An Immensely Valued Friend
Gryffindor Common Room, June fifth
After conferring in the common room, Harry's first move was to tell Ron. Jezibell saw this as an attempt to boost his moral superiority, an impression bolstered by the small rant he delivered about telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but so help her. Yeah, that was going to happen and she told him as much. Never the less, they met with Ron a few days after while Hermione was off studying someplace for Ancient Runes. He took the news of a possible betrayal and double agent rather well, with slightly more fidelity and less skepticism than Harry. Neither of them really caught on to the sign of four cropping up everywhere, but speculated about who the Misers of the map could be. Harry liked the idea they might be his father and friends, until Ron pointed out if Fred and George had been seeing Mr. Wormtail all the time the most likely candidate for him would be Snape. Harry reviled the idea of using anything belonging to his least favorite professor so topics then ran up the other side of the likability scale to Lupin and what in Jezibell's grand schemes of anarchy should be done next.
The thing is there wasn't much they could do. The obvious move upon discovering a mutiny among the staff would be to tell the headmaster, but Snape already tried that and reaped no rewards. Jezibell considered presenting additional information about Harry's uninvited shadow and Lupin's habits, but she would also need to tellhow she got the information from her illegal snake-cat hybrid.
In the student directory, Emmy was listed as a cat-snake, a real animal also known as the bioga. The entry was correct in technicality but not spirit and if Dumbledore was aware of the whole truth he could use Emmy's questionable existence to distract her father from the hippogriff trial. It would work, to be sure, without Lucius Malfoy to be their backbone the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures Committee would be as overcooked spaghetti in Wizengamot. Jezibell had known for long how her familiar could turn the tables but in a choice between Emmy and Buckbeak Hagrid's feathered friend was out of luck. She wasn't about to expose her now.
They could steal the map back, which would be a good call if it had a place in Lupin's plans, if such plans existed in the first place and if they were caught it would look pretty bad. That was too many 'ifs' by Ron's count. Harry had the rather brilliant idea to catch the dog that so plagued him, a plan that made Ron fall out his chair at the thought of purposefully attracting a Grim. It was a pretty elaborate scheme. Harry even managed to rope Hermione into it under the impression that this would prove once and for all there were no such things as Grims. Ron smuggled various hams and sausages from breakfast one day when they had Herbology in the morning. About midway through the lesson, he asked to use the bathroom during which time he went around the back of the greenhouses and scattered the food where Emmy said she saw the dog. Later on, Hermione asked for the loo and set a sticking charm on the grass around the bait. During lunch break, they would go around to check the trap and reset it. This experiment was repeated several times at different days by the greenhouses and Hagrid's hut, but reaped nothing but a few lost cats, Filch, some ravens and Ron's trainers. Hermione declared she had better things to do, Ron agreed and Harry was forced to admit either the dog moved on. He wasn't exactly upset about it.
Jezibell clung to the idea that Lupin's next bout of MIA would be in another half month and something would happen then. When the half-month and Lupin's absence passed and nothing happened, Ron and Harry were satisfied that she was wrong. Jezibell wasn't nearly as comfortable letting the nest of coincidences she stumbled on go their befuddling way, but realized there wasn't much more she could do for sleuthing. They at least agreed not to tell Hermione about the rest of it. Ron said it would only make her mad and Harry let his campaign for honesty slide in favor of his friends' mental health.
It wasn't as though school stopped around them while they tended to the mystery. Exams were coming up and the teachers wouldn't let the students forget it for a second. And if they slipped up there was always Hermione and her slightly manic study habits to get their charges back in line. While Jezibell may not entirely support her flights of hubris, Hermione's tenacity warranted a level of respect. Jezibell's own lack of struggle with bucket loads of homework from every class was one lie nobody would believe. As addressed in the meeting with Lupin, this was the first year ever Jezibell would be taking exams and she hoped it wouldn't show. Such feelings of insecurity were nonexistent during last year's warm up, as she confided in Emmy the fevered before the marathon.
"I don't why I'm worried. I never care about school. It's like Hermione's angst is catching."
"I know what it is," Emmy tail twitched in bored manner, "You must be falling victim of the Empathy Epidemic. It's a disease festered in the socially awkward when unwillingly thrust among their peers."
