asked. To everyone's surprise, Donaghan nodded.
"Did you bite him?" Tim accused Mitchie with a grin.
"Yes an' na, guys, I've been a werewolf since 'Alloween."
This revelation was met with a sharp silence.
"But you're not denying she's bitten you?" Tom asked rather merrily.
"Well…" Donaghan and Mitchie both adjusted their collars, forcing their friends again into uncontrollable laughter.
"Let's just say we play sometimes, and wolves sort of nibble ears." Mitchie looked as though this were a perfectly usual explanation, until the double entendre hit her in the head. "I mean when we're wolves, you know, not people!"
"Well, dear…" Donaghan whispered, making her blush worse.
After Donaghan came out, approval of their relationship skyrocketed. A few people had been stiff with them when they appeared together, partially because they worried about Donaghan dating what some people still considered a nonhuman, and partially because he and Julie had been so cute. Now with the Quidditch captain and expatriate an established pair, it became the object of a few certain very mischievous male Gryffindors to set their Seeker up.
The slotted boxes were quickly filled by the entire school.
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"When's your birthday, Jen?" Lucy Christie asked that afternoon in the Common Room, head bent over an Arithmancy textbook.
"The twenty-third of October, why?"
"Oh, good. I was just checking your stars…if you were born when Julie was and had a twin you'd be doomed to perpetual bad luck."
"So glad I don't, then," Jen remarked rather sarcastically.
"No, you're just going to have trouble in early life but…oooh."
"What's 'oooh'?"
"You're going to find true love at age sixteen."
"Oh, make me vomit, Lucy," Hannah Stern retorted. "You've gotten straight halves in -oh, cripe, you're right." The Gryffindor girls both looked at the chart until Jen finally came over to investigate.
"Either way, I don't believe in that." Jen stretched her arms lazily and cracked her neck. "I think it's a bunch of bullshit."
"The namesake of my old school once said the exact same thing," Mitchie announced from behind her sketch diary. "Except the predictions of his death all came true with a vengeance."
"I never said she would die, just find true love, that's all."
"Well, you know, Lucy, in America the minute you find true love you die. Except as you're dying you get incredibly prettier and it always starts with a suspicious cough or a bad habit."
"What kind of idea is that?" Hannah asked in profound disgust.
"Really, don't you people watch movies?" Mitchie lowered the book, grinning broadly. "The prettiest or most interesting girl of the lot always dies after she falls in love with the penniless writer. So, Chloe…"
"You are not nice," the French girl observed, not even looking up from her homework. The others were laughing too hard to really notice when Julie came back looking winded and with her school tie askew.
"The deed is done," she announced with great dignity. Everyone was suddenly quiet. Mitchie and Chloe's eyes widened in shock.
"Julie," the Yank asked, nearly horrified. "In the middle of the day?"
"Not everyone's from Pittsburgh," Chloe remarked acidly.
"Not that deed!" Julie protested, looking offended. "I just spiked the Slytherins' pumpkin juice."
"With what, pray tell?" Hannah asked, looking as though the holiday had just started early.
"This," Julie held up a half-empty bottle from the St. Just-Weasley Potion Shop. "Thanks to the pioneering efforts of Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs," the girls all stood and faced the fireplace respectfully, "I was able to procure some Delayed-Action Diureserum."
"You didn't!" Jen cried, looking happier then they had seen her in quite awhile. "The incontinence potion…isn't that illegal?"
"Since when would that stop Julie?" Mitchie asked, cracking open butterbeers and passing them around.
"They didn't sell me the complete form, actually, I had to add the ascorbic acid."
"Where the devil did you get-"
"Mummy helped."
"Merlin's arse!"
"You mean to tell me that Professor Granger helped you play a prank on the Slytherins?"
"Well, I…convinced her it was in the interest of a lofty cause."
"You lied."
"Nope, she knows and has already warned Mr. Filch to wax their part of the floor in the Great Hall. I merely explained to her the aesthetic merits of some light entertainment at the dance…Lyff Grudgett publicly wetting himself, per say." Julie had on one of her best evil little smiles. "It was her idea," she explained, pointing at Mitchie.
"Now don't go giving me all the credit! I suggested we spike them with –nevermind. The Diureserum was your idea."
"Actually, that was Tom and Tim's mothers'. It's good to know some traits run in families."
"You guys are going to make Lyff wet himself for me?" Jen inquired, looking gratified.
"That was the idea, yeah."
"We'll distract him and delay him and even stake Nearly Headless Nick to guard the boy's lavatory if we must, but yes, the trousers of Grudgett shall be moistened!" Mitchie waved her drink in a grandiose gesture.
"Dampened." Julie clarified.
