Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Chapter 8: Secrets Revealed

(October- Christmas Holidays, Second Year)

I was reluctant to leave the Hospital Wing when Madame Longbottom announced that I was free to go. Not because my leg still felt uncomfortable and sore--although, truth be told, it did--but because I knew I'd face hell from Hugo once he saw that I was fine. The protection from his mockery that my injury had once given me was now gone.

Sure enough, and within twenty minutes of my departure from the Hospital Wing, I was all but mauled by Hugo, who hastily demanded, "So, tell me again, how exactly did you manage to blow off your entire leg?"

"Your concern for my welfare is touching, Hugo," I muttered dryly, though I could feel an embarrassed heat rising in my face. "Really, it just warms my heart."

"Your welfare is fine, or Madame Longbottom wouldn't've let you leave," Hugo said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Annoyed at his lack of sensitivity--sure, I expected it, but I still didn't enjoy it--I almost corrected his grammatical mistakes, until I realized how Rose- or Céline-like that would be. "Was your leg completely severed from your body?"

The thought alone was unpleasant enough to make me scrunch up my face in disgust. "Merlin, Hugo, what kind of question is that? I don't know. I had other things to worry about, you know?"

"Ah, c'mon, you must've heard something," Hugo urged me. "Just nod or shake your head. I'll keep bugging you until you tell me." And, since I knew he really wouldn't leave me alone until I answered, I nodded mutely. "So your leg was left on the floor?" I winced my confirmation, and he laughed. "What did they do with it?"

I groaned, mortified, and buried my face in my arms. "Ugh, I don't want to think about the answer to that, Hugo! Not at all!" I exclaimed, my voice muffled by the fabric of my robes. Why did the situation sound all the worse coming from his mouth? "It's 'vomit girl' all over again."

"Not 'vomit girl,'" he gleefully corrected me, "but 'legless girl.'"

I slowly and disbelievingly raised my head. "'Legless girl?'" I repeated, rolling my eyes. "You had hundreds of nicknames to chose from, and you settled on that. How uncreative can you get?"

His ears turned a slight pink, but his grin became more playful. "You know, we're supposed to be teasing you, Lils, not me."

"Yeah, well, I think we've just about exhausted every way to possibly ridicule me. It's time that we move on to you--or anything else," I offered. "I'm not picky."

Hugo shrugged good-naturedly. "Okay, we'll talk about something else," he said. "You've already told me everything I need to know." I grimaced, because I knew he was picturing the scene over and over again in his mind like a movie on repeat. "How about we discuss--and this," he added confidentially, as if what he was about to impart was of the highest import, "has been weighing on my mind for a while--the weirdness that makes people associate colors with school subjects."

I blinked in surprise, having expected something a bit more, well, secretive. "You've been thinking about this for a while? Why?"

"Well, it's strange, isn't it? I mean," he continued, "when I think of Herbology, green immediately pops into my head."

"Herbology involves plants, and plants are usually green. It's sort of an obvious link."

"But, what about DADA?" he asked. "I think of black--or red. How do you describe that?"

"Black is evil? I don't know." I paused, and then, unable to help myself--such completely random topics always drew my interest--I added, "I think of purple, though."

Hugo snorted at my choice. "Purple? It's not exactly an intimidating color, is it?"

"What are you talking about? It's definitely an intimidating color." My voice came out sounding more defensive than I'd intended. "It's even more intimidating than black--"

"Nothing is more intimidating than black."

"--because it's all mystical and ominous," I continued, ignoring Hugo's interruption. "I mean, in Potions, when your cauldron emits purple fumes, it's usually not a good thing, right? Doesn't that almost always mean your potion is poisonous?"

"Er, I don't actually know, so I'll take your word for it," Hugo said, shrugging again. "Potions isn't my forte."

"Well, it's not exactly mine, either, but that's what Céline once told me." And that, in my mind, automatically made the generalization true. "So, since purple's poisonous, it's more dangerous than black, ergo it's more intimidating, as well." I was almost positive that my argument had made no sense whatsoever, but Hugo mock-clapped for me all the same. I laughingly bowed in reply.

"Speaking of which--" Hugo began once we'd finished with this little show of ours, but I cut him off before he could finish.

"This is, I take it, going to be completely random?" I joked.

"Oh, haha, very funny," Hugo said sarcastically, though the effect was marred by his not-entirely-suppressed laugh. "But, it really is a speaking of which. You were talking about Céline earlier, and this has to do with Céline."

