AN: Whew! I know it's been a while, but you would not believe how difficult it was to write this one. I had to delete scenes, and put them back in, and change the point of view...it was madness. Anyway, I referenced a UK shoe size chart for a later part of this chapter. Fingers crossed that Google hasn't let me down. I'm so glad everyone's still so enthusiastic. It always cheers me up to see how many of you are reading. And of course, how could I not mention all of those wonderful reviewers? Thanks to Jmw, lilmisdiva, Omegakishan, Nixie the Bloody Pixie, georgianicolexxx, MuggleCreator, Narcissa-Weasly, serialkeller, Dark Neko 4000, parthaker, Majerus, Ari989, Kairan1979, ILoveGeorgeEads, MissCHSparkles, MaeSilverpaw1, Guest, elmoryakhan, BesideMoonlight, Fibinaci, ReadPaxJoy, Ninfea, ultima-owner, Guest, magitech, ptl4ever419, Lady Sabine of Macayhill, Tellur, and MariusDarkwolf. Apologies for the lack of replies.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise.
Alicia was freezing right down to her bones. She desperately wished to stop flying for a moment and cast a warming charm, but she would feel rather odd being the only one. Angelina and Katie flew on either side of her, tossing the Quaffle over her head. George (or perhaps Fred) darted in front of her to smack a Bludger away. Oliver hovered eagerly in front of the hoops, watching the action with almost scary attention to detail. And Harry soared above them all, scanning the pitch for a glint of gold.
When Harry had come to her, looking both disappointed and relieved, practically begging her to forgive the twins and play a practice match, she hadn't known quite what to think. It was more than a bit strange, seeing as Harry didn't really seem to want to play Quidditch at the time. But he'd appeared very earnest, and she saw no reason to refuse, so she agreed. She was beginning to regret this decision, as the cold crept in and stole her breath.
Of course, in her reply to the Seeker, she had carefully omitted any promise of excusing the twins' incredibly questionable choices. Oh, they were certainly apologetic, but she felt as though she should drag out their punishment a bit longer. Lee and Angelina felt the same way, but the three of them had consented to spending yet another afternoon with them.
Alicia snagged an arm out and caught the Quaffle sailing past her left side before speeding towards the other side of the field. The atmosphere was tense, but she felt as though it had to do with more than just the Black incident. The twins wouldn't stop glancing over at Oliver, trading despondent and desperate looks. Harry, too, acted very on edge.
She hurled the Quaffle through a hoop, and Katie was right underneath it, waiting with open hands. Alicia sighed, once again attempting to think warm thoughts. It was so cold! What was the point of practicing when her fingers were so stiff that she could barely feel them? Oliver had been more than a bit of a slave driver her first two years on the team, but he'd gotten much better. Come to think of it, was this even Oliver's idea?
Her eyes narrowed as she spied Fred shooting another worried look Oliver's way. Fed up with their secrets, she zipped toward him before catching the Quaffle and flinging it Angelina's way.
"Fred!" She hissed, pulling right up by him. "Fred! What's going on?"
He turned his head to look at her and flashed a disarming smile. "Well, we're all currently engaged in a game of Quidditch, though there doesn't seem to be another team…"
"You know that's not what I meant," She accused. "Why did you and George set this up? Is it because you think we'll forgive you?"
He grunted as he batted away another Bludger. "Hmm?"
"Fred!" She groaned. "I know you're hiding something from me."
He exhaled slowly. "Yeah, I am, but it's not really my secret to tell. Sorry."
Alicia blinked. Was he showing some sort of maturity?
Fred's eyes darted to Harry, before flying back to her face.
She pursed her lips. "Fred…"
"Okay, we had to tell Harry. That really doesn't count, since he was sorta necessary to our plan," He confessed.
Alicia shook her head. "And what is this great plan of yours?"
He fidgeted for a moment. "Oops, that Bludger's heading for Oliver. Gotta go!"
"Ugh!" Alicia scoffed, right as she secured the Quaffle again. She couldn't tell which Fred was worse; the one who told her nothing, or the one who told her just enough to pique her curiosity.
Charity tugged on her sweater anxiously. What if he didn't want to see her? What if he was still sick, or sleeping, or in the middle of something very important? He was too polite to tell her that he didn't want her around, so how would she know she was bothering him? This would've been so much easier if he could just be open with her!
