Dog Eared
Great Hall, October Thirty-first
Jezibell stared up into the heavens, sparkling and swirling with dizzy light if you looked long enough. Galaxies pin-wheeled in slow motion, milky arms throwing off glitters and a shooting star crossed her vision briefly before disappearing into the empty blackness beyond. She picked out several constellations she'd known since she was old enough to figure out her name. Orion, Draco, Cassiopeia, Canis Major. She stretched her arms into the plush sleeping bag and twisted inside her school robes trying to make herself comfortable without disturbing the warm lump of Emmy at her feet. There was, ah, a problem with getting into Gryffindor tower that night and all the students had to do without their evening comforts, such as pajamas and tooth cleansing potion, since the tower and the rest of the castle were being searched. The manufactured sky in the hall made up for the short notice arrangements, Jezibell normally saw the enchanted ceiling by day and found the constellations far more entertaining than regular blue sky. Of course this particular night there were a plethora of things to entertain.
"So how do you think he got in?"
"Didja see them marks on the paintin' –?"
"There's this shrub in Greenhouse two, always seemed rather suspicious –"
"Oh god, I was terrified -"
"The poor Fat Lady, what an awful fright -"
"He coulda disguised hiself, or used an invisibility cloak –"
"Maybe that's how he got passed the Dementors in Azkaban –"
"But Dumbledore said that wouldn't work –"
"He could've' apparated in –"
"No, he couldn't, you can't apparate inside Hogwarts! How many times -"
That evening, while the Halloween feast conveniently took place, Sirius Black somehow broke into the castle. He slipped passed the Dementors, tiptoed around protective spells and snuck all the way to Gryffindor tower only to be stopped by the purest layer of Hogwarts security: the common room password. Jezibell let her mind recreate how the scene in front of the portrait hole might have looked. Mass murderer Sirius Black, escapee of the inescapable island prison Azkaban, reduced to nothing but an unlucky school boy who forgot the password for the portrait hole. The Fat Lady should be painted a medal for services to the school if they ever got the claw marks off her.
Jezibell doubted anyone would appreciate her dark humor. The panicky paranoid energy in the sleepless hall reminded her uncomfortably of last year, when Slytherin's Monster roamed the halls. The difference was that last time Jezibell was the subject for most fears and accusations. The situation was reversed now. She was just as susceptible as anybody else for an attack. Well, almost anybody….
In the sleeping bag next to hers was Harry Potter, staring silent at the ceiling same as she was. Sirius was a key player in the Dark Lord's infamous murder of the Potters. He was their Secret Keeper, and years before that he'd been a stooge from inside the Order of the Phoenix that not even high ranking Death Eaters such as Father knew about. What was supposed to be his shining moment as the Dark Lord's right hand was when he double crossed the Potters after a week of being under the Fidelius Charm's protection. Of course that lead to the Dark Lord's fall, which is why Sirius let himself be captured. How better to prove himself a true to the cause and not a traitor for leading his master to trap? However, after several years in Azkaban even the most heroic go mad and Father was told confidentially by the Minister of Magic that awhile before Sirius's escape he was muttering in his dreams 'He's at Hogwarts, He's at Hogwarts.' It was supposed after twelve years mulling things over in an Azkaban cell Sirius came to the half-baked conclusion that his situation was the remaining Potter's fault and the only way to get things back to normal was to see him dead. Harry said he knew all this from Ron's dad, Mr. Weasley, but hadn't acted very scared of his would be assassin on the Hogwarts Express. Jezibell wondered exactly how much he was told.
"You know why he came," Jezibell spoke to Harry aloud, keeping her eyes fixed on the stars and voice low so Ron and Hermione, who were now debating about the rules of defensive magic to the left of Harry wouldn't hear, "Sirius didn't break into Hogwarts to become the next Houdini. He's after you. This isn't mumbled dreams and speculation. He really does want you dead."
Jezibell heard an impatient sigh to her left.
"Yeah, I know," Jezibell could practically hear Harry's eyes roll, "He's a famous mass murderer, has broken out of Azkaban and will stop at nothing to kill me. I get that it's horrible and this is part where I'm supposed to be scared. But I'm not. I mean, it's not like this is the first time I've had someone skulking around the castle plotting my early demise."
"Yes, by the second year of living in fear it must all be old hat by now." A comet sliced through Canis Minor, one of the harder ones for Jezibell to spot.
"Third, actually if you count the professor who had Voldemort growing out the back of his head."
Jezibell was forced to laugh slightly to hide the kneejerk shiver in her voice from His name. "But how can we forget the most malevolent schemer of them all, who nearly succeeded bashing you to bits twice: Dobby."
Harry snickered quietly, a smart move as it would be awkward to guffaw loudly after such a serious event. Jezibell rather liked Harry better than Hermione or Ron. The pair of them were giving her a Luke warm shoulder after the trip to Hogsmeade so Jezibell figured she must have offended or scared them somehow. Again. Sometimes Jezibell got the impression they only put up with her because Harry said so, especially Ron. Jezibell didn't blame them too much, if she was being honest with herself she felt the same towards them (Them as in both at the same time, Ron or Hermione wasn't so bad). Harry may not understand any more than they did, but he accepted her.
"So," she continued, "You know everything he did and you have no problem with it."
There was a pause here and Jezibell guessed Harry was thinking about his parent's murder. Or maybe that Sirius was still his godfather. Jezibell could relate on that at least. Bellatrix and Rodulphus Lestrange were named her and Draco's godparents a year before they were sent to Azkaban for torturing an Auror couple into insanity. You get over it.
"I'm not saying I'm not scared at all, just not the terrified bundle nerves everybody expects me to be. Killing a whole street of muggles is awful, but it can't be worse than anything Voldemort's done. I've faced him three times now, haven't I? If anything, this is a downgrade."
Jezibell was impressed. She hadn't known Harry for very long, but he didn't seem the type of person to take personal offenses lightly. Having such a mild reaction to who ratted out his parents to the Dark Lord was not something Jezibell would have accounted for. He reminded her – well, not of her brother – but what she would want in a brother, someone who took things more calmly and rationally than most people and didn't get worked up about what you can't control.
"So how do you think he got in?" Harry finally asked, channeling the question rippling through the hall.
"Maybe he didn't."
"How do you mean? You saw the huge scratches on the canvass."
"Exactly. Did those look like marks a serious assassin would make?"
"Maybe a really angry one. With a knife."
"He's mad, not stupid. Slashing the portrait is pointless and gives away his position, just making it harder for him to try again. All we have to go on that it was him is the Fat Lady and Peeves' word. Is either of them that reliable? Peeves is literally a physical embodiment of discord and the Lady was already freaked from being alone in a dark corridor. Peeves and some joker probably set this up with a big hairy mask and one of Hagrid's overcoats. They sneaked up, surprised the Lady, sliced the painting with a carving knife and were back to the Great Hall before anyone knew."
"Lights out, now!" called Prefect Weasley to hall at large, "I want everyone in their sleeping bags and no talking!"
The candles blew themselves out simultaneously, but the whispers took slightly longer to completely die. With the few second of cover, Harry sneaked one more thing.
"What really bothers me are those marks," he muttered, sounding more troubled than with the rest of the conversation. "How they were made, it looked almost… animal."
Without the babble of voices to distract, the celestial dance became hypnotic and Jezibell soon found sleep, lost in the kaleidoscopic dreams one tends to get when you go to bed in an unnatural position or new place. Until she received a hard nudge to her shoulder that is.
