Doing the Time Warp
Gryffindor Girls' Dormitory, September First
"Come on puss-puss, please eat. Crookshanks, it's good for you, the lady at the menagerie said so. It's full of yummy vitamins and good proteins for healthy kitties!"
The ginger tom rolled its eyes with almost human disdain at the bowl of chow Hermione was shoving under its nose. Jezibell was supposed to be helping her reason the cat into eating, though she really couldn't see the appetizing qualities in Miss Milky-Mittens' finest either.
"Hermione, you don't have to feed him that mulch. Emmy's had nothing but table scraps her whole life."
But Hermione was determined. Over the past hour she had tried everything to make that stubborn puss eat the orthodox cat food; covering it in a special kitty-treat mix that looked like fertilizer in the shape of mice, convincing Emmy to do a demonstration on how delicious it was (Jezibell let her spit it into a napkin when Hermione wasn't looking) but nothing was budging him.
"Maybe he's not hungry. Cats can be fickle." Actually, Jezibell didn't know anything of the sort about normal cat behavior. Emmy was never hard for Jezibell to figure out as Jezibell could always just ask her hybrid what the trouble was and she'd usually tell. Crookshanks wasn't so socially skilled. But the case was convincing, if untrue, and Hermione bought it.
"You're probably right," she sighed, and then addressed the cat, "We'll try again tomorrow, Crookshanky. I want you to get your daily dose of Vitamin C for your sharp eyes."
Crookshanks licked his rear. Emmy narrowed her eyes from Jezibell's four-poster and rattled the dried balls of fur on the end of her tail, "Stupid furball."
On the train ride to Hogwarts, Emmy and Crookshanks hadn't become the great feline friends Hermione had hoped. Crookshanks was very territorial and seemed more interested in Scabbers than another cat, which Emmy found disgustingly cliché. She thought of herself as a different class of animal, an attitude that probably came from being fed those fresh tidbits of the finest meat, and wouldn't lower herself to speak in the regular cat lingo, though Jezibell knew she could.
"What did she say?" asked Hermione, having heard the parseltongue remark. She asked this whenever Emmy spoke, making it difficult for familiar and companion to have their private discussions like they used to. It was very rare that Jezibell answered Hermione's curiosity in truth. She generally made up something her pseudo-friend might like to hear, like in this case: "She was saying how tasty Mice-Bites are." and then thank whatever controlled such things that Emmy didn't understand English anymore then Hermione did parseltongue.
Having checked harassing the new pet off her To Do list, Hermione began unpacking her clothes and numerous books to stack them on the bedside table. Jezibell observed her proceedings and noted that all the volumes were in alphabetical order with their spines facing the same direction. That girl had way too much time on her hands. On the opposite end of the dormitory were their other roommates, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who were fulfilling their Gossip Queen duties and cooking up the latest for tomorrow. Being the practiced eavesdropper she was Jezibell caught bits of their whispers.
"Who does she think she is -?"
"And Ron Weasley too, I can't believe -"
"But so was Diggory -"
"Mmmm… you don't suppose – ?"
"Not in seven million years would he –"
"She needs to pick a side and stay there. Trying to play both doesn't help at all -"
"Was Harry there, maybe - ?"
"It's that hairband, I tell you. Even Hermione now -"
"Soooo strange -"
"Still talks to her cat -"
If Jezibell was not subjected to similar, if worse, mutterings all of last year, these new ones may have done some damage. But she had, and they didn't. It was actually hilarious what the girls were choosing to talk about, amusing to listen in on what they came up with here that would soon become known fact around the school, comedy that Patil and Brown told anyone who would listen what happened in the Chamber of Secrets though they had never asked Jezibell herself about it. Jezibell didn't care. She tapped the mattress where Emmy sat; reprimanding the cat was who was working herself into a snarl. Hermione (who had until last June took part in the nightly speculations) noticed the new developments and turned to Jezibell, curious.
"What did you do this time?"
Hermione was probably the only person in the school still ignorant to the recent horror of Jezibell Malfoy. It happened at the Sorting, Hermione and Harry had been called away by Professor McGonagall so they missed it. Ron was the only person sitting next to (across from, actually. Comfort levels weren't quite stable enough to allow side by side) Jezibell and even he wasn't quite sure why she did what she had done. They watched several students being sorted. A Hufflepuff, two Ravenclaws and a Gryffindor. The houses clapped merrily for each one, the Slytherins not so much for the Gryffindor, but Jezibell wasn't taking notes on the other side of the hall. Then they got their first Slytherin.
She was a tiny thing, blond and pretty. Had a striped bow on the side of her head and smiled shyly when her name was called. Jezibell knew her as an uninvited guest at one of Draco's birthday parties. A bawling six year old her elder sister Daphne was made to drag along that got nipped by a peacock and given three times as much ice cream as the rest of the kids to calm her down. Greengrass, Astoria rocked in petite steps to the Sorting Hat and it slipped over her eyes, covering most of the creamy curls.
"Slytherin!"
Predictable; the Greengrasses were pureblood and near exclusively Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Daphne, Draco and the long table of silver and green cheered for their new member proudly. But when Greengrass took off the hat she saw what the Gryffindors were doing. They booed and they hissed. The Weasley twins sniped at her some ugly words and a few hand gestures cropped up from the seventh year, all aimed at the pale shivering stranger before them. They didn't even know her and they already hated her. And she realized: this is where it starts. The red ones snarl, the green ones grin, and now and forever little Astoria knows who is right and who is wrong. Jezibell would always be wrong. But she couldn't let it be. Because in that terrified blond eleven-year-old she saw herself. On her own Sorting day, when no one clapped and the black year that followed. So Jezibell raised both her hands and amidst the jeers and catcalls, she started a solitary applause.
The whole right side of Gryffindor table fell quiet as they noticed the small positive beat on their section of the hall. The Slytherins faltered upon seeing Jezibell joined them, but they didn't stop. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, who normally sided with Gryffindor in house disputes, didn't know what to make of her either and they kept a neutral silence. Jezibell ignored any reactions and kept her eyes on Greengrass. If anything the girl looked even more frightened of the foreigner praising her. A few seconds in, Jezibell got a small dig to her side. It was Ron.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he muttered in undertone, afraid of being caught talking to the crazy witch who was giving an encore to a Slytherin.
Jezibell remembered her response, "Showing my moral support."
For a moment he stared at her like he might turn away in embarrassment. Then a second smattering joined her, tentative and off beat, but there. A few more hopped in for seconds, and then fizzled out as dud fireworks. But they came from the red table. The Hufflepuffs were the first to really take up the mantle, a tall Prefect started loudly and after him many more of that house along with several Ravenclaws joined in the applause. Creevey might have clicked his camera a few times.
"Yeah!" called Ron, getting caught up in the escalating encore, "Go - ?"
"Greengrass," muttered Jezibell.
"Yeah, go Greengrass!"
Greengrass looked faint as she took the seat cleared next to her sister and ogled at Jezibell with pale blue eyes. She was plainly terrified, but a small little girl smile tugged at her mouth and Jezibell knew she did the right thing. She, Ron and the few persevering Hufflepuffs cheered for the rest of the Slytherins too and while applauding Steinbeck, Brian, Jezibell sneaked a glance at the staff table. Some of the teachers looked worried – Snape was stone monument to a variety of hostile emotions - but Dumbledore was smiling and clapping along with her. Proof the headmaster was insane.
