Chapter 10
The Executioner's Daughter
MacNair? Hope screwed up her face, trying to remember the last time she'd heard that name. The grown-ups had been discussing something they hadn't wanted her to overhear and the kitchen door had been only slightly ajar when Aunt Hermione had said something.
"Don't try and look concerned, it doesn't suit you," the girl spat, and shoved Hope aside so that she could climb past her to go back to the castle.
Hope's temper suddenly snapped. Rachel MacNair was being about as unfair as you could get. It wasn't as if Hope had had any control over what had gone on when she was a baby, no more than this Rachel person could have stopped her dad from hanging around with Voldemort. No way was she going to put up with this.
She swung around to face Rachel, and grabbed hold of her arm to prevent her escape.
"Don't you dare talk to me like that!"
The girl turned back, with a most unpleasant sneer contorting her face. "I'll talk to you anyway I want, Potter. Not that you're worth talking to anyway. People like you aren't." She tried to pull away from Hope, but the smaller girl wouldn't let her.
"Yeah, right!" Hope retorted scathingly. "I'd be proud of having a dad in Azkaban too. It makes you such a better person."
Rachel hissed in a breath, her eyes blazing with a new fury. She lunged at Hope, fists flailing, but Hope was ready for her and dodged. She leapt onto one of the benches and had started running down the steps to the pitch, when Rachel grabbed hold of her ankle and the ground disappeared from underneath Hope's feet. She grabbed the robes of her assailant and the two girls crashed their way down the stands, landing painfully on the grass below.
Hope heard a curse just before a vicious fist crashed into her stomach.
"Don't ever... insult... my... dad!" Rachel panted. "Never!"
Hope rolled sideways, escaping a second blow and then dived back into the fray. She hauled on Rachel's long braid like a bell rope, causing her to screech. Frenzied fingers clawed at Hope's face and then tangled themselves in her own hair, ripping and scratching without mercy. Hope fought back furiously, kicking her opponent and trying to pin her to the ground.
For a split second, she gazed into Rachel's eyes, filled with a seething hatred such as Hope had never known. Rachel's eyes narrowed and her fist pounded remorselessly into Hope's side, throwing her off balance and hard onto the ground.
Hope groaned, and was just rolling over to get her revenge when a pair of hands caught her shoulders and held her firmly. Hope struggled like a wild cat, fighting against the person who held her, fighting so that she could show Rachel MacNair exactly what she thought of her and her beloved Death Eater of a father.
"Hope! Stop it! Just stop!"
Belford's voice.
"Oh no you don't!" he yelled, and Hope felt his hands lift away from her and swing in the opposite direction. She glanced up to see that he'd caught Rachel and was forcibly preventing her from continuing the fight. Hope smiled with grim satisfaction when she observed MacNair's bloodied nose. That would teach her.
"Potter needs to learn what pain feels like!" Rachel snarled. "This is nothing!"
Hope's fury bubbled violently and she leapt at Rachel once more. Matthew braced himself between them, caught Hope in his arms and yelled, "Stop! Snape's going to go mad!"
"Indeed."
The single word dropped on the three of them like a shower of icy rain. They froze in a painful tableau, not daring to move as their Head of House circled them slowly and surveyed the situation.
Hope's heart thudded painfully in her chest as she watched the familiar glittering black eyes harden. The anger still pumping through her veins slowly started to chill with the growing realisation that he was going to punish her by taking away her Quidditch. Her defiant gaze fell. Every sting and ache from her growing bruises told her that she deserved this.
"Belford?" The name was barked, and Matthew suddenly seemed to wake up from the petrified trance he'd been held in. He leapt away from Hope as if he'd been scalded. "Tell me what happened."
"I-I don't know, Sir," Matthew stuttered. "I-I was..." He glanced nervously at Hope, turning redder than ever. He faltered to a stop, clearly not wanting another Slytherin to know that Hope was teaching him how to fly.
"My office! Now! All three of you!"
In silence they trooped back to the castle, Snape bringing up the rear with his robes billowing out behind him like some sort of deathly parachute slowing down time. It took forever to reach the dungeons and by the time Snape opened the door to his classroom, Hope was shivering violently.
"Sit!" Snape growled the order. Without hesitation, they sat. Their professor leaned forwards across the desk, staring intently at each of them, his lips grim and unsmiling.
"MacNair!" He strode off to the small office at the back of his classroom, and Rachel MacNair followed, silently dabbing the blood from her nose with the sleeve of her robes. The door slammed shut and there was an expectant hush inside the dungeon. Matthew glanced at Hope and blushed again. He stared resolutely at the desk and jabbed at it with his finger.
"Tell him what you were doing," Hope insisted. "He can't blame you. You came down so I could teach you to fly and you broke up a fight. He should be thanking you really."
Matthew shook his head. "That'll mean he'll punish you by not letting you play that sport thingy. Queerdirge."
In spite of her shivering, Hope chuckled. "Quidditch," she corrected him gently. She shrugged her shoulders and became despondent again. "I deserve it for fighting."
"W-why were you?" Belford asked.
"I'm not entirely sure," Hope murmured, wrapping her arms around herself and trying to suppress another shiver. Her robes were ripped. She'd have to mend them when Snape was finished with her... if he didn't expel her. She glanced warily at Belford and decided that she probably could trust him. "Don't laugh, all right?"
Belford shook his head. Hope thought for a moment; if Matthew was from a Muggle family then he probably didn't know much about her history at all, she'd have to start from the beginning.
"In the couple of years before I was born, a really evil wizard was trying to take over our world. He was called Voldemort. He killed anyone who stood in his way and tortured others and everyone was frightened of him and his own followers, who were called the Death Eaters. Dumbledore was headmaster at Hogwarts in those days and when I was born he found out that I had a certain set of magical powers he could use to defeat Voldemort. So when I was a baby, Dumbledore used my magic to kill Voldemort, and most of his followers were sent to Azkaban."
