The Prince-Who-Lived
Chapter Thirty-Two
Harry prayed like hell that he would not have to see Madam Umbridge the next day, but luck was not with him. He entered Transfiguration and saw her sitting in the back corner like some diseased toad, and felt rage sweep through him. Neville gripped his arm painfully tightly and steered him into a seat as far from the woman as possible, putting himself and Harry in the far corner where Ron and Hermione usually sat. When Professor McGonagall swept in she eyed them curiously but Harry watched Neville indicate Umbridge with a short glance, and McGonagall didn't mention it, handing out the mice as usual.
It was a delight to see her manage Umbridge with a firmer tongue and hand than even Geoffrey had. Harry wondered what she was doing there for a short time as he listened with half-an-ear to McGonagall's lecture. She'd inspected Geoffrey the entire first week, but now she'd inspected Potions and Transfiguration both in the first two days of the next. Perhaps she felt the other classes needing only a single day of attention. Perhaps …
Neville brought his attention back to class with a sharp elbow, and then proceeded to vanish his mouse completely on his first try. Once Neville had the hang of a spell, he had it. Harry, concentrating completely upon the work for once in order to ignore Umbridge, surprised himself by doing the same.
The end of class came, and Neville followed Harry out with stern attention, all the way down to lunch, where Harry ate a pittance in silence, and then left for the Quidditch pitch. This time, Neville chose not to follow him, but sent him off with a faint nod. Harry was grateful. He suspected he'd be doing several midnight flights this week. He wondered what kind of trouble they'd get into if they chose to skip detention Saturday. A glance at his hand convinced him otherwise. He didn't want this to get any worse.
IIII
The night passed fortunately quickly. The four of them easily moved to their places, practicing polite masks and writing steadily and silently the entire time. Once they were released, Harry ran once more out to the pitch and flew for nearly two hours, trying to calm down. He was surprised to land and find both Alan and Blaise waiting patiently with Neville for him. He looked quietly aside as Alan pulled him into a one-armed hug, and didn't give any response, simply pulling away to wander up to Gryffindor Tower as they went back to the dungeons.
Sleep that night was restless. He had insubstantial nightmares, and woke in a cold sweat before his alarm, or, indeed, anyone else. Unwilling to return to his disturbed sleep, Harry gathered his school work and went down to the common room, working stubbornly on his homework. He was pleased to find Fred and George coming down as one of the first, and he called them over immediately. They came with curious looks.
"How would you two like to test your abilities to prank and not get caught?"
The twins looked at Harry with interest, and sat down. "What do you want done, Harry?"
"Umbridge." Harry said simply. He almost winced when he heard the amount of malice that had slipped into the simple word. Both twins had noticed, and gave him a concerned look. Harry sighed, and then offered them his right hand. The back of it was still red and raw. He wondered just how many more lines it would take for it to no longer heal. The twins were outraged.
"What is she doing?"
"It's just lines." Harry drawled bitterly. "With a blood quill. For more than six hours."
The two twins looked between each other meaningfully and then nodded carefully to Harry, moving off into a corner as they plotted and planned. Harry felt a small twinge of pleasure at the thought of the havoc they would cause, and then called them back over. They came with curious looks, which became wicked as Harry described to them the set-up of Madam Umbridge's office. Neville came down partway through and sighed as he saw Harry. Harry, witnessing out of the corner of his eye waved him over, feeling no shame at the gentle shaking of Neville's head. He'd get Umbridge for this if he had to give up school. He was beyond putting up with it, but since he doubted she'd expell him, caution was still gratingly necessary.
The twins put their heads to making life miserable for Umbridge quickly, but they warned Harry they wanted to have a proper plan set up for it first, so results might take as long as a month. Harry willingly accepted it, and, with the promise of retribution, he kept up with his schoolwork and put up with the detentions with a tad more finesse.
IIII
It was two hours into the third detention that the cut stopped healing afterwards. Umbridge noticed the pause and looked over at him, and later, Alan and Blaise, all of who reached the same point without a half-hour of each other. Neville had done so several minutes earlier, and she simply smiled and went back to work. The writing continued, the room filling with contained fury, which was no longer simply coming from Harry. She let them go around midnight once more, gathering their blood-stained papers with a brilliant smile and sending them, bleeding, out the door. Harry didn't run this time, walking quietly with the others. Blaise spoke first, in an idle tone.
"I wonder what Pomfrey would do for this?" He was eyeing his bleeding hand with distaste.
