Warm, morning sunshine filtered down through the stained-glass windows of the Hufflepuff dormitory. As the bright, clear sky made space for the tall turrets of Hogwarts Castle, the sunlight found itself shimmering through the painted glass. It filled the colours full to bursting. Newly radiant paintings of powerful witches and wizards from ages past, of kind eyes leading societies to brighter shores, of brave badgers oft overlooked. In fact, it was these glassy badgers themselves that were behaving rather oddly at the moment. The tiny, magical animals were crawling along the glass searching out patches of warm sunlight. Once they found a nice sunny spot, they curled into little balls to contently snooze for a bit longer in the morning warmth.
Phoebe could relate to the little sleeping champions, each one named after a Hufflepuff of legend. She traced them with her eyes as she herself dallied in the morning sun, by far the last student to get up. She could see Newt Scamander, shown as a badger surrounded by plants and animals, sleeping in the sun of a forest clearing. Across from him, she saw Tonks with a streak of magenta down the animal's back. Further up the window, twisting up the stained-glass vines, and she even saw brave Cedric Diggory; though to be completely honest, at this exact moment the badger was on its back, legs splayed and snoring loudly.
Phoebe laid in bed, one leg sticking out from under her golden quilt. No one had ever called her a morning person, and if anyone else had been in the dorms they would have prodded her to get up and get to class. But such thoughts were far from her focus. Besides, she wasn't actually due anywhere for another hour. In her last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Phoebe had used all her favours and connections with the staff to build the perfect timetable. She only had one class a week before noon – a morning elective class about magical sailing – and that was only on Fridays. The rest of her classes were all expertly chosen to satisfy her interests, and most critically, they all began at the civilized time of afternoon.
Such was often the case with Hufflepuffs. To the unwary egotists – to those lacking insight into the subtle ways of burrowing into power – one might see the House as gentle or meek. Certainly, each of the professors she had convinced to make special exceptions for her had been unawares of Phoebe's ultimate plan. They had only seen one of their brightest students asking for a small favour, something not easily refused given her radiant disposition these last six years. But as each tile fell into place, a compelling mosaic emerged.
Hufflepuffs could play the game. They could twist factions with subtle words, buffer conflicts when it didn't suit them, and generally empathize the-shit out of any scenario. The muggles would call them psychologists or maybe the marketing department.
Of course, Phoebe was in no position to arrest the rise and fall of magical society at the moment: that would first require a cup of Bertie Bott's Magically Roasted Coffee Beans. Her intense love of the beans – which grew only in the cloud forests of Kenya and were tended by a tribe of traditional magicians – had reached a fevered pitch as she studied for her fifth-years OWLS. In fact, an extra-curricular venture by her and her best-mate Pat (a Ravenclaw from the same year) had resulted in a business agreement between the School and Bertie Bott. Now, each student could enjoy a steaming-hot cuppa every morning in the Grand Hall. The deal had even netted her fifteen extra points for Hufflepuff in the House Cup (their House still came dead-last, but hey, little wins are important too).
And as Phoebe lay in the warm morning sun, the only thing she could think of was getting a hot, bitter cup. That, and her new crush John, but it was important to keep your priorities in line.
Suddenly her bed began to vibrate quite ferociously, from the floor up through the four-corner posts. It was the last of her alarm clocks: the one that seemed to say 'if you aren't up now then I've no more patience and am this close to flinging you out'. Phoebe groaned and rolled over to her nightstand. She blindly grabbed for her wand, pointed the tip to the headboard above her, and somehow grumbled out the word Silencio. The bed stopped shaking for now, though she could still feel its angry intent peering down from the quilted bannister.
She sighed, looking longingly at the stained-glass mural of her proud forebearers.
One day, will I be brave enough to earn my own badger?
For even Hufflepuffs are ambitious and dream of glory. Not the grandiose, showy kind of glory: and not for themselves. No, perhaps more 'glory' in the way that Hobbits might use the phrase. To be supportive of your community, to help civilization grow by helping those in most needs first. To leave a place better than when you found it. But that of course first required getting up.
And as she slowly stumbled from her bed, pulling at the tangles of her long golden hair, she could see that just as the last Hufflepuff had finally awakened, so too were the little, glassy badgers waking up to quietly conquer another day.
She walked down the spiraled stairs into the Common Room, still finishing up her hair. It was purely muscle memory at this stage. Her mind: a space soon to be filled with creative joy but currently voided. It didn't matter, her feet knew exactly where to go.
Her entire Hogwarts career had been here in House Hufflepuff. Really this place was her home more than any other, or at least in a different kind of way.
The wide stairs ended onto an extravagant dark carpet with yellow highlights. Her bare feet loved the thick plush, which felt like the furry coat of a giant badger (Hufflepuffs, of course, always removed their shoes before entering the Common Room).
She stepped through the cosy, slightly too warm room towards the far side. She waved with her fingers towards some of her friends studying by the windows. All three beamed back at her. She kept walking towards the Breakfast Nook.
It might surprise students from other Houses to learn that the Hufflepuff Common Room has its own catered breakfast station. Every morning, while sleepy Gryffindors and Ravenclaws trudge down the stairs to the Great Hall for breakfast, each little badger has already eaten once. Most have also stored away a little snack for later in the day: because why not be prepared?
In fact, the entire Hufflepuff chamber was maintained by a single House Elf named Ms. Scones. Ms. Scones had been freed from any form of servitude decades ago – along with every other House Elf – when the Dark Lord had been finally defeated forever. Now she was employed by the student fees from each young witch or wizard within the House. Incidentally, both concepts of student fees and employing a caretaker were uniquely Hufflepuff as well. As with most things, students from other Houses could have organized the same: they just didn't think like a badger did.
Ms. Scones was standing by the coffee bar on the far end of the nook. As she saw Phoebe approach, the elf snapped her fingers. A bit of fiery brimstone puffed around her hand, and a coffee mug began to float towards the bar. A trail of coffee beans spiraled into the air, tighter and tighter till they ground together. Then, when everything was just-so, Ms. Scones snapped again to extract her coffee into the mug. The hot cup floated by Phoebe's sleepy head, its aroma already invigorating her.
"Mhhmm thank you so much Ms. Scones," she said, taking a hot sip.
"My pleasure, child. You know I would do anything for you, Besides, it's not every day that your star-student teaches her first class."
Phoebe blushed, happy and warm. "I know I'm so excited. I've been practicing my defensive charms for weeks and now I finally get to teach some students."
"You're going to do great, child. You're a natural; as gifted as though you were half-elf." Ms. Scones smiled and walked past Phoebe's knees. "It's so important for our students to learn the control and care that comes from battle magic. And it's high-time they were taught a Hufflepuff philosophy on the subject."
The House Elf walked into the Common Room's open space, swinging an imaginary sword of fire. "Every Gryffindor battle master thinks that the only way to win is to summon the Burning Blade of Godric Gryffindor. Rubbish: a Badger Clan could work together to overcome that easily," she finished, turning back to Phoebe. The Elf cupped her hands one atop the other: the unofficial gesture of their House's commitment to strength through fraternity.
"I know, Aunty, I know. I won't let you down. I'm the first Hufflepuff Prefect to lead Dumbledore's Army since the Battle of Hogwarts. I know they're going to underestimate me – the new recruits – and honestly, I can't wait to knock them flat on their asses!"
The two laughed warm and deep. "That's my Brave Badger," smiled Ms. Scones, "now go finish your breakfast. I've made pumpkin croissants just for you, you know."
Again, Phoebe's radiant smile dazzled the Common Room. She reached for two pastries, wrapping them up for later. The space around her seemed that little bit brighter as she took another sip of coffee, waving her fingers to the House's collective Mum.
She walked away towards the far side, away from the main space. A pair of heavy drapes concealed a dark corner. They formed a sort of barrier, concealment to one of her most favourite pieces of magic in the entire world. For yes, magic was the incitement of specific spells, and yes, there is magic within the instincts of battle magic. But there was a third type of magic, more art than purpose, you might say.
