A/N: One word: Sorry. For how long this took, that is. Deepest apologies. I haven't had a lot of time and I've been quite sick into the bargain (woke up this very morning and could barely force myself out of bed). What little time I had on the Internet has been spent frantically trying to finish this, wrestle with "Serendipity", message boards, and immersed in Ayla Pascal's "Salazar's Betrayal". You could do far worse than go to schnoogle.com and read her fics. As a matter of fact, all of my reviewers so far who are writers have very interesting stories, all of which I recommend.
Again, thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Ayla Pascal, Emily K. Lupin (dear, I need your email, not Jessie's, but your reviews were quite a treat! Thanks for the Candy catch), Julia, Lavander Ice, Le Chat Qui Garde La Lune, Sorensen, and teethshaver (whose name I love *grin*).
Chapter 16: Harrassment
7 January
The Society for Purity left another present today, one that they seemed to intend for my roommates to enjoy as well. Parvati, Lavender, and Sara weren't all that amused to find that our dormitory was booby-trapped within an inch of its life. Yesterday the dormitory was "pranksterized", in Sara's oh-so-orthodox language. Lavender and I, exhausted from a long day spent trying to master Transfigurating objects of very different sizes (Parvati was with Trelawney… for once, that was a wise choice) when we nearly collapsed into the room, good-natured, spirited Lavender cursing McGonagall with every insult she could find.
An enchanted pie flew straight at us, hitting us squarely on the shoulders even when we tried to duck. ("Blueberry," Lavender noted in wry appreciation after the scare was over.) Next came a barrage of downy little duck feathers floating down from the ceiling. Lavender, immediately covering her hair (she had it cut very nicely over the holidays, the dirty blonde colour setting off her blue eyes very nicely in layers, but I can't say she isn't vain about it) shut her eyes out of instinct as well.
I wasn't able to warn her quick enough when a Jarvey burst from nowhere, hitting her on the face. "Toothpick!" he screeched happily. Oh, dear.
I knocked it over the head with my wand and it turned to me. "What'd you comb that hair with, beaver-head?" (Excuse me!) "What rock was that?" He bounced around, tearing up the bedclothes.
"No, quit it!" I snapped, and tried to perform a Freezing Charm. It shot out of my aim and I ended up freezing the windowpane, which was luckily bewitched, otherwise it might have cracked.
"Say, are you lot having a fight? If so, you have to redo it so I can watch!" Sara burst in brightly (oh, just the thing to make my day). Her eyes widened. "Oh. Dear. Wasn't expecting that."
"Well, pull out your wand and help me, Miss Prefect!" I snapped irritably, since the Jarvey was tugging at my hair.
Sara tried a Stunning Spell, which halted it for just a moment. "Better luck next time, little girl!" the Jarvey cackled at her.
"Jarveys… Jarveys…" Sara murmured distractedly.
"Very good, you figured out what it was!" Lavender snapped as the Jarvey started throwing pillows at us.
I ducked and ran with the others to the great bedstand along the wall, with the thought in mind to try and shut the Jarvey in a drawer until we could get help. The second my fingers touched the wood, however, the bowls of water flew at us, soaking us all.
"Is this someone's idea of a joke?" Lavender demanded furiously. I didn't find it funny, either.
"Jarveys - Jarveys are similar to - to - to - ferrets!" I suddenly remembered, wondering how it could have taken so long for me to remember. (Oddly enough, this Jarvey looked like Malfoy, too!)
"Thank you, Miss Know-It-All, can you tell us how to use a Blinding Hex?" Sara snapped, wiping wet bangs off her forehead and eyes in annoyance.
"Oh, right - a Blinding Hex'll work!" I realised, feeling foolish. "Octurlarotis!"
The Jarvey blinked frantically, making weird squeaking noises of pain until it fainted cold.
"You three," spoke up an amused voice behind us, "will never make it as Aurors." It was George Weasley, who looked slightly alarmed - probably from us screaming, but had apparently assured himself that it was nothing.
"This is a girls' dormitory," I snapped coldly, surprising myself. Without even thinking, I had spoken sharply. Being nasty has turned into a real habit! But that's terrible. I wonder if that's how Snape… hmm.
"The door was open," George smirked, putting a hand on Parvati's shoulder, "and poor Parvati, waiting here, needed someone for moral support."
