Harry was watching in wide-eyed fascination. Hermione, if Sarah didn't miss her guess, had begun to brew something of a crush. Ron simply looked like he'd found his third best friend, and said best friend was capable of walking on ceilings.
It seemed her discussion with Jareth would have to wait. Sarah drew in a deep breath, smiled past the sting of pain, and said, "Children, may I present Jareth, King of the Goblins. Goblin King, these are Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley."
Jareth inclined his head, then dropped from the ceiling. He righted himself in midair, drifting down slowly so that his feet gently touched back onto the floor. Her floor, this time.
"How delightful to actually meet the three of you," Jareth said. His smile was sharp again.
"Are you really a king? It's not some sort of private joke?" Hermione tilted her head, eyeing his angry-mullet-mop hair.
"Miss Granger, depending on where you're talking about, I'm the king."
At that, Hermione took a step into the room. The door closed behind her, causing all three students to jump. By the time the trio turned back to face them, Jareth had conjured another armchair, in which he lounged sideways.
Ron's eyes widened. "So you're really, actually, King of the Goblins then?"
Jareth looked to Sarah. Sarah shook her head. Why it was so unbelievable to wizard children, she really wasn't sure.
"In a word," Jareth said, "yes."
"You knew my name," Harry said. He spared the words slowly, as if mulling over their implications. Or as if he were suspicious.
Jareth inspected one of his gloves. "Your name was shouted out for the school to hear at the Sorting Feast."
"But you came up and congratulated me."
"You needed it," Jareth said.
The three children all stared at him.
Sarah started to laugh, and then stopped. She pressed her hand to her side, closing her eyes for a moment. She didn't open them again until her head had stopped ringing.
"Jareth is... drawn to children," Sarah said, softly. "It's in his nature to be something like a caretaker for children who aren't healthy or happy."
Harry swallowed, but said nothing.
"In his own way, he just wants to help you. Just like I do."
That got Ron's attention back on her. "You know, speaking of helping, shouldn't you have been able to levitate that club?"
Sarah grimaced. She hadn't actually wanted to make this explanation. But she did owe to the kids.
"I should have," she agreed. "But I can't. I only found out that humans had magic this spring. I'm here teaching at Hogwarts in exchange for private lessons."
Ron gaped. "Y-you're a Muggle? Or, well, practically a Muggle?"
Sarah sighed. The deep exhalation made her wince, but she managed to say, sounding tired, "Please don't use that word with me."
"Right, sorry. But really... you didn't know magic was real?"
"I knew about goblin magic. And I even had a little bit of it that was my own. I just didn't know humans could do magic."
"So what kind of private lessons do you take?" Hermione, naturally, sounded absolutely fascinated at the idea of talking about classes. "And how do the professors have time to teach you? I thought they were very busy."
"I grade a lot of essays," Sarah said, tone dry.
Comprehension dawned on Harry's face. "So that's why you're a lecturer and not a professor. You're..."
"Halfway a student myself, but far too old to enroll in classes." Sarah paused. "You three will keep this to yourselves, won't you?"
All three students nodded dutifully.
"What about Hoggle?" Hermione asked. "Who's he, and why couldn't Professor McGonagall see him?"
Hoggle stepped forward. "I'm Hoggle."
"Hogburn has been released from one of my principalities to help keep Sarah safe," Jareth said. "But he is not human, nor known to the other staff of this school. Wizards thinking the way they do, he would have been an easy scapegoat."
"You think he would have been blamed for the troll?" Harry asked.
"Whoever was responsible will need someone else to blame. A stranger is perfect."
"That's horrible!" Hermione looked to Sarah, as if Sarah could have stopped it.
She shrugged. "Well, whoever let the troll in is horrible. I couldn't take the chance that Hoggle would be blamed for something he didn't do, so I hid him."
"Which is far better treatment than the coward deserves."
"Jareth, enough about that," Sarah said. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alright, you three. It's best you're not missed from your common room, and I'm a little sore from hitting that sink. If you still have questions, you can come find me sometime tomorrow, okay?"
Hermione nodded dutifully. She and Ron headed to the door without much hesitation. But Harry cast a backward glance before he swung the door shut.
Sarah sighed in relief. She looked to Hoggle. "I think His Majesty and I have a lot to discuss, Hoggle. I'm not mad at you, but I think this is your chance to escape some more scolding."
Hoggle looked between the two of them. He seemed wary, mistrustful, but he finally said, "Just... call on me again soon, Sarah." With that, he headed to the bedroom for her mirror.
When they were alone, Jareth arched an eyebrow. "You assured me you were only a little sore, precious. You're behaving a lot sore."
