A/N: And here is Bella's say. Cliffie of sorts at the end, so hold on for the next chapter if you can— it should be out sometime this week as well.
Chapter 10: Winding Up
Bella started awake. It was fairly dark in the living room, despite the fact that she'd left the curtains open just before dropping off on the couch. The bloody fire had gone out again, so it was cold too, enough that she shivered and groped for her wand— a simple warming charm would fix things quickly, and get her up and working again on the sample gown for Mrs. Bernard. Bella smiled at the memory of her interview with the woman, both of them tucked away behind the main counter at Gladrags, Mrs. Bernard's many questions about this or that set of robes continually interrupted by customers coming up to ask frivolous questions and nod hesitantly at Bella when they were introduced.
It had surprised Bella how many people she knew from her days at Malkin's had recognised her. Once she'd had time to look back and count, Bella had been shocked at how how many of those who had recognised her voice had deigned to remember her, really— she'd necessarily never been as chatty as the other girls at Malkin's, and had made sure she dealt with clients only through Madame Malkin, disdaining the direct patronage the other girls had lusted after.
Bella's smile became a grin as she rose, having found her wand on the coffee table nearby. The unexpected customer attention certainly hadn't seemed to surprise Mrs. Bernard. The woman was either the most unflappably patient person Bella had ever known, or had orchestrated the interview to draw attention from her customers on purpose. From the satisfaction in her eyes as she'd shaken Bella's hand at the end, it was probably the latter.
Only one way to find out, Bella thought, eyeing the soft gown on the crudely transfigured mannequin not two feet away. Looking at it now, she decided against doing much more than checking hems and seams and adding the necessary charms— in the dark of the room, it looked magnificent, almost too magnificent to be the pretty evening garment Mrs. Bernard had asked for. Bella gazed at it for a long moment, then, shivering, remembered the warming charm she'd promised herself.
She raised her wand, a Calefacio on her lips, then decided against it. "Incendio," she said instead, pointing vaguely at the wood left in the fireplace. This way, the whole room would warm, and she'd have the fire ready for her when she was ready to Floo the dress over to Gladrags. Moving toward the mannequin, Bella flicked her wand aimlessly. Front panel looks fine, I think. Just a little dull, though— perhaps a few sequins on that seam?
"Accio sequins," Bella said, flicking her wand just a little. When none appeared in her little floating sewing-case, she focused for a moment and repeated the spell. A nice little handful appeared in the right compartment, putting a grim little smile on her face. She'd be damned if she'd spend money on buying materials to help her get a new job when perfectly suitable ones sat idle at Madame Malkin's. "Accio thread."
Just as a nice little spool appeared in another compartment, the fire roared behind Bella, startling her. She glanced at it, wondering, and shivered when she saw it was green. Not again—
Severus' face appeared, stretched with worry, and Bella distantly felt the spool of thread that had been in her hands drop uselessly to the floor.
"What—"
"Come through," was the first thing he said, interrupting her mercilessly. "Just come through— I'll hold the connection open for you."
"It's not Antares, is it?" Bella asked, feeling her hands begin to shake. "Can't be. I just—"
"Come through," Severus repeated, the look in his eyes telling her that it was Antares, again. Again, despite how he'd seemed fine, how Pomfrey had told her that the Reviving Potion would help his low energy, how— "Bella, are you listening?"
"I'm coming," she snapped, floating the spool of thread into her sewing-case and causing the case to drop onto the coffee table. "I'm coming, all right? Just hold it open." A look of hurt passed quickly across his face, making Bella feel guilty as his head disappeared from the flames, replaced immediately by his familiar, smooth hand. It couldn't be Severus fault that so much was happening to Antares this term, and it wasn't right that she take out her fear and frustration on him. Hadn't she forgiven his reticence about the bullying? Hadn't she?
Severus' proffered hand flexed, opening and closing impatiently, and Bella tucked her wand away and took hold of it, closing her eyes as she stepped into the connection, holding firm against the dizziness that threatened to overtake her.
"I didn't wake you up," Severus said, holding on to her hand a little longer than was strictly necessary, and Bella told herself she had forgiven him. How could she not? "Good," he said, letting go as she shook her head. "Antares fainted in one of the boys' toilets on the first floor, so—"
"What about the Reviving potion?" Bella asked, trying to think back to the little she could remember about its effects. "Shouldn't it have kept him from fainting again? Was something wrong with it, or—"
"As far as Pomfrey can tell, his condition is not a result of the Reviving—"
"Condition?" Bella asked, fear catching hold of her again. "What do you mean? When did he faint? Shouldn't he have woken up by now?"
"Bella, please stay calm—"
"Don't tell me to stay calm! Is he awake, Severus? Answer me!"
The pause was really all the answer she needed. "Bella—"
Hands shaking, Bella pushed past Severus, ignoring his slow, hesitant words as she burst out of Madame Pomfrey's office and into the main ward of the hospital wing. She only paused for a moment to survey the half-full ward, looking over each of the four curiously stiff children. They were placed side by side along the wall on her left. None of them was Antares.
Bella moved on, sensing Severus behind her as she made her way to a familiar-looking door in the middle of the wall at the end of the ward. Spell-made, she noted now, just as she had noted before through her shock and anger at the news of Antares' injuries. The door shivered open at her touch.
"—need him to get a hold of Zabini and Davis," Dumbledore was saying. "They must know why he was carrying at least a few of these things—"
"Albus, Ms. Black is here," Severus called from behind Bella. As she entered the private little room, she ignored him, ignored Dumbledore, ignored Pomfrey— there he was. Her son.
Bella bit her lip and forced the tears back, trying to keep calm. It was hard to do that and look at Antares. He was so pale, so pale, and had only the faintest touch of colour in his cheeks, and so still—
Dumbledore cleared his throat, meaningfully. "Ms. Black—"
"When he wakes up, I'm taking him with me," she said, by way of answer. Bella knelt by Antares' side in the pause that followed, and gently reached out and ran her fingers through his grimy hair. "He's not coming back here."
"Ms. Black," Dumbledore said again, more firmly. She looked up at his old face and saw weariness. Worse still, she saw disappointment. "Your son may not wake," he said, but she had already seen it, in his calm, weary eyes – "I am sorry."
Bella turned away from him and his disbelief, and her eyes fell on a crisp little book, black, that sat stiffly on a floating platter beside Dumbledore.
