Chekhov's Bludger
Quidditch field, November Seventh
Whack! Whack! Whack!
The black sphere hit the goal post with a satisfying CLANG, and then zoomed behind to collide with the only other flying object on the field. Jezibell soared high, slicing through crisp morning air, letting the bludger tail her before whipping the loaner bat around to make contact.
Whack! CLANG!
The pole wobbled a bit from the force, but there was no real progress in felling it. Jezibell tossed the club to her left hand as the ball returned for another try at her head.
It was predictable and sure. The methodic crack of the bat over and over and over, punctuated by the occasional CLANG of success was the most consoling thing Jezibell heard since….Well, since a while. After the last week, she wanted a retreat from her precarious life and anything that involved a certain chamber that could be in a certain bathroom with a certain monster that – contrary to a certain popular belief- was certainly not being controlled by her. In fact almost nothing was. As of now, the three things on the What Jezibell Has Power Over list were her broom, the bat and the bludger.
Whack! CLANG! Whack!
The broom, for obvious reasons, she could steer as she pleased. The highs, lows and slipping in and around the few birds that were up this early; she directed it all, which was nice for a change. The bludger was erratic in motion, but easy to anticipate. All it wanted was to knock her off her broom - nothing new, and Jezibell's aim wasn't half bad most of the time. It crossed her mind once or twice that when she got expelled and her father kicked her out of the house she could try on for some obscure Quidditch team in desperate need of an amateur Beater. Better start practicing.
Whack! CLANG! Whack! CLANG! Whack! CLANG!
"Mistress Jezzie?"
Swish.
The club swung heavily through empty space and the speeding ball smacked hard into the speaker's head. The ball switched targets as the curse demanded and went for Jezibell. She caught it and managed, with the standard immobilizing charm, to stuff it back in its box. Then she turned, with the odd mixture of surprise and resignation to face the familiar small brownish green (and now black and blue) person the bludger knocked to the ground.
Upon seeing one of his masters standing impatiently over him, Dobby the House Elf quickly struggled to his feet.
"Hello, Mistress Jezzie!" He piped cheerfully as one can while kneading a forehead that nearly got smashed in, "Dobby is most pleased to see Mistress is enjoying life at Hogwarts with Master's new brooms."
"Don't call me that, Dobby," said Jezibell bluntly. If she told him once she'd told him seven thousand times that 'Mistress Jezzie' wasn't her preferred title. He could be punished for it too. Technically disobeying any of the family's orders should result in his beating. But though Jezibell found the rebellious little elf bothersome, she liked her father taking his cane to him even less. "Why are you here?"
The elf shifted uncomfortably, "Dobby was just passing through…And wished to check on his Mistress."
"How?" She demanded shrewdly. The elf required the permission of Mother or Father to set foot outside the Manor, unless Draco summoned him which wasn't probable. Dobby was kind of elf that was good for bragging rights not firsthand meeting. Dobby looked down, ashamed.
"Dobby has permission, Mistress, but was given orders not to speak it. Mistress Jezzie never stops amazing Dobby in how much she observes –"
"Dobby, I command you to tell me who sent you and why," said Jezibell, cutting off one of Dobby's frequent humility rants. They were one of his favorite tactics in changing subject and worked disparaging well on the other family members, especially Draco. Jezibell was a bit wiser when it came to flattery as unusual noises put her on edge. "Was it Mother?"
Dobby stared at his bare feet, defeated. "Dobby was sent by Mistress's father to see if Mistress Jezzie was doing well in school and was feeling fine."
But the elf's words still did not ring true. Since when was Father concerned for her wellbeing? It was the sort of meddling Mother might do, though she too would be inordinate as Jezibell's parents were supposed to be giving her the silent treatment at the moment. Why would Father go to the trouble of sending Dobby under a vow of silence to speak to Jezibell? Even if he cared enough, an imposing letter in the finest parchment gold could buy would be more in character. There was definitely an ulterior motive to this, but she didn't press Dobby anymore. If Father found out he broke his oath it would be a tanning for the poor elf.
"You can tell Father Jezibell is just peachy. My marks are fair and I missed the bout of flu(part of that was a lie, her grades started slipping a week ago when Jezibell began spending less time studying Charms and more at the Quidditch pitch) Anything else you need to console your Master? I'm sure he's worried sick."
The sarcasm was wasted on the House Elf. Dobby picked at the crusted parts of his pillowcase thoughtfully to see if there was something he forgot. At last he came up with something.
"Please forgive Dobby for his curiosity, Mistress Jezzie, but why is Mistress up so early on the Quidditch Field playing with the angry ball?"
"Jezibell. And it's because five a.m. this morning is the only time I've got the field to myself," Jezibell wiped sweat from the exercise off her forehead, "There's a Quidditch Match today and the teams needed to practice. They were up earlier then I am now the whole last month and playing until the sun went down. But since today's the game, I suppose the captains let them sleep in."
"Yes," agreed Dobby, "Young Master Draco does need his sleep to beat the opposing seeker, as I'm sure he will," he added quickly. Jezibell frowned at the House-Elf's determined loyalty. If it wasn't for the 'mistress this' and 'mistress that', he would be the only humanoid Jezibell could have an almost normal conversation with. Even that was a stretch.
