Not since fifth year, and the whole horrible "going with" trend, had Beth felt so mixed about a trip to Hogsmeade.
The Society had a long sit-down in the Vase Room to discuss whether it was safe to go or not. It would expose them to the Dark Lord's gaze, as Deirdre had noted; besides that, Hogwarts was a public village. Anyone could show up, Death Eaters included. The danger of being spied on was one thing; the danger of being physically accosted was quite another.
On the other hand, ten Slytherins - who, as far as anyone knew, had nothing to do with each other - opting out of the trip was sure to be suspicious. There was also the curious inactivity of the Dark Lord. Since his resurrection, he had barely made a public move. The harming (or even disappearance) of a Hogwarts student would be major news. It would blow his cover. With his indication that the Society was to be "kept in reserve," it seemed unlikely that the Dark Lord would risk exposure on such a gamble.
In the end, it was this viewpoint which won out, and the Society joined the rest of the school in the horseless carriages, bouncing down toward the village. For Beth, the choice was augmented by a restlessness to get out of the school. She had skipped most of the Hogsmeade trips the previous year, in favor of knock-together Quidditch scrimmages, and was now eager to walk its streets again. Besides, the N.E.W.T.s, not to mention her usual coursework and her job with Snape, were driving her up a wall.
They reached the village and poured out into the streets. Bruce and Kiesha had a date (Beth was pretty sure that it included a visit to the Quidditch museum), and Mervin slunk off immediately on some sinister enterprise, so Beth joined Melissa on her quest for high fashion in the Hogsmeade branch of Gladrags Wizardwear.
Searching for the perfect set of outerwear, however, can be a numbing exercise. After roughly two hours of watching Melissa try on scarf after scarf, Beth excused herself for a breath of fresh air and bolted for the exit.
The weather was chilly but bright; gusts of breeze nipped the hanging signs and pulled at students' cloaks up and down the road. Beth rested her elbows on the porch railing and surveyed the town. Hogsmeade was a long way from Dorset; it was unlikely that she would return often after leaving school. Better enjoy it while I can.
"Beth Parson."
Beth gave a start and whirled around. Leaning against the corner of the building, thin legs crossed at the ankles, a smug expression on his narrow face, was Randall Riggs.
Her surprise at seeing him was almost immediately eclipsed by the memory of whose side he was on. "What do you want?" she snapped.
"What a way to treat an old friend," said Riggs mournfully. He had his hands in his pockets, casual and cool. There was something different about the former S.S.A. secretary, a confidence in his bearing that Beth was sure he hadn't had the last time she saw him. He even looked different...
"What happened to your glasses?"
"Magically corrected," said Riggs smugly, tapping his temple. "My new employer knows how to reward his supporters." He looked her up and down. "Such a shame about old Rich, wasn't it? I was so sorry to hear."
His sympathy was so obviously false that Beth didn't bother to conceal her distaste. "I'll bet you were."
"Don't believe me if you don't want to," said Riggs carelessly, "but that little mort du roi was unfortunate for all of us. You've lost your captain, and we lost the book."
The book. He was only after the Ledger. Beth couldn't believe she'd once felt sympathy for him, even after he'd taken them all hostage and threatened to kill Vivian. He had seemed more than a little unhinged at the time, and there was a certain guilty awkwardness around him both times she had caught sight of him since; but now that his true master had returned, now that he had been proven right, she felt nothing but revulsion.
He was impatient with her silence. "So tell me. What did the dearly departed do with his earthly possessions?"
"I don't know," said Beth stonily.
Without warning, Riggs shot out an arm and grabbed Beth by the elbow, dragging her toward him until their bodies crashed together. "I am no fool," he hissed, breath cold on Beth's ear, "and neither was Richard. He made provisions. He told you about them. I will ask you once more before I magically pry it from your brain. Where ... is ... the ... Ledger?"
"I ... don't ... know," Beth hissed back, wanting to spit in his face, "and if you don't let me go I'll scream so loud that Dumbledore will hear it from here."