"Besodded," chipped in Hannah.
"Deluged," Chloe finished in her superior French way. "Like the antediluvian rains of old-"
"Guys, it's not like you've got that much equipment to work with there," Jen reminded, convulsing them even further.
Professor Granger's Tegretolus Potion had completely removed the shaking from her hands. All of the joyful pranks and festal preparations were also helping, and Jen found herself smiling more than she knew she had in years. She had friends, she had a safe House-
Suddenly the portrait hole opened and the girls stifled their laughter. Very nervously, Mack walked over to the new Griffie.
"Er- Jen? I was wondering if- well, maybe…"
And she had a date.
Jen liked Mack well enough, but lately she had been more drawn to the Gryffindors' Seeker. It was shocking, unusual, probably immoral- and perfectly common in Slytherin. The House with the greatest number of dirty little secrets had one other, the silent search for solace among bruised females. As much as they backstabbed and cheated and held grudges, the Slytherin women were not heartless. Most often Jen had merely sought comfort or had comfort sought from her after Lyff or someone had taken out their frustrations on some girl's flesh. She wasn't quite to the point some of the older ones were, giving up on men entirely, but she had learned the ability to take it where she could get it, as it were, and could fall in love in spite of anything.
Her secret fascination with Muggle Studies had caused her to spend a bit more time than Lyff really liked perusing the art section of the library. Ofttimes she would keep a copy of some erotic text open on top of the collected paintings of Toulouse-Lautrec, just in case Lyff should sneak up and look over her shoulder. That was the only kind of studying he liked his girl to do.
Here in Gryffindor, though, it was so different. Julie had caught her with Toulouse and actively taken an interest, providing tidbits of extended detail about the artist and many of his subjects recalled from her research at the Dennon Street library. Where Starcatcher had become interested in Lautrec due to a Muggle film, however, Jen was drawn to his understanding of the tortured grisettes and courtesans in nineteenth-century France. Gods, everyone here was so nice that way! Not a single person had begged her to drag out the horrors of her past days, yet all made it clear that if she needed to talk, they would be there for her. Any interest she showed was applauded and even assisted with, like her Muggle Studies bent, whereas in Slytherin even mentioning you liked something unusual got you shunned temporarily in the Common Room and beaten up by your boyfriend later for being 'difficult.' Gryffindors were kinder and happier, more prone to harmless jokes than cruel intrigues, and incredibly more welcoming to newcomers.
So far the most welcoming was Julie.
The little French one was nice also, no question, and the American couldn't help but make Jen laugh constantly. And Stern and Christie were such a change from the subservient girlfriends of Slytherins with their pair of double cousins they jokingly ordered about sometimes. But Julie was the one Jen liked best so far. Maybe it was her Slytherinish tendencies, maybe it was her cheerfulness in spite of everything. Or maybe it was just that Starcatcher had been the first one to reach out to Jen. Either way, what it all amounted to was a hopeless, stinging crush on someone unattainable.
The strange thing about crushes, though, is that one would rather have one than drive affection from their heart.
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"We haven't time to owl," President Alden Feldman observed. "I need the British Auror Office team here by twenty-four hundred hours tomorrow."
"But they're not scheduled to arrive until the eleventh of March, sir, will they be ready?"
"If I know Albus Dumbledore," Alden said, trust strengthening his shaky voice, "they've been adequately ready since November."
"Yes, sir."
The Secretary left to go give the order and Alden sank back into his favorite chair. It had been a hell of a forty-eight hours, giving orders to use mass Obliviates on the three Muggle border towns devastated by de Diablo's birthday celebrations. Members of the Ku Klux Klan had been found nailed to burning crosses alive by magic, white supremacists gutted, skinned, and hung like steers-
'Or lynching victims,' Alden thought ironically.
It was easy to feel sympathy for Santa Anna de Diablo's cause, which was a kind of reverse racism against the kind of southern rednecks who'd killed his family. However, that was why he now had so many followers, and his methods more than justified annihilation. Alden had nearly been impeached for not calling out magical militia to dispose of him vigilante-style. But he was nearly impeached every other month for being 'too damn close to Britain' anyway. It had been on the advice of his hero, Albus Dumbledore, to institute the sting operation every American bureaucrat hoped would work. Vigilante deaths created martyrs, and the last thing Mexican-American relations needed was a martyr legend for wrongdoers to unite under.
The only problem Alden had with the British Auror Office was their secrecy. He understood the idea of a 'Dark Lady,' but as of twenty-four hours before the mission would have to start, he had no idea of her real identity.
Silently, he crossed the thirteenth off of his calendar. The clock read twelve thirty-one. It was now Valentine's Day.
Irony of ironies.