"It's just a bruise. Where were you, anyway? I'm sure you could have dealt with that troll for all four of us."
"Your McGonagall asked me to watch over the Slytherin children. They were frightened, and I was... unable to leave them."
Despite how sore she was, Sarah smiled. She could easily imagine him gathering them around, maybe singing to calm them. She wondered which Slytherins had liked him the most: the children like Greengrass and Nott, or the children like Malfoy.
She thought back to the House's reputation. "Jareth?"
He rested a hand against the back of her armchair. "Yes, precious?"
"Do Slytherins really grow up to be evil? Inevitably?" It was hard to credit, that a school for children could have a House actually dedicated to evil.
Jareth apparently saw her incredulity. He let go of the armchair and instead gently grasped her shoulder.
"They are treated, from the time they are eleven years old, as if everyone expects malice and cruelty of them. No one bothers to teach them why the actions of their role models are wrong, or that there is a better way. When they leave the school for summer, many return to a house built on self-importance, where they are half-abused and half-spoiled."
Sarah rested her hand on his.
Jareth's tone was thoughtful as he continued, "But does that make what they grow into evil, or simply a consequence of adults failing the children they say they try to teach?"
"At some point, though, they make a decision, don't they?" She squeezed his hand, but didn't shrug it from her shoulders. Instead, she leaned her head against his arm for a moment as she stared into the fire.
"But how can you call their decisions anything more than the product of their upbringing? They are shaped, from the first days of their lives — or their first days in this school — to be one thing. Of course they grasp the choice that fits the shape they've been molded to. No other choice has been made attractive to them. No other choice will have them."
"So I'm going to have to try hard with the Slytherin students of this year, try and get some rising third years next year..." Sarah sighed.
Jareth quirked a smile. "You are on the right track. You've made the culture you come from interesting." His smile grew, looking predatory once again. "And delicious."
Sarah laughed. "So the cake story was still making the rounds?"
"Food makes an impression. So does a sense of accomplishment — which Persephone Greengrass and Pollux Nott had."
Sarah smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."
She tried to stand. Just pushing herself up from the chair was excruciating. She couldn't stifle her gasp of pain, couldn't stop herself from sinking back down against the soft cushion.
Jareth's eyes narrowed. "Let me see this mere bruise of yours, Sarah."
"It's on my ribcage, Jareth."
"I'd gathered." Jareth drew even closer to her, half-sitting on one of the chair's arms. "Sarah. I offer as a friend to heal you. It has nothing to do with anything else that may lie between us, past or future."
Sarah looked from the fire into his face. His mouth had drawn down, creating a tight frown. His eyes were narrowed. Honestly, he looked caught somewhere between anger and anxiety.
"Alright," she said. She shifted in the chair, turning her back to him.
His hands were on her back immediately, tugging at the robe's laces. She could hear the soft pull, could feel the dress's bodice loosen. After a moment, he tugged the bodice away and helped her pull her left arm out of her sleeve.
He utterly ignored her bra. Instead, he traced one gloved finger along the bruise that had blossomed along her ribcage. It was a light touch, but it left her fighting not to shudder or gasp from the pain.
"This," he said, softly, "is rather more serious than you were admitting. Sarah, how quickly were you moving?"
"I don't know. Pretty fast, I think? I could have sworn that time was doing something weird."
Jareth said nothing. She heard the faint creak of leather and a rustle as he pulled his glove off. When he touched her again, it was with his bare hand.
"I'm given to understand this causes a chill," Jareth murmured against her hair.
It was the only warning she had before the healing started. It was more than 'a chill;' though his hand remained warm on her skin — and even her skin remained warm — something crisp and cold shivered through her. She could feel her abdominal muscles freeze and knit, felt as if her very blood had turn to ice water.
Sarah opened her mouth and let out a ragged gasp. Frost crystals puffed into the air.
And then the feeling was gone. Jareth withdrew his hand and pulled his glove back on. Sarah shrugged back onto her sleeve and laced her dress back up. She took a deep, experimental breath. Nothing hurt.
She didn't turn to face him until she had her dress laced again. When she did, she noticed that he was looking fixedly at the fire.
"Thank you, Jareth."
That drew his attention to her. Once again, he looked briefly startled at being thanked. Then his mouth curved, very slowly, into a smile. "You are more than welcome, Sarah."
She returned the smile, feeling light and warm. Everything seemed easy. "You know, we never got to really eat dinner."
"A mistake we should rectify."
Sarah gave him an impish grin. "Let's go up to the Ravenclaw Tower."
Jareth raised an eyebrow.
"They have a book fort," she said, "and besides, that's my honorary House."
