Chapter Four: Rights to Property (an oddly paradoxical title, but I
couldn't think of anything better) "The Cloak" seemed too simple.
~~
"If they see me talking to you, they'll honestly torture me about it."
Simon sighed. "The thing about the Blacks you must know is that despite how vengeful and nasty they can be, they're still ignorant and careless about their enemies." Tom didn't seem to see the relevance, and Simon elaborated. "They won't be looking for you, trust me."
It was Friday afternoon, classes were over, and the weather had turned viciously cold. But despite the chill, chatting about the coming Quidditch season wouldn't cease. Snow or not, Gryffindor and Slytherin would compete tomorrow.
Professor Malfoy passed them in the hallway, gave Tom and Simon an unreadable frown, and Tom was suddenly reminded of his weariness. "It's only been a month and I'm already sick of Potions," he said.
"I know what you mean. It's the Professor. He looks at me like I'm off my rocker every time I answer a question right."
"He doesn't like me, but he doesn't say anything."
"Probably thinks I asked a Slytherin for the answer. He looked surprised I even knew anything."
"He frightens me."
"He's a nutter. Nutters are frightening."
"Doesn't seem to like his niece much."
Simon laughed. "Who would?"
"But besides that, he's just... strange."
Simon looked past Tom and bit his lip. Tom could tell he was doing some quick thinking, and he wasn't exactly sure whether that was a good thing.
"I heard him talking about things to Don Evans, you know him, right?"
Don Evans was a Slytherin Prefect, and was rarely lenient about anything. Tom nodded for him to continue.
"Well, he said something about Grindelwald, and Don got all excited. He said he would talk to him on Friday after classes were over."
"Isn't that now?"
Simon nodded his head slowly.
"So?"
"I think we should go."
"Go? How are we supposed to do that?"
"I don't know," Simon said, but he seemed to have a million things in mind, because a vague grin was fluttering across his features.
"Why? It's probably just about a test score."
Simon shook his head at Tom, and raised his eyebrows gravely. "I've never seen anyone excited upon hearing Grindelwald's name. It's just not right."
"What are you suggesting?"
Simon lowered his voice, and stopped walking. "Malfoy's probably not a very, er, good wizard. Meaning, morals aren't very high in his priorities."
"You think he supports Grindelwald?"
"I think he's getting Don worked up about it. Either way, I want to find out."
Tom stopped his thoughts from racing. There was one missing element. "Who's Grindelwald?"
Simon gave him a look of exasperation. "You know, don't you? I told – "
"No. Why's he so famous? What's he doing over there in Germany that's so awful?"
Simon stared at him open-mouthed, realizing and admitting that he wasn't too sure, himself. "No one'll talk about it."
"Do they say anything?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"War."
Tom felt his body grow cold. He spoke with difficulty. "War?"
"Well, at least the muggles are getting worked up about something. They've got their own Grindelwald. Can't quite remember his name, though. It was something Hitler, but it sounds like it'll be big."
Tom decided to take his mind back to dwell on smaller things. "How'll we find out about Malfoy?"
The halls were devoid of students and teachers, and Simon's voice rose to a normal level. "We'd need... no. But maybe, no that would take too long."
Tom's eyes moved back and forth as they followed Simon's pacing figure.
"What would be perfect," he said finally with a mix of triumph at his plan, and disappointment that it was beyond his grasp, "is an invisibility cloak."
A sharp intake of breath gave Tom away.
"What?"
"You mean those silvery blanket things?"
Simon's frown shattered and gave way to an awed smile. "You've seen one?"
Tom had no room for evasiveness. "Yes."
"Where?"
Tom plunged in without preamble. "I saw it when Artemus was unpacking – " It was the instant when Simon's eyes lit up that Tom realized his mistake.
A small trickle of students was pioneering around the corner and past Tom and Simon to the Dining Hall. Dinner was already going to start.
Tom found this as the opportune moment to discourage Simon. "It's already too late. There's no use, and besides, I doubt Artemus would agree."
Simon's mirth grew evident in his face. A grin was spreading. "He doesn't have to agree."
It was the issue with the Blacks. If it were any other person, Tom knew Simon would already be done away with the idea. A mere thought – a whim, and nothing else.
But no, this was deeper – in the family. This was a blood war.