"I wouldn't put much on Draco's odds," she said just to dig him. "Potter's the superior player and has the next to best model of broomstick."
Dobby went pale right down to his bruises, "Har-Harry P-Potter is here?"
"Of course he's here," said Jezibell nonplussed, "How often have you heard Draco gripe? Harry Potter's the best thing that happened to Hogwarts since they canceled the Christmas plays, far as everyone else's concerned."
And she was the worst as far as Harry Potter was concerned. Thanks to the friendly neighborhood Heir of Slytherin, worst fears of Jezibell Malfoy were confirmed to the students on Halloween night and Potter had no interest in divulging how she saved both he and his friends' bums from expulsion. Jezibell learned much from her encounters with him, namely that Harry Potter was nothing more than an attention seeking buck passing closed minded shrimpy little brat who was hero worshiped by world for a fluke in a mastermind's plan. But in spite of it all Potter possessed true talent on the Quidditch Field. Enough talent to drive Draco to whine, beg and blackmail his father for a stock of unbeatable brooms for himself and the Slytherin team. Said brooms that also made Jezibell very unpopular with the Gryffindor team captain and thus unlikely, whatever her skills, to get a position as Beater anytime soon. Curse you, Harry Potter.
"Harry Potter is playing in the game today?" queried Dobby innocently.
"That's what I said."
Jezibell waited a minute for the weird little elf to ask more. When he didn't, still thumbing dried boogies off his attire, she picked up the bludger case and hefted the club a shoulder.
"I need to return this now, Dobby. Go back to the manor."
"Of course, Mistress," was the somewhat subdued reply. Dobby kept his gaze on the grass and Jezibell saw the look of intense worry of disobedience on his exaggerated features. She made suggestion.
"If Father Commands you to say you told me that he sent you, you have permission use the marks from the bludger to say you punished yourself already."
On that chipper note, she started toward the broom shed with the borrowed materials when Dobby spoke up.
"But Mistress Jezzie, I must carry back the angry ball for you! It is my duty as a good House Elf to serve the Malfoy Family!"
Typical overly helpful Dobby. He was happiest when going above and beyond what his masters asked of him, which more often than not resulted in him getting the wrong end of Father's cane. Jezibell didn't protest in handing off the crate and received a nice feeling from the happy look on his face that meant he was doing something right. Jezibell did worry about both the mental and physical wellbeing of her elf, but even he should be able to handle this. What harm could come from him tottering six feet to put away a box?
Jezibell made it back to the common room in time to see the horde of Gryffindors trooping out to the stadium. They all bore scarves, gloves, and hats in the cult colors red and gold, with lion crested rosettes. Jezibell knew how to support the team too. She decked out in a plain black scarf and the characteristic hairband. The seven Gryffindor team members, three girls, and three (or four, if you count the Weasley twins as one entity or two) boys, draped in their robes of scarlet lounged like minor gods at the head of the table, discussing last minute tactics and shooting looks at the opposition.
The Match was at eleven and as there was nothing better for her to do, Jezibell headed down to the stadium 15 minutes early to scope out a good seat. She chose a nose bleeder, top row on the Gryffindor side, but close to the Ravenclaw section as possible in case the home team took out their spirit on the unforgivable Nimbus 2001 owner. Actually she needn't have bothered. When the student body poured into the stadium a bubble of unoccupied space formed neatly around Jezibell along with every jinxed chair directly in front of her leaving the best view of the pitch anyone could hope for. Being the Heir of Slytherin was not without its perks.
The game started as they do, with the entrance of the teams and the captains doing their best to shatter the bones in the other's hand. As hard as she tried not to, Jezibell couldn't help compare the Hogwarts game to the ones she witnessed (and participated in) at Durmstrang. The students abroad made a much soberer deal out of the sport than in Britain. Flying lessons were compulsory whether you were on a team or not and only the best were chosen by the flying instructor to compete. It was natural they would have greater skill. Nearest Jezibell could remember, the one player who might hold a candle to any one of her former classmates was Harry Potter.
Speaking of Potter, he was rocketing around the field like a loose firecracker instead hovering as a seeker is supposed to while waiting for the snitch. It was only a few minutes in (Slytherin already scored four quick points). Even he wasn't good enough to have spotted it yet and it didn't look like he was chasing anything. The two beaters, Weasley and Weasley, circled him and as they passed Jezibell's corner she could see the trouble. Potter was being hounded by a bludger. The beaters pounded it, again and again, sure fire shots that should have blasted the ball to the other end of the stadium. But it kept curving around and coming back for Potter same as it did for Jezibell during practice. Meanwhile, two more points were gained by Slytherin and it was starting to rain. Jezibell began to rethink her theory of a Gryffindor win when Captain Wood called for a time out.
The keeper argued fiercely with his men and the Slytherins jeered from the other side. Even on the ground, that bludger wasn't about to leave Potter alone. It honed in on him like he had some sort of tractor beam and the Weasley twins kept interrupting the discussion to take a swipe at it. Clearly someone deliberately messed with this bludger's charm between last night's practice and now. But who? And how?
