Going to meet Richard was easily the most exciting thing that had happened to Beth all year, but the rest of the school was gearing up for something even more serious: the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch game.
It was as if somebody had reached down and shuffled the priorities of everyone in the school. The first match of the season, and the most hotly contested - it started off the season with a jolt. From the players to the professors, everyone seemed to have a stake in the outcome.
"Give you two to one odds on Gryffindor," Cova Lynn offered, the Tuesday before the game.
Bruce rolled his eyes and politely but firmly declined.
The team became inseparable. Bruce was hardly ever seen without one of the other six players; in the evenings when Gryffindor had won the pitch-possession contest, he hunkered down with Aaron and Warrington trying to catch up on overdue homework. They ate together at every meal.
Montague took to giving them pep talks at lunch.
"You two. Where's the best place for a bludger?"
Crabbe and Goyle looked at him blankly for a moment, then exchanged vacant glances.
Draco Malfoy spoke for them. "Impacting Potter's head."
"That's it." Montague clapped him on the back. "You, you get that Snitch if you have to pry it from Potter's cold dead fingers, understood?"
"Perfectly," said Draco, with a satisfied smile.
"Pucey, I don't want to see the Quaffle in the hands of a Gryffindor for two seconds - run into them, kick it, hex them, I don't care."
Aaron nodded excitedly.
"Warrington. If Potter comes near you..."
Warrington smacked a huge fist into his other hand. "I'll knock him off his broom!" he boomed.
"Good boy," purred Antigone.
"Exactly," Montague said, patting him on the back. "You're just the fellow for the job. Have some more eggs. Builds muscle mass. And you."
He paused behind Bruce's chair.
"Just remember to show up, and we'll all be happy."
Bruce's expression, which had been hovering between tolerance and skepticism, grew very fixed.
Montague threw back his head and laughed. The rest of the team joined him.
"You're too tense, Bletchley," Montague advised, slapping him on the shoulder.
Bruce let out an empty "Heh," and went back to his food, a sulky look about his face.
Bruce's mood persisted through History of Magic and even as they made their way outside for Care of Magical Creatures. Beth and Melissa were content to let him brood. They agreed (out of his earshot) that the fresh air was likely to pick up his spirits enough to make conversation possible by dinner.
As they reached the paddock, however, they were met with Professor Grubbly-Plank ordering them back.
"Inside, all," she called, ushering people back towards the castle. They turned back, confused but dutiful, some complaining about having to walk all the way out and back again, others grateful to be coming in from the cold.
There was a designated Care of Magical Creatures classroom, although Hagrid never used it; Professor Kettleburn had put it to good use back in the day. (He had also, Beth recalled, used it to store the smuggled beasts and items that he moved through Hogsmeade village.) Now its walls were nearly barren, save a smattering of large skeletons that apparently hadn't been worth the trouble to remove.
Professor Grubbly-Plank shooed them all inside and they migrated instinctively to their usual spaces: the ones they had taken back when all of them were in Potions together, with Gryffindors on the right, Slytherins on the left. All this was done without a conscious thought. The self-segregation had become more than routine, more than habit - what was once intentional had become undisputed method. There were no hard feelings. It was just the way it was.
Professor Grubbly-Plank went to the front of the room and stood there, hands behind her back.
"Bit of a riddle for you," she said. "Two months ago a Muggle farmer calls in to the Yard saying somebody's trampled his crops in a perfect circle. Last month a pasture in Wales gets pockmarked with whacking big indentations. Yesterday, then, there's a fuss out in the Forbidden Forest and four dozen wild owls come in to perch in our Owlery. What's going on? Anyone?"
Nobody spoke. Even Lee Jordan, who generally had a handle on Care of Magical Creatures, was silent.
"Mooncalves," said Professor Grubbly-Plank.
"Gesundheit," said one of the Weasleys.
"Weasley, you're a laugh riot," said Grubbly-Plank briskly, then moved on without a pause. "Herd of Mooncalves is moving through the area. When we saw the owls come in, I grabbed Filch for a hunt. They've left their tracks all over the forest, and they've burrowed themselves in for the night. They'll be out again tonight, and I've got permission from Dumbledore to take you out and see 'em."