But Jezibell knew why she did it. Miss Greengrass and her classmates needed all the support they could get for the year they were headed. Slytherin housed the most shunted kids in the school. They didn't need friends and used the ones they had so it was natural the other morally sound scholars would avoid them. They were ambitious, even amongst themselves. Like a nest of birds all scrambling for Mommy's food. Survival of the fittest. Even with a sibling ready to give her a leg-up in the social ranks, Greengrass was going to have to battle for her supper. In clapping, Jezibell wanted the first year Slytherins to know that she respected their situation and understood how it feels to be at the bottom of the food chain.
But how was she supposed to tell her actions to Hermione, sitting before her now with wide inquisitive eyes, waiting? And the rest of the school, should she let them make up their own minds via Patil and Brown like last year?
"They saw me talking to Emmy again."
Hermione nodded at the logical explanation and Jezibell felt no shame in the cover up. Her roommate would know soon enough what was really going on.
Hermione finished the precise stacking her books and moved on to setting out her robes for tomorrow. Watching her obsessive-compulsive tendencies, Jezibell felt obligated to do the same as she unloaded her belongings. They worked in silence, pricking ears to the conversation on the left and making note of the other's possessions. At one point Hermione pulled out a squishy plastic bottle of something foreign (it read Spare Mint across the side in warped green lettering) and more than once Jezibell caught Hermione staring at her tasseled bookmark collection. While undressing for bed, Hermione tried once again for conversation, "So what did you think of the train ride? That Dementor was so scary, I'm glad they're on our side."
Jezibell wanted to tell her not to be too sure on that assumption, but she didn't think calling out Hermione's naiveté would help. It was irritating, trying to talk. There was so much she couldn't say.
Mother once explained that the Dementors used to be on 'their side', but when He fell the ministry took the opportunity to make friends. Now, as long as you stay with the law, they'll be your friends too. Jezibell once believed this assessment, but no longer. A few days after her expulsion from Durmstrang, her father had to go to Azkaban on a business trip of some sort and he took Jezibell along to see what happens when you don't do as the Romans do. There was no discretion, no sense of justice to their treatment of the prisoners. They actually seemed to prefer the saner ones because how do you drain happiness from someone who takes pleasure from suffering? It doesn't work. Dementors weren't on anybody's side any more than a cat is when you point it at a rat.
The Dementor on the train didn't feel as bad as the awful island did, but it was horrible enough. When it floated through the door, for one irrational moment Jezibell thought it had mistaken her for the cousin and was going to take her instead. The compartment had been squished already with six people, so they were all in much closer proximity to the Dementor then advisable. Harry sustained the worse. He collapsed in a seizure-like fit on the floor and mumbled about somebody screaming afterword. He was sent to the hospital wing for it and probably beating himself up in the boys' dormitory for his moment of weakness now.
As far as Jezibell knew no one had cried out, but there were a few casualties. Neville had been crammed next to her on the seat and when the Dementor passed them he dug his fingernails into her knee. Jezibell didn't notice this at the time, only to discover the claw marks when she changed into her school robes. She hadn't a clue what Harry or Neville saw to make them react this way, and for this she was grateful. It meant they couldn't tell what the Dementor dragged up from the back of her mind either.
They undressed for bed; Hermione pulled off the gray jumper and slipped in her nightgown in record time. Before the pink cloth could cover it, a long gold chain swung into view from around her neck.
"Birthday gift?" Jezibell set down her bottle of tooth cleansing potion and stared pointedly at the finely wrought necklace that Hermione was hurriedly stuffing under her collar.
Hermione gave a small squeak, "It's nothing!"
Nothing. Right. These people had so much to learn.
"Let me see it. It can't be worse than any of my mother's."
It would be quite difficult for Hermione to be in possession of something worse than a pair of 'special' earrings that if worn by the wrong person leeched their knowledge of magic and induced insanity.
Hermione stared at her for a second, caught, and then slowly extracted the bauble at the end of the necklace. She tugged the curtains on her four-poster to block out Patil and Brown. Jezibell muttered "hairbrush" to Emmy and the familiar disappeared to the other side of the dormitory. Hermione held the ornament in her palm for Jezibell to see. What Jezibell had taken to be a jewel was an hourglass carved of silver that hung in a small rotating disk. Minute words in Latin ran around the edge of the cylinder and the hourglass bulb was filled with swirling diamond dust.
"It's a Time-Turner" Hermione whispered, "When Professor McGonagall took me to her office before the Sorting, she gave it to me. It's how I'll be getting to all my new classes this year. By turning back the clock an hour, I can be in two places at once."
Jezibell ran her thumb over the smooth surface of the hourglass, marveling Hermione's privilege.
"It's all strictly supervised, though. The Ministry let Professor McGonagall give me one to use for lessons only and-" Hermione's voice trembled slightly at this point, "I wasn't supposed to tell anybody, but now you've found out."
She withdrew her hand and put the Time-Turned back in place, "You have to promise you won't say a word, not even to Harry and Ron. Swear?"
"I promise," said Jezibell.
"Malfoy!" yelled Patil, "Your demon cat's barfing on my hairbrush!"
Great Hall, September Second
"I still don't see how you're going to pull this off."
Jezibell, Hermione, Harry and Ron were among the few students still examining their new schedules in the Great Hall. According to Hermione's, she was supposed to be in Divination and Muggle Studies simultaneously and have Ancient Runes with Charms this afternoon. Professor Hagrid came by with a bloody bag of dead mammals for the third year class and the boys speculated on what the subject would be. Apparently, they were experienced with Hagrid's less than harmless pets and their conversation provided a cover for Jezibell to consult with Hermione about the impossible schedule.
"I have it all planned out," muttered Hermione, "There's a bathroom off the dividing corridor for the first two classes. I'll say I have to use it, but really be walking with you. If I time it right, the other me will appear a few minutes after I say I'm going in.
Jezibell thought the explanation back over in her head and nodded, "What do you tell Harry and Ron? They know you take Muggle Studies."
"I'll distract them or something, it won't be a problem. Any other questions?"
"One. If I hadn't found out, what was plan A?"
"I was relying on your apathy to anything but your personal concerns to override natural curiosity," Hermione shrugged her pack-mule bag over her shoulder, "Which was evidently an underestimate on both counts."
"Live and learn," Jezibell quipped, not bothering to determine whether or not Hermione's comment had compliment in it. The quartet gathered up their things and made for the main hallway for the lessons when a small voice called "Hi!" from the other end of the hall. Jezibell ignored it, naturally as it sounded like a first year, but Harry looked over and saw.
"Who's that waving at us?"
Astoria Greengrass with a few of her first year Slytherin friends was indeed waving at their group and, more specifically, Jezibell.
"Probably some first year who wants your autograph," Jezibell hoped Harry wouldn't notice the green trim on Greengrass's robes and the unlikelihood of a Slytherin wanting anything friendly.
"We should keep moving then," said Harry uncomfortably, eager to avoid his fan club as Jezibell was. Crisis averted, she smiled inwardly and moved on to the adjacent hall.
The boys chatted casually on the way and once or twice Ron asked Hermione about her schedule plans, but Hermione blew him off. When they reached the point where the route to Muggle Studies branched off, Jezibell said her brief farewell.
