Chapter 25: Malcolm's Warning
"Come now, let's get you into bed."
Albus watched as old Madam Pomfrey guided Scorpius into one of the beds in the pristinely white hospital wing.
Scorpius protested feebly. "It's four o'clock."
"Yes, and you're not well," Madam Pomfrey said.
Then, suddenly -
"I'm not sleeping!" Scorpius exploded, with an alarming tone of more desperation than anger. "Please, Madam Pomfrey, I'm fine, I just…"
Albus looked down at the unnaturally white floor beneath him.
"You need your rest, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey clucked.
"Okay, fine, I'll rest," Scorpius said. "But I'm not sleeping. I can't…"
But then, Albus remembered something.
"Madam Pomfrey," he called.
"Yes? I'm a bit busy at the moment," she replied, looking at him.
"Have you got any Dreamless Draught to give him?" Albus asked.
Madam Pomfrey tilted her head a bit quizzically, probably wondering where Albus had heard of that particular potion. Then, raising her eyebrows, she answered, "I appreciate your suggestion, but I've been tending to students for rather a long time. He needs to lie still and take something for his head."
Albus replied, "He needs sleep. He's not sleeping. He hasn't had a full night's rest in at least two weeks. I know - I sleep across from him."
"Well, then, perhaps he should observe his bedtime," Madam Pomfrey clucked. "I know at your age, going to bed seems like the worst thing in the world you can do, but it really is for your own good…"
In the back of his head, Albus knew Madam Pomfrey didn't mean anything ill towards Scorpius. She wasn't that type of person. That said, she wasn't listening - and that served to be the end of what little patience he'd had left.
"He can't! I'm telling you he can't!" he found himself exclaiming - even to the point that one of the two people his brain had vaguely registered as still being behind him, had reached ahold of his arm and grabbed him.
"Potter -" an accented male voice implored.
"If you're going to act like that, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Madam Pomfrey drew herself up.
"No, no, I'm sorry," Albus uttered hastily, trying to calm himself down. "Madam Pomfrey. What I mean is… he can't. He can't sleep. He…"
He glanced at Scorpius, who was staring at him - or maybe even through him.
"He… can't sleep," Albus repeated. "He's been having bad dreams. I… I don't know what they're about, he won't tell anyone… but they keep him up at night. Every night."
At this, Madam Pomfrey's expression softened just a bit.
"Please," Albus begged. "He won't tell you, but he's been like this ever since he came back and it's getting worse and…"
His voice failed him.
"Nadine?" he heard Madam Pomfrey call loudly as he stared down at his own feet. Quick footsteps approached.
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey?" a younger, lively voice queried. This, Albus knew, was Nadine Lear, a young lady that had been brought in a few years back to train under Madam Pomfrey. Ostensibly, she was to be the aging matron's replacement - if they could ever get Madam Pomfrey to see the benefits of retirement.
"We should have a bottle of Dreamless Draught in our stores. Fourth shelf from the top," Madam Pomfrey said.
"Yes, Madam," Nadine's voice replied compliantly. Albus heard her footsteps depart.
"Young Mr. Potter knows his Potions. I didn't typically teach about the Dreamless Draught until the beginning of fifth year." The male professor stepped out from behind Albus. In the time he had gotten to know Professor Halim, Albus knew the foreign-born Ancient Runes teacher to typically wear robes of varying colors. Ever since November, though, Albus had noticed that his robes, while attention-getting, favored blue more than any other color - likely, Albus surmised, to reflect his temporary status as Acting Head of Ravenclaw House. Ancient Runes being an elective (and not one of the more popular ones because of its perceived lack of applicability), not everyone interacted with Professor Halim on a daily basis, and maybe he thought the blue would be an easy color cue to Ravenclaws that wished to speak with him.
He had been the second Professor that Sylvia had found, apparently. She'd happened across Professor Trelawney first, but seemed to know that the Divination professor wouldn't be much help. Albus questioned sometimes why Trelawney was even still employed, honestly.
A detail in Professor Halim's compliment caused him to do a double take.
"You taught Potions?" Albus asked.
"For just a year or two," Professor Halim mentioned. "Between Professor Slughorn's retirement and Professor Ambrose being hired. He's got you all going over Dreamless Draughts in… you're a third year, right?"
Albus shook his head. "No. I mean, yes, I'm a third year, but I didn't learn about the Dreamless Draught in class. I learned about it…"
"...From his father, no doubt," Madam Pomfrey finished, and her voice was sad. "He became familiar with that potion quite young, if my memory serves…"
Albus wondered how young that had been. He didn't pry too much into details of his father's past. He only knew that his father's school years were marked with many encounters with Voldemort. It made sense why he knew about the potion, Albus thought sadly. Harry Potter inevitably would have seen things during those years, and during his later life as an Auror, that would make it more than a bit difficult to sleep at night.
That thought alarmed Albus as he looked at his friend. What, exactly, was Scorpius seeing?
Nadine stepped in front of him, holding a piping hot mug. "I've mixed it into the tea. This potion can be dangerous if you take too strong a dose, particularly at your age. But it should put you into a deep, restful sleep - no nightmares."