Neville's mouth quirked. "She never said we couldn't go see the mediwitch, you know. And Pomfrey takes people at all hours."
Blaise eyed his hand again, and then started for the stairs. "I need to be able to take notes tomorrow. Might as well see if she can't do anything for it."
Harry exchanged a look with Neville. If Blaise went, the report of what the detention was would spread. Harry felt a twinge that he hadn't written home about it yet, and, in Neville's face, he saw that Neville hadn't either. As Alan started after Blaise both of them sighed.
"I'll send a letter tomorrow morning." Harry offered. Neville nodded, and they followed after the others. It wouldn't take a genius to find out that they were all being injured in detention if two of them were, although the argument against Slytherins could be used. However, neither Neville nor Harry was one to use it. Harry managed a wry smile. "How pissed off do you think Madam Pomfrey will be?"
"Utter outrage. She'll probably wake Dumbledore to complain."
Harry laughed quietly, and found them caught up to Blaise and Alan at the door to the hospital wing. Blaise knocked loudly, and waited. It wasn't five minutes before the door opened, and a concerned Pomfrey looked out and quickly ushered them in.
"Come in, children, what's wrong? I haven't gotten a midnight visit in ages, I – what happened to your hand, child? To all of yours?" She gasped. "Good gracious, sit down, all of you, and speak up."
"We just came from detention with Ms. Umbridge." Harry answered. "She's had us using a blood quill for lines."
Madam Pomfrey dropped the phial she was holding and straightened with a furious cry. "How dare she! Using a blood quill in detention, on students? And you only just came here?"
"Honestly, Madam Pomfrey," Neville offered, "what can really be done against her? Against her is against the ministry. We just want to know if you can make it easier to take notes tomorrow. Do all you can, but we do need to sleep tonight. Besides," Neville growled, "she wanted to make sure the message got to us. We've got the rest of the week for detention, still."
"You-" Madam Pomfrey swelled indignantly for a moment, and then picked up the fortunately unbreakable phial and set about silently preparing four bowls, muttering under her breath. She quickly handed them over, her lips in a tight line and her voice tight. "Soak your hands in this. It's pickled murtlap essence and should ease the soreness and prepare the cuts for healing. A blood quill, on students." Madam Pomfrey hissed. "That horrible woman. Anyways, I'll send this with you, to use each evening afterwards. Don't worry; she'll still be satisfied, for the rest of the evenings if -" she hissed and cut herself off. "I want you back here immediately after your detentions end, and I'll be having some strong words with the headmaster. A blood quill. Never, in all my days. Give it ten minutes." She ordered. "And I want to see each of your hands before I let you go. I'll be back in a moment." She quickly moved back into her office, leaving them alone. Alan eyed the door and then quietly spoke.
"I think we'll have to postpone your finishing off your Animagus. Madam Pomfrey probably won't let us go until Sunday afternoon."
Harry nodded quietly, and eyed the door. "Next week, then?"
"It'll have to be an all-nighter, then, and most of Sunday."
"Call it planning against Umbridge." Neville offered. "Me, Blaise and Alan can come up with something to offer to the twins during your trance."
There was a short line of nods, and then they returned to being impassive as Madam Pomfrey bustled back out, her face still set with outrage, and her lips tightened into a fine line. However, Harry's hand felt several times better and he agreed that it most certainly was worth it to have come.
IIII
The next detentions were much the same. They went, bled, and left to soothe their hands before falling asleep. Unformed nightmares continued to keep Harry from sleeping well, and he started skipping lunch both to finish that week's homework, and because anger upset his stomach, leaving him constantly nauseous, unable to eat comfortably. Umbridge did indeed seem to be inspecting classes by day, now, and Harry angrily thought that she must have been planning on being in one class of his each day of the week. He hoped that she found no grounds upon which to stay at the school the entire year, but held little weight to the dream.
Finally, Saturday came. While Angelina was not pleased with him being absent from the Quidditch practice, she knew both that he was good enough to survive missing it, and that he had not tried to get into detention. When she'd asked, he'd flatly refused to ask Umbridge to spare him for Quidditch practice. He explained that that would just make the bitch more vindictive and give her an aim to try and destroy. Angelina seemed unable to determine what to be more shocked about: that Harry had sworn like that against a teacher, or that he thought she would do that. After he showed her his hand, which he assured her Pomfrey was going to see to once the detentions were over, Angelina didn't argue again.
