October 28th, 1975
Dorcas couldn't take her gloves off quickly enough, discarding them in the pile that needed a mending charm, along with much of the class. Chinese Chomping Cabbage was named so for a reason, and this batch had been a little overenthusiastic when being fed carrots. She sped out of class, bookbag bulging, and broke away from her classmates to head up a different tower. It was set to be a long day, between this and Astronomy at ten, but she could hardly begrudge it. Not with what was coming.
She passed a couple of Seventh Years on her way up, whispering and comparing charts, and gave the smattering of Ravenclaws that awkward half-smile people tend to do when they see an acquaintance. Finally, she reached the trapdoor, and climbed up the ladder into the classroom. Professor Nicholl was carrying a cage with four grey birds inside.
"Dorcas," she said, and lifted the cage with a smile, "you're right on time. My Seventh Years have just been revising Ornithomancy. We'll be-"
"Studying that in Spring Term," Dorcas said, remembering her curriculum outline. Professor Nicholl smiled wider.
"Yes. They say that Seeing is easier for the organised mind, for the patterns exist already, and all they must do is look," she said, putting the cage down on one of the round tables. A light breeze fluttered through the circular open windows, and made Dorcas glad she'd rugged up today. Yesterday had been the final farewell from the summer months. Professor Nicholl waved a hand. "Sit, sit, at any table. I'll just be a moment." She pushed open a small door and ducked inside to her office.
Dorcas chose the nearest table, and put her bulging bookbag down. She undid the buckles. Okay, sure, maybe she'd gone a little overboard, but she didn't know what to expect. She retrieved five books on Occlumency from her bag and stacked them on the table. Since it had been brought up, she'd spent all the spare time she had with her nose practically in the binding of these books. Madam Pince had eyed her something terrible when she'd borrowed out the five books at once, and for a month at that, but she gave in. Dorcas suspected it was only because of her stellar records with borrowing. Thanks to that, Dorcas stuffed her brain with as much information as she could possibly retain on Occlumency, which had made the wait for this first meeting bind her insides even tighter than usual.
She grabbed the top book ('Protection Charm Your Mind: A Practical Guide to Counter Legilimency'), and carefully turned the pages until she found the chapter she wanted ('Behind the Practicality: What is Occlumency and What Does It Mean For You?'). She drummed her fingers on the table as she read. Her guts felt solid. What if she quizzes me and I forget something? What if she decides I'm not ready? What if I fail the quiz and she sends me away? Maybe she'll just read my mind, and realise how dumb I am and send me away. Maybe it's so special and secret that they'll just obliviate me and snap my wand so I can't run around telling anyone. But why would Madam Pince have let me borrow the books if they're top-secret? Why would there be an Occlumency section in the Hogwarts library? Unless she set it up because she wants me to be expelled. Maybe Madam Pince is a Legilimens, and all of this is because I -
"I see you've been preparing," Professor Nicholl said. Dorcas' head shot up, and she slammed the book shut. Then she blinked down at the shut book.
"I don't know if these are the right sort of texts to be reading," she admitted, mouth dry. "I just thought I'd have a look, and see if I could learn anything. I don't want to waste your time with explanations if we have important work to do. I mean, all of your work is important, and I'm just here because - because -" Dorcas moved her mouth wordlessly, wanting to hit herself, "-I'm really sorry if I've read the wrong books, it wasn't my intention to sabotage this."
"Dorcas," Professor Nicholl said, sitting in the purple armchair opposite. "You're fine. I didn't expect you to do any reading beforehand."
"I'm sorry!"
"No, no, it's fine, you're fine." She waved a hand. "It's not a problem. I do need you to be calm for this, though. And I'd prefer to do this without use of a Calming Draught, as that would be...cheating, in learning this skill."
Dorcas fixed her eyes on the table. "I'm sorry." She'd never taken Calming Draught in her life - her parents had forbidden it. Too addictive.