The meeting disbanded as the referee approached and the team took to the skies again with a rousing cheer from Gryffindor. The rain was coming down more heavily now, making it difficult for the players to see and be seen. The new tactics were to let the seeker be killed by a maniac bludger and focus on scoring. This worked, sort of. Gryffindor pulled up by a few points, but if Potter was any less of a fancy flier, the rogue would've taken his head off by now. For the Slytherin part, they were already celebrating what was sure to be a cunning victory. No clear signs as to which one of them jinxed the bludger, but they weren't ungrateful for the help. Draco basked in it all, happy to watch Potter getting clobbered instead of searching for the snitch.
Jezibell missed it. She was adjusting her scarf to keep the damp side off her face and so didn't see what happened. The whistle blew hard, signifying the match was over and Jezibell looked up in time to watch Potter's personal meteorite finally hit home. He fell, not very high off the ground, head over broomstick into the mud. For a moment, Jezibell wasn't sure if it was he who caught the snitch, but when the Gryffindor side burst into a stadium shaking applause, she guessed who won. Now to find out what was up with the bludger. She slipped through the hazardously happy top row and made it to the crowded stairs, knowing that if she didn't get the story now she would never hear a version other than the Patil and Brown reworking.
Once on the ground, Jezibell waded across the field, which had disintegrated into a large mud hole, to the group surrounding Potter, hoping to listen in. When she neared them, she saw that wasn't going to work. They were all staring at her with expressions varying between terror and hatred. Whatever. It wasn't as if she hadn't gotten used to this.
"Tell me about the rogue bludger and I'll be on my way," She said, feeling it useless to pretend not to be the center of attention.
"What d'you mean?" demanded Weasley with a sneer, "You know what happened. You did it, you lying scum."
Jezibell frowned.
"We all know it," spat Granger, "We all know what you were doing this morning when you thought everyone else was asleep. You and your crazy cat put a charm on the bludger, and I bet you were controlling it remotely during the game too."
Apparently Jezibell's little crack o' dawn exercise didn't go unnoticed as thought. Hell.
"You've got no proof," countered Jezibell quietly sticking with logic. They could spout off all they wanted. It wouldn't change that they had nothing to show the teachers.
"Oh yes, we do!" Granger held up a small metal object just visible through the sheets of rain, "Collin's got us all the proof we need!"
She waved the camera for Jezibell to see and the first year boy at her side gave a triumphant nod.
But she hadn't. It wouldn't. Her bludger practice didn't prove anything. Nothing, nothing showed her doing anything wrong because she hadn't. So why was Granger so sure? Because filmstrip doesn't show everything. Like what was actually being said when Jezibell tapped the bludger before storing it away. It was stupid and completely unreasonable to use Creevey's camera as definitive evidence, but she knew it wouldn't matter. Everything looked as it should on the tape and Granger couldn't be smugger.
"You won't be getting away with this one!" She smiled with satisfaction. Jezibell smoldered, wishing her eyes could boor into that frizzy head and make Granger see everything she had. She felt her hands clench at her sides, nails cutting into palms and imagined storm clouds swirling around her head. In fact, the rain was getting much worse. A sudden strike of lightning ripped the sky in two, quickly accompanied by a rumble of thunder.
"Watch me." Jezibell snarled.
A second flash from the heavens illuminated Granger's face, and Jezibell could see the fear dilating her pupils and shocked shape of her open mouth. Then Jezibell smiled. A wide, wicked evil grin designed to scare the devil out of anyone who crossed it. A secret weapon honed at Durmstrang from a hereditary trait. The icing on one sorry soggy cake. Thunder drummed in her ears as Jezibell turned her back to the Gryffindors and marched sloppily from the stadium before Potter came to.
There was still half a drizzly Sunday left and Jezibell spent it in the empty common room (everyone else was in the infirmary with Harry Potter) replaying the game and the events afterword for Emmy. Making the most of her last hours as a student of Hogwarts, before the Gryffindors stopped celebrating and started remembering why they were in the hospital wing to begin with. She knew she was dead. Once those pictures of Creevey's got developed, everyone would see her wand tip to the bludger and it would all be over. Whatever was said on the Quidditch field, she possessed no master plan to destroy the evidence, nothing worth watching. It was a small comfort that the potion for developing Wizarding film needed twenty-four hours to brew, but a day wasn't nearly enough time to find an excuse anyone would believe.
To keep her mind off the inevitable expulsion, Jezibell and Emmy focused on the two less imminent questions.
Firstly: the Bludger. If the team locked it up nice and tight until the next morning when Jezibell took it out for practice, then when would somebody have the opportunity to jinx it without either of them seeing? Of course they could have used the second Bludger for the deed, snuck in and out while Jezibell was practicing, but if Creevey was staking out the pitch too then he should have seen that. Unless Creevey did it, which is unlikely. Emmy wondered if the Heir of Slytherin and the Tamperer of Bludgers were connected as everyone was quick to cast Jezibell as the missing link between the two. Maybe there was another just as motivated person out there. But if so, why would the Heir of Slytherin go after such small potatoes as wrecking a Quidditch game? Jezibell refused to believe the answer revolved around Potter, though it might be plausible for some former Death Eater to have a vendetta against him. But none of the ones who were psychopathic enough to convince themselves of that plan were at liberty to do so. Nothing was even partially making sense, so they decided to let that one rest.