Parvati rolled her eyes and flipped back her long dark hair. "Thanks ever so much, Fred." George didn't look in the least surprised that she had called him by the wrong name. Parvati continued, looking worried: "What was all that?"
"Well, if we had known, we certainly wouldn't be in this mess," Sara smiled wryly.
"Thank you for being so informative," I said.
"Thank you for being so quick-witted during a crisis," she retorted.
"Are you saying that of me? I didn't see you performing a Blinding Hex!"
"I didn't see you remembering what would stop an overgrown ferret!"
"It's a Jarvey, not an 'overgrown ferret'!" But Lavender, trying to break up an argument as George warily left, picked up a note that had been nailed to the wall and nearly proved me wrong on the overgrown ferret score.
She squinted at it, as the notes all have very decidedly fancy and miniscule script. "M - M - Mudblood," she read hesitantly, partly because of difficultly reading and, I believe, partly from hesitation saying the word - I am one, after all, and it's a rather taboo word in families like the Browns. "Y - You -"
I cut in: "Stop, give me that." Before she could protest I crossed the dormitory faster than I had in my life without running and snatched the note from her hands. Lavender gasped in surprise. I pretended to scan it. It read as usual - Mudblood, you got what was coming to you, and on and on and the like. "That's the stupid Slytherins, I bet." (It wasn't a lie!) "Yes, that's exactly what it is."
"Read it," Parvati entreated eagerly.
I don't know how I pulled off what I next did: I make up the "note" as I went along. "Hmm, well, it's really untidy - isn't it, Lavender? Let's see - 'Mudblood, you charity girl, Indian scum, and - and colour brat -" (I couldn't think of anything else for Lavender) " - Have a happy new year, and do tidy up a bit in here. Good day to you!' Yes, that's Slytherin through and through," I finished, not having to feign disgust in the slightest. Talk about overgrown ferrets - if Draco Malfoy had appeared in front of me right then, I would have used Blinding Hexes on him until he begged for mercy, I'm not fooling.
The girls were outraged and I quickly saw that I would have to continue: "Wait a moment - 'Do not under any circumstances tell about this to anyone if you wish to see the next holiday in one piece.' Signed, 'the Jarvey Association'."
Parvati did not like that idea at all and insisted adamantly that we should go straight to McGonagall, but I was just as adamant and insisted that we couldn't prove a thing about who did it and the attention would only help the vandals to get a higher opinion of themselves. Lavender agreed with me and Sara looked shrewd but didn't seem to mind letting us battle it out. After listening to my logic a little while longer, Parvati agreed to just clean up the dormitory and keep our head downs as to let it blow over.
It was more difficult than that, however. The floor of our washroom had an Ice Enchantment placed upon it - Lavender found that out the difficult way, with a sore neck and scraped knees. Sara was attacked by imps when she cleared out beneath her bed. Parvati found her books had been spelled to keep snapping at her - much like the Monster Book of Monsters. My best set of school robes had been slashed.
"You've got to give them credit; they do pranksterise well," Sara shrugged calmly. Whereupon Parvati pretended to be furious with her - although she was really quite incredulous at her attitude - and the three girls started a major pillow fight. I overheard Lavender whisper to Parvati when I left for the library - "I thought Hermione might join in."
"She's been acting mean to us lately," Parvati shrugged, shooting a pillow at Sara. "And our model student can't be throwing school property about, can she?"
"Yeah, but she was acting almost like Hermione again when we first came in. I was hoping she'd stay."
"No great loss; she's turned into a little dragon lately."
It's too much; I had to remind myself why I had turned into a little dragon in the first place. I suppose I shouldn't complain; I finished two days of homework in advance and begged another O.W.L. practice sheet from Flitwick.
10 January
It's one of those cruel twists in life that must dictate how this works - when I have very little time to write in my diary, I have loads to say. However, in times like this, when I would die (after all, Katrina Mead apparently doesn't think it too bad, unlike another irritating ghost we all know) for something interesting to write… nothing happens. I found that I can't keep this diary without companionship. How annoying.
Not that the dear, considerate Society for Purity isn't trying to help me with that. Since the event of pranksterising (why can't I get that word out of my head?) our dormitory, I've found myself tripping over absolutely nothing at all in the halls. My essays were badly smudged last Tuesday and now I'm keeping strong locking charms on everything, which the Society breaks into anyway. (Well, I'm not giving myself enough credit there. They only managed to get into and scribble all over some of them.)