Hope took a deep breath before she continued. "I found out tonight that Rachel MacNair's dad was one of those Death Eaters. He's been in Azkaban, the wizard prison, virtually all of her life and she blames me for it. She hates me because my stupid fame comes from the same thing that took her dad away from her." Her lips quivered into a sad little smile. "So there you go, it's nothing to do with you at all. Snape shouldn't take it out on you."
"Poor Rachel," he murmured. Then he glanced at Hope again, colour flooding his face at a furious rate. "You're famous? I-I didn't know..."
Hope laughed wryly. "Believe me, I'd rather I wasn't. I don't remember it at all, but people make an insane fuss. I suppose they were just relieved when Voldemort died, and that's why all the books were written." She pulled a horrible face, remembering some of the particularly trite and gushing paragraphs that Robert had once teased her with by reading them aloud in dramatic tones.
"Books?" Matthew echoed faintly. "Then... then... oh, wow!"
Hope shook her head, and her vibrant hair flew all around her in her vehemence. "No, it's a nuisance. I'm not anything special, I'm just me."
Matthew sat still for a moment, then seemed to be struggling to say something. He kicked the leg of the table and Hope watched him getting redder by the minute. At length he managed to say, "Notyourfriendcosoffame."
Hope blinked. "Sorry?"
He kicked the table leg again and sighed. "I-I'm not just talking to you because you're famous, it's because... because..."
The office door flew open once more and a tearful Rachel MacNair scuttled through the dungeon and into the corridor beyond. Silence weighed heavy upon the room again and Hope felt a swirl of nausea circle through her stomach, pushing upwards in little fluttering bursts.
"Potter!"
With a nervous glance at Matthew, Hope wobbled to her feet and started across the dungeon. The torches flickering around the edges of the cavernous room gave it a warm and comforting glow, but they didn't make Hope feel any better. She was doomed and she knew it.
Snape closed the door behind her with a fatal click. Hope rubbed the aching knuckles on her right hand and waited. The fluttering of nerves inside her grew and grew, twisting and churning in sickening motion. Snape gestured to a simple wooden chair beside the little fire in his office, and Hope took her place. She set her jaw and looked straight at the Potions Master, ready to accept her punishment without tears.
Her Head of House leaned back in his own chair, a wing-backed velvety affair and surveyed his charge momentarily. His long tapering finger tapped against his lips and then finally he leaned forwards.
"So, what do you propose to do?" he asked, his tone giving little of his mood away.
"Be taken off the Quidditch team as a punishment," Hope said, trying her best to keep the tremble out of her voice. "I promised I'd behave and I didn't."
"No, you didn't," he said shortly, "but you are needed on the team to ensure Slytherin success this year. Quimby's ambitions appear to lie in other areas, and Stebbins spoke highly of you after practise tonight. Regardless of what you do and do not do in your life, Potter, you should never voluntarily give up something that you desperately desire for the sake of honour. That sort of nobility is reckless and foolish in the extreme, and far more suited to the idiocy of a Gryffindor. In Slytherin, you must learn that the greater good involves curbing your own impetuousness and learning to use the rules to gain the success and achievement you long for."
Hope opened her mouth to insist that she didn't desire any success or achievement at all, but Snape quickly cut her off. "Don't talk nonsense, Potter. It's blatantly obvious you want to play Quidditch and win; you'd do almost anything to stay on that team."
She sat up a little straighter in her chair and felt the bat-like fluttering in her stomach begin to subside a little. She nodded slowly. Snape was right; it seemed that she was ambitious after all.
"So no more foolish offers of self-sacrificing punishments from you," Snape drawled. "My original question still stands: what do you propose to do?"
"Stop fighting?"
"Yes, yes!" Snape waved his hand as if that was of no importance. "What of Miss MacNair? I assume you know what the problem is there?"
"I do now, Sir. Her father was one of the Death Eaters."
"Quite so. She holds you accountable for her father's incarceration in Azkaban, and yet you have to share a dormitory with her for the next seven years. Current levels of hostility cannot continue. There are only so many sets of torn robes and bloodied noses I am prepared to tolerate, although I do concede that some conflict between the two of you was inevitable."
Hope gawped at her teacher. This was the last thing she'd expected of him.
"Close your mouth, Potter. You look like you're trying to catch fireflies. As I said to MacNair, the two of you must learn to work together, not against each other, and in order to bring that about, I would like you both to report to Hagrid at his hut, one hour before breakfast for the next seven days. He has some blast-ended Skrewts that could do with some exercise, and it will take you both to restrain them. At the very least, I expect a modicum of civility between the two of you by the end of your punishment. You will note that the additional Care of Magical Creatures work is in the morning, and therefore will not interfere with your Quidditch commitments."
"T-thank you, Professor," Hope said, not daring to believe she'd got away with everything so lightly. One other horrible thought occurred to her and she blurted out her fear before she could stop herself. "Professor, you won't tell Mum and Dad I've been fighting, will you? I mean, I'll write to Dad and tell him myself, you can even see the letter before I owl it if you want, but Mum's really not well and I don't want to upset her and make it worse."
Snape got to his feet and gestured towards the door. "I am meeting with your father early next week to discuss your progress and I dare say the matter can be raised then as your mother is unlikely to be present. Just one last thing, Potter... Belford was trying to stop you fighting, wasn't he?"
"Yes! It wasn't anything to do with him," Hope said quickly. "He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"First Miles, then Belford. Do try to stop landing your friends in trouble," her Head of House sighed. "It's no way to be treating them, however fond of you they might be."
"Yes, Sir... and thank you for... Mum. Well, you know..."
"Indeed I do, Miss Potter. Remember, six o' clock sharp at Hagrid's hut for your punishment. Do not be late under any circumstances."
She smiled at him, and awkwardly scuttled back through the opened door into the dungeon. Her muscles were starting to stiffen and she knew that her bruises were going to be agony in the morning.