Scorpius glanced at Nadine, as if hardly daring to believe it. His hands scrabbled greedily for the mug, taking Nadine aback a bit ("Careful, you'll spill it -") and as he closed his hands around it, he set his gray eyes on Albus.
"Slowly…" Nadine said comfortingly, guiding the mug toward Scorpius's mouth. "Just a sip. That's it."
Sylvia, who had been mouse-quiet this entire time, came up to Albus's side as Nurse Nadine removed the mug from Scorpius's face and set it down on the nightstand next to his bed.
Something warm slipped into and around Albus's left palm a moment later, but Albus barely registered it. He was too focused on Scorpius's face. He could see the moment the relief passed over him. The boy shuddered and lay his head back on the pillow, gray eyes still trained on Albus. His face twisted for a moment, and then he went to mouth something…
Whatever it was, Scorpius never got it out. His head slumped against the pillow a second later and his eyes closed. From this distance, Albus could just barely see tears leak from them, slowly trickling across the side of Scorpius's face and onto the pillow.
Albus breathed a sigh of relief that his whole body felt. Whatever had been in his palm had gone ever so slightly damp, and withdrew, leaving his hand feeling slightly cool.
He glanced at Sylvia to find her burying one of her hands in her school robes. She wasn't looking at him, and for the first three or four seconds, didn't seem to realize he was looking at her.
Eventually, though, she did, and what followed was a 'hand-in-the-biscuits' sort of reaction that Albus thought was almost comical. She quickly hid both her hands behind her before going with one of them up to her curly, dark hair.
"What…" Madam Pomfrey sighed. "...kind of awful things is this boy seeing in his head? I haven't had to use Dreamless Draught in years."
"That's not… completely true, Madam," Nadine went to correct her. "We had to use a… very small dose on a girl from Slytherin last year. Although we mixed it with normal sleeping potion."
"Did we really?" Madam Pomfrey asked, astonished. "I suppose they all meld together after a while… though nothing's quite as bad as the War was. You would've been just a little girl back then… or were you at Hogwarts already?"
"No," Nadine admitted. "I wasn't old enough. And my parents are Muggles, on top of that. I didn't even know about Hogwarts."
"Right, right…" Madam Pomfrey said blearily, nodding.
"Potter?" Professor Halim called. Albus looked up at the blue-robed wizard. "That was a very good thing you did. The both of you." He glanced at Sylvia. "I'm sure Professor Gladstone won't protest if I award you each twenty-five -"
"Please don't," Albus interrupted. "I didn't do it for points. I did it because Scorpius is my friend."
Besides, thought Albus a bit bitterly, we're so far behind in the points race it won't matter. For supposedly being nakedly biased in favor of Gryffindor, Professor Wenster had loved taking points off his own house. He loved taking points off Slytherin more, of course, but this was largely offset by Professor Ambrose being actively very affirming of the House over which he presided.
"Malfoy's an only child, correct?" asked Nadine suddenly.
Albus whirled around. "Huh?"
"Does Malfoy have any brothers or sisters?" asked Nadine. "We usually like to let them know if someone's taken ill."
Albus thought back to last year, when he'd been informed toward the end of the term that James had been injured along with Neville in the latter's office.
"No," Albus said. But then, figuring he might as well try his luck, he added, "He's got a cousin, though. She's in Slytherin… maybe she'd like to know."
"Immediate family members only," Madam Pomfrey decreed. Albus frowned - but when he caught a glimpse of Nadine's face as she walked away to tend to other patients, she was giving him a look that said very clearly, I'll see what I can do. The old matron looked from Albus to Scorpius and then back to Albus. "Spitting images, the both of you…"
"Excuse me?" uttered Albus uncertainly.
"Of your fathers, I mean," said Madam Pomfrey. "Only, if I remember correctly, they rather disliked each other…"
Albus frowned. A lot of the older staff members - the ones that had been around when Albus's parents were in school - liked to bring that up. It had nothing at all to do with him and Scorpius, though.
The door to the hospital wing swung open. Very quickly and with a towel or some other sort of cloth on his face, came a boy Albus had seen no more than an hour ago.
"Madam Pomfrey?" Rowan Lester uttered.
"Yes?" Madam Pomfrey was still looking at Scorpius. When she turned toward Rowan, her entire body slackened. "Oh, for Merlin's sake. Is it the practice duels again?"
"No," Rowan replied, his tone stifled. Then, figuring he hadn't been heard, he removed it, and revealed (to Albus's horror) a very runny nose.
...Which would have been quite disgusting enough if the fluid running from Rowan's nose hadn't been blood.
"Just random," Rowan answered. "I dunno what happened."
Madam Pomfrey sighed, seemingly more annoyed than concerned. "Take a seat over here." And she trudged off with the awkward, halting motions of someone who was no longer capable of moving quickly and knew it, but was trying regardless.
Albus watched as Rowan sat down in a nearby chair and tried to pinch his nose to no avail. It was really flowing. Albus wondered for a moment whether Rowan had gotten hold of one of those awful joke candies his uncles sold at their shop. But… no, surely Rowan wouldn't fall for something like that. He was far, far too clever...