"I'm impressed."

Hugo stuck his tongue out. "You're annoying, that's what you are. I shouldn't even give you the message now--I wouldn't, really, if Céline hadn't been the one to ask--but here it is: she needs to see you immediately. She has a get-well present--and Merlin knows why she had to wait until after you were already well to give it to you. I'll never understand girls, I swear--that you 'absolutely need--'" he even inserted air quotes--"to have. She claims it's even better than Witch Weekly." His expression was doubtful, as if nothing could possibly be better than a copy of Witch Weekly; I was inclined to agree with him--in terms of reading material, at least.

I sought Céline out later that day, and, when I found her, I immediately understood why she had waited: her present to me was a trashy, overly-romantic pirate novel full to the brim with such cheesy innuendoes that it made me wince. There was no way Madame Longbottom would ever allow it in her Hospital Wing; I certainly was embarrassed to call it my own.

I wondered where she'd even gotten it from in the first place--we were only twelve, after all, and the book had quite the abundance of steamy scenes--but she refused to enlighten me, just as she refused to listen to all my protests that she was being too "kind." I had no choice but to accept the gift.

"Promise me that you'll finish it before the end of the year," Céline insisted after I had shoved the book to the bottom of my bag, intending to never look at it again. "Promise me, or I'll never forgive you."

"Fine, I promise," I reluctantly agreed, hoping against hope that, given enough time, she'd forget my vow--and that I would, too.

I left Céline's gift underneath all of my textbooks as October slowly faded into November, although I never quite forgot about it. There was nothing else, really, for me to think about, because the days of November all meshed together into a blend of monotony and boredom; nothing reached my ears about the Malfoy case--and I could never bring myself to ask Scorpius--nor about anti-halfhuman sentiments in the general Wizarding world.

That's not to say that I had no worthwhile conversations with Scorpius--whom I'd recently taken to calling "Scor." He hated this nickname at first, until I threatened to call him "Orpius" or "Pius" (I was, at least, going to give him a choice), which shut him right up--of course. As the holidays drew ever closer, my talks with him had the tendency to break the ennui of my life and put me in a lasting, cheerful mood.

"Do you want me to get you a Christmas present?" he asked awkwardly one night as we stole into a secluded section of the library. The first snowfall of the season had just begun, and we were taking advantage of the distraction to have our first conversation in days.

"If you want to," I told him neutrally, but, on the inside, my heart was skipping joyfully at the notion. These instinctive reactions of mine were becoming more and more common, and I could no longer pass them off as a fluke. They made me feel pleasant enough--more than pleasant enough, if I were to tell the truth--but I was starting to become annoyed at their persistence. "I'll probably get you one."

"Then I'll get you one, too." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Er, what would you like? The potato idea was my one burst of creativity, and not even a very good one at that."

"What are you talking about? It was the perfect gift," I immediately assured him, because, well, it was. "As for what to get me, I have no idea. Anything you have to give is fine."

"That's so useful, Lils. Makes everything so much easier," he said sarcastically. "No one ever likes every gift they receive; I definitely don't. So, for me--and this," he added with overly-done enthusiasm, "is me being helpful; you should try it sometime--I'd like--"

"I've already figured out what I'm going to get you," I interrupted, grinning. "Don't even worry about it." I was planning on giving him a suit of armor--and I do mean a genuine, historical suit of armor--for being such a "chivalrous" knight (Merlin knew where I'd be able to find one, of course); I was sure that he'd appreciate the randomness, if only because he so rarely was exposed to it normally.

"Should I be afraid?"

"Nah, it's not the talking, moving, walking type." An assurance which, rather than comforting him, seemed only to worry him more.

"But it can talk, walk--whatever--ordinarily?" he demanded. "Bloody hell, it's not a dog or something, is it? Because I hate animals."

"First of all--" I held up one finger--"my gift is not a dog, nor can dogs talk. Second of all, how in the world can you hate animals? We're definitely going to have to fix that. And, c --"

"You mean, 'third of all,'" he corrected me with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes at his nit-picking. "Yes, that's what I meant. Third of all, this type physically cannot do anything but just sort of sit there and wait to be used. I swear that you've got nothing to fear--and, really," I asked, "would I lie to you?"