"See Madam Pomfrey on the way back to your dormitory, Potter," Snape said, with a curt nod. "I believe she does a salve that may help. Belford!"
Matthew leapt to his feet, looking like a terrified rabbit caught in car headlights. Hope smiled encouragingly at him and then closed the door behind her, leaving him to his fate.
Half an hour later, Hope was curled up in a chair by the fire in the common room chatting to Cora. MacNair wasn't anywhere to be found, and Parkinson was scribbling away on some homework in their dormitory, thus rendering the place out of bounds. Cora was horrified by the account of the fight with Rachel MacNair and equally interested in the tale of Madam Pomfrey clucking frantically when Hope arrived in the hospital wing and taking care to draw the curtains firmly around the only occupied bed in the place.
"Rose Lambert had to be in that bed," Hope whispered, "but there was something about her I wasn't supposed to see. You know she's not been allowed any visitors yet? I wonder what's wrong with her."
"Allergy to Parkinson?" Cora laughed.
The common room door opened and an unusually dishevelled Matthew Belford appeared through it. Hope leaned over the edge of her chair and waved him over towards them. He turned a familiar shade of pink and took two steps forwards before crashing into a small table upon which some fifth years were playing Creature Canasta. The playing cards scattered everywhere like confetti. Mighty dragons roared their protest at being toppled in such an unbecoming matter and shot jets of flame so far that a sofa ignited and began to burn merrily, cards depicting monstrous spiders grappled with a pack of Boggarts, and a few Dementor cards glided their way across the carpet to terrify a couple of unsuspecting dozing cats.
Belford crept away from the uproar, stammering his apologies to the students who were trying to put out the sofa fire, and slunk into the seat beside Cora.
"How did it go with Snape?" Hope demanded anxiously. "He's not punished you, has he?"
"I just got a long lecture about how I shouldn't get caught," Matthew said sheepishly. "He was better than I'd expected. Some of the sixth form told me that he has flesh-eating monsters in his dungeon for wayward students."
"No, Hagrid has all of those," Hope chuckled.
"Ah well, you'll be having fun with those tomorrow morning," Cora teased.
"So will MacNair," Hope said more grimly. "I've seen those Skrewts Snape was talking about, and it's going to take both of us to hold one. They're whoppers. Knowing my luck, she'll try and feed me to them."
She moved in her seat and winced; she'd definitely stiffened up quite badly in the past hour. Cora raised her eyebrows.
"The dormitory right now, Hope Potter!" she said firmly. "I'll help you to put that salve on before those bruises really come out in full force."
They said their good nights to Matthew and went slowly up the spiral staircase to their room.
The candles had been blown out, and judging by the drawn green curtains around Parkinson's bed, she was already settled for sleep. Lambert's bed was neatly made and empty and the third bed along, belonging to Rachel MacNair had a few objects strewn across the quilt, but the girl herself was missing. The two girls passed by Cora's bed and rounded the final corner to reach Hope's.
Hope bent to retrieve a nightgown from her trunk, grunting a little and rubbing gently to try and alleviate the ache in her side. Cora lit the little lamp on Hope's bedside table with a quick flick of her wand.
"Are you ever going to unpack?" Cora asked, shaking her head in disbelief at the tangle of belongings in Hope's trunk.
"Maybe after Quidditch tomorrow," Hope replied. "Looks like I'm here for a while!" She leant over and drew the velvet hangings to block off their presence from the other girls in the room and then stripped out of her Quidditch gear, wincing as various muscles jarred and jolted. Cora hissed in a shocked breath.
"She's done a good job, I'll give her that. You're black and blue all down this side. Are you sure there's nothing worse?"
"Yeah," Hope said, twisting a little to try and see the damage Cora was talking about. "Nothing busted, other than MacNair's nose."
"Looks like she deserved it," Cora commented, and unscrewed the jar Madam Pomfrey had given to Hope. There was silence for a while as the two girls liberally coated Hope's bruises with the cool salve, and she sighed blissfully as the pain started to ease away. She pulled her nightdress over her head and then turned to hug Cora.
"Thanks," she said simply. "I'm glad I've got you."
"Good," the other girl replied, her eyes crinkling in the corners, "because you're stuck with me now! Try not to let MacNair worry you. G'night." Cora blew out the lamp and Hope could hear her rustling round the other side of the curtains, preparing herself for sleep.
Hope turned down her sheets and clambered into bed, yet she felt strangely restless when Cora had gone. She gazed out across the darkened lake, watching occasional ripples fan out and fade away in the gentle moonlight. Owls hooted softly, reassuring her with their presence and yet still she couldn't settle. She pondered over going to wake Cora and sitting on her bed to gossip for a while, but it didn't seem fair to disturb Cora's sleep too. Finally, she pulled out a spell book she'd borrowed from the library and set about reading up on easy-to-use jinxes by wandlight.
The clock in the common room had chimed half past midnight, and Hope shifted onto her side. The bruising seemed to have vanished now, and she curled her legs easily beneath her. Her finger was just scanning down a page containing a particularly entertaining jinx that would make the recipient bounce like a spring, when the dormitory door creaked open. Hope stopped stock-still and held her breath.
A light set of footsteps made their way down the room, past Parkinson, past Lambert's empty bed and then slowed to a standstill in the centre of the room. Hope could hear uneven breathing, as if the newcomer had been running, and the hurried tugging off of shoes that thudded onto the floor when they were discarded. Sheets and robes rustled and crinkled until finally the creak and groan of a moving mattress told Hope that Rachel MacNair was now safely ensconced in her four-poster bed. Brass curtain rings rattled abruptly across their poles and there was a deep sigh.
Hope started to breathe again. She hadn't felt like seeing Rachel again that night. The irritation and point-scoring relationship she had with Parkinson was one thing; she could deal with that, but Rachel MacNair's intense hatred of her was quite another. Hope told herself again and again that she didn't care what Rachel thought of her, but the injustice of Rachel's feelings towards her rankled deeply. She knew that she couldn't simply dismiss this problem, but she had no clue about how to sort it out.