Jezibell turned the hybrid's tongue into spatula for that one. But perhaps sarcasm and school books mix better than Professor Binns believed, as the first lap in Transfiguration went well. The questions on written exams looked familiar and the ones that didn't were figurable from their predecessors. In comparison to those in her immediate area Jezibell did not too bad on the practical either, though her transfigured teapot could have done without the glowing red eyes of Hades.
"Chalk it up to nerves," supposed Ron as the third year proceeded to Charms, "At least it was the whole reptile. Mine was still belching steam and smelled like watery Earl Grey."
"Mine looked like a turtle," Hermione fretted, "A salt water turtle! Tortoises are land reptiles, everybody knows that!"
So it could've gone worse. To Hermione it soon did. The girls were partners for the Charms practical and the advice Jezibell had given Hermione backfired entirely. Good luck sympathizing with the person who thinks you're a turncoat. Jezibell actually did feel relatively more amiable after the casting, but Hermione didn't think Flitwick took her monotone's word for it. This earned Jezibell an earful that night as they scoured the back of their textbooks for the obscure draught nobody studied that Snape was sure to assign.
Day two was taken in stride. Fresh air charms at regular intervals were enough to complete the Confusing Concoction for Potions and in Care of Magical Creatures the only real work Jezibell had was persuading Emmy not to eat the flobberworms. That night Astronomy was even more sadistic than Snape's assignment as the students had to complete their star charts in the middle of the night. Not that anybody was sleeping much anyway, but it cut out a lot of valuable cramming time. This did not help the worst of exams on day three, people already half asleep dropping like flies through History of Magic and then having to keep their wits about them when combating the tentacula in Herbology. Arithmancy came for Jezibell and Hermione, directing them back to the stuffy classrooms once more in the schizophrenic day.
Defense of Dark Arts came as the penultimate on Thursday and was more memorable than the others. Having learned the merits of a good night's sleep, Jezibell completed Lupin's course of handpicked nastiness smoothly; swelling grindylow fingers and boot to the Red Cap. The hinkypunk was just annoying. Lastly was the Boggart, as promised, that the students faced by climbing into an old trunk, an uncomfortable procedure on its own.
"Best for last?" Jezibell commented to Lupin as he gestured for her turn. Indeed most of the other students were dismissed, save for Harry, Ron and Hermione who were waiting for her.
"Only if you try for it," he replied and she entered the trunk. When fighting a boggart, it was advised to envision an inner demon beforehand and how to refit it. Jezibell planned to sidestep all imagination by keeping her thoughts devoid of emotion and worry, giving the boggart nothing to work with. With any luck - no, not luck, control – she could confuse it so much it would do a half slug routine and be easily vanquished.
So when she lit her wand and found Emmy staring serenely back at her through the gray, she thought her trick worked. No boggart in its right mind would show her Emmy. Emmy was as far from a fear, worse or otherwise, as it could get. Emmy was Jezibell's last stronghold, the one anything she could still count on. If Harry, Ron and Hermione turned their backs to her that day, said they hated her and wanted nothing more to do with her, Jezibell could take it and shrug. Because of Emmy, who knew everything, accepted everything, saw it all from the Diary to Durmstrang and beyond.
Boggart-Emmy's hackles rose, lip curling to expose incisors, and snarled. Against her will, Jezibell flinched, "You are good."
She hadn't meant to speak in parseltongue, and Boggart-Emmy replied in the same, "Too good for you." The claws snnked out as the doppelgänger moved predatorily forward.
"Riddikulus," Jezibell muttered, keeping the gesture minimal to hide her shaking. The spell hit the Boggart directly but the body didn't change. The head on the other hand twisted into that of a gawky eleven-year old girl. The mouth wrenched open and screamed with shrill agony as even a banshee couldn't replicate. Jezibell pressed her palms to her ears, jamming forefingers into the drum, but still the same scream found her, kneaded her. Its scream, her scream; we all scream from eye scream.
When the pressure and warbling made her head feel like caving, a bit of sense caught up to Jezibell. It was going to beat her without landing a blow. How pathetic was she?
" -!"