"No more 'sorries' in these lessons," Professor Nicholl said firmly. "We'll be apologising all night if we keep them. So, to begin with, thank you for coming, and arriving so promptly. The delay in beginning these lessons has not been by my choice - sometimes Fate conspires against us getting things done, for whatever reason."
"It's okay," Dorcas mumbled.
"I hope to have these meetings once a week, at this same time, if it works for you."
"Yes." She mentally filed it away to be written onto her calendar and into her planner.
"Fantastic. Now, I might get us a cup of tea. If you could tell me what you've surmised whilst I do that, that would be excellent. Now - how do you take your tea?"
"Milk, please," Dorcas said mildly. "No sugar."
"Mm. Wasn't sure if you'd be a milk sort or not," Professor Nicholl said, standing up.
Dorcas took a deep breath, combing through her brain and quickly rehearsing what to say. "I learned, firstly, that Occlumency is a skill that helps you to resist Legilimency attacks - or, more simply put, mind-reading attempts. It can also help with emotional control, organisation, and memory." She swallowed dryly. "There's seven different, um, skills within the Occlumency skill, and they're labelled seven, fourteen, twenty-one, twenty-eight, thirty-five, forty-two, and forty-nine. Seven is supposed to be the easiest to master, while forty-nine is the hardest. Some of the books did describe some practical techniques, but I decided not to attempt any without proper guidance."
"That's why I chose a Ravenclaw," Professor Nicholl said absently, pouring tea from a mustard kettle. "A Gryffindor would rush into teaching themselves just because they couldn't help it, a Hufflepuff would want to show how hard-working they are, a Slytherin would assume they could handle it and want the skills sooner rather than later. A Ravenclaw, however, reads all the theory and knows they will learn best from an expert - excuse my boasting." She set a teacup down in front of Dorcas.
"Thank you," Dorcas said, and took a sip. Professor Nicholl sat down. "Were you a Ravenclaw, Professor?"
"I was," she said. "Class of '58. Same year as Professor Sprout, who was a Hufflepuff."
"Hufflepuffs seem to have some sort of gift for Herbology," Dorcas noted.
"Perhaps it's the nature of the subject, but I have noticed it too. Gryffindors typically excel in Defence and Transfiguration, Hufflepuffs in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, Ravenclaws in Divination and Astronomy, Slytherins in Potions and History of Magic. That's the typical pattern."
"And Charms is for everyone?"
"More or less."
"Why, do you think? That sortings and subjects seem to go hand-in-hand?"
"Ah," Professor Nicholl smiled. "As I said, perhaps it's the nature of the subject. Perhaps it's coincidence. Maybe excelling in those areas was something the Founders valued, and so those with tendencies towards those areas are more often sorted into those houses. But really, I'm just guessing. It's a question for someone far more knowledgeable than me."
Dorcas sipped her tea. Professor Nicholl took 'Protection Charm Your Mind' and opened it, reading idly. Well, she hasn't kicked me out yet, Dorcas thought. And she let the excitement run through her, soothing her iron nerves. She was going to get to learn what the books had described as one of the most difficult magical skills in the world. A small smile crossed her face.
Finally, Professor Nicholl shut the book and looked up. "Hm. So. We will begin with Skill Seven, naturally, as it is the easiest to master. Do you agree that it's a good place to start?" Dorcas blinked. If Professor Nicholl was saying so, then of course it was - right? Or was it a trick question?
"If you think so," Dorcas said uncertainly.
"I do," Professor Nicholl said. She waved her wand and murmured an incantation, and the books flew away to another table and stacked themselves neatly. "And here is how we start."
Dorcas frowned as Professor Nicholl instructed her, but still did as she said. She shut her eyes and imagined a box.
"Just a simple box," Professor Nicholl said. "As plain as can be. Focus on it until it seems real." Dorcas nodded, squeezing her eyes tighter. There was just a vague awareness of light. She thought about a box. A brown box, made of wood, with a simple latch.
"I've got it in my head," she said. "I can picture it."
"No!" Dorcas' eyes flung open. "Sorry, that was a little enthusiastic. But I don't want you to picture it. I want you to See it." Professor Nicholl tapped her forehead. "Are you picturing it up here?"