"What's this?" Bella asked, picking it up. Her hands still shook, but not as badly as before. Why, she did not know— if there was anything worse than hearing hints that your son could be in a coma, it was seeing him pale, naked and still. Bella blinked hard, twice, and finally began to see the book she had begun to leaf through. Its old, filmy pages were mostly blank, all except for the last four or five. It was odd, for it looked like the words were disappearing from those pages even as she turned them. "Where did you find—"
"In his pocket," Dumbledore said, wearily. "Haven't had time to do more than set it aside, I'm afraid. If you know anything of its origins…Ms. Black? Is there something?"
"Origins," Bella repeated faintly, staring at a line of horribly familiar handwriting on the very last page. "It makes sense. It all makes sense." Dumbledore stood, the worry intensifying on his face, so she thrust the diary at him, her heart suddenly dry of hope.
Lucius was always good at revenge, Bella found herself thinking. She could almost spot the moment Dumbledore read the last page and understood— shock filtered slowly onto his face, and his hands tightened about the old little book as he muttered his way down the page, and then—
"My god." The exclamation was breathed, and almost inaudible. The shock filtered in fast, then, even as the pages were turned again, absently, as Dumbledore re-read the disappearing words. The strained silence that settled on him as he did so made it awful to watch, so Bella moved slowly and jerkily to Antares' side while it lasted, doing her best to ignore the ashen shock on Dumbledore's face. She could feel Severus' eyes on her back as she sat on the bed and laid hold of her son, but the scrutiny did not stop her tears.
"Fading," Dumbledore suddenly said. "The words are fading— Merlin, that's what it is! Poppy, check for a bond, now." The command in his tone was unmistakable, and Bella heard the whisper and felt the rush of magic coming from Madam Pomfrey's direction even as Severus spoke.
"Headmaster, surely you could have checked—"
"It is important that the memories don't only come from me," Dumbledore said absently, in the tone of someone very much concerned with other matters. Impatient, he fixed the book in the air momentarily, then floated it over to Severus with a negligent gesture, as if it was an unimportant detail. "Poppy, do you—"
"I see it," Pomfrey said, her voice hushed. "Good lord—"
"Reveal it," Dumbledore said, immediately. "We'll need many memories for this." And, all of a sudden, little points of light began to form on Antares' skin, starting at his face and quickly appearing all the way to his feet, the ones on the lower half of his naked body glowing faintly through the sheets. Bella let go of him reluctantly, her confusion at Dumbledore's words changing to fear as she watched the lights coalesce into a strong, wavering bond that stretched between Antares and the damp diary now in Severus' shaking hands. "Wait a moment— I'll handle this."
Severus' reply was hoarse. "Albus, don't—"
But Dumbledore had already gone still. His eyes had a faraway, fixed expression in them, and the air in the room began to feel heavy with magic.
"I didn't know," Severus was saying. Bella looked at him, and was struck by the desperation in his eyes. "I swear on my life—"
"Be quiet," Pomfrey snapped, her eyes wide with fear. "Watch the bond—"
Something was happening. The diary, still in Severus' hands, had closed and reopened, its pages slowly stirring and beginning to turn of their own accord. Bella stood, hope rising in her heart as she watched the dimming of the little pinpricks of light that dotted each page. Just in time, too; almost half of the pages she'd read were already blank. Bella glanced at the bond— oh thank Merlin, thank Morgana, it was finally dimming. Or was it? Her breath caught as it brightened again, unbearably so, then broke in the middle.
The next moment, Dumbledore was on his knees, and the bond was whole again, save for a small beam that split off it and now connected him and Antares.
A gasp later, the diary was falling to the floor, and Severus was dragging Dumbledore to his feet. Pomfrey, face white, swept the diary up in a Bubble Charm as Bella watched Severus guide Dumbledore's shaking steps and sat him down in the armchair by Antares' side. Antares lay still, his paleness mocking them all as they watched Severus fan Dumbledore and prise open the top buttons of his robe.
"Stop that," Dumbledore said thinly, his eyes opening briefly. He tried to raise a hand to his face, but quickly let it fall at the glare Severus gave him. "I'll be fine."
"You are mad," was all Severus seemed able to say, in reply to that. "Mad. Did you even think?"
"That bond is not of Voldemort's making," Dumbledore replied, his tone faint but steady. "A blood bond, I think. Draining the diary, too, instead of what you would think. Very strange."
Severus ignored him. "Poppy, something to clear his thoughts would probably be better than just that Reviving Potion—"
"I couldn't break it," Dumbledore went on, tired eyes now fixed on Bella. "Blood bonds are…selective. Did you adopt him only in name?"
Bella was already staring at her son, heart caught in her throat as she watched the light of the bond disappear as Pomfrey ended the revelation spell. "You think I could—"
"Even if it doesn't work, it will at least slow down the erasure of the diary," Dumbledore said encouragingly. "We two have much magic between us— perhaps enough to content it."
"Don't listen to him," Severus said grimly, accepting the two vials that floated to him, guided by Pomfrey's shaking hand. "There's no telling what meddling with that bond could have done to his mind. Poppy, if you'd pass the thinner—"
Bella turned away, slipping her wand from the sheath in her robe pocket. As she raised it, she faintly remembered Professor Flitwick's fanatic insistence on their learning the modifications and uses of Revelo, and wondered if she would live to thank him. He'd probably turn away in disgust, or burn the polite letter she would send, but—
"Bella! What are you—"
"Revelo," slipped from Bella's lips before Severus could really do anything to stop her, and suddenly she was looking at the bond again, split as it was between the diary and the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Severus straightened nearby, and that was the last thing Bella noticed before the action of stilling herself and her magic took its toll.
The room burst into colour. The grey stones of the walls glittered with what she knew were warding spells, and almost everything in the room seemed to glow with the reflected light of the bond, which was even brighter seen in its true form. It pulsed warningly as Bella reached for it with her mind, but did not react further as she focused her mind on the point where it split between Dumbledore and the diary. Severus, blurred as he was behind the shimmer of his magic, looked horribly angry, and was bent over Dumbledore. Looking at the bond, Bella understood why— the beam of light that connected Dumbledore to Antares was growing stronger, as if he was somehow pouring his magic into it, and—
Bella gasped, shifting her hold on the bond. It had suddenly turned a deep, warm colour she knew she could not name, and was burning hotter in the grip of her mind than it had before. Shaking with effort, Bella tightened her grip on it, not knowing what to do. It came to her slowly, on a thick tide of awareness, a faint repetition of what Dumbledore had just said. A blood bond, I think. Blood bonds are…selective.