The students exchanged glances. Dumbledore had also approved two terms' worth of Blast-End Skrewts. "What are they like?" asked Alicia Spinnet cautiously.
"Bashful," said Grubbly-Plank, and there was a palpable relief across the classroom. "Gentle. Rather lovely, really. Not in the conventional sense, of course-" She paused to bray out her donkeys' laughter. "Anybody got your textbook? Right, somebody check the index. Mooncalves, spelled like it sounds."
They spent the class reviewing procedure for that night's excursion, and reading about Mooncalves' behavior - although, as Professor Grubbly-Plank pointed out, with luck they'd get to see it firsthand. Beth found herself getting excited at the prospect. The fuzzy night photos and sketches-from-memory in the textbook gave only a tantalizing glimpse of the strange creature.
"Don't forget a scroll and quill," Professor Grubbly-Plank called after them, as the bell rang and the class filed out. "And anyone who forgets to bring their gloves will be sorry!"
"Another night class," Bruce groaned on the way out. "I don't want to stay up till three in the morning. That's why I dropped Astronomy."
Despite his words, he sounded happier; Beth could tell that the class had piqued his interest.
"Oh, stop whining," Melissa told him, smiling. "We'll all be there. It'll be fun. Right?"
Mervin snickered. "Maybe we'd better wait and see what these Mooncalves are like before we decide."
Beth knew that Mervin was naturally skeptical of everything; but she thought that, the way things had been going this year, a little caution would be a good idea.
The full moon lingered on the edge of a cloudy sky.
The twisted trees and dense growth of the Forbidden Forest cast strange shadows under such a brilliant sky. Beth lay on her stomach near her classmates, a knapsack of supplies at her side. Melissa, to her left, had brought her Omnioculars. On the other side, Mervin - as always, prepared for the worst - clutched his wand.
The entire seventh-year class lay scattered around the forest floor, eyes fixed on the Mooncalf burrows that Grubbly-Plank had pointed out earlier that evening. The air was thick with anticipation; even the Weasley twins, who had been separated as a precaution, lay utterly still.
"You know," Melissa murmured, barely issuing a breath, "Professor Lupin's out tonight."
Beth barely nodded in reply. She wanted to comment that she hoped he was at least out of the area, but she didn't want to risk breaking the silence - indeed, the wild white noise of the forest, the rustle of leaves and the calling of strange birds, was too exhilarating to disturb with the vulgar presence of man.
Something rustled in the clearing.
Beth's eyes flickered from Melissa to the Mooncalf burrows. Was there something wiggling, ever so slightly, near that tree? Was the moonlight reflecting strangely from that patch of shrub? Could she be seeing the first glimpse of?
Like a mermaid breaking the crest of the sea, the very first Mooncalf slid from its burrow and stood under the brilliant moon.
Its smooth body shone like brushed steel. Professor Grubbly-Plank had described them as "pale gray"; in life they were luminous, silver. Four slender legs tapered to large, flat feet. Beth expected it to move with the laborious motion of a man on snowshoes, but the Mooncalf, after it had gazed round with those huge spherical eyes atop its head, glided forward on them like an ice skater. It paused again, alert as a deer. Then it arched its neck and crooned a long, low note.
The forest floor began to twitch.
From the burrows arose the bulging eyes of its fellows; then the clearing was full of them, sliding toward their leader, effortlessly skating amid one another. Beth thought there must have been at least two dozen: a strange and ghostly herd. There came another droning call, sending chills up Beth's spine, which was joined by all until a strangely harmonic lowing shook the trees and sent the night birds fluttering above the canopy.
The herd began to dance.
Like bees in their hive ... like a flock of migrating birds ... like a minuet. There were no words to describe the smooth interweaving and obeisance that the Mooncalves made between the trees. It was elegant and natural, wild but not unstructured, more graceful than any human ballet. For at its root was sincerity; the Mooncalves danced because that was what they were meant to do, and so they did, and it was beautiful.
Beth wasn't sure how long she lay there, entranced by the glowing motion of the slender creatures. Slowly she realized that the herd was thinning; one by one they slipped into the trees, moving deeper into the Forbidden Forest, still engaged in their winding, swaying dance. Soon only a pair of Mooncalves remained, circling each other with breathtaking ease, until finally they too followed their herd beneath the dark boughs and into the cool, silent depths of the woods.