He relaxed at that. "I suppose not. But, even if you managed to come up with this gift all on your own," he said, "I still need you to give me some idea of what to get you for Christmas."

"Get me an… umbrella," I replied, saying the first thing that came to mind. His unconvinced expression made me reconsider. "A toothpick?" He shook his head. "How about…" I trailed off thoughtfully, until I decided on both an thrilling and terrifying idea. "Well, okay, I do have something," I finally said, my voice soft and hesitant. I could hardly believe that I was going to admit this out loud. "I want… art supplies."

"Art supplies?" he repeated skeptically, as if this reluctant confession of mine was a lie. I fought the urge to glare at his doubt. "Why?"

"Because I, er, like to--" I braced myself for the agony I'd always associated with this admission, the loss of my secret--"like to draw," I admitted. The words were hard to get out, but, once they'd been laid in the open, they were surprisingly painless. Instead of regret, I felt an excitement--a nervous and anxious one, yes, but an excitement nonetheless--to tell him more. "No, I love to draw."

He blinked at me. "Since when?" he asked, confused.

"Since I was six and my childhood best friend died," I told him, a heavy weight--one that I'd almost forgotten that I'd been carrying--lifting from my chest. "Drawing was a way for me to escape this world, to lose my worries for a time. I never told anyone about it, though; I was afraid that, if I did, it would no longer be my escape, or that one of my cousins would try to upstage me in talent."

"I see," he said simply, but I could tell that he really did see. Maybe that's why I was ready to talk about my hobby with him and not my family: I knew that he would understand. "So, who was the first person you ever told?"

"You." He looked taken aback, but pleased that I trusted him. "You're the first person I've ever told."

"A secret for a secret, then?" And, seeing my confused look, he clarified, "Should I tell you one of my secrets, as well?" Even though I definitely did want to hear one of his secrets, I shrugged; I didn't want him to feel forced into telling me. "Okay, I will." He took a deep breath to prepare himself for the plunge. "I have a fascination with History of Magic. I complain all the time about Professor Binns' class and the uselessness of what he has to teach, but I actually love to hear what he has to say."

I giggled. "Aw, Scor, that's absolutely adorable."

"Shut up." A smile spread slowly, but surely across his face; I hoped that meant that he, too, had felt the relief of a burden disappearing. "Yours is just as 'adorable.'"

"I know, we've both just utterly embarrassed ourselves in front of each other. But," I added with mock sternness, "we have to pinky swear that we won't ever share these embarrassments with anyone else. Make it official and all, you know?"

"What in the bloody hell is a pinky swear?"

"It's like the muggle version of the Unforgivable Vow, only it's bound on honor, not magic," I explained, and he snorted at the concept. "We link pinkies, make our promise not to tell anyone else these secrets, and kiss our thumbs."

"And this is a common practice?" he asked, amused. "People often bound themselves on honor?" I frowned at the wry way he said the word "honor," as if such a quality could not possibly exist in a person; how pessimistic could he get?

"Not everyone lies and cheats all the time, you know? For some people, honor is incentive enough to keep a promise."

"For you, maybe, because you're… you." I wondered if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult. "But, for almost everyone else? Not such a binding incentive."

"Well, will it be binding enough for you?"

He paused for a moment, then nodded his head surely. "Yes, I think so." He entwined his pinky with mine in an air of mock solemnity; my skin tingled at the contact. "I promise not to tell anyone else that you love to draw."

"I promise not to tell anyone that you love History of Magic." We both kissed the back of our respective thumbs. "Or that you've got the hots for Professor Binns," I added teasingly when he had let go of my hand (I could still feel his touch, gentle and warm).

"Cheers, Lils."

I returned to Gryffindor Tower light of heart, still smiling from my talk with Scor, and found Rose waiting eagerly in the Common Room. I worried, for a few seconds, that she was going to demand where I'd been--or that she already knew, and was going to reprimand me severely for it--but she did nothing of the sort. Instead, she pulled me aside and revealed, under the strictest of confidences, that she had been asked out by a cute Ravenclaw fifth-year and had said yes.

Neither of us had ever been too knowledgeable on the latest fashions in the Wizarding world--which potions would make one's hair the silkiest and shiniest, which make-up spells look the most alluring, etc.--so the (lasting) changes this boy, Demetrius Berkeley, wrought in Rose were all the more noticeable. She suddenly transformed from a reclusive, strict wallflower into a pretty, outgoing, and all-around popular blossom, and she was all the nicer for it. Sure, she was still her usual overachiever self, but at least she no longer attempted to force everyone else to live up to those expectations. I even began to suspect that Rose was breaking a few school rules--such as curfew--to see Demetrius during this time period.