Abruptly, her mind was racing through to the memory of that day she'd finally done it, finally bound Antares to her as she'd been wanting to. Bella drew in a breath to steady herself as she wrapped that memory around herself, feeling herself flinch again as she cut into her son's hand with a knife, and then she was twisting at the bond, willing it to snap—
It snapped. Someone cried out, from far away, but Bella looked on, unshaken, dreading the vision of the bond snapping back and joining her to Antares but expecting it anyway. It was some time before she realised that Antares was simply glowing with light, and that the bond was no more. Even then, the memory of Antares biting his lip and pretending to be brave held her attention, settling about her as she felt herself sink to the ground.
Just before she closed her eyes, Bella heard someone whisper something. It sounded oddly like they were telling her to run. Run where? she wondered, finally letting her eyelids fall. Run where?
Whoever had whispered, it wasn't Dumbledore. The man couldn't whisper worth a damn, as far as Bella was concerned, for it was his 'whispering' that woke her up.
"For heaven's sake, Poppy, it's only quarter past six," he was insisting. "It's not yet dinnertime—"
"Nevertheless, you should be in bed," Pomfrey said, repressively. "Really, Albus. The elves can bring you dinner in your rooms just as well as they can here—"
"A bed in the ward will do just fine, Poppy," Dumbledore said, coaxingly, his plaintive tone making Bella think incredulously of what Antares sounded like when he was trying to convince her of something she didn't approve off. "Besides, I want to be here in case Mr. Black wakes up this evening. His colour is improving, isn't it?"
"It'll improve at just the same rate even if you're not here," Severus insisted. "And didn't you just say it was unlikely that he'd wake up this evening just a few minutes ago?"
"Unlikely, not impossible," was Dumbledore's muttered, almost petulant answer. "Oh, all right. You remember who to bring tomorrow morning, I presume? If not tonight, that is."
"Of course I do, Albus," Severus said impatiently. "No, don't get up just yet—"
"I was only sitting up," Dumbledore protested, sounding mildly amused. "I'm not quite ready to go just yet—"
Pomfrey's snort cut him off. "And why would that be?"
"I assumed you'd want to know that I will be doing my best to inform the school board of the goings on today by tomorrow morning," Dumbledore said calmly, clearly unaware of the outrageous nonsense he was uttering. What on earth was he implying? The school board of governors, if Bella recalled correctly, was only informed when a student did something serious to another student. Which, as far as Bella knew, didn't apply in Antares' case. So why on earth is he— "Don't forget to tell Minerva to come up tomorrow morning, Severus— we will need her help."
"Help?" Severus said, sounding almost as confused as Bella felt. "What will we need Minerva's help for? Albus, didn't you just imply that we solved the bond issue minutes ago?"
"She personally knows just the right barrister for Mr. Black's case, you see," Dumbledore said, apparently ignoring Severus. "We'll have need of one when presenting the case before the board, and since the barrister I have in mind just happens to be Minerva's second cousin…"
"Albus, no matter how unusual it is for a boy of his age to faint several times within the week, the school board will hardly make a case of it," Pomfrey said tartly, sounding nearby. "Well, that is unless Ms. Black decides to make some kind of complaint, which I doubt; the furore it would cause is the last thing she'd want, especially since the nonsense in the papers is only just dying down."
"The school board will take notice once they find out just who owned that diary, however," Dumbledore said pointedly, his matter-of-fact tone making Bella's mouth go dry. I have to have heard that wrong— he can't seriously mean to tell them— "And in that case, we will need some sort of representation, which means—"
"What do you mean, 'once they find out'?" Severus asked suspiciously, rudely interrupting Dumbledore mid-sentence. "Unless I'm not mistaken—"
"You aren't, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "Yes, I do mean to tell them it was found in his possession, but—"
"What? Why?" Pomfrey demanded, almost as if she could hear Bella's enraged thoughts. "You know how they are about Dark objects, Albus. Or don't you think they'll want to involve the Ministry once they hear that You-Know-Who is involved?"
"Albus, she's right," Severus said firmly. "It's madness— the very least they'll do is expel the boy, and even then—"
"Telling them about the diary without telling them about his possession of it will render it useless as a weapon against Lucius— can't you see?" Dumbledore said, his tone becoming more passionate with every word. "Without evidence that it was purposely planted in the school, the diary becomes nothing more than a mysterious dark object we discovered. Any evidence of its harmfulness only makes sense in context of what it has done to the boy, and we simply cannot present its effects on him as evidence without admitting that it was in his possession." A heavy silence greeted this last sentence of Dumbledore's, but it neither stopped him, nor made his tone any less passionate, any less assured. "This is an iron-cast opportunity to remove Lucius from the board, Severus. I cannot, in good conscience, throw up my hands and let it pass me by."
"And what if the case fails?" Severus finally snapped, tone harsh with disgust. "What then? The boy will be expelled, and his and his mother's business splashed all over the papers. And speaking of the doting mother herself, I don't think you've quite considered what she will do to you if she hears of this preposterous—"
"It only sounds preposterous to you because you haven't thought things through," Dumbledore shot back. "For Merlin's sake, Severus, can you believe that that diary hasn't already influenced the boy's behaviour in some way already? Do you think it coincidence that he's fainted twice already in the last two days? Do you think that all that's been happening in Slytherin has nothing to do with the fact that he carried a prized possession of Voldemort in his pocket?"
"You can't prove—"
"And isn't that precisely it?" Dumbledore said, his tone louder and sterner than Bella had ever heard it. "I cannot prove that that bond was not of Voldemort's making, either. That didn't stop me from following my instincts and encouraging Ms. Black to try her hand at it, and look what happened."
"Oh, for— Albus, she fainted from exhaustion!" Pomfrey snapped. "You can't just—"
"Look at the diary," Dumbledore said, ignoring her, his words accompanied by the sound of something shifting nearby. "Failing that, look at me. Do I look like a man being drained, Poppy?" Bella held her breath at the sound of turning pages, hoping. It occurred to her, now, why Dumbledore was being so insistent about the diary; if what she'd done had broken the bond, then maybe— "Read. Read from here."
Severus sighed, angrily. "Albus, there is no need for this—"
"Severus, just listen to—"
"I was given this solution," Pomfrey said suddenly, her shaky words silencing both men. "Now, at its completion, I realise that I am destined to live— to live on. Lucius, I bequeath this to you because you are one of my most faithful." Pomfrey paused, taking a shaky, audible breath, then continued on, her voice seeming to only add to the heaviness of the silence. "I now set a spell on this diary, and a promise, so it shall not harm you. Sign now, and boldly, that the spell may be complete. Lucius Malfoy."