A final glimmer of light struck a Mooncalf's skin; then it skipped away, and the night fell still.
For long moments no one moved. The sight of the dancing Mooncalves filled Beth's mind, like a vivid dream. She didn't want to move, she didn't want to speak - though she knew the moment would have to end, she wanted to hold it forever.
It was Professor Grubbly-Plank who finally stood. "Well, I expect they're well shy of us now," she said, her sharp voice cutting through the night. "Up you get, that's it, be sure no one's left behind. That'll be eighteen inches of report due in one week. Hold it right there, Weasley," she barked, as the Weasley twins (reunited and whispering in awe to one another) began to head back to the castle. "Madam Sprout's requested a favor."
She gestured to the forest floor - the dance floor, Beth thought absurdly. "This dung needs to be collected before morning. Does wonders for magical herbs. Come now, shan't take long with the lot of you all working."
She produced a pile of shovels and some burlap sacks.
It became obvious why they needed the gloves. Groaning, they broke into groups and picked up their shovels.
"This is the second year in a row we've been sent out to collect dung," Mervin muttered, scooping up the silvery substance. "Is someone trying to tell us something?"
"Hush," muttered Beth, smiling nonetheless.
"All that time they could've saved on career advice," Mervin went on, "instead of those one-on-one chats, they could've just said, 'Go on, shovel some muck. Try it on for size. Do you good-"
A bloodcurdling scream cut across the night.
Beth stood bolt-upright, staring around.
"'- if you're excellent at it we'll move you on to stable work and sewer-dredging, good solid job-" Mervin prattled on.
"Shut up!" Beth hissed, grabbing his sleeve. "Don't you hear?"
She broke off in horror. Mervin's face was his answer.
"Oh, no."
The breath caught in Beth's throat; she felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. She dropped her shovel and turned slowly to stare into the forest, paralyzed. There it was - the flickering white hair, tattered gown, huge mournful eyes, flitting among the trees, half-hidden, transparent in the moonlight-
"No."
Melissa turned back and saw Beth standing stock-still in the cold grass. "Beth, what are you?"
Beth threw her shovel to the ground and charged into the forest.
The banshee waited amid the trees, skeletal arms outstretched in maternal invitation, keening for a death that was unfulfilled yet inevitable. Beth dodged the thick trees, panting, keeping the luminous edges of the dress in sight-
She was three feet away when the banshee vanished.
The night dropped again into stark silence. Beth skidded to a halt, heart thumping madly. "Who?" she shouted into the empty forest. "Who will it be?" The forest did not reply.
Strong hands came around her shoulders from behind and Beth nearly leapt a yard in the air. She whirled around. Professor Grubbly-Plank, flanked by most of the class, was staring at her with uncharacteristic concern - and more than a little fear.
Beth felt suddenly helpless. "I ... saw..." She gestured ineffectively into the forest, not wanting to tell about the banshee, not wanting to pretend that there was nothing.
Professor Grubbly-Plank's eyes were wide. "Was it?" she said, beneath her breath. The name of the Dark Lord hung unspoken between them.
Beth shook her head.
Instantly, Professor Grubbly-Plank snapped back into her old efficiency. "Nothing to see here, then," she barked at the class, who jumped a little at the noise. "Moonlight'll do strange things some days. Off to the infirmary with you, missy-" She grabbed Beth by the shoulders and began to steer her inside, calling over her shoulder, "-and the rest of you, just nip up those shovels and sacks and be off to bed immediately, do you understand? And no skimping on those reports, I know eighteen inches when I see it."
Beth let Professor Grubbly-Plank drag her inside and upstairs to the infirmary. Her mind was churning. Who would it be? What if it was her father this time? Why this, why now, why her?
Before she knew it, Professor Grubbly-Plank was shoving her onto a hospital cot and whistling between her teeth for Madam Pomfrey, who appeared a few minutes later in a dressing robe and looking highly alarmed. She relaxed at the sight of Beth.
"I knew it wouldn't be long. What've you done to your arm this year?"