Riggs' mouth twisted a little; he shoved her away, an ugly look on his face. "Go on then, run to Dumbledore," he sneered. "But be warned. He may not always be there to run to."
"Why are you here?" Beth demanded. "You've been avoiding everybody for three years. Why did you have to come back?"
"Well," said Riggs, a smile at his mouth, a hint of madness in his eye, "it looks as if we're back on the same team, aren't we?"
Beth's face clouded dangerously.
"See you," said Riggs, grinning wider than ever. He turned and started down the street.
"Riggs!" said Beth furiously.
He didn't stop walking.
"Riggs, you get back here!"
At the end of the street, Randall Riggs paused, took out his wand, and vanished.
Melissa burst through the door of Gladrags, swathed in a brilliantly-striped scarf. "What do you think?" she cried, turning this way and that. "Do you love it?" She stopped her pirouette at the sight of Beth's face. "What's wrong?"
Beth tore her eyes from the spot from which Riggs had vanished. "I think the Guild was right."
Riggs did not reappear for the rest of the day, although Beth kept looking over her shoulder, expecting his smug face around every corner in Hogsmeade. Melissa thought it wisest to refrain from talking about him until they were safely back in the castle, and Beth agreed; so it was late that night, alone in their room at last, that Beth finally described everything he had done and said.
"Well," said Melissa, staring bleakly at the floor. "Well, we did know he was that way..."
"Yeah, but this means now the Dark Lord knows it too," Beth added glumly. "I wish I'd - I don't even know what he was up to, I should have tried to hold onto him longer."
"It seems to me that keeping well away from him is just as good," Melissa said. Her face clouded. "Talking about Rich like that-" She glanced at Beth thoughtfully. "You don't know, do you? Where the Ledger is?"
"No." That was entirely true; although she had an inkling that wherever Rich was hiding out, the Ledger too could be found.
"I suppose that could be a good thing," said Melissa. "I do hope he hid it properly."
"You know Rich."
"I did," said Melissa gravely. "Frankly, that's what gives me the greatest hope that it's safe."
Sunday passed restlessly. Beth had a lot to do, but little inclination to do it; her attention span seemed to have dropped to the three-second level of a goldfish. She wandered the halls of the castle with her books, looking for a good place to study, only to finally abandon them all in futility and return to the common room, where she bid into Mervin's Gobstones game and played until midnight.
Of course, the fruits of her labor came to strike her on Monday morning, when she realized that she hadn't proofread her Herbology paper, and had completely forgotten about her Charms homework. Oh well, she thought blearily, stumbling into the common room, still yawning. I'll squeeze it in over lunch.
She paused. The bulletin board on the west wall was attracting uncommon attention; among the crowd staring up at it was Melissa. She hesitated, then joined the group.
The board was half-covered with a vast parchment, elegantly done in large black letters. The first word that jumped out and struck Beth's eye was the large, bold "Society."
Her jaw dropped, and she craned her neck to read it clearly.
- BY ORDER OF -
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts
All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are
henceforth disbanded.
An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as
a regular meeting of three or more students.
Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor
(Professor Umbridge).
No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist
without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.
Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization,
Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High
Inquisitor will be expelled.
The above is in accordance with
Educational Decree Number Twenty-four.
Signed:
Dolores Jane Umbridge
HIGH INQUISITOR
The entire incredible decree was punctuated with a large purple wax seal at the bottom, bearing the "M" of the Ministry.
Beth turned quickly towards Melissa. The specific use of the word "Societies" was unnerving. Melissa's mouth was open in horror.
"Oh no, what about our N.E.W.T.s practices? D'you think those count as a club?"
Beth stared at her. "What about that other club we're in?"
"Oh, I'm not worried about that, they can't shut us down if they don't know about us. But the N.E.W.T.s! I'm going to have to go talk to Professor Umbridge..."
She got up and hurried away, hastily polishing her prefects' badge on her sleeve.
Shaking her head, Beth headed up to breakfast.
She had barely reached the table when Bruce, looking frantic, whizzed past and hurried toward Montague.
"Have you seen?"
