The sky was crisp and clear, only a few white clouds drifted lazily across the blue surface. I could hear faint cries coming from the Quidditch pitch and faintly make out the indistinct figures swerving and swooping on their brooms.
The good weather had drawn many people outside. A group of young boys were squealing as they waded through the reeds on the edge of the lake, probably taunting the grindylows. It was easy to understand why. They're just so adorable with that slimy pale green skin, sharp teeth and long fingers that they just love to affectionately wrap around your neck.
Turning my back on the unfolding disaster, I picked my way through a maze of rocks and trees until I stumbled down to the rippled surface of the lake. I pulled the slightly squished and bruised apple from my bag and my mind wandered back to my patronus as I gazed across the lake.
It was a beautiful place. The breeze stirred the leaves and pulled at my hair, and the reflection of the swaying trees was only slightly distorted in the gently lapping water of the lake. Songbirds filled the air with their vibrant music and drowned out the sounds of the students from the castle.
But I saw it through a dark haze. Let's just call it pessimism and assume that the relentless pressure from all manner of problems, from my Mother to the Marauders, had left me with enough sanity for that to be a viable explanation.
I'd imagined Hogwarts as a vastly different place in that summer before my first year. I was far less cynical, more naïve then. Little eleven year old Jenna was convinced she was going to be the greatest witch that had ever lived. At the time I wasn't too keen on the warty nose that all witches obviously had to embrace, but decided I would deal with that if I could brew bubbling green potions and turn people into toads with Scrap as my loyal sidekick. That's what happened in the novels, and I figured being a witch would mean I was effectively living one.
A happily ever after would've been nice, but reality never failed to intrude. My potions usually ended up as a thick smoking green goo, but my visits to the hospital wing soon taught me this was a bad thing, and human transfiguration was slightly harder than a snap of the fingers and a couple magic words.
'What a rip-off,' I decided with a humourless smirk, 'I need a parody rewrite. Preferably with more pineapple.'
...
I wondered along a lonely deserted corridor. I wasn't going or doing anything particular. I wasn't even sure where I was. I was just bored. Very bored.
Sure, there was homework to be done, a three foot Transfiguration essay that wasn't going to write itself, and any number of other things that could fill my spare time, but I just really couldn't be bothered to do any of it. What I felt like was a hot chocolate and maybe some biscuits and cheese.
Mmmn, yes, definitely some cheese. It was time to do something just because I felt like it.
The great flaw in my plans was sending me in circles. Lunch was long over and I had no idea where the kitchens were. The Marauders would know, but seeking out their company was not an option. The ghosts may have floated through them once or twice –not that they'd have any need for the kitchens– and Nick might at least point me in the right direction. He'd also just as likely get all moody and offended again.
Just as I was turning around, intent on just wandering around near the Great Hall until I stumbled across some form of an entrance, the silence was split by a high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream. I froze, heart jumping to my throat, before I whirled around and started running towards the sound. I blame the small insignificant Gryffindor in me.
There was only one room along the length of the corridor. Light spilled from the open door. I slowed to a walk as I got closer, my hand warily fastened on my wand. So as not to misinform you over the existence of any bravery, I'll take the time to specifically note that my heart was beating rapidly, my hands shook and my head pounded. All that excitement was bound to give me a headache.
I recognised the part of the castle now. It was Filch's lair, I'd heard the stories, but I'd never been inside.
I may not have had much Gryffindor courage but I was determined not to develop any of the trademark Gryffindor stupidity either. I took care to be silent as a walked towards the opening, as opposed to racing into trouble with swords blazing. Muffled sounds of swearing and more yelling emanated from the room.
Thoughts bounced around my head, prominent amongst them were 'torture… pain… attackers' probably courtesy of a few Dark wannabes. But we were far from their dungeons, and immediately after lunch was a stupid time to bully someone. I almost dismissed that line of thought as irrational, but accepted that they could've been striking when people would least expect it, or perhaps they were just as bored as I was.
