The walk away from Hagrid—"I swear on my life I'll try to convince Dumbledore to do something"—and up the grassy hill, all the way back to Hogwarts had been filled with an angrily muttering Eliza and a soft eyed Daisy, the younger Hufflepuff trying to ease the tension in her friends shoulders. " It really isn't was bad as you think—"
Eliza abruptly stopped and turned with a glare, lips almost parted in a snarl. Daisy didn't dare finish her sentence, simply shuffling after Eliza's flurrying huff. They reached the foreboding Hospital Wing doors in a pinch, pulling them open and storming inside. Madame Pomfrey was surprisingly absent, but Jean immediately propped up in her bed, "Hey, it's my friends!"
"You! You irresponsible pillock!" Eliza marched over to the one occupied hospital bead and thwacked her friend on her unbroken arm. "How in the hell did you break not only your arm, but your leg as well?"
Jean smiled as started explaining exactly what had happened in the Quidditch field, "I swear, I didn't do this just to piss you off. Oliver Wood asked caught me near the pitch this morning and asked if I could replace Alicia Spinnet for the upcoming game; apparently, she woke up vomiting slugs and Dumbledore sent her to St. Mungo's."
Eliza clenched her jaw at Jean's pleading eyes, "I couldn't say no to Oliver Wood! He's a darling, and he just asked so nicely."
"Have you ever even played Quidditch?"
"… Not exactly." Jean smiled before deflating a bit into her seat. "I really don't know how it happened, honest. One moment I was on my broom and the next I was falling. It wasn't like I did it on purpose, Mum."
"Don't get defensive with me, you're the one joining a Quidditch game when you've never even played. You're lucky you didn't crack open your skull."
"If I had then maybe I wouldn't have to hear you scold me like a child for the millionth time. I'd have called my own Mum if I wanted to be called an idiot." Jean spat before falling back against the fluffy pillows, looking away from her friend's dejected face.
Eliza took a breather and calmed herself down, realizing that talking down to her friend would get them nowhere. She gave in and nudged her friends shoulder, "Alright, I'm sorry."
"No." Jean refused the apology with an upturned nose. "I reject your lame apology."
"But—" Daisy decided to make herself present at that moment, going to the other side of Jean and offered sweet words to her friend. "C'mon Jean, she apologized. Be nice."
"Oh, like that's a surprise, taking Elizabeth's side like always." Jean spat her friends name with fiery eyes. "That's no surprise."
The three girls let the loud silence encompass the Hospital Wing. It was only when the doors opened and Madame Pomfrey teetered back in did the girls put their negative energy on someone else. Pomfrey's voice was stern, a hard stare at the bed-ridden Jean. "And how are we feeling now? Any aches or pains?"
"Still aches a bit," and Jean worried her bottom lip, "Are you going to give me any Stele-grow? I do have a game tomorrow, you now."
"Pfft! That's only for complete breaks that would take months to heal, dearie," Pomfrey stared at Jean with a hard eye, "And besides, even with the bones re-growing, you'd need at least a week of bed rest. No Quidditch for you."
"But—But I have to! I promised Oliver Wood!' Pomfrey shrugged her aged shoulders. "I guess Mr. Wood will have to find someone else to take your place."
Now, some would call it stupidity, or just complete rejection of sense and logic, but whatever it was that prompted Eliza to step forward and proclaim, "I'll take your place on the team," must have been something that no wizard had hear of. The look of utter disbelief and shock on Jean's face, and the utter bewilderment of Daisy's—even Pomfrey looked surprised—was enough to have Eliza nearly running from the too crowded room. But Jean's hand reaching out and snagging her had her footsteps faltering.
The look in her oldest friends eyes was disbelief, "You'd do that? For me?"
"I'd do anything for you, Jean. You're my friend, and—" I'd die for you, Jean.
She kept those words to herself and lurched forward to hug her friend, the two girls keeping their embrace for more than a few seconds. The bond between the two of them was stronger than anyone neither knew nor could understand; they were an unbreakable force not even Oliver Wood and his Quidditch game could break apart.
They pulled away and shockingly enough; Jean looked a little tear eyed. "Sorry for snapping at you. I know you mean well, I do."
"And I'm sorry for sounding like your Mum." That had them snickering, before Jean asked a very good question.