"Emmy?" The sleep garbled parseltongue was little more than a whisper.
"Quiet!" Someone hissed back who didn't sound like the cat. Sirius - Great Hall - Harry - scratches. Right.
Above her a pair of voices came closer on footsteps hushed by sweeping robes.
"The whole of the third floor has been searched, he's not there. Filch has done the dungeons and there's nothing there either," said a dry nasal that might be Snape. She began to breathe heavily and evenly to give the impression of deep slumber, a trick learned from Emmy.
"What about the Astronomy Tower, Professor Trelawney's room and the Owlery?" That deep, measured voice must be Dumbledore. In – one, two – out – one, two.
"All well searched."
Out – one, two – in.
"Very well, Severus," Yes, definitely Snape and Dumbledore and by the sound of it they were talking about Sirius who was purging their defenses more effectively than a sudsy snake. In - one, two – out, "I didn't really expect Black to linger."
"Have you any theories as to how he got in, Professor?"
A second, sharper dig came to Jezibell's side between one of the 'out's. Harry thought she went back to sleep.
"I'm awake."
The message was quiet, passable as muttered sleep talk. Jezibell figured if Harry was able to hear the serpent's tongue from deep inside the plumbing of the castle, he would understand her.
"Many, Severus, each as unlikely as the next."
"You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before… start of term?" Snape's voice was tighter now, as if it came through clenched teeth. Jezibell suspected Harry woke her to do some eavesdropping so she quickly started to hypothesize. Was Snape upset with Dumbledore about something? Or just annoyed at how easily Sirius eluded him? No, definitely more than annoyed. Out – one, two – in.
"I do, Severus."
"It seems almost impossible that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed –"
"I do not believe a single person in this castle would have helped Black enter it. I must go now to the Dementors, I said I would inform them when our search was complete."
"Didn't they want to help?" queried a new voice that was young and pompous enough to be Prefect Weasley.
"Oh, yes. But I am afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am headmaster," He concluded, a bit darkly for the generally undaunted headmaster of Hogwarts.
Shuffling feet to the side told Jezibell Dumbledore left and after a pause similar sounds from the right indicated Snape's departure. Unfortunately there was no third set that may or may not be Prefect Weasley and faint breathing could be heard overhead that made it impossible for her, Harry, and/or Ron and/or Hermione to exchange notes, so Jezibell reviewed them to herself.
Key point: Sirius was gone, if he ever was, leaving some very frustrated staff members in his wake. Jezibell knew it would be best for all if he was caught quickly, but still felt a small surge of triumph. Maybe because they were family, maybe because she too spent time as the underdog, maybe she just loved the poke in the nose the Dementors were getting as a result, but there was something perversely satisfying that Sirius managed to beat the system once again.
Yet there was something more, a slippery lozenge theory Jezibell rolled around in her blurred thoughts. It made a fair amount sense to her but she wasn't sure the others would agree with her. No, she was positive they wouldn't. But she didn't need their approval. She could do the calculations herself.
(Before Start of Year + Staff Appointment)Angry Snape = Lupin
Draco Malfoy
It was only nine thirty in the morning and Draco already knew it was going to be a great day. Now it wouldn't be the first time he jumped to conclusions, even thinking the words was definitely tempting fate, but the greatness of this day was set in motion weeks ago. He had 'accidentally' forgot to renew the caterwaul charm on his watch allowing him to sleep shamelessly in. He ate a filling breakfast of eggs on sour dough toast with ham seasoned just the way he liked with nearly too much pepper, a delacy he had bullied the house elves into especially preparing and holding after the rest of the breakfast platters were cleared for this day two days ago. He had Crab and Goyle steal a WWN radio and work out the good stations from the rotten ones so he could find a suitable ambience without trouble (He would have a radio already, in better quality, if Mother wasn't insistent that the stations were too corrupt with Mud-pop. He would agree, if it wasn't the only way to get the Weird Sisters. No one understood him like Myron Wagtail).When Draco drank from the goblet of victory, he drank deep.
It was Saturday, dawn of the Gryffindor vs. Slyth – ah, Hufflepuff match. It always gave Draco a good cheer to watch the two excuses for Quidditch teams do ballet around each other, too noble to properly foul a friend, but this time he was especially eager to see the outcome. See, the whole switching of who Gryffindor was going to play was a brilliant he devised to give Slytherin the edge for the cup. Let's break it down.
In a tragic incident of fowl play (ha), the indispensible seeker for Slytherin's arm is injured, clearly not fit to play for at least another month or so. It's just too bad - there's a terrible storm coming in and Gryffindor were training so hard specifically against Slytherin tactics. Alas! It appears the Slytherin team will be forced to swap places with Hufflepuff in the upcoming match, a team which upped its skills enormously, from blundering buffoons to burning badgers, with the arrival of a phenomenal new seeker and captain. Gryffindor has not the time to train for this new development and will underestimate team they so easily beat many times before. Factoring in the bad weather, they will be trounced miserably. Hufflepuff wins and goes on to defeat Ravenclaw. Meanwhile, the Magnificent Draco's arm heals and Slytherin waits in the wings, taking notes on Hufflepuff who are too far gone on their winning high to notice and so when Slytherin faces the long standing champions for the Cup, the burning badger's flames will be quickly smothered with especially modified strategy. Slytherin wins and the house cup close to follow with grand applause and much weeping on the Gryffindor part. Long Live The Serpent!
"But really, it's tragic," Draco lamented to a passing Hufflepuff bitterly while leaning over so Pansy could sign his cast again, "Such a shame, this arm. If not for healers' orders I would be out on that field quick as I could."
Yeah, right. A glance at the enchanted ceiling showed the purple clouds crackling and swirling a few miles per hour short of a hurricane. The only shame would be if they called off the match on account of rain. Draco wasn't sure how much longer he could convince Pomfrey his arm wasn't healed yet without some serious bribes.
But as of now everything was perfect, lovely as the eggs and ham. He entertained himself by watching the Gyffindors at their table, roving around nervously in varying states of worry and annoyance. The annoyance probably came from having to deal with their new portrait guardian, the Nutty Knight. After the Black attack of a few nights ago, extra precautions were being taken all around, but mostly assuring other students that Potter was indeed the center of all creation. Everybody who knew his secret regarding the murderer followed him around as bodyguards these days, making it very hard for Crabbe to fracture his elbow and have it appear as an accident. Just saying.
Draco watched his shrimpy opposite anxiously eating toast with Jezibell and their friends, as if they could sense the team's muddy fate. Well, with Jezibell it was hard to tell exactly what she was thinking under all the hair. Draco would love to know if she'd figured out his brilliant scheme yet and if she would tell them if she did. He wasn't about to ask. Unfathomable things, like sisters, were best left unfathomed if only for personal safety. He observed the other morons at the table; Weasley playing with the tines of his fork, Camera Creevey taking some shots of the tense team and the mudblood staring at the ceiling mumbling what might be some kind of prayer.
"Oh, Draco – look! Isn't that your mother's owl?"
He looked round at the cry sent up by one of the first year girls and lo! Abraxas soaring down from the rafters came to bring further tidings of joy. His wings shook drops of water on the students below him but still maintained a dignified presence. Probably because he was so huge an owl, he still drew the oohs, aahs and eeks from people's mouths. Abraxas dropped down on the table, a neat landing between the porridge bowl and ham, missing both but coming dangerously near the ham. He strutted up to his master and held out the fat and heavy envelope attached to his leg. Draco took it, feeling the cold yet completely dry surface and guessed the sender used a water repelling charm. He read the address.