Some small, irritating compartment in the back of her brain recognized that her conversation the day before with Snape was still turning in her mind. He had just tried to throw her off, that was all. The mere idea that Remus would keep a secret from her was preposterous. Besides, she consoled herself, it wasn't as though she were entitled to know everything about him. He had just met her two months before, and he'd been incredibly friendly, but also more than a little vague.
Knock! Knock!
This was a bad idea. This was a bad, bad idea. He was tired, and sore, and sick. She shouldn't trouble him when he was so clearly miserable. She certainly wouldn't want anyone to come and talk to her when she was sick. Well, she thought, Remus wouldn't be too bad. He'd be considerate, and he wouldn't push her. Most everyone else though would be sure to give her a horrid headache.
It had been a while since she had knocked, she realized. She could try again. She probably should try again, because she desperately wanted some sort of confirmation that he trusted her. But maybe he hadn't come to the door because he was too sick to get up and answer it. Or perhaps he was sleeping and hadn't heard her knock at all. It could be that he just didn't want to see anyone at all right now, in which case she should respect his wishes and leave him alone.
Mind made up, Charity turned swiftly on her heel to walk away.
"Charity?"
She whirled back around to find Remus leaning heavily against the door. Deep bags had developed underneath his eyes, which were only half-open. He couldn't seem to stand up on his own, and as she watched, he swayed and almost fell, before catching himself and rubbing his eyes.
"Are you alright, Remus?" She asked worriedly, rushing forward.
"I'm fine," He told her, biting back a yawn. "Just really, really tired."
She smiled in spite of her concern. "You should lie down then. I can come back another time."
He shook his head. "No, no, come in. I probably won't have much time this week, so we should talk now." He ushered her in with one hand, holding onto the door way with the other.
"Are you sure?" She asked, even as she stepped inside. "It's not anything important, I just wanted to catch up and see if you were feeling any better." She glanced around his quarters, feeling self-conscious. He kept everything so neat! She marveled at how perfectly stacked all of his papers were. It looked as though he'd sorted them by year and by class. She flushed, remembering the cluttered pile of reports scattered throughout her rooms. It was a wonder she could find anything in that mess.
"Would you care for some tea?" He gestured towards a tray on a coffee table in front of the couch.
She was briefly taken aback. "Oh, I—only if I can pour," She bargained.
He smiled at her. "Go right ahead."
She beamed back, delicately perching herself on his couch. Once again, Charity had to admire the immaculate state he kept things in. His books were carefully arranged so that the spines were all facing the same way, and it appeared he actually used bookmarks, instead of dog-earing the pages like she did. It was a good thing they'd never traded books, for he was sure to notice the folded corners every few chapters.
She noticed as he choked back another yawn. "Why haven't you gone to the Hospital Wing yet?"
Remus blinked, surprised. "Er, I have. Friday evening, in fact, when everyone was at dinner. Madam Pomfrey told me I just needed some rest."
Though he showed no outward signs of lying, Charity knew he was. Pomfrey had no reason to lie to her, of course. But until recently, Charity had thought the same of Remus. Didn't he know that she could be trusted? Maybe he just didn't like seeing Healers. That was certainly a possibility. He was lying because he didn't want her to know. That made sense…sort of.
"Oh, I see. It's just that, you look even worse than you did yesterday. Not to be rude or anything," She added hastily, "but I…I worry about you, Remus."
He shook his head. "You don't need to do that, Charity. Really, I'm fine," He insisted. Taking a sip of his tea, he leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh.
Charity frowned. "Are you sure you can't just ask Madam Pomfrey to take another look?"
He opened his eyes but didn't look at her. "No potion will be able to help me, Charity."
Charity placed her cup and saucer back on the coffee table, standing and brushing imaginary lint off of her pants. "You need rest. I should be going."
He stood as well, but didn't protest. "I'm sorry I was such dreadful company."
"Oh no, you were wonderful," She rushed to assure him. "But I have quite a few essays to read, you see, and—and I'd like to work a little more on this blender that I've taken apart, so I must be on my way."