Jareth gave her a skeptical look. He'd probably had about as much of children as even a child-stealing fae could stand, she supposed.
"Alright. Where do you suggest?"
Jareth tilted his head first one angle and then another as he thought, before he finally turned to her, with a predatory glint in his eyes. "Why not eat here?"
"Here? I don't think I can get meals brought to my—"
"How little you know of the workings of this place." Jareth's tone was bitter, but then he snapped his fingers. "Gurdie."
There was a loud bang, as if a broken-down old car had backfired. A little gray creature with wrinkled skin, huge eyes, and long, almost rabbity ears appeared. It was either female or liked to dress up in a toga; it wore a dress that Sarah suspected was made out of a dishcloth.
The dishcloth had the Hogwarts crest.
Sarah dropped to her knees. "Gurdie?"
Gurdie looked between Sarah and Jareth, trembling, before she dropped into a deep curtsey.
"Sarah, this is Gurdie. She's a house elf." Jareth said the word house elf as if it were something Hoggle had fished out of the bog.
Sarah nodded and tried not to stare too long at the little thing. "I take it house elves are more closely related to goblins?"
"A failed attempt at Aboveground colonization by my less intelligent subjects. They're generally considered a distinct creature by wizards, but... they're all my subjects, Sarah."
Jareth looked down at Gurdie. Gurdie kept her face turned to the ground.
"They are subservient to wizards. They dote on them; it's a touch sickening." Jareth's expression darkened. Sarah suspected that by a touch sickening he meant something closer to infuriating. "But if I called them, they, too would return Underground."
Sarah didn't mention just how easy it would be for Jareth to leave wizarding Britain in chaos. For one, he probably already knew. For another, she doubted he needed the encouragement.
"Gurdie," Jareth said, "is perhaps the single house elf with any sort of comprehensible motive. She is, for all intents and purposes, yours."
Sarah stared down at the little thing, then looked back to Jareth. She recalled all the robes that stank of potions ingredients laundered, the bed made, the linens changed. It had all been this little goblin.
"Oh. Oh, Gurdie, I'm so sorry —"
Gurdie finally looked away from the floor to look at her. In a voice that sounded like a squeaky hinge, she said, "No, no, no, mistress is not to be sorry. Gurdie is only doing what house elves is all doing."
"But I took you for granted — I didn't even think — I didn't even know —"
"Done is done," Jareth said. "But now you know. You, at least, will be considerate in your dealings with her. Their history would be fascinating, from your perspective; I suggest you look into it."
Sarah made a mental note to do just that.
"Gurdie, Sarah and I have missed the feast. We wish to dine here tonight."
"Gurdie will bring dinner for mistress and majesty," Gurdie said, and then she was gone with the same loud bang.
Jareth conjured a table, and within moments gold plates piled with food appeared.
Dinner with just the two of them turned out to be vastly different. She didn't have to censor herself from referring to the Labyrinth, or to how strange wizards seemed to her. And his mad, lopsided gaze never strayed too far from her — he made it clear she had his full attention.
She had once been caught blind and unaware in a game of dodgeball, back in high school. The ball had struck her just where her stomach met her ribcage, and she had doubled over, wheezing for breath.
Tonight, the full brunt of Jareth's focus seemed to have a similar effect. She felt both weightless and nervous. Buoyed by the interest and attraction, and sinking in the choppy, brackish knowledge of how very easily she could probably ruin the evening.
She tried not to think about that too hard, to focus on the floaty, warm feeling. At some point, dinner turned into drinks, which meant mead.
"You know, aren't you supposed to be a fan of whiskeys?" Sarah asked on their second — or was it third? — glass.
Jareth arched an eyebrow, idly swirling his glass before sniffing it. As if they hadn't both drunk away their palates by now. "And why should I be?"
"Well, you're... Sidhe, aren't you?"
"Even if I were," he said, with a crooked smile, "why should I care for whiskey?"
Sarah's stomach swooped at the terrible realization that he had just asked a question for which she had no intelligent answer. So she said, "You're not a Sidhe? But I've always thought you were fae..."
"Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. By now, you should be quite aware that I'm male." He paused, arching his brow even higher. "And if you weren't, then you're in for some rather serious disappointment."
Sarah rolled her eyes, but she leaned forward. "So if you're not Sidhe, what are you?"
"Hm, that was your only guess?" He took a sip of his mead. "Can you think of nothing older? Perhaps more continental?"
"Jareth, please not the riddle game. I've had three glasses of mead."
"Then have a fourth, and think!" He flung out an arm expansively, before reaching out to pour her another glass.