"Have you ever flown a broom before?" Eliza looked sheepish, "Uhm, not since 3rd year, maybe even 4th. I know the basics and that's really it. "
"That's good enough." Daisy finally cut in and stepped toward to duo, "Just dodge and watch your back, that's all there really is."
"Well," Eliza gave a half titled grin, "Guess I have a busy day tomorrow."
The Potions Classroom seemed darker and murkier this time around; the pairs of students were all huddled against one another as Professor Snape loomed over theme, his arched nose a beacon of doom for all.
"Can anyone tell me the second ingredient in the potion you are about to brew?"
The Potions classroom was fairly silent, even Eliza not knowing the answer. She hadn't been able to find her textbook and was nervous to tell Professor Snape she required another one—she hadn't forgotten the words Silas had said previously about Snape's disdain for Remus, and his worry for her well being—and unfortunately it seemed that Silas had been called back to her home and she was left partner less. The Slytherin had sneakily snagged the Hufflepuffs book after their last Potions class.
"No one?" He took one look at all of the young blank faces. "Pity."
Eliza barely heard him command the class to start their potions with swiftness, standing on shaky legs with an uneven breath. It wasn't as though she was scared of Snape or anything, knowing that that Professor wouldn't actually hurt her, though there was some anger in his voice whenever he spoke to anyone that wasn't a Professor.
And now she stood in front of his seated form, fingering her long sleeves "Is there a spare book I can use?"
"Why exactly would require you to need a spare, Miss Jones?" His tone was bored.
She gulped, "I seem to have forgotten mine, Sir," she tried to apologize, "I'm terrible sorry, Sir—"
One pale hand lifted and her mouth closed with audible noise, eyes watching as he pulled back one drawer in his desk and procured one textbook—it was strange that he was giving her one from his desk and not the usual cupboard with the other books—but she reached to take it with a grateful smile.
"Thank you, Professor." She made to turn and leave but Professor Snape surged up to his natural height that shadowed the Hufflepuff, leaning down to speak directly in her face.
"I require your assistance two days from now. It seems Lupin will be unable to teach his class and has asked me to cover." There was no question in his tone, so there was no room to even deny him.
"Of course, Professor, but may I ask why—" His nose was nearly touching her hairline as he surged even closer, black eyes heady and full of annoyance. "No, you may not."
He pulled back a hair of an inch, "You are aware that your concern for Lupin concerns me, and as a Professor of this school, I am within my right to assume that you and Lupin are up to something. Prove me wrong, Miss Jones."
She gulped and nodded, scurrying back to her seat and sitting down at the single table, practically feeling Snape's eyes on her. What did he think he knew? Did he know something about Remus that she didn't?
Was it wrong, the way she felt about Remus? It certainly didn't feel wrong—in fact, it felt right. Being around him felt so nice and warm, like she was cuddled up in a blanket that would never let her go. Was it wrong to feel so right?
She felt a smile grace her lips as images of Remus entered her mind, fingers running along the seams of the worn down old book. It looked worse for wear than the one she used to have, but she opened it nonetheless, taking in the cursive words sprawled across the top of the first page.
This book is the property of The Half Blood Prince
Who in the hell was the Half Blood Prince?
Her eyes darted to the other students before shooting a glance at Professor Snape, only to quiver when she found him to be staring straight at her. A nervous smile was thrown his way before she returned back to the textbook, opening it more and burrowing her brows in mild confusion. There were notes, markings and she was tempted to close it and give it back to Snape, but when she read them closely, she nearly gasped.
The markings were instructions; they were modifications on the anything from ingredients to steps to the actual effect of the potion. She could only assume that they were correct, she had no reason not to, and started searching for the potion they were required to do, which happened to be the Elixir to Induce Euphoria.
She was slightly shocked at the amount of writing on the page—it was a messy sprawl that sometimes looked to messy to read—but she did her best, occasionally looking around to make sure no one could see her modified book.
Snape stood from his desk and she shut the book, sitting back as he stalked the dark classroom with a judgmental eye. "It seems none of you were able to produce an acceptable potion."
He stopped next to her cauldron, turning to raise one simple eyebrow. "Almost, all of you."
She hid her smile in her hands as he continued to stalk and berate the class, thanking the mystery half blood prince.
