A Meeting with the Slytherins
The next few days were slow-moving, the aftermath of the Dark Mark weighing heavy on everyone's minds, none more than Mrs Weasley, who nearly cried at the sight of Mr Weasley and the children returning. While everyone was into the living room, checking the latest article on the Daily Prophet about the Cup Final, Ila asked Mrs Weasley,
"Hedwig hasn't arrived, has she?"
"Hedwig dear?" Mrs Weasley said distractedly. "No…no, she hasn't come. There hasn't been any post coming."
Ron and Hermione looked curiously at Ila.
With a meaningful look at both of them, she said, "All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Hermione?"
"Yes…I think I'll do too," Hermione said at once. "Ron?"
"Same here," he said quickly, and the three of them marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
"What's up, Ila?" Ron said the moment they had closed the door of the attic room behind them.
"There's something I haven't told you," Ila said, sitting on her bed. "On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again."
Ron's and Hermione's reactions were almost exactly as Ila had imagined them back in her bedroom on Privet Drive. Hermione gasped and started making suggestions at once, mentioning several reference books and everybody from Albus Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse. Ron simply looked dumbstruck.
"But — he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean — last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?"
"I'm sure he wasn't on Privet Drive," Ila said. "But I was dreaming about him…him and Peter — you know, Worm-tail. There were a bunch of women there too but I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill... someone." She had teetered for a moment on the verge of saying "me" but couldn't bring herself to make Hermione look any more horrified than she already did.
"It was only a dream," Ron said bracingly. "Just a nightmare."
"Yeah, but it didn't feel like it," Ila said. "I've had loads of nightmares, but none of them cause my scar to hurt…and think about it, my scar hurt a few days ago and then all of this happens…Death Eaters and the Dark Mark…I think…"
"What?" Hermione asked although it didn't look like she wanted to know anymore.
"He could be back," Ila said bluntly. "Do you not remember what Professor Trelawney said?
Professor Trelawney was their Divination teacher at Hogwarts.
Hermione's terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort. "Oh, Ila, you aren't going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?"
"You weren't there," Ila replied. "You didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance — a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again...greater and more terrible than ever before...he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him...that was the same night Wormtail escaped."
There was a silence in which Ron fidgeted absentmindedly with a hole in his Chudley Cannons bedspread.
"Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Ila?" Hermione asked. "Are you expecting a letter?"
"I told Sirius about my scar," Ila said, shrugging. "I'm waiting for his answer."
"Good thinking!" said Ron, his expression clearing. "I bet Sirius'll know what to do!"
"I hoped he'd get back to me quickly," said Ila.
"Hedwig's not going to manage that journey from here to India in a few days."
"Yeah, I know," Ila said, but there was a leaden feeling in her stomach as she looked out of the window at the Hedwig-free sky.
"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Ila," Ron suggested. "Come on — three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play...You can try out the Wronski Feint..."
"Ron," Hermione said, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very sensitive sort of voice, "Ila doesn't want to play Quidditch right now...She's worried, and she's tired...We all need to go to bed..."
"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," Ila said suddenly. "Hang on. I'll get my Firebolt."
Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Mrs Weasley had bought for her, Ila, and Ron in Diagon Alley. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava. Ila was polishing her Firebolt, the broomstick servicing kit Hermione had given her for her birthday open at her feet. Fred and George were sitting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment.
A few moments later, Mr Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.
"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he told Mrs Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the hearth and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shrivelled cauliflower. "Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing too, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for the both of them ages ago, even if John wants to do it himself."
"It's clear that Lauren doesn't want to be found," Percy said. "She took all of his money, for God's sake. Can the man not get the hint?"
"He's clearly going through something Percy," Mrs Weasley told him. "There's probably a good reason as to why he thinks she disappeared."
"He just can't come to terms with the fact that his wife didn't actually want him."
"That's enough, Percy," Mr Weasley said sternly. "I've met the two together. Lauren loved him as much as John loved her. I talked to John this morning. From the way he was talking about it, her disappearance does sound strange. I doubt the Prophet would mention it, but her mother was also found missing a few weeks before she went missing."