"Yeah, it's from her –"
"Open it, Draco!" squeed Pansy, tap dancing on the fine line between cute and obnoxious, "What'd she send this time? What'd she send?"
He opened it in answer and flipped the envelope upside down so the two dozen blazing Dragonsnaps that were the usual delicacies from Abraxas tumbled onto the table. What wasn't the usual was the piece of parchment that fell out along with the candy. Mother didn't often write him a letter. She knew they could be embarrassing when received at the breakfast table and the Dragonsnaps said everything, really. He popped a couple in his mouth, enjoying the burst of pure spice that would make a jalapeño cry for water as they nibbled on his tongue, turning away from his housemates as the vultures descended on unsupervised candy and unfolded his mother's hand-written words.
Dear my darling Draco,
Ugh. Definitely a good idea to keep this from the Slytherins.
I truly hope your arm is starting to feel better. The report from the hospital said you were still in terrible pain. I am so, so sorry, my love. I sent forward the extra flaming (She never does get it right) Dragonsnaps reward you for such bravery. I have been experimenting with spices in my cooking and found them quite the essence of good taste. I never knew how much a difference in flavor a pinch of Lowery salt makes when used with pork! Aren't you proud of me? (Proud as in lucky he wasn't at the house which was most likely being drowned by the AMR squad, yes) I have news on the matter of your mauling that might cheer you up. Your father is progressing in his case against that monstrous Gamekeeper and his beast. Dumbledore is of course defending them both, but your father is a cunning, generous man and I'm sure that even if the Gamekeeper is not sacked, the Hippogriff will lose its hideous head for this, I promise you, dear. But that is not entirely why I wrote to you.
Lately, I've been inviting some of our favorite families over for dinner to demonstrate my blooming skills around the Manor, you know, the Greengrasses, the Crabbes, and Ms. Bella Zabini. Some of their children go to Hogwarts in your year, I know your friends with young Vincent Crabbe, are you familiar with Bella's charming son Blaise? (Yes, a little. Zabini was a dull person in Draco's opinion, rather androgynous having big enough lips for a boy or girl and being several months overdue for a haircut. Draco honestly wouldn't have been able to tell if they didn't share a dormitory. He didn't mind Zabini much, he was fairly easy to manipulate as long as there was bubotuber pus on hand.) In either case, they've had contact with their children at Hogwarts and have been hearing some rather disturbing things regarding your sister.
I've heard all about this new "friendship" she has with young Harry Potter and his little gang of followers. It seems fairly impossible this sort of thing could have sprung up overnight. Jezibell – whatever her faults – was always so careful in her decisions and my instinct finds it hard to believe she came to trust this boy without any sparks involved. (Sparks? What language is this woman speaking?)I hate to think, my daughter falling for Harry Potter of all people! I'd write to her myself, but I know she would never listen to me and my silly old fashioned warnings and so this is where your part comes in. All you have to do is talk to her and send my message while acting as if it's from you. Ask her what exactly is going between her and Harry Potter, if she is in love with him or any of them for that matter (I shudder to think of what may be going on with that Ronald Weasley). I know you two aren't on the best of terms but perhaps if it comes from someone her own age, she will take it easier. You may not sympathize with me on all my concerns, but Jezibell is your sister, no matter how unconvincing a case she makes for it at times. If you fail to send back a reply that satisfies me by tonight, a package may come Monday containing a particular personal belonging that you would really rather not have seen at the house table.
The one who knows best,
Mother
"So, Draco," asked Daphne, sucking on a Dragonsnap while keeping a firm finger on the tiny jaws, "What'd your mum have to say?"
Draco couldn't answer just now. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth out would flow the stream of curse words that were barreling through his brain as he reread the letter. First coherent though: How could she do this to him? Second coherent thought: Is there an escape?
He went over the scandalous half a few more time, desperate for loopholes. There were none. The task was clearly laid in the middle of the motherly instinct crap. Ask Jezibell if she is in love with Potter by tonight. GAH! Actually, considering the storm it would probably be best to send it sooner to give Abraxas more time. GAH! Write down her answer and send letter in reply without Slytherins knowing. GAH! Pray answer deems worthy so Mother does not forward unspecified item of doom. GAH! Double GAH!
But he couldn't embrace his horror yet. First give coherent answer to Daphne.
"Usual stuff. She's still on the cooking spree, nearly took out the roof this time," he paused for their giggles, "Father's doing well in his case, seems like that brute's going to get it after all."
They cheered, satisfied and turned back to the candy which Draco now wanted to spew. One of the few problems with being in the Malfoy family was that everybody knew how to bribe and blackmail and do it good. Looking back more critically, Draco saw the letter possessed all the elements it should. Start with a gentle bribe (Dragonsnaps), give some good news to make them happy with you (Father's case). Lay the pity/worry/unpleasantness on thick over the demand and finish with a sour alternative if you don't. Mother may be a hazard in the kitchen, but she could whip up a persuasive letter like nobody's business. Draco just wished it wasn't his either.
He could fake a letter, probably. Wait until tonight, write some good dirt on Jezibell and send it off with no worries. The only issue was if Mother saw through the lie he'd be decimated come Monday. No, he had to give the genuine article a go first, he couldn't risk it otherwise. Or could he? The masterstroke of the letter was that he didn't know which potentially embarrassing thing she was blackmailing him with. His chewed on stuffed dragon named Dwadon from when he was a toddler or the Hippy the Hopping pot alarm clock? Or worse, his other pair of pajamas that got mixed with Jezibell's red trimmed robes in the wash. As if he needed more reason to hate Gryffindor. Draco began to regret letting his mother keep memorabilia over the years.
On the other hand, if he did manage by some miracle to pull this off, this might put an end to Jezibell's friendship with the Potter out of pure embarrassment. It was an admittedly long shot, but Draco watched his sister ever since she joined Potter's brigade and was disgusted by how well she fit in, wedging herself neatly between Granger and Weasley in the lineup so if you looked at them from the side their heads were like a flight of stairs. Uncanny. In the same reality, during the same space time continuum, Jezibell and Potter loathed each other's guts last year, going through the castle like a pair of warring thunder clouds. Of course Jezibell hated everybody then and Potter thought Malfoys were evil on principle but still, the thought counts. Their new friendship defied rhyme, reason and ulterior motives. As does love. Maybe Mother wasn't off her broomstick after all.
"I'm going over to the Gryffindor table to have a talk with my sister," he informed Pansy and the others, "Message from Mother I'd like to send."
"Ooohohohoo!" squealed Pansy eagerly, "Can I come watch the fireworks?"
"Maybe the next time Pansy - this is a private showing."
Her face fell into a pout, nose scrunched up in the cute way he liked. Draco balled up the letter in his robes and sauntered across the hall. When he reached the Gryffindor table they didn't notice him immediately, still trying to force toast down the Quidditch team's throat. Weasley and Granger were in the middle of giving Potter some words of encouragement to drink some pumpkin juice while Jezibell stirred her full bowl of porridge. Draco planned for some spur of the moment amusement by rapping his knuckles on Potter's head and nasal toning "Knock-Knock". Emmy wrecked it when she spotted him, hissing and rattling her tail, to make most in the immediate area look up. Potter turned around, saw Draco standing behind him and scowled. Stupid cat.
"Why are you here, Malfoy? Going to wish me luck?" Potter was very heavy handed with the sarcasm.