"SHUT UP!"
"Shut up yourself," The grotesque head warped back into Emmy's. Jezibell made herself watch the thing as she gathered emotionless plan was botched, so back to Lupin's advice. Kill it with laughter. Easy enough since she was in such a good humor already. Jezibell felt a bit more empathetic to Hermione's Cheering Charm woes. Boggart-Emmy jeered. "Jezzie, Jezzie. You and your temper tantrums. Did I ever tell you I wanted to listen to all your stupid problems? You boring, meaningless, spineless human."
"Henh," Jezibell's forced laugh came out like a nervous cough. Not very intimidating.
"Don't humor me," Boggart-Emmy coiled down on its haunches, tail rattling a warning. Humor, that's what she needed. But what did she ever laugh at?
"SSSSchyaaaaooow!"
"Riddikulus!"
Jezibell fell back, catching herself roughly on the elbows as the boggart sprung onto her chest. But no longer a deadly freak of magic, it curled and squirmed in a silly cuddly way around the manifested capsule of catnip.
She laughed naturally. Cackled to victory and stupefying relief, her elbows scrapping back to keep her wracking torso steady. Eyes streaming dizzily and throat sore with each gasp, it was a lot like screaming. Happy screaming. The thought made her guffaw all the more.
"Jezibell! Jez, are you all right down there?" Jezibell looked above her to see the silhouette of a concerned Harry peering into the trunk. The laughter choked off instantly. She must sound deranged. Harry's head listed for a confused moment. When he spoke the grin was audible, "I guess Lupin's going to need a new Boggart."
The shapeshifter had vanished, leaving a vague smoke hovering over her that quickly dispersed. She pushed herself up and clambered out of the trunk. The spring air and sunlight cleansed. Lupin watched her emergence carefully, likely to make out if she found her fear or not. Jezibell wasn't about to make it easy for him, keeping her expression indifferent. The professor bid her, Harry, Ron and Hermione well on their last round of exams and turned to inspect the now empty trunk.
As the four strode back to castle, anticipation propelling them forth to the finish line, Hermione gave Jezibell her assessment, "You took the most time of any one, and I suppose he'll dock points for that. Though how much damage you did to the Boggart will probably be a factor when he checks it."
"No worries then," Harry spoke up. He aced the course, particularly the Boggart. Jezibell would have like to know how he made a Dementor comical, but asking would invite questions about the form it took for her. "She killed it. There's nothing left to check."
"She probably just jack-o-lantern grinned at it," Ron chuckled. "No offense Jez, but you could reap souls with that smile."
"Maybe I do," Jezibell let out just a little one.
"Oh, it was probably weakened considerably from the rest of us," Hermione said airily.
"Us?" Ron laughed harder, "I don't think screaming 'I failed everything' at Boggart-McGonagall caused her too much grief."
"ANYWAY, what was your boggart, Jez?" Harry interrupted, determined to swerve the topic onto less dangerous tracks. Sadly for him, Jezibell didn't like the current direction.
"My father," she delivered bluntly, effectively ending the conversation.
The moment of awkwardness was brief however, as they crossed paths with the Minister Fudge and his band of CDDC representatives. He revealed to Harry his mission, to steal from the Gamekeeper and give to the Hogwarts security system. Once out of earshot, Ron made the profound observation that one of the merry men was ready with ax, presumably to be applied to Buckbeak's neck.
"This isn't justice!" he said vehemently, lunch in the Great Hall providing a chatty and irritatingly casual ambiance.
"Ron, your dad works for the Ministry. You can't go saying things like that to his boss. As long as Hagrid keeps his head this time and argues his case properly, they can't possible execute Buckbeak."
Oh, but they could. Ron glanced at Jezibell a moment and let the subject drop. Least someone was wising up. Hermione was kidding herself with the adult world, convinced she was still in Sherwood where the people who said they were there to help you actually did. Ron got it backwards; justice isn't this.
Half an hour of Jezibell brooding into a black hole of contempt later, the bell rang to cue the last exam. The boys broke off for Professor T's tippy trippy tea party and Jezibell and Hermione made for Muggle Studies. Jezibell supposed she passed the exam, jumping through the School board approved hoops, but Burbage would probably pick up on her raw coffee beans mood while grading the essay comparing and contrasting how both muggles and wizards waste time. When all the papers had been collected, there were about fifteen minutes before the bell and Burbage used it to give a wrap up speech.
