Hey there, readers! First of all, there are four reasons I haven't given you a chapter in ages: I went back to school and my teachers decided to all pile on the homework at once (starting the four Cambridge classes that my school offers may have something to do with it), I discovered a great show called Doctor Who and have been devouring all the episodes (I like nine, personally), I got myself a Tumblr (enough said), and I'm just a chronic procrastinator. Sorry about that.
Harry Potter's still owned by JK Rowling, not me.
Chapter Seven
Mudbloods and Murmurs
The second day of term, Jessica tied her hair up in a high ponytail for the first time she could remember. It was nice to feel the weight of her hair off her neck, but the second she stepped out of her dormitory, she was followed by whispers wherever she went as people noticed the scar on her neck. These thankfully began to die down by the end of the week, but it had given Colin Creevy a new bburst of energy to see it, and when he wasn't talking or taking pictures, his eyes were fixed on it. It seemed that he had Jessica and Harry's timetables memorised, because he would appear at odd times to say hello, and nothing gave him a bigger thrill than to hear, "Hullo, Colin," back, no matter how exasperated they would sound.
The weekend could not come sooner; Harry, Ron, Hermione and Jessica were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Jessica however was shaken awake several hours earlier by Katie Bell.
"What's going on?" she mumbled groggily.
"Wood's organised a bloody Quidditch practice!"
"What, he couldn't have waited till the sun was up?"
"Nope, now get up or you'll be late. Meet you at the Quidditch pitch in ten."
Jessica reluctantly rolled out of bed and pulled on her scarlet Quidditch robes. She grabbed her Cleansweep Seven and made her way down to the Quidditch pitch.
When Jessica arrived, she was almost the last one there. When she met the rest of the team, only Harry was missing.
"Jessica," said Wood as she entered the room, "just who I was looking for. Where's your brother? Never mind, I need to talk to you about your positions. As you know, there can only be one Seeker per Quidditch team and as last year you were first years, we let you share the role. This year, however, only one of you can be the Seeker."
Jessica looked to him in shock. One of them wasn't staying on the Quidditch team.
"I'll tell you more when Harry gets here, but I thought you'd like to know.
At that moment, Harry stumbled through the door, looking as tired as the rest of the team.
"There you are, Harry, what kept you?" said Wood briskly. He turned back to the team. "Now, I wanted a quick talk with all of you before we actually get onto the pitch, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make the difference..."
Wood held up a large diagram of a Quidditch pitch, on which were drawn many lines, arrows and crosses in different colours. He took out his wand, tapped the board and the lines began to move over the diagram like little snakes. As he launched into a long speech about the new tactics, Jessica, along with the rest of the team, began to drift back towards sleep. Fred Weasley's head drooped onto Katie Bell's shoulder, Jessica was pretty sure George was asleep as he leant against the wall, and Angelina Johnson was yawning in the corner. It was at this moment that Jessica realised that there were only seven people in the room. Alicia Spinnet, a fourth year chaser, was missing from the group.
It took Wood twenty minutes to explain the board, and there were two more after that. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "Is that clear? Any questions?"
"I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken with a start. "Why couldn't you tell us this yesterday when we were awake?"
Wood wasn't pleased.
"Listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at them all, "we should have won the Quidditch cup last year. We're easily the best team. But unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond our control..."
Jessica looked to the ground guiltily.
"So this year, we train harder than ever before... Okay, let's go put our new theories into practice!" Wood said, seizing his broomstick.
"Wait a minute," said Jessica, "where's Alicia? You know, our third chaser?"
Wood sighed.
"As I said at the start, Alicia's parents were disappointed with her school results for last year, so she has not been allowed to play Quidditch this year. That means we have an empty spot on the team. I have a suspicion that the flying skills you and Harry have as Seekers could be translated to Chasers. So we'll see which of you would be best for which position."
At this Wood exited the changing room onto the pitch, followed by the rest of the team. Jessica lingered on Wood's words for a few minutes. A Chaser? She knew that Harry was the better Seeker between them, but would she be a good Chaser? It seemed to Jessica that her chances of staying on the Quidditch team relied on her being able to throw a Quaffle through a hoop.
When the team finally set foot on the Quidditch pitch, the sun had fully risen. Only a few wisps of mist remained, hanging above the grass of the stadium. Ron and Hermione had even come from breakfast, no doubt, and were sitting in the stands, waiting for Harry and Jessica.
The team got onto their broomsticks and kicked off the ground. Wood started the Potter twins off chasing the Golden Snitch. Jessica had managed to catch the first, but Harry beat her to the Snitch the next four times. Wood called them back in.