Of course, there was no doubt that luck was indeed not on Elizabeth Jones side, for the raging storm just happening beyond this room was enough to have her questioning the decision to even play in the game. It felt strange to be wearing the red and gold marks of Gryffindor and not the usual yellow and black. The uniform had been last minute—no Gryffindor was apparently her height and had as thick thighs and hips as herself—and was a bit snug around the calves. It would do for just this one game, and the broom by her side hadn't been used in years. The wood was unstained, unmarred and nearly fresh.
But then again, an unused broom was unpredictable.
"Attention!" Oliver Wood stood before his team, eyebrows hard and mouth pursed, "There's a storm out there and it doesn't look pretty, so keep your eyes sharp and try to stay straight," All of the Gryffindor's—and one Hufflepuff—nodded with determined eyes, following Oliver out onto the field.
She was the last one to board her broom and shoot onto the field, wind and rain hitting her like a ferocious punch to the head. The thick protective glasses covered the top portion of her face, and were quickly becoming soaked with rain. There was no time to try and figure out exactly who was Slytherin and who was Gryffindor, and her eyes zeroed in on the Quaffle, following it with urgency.
The wind buffered against her tied back ponytail, whipping it back and forth and slapping the sopping end against her cheeks. Two players came on her sides and started closing in tightly, even starting to bump into her with an eagerness that jolted more than her broom.
Her eyes scanned the surrounding field, looking through the misty rain to try and see a way out of this Slytherin sandwich. It took perfect timing and a sharp turn to the center of the field that effectively dislodged her from between the two brooms, watching them nearly crash into one another.
A flurry of gold stopped in front of her glasses—the Snitch, fluttering like a butterfly in the pouring rain—and her attempt at snatching it failed—once, twice—and she tore after it like a bullet.
The little snitch was fast and clever, mazing around the field and shooting past every player with a clever ease. But she was relentless in her chase—funny enough, she was nearly hit by a stray Quaffle—and only stopped when instead of going forward, it went up.
One of the Slytherin Seeker's shot up into the dark sky, disappearing into the ominous clouds. She looked around the wet and grey field, not seeing the Gryffindor Seeker go after the Snitch—
"Elizabeth!" Her name was yelled from her left, the wet figure of Harry Potter appearing on his Nimbus 2000, "I've got it!"
He shot up into the sky right after the Slytherin player; Elizabeth's glasses pelted with water as she stared up after him. It was the nervous feeling in her gut that had her broom rearing up and shooting up after him, barely hearing the surprised yells from the stands, as well as the eyes of one Professor Snape watching her disappearing form with unease.
The rain scoring her chest felt more of a nuisance than an actual pain, though it was easier to fly directly up than side to side. The air was colder the higher she got, and lightening flashed at the corner of her squinted eyes.
One particularly loud rumble had her stopping in place and resting in air, watching furious lightening surround the dark clouds. It may have just been her cold ridden brain, but the cloud distinctly looked like a dog. It was gone with a harsh rush of wind, and she continued her race up—
The Slytherin player from before soared past her, going back down towards the Quidditch match at a pace faster than she'd seen all day. His face had gone by too fast to see an emotion, but the feeling of dread grew in her stomach—a flash of black shot past the corner of her eye, her breaths starting to grow uneven as more flashes soared by.
A cracking reverberated through her ears as the glass around the edge of her goggles froze—it was time to go back down. She could only hope that Harry made his way back down safely, and she let herself fall back on her broom, racing back down through the clouds.
Her heart felt as though it would beat out of her chest, and her breaths grew frantic as she continued to race to the Quidditch field.
A yelp escaped her mouth as a brown object flew past her and out of sight, and a force akin to a body slammed against her back, effectively knocking her off her broom. There was no time to try and reach for the body that she knew was Harry, or even her broom, as she fell through the air.
Fear encompassed her every thought and her limbs became immobile, her eyes closing as her body fell faster and faster. The horrified screams of the students watching the two Quidditch players race freefell towards the ground was inaudible to Eliza and Harry, both students falling unconscious just as Dumbledore stood and raised a lone hand.
Remus Lupin was a conflicted man.
Confliction such as this hadn't been felt since he was a young man, debating the betrayal of Sirius Black and the death of the Potters. But now, here he was—
Conflicted.