Yet, while these differences were appreciated by almost everyone at Hogwarts, her parents--or, rather, Uncle Ron, because Auntie Hermione was surprisingly blasé about the matter--were horrified. Rose was, Uncle Ron claimed, much too popular for her own good, and much too young to "sexify"--I blushed on Rose's behalf when I heard him invent this word--herself thus. When he found out the changes were for a boy, however, and not just for herself, he flew even more off the handle and threatened to pull Rose straight out of school until she learned to control her "promiscuity." Auntie Hermione entered the argument at that point, with Hugo joining in shortly afterwards.

Dad took this--the fact that ever single one of them was shouting--as a sign that it was time for our family to return home, but he had difficulty shepherding Mum to the fireplace. "Is it sadistic that I love to watch them fight?" she asked, craning her neck to glance back at them, and Dad laughed. "It's like a train wreck: you want to look away, but you just can't."

Dad, amused as he was while watching Uncle Ron deal with Rose, became serious once we'd arrived back home, and pulled me to the side to "lay down the law." I wasn't allowed to date until I was thirty-five or married, whichever came last--a stipulation which, after many protests, he finally changed to whichever came first, as if that was somehow better. It took all of my self-control not to repeatedly roll my eyes.

Mum, when she found out about my conversation with Dad, told me to ignore him ("He's being a git, Lils. You can date whenever you feel ready"). She knew what it felt like to be limited by male family members in the relationship department, and she wasn't about to let me experience the same treatment.

The holidays passed by pleasantly enough, until Dad--and, by extension, the rest of us--was given an invitation to attend Christmas Eve dinner at his cousin Dudley's house. This had only happened twice before--our families had been on each other's Christmas card for as long as I could remember--and I hated going there, where his prim and proper wife glared at me as if I was an unpleasant bug she longed to squish but couldn't--I talked too much, she'd often complain to "Uncle" Dudley when she thought I wasn't listening; it was unnatural--but I hardly had a choice in the matter. Attendance was mandatory, not optional.

Christmas dawned perfect and cheerful, full of delicious meals and thoughtful presents, but the next day was much less enjoyable. The owl carrying our copy of the Daily Prophet arrived bright and early, carrying an article in its beak--"CAUGHT: VAMPIRES PRACTICING MAGIC IN ALBANIA"--that cast a dreary light over the end of holidays. Apparently, Callisto Aquinas had not vented out her prejudices thoroughly enough the first time around; she'd been lying patiently in wait for another opportunity to do so.

"The Daily Prophet has recently received shocking insider information. A colony of vampires in Albania have broken with the international wizarding law which states that no non-human magical being may bear a wand by teaching themselves to perform magic. Employees from the Albanian Ministry of Magic quickly dispersed the group, all of whom will stand before the Albanian High Court in the near future on charges of treason against order and justice, and confiscated their wands, but fear remains yet in the world.

"Rumors of such vampire activity have long been prevalent in the Wizarding world--see previous editions of the Daily Prophet--and here, finally, is the clear-cut proof of their verity. No longer can witches and wizards deny the fact that vampires, and magical creatures in general, have become increasingly subversive; the evidence is irrefutable. With such doubts eliminated, the time has now come to take action before it is too late, before this problem snowballs out of our control. We have no reason to wait any longer.

"The Ministry of Magic, of course, insists that the issue is either nonexistent or well under control, but what has it done to prove this? Has it orchestrated a grand-scale search of all vampires--and other magical beings, as well, for the sake of safety--to alleviate any fears witches and wizards might have of a possible coup-d'é tat? Has it imposed harsher regulation on the purchase of wands to make sure non-humans cannot get their hands on wands again? Has it even alerted the masses to the dangers they might be in so that they might keep a protective eye out?

"The answer, naturally, is no; the Ministry of Magic has done none of the above. It has kept an entirely too secretive stance on this matter--when, exactly, was it planning on informing the larger wizarding community about these treacherous Albanian vampires?--and it does not seem likely that this will change in the near future, not unless the people give the Ministry a gentle, but unyieldingly firm push in the proper direction. The Ministry has already proven once that it has the tendency to ignore serious threats--think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named--so the average witches and wizards need to stand together to prevent our world from falling apart again. Who knows what might happen if no pro-active action is taken? How many will suffer the ghastly consequences?"

