Chapter Thirty-Four

Repellent

Meanwhile, across the other end of the castle, Harry was facing his own set of dilemmas.

"Harry!" Fred broke through the celebrating crowd surrounding the Gryffindor champion and slung an arm around him. "You should've told us you were entering!"

George snuck up on his other side, likewise throwing his arm over his shoulders. "If anyone deserves to win, it's you," he assured him with a laugh.

Harry shrugged the twins off as they posed for a photo taken by Colin Creevey. Normally, he would've dismissed them with a smile or a grin, but tonight Harry had more important things to worry about than their feelings. Ignoring them, he zeroed in on Hermione, who was watching their rowdy House with a disapproving frown.

It deepened when he reached her. "I thought you said you weren't competing," she reproached him.

Harry bit back a groan. "I didn't do it," he said through clenched teeth.

Hermione was quick on the uptake. She leaned forwards in her seat, the disappointed expression slipping off her face only to be replaced by shock. "Someone else entered your name?" she gasped.

Nodding, Harry glanced around the room in search of his favourite ginger. "Where's Ron?"

"I saw him pop up into the dorms a minute ago."

"Okay." Harry moved towards the doors leading up to their dorms; he had taken a step that way before realising Hermione was still in her seat. "You coming?"

"Into the boys' dormitories?" she asked, surprised.

"Well, yeah. Ron's there, isn't he?"

Hermione opened her mouth as though to protest the immorality of the act. Then she paused, and Harry was willing to bet she was reflecting on all the times they lurked inside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

The timely arrival of butterbeer in the common room via whatever secret set-up the seventh-years had provided a great cover as they snuck into the boys' dorms.

"You know," Hermione said thoughtfully as they climbed the stairs, "I still don't understand why girls are permitted into boys' dorms and not vice versa."

"Reckon the Founders thought girls were more trustworthy," Harry responded wryly.

They left the staircase at the fourth landing. Every year as they graduated another form, their rooms got moved up a floor. Someone inevitably wandered into the wrong dorm within the first week of term; last year it had been Colin, but the fact that it'd been Harry's dorm he'd drifted into led them to believe it hadn't been an accident.

Ron was standing by the window when they entered. He glanced over his shoulder upon hearing the door open and did a double take when he noticed Hermione in their room.

"You're not meant to be here," Ron pointed out indignantly. He moved to cover himself despite being fully clothed in his jimjams.

Rather than displaying the same hesitance in the common room, Hermione threw her head back imperiously. "Says who?" she challenged.

Bemused, Ron exchanged a look with Harry — but then his face became carefully blank, and Harry's worst suspicions were confirmed.

"Congrats, mate," Ron said weakly. His lips twitched into a painful looking smile. "Shoulda told me you were gonna enter."

"I didn't," Harry said for what felt like the millionth time. "Enter, that is."

Hermione, who had been surreptitiously glancing around at their room, turned her attention to Ron. "Someone else entered Harry's name," she explained. "And I'm assuming their intentions weren't the best, either."

Harry sat on his bed facing Ron's, which his best mates moved to sit atop of as he recapped what happened after he had joined the champions in the chamber off the Great Hall.

By the time he was done, Hermione and Ron were wearing mirroring expressions of horror.

Ron found his wits first. "Someone's really out to get you," he murmured, sitting back in shock.

"You shouldn't be participating!" Hermione yelled, frustrated. She leapt off the bed and began pacing. "The safest course of action would be to pull you out of the tournament, not chuck you straight into the dragon's lair!"

"You heard him, Hermione," said Ron, frowning. "They can't do anything about it."

"Forget the rules," she spat, and both boys gaped in surprise. It was a dark day indeed when Hermione Granger defied the rules. "Harry's wellbeing is more important than some silly old cup."

Ron gazed at Hermione with stars in his eyes. "Curse the rules again," was his dreamy request.

Hermione huffed, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards in amusement. It fell as she considered the situation once more. "You need to let Sirius know," she told Harry.