A type of magic where a witch or wizard poured their heart into a new creation. A piece of art that couldn't be recreated, not exactly. A magic that was built from expression, not rote incantation. And as she peeled back the dark, heavy curtains, Phoebe stepped into one of these works of magic.
She stepped into a warm, sunny meadow: hidden right there in the Common Room. All around her birds chirped in the late-summer sun. A hot wind blew through tall trees making each noble leaf dance. She walked along manicured gardens, past rows of green vegetables, and up a small hill crowned by a very great, big tree. There, beneath the massive boughs that skirted the green grass, was a quiet stone bench.
Phoebe sat down in the cool shade. She sipped her coffee, watching the meadow sway around her. And far off, at the end of the valley, she could just see the sunlight reflecting on the sea. Her mind slowly began to turn, awakening to its true potential. But then. a tiny echidna waddled up to her feet and started pawing at her leg.
"Oh hi, Roofus! Good morning! How are you?" she pearled, bending down to pick up the stocky creature.
Its black and yellow quills folded flat under her hand, the points hard like her fingernails. She spun her pet upside-down and cradled him with one arm.
"Have you had a good morning foraging? Your belly seems pretty full!"
Phoebe started scratching Roofus' stomach in just the right spot. The little guy's legs fell slack as a tiny, red tongue curled out from his long snoot.
She took another sip of coffee as she contentedly held her pet, and sat for a moment to think.
Her last year at Hogwarts. Her first time demonstrating for a subject. Head Prefect of her House and Champion of Dumbledore's Tournament (the winner from each year got to lead Dumbledore's Army for the next). It was definitely bound to be an interesting year. If she wasn't careful, she might end up in over her head.
As if he could read her thoughts, Roofus rolled himself into a little ball and fell into her lap. He struggled to stand up on her thighs, and then he gave her a few licks along her cheek. Phoebe smiled and laughed, glowing all the while. She placed her darling onto the soft grass for him to scoot along for more ants.
It's not going to be so bad, she mused, watching the warm, empty meadow.
This magical space had given her sanctuary throughout the years. While there's no doubt that House Hufflepuff's strength lay in its community, even the most social of badgers needs their own space from time to time. That was part of the beauty within this spell. No matter who walked behind the curtain, they would always find a secluded spot of serenity.
She finished her coffee, finally ready for the day.
It's going to go great, she beamed.
If only she could have known how non-great things would actually be.
Phoebe glided down the busy corridors of Hogwarts Castle. All around her were chattering students, each group pursuing their own important errands. Classes had just changed over and most students were making their way to the Grand Hall for lunch. They parted before Phoebe's brisk strides like waves before the bow of a ship.
As she passed, the younger students all looked to her with wide eyes and even wider mouths. A sense of legend had bloomed around her name, least so after last year's resounding victory in the tournament. And now each of the third years quickly scampered before her, while baby-faced first-years stood rooted in wonder as she passed by them for the first time. All the while, the boots beneath her black robes rapped against the stone corridor.
She smiled at each person, scanning the faces for familiar features. With each timid wave from the crowd, the noble badger would beam back with genuine warmth.
"Hi Phoebe, can't wait for class tonight," said Richard Raul, a Gryffindor with a mop of black hair.
"Thanks Richy, make sure you bring it tonight, yeah?" she replied without missing a step. The younger boy blushed and hurried to catch his snickering mates.
"Hey Phoebes, welcome back for another year. How about some Butterbeers next weekend to catch-up?" asked Betty Baneswood, one of her favourite Ravenclaws from the year below her.
And one of the best potions majors at Hogwarts right now, she reminded herself.
"Yeah Betty, let's do it. And you can tell me more about a certain Romanian Quidditch player you mentioned in your letters. Does he have a record of scoring?" she winked playfully.
"Yes he does," laughed Betty, "I've definitely got some matches to tell you about. Your hair looks great today, by the way!"
"Thank you!" she smiled, pirouetting once in a quick spin. Her hair spun out wide, hitting poor Anton Notna square in the face. The young Slytherin was completely baffled, and could do nothing but stare and sputter as Phoebe strolled blissfully unaware through the bustling school grounds.
At the end of the corridor, just outside, she could see a small crowd gathered ahead of her. The student's black robes formed a barrier, hiding something as they stood huddled together. The group was beneath a statue of the late Professor McGonagall. The statue and its own private courtyard were almost always guarded by a small army of cats. Rumour had it that McGonagall used to transfigurate into cats. Moreover, some students said that she wasn't really dead but just sick of all the admin work after years of being Headmaster.
Phoebe could hear the huddled group's laughter build in intensity. And she knew, from her own manic Hogwarts experience, that only one thing was about to happen: mischief.
She was just about to call out to the young group when suddenly there was a very bright flash of light followed immediately by a very loud thunderclap. The students were hurled onto their backs, dark smoke rising from their sooted faces. Now Phoebe could see a lone cauldron at the group's centre; and rising up high into the clear sky was a single column of white light.
At first everything was quiet. The students lay on their backs and were mesmerized by the tall beam of light. But then the dragons began to peel themselves away from the bright column. They started to fly around the courtyard like little, white spectres the size of big dragonflies. Their wings beat in rhythm as they swooped past the students' wide eyes. Phoebe could see little crests along their angular heads, and even tiny talons on their white feet. They were beautiful and fast.
Then the magical creatures began to snap and bite at the students. Laughter quickly turned to panicked shrieks as robes were torn and hands chomped. The little dragons were even attacking McGonagall's cats; though to be honest, the fierce felines looked plenty capable of defending themselves. But the summoned dragons were getting angrier by the moment, and soon little fires were beginning to spread around the courtyard.
One exceptionally useless fourth-year Hufflepuff by the name of Clarence Creevey was running about with the tale of his robes smouldering and yelling "How do you stop, drop, and roll?!"
Phoebe has seen enough. She whipped out her wand even as a pair of particularly peevish Hungarian Horntails flew past her face. With a clear, ringing voice – like a bell at the cold dawn – she held her wand aloft and shouted: Aquaria Deluge!
Dark clouds quickly gathered overhead. They built with unnatural speed until tipping past a threshold and into rain. Fat, splattering drops began to fall, until soon it was as if a waterfall had suddenly opened above the courtyard.
The radiant dragons were snuffed out one by one with the sound of hissing steam. Within moments the cauldron was more water than potion. The celestial light sputtered and failed. Still the monsoon rains continued to fall, until all that remained were sodden robes and a few very unhappy cats.
Phoebe took another step forward before silently raising her wand to the sky and firing off another bolt of light. It arced into the dark clouds, punched a hole right through the middle, and dissipated the tropical storm.
All eyes turned to stare at her: equal parts wonder and fear. For a moment, it seemed that the air around Phoebe's head darkened – just slightly. Some of the students worried she would be cross. Phoebe held their gaze a moment, reprimanding the tricksters without saying a word. But then the light came flooding back through her golden hair.
"Is everyone alright? Was anyone burned?" she asked with concern, scanning the young faces.
No one seemed to be injured too badly, though one young Gryffindor girl she had never met walked over cradling her hand. Phoebe rubbed the child's hair as she looked at her red hand. She quickly reached into her purse and brought out a tube of Longbottom's Botanical Lotion, dragonberry flavoured. As she rubbed the ointment onto the poor girl's hand, a tiny pink cloud wafted up to form a soothing kiss. The girl smiled up to Phoebe, obviously assuaged.
"What is the meaning of this?" boomed a new voice striding out from the covered walkways and into the sodden courtyard.
"Whose bright idea was it to summon dragons while I was on hall duty. Don't you know to save these types of pranks for when Professor Longbottom is on patrol?"
"Professor Madden, everything is alright," Phoebe spoke quickly. She nodded to the young Head of Slytherin, spreading her palms out flat and wide as though to prove her statement.