"Yes," Dorcas said mildly. Where else was she meant to imagine it?
"The challenge is to See it. It has to be in front of your eyes. You can picture it up there all you like, but that's not the beginnings of Skill Seven, that's just imagining something. It needs to be - here." Professor Nicholl shut her eyes and hit her fingertips against the lids. "It needs to be real, Dorcas."
She considered that, mind ticking, and her eyes widened. Oh. Of course! "Skill Seven is the creation of a mindscape," she said.
"Yes," Professor Nicholl agreed, opening her eyes.
"And it begins with a...box?"
"A box is an easy place to start. Now, get to it. We can't be missing dinner." Dorcas swallowed. How on earth was she meant to have created a whole box by dinnertime? She shut her eyes once more, trying to picture it, to See it behind her eyelids, not her forehead. Her hands gripped the edge of the table. She jolted forward, exhaling, shaking from the effort.
"How much longer do I have?" she asked, insides iron.
"We ought to go down to dinner in another twenty minutes," Professor Nicholl said. "Go on, try again. It's not an easy thing to do." You said it was an easy place to start, Dorcas thought. Unless you meant easy in comparison to the rest of it. She nodded, and screwed up her face once more. Wooden box. Latches.
"Relax," Professor Nicholl interjected. Dorcas opened her eyes. "Strain will make it harder. See it as you would in a dream, Dorcas. Just let your third eye See."
"I'll try," Dorcas said, shutting her eyes. She let her hands lay splayed on the tablecloth, and centered herself, taking deep breaths and desperately trying to guide her mind to the box, instead of what trouble she might be in if she didn't get this. Incense filled her nose, and she swallowed the breath again down to her lungs. Then, she let it filter out. Dorcas inhaled again. She let her mind clear completely, her sight go entirely, and exhaled. And over and over, until she was lost in the repetitions. Only then did she picture the box. Dark wood, a simple, singular bronze latch. In. Out. In. Out. And then she tried to bring it down, screwing up her face, maintaining the same breaths. There was something before her, maybe not the box, maybe just a shadow –
"My apologies for interrupting," Professor Nicholl said, hand on Dorcas' shoulder, "but this is where we have to leave things for today." Dorcas shot out of her reverie.
"Okay," she said, swallowing. She took a moment to gather herself up, and then stood, tucking in her chair and returning the books to her bookbag.
"And how far did you get?" Professor Nicholl asked, smiling, as they headed down to dinner. "Do you feel as if you made any progress?"
"I feel tired," Dorcas said, and chuckled nervously. "I think – perhaps. I might've Seen a shadow. Maybe. But I tried very hard, and I'll be sure to practice between now and our next meeting." It'd take a lot longer than seven months to master if she never practiced, she thought. And if it took her weeks and weeks to See just a box, then Professor Nicholl might give up on her. Might decide she wasn't bright enough for it. The thought turned her cold.
"You've done better than I expected," Professor Nicholl said, as they came down the last of the twisting stone steps. "I couldn't've hoped for better. And I say that honestly, Dorcas, not just as empty flattery."
Sure, Dorcas thought, but she said, "Thank you."
"Thank me? Thank you! I – I really do believe you learning this will be for the best, not just for you, but – just, thank you, Dorcas. For undertaking this." Dorcas nodded, face burning, and discarded the praise immediately.
October 29th, 1975
Peter tapped his quill on the page. "Maybe we could ask Bagman. He'd do it for us, don't you think?"
"Who's Bagman?" Sirius asked, scooting closer. Peter looked over his shoulder, squinting at him.
"Bagman. Gryffindor beater. Big, tall, loud guy," Peter said. "He's got us drinks before, Sirius." Sirius shook his head, shrugging.
"Never heard of him." Peter rolled his eyes, and dipped the tip of his quill into the ink, before writing 'LB' next to 'Party Juice'. Their to-do list for the Halloween party was growing longer and longer, and so Peter had volunteered to take over while James was gallivanting around at Quidditch practice. It was a sight more fun than Charms revision.