IIII
The lines on Saturday were the same as the days before. Apparently they were 'naughty' enough to make her want to leave scars on their hands in the words she was trying to impress upon them with. They worked in silence, seated as she had assigned, not talking or even reacting anymore. Harry's face was as impassive as Blaise's, watching the blood gleam on the paper as each line counted down the time she was going to hold them for.
I must not tell lies
He'd sent the letter home to his parents, reporting on the detention with Umbridge, why he'd gotten it, and what she was having them do. He'd told why Umbridge gave for all four of them, and reassured them he was seeing Madam Pomfrey about it. He'd gotten a letter back the next morning, reassuring him that they understood, and that Lily was contacting Alice and seeing about contacting Mrs. Zabini about her stance on the punishment, to see if a complaint could be lodged. James had included a comment at the bottom that was written unsteadily, a short reassurance that he was sending a letter to Fred and George promising any aid they might require for their campaign. Harry had seen the twins hustle a large package in that morning and up to their dorms. He was looking forward to the prank.
"Children," Ms. Umbridge's voice broke in. Harry looked up, his face completely blank. "Let's see your hands."
All four of them raised their hands in sync. Harry sardonically thought that this was the most time he'd ever spent with his best friend in a week.
Ms. Umbridge walked around with a self-satisfied smirk as she looked at their bleeding hands, touching them and seeming intent on seeing how deep the cuts were. Harry felt it best that he'd gotten a grip on his temper. Calling her on being a sadist would not lessen the detentions.
"I think we can still impress the message a bit more. The detention will finish at seven."
They'd been in there since nine.
I must not tell lies
Harry wondered what her reaction would be if the took the advice to heart and told her exactly what he thought of her. Probably more detention, if not outright suspension or expulsion. Going over the long list of comments he had in mind made writing a little easier.
I must not tell lies
It was six, now. They had a mere hour to go. They hadn't eaten since breakfast. Harry wondered if he could bring Severus in on the plans to make Umbridge's life Hell. He'd certainly be most creative in potions. Talking to Geoffrey would get them some creative stuff too. Hell, all he had to do was ask Alan to join the party, even if it were discretely. Send more stuff to the twins. Harry noted to tell the twins to work out an escape plan if Umbridge rumbled their game. He was desperately looking forward to the pranks.
Across the office, Neville was writing intently with a slightly vacant expression. Alan looked as mild as he had since the beginning. Harry suspected he was playing up the trauma from the year before to Umbridge, making her think him to be less of a threat than he was. Blaise was simply keeping his head down. Harry wondered if he'd even contacted his mother about the punishments to begin with, or if he'd resent Harry's mother talking to her. He'd ask. Best he was forewarned if he didn't want it, or expected a bad result.
Harry turned back to the writing with a sigh and wondered how many lines he'd accomplished in the many hours they'd been writing. How much blood he'd lost. How long Umbridge had wanted to do this to a bunch of kids. How long she might get in Azkaban if someone could pull a charge on her. Is sadism illegal? How would one prove it? It'd be nigh impossible, wouldn't it? He wondered if using the quills for detention would be considered illegal. He doubted it had come up before.
"Well then."
Harry looked up at the girlish, breathy voice. Did he imagine the tone of regret, or was she really that bloody evil?
"Seven o'clock. Let's see how far we've come." She inspected their hands again, and then smiled gently at all of them. "I think I've gotten my point across. Let's see you all remember it. Have a good evening."
Harry nodded silently, and then walked out the door, not looking back. He never wanted to set foot in her office again. Neville jogged slightly to catch up, and gently looked over the blood streaming across the back of his hand with a grimace.
"I really hope Madam Pomfrey can heal this. I don't want to try and take notes with this much damage. I swear, any more of that writing, and it'll start doing permanent damage beyond a scar."
"We're going to have to avoid detention with her then, aren't we?" Harry growled. "Stupid bitch." He glanced back to see that Blaise and Alan were walking behind them, talking quietly and watching the two Gryffindors ahead of them. "I'm just glad it's done with. I will never speak in her presence again."
"Then she'll have you writing Zabini's lines, Harry." Neville drawled. "The prefects are in a bit of an uproar. The marks aren't easy to hide, and so they're all wondering what she's playing at that she's giving such harsh detentions to prefects for such minor infractions." Neville grinned. "No one thinks I was telling a lie in my answer. Yours is pretty given that it wasn't a lie either. Alan doesn't quite have full support – Ravenclaw is itching at the lack of really solid evidence, but Geoffrey is winning them over pretty quickly. But most of the rest of the prefects stand behind Dumbledore."