"What makes you think this is about you and your broomstick, Scar brain?" Technically it was, but Draco wasn't about to tell him that, "really, with a head that big it's a wonder you get off the ground. I suppose it's full of helium - that would explain much. Foremost your voice still sounds like it belongs on a chipmunk."
"We repeat," Granger butted in snippily, "Why are you here?"
"Speak of a chipmunk a she shall appear," Draco looked pointedly at Granger's rodent teeth.
Emmy's hissed again, with humor, as if she knew exactly why Draco was here. The Dragonsnaps gnawed on his intestines, threatening to make a comeback.
"No, Emmy," Jezibell spoke, "Dancing penguins are hard to come by."
Potter laughed at the parselmouth in joke and so did Weasley and Granger, though only in response to his. Draco rolled his eyes.
"I would like to talk to my sister if I can get a permission slip signed from all of you."
"Go ahead; make our day" challenged Weasley, "Whatever you need to say to Jez, you say it in front of us."
Jez. Was he the only one here who saw how messed up this was?
"It's a family matter, Weasley. You of all people should understand that."
Weasley turned a color one generally sees in pasta sauce and Draco smirked.
"Its fine," Jezibell stood up, "I'll go hear it."
She gave a last sentiment in parseltongue to Emmy and Draco led her away from the house tables behind a column.
"So, you have a nickname now," Draco taunted leaning on the stone, "Jez."
She didn't answer, letting the slight fall flat. Now that he wasn't annoying the Gryffindors, Draco felt his confidence ebb. He stared at a juggling badger carved in the marble, trying to figure out how to phrase this.
"Okay, so I've been hearing… things about you and Potter." He paused to gauge her reaction.
"Things." She stripped the word of value, "Riveting."
"Look maybe you aren't worried, but," Wait, wrong argument. He wasn't going to tell her he was worried, "I was wondering what exactly is going on here. I mean, the friendship thing came out of nowhere and I thought there might be… sparks?"
That didn't come out quite right. He folded his arms defensively, trying to pull off an I-don't-really-care-but-you-do stance. She stared at him nonplussed.
"There better be a good punch line, since so far your routine is earning a P for pungent."
"This isn't a joke –"
"Of course it's a joke. Scab and Boil are around the corner waiting to laugh their fat faces off -"
"No, look, I'm just here to confirm if Potter's your new boyfriend."
That shut her up. He went on, throwing some of his own attitude in the mix so it sounded real.
"I'm just trying to figure this out, alright. Ever since the Chamber you've been perfect mates. What happened? Did he kiss you?"
She glared at him with her new mean look, back arching, fists balling, mouth curling in snarl.
"Are you serious? You really think this," She gestured at the Gryffindor table, somehow keeping the effect of shouting while speaking little above a whisper, "Is because of love?"
She distorted the word as if it was a terrible abomination. Oh my word, you think this is because of blood sucking bug-bears? Are you out of your mind? Time to bail.
"This wasn't my idea, I got a letter from Mother –"
"Mother thinks this is about love."
"Yeah, she wanted me to -"
"She sent you to ask me instead of sending me an SSSSIIIImmskfrd letter herself. This had fyxisnk better be a joke."
Bad move, shouldn't have mentioned the letter. Draco didn't understand what his sister spat in parseltongue but could decipher the implications easily enough. It was times like these he was grateful he didn't have the patience to learn it with her when Jezibell started going through the archives at age seven. He tried explaining further.
"She thought you wouldn't listen –"
"You can fyxismirkssss bet I'm not going to listen to that harpy. She can't ssimskfd look at me, much less write to me and she thinks she can still have access to my life? Here's her precious answer, because she cares so much. No, I am ssfxysss not in love with anybody and it's none of your ssIImskfs business either way. As for what is, if you don't get your sssmfis back to your table in ten fyxismk seconds –"
"Alright! I'll go, I just asked, you don't have to go all psycho snakehead on me," Draco backed a safe distance away to sneer at her, "Touchy-touchy, aren't we? Think it's because of the weather?"
"Seven. Six."
Jezibell was cooling down, less heavy panting and she stopped spouting gibberish at him. Draco thought it wise to ride the calm before the storm that was sure to hit if he stuck around five seconds longer. He shrugged his hands into his robes, clenching them around the crumpled parchment, and turned around casually while backtracking to the Slytherin side of the hall. Now he needed to get to work on his batna and fake a letter to mother reeking of Jez's lewd behavior. So much for the Agree to Disagreement. That lasted a whole four months. She wished him away too soon though. There was one last thing his sister asked of him before he was out of earshot.
"Does Father know?"
Draco rolled his shoulders giving a look of complete disregard to the question and spoke over them, proving how little he cared what she made of the answer.
"Probably not."
Great Hall, November Sixth
Jezibell walked, walked, measuredly, calmly, carefully, mindfully back to Gryffindor table. Father probably didn't know. She couldn't tell if this was a good thing or a bad thing. It was definitely a something but she could worry or wonder about it now. She had to appease her friends who watched her as she sat down with mixed looks of curiosity and concern.
Ron voiced the former, "So what did he have to say?"
"Some news about Mother's cooking. Father's still on Hagrid's case, pulling strings."
This guesstimation appeased Ron. He nodded and started talking to boy in a later year about how the rain would affect the match. Hermione was a bit tougher.
"That was it?" she asked, looking mildly concerned, "You looked pretty angry for bit. Did he say anything mean?"
"He's my twin brother. if he doesn't get on my nerves every once in a while he's slacking on the job."
Actually Jezibell saw it as the reverse. If she wasn't able to keep her twin brother off her nerves anytime he tried she slacking on her job. However Hermione had no siblings so this made good sense to her and she ducked into Ron's conversation to comment on how the wind would factor in to flying conditions, clearly having no idea what she was talking about. Harry still stared at Jezibell with cocked eyebrows, and she ignored him. He better not have heard the English content of the conversation, but maybe caught the curses that punctuated it. Those would raise a few eyebrows. They raised Emmy's eyespots. She glanced at Jezibell apprehensively.
"You are going to tell me what that was about later, right?"
Jezibell didn't answer. Of course she would, as soon as Harry was on the opposite end of the grounds, preferably wearing several layers of Professor Sprout's industrial strength earmuffs. He looked like he was about to say something then, nothing of course that wouldn't have been a problem for Jezibell to shoot down as she easily did the others. He opened his mouth and Captain Wood stood up.
"All right team, time to go down to the pitch."
'Go down to' might be a bit discrediting. Running pell-mell through a deluge unable to see three feet in front while managing bulky umbrellas that made frequent bids for the atmosphere, was closer to the actual event. Harry split from Ron, Hermione and Jezibell (Emmy, as customary, retreated to common room for the match) when they reached the stadium, their proximity discovered when Ron ran headlong into one of the posts, to join the team in the changing rooms and the trio was herded with the rest of the school to the stands. They found their seats in one of the middle rows, flagged down by Hagrid who was already in position with a large pink umbrella.
There is a definitive trait which applies to all sports spectators, Quidditch or otherwise, who are worth their face paint: perseverance. Never will there be found a hardier people who would willingly sit through the pouring rain and pounding gale, squint through the elements to see the red and yellow blurs zip around the field blind as the audience. Yet the crowd still cheered and roared for each goal, whether they can hear the announcer or not, beaming all the while as if an entire stadium of burning sunray thoughts would make it so. Unfortunately for these delusionists, they did not have the entire stadium. One person still maintained full grasp on the chilling reality that the game was going nowhere.
