Chapter Seventeen: Luck and Murmurs

The next Friday was St. Valentine's Day. During classes for the past week, we Slytherins scowled at the mere mention of candies, hearts, and roses. However, that was just to keep up our reputation. The attitude in the Dungeon was very different. Strings of paper-doll cupids hung from the ceiling, and one of the sixth year girls cast a charm on the furniture to turn it pink. Of course, the boys were not nearly as enthusiastic about these changes, but they found it amusing all the same.

At least, amusing enough not to induce loud complaining. I noticed that Draco did look skeptical about sitting in an overstuffed chair, as if the spell might rub off on him.

Potions class that afternoon went well, as usual. Professor Snape scolded Potter for adding ingredients in the wrong order, and took twenty points off of Gryffindor. My potion was going perfectly, though. I didn't understand how anyone could be so incompetent at Potions class, especially when we were given the instructions. It was all very simple: read the board, do what it says, and be polite to Snape.

To no one's surprise, a nasty stench like burnt onions, soon filled the room. The Potions Master made a harsh noise in the back of his throat. "Whose potion is that?" he asked menacingly. "I do recall telling you dunderheads that this should be an odorless solution!"

I stopped taking notes about the exact purpose of adding dried nettles. I knew it wasn't my cauldron, but it was always a good idea to look up when Professor Snape was talking. Idly, I twirled my quill pen in the air, admiring, out of the corners of my eyes, the way it swished back and forth. No one was admitting to having the ruined potion. Perhaps it was Potter again.

Long seconds passed. Suddenly, Professor Snape smiled and said coldly, "Ten points off Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for trying to hide your own stupid mistake. Ten points to Slytherin, Miss Zænidh, for your continuing modest honesty."

Just then, class ended and the Foul Four left the room, dragging Weasley out by force so that he didn't slug anyone in the face. As for me, I couldn't have been more confused. What had just happened? Why had points been awarded for something I had done, when I hadn't done anything?

I looked to Draco for an explanation, only to find that he was smirking with barely contained laughter. "You should have seen his face, Andromeda!" he exclaimed. "It works every time! How do you pull it off?"

"What works?" I asked, exasperated. "I'm in the dark here."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You know, whenever anything goes wrong, and you point your quill at a Gryffindor, so Snape--"

"I what?!" I half-shouted.

"Point your quill at a Gryffindor, as if you're accusing them. And then Snape takes points from them." Draco paused, seeing the disbelief on my face. "You mean, it's not on purpose? But, you've been doing that for...well, since the beginning of the year!"

I continued to blink in confusion.

"First it was Potter, then Longbottom, then Patil, then Simmons, then..." He trailed off. "Are you sure it's not on purpose?" he asked. I nodded. "Damn! Some people have all the luck."

"Don't swear," I muttered distractedly, still thinking back to every time I had swished my quill around in Potions.

"And why not?" asked Draco indignantly.

"It's not befitting of a gentleman." Yes...every time I could remember, a Gryffindor had gotten in trouble.

He looked a bit taken aback. "Well...I suppose I could stop," he admitted.

Every time! I burst out in laughter. I had been earning House points without even knowing it!

Draco glared at me. "What? You don't think I can?" he asked crossly.

"Hm? O, I'm not laughing at you, ha ha ha! I'm laughing at all my, heh heh, victims!" The following fit of laughter lasted all the way to the House.

* * *

Dinner in the Great Hall was ending. A few owls soared in to deliver belated Valentine's Day greetings, or copies of the Evening Prophet. Every Slytherin received an owl-delivered chocolate frog from Malcolm Baddock, who was involved in a very long and complex fight with his girlfriend over who was more selfish. Frankly, I didn't care, but a bit of extra chocolate never hurt anyone.

Then, to my surprise, another owl landed in front of me. It was a beautiful eagle owl.

"Is that your owl, Draco?" I asked.

He was reading his Famous Wizard card, and only gave the owl a brief glance. "No, mine's lighter-colored."