"There you go," Percy said, "you've found your answer. She probably went off with her mother."
"What do you have against thinking Lauren Dawlish is missing?" Bill questioned his brother.
"Have you not read about what she's done?"
"You can't believe those stories," Mrs Weasley said indignantly. "That poor woman is missing, and all the papers can talk about are things that probably aren't real. Besides the Parkinson's marriage was ruined before Lauren came into it."
The three friends' heads turned at the sound of Parkinson. Mrs Weasley, who saw their heads, thought that perhaps it would be a good idea to send the children upstairs to start packing their clothes so that they wouldn't have to hear what was going on.
"Did you hear about what they were talking about?" Ila said as she and Hermione entered their room. "What do you think happened with her parents?"
Hermione rummaged through her bag before pulling out an article by the Daily Prophet.
"OFFICE WHORE OR VICTIM OF JUDE PARKINSON?"
Ila's eyes popped out of their sockets at the sight of the title.
"My reaction exactly," Hermione said, watching Ila read the article. "Whoever this Rita Skeeter is clearly has something against Lauren Dawlish."
"But they worked together? How could you write this about someone you worked with?"
"Not to mention it was written days after they found her missing," Hermione added as she began to fold her clothes.
"How messed up can you be to write that?" Ila said, throwing the paper on her bed and started her belongings.
"Stuff like that always happens, Ila," Hermione said.
The rain sounded even louder at the top of the house, accompanied by loud whistlings and moans from the wind, not to mention sporadic howls from the ghoul who lived in the attic.
"Why won't that owl shut up?" Ila wondered aloud. She took her Firebolt and hit the ceiling, hoping Ron had gotten the hint. After a few more moments, it hadn't stopped. Tired of listening to the owl, she couldn't take it anymore and walked out of the room towards Ron's bedroom. The door was already opened. She walked in to see Ron holding a long, maroon velvet dress. It had a mouldy-looking lace frill at the collar and matching lace cuffs.
"What is that supposed to be?" Ron asked his mum, who was holding several packaged in her hands. "Why've you given me Ginny's dress?"
"I haven't," Mrs Weasley said. "That's for you. Dress robes."
"What?" Ron said, looking horror-struck.
Mrs Weasley finally noticed Ila waiting at the door. "Hello dear, have you packed up everything?"
"Most things," Ila said.
"Mum!" Ron exclaimed, getting his mum to pay attention to him again. "Why?"
"Dress robes!" Mrs Weasley repeated. "It says on your school list that you're supposed to have dress robes this year . . . robes for formal occasions."
"You've got to be kidding," Ron said in disbelief. "I'm not wearing that, no way."
"Everyone wears them, Ron!" Mrs Weasley said crossly. "They're all like that! Your father's got some for smart parties!"
"I'll go starkers before I put that on," Ron said stubbornly.
"Don't be so silly," Mrs Weasley said. "You've got to have dress robes; they're on your list! I got some for Ila and Hermione too…show him, Ila." Mrs Weasley handed her one of the packages from her hands. She slowly opened the package with some trepidation, and to her surprise, it wasn't as bad as she expected.
"I thought because you looked so beautiful in your other dress, you would want something similar. There was this kind old lady that helped me pick it out; we spent the whole day together…perhaps I'll owl her…."
Inside the package was a deep red Anarkali suit, with a red and gold lehenga to match. The dress sleeves were netted, with small roses embroidered, which was carried onto the lehenga.
"It's beautiful, Mrs Weasley," Ila said breathlessly. "Thank you!"
"Well, they're okay!" Ron said angrily, looking at Ila's robes. "Why couldn't I get something nice like that?"
"Because . . . well, I had to get your second hand, and there wasn't a lot of choices!" Mrs Weasley said, flushing.
Ila grimaced. She would willingly have split all the money in her Gringotts vault with the Weasleys, but she knew they would never take it.
"I'm never wearing them," Ron said. "Never."
"Fine," Mrs Weasley snapped. "Go naked. And, Ila, make sure you get a picture of him. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh."
She left the room, the sounds of her heavy footsteps echoing as she went to the girls' bedroom. There was a funny spluttering noise from behind them. Pigwidgeon was choking on an overlarge Owl Treat.