She put her book down as silently as she could, and lay back on her pillows, staring blindly at the canopy above her bed. Her ears pricked. Somewhere, very softly, she could hear the sound of sobbing as Rachel MacNair cried herself to sleep.
***
She was sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, stirring greyish porridge with her spoon. Chattering was going on all around her, yet her eyes were alert and focused on the high table where the staff always sat. No one bothered her here. They knew she wasn't a morning person; their fawning could come later.
Dippet was there. The stupid fool couldn't see what was going on right under his eyes. A Muggle-lover, just like the Transfiguration teacher who sat to his left: Albus Dumbledore. The name was spat distastefully in her mind, as if she wished to expel all memory of him as quickly as possible. Dumbledore's watchful gaze made learning so difficult, yet she would not give up. The ingredients were almost all collected and then she could begin to brew it.
A smile pulled the sides of her mouth upwards. Success must surely be assured. She would not fail, and then Dumbledore would cower at her feet where she would show no leniency but let him be trampled into the ground by her triumphant heel. Thestral hairs were the sticking point. There were no thestrals near Hogwarts...
"Hagrid's got some," Hope murmured, pushing her hair back out of her eyes. "Hagrid..."
It couldn't be delayed longer. Time was running out, and the castle was feeling more like a prison each day. They'd always underestimated her power. Well, this was her chance to show them what she could really do. Dumbledore had stopped her using the Chamber of Secrets basilisk, but there was no way he could anticipate this!
High pitched laughter. A coup. This would be hers. All of it. She could see Hogwarts being crushed by a mighty hand, the turrets and towers crumbling like dust and those within her walls begging for mercy.
"Hope!"
It was time. She must make the potion... She had to do it before they found her...
"Hope!"
She was panting for breath, sweat soaked through her cotton nightdress and she struggled to sit up. Her face was clammy, and her heart was beating madly.
"Are you ok?" Cora looked worried. "You were shouting out in your sleep. Was it a nightmare?"
Hope gulped and nodded, unable to speak. She didn't want to think about her dream; it had all seemed so real. The potion, the laughter, the feeling of being absolutely right... She shivered. Cora looked even more worried.
"You're not well. Shouldn't you go to Madam Pomfrey? I'll take you if you want."
"I'm fine. Really I am," Hope insisted. "I've got to be down at Hagrid's soon anyway for that detention Snape gave me. Honestly, I'm ok. It was just a dream."
Cora gave her a very suspicious look, but to Hope's relief she didn't press the point further. Within half an hour, Hope was washed, dressed and running down the castle lawns towards Hagrid's hut before Snape could accuse her of being late.
Rachel MacNair was already there. She was leaning on the fence watching the unicorns in the paddock, their bright white glowing vividly in contrast with the black of her cloak. Hope approached her somewhat warily and stood at a slight distance. Neither girl greeted the other and the air seemed to crackle with tension.
Hagrid strode out of his cabin, muffled warmly in his moleskin overcoat and grinned at Hope.
"Yer in trouble then, young 'un? Snape didn' seem too pleased with yer las' night."
"Fighting," Hope said, rolling her eyes in Rachel's direction.
"Ahh!" Hagrid said sagely. "Well, 'slong as there's no 'arm done. Come on, now. Yeh've ter exercise them skrewts, Snape said."
He led them along a little path to the point where three enormous metal crates blocked the way.
"I 'ad 'em in wooden ones," he said mournfully, "but they set fire to 'em."
Hope struggled to lift the lid on the first crate, but it weighed more than she could manage. She hardly budged it. MacNair stood silently and watched.
"Give 'er a 'and!" Hagrid boomed, and at that, the girl moved to the opposite end of the crate and between them they levered the lid off.
Hope had seen the Skrewts before, but they were evidently worse than Rachel had expected. She shrank backwards at the sight of the slimy greyish skin and the pungent smell of rotting fish that arose was enough to turn anyone's stomach. Hope felt the muscles in her abdomen clench and heave, but she fought the impulse back. If either of them was going to show any weakness at this task, it wasn't going to be her.
Rachel looked ghostly-pale as Hagrid attached some sort of leash to the Skrewt and warned them about the fire that the creature could jet behind it.
"They're lovely when you gets to know 'em," he said cheerfully. "This 'un's called Poppy. If both of yer put yer weight at the end of the leash, yer'll be fine." The Skrewt might be called Poppy, but she'd never seen anything less like a delicate flower in her entire life. Hope had an enormous feeling of foreboding as Hagrid handed her the end of the rope and turned his attention to the next crate.
There was a 'p-hut' noise, and the Skrewt exploded at the end, catapulting itself and Hope about ten feet further forwards. Hope picked herself up quickly and hung on tightly. Rachel was still standing in the original spot, with her arms folded and a smug grin playing around her lips.
"Yer here fer punishment an' all!" Hagrid roared at her. MacNair took fright and ran over to join Hope, curling the leash round her hand too. She was just in time. Another explosion, and the pair of them were dragged along with the Skrewt in a completely different direction, both of them landing face-first on the ground.
Five minutes later, they were both covered in mud, and Hope's temper was not improving one little bit.
"Look!" she yelled, "if we hear the 'p-hut' noise and both haul back on the leash, we should at least be able to stay standing. We don't have to talk to each other, but one of us isn't strong enough to do it on our own. You can be dragged all over the grounds if you'd like but I'd rather not!"
MacNair grunted and avoided looking at Hope. The Skrewt writhed, a warning of what was coming, and Hope braced herself. Surely MacNair would help? The 'p-hut' exploded like a canon and at that precise moment, MacNair let go of the leash entirely, catapulting Hope forwards, straight into the fierce ball of flame erupting from the back end of the Skrewt.