The owl dropped a pink envelope in my hands and flew away. I examined the envelope; it had pink ribbon, a gold seal, and my name written in very fancy script. More than anything, it reminded me of a Howler. But, it was definitely pink, not red, and pink did not seem like a very aggressive color. There was a slight shimmer around its edges that was, if I wasn't imagining it, growing brighter the longer I looked at it.

Not sure whether I wanted to open it in the Great Hall, I pocketed the envelope and headed back to the Dungeon with everyone else. Trikkit and her gang of fifth years soon arrived bearing large trays of food and drink, and everyone found room for more sweets, even though we'd just been to dinner.

After a while, several older boys presented flowers to their girlfriends, and someone proposed a game of Spin the Bottle. Hiding her grin with a fierce scowl, Trikkit declared that that behavior would not be tolerated at Hogwarts.

"Aw, come on!" laughed Flint. "No harm in it, is there?"

"I am a prefect!" she shouted back at him. "And I say it's wrong! That should be enough for you!" The humor was gone from her expression. People stopped talking to watch what was happening.

Flint sneered. "Yeah, and you're a girl. I don't take orders from girls." I watched his hands clench and unclench at his sides.

"Oh, yeah, well we'll just see about that!" Trikkit drew her wand.

"Really? Who's your second?" demanded Flint.

A wizard duel! The group started murmuring amongst themselves. Trouble looked inevitable. I started to stand up, to leave the common room and avoid the scuffle...

"Wait," a determined voice broke in. I turned to see Bram Aurvail between the two. "Would you act this way in front of a professor?" His dark eyes flashed angrily.

Flint mumbled a resentful "no," but Trikkit just shook her head and blushed.

"Dueling is not permitted, in any forms. Those who disagree will face serious consequences. I will not hesitate to report anyone to the Head of Slytherin," he said loudly and clearly, so that the whole common room could hear. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's a treacle fudge calling my name." With that, Bram stepped over a number of students sitting on the floor, grabbed a plate from the buffet table, and filled it with fudge.

Conversation resumed quickly, and I sat down again. It was the usual arrangement: a group of Draco, Carol, Joel, and me, with Millicent, Inge, and Pansy in a cluster nearby, Crabbe and Goyle not too far away, and Troy...somewhere. I reckoned he was probably trying to figure out how to hold ten mugs of butterbeer all at once, or something of equal good sense.

"I was thinking," Carol said, "about that man, Hagrid. I heard he got expelled, and never became a qualified wizard. Why does he work at Hogwarts, then? Isn't that sort of...odd?"

Draco snorted. "Blame Dumbledore! He trusts all sorts of low life, good-for-nothings. Though, Hagrid can't be a real giant; he's not nearly tall enough."

I shrugged. "Maybe he was expelled for being a part-giant, but he was hired for his strength."

"That's cruel!" said Carol. "Why not let him finish school, if he was going to be around anyway? Would Dumbledore really do that?"

Joel cleared his throat. "Hogwarts probably had a different Headmaster back then, someone who was very discriminatory. Then, when Dumbledore became Headmaster, he felt that Hagrid should get some kind of compensation for being treated so badly." We all agreed that this was a plausible explanation.

"I still don't like either of them," Draco mumbled to himself.

Presently, the party started to die down, and most everyone headed off to bed. Carol and I said goodnight to the boys and took the small flight of steps leading down to the dormitories. Suddenly, I remembered the mysterious pink envelope.

"Carol," I said, pulling it out of my pocket, "what do you think of this?"

She took it and examined both sides. "What should I think of it? I don't even know what it is."

I sighed. "That's the problem, neither do I!"

"Why don't you open it and find out?" she asked exasperatedly, handing it back to me.

"Well, what if it's--"

"Glowing!" Carol interrupted. "Blimey, look at it!" Indeed, the envelope was shining, giving off a good deal of light. I handed it back to her, and the light died down.

"Obviously," she giggled, pressing it into my hands once more, "it likes you better than me. Go on, open it!"