"Congratulations to all of you, you made it through the exam – wait one more, Ernie? Thank you. Now whether or not you get a perfect score or put your best foot consistently forward, you should all be very proud of yourselves. I know every one of you worked hard this year and deserves the Hogsmeade Trip this weekend. That's right," she paused for cheering at the news.
"The staff talked it over and I believe it was Professor Snape's suggestion to, in his words, 'Give the urchins a way to occupy themselves that will satisfy their whining until the express returns'. It's all but decided, though the posters won't go up until tonight so don't tell on me," she gave a conspiratorial grin. "Anyway, as far as you came this year, you are not done. Some of you may recall from the beginning of Muggle Studies when you listed what you knew about muggles. Perhaps you also have an inkling of my mentioning we would be trying it again at the end of the year to see how much you learned. Well, here we are, end of the year, and guess what I have for you!"
She flourished the plastic onto the overhead projector, dropped the screen and flicked the switch. With the familiar hum of machinery sprang their words from September onto the board. Jezibell looked at her melodramatic contribution with faint discontent and heard the rueful groans of embarrassment behind her, namely from Terry and Anthony Ravenclaw. Burbage held aloft the Supersketch to Hannah Hufflepuff with the airof a comedian who knows she's being over the top and the audience loves it, "Do your worst."
Hannah and her peers came to the board one by one, jotting down whatever bit of information they'd retained from the year. Most had to do with their topic from the recent project, others simply endorsed muggles and their ingenuity. Hermione stole the show by writing the most obscurely long factoid in the book about the only muggle ever to steal a playing piece from a Gobstones Tournament and the subsequent chaos resulting in banning the game from eight countries and how it contributed to the Yugoslav conflict. It was likely the only thing she learned from the class. Jezibell kept hers harmlessly brief with 'Not so different', but when Theodore came directly after her to write his contractually obligated crude one, there seemed an agreement between. Not so different ministers of trollcrap. Unlike the first time, Burbage did not request to see Theodore after class. Perhaps she would have more fun lecturing the overhead projector or didn't want to face the one student who surely failed her test, in doing so trick herself into believing she could keep him on for another year and reform him into seeing his life-long enemies her way. Jezibell smirked at the inference. Little did Burbage know the whole of Theodore's drama had nothing to do with her and her muggles. Not really.
Hermione and Jezibell returned to Gryffindor common room when class ended and found a solitary Ron sprawled on the couch.
"Trelawney sees us one at a time and it takes a while to come up with something convincing. Harry's is probably going to take more than rest, Trelawney loves using him for an Object," He informed them as Emmy sauntered up to Jezibell for an ear rub. "How'd yours go?"
"Fair, though my thesis on muggle transportation vs. wizarding could have been smoother," Hermione spoke with unusual brevity. There was an assent of melancholy around them in the absence of the study rush. Though having completed every trial, they felt more beaten than victors.
Ron blew a ginger lock out of his face, "You know it might not be over. Dumbledore has to be helping, Hagrid could still – "
His optimism was interrupted by Creevy bearing a small note.
"Where's Harry?" He squeaked without preamble.
"On an intergalactic mission," Jezibell said and the second year turned beet red. 'Be nice,' Hermione mouthed to her.
"Why, you have something for him?" Ron eyed the note.
Creevy nodded, "Hagrid told me to give it to him but I guess I can show you since you guys are like his team."
He passed the note of truth to Ron, who made to open it but stopped as Creevy was still standing there with an expression between catatonia and excitement, "Uh, you can go now. This is kind of private."
"Right!" He scurried off.
"Nutter," Ron muttered, unfolding the parchment. It would say just one of two things and Jezibell knew full well which could only be. But Ron still winced as he got the measure and Hermione gasped in reaction.
"Oh no! Is he –"
"Yeah," Ron began to read aloud, "'Lost appeal. They're going to execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don't come down. I don't want you to see it. Hagrid.'"