"This. Is. Hopeless," Jezibell stated testily, "They have to be scoring by chance. Does anybody know the score?"
"I think it's sixty/twenty," supplied Ron, "No, wait. That was us who just scored wasn't it? Seventy/twenty then."
"I reiterate; does anybody care about the score?"
"We've been at it for nearly three hours," said Hermione, shifting Hagrid's umbrella to look over at Jezibell's watch, "How much longer can it be till Harry gets the snitch?"
"I dunno," Hagrid wiped his binoculars for the umpteenth time with damp handkerchief that wanted to be an umbrella when it grew up, "Can' see a darn' thing with these bloody lenses."
"Of course!" Hermione slapped a hand to her forehead and the umbrella spread its wings, attempting to take flight. Jezibell hastily grabbed the handle before another inspiration struck, "I know exactly what to do!"
Hermione drew her wand, ducked out of the umbrella's protection and started to the pitch. Her frizzled hair bounced like a bushy tail behind her.
"What's she gone for?" asked Hagrid.
"Some brilliant genius thing as usual," Ron resumed his squinting, Hagrid washed his binoculars and Jezibell hung on tight to their rebellious umbrella. A few minutes later, a time out was called. Hermione returned shortly after, looking smug and the game resumed.
"So, what was your brilliant genius thing?" Ron asked her.
"Water repelling charm on Harry's glasses," She asked for Hagrid's binoculars and demonstrated the effect, "See."
"Well done, Hermione," Hagrid cheered, putting the newly refitted instrument to his eyes.
Brilliant genius indeed. Hermione's little adjustment took the game up to eleven, Gryffindor now having the advantage of sight and Hufflepuff working double time to make up for it. The intensified spirit extended to the crowd, which was devolving to a pack of Neanderthals, soaked to their loin clothes and chanting war cries.
CE-DRIC! Fly that broom! CE-DRIC! Watch him zoom!
Fly HIGH, Gryffindor! Sky HIGH, Gryffindor!
Thunder beat out rhythm above and lightning illuminated game play in bursts. Hufflepuff scored again in a flash, and then there was a shot of a twin smacking the badger in the gut with a well-placed bludger. Wood saved a goal by the tip of his gloves and the Hufflepuff beaters ganged up on Spinnet making her drop the Quaffle on Summerby's head.
"Look, there they go!" a screech rose up from the front row and the school watched a yellow streak dive hard to center field, a smaller red streak in hot pursuit for their invisible quarry. The cheers grew louder, waves of red and yellow sparks made higher, the thunder roared and rattled like a hungry beast, as if the weather was in alignment with crowd's excitement, as if they were feeding the storm.
Then it all went wrong. The energy generated by an ecstatic crowd was abruptly washed aside. Fear, anger and weakness rolled forth in numbing waves. The grey clouds became eyes, coldly regarding Jezibell from above. She shook her head furiously to dispel the image, denying it. Her grip loosening on the umbrella and Hagrid took it from her soundlessly before it could fly over the field, over the gathering of inhumanly tall cloaked figures.
"Harry!" Hermione's finger shook before her as she screamed. A small red player paused to form the iris of the right eye. He slanted sickly, lodged for a moment in time and space. Then he dropped, a hot coal plunging through water streaming bubbles of shock and fear.
"Arresto Momentum!" The silent spell cast by the Dementors was broken by a clear voice. Dumbledore, on his feet in the staff box, had his wand out and extended towards Harry's descent. Harry slowed, falling sluggishly through air as if it were marmalade, hitting the ground with a dull thump that echoed through the stillness. The Dementors converged, sharks finding a wounded guppy in their midst. The other players circled above, uncertain whether to land and help him or stay in safe in the air.
"He's not..." Ron whispered, unable to complete the thought.
"O' course Harry's alright, Dumbledore saved 'im," Hagrid spoke hoarsely.
Jezibell wasn't focused Harry's plight. She was watching the headmaster and what he did next. Dumbledore raised his wand for a second time, a beam of white light shaping itself into something…with wings. His expression was illuminated in the wandlight and even at the distance it was vividly livid. She smiled, recognizing it as kin. Those Dementors were going to be very very sorry they came.
"Expecto Patronum!"
The winged form burst forth from the wand and tore through the still air at the Dementors as an avenging angel. It beat them back with burning swan sized wings, dive bombed with a long neck lashing out at their hoods, motions similar to another bird Jezibell knew well. The Dementors fled into the shadows of the storm untouched by warm light and retreated to their posts. The silver phoenix flew high above and surveyed the field to see if it missed any in its purge. It opened its beak to let out a mute cry and dissipated into the downpour.
Harry still lay in a very lifeless lump on the field. Dumbledore walked briskly down to him, wading through mud to conjure a stretcher and levitated Harry onto it. Now the field was clear for the rest of the teams to come down and the tall yellow player presumed to be Diggory alighted near the commentator. They argued for a few moments, more Hufflepuffs joining them and Captain Wood came over. Most of the stadium was still recovering from the Dementors and trying to make sense of what just happened. Is the game over? Where's the snitch? Do we have to reschedule? The commentator and the two teams settled on their discussion. The former stood up, microphone in hand and belted out loud enough to upstage the rain.
"Hufflepuff wins, having Diggory earned 150 points for capturing the Snitch. Final scores are 180 points to 80, Hufflepuff win." He was bitter in redundancy.
"Come on," muttered Hermione, Jezibell looked around to see Hagrid was collapsing the umbrella and Ron shoving the binoculars in his pockets, "We've got to go to the hospital wing to see if Harry – how he's doing."
Jezibell followed Ron, Hermione and Hagrid down the stairs from the swamped stadium pursuing Dumbledore and the stretcher. They trailed him to the entrance hall, where Jezibell paused to employ a hot air charm on her sopping robes, and continued to the Hospital wing.
"'S he alright? Tha' was some fall," asked Hagrid while Dumbledore gently transferred Harry to a bed.
"Harry will be fine," assured Dumbledore as the matron came over to inspect her patient, "I slowed his descent so he suffered minimal damage. He may be bruised in some places, but on the whole I am confident he will recover fully."
"Oh, too be sure," Tutted the matron, running her wand over his arms and legs, "He's got it all along his right side here, and a bit about the head. It'll heal up quick enough, but I might give him something for shock when he wakes up."
"So what knocked him out?" Ron asked, color returning to his pasty face. "He was doing fine until the Dementors showed."
"I'm afraid that's just it, Ron," explained Dumbledore, "It would seem the Dementors have strong effect on Harry and their presence is what rendered him unconscious."
His expression blackened at the D-word and again Jezibell recognized the deep personal hate for the creatures similar to what she felt whenever they got too close. She wasn't the only one. Hermione also caught the glare from the headmaster and quickly averted her gaze to Harry who was being rubbed over with healing salve. More students arrived at the hospital wing, most of Gryffindor and a few of Harry's inter-house admirers. Dumbledore left to make room for them around Harry's ward and Jezibell followed his lead. The healing salve smell made her head buzz. Once out of the hospital wing, the headmaster walked more briskly down the corridor, purposefully, and Jezibell guessed he was heading to gates of the castle. She'd like to be there for that chat, but said nothing and leaned against a wall outside the ward as Harry's well-wishers filed in.
