The next week passed quickly now that I had Quidditch practice to look forward to. Even though Oliver had said our first practice was at nine in the morning, I was still excited—seeing as sleeping was one of my favorite things, that was really saying something.
On Saturday morning, I threw on my newly acquired Quidditch robes, grabbed my broom, and pulled my hair up. Taking great care not to leave anything behind, I marched down to the field and into the locker rooms, where everyone save for Harry was already waiting.
Practice began with Oliver explaining some new formations and strategies on a chalkboard… even though they seemed important, it soon became evident that Oliver and I were the only ones that seemed actually awake. Katie and Angelina were both yawning widely; Fred's head was on Angelina's shoulder; George was rubbing his eyelids.
Ten minutes after Oliver's speech began, Harry arrived.
"There you are, Harry, what kept you?" asked Oliver, but he didn't wait for an answer. "Never mind, I'll catch you up later. Everyone take a look at this…"
He unfurled a few pieces of parchment with drawings of a Quidditch field, hoops, stands, and all. Names were jotted down in jagged scrawl, and arrows pointed off in all directions. Oliver swiftly began lecturing again—although Katie, Angelina, and Harry were all awake with me, I felt like I was the only one actually absorbing this new info.
An an hour later, all the others were jerked awake when Oliver asked, "Is that clear, any questions?"
"I've got a… question… Oliver," George said through a huge yawn. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"
Oliver scowled and slapped a hand to his forehead. "This year, we train harder than ever before. Let's go and put our new theories into practice!"
We walked outside and flew into the air, ready to test our new formations. Ron and Hermione were sitting in the stands, holding breakfast for myself and Harry. Beside them sat that mousy haired boy, Colin Creevey, with a camera. Based on Harry's heavy sigh, I surmised that he must've been the reason why Harry had been late.
Within three minutes, it became clear to Oliver that I was the only one listening earlier. Looking up to the sky, he muttered, "Why is it that only my new teammate listens to me?" He was about to say more, but then he noticed there was something else to grumble about.
A patch of green and silver was making its way towards us. Our Quidditch Captain looked ready to kill. "I don't believe it!" he spluttered furiously. "I booked the field for today! We'll see about this!"
We shot down to solid ground, facing the Slytherins who were standing in a huddle and looking rather smug.
"Flint! This is our practice time! We got up specially. You can clear off now!" Oliver shouted.
But Flint just grinned and retorted, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."
"I booked the field! I booked it!"
"Ah, but I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker and Chaser.'"
Taken by some surprise, Oliver asked, "A new Seeker? And Chaser? Who?"
The crowd of Slytherins parted; I blinked. Of course—I should've expected it… emerging from behind the large cronies of the Slytherin team, Draco and Elizabeth both appeared. Upon meeting Draco's eye, I offered him the slightest of smiles and said, "I see you made it."
"As did you. Congrats."
"Thanks. You too."
"You know them, Belle?" asked Oliver without taking his eyes off of Flint.
"Just Draco, really. They're in my year. We talked on the express about how we were trying out for Quidditch this year."
Draco nodded ever so slightly in my direction, for once not looking as if he wanted to pick a fight. Elizabeth, however, just sneered at me.
"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's kids?" asked Fred, glaring at them sideways.
"Funny you should mention their father," Flint said. His teeth were bared, revealing how crooked the front ones were. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."
As if they had rehearsed it—and knowing how Slytherins were, it wasn't beyond them—they whipped out their broomsticks. All of them were Nimbus 2001s. The Gryffindors stared at them in wide-eyed shock. Unable to restrain how impressed I was, I murmured, "Wow."
"Very latest model," said Flint, nodding. "Only came out last month. I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweap brooms, it sweeps the boards with them."
Fred and George glared at him—I looked around as discreetly as I could. The Weasley twins both had Cleansweap 5s. Angelina and Katie had Cleansweap 7s. Oliver had a Comet 360. I had the Cleansweap 8, and Harry easily had the best broom on the team, the Nimbus 2000.
Brooms weren't everything when it came to team advantages, but they certainly helped…
Rapid footsteps signaled the arrival of Hermione, Ron, and Colin rushing down to the field, which prompted Flint to scoff, "Oh, look. A field invasion."
A stony expression was on Ron's face as he demanded, "What's happening? Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?" That last was directed to Draco, who was standing smugly with his arms crossed. But then he saw the broomsticks the Slytherins had, and Ron's mouth dropped. "How…? Those are so new…"
Draco was obviously trying to not be too pleased. As casually as possible, he remarked, "Good, aren't they? Perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweap Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them."