"No, Hagrid! That's ridiculous, we can't have him face this alone," Hermione's voice shook and she blinked furiously, "What does he take us for?"
"Friends with curfew," offered Jezibell. Neither of them looked at her and she supposed her humor, however restrained, was inappropriate.
"Jez, it's not your fault," Ron said quietly, shocking her. When did she ever suggest it was? That she took responsibility for the project, implied. That all efforts were futile, tried. That she didn't really care and was just trying to get back in Harry's good books, lied. Most spontaneous people, finding pearls in pressured coal. Goodness where it shouldn't exist.
Wormtail
Dark, silent and hollow. Three words for life at the bottom of a milk jug. Dark, it'd been three months and almost a week since sunlight touched his fur. Not much use in keeping track at this point, but paying attention made him feel like he was still working toward something, like he still had a purpose. Silent, when was the last time he'd had a conversation? Sometimes he thought out scenes in his head with the friends. Talking, joking, pushing each other around but coming back to the same happy spot. It changed who he was with, James, Sirius and Lupin or Harry, Ron and Hermione. Either way, he knew too well it didn't count. But even in his naval gazing numb Wormtail felt the hollow, the lack. The fact that he was living on stale bread from Hagrid's cupboards that he stole when his oblivious landowner was asleep didn't help.
He could hear them coming up the path before they reached the house. It was late and they weren't talking, so he guessed they were under James's cloak. He wished Dumbledore hadn't taken it when the Potters went undercover. Could've made his life a lot easier. There was a knock. Clunk-clunk went Hagrid to door, opens and pauses.
"It's us; we're wearing the invisibility cloak. Let us in and we can take it off," whispered Harry.
So Hagrid let them in, telling them they shouldn't come as he did. It was all three of them, and Jez. Hagrid offered tea and told about when he tied up the Buckbeak in the pumpkin patch earlier that day. A heavy something smashed, cutting off the bird's epitaph mid composition and Hermione came to get a new one from his cupboard. Her hands browsed the various ceramics and cutlery kept here. Wormtail winced when a large one knocked against his jug. She made a loud swallowed sob when Hagrid said how he lost the appeal before. Wormtail smelled salt.
An abrupt shift in his burning stomach came as light lanced through him. If he wasn't starving, chuck would have been upped. Hermione, she picked him! It, the jug! A bit of plain bile he hadn't believed still existed scorched up his throat as he was set atop the cupboard. Harsh clinking tea cups and saucers beat around his head as he curled tighter in his skin, willing himself shrink into nothing. Perhaps if held his breath he could sink into the milk when it was poured, poking his nose above the surface every so often to see if they were gone. This might even be his lucky break, cool creamy milk bringing back lost body weight.
"EEEEP! Ron, I don't believe it, it's Scabbers!"
Ok, so much for the early meal. He was deaf for a moment after the girl's scream. Hermione had a very distinctive high pitch that sliced his eardrum. Then the world upended itself, unceremoniously rejecting him onto unforgiving wood. Large bright faces of looming light specters looked forbiddingly down. Before he could skid off the table, Ron's hands clamped around his torso.
"Scabbers, what are you doing here? It's okay, Scabbers. No cats! Nothing's here to hurt you."
No, everything is. Wormtail clawed and grappled against the boy's grip. The ministry wizards were coming, Ron was going to take him back to the castle. Once the cat found out he was alive, nowhere would ever be safe. He had to run, runaway to a hideaway. An escaped rat is no means to raise fuss. Ron was always going on about how lazy and useless he was. In this state they'd just assume he went someplace to die.
But before any getaway was possible, Wormtail was plopped into the warm familiar pocket. If he wasn't so desperate to flee, he would have taken a moment to think on how he missed the spot. The soft cloth was just translucent enough to keep him in light, but not blindingly so. Ron's heartbeat thumped calmly in his ear, accelerating slightly as they moved up the steep, loping hill. Wormtail rode on the loose swings hoping for an opening to jump out, but they were never quite high enough. He changed tactic, scratching and wriggling his body to halt his carriage. It worked, but the hands reappeared to corral the edge, sweaty palms blocking his refuge.
"Please, Ron," came Hermione's despondent voice.