"Bloody hell," said Sylvia rather loudly.
Rowan snorted, producing more blood. Albus frowned.
"That's not funny," he chid.
But Rowan seemed to be taking the whole thing in stride. Pressing the length of his finger into both nostrils to stem the red tide, he managed to utter breathlessly, "...It's a little bit funny."
"What happened?" Albus queried seriously. "You seemed alright in class earlier."
"Your guess is as good as mine," Rowan said - at least, that's what Albus thought he'd said. His consonants were a bit off, as you would expect of someone with blocked nostrils.
At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled back, holding something in one of her gloved fists. She put it into Rowan's hand. "Here, take this," she said. "Should stop the bleeding."
Rowan took the pill - or whatever it was - without hesitation. A few seconds and nose pinches later, he seemed to be fine. He went to put the cloth to his nose again but was stopped by Madam Pomfrey's insistent, "Wait." The old matron raised her wand, a weathered thing that looked like it might have been nearly as aged as she was, to the boy's face. "Tergeo," she incanted, and the dried blood that had been caking between Rowan's nose and lip started to disappear.
"Thanks," Rowan said, his enunciation back to normal.
"Let me know if that nosebleed comes back," Madam Pomfrey insisted as he stood. "Might be a sign of something more serious. Now - off you go, I've got worse to deal with…"
Rowan bounced to his feet and started toward the door. But then, just before reaching out to open it, he whirled around.
"Madam Pomfrey?"
Madam Pomfrey was already shuffling toward another bed in the wing. She took four steps to turn. "Yes?" she asked a bit impatiently. "What is it?"
"I was just wondering…" Rowan started with a pause. "Did you know any of the Scrimgeour family? They came here to Hogwarts, right?"
Madam Pomfrey's gray eyebrows jumped. "What an odd question."
Rowan smiled. "Sorry, it's just… I was raised by my Muggle family for most of my life. I'm just finding out about my wizard side in the last three or four years. And apparently, Rufus Scrimgeour was my great-great-uncle. You know, he was Minister of Magic back in…"
"Yes, I remember Rufus," Madam Pomfrey suddenly interrupted. "Long before he became Minister. I remember all of them. We were here together as students."
"All of them?" repeated Rowan. "So there were more?"
"Three siblings," Madam Pomfrey said. "Rufus was the baby of the family - several years below the twins and I. The twins… Titus and Claudia were their names."
"Titus and Claudia…" repeated Rowan. "So, do you think one of them…"
"Titus. It would have to be Titus," Madam Pomfrey said, her tone turning suddenly very weathered and sad, looking down at her feet. "...Claudia... died rather young. One of You-Know-Who's first…"
"You mean, Voldemort?" Rowan asked. This got a bad reaction - Madam Pomfrey visibly recoiled as if she had touched something that had burned her.
"Don't say the name," she hissed. "In fact, if you're no longer feeling poorly, you really should be moving along."
Albus watched in astonishment. That was uncommon. Madam Pomfrey, somewhat justifiably, had earned a reputation for mollycoddling ill students and keeping them in the hospital wing for far longer than necessary - and this was very, very much the opposite. Rowan, probably unintentionally, had said or done something that had touched a nerve. Was Madam Pomfrey really still this afraid of a man that had been dead nearly a quarter-century?
"That's… you're probably right," Rowan acknowledged. "Thanks anyway."
And Rowan disappeared quickly.
"Since when were children raised to ask so many questions?" muttered Madam Pomfrey to herself, seemingly making a point now of busying herself around the wing checking on each individual student.
"The boy is curious about his origins," Professor Halim piped in sagely. "You cannot fault him for that, can you?"
But Madam Pomfrey was decidedly not listening. Or maybe her aged ears simply hadn't heard Professor Halim, who hadn't bothered to project. Albus wasn't sure whether the professor had actually wanted an answer...
Speaking of answers, he also wasn't sure if answers weren't the whole point of Rowan coming up in the first place. Given the myriad of things that could happen to young adolescents in a wizarding school, a nosebleed was somewhat a minor problem. (To be fair, though, it was not a small nosebleed. He'd never seen one that bad before.)
It was a bit of interesting trivia, Albus supposed - Rowan being a distant relative of a former Minister of Magic and all. But why was Rowan pressing the issue so hard?
Not everyone's like you, a voice in Albus's head that sounded alarmingly like his own, answered his question. Your family history was offered to you on a silver platter - a bit like everything else.
He shook his head and, almost without thinking, glanced at Sylvia, who had returned to watching Scorpius.
"He looks so peaceful," she remarked.
"Yeah," uttered Albus, watching as well. Sylvia was right - there was no sign of tension or pain in Scorpius's face as he slumbered. Wherever he was now, his troubles could not touch him. Wherever he was now, he was not even Scorpius Malfoy, with everything that came along with that. Nobody could hurt him - not Rose with her distrust, not even Albus himself with his own cowardice…
Not Wenster with his outright bullying… and not whatever ghosts typically haunted him nowadays.
For now, for these few hours - he was at peace.