If he was startled by her sudden departure, Remus didn't show it. "I'll see you at dinner tomorrow night, then?"
She bobbed her head mechanically. "Yes, if you're feeling up to it. Goodbye, Remus." She hurried out of the room and just barely made it around the corner when the tears started to fall from her eyes. He was lying to her. He didn't trust her. And she wasn't sure if she'd done something to trigger this, or if he'd always been like this, and she'd been too stupid to notice.
The practice was finally over. Lee had left an hour earlier, complaining that he'd never feel warm again. Fred and George had tried to stretch out their time on the pitch for as long as possible, but Angelina had begun to threaten bodily harm, so they packed up.
In the boys' locker room, Oliver sat on a bench and leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. To be honest, he really felt like taking a nap right about now, but one never fell asleep while the twins were around. Instead of drifting off, he kept his mind active by trying to listen in on their whispered conversation. He could only pick out a few words, like "Oliver" and "Quidditch." Maybe they were grumbling about him again.
"Hey Oliver?" Harry asked nervously.
Oliver opened his eyes and sat up. "Yeah?"
"Er, um…" He trailed off, casting a worried glance at the twins, who simply stared back. "How's Puddlemere going so far?"
Oliver bobbed his head, a smile spreading across his face at the thought. "Great! Coach wants me to come in for a practice next weekend, so I won't be here. I'm thinking of asking someone to supervise, but I'm not sure who yet."
Fred wrinkled his nose. "Why do we need a supervisor?"
"So I can be sure that you guys are actually practicing, instead of goofing off like I know you want to. You think Burbage would do it?" Oliver got lost in thought. He supposed Burbage wasn't too bad of an idea, and he was almost positive she'd say yes, but he wasn't sure that she'd know what was going on at all times. He needed someone with more Quidditch experience. Maybe Hooch?
George clapped him on the back, bringing him back to reality. "So, Oliver, good to hear that everything's going well at Puddlemere. Y'know, Ange was a little worried that you wouldn't have time for us now that you've been signed, but—"
"Really?" Oliver interjected, frowning.
"Oh yeah," Fred chimed in. "She thought that you'd like it better over there, and just sort of leave us hanging."
Oliver scratched his head. "She said that? Maybe I should talk to her…"
"No!" The twins shouted.
"You can't do that," Fred replied hurriedly.
"Why not?" Oliver asked.
"Because—because she'll be embarrassed, see. Besides, I set her straight, so you don't need to worry about any of that," George assured him.
"Oh." That made sense. Sort of. "Well, it's good she knows that, then. I've got everything under control."
"Everything?" Fred challenged him with a knowing look. "You sure about that?"
Oliver shrugged. "Yeah, pretty sure. For now, anyway. See, Percy and Penny help me with my work when I need it, and I'm just a reserve this year, so I don't have to play at games or anything. Plus, practice for Puddlemere kind of means practice for Gryffindor, and vice versa. The only tricky thing is finding enough time to make up all those new plays we're gonna use against Slytherin and Ravenclaw."
Oliver, engaged in recounting how he kept up with everything, missed George's not-so-subtle nudge towards Harry.
"Uh, Oliver?" Harry asked quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Um, I've been hearing some things about the pros, and I was just wondering if they were true…" He trailed off meekly.
"Like what?" Oliver inquired.
"Just the usual," George jumped in. "It seems pretty dangerous out there."
"I guess so—"
"I heard that you have to quit before you hit forty, or they'll force you out," Fred added.
"Well, that's kind of old—"
"I heard that some teams get paid to injure other players!"
"Not in Puddlemere—"
"I heard that if you can't play a full match because of injury, you won't get paid for any of the game!"
"That's only if—"
"Harry, did you know, that even if you can't see an inch in front of your face, and the whole pitch has turned to mud, you still have to play?"
"Er," Harry looked between all three of them, "that does sound kind of dangerous."
Oliver stood, angry at being ignored. "Okay, what's going on with you two?"
"Nothing!" They denied immediately.
Oliver glared at them. "Something is going on. I knew this was a bad idea," He muttered. "Look, why don't you go inside the castle, figure out that whatever you're doing is obviously a stupid idea, and talk to me when you're ready. For now, I'd like to be alone."
