Chapter 12: Patrice Has Many Faces



No one was allowed to see Patrice. They were told that she needed rest more then she needed companionship. Hermoine was worried for her friend though. She had been so relieved about Ron that she had forgotten that Patrice had been hurt. So she asked Harry if she could borrow his Invisibility Cloak.

Hermoine rarely broke the rules, but she made a point of helping her friends when she thought they needed it. So she slipped on the Cloak late at night. Ron let himself in so that she could slip out unnoticed. It was a very useful system

Hermoine went into the sick room, but Patrice wasn't there. Hermoine was baffled by this. She started to leave, when she heard Patrice's voice. Hermoine headed toward it.

She found Patrice standing in the hall. She looked alright, which was surprising.

"Are you sure you are alright?" asked a woman's voice. The voice was distorted, and Hermoine wasn't even sure if it was a woman's voice.

"I'm fine."

"What possessed you to get in front of a bolt of lightning?" asked the woman. Hermoine could see her now. She was clad in black, and looked about as substantial as a shadow.

"I didn't get in front of it on purpose. It missed it's mark."

"The council has ruled they don't want you risking yourself in that stupid game again. Forfeit the position and give that silly Weasly boy your broom."

"Gladly," Patrice replied honestly. "The practices were becoming distracting. I don't want to lose the target."

"Good. Watch out for yourself."

"I will. Give my regards to my mother."

"As you wish."

The shadow-woman flickered and then disappeared entirely. Patrice walked back to the sick room, looking the picture of heath. Hermoine didn't dare follow her. She headed back to Gryffindor tower to await morning.



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Patrice returned to classes on Monday. Hermoine had kept silent about what she had seen. Something was wrong with this whole picture. Millions of questions whirled through her brain every time she saw Patrice. She was having trouble staying focused during their conversation. It hadn't affected her school work, but Hermoine rarely let anything affect that.

The week passed by in a hurry. Friday night was suddenly on them, and the promise of Hogsmeade burned bright in every students' eyes. Patrice came to their table as Hermoine was helping the boys with their Charms work.

"Ron, I have something for you," Patrice said. She presented to him her burned broom stick. "It's still fine. I had Coeur and McGonagal check it out." She ripped the tape off it, revealing that the name Firebolt was still in perfect condition. "I don't want to be Keeper anymore. Not after that game. My insides still hurt." Ron grinned, and wrapped his arms around Patrice. "I told Alicia earlier. She's disappointed, but she agreed that you should have the spot."

A rock had made it's way into Hermoine's stomach again. She remembered the conversation she had heard before. She wondered who Patrice's "target" was. After all, Harry was on the Quidditch team, so that would make watching him easier, not harder.



* * * * * * *



Clouds hung overhead. Hermoine smiled at her friends as she downed the rest of her Butterbeer. Ron stood.

"Patrice, shall we go?" he asked. Patrice smiled.

"Sure, if they don't mind." Patrice's gaze rested on Hermoine. Hermoine could tell that Patrice suspected that Hermoine was the only one with a problem.

"Go ahead," she replied. "Harry and I will see you later." Ron slipped his arm around Patrice, and Hermoine felt a bubble of jealousy rise with her.

The two of them headed up toward the Shieking Shack. A black dog met them, and accompanied them up into the hills.

"Sirius," Harry said with a smile. The dog became a man, Sirius Black, Harry's godfather.

"I hope you're well, Harry," Sirius said with a smile. He swept his long, stringy hair from his face. Sirius was rather gaunt looking. "I heard about the accident at the Quiddich game."

"Was that bolt meant for me?" Harry asked quietly.

"Probably," the older man admitted. "You both need to be careful."

"Why me?" Hermoine asked, feeling surprised.

"Forces are closing in around you. They will take any way they can get to Harry. You stand in the way, Hermoine. Just remember that, and be careful."

"I will. But I'm not about to let anything happen to Harry either." Sirius smiled.

"You're a good friend to him. Thank you. You should get going."

"Here, Sirius," said Harry, handing his a package. Hermoine could smell the food in it. "Take care."

"I hope those charges are lifted soon," Hermoine added.

"Thanks," Sirius grunted, tearing into the food. Hermoine hurried back to Hogsmeade, Harry at her side.



* * * * * * * * * * *



Patrice looked at her watch. It was time.

"I've gotta use the washroom," she told Ron. "I'll be back." Ron nodded.

"I'll be waiting here," he called. Patrice smiled. She headed to the nearest washroom. She locked herself in a stall, and apparated away.

She found him in the Shieking Shack. He smiled.

"Patrice," he whispered. She threw her arms around him.

"Father! I got your owl. What's wrong?"

"Many things, Patrice." Her father lifted up a piece of parchment. It was stained black.

"What happened to that?" she asked, examining it. "It looks like it blew up."

"It did, a Muggle-style letter bomb," her father replied seriously. "This was addressed to you. Athena brought it to me." Patrice blinked at her father.

"Who sent it, then?"

"Your mother, or someone who looked like your mother." Patrice felt her heart drop.

"It can't be."

"It is. Athena told me so herself."

Patrice felt like crying. She forced her tears back.

"Is she alright?"

"I don't know, Patrice. You need to be careful. Don't trust anyone who is not in our Order." Patrice nodded limply.

"I won't, father," she whispered. "Thanks for the warning."

"Are you alright?"

"I will be, when this mess is all over."

"I wish you didn't have to do this."

"It doesn't matter what we wish. If I could wish my problems away, I would have long ago. I would have gotten to know you as a child." She smiled sadly at her father. She hardly knew him, but she trusted him more then she did her mother. She wished she could explain her feelings, but she couldn't.

"I should go, father. Good luck."

"You too, Patrice."