And if Albus couldn't do anything else for him, he could know he had at least done that. He had done something.
"Let's get out of here," Sylvia said. "We should probably start that stupid essay Wenster set us."
Albus's body tensed at hearing Wenster's name. There weren't polite words strong enough to do justice to how much he disliked that… sorry excuse for a man. What sort of professor outright bullies his own students like that? He didn't have half the honor he claimed he did.
But then… even as well as Albus knew Scorpius, he had assumed the worst of him at a critical moment, too. So how much better was he?
"Al." Albus felt a grip and light pull near his elbow. He turned around. "We can't do anything else for him," Sylvia said.
Albus nodded condedingly and, with one last glance over his shoulder at his sleeping friend, started to walk.
James
"You know," Richard Murphy said, popping one of the many potato strings he had on his plate into his mouth, "I'm kind of curious where the school can get good fish this time of year, what with it being, you know, cold as balls everywhere. Can't be the Black Lake - that's frozen over."
"Are there any fish in the Black Lake?" James asked, looking down at his own fish-and-chips plate. "I thought the squid ate them all."
"Does the giant squid even eat fish?" queried Murphy.
"I doubt it got that size off seaweed," said James offhandedly, stealing a glance toward the Great Hall doors.
"...You waiting on someone?" probed Murphy..
James's brow furrowed. "Rowan. He's late."
"Maybe he's eating with the Slytherins tonight?" Murphy posited. Rowan typically ate with James and Murphy when their schedules allowed it, but would occasionally eat with Brynne and her group (usually Kadric Howell and Tellius Nott. Occasionally, he'd seen a Ravenclaw girl with them that he knew to be Dathan Rama's sister - which was a bit new.)
But James shook his head. "Said he'd be here today. After I…"
He glanced furtively up toward the staff table. Professor Gladstone was there along with Professor Malcolm. Several seats down, Professor Sinistra had her face in her hand. Whether that was fatigue or a reaction to whatever dotty-looking Professor Trelawney was trying to say to her, James wasn't sure. Neville, he'd just seen leave a few minutes ago. Maybe he was going to take a quick nip down to London to check on the family? Could one Apparate that distance? Neville probably could, thought James.
Professor V.J. Crawford, the new hire, was also by herself, looking out and around the Great Hall as she took a spoonful of what looked like soup. By this point, James had sat a couple of Charms lectures with her. She certainly knew her stuff; but it was nakedly obvious that she wasn't used to teaching it. There was a decided awkwardness with which she ran her lectures. Then again, perhaps comparing her to Professor Gladstone, who seldom ever did a thing in her classroom ungracefully, was a bit unfair. Also, there was the accent…
Speaking of accents… Professor Halim was conspicuous by his absence, which James thought curious. Maybe he simply favored a later supper? Professor Ambrose wasn't here either, by the looks of it.
Hagrid was most certainly not here - he'd have been damn near impossible to miss.
"After you what?" Murphy asked.
With another glance up to the staff table, James leaned across his own.
"I gave him a half of a Nosebleed Nougat earlier," he whispered.
"Wait, what? How'd you smuggle that in?" asked Murphy, also giving furtive glances up and down the Great Hall. "That's on the prohibited items list, isn't it?"
"Well, have you seen Vincent anywhere?" James replied. "Not like he actually enforces the list much. Might as well be a suggestion with him as caretaker."
Gregory Vincent, the Hogwarts caretaker, was relatively new to his job. This was only his second full year, if James remembered correctly. Unlike Filch (the old predecessor, who'd somehow lasted until a couple of years ago before finally expiring), he could perform magic. Although, from what James had heard, he wasn't particularly skilled, or clever. He was certainly a step up from Filch, though, which the most important difference being that he wasn't an arsehole that obviously hated children. The second difference was that he didn't seem to take active enjoyment in spoiling students' fun. Filch, it seemed, spent more time taking fun items from students and dragging them by their ears up to the Headmaster than he did actually taking care of the castle like his job description stated he should have been doing.
"Okay, so here's the second question -" replied Murphy. "Why?"
"He asked for one," answered James, shrugging. Then, amending himself, he added, "Actually, he asked for a Puking Pastille. But I don't think my uncles make those anymore after the Daugherty incident."
"Daugherty incident?" repeated Murphy.
"Yeah, apparently, years back, they had a real balls-up with one of those. It started with some blokes getting really sauced at the Leaky Cauldron..."
"It always starts with someone getting drunk, doesn't it?" Murphy smirked.
"Noticed, have you?" deadpanned James with a chuckle. "So this Daugherty spent the night and woke up the next morning really hungover. His mates were trying to help him get it all out of his system."
"So one of them thought a Puking Pastille would be a good idea," Murphy surmised.
James nodded grimly. "He choked on his own sick and nearly died. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was in the papers for weeks and they ended up pulling the product."
"Well, that's not their fault the guy was being a bellend," reasoned Murphy.
"No, but it wasn't worth the hassle," explained James. "Honestly, the Skiving Snackboxes were always a disaster waiting to happen…"
"But you didn't answer my question," contended Murphy. "Why'd you give Rowan a Nosebleed Nougat?"