Seeing Phoebe caused the Professor to smile, and each of the students released a collective sigh of relief. Prof. Madden was known for his barking orders; but everyone also knew – like any angry dog – there was also a big softy behind those snarls. And it looked like Phoebe, once again, had the answer to this problem.
"Some of the students must have been experimenting with an illusion potion and lost control. I'm sure they didn't mean any harm," she said.
Kurt Krueler, the fifth-year Gryffindor responsible for the explosion, tried to hide the bottle of Weasley's Dragon Drops even deeper into his robes. The young delinquent had accidentally added five squirts instead of five drops of the potion (though to be fair, the bottle's 'instructions' were vague, at best).
"Ah yes, quite right you are Ms. Imms. I suppose there's really not any damage done," he said, curious that she should be so dry whilst everyone else was still dripping. He smiled, looking around from face to face as if he expected the question to come floating in naturally.
"And can anyone tell me," he began, always searching out moments of scholastic engagement, "what it was those dragons were made of? Were they of fire, or light – or maybe something altogether different?"
He looked around the courtyard, searching for his answer. Most students were still ringing out their robes, but one hand shot up to answer.
"Yes Ms. Murphy? Do you have an answer?"
Sheila Murphy brimmed with enthusiasm as she stepped forward and clearly spoke, "Yes Professor Madden. The dragons weren't made of light or fire, they were made of magic. It's different."
"Yes Sheila, exactly. Five points to Ravenclaw! So," he continued, scanning the soggy students, "why is it then, that Ms. Imms' fast-thinking rainstorm wiped out the dragons? If they aren't made of fire, how come the water sizzled them away, hmm?" (The 's' in the man's "sizzled" seemed to hiss like only a Slytherin knew how.)
Prof. Madden raised his eyebrows as he looked around, but no one seemed to know the answer. Even the brilliant Sheila seemed to be at a loss. He was just about to answer his own question when suddenly a young man stepped forward.
Phoebe's heart raced as John stepped into the clearing. She hadn't seen him before, though he was suspiciously dry so perhaps he had just arrived. She smiled, thinking that actually he had probably covered himself with a quick charm. He was quick, she reminded herself, almost as quick as her.
And he's so handsome, she purred to herself. Such clashing colours: black robes with green trim, red hair with blue eyes.
"It's simple, Professor," said John, stepping before the crowd of wet students. "Phoebe used her magic – in this case a storm – to cancel out the illusion's magic. See, magic is like a bell," he said, picking up steam. "When you ring a bell, it makes a specific noise: a certain frequency. Magic is like the opposite of this. With magic, you create a magical frequency, and then suddenly a bell pops into existence. And just like with soundwaves, most of the time magic doesn't work well with other magic. Think about it, a song is only any good if the notes work together. And spells only work together if they're harmonised."
Phoebe smiled, happy to hear such insight from her friend.
"Yes, very well put Mr. Engel. Five points to House Slytherin," roared Professor Madden, outwardly pleased with his House Prefect.
John suddenly turned and looked right at Phoebe. She smiled again, feeling chuffed with herself, glowing a little brighter.
"Actually Professor, if I could be so brave as to step into the ring with the formidable Ms. Imms," said John, "I don't think that the storm part of her counter spell was… necessary."
Phoebe's smile fell from her face faster than if a Dementor had just floated overhead.
"What do you mean unnecessary? Didn't you see all the dragon's fire spreading around?" she quickly retorted. She crossed her arms and suddenly seemed to stop shining.
"Well yes," he said, suddenly worried he'd stepped over the line, "but what I mean was, well as Professor Madden explained, that wasn't actually dragon's fire. So, they weren't actually on fire. Which means you didn't have to soak everyone through to the bone."
A few of the Slytherin students present began to grumble their agreement from beneath sodden robes. One girl was even trying to use her wand to dry out her parchment.
Phoebe smouldered at John, grinding her teeth.
He sure seems pleased with himself, she thought as he raised an eyebrow towards her. He's such an idiot.
"Nonsense Mr. Engel," interrupted Professor Madden. "Ms. Imms' quick-thinking is to be applauded. "The 'Deluge' of Aquaria Deluge ensured a rapid spread of magic to counter act the out-of-control spell."
"But she could have used a simpler localised spell to…"
"No, I'm afraid her choice was the fastest. Also, it pleases me to see so many wet and unhappy students. Ten points to Hufflepuff, yet again, for Phoebe's magical prowess."
Phoebe smiled again as the students clapped and thanked her, happy to be unharmed. They began to disperse, heading for their next classes. Some of them hugged Phoebe as they passed. And before long, she was glowing all over again.
John watched on, mesmerised by her radiant beauty. She always had this effect on him, as if the sun were shining brighter whenever she was around. He grew suspicious, feeling as though something was happening to which he was unawares. He covered his mouth and whispered a suppressive charm, one design to cancel out any active magic near him. But Phoebe continued to glow: a radiant warmth that could make even the meanest serpent happy.
She looked at him and he couldn't help but smile back at her.
Phoebe dipped her quill into the inkwell – pure muscle memory this far into her magical studies. She sat at the end of a long table surrounded by candelabras. She was finishing up some notes on potential new research topics.
As a seventh-year student, and as such an accomplished scholar at that, she was invited to take part in the Hogwarts Keystone Summit. The top-ten students of each graduating class could pursue their own magical studies as an elective and then present their work to seasoned experts at the annual expo. It was considered quite the honour amongst those in the know. And all the topical fields of magical study were being addressed by this year's cohort.
There was Ronald Weaselly, Jr., who, like his namesake would suggest, was studying muggle-wizard relations (he often joked that his scholarly pursuits came entirely from his Mum, saying that his Dad had only given him red hair and his name.) Then there was Cynthia Nguyen, who had a particular penchant for Astrology and Fortunes: especially as it pertained to messianic children (she'd already 'discovered' two during her stay at Hogwarts). And of course, there was Broomhilda Bagshot, who could be studying nothing other than magical history.
Phoebe scratched out a line she had just written. She was trying to figure out the best way to say 'memory charms have to account for each individual's unique memory structure – their graph metric, if you would – in order to have the desired effect on its target'. And having decided that was actually a decent way to phrase it, she wrote that down to finish for the day.
As much as she loved studying memory and illusion charms, she was pretty glad to be finished with the subject for the time being. She quickly blew on the wet ink, shuffled her papers into order, and looked across the wooden table to see that Pat was already watching her.
"What?" she asked, startled.
"Oh nothing. Just that I heard you soaked your crush earlier today in a monsoon and that he called you out on it."
"Ugh, not you too!" she smiled. "Actually, he was still completely dry. Even during a hurricane I can't get him to notice me," she groaned, dropping her head onto her books with a heavy thud.
Patrick laughed warmly at his friend.
"Well, from what Kurt told me, I'm pretty sure John noticed you. Kurt said that the only thing redder than John's hair were his embarrassed cheeks," he finished, arching a knowing brow.
Pat was tall and thin, top of his class in Ravenclaw. He had this intense perception of the space around him, and throughout the years almost nothing in Hogwarts got past him without at least a cursory examination. For his keystone subject, he was studying the effects of magically induced consciousness inside inanimate objects (an unsettling new muggle development in something called 'artificial intelligence' had made waves in magical society: something Pat hoped to capitalise on). His studies required him to imbue everyday objects – for example, a statue or chair or even a gate – with a personality. So far, his results strongly confirmed that the inanimate objects objected quite animatedly to this intrusion on their privacy.
"You think he was blushing?" she asked, lifting up her head.
"Maybe, I wasn't there. But I was there last year in the Tournament barracks. You two were inseparable. And I'll tell you, sister, that handsome ginger was blushing the entire time then too."
"He was, wasn't he," she giggled, remembering how fun it had been to train with John during Dumbledore's Tournament. And how close some of the exercises had made them get.
"But I haven't talked to him all summer. Just a few short letters, it's like he's avoiding me or something."