The private quarters he'd been gifted by Dumbledore were more than he'd ever expected to receive, and they allowed him moments such as this. It was too close to the full moon for him to be out around students, around other people, around—
A groan echoed through the room as he pictured the girl who'd wracked his every thought and desire since the train ride to this school; Elizabeth Jones. She was sin in the form of a Hogwarts student, and every carnal desire erupted just at the smell of her. It was the sweet honeysuckle and vanilla scent that wracked his brain and caused him to think the most conflicting thoughts; ones of mating the sweet girl and biting the soft curve of her neck that was meant to bear his mark. Images of mounting her supple hips and feasting on her growing breasts made him feel more beast than man.
And yet, these thoughts felt so right. Yes, he felt like a beast and that only Azkaban could keep her safe from him, but he wasn't blind to the soft gazes she sent his way, or the way her scent spiked when he was near. And when he'd touched her hand, he'd nearly salivated at the mouth, wanting to present his own neck to the darling girl that had a hold over him.
Did she even know of the hold she had? How desperate he was?
A whimper left his throat and his hands scrambled to unbutton his trousers, wanting to palm his stiff cock while his mind was fresh with Eliza. They were almost off when a harsh beating sounded against his door, a growl echoing through the room as the wolf inside grew angry at the interruption.
He was tempted to just let them piss off, but they didn't let up, and Remus hastily buttoned up his pants and stalked to the doorway, pulling open the door with a growl, "What is it?"
Minerva McGonagall stood in front of Remus with a grimace, "You'll want to come see this, Professor."
Jean was propped up in her bed, glaring at the Gryffindor crowd surrounding one Harry Potter with excitement and overzealous worry. The lot of them were still covered in rainwater and smelt like dirt, all waiting for Harry to wake up.
A sleeping Eliza—who also sported a minute hairline fracture and a sprained wrist—was silent next to Jean, and she felt right rancid for her friends state, knowing she'd gone ahead and played in the game just to make her happy. And look at her now; unconscious and broken.
Jean felt vile.
3rd year Hermione Granger had been the one to explain what exactly had happened; Dementor's had been over the field and had attacked Harry when he'd been going for the Snitch, and he'd slammed into Eliza on his fall down, knocking her off her broom. Dumbledore had stopped them in time but he'd been furious, ending the game and sending the Dementor's off.
Madame Pomfrey had seen to Eliza first before setting her sleeping form in the bed next to Jean, moving onto help Harry and his brigade of fans. Jean would never say this out loud, but Harry Potter was slightly overrated.
Nightfall came quick and Madame Pomfrey made her last check up on the two sleeping figures, shutting the door for the night. The rain had stopped pelting against the windows and Jean found she enjoyed the silence, trying to fall into a dreamless sleep for the night.
Except—
Whoever had just entered the Hospital Wing was trying their best to be silent and she heard them tip toe across the hard floor, stopping somewhere near her bed. They didn't make a noise at first, and her heart thumped in her chest with unease.
"Hello, darling." The voice was soft and more of a murmur, but she listened as they spoke. There was a scuffling noise—maybe they were moving the blanket in Eliza's bed—and they continued, "I leave you alone for one day and you end up her. I guess we can agree you'll keep me on my toes."
It was voice that felt familiar, but she couldn't quiet place it. There was no doubt she'd heard it before, but where…
It took absolute concentration to not jump when the door slammed once more, a voice she recognized this time, uttering, "I should've known you'd be here, Lupin."
What the hell? Professor Lupin was visiting Eliza at the Hospital Wing? This was starting to get strange.
"Ah Severus, what brings you here?" Lupin muttered back and she heard Snape step towards Eliza's bed.
"I could say the same to you," he spat, "Though I assume you enjoy a walk in the moonlight?"
Opening her eyes wasn't an option at this point, but she was desperate to see what was going on at the bed right next to her. Lupin sighed, "Please, Severus, can't we be civil—"
Snape growled, "I didn't come for you, Lupin," he paused, "I don't know why Dumbledore is determined to endanger the school with your insufferable presence, but I'm going to figure out why."
There were a flurry of movement and then the door shut once more, leaving Eliza alone with Jean in the the Hospital Wing. At least—
"I trust this will stay between us, Jeanine."
The door clicked shut and she sat up, wondering what in the hell had just happened.
"Dammit, Eliza," she sighed, questioning everything, "What the hell have you gotten yourself into?"