Chapter Twenty Six
Eleanora lay sprawled out on one of the overstuffed sofas in the Gryffindor common room, her feet curled up on Lee's lap. Fred and George occupied the adjacent armchairs and the four leant their heads together with a conspiratorial air.
"There's a liquefying potion that should do it," said Eleanora, her brows furrowed in thought.
"Do you really think it would work?" asked Fred quietly, his freckled face creased with doubt.
"Would I lie to you?" she replied with a grin, her eyes twinkling slyly as she took another bite out of a fat chocolate éclair.
George nudged Fred in the back. "You're alright mate," he said through a mouthful of fruitcake, "it's only Filch she lies to on a Wednesday."
The small group burst into rowdy guffaws, eliciting several annoyed glances from the other occupants of the common room.
Earlier in the evening, the four deviants had been caught by the cantankerous caretaker, surreptitiously slipping out of the kitchens after a visit to the house elves, their robe pockets full to bursting with all manner of cakes and pastries, pressed upon them by the eager creatures.
"What do we 'ave 'ere then?" he had asked gleefully, creeping out from behind a suit of armour, rubbing his filthy hands together, after watching them each emerge from behind the painting.
Fred and George had looked ready to run for it, but Eleanora had shot them a reassuring look. Stepping out of the shadows she had smiled winningly at the stooped old man.
"We're very sorry to alarm you, Mr Filch sir, but we were sent down to the kitchens."
Filch's eyes had narrowed with distrust, and he cocked his head. Mrs Norris wound her way between his feet and sat there, her lamp-like eyes shining malignly in the gloom.
"Sent down 'ere you say? A likely story! Who by?
Eleanora not missing a beat replied, "Professor Dumbledore."
She heard Fred's sharp intake of breath from her side, but continued staring straight ahead at Filch, who peered back at her suspiciously.
"Professor Dumbledore sent you lot down 'ere?" He cackled unpleasantly, leaning down to scratch Mrs Norris behind her mangy dust coloured ears. "Pull the other one!"
Eleanora smiled at him indulgently, though she shot a look of pure poison at the caretaker's mite-ridden cat, who yowled loudly, arching her back in grievance.
"Hermione Granger was ill today and missed dinner, so Professor Dumbledore gave us permission to come down and collect some food for her."
"Did 'e now?" Filch said nastily, "I shall 'ave to check with him about that!"
"Fine," replied Eleanora brightly, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. "We'll let you be on your way then."
Winking at the others she began walking off down the corridor, not bothering to restrain the wide smirk that creased her face.
"I 'aven't finished with you yet!" shouted Filch from behind her, but she kept on walking as if she hadn't heard him. Lee caught up with her as they rounded the corner, nearly skidding into a stature of a portly old wizard wearing a teapot as a helmet.
"Just keep walking," she muttered to him out of the corner of her mouth.
"That was smooth, girl!" he laughed, taking out a cookie from his bulging pocket.
George slapped her soundly on the back. "Bloody good ruse! He's never going to ask Dumbledore!"
Eleanor grinned. "Exactly. And if he does, then Dumbledore's not going to care one jot."
Fred smiled joyfully, raising his hand in a mock salute. "Best headmaster we've ever seen, is old Bumble-More!"
Lee chortled. "The only one and all."
"These custard slices are good!" added George thickly.
"And it wasn't technically a lie, seeing as Hermione did miss dinner," Eleanora explained as they jogged up the staircase.
"When did it suddenly matter to you whether something is a lie or not?" Fred laughed roguishly.
Eleanora had merely smiled serenely, which is hard to do when you've just stuffed an entire jam doughnut into your mouth.
"All I'm saying is, it pay's to cover your tracks."
"Amen to that," sighed Lee as they approached the Fat Lady's painting.
Now happily installed in front of the roaring fire, they were finishing the remnants of their feast.
"Anyone for the last Chelsea bun?" Eleanora asked, eyeing it with desire.
Lee groaned, his hands stretched gingerly over his stomach. Fred merely shook his head, deeming speech of any kind to be far too onerous a response. George however stretched out his hand to claim the sugared cake.
"Not so fast!" Eleanora said, playfully slapping his hand away.
George grinned slyly, seizing the bun. "You want it, you catch it!" he cried, throwing it high in the air.