"That's good to hear." Harry smiled lightly. "Having the fifth year prefects is a step in the right direction. What about the rest?"
"Gryffindor is behind Dumbledore pretty much whole-heartedly. One of the seventh years isn't quite sure, but isn't really arguing either. Hufflepuff is decidedly split at the moment, right about down the middle. The two sixth years, and male seventh year – who's also Head Boy – aren't agreeing, but the seventh year female prefect is Dumbledore all the way. Ravenclaw is still neutral, although the seventh year male is quietly for Dumbledore according to rumour. Slytherin, as usual, splits between Alan and Draco. Alan has the sixth year prefects and one seventh year, who's also Head Girl, but Draco has the majority of the upper house and the male seventh year prefect."
"Nice." Harry sighed. "What a lovely divided school. Even from within, we are divided." Harry shook his head, and pulled open the doors to the hospital wing, waving Neville in and then holding the door for Blaise and Alan. Neither indicated that they noticed, but Harry knew it was as good as their interaction got in the halls during relatively sane hours. It was not deserted as it was at midnight on a school night. People were up and about at seven in the evening on the weekend, and they were not the only people in the hospital wing. Harry walked in and stopped.
What was his father doing there?
"Come in, all of you." Madam Pomfrey chided. "Sit down over there, and let me see your hands. I'll explain after I've checked you over. Oohh, that horrible woman."
Harry sat beside Neville with a gentle thump and looked over his father and godfather with curiosity. Having aurors in the school, in full uniform? A glance confirmed that the light haired aurors standing over by Pomfrey's desk were the Longbottoms, and he didn't know the dark woman who was stiffly watching the proceedings next to his own mother. He sent Lily a small smile and got one in return before she returned to talking with the woman Harry suspected was Blaise's mother. So much for telling him she was going to be informed.
Pondering was postponed as Madam Pomfrey fell upon them with bowls of murtlap essence and several other tinctures and salves. She moved through them from one end to the other, and thus Harry was first to be looked over and tutted at. She simply looked first, and then stood back with a sigh.
"Ten minutes to soak your hands again, and in the meantime please answer the aurors. Horrible woman." Madam Pomfrey spat, the last probably not intended for the children's ears, but since she hadn't even moderated her voice it was heard anyways.
Sirius pulled up a chair about midway between all four of them and sat back, a muggle pen and paper in hand with a cocky grin. James glared down at him, but then looked across them all once more.
"Madam Pomfrey told us that Ms. Umbridge was using a blood quill on you as detention. Can you describe the quill?"
"Black, sharp, and stiff." Harry said. "It was rather obvious when we didn't need ink and the writing was etched into the back of my hand and the ink on the paper was red."
Neville nodded, and Alan just remained quiet, watching them carefully.
"I'd recognized it from seeing my mother use one on several reports after her widowment." Blaise admitted carefully.
James nodded. "Did any of you complain to her about the use of the quill?"
"Would it have done any good?" Blaise asked idly. "I couldn't see any way to make her back down if she's got the minister's backing. I didn't want to give her more reason to extend the detentions further."
James looked to each of the others, and Harry nodded his agreement with Blaise. James looked mildly pained, but nodded to Harry. Fortunately he turned away before Harry's expression darkened to a pained grimace. Apparently he didn't like the word of a Slytherin. He wondered what his mother was wrapping around his throat to get him to be here and ask the questions without discounting it for the Slytherins. It was probably only due to Harry and Neville's involvement. The Slytherins were merely more weight on the sinking barge.
"Why did you eventually choose to come to Madam Pomfrey?"
"I wanted to be able to take notes the next day. My hand was bleeding freely. All of ours were." Blaise answered again. Harry wondered why it had defaulted to him. Harry knew he was both too angry and too tetchy about his father right then to speak up, and Alan was holding to a meek act – or Harry hoped it was an act – for most public associations, but why Neville wasn't speaking escaped him. Perhaps avoiding the potential for favouritism? James was Neville's godfather.
"Let's see your hands. Poppy, is that okay for us to take a look?"
Madam Pomfrey trotted over and nodded. "Yes, perfectly fine."
Alice strolled over to help look, eyeing the cuts with irritation and disgust. She tapped Neville's head with a frown – a scold, Harry supposed, for not telling her sooner – and finally turned back to James.