"It's too late anyway. We've no use for the cloak now, forget it."
But Simon shook his head again, and began to follow the dense crowd of students that was hoarding the hallway by now, leaving Tom to follow him, too upset with himself for giving away names to ask what in the world Simon might be plotting.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was too good to pass up. This much, Simon knew was true. Maybe he was going about it the wrong way. Maybe he was being a little selfish and a little more provoking. Maybe he was starting a fire he wouldn't be able to stop. Maybe it was none of his business. Maybe he didn't really have a need for the cloak, anyway. Maybe he never would.
But it was just too good to pass up. He never saw himself as obsessive over trivial things, but in a small way, he was. He had to rise above Artemus Black.
Some subconscious yearning to avenge his father drove him. He didn't realize it, but his real quarrel was with Artemus's father. However, since that was too far above his head, he resorted to the junior version, who was equally dislikable.
Simon could see Artemus glaring at him from across the Quidditch pitch. Somehow, he'd coaxed Artemus to place his cloak in a bet, throwing in his own Rememberall. He'd seemed suspicious when Simon had announced the entire play as if he'd known the future by heart, but perhaps that's what had made him decide in the end it was lunacy, and that he would surely win.
Simon grinned as Weller scored, the Keeper veered to the right to avoid a stray bludger, the Gryffindor beater was fouled by the Slytherin beater, and the Gryffindor seeker caught the snitch bringing the score to a good 170:20.
The Gryffindor side exploded with cheer, and Artemus was the only Slytherin standing. His mouth was wide open, much to Simon's amusement.
Tom frowned. "What is it?"
Alphard patted his petrified sibling on the shoulder. "Accept it, mate. We lost."
"No, but... Weller... and the foul..."
Simon laughed from where he was, leaving his seat and returning to the castle.
~~~~~~~~~~
"How'd you know?" Artemus demanded the next day. He had Simon by the shoulders, though he was a good inch shorter.
"I believe you owe me a cloak."
"I do not! How'd you know? Tell me!"
"Know what?" Simon asked, trying to assume a look of innocence. He failed.
"The whole game! The play, the score – everything! How'd you know?"
"A mere guess," Simon answered offhandedly. "Does it matter? I won, didn't I?"
"You did not – no... no, I'm taking this to Dippet."
"Would I do any good in his stead?" asked a hoarse voice from behind Artemus. It was the Transfiguration teacher.
"Hello, Professor," Simon said cheerily, though with a hint of apprehension.
Dumbledore nodded politely, and then addressed Artemus.
"Professor, sir, Simon an' I had a bet, see? And we – "
"A bet," Dumbledore said admonishingly. "You should know better than to invest in gambling, Mr. Black. Especially in a school game."
"But, Professor!" he cried in exasperation. "Simon knew the whole outcome of the game. He tricked me!"
Dumbledore gave Simon a good hard look, and then smiled. "I dare say gambling is a risky business, isn't it Mr. Potter?"
Simon nodded, a little frightened by the aging man.
"Well?" Dumbledore said frankly. "What were the stakes?"
Artemus stared at his teacher with an utter look of incomprehension. Dumbledore seemed more interested in the crime than the punishment.
"A Rememberall versus an invisibility cloak," Simon answered in his rival's stead.
"My invisibility cloak," Artemus intervened.
"Quite a hefty bet, isn't it, Mr. Black?"
"Why, I guess so, Professor, sir."
"Then isn't your own doing that you lost it?"
"But, Professor!"
"Couldn't you have easily turned Mr. Potter down upon his request?"
"He cheated, sir!"
Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. "And there's no wonder why gambling is prohibited on these school grounds."
Artemus made a strangled sound of indignation.
"You're lucky I'm not reporting this to the Headmaster, Mr. Black. Quite a violation of these here school rules. Perhaps I should settle this, myself."
He winked at Simon, who was just as stunned as Artemus. As soon as he had muttered "Accio cloak", Simon's prize came floating around the corner of the stone hallway, and into his hands.
"Good day to the both of you."
Artemus slowly closed his mouth as he watched Dumbledore's retreating figure. His face grew scarlet, and his hair shook.
"You can give that here, Potter," he hissed.
Simon smiled. "Nope. This here is a victory for me." He turned on his heel, and left Artemus seething in the middle of the corridor.