It could've been Filch in there, which got me seriously questioning my standing right outside his office. Maybe he'd finally cracked and was torturing students. Who knew what that man was capable of when he was angry, and, it was just a hunch, but I got the impression he either was or would be pretty cranky.
I forced myself to stop jumping to conclusions: look, calculate, then improvise. I was very close, just a few more steps and I'd be able to peek inside. But I didn't get to look. A hand materialised from thin air and fastened around my wrist. A second later, another hand appeared and muffled my scream. When I say 'materialised from thin air' I literally mean they just appeared from nowhere. There were a pair of hands floating in the near-deserted corridor, and they pulled me into a dark alcove behind a tapestry.
The next few seconds were quite emotionally upheaving for me. My first reaction was to panic, naturally. In my defence, I was being dragged by an unknown antagonist who, as I soon discovered, happened to be much stronger and larger than I was. He was also most probably a guy, if the smell was anything to go by.
But my panic was soon overrun by anger. I wasn't about to let that stranger drag me to what might very well have been my death. I wasn't planning on going quietly. Figuratively speaking. His grip over my mouth was like steel, and consequently I couldn't properly express how pissed off I was. All I could do was growl furiously from the back of my throat and scratch, kick and struggle to the best of my ability. The person was lucky he took my wand because I was in the mood for a cursing demonstration the world had never seen.
And then, to demonstrate the bottomless pit that is human stupidity, my mysterious attacker asked me to quit my struggling and seemed to expect me to oblige.
I froze upon recognising that voice, and I was finally dragged out of sight and into the alcove. It was dark, I could barely see, but my eyes still darted around frantically. The whole place smelt like dude. Whilst I was engaging in my little panicking routine, some sort of cloak fell off my kidnapper, but I was barely paying attention to that. The chief reason being that the previously floating hands were attached to arms, and those arms were attached to James Potter.
Anger announced it reappearance with a hearty punch. The corpse, formerly known as Potter, was about to sustain serious injury. Scratch that. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I spotted his henchmen and decided that Potter wouldn't be the only one suffering a painful death.
The tiny space was, well, tiny. There wasn't much room to go around and I was sandwiched between Potter and a wall. It was not very comfortable, for any number of reasons. I could just imagine the consequences of someone walking in at that moment. It would not be pretty. Potter's fan club would probably kill me before I had the chance to properly extract my revenge.
I would've kicked him where it hurt, but unfortunately they had probably foreseen that reaction and I had been immobilised. And by my wand. Ooh yeah, heads were gonna role.
Black was shamelessly struggling not to laugh. He had to lean on Peter for support. At least Pettigrew had the decency to be afraid. He was watching me from the far corner of the alcove, watery eyes wide and terrified. It was mostly needless though; Black's demise was higher on my to-do list. Slightly.
"Don't be afraid, we'll explain everything in a minute," I heard Lupin's voice, muffled as his face was squished against a wall, whisper from somewhere in the shadows. I didn't want his reassurance, I didn't even particularly want my wand at that moment. All I wanted was the counter-curse to the stupid spell that kept me from tearing Potter limb from limb.
Everyone froze as someone, presumably Filch, hobbled from his office and ran, still cursing, down the hall. The boys let out a collective breath and hurriedly stumbled from the confined space.
Lupin was the first to pay me any notice. He glanced at me fearfully, "Ok, Night, I'm going to take the charm off now. Just… don't overreact." If I was able to narrow my eyes I would have.
'Start running, Potter.'
Lupin muttered something under his breath. At first I thought it was a prayer, and that probably would have been the sensible thing to do, as I soon discovered I was able to move.
My furious eyes snapped up to meet Potter's. He must have seen something he didn't like. He gulped, causing me to grin.
The next thing I knew, Potter was fleeing before me, Peter had dived back into the safely of the alcove and Black was rolling on the floor laughing.