"I have no idea. A really, really old, powerful kobold?"
"A very good guess! But I'm a fae far older than that." Jareth poured himself another glass of mead, then leaned back in his chair. "Enough. If you ever need to know, I assure you I will tell you. But it's hardly relevant yet."
"Okay," Sarah said. "I can live with that. Another Goblin King mystery to add to my list."
Jareth smiled.
Sarah rolled out of bed on November First — All Saint's Day — and wanted to crawl right back under the covers. Her head felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton. She was pretty sure the very center of her brain was throbbing, which meant that the rest of her head throbbed, down to her teeth.
At least she wasn't nauseated.
And this time, she'd thought to braid her hair before she fell asleep.
The weather turned wintry within a morning or two after the troll. Sarah often found herself returning to her room after breakfast to add an additional layer or get thicker socks. On Sunday, she found herself changing clothes entirely.
While most of the castle's actual rooms and towers had long been bewitched to stay comfortable temperatures, the halls, courtyards, and staircases had not. And there were honestly over a hundred staircases in the school.
She spent a lot of time shivering, and the rest of the time wishing she'd had any idea how cold it could get in remote Scotland. She'd have bought at least one thicker cloak, that was for sure.
Her potions lessons were more than a little strained. Snape moved with a limp and watched her with obvious suspicion. He hovered over her, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, watching her every move in his dungeons with malice she hadn't seen before.
Sure, he hadn't liked her before. He certainly hadn't respected her before. Now? Now he acted like she was about to blow up the dungeon even when she was skinning boomslangs.
Minerva seemed much the same as ever, at least. During their first transfiguration lesson after the troll — Sarah graded third year essays — Minerva mentioned, very briefly, that Jareth had been helpful with the Slytherins during the troll scare. She said it in her usual mild tone, careful not to ascribe any particular significance.
But the fact that she was saying it said enough.
Sarah rubbed her feet together under the thick blanket. In the background, David Bowie's voice rang triumphantly from her boombox. Rebel, rebel — you've torn your dress. She tapped her pen in time as she scribbled notes for her students in their journals. She wrote in purple ink to distinguish herself from the house colors her students used.
You want more and you want it fast — they put you down, they say I'm wrong —
Someone knocked at her door, then opened it and stepped inside.
Sarah looked up from the journals to see Harry standing sheepishly just inside her office. He looked wary and just slightly nervous, but he'd stuck out his chin. He was trying to be stubborn or determined about something.
"Good evening, Harry. What can I do for you?" Sarah set the journal aside, to show she was giving Harry her full attention, and then paused the boombox.
"Professor —"
"—Lecturer, Harry, and please. You're not in any of my classes and it's after school hours. You can call me Sarah."
"Sarah, then," he said, looking faintly uncomfortable. Guilt crawled into Sarah's stomach. "Is there a rule against having library books outside the school?"
She thought for a moment before saying, "It's not in the school handbook. The only rules about library books and the grounds I know of are a rule against throwing library books in the lake and a rule against loaning library books to the squid. Which I'm pretty sure amount to the same thing."
"I knew it," Harry muttered.
"Did a prefect tell you there was?"
"Professor Snape," Harry said. "He took my copy of Quidditch Through The Ages, and I wanted to read it tonight."
"Trying to take your mind off the match tomorrow?"
Harry wrinkled his nose. "Are you about to tell me I'm sure to fall off my broom and die, or that I'm sure to be brilliant because my father was?"
Sarah laughed. "Wizards and blood, I swear. Well, I do think you'll do well — but I saw you dive forty feet in twenty seconds and snatch a piece of glass out of the air before it could hit the ground."
"I wasn't dodging bludgers."
"I have no idea what those are," Sarah admitted. "I haven't had the time to learn anything about Quidditch, except it involves broomsticks."
That drew a laugh from Harry. "You sound just like Hermione."
Sarah laughed, too. "Trust me, once I have time, I'll be happy to learn everything about it. I actually really like watching school sports."
She pushed the heavy blanket aside and stretched. Then Sarah grabbed her LMH scarf, wrapping it around her head and neck, and pulled on her thick cloak. "Come on, Harry, let's go get your book back."
They hurried through the halls, then took the staircases down to the staff areas. Sarah had hoped the basements and dungeons would be warmer — after all, they didn't have windows — but apparently casting charms to keep these halls warm had never crossed anybody's mind.
Sarah knocked on the door to staff room and smiled down at Harry. There was no answer, which was odd, since there was almost always at least one person in. She blinked and knocked again. Still no answer.
Well, she was a lecturer. She was as welcome in the staff room as anyone else. So Sarah shrugged and swung the door open, then stepped in. Harry followed her after a moment.