"To give Madam Pomfrey something to fix," Rowan's voice answered the question as he approached, holding his red-bound copy of Hogwarts, A History. He took his seat next to Murphy and glanced at James. "Although she had enough work to be going on with. Albus was in there - he's fine. He was there with Malfoy."
"Scorpius?" James blurted out in surprise. "Something happen to him?"
"No idea what," Rowan replied. "I'd just left class with all of them when I came up to you. Guess he must have taken ill after that. He looked a bit off during Transfiguration. Although… to be fair, he's looked a bit off since we came back from break."
James had seen quite a bit of Scorpius during their weekend detentions and would have had to say that he agreed.
"I think I found an important piece to this puzzle, though," Rowan announced.
"Really?" questioned Murphy. "And what's that?"
"Titus and Claudia Scrimgeour," answered Rowan. "I'm actually going to send an owl to London so Records and Chronicles can look this up… but I'm fairly sure Titus Scrimgeour was my great-grandfather."
"That's nice for you," Murphy answered, betraying a bit of impatience. "But what's that got to do with -"
"If you'll let me finish," Rowan interrupted. Murphy frowned. "Madam Pomfrey has a short section in Hogwarts, A History, as she served through both of Britain's Wizarding Wars. She was born in 1927."
"She definitely looks like she's in her nineties," commented Murphy.
"But, you see, that's it," Rowan replied. "1927. Hagrid and Wenster were 1928. Voldemort was 1926. And Madam Pomfrey said that Titus and Claudia were in her year at Hogwarts, so they must have been born somewhere in that range as well - 1927 or '28. They were all here together."
"That explains why Madam Pomfrey was so familiar with Wenster, too," James said.
"They knew each other," Rowan surmised. "And they both knew the Scrimgeour family. They were friends, from the sounds of things. Madam Pomfrey actually kicked me out… or as good as. It really upset her to talk about Claudia."
James raised his eyebrows.
"What happened to Claudia?" asked Murphy.
"Died young," replied Rowan.
"Wow," Murphy uttered, clearly not expecting that answer. "Sad. Some kind of accident?"
"Just the opposite," Rowan corrected him, a grim look on his face. "Apparently, Voldemort murdered her - or that's what Madam Pomfrey believed, anyway. It would make sense - Rufus was the youngest brother and he grew up to be an Auror. I've never lost a sister to a Dark wizard but I'd guess that would be fair motivation…"
"I'm not seeing the connection here," James cut in. "I mean… it's nice that you found out all of that information about your family, but I'm not sure what it has to do with Wenster, or Gladius Leo, or any of that."
"Yeah, I haven't put all the pieces together on that, either," Rowan admitted. Then, talking slowly and didactically, he added, "But it's more pieces than we had to begin with. Here's what we know: Wenster was a student here at Hogwarts, a couple of years below Tom Riddle. He also claims to be one of the handful of people that knew something was off about Riddle, even back then. At some point later, Claudia Scrimgeour is killed. Rufus Scrimgeour becomes an Auror, and Lucan Wenster develops an irrational hatred for Slytherin House. I think there's a link between those last two or three things."
"You think?" James asked. "You mean, this is a theory?"
Rowan visibly bristled at this. "We've been talking theories this whole time, haven't we? Unless you've found proof that Wenster was part of the Scarlet Hand."
"Of course I don't have any proof of that," James snapped impatiently. "That's the whole point of this exercise."
"You know…" Murphy intoned, his voice a bit tentative. "Maybe we're going about this whole thing the wrong way."
"How do you figure that?" asked James.
"Don't snap on me, James, I'm just making a suggestion," Murphy bit back somewhat defensively, which caught James off guard a bit. He raised his hands.
"I'm not snapping, I'm just curious to hear your answer," he said.
Murphy didn't seem entirely satisfied with that explanation, but seemed to hold back what he might have considered saying. "You ever heard of a cold case, James?"
"Yeah," James replied, unable to help the feeling that Murphy was patronizing him just a bit. Murphy's family members never rose to especially high ranks within Magical Law Enforcement like James's dad did, but they, unlike him, encouraged Murphy to get into what had become more or less the family trade. They were much more open with Murphy about the inner workings of the wizard justice system than James's family was. That said, James wasn't entirely ignorant. He could read, after all. "Cold cases are old cases. Basically."
"More or less," agreed Murphy. "They're also the hardest to solve. Damn near impossible sometimes. A couple of years pass on a murder, and you're bang out of luck. And this is more like conspiracy, which is even harder to prove."
"So you're saying there's no way we can pin anything on him?" James replied.
"Not if we lead with Gladius Leo," Murphy replied. "That was almost fifteen years ago."
"That's a good point," Rowan observed. "Even if we do find something on Gladius Leo, that'll take forever - more time than we have until Wenster's name comes up for consideration as Headmaster."
James, who had taken a moment to sneak a forkful of food, promptly dropped the fork. He stared a hole at Rowan. "What?"
"Brynne and I have talked about it," Rowan said, not meeting James's eye, probably hoping his tone would calm James down. It didn't.
"What?!" repeated James, this time starting to rise to his feet.