Montague was sitting with one arm thrown over the back of his chair, looking quite unconcerned. "Don't wet your pants, Bletchley," said Montague languidly. "Draco's up having a chat with Umbridge right now. I wouldn't be surprised if the team was back together by the end of breakfast."
"Why Draco?" said Bruce sharply, his face showing all too clearly what he thought of the Seeker. "It ought to be you petitioning."
"Seems Draco knows her from outside of school," said Montague, with an air of great unconcern. "Pals around with his father, or something." He grinned up at Bruce; there was something dangerous in his grin. "Sit down, boy-o, it's under control."
Looking as though it was taking a serious effort to remain silent, Bruce went down the table to sit across from Beth.
She changed the subject hastily. "How's your paper for Grubbly-Plank been coming, Bruce? On Knarls? I did the drawing last night, but haven't touched the essay."
Bruce grunted noncommittally. "Got a few inches down," he replied moodily, picking around at his oatmeal. "I'll copy the drawing off a textbook tonight." He banged down his spoon suddenly. "I just want to know," he said hotly, "how you can get axed for bad grades and then come back."
Beth shushed him quickly; Montague had glanced their way. Thankfully, the Quidditch captain turned back to his mates without indicating that he had heard.
"It doesn't matter how," she told him, in an undertone. "He's back, Bruce, and you don't want him as an enemy."
Bruce grunted; he may have agreed, but his mood persisted through the morning.
When the seventh-years got back together for lunchtime, they found the fifth years celebrating in a cheerful knot near the table. This was never something to ignore, so when Blaise broke apart from the group, Beth grabbed her and inquired, "What do you look so happy about?"
Blaise beamed in delight. "Umbridge did Snape before lunch."
Beth stared at her. "That sounds really wrong."
Blaise realized the implication and blushed. "She inspected our class," she corrected.
"Again?" said Bruce, aghast.
"No, I think it was the first time," Blaise said thoughtfully. "Just from the sort of things she asked. And Snape's reaction," she added, with a little snigger.
"I guess she's finally found time to go back to the inspections," Beth noted. "I don't think she ever did Binns either."
Her words were prophetic. As they filed into History of Magic after lunch, expecting to spend an uninterrupted hour on the N.E.W.T.s primer while Professor Binns droned happily along, they were met with an unpleasant surprise sitting, clipboard in hand, in the back of the room.
Beth gave Professor Umbridge a smile and wave, inwardly gritting her teeth. So much for the N.E.W.T.s primer. Umbridge simpered back, with a little finger-wave that said, How lovely that we're getting to be friends!
Melissa did her one better, greeting Umbridge out loud as she came in. When they were safely seated, she shot Beth a long-suffering look. Rolling her eyes sympathetically, Beth forewent the N.E.W.T.s primer and pulled out her History of Magic book, which hadn't been touched since their last homework assignment three weeks ago.
Mervin and Aaron had their heads together, glancing at the clock and scrawling something on a piece of paper. When Binns floated through the blackboard, they put it away and arranged themselves in positions of utmost attentiveness.
It was, by later accounts, eight minutes before the expected sound came.
"Hem hem."
Both Mervin and Aaron looked up at the clock; then Mervin dug in his pocket and handed Aaron a sickle. (Melissa let out a derisive snort, which Aaron returned with a malevolent glare.)
Professor Umbridge had to clear her throat thrice more before Professor Binns took notice, each time in a louder and more grating fashion. Finally he looked up, his sentence trailing off in astonishment to see such an unusual-looking person seated in his classroom.
"I say!" His eyes were wide behind his ghostly spectacles. "Who are you?"
"Dolores Umbridge, Professor," said Umbridge. "I was just making sure you received the little note I sent you earlier this week."
Professor Binns looked up from his desk, blinking his eyes in a puzzled manner. "Er, quite right ... I suppose I must have ... Professor ... er, what was it again?"
"Dolores Umbridge," said Professor Umbridge, not looking at all pleased, "Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts and Hogwarts High Inquisitor. I have come to inspect your class."