"Why is everything I own rubbish?" Ron said furiously, striding across the room to unstick Pigwidgeon's beak.
The last few nights spent with the Weasley's went by so quickly, Ila had completely forgotten about having to go to school. She was excited to go back, but a part of her wished she could stay in her bubble with Weasleys. They had arrived fairly late, though what else was new, to the platform. They were unable to say proper goodbyes. However, Ila wasn't sure if it was because of the timing or because Mrs Weasley and her two eldest sons acted rather suspicious. They kept mentioning how Dumbledore would give them exciting news but wouldn't say what it was. Before any of them could persuade Mrs Weasley to give them some details, the train started moving until the English countryside replaced her.
The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them when Ron, Ila and Hermione made their way back to their compartment. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting. "Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down next to Ila. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what —" "Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs. Ila and Ron listened and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.
". . . Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore — the man's such a…M-Mudblood-lover — and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff…But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defence rubbish we do. . . ." Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice.
"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he had gone; then we wouldn't have to put up with him."
Ila wondered if the others heard his stutter. In all the years Ila had known Malfoy, she had only once heard him stutter when using the word 'Mudblood.' It was during the night of the Cup Final. Was it her imagination, or was Malfoy changing?
"I think I've heard of it," Ron said vaguely. "Where is it? What country?"
"It's somewhere far north," Ila said. "Somewhere cold because they have fur capes as part of their uniform."
"How do you know that?" Hermione asked.
"Sirius mentioned a couple of wizarding schools. He was comparing to the wizarding schools in India."
"But nobody knows where it actually is," Hermione said. "There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets."
"Come off it," Ron laughed. "Durmstrang's got to be about the same size as Hogwarts — how are you going to hide a great big castle?"
"But Hogwarts is hidden," Hermione said as if it was obvious to the two. "Everyone knows that . . . well, everyone who's read Hogwarts, A History, anyway."
"Just you, then," Ron said. "So go on — how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?"
"It's bewitched," Hermione explained. "If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a mouldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying danger, do not enter, unsafe."
"So Durmstrang'll just look like a ruin to an outsider too?"
"Maybe," Hermione said, shrugging, "or it might have Muggle repelling charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they'll have made it Unplottable —"
"Come again?"
"Well, you can enchant a building, so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?"
"Er . . . if you say so," Ila said.
"But you're right, Ila; it would have to be somewhere up north. I'm pretty sure I saw their uniform have fur capes."
"Ah, think of the possibilities," Ron said dreamily. "It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident. . . . Shame his mother likes him. . . ."
The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday.
Several of their friends looked in on them as the afternoon progressed, including Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom.
Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette. Some of its magic seemed to be wearing off now; it was still squeaking "Troy — Mullet — Moran!" but in a very feeble and exhausted sort of way. After half an hour or so, Hermione, growing tired of the endless Quidditch talk, buried herself once more in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, and started trying to learn a Summoning Charm. Neville listened jealously to the others' conversation as they relived the Cup match.
"Gran didn't want to go," he said miserably. "Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing, though."
"It was," Ron said. "Look at this, Neville. . . ."
He rummaged in his trunk up in the luggage rack and pulled out the miniature figure of Viktor Krum.
"Oh wow, " said Neville enviously as Ron tipped Krum onto his pudgy hand. "We saw him right up close, as well," Ron said. "We were in the Top Box —"
"For the first and last time in your life Weasley."
Pansy Parkinson, a tall, dark-haired girl, had appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode. Behind them, Ila could see a few Slytherin boys, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and…Malfoy. What was strange was that he was standing at the very back. He didn't even look interested in taunting Ila and her friends, something Ila thought was his favourite pastime.
"Don't remember asking you to join us, Parkinson," Ila said coolly.
"Don't remember caring if you did, Potter," she replied, eyeing her. "Besides, I wasn't interested in you" – she turned to Hermione – "I saw that little stunt you pulled from the Cup Final."
Hermione's brows furrowed. "What're you talking about?"