The Executioner's Daughter
MacNair? Hope screwed up her face, trying to remember the last time she'd heard that name. The grown-ups had been discussing something they hadn't wanted her to overhear and the kitchen door had been only slightly ajar when Aunt Hermione had said something.
"Don't try and look concerned, it doesn't suit you," the girl spat, and shoved Hope aside so that she could climb past her to go back to the castle.
Hope's temper suddenly snapped. Rachel MacNair was being about as unfair as you could get. It wasn't as if Hope had had any control over what had gone on when she was a baby, no more than this Rachel person could have stopped her dad from hanging around with Voldemort. No way was she going to put up with this.
She swung around to face Rachel, and grabbed hold of her arm to prevent her escape.
"Don't you dare talk to me like that!"
The girl turned back, with a most unpleasant sneer contorting her face. "I'll talk to you anyway I want, Potter. Not that you're worth talking to anyway. People like you aren't." She tried to pull away from Hope, but the smaller girl wouldn't let her.
"Yeah, right!" Hope retorted scathingly. "I'd be proud of having a dad in Azkaban too. It makes you such a better person."
Rachel hissed in a breath, her eyes blazing with a new fury. She lunged at Hope, fists flailing, but Hope was ready for her and dodged. She leapt onto one of the benches and had started running down the steps to the pitch, when Rachel grabbed hold of her ankle and the ground disappeared from underneath Hope's feet. She grabbed the robes of her assailant and the two girls crashed their way down the stands, landing painfully on the grass below.
Hope heard a curse just before a vicious fist crashed into her stomach.
"Don't ever... insult... my... dad!" Rachel panted. "Never!"
Hope rolled sideways, escaping a second blow and then dived back into the fray. She hauled on Rachel's long braid like a bell rope, causing her to screech. Frenzied fingers clawed at Hope's face and then tangled themselves in her own hair, ripping and scratching without mercy. Hope fought back furiously, kicking her opponent and trying to pin her to the ground.
For a split second, she gazed into Rachel's eyes, filled with a seething hatred such as Hope had never known. Rachel's eyes narrowed and her fist pounded remorselessly into Hope's side, throwing her off balance and hard onto the ground.
Hope groaned, and was just rolling over to get her revenge when a pair of hands caught her shoulders and held her firmly. Hope struggled like a wild cat, fighting against the person who held her, fighting so that she could show Rachel MacNair exactly what she thought of her and her beloved Death Eater of a father.
"Hope! Stop it! Just stop!"
Belford's voice.
"Oh no you don't!" he yelled, and Hope felt his hands lift away from her and swing in the opposite direction. She glanced up to see that he'd caught Rachel and was forcibly preventing her from continuing the fight. Hope smiled with grim satisfaction when she observed MacNair's bloodied nose. That would teach her.
"Potter needs to learn what pain feels like!" Rachel snarled. "This is nothing!"
Hope's fury bubbled violently and she leapt at Rachel once more. Matthew braced himself between them, caught Hope in his arms and yelled, "Stop! Snape's going to go mad!"
"Indeed."
The single word dropped on the three of them like a shower of icy rain. They froze in a painful tableau, not daring to move as their Head of House circled them slowly and surveyed the situation.
Hope's heart thudded painfully in her chest as she watched the familiar glittering black eyes harden. The anger still pumping through her veins slowly started to chill with the growing realisation that he was going to punish her by taking away her Quidditch. Her defiant gaze fell. Every sting and ache from her growing bruises told her that she deserved this.
"Belford?" The name was barked, and Matthew suddenly seemed to wake up from the petrified trance he'd been held in. He leapt away from Hope as if he'd been scalded. "Tell me what happened."
"I-I don't know, Sir," Matthew stuttered. "I-I was..." He glanced nervously at Hope, turning redder than ever. He faltered to a stop, clearly not wanting another Slytherin to know that Hope was teaching him how to fly.
"My office! Now! All three of you!"
In silence they trooped back to the castle, Snape bringing up the rear with his robes billowing out behind him like some sort of deathly parachute slowing down time. It took forever to reach the dungeons and by the time Snape opened the door to his classroom, Hope was shivering violently.
"Sit!" Snape growled the order. Without hesitation, they sat. Their professor leaned forwards across the desk, staring intently at each of them, his lips grim and unsmiling.
"MacNair!" He strode off to the small office at the back of his classroom, and Rachel MacNair followed, silently dabbing the blood from her nose with the sleeve of her robes. The door slammed shut and there was an expectant hush inside the dungeon. Matthew glanced at Hope and blushed again. He stared resolutely at the desk and jabbed at it with his finger.
"Tell him what you were doing," Hope insisted. "He can't blame you. You came down so I could teach you to fly and you broke up a fight. He should be thanking you really."
Matthew shook his head. "That'll mean he'll punish you by not letting you play that sport thingy. Queerdirge."
In spite of her shivering, Hope chuckled. "Quidditch," she corrected him gently. She shrugged her shoulders and became despondent again. "I deserve it for fighting."
"W-why were you?" Belford asked.
"I'm not entirely sure," Hope murmured, wrapping her arms around herself and trying to suppress another shiver. Her robes were ripped. She'd have to mend them when Snape was finished with her... if he didn't expel her. She glanced warily at Belford and decided that she probably could trust him. "Don't laugh, all right?"
Belford shook his head. Hope thought for a moment; if Matthew was from a Muggle family then he probably didn't know much about her history at all, she'd have to start from the beginning.
"In the couple of years before I was born, a really evil wizard was trying to take over our world. He was called Voldemort. He killed anyone who stood in his way and tortured others and everyone was frightened of him and his own followers, who were called the Death Eaters. Dumbledore was headmaster at Hogwarts in those days and when I was born he found out that I had a certain set of magical powers he could use to defeat Voldemort. So when I was a baby, Dumbledore used my magic to kill Voldemort, and most of his followers were sent to Azkaban."