But Charms revision was pretty awful.
"So I'll get the house-elves to sort some food for us," Peter said. "James can ask Bagman to get drinks for us at some point on Friday, he'll do anything for the right amount of galleons. Dale's bringing stuff off his mate -"
"So I'll need to be dumb as well as deaf and blind," Remus said, lips quirking. "Or you could get all that out of the road before my patrol's over."
"Aren't you dumb already?" Sirius asked. Remus shot him a look, and Peter sniggered into the piece of parchment he held up. The three of them had commandeered the spot by the fire, which was easier with the Quidditch team at practice. It didn't stop a group of second-year girls whispering furiously and glaring at them, but Peter only would've minded if they were third-years by the names of Cathy and Lisbete. The second-year girls could hate him as much as they liked.
"Should we have games?" Peter asked, pausing. At his birthday over the summer, he'd still taken care to organise things for them to do, but James and Sirius' last birthdays had been lacking. He never quite knew if it was going to be a sit-around-drinking-stolen-Firewhisky party or a let's-play-Exploding-Snap type of do.
"I don't mind," Remus said idly.
"I'm up for games," Sirius smiled, snatching the quill from his hand. Peter frowned as he read Sirius' curled handwriting: Spin the Butterbeer, Pixie Six, Hoon on a Broom -
"I've never heard of the last two," he said. "Wasn't 'Hoon on a Broom' a comic strip?"
"For which the game is named," Sirius said. "Basically, you count to three, and everyone has to summon a broom off the ground. The last one to get a broom has to be spun around seven times, take two shots, and then tell us a Quidditch trick and try to actually do it. If they do it, the rest of us have to finish our drinks. If they fail, they have to finish theirs."
"I'm pants on a broom," Peter groaned, eyes wide. Could he get away with a trick of jumping off?
"You know, I've never understood why everyone goes mad for alcohol, and then play a bunch of games wherein the winners have to drink less alcohol than the others," Remus said, dipping his quill into an inkpot. "If you all love it so much, shouldn't the reward be having more of it, not less?"
Sirius gaped for a moment. He then launched into a torrent of swearing and explanations. Peter turned back to his list, and hesitantly scribbled down the proposed games.
"Alisha," he started, when he caught sight of her, "what's 'Pixie Six'?"
"'Pixie Six'?" She laughed. "C'mon, Peter. It's a party game, a bit of a kissing game, you know."
"A kissing game?" He grimaced, face going hot. Not only was he going to have to fly around on a broom while absolutely legless, but he was also going to have to kiss some poor girl. He wasn't exactly experienced in that department. His first kiss had been with Mary Macdonald during their two-day relationship in second year, and she hadn't seemed very pleased.
"Yeah, you spin a bottle of butterbeer or whatever, and have six seconds to snog whoever it points to, or you get locked in a broom cupboard for six minutes," she said, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She smelled like strawberries and her tie was undone, draped over her chest. She hadn't changed into her pyjamas yet, for whatever reason. The uniform suited her. Peter's stomach tightened. "Are you having a party?"
He nodded. "For Halloween."
"Will Sirius be there?"
"Yes?" Sirius turned around, dark hair falling around his face elegantly. He relaxed back into the chair, chin tilted upwards, smirking. Alisha went pink.
"Erm - Peter was saying there's a party on Halloween - you'll be there, won't you?" She fiddled furiously with her ponytail. Right. He deflated a little. The only non-Slytherin girl in their year to not have held a torch for Sirius at some point was probably Lily Evans. The rest of them all had their time.
"Of course," Sirius said, looking affronted.
"Oh! Great, great - well, I'll, erm, be there too. Put my name down, won't you, Peter?" Alisha patted his shoulder, still pink, and then bolted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Remus and Sirius resumed their bickering, and Peter stared glumly into the crackling flames.
He only moved when the Quidditch team returned noisily from practice. James darted up the stairs to their dorm and returned with a grin, glasses askew.