"Enjoy the trip."
"To where?" said Harry, confused. They had no idea what they in for. Odd barely covered the personality required in a Seer. Jezibell barely contained a smirk.
"It will be revealed in the not too distant future, I can See that much."
Jezibell turned the corner, walked a few paces then stopped and listened to what Hermione was telling Harry and Ron.
"Oh, wait," said Hermione, "we've got a few minutes. I need to use the loo, there's one right around the corner."
"Alright," conceded Ron, "We'll wait for you."
Hermione came around, murmured "Just keep walking" and Jezibell fell into pace next to her. They passed by the alleged lavatory and Jezibell looked over her shoulder, hoping to see the Other Hermione coming out of the bathroom.
"Don't," hissed Hermione, "I'm not supposed to be seen. Quick, what's the exact time?"
Jezibell checked her wristwatch, "8:54,"
"8:54," Hermione repeated to herself a few times. The door to the lavatory opened behind them and, though Jezibell dutifully restrained from peeking, she suspected it was the Hermione of The Future. Freaky. It was as though Jezibell was inside one of her magic-fiction novels.
Thinking of them, Jezibell asked Hermione how the Time-Turner kept paradoxes from happening. Because if that was the Other her that left the lavatory, then what would happen if Hermione just now decided not to go back in time? Would there be two Hermiones now going about Hogwarts, or would the other one disappear? Hermione told her that was why the Other Hermione couldn't be seen. As long as no one noticed the time warp, the paradoxes couldn't happen. The Hermione you think you heard would turn out to be just another student and there would be no paradox. But what would happen if she did catch a glimpse of the Other Hermione and then the future was changed somehow? At this point the real non hypothetical Hermione demanded she stop talking like that. The Time-Turner works fine without paradoxes, there was no point in torturing themselves as to why.
The Muggle Studies room was on the ground floor and Hermione and Jezibell were the first ones there, but more classmates started arriving quickly enough. The room was much like any other classroom; desks in rows, blackboard, ceiling with chewing gum stuck to it(how it got up there is one of the mysteries of Hogwarts), four walls and a door. But there were several muggle thingamagummies dotting the room and a great collection of plastic whatchamacallits in the back. Over the blackboard was a blank canvass and in front of it a shiny metal box with a periscopic rod sticking up on the top. Next to the podium was a model of something on a stand. A car, perhaps. But cars weren't shaped like cones, Jezibell was pretty sure. And it had no wheels. There were other models of presumably muggle inventions on the Professor's desk. Jezibell came very close to asking Hermione what they were, but was interested in how the teacher would present them.
Hermione took a seat at the front and Jezibell the one next to her, setting a clear precedent. Other students filed in; a gaggle of Ravenclaws, a few Hufflepuffs and a single Slytherin. There were no other Gryffindors. Ravenclaws were up front with Hermione, Hufflepuffs sat in the rows behind them and the Slytherin (who Jezibell now recognized as Theodore Nott) slouched in the back. The teacher, Professor Burbage so the black board told them, was younger than most, in her mid-thirties. She had brown-blond streaked hair and was smiling. She was pureblood but was outcast from the other old families due to her area of expertise. Father complained frequently to the school board about how Charity Burbage was 'polluting the minds of our youth with mud-riddled lies'. His claims did not manage to sack Burbage as hoped, but the school board gave up funds for the Muggle Studies class so the books were on their fourth year and money for supplies came out of Burbage's pocket.
Once the last Hufflepuffs had settled down, Professor Burbage took attendance. She called them all by their first names which was a bit different.
"Hannah,"
Pig-tailed Hufflepuff, here.
"Susan,"
Another braided Hufflepuff, also here.
"Terry,"
One of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, here.
"Mandy,"
Ravenclaw flock member, here.
Jezibell wondered if Burbage would recognize the surname on her mark.
"Hermione,"
"Here," said Hermione and the professor gave her a big warm smile. It would appear that word got out there was a muggle-born their midst. Michael and Anthony Ravenclaw were here, along with Ernie Hufflepuff who was pompously present.
"Jezibell," Professor Burbage called, the smile pursing sourly on the last syllable. She knew the Malfoys.
"Here," said Jezibell as dully as she could. Burbage gave her a I'm-watching-your-every-movelook, a tone that was not lightened when Theodore Nott grunted his presence. After Lisa Ravenclaw was proclaimed here, Professor Burbage set down the attendance list and the first lesson of Muggle Studies began.
"Now," said the Professor brightly, "As some of you may know by the blackboard, my name is Charity Burbage and this is Muggle Studies. Another thing you may know is that I have a very distinct opinion on Muggles. I'm sure most of you do too. I will not be trying to impress my opinion onto yours. You are perfectly free to make up your own minds in my class. This year, you may find out a great deal more than my name and what you are studying, but I can only bring the horse to water. What you learn this year is entirely up to you."
"So we don't have to do homework if we don't want?" called out Michael Ravenclaw.
"Nice try, but no. What I mean by this is that I encourage you to think beyond what you may have been taught beforehand and understand that there are two sides to every fact. Sometimes more. And which side you take should not be limited by what opinions have been made available to you in your lives so far. For instance, Theodore is of the opinion that paper planes can only be made one way."
All eyes went to back of the classroom to Nott, who was folding a small fleet. When he noticed the impromptu spotlight Theodore scowled and squashed his armada with his elbows, flipping the hood of his robe over his head. Jezibell couldn't help but be curious at the situation. What was Theodore Son-of-a-Death-Eater Nott doing here, in Muggle Studies?
"No, they're fine," Burbage walked down the aisle and picked up one that had fallen to the floor and held it expertly between thumb and forefinger, "If a bit old fashioned. It'll fly, certainly."
She flicked the plane and it curved right and nosedived onto Michael's desk. It was pretty pathetic as a projectile and the class shared a chuckle.
"But maybe a change of method is in order," More laughter. Theodore's hood wasn't so amused.
Michael looked at the aircraft critically, "It's not that difficult to fix, really. The right wing was made lopsided, so there's more weight to that side. To balance it all it needs is to be evened out. If I fold up a corner of the wing on the left it will create resistance to that side and the plane should level. Like this."
He launched it and the plane arched magnificently. It kissed the ceiling, hit a wad of blue gum and flubbed comically to the floor. Everyone laughed, even Theodore smirking some.
"So perhaps we could all use some new ideas. Thank you, Theodore and Michael," Burbage returned to the podium, "Now, my class is not hard. I am not a nasty homework nagging teacher. We do fun projects in here and the exams are fairly easy to pass. All this class requires from you is open mind and acceptance that not everyone thinks the way you do."
Burbage walked over to the metal contraption and flicked a button on it. It blazed to life, florescent light shown thought the clear plastic covering its lid and a large square lit up the white tarp on the board.
"This is an overhead projector. It is becoming popular in muggle schools for teaching, much the way we use the blackboard only more versatile. It normally runs on the science of Electricity, but I have used magic to make it operate here because the Machinery would short-circuit in Hogwarts."