He sat back down and turned away, indicating clearly that he didn't want to talk to them. Three sets of footsteps were heard, and he turned back around to make sure they left. Oliver felt slightly guilty upon seeing the despondent way Harry shuffled out the locker rooms. The small boy stepped on a note in a puddle that had fallen out of George's pocket.
Oliver waited until he was positive they'd left before standing and rushing over to the wet patch, his curiosity getting the best of him. He frantically smoothed out the parchment, eyes scanning the words written. He could only make out one portion at first glance: his name, written in his mother's handwriting.
Eyes widening, he patted the parchment against his trousers, hoping to dry it as much as possible. The ink was running, causing the words to blur together. But he could still tell what the majority of the letter was about.
"…dangerous…forfeited the match…Deverill…I love you…"
Oliver felt his anger rising. He should've known the twins were planning something. How had they gotten a hold of this, anyway? They'd snooped through his stuff, plotted a stupid plot, and managed to drag Harry down with them. Crumpling the letter in his hand, he stood again and headed for the door, filled with fury and purpose.
Colin fumbled with his camera, peering out the window anxiously. Yes, he was supposed to be waiting for Romilda, but the sky over the Forbidden Forest looked undeniably amazing, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever see a shot like that again. He raised the camera up to his face. Maybe from a different angle? That would probably be a good idea, he conceded, but Ginny would kill him if he wasn't there when Romilda showed up, causing the mission to end before it even began.
Colin sighed in frustration. This would have to do. Taking a deep breath, he stood up a little straighter and leaned forward, finger poised, ready to capture the picture that would define his early career—
"Can we just get this over with?"
Colin jumped out of his skin, nearly dropping his beloved camera in the process. "You—you're late," He reprimanded Romilda weakly.
"No I'm not," She replied snappishly. "I'm perfectly on time. You were just absurdly early."
Colin scowled at her. "Y'know, I have the authority to kick you out of the HHPC," He warned, hoping to scare her.
Romilda looked nonplussed. "I don't see how this is official club business, anyway. It has absolutely nothing to do with Harry whatsoever."
Colin reminded himself that she was new, and slightly misguided, but her appreciation for the boy-who-lived was certainly genuine. "We're more than just a group of people who get together and show their thanks for Harry Potter. We're a group of friends," He told her firmly. "We stick together. And since Luna's being picked on, we need to intervene. Now come on. We should've started ten minutes ago."
Colin and Romilda spent most of the walk to the library in tense silence. He fiddled with his camera a bit longer, occasionally sneaking a glance at her. She walked oddly, he noticed. Her shoulders were pushed behind her, her back ramrod straight, her chin tilted up defiantly. Almost like how Malcolm walked, except a bit more daintily. Perhaps it was a pureblood thing. He shrugged, not realizing how strange it might look to her.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you making fun of me?"
"What? No!" Colin said quickly, glancing around for anyone else.
"Hmph." She folded her arms across her chest for a brief second, only to quickly put them back by her sides. He could tell she didn't believe him, and instantly began searching for a way to convince her of his sincerity.
"Why can't you and Ginny just do this anyway? Why do I have to come?"
She didn't sound horribly whiny, just a tad curious. "Luna would get suspicious if her friends all wondered what was wrong. You haven't spoken much to her yet, so it's not like you know how she usually is. Your cover story is that you wanted to get to know the other members of the club. Try and talk to her about how she feels in Ravenclaw."
She glared at him. "If that's all I have to do, then why are you tagging along?"
Colin glared back. "It's your first mission," He bit out. "Someone needs to come with you in case there's an emergency."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh please. I'm just talking to a girl in the library. What kind of emergency could possibly happen?"
"You never know," He informed her darkly. "In any case, Ginny and I think it's best to be prepared."
She made to fold her arms again, before forcing her arms back to their original position.
"Why do you do that?" Colin asked, interested.
"Do what?" She made the motion again.
"That!" He pointed to her. "That thing where you just cross them, and then uncross them. If you're angry, then do it."
She swelled up in anger. "A lady does not cross her arms, nor does she allow her emotions to dictate her actions."
He squinted at her. "Are you…"
"Am I what?" She retorted, tapping her foot.
"Nothing," He said quickly.
"Tell me," She insisted, taking a step closer to him.