Biting my lip, I broke the seal...a gentle breeze seemed to fill the room...and someone was speaking. I strained to hear the almost-inaudible words. Pieces of it, I couldn't hear at all, but I could tell that it was a boy's voice.

"Andromeda...pity you can't come...Hogsmeade tomorrow. Did...music box I...Christmas? It...ignoring me, but...know who I am. You...paying more attention...Quidditch team. I...be honored...wear your colors...next match." Then the voice faded away, leaving the room still and quiet.

I was bewildered. Carol suppressed another giggle. "A secret admirer! You are so lucky, Andromeda, he sounds like a wonderful fellow!"

I pursed my lips. "But who is he?"

"It's a secret!" she laughed. "Honestly, I have no idea. Except for one..."

"Who?" I asked quickly.

"Should I tell you now, or let him tell you later?" She grinned devilishly.

"Tell me, tell me, tell me!" I blurted out.

"Well, okay," she said, conspiratorially. "There's a Chaser on the Quidditch team--Diane Darmon told me he's a third-year--who's been eyeing you, if I'm not mistaken."

"And you didn't tell me?" I shrieked.

"Well, I'm not sure of it," she added. "He doesn't talk to girls much, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't already have a girlfriend. He doesn't sit down at meals until you do, he stands when you stand...subtle stuff, y'know? But I'd swear he's looking to you for cues."

Looking to me? Gads, that was ridiculous...

"What's his name, Carol?" I asked, still holding the envelope. "This doesn't have a signature." I knew this had to be the same person who had given me the music box; he had even mentioned it.

"Quentin! Quentin...O, I can't remember his last name," she said, disappointed. I reached into my desk drawer, where I still had the gift's tag, with its extremely fancy script. The first letter might have been a Q, if you looked at it this way...

"Was it something that started with an M?" I asked. Or maybe that was a W, I still couldn't tell.

"Hmm...Morton, Mortimer, Mortema...Yes! Mortema! Quentin Mortema, that's his name!" Carol exclaimed, hopping a bit. I still had no idea who this was, but I was glad my "secret admirer" wasn't Oliver Wood.

"Well," I said slowly, "what should I say to him? Is saying anything a good idea? I mean, he is two years older than me, and he's sending me gifts like I'm his sweetheart, but we've barely even spoken! In fact, I don't think I've ever talked to him, at all! Not even two words!"

Carol smirked mischievously . "Sure you have. Just tonight, you were coming to sit with the gang, but there were people standing in the way. So you said 'excuse me' to Quentin. That's two words!"

I groaned. "But that doesn't mean anything!"

"It meant a lot to him," she replied. "He bowed."

"WHAT!? That's...that's...stupid," I finished lamely. Still...he had bowed. If there was one thing that every guy could have more of, it was proper manners. And now, a gentleman seeking to win my heart!

I remembered a conversation I'd had with Troy, at the beginning of the year. Maybe Quentin would start holding doors open for me...

"Maybe he'll bring you something from Hogsmeade!" Carol laughed, interrupting my thoughts. "And by the way, do you have any handkerchiefs?"

"Yes, tons," I answered, waving towards the trunk at the foot of my bed.

"Well, you're going to have to give one up, if you want Quentin to 'wear your colors' to the next Quidditch match!" she said with glee.

"I think he was asking me to wear Slytherin colors--"

"Don't be silly! It's the latest fashion among male Quidditch players, to wear their lady's colors!" she said, as if quoting something. "I read it in Witch Weekly, but I think The Enchanters' Attic also did a small spot about it."

"Sure," I said, not fully convinced. "Good night."

Carol giggled again. "Sweet dreams."

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: I own Andromeda Zænidh, Carol Adett, Bram Aurvail, Viola Trikkit, Quentin Mortema, Joel Shema, Troy Hatter, Inge Fernfrond, Diane Darmon, The Enchanters' Attic, the pink envelope, and all original events and dialogue. Chloe Simmons belongs to Wildmage42. All else is property of J. K. Rowling or Warner Bros., I am not making money off of this, etc. PLEASE REVIEW!!