But when Harry and the Weasleys aren't around to fill this diary with their antics - oh, wait, no, that's not quite correct, I have something Ron did just yesterday in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Drothl had been attempting to teach us what to do for someone who had been under a Heat Climatic Curse for an extended length of time and had given us several written questions to answer. They were all quite specific, and I got one wrong for failing to mention from the textbook's footnote that butterbeer should not, under any circumstances, be used in moderate cases on the victim within two hours on the attack. Alcohol is simply not good for the body's system at that point, even though many witches and wizards attempt to use butterbeer to help prevent dehydration.
Well, Ron got more than half of his wrong. He pays no attention to detail whatsoever - no, actually, he has an excellent memory for detail, he just hates writing it down. Anyway one of the questions read thus: "What should you do for the victim immediately after getting him or her into an area that is room temperature or preferably less?"
The textbook read thus:
3) Get victim into an area that is at least room temperature, preferably less (ideally shaded) and have him or her lie down in a comfortable position.
4) Loosen or remove victim's clothing.
Well, Ron had written (as had I, although I worded it in a more in-depth manner) as an answer: "Have victim lie down."
Drothl responded immovably that the answer was to loosen or remove victim's clothing.
I had been trying to keep my head down and really didn't feel like arguing. It just seemed pointless to me. Most things do lately, and Drothl doesn't motivate me to apply myself to learn anything in Defence at the moment in any case. Ron, however, kept badgering her, and Drothl insisted that Ron's answer was incorrect.
(That is one of the things that makes me feel very combative and irritable around Drothl, and Snape has a similar effect - they don't even consider another answer, or even go over it and explain specifically why it is wrong - and our answer was not wrong, but that's beside the point. I caught myself thinking wistfully that Remus had always taken the time to at least think about alternatives. As would the real - and fake, but based on what I know -Alastor Moody. But this is also not really the point of the story.)
"But, Professor, it didn't ask for the next step, it asked for what to do. So the victim according to the question has just been taken into a cooler area. It didn't say -" Ron was cut off yet again while he tried to sound as studious but adamant as possible.
"Weasley, we are assuming that the victim is lying down, now do shut up and let's move on!" Drothl snapped. "Question five -"
"Well," Ron interrupted recklessly, "if that's the case, let's just assume the victim is Celestina Warbeck and she's already undressed, shall we?"
No Gryffindor bothered to hide their guffaws, which soon led into full blown screaming laughter. Dean was nearly crying, I swear he was - he had his head down on his desk and was shaking. Half of us turned red but didn't care. I tried to keep a straight face but couldn't manage.
And would you believe? Drothl looks bemused and asks who Celestina Warbeck is!
Well, that set us off even worse, and Drothl yelled at us for a good solid five minutes before the class showed any inclination to calm and quiet ourselves. Finally she had shouted enough that most of us were sedately quiet and facing the front of the classroom before someone (mostly Ron and Seamus) would hiss: "Celeste Warbeck…" or Sara would get another burst of appreciative giggles, setting everyone off again. As usual, we didn't get a whole lot out of the class, and while I really wanted to tell Ron off like I always used to after a remark such as that, I couldn't help but laugh to myself. I longed to join him and Harry as they left the classroom, still chuckling. I miss them so much.
But soon afterward, during dinner, I discovered that something in my food had made me suspiciously drowsy, and I still feel light-headed… hmm. Now, I wonder who's behind that. I had an irritating headache all day, however, and it is really quite annoying. I might go to the hospital wing and see if Madam Pomfrey has anything.
29 January
Well, I suppose I should stop complaining that I have nothing to write in my diary, because for the past two and a half weeks it has "gone missing". At least, that's the excuse the Society for Purity coolly stated in its most recent note.
It must have happened the night I went to the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey made me stay overnight to allow her potion to take effect on my headache. She also mentioned that I'm far too stressed out.
Me? Stressed? Never.
In any case, it was a day or two afterwards that I hunted up my diary, having little better to do. You know what's odd? I can't seem to concentrate on my studies without background noise, such as Ron and Harry playfully bickering, or Ginny and her friends chatting about something, or silently scoffing as Parvati and Lavender try to master their "craft" of fortune-telling. I keep trying to avoid people, and without people to tune out, I lose direction. That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Therefore, it can't be true, I assume… but it sure appears so. I must be going slightly mad.