Hope took a deep breath before she continued. "I found out tonight that Rachel MacNair's dad was one of those Death Eaters. He's been in Azkaban, the wizard prison, virtually all of her life and she blames me for it. She hates me because my stupid fame comes from the same thing that took her dad away from her." Her lips quivered into a sad little smile. "So there you go, it's nothing to do with you at all. Snape shouldn't take it out on you."
"Poor Rachel," he murmured. Then he glanced at Hope again, colour flooding his face at a furious rate. "You're famous? I-I didn't know..."
Hope laughed wryly. "Believe me, I'd rather I wasn't. I don't remember it at all, but people make an insane fuss. I suppose they were just relieved when Voldemort died, and that's why all the books were written." She pulled a horrible face, remembering some of the particularly trite and gushing paragraphs that Robert had once teased her with by reading them aloud in dramatic tones.
"Books?" Matthew echoed faintly. "Then... then... oh, wow!"
Hope shook her head, and her vibrant hair flew all around her in her vehemence. "No, it's a nuisance. I'm not anything special, I'm just me."
Matthew sat still for a moment, then seemed to be struggling to say something. He kicked the leg of the table and Hope watched him getting redder by the minute. At length he managed to say, "Notyourfriendcosoffame."
Hope blinked. "Sorry?"
He kicked the table leg again and sighed. "I-I'm not just talking to you because you're famous, it's because... because..."
The office door flew open once more and a tearful Rachel MacNair scuttled through the dungeon and into the corridor beyond. Silence weighed heavy upon the room again and Hope felt a swirl of nausea circle through her stomach, pushing upwards in little fluttering bursts.
"Potter!"
With a nervous glance at Matthew, Hope wobbled to her feet and started across the dungeon. The torches flickering around the edges of the cavernous room gave it a warm and comforting glow, but they didn't make Hope feel any better. She was doomed and she knew it.
Snape closed the door behind her with a fatal click. Hope rubbed the aching knuckles on her right hand and waited. The fluttering of nerves inside her grew and grew, twisting and churning in sickening motion. Snape gestured to a simple wooden chair beside the little fire in his office, and Hope took her place. She set her jaw and looked straight at the Potions Master, ready to accept her punishment without tears.
Her Head of House leaned back in his own chair, a wing-backed velvety affair and surveyed his charge momentarily. His long tapering finger tapped against his lips and then finally he leaned forwards.
"So, what do you propose to do?" he asked, his tone giving little of his mood away.
"Be taken off the Quidditch team as a punishment," Hope said, trying her best to keep the tremble out of her voice. "I promised I'd behave and I didn't."
"No, you didn't," he said shortly, "but you are needed on the team to ensure Slytherin success this year. Quimby's ambitions appear to lie in other areas, and Stebbins spoke highly of you after practise tonight. Regardless of what you do and do not do in your life, Potter, you should never voluntarily give up something that you desperately desire for the sake of honour. That sort of nobility is reckless and foolish in the extreme, and far more suited to the idiocy of a Gryffindor. In Slytherin, you must learn that the greater good involves curbing your own impetuousness and learning to use the rules to gain the success and achievement you long for."
Hope opened her mouth to insist that she didn't desire any success or achievement at all, but Snape quickly cut her off. "Don't talk nonsense, Potter. It's blatantly obvious you want to play Quidditch and win; you'd do almost anything to stay on that team."
She sat up a little straighter in her chair and felt the bat-like fluttering in her stomach begin to subside a little. She nodded slowly. Snape was right; it seemed that she was ambitious after all.
"So no more foolish offers of self-sacrificing punishments from you," Snape drawled. "My original question still stands: what do you propose to do?"
"Stop fighting?"
"Yes, yes!" Snape waved his hand as if that was of no importance. "What of Miss MacNair? I assume you know what the problem is there?"
"I do now, Sir. Her father was one of the Death Eaters."
"Quite so. She holds you accountable for her father's incarceration in Azkaban, and yet you have to share a dormitory with her for the next seven years. Current levels of hostility cannot continue. There are only so many sets of torn robes and bloodied noses I am prepared to tolerate, although I do concede that some conflict between the two of you was inevitable."
Hope gawped at her teacher. This was the last thing she'd expected of him.
"Close your mouth, Potter. You look like you're trying to catch fireflies. As I said to MacNair, the two of you must learn to work together, not against each other, and in order to bring that about, I would like you both to report to Hagrid at his hut, one hour before breakfast for the next seven days. He has some blast-ended Skrewts that could do with some exercise, and it will take you both to restrain them. At the very least, I expect a modicum of civility between the two of you by the end of your punishment. You will note that the additional Care of Magical Creatures work is in the morning, and therefore will not interfere with your Quidditch commitments."
"T-thank you, Professor," Hope said, not daring to believe she'd got away with everything so lightly. One other horrible thought occurred to her and she blurted out her fear before she could stop herself. "Professor, you won't tell Mum and Dad I've been fighting, will you? I mean, I'll write to Dad and tell him myself, you can even see the letter before I owl it if you want, but Mum's really not well and I don't want to upset her and make it worse."
Snape got to his feet and gestured towards the door. "I am meeting with your father early next week to discuss your progress and I dare say the matter can be raised then as your mother is unlikely to be present. Just one last thing, Potter... Belford was trying to stop you fighting, wasn't he?"
"Yes! It wasn't anything to do with him," Hope said quickly. "He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"First Miles, then Belford. Do try to stop landing your friends in trouble," her Head of House sighed. "It's no way to be treating them, however fond of you they might be."
"Yes, Sir... and thank you for... Mum. Well, you know..."
"Indeed I do, Miss Potter. Remember, six o' clock sharp at Hagrid's hut for your punishment. Do not be late under any circumstances."
She smiled at him, and awkwardly scuttled back through the opened door into the dungeon. Her muscles were starting to stiffen and she knew that her bruises were going to be agony in the morning.