It was the freakiest looking doohicky Jezibell had ever seen. Wasn't the electricity what caused most muggle fires and electrocution deaths? Muggles made technology for easier living and ended up hurting themselves and the earth in the process. Right, new perspectives. Professor Burbage took a transparent sheet of yet more plastic (muggles sure loved the stuff) and laid it on the overhead projector. Little bits of dust and hair appeared on the large screen and some of the Ravenclaws drew breath in surprise. Burbage took out a purple marker and wrote on the overhead projector. Her words were magnified on the board and she wrote them, her hand a dark blotch on the screen.
WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT MUGGLES
"Before we learn anything this year, let's start with what we already know. This is not difficult, I'm sure you can all think of plenty of things to say regarding muggles. For instance, you should all know right now that muggles use overhead projectors in their schools," Burbage bent over the projector again and wrote.
Muggles use overhead projectors.
"Each of you will come up to the overhead projector and write one thing you know without a doubt to be true about muggles. You can write anything, I don't care. As long as you would be perfectly willing to show it to Professor McGonagall, it is not something somebody else wrote and you believe it to be fact. You will not be graded for this but will be credited for participation."
They were actually going to have to go up and use the electricity projector? Father's head would explode if he knew. When was it her turn?
Hermione whispered to her and said this was way too easy. She had overhead projectors at her old school and there were a million and one things to say about muggles. Jezibell nodded silently wondering what she herself knew, really knew, about muggles. She wasn't alone here, the rest of the class was racking their brains behinds her. What did they know besides the overhead projectors? Not much. That is why they were here. It went in alphabetical order (Burbage hadn't time to think up another system), so Pig-tailed Hannah was first. When she came up to the overhead projector, marker in hand, she looked into the artificial light and asked, "But Professor, won't it burn?"
"The plastic covering protects you, see," Burbage came up and placed her hand flat on the screen. Another mucky shadow blurred the board, "completely safe!"
Hannah was still puzzled, "But where's the ink?" She held up the little capsule labeled SuperSketch. The Professor told her that the marker contained its own ink and didn't need to be refilled. The class exchanged glances at this new wonder. Maybe these muggles were onto something. Jezibell wasn't so impressed. She'd heard of muggle quills that supposedly never ran out of ink. Actually they did go dry, after awhile, and once that happened the container was rendered useless. Off to the landfills it goes, polluting oceans, valleys or wherever else the muggles decide to dump their gunk. Muggles had no sense of perspective. Jezibell considered using that as her fact, but she thought better of it. Hannah bent over the overhead projector to write her fact.
Muggles can't use magic.
There were a few groans from the Ravenclaws; she'd taken their answer. Hannah handed the marker to Susan Hufflepuff, who wrote without complaint.
Muggles used to burn us, but don't anymore
"Well, she's right," said Hermione, answering Jezibell's unspoken question, "They did conduct witch-hunts, but stopped a few hundred years ago. It's a perfectly unbiased fact."
Professor Burbage seemed to think the same. She didn't interject in any case. Terry Ravenclaw was next at the projector.
Muggles use Eliktrisitie.
Again, Burbage was silent if containing laughter. Even Jezibell knew how to spell Electricity. Mandy Ravenclaw bumped the periscope-thingy on her way up and the words on the board were jostled around so the projector was aimed at the ceiling. One of the pieces of fossilized chewing gum was under the 'u' in muggles. Professor Burbage said don't worry, these things can happen and proceeded to readjust the periscope. Jezibell wondered if all this muggle magic was really worth the trouble. Burbage made her point already with the paper planes. Couldn't they just use the blackboard? Theodore said something unclear from the back and earned himself a superior glare from Ernie Hufflepuff. Once the projector was situated Mandy wrote hers.
Muggle things are clever, but easy to upset
Mandy herself was deemed clever by the Ravenclaw flock; they clapped a bit when she went to sit down. Michael Ravenclaw came up.
They are easily fooled
Too true. Hermione came next. She took the marker up to the overhead projector to divulge one of her many secrets of muggles.
Muggle Science is advancing such that it is possible it may surpass our own capabilities in Magic.
This wasn't news. Jezibell had read that line before in her Muggle Studies text book. It was the part about muggles and how they are becoming more like wizards in what they can do. She bet Hermione could tell which paragraph it was in. This enforced the idea that Hermione Granger wasn't here to learn but to show off. Professor Burbage seemed disappointed; her mouth drooped just a bit to the side. Anthony Ravenclaw came next and he seemed determined to have more memory power than Hermione.
In Muggle literature, Wizarding people are often portrayed as vilainious elders.
He didn't succeed, spelled villainous wrong. But kudos for adding a period. It was getting close to Jezibell's turn, and she still hadn't thought of a good enough answer that wouldn't upset Burbage. What she 'knew' about muggles was that they were stupid, lazy, pathetic, pig-like mortals who wallowed in mud with their worthless paper money, waged primitive war with each other and nursed a long time grudge against our superior race. Ernie was writing now.
Muggles have brilliant minds to come up with incredible technology.
Ernie hand the purple SuperSketch to Jezibell with much more solemnity than was required, and she walked up to the overhead projector. At a few feet away, Jezibell noticed a low hum vibrating from the machine, like a sleeping animal. The light of the projector was very bright if not hot which was strange, and Jezibell found it difficult to look into the brightness for long. A funny staticky smell was hovering over the top and Jezibell reread the other phrases in purple ink on the plastic paper. Then she remembered one thing her father told that was true.
They fear us
Jezibell looked up at Charity Burbage who was staring back at her and, again, she didn't speak. Jezibell had to make a bit of a trek to the back of the classroom and hand off the Supersketch to Theodore. The other students gazed at her passing like she was a particularly interesting specimen of the Malfoy species. Fascinating. Theodore grabbed the marker from her with a scowl and slouched to the board. His hand-writing was rather sloppy, but they could all read it.
ignorant bastards
The Hufflepuffs gasped. Hermione looked like she might cry. The Ravenclaws tittered. Jezibell realized she'd forgotten the period in her sentence, oops. Theodore slammed the marker down on Lisa Ravenclaw's desk and Burbage's impassive face tightened, "Theodore, I would like you to see me after class," Nott's stringy hair flopped over his face and he shrugged himself deeper in the desk, "Go on, Lisa."
Lisa came up and wrote hers in neat lettering.
Muggles are human, too.
She remembered a period. As she handed the marker to Burbage and returned to her seat. The professor recaptured the podium.
"Now, I know this may not look like much to go forth with in our education, but I see it as a very good start. There are plenty of opinions and ideas bouncing around this classroom and they are nothing to be afraid of. At the end of the year we will try this again and see if you've found out anything new about muggles. Maybe some of your opinions will change, maybe not. In any case, I would now like to show you something else."
Burbage took the class's knowledge of muggles off the projector and placed a different slide on the screen. This one had a picture on it of something that reminded Jezibell of the cone-car on the Burbage's desk. It was immobile, monochromatic and much of the photo was obscured by smoke coming from the bottom of the object.
"What is that?" murmured Mandy to Lisa.
"Is it a bomb?" Terry inquired.
"Of course it's not a bomb," Anthony rolled his eyes, a brave imitation of Hermione's trademark look, "Bombs look like mushrooms."
"Perhaps Hermione can tell us what this invention is," suggested Burbage over the chatter, effectively making the room fall quiet to look inquisitively at Hermione.