Lupin was unsuccessfully trying to reason with me, "Night! Come on, we had to grab you-"
"Not that I don't admire you diplomacy skills, Moony, because they're clearly working, but could I have my wand please?" Potter called as we made our way past. He managed to gain a few metres because I took the slightly longer route that involved my feet meeting Black's ribs.
Lupin glared, "No. If you would both just listen-"
"Listen?!" Potter yelled incredulously, panting slightly, "There is a mad chick out for my head and, trust me, she's not as weak and scrawny as she looks!"
Throughout the entirety of the charming conversation, I managed to sum up all of my feelings into one creative, expressive word: "ARGGGGH!"
Eventually I stopped, my eyes following Potter as he slowed down much further down the corridor. Stupid Quidditch fitness and agility. I would've pursued him further, but, as it was, I was focusing on not keeling over and dying from heart failure.
"You'd better have one hell of an explanation, Lupin!" I stood, breathing heavily, waiting impatiently for him to come up with a very good reason as to why I shouldn't continue my mad rampage once my heart stopped trying to pulverise my ribcage.
"Well, ah… we may have done something to anger Filch slightly, that's why we were hiding, see?" Lupin began ringing his hands nervously. Taking my silence as a positive sign, he continued. "We heard just how angry he was-"
"Yeah," Black agreed, eyes gleaming, and propped himself up on Lupin's shoulder, "You'd have thought we'd let a dragon loose or something. Oh, Pete, make a mental note of that: we haven't tried dragons yet!"
Lupin rolled his eyes. "The point being, he would've taken his anger out on the first person he saw, and you were there about to race into his office."
"Dooooomed," James added, nodding compellingly from his end of the corridor.
I crossed my arms, "Forgive the scepticism, but you expect me to believe you dragged me out of Filch's line of fire when I could have been a perfectly capable scapegoat, just out of the noble goodness of your heats?"
"Well, it doesn't sound so plausible when you put it that way," Lupin grumbled. "Ok, so that was a lie. Your appearance may have caused him to look around for accomplices and he would murder us."
"You should've just stuck with the lie, mate," Black muttered.
I wanted to do more lasting damage, but unfortunately my wand was in Black's stupid hand. Instead, I had to revert to trying to melt them into little puddles of goo with my eyes.
'That's right! Cower before my menacing glare of doom and destruction.' Evidently, I needed to work on the destructive prowess of my glares, because it clearly wasn't working. After the initial threat on their lives had passed, the boys weren't looking the slightest bit frightened at all, but I kept my interpretive form of glaring up at full force. Maybe I'd get lucky.
My anger was wearing off. I was tired, slightly overwhelmed and feeling the beginnings of that headache. Essentially, due to exceeding my daily dosage of excitement, I was suffering from an excitement hangover. Oh the joys of life.
"Whatever." I sighed, not able to hold onto my anger any longer. I just wanted to find me that hot chocolate, now for an entirely different reason.
"What did you people do, anyway? I thought someone died."
"Let's just say we turned his world upside down." Potter sniggered, apparently this was something terribly witty, because Pettigrew started guffawing loudly. I was admittedly curious, and walked towards the door cautiously.
"Make it quick, Night, Filch probably ran off to get a mallet. Mashed Potter is not too high in vitamin me."
It was after this comment that I became aware that we had been outside a provoked psychotic Filch's office for quite a while. I didn't like Potter and I certainly didn't want to agree with him, but I had to concede with what he said. It was time to scram.
The good little coward within me should have taken over and hightailed it out of there, but I was still a Gryffindor; we're naturally curious, impulsive and, above all, stupid. I looked in, of course.
The office was unexpectedly organised. There was a desk in the centre covered in dull paperwork. Behind it was a collection of filling cabinets and hanging from the nearest wall, looking suspiciously as if they had been polished fairly recently, were chains and manacles. Cobwebs covered the small chandelier, only source of light in the room.