"Maybe he's embarrassed about how the tournament ended. Everyone thought it was going to be you versus him in the final," Pat said. "I've even heard some rumours that he threw the semi-final match again Pissy Patel just so he wouldn't have to fight you."
"No way Pat, don't let that rumour go around anymore. Patel just straight-up beat him. She's one mean fucking Raven."
Phoebe remembered warning John about just how dangerous Pricilla Patel (seventh-year Ravenclaw Prefect) actually was. He had brushed aside her words, overconfident as only a Slytherin could be. He had waved at the audience with a big smile; but just as the Judge started the match, Patel blinded him with a snap of her wand. She took his sight, casting him onto a plane of darkness that only he could see. And in his blindness, Patel made a magical siphon and surrounded him. No matter how powerful a blast John blindly threw, it was consumed by her spell. Until finally, exhausted, he collapsed. He had told Phoebe that it had felt like drowning. Her own fight against Pricilla had been just as harrowing.
"Ok, ok. It's not like I was the one saying it," he replied, bringing his fingers to his chin. "Besides, I imagine you'll get to ask him all about it tonight, right? He's demonstrating with you at Dumbledore's Army this year."
"That's right. And if he tries to show me up again, we might just have to put another Boggart in his bed. Remember John as that chunky little second-year running down to Headmaster Granger's office to tattle?!" she laughed, miming-out a husky-child's tears.
Pat howled with laughter. He wiped away his own tears, grabbed hold of his books, and came around the table to sit conspiratorially with his best friend.
"But really you have to tell me," he said leaning in closer, "do you actually like him? I mean, isn't he so serious all the time? Aren't you worried he's going to do something evil?"
"He's a Slytherin Pat, not a Death Eater," she said, hitting his shoulder. "Besides, I like it. It always feels like something important is about to happen around him. But I don't know if a Hufflepuff can even be with a Slytherin. I mean, aren't we just too different?"
"Oh well actually on that front you're probably OK," he replied. He sat back straight and crossed his legs. "Hufflepuffs and Slytherins are surprisingly compatible. You know, 'opposites attract' and all that. Think about it, those cold snakes always pretending not to need anyone else. They're always the first ones to have a breakdown and need a hug: such fragile egos." He nodded back to Phoebe.
"In fact, a kind H can easily burrow past the cold, scaley shield of an S. We all know who would be really calling the shots in that relationship," he smiled.
"You think?" asked Phoebe. "Wouldn't a Slytherin like do better with a Gryffindor then?"
"No see, because they're both looking for glory. They'd be at each other's throats all the time. A Gryffindor wants glory for the fame, and a Slytherin wants it for all its trappings of power. But they both want that glory. So actually, what a Hufflepuff really needs is an unsuspecting Slytherin to boss around."
Suddenly Pat's book began flashing red. It floated up a tiny gap above the dungeon's table and started spinning, as if it desperately wanted to catch his attention.
"Oh bloody Barty Crouch, Jr." he cursed, "not now!"
"What? What is it?"
"It's Terry! I hexed my journal to flash whenever he gets near me. I don't want to see him right now."
"What's wrong with Terry Torretti? I thought we liked Terry?"
"I did, but now I want to break up with him. And I think he knows. I just need a bit to figure out what to say!" he whined, looking around the candlelit chamber. "Oh that's it, I'm out of here! Cover for me Phoebe!"
Pat pulled his wand from his robe. He gulped once, as if uncertain to proceed. But then he raised his wand, swished his long arms, and said: Verschwinden Totallus. And with a puff of raven-blue smoke, he vanished suddenly into thin air.
Phoebe was stunned. She could see no trace of her friend. She coughed at the blue smoke, waving it away with her hand when Terry came fumbling into the dungeon hall. The tall, Ravenclaw sixth-year stood next to her at the head of the table.
"Hi Phoebe, hey have you seen Pat lately?"
"No sorry Terry," she said still coughing. "I haven't seen him today. But you know how he is, sweety, I'm sure he's just busy. He'll find you as soon as he's free."
"Ok well if you see him just let him know I'm looking for him," he said, obviously dejected. "Hey what's with all the smoke anyway?"
"Oh, that's just a new erasing charm I was trying. I guess it reacted bad with the ink or something. I'll let him know Terry, see you later."
She waved goodbye to the young man, making a face at his back that seemed to say 'uh-oh he's in trouble'.
She packed up her bag but sat to think before she left. Think about her own relationship troubles. About John and how she was going to get her own snake to uncurl for her. Maybe she could try something at tonight's training for Dumbledore's Army. Because what could be more romantic than magically beating up on the underclassmen.
She paused, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
"Pat are you still there?"
"Yeah I'm here," he said, making her jump ten feet into the air. She stood looking down into his empty chair.
"Are you just invisible or something? I thought you had apparated out of here!" she cried.
"No I hate apparating, it makes me want to spew. But it takes a few hours for this invisibility spell to wear off. Now I don't really know what to do," he said.
"Well good luck with that," she said, grabbing her stuff to leave. "And don't do anything creepy either. I'll hopefully see you tonight at training."
Stone ground against stone as the chamber's door slid back into the wall. The password had been spoken, the speaker's intent proven, and so the doors to the Room of Requirement opened.
Phoebe walked through the low passage, around the stone corner, and out into a wide atrium. Voices filled the mighty space as excited children and angsty teens waited for tonight's event. The air was heavy with excitement, and the high spirits instantly lifted Phoebe's mood: she was ready to perform.
She moved to the room's centre, feeling the crowd's heat against her skin. She nodded hello to one group, touched the shoulder of a young Slytherin from another. Her path remained fixed forward.
Two girls raced overhead along their brooms, burning off nervous energy as they played in the air. The lead pointed down to Phoebe before looking back to her friend. And as one they pulled their broom handles up and floated down near the stage. A hushed excitement was descending all around the hall.
Phoebe raised her hand into the air to draw everyone's attention. All eyes trained on her as she walked up the stage to stand before the gathered students and teachers. She stood alone before the crowd, though her hand-picked council and Professor Mainz (professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts for a second year: the post was still notoriously difficult to keep staffed) stood off to the side in support.
Always one for the dramatic flair, Phoebe – Head of Hufflepuff and Dumbledore's Champion – took out her wand, spun around on her boots, and fired an illusion onto the castle wall behind her. An image began to form, a scene written from floor to ceiling.
A strong wind was blowing tall grass in long, sweeping fronts across the sea cliffs. The sun was setting, blinding out the horizon as it reflected off the waves. Stunted trees were dotted amidst the rolling grass, and Phoebe turned and spoke to the crowd.
"We all know the history of Dumbledore's Army. How students from Hogwarts – here in this very hall – worked together to stop He Who Must Not Be Named when it looked like all hope was lost," she spoke, scanning every face. "We continue their legacy today, at the start of another year. Join me in celebrating their sacrifice."
As she finished, she pointed her wand into the sky. Everyone present followed and as one, the group yelled 'For the Order' in unison, leaving the hall eerily quiet when they finished. From behind her the sea winds gusted harder, blowing her long hair as she stood atop the cliffs.
"My name is Phoebe Imms. I am your new Champion. And this year it is my honour to train each of you in the ways of Battle Magic. And yes, I am a Hufflepuff. Though I can promise that if any newcomers out there think that Badgers are weak, I'd be happy to teach you otherwise."
Many of the older students snickered, remembering the times they had seen her beat an unwary opponent.
"Why is Battle Magic still important, you might ask. Didn't we defeat the Dark Lord decades ago?" she continued. "Yes, we did defeat His evil, and yes we should enjoy these times of peace, and be happy to live through such days."
The sun behind her began to shine more and more blinding. It slowly grew until the students could barely see her standing in the tall grass.
"But we should always be wary and always be ready for an unexpected strike."