"It's a rocket ship," She said, slightly in awe, "One of the Apollos, probably numbers 11 or 13. They're an American creation and run on the Law of Conservation of Momentum – that's physics – which is why the fuel in the engine ignites the way it does to create an enormous amount of energy to propel it upward. That's where all the smoke comes from. I don't even understand how it works exactly, but I know they are used for short trips to orbit around the earth and the moon."
Somebody coughed. It was Ernie.
"I'm sorry," he said with an unnecessary touch of sarcasm, "But did you say a Greek god flies American people to the moon?"
There were mutters of assent from other students in the classroom and Hermione turned red in realization that what she said made no sense. Or so Jezibell assumed...
"Apollo is the name the Americans gave to the space craft." She continued hotly, "They wanted to name it after the god associated with the moon, though they evidently failed some critical research because it should have been Selene or Artemis. But, yes, it does fly people to the moon; they even put evidence up there. Radio waves that can transmit back to earth and –"
"Yes, Hermione is completely right," interrupted Burbage gently, "But I'm not going to spend a whole period trying to get you to understand rocket science. Not yet, anyways. I just want you to think about the concepts here. Muggles have been to the moon. This is more than any wizard has done more than dream about."
The rest of the class was spent listening to the Ravenclaws and Ernie ask various questions regarding the rocket, the overhead and if bombs really did look like mushrooms. Jezibell paid attention, even when Hermione overtook the podium and started answering more than Burbage. Most of her explanations inspired many more challenges and class started to turn into a contest to find something Hermione didn't know. Theodore refused to participate any further, sleeping in the back with rather obvious snore. Too obvious. If Jezibell knew the Slytherin mentality, he was listening, making notes for later reference like she was.
The bell rang while Michael was presenting his theory on why projectors were still lesser than blackboards. Professor Burbage waved them out of the classroom, but caught Theodore before he could escape. Jezibell helped Hermione gather her books - she had twice as many as the other students and was still answering questions about mushroom cloud effect. They left Muggle Studies with her still in monologue, going on about the Cold War and the Arms Race. Jezibell half listened and half wondered who made the mistake of twisting Theodore's arm to get him into Muggle Studies.
They were a little ways down the corridor when Jezibell recalled the second part of the morning.
"Hermione, do you know the time?"
Hermione looked up in a start, "No, what is it?"
"9:52; you have two minutes."
Hermione figured the Time-Turner necklace, "Good, the bathroom's just ahead."
They speed walked to the lavatory in time. Around the corner, Jezibell could hear Harry, Ron and hopefully Hermione coming back from Divination. The boys turned it just as Hermione closed the bathroom door and Jezibell took note of their friends' slightly spooked expressions.
"Wonder what happened to them," She muttered. Hermione shrugged, taking out the Time-Turner.
"I don't know," She turned the hourglass over once, "I'll find out in a minute."
Hermione vanished just as she came around the turn, teasing Harry about something. Jezibell opened the door of the bathroom.
"Hey, Jezibell," grinned Harry, though it looked forced, "How was Muggle Studies?
"We learned how not to make paper planes," Jezibell slowed down to fall into step beside him and Ron, "But shouldn't you have Seen that already?
Ron laughed, weaker than usual. What was up with them?
"Now I get what you were going on about before class. Seeing-wise I think we have a ways to go. We're starting with tea leaves. It all looked like squashy dregs to me, but apparently Professor Trelawney saw some future stuff," Ron cast a reassuring glance at Harry, "Probably nothing worth worrying about."
There it was again, that 'nothing' of poor liars. Did they really think she wouldn't notice? Harry picked up the subject.
"The Divination Professor is really strange," He seemed rather uncomfortable, Jezibell guessed the subject of the Dementor had come up. Ron asked for details on Muggle Studies so he could send a letter to his dad about how the class had changed since he attended it. She understood it was a method to change the subject and that was fine with her. Sooner or later, she'd find out what happened at the North Tower. Jezibell had fun tormenting Hermione by lying shamelessly about the class, using the overhead projector as her single grain of truth. This was useful as Harry too had experienced its wonders at his muggle elementary school. While he filled Ron in, Hermione whispered to Jezibell.
"You are insufferable," She accused.
"I try."
"But it worked," Hermione was quite smug on this.
"Sure," Jezibell wasn't entirely convinced that the Time-Turner was a good lesson plan, "What did you tell Harry and Ron?"
"I didn't, that's the point, isn't it?"
"You can't hide it forever."
"I don't have to hide it forever. Just until seventh year."
Jezibell didn't respond. If Hermione thought she could be supergirl and do everything thing at once, then fine. Let her test her limits. Maybe she was good enough at school take every subject. And if not, she could always give the Time-Turner back. Jezibell didn't know her friend very well but she figured five more years of this would drive anyone insane. After all, Hermione was only human.
Next on the schedule was Transfiguration. When they entered the classroom, Jezibell shadowed the trio as a tentative ghost. They passed the abandoned seat at the back that had been reserved as hers, settling in the front, Jezibell next to Harry next to Ron next to Hermione. Professor McGonagall saw the new development in relationships and cast her eyes around the room, narrowing them upon meeting Jezibell's who stared coolly back. McGonagall gave her a similar if sharper look as the one Charity Burbage did. I got my eye on you, Malfoy.
McGonagall took attendance, surnames as usual, and made introductions to what they would be studying this semester: Animagi.
"An Animagus," said McGonagall "is a witch or wizard who can transform into an animal upon command. It takes years of practice, but if you are willing to put in the effort, a wand will not be necessary to make the change. Like so."
And with that, the Transfiguration teacher vanished to be replaced by a tabby cat with square markings on its eyes.
It was quite a good show. Jezibell was paying close attention and didn't see McGonagall take out her wand for the demonstration at all. However, the rest of the class wasn't so impressed. They sat silent, staring at the blackboard where the professor's head had been. Jezibell watched a fly buzz through the room and around Harry's head. He didn't blink.
McGonagall-cat noticed the zombie-like behavior of her class and she resumed human form as to question them better.
"Really, what has gotten into you all today?" she did a sweep of the blank faces belonging to the Gryffindor third year. The fly landed freely on Harry's shoulder and Jezibell stuck him sharply with her quill, which brought him to reality with a start. "Not that it matters, but this is the first time my transformation hasn't gotten an applause from the class."
As if on cue, every head on the student body turned to look a Harry who, having traveled back from La La Land via Jezibell's quill, sank a little lower in his desk. Jezibell figured what was going on.
"Professor," Jezibell spoke to McGonagall, "they had their first Divination class -"
"Of course," McGonagall's hard expression shifted into something less recognizable, "Say no more, Miss Malfoy. Tell me, which one of you will be dying this year?"
Jezibell identified the mystery emotion: Sarcasm.
The class stared at her in surprise for a second before Harry spoke up.
"Me."
Of course. Jezibell should have known. The Divination Professor may never come down from her tower, but she seemed up to date with current events and singled out Harry for increased accuracy. What with Sirius after him and his track record, there was an off chance this year would be his last.
McGonagall instructed Harry not to worry. Sybil Trelawney predicted the death of a student every year for 14 years as a way of greeting class. All her Objects were currently in good health. Divination is a very imprecise brand of magic and True Seers are very rare (entirely sane Seers even rarer). Minerva McGonagall herself did not hold faith in such things. She said Harry looked fine to her, but if he dropped dead by tomorrow he need not hand in his homework.