They both stopped only a few steps in. The room was definitely not empty: Snape was in. And not only was he in, he had his robes hiked just above his knees while Filch knelt and applied some sort of salve to a series of nastily deep gouges in his leg. The skin around each puncture was inflamed and puffy.
"How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?" Snape was muttering to Filch.
Sarah reached out to grip Harry's shoulder. This was going to go badly.
Slowly, Snape turned his head to look at them. She saw shock cross his features for an instant, before he snarled, "Get out!"
"I just wondered if I could have my book back," Harry said. He sounded almost unaffected, like was used to be shouted at. But she thought she heard just the faintest note of fear.
"GET OUT! OUT!"
"Go on, Harry," Sarah said, pushing him toward the door. She let go his shoulders. Once he was safely gone, she turned to Snape.
She took a deep breath and worked on ignoring the way her heart thudded in her chest. She clenched her fists, then relaxed them.
When she could do so calmly, she said, "I'm going to leave you to get that treated. But do not think I'm going to forget about you inventing rules or throwing a tantrum at a student."
Then she turned on her heel and walked, very slowly, from the room. She was definitely running, but damned if she was going to let Snape think she had run from him.
Harry had vanished by the time she closed the door behind her. She sighed. It didn't occur to her until she'd returned to her office, but what was in or near this castle with three unfriendly heads and very sharp teeth?
Sarah went down to breakfast the next day bundled in two scarves. She stopped on the main stair, searching, but Jareth hadn't arrived yet. She sighed, wishing he could be at her side for the conversation she was about to have at breakfast.
She looked to the Gryffindor table and saw that Harry was pale and wasn't eating. She was half-tempted to encourage him to eat, but she had her own rather difficult morning to face. Besides, if he was about to be playing a complicated sport on a broomstick, what were the chances he'd actually keep food down?
Sarah heaped her plate with sausages, toast, and eggs. She poured herself a cup of tea and added milk.
When she'd settled her stomach with a bite of buttery, honeyed toast, she said, mildly but loudly enough for Snape to hear from his end of the table, "So, care to explain why we're inventing rules, Professor Snape?"
"No," Snape replied.
Oh, if that was the way he was going to play it. Sarah relaxed her grip on her teacup and set it down. "Let's try that again. Would you please explain to me the logic behind inventing a rule so you could take a book from an eleven year old boy?"
"I see no need to explain myself to you."
"There are other questions I could be asking," Sarah said, tone hard, "that I don't think you want asked at this table. Or ever, come to think of it. I don't mind asking them if I have to, in front of the headmaster and a group of parents if I have to."
Snape's gaze locked onto her, eyes drilling into her own in a glare that almost made her skin sizzle. She made a point to think about the wounds on his leg and his muttering to Filch, just in case he was trying to read her mind again.
"Did you honestly think for even a minute that inventing a rule just for an excuse to punish an eleven year old boy was anything but petty, unprofessional, and childish?"
Minerva eyed Harry at the Gryffindor table, bookless and unable to eat. Then she swivelled her gimlet stare to raise an eyebrow at Snape.
Snape glared at Sarah. And then he pushed himself out of his chair and swept away from the table. Despite his limp, his robes billowed, and once again Sarah imagined him getting his stupid flapping robes caught in a door somewhere.
"What on earth," Minerva asked, voice deceptively unconcerned, "was that about?"
Sarah sighed and explained, though she omitted the part about the injury. On Minerva's other side, a huge, bearded, bushy-haired man she'd only ever seen around the grounds drew down his brows.
But Minerva only said, "Curious. I'll mention it to Albus when I get the chance. Now, if you'll pardon me, I'm going to go see if Mr. Potter will eat anything."
Jareth stood waiting for her in the entrance hall. He was wearing his black armor again, though the inside of his cape was red and hemmed in gold.
"Somebody's cheering for Gryffindor," Sarah teased.
Jareth merely arched an eyebrow and offered her his arm. "Not only is Harry on their team, I knew the man personally, precious thing."
"Now that sounds like a story I'd love to hear." Sarah placed her hands on his arm, smiling up at him.
Jareth smiled toothily. He didn't seem angry, but the smile was definitely not friendly. "A gentleman never tells."
Considering that she was walking arm in arm with him like a woman out of a Victorian courtship, Sarah decided not to question just how gentlemanly he was. Besides, she'd resolved to let their adversarial encounters in the Labyrinth be bygones.
"So, care to tell me why you are not wearing Gryffindor colors?"
"I'm an honorary Ravenclaw," she pointed out. "I don't own anything in Gryffindor colors except my robes from the Halloween Feast, and those are a touch too formal for today."