Next was the issue of the Paparazzi, aka Collin Creevey. The more Jezibell thought about the pint-sized camera crew the angrier she got. What had he been doing taking pictures of her at 5 a.m. when he was supposed to be working on his Boy Who Lived scrapbook? He couldn't have known in advance what use the photos would be, so why was he there to begin with? Spying on her? That seemed a few years up the road for a boy of eleven, and Jezibell wasn't the type of girl who attracted that sort of attention. Emmy wondered if he did it often and if so what other shots of her he'd gotten. Jezibell deemed it time for a break in the conversation.
She finished a bit of homework for Astronomy that was due Monday and decided to skip dinner as anxiety took her appetite. A few more chapters of Saturn's moons that weren't supposed to be read for another week, and Jezibell's head was whining for bed. No point in waiting up for her roommates. The charged air from the storm was making her was feel strangely feverish. Maybe she was catching the flu after all. The dark clouds in the sky looked much later than six o'clock in the girls' dormitory and she left the window open so she could listen to the rain pouring down. Emmy paced around and around on the bedside desk where she slept, occasionally pawing at it like it made a difference to the hard wood. Jezibell closed the curtains on her bed and blew out the candle at the early but oddly exhausted hour. She lay on her bed, counting the pauses between thunder and lightning and contorting Granger's words over in her mind. You won't get away with it this time. They all thought she was guilty, with no proof other the Creevey's camera she was going to be expelled. It was so outrageously unfair that Jezibell half wished she really was the Heir of Slytherin. It would be a nice change to be blamed for something she actually did. She wondered who she'd like to petrify first if she was. Granger or Creevey.
At some point, these dream-wishes became nightmares. The Nightmares. She was traveling along a long dark corridor. Blood…I will taste blood…The rain penetrated her fevered sleep, pattering sounds telling her she was surrounded by house elves. They wanted to feed her to a bathroom seat stuffed with hungry cannon balls… just this next corridor… Breathe the scent…master says here…where is it… The search was brought off track. Something far more interesting was around a corner, just a small detour. Breathe the scent, find the BLOOD!
"Jezibell! Wake up!"
Emmy peered over on her chest, the snake-cat's eyes widened in concern. Jezibell twisted in her sheets to try sitting up and found they made a tourniquet around her torso. The hybrid leapt lightly off as Jezibell squirmed out of her wrappings. She was about to reach for her bag, when she noticed it was still dark in the room and she could hear the soft breathing of the other girls. A look at the silver watch on the bedpost told her it was one o'clock.
"Why'd you wake me?" she hissed, "I was finally getting some sleep!"
Emmy raised the spot above her right eye where an eyebrow would be if she had them, "Yes, you were having a very restful war with the blankets, but that's not what got me up. You heard it again, didn't you?
Jezibell sighed and rubbed her eyes. Stupid hyperventilation, this wouldn't be the first time one of her midnight frights came to nothing, "I'm fine, just stressed about tomorrow. Now please let me sleep."
"What you will," Emmy yawned widely, probing her forked tongue in the air, "The rain is leaving. Guess that storm had passed on."
"Don't be sure on that," Jezibell murmured to her pillow before diving below.
The next day, shortly after breakfast, Jezibell discovered several things about what happened while she was sleeping.
First, the Heir of Slytherin had struck again and this time petrified a person. Second, the victim of said attack was Collin Creevey. Third, the camera with the still undeveloped film of the bludger incident was fried. The lens and film completely destroyed by whatever got to Creevey while he was wandering the halls.
Jezibell had her wish answered after all. The storm had just begun.
The day after the second attack, Jezibell uncovered a dungbomb in her porridge. At the touch of her spoon, the plate imploded and splattered clumps of hot grainy mash and manure on her robes and face to the delight of the breakfast table. She was excused from first period to shower and change, but instead went up to Gryffindor tower and fell down on her altogether too soft bed and may have stayed there for several days if Emmy wasn't in such a rotten mood.
"Come on, what did you expect? They think you busted up their Seeker and pulverized the evidence. If there was no poo in your hair by this time next week, I'd say the monkeys are slacking off."
Jezibell hissed a curse to get the hybrid to leave her alone.
"You can't lie here forever, not a brave and noble Gryffindor like yourself."
No answer, none needed. Emmy changed tack, trying to get her worked up over the joker who planted the bomb. That at least got a response.
"I don't care who did it! What does it change? They all hate me. This one's just more creative about it. And if I did find out, the Heir of Slytherin would probably go after that person then. I can't tell if this Heir is trying to help me or get me expelled. Could be both, I wouldn't mind."
"What makes you think this has anything to do with you?"
"Nothing! I could be completely wrong about the monster, I could be going insane. Who knows what the Obliviators did when they were rummaging around in my head. They're not exactly people I trust."
"I can assure you nothing's wrong with your head, with the possible exception of that nose you got there."
Jezibell refused to answer to this.
"You know I heard it too, alright," Emmy hissed more gently, "And it's definitely worth being scared of. I just don't think the monster cares about you anymore than anyone else. If you stayed out its way, it would just ignore you. That's what I do, anyway."
"Wish that worked universally."
A bird twittered outside as if in answer.
"Why do you think that is?" Emmy asked after it finished the song, "Why do they hate and suspect you so? Even before this Chamber of Secrets business, you weren't likely to be voted most popular around here. First day here, wasn't there a kid who wouldn't sit next to you? Oh wait, that was all of them."