The silence remained, for a moment, only broken by the muted thump the diary made as it was set down somewhere far away.
"I don't understand," Severus said finally. "How did you know the bond wasn't his work?"
"I felt it," Dumbledore said, simply. "I do not doubt that Ms. Black will say the same thing, when she wakes. It did not feel like his magic or intent was behind it at all, Severus. It felt…very different." He paused for a moment, then continued, sounding almost wary. "Do you understand now?"
"Yes," Severus said. "Yes, I believe I do." Somehow, Bella got the impression that that was not all he understood, or agreed with. And, despite her fear at the thought of Antares being put on trial, she found herself agreeing too.
"Me too," Pomfrey said, sounding oddly choked. "I think— will pensieve memories be admissible as evidence, Albus?"
"Certainly, Poppy. Actually—"
"You'll have mine if you want them," Pomfrey said, cutting him off. "Just let me know."
"I don't think you'll want mine," Severus said dryly, after a moment, "but they're on offer as well."
"Thank you for both your offers, Severus, Poppy," Dumbledore said warmly. "You've no idea how much easier that will make things."
"I'm sure things will be even easier if you get to sleep as soon as possible, Albus," Pomfrey said, firmly. "I don't care where you sleep, as long as you start doing it. You're not invulnerable to Dark magic, whatever you might think."
Dumbledore sighed. "Poppy, that bond was not—"
"Albus, please. I've seen almost every type of bond that can exist between human beings in the last fifty years, all right? I think I'd know whether it was Dark or not."
"But it felt—"
"That's the problem with bond theory, Albus; knowing a thing can't give you the instinct for spotting it when it matters. I saw that bond, all right? It held tightly, and was extremely hard to disperse. You yourself guessed at its being a blood bond. Now tell me how many ways a blood bond can be Light."
"Poppy—"
"No, really— try. Or should I ask Severus instead…?"
"Two," Severus said immediately, sounding amused. "One of which is difficult to implement."
"One of which has only been implemented once," Pomfrey corrected, matter-of-factly. "And if Merlin had forgot to write the method down, there'd only be one known Light blood bond. Not so, Albus?"
"That still doesn't explain why you think the bond was Dark," Dumbledore pointed out, calmly.
"It linked to you as a punishment," Pomfrey said, simply. "Crude, yes, and overly involved, but I doubt whoever cast it had any time to think about tuning or setting boundaries."
A small silence seized upon that moment, disturbed only by the sounds of shifting and breathing. Bella had almost decided to give some sign that she was awake when Dumbledore broke it, his tone low and thoughtful. "Who do you think was the caster?"
Pomfrey hesitated for a a bit before answering. "If not Ms. Black herself, then one of the boy's former parents. Do you know what happened to them?"
"Their end was likely far from peaceful, if that's what you mean," Severus said, quietly. "Albus, I believe it was the Sorting…? Yes, the Sorting Hat discovered some old memories of the boys— buried deep, as they'd likely be."
"You can't mean You-Know-Who was involved—"
Severus' sigh said it all. "I don't know about you, Albus, but I'd rather like to see those memories myself. The— He Who Must Not Be Named positively peppers this boy's life, in comparison to those of his friends."
"You might eventually, if his mother'll consent to have me try to find them," Dumbledore said. "I do hope she will. I'm starting to have a feeling that there's a pattern to all this, somehow." Soft footsteps began to accompany his quiet words. "I'd much rather it wasn't there…feels so horribly haphazard. Suppose it can't be helped…"
"Good night, Albus," Pomfrey said, almost as quietly. Cool air bit at Bella's exposed arm, making her try to twitch the blanket back over it without seeming as if she was awake. "Off to bed with you too, Severus. Keep your Floo open, mind— I doubt I'll have time to send someone running after you if Antares wakes up."
Severus snorted, a little unconvincingly. "I wonder why you didn't remind Albus to do the same."
"Oh please," Pomfrey muttered. "We both know he'll Disillusion himself and hop into one of the empty beds outside—"
"—and still show up when you Floo his office," Severus finished wryly. "I wonder what notification spell he uses. Mine never really seem to work for very long."
"I personally think he renews it every night," was Pomfrey's equally wry answer.
"Madness?"
"Eccentricity," Pomfrey said, the smile evident in her words. "You have no idea how long it took me to get over how bloody respected he was, after chasing those horrid little brats of his brother's around with burn solution—"
"I console myself with the thought that he's on our side," Severus replied, his voice starting to recede in the direction of what Bella now thought was the door. "Good night, Poppy."
"Try to eat, Severus!" Pomfrey called after him, her voice becoming abruptly muffled as it receded sharply towards the door. "Really— if the boy wakes up tomorrow, even Albus will be too excited to order anything up!" Bella shifted uneasily as Pomfrey sighed to herself, obviously amused, then moved back into the room and shut the door. "Ms. Black?"
It was very, very hard not to blink. Bella somehow succeeded, and held on even as Pomfrey's voice came closer. "Ms. Black? As you see, I didn't tell anyone you were awake. Won't bother asking how long— if anyone deserved to hear what Albus is planning for that son of yours, it's you." At that, Bella opened her eyes. As she'd thought, Madame Pomfrey was standing near her bed or cot or whatever it was, a rather guarded look on her face. "I won't bother you for long; just have a thing or two to say, if you'll listen to me."
Bella cleared her throat, as quietly as possible. "I'm listening."
"To put it bluntly, Ms. Black, if I were you, I'd milk this plan of Dumbledore's for all it's worth," Pomfrey said, her calm tone at odds with her strangely direct words. "You didn't have a chance to hear about his plan to inform the school board, did you? Don't answer that— no point. All I'll say is this; when he explains, pretend not to understand."
Bella turned her face toward the door, examining it absently as she considered this strangely sly advice. It wasn't anything she hadn't been absently considering already, but to have it said and said by Madame Pomfrey gave it a kind of reassuring weight. "I'll keep that in mind."