Ron nodded fervently in agreement. "He told you to keep him updated on what's going on at school, right? It's almost like he knew this was gonna happen..."

Harry ran a hand through his messy black hair. Sirius would know what to do. Probably. Either way, he could use some comforting words right now.

He grabbed the hand-held mirror from his bedside drawer and held it up to his face. "Sirius?"

Sirius appeared a few seconds later, still dressed in his day wear despite the late hour. "Harry? Is something wrong?" he asked, sensing the tension on their end.

With the help of his friends, Harry recapped the night's events once more. Sirius's face remained carefully neutral during the anecdote as he absorbed the information being fed to him. Once Harry was done, Sirius said, "Karkaroff does seem like the best bet. He was a Death Eater, imprisoned only to be acquitted once he started naming names… You remember what Arthur was saying about Bertha Jorkins?"

"She went missing in Albania," supplied Hermione.

"That's where Voldemort was last spotted."

Ron hissed. "She couldn't have just walked right into him, right?" he asked apprehensively.

"Jorkins was a few years above us," continued Sirius, a far-off look in his eyes. "She was a complete idiot, nosy to boot. She'd be the type to head straight into a trap without even realising it."

"So… what?" said Harry, puzzled and more than a tad vexed. "He's using Jorkins to get around? Possessing her like he did Quirrell?"

"We can't know for sure," Sirius said cautiously. "She would've known about the Triwizard Tournament, at any rate, and maybe Voldemort found out about it through her."

Voldemort's involvement in this plot was obvious, sure, but hearing Sirius confirm it caused Harry's throat to constrict in fear. His growing panic must've been obvious, as Sirius hastened to assure him he wasn't alone on this.

"Yeah," added Ron, slapping a hand to Harry's back, "you've got me and Hermione to look out for you. The three tasks will be a cinch with our combined brainpower."

Harry smiled weakly at his mate's efforts. "Shame you guys can't come into the tournament with me."

"No, but Alex can," Hermione pointed out, eyes bright with realisation. "She can help you from the inside."

As much as he appreciated the sentiment, Harry couldn't help but feel wary. "Not much she can do against a Dark Lord, though."

"You never know," interjected Sirius. "She's a very unpredictable witch."

Harry sighed. That, they could all agree with.

Alex woke up feeling like she had been stampeded by a herd of hippogriffs. She had spent most of the night in the common room, feeding her Housemates' burning curiosity as she answered question after question. Eventually she grew tired of repeating herself and turned in for the night, only to stare up at the top of her four-poster in contemplation of the crap she had voluntarily put herself through for the rest of the year.

It was a shame today was a weekday, because Alex would've liked nothing more than to hide away in Hogsmeade in avoidance of whatever her schoolmates had in mind for her. She even put off getting ready just to steer clear of her roommates for the morning. With that in mind, she decided to have breakfast in the kitchens.

They were thankfully clear of any students when she got there. The house-elves treated her no differently, either unaware of uncaring of her new status as Hogwarts' champion, and handed her an assortment of breakfast foods with little fuss.

As she ate, her eyes wandered to spot Cedric was sitting in less than twelve hours ago. Her gut twisted as she recalled the painful conversation they had last night. She had never been in a fight like that before, one coloured by a quiet sort of hurt as opposed to the fiery anger and hostility she usually experienced. What the hell was she going to do?

The lone thought occupied her mind as she headed to class. Thankfully, it was just Study of Ancient Runes with Professor Babbling. There were only seven students, most of which were Ravenclaws. There was only one of every other House; Alex was the Slytherin representative of her fifth-year Runes class, which meant she didn't have to endure any smug, proud glances during the entire lesson. Alternatively, it also meant she was without any allies.

Alex pretended to ignore the eyes on her as she slipped into class. She took her usual seat closest to the door at back of the room, forcing people to turn if they wanted to continue gawking at her. While most people had the decency not to do so, Thomas Paley was exceptional in that regards.