"Yep, blood quill alright. I think we can get her to stop it with a media threat, don't you? Mrs. Zabini?"
Blaise's mother strolled over and nodded. "Of course. You have someone in mind for the article?"
"Lucille and Ginger Alfaerus should be able to draft one we can throw at her. We don't have the time to get her kicked out right now, but if that can control her crueller tendencies, it will have to do, at least until James, Frank and Sirius can lean on Fudge more. He's being stubborn, with the public in such an uproar, but having his undersecretary get creamed will get him sitting up and doing something. We just can't control what, yet."
Harry smiled faintly and turned back to eyeing his hand. The adults were taking care of it. Thank Merlin. He never wanted to have to use one of those things again.
IIII
Alan got the more accurate report of how Umbridge reacted to the media threat about the blood quill detentions. Geoffrey was crowing about it, laughing his head off as he regaled Severus with the tale of Ginger smiling warmly as she most politely threatened Umbridge with an already prepared article about the Ministry's abuse of power. With the backing of Lucille, Geoffrey's oldest sibling, Umbridge had caved on the blood quill and agreed to not use it again in detention or anything else questionable.
That small pleasure did not, however, ease any previous worries.
He was pinned, helpless, to the ground as burning pain flowed across his chest like scalding hot water. The darkness pressing against his eyes was his only protection from the burning flames he knew was just past the thin protection he'd raised, waiting eagerly for a chance to crush him beneath it's weight. He struggled, thrashing against invisible bonds, his muscles burning with strain. He couldn't move! He couldn't fight back! The strain was killing him, slowly, eating him from the inside out –
Alan sat up in bed with a strangled gasp, and then clutched his pounding head. He breathed carefully, slowly, and with a strangled groan, tossed aside his sweat-soaked sheets and exited the silencing charms he'd erected around his bed. He padded across the thick carpet and into the bathroom connected to the dorm he shared with Theodore and Blaise, to clean up. He'd woken covered in fear-sweat almost every night since summer. He was surprised he didn't have bags beneath his eyes, but apparently the nightmares weren't disrupting that much of his sleep. It didn't affect the headaches he always woke with, though. He couldn't figure out what they could be, but they faded remarkably quickly after waking, so he wasn't too concerned.
Blaise disliked that Alan kept him out of knowing when he had nightmares, but he had stopped arguing after getting hexed for waking him several times over. The nightmares had calmed over the summer. He no longer thrashed and screamed; it was mostly just short, tight snippets of helplessness and phantom pain, easily exorcised with morning.
He'd finished his shower and was cleaning up over the sink when Blaise staggered in.
"You're up early again Alan." He accused.
"You're overprotective again Blaise." Alan returned.
Blaise snorted. "Hardly, Alan. It's called looking out for my interests."
"Slytherins are always the most interesting house." Alan pondered as though Blaise wasn't there. "They are certainly the most successfully self-deluded in thinking that they only look out for themselves and yet mother-hen a chosen attendee to the point of suffocating them."
Blaise had long since ignored it when Alan complained of that. So did everyone else. Alan had given up on getting them to stop. He'd tried to ask his father if any group had ever acted like that in his year, and he hadn't answered. Alan presumed it must be a yes, but that his father wasn't proud of who the attendee had been, and possibly that he had been one of those to smother them. He was currently banking on it possibly being Lucius, but wasn't fishing for confirmation. He didn't care that much.
Alan walked out as Theodore was getting out of bed and gave him a short, curt hello before returning to his trunk. Theodore blearily moved into the bathroom, and Alan suppressed a smile as he waited to hear if Theodore would walk in on Blaise in the shower again or not. No yelp came, so Alan presumed it had been avoided once more. Probably with a locking spell.
Alan wondered idly if Theodore perhaps did it on purpose; after living with Andrew, it wasn't a farfetched concept to him, but he shelved it as unimportant and went to brave the common room, his bookbag comfortably situated on his shoulder. As expected, his appearance caused a momentary quiet and then Lucille broke it by stalking over and glaring at him again. Alan gave her a wide-eyed, innocent look and a vacant smile. She didn't fall for it.
"Alan, where's Blaise?"
"Showering. He took too long, so I decided to come keep you company." Alan easily dodged around her to wave at Daphne and Tracey who were seated on a firm-looking couch, chatting comfortably, Salvador sprawled across the armchair nearby. Daphne and Tracey waved brightly back and then returned to their discussion. Salvador gave a short salute, his eyes still closed. Lucille tailed Alan to the chairs like an angry cat, and then sat stiffly on one of the wooden chairs as Alan took part of the couch seated opposite the girls.