Pomfrey nodded, then turned away. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to—"
"Um," Bella found herself saying, as she suddenly connected her nagging worry about the Floo to the dress sample she'd been supposed to submit to Bernard. "I was wondering if I could use the Floo…"
"There's powder always floating right next to the Floo in my office," was the prompt answer. "Are you going through entirely? Because if you are—"
"I think I'll just be popping my head in, actually, so…"
"Perfect. My office is almost right across from this door on the other side of the ward, so you should have no problems getting to it. And about dinner, I think a house elf wouldn't mind bringing something up for the both of us." Pomfrey came close, her calm expression becoming slightly blank as she checked Bella's pulse and gently closed the cupboards that Bella hadn't quite noticed were now just above her. "You just wait till you feel up to it, Ms. Black— I'll leave the doors open for you, so there's no need to worry about waking anyone to help. And when that—"
"Bella," Bella said, only just realising that Madame Pomfrey had called her son Antares, just a few minutes ago. "You may call me Bella."
"Thank you," was the slightly grave answer, half-whispered from Pomfrey's direction as she pushed open the door to the room. "How about seven— no, tempus— seven thirty, or eightish, for dinner?"
Bella sat up stiffly, her eyes going automatically to Antares' small, almost restless form on the bed nearby. Nothing was settled, of course. Just now, however, she couldn't help feeling just a little like everything would be fine. "Seven thirty will be just fine," she said, by way of answer, as Pomfrey left the room. "Just fine."
Bella awoke slowly, wondering when she'd dropped off. Last night, after the dinner things had been taken away, Madame Pomfrey had not stayed long. She'd checked Bella's blankets and bustled around Antares for a few moments, then promptly exited the small room, locking and warding the door as she went. Bella had risen slowly and moved to check on Antares, then, after debating with herself for a few moments, stripped the blankets from the tiny cot set up for her on the other side of the room and crept into the armchair to beside him to keep watch. Only for an hour or two, or so she'd thought— her body, now stiff with sleeping in the chair, had obviously had other ideas.
Antares, to her relief, looked almost normal now— there was colour in his cheeks, and he shifted a little in his sleep, as he always had. After stumbling out of the armchair and stretching quickly, Bella put a hand to his neck, and felt foolishly reassured by its warmth. As she stroked his hair, she reminded herself that he might wake up mad, or not wake at all, or some odd combination of the two that was even worse. Who knew what effect that bond had had on him? Or, worse still, if the backlash from breaking it had harmed him in some way? As for the diary, Bella tried vainly to put it from her mind, because she couldn't bear to think of her son being— being used by—
Bella shook her head, flinging the thought away. "You can't have him," she whispered, her hands curling into fists in Antares' hair. "Can't." Antares stirred in her arms, frightening her, but it was only the restlessness of sleep that turned him on his side, curling toward her as he'd done when he was small. Somehow, the sleepy, groping hand that settled on hers calmed her down. It occurred to her that if the Dark Lord had somehow possessed Antares, he wouldn't be asleep. It had probably occurred to Dumbledore as well, especially since he'd not even hinted at doubts that Antares was still himself.
Bella straightened slowly. Then again, there was the fact that Pomfrey had warded the door to this room very firmly. What if—
Leave it. Just leave it, Bella told herself, looking down at Antares' pale face. How can you know until he wakes up? And, well, if he doesn't… she shivered. If he doesn't, it might be for the best.
For a while, Bella sat there, her hands on her son's face, her head aching with the thought of everything just suddenly…ceasing, for him. After surviving those bullies, surviving this school, this place—
"If you wake up," Bella whispered, ignoring the futility of it, "I'll take you away. I promise. For as long as you like, Tares." She blinked, rapidly, her now-damp hand unconsciously stroking Antares' hair again. "As long as you like. I promise." He shifted, stretching slowly in her arms.
Bella wept, for a while, without disturbing the silence in the room. Then, when Antares began to shift again, she straightened. "Creo speculum," she forced out, listlessly flicking her wand in the required pattern. The mirror she produced was almost too tarnished for her to see herself, but not enough to completely disguise the redness of her eyes. "Dissimulo," she whispered, imagining her skin fresh, her eyes clear. The mirror grudgingly revealed the small glamour's effect, and, its work done, was promptly banished. Looking at Antares, Bella almost began crying again— why on earth was she bothering, anyway? If he didn't wake—
Leave it, Bella. "Tempus," she whispered, for something else to think about, and as if some cruel god wanted to punish her for it, the door to the room clicked open almost immediately after she discovered it was seven a.m. Madame Pomfrey entered quietly, followed by an unusually grim-looking Dumbledore. Severus was nowhere to be seen, which hurt. Just now, she badly wanted him there to hover near her and scold her surreptitiously about endangering herself yesterday. Or awkwardly tell her not to worry about Antares in that quiet, concerned tone that was not quite suitable for public consumption.
Madame Pomfrey wasn't doing too bad a job of it, though, her tone the perfect mix of cheery and serious as she checked Antares' status and fussed about his bed. She even smiled at Bella, calmly and courteously enough that Bella couldn't help smiling back— a mistake, since it meant that Dumbledore decided it was safe to speak for the first time.
"At this moment, the secretary to the school board is likely reading my subsequent letter to the board, which requests that they hear me on the issue of your son's expulsion—"
"Expulsion?" Bella interjected, flatly. "Is that what they're calling voluntary withdrawal these days?"
Dumbledore frowned. "But—"
"I believe verbal announcement qualifies as a statement of intent, still?" Bella said politely, deeply savouring the light confusion on his face. "Or perhaps you didn't hear me when I clearly stated my intent last night to withdraw my son from your school…?"
"Ah," Dumbledore said, blinking slowly. "Actually—"
"I won't have his reputation sullied by the board's favouritism, thank you. I'm also quite ready to go to the press to make sure his reputation stays unsullied, mind you—"
"You don't seem to realise that I'm on your side, Bellatrix," Dumbledore said, suddenly, his face taking on a wry expression. "Or is it to remain Ms. Black?"
Bella only just refrained from biting her lip at the overt gesture of intended compromise. "Keep talking and I'll tell you," she said after a moment, restricting herself to just one look in Pomfrey's direction. She looked almost too calm, quietly Banishing the cot Bella had abandoned for the armchair last night— probably enjoying this—
"Right," Dumbledore said, nodding in slightly obvious relief. "You see, it is extremely in my interest that your son stays on here, at Hogwarts. Frankly, it is the safer option for him, especially if we are able to sort out the little matter of Lucius and that diary. Far safer than him staying stuck in your home or in the corner at your workplace for the next four years—"
"And if I were to insist on having him out of school for the rest of this year, you would…?"