Jezibell took a moment to think about this. From that perspective, it did seem a little odd that everyone, in every house, took such a unanimous dislike to her. She didn't really mind the hate; it's just that they wouldn't let her be because of it. At the time, it felt natural with the aftertaste of Durmstrang. But why?
"I don't know," she started slowly, "I always thought it was because of how I got here and where I come from."
"It's not the expulsion that makes them hate you, at least I'm sure that's not the whole of it," said Emmy, "It's that you can't be held down to one category. I can see the relationships here more clearly than you can, and at Durmstrang things were more spread out. No houses, no obligations to anything except yourself and the school. But here, all the sporty rebellious kids are Gryffindor, the helpful friendly types are Hufflepuff, the braincases are Ravenclaw and the creepy bullies are Slytherin. They think that should be good enough, to put you with your own kind and it's easy to see who fits where. But you took a fifth option." Emmy's hissing stuttered a bit as she imitated chuckling, "You, a Malfoy in Gryffindor. A Gryffindor who shows none of the obvious traits Gryffindors do and talks to her cat in parseltongue, though I doubt anyone's realized that's what we're speaking yet. You have plenty of money, but wear simple clothes and don't have any friends. Both Slytherin and Gryffindor are mad at you because you're the no man's land in a war."
Jezibell sat up and looked at Emmy. Was that the key to her ostracism, that she went and invented her own side? "If my options are Harry the hypocrite or pureblood pride, no man's land looks pretty good from here."
"Glad to hear it," replied Emmy, "And now you've got that straightened out, go shower. The oatmeal smells worse than the dungbombs."
And Jezibell got up, changed clothes, showered to be back to class in time for lunch. People laughed and pinched their noses at her, but she took it and an apple and went about her day, content with what no man's land had to offer. It wasn't so bad, being on a team of her own with just herself and Emmy. She'd seen worse.
Charms Corridor, December Sixteenth
Whisper, whisper. Mutter, Mutter. Gasp! No, Really? Mutter, mutter. Heir of Slytherin...Do you think? Freaky monster. Talks to her cat...Oh, jeez! Did she look this way? Hey, Pureblood scum! Mind your own beeswax!
Jezibell weaved her way to Charms through the sticky web of gossip. Not that it was particularly hard. The tittering students scooted out of her way as if she carried some highly infectious disease. Jezibellitis. It was actually rather amusing to see a herd of tall Gryffindor seventh years part before her as the red sea, but after a month and a half it was starting get on her nerves. Even some of the teachers were now giving her warily speculative looks. You would think now that people thought they were next on her hit-list they would leave her alone. But no.
Mutter, mutter. Curse, curse. Freaky eyes, talking cat.
Jezibell gritted her teeth and stalked past the peanut gallery. If she ever did meet the real Heir of Slytherin - ah, it would not be pretty.
The dark dreams hadn't made appearance since the attack on Camera Man Creevy, but every so often, Jezibell would get shiver up her spine. A light shudder would seem to pass through the nearest wall. It didn't speak, not to her anyways, but it felt like a pair of eyes was permanently fixed on the nape of her neck. The monster/heir of Slytherin/thingy wasn't satisfied yet, Jezibell was sure. The phantom menace was still stalking Hogwarts and still haunting her.
Something weird was definitely up with Potter too. He, Granger and Weasley were almost never in common room between lessons anymore. A few weeks back, Jezibell overheard them being told off by Prefect Weasley for going into a girls bathroom. The conversation earned a passing snicker from her at the time, but now she wondered if the bathroom in question was Myrtle's. How many other lavatories in castle had dark magic hidden behind their walls that would be worth an investigation? Then there was the firecracker incident in Potions. If they were doing something, did have anything to do with the chamber of secrets mystery? Or just an elaborate practical joke?
Emmy nudged against Jezibell's leg to get her attention. There was a scrap of paper in the familiar's mouth.
"All the other kids are looking at these posters. I swiped one for you."
Jezibell read the slightly scrunched parchment. A Dueling club would be taking place at eight pm, tonight. Well, it was better than searching for invisible monsters in the walls.
Seven hours later, Jezibell walked to the Great Hall as the poster indicated alone. Emmy had no desire to risk her rattles being stomped on in a mob of big footed teenagers, thank you very much. The four long house tables had been cleared to make an open space in the center of the room where a giant bar of gold that would serve as the stage sat. She stuck to the back wall and skulked her way behind a pillar with dancing badgers on it. Every student, second year and above, was present along with two wizards stood on the stage, Blockhead and Snape. Jezibell guessed Snape would be doing the teaching and Blockhead would act as his guinea pig, so was surprised when Blockhead spoke first to the audience.
"Gather round, Gather round!" he called in a horribly hearty voice, "Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me?"
Several girls in the front row, including Granger, sighed, "Yes."
"Excellent! Now Professor Dumbledore has given me permission to start a little dueling club!"
The old man must be cracking under the strain of the school board. Nobody with any sense would put that idiot in charge of something serious like this. A class in theater and drama, maybe.
"Let me introduce to you my assistant, Professor Snape!" Blockhead crowed in the words of a true magician, "He knows a tiny bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin."