"Where's Stephanie at?" Alan asked.
"She's entertaining her friends one level up. You know, the girl's common." Lucille answered. "They all listen to her, even if they don't like agreeing with Dumbles."
Alan nodded slowly. It was a divided house on the threat of Voldemort in many different ways. Some believed and were pleased. Others were scared. Others refused outright to believe either to save themselves, which was the base minority, or to keep in the good graces of the current political climate. Stephanie had done well to make her friends come to believe the threat, not the promise. Quite a few were more interested in the promise, and, unfortunately, some were not strong enough to believe other than as their parents did.
"How's home?" Alan asked quietly. All eyes turned to Salvador.
"Quiet. Ever since the letter." He answered calmly. "I should be disowned in a few weeks. You're sure it's not a problem?"
"Yes." Alan answered easily. "Velorian double-checked with him."
"Well then. It's all good. You know, they may not disown me. They might decide to call me back to 'reconvert' me. I may have no choice."
"I'm sure they can be convinced otherwise." Alan answered calmly. Salvador barked a laugh and nodded.
"I suppose you would know." Salvador cocked his head aside. "You know, my dad says Velorian Mayfair is close with the Malfoys. Why are you so sure of him?"
Alan smiled thinly. "Because I know him. And I know he's good friends with Lucius. And I know Lucius already made a huge mistake towards converting him. Velorian isn't as much of an airhead as he seems."
Salvador nodded slowly and smiled. "That wouldn't say much from what my uncle says having met him at a social dinner."
"No," Alan agreed. "It wouldn't. But it does."
Salvador shrugged and laid his head back in the chair. "How much longer till it's a sane hour?"
"Twenty minutes." Lucille answered. "Stop griping"
"You know you love me Lucille."
"It only goes so far Salvador."
"I love you too."
Alan smiled wryly, and looked back at the hall to his dorm. Blaise stalked out with a scowl, tailed by a yawning Theodore. Quickly, Alan stood. "Well, I'm going to breakfast, sane hour or not."
Several complaints came immediately, but Alan was heading towards the door without looking back. Blaise was the first to catch up, jogging up to him with a scowl.
"Alan, how many times do we tell you to not head off like that?"
"How many times do you deny it when I tell you all you're mother-henning me spare?" Alan returned.
"We do not mother-hen you."
"Delusional!" Alan announced. "You're deluding yourselves, every one of you!"
"We are not!"
"Are too!"
"Alan!" Blaise whined. "For Merlin's sake, you're a brat!'
"Finally, you admit it. Merlin, Mary and Mordred."
Blaise walked sullenly beside him, silent as the rest of the group caught up, Salvador laughing quietly as he paced on Alan's left side, which Blaise had ignored in favour of his right. It was a technicality that amused Alan to no end. Behind Salvador was the weedy Malcolm Baddock, now a second year, who watched the older students like a hawk. He'd tagged along almost the entirety of last year, wilfully running errands for them and listening in on many conversations. Alan had watched his tongue every time he was around; Malcolm hung out with several other students who Alan wasn't nearly so sure about. Behind him, Dillan Baker watched Malcolm intently. He had been one of the most suspicious when the second year had begun to tag along. Alan let him watch. Dillan was one of the kids he was the surest of; his family firm allies the Hodges, thus determinedly neutral.
The dynamics of the group changed as they walked out of the dungeons. The smiles faded to smirks. The laughter quieted to chuckles and snickers. Several changed their bearing into firmer, more threatening strides. Alan himself felt the meek cast come upon him. It had been very useful in diverting attention, so his face blanked, he fell back slightly to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with Blaise, rather than a few steps before, and his gaze lowered slightly. Blaise shot him a concerned glance, but with his stern face it was lost to most everyone else. The only ones who didn't change much were Dillan and Malcolm.
Lucille and Salvador entered the dining hall first, talking with their heads together, touching each other gently and discretely. While they were truly a couple, they played it up or down at will in order to get the reactions they wanted. The two of them were surprisingly agile actors; they took the brunt of the attention of the older years and let Alan's group buffer against the lower ones.
Of course, sitting down the dynamics went nearly back to normal, as the group turned inward to hide their more subtle responses.