"Heartily concur," Dumbledore said, nodding again. He began to move over to Antares' other side, carefully skirting the tiny table on which the still wonderfully calm Pomfrey had just finished laying out a few potions— most of them standard emergency ones, by the look of them. "After such an ordeal, he'll likely need some rest. Some time to acquaint himself with any changes. Months, perhaps. And since it would be easier for him to catch up over the summer and begin afresh…" Dumbledore conjured another armchair and sat down, sighing.
Something tight seemed to loosen between Bella's shoulders at that last sentence. Sighing, she wondered what she'd expected after overhearing Dumbledore's passionate arguments last night. Agreeing to all her terms and whims concerning Antares would be his prime concern if he wanted to try to convince her to help build a case against Lucius. Shifting the sheets still on the armchair a little, Bella sat down. "I'd like you to call me Bella, then."
Dumbledore smiled. "I would ask you to call me Albus, but everyone tells me that takes some working up to," he began, his tone including an eerily appropriate amount of friendliness. "As for Headmaster, I've always thought—"
The door swung open, cutting Dumbledore off mid-sentence. Severus strode inside, his guarded, almost stiff expression indicating that he might not be alone. Sure enough, two familiar-looking children sidled in close after him, looking anxious. The boy paused and stared at her; the girl started to rush to Antares' side, then stopped as she caught sight of Dumbledore, who cleared his throat.
"Ah, Professor Snape," he began, but the boy, whom Bella was half-sure was called Blaise, cut him off.
"He's not awake yet!" he blurted out, the worry clear in his tone. "Why isn't—?"
"Why, Mr. Zabini, I believe he'll soon be able to tell you himself," Dumbledore said warmly, making a show of rummaging in his pocket and checking an odd-looking watch. "Yes, yes…in about an hour, if I'm not wrong. Meanwhile, however, I've some questions for you and Miss Davis— just a few little things I'd like cleared up, if you will."
"The talking won't wake him up?" Davis— no, Tracey asked, looking both worried and suspicious. "Although I suppose it won't, since you were talking when we came in."
"Quite right, Miss Davis," Dumbledore said, motioning casually to Severus. "Professor Snape, the door, please?"
Severus shut the door quietly, gesturing sharply as he did so. By the time it shut, Bella could already feel the muted feel to the sounds in the room— clear signs of a strong Silencing charm. Tracey, now looking curiously at her, didn't seem to feel the difference, and neither did Blaise, who was fidgeting nervously and glancing worriedly at Antares.
"Please sit," Dumbledore said, waving three more chairs into existence in just the right positions. They were much smaller than the armchairs he'd conjured before, since the room was quite crowded already with the two children fidgeting about, and two of them were placed close to Antares' bed and facing Dumbledore. The third chair, which Severus promptly took, was over by the cupboard of medicine supplies that Pomfrey had long ceased fiddling with. "Now, as I said, I'll only ask a few questions. If you have any extra information— anything, really, that you think could help us understand what to expect when Antares wakes up, feel free to share it, all right?" Blaise and Tracey nodded slowly, both of them leaning forward slightly. "Now, then. Poppy, if you'd just float out the diary…there. Have either of you seen this diary before?"
Blaise looked at it for a moment, then shrugged, looking confused. "No, not really." Bella tried not to slump in her chair, but it was hard not to. If even Antares' friends didn't know what on earth the book was doing in his possession, then how were they to go about tracing it to Lucius? If he'd slipped it to Antares before term started— how was easy, too easy, when he'd held on so long to Antares' cauldron in Flourish and Blott's— then it followed that Antares' friends would have seen it at least once.
Dumbledore seemed to have come to a similar conclusion, from the unhappy surprise on his face. "Quite sure?" Dumbledore asked, looking from Blaise to Tracey. "It was found in his pocket, so—"
"Can I…?" Tracey asked hesitantly, pointing belatedly at the diary, which hung suspended in a Bubble Charm, floating between her and Dumbledore. Dumbledore nodded sharply, drifting the bubble over to her. Bella marvelled at his calm expression, which stayed the same even as Tracey boldly drew the bubble into her lap and peered at it. "I think I might have…wait. There's— there's writing." She straightened, holding out the bubble with a puzzled look on her face. "There wasn't any— wouldn't have been any."
Dumbledore waved the diary into his hands absently, eyes intent on Tracey's face. "In what?"
"A book," she said, slowly. "He used to carry one. I'm not sure—"
"Without anything written in it, you say?" Dumbledore prompted. "No drawings, no pictures—"
"No, not a thing," Tracey said, nodding slowly. "I dunno why I can't remember, really. He used to carry it around all the time."
"I see," Dumbledore said calmly, encouragingly. The air in the room seemed very still now, only punctuated by all their breathing and the small shifting sounds Blaise made as he continued to fidget in his chair. "And this diary reminds you of it?"
Tracey nodded quickly. "It was the same size, I think. Never really looked in it, myself— just saw him looking in it, and saw it was blank and stuff. Maybe that's why I remembered it…he's a bit, erm, weird about telling us things, but he always shares books."
"You know," Blaise said, screwing up his face in thought, "now that you mention it, I think I remember what book you're talking about."
"You should know the one, yeah," Tracey said, frowning slightly in a way that wrinkled her small nose. Somehow, seeing it reminded Bella of Narcissa. Frowning, Bella blinked away the memory and focused her attention on what the girl was saying. " …always had it, even in class. What pocket was that one in?"
"This diary?" Dumbledore said, patting the bubble questioningly. As Tracey nodded energetically, he looked over at Pomfrey. "The right one. Eh, Poppy?"
"It was the right one, Headmaster," Madame Pomfrey said, her tone firm. "All damp, too, from the ink—"
"Ink?" Bella said quickly, sitting up immediately. "I didn't see any when I came in."
"I'd put an absorption spell on it by that point," Pomfrey said, nodding slightly. "Did that to all his things as soon as he was brought in, since I didn't want anything contaminating wounds. You can never be too careful with that sort of thing."
"And I believe you redirected the absorbed liquid?" Dumbledore asked, his calm tone belying the urgent look in his eyes. When Pomfrey nodded, he sighed in satisfaction. "Good, good— that will be just the thing. Now, Miss Davis, if you would…is there a problem?"
Tracey had just shaken her head twice in a row, and was now blinking confusedly. "No, I don't— I was just trying to remember more about that book of his. It's just— weird. Just can't quite get at it, really. It's there, but—"
"It's there?" Dumbledore said, tone turning slightly sharp. "Miss Davis, please look up for a moment. Look me in the…ah." Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly as Tracey looked him in the eye then flinched back without breaking eye contact. "Miss Davis, would you care to explain how it feels when you try to think about Antares' book?"