The Slytherins roared with laughter. Hermione pouted; over all their laughter, she retorted, "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."
The corners of Draco's mouth turned down into a scowl. His jaw clenched, he muttered, "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood."
My team went berserk; Fred and George tried to leap towards Draco, but Flint stopped them. Katie retracted her wand from inside her robes and screeched, "How dare you!" Oliver was shouting and throwing his fist up in the air, beside himself with rage.
I was not unaffected. A horrified gasp escaped my throat, and I shrieked, "Draco!" at the top of my lungs. Since Flint hadn't been expecting any rile out of me, I was able to rush forward and shove Draco backwards, knocking him on his arse in the mud. He stared at me from where he sat, eyes wide, as if he hadn't expected me to go after him for using such a foul word like that.
But my reaction was nothing compared to Ron, who went brilliantly scarlet and screamed the words, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!"
A flash of green illuminated the congregation, and Ron went flying five feet backwards. I had a bad feeling whatever jinx he'd been attempting was ricocheted right back at him—I was proven right when he vomited two slugs onto the ground.
Once again, the Slytherins roared with laughter… all except for Draco, who was picking himself up from the ground.
Harry, Hermione, and I all rushed to help Ron stand upright, talking over one another as we tried to think of a counter-curse. After coming up with nothing, we figured it would be best to take Ron to Hagrid.
"Practice tomorrow?" I called back to Oliver.
The Captain nodded, although his gaze still sharp due to the Slytherins. My eyes next landed upon Draco, who for some reason, was looking at me in confusion.
I felt no sympathy for him. What he had said to Hermione was horrid—and it reminded me that Draco Malfoy, despite our partnerships in a few of our classes and the fun we had had on the Hogwarts Express, was still a Malfoy.
As we approached Hagrid's hut, we noted none other than Gilderoy Lockhart keeping our friend company. Knowing we couldn't afford having him spot us, we hid in the bushes until he was gone; we were almost spotted due to the sound of Ron's retching the slugs.
Fortunately, he was able to stifle the sound enough to keep us hidden from Lockhart. As soon as he was out of range, we knocked on Hagrid's door.
Hagrid seemed relieved to see us, but his expression grew worried upon seeing Ron's pale face. He escorted him to the chair in the corner, where another few slugs were belched up.
Cheerful despite the nastiness of the jinx, Hagrid plunked a large copper pot in front of Ron to collect the slugs in. "Better out than in," he said, thumping Ron's back. "Get 'em all up, Ron."
Hermione watched Ron sadly and whispered, "I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop. That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand…"
Ron retched; out dribbled another slimy slug.
I moved to grab a cold cloth for Ron's forehead while Harry, Hagrid, and Hermione all sat quietly, uncertain what else to do. Smiling sadly, I asked, "Need anything, Ron?"
He just shook his head and braced himself for another round of slugs. With a sigh, I draped the cloth around Ron's neck, wishing I could do.
"So tell me, who was he trying ter curse?" Hagrid finally asked.
"Malfoy called Hermione something—it must've been really bad because everyone went wild. Belle even threw him to the ground," Harry said.
"It was bad," I said lowly, my hands shaking. "Draco called her a Mudblood, Hagrid…"
I didn't want to believe it had been said: it was a tough pill to swallow, that the Draco I once thought could've been my friend was fake. But I would never be friends with someone who used such names. It just wasn't right.
Hagrid stopped dead in his tracks. "He didn'!"
"Oh, yes, he did," I said. Sitting next to me, Harry looked utterly lost, and so I took it upon myself to explain, "Mudblood is a really foul name to call someone who's Muggle-born… someone with non-magic parents. There are some wizards who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood."
With a great snort, Hagrid added, "The rest of us know it ain't make no difference at all. Besides, they 'aven't invented a spell our Hermione can't do."
Hermione smiled weakly and turned dark pink. One of my arms soon decorated her shoulder; an invitation to let her rest her head upon my own should she wish.
Despite the circumstances that brought us to Hagrid's, the rest of our visit was rather pleasant. Hagrid asked us about our classes, and we expressed our frustrations with Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions as usual. Eventually, I got to tell Hagrid that I'd made the Quidditch Team, at which news he shouted, "HURRAY!" and promptly started making some English Breakfast Tea, which he knew was my favorite.