Where was - oh, right. This diary. I was not able to find it, but in the place I usually keep it I soon discovered a note from the Society of Purity. Oh, look how charming and intelligent this one was!
Mudblood -
Finders keepers; losers weepers.
-- The Society for Purity
My goodness, how clever! It must have taken them countless sleepless nights to come up with that sparkling gem of wit!
Coming off that burst of sarcasm, I spent countless sleepless nights worrying about if they'd manage to read it. How humiliating! I can't stand the thought! And if they knew all about my writing, and Sirius, and those stupid crushes I had at various points, and the day I was expelled from Wydown, and all those personal things Ron and Harry have confided to me, and - and all the sorts of things only a diary should know!
It's easier to say, now that it's right here in my lap, that it's doubtful they got past my personalised charms and my password… but you never know. And I do hope they didn't find out about Sirius - although luckily… they have family chock full of Death Eaters. They probably know he's innocent - why, they probably have been laughing up their sleeves that Sirius is taking all the blame for their relatives' actions. I never thought of that before… and it's quite infuriating, to tell the truth.
But oh, they managed to make my life miserable lately… they've dubbed my voice in several places, slandering students and staff. They framed me for a prank played in the kitchens, and it's getting harder for the teachers to believe that I really didn't do it. I suppose, looking at it through their point of view, you can't quite blame them. All the evidence did point to me, but I don't want to write out all the gory details of that. Suffice to say I got off with a stern warning. Then they sent me a Howler, making it look like my mother sent it.
I truly pity anyone who gets a Howler now. That experience was terrible. And I thought it really was Mum! I have rarely been so ashamed of myself in my life. My face just burned and I felt as if everyone in the world (and, indeed, everyone in the school was) staring at me. I just wanted to hide.
Somehow they've been managing to get into Gryffindor Tower. My bed has been filled with Itching Powder quite regularly. Two nights I just slept in the common room - well, to be precise, I laid awake in the common room. Even without the Itching Powder I can't sleep much, and I'm beginning to feel like I was in my third year, like I'm walking around in an underwater dream world, doing everything mechanically and struggling to stay alert. Is it worth it?
Surprisingly, it's when I attend CC meetings that I feel it is. The CC gives me a wonderful feeling of doing something, of fighting and being constructive. I can't imagine where I'd get the same feeling in the Muggle world. It's even a feeling of control and power that I enjoy, although I try not to enjoy it too much - that just feels Slytherinish. And it's also when I see Malfoy's smirk. That self-satisfied oh-life-and-me-is-all-splendid smirk… oh, how I detest it.
But how can he be really happy, being yet another Malfoy? How can someone's mind be twisted that much? I'd blame it all upon Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy - not that I liked them ever anyway - but then… how did his parents get like that as well? It's like some sort of genetic disease… but it's not genetic. I've decided that it must be the environment people like the Malfoys are raised. They know no other way, the same I was never raised in an environment where ignoring the needs of others makes you feel better.
But I got the diary back. I'm not quite sure how. I found it slipped into my schoolbag with this note:
Be more careful!
Now that's interesting… it isn't signed as the Society for Purity, nor does it look the same as the Society's notes. But then who? There's a traitor somewhere, but why go to the bother of sending this back to me? The Dark Side simply does not make sense, and there's little more to it. I do hope this diary isn't hexed in any way. I tested it, but I'm sure they are more advanced than I am. Something I'm determined to fix within the foreseeable future. It all comes down to the basic fact that knowledge is power.
How I would love to be able to argue with Ron on that point about now… I had better go do something constructive instead of moping. G'night.
1 February
The Society for Purity (it's sad and probably quite unacceptable how much ink I'm wasting over those pieces of filth, really) has taken yet another turn on their campaign. It's getting serious now. They cornered me this morning in an empty classroom… Malfoy, Goyle, Machete Baddock, Lydon Peterson (Peterson - revoltingly fitting), Rodgers, Lias, and another one whom I cannot name but was a year above Malfoy. Baddock is Head Boy. Rodgers and Lias are sixth-year prefects; Peterson is in sixth year. In short, they were all my age or older, and in positions of authority.
Goyle and the Unnamed grabbed me by the upper arm in the corridor. Unnamed put a hand around my throat for just a moment to make a noise indicating that I be silent.