"She views him as a threat to the school," answered Rowan quickly. "I haven't told her about… the other stuff. She has no idea."
James sank down into his seat again, relieved.
"Good. And she won't," James replied, not looking at him.
Murphy let out a sigh. "Why don't you think she deserves to know if somebody is responsible for the murder of her parents?"
James glared at Murphy. "You know her better than that. What do you think she'll do if she finds out? What would you do?"
"That's a good question," Rowan admitted. "But… if Brynne knows anything at all, it's how dangerous being consumed by revenge is. That's the reason her parents died in the first place, isn't it?"
James glanced at Rowan for a long time, neither one breaking their gaze.
James blinked first, and looked away.
"It's still not something I'd want to risk," he said.
Rowan closed his eyes for a moment. "She's not going to let anyone control her." He fixed a hard stare on James. "Not even you."
"It's not control, it's -" James broke his gaze with Rowan, feeling his temper start to rise. "She's been through enough - a lot of it my fault. I just want to keep her out of harm's way. If Wenster doesn't suspect her of anything, I'd rather keep it that way."
"Godric's Guard is as good as dead," Rowan pointed out. "Longbottom's back and Wenster isn't allowed to run amok anymore. This is a different Hogwarts than back in November. Just a bit. But it is different. There's always a way to do something if you really want it badly enough. That's what being around Brynne all this time has taught me."
He squinted, removing his glasses to wipe them down. Meanwhile, James silently fumed. Where the hell did Rowan get off suggesting what he was suggesting? His comment roused a dormant competitive instinct in James.
"Well, we're not doing the Room of Requirement thing because that was a bloody disaster," James said. Then he glanced at Murphy. "I think I've got something in mind."
"Just promise me one thing," Rowan cut in immediately.
James looked at him. "What's that?"
Rowan had his mouth in his hand thoughtfully for a moment, as if trying to figure out exactly how to phrase his request...
Brynne
"...And that's how I ended up here, I guess." Tellius Nott said detachedly as they descended the stairs from the library.
"That sounds very… nice," Brynne replied. Nott dropped his head sadly.
"You probably don't know, do you?" he asked. "How your parents met, I mean."
"Not really," admitted Brynne. "My aunt Flora's told me bits and pieces, but…"
"It's probably much more interesting," Nott replied. "Most wizards end up with someone they met here at school."
There was a pause. Brynne saw through Nott's surface statement to the question he was really asking.
"I haven't talked to him much," she finally said.
"Is he avoiding you again?" Nott asked.
Brynne frowned. "Sort of."
Nott shook his head. "I'm not going to pretend to be an expert on romance - but everything I've observed tells me that if someone's actively trying to stay away from you, it's not a good sign."
Brynne sighed. Smiling weakly at Nott, she stated, "I get it. I hate it, but… I get it. It's not that he doesn't want to be with me. It's that he doesn't want the wrong people to see us together. Kind of like your mum and dad were, right?"
Nott bit his lip.
"Potter - er, James -" Nott amended himself after Brynne gave him a look. He averted his eyes. "Well… he never struck me as the type that would care much what other people thought of him."
"I still don't think he is," Brynne replied. "But there's just 'other people' and then there's 'dangerous' people."
"Wenster can't move the way he did in the fall," Nott replied, lowering his voice. "Not with Longbottom back."
"He's trying to slip beneath suspicion," said Brynne, her lips curling upward. "That's not going to happen. So have you talked to-"
"No," Nott cut her off. "I just haven't gotten around to it, is all…"
"How long do we plan on waiting?" asked Brynne, more than a bit impatiently. "February will be here soon. We can't let term get away from us."
"I still don't understand why you don't do it. He'd listen to you," Nott replied, almost defiantly. "You know how he -"
"Yes, I do. That's why I know he won't listen to me. At least not right now," Brynne interrupted. "He's going to need… time, I guess. But 'time' is the one thing we don't have. It has to be you. And it has to be soon."
Nott sighed. "...Honestly… I'm not sure it'll help."
"We're not sure that it won't," Brynne said. "He's not the 'leader', really, but he's got a lot of influence."
Nott removed his classes for a moment, investigating something on a lens. Finding their state acceptable, he put them on again. "I don't like it. It seems too much like we're taking one side over another."
"Not even his own house is safe from him," Brynne pointed out. "And I think a lot of them know it."
There was a lull in their conversation - although Brynne thought she could hear words coming from somewhere else in the halls.
"Sorry for bringing you all the way out here, Tellius," Brynne said.
"I don't mind," Nott said, shrugging. "Howell's sick, after all…"
"Everything Professor Gladstone did right," Brynne groused. "And we still can't walk the halls on our own."
"I'll guarantee that was a compromise she made to Wenster for getting rid of the House tables." Nott punctuated his hypothesis with a cynical scoff.
"You think he's got that much power still?" asked Brynne seriously.
"He's a favorite of the Board of Governors," Nott nodded in reply. "The Board of Governors are the only people with the power to vote out a sitting Headmaster of Hogwarts. They typically won't go against the general public except in desperate situations, but they're the real ones in charge."