"It's just, er…are you sure you're supposed to be in Gryffindor?"
He could tell right away that he shouldn't have said that. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Er, just that, well, you—you're not like the other girls in Gryffindor."
All the anger seemed to seep out of her, and her shoulders slumped for a moment. "I know," She whispered sadly. His eyes widened. He should say something to comfort her. What did people do to be comforting? He wasn't sure. Shoot, oh he hoped she didn't start crying….
She straightened again and began walking. "Aren't you coming?" She called over her shoulder.
He hurried after her, picking up on her hint: never speak of this again.
The library was magnificent in the evening, the dark sky coming through the windows and making the candles shine brighter. Colin had half a mind to snap a photo, but he was almost positive that Pince would throw him out if he did. That woman had eyes everywhere.
Michael and Stuart had managed to get Luna to the library, as promised. They stood on either side of her as she scanned the shelves in the magical creatures section. Occasionally, she'd spin away from them to glance at a book that had caught her eye, but she usually stayed in between the two boys, humming an obscure tune under her breath.
"Okay," Colin whispered. "Go up and introduce yourself to the three of them. Michael and Stuart will leave after a few minutes, so you'll be free to ask whatever questions you want. Just try and act casual." He gave her a slight push, causing her to glare at him and huff. She strode up to them, head held high.
"Hello," he could hear her say. "My name's Romilda Vane. I'm part of the HHPC," She introduced herself smoothly.
Pleasantries were exchanged, and for a moment, Colin believed it might be alright.
"Oh, you're Radella's sister," Stuart realized.
Even from several feet away, Colin could see her shoulders stiffen. "Yes," She said shortly.
"He's upset you," Luna claimed matter-of-factly.
"No he hasn't," Romilda lied. She was really quite good at it, but no one could lie to Luna.
"He didn't mean to." Luna smiled serenely at her.
Stuart frantically nodded his agreement, turning red.
"He didn't," Romilda repeated, an edge creeping into her voice.
Luna blinked at her before smiling again. The blonde turned back to the books and scanned the shelves with a disinterested look. "It's awfully upsetting that they don't have any material on Blibbering Humdingers, isn't it Michael?"
Michael made a noncommittal noise whilst patting her gently on the shoulder. "There might be some hidden in there. Listen, Stuart and I've gotta go, but I'm sure Romilda will keep you company."
"I don't think she wants to," Luna told him, seemingly not caring that Romilda was right next to her.
"No, I do," Romilda assured her.
"See, everything'll be fine." Michael smiled at her nervously. "Bye Luna."
"Yeah, bye," Stuart echoed.
The pair of Ravenclaws hurried away, not glancing back even once.
There was a terse silence as Luna skipped further down the aisle, eyes focused on the window in front of her. Romilda followed dutifully behind her, struggling to find words that wouldn't sound too contrived.
"Where are your shoes?" She asked politely.
"Oh, haven't you heard? The Nargles have taken them," Luna confided in the girl airily.
Romilda's eyebrows rose, but she suspended her disbelief for the moment. "What size do you wear?" She asked instead.
Luna hugged herself and wriggled her toes. "6."
Romilda nodded. "That's the size I wear. I can lend you a few pairs until they give your shoes back," She offered.
Luna immediately appeared troubled. "Oh no, I couldn't let you do that—"
"No really, I brought too many pairs with me, it's fine."
Luna shook her head. "Then the Nargles will steal your shoes, too."
"Oh." Romilda paused. "Well, couldn't you just hide your shoes from the Nargles?" She suggested.
Luna's eyes dimmed. "The Nargles all live in my dorm room, you see. All the ones in Hogwarts, at least. I'm working on a necklace that will repel them, but until I've finished, I have to learn how to work around them."
"Oh," Romilda said again. "Um, I suppose that would be a problem. Is there any way to get rid of Nargles?"
Luna looked horrified at the mere prospect. "They don't mean any harm! I wouldn't want to hurt them. They're just trying to stay warm during the winter."
"But, you shouldn't have to let your feet freeze just so that they can stay warm," Romilda protested.
Luna smiled sadly. "I just want them to like me."
And Romilda could do nothing but watch as Luna twirled away, her robes fluttering around.