Well, I reflected as they led me into that empty classroom, this is the end. I was going to be killed in a school environment. I hoped that Ron and Harry and Ginny would understand and forgive me. What was Mum and Dad going to say? They'd be devastated.
They locked the door ominously and turned to me. "Hand over the wand," Baddock ordered harshly.
I couldn't decide whether or not to obey. They all had their wands pointed at me, and there wasn't much of a chance for me to out-duel them, but if I did give it to them, I'd have no chance at all, right?
"I said hand over the wand, Mudblood," Baddock repeated in low, dangerous tones.
I felt myself begin to tremble and tried to hide it. "What for?" I asked, trying to inject some solidness into my voice.
They didn't answer with words, but instead several Climatic Curses were sent at me. I fell to the ground as extreme hotness and coldness seemed to run through my veins. I tried to grip my wand more tightly, but I couldn't force my fingers around it and it rolled from my hand.
"Accio," Baddock said. The wand shot to his hand and I felt a rush of anger. That was my wand! "Get up, Mudblood."
I hate that word. I totally and completely despise the word "Mudblood". I hate it!
My head felt very heavy and I was dizzy from the Curses, which had only been applied for a second, but more than long enough. I propped myself up using my wrists and managed to life my head. Shakily I stood and heard soft snickers as I gripped a desk for support. My face began to burn a hot pink; I could feel it.
I girded myself and stood more firmly, facing Baddock defiantly.
He stared back coldly, with harsh brown eyes. "Now what did we tell you in our very nice notes?"
"That you have very little imagination," I retorted. "As in 'finders keepers, losers weepers'."
A flash of hexes shot at me and I ducked to avoid them, although a Blinding Curse hit me. My eyes burned and I couldn't see well, but it was a weak one and I knew it would wear off shortly.
Baddock's tones were cool and measured. "Don't think we're not serious, Mudblood. We're Slytherins, remember? We get what we want at any cost?"
I opted to stay silent. I didn't think he should be dignified with a response.
"What's been taking you so long, Mudblood?"
I bit my tongue.
"The cleverest student in the school can't pack a suitcase?"
No point in replying, none at all.
"Where'd your sharp tongue go?… Are you not going to talk?" He waited, but I didn't give him the satisfaction. "Very well, then."
Still not able to see well, I had to trust my other senses. Someone - probably several someones - grabbed me roughly from behind by the shoulders and slammed me against the wall. My headache increased in size as I bit my tongue hard.
"Rodgers? The Cruciatus Curse?"
I tensed instantly, and the Slytherins laughed at my fear. I dimly made out Rodgers's shape step forward, and I'm sure he was smirking. "Crucio."
I gritted my teeth, wondering just how much this hurt in all actuality. Then I felt something against my chest grow warm, and I realised - Snape's charm.
The spell hit me, and I'm not going to pretend it didn't hurt. It did. I felt small hot aches shoot all through my body and even let out a small cry of pain. But they faded very quickly, and it was only a second before I didn't feel a thing at all.
"Rodgers!" Baddock snapped. "What's that? Get some backbone on that, will you?"
"I - I'm sorry - I don't kn-"
"Try it again!"
This time it hurt even less, but I pretended to scream loudly. For one, it might attract attention, and two to make them think it had worked.
Baddock growled unhappily. "I sure hope your Silencing Charms work better than that! Get back, now!" he snapped.
"Machete," Malfoy spoke up eagerly, as if reminding him of something.
The Blinding Curse was fast wearing off, and I saw Baddock nod irritably. "Yeah, Malfoy, I know. I promised. Go ahead."
Malfoy smirked with pleasure as he pulled out his wand. I faced him steadily, determined not to show any fear. He twirled it lazily a moment, glancing at me superiorly - gloating. I scowled.
"Get on with it, scared?" I asked.
"Just savouring my payback, Granger…" He yawned obviously and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Then he pointed it at me directly and murmured something, sounding as though he was cooing.
A series of hot sparks shot out and hit me in the face, burning me - but I barely felt them before the charm warmed again and caused the sparks to cool and evaporate.
"Hey!" This was definitely not what Malfoy had wanted to see. "What's this?"
He tried another spell, which I recognised as the one to make ears enlarge to embarrassingly large sizes. It had no effect.