"Oh!" Binns peered at her with surprised eyes. "Well ... carry on then, Professor Ulrich." He looked back down at his notes and all traces of alertness seemed to slide away from him. "The Gurg of giants at the time, known simply as 'Grunt', reign A.D. 1313 to 1315..."
"Hem hem."
Everyone swiveled toward Professor Umbridge. She cleared her throat another four times before Professor Binns, interrupted in the middle of Grunt's dubious credentials, paused and looked at her, again quite bewildered.
"Professor Underhill?"
"The name is Dolores Umbridge," said Professor Umbridge sweetly, "and I wish to ask you a few questions about this class. You are aware that you are teaching a class at the moment?"
Professor Binns wore a mask of utter surprise. "Oh! Oh yes, quite. Your questions, Madam ... ah ... Urquhart?"
"Professor Umbridge, if you please," the witch sang in reply. "This is the standard format of your lectures, is it not, Professor Binns?"
"Why yes, I believe it is," said Professor Binns, bobbing distractedly.
"I see." Umbridge made a note. "For how long, Professor Binns, have you been teaching here at Hogwarts?"
There was no hesitation in Binns' wispy voice; his capacity for memorizing dates was unsurpassed. "Ninety-three years."
"And for how many of those years have you been dead?"
"Oh! Fifty on the mark," Professor Binns chuckled. "Very good tenure, Hogwarts has."
"I see," said Professor Umbridge, scribbling furiously. "Perhaps too good, isn't that right? It seems that certain severe inadequacies in the staff have been overlooked for far too long."
"Why yes," said Professor Binns, looking straight at her, "it does seem that they have."
Professor Umbridge's quill came to a screeching halt. Her pasty face tightened; the large simpering smile became extremely fixed. "Quite right," she said tightly. Her voice somehow remained as sweet and girlish as ever.
She bent to write something on her paper; and when Binns sank once more into his lecture, the sounds of a scratching quill could still be heard above the drone.
"Good zinger Binns pulled on Umbridge."
"Almost made the class worth the time."
The seventh-year Slytherins stood around in the hallway between classes. With Umbridge gone and Binns having floated back through the blackboard, they could finally talk about the very interesting confrontation in the previous class.
"I thought it was very imprudent," said Melissa.
Mervin smirked. "Imprudent? What's she going to do, exorcise him?"
Aaron laughed; Melissa shot him a very dirty look. He shot it right back and took off down the hall after Warrington. Melissa ignored him. "She could get a Ministry injunction put on him, that's what!" she scolded. "Like Moaning Myrtle's got. And then who knows what sort of horrid replacement we'd get. Someone awful and boring and useless, just like h-"
She trailed off. Professor Umbridge was coming towards them down the hall.
"Hagrid," Melissa finished, so smoothly that she might only have had a catch in her throat. "Can you imagine having two of them in the same school?"
Professor Umbridge passed, with a simper and nod to Melissa, who smiled back. As soon as she was past, Melissa's face dropped back into a frown.
"Can you imagine having two of them in the same school?" she repeated, almost helplessly.
Beth could imagine it. It wasn't a pretty thought.
The bell rang and the lot of them moved toward Care of Magical Creatures. As they filed through the packed hallways, someone heralded Bruce from behind.
It was Draco Malfoy, moving easily through the crowd with Crabbe and Goyle in front and behind. He clapped Bruce on the shoulder. "Word from the captain," he announced. "Montague moved practice to seven. See you there."
"Seven!" Bruce exclaimed. "I was going to see Kiesha before practice-"
"Ah. He also mentioned that you ought to stop seeing her until after the game." Draco let slide a wink. "Team secrets, you know."
"Team secrets?" Bruce said hotly. "But the Ravenclaw game's not until April!"
Draco nodded in feigned sympathy. "We're all called to make sacrifices for the team," he said gravely.
Without another word, he continued down the hall, with Crabbe and Goyle clearing the way.
Bruce was in a bad mood throughout Care of Magical Creatures, which was bad news for the bowtruckles they were learning to handle; several of them were severely mistreated, and Bruce lost a lot of skin off his hands. One unfortunate creature bit him right between the thumb and forefinger before it found itself snapped cleanly in half.