"How are we going with the planning?" he asked jovially, slinging his arm around Peter's shoulders. Peter gave him the parchment, but James only looked at it for a few moments before tossing it aside. I spent ages on that! James launched into an account of how Bagman and Marlene had hit bludgers at each other and how John Brown made them run a dozen laps of the pitch. Even as James complained about a cramp in his calf, Peter's heart twisted. When he'd been little, he'd dreamed of playing for Portree, and there'd been a thousand posters of the team stuck up on his wall. He still had a little purple rosette somewhere at the bottom of his trunk. Flying class had quickly taught him he'd not a pinch of the makings needed to ever play for them - but James had topped the class. Peter thought that if he had ever made the Quidditch team, he wouldn't've dicked around so much in practice that he was forced to run extra laps, especially with the match against the Slytherins looming.
But Peter hadn't made the team. Naturally. So James was the fancy Quidditch player, Sirius the handsome heir, and Remus the brainy werewolf. Where would their merry band of marauders be if Peter wasn't the runt?
October 30th, 1975
Mary's arms were starting to feel heavy from the weight of her books, but Lily kept talking, and the mini-corridor formed between the desks was too small for her to get through when there was another person standing there. Marlene and Alisha had just half-clambered over the row of desks behind them. Mary thought that kind of breached the whole 'respect for school property' rule.
"I'm sure she'll like it," Lily said encouragingly. "You're her grandson, you know her well."
"Er – I don't, though," said Paul Smith, a boy from Hufflepuff, who was tugging at the sleeve of his school jumper. "My sister Lucy's her favourite."
"Oh," Lily said, but then she pressed on, "well, I'm sure your present will make you the favourite."
"Oh, I wouldn't say it's that good a gift…"
"Come on, Paul, have some confidence in yourself! You owled half your family asking what she might like, and trawled through all those catalogues to find it. You've put in so much effort, she'll have to appreciate it!" And so it went on and on, Mary's arms aching more and more, and she stared out the window and wondered if ghosts could get trapped where they died and if she would be stuck in this spot forever. She really didn't fancy that – she'd have to watch the Seventh Years do their Defence classes, and apparently it could be really quite frightening. The current Defence classes got on her nerves quite enough as it stood.
Finally, Paul relented, and Lily set off down the row of desks with Mary hot on her heels. They collapsed into their seats, Mary dumping the books on her desk and resting her head atop them.
"So," Marlene grinned, "is Paul getting into your pants?" A desk clunked. Lily turned around to look to the back row. Mary followed her gaze. James Potter's dark eyes were wide behind his glasses.
"He's got more of a chance than Potter," Lily said loudly, glaring right at him, and she swung back around in her seat. "Honestly, though, Marlene, I don't think he's trying for that. He's a nice guy," she added, back to her normal tone. Marlene snorted.
"Is there a guy in our year who isn't trying to shag you?" she teased. Lily stiffened.
"Hilarious, Marlene. And to answer your question, yes." Lily turned her back on Marlene to face Mary. Mary pressed her lips together. Couldn't Lily just take a compliment? Mary'd never had anybody after her, not even one, and Lily had a string of them wherever she went. No boy from Hufflepuff would ever hold them up for five whole entire minutes talking to Mary while Lily held the books. Her eyes were too dull and her hair was too frizzy and her face was too round and her cheeks too chubby and her fingers too fat and clumsy. It wasn't like she could blame them.
"Marlene's being foul, so I'm not telling her, but we're doing boggart revision today," Lily whispered. Mary goggled. They'd covered them in third year, and it had been a nightmare. Literally. She hunched her shoulders up around her ears. Back then, her worst fear in the whole wide world had been her friends, arriving at her house. The boggart had taken Lily's form, and everyone had laughed, and then had knocked on an imaginary door and started to speak to an imaginary version of Mary's mother. She'd failed the practical with boggarts on their exam.
"Are you sure?" Mary asked, chest tightening.
"Certain," Lily said. "Glen told me at lunch."
"Glen?"