"I'm really sorry, Jessica," he said, "but even if we were to continue this for another hour, I think we'd get the same result. Harry, you will remain Gryffindor Seeker, Jessica, the only way you can stay on the team is if you try out for Chaser,"
Jessica sighed. She had expected this, but was really nervous. She'd never thrown a Quaffle before, and she seriously doubted she'd be good enough to be on the team.
"So I'll take you over to Katie and Angelina," continued Wood, "They can show you the basics before you try getting some goals past me."
Jessica liked passing the Quaffle with the girls. After she got the hang of balancing on her broom as she caught and threw the Quaffle, they began to move and use the tactics they'd use in a real game. They happily tossed the Quaffle between them, diving, weaving and dodging the Bludgers Fred and George would send their way when they least expected it.
"What's going on down there?" said Katie as they regrouped.
She was pointing at the ground, where the rest of the Quidditch team had landed. They were talking to another Quidditch team dressed in emerald green.
"What are the Slytherins doing here?" said Jessica, "Wood booked the pitch for us."
"Let's go find out."
"But I booked the pitch!" said Wood as the girls landed beside the rest of the Gryffindor team. "I booked it!"
Ah," said the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint, "But I've got a signed note from Professor Snape. I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practise today on the Quidditch pitch owing to the need to train their new Seeker."
"You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted. "Where"
From behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his thin, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.
"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred with dislike.
"Funny you mention Draco's father," said Flint. "Let me show you the generous donation he's made to the Slytherin team."
All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven brand new, polished broomsticks with the same golden lettering on the handle: Nimbus Two Thousand and One.
"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps," he smiled nastily at Fred and George clutching their Cleansweep Fives before looking coldly to Jessica and her Cleansweep Seven, "sweeps the board with them."
None of the Gryffindors knew what to say. Malfoy was smirking so broadly, his eyes were reduces to slits.
"Oh look," said Flint. "A pitch invasion."
Ron and Hermione were racing across the grass to see what was happening.
"What's going on?" said Ron. "Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?"
He was looking at Malfoy in his Slytherin Quidditch robes sourly.
"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy smugly . "Everyone' been admiring the new brooms my father's bought our team."
Ron gaped at the seven superb brooms in front of him.
"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms too. You could rattle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would have to pay for them. But I doubt that would help, this being the team who needed two Seekers and still lost by miles."
"I'll have you know," said Wood, his chest puffed up, "that those particular circumstances were out of our control, and after what I've seen today, we have one Seeker and a new Chaser that could fly circles around the entire Slytherin team any day."
"And," Hermione sharply, "no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."
The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.
"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little mudblood," he spat.
The effect of this sentence was instantaneous. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Jessica, Katie and Angelina yelled, "How dare you!" and, "Take that back!" and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand and shouted, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.
A loud bang echoed around the pitch and a jet of green light shot out the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach an sending him reeling backwards onto the grass.
"Ron! Ron! Are you alright?" squealed Hermione.
Ron opened his mouth to speak, but it wasn't words that came out. He gave an almighty belch and several long, slimy slugs dribbled out into his lap.
The Slytherin team was paralysed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were crowded around Ron, who kept belching glistening slugs. Nobody wanted to touch him.
"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's closest," said Harry to Hermione and Jessica. They nodded and helped him stand up.
"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat in the stands and was now hopping around them as they left the pitch. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.
"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Could you hold him still for me?"
"Get out of the way, Colin!" said Harry angrily. He, Hermione and Jessica supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds towards the edge of the forest.
"Nearly there, Ron," said Hermione as Hagrid's cabin came into view. "You'll be alright in a minute... almost there..."
They were within twenty feet of the cabin when the door opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of pale mauve today, came striding out.
"Quick, behind here," Harry hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush. Hermione and Jessica reluctantly followed.
"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you know where to find me! I'll let you have a copy of my book – I'm surprised you haven't already got one. I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, goodbye!" And strode away towards the castle.
Once Lockhart had disappeared, they got Ron to Hagrid's door and knocked urgently.
Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression softened when he saw who it was.
"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me – come in, come in – thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again."
Harry, Hermione and Jessica supported Ron over the threshold into the one roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire merrily crackling in the other. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry explained as Ron was lowered into a chair.
"Better out than in," Hagrid said cheerfully, plonking a large copper basin in front of him. "Get 'em all up, Ron."
"I don't think there's anything to do but wait for it to stop," said Hermione nervously, watching Ron bend over the basin. "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand..."
Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang was slobbering all over Harry.
"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?"
"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. "Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some Banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."
It was most unlike Hagrid to criticise a Hogwarts teacher and Jessica looked at him in surprise. Hermione, however, said in a voice slightly higher than usual, "I think you're being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job –"
"He was the on'y man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed more slugs into his basin. "An' I mean on'y one. Gettin' very difficult to find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head towards Ron, "who was he tryin' ter curse?"