Beth grabbed reflexively at her forearm. "Nothing," she said automatically.
"Girl's seeing things," Professor Grubbly-Plank said loudly. "Out near the forest. Shadows, you know ... went a bit barmy..."
Madam Pomfrey fixed her with a disapproving look. "And you're not hurt?" she said to Beth.
"No." Not yet.
Madam Pomfrey sighed and nodded. "Right then, wait here just a moment..." She bustled off and began to dig through one of her broad wooden cabinets.
As soon as Madam Pomfrey had turned, Professor Grubbly-Plank bent close.
"You're sure it wasn't him?"
Her wrinkled face was fearful. Just the thought of him, Beth thought, just the possibility of him...
"I'm sure," she said quietly. "Just moonlight."
"Well." Professor Grubbly-Plank straightened back up. Her hands worked nervously. "So long as it was only that." She took a pipe from her pocket, lit it, and took a few bracing puffs. "You had me worried, Parson..." She brayed out a laugh.
Madam Pomfrey turned back around and nearly leapt out of her white lace-up shoes. "Smoking in the hospital wing!" she practically screeched, advancing on Professor Grubbly-Plank fiercely. "I ask you! Take that thing away from here, this is a place of healing!"
"As you say, Poppy," said Grubbly-Plank, who looked thoroughly taken aback. "I was leaving." She raised a hand to Beth and hurried out.
"And you!" Madam Pomfrey whirled on Beth, but her look softened a bit. "Drink this, it's a bit of a calming potion with a draught for a dreamless sleep. Moonlight does strange things, to be sure."
Beth drained the glass. All at once, a great weariness settled around her. She reached out to put aside the empty glass, searching for the bedside stand, but Madam Pomfrey reached out and took the goblet. It was a good thing that she did. Beth sank back onto the pillow, all thoughts of the banshee bleeding from her mind, and fell into a warm and welcoming darkness.
Beth stood barefoot in the graveyard with the ring of Death Eaters on all sides. Surrounded, she turned around and around seeking an exit, but at every turn her way was blocked - Riggs, Evan, Nott - her lost family stood together, beaming at her, and beside her the banshee rose from the ground ... they began to dance amid the circle, a crazy waltz, and the Death Eaters reached out their hands as Beth and the banshee, entwined, whirled around and around-
"Good morning, Miss Parson, rise and shine!"
Beth lurched out of sleep, gasping for breath. She opened her eyes to find herself in the infirmary, now sunny as early-morning rays shone through the high windows. Madam Pomfrey was regarding her with a smile. "Slept well, did you? No dreams?"
"I - no," said Beth, momentarily confused. There had been an image in her head, she was sure of it, but it slid away so fast that it might as well never have been. "I ... don't think so."
"Well, isn't that just what we all need sometimes," said Madam Pomfrey. "You'd best be getting back to your dormitories - you'll have time before breakfast, if you don't tarry."
"All right." Beth rubbed her face blearily and swung out of bed. She was surprised to find herself fully clothed - she'd never had a chance to change from the previous night. She pulled on her sneakers, bid a "Thank you" to Madam Pomfrey (interrupted partway with a yawn) and staggered out into the hallway.
It was only when she stood outside the Slytherin dormitories that she remembered.
Beth swore aloud, and a portrait on the wall opposite tittered. The banshee...! She kicked the wall, jumped around on one foot grimacing, and finally spat out the password so that she could limp into the common room. She made her way straight to the shower. As if there wasn't enough to worry about this year...
She didn't feel like explaining anything to anyone, so after showering she tied her wet hair into a ponytail and went straight upstairs to breakfast. Madam Pomfrey had woken her up far earlier than she would've gotten up on her own; she was one of the first ones there, apart from a handful of Hufflepuffs who were studying and a pair of Gryffindors who were not.
The breakfast table, however, is not a good place to hide from anybody. It wasn't long before the student body started filtering in; halfway through her second cup of tea Melissa came in, spotted her, and hurried over.
"Are you all right?" she whispered, sliding in beside her. "What happened last night? What did you see?"
"Moonlight," said Beth blandly.
"It wasn't just moonlight, was it?" Melissa pressed.
"Of course not," Beth sighed. It never was. "The banshee's back."