"Vane. Ravenclaw prefect." Right. Duh. Another boy who wanted everything to do with Lily and naught at all with Mary. Maybe that would be her fear this time. Lily would show up again, and everyone would laugh, and then she'd be surrounded by Paul Smith and Glen Vane and James Potter and Sirius Black and –
Flo Diggory?
Mary shook her head.
"Good afternoon," Professor Forcier said, closing his office door behind him. He came down the stairs, wand in hand, and smiled at them all. "How are we all? Do you have a class after this?" There was mixed grumbling; only those taking Ancient Runes had a class afterwards. Mary was not one of them. She thought that even if she had signed up for it in third year, she would've been kicked out by now. She'd watched Lily doing the homework and it made as much sense to her as Chinese. "Hm, right. Well, I hope your day hasn't been too tiring and dreadful –"
"We just had Potions with the Slytherins," Sirius said loudly. "The day is done for."
"Ah," Professor Forcier said, pausing for a moment as he reached his desk. "Well, I hope not, Mr. Black. See, I was thinking that we could do some revision, given that I know how worn-down you usually are by this time of day. But at the same time, I was thinking that perhaps you need some excitement to invigorate you so that you don't fall asleep at dinner, and so you all might learn how to do difficult things even when you'd really rather be in your common room." Professor Forcier focused his gaze, and Mary stiffened, thinking he was looking at her. But no – he was looking past her. God only knew what the boys in the back row had done while he'd been talking. They were always being annoying or distracting in some way or another.
Professor Forcier flicked his wand, and the word 'BOGGARTS' appeared on the blackboard in neat chalk. "You did them in your third year, correct? You all remember them?" There was a mix of excited chatter from much of the Gryffindor contingent and groans from the Hufflepuffs; Mary lent her voice to the latter. "Excellent. Now, I believe that boggarts will most likely be tested in the written component of your examination, as creatures can be hard to source for the practicals, but I'm not certain. For that reason, however, I would like to spend some time covering boggart theory first."
She supposed that was slightly better than facing them straight up; but the thought still curdled her stomach. What was the point? It wasn't as if she was ever going to be fighting her worst fear in the real world, and if a boggart got trapped in her house, she'd simply call a removalist. It wasn't as though there was any chance of her getting a DADA NEWT anyway.
Lily answered the first two questions about them easily, smiling, and then Paul Smith and James Potter answered the following two questions, stumbling a little over their words.
"And let me see, who hasn't answered yet?" Mary shrunk in her seat, sliding down. "Hmmm...ah, yes. Mr. Black! Could you give an example of a well-known boggart case?" Professor Forcier was looking over Mary's head. A cool wave rushed over her. She never really knew why teachers called on students who didn't even volunteer. They obviously didn't know! It was just embarrassing.
"I could," Sirius said. He didn't elaborate. Lily turned her head, and Mary followed suit. Sirius' arms were folded, and he leaned back in his chair so far that two legs had come off the ground.
"Would you?" Professor Forcier asked. Sirius tilted his chin upwards, eyes narrowing. Lily scoffed.
"Nah, I won't. Thanks for the opportunity, sir." Mary's mouth opened. He didn't even look ashamed! And Professor Forcier was so nice, he'd even been polite about it - how could Sirius just sit there and be so - so rude?
"Excuse me, Mr. Black, but I fear I spoke wrongly. Please tell us about a well-known boggart case. You obviously can, so do indulge us." Professor Forcier smiled still, but his hands were clasped together firmly. A chair creaked, and Sirius stood up. Mary's eyes bulged; she turned to Lily, who just looked bored. How can she be bored? Mary thought. This is wild!
"No," Sirius said firmly. "I'm not a house-elf. I don't just run around taking orders from whomever." Mary's throat constricted; her eyes bulged. Marlene and Alisha had turned around completely in their chairs. Most of the class had. Lily stared straight ahead.