As she spoke, suddenly a samurai attacked her from out of the sun's glare. The warrior swung his sword for her head. He howled as it found only air. She ducked away from his second blow, dodged his third; each strike whistled through the wind. Her feet moved quickly in the waving grass. And for the samurai's final strike, he brought his sword down overhead. Phoebe used her wand and blocked the blow high, instantly shattering the illusion into a cloud of dandelion seeds that scattered on the breeze.
"Battle Magic is about more than just block, attack, repeat," she said even toned, turning back to the mesmerized crowd. "It's more important than Expelliarmus or Stupefy."
As she spoke, another fantom samurai rushed out of the sunlight to attack her. His face was covered by a devilish mask, and the blowing grass reflected off his polished armour and sword. Phoebe exchanged four strikes with the spectre in rapid succession. She used her wand as a sword hilt, keeping her stance firm and low. With every strike against the warrior's katana, a magical blade crackled into existence at the end of her wand. And each clash rang through the Room of Requirement like a hammer on an anvil.
The ghostly warrior howled with rage. It drew back its blade, snarled behind its fanged mask, and plunged the sword for Phoebe's gut. But the Bold Badger anticipated the move. She slid past the sword, rolled along the ghost's armoured back, and flipped over to his far side. And with a loud cry she yelled Torronado! A whirling maelstrom spun out from the tip of her wand in a focused blast of wind.
The spell crashed into the devil's mask and smashed it clear away in a torrent of magic. The phantom stood for a moment longer – headless at the edge of the sea – before its body fell away as seeds, blown along by the magic winds.
The gathered students roared their approval with a wave of excitement. They clapped and cheered as Phoebe smiled outward. She twirled her wand in a circle overhead and ceased the illusion. And as the wind died out, so too did the class quiet down.
"As your Champion this year, we're going to focus not just on individual battle spells, but rather on improving ourselves through the teachings of combat. Those that have already trained with us before will know this by now. That there is a calm assuredness – a confidence, or a competence – that comes from being able to take care of yourself.
"We will work together," she continued, "to make sure everyone knows how strong each and every person in this room is. And once we know our own strengths, we can then form an unbreakable team. After this year, we'll be the strongest Badger Clan in a thousand years: and no Evil will ever be able to rise again!"
The hall cheered once more with excitement, eager to begin the Placements. But instead, Phoebe again raised her wand for all to listen.
"In a moment we will begin placing you into your squads for the year. When your name is called, step onto the correct duelling stage. If you win, go stand under the statue of Sirius Black to wait for your next match. But first," she paused, holding the crowd's attention and savouring the excitement.
Gah maybe it is time for Hufflepuffs to get some glory. I could get used to this!
"We have a special guest with us tonight. To introduce him, it is my honour to first invite Headmaster Granger to the stage."
There was a smattering of polite applause as Hermione Granger took the stage. Of course, the students loved her, and they all knew they epic sagas of the Gryffindor Greats; but now such tales were far in the past. The students today knew only of the fiendishly quick-witted Headmaster, who always seemed two steps ahead of their mischievous plans.
"Thank you, Prefect Imms, and may I say what a marvellous display or magical acumen," said the Headmaster. Her ginger hair had long gone grey, but her piercing eyes were still alight. And more than one student could feel the thrill of being near to one so powerful. "Ten points to Hufflepuff for such an exciting illusion.
"As many of you know, I was part of the inaugural army, a founding member of the Order of the Phoenix. Where now our students train openly and compete each year in Dumbledore's Tournament, back then we had no teachers, no Champions. We had only ourselves to learn. And I urge each of you, always, to be open to new chances to learn from the friends around you. No, in the first days," continued the powerful matron, "we had no teachers: but we did have a leader.
"He was like you: sixteen, on the edge of magical power. In these halls he would test us in skills, train with us, and one day he would lead us out into the Bright Days. I'm speaking of course about the great Harry Potter!"
This earned a heartfelt cheer from the students. To a one they had grown up idolizing the Heroic Harry Potter and his victory over the horcruxes. They whistled and yelled as Harry hugged his old friend and stood on the stage to speak.
"Thank you very much and I'm honoured to be here tonight. It makes me so happy to see so many young faces here, and to celebrate the new Champion, Phoebe."
The older man had a salt-and-pepper beard with short hair: but still his lightning-bolt scar perched above his glasses. He had retired from the Auroras a few years back, and now spent much of his time on speaking tours at schools and magical societies. The irony was not lost on him – or his best mate Ron – that he had gone 'full Lockhart' in his old age.
Suddenly feeling self-conscious about the whole celebrity thing, Harry mumbled out something to the order of, "I won't take up too much of your time before the Placements. But if any of you want any pointers tonight, please come find me. And maybe I'll say some words at the end, yes."
Harry sort of stood still for a bit too long, unsure of what to say next.
Geeze has this guy always been so awkward, she thought. I wonder what he was like at school.
But she didn't have time to wonder, as Harry had just released the excited students to move off and start their duels.
Little, excited third-years scurried through the crowded mass of students within the Room of Requirement. They stepped carefully and cautious, like mammals at the feet of dinosaurs. You see, third-year Defence Against the Dark Arts students are required to attend Dumbledore's Army, for training purposes (it was decided that this age was entirely appropriate to learn magical control through duelling). Everyone else in attendance – the tall, bruising teenagers looking for a little fight – they were all there because they liked blasting spells. And as any athlete will say, there's a certain swagger before a match: for what else is magical duelling if not a contest of wills.
This level of grit and gruff doesn't happen overnight: a fact the little students were learning. They desperately tried to find their right group for the Placements. The children plunged through the crowd, building off the excitement in the air.
One extra-tiny Gryffindor named Lyndsey Longshot had just made the terrible mistake of stepping on green robes, tripping a large boy. The fifth-year Slytherin turned on the spot to stare down the doe-eyed child. The snake was about to hiss; but he never could as the Brave Badger came the girl's aid.
"Get to your station. Or did you need me to hold your hand?" quipped Phoebe, unflinching toward the precociously large Slytherin. Her hair seemed to shine red in the low light of the large hall.
And now that the tables were turned, it was the young man that suddenly seemed doe-eyed. The last thing he wanted to do during the Placements was faceoff against Dumbledore's Champion. He turned and fled without a word.
Phoebe looked down to Lyndsey and smiled. The girl beamed back her response, and light again shined from Hufflepuff's Prefect. She bent down on one knee and spoke into the girl's ear, clear above the crowd's din.
"And what is your name, young mistress Gryffindor?"
"I'm Lyndsey, Lyndsey Longshot. And you're Phoebe, you're my absolute favourite. My friends are going to flip when they hear I met you!"
"Aren't you just adorable," laughed Phoebe. "Now, it's time to get to your groups. The Placements are about to start."
"Uhm, actually I'm kind of lost. Can you help me?"
"Oh course," replied Phoebe, standing up.
She took her wand out from her black and yellow robes, cleared her throat once, and raised her wand overhead. With a quick circular flick, she said 'Lyndsey Longshot'. A small, red arrow suddenly floated overhead, up above both girls. It spun for a moment like a compass searching out North. Then, with a jump of excitement, the arrow started floating off above the crowd and across the hall.
"Follow your arrow Lyndsey, it will take you to your group. And remember, all any of us can do is our very best! Good luck in the Placements!"
"Thank you so much Phoebe!" pearled the little girl as she skipped quickly into the assembled throng.
Phoebe watched her go, smiling all the while. This was what the other Houses just didn't seem to understand. That compassion and kindness to everyone, in every situation, was a strength, not a weakness. That helping strangers was the quickest way to making new friends. That Hufflepuffs weren't weak or simple because they were nice: but that being kind was actually the harder path.
She began walking along the room's centre. As the last of the students found their places, she could clearly see the dozen duelling stages lining the hall. She walked down the middle lane – stages to her left and right – where spectators could move between the many matches being fought. The duelling stages were raised platforms, long and narrow. And lining these stages – at least for the popular matches – were masses of screaming teenagers anxious to begin.