"What's going on?" Lias asked, sounding seriously put out.
"I don't know!" Malfoy cried. "The curses just aren't working!"
"Well," Baddock scowled, "if you can't make it work, a -"
"No, wait!" Malfoy begged. "Come on, I can do something - Goyle, come on now," he ordered.
Goyle stepped forward and began to use old-fashioned fist torture, which the charm didn't seem to protect me against in the least. He punched me again and again, and it didn't feel as if it would ever end. Tears ended up flowing freely on my part - which did not help my pride. I felt humiliated. The tears mingled with the blood on my face, making a happy mess.
Finally he grabbed me and threw me to the floor to much applause on the Slytherins' part. I struggled to get up and he kicked me down again. By this time I felt too weak to do much of anything.
"Consider this, Mudblood," Baddock sneered. "Take it as a warning." Goyle reached for me again, but he added: "Leave her. Granger, you say a word of this to anyone, and we'll toss you into the lake in the dead of night. At least." They filed out, removing the Silencing Charms and locks on the door.
I forced myself to get up quickly before I missed the next class and realised I was in no fit condition to see anyone. I glanced at a mirror behind the classroom's door and saw a girl with a sweat-and-blood caked face, two black eyes, a bloody lip, and a heavy bruise on my shoulders and wrists. My hair could've used a washing or a least a brushing, too. There were small rips around the neck of my robes from where Goyle had been grasping at me. And this was a "warning".
I cleaned myself up as best I could, but I didn't have my wand and there would be too many explanations to make on my bruises. At length I skulked down to the hospital wing and fed Madam Pomfrey a story about falling off of a trick staircase. I'm not sure if she believed me, but she cleaned me up and wrote a note for Professor Flitwick, as I was late for Charms.
This still left two problems: for one, when you have cuts healed, your skin has an obvious look to it for a while. It takes an especial long time for large cuts, but even with my small ones, it had been so recent that nearly everyone noticed and asked about them, and it seemed no one believed my staircase story. And my bruises, while reduced, still showed. Ron and Harry didn't ask me about them at all, but they kept glancing at me and I saw them making up their own theories.
The real problem, however, was the fact that my wand was lost. I couldn't explain this away, so I told Flitwick in private that I had lost it. He tried to Summon it, but apparently the Slytherins had it under a lock. Finally he told me to do some paperwork for him this class, and when I found it again I could visit him and we'd make the lesson up. Still, it was annoying - it's hard to be a student in a magical school without a wand! I also had Transfiguration that day, which requires it, and McGonagall looked highly disapproving at the words "lost" and "wand" put together.
That evening, however, during dinner, Dumbledore made an announcement, asking if anyone had found Miss Granger's wand. Well, Candy Designer nearly jumps out of her seat, waving her hand, in which my wand was clutched.
"I have it, I have it right here, sir! I found it in Moaning Myrtle's loo!"
There was a great rumble of laughter from the whole Hall at these words, and no small amount of snickering. My face reddened furiously, and I hope I responded politely when Candy, beaming, handed it to me.
This appears to be a good start to the month.
5 February
There's going to be a Friday Night Fling on Valentine's Day. Dumbledore announced it this morning to great applause, but I'm already wondering if I can hide that night. As if anyone really wants me there.
7 February
The Society for Purity surrounded me in a deserted corridor today and repeated their performance. This time I kept a tight hold on my wand, but that didn't stop any of them from punching and kicking me again.
I considered going to the hospital wing, but I didn't know what to tell Madam Pomfrey this time. Finally I just decided to try and copy her charms and did a fairly decent job healing.
I hate them. I hate all of this. All that I want is to be able to forget this stupid Society ever showed up. I hate being pushed around roughly by a group of prejudicial gits. I hate the feeling of intense shame when they do this. I think they probably know that even if I wasn't trying to keep my head down and not cause trouble that I don't want to tell this to anyone anyway… it's too shameful.
Guys... I was sorta hoping someone (hint, hint, wink, wink) would take a stab at guessing who sent Sara the broomstick. I was afraid it was either too obvious or too subtle, and a few guesses would help me gauge what the reader is getting out of it. That's revealed next chapter... as well as I scene I wanted to tack onto this one, but the darn txt. file again... not enough space. *growls in frustration* I hate this eight-page limit. Stinks. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and that it was partly worth the wait.