Eleanora swiftly leapt up onto the arm of the sofa, nearly treading on the prone figure of Lee in the process, rising to her full height. With an outstretched hand she neatly caught the bun, taking a generous bite as she plopped back down onto the sofa.
George gaped. "That was pretty good!" he said in an impressed tone, shooting Fred a quick glance. "You play Quidditch right?"
Eleanora nodded, breaking off half the bun and handing it to him. Fred had evidently decided that this warranted a comment as he sat up and eyed her studiously.
"About the right build for a Chaser too," he asserted. "Oi! Angelina! Over here a minute!"
Eleanora hurriedly swallowed her mouthful. "I never said wanted to start playing again!" she warned as the tall black girl came bounding over, and sat herself down on the rug.
"What?" she asked, helping herself to the last cookie, which not even Eleanora could find room for.
"We've just found you a replacement Chaser," said George conclusively, ruffling Eleanora's hair.
Angelina smiled questioningly at Eleanora. "Yeah, Harry said something about you being good on a broom. You want to play? Just for one game?"
Eleanora shrugged vaguely.
"Katie's still having trouble with her arm and the first game's against Slytherin next weekend," she explained. "We need a Chaser. Like, now."
Eleanora remembered Harry coming in dripping wet after one practice the week before, despondently lamenting the loss of one of the house chasers to a low flying bludger aimed by Graham Nott, a thick-set Slytherin with extraordinarily hairy arms. "They shouldn't even have been on the pitch!" he had raged angrily.
"I'm not sure," she replied hesitantly. "I haven't even got a decent broom anymore, that Firebolt 3.6 is lucky to outpace a passing bluebottle!"
"No worries," replied Angelina confidently, "you can borrow Katie's. It's a Cleansweep Deluxe; brilliant on tight corners."
"Who's the other Chaser?" asked Eleanora. "Apart from Alicia?"
Angelina smiled. "Well, I've moved into goal now that Oliver's left, so we've got Tobias Jones in the left Chaser position." She pointed over to the fireplace where a tall boy with a shock of blonde hair was talking to Alicia Spinnet. "You'll be in midfield, by the way."
The older girl stared beseechingly at Eleanora.
"Come on!" implored Fred. "Just for one game."
"For the pride of Gryffindor house," added Lee in a mock reverent tone, placing his hand on his heart.
"Or, think of it like this," said George. "There's a bloody good chance you'll get to knock the little weasel Malfoy off his broom."
"I'm in," replied Eleanora instantly, her eyes lighting deviously.
Angelina hugged her tightly. "Thanks. Now, your first practice is tomorrow morning, five thirty."
Eleanora's expression turned sour. "You have to be joking."
The older girl smiled happily. "No, I'll come and drag you out there in your pyjamas if I have to!"
"Great," Eleanora groused when Angelina had walked away. "Thanks a million, guys."
The boys smirked at her. "I never said it would be fun," replied George.
"Just think of Ferret Features hurtling to the ground at high speed," said Fred, a wistful expression on his face.
"That'll give me sweet dreams," grinned Eleanora as she rose from the sofa. "Can he land so that the broom sticks right up his snooty little -?"
She never got to finish her question, because at that moment Harry and Ron burst through the portrait hole, a piece of parchment clutched in Ron's fist.
"Woah!" cried Seamus, cross legged on the floor as Ron nearly fell into his lap.
"Sorry mate!" Ron exclaimed, carefully stepping over him.
"What's the big hurry anyway?" asked Eleanora, leaning on the door frame.
Harry grabbed the parchment and unfurled it. "First Hogsmeade trip this weekend!" he announced triumphantly, prodding it repeatedly with his finger.
"You sure?" asked Fred, grabbing the parchment from his outstretched hand. "Surely we would have been told weeks ago?"
"The bloody Slytherins," butted in Ron heatedly, "thought it would be funny to transfigure all the notices into a poster about some missing broom cleaning kit." He balled his fists at his sides. "Gits!" he added crossly.
"Yeah," added Harry, "we caught Dumb and Dumber trying to transfigure this one; Might have helped if Goyle had been holding his wand the right way round!"
"What happened?" asked Eleanora idly, wandering over to where they stood, a sadistic smirk curling her lips.