Jareth gave her an inexplicable smug look.
They weren't quite at the Quidditch pitch when Hermione called, "Lecturer Williams! Over here!"
Sarah looked up to see Hermione standing with Ron and the huge man. Ron was grinning widely.
"You're going to stand with us, aren't you, Lecturer Williams?"
"But of course, Miss Granger," Jareth said for her, and began to steer them in Hermione's direction.
"Way to ask my opinion, your Majesty," Sarah muttered to him.
"I didn't need to. We both know you'd have agreed."
"Okay, and what if I wanted to sit with Filius and Rowe?"
"Sarah." His tone was flat. She half expected to hear him say don't defy me, but all he said was, "Don't be facetious."
They climbed the stands. Sarah was startled to realize how windy the pitch was. She tried to repress a shudder, though Jareth noticed — of course he noticed; he'd somehow managed to keep her on his arm as they climbed sideways up stairs — and looked at her from the corner of his eyes.
"Wouldn't they want this place not to be windy? I mean, kids on broomsticks..."
"Wizards seem to take a sink or swim approach," Jareth said. "Besides, they'll eventually be flying these brooms around Britain or over Europe. Think of this pitch as practice for crossing over an ocean."
"They're playing sports thirty feet in the air!"
"There are adults around to catch them or slow their falls. Injury will be minimized."
"This pitch is safe as houses," the tall man assured her from the other side of Hermione. "Hooch and McGonagall won't let a thing happen to the students."
"You know, I've seen you around, but I don't think we've met."
"Rubeus Hagrid," the man said. "Keeper of the Grounds and Keys at Hogwarts."
"Sarah Williams, lecturer in Muggle Studies." She wrinkled her nose at the word muggle. "You're sure they're safe?"
"Safe as safe can be. Now watch, they're about to start."
The noise level around them rose as the two teams walked onto the pitch. Rolanda Hooch stood in the middle of the field. As the two teams reached her, the Gryffindor captain shook hands with the Slytherin captain.
"Okay, so how is this game even played?" Sarah had to shout to be heard.
Ron stared at her in horror, while Hermione untucked something from her bag. It seemed to be a sheet, on which a Gryffindor lion and the words Potter for President had been painted.
"Thanks for the help with this, Dean," Hermione said to a boy somewhere behind them in the stands.
"Happy to," the boy — apparently Dean? — replied.
"You don't know the rules of Quidditch?!" Ron squeaked.
Dean snapped, "Don't see why it's such a big deal. I'm Muggleborn, remember?"
Sarah opened her mouth, but didn't correct him. Instead she said, "So, explain it to us, Ron."
Ron opened his mouth to answer, but Rolanda shouted, "Mount your brooms!"
The students all clambered onto their broomsticks. Rolanda blew a whistle in a sharp burst, and fourteen children all pushed off the ground and into the air. As Harry and another boy rose high into the air and the Gryffindor captain flew for three goals, Rolanda opened a chest that had been sitting unnoticed at her feet. She pulled out a tiny golden thing with wings, which she tossed into the air, then tossed up a red ball.
A girl in Gryffindor colors grabbed it, to shouts from the crowd, and Rolana kicked the chest. Two big black balls zoomed out.
And the game started.
Sarah watched as three Gryffindor girls tossed the red ball around, while a pair of red-heads smacked the black balls with bats.
"Okay, what's happening here?" Sarah said again. "Somebody explain this for me and Dean."
"Right. Angelina's got the quaffle," Ron said, "that's the red ball. She and Katie Bell and Alicia are Chasers. Their job is to put the quaffle into the goals — like Alicia just did, see?"
A bell rang, and a teenaged boy shouted, "Spinnett scores! Ten points to Gryffindor!"
"Right. And then that tall boy is the goalie?"
"The Keeper," Ron said. "His job is to keep the Quaffle from going in."
"Okay, and what's with the kids with bats? They can't be allowed to hit other players with those — oh, that has to be a foul!" A Slytherin boy had smacked one of the hard-looking balls into a Gryffindor girl's back..
At the same time, Dean shouted, "Red card!"
"She'll be fine," Jareth murmured in her ear. "She didn't hit the ground."
Ron, meanwhile, asked, "What's a red card?"
"It's in football! When you foul like that, the ref shows you a red card and you have to sit out the game."
"Quidditch doesn't have that. Just penalty shots," Ron said. "And it's not a foul, that's what Beaters do."
"What? They use those bats to hit other kids with the balls?"