"Don't worry, ladies, they regenerate," Professor Grubbly-Plank called, picking up the twitching halves and putting them away while the Gryffindor girls squealed in outrage and disgust. "Just the same, Bletchley," she added in an undertone, "keep your hands off my creatures from now on."
"Yes, ma'am," Bruce sighed.
Beth paid close attention to class, as bowtruckles were almost certain to show up on the N.E.W.T.s, and when the bell rang she put away her equipment feeling pretty good. She and Melissa returned their bowtruckle and started back to the castle, but Professor Grubbly-Plank's voice stopped them.
"Ollivander! A word on that Pogrebin paper."
Melissa, looking worried, started towards her. Beth turned to go back to the castle, but the words barked out behind her:
"You too, Parson!"
Drat! She shouldn't have scrawled that paper at the last minute, even if she did have a copy of the last fifteen editions of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, all lovingly inscribed by the author. Sighing, she turned back.
Professor Grubbly-Plank had on her dragon-hide gloves and was chucking the bowtruckles into a canvas bag, which shivered as they flailed their little twiglike legs helplessly against captivity.
"Nice job on the Pogrebin papers," she commented, setting the sack aside. "Never seen anybody reference ten editions of the same book." She started pulling off her gloves while Beth took the time to blush vehemently.
"Then why did you need to see us?" asked Melissa. Her polite tone was offset by an indication that she was hoping for a comment on her own work.
"News," said Grubbly-Plank shortly. She stuffed her gloves in the pocket of her robes. "Potter's owl went and got itself shot. I've got the thing in traction right now."
Neither Beth nor Melissa made reply. It didn't sound like a particularly useful bit of information.
"An intentional attack, if you ask me. Someone was trying to get that owl out of the sky." Professor Grubbly-Plank pulled her unlit pipe from her pocket and stuck the end in her mouth, as if she was just anxious for something to chew. "Bird was carrying a letter from London, if Potter wasn't lying. I just about got away with it but for Minerva - that is, Professor McGonagall - noticed and made me hand it back."
Melissa ventured to say what Beth had been thinking. "I'm sorry, Professor - what does that mean?"
"Mean?" Professor Grubbly-Plank looked outraged. "Mean? It's plain as the nose on my face, and I've got quite a honker. Potter's got some dodgy correspondence going on, and someone is trying to butt in. Wish I'd have kept hold of that note," she muttered, shaking her head.
Melissa looked like she was going to say something, then changed her mind. "We'll tell you if we hear anything about it," she promised. "Thanks for letting us know. Keep us updated if Potter does anything else funny, all right?"
Grubbly-Plank nodded judiciously. "Gloria serpens, missy. As always." A look crossed her face; just as Melissa was turning to go, she added, "One more thing, Ollivander."
Melissa swiveled back. "Yes?"
Grubbly-Plank coughed nervously into her fist. "You ever met Artaxerxes Manning? Little twitchy rat-faced chap, Society member, maybe twenty years ago?"
"I have," said Beth, surprising herself. "At Baltus Gatherum's funeral." Melissa looked ever so slightly impressed.
"Right-o," said Grubbly-Plank uncomfortably, "well, he - I hear that he went missing the other week. Just gone for a weekend. Story is that he went tripping to the sea for a few days. Only - what I hear is, he can't remember."
Beth felt pale. "He can't remember going?"
"He can't remember where he was at all."
Melissa looked pale herself. "Have you heard anything else?"
Professor Grubbly-Plank shook her cropped gray head. "And if anyone asks, I didn't hear even that," she muttered around the stem of her pipe.
"Of course," said Melissa. Her face was serious. "Thank you."
Grubbly-Plank nodded brusquely and went back to her bowtruckles. Beth and Melissa met each others' eyes and beat a hasty retreat.
"Not good," said Melissa in an undertone, on the way back to the castle. "Not good at all."
Beth had to agree. "Aren't there ways to force him to remember - a spell or something, maybe the Recurrus charm, to get his memory back?"
Melissa snorted. "Yes," she said. "There are also ways to curse anyone who tries it."