"Um," Tracey began, hesitating a little, "it's like— fuzzy. Just not…I don't know. Like there's a space there, sort of. Like if I tried really hard, I could remember what it looked like…" Bella's lips pursed of their own accord as she re-ran that rambling little admission in her head. It all pointed to the girl feeling like she had a gap in her memory, of course, clear as day.
Bella drew in a slow, calming breath, trying not to panic. The only problem, really, was that it all pointed to Antares having had something to do with it, which was preposterous. Wasn't it?
"I see," Dumbledore said again, his contemplative tone cutting straight across the seething panic starting to form in Bella's head. "I don't suppose you would object to a simple mind clarification charm? Just to help you focus…?" Tracey hesitated a moment, glancing briefly at Antares before she nodded slowly. "Now, then. Just relax— you should feel a little sharper after I've done this. Clarescere."
Bella quashed the urge to smirk bitterly— without even trying to sense the spell unravelling right in front of her, she could almost feel her senses sharpening as Dumbledore lightly wiggled his fingers, eyes intent on the now rather still Tracey, whose eyes were closed. Simple clarification charm indeed, Bella thought, inhaling slowly to control her reaction to the spell. A moment later, the feeling of proximity to some kind of painfully sharp smell diminished, but the girl's eyes remained closed. Dumbledore sat back slightly, crossing his ankles in a way that only suggested satisfaction. Bella could only shift and fidget, hoping that this little investigation didn't lead where it seemed to be going.
Tracey began to slump forward, very slowly. Blaise started and reached out for her, jerkily. As his hand touched her arm, her eyes flew open, and she started away from him, shivering.
Dumbledore was already leaning forward, his face the very picture of concern. "Miss Davis—"
"Merlin," Tracey said, shakily. "Oh god…"
"Miss Davis—"
She wasn't listening. "He didn't give them back," she whispered, her eyes now locked on Antares. "I can't believe it—"
"Miss Davis, who—"
"Blaise," Tracey said, turning toward her friend, a horrified look on her face, "you don't remember, do you? Oh god." Something about it all— the confused horror of her tone and her small, brief shivers finally clicked in Bella's mind, making her go still. She has been memory charmed, Bella thought, her mouth falling slightly open. Please not by my son. Please.
Blaise was staring at Tracey, now, looking confused. "What do you mean I don't remember? You're not making—"
"Obliviation," Tracey said, through gritted teeth. Bella forced herself to breathe, to listen. "Ring a bell?" When Blaise's mouth fell open, Tracey began to shake her head. "He just didn't— Professor," she switched tack, turning back to Dumbledore, "it wasn't— he meant to give our memories back. Antares wouldn't have— it was our idea. He meant to give them back, I'm sure he did—"
"But he did not," Dumbledore said slowly, stroking his beard. "I think I see, now—"
"You don't," Tracey said wildly, starting half out of her chair. Bella began to finger her wand, only marginally aware of Severus shifting sharply over at the other end of the room, gaze fixed on Dumbledore just as firmly as Tracey's fearful one was. Tracey coloured under the Headmaster's calm gaze, and she flopped back into her chair seconds later, her eyes now firmly on her twisting hands.
Bella forced her own hands, voluntarily empty, into her lap. If he did this, what else? What else has my son been doing? Suddenly, Dumbledore's determination last night seemed all too forthright, all too practical. For Merlin's sake, they didn't even know how long he'd had the diary, and considering the evil that had lain in it, a week seemed horribly long. Unfortunately, Tracey's words indicated longer— you should know the one, she'd said, confidently. That meant more than a week, didn't it?
Bella's hands began to shake from her logic, so she stopped trying to think it all out, focusing instead on Dumbledore. "Mr. Zabini," he was saying, his tone polite and encouraging, "do you understand the allegation Miss Davis has just aired against your friend?"
"Our friend," Blaise said firmly, defiantly. "And I don't think it's true. Antares doesn't— none of us know how to Obliviate anyone." He looked meaningfully at Tracey. "None of us know that kind of stuff."
"Just don't blame me if they find out," was her clipped, equally defiant answer. Bella stared at her, wondering what on earth she meant now. Surely it was obvious that they'd already found out that someone, if not Antares, had Obliviated both of his friends? Bella began to wonder about who else might have done it, then realised what she was doing and brought the train of thought to a crashing stop. "Antares didn't do anything wrong, all right?" Tracey was saying, to what seemed like no one in particular. "That's all I'm saying."
"I understand," Dumbledore said quietly, his tone strangely kind. "In fact, I am almost of the same opinion as you are, Miss Davis." Thank god for that, Bella thought, sighing inwardly. "Now," Dumbledore went on, encouragingly, "if Mr. Zabini will consent to have the same clarification charm performed on him…?"
Blaise looked questioningly at Tracey, who simply continued to stare down at her hands. After a moment, he shrugged and looked at Dumbledore. "If it'll help."
Dumbledore nodded, then, eyes intent, performed the charm again. This time, the effect was sharper. As Blaise's eyelids drooped and finally shut, Bella found herself unconsciously bounding her mind in flyaway threads in response to the feeling of her suppressed memories starting to surge forward. Once the spell ceased, Blaise slumped forward, more quickly and more severely than Tracey had. As she hauled him properly into his seat, he started awake. The fear in the look he exchanged with his friend then was almost palpable.
Dumbledore cleared his throat lightly. It was still enough to make the two children start in their seats. "Mr. Zabini?"
"He didn't do anything wrong," Blaise said, his voice shaking slightly. For a moment, Bella wanted very badly to hit him— if he didn't do anything wrong, he wouldn't need to know how to Obliviate someone, you little idiot— "We asked him to. Something must've gone wrong on his end, that's all—"
"So you agree, then, that Antares Black Obliviated both you and Miss Davis?" Dumbledore's calm tone was now tinged with steel, and his gaze uncompromising. Blaise stammered wordlessly for a moment, then looked at Tracey, whose eyes were now back on her hands. "With your consent, as it were. Is that so, Mr. Zabini?"