"Aye, mostly, except for the quaffle. They're Beaters. They handle the bludgers — the black ones," Hagrid said. "Bludgers fly around and try to mess up the game for everyone, see."
"And what's Harry do?"
"He's the Seeker," Ron said, all but glowing with pride. "It's his job to catch the Snitch — the tiny golden ball. That's a hundred fifty points to his team if he catches it, and it's the only thing that ends the game."
"The games don't have a time limit?" Sarah stared.
"Nope. If neither Seeker catches it, the game'll just keep going on. I've heard of games that lasted whole months. 's why most professional teams have reserves."
Dear god.
"And many referees," Jareth said, his tone darkly amused, "end up either wished away to the Labyrinth or aimlessly wandering the Sahara Desert."
"You're kidding."
He only laughed and shook his head. "No jest, Sarah. It really happens."
A gust of wind blew across the stands. Sarah leaned a little into Jareth, halfway trying to steal some warmth and halfway just trying to stay upright.
Jareth looked down at her out of the corner of his eye again. And then he withdrew his arm, disentangling them gracefully.
Sarah repressed a noise of disappointment, and tried not to wonder just why she was so disappointed at not being in physical contact with the Goblin King.
He flourished his right hand, conjuring a cloak of red and gold, which he draped over her shoulders. He inspected his handiwork for a moment before he trailed his fingers along the cloak's collar. A ruff of white feathers — identical to his — sprang up.
Sarah was too grateful for the additional warmth to care about the impression they might give students.
Jareth smirked at her, nodding once at a job well done and offering his arm again. Again, Sarah took it.
They turned back in time to watch Harry's broom lurch. Sarah's heart lurched at the sight, her stomach roiling as if she had nearly fallen thirty feet.
Jareth stared up at the scene. His brows drew in tight, mouth hooking down.
Maybe it had been a fluke, maybe there was an air current he'd run afoul of, way up there —
The broom lurched again. Sarah found herself tightening her grip on Jareth's arm. "Jareth, is that... can you do something?"
"Two different spells are already being worked on the broom," Jareth murmured. "To add a third would be... unpredictable."
"But what about Harry? Something to keep him up there, or, I don't know, slow his fall or —"
"Yes," Jareth said. He turned his lopsided gaze on Harry, focusing intently. "That can be done."
He began to rotate his right hand, wrist rolling and fingers twitching. Mist swirled and sparkled in his glove before a spell congealed into his palm. Without taking his eyes off Harry, Jareth dropped the crystal.
Sarah could have sworn the world changed. The grass was greener, the Gryffindor robes were redder, the sun seemed brighter. The air seemed crisper, clearer.
And then it faded, and she was standing holding onto some kind of fae king with her heart thudding loudly in her chest while an eleven year old boy wrestled with a broom twenty feet above her head.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Ron and Hermione duck their heads together. The crowd was too loud for her to hear what they said, but Hermione turned around and edged her way out of the stands and down the stairs.
Sarah almost considered going after her, but when she turned and tried to pull away, Jareth shifted his arm, drawing her closer to him.
"Let her go," Jareth said into her hair. "We're of most use here."
"Jareth, maybe I could help —"
"Watch," he said, a little softer, "and be proud of her."
Above them, Harry's broom ceased to jerk. He clambered up onto it, then immediately dove for the ground. Sarah saw him clap his hands over his mouth as though he was about to be sick, but he slowed the broom just in time to roll off, onto the ground. He landed on all fours.
She and the rest of the crowd watched in confusion as Harry seemed to convulse, before finally he spat out something small and gold.
Which he immediately grabbed as it tried to fly away. He held up a small, shiny golden ball, and faced the crowd, beaming.
"The snitch," Ron said, in a mix of pride and excitement, "he's got the snitch!"
Sarah sighed her relief. But she smiled all the way out to Hagrid's hut.
The conversation in Hagrid's hut wiped the smile right off her face.
It started with: "It was Snape."
Hagrid immediately dismissed that. "Rubbish. Why would Snape want to do a thing like that?"
"But we saw him!" Ron said. "He was staring at Harry's broom and muttering."
Hermione added, "And he didn't blink the whole time Harry was fighting his broom!"
"A fall from that height," Sarah said, "would have killed Harry. Why would Professor Snape want to do that?"
Jareth looked at her for a long moment. "You're assuming he meant to kill Harry. But your McGonagall or the hawk shape-changer might have caught him. He might only have been frightened."
"You think he'd risk killing a student over a petty grudge, or a Quidditch match? I can't believe that."
Harry set his teacup down and asked, very quietly, "What if it's because I know he tried to get past the three-headed dog?"
Hagrid almost dropped his tea pot. Hermione and Ron stared at Harry. Jareth looked thoughtful.