Harry seemed more or less reassured by the tight-lipped joke. Hermione laughed, but she was the only one that did. The rest of the class muttered nervously and Brown whispered, "But what about Neville's cup?"
McGonagall resumed her talk about the Ministry's regulations for Animagi and the fly whizzed away. Class ended on a brisk note, homework for tonight was to write a paragraph on why Animagi need to be acknowledged by Ministry, to which Ron was heard to groan. Jezibell prepared to leave the classroom with Harry, Ron and Hermione, but the professor stopped her before she reached the door.
"Tell me, Miss Malfoy, are you taking Divination?"
"Tell me, Professor, do you take me for a sheep?"
McGonagall gave her an intelligent smile, "No, Miss Malfoy, not a sheep. I take you for many things, but easily shepherded is not one of them. I venture if the majority of your peers chose Arithmancy as their new class, you would take Divination instead. But perhaps this contrary behavior is beneficial and, as unlikely as it seems, you will provide the source of reason this year."
"That's me, the good Shepherd," Jezibell replied dryly. McGonagall appeared to be overestimating Jezibell's influence on the third year. Her social status may have climbed some since second, but she had a long way to go before universal respect was within her grasp.
Lunch was noisy and excitable as usual. The one change was, again, the seating arrangement. The end of the table were Jezibell normally had her daily dose of ostracism was filled up with first years, so instead she took the seat between Harry and Hermione.
"So the death omen slipped your mind," Jezibell picked an apple from the fruit bowl, "Anything else that might've?"
"Well, you know how Trelawney's room is in the North Tower," Ron ladled some beef stew onto his plate, "She's got this fireplace burning incense and stuff so it was kind of hard to concentrate 'cause of the smell."
Ron started on his stew so Harry picked up, "It's stuffy and cramped. The North Tower classroom is small and round, and Trelawney's got all these little chairs and foot cushions piled everywhere. The Professor herself is a hard to understand, kept going on about the Inner Eye and the visions she gets up there."
Harry paused to drink from his goblet, his own plate empty. Imminent doom must take away your appetite.
"Though if she really never does come down from that fuchsia cloud of potions, it's a wonder she can See straight," Hermione scooped lettuce and tomatoes onto her plate.
"You know, that's probably what those buggy glasses are for," Ron helped himself to potato, not getting the pun, "Anyway, before handing out the tea cups Trelawney made a whole bunch of little predictions. There was something about Neville's Gran -"
"She told him not to be too sure that she was well," Hermione interrupted from her salad, "That's not so much of a foresight as a guess."
Harry broke in before Ron could retaliate, "She told Parvati to 'beware of redheads'. Parvati thought she meant Ron, she shifted where she was sitting -"
"- And she told Lavender the thing she dreaded would happen Friday, the sixteenth of October," Hermione sounded very skeptical of this, "She just pulled that date on random. If anything happens to Lavender on Friday the sixteenth, it will be the prophecy fulfilled."
"What about Neville's cup, then?" demanded Ron.
"You tell me," said Jezibell taking a bite of her apple, "What about Neville's cup?"
"It was right before Neville got up to get his tea cup," said Harry, "Trelawney came over and told him that after his first cup broke he should a take a pink one -"
"No, a blue one," interjected Hermione, "Trelawney said she likes the pink."
"Whatever," Ron rolled his eyes, "The blue one. He took the cup and then maybe five seconds later smashed it tripping on a little pouf."
Jezibell set down the fruit, "That's not real Seeing. Trelawney must have been paying attention as you came in. Neville is clumsy. He probably tripped once or twice by the time she started introductions; the room was covered in seat cushions. Delicate china, Neville, a room that is an obstacle course; it would be incredible if Trelawney predicted he wouldn't break the cup and then he didn't and even that would have been a placebo effect."
They just stared at her, Ron with a mouthful of beef and carrots, like she'd animagused into a large anaconda. Ron swallowed and turned away from her to Harry to ask him about a large black dog.
"Wait, do you mean the Grim?"
"Oh no, not you too!" groaned Hermione, "That bit of tea dregs didn't look like anything but a mucky splotch. You are all so gullible to think that meant anything important!"
"You don't know what you're talking about, Hermione," Ron answered hotly, and Jezibell got the idea this wasn't a new dispute, "Grims scare the living daylight out of most wizards!"
"There you are then. They see the Grim and they die of fright. The Grim isn't an omen; it's the cause of the death. Harry's still with us because he isn't stupid enough to see one and think 'Right, well I'd better kick the bucket then'."
"Death by creep factor? Guess I'm a weapon of mass destruction," Jezibell remarked at Hermione's brand of logic. She knew she was feeding their flames, but couldn't resist goading the nonsense.
"Yes, I mean, no. Look, it's all a lot of guesswork, that's it - just vague statements and woolly interpretations of tea leaves!"
"There was nothing woolly about the Grim in that cup!" Ron exclaimed.
"You didn't seem quite so confident when telling Harry it was a sheep."
"Trelawney said you didn't have the right aura," Ron asserted, "You just don't like being bad at something for a change!"
Bull's eye. Hermione stood up with her load of books for impossible classes, "If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see Grims in tea cups, I might not be doing much longer. Even my Muggle Studies class is more useful than this!"
Hermione stormed out of the Great Hall, heading to the library probably, and halfway up the stairs, several of the books toppled from her overfilled bag. She picked them up with dignity and continued her route, ignoring the snickers from Slytherin.
"What was she talking about? She hasn't been to Muggle Studies yet," Ron looked to Jezibell as if he wasn't too sure, "Has she?"
Jezibell shook her head gravely. This was her cue, "Of course not, she'd have to be in two places at once."
Ron seemed appeased by this and Harry didn't find anything odd about Hermione's aside either. Jezibell was rethinking her assumption the Hermione wouldn't be able to hide the Time-Turner forever. These two wouldn't notice if she danced on the house tables in her nightgown and sang the story for all to hear.
"So, the Grim," Jezibell continued, determined to have the whole story down before lunch ended, "I agree with Hermione. If it was just tea leaves, the interpretation's subjective."
"I don't know," said Ron looking worried. He pushed away his stew, "My Uncle Bilius saw one and he died twenty four hours later. You haven't seen a great black dog anywhere, have you, Harry?"
"Yeah, I have. Saw one the night I left the Dursley's."
Ron looked at Jezibell anxiously and it took her a second to figure out this was the part where they were supposed to exchange a worried glance. She caught on too slow though, and Ron had already turned away by the time she'd gotten the right expression for it. Better luck next time.
"That's bad, Harry" he said in a low voice, "that's real bad..."
Very baaahd indeed. Yes, an actual Grim was a lot worse than leftover tea leaves, but in the light Hermione put it in, Jezibell couldn't help but feel more flippant about her learned superstitions. Burbage told her not an hour ago that individual perception mattered and McGonagall said she should hold herself above her classmates, keep her head on straight while they lost theirs over this Divination madness. She could work with that.
Ron did not continue to interrogate Harry about the Grim, and they finished their meal in a rather macabre silence. Jezibell was still a put off by the way they reacted to her explanation for Neville's cup. What did she say wrong?
Hermione returned ten minutes later when lunch ended, but made it quite clear that she and Ron were officially not speaking. While they walked to Hagrid's first class of Care of Magical Creatures, Jezibell asked Harry how long these silent treatments usually lasted. Harry said a quarter hour, tops. Less if the teacher started asking open answer questions. He would know, having been friends with Ron and Hermione for two years, but Jezibell had plenty experience with angry silences herself. She bet less than five.