The Gryffindor fifth-year sneered at her from his seat two rows away. "Not wearing your badge of honour, Fortescue?" he asked snidely. It was actually the first words he had ever spoken to her, so she was a little taken aback by the venom in his voice.

Alex peered down at the front of her robes where her prefect badge was pinned. Figuring his sight was dodgy, she shrugged off his comment and opened up her textbook.

Cho Chang frowned at him from her side of the room. "It's pretty obvious she didn't make the badge. Harry Potter is her friend, remember?"

Okay, so they weren't talking about her prefect badge, that much was clear. Apparently someone—from her House, no doubt—was going around handing out badges smearing Harry's name in order to elevate her own. Despite the absolute pettiness of the act, Alex couldn't help but feel impressed that they had managed to do so much in so little time.

If Thomas wanted to retort, he was going to have to wait. Professor Babbling had arrived, followed by a small Gryffindor boy Alex sometimes saw chasing after Harry.

She stopped by Alex's desk. "Miss Fortescue, you'll be excused from this morning's class," she informed her with a genial smile. "You have some champion duties to attend to, or so I hear."

Alex flushed red in embarrassment as all attention returned to her. "Thanks," she muttered, grabbing her textbook and fleeing the room.

She had to slow down, though, otherwise she'd risk overtaking her messenger. He was a meek, mousy kid who walked with a skip in his steps. Alex thought furiously for his name as he led her not to the Great Hall but to a tiny, unused classroom.

"In here," he chirped, pointing to the closed door. "Good luck!"

Well, wasn't that ominous?

Remembering her manners, Alex knocked on the door and waited to be welcomed in. She was greeted by a mostly empty classroom save for three tables placed together to form a long row draped in velvet. Ludo Bagman, Fleur and Viktor were seated on one side of it, as well as a garish woman who struck Alex as familiar. She and Ludo were chatting animatedly while Viktor crossed his arms and peered down moodily at the velvet-covered desk. Fleur was twirling a strand of silver hair around her manicured finger, oblivious to the way the cameraman on her right was watching her.

Lips pursed, Alex blocked off the man's view by sitting beside her. It wasn't until she was that close to her that she realised the blonde woman conversing with Ludo was Rita Skeeter, the Daily Prophet's most notorious journalist – if you could call her that. Her presence, as well as the creepy cameraman's, clued her in as to the purpose of their summoning.

Alex put on her best smile. "Miss Skeeter!" she gasped in delight, paying little mind to the way everyone turned to her. "I'm a huge fan – my dad and I simply can't get enough of your writing." It was so bad, it was good. "Are you here to do an editorial on us?"

Skeeter lowered her bejewelled glasses to get a good look at her. She must've spotted something worth her stamp of approval, as her red lips curled upwards into a small smile. "Alexandra Fortescue, correct? Yes, I'm here for an exclusive with the champions of the tournament – history in the making!"

Alex turned her smile up a few notches. She needed to warn Harry. Excusing herself under the guise of needing the bathroom, Alex popped back outside, just as the Gryffindor kid and Harry turned the corner.

"Fair warning," she said as they neared the classroom. "Rita Skeeter is in there, just waiting to pounce."

"Who?" he asked cluelessly.

The kid answered while Alex struggled to withhold a sigh. "Rita Skeeter is the most famous journalist in magical Britain," he gushed. "Her writing is super controversial, though, since it's inconsistent and just plain incorrect most times."

"Basically, she's a sensationalist," explained Alex. "To her, facts don't matter much as long as she and her articles are talked about."

"Oh, um, okay." Harry's brow knit together in confusion, clearly unsure of the importance of her warning.

"If you piss her off, she'll drag your name through the mud," said Alex, frowning. "You don't wanna know how many reputations she's ruined with that quill of hers."

"They call her the Toxic Quill," whispered the kid, his eyes wide with a mix of trepidation and awe.

Alex pulled a sour expression. Who even was this kid?

"Thanks, Colin," said Harry, noticing Alex's reaction. "I'll see you around."