Melissa's face flickered relief and then instantly started to fall into concern again. "Oh..." she said worriedly, pouring herself a cup of tea. She took a few minutes to doctor it up with sugar and cream before speaking again. "Are you sure it was her?"
"I think I can recognize my own banshee," said Beth crossly.
"It might've been a boggart," Melissa argued. "And - mightn't you have imagined it? I know she's real," she added hastily, because Beth's look was darkening dangerously, "but are you certain it was really her?"
The owls came in just then, swooping around to drop their newspapers, letters, and parcels. The Daily Prophet landed on Beth's silverware but she ignored that; sure enough, a plain envelope soon floated to her plate with William Parson on the return address. She picked it up and displayed it sardonically to Melissa.
"It was really her."
Knowing what the letter would contain, she slit the envelope and read the short message that was enclosed.
Bethy-
Are you all right?
I sent the owl to Azkaban officials last night. Your mother and
brothers are alive. I have not heard from the rest of my family.
Be very careful.
-Dad
Beth suddenly felt very tired. "'Be very careful'," she muttered to herself, stuffing the letter into her pocket. "As if that will help."
"Say something, Beth?" said Aaron Pucey innocuously, reaching across her for the plate of toast.
"Not to you," said Beth blandly. "Pass me the sausage."
Aaron handed her the platter. She forked two sausages and passed them on to Melissa, who was now looking more worried than ever. Melissa took a sausage and passed them on to the fourth-year beside her.
For a few minutes they ate in silence. Finally Aaron - apparently unable to contain himself any longer - burst out, "So what was the problem last night?"
Melissa started to make an angry reply, but Beth averted any further rows between them by interrupting.
"Dizzy spell," said Beth deftly, not turning her attention away from her breakfast. "Did any of you work on that Mooncalf report after you went inside? I swear, I dreamed about it all night..."
"'Course not, one in the morning?" Aaron rejoined. "Even if it is eighteen inches. She's mad."
"They all are."
The bell soon rang for class, to Beth's enormous relief, and they headed off to Herbology - Beth resolutely silent, Melissa still looking worried. The class was characteristically humbling, but Beth welcomed it; it was wonderful to be able to channel her thoughts and energy into pruning her Mariphasa lupina lumina, instead of the banshee.
By the time they swept aside the cuttings of the moon-blooming flower, the sharp edge of her fear had dulled into a constant but familiar dread. She could think rationally about the situation. There were many Parsimmers whom she had never met. Statistically, it was unlikely to be one of her close family. Anyway, it had taken months for her prophecy to come true previously. Who knew how long it might be now? It was a weak rationalization, but it helped her keep herself in check. She joined her classmates on their way back into the castle, brushing dirt from their robes and picking green from beneath their fingernails.
No sooner had they turned down the Defense corridor than they met up with a clutch of fifth-year Gryffindors. Aaron's eyes lit up. He positioned himself directly in the path of the youngest Weasley boy and, just before the collision, called out:
"Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?"
The redhead turned a pale green and hurried away, awkwardly bumping into the students on either side of him.
Bruce let out his breath. "Hey Aaron," he said, looking at his books, "do you think you could not do that?"
Aaron looked astonished. "But Montague's saying it'll distract him even before the match starts-"
Bruce interrupted him, shaking his head. "I know what Montague says. But why don't we lay off, just once, and try to win with our skills?"
Aaron eyed him skeptically. "You're losing it, Bletchley," he said, and turned into the D.A.D.A classroom.
Bruce sighed and looked at the ceiling. "I'm losing it," he said to himself, before following Aaron inside.
It had been clear from the beginning that, apart from homework purposes, there was no point in reading the Slinkhard text. D.A.D.A. (which was now understood to stand for Defense Against Doing Anything) was not covering anything that would appear on the N.E.W.T.s - and since there was no final exam in the class, there was simply no point to it. The seventh-year Slytherins considered it a study hall. They only kept showing up to stay in Umbridge's good favor.
Today was no exception; despite her distracted thoughts, Beth got halfway through a practice test for History of Magic before the bell rang to usher them all to lunch.