And speaking of silences, the one between Jezibell and Harry was fairly awkward as well. Without Hermione or Ron to supply conversation, it was difficult to find common ground. Jezibell was trying to think of something to say besides, "See any other omens of your imminent demise lately?" She finally asked about the Broomstick Service kit she'd gotten him for his birthday, which was a good call. Apparently it was what kept him sane that summer before blowing up his Aunt. At any rate, the topic carried them down the verdant lawns of the castle and almost to the Gamekeeper's hut (Where Jezibell had not yet been and was a little surprised at its up keep. It beat most of the shops in Knocturn Alley for cleanliness), and at this point they had a plethora of other things to say.
"Oh, no," said Ron, "Tell me that is not who I think it is."
It was. Walking in front of them flanked by his small armed guard was Draco. Loverly. It would appear they were having Care Of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins.
"I hope he doesn't try to mess up Hagrid's first day," worried Hermione.
"He better not," Ron growled in reply. Harry checked his watch.
"Six minutes exactly," he said glancing up at Jezibell, "I win."
"You do not," she retorted, "six is closer to five than fifteen."
"But you said less than five, I said fifteen or less."
"That was if Hagrid started quizzing us in class."
"Call it a draw?"
"This time."
"Class is starting!" The Gamekeeper bellowed, "C'mon over!"
Harry and Jezibell jogged to catch up to Ron, Hermione and the rest of the class, who were being greeted by Professor Hagrid and his large drooling dog. He led them around the edge of the Forest, claiming he had a Real Treat for them today, a proclamation at which most everybody exchanged worried looks. The six minute silence Ron and Hermione endured must have been rather loud, since while walking Ron asked, "What was all that about?"
"Overhead projectors," said Jezibell as Harry was having trouble keeping a straight face. Hagrid brought them into something like a paddock, as where horses might be kept. He told them to come around the fence and open up their books, but didn't get to say what page before he was interrupted by Draco. It could have been ruder, he only said one word.
"How?"
"Eh?" asked Hagrid.
"How do we open our books?" Draco repeated slowly, holding up his copy, which was bound in a belt Mother gave him. The rest of the class took out theirs, sporting other various forms of makeshift binding. Jezibell had to give them credit, some of the restraints possessed ingenuity. Seamus Finnigan used what appeared to be the waistband from his boxers, Daphne Greengrass carried a cocoon of spell-o-tape and Patil even sacrificed several of her hair ribbons to the Monster Book of Monsters.
"Hasn't anyone been able to open their books?" said Hagrid in true disbelief. One person had.
When she got her book at Flourish and Blotts, Jezibell realized something about Hagrid. He was another test. Hagrid was Harry, Ron and Hermione's best friend, and consequently was going to have to be hers too. Jezibell would need to do outstanding in his class if she was to win over the person who believed all Malfoys were devil spawn. To do something for a professor she hadn't before: try. So, she raised her hand.
"I have, Professor," Jezibell said, procuring her own book, contained by a hair band and sticking charm combination. It was just for show, however. Jezibell muttered the counter charm and the class watched as she removed the blue decoration. The book started to snap its covers together as they do and Jezibell ran her hand across its leathery hide, smoothing it to calm the book. It closed its eye and went to sleep, falling open on the table of contents, "You pet them."
Harry took his squirming book (another belted copy) and stroked the spine, surprised when it shuddered and fell quite.
"How'd you figure that out?"
"Intuition."
Not really, but that was the most believable thing to go with. It had to do with Emmy, and most things Emmy-wise were best left unsaid. It turned out that the Monster Book of Monsters was fluent in most of the languages of the beasts it taught and Emmy served as a medium for communications. Of course it couldn't say much, it was just a book, and the context was similar to what you would expect if a pet dog could speak. Stop hurting, stop poking, stop grabbing, stop pinching. Only through gentle touches and kindness would the book reveal itself to you.
The people closest to her demonstration discovered this now, ripping off rope and ribbon to run a finger down the furry spine. Hagrid sent the message to the large class.
"Yer supposed to stroke 'em," he gave Jezibell what may have been a smile under the fierce tangles of facial hair, "I thought they were funny."
"Oh yeah, tremendously funny. Giving us a book that rips our hands off," Draco snapped bitterly.
He might have said more, but Harry cut him off with the usual, "Shut up, Malfoy".
Jezibell tried to be grateful at his intervention, but couldn't help remembering there was a time when the phrase applied to her too.
While the other pupils showed their books affection, Hagrid walked boldly into the Forbidden(to everyone but Hagrid)Forest to get whatever the subjects would be today. Draco was picking a fight with Harry, not a scene Jezibell wanted to be involved in. She glanced around for an excuse to stay out of it. Fortunately, this was not hard to find.
"Ahhhhhh!"
Jezibell turned in time to see Neville fall to the ground, wrestling his copy which was clawing at his face and robes. She walked over, plucked the book out of his hands and smoothed out the ruffles in its fur. Neville pushed himself up, looking as if he was attacked by a very angry chicken. Jezibell handed the open book to him, "You did get the memo about stroking them?"
"Yeah," He tried to pass off a nonchalant shrug while gingerly taking the book between thumb and forefinger, "I stroked it."
Jezibell was going to reply when she looked over Neville's shoulder and saw the Real Treat being towed by Hagrid toward them from the far end of the paddock.
"Whoa."
Hippogriffs. The class was loud and disorganized before, but now everyone fell quiet (yes, including the Slytherins) to stare at the new arrivals. They were, to say the least, extraordinary. They advanced with a strange gait, the bird forelegs dipped down to make up for the steady trot of the horsey back. There were several, a black raven, white dove, bronze eagle and one salmon pink one that resembled a flamingo. The largest, and most handsome, was a strong stormy gray that might have been a type of hawk. Peregrine falcon, maybe.
Hagrid didn't spend much time talking about today's subjects, briefly highlighting proper poise when approaching a Hippogriff and warning them against criticism, before asking who wanted to be the first victim. Jezibell was beginning to like this class. She started toward the large falconish one, but before she could make her intentions known Harry spoke up.
"I'll do it," he said.
Despite protests from their housemates and catcalls from Slytherin, Hagrid lead him over to the gray (aka Buckbeak) and Harry gave a quick bend to the hippogriff as instructed. Buckbeak bowed back without too much trouble. In fact, Harry did so well that Hagrid let him take a ride around the paddock. In the air. The Gryffindors cheered at his success as he touched down and the Slytherins slouched deep in their robes. Jezibell thought she saw a few Galleons exchange hands. Harry gave Buckbeak a quick good by pat on the beak, and Hagrid unleashed the rest of the creatures into the corral.
Jezibell went forward with Ron and Hermione while Harry graciously stood aside to watch as he already took his turn. It was about two students per bird and Jezibell somehow ended up paired with Neville. The hippogriff they were working with was a hawkish coppery one. Not so mammoth as Buckbeak, but still possessing large enough talons to send Neville into a frantic sort of dance. He kept stepping forward to stare it down as Harry demonstrated, before catching sight of the razor sharp beak which made him back up again. Jezibell was going to ask if she could have a go when a cry of bloody murder erupted from the other end of the paddock.