Harry's face creased with laughter. "Goyle managed to half transfigure his fat hand into salami, and Crabbe just stood there staring dumbly.
Eleanora snorted. "Bloody wonder he even managed any magic at all, the great oaf."
Ron grinned. "Or that Crabbe didn't try to eat Goyle's hand!"
The group laughed as Dean lumbered around the common room, knuckles trailing on the floor, mumbling incoherently in an uncannily accurate impersonation of the hulking Slytherin. Fred pinned the parchment to the crammed notice board and a flurry of Gryffindors surged forwards to sign up for the trip.
"I took the liberty of signing us all up for it," he told them, pushing his way through a throng of first years squabbling over a self-signing quill. "En mass pilgrimage to Zonkos methinks!" he whispered to Eleanora who nodded eagerly.
"You can probably get that liquefying potion in Zonko's you know," she muttered back. "A few drops of that on the floor outside their common room door and, well….I'll leave it to your imagination!" She winked deviously and turned to Harry.
"You'll have to give me the grand tour then," she said. "Many pubs in Hogsmeade?"
Harry grinned. "Oh, only about six."
"That'll do me fine."
Lee tapped her on the shoulder. "You better watch your back; last year Snape had Alicia gutting Streelers every night for a week just because he caught her with a goblet of some liqueur one of the Beauxbatons lot had bought her.
Eleanora rolled her eyes and tried to look unconcerned. "Oh, I think I can handle the Old Bat. He's not going to be in the pub surely – that would involve some level of social interaction and he's not exactly the outgoing type now is he?"
Lee shrugged. "Well, it's up to you, girl."
Eleanora grinned at him, but inwardly she felt as if her stomach had just caved in, leaving nothing but a hopeless vacuum which threatened to engulf every breath left in her body. For nearly a week now she had, with varying degrees of success managed to purge her mind of all thoughts of the inscrutable potions master, enduring the harsh timbre of his voice through numerable potions lessons, his every word a taunt, reminding her of her stupidity in thinking that he had shared the passion with which they had fallen into that rough cinch. In lessons, he acted like she was not there, not even deigning to comment when she had arrived ten minutes late to a practical lesson, much to the surprise of her classmates who had readied themselves for an extravagant display of Snape's customary oratory fireworks.
Whilst she was by no means averse to escaping the expected punishment, she had found herself wishing that he would dole out a harsh chastisement just as a mere acknowledgment of her presence, instead of staring straight through her like she was one of the school's resident ghosts. Eleanora thought that Nearly Headless Nick had just reason to complain after spending a whole lesson, sitting next to Hermione in the front row being studiously ignored. Whilst schoolwork miserably failed to fill the aching void that had opened up in what felt like the pit of her stomach, cramming her empty minutes and hours with every kind of mischief imaginable did the job nicely. She, together with Fred and George had unleashed a tidal wave of tomfoolery upon the school, starting with a particularly stubborn sticking spell on every classroom door on the second floor corridor, and finishing only the day before with a deluge of fake wands mysteriously appearing in peoples bags. Eleanora had all but collapsed in hilarity in her Charms lesson, much to Professor Flitwick's shrill indignation at the sight of Millicent Bulstrode ineffectively waving a frozen leg of lamb at the quill she was meant to be shrinking. But, despite her best efforts, at the mere mention of his name, the hastily erected flood barriers of her mind came crashing down, the cold surge of shame and confusion submerging her consciousness once again.
"You alright?" asked Ron, his hand on her arm.
"Oh, yeah," she replied, smiling warmly. "Just a bit tired."
"Lovely early start for you tomorrow," Harry grinned. "Angelina told me you're our replacement Chaser."
Eleanora grimaced. "Yeah, lucky old me."
"Well, with a bit of luck," Ron said consolingly, "Wonder Boy here will have caught the Snitch before any of the Slytherins realise the game has started."
Harry smirked. "But no hexing," he warned quietly. The last thing you want is to have Snape on your back because you gave on of his precious Slytherins an extra pair of arms or something."