The older boys who were hanging in the back now moved forward. Let's watch Goldilocks get gutted. The combatants arranged themselves into the accepted dueling position. Because you know, when Slytherin's monster challenges you to duel he expects you to have proper posture. Blockhead began the countdown dramatically.
"One...two...three!" he barely had time to raise his wand over his head when Snape shouted "Expelliarmus!" blasting Blockhead's wand high over the crowd and the Professor himself backward a good six feet, smacking him into the wall. That must hurt. Cheers erupted from the back row.
Blockhead did his best to pass his smashing defeat off as a teachable moment that fooled only the girls in the front. Snape's expression left Jezibell wondering whether there would still be two survivors in the next round. In a feat of intuition far beyond what Jezibell would have believed him to possess, Blockhead caught on to the dangerous mood and made the executive decision to divide the students up into practicing pairs. Jezibell gave an internal resigned sigh. For her it wasn't so much as Pick a Partner as find whatever sorry straggler who wasn't fast enough to grab one. Scanned the crowd half-heartedly, it looked like most everyone was in pairs. In her search, Jezibell passed Snape who was hassling Potter, Weasley and Granger.
"And Miss Granger, You can partner-"
Hermione Granger
Professor Snape reached out a pale, spidery hand into the crowd to make his selection. As long as it wasn't that Slytherin she-hulk, Hermione felt she could handle whatever he brought forth.
"Miss Malfoy."
Except, possibly, that. Fire alarms went off in Hermione's head as she watched the potions master steer Jezibell Malfoy into view by the shoulder. Her face was expressionless as usual but her slate eyes caught the candle light and burned in malevolence. Hermione looked to Ron and Harry in vain hope of an escape, but Professor Snape was already leading them to the other side of the hall for their own pairings. This wasn't a good development. If their suspicions were true about Miss Malfoy being the Heir, she might petrify Hermione too! Her stomach did little flips of fear at the thought, and Hermione worked to remember that Malfoy would never be stupid enough to try any dark magic in front of two teachers. This was a microscopic comfort when watching Jezibell Malfoy's left hand go to her pocket. But Hermione would be brave and give her rival all a muggleborn had to offer.
Malfoy cocked her head to the side, giving Hermione an appraisal. She drew her wand slowly, but didn't even attempt the Accepted Combative stance. Well, her partner may not put much in store by the rules, but Hermione was going to do this right. She stepped back exactly 20 paces, as Dueling for Beginners explicitly stated and held out her wand to mimic Professor Lockhart's position. All the memorized spells whizzed through Hermione's head as she checked to make sure she remembered them perfectly. She could do this. She possessed all the information to make it a cinch.
"Face your partners and bow!" called Professor Lockhart.
Hermione gave Malfoy a stiff bend, intent on following the Dueling standard even if no one else would. Malfoy leered.
"Wands at the ready."
Jezibell Malfoy's her wand-hand rested negligently at her side. Hermione felt a twitch of annoyance. She'd get hers in a moment.
"On the count of three you are to disarm your opponent, I say disarm only now!" called the Professor, "One!"
Expelliarmus, Expelliarmus, Expelliarmus.
"Two!"
Malfoy still hadn't moved an inch, she appeared almost bored. Hermione's disarming charm would take her by surprise for sure.
"Three!"
Quick, like a cobra strike, Malfoy's wand whipped a shot of purple sparks at Hermione's face. She ducked just in time. The spell grazed the top of her head, producing a burning smell. Hermione cried, "Expelliarmus!"
The jet of red light missed Malfoy by almost three feet. But Hermione wasn't going to stop at that. She shot a hot jet of wind, Skurge (SKURJ), sparks to the left as a distraction(a tactic described in Dueling for Beginners) then a blasting spell, Everte Statum(ee-VER-tay STAH-tum). Tried to freeze her; Glacius(GLAY-see-us) set fire to her; Lacarnum Inflamarae( la-CAR-num in-fla-MA-rye) and blind her; Lumos Maxima(LOO-mos MAX-i-ma)all in perfect form from Jinxes for the Jinxed, but Malfoy managed to deflect or dodge each one in turn. Hermione longed for her strike back so she could use the shield charm against her, but returning blows never came. Her opponent continued to shift lightly around Hermione's precise attacks, making them rebound against the wall and forcing Hermione to join her in the quick movements.
The rest of the able class now gathered to watch the fight, Hermione and Malfoy being the only ones still going. Professor Lockhart asked them to stop and disarm only, but Hermione wasn't about to let this go. Here she finally had a chance to prove she was better than this stuck up creep. If Professor Lockhart was watching them he would see how brilliant a witch she was. Hermione smiled at the thought, pausing for split second in which Malfoy took the opportunity to shoot an unbalancing jinx at her.
Hermione tripped flat on her backside and Malfoy advanced. Hermione scrambled up, executing a brilliant backhanded air-blowing charm, (wand movements involving a twisting rotation of the wrist). The other girl was blown back to edge of their ring, but Hermione held the charm, funneling the wind. If she couldn't expel the wand conventionally then perhaps she could blow it out of Malfoy's grasp. Then Malfoy did something very odd, even for her. She shook out her hairband (a purposeless accessory as it did nothing to keep the bangs out of her eyes) and tapped it with her wand while muttering something under her breath. She then pocketed the wand and braced herself against the tempest Hermione was creating, holding the indigo hair ornament out like a boomerang. Hermione let the wind die and ran to get in closer for a Jelly-legs jinx in this moment of weakness. Malfoy's left hand shot out unexpectedly as Hermione dashed toward her. She snapped the hair-band out and neatly curved it around Hermione's jaw just as her mouth opened to give the incantation.