~~~~~~~~~~
~~
"If they see me talking to you, they'll honestly torture me about it."
Simon sighed. "The thing about the Blacks you must know is that despite how vengeful and nasty they can be, they're still ignorant and careless about their enemies." Tom didn't seem to see the relevance, and Simon elaborated. "They won't be looking for you, trust me."
It was Friday afternoon, classes were over, and the weather had turned viciously cold. But despite the chill, chatting about the coming Quidditch season wouldn't cease. Snow or not, Gryffindor and Slytherin would compete tomorrow.
Professor Malfoy passed them in the hallway, gave Tom and Simon an unreadable frown, and Tom was suddenly reminded of his weariness. "It's only been a month and I'm already sick of Potions," he said.
"I know what you mean. It's the Professor. He looks at me like I'm off my rocker every time I answer a question right."
"He doesn't like me, but he doesn't say anything."
"Probably thinks I asked a Slytherin for the answer. He looked surprised I even knew anything."
"He frightens me."
"He's a nutter. Nutters are frightening."
"Doesn't seem to like his niece much."
Simon laughed. "Who would?"
"But besides that, he's just... strange."
Simon looked past Tom and bit his lip. Tom could tell he was doing some quick thinking, and he wasn't exactly sure whether that was a good thing.
"I heard him talking about things to Don Evans, you know him, right?"
Don Evans was a Slytherin Prefect, and was rarely lenient about anything. Tom nodded for him to continue.
"Well, he said something about Grindelwald, and Don got all excited. He said he would talk to him on Friday after classes were over."
"Isn't that now?"
Simon nodded his head slowly.
"So?"
"I think we should go."
"Go? How are we supposed to do that?"
"I don't know," Simon said, but he seemed to have a million things in mind, because a vague grin was fluttering across his features.
"Why? It's probably just about a test score."
Simon shook his head at Tom, and raised his eyebrows gravely. "I've never seen anyone excited upon hearing Grindelwald's name. It's just not right."
"What are you suggesting?"
Simon lowered his voice, and stopped walking. "Malfoy's probably not a very, er, good wizard. Meaning, morals aren't very high in his priorities."
"You think he supports Grindelwald?"
"I think he's getting Don worked up about it. Either way, I want to find out."
Tom stopped his thoughts from racing. There was one missing element. "Who's Grindelwald?"
Simon gave him a look of exasperation. "You know, don't you? I told – "
"No. Why's he so famous? What's he doing over there in Germany that's so awful?"
Simon stared at him open-mouthed, realizing and admitting that he wasn't too sure, himself. "No one'll talk about it."
"Do they say anything?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"War."
Tom felt his body grow cold. He spoke with difficulty. "War?"
"Well, at least the muggles are getting worked up about something. They've got their own Grindelwald. Can't quite remember his name, though. It was something Hitler, but it sounds like it'll be big."
Tom decided to take his mind back to dwell on smaller things. "How'll we find out about Malfoy?"
The halls were devoid of students and teachers, and Simon's voice rose to a normal level. "We'd need... no. But maybe, no that would take too long."
Tom's eyes moved back and forth as they followed Simon's pacing figure.
"What would be perfect," he said finally with a mix of triumph at his plan, and disappointment that it was beyond his grasp, "is an invisibility cloak."
A sharp intake of breath gave Tom away.
"What?"
"You mean those silvery blanket things?"
Simon's frown shattered and gave way to an awed smile. "You've seen one?"
Tom had no room for evasiveness. "Yes."
"Where?"
Tom plunged in without preamble. "I saw it when Artemus was unpacking – " It was the instant when Simon's eyes lit up that Tom realized his mistake.
A small trickle of students was pioneering around the corner and past Tom and Simon to the Dining Hall. Dinner was already going to start.
Tom found this as the opportune moment to discourage Simon. "It's already too late. There's no use, and besides, I doubt Artemus would agree."
Simon's mirth grew evident in his face. A grin was spreading. "He doesn't have to agree."
It was the issue with the Blacks. If it were any other person, Tom knew Simon would already be done away with the idea. A mere thought – a whim, and nothing else.
But no, this was deeper – in the family. This was a blood war.
"It's too late anyway. We've no use for the cloak now, forget it."