Eleanora grinned back, but became painfully aware of the rising tide of emotion that was now swirling erratically around her chest, threatening to overwhelm her at any moment. All she wanted now was to quietly escape the tumult of the crowded common room and take refuge inside the dark confines of her bed, the thick curtains obscuring her tears from the attentions of her dormitory mates. Hermione's concerned enquiries as to her state, in particular had been especially hard to evade recently, and Eleanora had even resorted to casting a sophisticated glamour over her empty bed to conceal her absence during the long, sleepless stretches of the night when her only solace was to be found far away from the silent dormitory. Tonight however, Hermione was otherwise engaged, tutoring a group of third form History of Magic students. She had left for the library shortly after lessons had ended that afternoon and had, as she had told Filch, missed dinner. Eleanora was relieved beyond measure that she could just fall into bed without having to fend off a subtle barrage of questions about her apparently fraught temperament of late.
As the younger years began to filter off to their dormitories, Eleanora made her excuses.
"Right, I'm off to Bedfordshire," she yawned elaborately as she turned towards the girl's staircase.
"By the way," asked Fred craftily, "where did you want to stick Malfoy's broom again?"
Eleanora's expression was innocence itself as she smiled beatifically. "Right up his snooty little………..nose, of course." Turning on her heel, she smirked at him, "What were you thinking?"
"See you at five thirty!" called Harry cheerily, his enthusiasm impervious to the black scowl that wiped her smirk right off her face.
Still, she reasoned with herself as she climbed the stairs, the clamour of the common room fading into heavy silence behind her, another distraction is exactly what I need right now.
She knew from experience that when on her broom, the frigid wind whipping through her hair, whistling in her ears, nothing could touch her, not even the impenetrable shroud of anguish that settled over her stomach at every mention of his name.
Relieved to find the dormitory empty save for Sally-Anne's diminutive Scops owl which hooted at her softly in greeting, Eleanora quickly undressed and clambered into bed in a pair of thick flannelette pyjamas, not bothering to fold her working robes or take out her open bag the Numerology assignment that begged to be done, quite literally as Professor Vector had charmed the parchments with a ever-repeating refrain spell.
"Please – it'll only take you ten minutes," beseeched the rolled up parchment from inside the bag. "Please – I have to be handed in tomorrow morning!"
Eleanora scowled into the darkness and turned over; pulling the pillow over her ears to block out the assignments muffled pleas. The reedy voice persisted, growing breathless and shrill as the spell began to wear off.
"Please," it begged, "Professor Vector will be very annoyed."
What's new, thought Eleanora wearily as she reached out, giving the bag a hard poke. The voice suddenly stopped and silence encroached upon her again, the darkness like a haze that had descended upon her, clouding her thoughts and dulling her senses.
Tomorrow, she thought vaguely to herself as sleep placed its restful hand upon her, tomorrow I will think about it. Not now.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Eleanora!" came the insistent voice, "Eleanora!" it came again, louder and now accompanied with a hard shake. "Wake up!"
She groaned and rolled over, a tangled curtain of hair covering her face.
"Eleanora, if you don't get out of this bed right now, I'm going to get Fred and George to come up and here and levitate you down to the pitches."
Eleanora rubbed her eyes, and sat up. "What time is it?" she asked drowsily.
"Twenty past five. You have five minutes to get your kit on. Come on!"
Angelina, already dressed in hr scarlet robes left the room, shutting the door softly. Eleanora rolled out of her warm bed, gasping with irritation as he feet touched the cold wooden floor. After a quick rummage in her trunk she unearthed the Quidditch robes her father had sent at the beginning of term, a wry smile creasing her face as she padded to the bathroom. Five minutes later, she emerged, her hair somewhat neatly braided into a knot on top of her head, the vivid robes hiding the pyjamas she still wore underneath. Grabbing her broom from where it stood, leant against her wardrobe, she pulled on her boots and disappeared out the door, throwing an envious look back at Parvati who had slept soundly throughout her hurried ablutions.
* * * * * * * * * *
"What do you mean, he gave you permission?" screeched Angelina, brandishing her broom in a rather aggressive fashion, her voice cutting through the tranquil silence of the morning like a knife blade.
Marcus Flint smirked, his prominent jaw jutting forward most unattractively. "We asked if we could have the pitch this morning and he said yes."
"But it's not up to that Greasy Git to say yes!" Fred shouted.
"Well, tough," replied Flint. "We're down here now, so you can run along."