'MMM! mmm, mmmm! MNNNNNN!"
A sticking-charm! The little witch had laced the hair-band with a sticking-charm! It went against all dueling etiquette. You couldn't handicap your opponent mundanely! It wasn't fair! Hermione tugged at the fabric in mute horror. She could feel a piece of hair trapped in between the cloth and her mouth. Gross! Malfoy stood in front of her, a tiny smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. She drew the wand out of her pocket with painful slowness and raised it mocking the ideal combative formation. The surrounding student's eyes widened like they were watching a captivating tv program. Harry and Ron were close, but did nothing and the professors stood unconcerned in the background. Why wasn't anybody stopping this? Malfoy's wrist gave a casual little flick.
"Expelliarmus."
Hermione's wand was wrenched from her by invisible hands. It jumped spastically as there wasn't far for it to go and clattered to polished floor at Malfoy's feet.
"Bravo!" called Professor Lockhart, "Bravisimio! Now that's not exactly how I would have done it, but still. Wand disarmed. Here you are, Miss Greengrass, wasn't it?"
He smiled dashingly at her as he handed her back her wand. Hermione's face grew very warm as she took it, and consequently hideously sweaty against the hairband.
"Mmmmmr," She tried to correct him in vain. He left her burning to turn to the class at large. Hardly anybody was still looking at him and Hermione felt a surge of empathy. This dueling club was a wonderfully useful idea of his and now Jezibell had gone and ruined it.
To add insult to injury, Hermione couldn't speak the countercharm through the muffler and no one else in the class knew it. Well, Jezibell Malfoy probably did, but Hermione was struggling to maintain what little dignity she still had. So, she was forced to wait for Professor Snape (Professor Lockhart was busy, helping up some of the other children who had fallen) to finish making his rounds through the various magical maiming among the other students. He saved her un-sticking for dead last.
Harry and Ron took the courtesy not to say one word about Jezibell's triumph to her while they waited for Professor Snape to decide to notice them. They looked determinedly away from each other, like they were trying not to laugh. Hermione was beside herself. She wanted to rage and storm at Jezibell, Harry and Ron, Professor Snape, the sky. But she couldn't make any beyond a muffled whimper behind her gag. Forced to swallow the righteous insults, Hermione face grew redder and redder with suppressed fury and embarrassment. She still could not believe a Malfoy had pulled that one on her. It was humiliating to admit that she and her knowledge of half the Hogwarts library was defeated by a well-placed hairband.
Finally, Professor Snape saw fit to liberate her. He tapped the band with his twisted wand, in mocking leisure, and handed it back to Jezibell Malfoy, who slipped it back into the natural parting in her black hair. Hermione still didn't speak. She peeled the foul bit of loose hair off her lips and turned to Harry and Ron.
"I got it." she said, holding out the dark strand for them to see the ingredient for the Polyjuice potion. Ha! Miss Malfoy wouldn't be so smug when Hermione got the goods on her from Draco.
Strange, it looked more brown then black and was much shorter that she would have thought. Maybe it was just the lighting.
Great Hall, Evening
Jezibell walked back to her spot in the crowd, running her fingers through her hair to move the band back in place. The look on Hermione Granger's face when disarmed was priceless. The muggle-born was a fair opponent. She knew more different types of jinxes and advanced spell work than many of the third years at Durmstrang. But she fought in a cookie-cutter style, copied directly from various spell books, making Granger's attacks incredibly easy to anticipate. All it took was little strategy coupled with bold improvisation and she was handcuffed by her own narrow minded rule abiding nature.
She chanced a glance back at her, expecting to see Granger still glaring at her as usual. Instead, she was showing Potter and Weasley something in her hand that was blocked from view by a dense frizzy mane of brown hair. They started talking in low, conspiratorial voices and excitedly crowding around the whatever-it-was in Granger's palm. The smell of seafood returned, and Jezibell was half tempted to eavesdrop on their plotting.
"I think I had better tell you how to block unfriendly spells!" announced Blockhead from the middle of the hall. Yes, that would be nice, now after the junior duel that just took place before his eyes. "Shall we have a volunteer pair? Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley how about you –"
"A bad idea, Professor," Snape sneered. "Longbottom causes devastation with the most simple of spells," he paused to give Neville from the Train a glare that made stronger pupils soil their robes. "We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchly home in a matchbox."
That vile un-washed scumbag. Jezibell watched as poor Neville turned the color of a ripe raspberry under Snape's heckling. A year ago, she would have said it too, scumbag and more. But that was a different time and a different place with a different person. Now she knew to keep her silence and be content to glower at the stage while Snape made his decision for a dueling pair.
"How about Misters Potter and Malfoy?"