"Don't act dumb, Granger. It's all over Witch Weekly," she snapped before Daphne pulled out the magazine from who knows where and threw it at her. The front cover was a picture of Viktor Krum holding the Snitch as he stared at Hermione at the Top Box.
"Right," Hermione said after a few moments of staring at the magazine before looking up at Parkinson.
"Haven't you got anything to say for yourself?" Parkinson said, stepping into the compartment.
"I don't really know what you want me - "
"Bet she flashed her tits for him," Daphne muttered, making the boys laugh. Well, most of them anyway. "You know what her lot are like…."
Hermione stood up, the magazine rolled in her hand. "What exactly are my lot like Greengrass?"
Daphne's smile dropped from her face.
"Just leave us alone - "
Parkinson's hands shot straight up to her hands as her eyebrows raised in surprise. "What is that!" Before Ron could make a move, Parkinson snatched his dress robes off Pigwidgeon cage. Millicent took it from her hands and held it up by her wand. She waved it around as everyone screamed, trying to get away from it.
"Look at it!" Parkinson said. "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean – they were pretty fashionable in the 1800s…."
"Eat shit, Parkinson!" Ron said angrily, lunging at Millicent, who was just out of reach for him.
"Are we going to spend our entire time here? Or are we actually going to do something that doesn't revolve around them three?" Malfoy spoke for the first time. Everyone stilled. Ron took it as a chance to snatch his dress back from Millicent.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Parkinson said. Ron, Ila and Hermione looked at one another, sharing a confused look.
Interesting, Ila thought. That's a first.
"If we're going to have this conversation, let's have it somewhere private," Malfoy said, casting a significant look at Ila before walking down the aisle. Parkinson made a move after him, the rest trailing after the two.
"I can't be the only one thinking how strange that was," Ila told the two as Hermione shut their compartment door.
"Them two arguing isn't that crazy," Ron said, relaxing into his seat beside Ila. "Besides, it made them forget about us."
For some strange reason, Ila thought that perhaps that was why Malfoy had started the argument.
Before calling herself crazy to even think that Malfoy thought of them anything other than his sworn enemies.
"Are you alright?" Ila asked Hermione, who was staring at the front cover of the Witch Weekly Parkinson had left behind.
"It's honestly a talent that they can make something out of nothing," Hermione muttered before scrunching up the magazine and throwing it to the floor. She then took her spellbook, carrying it out on her reading. Ila stared out of the window, watching as the rain battered the windows. She could see the reflection of the light and themselves in the compartment. Ila saw Ron pick the magazine up, unfolding it. He stared at the front cover. With it being a reflection, Ila couldn't quite tell what he was feeling. But all she did know was that it would be another ten minutes before he rolled the magazine. He opened the window and let go of it before slamming it shut.
After what felt like forever, when it was actually four hours of the three of them being stuck in a small compartment, the train started to slow down. Ila had woken up from her nap after Hermione shook her awake. Her body ached as she stretched.
"I'm going to the toilet," she told her friends hoarsely, her body not used to speaking after a long time of being silent. And having her mouth wide open didn't help either. With a splash of cold water waking her up after she got changed, she was ready to get back to her compartment. It sounded like there was a commotion outside.
The Slytherins were the closest people to the toilets, so it must be one of them. There was a door to her left that sounded like the source of the screaming. Placing her head against the door – she realised that it wasn't a group of people. There were only two people.
"….the fuck Malfoy?...do…have…problem….?"
"Of course….you're always on about….it's doing….head…."
"You never…problem before….what's….now?"
Parkinson and Malfoy were still arguing? Ila thought. Merlin, they have stamina. She started to walk back, though somewhere in her, loud alarm bells were going off.
How is that strange? She asked herself.
There are too many coincidences. Too many times where he's helped you – whether it's indirectly or directly…
Ila laughed at the ridiculousness of the thought. The train finally stopped in the pitch darkness of Hogsmeade station. As they entered the horseless carriages, there was a rumble of thunder so loud, Crookshanks bundled into Hermione's school robes, and Pigwidgeon was finally quiet. Ila watched the rain came down, fast and thick, as the carriages splashed their way up the track towards Hogwarts Castle.