Angelina took a step towards the burly Slytherin captain, her eyes flashing angrily. "We asked Madame Hooch – she gave us permission, so you can run along, you talking ape!"
The brute stared down at her nastily, then threw glances at his team mates. Crabbe and Goyle advanced, flexing their muscles ominously. George pushed past Alicia and Eleanora and rolled up the patched sleeves of his robes.
"George, no!" whispered Alicia out of the corner of her mouth, a worried expression on her elfin face.
"Stay out of this, you two," he said, a resolute expression on his freckled face. Fred too had stepped forward, flanked by Tobias, who was wearing a fearful expression and Harry who was utterly dwarfed by the colossal form of Goyle who was now cracking his knuckles with great relish, one by one.
"You managed to turn that hand back then?" Harry asked tauntingly.
Goyle glared at him, his small eyes hardening with hatred. He muttered something incomprehensible and the Slytherin's laughed.
"So you all speak the outmoded language of this cave-man then?" asked Eleanora in a conversational tone, one hand on her hip.
Malfoy smirked at her, and nudged a tall black haired girl at his side who looked Eleanora up and down with sly violet eyes.
"Nice pyjama bottoms you've got there," she smirked eyeing the striped trousers with disdain.
Eleanora grinned back at her, though her eyes were sparking with temper. "Thanks, and might I say how lovely your pet ferret is! Where did you get him?"
Malfoy's arrogant sneer faded, and he stared at Eleanora with malice sharpening his pale eyes. He nodded at Crabbe and Goyle who closed around him.
"You better shut your mouth, you filthy little Veela," he said smoothly, "or something very unfortunate might happen to you."
Goyle pounded his ham-like fist into his palm, an unpleasant leer on his doughy face.
Eleanora's eyes widened at the boys words and her mind reeled frantically. Of course he would know, she thought furiously to herself. His father would have told him everything!
Whilst she knew that she had nothing to be ashamed of with regards to her half blood, she knew all too well that bigots like Malfoy and the majority of the Slytherins would hold Veela blood to be as bad, if not worse than Muggle blood. The looks of disdain and loathing that crossed their faces now were what she had dreaded since arriving at Hogwarts.
"That's it, Malfoy!" shouted Harry, surging forward only to be held back by Eleanora who grabbed his arm and shot him a pleading look.
"Harry, no!" she cried, staring at the flushed boy, his black hair sticking up in all directions. "Just leave it."
"But, did you just hear what he called you?" Harry asked aghast, shooting a look of revulsion at the pale boy.
Eleanora sighed. "Yes, I heard him and it's true; well – half true, but I've got nothing to be ashamed of." This last part she addressed to the Slytherins, her chin raised defiantly in the face of their looks of odium and disgust.
"You're a Veela?" he asked, his eyes clouding with confusion. "Why didn't you tell us?"
She ran a hand over her hair, and seemed at a loss for words.
"A half-Veela," she corrected. "I didn't tell you because I was afraid that people would act like those idiots are acting now," she explained, pointing to the Slytherins, all of whom wore victorious smirks across their faces. "Like it's something dirty or shameful."
"We never would have thought that," said Fred quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"I know," she conceded with a small smile, "but sometimes it's just easier to keep quiet about it."
"How do you hide it?" asked Angelina, gazing at her like her secret was hidden in her pocket or up her billowing sleeve.
"Yeah, how come Ronnikins isn't walking into walls like he was last year with that Fleur bird?" George added.
Eleanora laughed. "He never told me about that!" Swallowing her giggles, her voice took a serious note. "I take a glamouring potion every couple of days. It stops the usual effects. Like walking into walls," she finished with a grin.
Harry narrowed his green eyes. "Does Snape make your potion for you?"
Eleanora raised an eyebrow. "Yes. How did you -"
Aware of Malfoy listening to their conversation with interest, Harry shook his head. "Not now," he muttered. "I'll tell you later."
"So, how did that git know?" asked Fred, jerking a hand towards Malfoy who looked to be thoroughly enjoying the scene he had created, Crabbe and Goyle still lurking immensely at his sides.
Eleanora frowned. "I guess his father must have told him." Her tone was light, but inwardly she uneasily wondered what else Malfoy senior had told his son.