"See Madam Pomfrey on the way back to your dormitory, Potter," Snape said, with a curt nod. "I believe she does a salve that may help. Belford!"
Matthew leapt to his feet, looking like a terrified rabbit caught in car headlights. Hope smiled encouragingly at him and then closed the door behind her, leaving him to his fate.
Half an hour later, Hope was curled up in a chair by the fire in the common room chatting to Cora. MacNair wasn't anywhere to be found, and Parkinson was scribbling away on some homework in their dormitory, thus rendering the place out of bounds. Cora was horrified by the account of the fight with Rachel MacNair and equally interested in the tale of Madam Pomfrey clucking frantically when Hope arrived in the hospital wing and taking care to draw the curtains firmly around the only occupied bed in the place.
"Rose Lambert had to be in that bed," Hope whispered, "but there was something about her I wasn't supposed to see. You know she's not been allowed any visitors yet? I wonder what's wrong with her."
"Allergy to Parkinson?" Cora laughed.
The common room door opened and an unusually dishevelled Matthew Belford appeared through it. Hope leaned over the edge of her chair and waved him over towards them. He turned a familiar shade of pink and took two steps forwards before crashing into a small table upon which some fifth years were playing Creature Canasta. The playing cards scattered everywhere like confetti. Mighty dragons roared their protest at being toppled in such an unbecoming matter and shot jets of flame so far that a sofa ignited and began to burn merrily, cards depicting monstrous spiders grappled with a pack of Boggarts, and a few Dementor cards glided their way across the carpet to terrify a couple of unsuspecting dozing cats.
Belford crept away from the uproar, stammering his apologies to the students who were trying to put out the sofa fire, and slunk into the seat beside Cora.
"How did it go with Snape?" Hope demanded anxiously. "He's not punished you, has he?"
"I just got a long lecture about how I shouldn't get caught," Matthew said sheepishly. "He was better than I'd expected. Some of the sixth form told me that he has flesh-eating monsters in his dungeon for wayward students."
"No, Hagrid has all of those," Hope chuckled.
"Ah well, you'll be having fun with those tomorrow morning," Cora teased.
"So will MacNair," Hope said more grimly. "I've seen those Skrewts Snape was talking about, and it's going to take both of us to hold one. They're whoppers. Knowing my luck, she'll try and feed me to them."
She moved in her seat and winced; she'd definitely stiffened up quite badly in the past hour. Cora raised her eyebrows.
"The dormitory right now, Hope Potter!" she said firmly. "I'll help you to put that salve on before those bruises really come out in full force."
They said their good nights to Matthew and went slowly up the spiral staircase to their room.
The candles had been blown out, and judging by the drawn green curtains around Parkinson's bed, she was already settled for sleep. Lambert's bed was neatly made and empty and the third bed along, belonging to Rachel MacNair had a few objects strewn across the quilt, but the girl herself was missing. The two girls passed by Cora's bed and rounded the final corner to reach Hope's.
Hope bent to retrieve a nightgown from her trunk, grunting a little and rubbing gently to try and alleviate the ache in her side. Cora lit the little lamp on Hope's bedside table with a quick flick of her wand.
"Are you ever going to unpack?" Cora asked, shaking her head in disbelief at the tangle of belongings in Hope's trunk.
"Maybe after Quidditch tomorrow," Hope replied. "Looks like I'm here for a while!" She leant over and drew the velvet hangings to block off their presence from the other girls in the room and then stripped out of her Quidditch gear, wincing as various muscles jarred and jolted. Cora hissed in a shocked breath.
"She's done a good job, I'll give her that. You're black and blue all down this side. Are you sure there's nothing worse?"
"Yeah," Hope said, twisting a little to try and see the damage Cora was talking about. "Nothing busted, other than MacNair's nose."
"Looks like she deserved it," Cora commented, and unscrewed the jar Madam Pomfrey had given to Hope. There was silence for a while as the two girls liberally coated Hope's bruises with the cool salve, and she sighed blissfully as the pain started to ease away. She pulled her nightdress over her head and then turned to hug Cora.
"Thanks," she said simply. "I'm glad I've got you."
"Good," the other girl replied, her eyes crinkling in the corners, "because you're stuck with me now! Try not to let MacNair worry you. G'night." Cora blew out the lamp and Hope could hear her rustling round the other side of the curtains, preparing herself for sleep.
Hope turned down her sheets and clambered into bed, yet she felt strangely restless when Cora had gone. She gazed out across the darkened lake, watching occasional ripples fan out and fade away in the gentle moonlight. Owls hooted softly, reassuring her with their presence and yet still she couldn't settle. She pondered over going to wake Cora and sitting on her bed to gossip for a while, but it didn't seem fair to disturb Cora's sleep too. Finally, she pulled out a spell book she'd borrowed from the library and set about reading up on easy-to-use jinxes by wandlight.
The clock in the common room had chimed half past midnight, and Hope shifted onto her side. The bruising seemed to have vanished now, and she curled her legs easily beneath her. Her finger was just scanning down a page containing a particularly entertaining jinx that would make the recipient bounce like a spring, when the dormitory door creaked open. Hope stopped stock-still and held her breath.
A light set of footsteps made their way down the room, past Parkinson, past Lambert's empty bed and then slowed to a standstill in the centre of the room. Hope could hear uneven breathing, as if the newcomer had been running, and the hurried tugging off of shoes that thudded onto the floor when they were discarded. Sheets and robes rustled and crinkled until finally the creak and groan of a moving mattress told Hope that Rachel MacNair was now safely ensconced in her four-poster bed. Brass curtain rings rattled abruptly across their poles and there was a deep sigh.
Hope started to breathe again. She hadn't felt like seeing Rachel again that night. The irritation and point-scoring relationship she had with Parkinson was one thing; she could deal with that, but Rachel MacNair's intense hatred of her was quite another. Hope told herself again and again that she didn't care what Rachel thought of her, but the injustice of Rachel's feelings towards her rankled deeply. She knew that she couldn't simply dismiss this problem, but she had no clue about how to sort it out.