"So the Headmaster has to be careful not to offend them," Brynne surmised, understanding the situation.
"...And that's the short version of why McGonagall didn't get rid of Wenster outright when she was still here," Nott explained. "She was making a lot of hires that the Board didn't agree with. They can't really hire and fire teachers - that's still the Headmaster's job. Board only steps in if the Headmaster can't find someone. And that used to be the Ministry's job for a while, until the war."
Brynne looked down at her shoes. She knew exactly what had led to that. "Because of Amycus and Alecto Carrow."
"That's actually not what did it," replied Nott quickly, perhaps having a sense of what Brynne was thinking. "Have you ever heard of Dolores Umbridge?"
Brynne nodded. "My aunt's described her as being worse than a lot of Death Eaters."
"That may or may not be a stretch," Nott admitted, "depending on which stories you've heard about her and which ones you believe. The Ministry appointed her as a teacher here years ago. She ended up serving multiple life sentences in Azkaban."
"How does someone serve multiple life sentences?" Brynne asked, finding this concept almost amusing. "You've only got one life."
Nott seemed reluctant to answer this. Then, Brynne remembered something.
"Your grandfather's in there," she said sadly. "I shouldn't have -"
"My grandfather died years ago," Nott answered, making a dismissive gesture. "Before I was born. I don't even know the man, except that my father named me for him. Which I still think was really odd. They didn't get along, either. He wanted my dad to join up with 'the cause'. But my dad had met my mum by that point and was starting to question everything he'd been taught…"
"Funny how that happens," Brynne replied, smiling to herself as she remembered something else from a few years back. "...So do you fancy anyone?"
"W-what?" Nott's face went red. "What kind of question is that?"
"A normal question," Brynne replied. "You're fourteen now and you don't fancy any girls?"
Nott rolled his eyes and looked away.
Brynne pursed her lips, thinking for a moment before asking the next question. "...Any boys?" Nott turned back to her, his eyes a bit wide. "I don't have any problem with it, I'm just curious. Come on. Help me out here."
"Help you what?" Nott seemed unnerved by the grilling.
Brynne bit her lip. "I feel like I don't know you all that well, honestly. We've been friends for years, but…"
That was the truth - or part of it. People, not pawns. That was how she wanted everyone around her to feel.
"So where is it?"
"I couldn't tell you - I've never been up there. I don't even know if it's real. It's just what I've heard."
They were approaching a corner, and the extra voices had made it obvious that they were no longer alone.
"Wait a second, is that-" Nott started, but Brynne shushed him.
"Yeah," she answered, peering around the corner wall, "but who's he with?"
The hallway around the corner was quite empty, save for a spot against the wall several feet away where two others were conversing between a pair of suits of iron armor.
"What would you even do up there?" the boy asked.
"Wouldn't you like to know," the girl answered, the shadow of a taunt in her tone.
"Yes, I'm a little bit curious," the boy replied.
The girl detached herself from the wall, lowering the hood she had been wearing and smoothing back her hair before putting the hood back up.
"I don't know. What do you think would make him most uncomfortable?" she asked. "Probably whatever that is."
The boy shook his head.
"He won't know it was me," she told him. "He'll suspect…"
"...One of us," the boy finished. "That's the flaw in this whole plan."
"Well, you should get away from them," she suggested, turning her head away from him petulantly.
"You mean, the Progenies, or my entire house?" asked the boy cynically.
"Both, if you can," the girl replied, the shadow of a smile on her voice.
"I'm not a lone wolf like you," he replied after a moment. "People depend on me, and I'd rather not see them in any more danger."
"Do nothing, you mean?" she replied fiercely. "...I couldn't sleep at night if I did nothing, Phillip. And honestly? If a few sacrifices have to be made, that's something I'm prepared to do."
"Well, it isn't for me," Phillip Bletchley replied to the girl, just as fiercely. The girl scoffed and shook her head. "They're my friends, too. As much as I want to see him get what's coming to him, they're more important."
"...She's made her choice. You said so yourself. So who are you trying to impress with the hero act?" she asked cuttingly. Brynne couldn't see who the girl was from here but found herself a little bit angry at her.
"It's not an act, and I'm not trying to be a hero," Bletchley answered. "I have friends that have to worry about this bastard, same as you. Unless you've decided caring for people isn't worth it anymore…"
The girl made an odd sound - a bit like a hissing snake - and pulled her wand, quickly backing Bletchley to the wall.
"Don't -" The girl's voice was almost a whisper, and yet Brynne could hear every word. " - think - for a second… that I'm going to all this trouble for no good reason. I'm doing this because I haven't forgotten. I won't forget and I won't forgive - as long as I'm alive. They beat my little brother, Phillip. And he allowed it - approved of it, even. And for what? To make an example?"
"I'm not your enemy," Bletchley said. "We both want the same thing, don't we? We want to see him brought to justice. But we have to be caref-"
Silence…
"What's all this?"
Bletchley and the girl turned to the girl's left.
"You…" the girl uttered.
"Yes, me, Miss Weasley," replied a low voice. The girl backed away a few steps.
"Merlin's pants," murmured Nott somewhere behind Brynne. "How awful can our luck be?"