Draco Malfoy
It all happened so bloody fast and not as a figure of speech.
On second, no, one quarter second was all it took for him to go from petting the foul thing to lying in the dirt clutching a brutally torn arm. Draco didn't care what the Oaf said. It sure felt like he was bleeding to death.
"I'm dying! I'm dying! It's killed me!" He wailed for mercy, watching the huge shadow of the beast being lifted from him. The Gamekeeper called his demon off quick enough, but did any of them realize how close Draco had been to being a piece of fondue on a stick on an appetizer tray?
"Yeh not dying, he jus' scratched yeh," Draco could hear the Gamekeeper's protests from above. A scratch! His arm was on fire. He could feel a dampness about his robes that was almost certainly blood. There were girls screaming all around that made his head five times dizzier. That troll was going to hear from his father for this, he and his behemoth could scratch on that! A sudden shift came in the world when two hard planks where forced under him, lifting his bleeding corpse skyward.
"Gotta get you to the hospital wing," said the gruff voice, closer than usual. Draco dimly registered exactly how he was being transported and wanted to scream again. But he couldn't look too conscious, they might decide to bandage him right there. Instead, he moaned about 'the pain...the pain...' and twisted his face up for good measure. Actually, though his arm still hurt quite a lot, it was becoming manageable - almost more so than Draco would have liked. He could hear a posse of Slytherin witches following them to the castle, which meant he was still going to have to put on a show.
Though it wasn't hard to look in excruciating pain and be miserable to every passing person, Draco wished he didn't have to pretend at all. From what he could tell, what the Hippogriff did to his arm was a lot more than a scratch, but it wasn't anything morbid, not even worthy of amputation. Not that he wanted any of those things to really happen; Draco Malfoy valued his life and limb highly. He was sure that anything, even that serious, wouldn't be much trouble for a healer to fix up. But the worse his wound was now, the more hell the Gamekeeper would catch for it later.
They seemed to be nearly to the Hospital Wing. Several doors were opened and the Gamekeeper's boots now echoed on hard marble floor, not soil. They passed a few errant students and ghosts, but not many as classes were still in session. Most stopped and asked what happened to Malfoy and the Gamekeeper told them the short version of an 'accident' in class. This abridging invited rebellion from the indignantly hysterical girls, and Draco gave the passerby an agonized groan for his trouble. If this kept up, the whole school would know how Draco Malfoy was mauled in Care of Magical Creatures before they reached the nurse. Which, of course, was exactly what Draco wanted.
For the first time Draco was glad to see the matron upon arriving. Normally he found her incredibly dismissive of his ailments - no matter how urgent or dire - and did not appreciate her enforcing the six visitors only rule when his housemates were gathered at his bedside. Potter got full length circus show when he showed up for fainting and Draco deserved no less. More, actually, much with his newly ravaged arm, not even she could deny the situation. The appendage in question was also throbbing horribly, and what he really needed was a numbing salve on ready. The Gamekeeper deposited him onto the nearest bed and Draco did his best to be weak and pale as Madam Pomfrey went to work on the arm.
He must have done the job too well, because she started questioning the Gamekeeper, not him, about how he sustained his injuries. The ever faithful Pansy and prose, however, took it from there. They fed the nurse all sorts of gory details about how the Gamekeeper brought this monster to class and it attacked poor Draco out of the blue. They were so mawkishly persistent that by the time Draco's arm was all slung up and pain nullified in poppy seed ointments, Madam Pomfrey was berating the Gamekeeper too. All was well in the world until the door flew open to reveal his sister.
"Professor Hagrid has class of fifth years in seventeen minutes, if you'll excuse him," Jezibell spoke calmly, giving the Professor (hah!) a tug on his overcoat to clue him in that this was his cue to leave. Professor Hagrid left with a few more uneasy grumbles and Jezibell turned to look daggers at Draco.
"Matron, may I speak with my dear brother about his incident. Alone," she added when Pansy started to whine, "Family first, Parkinson, you understand. Seven minutes and you can have him all to yourselves."
She said this so darkly you'd think she was talking to a coven of vampires. As it was, Jezibell marched over to Draco's bed looking almost as dangerous. Madam Pomfrey agreed that family should come first and shooed the girls away, going into the back room herself.
"How are you?" She asked, like her visit was because she cared about the condition of her brother's arm. Draco knew better.
"I am a true martyr. Even with two layers of poppy seed, I can still feel where the talons nearly gutted me," he sighed, "Who knows if my arm will ever be the same again."
Jezibell leaned forward on the mattress to glare in his face, "Don't give me crap, I'll get it later. I want it from the horse's mouth, what happened?"
Draco tried to scowl back at her, which wasn't easy given his face was already pinched up from the fake pain. Mostly fake.
"I wasn't doing anything wrong, alright, just petted it the way Potter did. Then the overgrown chicken went berserk on me, for no reason, I swear!"
Her face wasn't buying it. Even though it was true, you know, pretty much. He hadn't been touching it the wrong way or anything.
"You insulted him."
"I didn't -"
"You just did it again. What did you say?"
Draco found himself in the familiar corner he usually ended up in when arguing with Jezibell. For the seven hundreth time he wondered how she got in Gryffindor. Sometimes his sister seemed more Slytherin than he was. That's not an easy feat.
"I told it that it was a great ugly brute. How was I supposed to know that would offend it? Maybe ugly brute is a complement if you're a monster. Besides," Draco found his sneer, "If you'd shown me how to open that ridiculous book while I was being chewed up by it, maybe I would know that already."
He scored a point there, but Jezibell blew the Monster Book of Morons off, "If you listened to Hagrid, you should know that already. And that a Hippogriff doesn't like a hypocrite."
"Oh, that's just priceless. You call me a hypocrite, Miss Bloodtraiter Malfoy playing the family card!" His taunt was nasty, but not undeserving. When Jezibell came into the Hospital Wing preaching to Pansy about 'family time', something started burning in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't anger, but something more harmful.
Jezibell let it roll off her with annoying ease, "Speak for yourself, then be as angry as you want."
Acid oozed through his gut and he snorted a derisive laugh, "Guess a year of being the crazy-cat-lady-in-training makes you immune to logic. Who'd of thought?"
Jezibell simpered, "While we're on the subject of cuckoos, what are you going to tell Mother?"
"Whatever I feel like, and I feel pretty bad," Draco adjusted the numb arm in the sling sincerely, "That bird is an uncontrollable menace."
His sister looked more likely to claw out his throat than Barfbeak right then. Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey returned, possibly saving Draco's life, to tell them that Pansy was getting impatient outside and she still needed to work on his arm. Jezibell quickly fixed on her indifferent face and told her they were about to wrap it up anyway. She said good bye to Draco nicely for the nurse, but gave him a no-false-moves-or-you're-dead look as she did so.
Pansy, Daphne and the others moved out Jezibell's way as she stalked out the door, forced respect for his sister. They shut it firmly behind her and gathered around his bed while the matron continued to patch up the arm. They tittered, asking what they could get for him, who would be the first to sign the cast and pleading for details of his brave plight. The acid in Draco's stomach reached a boiling point. Speak for yourself, hypocrite. He knew what he needed.
"Get a quill and parchment," he said directly to Pansy, making her smile, "I want to send a letter to my mother."