"We told him to do it," Blaise repeated. Bella, unable to bear the implications of that statement, looked away, down at Antares. How on earth had he gone from her reckless, smiling son to an endlessly sleeping mute, a victim twice over? "I— I think I even threatened—"
Bella tuned out the boy's plaintive tone with a bitter inward smile. Thrice over, she corrected herself, the bitter smile growing wide. Don't forget those wretched bullies—
"Be that as it may," Dumbledore said sternly, "your friend performed two illegal Memory Charms on both you and Miss Davis, and did not amend or change them as was probably planned. The fact that your memories were merely masked indicate that he did intend to, at some point, so—"
"It wasn't his fault! We wouldn't have asked him to if…" Blaise's indignant tone faltered into nothing as Tracey kicked him. Bella found herself staring at the girl. Wanting to tell her that she could do better than that, much better— "Something went wrong," Blaise said hesitantly, glancing at his scowling friend again. "That's all, we promise—"
"Mr. Zabini, I assure you I am already quite sure of what went wrong," Dumbledore said, interrupting. "What I need either you or Miss Davis to tell me is why on earth you asked your friend to Obliviate you when you knew he was stressed and not quite himself. I trust that he seemed distracted at the time?"
"Anyone would be distracted with four seventh years out for their blood, don't you think?" Tracey retorted, looking frightened but determined. "You make it sound like we didn't care about him at all—"
"And you are sure his distraction was simply due to the bullying?" Dumbledore asked, seeming not to have fully heard what she'd said. For once, Bella didn't care that the man was condescending dreadfully to the two children. Let them suffer, she thought, leaning over to brush Antares' hair. Let them feel it too. "Quite sure?"
"How were we supposed to know?" Tracey shouted shrilly, her tone only increasing the tension in the small room. Bella looked up at her, half-surprised at just how loud the girl was being, and felt foolishly satisfied to see that she had gone quite red. "It's not like we just went rooting in his head for it, all right? That wasn't the point—"
Blaise gasped, cutting her off with a hard push to the side. "Tracey!"
"Oh, come on, d'you think he's been asking to look in my eyes for nothing?" Tracey shouted at him, shoving him back with a violence that would have been shocking if not paired with that shout. "Wake up, Blaise—"
"Miss Davis, please—"
"So you supposedly know what's wrong with him," Tracey said, glaring at Dumbledore as she spoke over his concerned rejoinder. Bella checked the Headmaster's expression, and found herself wondering if she would ever be so calm in the face of such rampant— "So how the hell didn't you know what those bastards were doing to him? You just didn't even—"
—stupidity? Bella hesitantly crossed out the word in her mind. The girl had tears in her eyes now, she was sure of it—
"Miss Davis, you will pipe down and apologise to the Headmaster immediately," Severus said coldly, rising from his seat. As he slowly approached her, menacing as always, Tracey simply turned and glared at him, hands shaking with what looked rather more like anger than like fear. "I will not repeat myself, Miss Davis—"
"You," Tracey said, faintly. Bella stared at her, now uncontrollably fascinated with just how much hatred could fit in the gaze of one little girl. "You knew. You knew—"
"Poppy, please escort Miss Davis and Mr. Zabini out of the Hospital Wing," Dumbledore said firmly. "I think we know quite enough to be going on with, now— thank you for your time, Miss Davis. You too, Mr. Zabini." He ignored the glare Severus turned upon him, and actually smiled at Blaise as he stood hurriedly, obviously glad to be gone. Tracey only hesitated for a split second before following suit; as she was guided out by a strangely satisfied-looking Madame Pomfrey, she glared small daggers up at Severus as she moved past him.
Severus scowled as the door clicked shut behind Pomfrey. "That was uncalled for."
"Oh, sit down," Dumbledore said, sounding almost amused. "A little rudeness never hurt anyone. Besides," he continued, his light tone gaining an undercurrent of steel, "we do have quite enough to be going on with, thanks to the delightfully outspoken Miss Davis. If I'm not wrong, we should have quite the complete picture of events, once Antares wakes up." Drawing out his pocket watch again, Dumbledore frowned slightly. "Good lord, eight already…Severus? I think Minerva's forgotten about meeting us. Floo her for me, will you?"
"Albus—"
"It's actually quite urgent that she meet us as soon as possible, Severus. I'm sure you'll let her know." As Bella dazedly watched an obviously irritated Severus leave the room, Dumbledore turned to her, the amusement now absent from his expression. "She's the only one that can pull a certified barrister into our service quick enough, just now," he explained. "Or, at least, the only one that can pull the exact sort of barrister we will need."
"Professor, if I'm not mistaken, my son will no longer be a Hogwarts student by this time tomorrow morning," Bella said slowly. Deliberately. "I think we have quite enough time—"
"Not if we want to catch the school board during a half-session," Dumbledore replied, shaking his head slightly. "The next one is tomorrow, if I'm not mistaken. The next meeting would be in about two weeks time, and would be a full meeting of the board which, by then, would be afire with the story of your son's expulsion from Hogwarts. They would have read or heard the undoubtedly garbled story from the Prophet, and almost all of them would have made up their minds about the outcome of any trial that would take place. It would be a circus, quite frankly, which is the last thing either you or your son needs, after everything that has happened. And, of course, Lucius will doubtless have prepared countering evidence, or discredited the diary entirely in some way." Dumbledore gave her a meaningful look, then continued. "I've always preferred doing this sort of thing while I have the advantage. Don't you?"
"Yes," Bella said, simply, without hesitation. Then, just because she wanted to see if he'd answer, "How do you plan to put together a case in a day?"
"With fifteen vials and some very careful extraction of some certain memories," Dumbledore said blandly, tucking his pocket watch away. "I think every governor present on Thursday will benefit tremendously from seeing some of this whole thing first— no, first and a half hand, as it were. The extent of your son's injuries after the last bullying incident, if nothing else." Dumbledore gave her a questioning look. "All with your permission, of course."
Bella smiled, bitterly. "You have it, Headmaster. You can count on it."
A/N: Now, if you feel a bit cheated, imagine how I feel. I wrote this long scene expressly with the intention of having another very long scene after it, and look how my story rewards me. Bleh— on to the next chapter, I guess. It's from Rita's point of view, and is therefore awesome, because Rita Skeeter is ALWAYS awesome, right? Right?
As always, feel free to comment, review, scream, or whatever. I'm almost always online, and, with my new review-replying ethic, should get back to you pretty much immediately. Till the next chapter, guys!
Edit as of 8, March 2007: Feeling confused? No idea what on earth the diary is STILL doing to Antares? Can't wait for the next chapter (which is now an Antares chapter, again, due to above confusion and general consensus)? Head on over to the latest entry on my LJ, where I explain some of what was going on in the comments. Feel free to rail at me as much as you like, as usual.