"Alan, you do realize you bug me whenever you give someone that damn quiet look?" Lucille shot. She was quickly filling her own plate, but gave Alan a dark look that reminded him she was more than willing to go back to her third year and force food on him like she had when he'd still been feeling out of sorts from the basilisk poison the last month or so of school. Unable to think about food without feeling ill, Lucille had sat next to him during the meals and held him in place until he ate. It had not been fun. Complaining to Severus and Geoffrey had proven they were on Lucille's side. He hadn't tried not eating again.
Giving her a look in kind, Alan pulled together his own meal defiantly and answered. "It's quite effective in keeping Umbridge from being much harsher with me. She seems focused on Potter who's far more forthright than I am. I don't want to draw her eye, especially after last week." Alan purposefully reached for the pitcher in front of Lucille with his right hand, giving her a good look at the healing pink scar across the back of his hand. Neville, Harry, and Blaise had identical scars. Pomfrey had been livid when she hadn't been able to make them fade. Alan mildly hoped Umbridge got sick at some point that year and asked for aid; Pomfrey would be simply delighted.
"How's your homework doing?" Salvador asked kindly. Alan shot him a grateful look.
"It's pretty much fine. I didn't get the essay for Binns done all that well, but with how he teaches, the class is useless anyways. All I do is sleep through it and read the book for homework. It's no different than normal. I got Ancient Runes and Potions done fine, and Herbology is okay. I'll take care of the rest during lunch and after dinner."
Salvador nodded and Lucille's sharp gaze softened as he raised his eyebrows at her in regards to his plate. Honestly. She complained about how thin he was, but he'd grown another full inch over the summer and was still going. Geoffrey had estimated that he'd easily pass six feet, so it was going to be a while before he started filling out rather than shooting up. Lucille was just going to have to deal with poking at his ribs until then. It was currently annoying to have her be taller than him.
"Alan, you haven't touched your juice." Lucille commented lightly.
Alan resisted the urge to grind his palm into his forehead. "Lucille, I haven't started eating yet either. Don't worry," He clarified, "I'll eat before class. Trust me, I do not want to make you bug me about this again."
He turned from Lucille's grin to check those entering and sent a discrete wave and smile at Stephanie as she led her seventh year friends in. As they came, he saw one of them turn and glare at the boy entering behind her. Words were exchanged; the boy flinched, grumbled, and then walked away sullenly, fingering his prefect's badge as though it had failed him. The girl turned back and exchanged a high-five with Stephanie. That would be the Head Girl, then. Stephanie's friends didn't openly support Alan, but they supported Stephanie and, completely coincidentally of course, supported Alan. With the daughter of the old minister of magic, the Head Girl, and all of them old blood and intelligent, they were pretty much immune to censure from their comrades, and able to act for themselves. Alan smiled to himself as he turned back to eating and then flinched from Lucille's glare.
"Fine, I'm eating already!"
IIII
After breakfast was Herbology, which Alan found to be unfortunately set before Potions. It meant he had to spend nearly five minutes washing up enough to be absolutely sure none of what they'd been working out would foul up his potion-making. Green had lectured him several times on it, but, more effective than his lectures, were his examples. After hearing of the third time Green had turned a potion into an explosion due to something remaining on his hands, Alan learned to make an efficient job of it.
Potions was fortunately back to being normal and effective. Without Umbridge breathing down their necks, Alan returned to his seat in the front, which put Harry back in his mid-way seat and allowed the rest of their houses to organize themselves without conflict. It had been amusing to see the amount of distress a change in order had caused the house dynamics. Of course, the Slytherins hadn't minded all that much; Draco was furiously intent upon sucking up to Umbridge in a far different manner than Alan was. Alan was avoiding her ire; Draco was trying to curry favour. But not having her in Potions was a blessing Alan was not giving up. Fortunately, Umbridge was not perfectly allowed to be a petty bitch about her invasive questions and had been forced to concede that Snape was a good, effective teacher and quite capable of teaching students according to the ministry guidelines.
Snape stormed into the classroom and Alan smiled as he came in, already looking forward to the class, even if the potions were below his skill level. It was the only problem of having learned much from his expansive American teachers. Some classes thereafter were too easy; of course, some weren't, as he'd learned a few useless skills as well. He wouldn't give it up, though. His knowledge, while having gotten him into trouble with the Triwizard Tournament, easily saved his life. Whether it had been useful or not in the last instance was not something he considered. Geoffrey and his godfather had lectured him on it often enough: no amount of skill could counteract a stacked deck completely. Koreol had thoroughly agreed, which lent much credence.