Phoebe's role in tonight's Placements was to float between the stages, serving as a second Judge where needed. Her hand-picked leadership choices for Dumbledore's Army were in charge of their own lanes. They set the tempo for the event, calling out names of contestants, watching for foul spells, and declaring victory for the witch or wizard who could thoroughly trounce their classmates.
She saw Pat standing on his officiating box next to the stage and moved to join him. She stood a few steps back as he explained the contest rules before the first round.
"The point of the Placements," he was saying with clipped punctuation, "is to empirically deduce your magical ability through combat. With each win, you will advance in the tournament; and in doing so, will be placed in more and more advanced groups for this year's DA training.
"There's nothing wrong with losing in the first round: everyone is a beginner at some point," he said, scanning the gathered students. "The winner will be the first witch or wizard to land three spells on their opponent. Additionally, should a spell knock you from the duelling stage you automatically lose the round. Finally, and this is important: absolutely no dangerous spells. If any of you so much as whispers a Sectumsempra I will personally march you to the Headmaster's office! Instead, I encourage each of you to be creative in your magic," he smiled to a few scattered, knowing chuckles.
"Now, without further delay, our first contestants are: Simon Srinati and Roger Wooten!"
A big cheer went up as the two popular boys jumped onto the stage, threw their robes to the ground, and rolled up their sleeves. Phoebe used the pause to quickly scan across to the other duelling stages. Many of the competitions were already underway: she could hear the tell-tale snap of crackling magical energy. She turned back to the duel at hand. The young men had just finished saluting with their wands.
"Let's see if you've gotten any better, Wooten, since last year when I froze you in a solid block of ice," taunted Simon. The young Slytherin rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck, feeling ready.
"Just try it again, Simon," countered the sixth-year Gryffindor. "I've seen more brains in a Blast-ended Skrewt." Roger sneered and some of his mates watching the duel laughed.
Enraged by his rival, Srinati struck first. He yelled Expelliarmus and flicked his wand from the hip, hoping to catch Roger off guard. But the young Gryffindor wizard was well prepared. He slashed his wand backhanded, blocking the spell with a defensive charm. The duel was now well underway.
Simon pressed the attack, sending spell after spell to crash into Roger's shield. He was withstanding the barrage for now, but was steadily losing ground on the stage, and still Simon slashed his wand faster and faster. Magic crackled across the stage as the Slytherin student wordlessly cast salvos at his rival.
Seeing his end approach, Roger tried to counter. He rebounded Simon's spell back at him, shouting Reflectus at the top of his lungs. The ploy worked as Simon was forced to pause and block his own curse. And in this gap, Roger cast his own spell. It was complicated – needing many delicate flicks of his wand – and was a spell Phoebe had never seen before. With each quick twist of his wand, a burning rune built up before the boy, floating in the air like red flames. And with a final flourish, the Gryffindor shouted Terra Liquifactus!
The red rune shot through the air and plunged into the ground surrounding Simon Srinati. The floor beneath him suddenly turned to quicksand. The boy instantly fell into the bubbling mass, sinking into the stage up to his waste and – most importantly – trapping his wand beneath the roiling magic.
Simon twisted and pulled to free himself, panic written large in his eyes. But it was all in vain; unprotected, Roger fired three Stupefy curses in rapid succession to crash into his opponent. The crowd erupted in ecstatic glee as the handsome Gryffindor threw his hands in the air. His friends jumped on the stage and surrounded him, all the while poor Simon sat dazed and confused, encased in quicksand.
Pat walked onto the stage; he held his wand aloft and fired-off a deep-blue spell. A magical 'W' floated shortly in the air before taking off towards the colossal tournament brackets on the far wall. It filled the space next to Rogers' name like a burning brand. Satisfied, Pat turned to extricate the young Slytherin.
Phoebe walked away towards the other matches, deeper into the Room of Requirement. She paused occasionally to watch the duels.
She stood at the end of one long stage, watching a young Hufflepuff girl duel against an older Gryffindor. Phoebe has been tutoring the girl privately at the end of last year: the student had the makings of a Brave Badger but had lacked the aggressive spellcasting needed for duelling (such a Hufflepuff!).
But now Phoebe was brimming with pride as she watched the girl cry Aquarius Deluge – no doubt inspired by her stunt earlier that day – in a powerful attack. A torrent of water erupted from the girl's wand. It corkscrewed in tight turns as it flew through the air across the stage before slamming into the unsuspecting student, sending the cocky Lion flying off the stage. He landed in a pile of his friends. The Judge cast a 'W' with her wand as the young Badger squealed with delight.
As the night progressed, more and more brands were placed on the tournament board. Phoebe had helped officiate a few duels, and more important, had noticed a lot of common training themes she could focus on during Dumbledore's Army this year.
By now most students already knew their placements and were busy getting to know their new groups. In fact, there were only two contestants remaining in the tournament, two contestants for the honoured position of Placement Champion: John of House Slytherin and Pricilla Patel of House Ravenclaw. The two Prefects were about to duel in a rematch of last year's Dumbledore's Tournament semi-final.
The crowd was gathering near the central stage, excited to watch the final duel of the night. Students were eating Chocolate Frogs and sipping Butterbeers as they argued about who was going to win.
Phoebe saw John standing apart from the crowd and went to join him. As she approached, he looked up and saw her. The Slytherin Prefect smiled softly, and soon Phoebe's hair began to radiate a warm white. She felt herself smile back as she touched his arm to say hello.
"You made it all the way to the end, congratulations! You've been duelling like crazy today," she said.
"Thanks; though to be honest, I picked up a lot of moves from you last season," he replied, looking down into her colourful eyes. "Speaking of which, that was a kickass demonstration you did at the start of the tourney. Seriously, you've set the bar really high for whoever has to kick-off the Placements next year."
Phoebe blushed, which set off a chain reaction of John blushing, causing her cheeks to turn a deeper hue again. A rosy aura shined across her silhouette.
"Thanks, I was worried the samurai might be a little bit cheesy. But I think they're awesome."
The two stood there for a moment, quietly smiling into each other's faces. John was thinking how beautiful she looked, and Phoebe was delightedly musing over how into her he was. He took her hand in his.
"Listen, about this summer. I always meant to write to you. In fact, I did pen a couple letters, I was just too afraid to send them to you. But here," he said, reaching into his robes, "now I want you to have them."
"That's so sweet," she replied, "but what made you not send them?"
He sighed, looking down at their intertwined fingers. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut short by a loud voice announcing the start of the final duel.
"OK my magical friends, it's time for the moment you've all been dying for," said Sam loudly with the help of a wand at their throat. Sam was a Slytherin sixth-year and easily the most popular person in Hogwarts right now. They absolutely loved the spotlight of broadcasting, including all the Quidditch matches throughout the year.
"For tonight's final showdown we've got two heavyweight champions facing off once again," they continued, gathering steam. "Two Prefects ready to get wrecked. On one side we have the Ravenclaw Prefect: you know her as the Raven Master. I'm talking of course about Pricilla Patel!"
There was an excited wave of applause as Pricilla made her way to the central duelling stage. John looked at Phoebe and nodded towards the arena.
"I'll tell you later I promise," he said and bent down to kiss her cheek.
"Ok good luck!" she replied, and the two made their way through the crowd.
"And on the other end, the Snake to make you Quake, the Cobra to bowl you ovah'," they said to the snickering students (Sam always could whip up a crowd), "give it up for Slytherin House prefect: John Engel!" they finished with their own little excited shout.
As John leapt onto the stage, Phoebe walked up the Judge's platform. She tapped Betty Baneswood on the shoulder and told her she would officiate this match. Phoebe – Hufflepuff Prefect and Dumbledore's Champion – stepped onto the stage.
"OK, each of you know the rules by now. Let's put on a good, clean display tonight," she said to both contestants, ignoring all the excited faces surrounding her.
"Actually," interrupted Pricilla Patel, "I'm sorry but no. You can't be the Judge Phoebe, you're too into John," she said, appealing to the other students. "You won't be fair!"