Harry was going to be fine. He'd suffered only a few bruises that were comparatively nothing to the damage a rogue bludger did the year before. Didn't even break his glasses, Dumbledore had mended and set them at his bedside table. He'd be waking up in few moments to receive a calming draft. No worries. She watched visitors come and go, Madam Pomfrey insured nobody save Ron and Hermione stayed too long, catching snatches of their conversation.
"Hope he's alright, that fall was a doosey –"
"Not so bad. Me cousin Fergis, now he took a dive –"
"Was just terrified, I tell you, terrified - !"
"A hundred feet, had to be –"
"I think I saw a flowering shrub near him –"
"The Malfoy girl was. You know, she talks to her cat –"
"I feel awful about it. It just doesn't feel quite fair when your opponent drops out of the sky –"
The Hufflepuff team arrived to pay their respects, Cedric Diggory lamenting to one of his chasers he thought Gryffindor deserved another chance. Jezibell failed to see what he was complaining about. He caught the snitch, won the game, and was big bloody hero to all he surveyed. Frankly he was also very lucky. If the Dementors hadn't showed up when they did Harry would've won. Diggory should count his victories when they came and stop going through all this noble nonsense. His chaser felt the same.
"Come on Ced," he punched his captain's shoulder, "It's not your fault Potter's got half a spine. You won, fair's fair. Even the Gryffindor captain said so,"
The ambitious Captain Wood agreed his team lost, even when his opposite was willing for a rematch? Jezibell felt like pounding her head against the wall. Hard and repeatedly.
"I know, but I still want apologize."
"All right, mate, see you in the common room for the celebration. Annie made a chocolate cream cake shaped like your head!"
The badger left with a few more comments about the cranium cake and Diggory made to go inside, stopping when he saw six people already gathered around Harry's bed. He rested on the opposite wall, waiting for someone to leave, exhausted and dripping.
"How bad is he?"
It took Jezibell a moment to realize he was talking to her.
"Like he was ravaged by flobberworms."
Diggory's jaw dropped, horrified.
Jezibell sighed audibly, "He'll be awake in minutes. Pomfrey's applying healing slave now."
"Oh. That's good," He dried off his robes some with a siphoning charm, then looked back to Jezibell. His expression brightened in recognition. "Hey, you're the girl who clapped at the Sorting. Aren't you?"
To think of all the mad misadventures that happened last year and this is what people remember her for. Jezibell Malfoy, the Girl Who Clapped. She could fix that.
"The Gryffindor who clapped for the Slytherins? Sorry, wrong weirdo. She's someone in first year, probably a muggleborn," Jezibell gave a small snort of derisive laughter, "What an ingénue."
"I think she was pretty brave, making a stand in front of the whole school. Wish I could be known for something big like that, instead of just grabbing the snitch out from under some scared little kid's nose."
Jezibell didn't bother to inform him on the reason Harry fell.
Diggory was talking to himself now, "I think I could, given a chance, but I always seem to be the one tagging along in someone else's idea. I get credit for that, but it doesn't make the victory any more my own."
"Excuse me!" piped a reedy voice. They both turned to see Flitwick coming down the hall, a bulging sack in his spindly arms. Twigs stuck out in his white hair and peaked hat and he appeared very flustered and damp, "Hello, Mr. Diggory, Miss Malfoy, I've salvaged Mr. Potter's broomstick. Now there's not much left to it, but I'm sure he'll want it back."
He held the sack out between Diggory and Jezibell and Jezibell took it, fingers pricking from the rough contents poking through the cloth. She opened the bag and drew out several large chunks of shattered wood, a couple twigs still refuging at the bottom.
"What got to it?" Diggory stared bewildered at the remains. Jezibell was betting werewolves.
"The willow, Mr. Diggory, it was blown into the Whomping Willow. Quite the nasty bout of luck for Mr. Potter, as you can see it smashed the broomstick to pieces and nearly myself as well. Best of wishes to Mr. Potter's speedy recovery, I must be off."
Best wishes received, Harry did indeed recover with speed. Though understatedly unhappy about his broom being ruined forever and losing his first game, he was back on his feet by Monday. Actually, he could have left the hospital wing mere hours after falling, but Pomfrey made him wait till out the weekend just in case he started having PTD and to insure he ate a life time's worth of chocolate within two days. Being bed ridden did not improve his already plummeting self-esteem levels after the second fainting. Jezibell was glad when he finally was released, as she was getting ironically sick of the ward herself. Ron and Hermione being the gallant sort never left his bedside by day and Jezibell was obligated to do the same, despite how dully irritating she found the place. It wasn't as if Harry wouldn't have company if they were elsewhere for a few hours, his ward was frequented often as the Great Hall. Fortunately Monday did come and they rejoined the thriving in health and Oliver Wood at the Gryffindor breakfast table.
"Hey, Jez," asked Harry when Ron and Hermione sat down. Both were sufficiently distracted by the distinctive theme tune from the junior wizards series Hippy the Happy Hopping Pot coming from the other end of the hall to notice. "Can I talk to you? Over there"
Jezibell set her spoon back on a napkin, wondering if she was getting any breakfast this month and followed him over to a nearby column. Same column, she noted, with the dancing badgers Draco took her behind for his message. Hopefully Harry's would less horrific.
"I need an ear," Harry said and Jezibell understood. He wanted her to listen, that was all. "It's about the Grim. I've been seeing it all over since Privet Drive. On a book cover in Flourish and Blotts, the tea leaves, and just before the Dementors came, I swear there was a large black dog sitting in the upper stands. Twice, the times when I saw the dog for real, I've had a near death experience. I didn't tell you, Ron or Hermione, but the Knight bus almost ran me over right after I held out my wand to defend myself incase it attacked. And then falling fifty feet from a broomstick…"
He trailed off, breath coming in short gasps of worry. Jezibell wasn't sure what to say or do. To dismiss his paranoia or feed it further with sympathy acknowledging the situation. She didn't understand why Harry chose to tell only her about this, away from Ron and Hermione. It was just this sort of comforting and sympathizing she was no good at.
"I don't think I'm going mad, and I'm not looking for advice. I'm just worried that this thing is stalking me somehow. I know it's a little - ok, a lot - ridiculous as I've only seen it four times, twice in the abstract, and I don't think there's much I can do about it anyway. I guess I'll just have to wait it out, see if it shows up again, or if this is someone playing trick on me," He shrugged to himself, still not in resolve but satisfied with the problem for now. He looked back her in gratitude, "Thanks, Jez. You've been a great help."
"Anytime," She muttered as Harry went back to the Gryffindor table. Jezibell lingered by the column, baffled. She hadn't said a word and got complemented for her assistance. Repeated sightings of the Grim may not be fatal, but clearly not beneficial to mental health. When she returned to her seat, the porridge was cold.
Lupin was back, smiles all around. He'd been out sick last week and Snape subbed. Widely believed to be the worst DADA lesson the world has ever known. He ordered a multi paragraph essay on werewolves on the unsuspecting third years, insulted Hermione and gave Ron detention. That son of a goblin. Of course, nobody bothered to do the homework except Hermione (When she found the time to do so, Jezibell wasn't quite sure) but they complained to Lupin anyway, demanding a refund. Jezibell was intrigued by the fact Lupin was out around the same time of the Black attack. Coincidence? Undoubtedly so, but she asked Emmy anyway.
"Definitely sick, he was running a temperature few degrees above the norm and hot cold sweats all through the water monkey lesson. Surprised you failed to notice it."
"Harry did mention that Lupin was taking healing potion from Snape the day of the Hogsmeade trip. There's nothing with him after all."