Really, the only notable way the office was unusual at all, was that everything was upside down and stuck to the ceiling. Not a thing was out of place: the chandelier was rooted to the floor, the chains hung towards the ceiling. In fact, the only thing that looked out of place, but was by far the most amusing addition, was Mrs Norris who was perched on the underside of the desk and hissing furiously.
As I watched, mouth gaping, as a piece of paper fell from the desk and floated to a rest at my feet.
I had to hand it to them; they were nothing if not thorough.
"Wow." I let out before I could stop myself.
"Yes," Black said from beside me, hand over his heart with mock sincerity, "We are just incredible, aren't we?"
"What? No! I didn't say that!"
"But you were thinking it."
I instantly denied those thoroughly false accusations, "I was listing unflattering adjectives."
"Such as sexy, charismatic, alluring…" Black continued to announce his alleged traits while I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I did that so often I was legitimately concerned that I'd wear out my eyelids. "… criminal genius, witty rogue, Godlike-"
"Actually," I interrupted his growing list, "what sprang to mind, chiefly, was arrogant, annoying, immature and conceited."
"I notice you didn't say ugly."
"It's included in the full edition. I'll owl you a copy tomorrow."
"You're in denial, my incredible awesomeness is too much for you to handle."
By now our faces were inches apart. Mine was flushed with anger, while his was alight with a confident smirk. I wanted to punch him. Again. Evidently I have quite a violent personality. At that moment I wanted to embrace said violence.
Oblivious to the growing tension, Pettigrew peered through the doorway at the organised destruction, "Guys, I'd say we can call that a successful tes-mfgh."
His voice was muffled as Black's hand quickly shot out to cover it. "Yes, Peter," he muttered, still smirking, "But we'll talk about that later."
I glanced between them, "What?"
"Oh, nothing, we're just talking about something that's not fit for present company." Black's eyes had hardened and he met my glare at full force. He was bored with our little word games. That's all other people were to him; just toys to amuse him when he saw fit. Provoking me was a game, but when the game grew old the player moved on.
"Um, Sirius," James interrupted our glaring contest but ignored me completely. "We really should go now."
"Yeah," Black agreed, finally breaking eye contact to roughly shove my wand back in my hands. He wasn't scared I would hex him –thought no doubt he thought I would try– but his eyes showed nothing but contempt. I decided I hated condescending Black more than arrogant Black.
I stalked off, stuffing my wand into my robes as I went. Lupin muttered something about "Filch" and "trouble" before starting in the opposite direction. The others quickly followed.
I hadn't taken two steps before Filch rounded the corner with Dumbledore in tow.
Potter recovered his gusto the quickest, "Why, good morning, Professor, fancy seeing you here. What an unlikely and completely unrelated coincidence!"
"Good morning, Mr Potter."
I couldn't believe Filch ran to the headmaster because of a little prank. It was probably because they'd upset his cat. I studied Dumbledore. He didn't look mad. On the contrary, he looked quite amused. But considering my people skills, I was probably completely wrong.
I was quite certain in saying that Filch, on the other hand, was definitely not amused. He had quite an effective glare of doom and destruction. I wanted to shrink away and hide, and yet, I was also temped to ask for lessons. A good evil glare is hard to come by and you never known when the next one is going to show up. This happened to be the angriest, more convincingly evil glare I'd ever seen, and I'd lived with my mother for eleven years and Lily Evans since. No one knew the infamous Lily Glare quite like James Potter, but he was holding up against Filch's quite well. Over the years he'd probably developed some tolerance to it.
"They should all be expelled- they removed the gravity from my office, that's dark magic!" Filch hollered, effectively drawing my attention back to him. He was practically jumping around in front of Dumbledore now. He reminded me of a little dog, actually. I remembered I should probably be afraid of this little dog that was still demanding my head.