"Sure," chirped Colin, reverting back to his usual chipper self. "Bye Harry! Good luck!"

"Oh yeah," murmured Alex as they watched his scamper off. "That's his name – Colin Creepy."

"Creevey," corrected Harry.

"Yeah, but Ron calls him Creepy." She could see why.

Alex shook her head to derail that train of thought. "You first," she said, nodding at the door. "I lied and said I needed the bathroom, but now I really do need to go."

"You're so dumb," sighed Harry as he knocked on the door.

Alex elbowed him in the side before dashing away, grinning gleefully all the while.

When she returned, the amount of people in the room had increased. The heads of all three schools were seated by the table, more or less patiently waiting for her. Alex took the open seat between Fleur and Harry, who appeared disgruntled. He was shooting a few glares at Skeeter, confirming Alex's suspicions – he had already been put through the ringer. She braced herself for her own turn.

Except her interview with Skeeter never came, because that wasn't the intention of their congregation. Instead, their wands were to be weighed by Ollivander himself, who had been standing quietly by the window the entire time.

Seeing the eccentric old man made Alex twitchy. She had only met him once, which was one visit too many according to most. Like many other Hogwarts students, she had purchased her wand from Ollivanders right before her first year, as good witches and wizards were wont to do. His dimly lit, cloying shop and erratic behaviour frightened most children, and though Alex could vividly remember the chill that had settled over her when Ollivander had peered down at her with his soul-searching gaze.

To her relief, he reigned in his eeriness today. She supposed he only became that excited when matching a wand to its partner for the first time; he seemed less interested in their old and used wands, though not harmfully so. He took his job seriously as he inspected their wands one by one and tested them out.

Fleur was first on the chopping block. It emitted pretty pink and gold sparks as Ollivander twirled it like a baton, his fingers surprisingly dexterous for a man old as he. As he read out its measurements, it was revealed the core of Fleur's wand was a Veela hair from her grandmother – meaning the Beauxbatons champion was part-Veela.

Wild, thought Alex in mild amazement.

She focused as Viktor presented his wand next. He slouched in his seat, frowning harshly as Ollivander noted the features of the Gregorian wand. Not for the first time, Alex wondered what the difference was between the wand-makers all over the world. Her dad insisted Ollivander was the best in the business, but her mum always scoffed and insisted the Japan-based maker, Makimura, was unbeatable. Alex always ended the argument by suggesting they go to magical Kyoto for a Japanese wand, to which her parents without fail laughed in reply.

Alex was drawn out of her musings when Ollivander called for her next. She focused on his wispy white hair and not his all-seeing eyes as she handed him her wand, which she had surreptitiously withdrawn from its holster back when Fleur was being tended to. No point in giving away secrets to her competition.

Her vigilance was basically moot, however, as Ollivander read out the qualities of her wand for all to hear: "Aspen. Dragon heartstring. Pliant. Twelve inches – the largest of all the champions," he murmured.

Alex made no effort to hide her smug smirk.

"Still as white as ivory," Ollivander noted with visible approval. "I take it you polish it every day?"

"All day every day," she agreed with a nod. In her periphery, she saw Harry roll his eyes.

Ollivander raised her wand in the air. "Ornatus."

A silver ribbon spun out of the tip of the wand, spiralling upwards before transforming into butterflies which flew out the open window.

"Very good," commended Ollivander as he gave back her wand.

He then proceeded to gawk at Harry's wand much longer than he had with theirs. Perhaps he was that impressed by the amount of grime and grease Harry managed to coat his wand with. Even looking at it made Alex want to polish her wand again.

Once the wands were done being weighed, Skeeter roped them all into an impromptu photoshoot. Alex adopted her most photogenic smile, not wanting to be caught off-guard like that one time at Cedric's all those years ago. The memory made her chest ache; if only things were as simple as they were back then.