'It was not his fault'
Noting that he'd almost made a mistake in his potion, Alan paused, refocused and returned to paying attention to the class. Inattention: the curse that had killed six people at Salem in the potions lab. He would not be doing that here. Green had firmly impressed upon Alan the main accidents to avoid in Potion-making through repeated, impressively catastrophic examples ranging from death, to copious redecorating, and one remarkable and fortunately temporary sex change.
Across from him, seated by Theo, Daphne wasn't paying attention to her potion either. Alan elbowed Blaise and pointed her out; Blaise leaned over to whisper in her ear. Daphne coloured, and then spun around to hiss at Blaise,
"I was not staring vacantly!"
Alan rolled his eyes and drawled back, "You were so, Daphne. Pay attention to your potion before it boils over."
Daphne squeaked and obeyed. She was rather warmly coloured as the rest of class went by. Alan just smiled to himself. He hoped he never acted that smitten with someone. Daphne had been staring across the Hall at Harry at breakfast as well. She'd done so all last week, too.
Lunch was after Potions, and homework was easily knocked off in the library as they waited for the next class, to which only Tracey did not join them. She had a free period and took advantage of it to finish off her own homework; the rest of them attended Ancient Runes, pairing up Daphne with Theodore and Alan with Blaise. They took seats in the back of the classroom, just across the aisle from where Neville and Hermione always sat. It was disgustingly sweet to watch them bend over each other's books and giggle. Alan wondered how long it had taken for Harry to clue in they were a couple; he'd noticed it the first time he'd seen them in this class. However, they certainly got their work done extraordinarily well. Anthony Goldstein was partly resisting agreeing with anything Hermione worked on for jealousy. He'd tried to get Neville into a duel several times, but just couldn't manage to get him anywhere alone. His attempts last year had had Blaise laughing for weeks.
Ancient Runes went into Transfiguration, where McGonagall worked them all with strict precision. Blaise had complained of house prejudice until he'd spoken with Neville about it; then he'd complained of her being a slave driver, but never in her hearing. Alan suspected the uniform expectations had impressed Blaise against his will; Alan just worked on the assignments and didn't pick them to death like most of his housemates did. It must have been a factor of his rather open upbringing. They were all expected to behave like good little stereotypes; Alan just wanted to be himself. He had firmly shot down an arrogant Blaise in first year with that determination and had unexpectedly gained a friend from it.
It was supper that held that day's excitement. Alan was planning to leave when a blonde Ravenclaw stood and walked down the table to stand behind Lucille, who was seated across from Alan. Alan remembered her – it was Luna Lovegood, whom he'd asked to the Yule Ball. He sat back to wait and see what she would say.
"Alan Prince?" She asked breezily. If he didn't know better, he'd think she'd wandered over by accident.
"Yes?" He asked. She certainly wasn't dangerous.
"The Sorting Hat suggested I should ask you to Hogsmeade with me. Would you like to come?"'
Alan blinked several times. A double-check didn't change the sentence. She'd just asked him to Hogsmeade because of the Sorting Hat?
Alan shrugged. "Sure, Luna. Meet you in the front hall, then?" There were worse reasons to go out with someone, and it wasn't likely to ruin his day. She had an interesting way of looking at things that would probably be quite entertaining.
Luna smiled brightly at him and winked before wandering back to her seat. Alan shook his head again, and then leaned on his elbow to watch her go back to her table and sit down without a care in the world.
"Did you just … accept a date with Loony Lovegood?" Dillan asked incredulously.
"Her name is Luna." Alan corrected absently. "And there are worse people I could go out with." He shot a short glance at Lucille and then grabbed his bag and walked out of the Great Hall. He did have homework to do, and there was a strange light feeling in his chest. He couldn't wait to see what would happen in Hogsmeade with Luna.
A/N: I love you people all so very much for reading this, and the reviews I've gotten! I'm sending a big hug! I would also like to say that I have posted one of my oneshots as well, and I hope it's appreciated. It has spoilers for the beginning of Fifth year. I will put up another one possibly in a month, possibly sooner, and I am still open to any requested scenes. Sixth year is being revised (I'm not quite happy with it) hence the lack of change to weekly updates. But it's really really good, I promise! (or at least I do hope you will think so)
Thank you very much for reading! Please review?
Fire & Napalm