"Don't stop on my account," the voice of Lucan Wenster preceded his form into Brynne's line of sight. The dim nighttime firelight made his red robes almost glow from a distance. "By all means, continue."
"We weren't fighting," Rose said pointedly, lowering her wand. "Just a misunderstanding."
"Am I, then, to understand, that this was meant to be a friendly conversation?" asked Wenster, sounding skeptical.
Rose glanced at Bletchley. "Yes," she said. "Bletchley and I are friends. So what?"
"Ten points from Gryffindor," Wenster snapped. "Didn't you just finish up a set of detentions, Miss Weasley? Would you like to go back?"
"Why's that?" asked Rose. "For having a friendly conversation?"
"Oh, you found him, did you?" another man's voice joined the conversation. Brynne sighed.
"That bad, Tellius," she said to Nott a bit sourly. Rose, Bletchley, and Wenster all looked quite confused.
"Excellent, Miss Weasley. Take ten points to Gryffindor." Rose looked up at the tall, lithe form of Professor Clinton Malcolm, who circled Wenster around to her.
"What's the meaning of this?" asked Wenster.
"I'd had a short tutoring session scheduled with Mr. Bletchley here in the library, but I got hung up in the Great Hall and I needed someone to come up here to tell him not to wait up for me," Malcolm answered. "Miss Weasley overheard and graciously volunteered to deliver the message."
Judging by the look in Rose's eye, this was definitely not what had happened, but she wasn't about to speak this out and ruin a good thing. She winced as Malcolm patted her on the shoulder.
"It's late, you two," Malcolm said, glancing at Bletchley as well. "I'd get back to your dormitories before you run afoul of anyone else."
Rose and Bletchley exchanged confused glances, but followed Malcolm's instructions, leaving only the two teachers.
"It would have been much easier had you sent another Slyth-" Wenster started once the two other students were out of earshot, but Malcolm cut him off.
"Professor."
It was deferential and yet confrontational - if such a thing was possible. Not to mention Malcolm didn't even look at his colleague. (That would have been more effective, Brynne thought. There was always something in Malcolm's eyes that unsettled her.)
"I'm disappointed," Malcolm said very laconically. "I thought, now that you've got your free time back, you'd have better things to do with it."
"Spare me the false pleasantries, Clinton," Wenster answered.
"Fine. If you say so," Malcolm whirled around and looked Wenster right in the eye. "You're wasting your time with all the regulations. We're short two Prefects as is, and it's not helping anybody for them to be spending their time doing that."
"Short two Prefects." Wenster made a terrifying little noise that imitated a chuckle, but with none of its warmth and friendliness. "As if I made a bad decision by stripping Eamonn Temple of his badge?"
"Of course not," Malcolm answered. "Especially given that it wasn't your decision - it was Longbottom's."
"Well, it was the decision I would have made if given the opportunity," said Wenster.
"That's nice," Malcolm replied quickly, unmoved by Wenster's statement and, in fact, sounding like he didn't believe it one bit.
"You should warn your... future wife about the potential dangers of upsetting the Board," Wenster pointed out. "She doesn't have half of the goodwill that Miner-"
"That's all very well, Lucan, but I'm warning you first," Malcolm interrupted him again, and this time, there was an edge in his voice. "Meridia understands that she will have to answer to the Board of Governors if she displeases them. If you ask me, that's the only reason you're still here. But you…"
Brynne oddly felt a breeze from somewhere behind her. Malcolm was peering through his glasses at Wenster, his cloak ruffled by the sudden wind that had kicked up. His eyes, always blue and icy, seemed to almost glow now, giving off their own light in the dimly candlelit hallway.
"If you get in her way - in our way - you'll have to answer to me," he finished.
"Your...powers," Wenster said, "unique as they may be, do not intimidate me."
At this Malcolm smiled one of those chilling smiles that did not quite meet his eyes. It had been a while since Brynne had seen it, but she could not mistake it for anything else when she did.
"That's because you haven't seen me in a bad mood yet. If I hear you've been running off to the Governors to make things difficult for Meridia, though…"
There was a pause then, pregnant with probably about a dozen different unspoken threats.
"Good evening, Professor," Malcolm said, departing and leaving Wenster alone in the hallway.
Wenster did not speak until Malcolm had been gone for quite some time.
"You cannot stray from your path," he murmured. "I understand that. Neither can I stray from mine. Claudia, Titus… they would never forgive me."
He took something out of his robes and stared at it in his hand for a long time. Then, that hand made a fist - a fist that trembled violently.
"If our resolves must be opposed," he said, peering down the hallway. "...Then so be it."
And he turned in their direction, causing a brief moment of panic…
But he passed them, not noticing (or not acknowledging if he had noticed) their presence.
Brynne and Nott pried themselves from the wall once Wenster was well out of sight.
"We just got more answers in five minutes than we did in three hours in the library," Nott remarked.
"More questions, too," Brynne said breathlessly.
Nott, with a grimace, acknowledged this wordlessly as the truth. "Let's get back down before we run across any more surprises."
And they quickly started their descent toward Slytherin's dungeons.