Skeeter and her photographer fought over who would be the centre of the pictures: Harry or Fleur. Weirdly, no one cared for Viktor, who was easily the most famous out of the four champions. Then again, judging by his perpetual glower, it was obvious why neither of them wanted to showcase him.

"How about another interview, hm?" asked Skeeter, her beady eyes on Harry and Harry alone.

Now this is bordering on predatory, Alex mused with a grimace.

Before Harry could open his mouth and insult Skeeter, Dumbledore stepped in. "The children still have class to attend," he reminded them just as the bell chimed. "Education is of utmost importance, after all." He smiled benignly at Skeeter's scowl.

"What have you got now?" she asked Harry as they left the classroom.

Harry's sour expression could've given both Skeeter and Viktor a run for their money. "Potions," he spat, "with the Slytherins."

I'm right here, mate. Alex didn't take any offence, though; the Snakes in Harry's year were easily the worst in their House.

She hummed. "Let's skive."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. "What?" he said, stunned.

"Skive. Cut class. Truant."

"I know what it means," he snapped. "But I can't skive. Not only would Snape murder me, I can't let Hermione and Ron endure a Potions class on their own. Don't you have class right now?"

"Defence," she sighed. "But if you're going to class, I might as well go too." She could still cut, sure, but she'd feel guilty if she was the only one skipping her lesson.

"I thought you liked Defence?" said Harry as they made their way to the nearest staircase. "Isn't it your best subject?"

"Actually, that's History of Magic." Memorising textbooks was pretty easy, especially when the topics were so fascinating. "I normally like it, but Moody is a total freak."

And she wasn't talking about his physical appearance—Alex couldn't care less about that—but rather the quiet way he delighted in messing around with them. They had finally moved on from the Unforgivables and were presently working on Shield Charms. She had a feeling they were going to stop soon, however, as almost all of them were atrocious at the spell.

"He's all right," replied Harry with a shrug. "He turned Malfoy into a ferret." It had been the talk of the school for an entire week last month.

"If only he stayed that way," she said mournfully.

That sentiment intensified less than an hour later. As she had predicted, this morning's class would be spent on Shield Charms yet again. Instead of simply casting them, Moody had them working on its practical use. The students were divided into two lines facing each other and were instructed to take turns tossing spells at each other's shield. They were given a minute to work with one partner before he called for them to shift down the line and face a new opponent. To circumvent any impromptu duels, they had to stick with inoffensive jinxes and hexes; if your Shield could withstand it, your opponent had permission to up the ante.

Like most professors, Moody split them up based on their Houses. A poorly thought-out idea in Alex's opinion, considering they shared the class with their rival House. The Gryffindors and Slytherins traded grim smiles and cold sneers as they faced each other, wands out and ready.

"Shields up!" barked Moody. He waited for a chorus of protegos filled the air; some struggled more than others. "Begin!"

Her first opponent was as weak with his defensive spells as he was his offensive. Not only did he fail to make a dent in her Shield, she broke his with a lazy impedimenta. Her second partner made her exert a little more effort, but Alex came out on top anyway.

Her Housemates' performances weren't anything to write home about either. Yatin broke everyone's Shields in one hit, since he was an arse who paid little mind to Moody's instruction to start small. But his own Shield was an unstable mess that barely covered his torso. Katherine had the best Shield of the class; it was strong and sturdy, despite being stretched out to cover her from head to toe. On the other hand, she struggled to crack anyone else's Shield. Like many others, Katherine's spells were deflected by her partner's Shield Charm, so not only did people have to worry about their opponent's attacks, they had to defend themselves against wayward hexes as well.

Alex ended up being the first casualty of the lesson. Having defeated her sixth and most recent opponent, she had lowered her wand but remained alert for any loose spells. She was keeping a close eye on the pair next to her—Jacob and a Gryffindor named Cameron—who were battling it out with a vengeance. As such, she didn't notice Agatha's spell until the last second.

The force of it was enough to make her stagger back with a yell. The clamour of the classroom died out as they watched in shock while the effects of Agatha's spell settled in.