"What? That's ridiculous," said Phoebe as her hair almost seemed to flash black. "I would never cheat like that, no matter who was fighting! Besides, Judging the Placements is a Champion's right."
Patel waved her words aside with a hand. "Oh whatever, you boring little badger."
She walked towards Phoebe from her end of the duelling aisle, her immaculate boots clicking with every step. She stood face-to-face with her and judged her from top to toe.
"Besides," sneered the black-haired Raven, "we all know you're too afraid to duel against me again. What's the matter, coward, don't you want to see what I learned this summer?"
The gathered teens collectively jeered as Patel threw-down her challenge. They nervously spoke to their neighbours, until some started calling for Phoebe to accept. She looked out at their faces: even catching eyes with the Harry Potter. The ex-auror's brows were raised high as if to say, 'you going to let her get away with that?'
And no, she wasn't going to let Patel get away with that. With grim determination, she looked across the stage to John. He could read her intent clear as day and gestured her towards the end. And as they passed, he leaned in and whispered, "Kick her ass, just like last time."
Phoebe stood across from her rival, surrounded on all sides by excited students. This was most assuredly not how she pictured her first meeting of Dumbledore's Army unfolding. She'd barely had a chance to run the class as she wanted. Now her leadership was being tested before she could prove herself. This was completely unfair by Patel and Phoebe could feel herself getting angry.
"OK Patel, have it your way. If you want to be embarrassed in front of everyone – again – I'm happy to help," she said to the cold, thin Raven while tying-up her blonde hair. She finished and pulled out her wand.
Phoebe's nerves raced down her spine like cold water. If she lost in front of her new class, would they still respect her as Champion? She saluted Patel with her wand, feeling her breath catch in her throat as she did. But Phoebe was an amazing witch. She could handle the pressure, could withstand the intense situation. She breathed deep, willed herself to relax, and made ready to duel.
As soon as the Judge started the match, Pricilla Patel came out swinging. She darted her wand about in intricate flourishes, eight separate movements in total. And as she finished, she yelled out Octavia Erraticai! The Raven's voice was clear and keen, but Phoebe could hear the anger simmering beneath her words.
Eight arms – black as night – magically appeared around the Ravenclaw Prefect. They swirled about her, chaotic and confusing. The magical tentacles would grow and shrink, and always they seemed to jostle for position, as if each desperately wanted to be the first to strike. And with rapid fury, they began to lash out at Phoebe.
The magic snapped like a whip, cracking off Phoebe's defensive charms. Each deflection would flash bright white against her magical shield, but still the arms would attack in rapid, short combos.
Patel stepped forward along the duelling stage, her heeled boots clacking in rhythm with the magical assault. She sent two black flails at Phoebe: one high and another low. But the Brave Badger met the attack head on. She ran forward towards Patel, jumped over the low strike, and then used her wand to ward away the high one. And now Phoebe was inside Pricilla's guard.
The Ravenclaw woman yelled in fury and tried to slash the Badger away. Phoebe parried the blow with her wand, knocking Patel off balance. And now catching her opponent wrong-footed, Phoebe raised her wand and deftly cried Diffindo! The cutting spell arced through the air like a reaper's scythe. It raced past Pricilla's face and surgically cut away the shadowy tentacles along her side: four black arms writhed on the stage before quickly blowing away as acrid smoke.
Patel tried to stabilise her spell, but the damage was done. Her insidious arms sputtered and failed, and the spell was broken.
"That's a hit! That's a hit for Phoebe! The Badger leads by one!" roared Sam into her wand, barely heard over the cheering students.
But Phoebe was scarcely listening; instead, she moved to stay on the offensive. She threw un-voiced spells at Pricilla again and again. The crackling magic flew towards Patel over and over, each attack barely blocked by the Raven's flashing wand. Phoebe grinned: she had her on the ropes.
The Hufflepuff Champion yelled Invertus! A green spell flew from her wand: hooked and spinning. It flew very close to Patel, who dodged the attack with a spin to her side. She was no doubt about to taunt Phoebe, but was instead forced back on defence as the Badger sent spell after spell flying towards her. The young Raven was so distracted by the sudden fury of Phoebe's attacks that she never noticed the green spell returning.
It sailed over the edge of the stage, curved above the wide eyes of the audience, and boomeranged back towards Pricilla Patel. And with a final spin, the spell hit the young woman square in the back, knocking her forward onto hands and knees.
"Another point for the Badger! My goodness folks, we are seeing some inspired magic by Phoebe today," announced Sam. They really had the crowd going now.
Phoebe stepped back, allowing her opponent a chance to rise. But Pricilla stayed on her hands. With each cheer from the students, Phoebe saw the Ravenclaw Prefect grow angrier. Until finally, sneering with hate, Pricilla got to one knee, flicked back her black hair, and said, "I'll show you true power! I'll show you what a witch can really do!"
She staggered to her feet and threw her arms out wide and behind her. With a quick spin, she encased herself in a protective sphere. The charm spun around her like a whirlwind, and no matter what spell Phoebe threw, nothing seemed to get past. All the while, Pricilla built up her powerful curse.
With each twist of the Prefect's wand, Phoebe could actually feel the magical pressure around her begin to rise higher and higher. Until finally, the Dark Raven was ready.
Her defensive spell fell to the stage and scattered across the floor like broken glass. Now the audience could see Patel's face. As one, they gasped in horror at her black eyes, which were trained solely onto Phoebe. Patel raised both her hands into the sky and screamed in an unnatural voice: Arcanus Infinitatum!
A black orb of dense, magical energy floated above the Raven. Excess magic broiled around its surface, like lightning arcing through dark clouds. And still Patel dumped all the magic she could into the spell, growing the black void larger all the while. The air inside the Room of Requirement seemed to howl as it was sucked into the void. It whistled past Phoebe faster and faster till it sounded like a thundering train. Patel began to levitate above the duelling canvas. All the while her black eyes remained fixed on the raw, magical storm above her.
But something changed. Patel's face showed fear and the black of her eyes drained away. She tried to pull away from the consuming curse but was stuck in mid-air. She was losing control of the spell.
Panicked, the Prefect made one last effort and threw the black void of infinite energy at Phoebe. But Phoebe was calm and collected, and Dumbledore's Champion quickly apparated away to pop back into existence behind Pricilla Patel. She quickly tapped Patel on the shoulder with her wand – a move that officially ended the duel and made her the winner. But no one was watching the match any longer.
The gathered students fled from the stage as the black void of magic crashed into the canvas. The magic seemed to arc and flare, as though the void abhorred contact with the physical world. Then the arcane orb began to fall beyond the stone floor, cutting past it like a knife through cloth. It picked-up speed, falling faster and faster through the lower floors of the school, past the very foundations of Hogwarts Castle, and down further into the rocks of England. Until finally all that remained was an impossibly deep chasm the exact size and dimension as the terrible curse.
An eerie silence followed the spell as the first students to recover slowly poked their heads over the pit's rim. They looked down into a never-ending hole, which seemed to continue far beyond the point where their sight ended.
"Step away from the chasm, now!" yelled Headmaster Granger.
She moved with unrelenting force past the students, the legs under her long robes brushing them aside with ease. Harry Potter was in quick step behind her.
"Is everyone alright, did anyone touch it?" she asked.
Many eyes darted around the crowd, looking for any one-armed students: but it seemed that each was healthy and hale. Headmaster Granger let out a sigh of relief, but quickly turned her fury towards Pricilla Patel, who stood on shaky legs atop the stage. Phoebe quickly took a step away to distance herself from the doomed girl.
"That was a completely illegal spell, Patel! You were entirely out of line, and absolutely fortunate that no one was injured by your reckless actions! I'm deducting twenty-five points from House Ravenclaw, and you will report to my office for further punishment." The Prefect moved to defend herself but was cut off by Hermione's outrage. 'Where did you even learn such a spell?"