"Malfoy called Hermione something. It must've been really bad, because everyone went mad."
"That's because it was bad," said Jessica. "It was completely uncalled for. He called her "Mudblood", Hagrid –"
Hagrid looked outraged.
"He didn'!" he growled at Hermione.
"He did," she said. "But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course..."
"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," said Ron hoarsely, emerging from under the table looking pale. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who';s muggle-born – you know, non-magical parents. There are some wizards – like Malfoy's family – who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." He gave a small burp and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand.
"But everyone else knows it makes no difference at all," said Jessica. "Look at Crabbe and Goyle, they're "pure-bloods" but they're some of the thickest people I've seen."
"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can't do," said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione turn a brilliant shade of magenta.
"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping his brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's mad. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd have died out by now."
He retched and ducked out of sight again.
"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron," said Hagrid loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter the school if yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble."
Jessica was going to say that having slugs spilling out of your mouth was trouble, but Hagrid's treacle toffee had cemented her teeth together.
"Harry," said Hagrid suddenly, as though struck by a sudden thought, "gotta bone to pick with yeh. I've heard yeh've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"
"I have not been giving out signed photos," Harry said hotly. "If Lockhart's still been putting that about –"
Hagrid was laughing.
"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Harry on the back, sending him face first into the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn't need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin'."
"Bte he didn't like that," said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin.
"Don' think he did," said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he left. Treacle toffee, Ron?" he added, as Ron re-appeared.
"No thanks," said Ron weakly."Better not risk it."
"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," as Harry, Jessica and Hermione finished their tea.
In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's hut were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Jessica had ever seen. Each was about the size of a boulder.
"Gettin' on well, aren't they?" said Hagrid happily. "Fer the Halloween feast. Should be big enough by then."
"What have you been feeding them?" asked Harry.
Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check they were alone.
"Well, I've bin givin' them – y'know – a bit o' help."
Hagrid wasn't supposed to use magic after being expelled from Hogwarts in his second year. He would never say why, and had selective hearing in the matter. Harry had told Jessica that the remains of Hagrid's wand were hidden within his pink umbrella, and that was how he still managed to do it.
"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. "Well, you've done a good job on them."
"That's what yer little sister said," said Hagrid, nodding towards Ron. "Met her yesterday. " Hagrid was looking sideways at Harry, his beard twitching. "She said she was jus' looking round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' fer someone else to be at my house." He winked at Harry. "If yeh ask me, I bet she wouldn' say on ter a signed –"
"Oh shut up," said Harry. Ron snorted with laughter and ground was sprayed with slugs.
"Watch it!" shouted Hagrid, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.
It was nearly lunchtime, and as Harry and Jessica were starving , they were keen to get back to the school to eat. They said goodbye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two small slugs.
They had barely set foot in the Entrance Hall when a voice rang out. "There you are, Potter, Potter, Weasley." Professor McGonagall was walking towards them, looking stern. "You three will serve your detentions this evening."
"What are we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.
"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr Filch." Said Professor McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley – elbow grease. And you, Potter," she said, turning to Harry, "will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail."
"Oh no, can't I go do the trophy room too?" said Harry desperately.
"Absolutely not," said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you specifically." Finally, she turned to Jessica. "As for you, Miss Potter, you will be with Professor Snape, cleaning and organising the Potion stores. Eight o' clock sharp. All three of you."
Harry and Ron had lost their appetite by the time they sat down in the Great Hall, they both thought they had the worst deal.
"Filch'll have me there all night," said Ron heavily. "No magic! There must be over a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle cleaning."
"I'd swap any day," said Harry hopelessly. "I've had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail ... he'll be a nightmare."
"You just have to suck it up," said Jessica, swallowing a big bite of shepherd's pie. "We broke the rules. Besides, sounds like I've got the best one; I actually like Potions so tonight might be really interesting."
Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and before she knew it, Jessica was sitting in the cold dungeons re-naming faded jars, cleaning shelves, arranging ingredients alphabetically and taking note of those low in stock. Professor Snape kept an eye on her from the corner where he sat grading papers. It was light work, and after a few hours, Jessica was finished. After giving Snape the list of ingredients to order, and allowing him a final check-up (he didn't say anything, but Jessica swore she saw a faint smile begin to form on his lips), he nodded and she could leave. She made her way quickly to the common room where Hermione was waiting. Together they waited another hour, but when the boys didn't return, they called it a night.
Jessica finally climbed into bed after a long day, and fell almost instantly into a deep sleep. She barely registered the strange hissing she heard from somewhere in the castle, let alone make out the words it was saying.