Alex righted herself, feeling nauseated. Her stomach churned uncomfortably as something forced its way out her throat. Her mouth coated itself in saliva in preparation for her throw-up. Unable to keep it in, she hiccupped – and a frog leapt out onto the floor in front of her.

And then another.

"I'm sorry!" squeaked Agatha as the class burst into laughter. "I'm so sorry!"

Well, at least it wasn't slugs.

Moody snarled at her peers to shut up as he conjured up a bucket and thrust it into her hands just in time to catch another frog. Through the sickening haze clogging her system, Alex noted that each frog was different in appearance – some were bright green, others were red.

"Gamp," growled Moody, "take her to the hospital wing. And clean up any frogs on the way."

Agatha's face reddened in embarrassment. Nodding hastily, she placed a hesitant hand on Alex's back and guided her out the classroom.

As much as Alex wanted to shrug off her Agatha's hand, she was too busy trying to fight off the urge to belch out more amphibians to do more than crawl towards the infirmary. Fortunately, someone had the foresight to locate the hospital wing close to the Defence classrooms in situations such as these. They reached it in under five minutes, and Alex had procured no less than ten frogs during that time.

Madam Pomfrey was already tending to someone when they got there. She poked her head out from the curtained-off bed and asked, "Yes?"

"Frog-Belching Charm," Agatha replied guiltily.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. Clearly, she was having a busy morning. "Sit down. I'll be there in a minute."

"I really am sorry," Agatha offered again as they did what they were told. "For both this and… you know."

Scowling, Alex thought about burping the next frog straight onto Agatha's lap, but even through her anger she knew it was too petty an act. Instead of giving her roommate a piece of her mind, Alex hung her head in the bucket and spat out another frog.

Do these count as my spawn? she wondered deliriously as an electric blue frog blinked up at her.

"That's you done, dear," they heard Madam Pomfrey announce to her original patient. She hurried over to Alex, whose cheeks felt bloated.

"There isn't much I can do," admitted Madam Pomfrey. "You can either wait it out until the charm wears off—which depends on the strength of the spell—or you can purge all the frogs from your system at once."

Alex grimaced. "How long's the wait?" she asked in one breath.

"Alham was taunting me," Agatha said slowly, "so I was pretty irked when I cast that spell."

Alex sent her a murderous look.

"Another half-hour, then," surmised Madam Pomfrey.

Yeah, nah. "Purge me," decided Alex.

Madam Pomfrey didn't need to be told twice. She extracted a basin from beneath the bed Alex was sitting on and multiplied it. Alex's stomach dropped as she doubled then tripled the amount.

"Be ready to hand her an empty one when she needs it," warned the mediwitch.

The next minute was the easily the worst of Alex's life. Once she had finished spewing out a waterfall of frogs, Alex laid back in the bed and cursed every single deity for landing her in this situation.

Her job done, Madam Pomfrey levitated all six tubs of Alex's frogs, murmuring about how Professor Snape would appreciate them.

"Make sure he knows they're a gift from me," Alex called after her, still a touch dazed.

"How are you feeling?" asked Agatha from her bedside stool.

"Like I just took the biggest dump of my life," confessed Alex with a sigh.

Agatha's face twisted in disgust.

"Alex?" Hermione of all people emerged from behind the other occupied bed in the room. A worried frown marred her features as she came close enough to see the unhealthy pallor of Alex's face. "I heard you, um, throwing up. Are you all right?"

Great. Another person to witness her embarrassing episode.

"I'm better now that the spell's worn off," she sighed. "What happened to you? Potions accident?"

Hermione appeared miffed at the accusation. "Of course not," she said. She slid her eyes over to Agatha, who was openly staring at Hermione. Not with malice, but polite curiosity. It was a look which confused them both.

"I'll go collect your bag," announced Agatha, displaying some tact for the first time of her life as she read their discomfort.

Alex watched her go with a puzzled frown. "Anyway," she said, turning back to her friend, "you were saying?"