After an hour or so, Harry and Ron expressed that they were starving and wanted to go back up to the castle. Hermione swiftly agreed—while I was hungry as well, there was something on my mind that I thought Hagrid might be able to help me with. Waving them on, I said with a smile, "Go on ahead, guys, I just wanted to ask Hagrid something real quick."
They headed for the doorway—it was Harry who looked back at me and promised, "We'll save a seat for you," before heading off.
Once they had shut the door behind them, Hagrid leaned forward and poured me another cup of tea. "What is it yeh wanted ter ask me about, Belle?"
I took a sip of my tea and stirred in half a teaspoon of sugar. Although I felt weird asking, if anyone could answer my question, Hagrid would. "Hagrid… what are those things that pull the carriages? Those horse-like things?"
The look on Hagrid's face was surprised—and then, gradually, he looked sad. A bit gruff, he asked, "Yeh can see 'em, then?"
I nodded.
"Arr," he sighed. Hagrid took a long gulp of his own tea before resuming. "They're called thestrals, Belle. Seriously misunderstood creatures, they are. People think they're a bad omen."
This didn't surprise me very much, based on what they had looked like. But my main concern hadn't yet been answered. "Yeah… but when I was catching the carriage with—well, when I was taking the carriage to the castle, I was the only one that could see them. Why is that?"
Hagrid breathed lowly and shot me a look that was almost pitying. "Thestrals can only be seen by those who've watched someone die."
I blinked and looked down at my mug. This wasn't too much of a surprise either, but… it still hurt, thinking about the last time I'd been able to see my mother, hear her voice.
"You alrigh', Belle?"
My gaze travelled back to Hagrid, who was obviously concerned about me. Almost without meaning to, I answered, "Yeah. I'll be okay. It was just… hard. I was seven when my Mum got diagnosed; eight when my Dad got killed on a Ministry job. I guess it was good that he only had to be without her for a couple of months."
He placed a large hand on my shoulder—the force of the gesture almost knocked me into the table, but the sentiment behind it made me smile. The way he looked at me, calm and understanding, made me want to talk more about what had happened; so I did.
I told Hagrid about how my Mum was positive about the diagnosis even when the rest of us weren't. She was strong when the rest of us couldn't be, even though she was the one in pain. I spoke of the day she passed away; how me and Robbie and my Dad were by her side until the very end—and how much it hurt to watch her take that last breath. Then I talked about my Dad; how he took on riskier jobs at the Ministry after her passing to try and take his mind off of things. How he dove into his work to distract himself from his grief, counting on Robbie to take care of me. And how he finally realized what a mistake he was making, and promised us that things would go back to normal after this last job—
Only it really was his last job.
And at least the last words I got to hear from both of them were that they loved me.
I didn't really realize how much of a toll telling that story had taken upon me until a tear trailed down my cheek. Hagrid moved to my side and held me against him while also being careful not to crush me.
"Thanks for listening, Hagrid," I sighed, my voice heavy and low. "We don't usually talk about things much at home, and I haven't felt right bringing it up around the others because… well…"
I wasn't the only one without parents, after all—and I was lucky to have known them for a little part of my life.
"That don' make what yeh went through any less significant, Belle," replied Hagrid, and his dark eyes were filled with a serious light. "While Harry migh' never have known his family, losing yours is a different type of hardship, and it's valid."
My eyes welled up with tears again, this time of gratitude. I didn't know how badly I had needed to hear those words until they were said.
The two of us finished our tea. I took another couple of minutes to compose myself: then I thanked Hagrid for talking with me, for the tea, and for helping Ron earlier. Feeling warm and supported, I started the trek back up to the Great Hall.
When I finally located Harry, I plopped down into the seat he had saved me. He shot me a small smile, as if he felt rather than saw how exhausted I was. Before he could say anything, however, Professor McGonagall approached.
Harry and Ron exchanged nervous glances—with good reason. The first thing she greeted them with was, "You two will do your detentions this evening."
"What're we doing, Professor?" asked Ron, wringing his hands.
"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch," she answered curtly. "And no magic, Weasley—elbow grease. And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail."
Harry gaped at her and stammered, "Oh, n—Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room, too?"
"Certainly not," she responded, raising a thin eyebrow. "Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, both of you."
And with that, she stiffly walked off.
I shot both Ron and Harry a look and simply sighed, "Good luck, mates." There was no telling who had it worse: Ron who had to put up with Filch, or Harry who had to put up with Lockhart.
The rest of the afternoon, the boys groaned about their upcoming detentions. As I watched Ron yak a couple more slugs into his newly acquired bucket, I could only hope that his curse would wear off by eight.