"I can see that, Mr. Black," Professor Forcier said evenly. He strode past the rows of desks and stopped just before where Mary sat. His face was its normal colour, and his hands were clasped only loosely. "But your parents have seen fit to send you to Hogwarts, and therefore have given me, temporarily, some of the authority they hold as your parents. So, if you could treat me as you do them, and please answer my question, it would be much appreciated." Sirius jumped to his feet as though there was a rocket beneath his seat.
"I had more respect for you just because you were a person," Sirius said, and stormed out. The class oohed. Mary elbowed Lily.
"Did you hear that?" she gaped.
"Well, I'm not deaf." The classroom door slammed shut. Sirius' bookbag was still under his desk, half-open, and a pot of spilled ink pooled on the desk. Peter Pettigrew flourished his wand and it disappeared.
Professor Forcier rested one hand on Mary's desk. She flinched. He looked at the spot where Sirius had sat, straightened up, and returned to the front of the class.
"Sir, excuse me," James Potter piped up, hand in the air. Mary's eyes shot back to him. Was he going to have an outburst too? Maybe it was some prank that he and Sirius had cooked up. Or maybe Peter and Remus were in on it too (though Remus was staring at his books), and maybe even Dale!
"Yes, Mr. Potter?"
"I need to go to the lav," he said. Professor Forcier sighed, flicked his wand, and gave James a pink slip as he left.
"Now that all the commotion is over," Professor Forcier said, folding his arms across his chest. "Back to boggarts."
It was towards the end of class that Mary found herself standing in line to face the rickety trunk. There was not nearly as much theoretical work on boggarts as she would've liked. What she really wanted was for class to be over. Or for the day to be over, either would do, really.
"I'm so excited for tomorrow," she confessed, smiling. "I mean, we don't really go to many parties, do we? Except for birthdays."
"Bagman's going to get Firewhisky for us," Marlene said. "I heard him and James talking this morning. Have you ever had it before?" Mary shook her head. Firewhisky! Imagine! Her parents had never even let her have a sip of anything vaguely inappropriate, and she'd been lectured dreadfully about butterbeer before. Her tongue made a circle on the roof of her mouth. Butterbeer had been nice, especially when it was chilled and they'd sat out the back of the pub in the sunshine. It wasn't worth it, though. Nothing was worth that.
"It's bad enough that Remus doesn't say anything about stuff like that," Lily frowned, "but if he doesn't show up for prefect duty tomorrow, screw it, I'm reporting him."
"Oh, come on, don't be a buzzkill, Lily," Marlene said. "We're teenagers. We're supposed to rebel." If everybody did it, was it really that rebellious, though? Mary wondered.
"He can drink all he wants, and so can you, but it's a problem if it fucks with actual responsibilities. He'd better still show up for duty, and you'd better still win us that match tomorrow. One sign of a hangover on the pitch and I'll put you in detention for a week."
"Fantastic," Marlene said jovially. "Bonding time." The line shuffled up. Mary determinedly did not look at the boggart, nor the student facing it, though Lily and Marlene both winced.
"So you will drink?" she ventured, heart racing slightly. Her mum never drank, but her dad had been born with a bottle in hand.
"It'll be fun," Marlene said. "Just have a sip of mine, Mary, see if you like it."
"If you must join Marlene, don't start with Firewhisky, you'll puke. See if anyone's brought Elfwine Kisses," Lily said.
"What's an Elfwine Kiss?" Mary asked.
"A kid's drink," Marlene snorted. "Barely a drop more alcohol in it than butterbeer."
"When Marlene's in a coma, you'll be glad you followed my advice and not hers," Lily said. Mary looked between the two of them, and nodded.
The thought of even sipping alcohol made her stomach burn, but her options were to think about that, or watch the confrontations with the boggarts. Remus Lupin went next. Mary hardly glimpsed it before it disappeared, and Professor Forcier loudly praised him. It had looked like a soccer ball. Mary was sort of scared of soccer balls - all sports balls, really, she'd been hit in the face with them one too many times. But not enough that they were her worst fear. Weird that it should be Remus'. Maybe she was just being judgy, but she would've picked him as the deep and meaningful type. She didn't know for sure, though; Mary never knew anything for sure, she was too stupid for that. Her heart plummeted into her feet.