Pricilla hesitated, but then she said, "I came across it last year in the restricted section of the library. I'm so sorry, Headmaster, I had no idea it would be like that!"
"The restricted section?! Why in the seven hells do we even keep that place? These idiot students are always stumbling into dangerous spells" she said to herself. Harry was about to make a joke about how she had always seemed to find herself in the restricted section, but wisely thought better of it.
"What even was that?" asked Phoebe, peering over the edge into the chasm.
"Arcanus Infinitatum is one of the oldest spells there is, but perhaps the most difficult spells to master," answered Harry. "It draws on the connection between the magical planes and our own. But it almost always fails," he said, absently kicking some poor kid's bag into the new chasm. It sailed into the abyss with a quiet rush until it was lost from sight forever.
"Hey that was mine!" cried a voice from the crowd.
"You see," continued the Boy Who Lived very quickly, "it requires the witch or wizard to constantly add more and more magic into the spell. An infinite amount of magic which, of course, is impossible. But still, every sorcerer from Merlin to Jafar thinks they are the chosen one," he said while scathingly looking at Patel, "the one who can tap into the infinite magic. But no one is that powerful and the spell always fails: why else do you think there are so many bottomless pits scattered across the globe?"
"You said it was one of the first spells?" asked John. The Slytherin Prefect looked pale like every other face in the room. "How can something so powerful be one of the first spells?"
"It's quite simple, my good boy," said Harry (again, almost completely unawares as to his new 'Lockhartedness' later in life). "You must imagine that at some point in history there were the first wizards. They would have, perhaps accidently, stumbled into their first spells. And drawing magical power from the other planes is a natural sensation to the magically inclined," he continued, ramping up his ad hoc lecture. "Nowadays, we teach our students to control magic from an early age. But imagine, for a moment, how frightening it would feel, to be ignorant of the terrible energy coming from your very hands. Arcanus Infinitatum was one of the first spells because it's one of the easiest to find while groping blindly through the magical realms."
Phoebe paused, disturbed by the lesson. "But where does it go? It looks like its fallen to the centre of the Earth."
"That's exactly where they end up, Ms. Imms," said the Headmaster, herself staring into the pit, "at the very centre of the planet. There – well we aren't exactly sure what happens there – but we think they amalgamate together and then just sit for all time. But thank goodness no one was hurt this time: entire cities have been destroyed before by callous sorcerers unprepared for the spell's costs." She looked over to Phoebe this time.
"You were very quick, young Hufflepuff, to move away so swiftly. And your bout with Ms Patel was incredibly exciting. Still, I think it's fair to say that was more than enough for tonight. Everyone," she said, scanning the students, "it's time to return to your dormitories. Yes, all of you back to your rooms."
Phoebe sighed, upset that the night would end so poorly. But just then John came up and took her arm.
"Come on, I'll walk you back to your dorm."
And just like that, sunlight again beamed from Phoebe's gorgeous face.
"You were absolutely incredible back there," said John, pining over Phoebe.
The two walked hand-in-hand down the corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They were a few steps behind their friends, Pat and Betty Baneswood included.
Phoebe smiled, the torchlight from the castle's candelabras illuminating her beautiful features as she passed each lining the long corridor. She watched the hallway's paintings grow more and more excited as well. It seemed that rumours of the Patel's curse were spreading before them like ripples on a lake.
"Thanks, and I'm sorry to take the stage from you," she replied. She scoffed, "Actually, I don't really remember the fight just yet, it all feels like muscle memory and reactions."
"That's actually something I don't understand," said the Slytherin boy. "Remember earlier today how Professor Madden explained magic?" He too laughed, "Crickey was that really only today? Anyways, when Patel threw that magic blackhole at you, you shouldn't have been able to apparate through it. The spells magic should have cancelled out your teleport and you should have been trapped inside!"
"Oh, well, sorry to disappoint you!" she teased. "Next time I'll just throw myself down a well and save us the trouble!" she said, pulling his arm playfully.
"No that's not what I meant" stammered the serious boy, something Phoebe loved making him do. "I just don't understand how it worked."
They passed other students, their black robes casting long shadows onto the castle wall in the torchlight. Now even these young faces were looking in wonder at Phoebe; no doubt her adventure was already being turned into some super saga. It wasn't how she had imagined her first day of her last year to go; but she had to admit, there was a certain element of bad-assedness to what she had done. Maybe one day she really would have her own glassy badger in the Hufflepuff Common Room.
"Well duh, that's easy actually. I mean we were both in that same lecture by Professor Chang. I remember because you had just had that cute haircut."
John blushed slightly and couldn't help but notice a tinge of red floating around Phoebe's head.
"Magic normally cancels out other magic," she continued, "and that's something you have to be extra careful about when apparating. So, I didn't just apparate across the stage: I went the long way. I went all the way around the world and ended up behind her, not through the arcane orb."
"And that worked?" he asked, impressed. She only answered with a gesture to her body and a quick shake of her hips.
Just then the group in front stopped walking. A young man had just run up to the group. He was obviously worried and was out of breath. He put a hand on Pat's shoulder and the Ravenclaw steadied him.
"You've got to come quick," said Adrian through gasps of air, "right away. There's a Banshee somehow loose in the dungeons! It's started attacking the other ghosts of the castle. It almost killed the Bloody Baron!" he cried then thought better of it, "well, you know, almost killed him again."
Adrian looked into Pat's eyes and the two held gaze for a long time. Phoebe interrupted.
"Ok Adrian, we'll come help you."
"Uhm no, that's OK Phoebe," said Pat, smiling at Adrian. "You've been through so much already." He leaned in closer to whisper in Phoebe's ear.
"Besides, I get the funny feeling it's my turn for a Hogwarts adventure," he whispered, glancing subtly to the Hufflepuff student behind him.
"Oh yes, of course," she grinned. "You're absolutely right. But call me if you need any help!"
But Pat and Adrian were already running down the moving stairs, the two men making their way to the dungeon.
"Come on, I'll walk you to your dorm," said John taking her hand.
They walked up the magical stairs – careful to pick their path – and past the talking portraits of famous witches and wizards from days past.
"So you never told me," began Phoebe, "why you never wrote to me this summer."
"Oh right," stammered John again, "well I guess the honest answer is because I was afraid."
"Why, what were you afraid of?"
The two students stood in front of the Hufflepuff dormitory. Behind them, a large chef with an even larger hat stood in the foreground of a gigantic painting showcasing a bustling kitchen and larder. The magical guard of House Hufflepuff pretended to look away, giving the young couple some privacy.
"Well, it's because I really like you. And I was afraid after I lost the tournament that you wouldn't like me anymore."
Phoebe smiled, setting off a chain reaction of happiness between the two. She leaned forward and kissed the leader of House Slytherin. John held her close, running his hand through her hair and over her ear.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said, "I really like you too. And no stupid tournament is going to change that."
John began to beam and that caused Phoebe to glow all over.
"Hey, maybe I'm going crazy, but every time you smile," he said, "you suddenly seem to glow. Is it magic? What's happening?"
"Oh, do you like it?" she laughed as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. "It's something I've been working on with Bertie Bott, actually. We're calling it, Bertie Bott's Shampoo and Classical Conditioner."
Her blonde hair glowed a dazzling golden aura as she spoke.
"Actually, it doesn't show the emotion that I'm feeling: it's more a mirror. Whatever you are feeling, that emotion is shown as a colourful aura around my hair. People only see what they want anyways; I found that showing it to them makes them like you even more."
"It's amazing, just like you," he said, "and also kind of sinister. Are you sure you're not a Slytherin?"
"Yeah that's why I have you!" Phoebe smiled and kissed him again.
The young Slytherin Prefect walked back down the stairs with a smile spanning from ear to ear. Phoebe watched him go. It wasn't how she expected her day to go when she had dallied this morning in the warm sunlight. But she had to admit: if the rest of her seventh year at Hogwarts was going to be like today, she was excited for what would come.