They watched the bratty second-years get into a shouting match with the Gryffindors, which was hilarious in more than one way; they spent a little time bad-mouthing Professor Umbridge, always a pleasure; a few of them put their heads on the table to make up for sleep missed the previous night thanks to those dratted Mooncalves (they were pretty enough at night, but - as is often the case with nocturnal pleasures - the seventh-years felt less friendly towards them the morning after). Between it all Beth was able to enjoy a brainless hour or so among her friends, swatting down the banshee whenever she came to mind.
Double Potions was everything that had come to be expected in the week before the Gryffindor/Slytherin game. A remarkable number of house points were given and taken; whispered insults flew in nearly the same volume; brews were vandalized and ingredients overturned. Everybody got a "T" for the day.
The seventh-years had Divination afterwards; Beth, Mervin and Bruce, who had all dropped the class, headed off to the library. It had become a habit throughout the year; right before dinner, the place was usually only partially full, and it kept up the momentum of studying through the day. (Besides, they were likely to get yelled at for loitering in the hallways.) It was something of a relief for Beth to be parted from Melissa for a while. The looks of concern and pity she had been shooting Beth all morning were really more unsettling than helpful.
They took up their usual table and got to work: Beth and Mervin on a troublesome system of equations for Vector, Bruce on his fungus project for Sprout. Left alone with her thoughts again, it took a long time for Beth to get anything done. Memories of the banshee kept flickering through her head, interspersed with thoughts of her family: weary-eyed Luke, insensible Chris, their mother irreversibly mad. She had only just begun to focus on her work when her concentration was shattered by a voice from nearby.
"Bletchley!"
Bruce twisted around in his seat. Montague leered back at him from the next table.
"Heard you were talking bad about my pre-game tactics," said Montague, grinning unpleasantly. "Don't you know half the game is all up here?" He tapped on Bruce's forehead a few times, hard.
"On the field," said Bruce tightly. "We don't have to make the kid miserable two weeks in advance."
Montague pulled a mock frown. "Well. Aren't we the moralist." He snorted. "When the change of heart? You were the one who kept tossing off things for McGonagall to test when she was holding Potter's Firebolt two years ago."
Bruce was silent. Beth thought that Montague had a point.
"Listen, Bletchley," said Montague, and the grin was gone from his face. "I'm the captain. I call the shots. And I say I want the Gryffindors so distracted that by the time they get on the pitch Saturday, they won't remember which goals are theirs. Got it?"
Bruce held his tongue.
"Got it?"
"I heard you," said Bruce shortly. "Get back to your books before you get expelled for stupidity. Again."
He turned his back on his captain, pulled out a toadstool and got to work on his Herbology.
Montague's careless leer faded into something more dangerous; then he, too, turned back to his books.
Beth and Mervin glanced at each other and then, in the interest of peace, went on studying. Bruce bent over his toadstool, prodding it with his wand and trying hard to make it send out shoots.
Three tables away, Alicia Spinnet let out a shriek.
Everyone in the library revolved toward her like flowers toward the sun. She was holding her hands over her eyes to keep out the hair - not hair from her head, Beth realized, but from eyebrows that were getting shaggier by the second. She could have plaited them into a false beard. It was mere moments before the astonishment on her face evolved into sheer anger. She turned full-face toward the Slytherins.
"Bletchley!"
Her shriek echoed around the library.
Bruce, with his wand poised over his toadstool - and pointed straight at her - stared dumbly at her blossoming eyebrows.
"What is this?"
Madam Pince stormed over to them, her face livid.
"Disruptions in the library! There are students here attempting to study!" She jabbed a clawlike finger towards the shelves. "Some of these books are very sensitive!"
"Madam Pince," said Spinnet, her voice shaking with tightly controlled fury, "Miles Bletchley hexed me." She pointed unnecessarily at the eyebrows that now almost obscured her face.
Madam Pince looked from her to Bruce and back again, hands on her skinny hips. "It's perfectly clear that you've been hexed," she said scathingly. "You're certain Mr. Bletchley did the deed?"
A clamor of voices rose up in the area.
"Right, I saw it!"
"It was him!"
"Look, he's still got his wand out!"
Bruce looked down at his wand. He rotated in his seat to see Montague leering back at him.