"But," Tobias began in a puzzled tone, "you're not blonde."
Eleanora rolled her eyes.
"All the other Veelas I've seen have been blonde!"
She shook her head, her hastily arranged bun breaking free of its restraints and tumbling down her shoulders. "Not all Veelas are blonde, Tobe. You saw the Bulgarian mascots at the World Cup didn't you?"
He nodded, his eyes glazing a little at the memory.
"They weren't what you would call your average Veelas," she said with a smirk. "They were the Bulgarian team manager, Dimitri Volkinoff's personal 'dancers.' Not all of us look like that, sorry to disappoint you."
"Oh," he said, looking rather crestfallen. "Fleur was blonde too though."
Eleanora hitched an eyebrow. "You thought that was natural?" Her face creased with mirth. "That's a good one! Fleur's hair is redder than Ron's naturally!
"You're kidding!" gasped Fred, his eyes wide.
"Nope," she replied with a grin, "but you didn't hear it from me."
Marcus Flint cleared his throat loudly. "Sorry to interrupt your little pow-wow," he sneered nastily, "but get the hell off the pitch!"
The Gryffindor team stopped their conversation, Angelina whirling round to face him. Malfoy and his black haired friend looked particularly bitter that their revelation had not received quite the hostile reception they were hoping for.
"You haven't heard the last of this, Flint!" Angelina said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Just you wait until Madame Hooch hears about it!"
Flint laughed, his robes stretching tight over his broad chest. "Whatever, like she's going to argue with us."
Eleanora snorted. "She'd have to get a chimp in to act as translator in order to have an argument with you lot!"
Flint glowered at her, but didn't look like he could muster an adequate reply. The tall, black haired girl merely mouthed "mudblood", wrinkling her nose in disdain.
"I didn't think that your nose could get any more squashed, Zabini, but you've just proved me wrong!" exclaimed Harry, his green eyes flashing in anger.
Eleanora laughed loudly. "It's OK, Harry; I might be the mudblood, but at least I've got a blood supply going to my brain which is more than can be said for any of this lot! Merlin, give Crabbe here another brain cell and he could be a pot plant!"
Crabbe, after taking a moment to register the insult stepped towards her, raising his fist.
"Hitting girls, Mr Crabbe?" came a piercing voice from behind them. "That is not what I would call honourable behaviour!"
They spun around to see Madame Hooch walking briskly across the pitch, her vivid yellow Quidditch robes billowing in the breeze, a slim racing broom clutched in her hand.
"What are they Slytherin team doing down here anyway?" she asked, as she neared the group, her hawk-like eyes settling on the burly captain.
"We…..uhhh…..asked Professor Snape if we could use the pitch," Flint stammered, as Fred triumphantly stuck his tongue out at him behind Hooch's back.
"Well, the pitch is not Professor Snape's to designate," came the clipped reply. "In future book any training sessions with me in advance. Now, off you go!"
Malfoy looked as if he was about to object, but Madame Hooch glared at him glacially. A frown settled upon his features, and his pale eyes gleamed with hatred.
"I'll get you later, Potty," he hissed out of the corner of his mouth as he crushed past, "and your little mudblood friend!"
Harry said nothing in reply, just mimed bouncing something up and down, up and down with a smug smirk on his face. From the look on Malfoy's face, Eleanora had a horrid feeling that he might pay for that later. She didn't have time to ponder this though as Madame Hooch briskly clapped her hands.
"Come on," she called sharply. "We haven't got all morning. Into position!"
The team scattered, Angelina still making last minutes adjustments to their formation.
"Harry, a bit higher OK? I don't want you in the way of any bludgers! Tobias, over to the left a bit! A bit more! Stop!"
Eleanora grinned as she hovered smoothly in the air, the wind whipping her hair around her face as she gazed down at Madame Hooch who was releasing the balls. Despite her chagrin at Malfoy's untimely revelation, she felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and it was a heady cocktail of adrenaline mixed with relief that coursed throughout her veins, at not having to hide behind the thin veil of normality that had for many long weeks cloaked her heritage and shrouded her past. A Quaffle spun past her shoulder, and she reared her broom and raced after it, diving steeply.
This is what I needed; she thought to herself, as her finger closed around the ball, this is just what I needed.