Dumbledore walked briskly into Filch's office and stood in the centre of the room with his hands on his hips. He was talking softly to himself and stroking his beard. I was sure I heard the words 'original', 'Stephen Fry' and 'socks'. Have I mentioned yet that I'm quite sure Dumbledore is not entirely sane?
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said almost immediately, "Sticking charms, and many of them, if I am correct."
"Damn, I was sure it'd take them longer to work that out," Potter muttered before handing a few coins to Lupin, who looked quite pleased with his winnings.
Dumbledore seemed amused by the small transaction. Or, at least that's what I gathered from the twinkle in his eye. It'd take some serious skill to be able to maintain an eye twinkle while fuming.
"I want to see some punishment!" Filch howled. Hmm, yes, definitely a yappy little dog. "These rats have ruined my office!"
Dumbledore didn't seem amused by Filch at that moment, but he conceded anyway, "Of course. Did you do this?" he asked, guesting to the desk. Mrs Norris growled. I suspected he already knew the answer but preferred to hear it from the culprits. Or maybe he was just a nice bloke and would let the Marauders out of it if they played innocent.
"Yes, sir," Potter beamed and added a cheeky salute. Apparently he didn't mind being classified as a culprit and took some pride in his work. Idiot.
"You will all have to remove the charms and return the office to its previous state, and you will each receive a detention. You are excused from classes until finished."
'Wait. All of us?'
"But, sir-"
"Yes, Miss Night?" I'd never solely had the headmaster's attention before. His twinkling eyes had adopted a calculating gleam. I really didn't want to meet his gaze any more.
"I- er… nothing."
"Good luck then," he said softly before turning away. I got the feeling he wasn't talking about cleaning up the office.
"Right, maggots," Filch said gleefully, "Get to it!"
...
Much, much later we emerged from that dreaded office. My muscles aches and my last shred of patience had been thoroughly fried.
Filch had been very particular about where his furniture went; Lupin and I spent half an hour straightening his desk before he was satisfied. Also, I'm not sure the punishment entailed polishing his manacles. He made me do it anyway.
I thought we were almost done about an hour ago, but no; Black decided to charm one of the filing cabinets to chase Mrs Norris. It almost got her, too, before Filch flipped completely and made us organise every paper in the filing cabinet –about a hundred years' worth of detention slips– in alphabetical order.
Eventually the evil caretaker finally couldn't find a reason to enslave us any longer.
"At least we got out of History of Magic," Potter said, annoyingly optimistic as always. There's nothing more irritating than the silver lining when you're focusing on feeling peeved and gloomy.
"Yeah, and dinner," groaned Pettigrew mournfully, clutching sadly at his growling stomach.
I couldn't agree more, after all, missing two meals in a day was not fun. Sucking up my pride, which was much harder than I would like to admit, I asked Lupin where the kitchens were.
But it was Black who answered, I jumped as he spoke, not even realising he'd been behind me. "Down the stairs, towards the dungeons, past the cellars, take the corridor to the end and there will be a wall. You just have to guess the password."
"Right," I muttered, stifling a yawn, unfortunately my brain wasn't working properly. I started down the corridor.
"Any bets on how long it'll take her to realise she's going to the Slytherin common rooms?"
I turned to see the Marauders hadn't moved from where I'd left them. "I heard that!"
"Ah, dammit Potter, way to ruin all the fun," Black slugged his friends arm.
He met my eyes and seemed to be considering. He glanced at the others who shrugged indifferently, Lupin helpfully pointing out that I'd just follow them anyways, which I would, and Peter moaned again about his stomach digesting itself, which mine already had.
Black waved me over, "Come on, then, let's get going before Pete tries to eat me."
After an uncomfortable pause, Black sniffed the air, sighed and said, "Even though I just spent an hour cleaning out cat litter, I still smell incredibly awesome."
I blinked. He was really going to start that again? He was never quite right in the head, that one.
"Sure, if you consider Eau de Toilette to be fashionable." I admit I couldn't resist taking his goad.
The game was back on.