"I didn't say that. You were right. There is something off about him, I'm not sure if I can explain it to a human. He's…..wild."
"Wild," Jezibell repeated, matching the adjective to her mental image of the mild mannered professor.
"Like what you get near the big forest. He sends a message. Large and in charge, top of food chain, smaller animals beware. It's not human and I don't like it," She rattled her tail a bit, annoyed and, to Jezibell's surprise, scared. "I can't be sure. Maybe he owns a pet dog. He has a distinct canine smell that was real strong right after the fever. Could be that black bear-sized one I've seen on the grounds lately."
"Funny you should mention that. You remember what I told you about Harry and his Grim. You think that dog belongs to Lupin?"
"They showed up at the same time, it's true. I haven't gotten close enough to the beast to tell, though. Don't want to get stepped on while he's going about his business, you know? You should ask the others if they've notice anything about Lupin having a dog."
"Maybe I will."
So she tried that, asking indirect questions about Lupin's behavior to see if anybody else found it suspicious. Ron and Harry proved to be duds. Harry essentially repeated his conversation with Lupin over tea and Ron went on about how great it was to have him back, still sore from the detention. Hermione wasn't much better for information but seemed interested in the subject, especially the part about a pet dog. Unfortunately, they happened to be between classes on the Future Schedule at the time and Hermione left mid discussion for Ancient Runes. That happened often.
Classes in general were going much smoother than last year, something that surprised Jezibell seeing as she thought having to compare notes with other people would slow her down. It did the opposite. Her new anti-procrastination mantra went 'If Hermione can do the work for twelve classes with extra credit and complete bibliographies, you can at least write one lousy essay on knights of the middle ages for Wednesday.' It really worked.
The weeks didn't ooze by in lethargy the way they used to. Jezibell felt as though she were having porridge every ten minutes. Every day was a struggle, every assignment a challenge, every argument a war. The cause for this change was not indiscernible. Jezibell hadn't been lying when she said her new friends were most spontaneous people. Around them, things happened. Some highlights were; Harry talking Lupin into giving him anti-Dementor lessons. The billywig that flew up Snape's bum upon Lupin's arrival drove itself deeper to Neville's chagrin. Brown's mother bought her a new rabbit. A call from nature threw a wrench in Hermione's precise schedule, causing some trauma. Crookshanks cautiously continued his pursuit of Scabbers. Ravenclaw defeated Hufflepuff in the end of November match. Lupin was absent from dinner about a week into December. Most of it was fairly irrelevant to Jezibell, but she paid attention anyway. Having friends, doing so seemed purposeful.
Something else purposeful, someone trashed the Muggle Studies room a week after the Ravenclaw match. It was a pretty minor offense; they broke a few models of muggle contraptions in the back and messed up Burbage's papers. Most people assumed the culprit was Theodore, but Jezibell bailed him out with the knowledge that he was in detention with McGonagall the Sunday in question (She knew this because Jezibell herself stayed after class that day to make up work for the strict Transfiguration professor). He wasn't particularly grateful at her intervention, delivering a well thought out rant after class on why he hated the Muggle Studies class, how much he would pay to get out, who he wished an untimely death in it and where on planet earth he would rather spend an hour of his day. Whatever. At least now she knew what he was doing there. Between insulting Jezibell's mother and cursing the professor, Theodore slipped that he initially applied for Divination but Trelawney's class was filled to brim with eager pupils by the time she'd reached his request and he overflowed into Muggle Studies, a class needing one more student to reach the minimum amount for continuation. The school board strikes again!
Mid-December brought sunlight and the Hogwarts Express Permission Slip to go home for the holidays. Jezibell naturally abstained as there was a distinct lack of Christmas cheer around the Malfoy Manor and Harry did the same for similar reasons. Ron and Hermione also remained. This fact Jezibell found odd since they had perfectly fine families who would welcome them with open arms, until she saw the obvious gratitude on Harry's face. Who says blood is thicker than water?
Coming up for the end of term was another Hogsmeade trip, fairly conveniently scheduled for Christmas shopping. Normally, Jezibell found the concept of consumerism contemptible, but she also realized having friends meant an obligation to participate in the gift exchange. She was thinking a fresh stack of Marvin Miggs comics for Ron (she saw him reading them now and then, but always the same couple of beat up copies), pheasant quills and ink for Hermione (Her current stock was running dry and blunt), thick fluffy white woolen socks for Harry and a variety box of high grade chocolate bonbons for each to round it out.
The weather had been teetering on the brink of snow for days and finally made up its mind the day of the trip. The grounds were coated with a light powder that was rapidly building up. Jezibell, Ron, Hermione said farewell to a melancholy Harry and left the castle with the rest of the eligible students, snow brushing across their black cloaks. After passing the Dementors, the trio went to Honeyduke's for therapy. Jezibell smelled a tradition in the making, and iron.
"Really?" She skeptically held up a blood flavored lollipop by thumb and forefinger. It came in several varieties, horse, eagle, gorilla and if you were feeling peckish, hippocampus.
"We bought most of the regular candies last time, so I thought we should look into some of the more exotic ones. Those lollipops are probably for vampires, but Harry likes Every Flavor Beans. He's very open-minded and you never know, it might be better than it looks," Hermione peered tentatively into the bag of biting licorice, five knuts a bag. The company in question went down the drain after the Dragonsnap knock off brand shot to the top of the market in months and nearly bought it out. Now here it sat, isolated from the other racks of popular candy, keeping company with the Bloodypops in the back, scrounging for loose shoppers' loose change.
"Not unless you're a cheapskate vampire," Jezibell twirled the red stick absentmindedly.
"How about a Cockroach Cluster?" Ron held the jar up to Hermione.
"Definitely not," said Harry. The Bloodypop flipped from Jezibell's fingers onto the floor.
"Harry!" Hermione jumped back into the licorice in surprise, "What are you – how did you - here, but -?" She yelped between brushing off the snappy sweets.
"Wow, Harry, you've learned how to apparate off screen," said Ron, coming to the obvious conclusion.
"'Course I haven't, there's a secret passage way behind the one-eyed witch – "
"Who?"
"You mean Griselda the Gruesome on the third floor?" Hermione was still confused, but more confident reciting facts.
"Yeah, her. Actually, I should back up. After I left the Great Hall, going up to the tower, Fred and George pulled me aside to talk to me –"
"So they sent you here?"
"No – well, yes. See they gave me this map of Hogwarts, it shows everything that goes on around here; everyone in the castle where they are at that moment on every floor, even the changing staircases and all the secret passage ways in and out of the castle."
"You're joking," breathed Ron, spellbound.
"I'm not, that's how I got here, using a passage way from dear Grizzy's hump that the map showed me. It goes straight to Honeydukes cellar so Filch can't catch me. Great, eh?"
"Brilliant," Ron was two parts exultant and one part enraged, "How come Fred and George never gave something this good to me? I'm their bloody brother!"
"The real question is why they gave something that good to Harry," Jezibell was unconvinced of the terrible two's innocence in any sort of gift.
"Dunno," Harry was unconcerned, "They said they nicked from Filch's office first year and have been using for their mischief since. Explains a lot, doesn't it? They have it by heart now any way and felt my need was greater than theirs."
Jezibell regarded him wearily, "More likely they wanted to wash their hands of a dangerous object."
"How do you mean?"
"Maybe whatever spells are on it started acting up similar to the Diary and they panicked. Maybe they were too close to being caught by Filch and didn't want him recapturing it. Maybe somebody else figured out they had it and the twins thought if they got a hold of it there would be trouble."