She put her book down as silently as she could, and lay back on her pillows, staring blindly at the canopy above her bed. Her ears pricked. Somewhere, very softly, she could hear the sound of sobbing as Rachel MacNair cried herself to sleep.
***
She was sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, stirring greyish porridge with her spoon. Chattering was going on all around her, yet her eyes were alert and focused on the high table where the staff always sat. No one bothered her here. They knew she wasn't a morning person; their fawning could come later.
Dippet was there. The stupid fool couldn't see what was going on right under his eyes. A Muggle-lover, just like the Transfiguration teacher who sat to his left: Albus Dumbledore. The name was spat distastefully in her mind, as if she wished to expel all memory of him as quickly as possible. Dumbledore's watchful gaze made learning so difficult, yet she would not give up. The ingredients were almost all collected and then she could begin to brew it.
A smile pulled the sides of her mouth upwards. Success must surely be assured. She would not fail, and then Dumbledore would cower at her feet where she would show no leniency but let him be trampled into the ground by her triumphant heel. Thestral hairs were the sticking point. There were no thestrals near Hogwarts...
"Hagrid's got some," Hope murmured, pushing her hair back out of her eyes. "Hagrid..."
It couldn't be delayed longer. Time was running out, and the castle was feeling more like a prison each day. They'd always underestimated her power. Well, this was her chance to show them what she could really do. Dumbledore had stopped her using the Chamber of Secrets basilisk, but there was no way he could anticipate this!
High pitched laughter. A coup. This would be hers. All of it. She could see Hogwarts being crushed by a mighty hand, the turrets and towers crumbling like dust and those within her walls begging for mercy.
"Hope!"
It was time. She must make the potion... She had to do it before they found her...
"Hope!"
She was panting for breath, sweat soaked through her cotton nightdress and she struggled to sit up. Her face was clammy, and her heart was beating madly.
"Are you ok?" Cora looked worried. "You were shouting out in your sleep. Was it a nightmare?"
Hope gulped and nodded, unable to speak. She didn't want to think about her dream; it had all seemed so real. The potion, the laughter, the feeling of being absolutely right... She shivered. Cora looked even more worried.
"You're not well. Shouldn't you go to Madam Pomfrey? I'll take you if you want."
"I'm fine. Really I am," Hope insisted. "I've got to be down at Hagrid's soon anyway for that detention Snape gave me. Honestly, I'm ok. It was just a dream."
Cora gave her a very suspicious look, but to Hope's relief she didn't press the point further. Within half an hour, Hope was washed, dressed and running down the castle lawns towards Hagrid's hut before Snape could accuse her of being late.
Rachel MacNair was already there. She was leaning on the fence watching the unicorns in the paddock, their bright white glowing vividly in contrast with the black of her cloak. Hope approached her somewhat warily and stood at a slight distance. Neither girl greeted the other and the air seemed to crackle with tension.
Hagrid strode out of his cabin, muffled warmly in his moleskin overcoat and grinned at Hope.
"Yer in trouble then, young 'un? Snape didn' seem too pleased with yer las' night."
"Fighting," Hope said, rolling her eyes in Rachel's direction.
"Ahh!" Hagrid said sagely. "Well, 'slong as there's no 'arm done. Come on, now. Yeh've ter exercise them skrewts, Snape said."
He led them along a little path to the point where three enormous metal crates blocked the way.
"I 'ad 'em in wooden ones," he said mournfully, "but they set fire to 'em."
Hope struggled to lift the lid on the first crate, but it weighed more than she could manage. She hardly budged it. MacNair stood silently and watched.
"Give 'er a 'and!" Hagrid boomed, and at that, the girl moved to the opposite end of the crate and between them they levered the lid off.
Hope had seen the Skrewts before, but they were evidently worse than Rachel had expected. She shrank backwards at the sight of the slimy greyish skin and the pungent smell of rotting fish that arose was enough to turn anyone's stomach. Hope felt the muscles in her abdomen clench and heave, but she fought the impulse back. If either of them was going to show any weakness at this task, it wasn't going to be her.
Rachel looked ghostly-pale as Hagrid attached some sort of leash to the Skrewt and warned them about the fire that the creature could jet behind it.
"They're lovely when you gets to know 'em," he said cheerfully. "This 'un's called Poppy. If both of yer put yer weight at the end of the leash, yer'll be fine." The Skrewt might be called Poppy, but she'd never seen anything less like a delicate flower in her entire life. Hope had an enormous feeling of foreboding as Hagrid handed her the end of the rope and turned his attention to the next crate.
There was a 'p-hut' noise, and the Skrewt exploded at the end, catapulting itself and Hope about ten feet further forwards. Hope picked herself up quickly and hung on tightly. Rachel was still standing in the original spot, with her arms folded and a smug grin playing around her lips.
"Yer here fer punishment an' all!" Hagrid roared at her. MacNair took fright and ran over to join Hope, curling the leash round her hand too. She was just in time. Another explosion, and the pair of them were dragged along with the Skrewt in a completely different direction, both of them landing face-first on the ground.
Five minutes later, they were both covered in mud, and Hope's temper was not improving one little bit.
"Look!" she yelled, "if we hear the 'p-hut' noise and both haul back on the leash, we should at least be able to stay standing. We don't have to talk to each other, but one of us isn't strong enough to do it on our own. You can be dragged all over the grounds if you'd like but I'd rather not!"
MacNair grunted and avoided looking at Hope. The Skrewt writhed, a warning of what was coming, and Hope braced herself. Surely MacNair would help? The 'p-hut' exploded like a canon and at that precise moment, MacNair let go of the leash entirely, catapulting Hope forwards, straight into the fierce ball of flame erupting from the back end of the Skrewt.