Draco swaggered onto the stage, smirking ear to ear. He figured he would pay back Potter for slaughtering the Slytherins at Quidditch. Jezibell envied him, but realized she had her moment of glory with Granger. Potter looked just as full of anticipation and a determined mind to win. Jezibell could tell this small fight was going to be very personal. Blockhead and Snape stood beside each to instruct them on how to use the Shield charm. Or, in Blockhead's case, twirl his wand around like a circus baton and have it flip out of his manicured hands. Snape moved beside Draco and muttered a something-something to him. Jezibell couldn't hear it clearly, but it didn't sound much like 'Protego!' to her. Potter looked a little nervous at having lacked proper demonstration.
"Um...Professor, could you show me that move again." he addressed Blockhead. Draco smirked a derisive laugh and Potter scowled in return. Blockhead gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.
"Just do as I did, Harry!" he cried jovially.
"What - drop my wand?"
Actually, there was a better solution to the dilemma. All Potter would have to do was cast a spell at Draco and then do what he did for the Shield Charm. Draco would, no doubt, shout the incantation loud and clear for the attention and his wand movements were typically dramatic enough to easily copy. Of course, Draco may have plans to do more than just a magic shield.
"One...Two...Three, GO!"
Draco's wand was already up at 'two' and he started a spark of magic by 'three'. On 'go!' gave his wand a flick for momentum and bellowed, "Serpensortia!"
That can't be good. The tip of his wand exploded and a thick black rope was blasted out of it and it landed on the space between the opponents. Ah, make that a thick black snake wending its way to Potter, poising to strike.
Snape stepped forward to get rid of the enraged serpent before it attacked when Blockhead made the mistake of taking charge.
"Allow me!" he waved his wand haphazardly at the snake. It gave a loud bang and the snake became airborne, soaring a good fifteen feet and smacking hard onto the floor not far from where Jezibell stood. The snake rose up, hissing angrily. Its hisses weren't fully coherent, but Jezibell got the gist of it. It wasn't supposed to be here. It was supposed to be curled up in its favorite sunning spot, snoozing somewhere in a faraway jungle and it was dangerously annoyed at whoever disturbed its nap.
Jezibell crouched down to the snake's level. Maybe if she could convince it that they wanted back in the forest just as much as it did, it wouldn't hurt anybody. She started to make a special crooning noise in parseltongue that always worked when Emmy was upset.
"Come, friend, come to my side. You may get your forest back. Come here by my side. Calm, calm by my side. Friend, I am a friend at your side."
For a moment it looked like the mantra was working. The snake twisted sinuously around and made a beeline for her, its hissing calming down. Its words were of the exotic jungle home and of the friend who would get it back.
But the students were still panicking. They shuffled around, frantically trying to get out of the snake's way and they made a lot of noise in the process. The snake stopped, confused at the cacophony moving around it. A boy stumbled, pushed by one of his neighbors, and stepped on the snake's tail with big clunking hurtful feet. The snake retaliated in an instant, snapping upright inches from the boy's terrified face. It was Huffy the Hufflepuff - aka Justin Finch-Fletchley. Small school. The snake hissed menacingly, showing its long rapier-like fangs.
"Stop! Leave him alone!"
Harry Potter, suddenly, was there in circle of frightened onlookers. His hand was outstretched to the snake, as though to ward it off with the gesture. He was speaking in parseltongue. The snake listened. It closed it mouth, obediently turned away from Finch-Fletchley, flicked out its tongue pleasantly in Potter's direction and dropped its head back to the floor in submission. He looked to Finch-Fletchley, smiling like he hadn't just done a creepy bit of extremely rare and feared magic.
"What do you think you're playing at?" exclaimed the boy, shivering with frightened aftershock, "Both of you!" he added, looking at Jezibell now with wide, traumatized eyes. He ran out of the hall, several of his friends behind him. Snape reached the snake now and sent it back to the sunny forest grove in a puff of black smoke. Weasley and Hermione Granger were quickly at Potter's side, looking just as freaked as the rest of the hall. Jezibell stepped back from the empty space where the snake had vanished, half the school's gaze following her out of the Dueling club and the other half watching Potter.
As soon as she was out of the Great Hall, Jezibell broke into a run. She needed to be alone, needed to think about what she saw. She ducked inside an empty classroom. The candles were unlit, so Jezibell closed her eyes against the musty darkness and leaned into the cold wall.
Right, so it turns out she wasn't the only human parselmouth Hogwarts had to offer, but that didn't mean...Not necessarily anyway. It didn't mean that... Did it?
Jezibell didn't understand how it was possible for Harry Potter know the language of snakes to begin with. There were two ways to become a parselmouth. You could learn it the hard way from books, like how Jezibell taught it to herself so she could speak to Emmy. She received the snake-feline hybrid as a birthday gift from her father when she was seven and at first the young cat was terribly fickle, refusing to cooperate with her new mistress. Preschool Jezibell figured that since Emmy was part snake if she could learn how to speak the language they would be friends. She studied for half a year on her own with the dusty archives in Father's library before it began making sense. Once she knew rudimentary levels to communicate the snake cat indulged to help her learn the rest. Now parseltongue was almost a second language to her and Emmy a bonded familiar. But make no mistake, neither accomplishment came easy. The language was tricky due to the interspecies crossover, vocals and hissing rough on the untrained mouth. Jezibell was lucky she started learning as an impressionable seven year old. There were still some sounds she wasn't familiar with yet.
The only other way was to be a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. The Heir of Slytherin.