But Simon shook his head again, and began to follow the dense crowd of students that was hoarding the hallway by now, leaving Tom to follow him, too upset with himself for giving away names to ask what in the world Simon might be plotting.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was too good to pass up. This much, Simon knew was true. Maybe he was going about it the wrong way. Maybe he was being a little selfish and a little more provoking. Maybe he was starting a fire he wouldn't be able to stop. Maybe it was none of his business. Maybe he didn't really have a need for the cloak, anyway. Maybe he never would.
But it was just too good to pass up. He never saw himself as obsessive over trivial things, but in a small way, he was. He had to rise above Artemus Black.
Some subconscious yearning to avenge his father drove him. He didn't realize it, but his real quarrel was with Artemus's father. However, since that was too far above his head, he resorted to the junior version, who was equally dislikable.
Simon could see Artemus glaring at him from across the Quidditch pitch. Somehow, he'd coaxed Artemus to place his cloak in a bet, throwing in his own Rememberall. He'd seemed suspicious when Simon had announced the entire play as if he'd known the future by heart, but perhaps that's what had made him decide in the end it was lunacy, and that he would surely win.
Simon grinned as Weller scored, the Keeper veered to the right to avoid a stray bludger, the Gryffindor beater was fouled by the Slytherin beater, and the Gryffindor seeker caught the snitch bringing the score to a good 170:20.
The Gryffindor side exploded with cheer, and Artemus was the only Slytherin standing. His mouth was wide open, much to Simon's amusement.
Tom frowned. "What is it?"
Alphard patted his petrified sibling on the shoulder. "Accept it, mate. We lost."
"No, but... Weller... and the foul..."
Simon laughed from where he was, leaving his seat and returning to the castle.
~~~~~~~~~~
"How'd you know?" Artemus demanded the next day. He had Simon by the shoulders, though he was a good inch shorter.
"I believe you owe me a cloak."
"I do not! How'd you know? Tell me!"
"Know what?" Simon asked, trying to assume a look of innocence. He failed.
"The whole game! The play, the score – everything! How'd you know?"
"A mere guess," Simon answered offhandedly. "Does it matter? I won, didn't I?"
"You did not – no... no, I'm taking this to Dippet."
"Would I do any good in his stead?" asked a hoarse voice from behind Artemus. It was the Transfiguration teacher.
"Hello, Professor," Simon said cheerily, though with a hint of apprehension.
Dumbledore nodded politely, and then addressed Artemus.
"Professor, sir, Simon an' I had a bet, see? And we – "
"A bet," Dumbledore said admonishingly. "You should know better than to invest in gambling, Mr. Black. Especially in a school game."
"But, Professor!" he cried in exasperation. "Simon knew the whole outcome of the game. He tricked me!"
Dumbledore gave Simon a good hard look, and then smiled. "I dare say gambling is a risky business, isn't it Mr. Potter?"
Simon nodded, a little frightened by the aging man.
"Well?" Dumbledore said frankly. "What were the stakes?"
Artemus stared at his teacher with an utter look of incomprehension. Dumbledore seemed more interested in the crime than the punishment.
"A Rememberall versus an invisibility cloak," Simon answered in his rival's stead.
"My invisibility cloak," Artemus intervened.
"Quite a hefty bet, isn't it, Mr. Black?"
"Why, I guess so, Professor, sir."
"Then isn't your own doing that you lost it?"
"But, Professor!"
"Couldn't you have easily turned Mr. Potter down upon his request?"
"He cheated, sir!"
Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. "And there's no wonder why gambling is prohibited on these school grounds."
Artemus made a strangled sound of indignation.
"You're lucky I'm not reporting this to the Headmaster, Mr. Black. Quite a violation of these here school rules. Perhaps I should settle this, myself."
He winked at Simon, who was just as stunned as Artemus. As soon as he had muttered "Accio cloak", Simon's prize came floating around the corner of the stone hallway, and into his hands.
"Good day to the both of you."
Artemus slowly closed his mouth as he watched Dumbledore's retreating figure. His face grew scarlet, and his hair shook.
"You can give that here, Potter," he hissed.
Simon smiled. "Nope. This here is a victory for me." He turned on his heel, and left Artemus seething in the middle of the corridor.
~~~~~~~~~~