"Sirius Black!" Hermione thought aloud suddenly.
"Maybe not that much trouble."
"No, but he could be using one of the passages on the map to break into Hogwarts. Harry, you have to hand the map in to McGonagall, the teachers need to know!"
"Hermione, you're mad if you think Harry's going to hand in something that good," blustered Ron. Hermione flushed angrily at his disregard for school security and Harry hastily interrupted.
"He can't be going through a passage; there are only seven tunnels into Hogwarts on the map. Fred and George reckon Filch knows four of them and the other three are caved in, below the Whomping willow and then there's the one I just used. It's not easy to find, and the shop's right over it so unless he knew…."
He trailed off here and Jezibell would have liked him to complete that sentence, but Ron then cleared his throat pointedly. The three looked at him as he gestured grandly at the announcement on Sweetshop door warning customers and Hogsmeade locals of the Dementors patrolling the streets after dark. He saw need to make his point further, explaining that Sirius couldn't break in at night what with the Dementors and Honeydukes owners sleeping above shop. It took this, holiday spirit and some light teasing from Harry, to convince Hermione to let him stay and Jezibell to wait in wings with her 'I told you so'. A little patience, and she would get hers.
They showed Harry around Honeydukes, moving away from the licorice and cockroach sacks. He was enthralled by everything, as if he'd never seen a candy store before. His enthusiasm was amusing but also a bit sad. Jezibell bought the bonbons while Ron and Hermione were showing him the chocolate frog swamp, making sure to find the kind with treacle filling for Harry.
After the sweetshop, they took him to the Three Broomsticks, as the snow was coming down harder and Harry had forgotten his cloak. Hermione lent him a scarf with a hot air charm on it, but it wasn't on par with a tankard of Butterbeer. They took a table in the back, far from the front door and most of the population in bar as to be inconspicuous to students who might notice Harry in Hogsmeade. There was a fireplace next to it with a great evergreen in front that Jezibell levitated to shield their small table, just in case. Ron fetched the drinks, so the barmaid needn't come over, and to see if he might take another pass on her. He dropped it, again, but still returned triumphant with the Butterbeer.
It's interesting to watch someone else inhale the frothy drink instead of being completely focused on your own mug. Harry's flushed cheeks from the cold returned to his usual pallor, his glasses opaque with steam and a goofy smile lulled his face. Unfortunately, these smiles among friends were not fit to last.
Jezibell heard the door to the bar open and watched Harry hurriedly wipe his glasses, eye bugging at something over her head. Ron and Hermione saw the disturbance too and quickly shoved him under the table, the half empty tankard of Butterbeer spilling over him. Jezibell didn't know yet what the problem was but she could guess and muttered an enlargement charm at the pine tree, widening its radius.
Several clumping talkative feet shuffled directly behind her, pulled chairs across the wood floor and settled at the table just behind the tree. Ron and Hermione exchanged rattled looks. Whoever they were, they sounded like a big party, at least by boots, and people who would make great trouble for Harry if they found out he was here. Their voices were hard to define, muddled together upon coming in but sounding adult. Jezibell waited for their orders to reveal themselves. She didn't wait long; a clopping pair of high heels came briskly over to them not five seconds after sitting down. Must be important people. Ministry Wizards? Staff? She didn't dare look. Nothing attracts attention like eye contact.
"A small Gillywater," offered the voice of the barmaid.
"Mine," A hard female voice, probably McGonagall. She would send Harry, Ron and Hermione up in panic. Jezibell kept an ear out for other familiar vocals.
"Four pints of mulled mead,"
"Ta, Rosmerta," said Hagrid. His gruff tone was recognizable anywhere, and even if he hadn't spoken was identifiable purely by his order.
"Cherry syrup and soda with ice and an umbrella,"
Someone "mmmmed" in response unhelpfully. It was a thin 'mmmm' accompanied with smacking of lips, but what are you supposed to take from that? Going with the staff trend, Jezibell guessed at Sprout for enthusiasm.
"- and the red current rum, Minister,"
Minister! As in Fudge, Cornelius, the fearlessly pudgy leader of wizarding Britain? Ron appeared just as shocked. He was the only other person at or under the table fully understanding who was sitting behind them. The Minister of Magic offered Rosmerta a seat and drink to which she complied. The heels clip-clopped away and back again, followed by a second chair.
"So what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?"
Yes, what indeed? Jezibell strained to hear for clues as to how long this little party planned to stay. It could put a hefty wrench in Harry getting back to castle before anybody noticed his absence. If it went on too long, Jezibell would have to make a distraction, maybe to do with homework for Hagrid's class. If the Minister remembered about the hippogriff case, he might make the connection if given Jezibell's surname, Hagrid would undoubtedly make enough fuss to run a three ring circus around the Broomsticks unnoticed.
"What else, my dear, but Sirius Black," the Minister told the table quietly after a pause, "I daresay you heard what happened up at the school on Halloween?"
They went on about the horror of Black and the Dementors for a bit, and Jezibell gleaned new information when a reedy "hear, hear" came from the mysterious mmmmer, confirming him as Flitwick. The conversation turned to Sirius and his school days.
"Do you remember who his best friend was?" quizzed McGonagall.
"Naturally, never saw one without the other did you? Oh, they used to make me laugh," Rosmerta tinkled like breaking china. "Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter."
Beneath the oak of the table came a hard thu–lunk. Hermione's back stiffened and Ron jumped in his seat, staring frightened over Jezibell's head to see if any had heard. Jezibell calmly put a hand under the table.
"Cup," She muttered in parseltongue, realizing she didn't know the sounds for 'tankard' or 'mug'. Ask Emmy later. She felt the slippery handle pressed to her palm and lifted it heavily back on the table, setting it down gently as possible for a cumbersome object. Best to keep it out of Harry's hands in case of more surprises.
The adults talked some more about Sirius and Harry's father. The two seemed to have been quite the class clowns in their day and so close of pals Potter named Sirius his best man at his wedding. Jezibell was very glad to already have removed the mug from Harry's hands. It was inevitable, considering the subject matter, that they discuss Sirius's part in the Dark Lord's downfall. They went through the standard stages of disbelief, grief relapse, survivor's guilt, righteous fury and satisfaction over hearing how he betrayed the Potters and destroyed thirteen muggles plus Peter Pettigrew. Jezibell usually saw these emotions in a slightly altered form. Disbelief as to how he infiltrated the Order of the Phoenix so well. Grief for one of the Dark Lord's most talented rats landed himself in Azkaban. Guilt for not trying to find the Dark Lord and kill Harry as Sirius was putting all efforts towards now. Fury that he managed to get himself caught in the first place. Finally, admitted relief that the Dementors would soon be putting an end to Sirius's crusade before he succeeded in bringing Dark Lord back to punish them all for lack of faith. Jezibell had the procedure long memorized.
The intriguing discussion ended when McGonagall reminded the Minister he had a meeting with Dumbledore to be getting to and the party left without much ado, heels clip-clopping back to Butterbeer barrels. Ron and Hermione stared struck as the door swung shut, sending a whuf of bitter cold air across the room.
"Harry," Hermione breathed in despair and she and Ron ducked down under the table to take a look at him. Jezibell pulled her chair back against the tree to join them. Ron and Hermione gazed concernedly at a hollow Harry who was hunched in a sticky puddle of spilled Butterbeer. Jezibell cleared her throat.
"Ah, time to go. We've done enough shopping for one day."