Lily went next, dark red hair swishing in her ponytail. Paul's eyes were glued to her - most of the boys in the room were watching her. Mary's cheeks burned, and she wasn't even up there yet. Part of her hoped they all looked away when it was her turn, so they didn't see - whatever her worst fear would be. But if they did all turn away, that would mean they didn't even care what her worst fear was. They couldn't even bother to watch. Her shoulders curled.
The boggart changed into a tall, skinny woman with a sensible short blonde bob. "I can't believe you," she hissed. "Giving us up, and for them! And now you have lead Him to our very -"
"Riddikulus!" Lily moved her wand. The woman's neck grew longer and longer, turning yellow and growing spots. She clutched her head in horror as - antlers? - broke through her hair. Mary's jaw dropped when she realised what Lily had made her into.
"A giraffe!" Paul Smith said. "That's brilliant, Lily, absolutely genius!"
"Well, I strive for accuracy," Lily grinned, seeming entirely at ease. "Though I'm not sure if a horse would've done her better justice." A chorus of laughter sounded, Mary included. Professor Forcier said something to Lily, and then she joined the little crowd gathered to watch. "Good luck, Mary!"
Oh, no no no. It was her turn now. She clutched her wand tightly, desperately trying to remember the wand movement. Her legs felt like jelly. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. They were all still watching her - at least they cared. She wished they didn't care. But not really. But really. Just - oh, why couldn't she be more like Lily?
"Go on," Professor Forcier smiled. Mary nodded. Her hand twitched. Oh no. She gingerly stepped towards the woman-giraffe.
In an instant, it vanished into black smoke. Mary's mouth was dry. A door appeared, hovering a few inches off the ground, but otherwise lifelike. A wreath hung from a small hook, and the number 22 was shaped in bronze. Beneath it was a slit for the post. Mary turned cold.
"Oh," she whimpered.
Loud footsteps stormed past the door, and it rattled on its hinges. Her stomach tightened. She breathed rapidly, the air sticking to her throat. Heavy feet slammed against the wooden floor behind the door. A dark shape obscured the view through the slit. She had to knock. It would be rude to dawdle too long, and she couldn't be rude, wasn't allowed to be rude. Rude girls were bad girls and bad girls weren't allowed. Pots clashed furiously. They would be inside, they would be waiting. She was late - oh, God, she was late, she was late, she was -
"Is that really just a door?" she heard Alisha exclaim loudly. The world teetered. Mary blinked furiously, pulling her head back. Other students lurked at the corners of her eyes, and the dark shape behind the door was gone. He'll be back, he's - no.
"Riddikulus," she whimpered, curving her wand. Nothing changed. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. I have to make it funny. What was funny about it? She was going to be in such trouble. How did somebody make a door funny? It took all her might to tear her eyes away.
Lily was mouthing something at her. Mary frowned. Two? - two! - something...fuck? Fox? That couldn't be right. Two...something til...oh! Mary managed a weak smile, and turned her attention back to the door.
"Riddikulus!" she said, focusing her mind. Each number in the bronze '22' began to grow, shooting outwards, forming orange beaks and then heads attached to the door.
"Two little ducks!" said the mail-slit, as if it was a mouth.
"Quack quack!" responded the two duck heads. A few pockets of laughter bubbled. Professor Forcier stepped forwards, and Mary's stomach tumbled.
"You were very good with the wand movement and incantation," he said. "I know it can be difficult not to be impacted by the image, but please do try your best. But that was satisfactory, Mary."
"Thank you," she mumbled, and fled as soon as possible to where Lily stood.
"You're a life-saver!" Mary flung her arms around Lily, who hugged her back.
"I couldn't leave you in the lurch," Lily said. "Come on now, let's watch Marlene."
A/N: I'm so sorry this has taken so long! I had really bad writer's block with this chapter and tbh I'm still not happy with it, and I've been having a rough time lately. I'm excited for the next chapter though - Halloween party!