Beth fell silent. Artaxerxes Manning's weekend excursion was to remain an ominous mystery.
"What about that other thing?" said Beth, unsettled. "Do you really think we should be worried about Potter's owl habits?"
Melissa hesitated. "It's good to keep an eye on him, I suppose. But-" She paused again.
"What?" Beth urged.
"Don't be insulted," Melissa said hastily. "I know that Richard was all desperate to keep our promise to Dumbledore that we would try to protect Potter. But that was before, and - I think that between our problems and Potter's, we should be more worried about our own."
Beth felt again the pang of realization that in the eyes of the world, Richard was dead. "I'm not insulted," she said, thinking of the last time she had seen him. "I think ... under the circumstances, he would probably agree."
"It's good to hear you say that," said Melissa shyly.
She was following in the footsteps of a very charismatic predecessor; and no one is harder to live up to than those who are gone. "Richard chose you and he trusted in you," said Beth firmly, as they reached the Entrance Hall. "You're doing great."
Melissa paused before entering the Great Hall, cocking her head toward Beth with an expression of scrutiny. Then she smiled.
"Thanks."
Together, they went in to dinner.
Beth was anxious for the Guild meeting the next evening: a lot had happened in the past three days. Nevertheless, she wasn't sure how useful it would be. As Melissa once again admonished them before they left the common room: "We don't know how much they know. First and foremost, we need to protect ourselves."
Nobody argued against this policy. Still, it made the meetings seem stilted and careful - nothing like the Society meetings, where unusual events would be brought out and turned over on a weekly basis. It was a shame, Beth thought, that they couldn't trust each other. But it was a fact.
Luckily the first item on the agenda was one that everyone in the school knew about: the sudden ban on unapproved student organizations. The Ravenclaw Chair was not concerned.
"Oh, honestly," said Deirdre, as cold and humorless as ever. "No headmaster in a thousand years has ever done away with the Guild, and they never will." She fixed her eyes on Cho. "You are still going through with the defense club, aren't you?"
"We're meeting tomorrow," said Cho glumly. "Of course after that it's up to Harry, isn't it?"
"Some of those idiot Hufflepuffs went up to ask him about it at breakfast," said Anthony, shaking his head. "Tactless."
Kiesha cast him a knowing glance. "Weren't you and Michael halfway over before his girlfriend came to stop you?"
Anthony gazed at the ceiling and wouldn't answer.
Melissa broke the silence. When it came to the sharing of secrets, she spoke for the group; it was easier to make sure that nobody said anything imprudent when they didn't say anything at all. She addressed Deirdre. "Potter's owl got shot out of the sky yesterday."
"I say!" Anthony Goldstein said, with an air of surprise. "He's got it back. I had wondered what he was doing gadding about the halls with his owl."
Cho Chang leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "I caught him sending an owl earlier this year. It was practically dawn. He looked jumpy-"
"Well, Potter's thick when you're involved," said Deirdre coolly.
"And vice versa," said Kiesha brightly.
Cho, turning progressively pinker, scowled at her teammate. "He was jumpy because someone had caught him sending a letter," she said, "not because it was me who caught him. And then Filch burst in, thinking he was ordering Dungbombs... This only confirms - I think that owl's sent some very interesting messages this year. We might want to start tracking it ourselves."
Most of the Society turned to look at Herne, who the previous year had intercepted a very interesting letter from the Weasley twins to Ludo Bagman. The curly-haired boy flushed bashfully.
"Potter has a snowy owl," Herne spoke up. "It's the only one in the school. We can watch for it in the mornings."
Deirdre nodded curtly. "And we will do the same. Keep us informed about Potter's defense club," Deirdre ordered Michael. She nodded at Melissa. "Be sure to keep them informed as well."
Beth appreciated that she had made provisions to update the Society; but she couldn't help but notice that they weren't included in that first, simple "us."
... ... ... ... ... ...
I want to apologize about the formatting of the Educational Decree. With FF.N's new restrictions on html tags, it was much more difficult to make it look nice. I trust you know more or less what it says anyway.