Hermione took Agatha's seat. "Malfoy hit me with a jinx – not intentionally," she hastened to add at the fierce look in Alex's eyes. "He and Harry were dishing it out in front of the Potions classroom of all places, and Malfoy's spell accidentally hit me instead."

"Same thing happened with me and Agatha," confided Alex with a roll of her eyes. "From now on, let's stay away from blonde purebloods."

Hermione giggled. "Isn't she your friend?"

Alex shuddered. "No one in my House is my friend," she said flatly.

"No one?" echoed Hermione.

"No one. Acquaintances, maybe. Perhaps ally. But if friends are people you're meant to trust unconditionally… Then no."

The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched upwards into a small but warm smile. "I think I understand what you mean."

"Why were Harry and Draco fighting anyway?"

Hermione's smile vanished. "He and the other Slytherins were wearing these awful badges: they said something along the lines of support Alexandra Fortescue, the REAL Hogwarts Champion and then when you tapped it, it said Potter stinks."

No way that was it. It was a dick move, sure, but not something worth crossing wands over. Hermione wasn't telling her something.

"And?" prompted Alex.

"He… Malfoy offered me one but said not to touch him with my mudblood fingers."

"I see." Alex leaned back into the firm pillows behind her head. "We should slit his throat."

Hermione gasped. "Alex!" she hissed, horrified.

Alex shrugged, unashamed. "It's what he deserves," she said callously.

Her face was a mask of calm as she wrestled with the fury burning her up on the inside. It had been over a year since her last incident with accidental magic, and Alex wanted to maintain her streak for as long as possible.

"Did you at least deck him?" she asked once she regained control of her emotions.

"I was a bit occupied with the rapid way my front teeth were growing," replied Hermione irately. "Madam Pomfrey did a great job shrinking them, though – and get this!" Here she brightened visibly. "She told me to say when my teeth reached their original size, but I didn't, so now I no longer have buck teeth." She grinned, showing off her new front teeth, which were now the same size as the rest.

To be honest, Alex had never noticed Hermione's teeth before. As the child of two dentists, her pearly whites were so perfect they would last her even after death.

"I thought they were fine before," Alex said sincerely, if a little confused. Having your two teeth larger than the rest was completely normal, in her opinion; in fact, having them all the same size was a jarring sight due to its irregularity.

Hermione deflated at the admission, reflecting the strange disappointment permeating through Alex. She had never realised how insecure Hermione was about her appearance. Had she always been like that? Or was this a new development?

"You're the first person to say that other than my parents," she admitted in a small voice.

"Well," said Alex, sitting up in a more comfortable position, "when you become Minister of Magic, you can make it so that it's illegal to make fun of people's teeth."

Hermione laughed at the nonsensicality of Alex's declaration. Most of the concern clouding her dark eyes had receded, but it lingered all the same. As much as Alex wanted to find out more about the root of her friend's insecurities—be it magical or muggle—she knew that any further attempt to draw the answers from her friend would end poorly.

"I should get back to class," realised Hermione as she glanced at the clock hanging over the entrance.

"Why? It's just Potions." Alex herself had no plans to return to Defence.

Hermione frowned. "You shouldn't skive, especially as a prefect. Besides, who knows what Ron and Harry'll get up to if I'm not there to talk some sense into them?"

"Wise words," commented Alex. "Have fun."

Hermione left, leaving Alex with her thoughts albeit not for long. Her ruminations were interrupted by the occasional ill student, and not all of them were from Hogwarts. Sick of hearing their gripes and groans, Alex pulled the curtain around her bed shut and contented herself with staring at the brightly coloured bug on the curtain pole.

It was ripped open a few minutes later by Madam Pomfrey. "I think you've been here long enough," she said in a tone that wasn't quite reprimanding. "Longer than I would have allowed in most circumstances, in fact."

Alex rolled her eyes as she got up, her back to the nurse. I bet you say that to all your patients, she thought wryly.

Alex made sure to take her time as she returned to the Defence classroom.