The article was short and not nearly as powerful as her first one--I had the sense that she'd rushed to get this out before the Christmas season ended, though why she'd want to ruin Christmas I had no idea--but it still made me angrier than I had ever been in my life. My teeth were clenched so tightly together while I read that I was shocked they didn't break.

"Lily," Al said when I'd finally finished, "can I talk to you for a moment? Privately?" James shot Al a grim look, but Al refused to meet his eyes.

"Er, sure?" I allowed myself to be lead to Al's room, disgusting mess that it was (had he never heard of a washing machine? Or an air freshener?), with only a mild amount of impatience.

"You," he began, once he'd shut the door behind us, "cannot tell anyone else--except for Céline and Hugo, I suppose--about this. It's a life-and-death type of secret." Which blew my mind, because this was, what, the third deepest and darkest I'd been exposed to in less than a month? What was going on?

"I swear I won't tell anyone but them," I assured him, and he nodded.

"I know you won't. Okay, well, you know how the Aquinas article mentions how maybe there are vampires learning magic in England, too?" he asked. "It's telling the truth; there are. Hagrid's the one teaching them."

I could only blink at him in confusion. "What?"

"Hagrid's been going into the Forbidden Forest every few nights to show the vampires how to perform simple magic," he clarified. "Nothing too complex, because Hagrid himself isn't too great at performing complex spells, but it's magic nonetheless."

"Do Mum and Dad know?" Al shook his head. "So why has he told you this?" Having adults in the know, after all, was safer than having children.

"He wants Rose, James, Fred, and I to teach the more complex stuff when we get older. I was doubtful about agreeing at first," Al admitted, "but he took us to meet them once--the only time we've seen them so far--and they're a surprisingly normal bunch. If you ignore their intensely pale skin and reddish eyes, they can easily pass for just another group of school-aged wizards. I mean, they don't even suck blood, because that's Hagrid's condition for instructing them."

I tried (unsuccessfully) to raise an eyebrow; I'd not yet learned about vampires in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but I was almost certain that drinking blood was necessary to their survival. "Er, they don't need blood to live?"

"To live forever, but not to live in general," Al explained. "They stop aging if they drink human blood--some chemical in their bodies breaks down the blood and uses it to halt the aging process--and that's the reason why most keep the habit up--well, that and the fact that there's always an aching in their bodies whenever they haven't drunk blood; they can feel themselves growing with a more painful acuteness than humans can."

His information was so specifically and knowledgably given that I asked, "Rose?"

Al grinned. "Er, yeah, it was the speech she gave me the first time we found out about the vampires. I was amazed at how eagerly she consented to help Hagrid, considering how this breaks about a hundred laws and all, but she never had any qualms. Must be Auntie Hermione's influence."

The irony that the four of them were easily willing to place trust in vampires, but never in Slytherins did not escape me--I wondered how they could be so blatantly hypocritical--but I remained silent about the matter. I wanted to be a part of what they were doing too much to risk angering them. "So, how can I help?"

"By keeping our lessons--which we're starting next term--up when we leave Hogwarts. You don't have to do anything big for another couple of years." I opened my mouth, and Al hastily amended, "You can't do anything for another couple of years. I know that they're supposed to be good and all, but it's still dangerous, and you're too young to deal with that danger yet."

"That's not--"

"It is true, and you know it. You three can still meet them and talk to them, but you're not to seek them out when James, Rose, Fred, or I aren't there. Agreed?"

I huffed loudly. "Fine. But you have to promise," I insisted, because it really wasn't fair if I was the only one to make a concession, "in turn, to take me--sorry, us--to see them as soon as we get back."

"As long as Hagrid says that it's okay, then, yes, I promise we, or at least I, will take you."

I couldn't wait to return to school again; I had no idea just what I was getting myself into.

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A/N: Unfortunately, I won't have time to write more of this until Friday, or possibly even next Monday, so the next update might take a week and a half to two weeks. Sorry!

Also, just for clarification, I added in the visiting Dudley part because JK recently updated her website to say that Dudley and Harry were semi-close now--they would send each other Christmas cards and sometimes visit (visits which were "dreaded" by the Potter children)--so I thought it'd be fun to add in. ;)