The idea was so absurd that Sarah almost laughed. But it was no laughing matter.
"Harry, you're not the only one who knows about that. Filch and I know, too. I even blackmailed him with it at the breakfast table, and nothing's tried to kill me."
"Maybe he's biding his time. Maybe he's afraid of Jareth," Ron said. "Making Harry fall off his broom would look like an accident — maybe he's planning for you to have an accident, too."
"Oh? Like what? Here, brew this unidentified potion. If you've brewed it correctly, it should taste like licorice?"
Ron screwed up his face. It was obvious Snape couldn't actually poison her — for one, Minerva and Jareth would have quite a lot to say if he did — so Sarah simply watched him grasp for ideas. She raised an eyebrow at his extended silence.
"Maybe he'll have you make a potion with poisonous fumes," Ron said.
Oh, now this was just getting gruesome.
"That would hardly look accidental," she said. "Kids, this is irrational. Professor Snape did not try to kill Harry."
"But what about the three-headed dog?"
"Fluffy," Hagrid said, setting his tea pot back on the table with a whump, "is no concern of yours."
"That thing has a name?!" Hermione squeaked.
Ron added, "And it's Fluffy?!"
"Yeah — he's mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub last year. I loaned him to Dumbledore to guard the —"
Harry piped in with an eager,"Yes?"
Hagrid's mouth snapped shut. Sarah found her own curiosity had been piqued; what could possibly be so valuable that Dumbledore had to have a three-headed dog guarding it? She wanted to pepper Hagrid's sudden silence with questions.
As it was, she looked to Jareth. Jareth looked back to her. HIs lips had quirked into a small smile, but his gaze drifted over to Harry and he rolled his eyes. Frankly, she agreed.
"That's top secret, that is. Don't ask me anymore."
Now it was Sarah's turn to roll her eyes. She didn't know these children very well yet, but trying to get them off the scent by calling it 'top secret' was bound to do nothing.
"But Snape tried to steal it."
"Rubbish. Snape's a Hogwarts professor; he'd do nothing of the sort."
"So then why did Professor Snape just —"
"Professor Snape," Sarah said, "did not try and kill Harry. You don't throw a tantrum like the one Snape threw yesterday, then turn around and try to murder your student. Not when McGonagall knows you've bullied him."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all exchanged dubious looks.
"Sarah's right," Hagrid added. His voice was stern. "You're meddlin' in things that don't concern you, and it's dangerous. You forget about Fluffy and you forget whatever he's guardin'. That's between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel —"
"Ha! There's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?" Harry grinned.
Hagrid's face twisted in a mixture of self-directed fury and sickness.
Sarah headed back up to the castle shortly after that. Jareth walked with her, at least part of the way.
She stopped before they could go within sensing distance of the Whomping Willow. Its branches were kept trimmed so that it couldn't reach the footpath, but it was impossible to carry on a conversation with the insane tree trying to kill people out of its range. Between the shrieks and whistles of its branches cutting through the air, the thud of their impact with the ground, and the creaking of the trunk as it whipped around wildly, neither of them would be able to hear themselves think.
"So what do you think happened?"
Jareth shook his head. "There were two spells at play. One to throw Harry from his broom — and likely kill him — and one to save him. Neither of us can say for certain which spell your Legilimens was casting."
"You know he's a Legilimens?!" She almost took a step backward, but the Willow began to stir. She hurriedly stepped toward Jareth.
He gave her a smile too toothy to be friendly. "He tried to gain access to my thoughts, Sarah. As he failed, I have been generous enough not to punish him for the attempt." After a moment, Jareth asked, "More importantly, how did you know of his ability?"
"He tried to teach me Occlumency," she admitted. "But that meant he had to practice Legilimency on me. I wound up... not wanting more lessons."
"You make him sound so charming." Jareth turned to look at the Willow for a moment. HIs eyes were hooded, expression unreadable. At length, he added, "For now, I will not interfere. But the situation bears watching."
Yes, it certainly did. Sarah could have tried to break the tension, tried to laugh it off — Keep this up and I'll wonder if I'm just your agent at Hogwarts, Goblin King — but nothing about this situation was funny. So she nodded and said, "I'll keep an eye on it."
"Good," Jareth said, softly. "Do hurry on to the castle before the cloak Vanishes."
"You're not coming with me?"
He only gave her a smile, a real one, and vanished.
Sarah sighed and hurried past the Whomping Willow.
So I would just like you to know that I sweated and bled tears trying to figure out how to write that Quidditch scene and the conversation with Hagrid. Here's to hoping you enjoyed.