"No hex of any kind is any excuse to disrupt the library," said Madam Pince tightly, to Alicia. "All of you - to Professor Snape's office. Immediately."
At least a dozen witnesses scrambled to their feet and collected around Spinnet, who probably looked victorious behind her curtain of eyebrow hair. With a furious look at Montague, Bruce shoved back his seat and stood up.
"Off you get," said Madam Pince, pointing toward the doorway in case they had all forgotten where it was.
The mob hurried toward the doorway, Bruce following. Just before he was through the door, Bruce turned back, glaring at Montague, and very clearly mouthed, I will kill you.
Montague gave him a cheerful finger-wave and turned back to his books.
Face set, Bruce followed his accusers to Professor Snape's office.
Bruce showed up again at dinner.
He dropped down between Beth and Melissa (who by then had heard the story from many different sources, and claimed that Professor Trelawney had seen something very similar in her teacup that very day). Dumping his books on the table, he spoke before either of them could ask the question.
"He let me off," said Bruce. He did not sound especially delighted by the fact. "I wanted him to do Priori Incantato to prove it but he thought my word was enough - so of course, everyone thinks it's just another case of Snape favoring his house. Which it is, except I'm actually innocent."
"Hush," said Melissa consolingly. "The important part is that you got out of it."
Bruce shook his head, looking down at his plate. "I'm not sure it is."
"You could have told them who really did it," said Beth.
"What's the point?" said Bruce. "Snape would've let him off too." He reached across the table and started doling food onto his plate.
"Bruce!" came a young girl's voice.
Sally Bletchley came hurrying up to the Slytherin table. She stopped beside Bruce's seat and put her hands on her hips. "I heard you hexed somebody in the library today."
"You should know better than to listen to rumors," said Bruce.
"Alicia Spinnet told me, she's the one you did it to!"
"Keep your voice down," said Bruce. "It wasn't me. I was framed."
Sally narrowed her eyes and scrutinized him carefully. Finally she nodded. "Okay. I believe you."
"Well thank goodness," said Bruce sarcastically.
Sally gave a dramatic sigh. "Oh Bruce, when will you learn to be friendlier? It's no wonder they put you in Slytherin."
Bruce stopped with his food halfway to his mouth. He stared at his sister in hurt amazement. "What do you mean by that?" he finally said.
"Er-" Sally hesitated.
"You just mean that Slytherin is obviously where all the rotten people go, that's all," said Bruce, anger rising in his tone.
"Well - I didn't-" Beth had never seen the little girl so flustered. "Bruce, I mean-"
"No, you know what?" Bruce had put down all his silverware. "It's okay. I know. You think what everybody else thinks. And that's okay. Because, hey - it's probably right, isn't it? So why don't you just go back to the nice peoples' side of the room, and sit with your own perfect house." He was out of his seat, pointing fiercely across the Great Hall.
Sally's lower lip trembled. "Bruce..." She stared into his face for a moment; when it didn't change, she turned and fled back to the Gryffindor table.
Bruce watched her go, his face set. Then he slammed a fist down on the table. "Twit," he said ferociously, and stormed out of the Great Hall.
Bruce didn't turn up in the common room until curfew. By his red cheeks and chapped hands, Beth guessed that he had been out flying, and almost certainly by himself: the Gryffindors had won the practice-field lottery that night. To Beth's surprise, he hung up his cloak and plunked down beside her on the sofa, where she was enmeshed in Herbology.
Beth let several minutes go by before she put down her book. "Kind of a bad day, huh?"
"Yeah," said Bruce. He watched the fire slowly consume its fuel.
After a long time, Beth said, "I don't think Sally meant that the way it sounded."
Beth held her breath, expecting a harsh response, but Bruce shrugged halfheartedly. "Little brat. Can't blame her for not knowing any better."
"I guess you never told her about the way they treat us," said Beth, again feeling like she was treading in a dangerous place.
"Nah. I don't talk bad about Gryffindor at home."
He got up with a sigh and headed back to the boys' dorms.
Beth sat watching the fireplace for a long time after he had gone. Given all she had heard him say about the Gryffindors, McGonagall, and the Weasley twins over the past seven years, she found his statement very surprising.