"– Scabbers, he won't stay put!"
Scabbers wasn't going to live much longer the way things were going. He found himself swearing in squeaks as he tried to take nip at Ron's fingers. Wormtail had never bitten Ron or any other useful person. He didn't like the taste of blood much. There had been an incident in first year where he sunk his incisors into the knuckle of Goyle's spawn which was a point of quiet personal pride, but such pleasantries were put aside as Wormtail's life was at stake. Ron didn't get the memo.
"Scabbers," He pressed his fingers on the back of Wormtail's head, forcing him to look at his owner's face while addressed, "it's me, you idiot, it's Ron!"
Well who hell did he think Wormtail thought his three years long life insurance would be? Merlin, he needed to get out of here. With a few more patronizing comments, Ron shoved Wormtail roughly into the robe and walked with the others a bit further. Wormtail realized they were trying to get away from Hagrid's hut and the ministry wizards. They didn't want to attract attention. He began cussing in squeals like a halved piglet in hope Ron would take him out of the pocket, try to calm his newly reunited pet. Then Wormtail would be gone, quicker than thought.
SWiithud! The swipe of what was surely an ax felling a hippogriff came from behind and Ron's heart hiccupped. Wormtail froze on instinct.
"They did it!" Hermione spoke softly, "I don't believe they did it!"
"Don't," Jez muttered, under her breath so low it was likely none of the others heard through their grief. Wormtail did. Don't what? Don't believe Buckbeak was really killed? That didn't tally with her otherwise unflinching acceptance of fact. Don't descend into hysterics over it, spouting clichéd lines of denial? Made sense, but why didn't she let Hermione hear it then? Or maybe it was a personal plea against what was irreversible. Don't be this way. Wormtail made himself labor on her unimportant comment so he wouldn't have to think of the death, have to recognize...
Stop. His muscles did, save the tiny rat heart pattering a thousand times faster than Ron's ever could. Fear jolted through his spine, ears harkened to slight brush of grass in front and his nose quivered madly. Cat.
Suddenly Wormtail was little more than a sack of meat hanging in the butcher's window of Ron's pocket. . The fingers were back, grabbing, restraining, stuffing, and bleeding.
"OUCH HE BIT ME!"
Did he? Wormtail couldn't care at this point. He was out now, but still trapped as ever. The sunset finished, but he could see plainly enough the twin gold heralds of his approaching nemesis not five meters away. Where was Jezibell's abomination when he needed it?
"NO!" Ron cried as with a bodily jerk, Wormtail flung himself to the grass. His fur flattened, legs churning through the warm dirt. James's cloak brushed across his back as he ran from the ensuing commotion behind him. Every pore of his being screamed away from his pursuers and only when a fourth party of heavy breathing started did he realized he'd been wrong about his role. He was being herded, not chased. His heart paused for half a beat and, "GOTCHA!"
Ron fell on him, or so it felt, and Wormtail was forced once again back in the pocket. Now he welcomed it. Surely Sirius wouldn't try now, not with Harry's best mate.
Oh, but he would. Hearing Padfoot bound forth on the paws for which he was named, Wormtail balled himself up, petrified as one of the Basilisk's victims, waiting for the end.
The end took its time. Ron's heart rate was up, but he wasn't running and Padfoot had to be on top of them by now. What was going on out there? A pair of muffled screams, Ron's sweaty hand tightly clamped on the pocket was all he knew. Then the kid's body gave a whip-like crack. Best not think too hard on the last. Peter wanted to bite Ron again so he could run from the madness, but the proximity of the larger animals made his muscles static with fear.
There came an upward bump. One, two, three, four, five. Ron's breath caught at each. He must be getting attacked by Padfoot. Wormtail made a note not to underestimate how far the dog was willing to go for revenge. A low growl accompanied by a purring noise came from unnervingly close by. Then a change of perception, a twist of breathing and heartbeat Wormtail knew as well as his own.
"You're it? The Grim, you! Scampered - Aah," Ron's big revelation was dampened slightly by his injuries. Why did Sirius decide to show himself now? They were still out in the open; anybody could be walking by to notice. Oh. Five bumps, five steps. They had been right along were the willow was when the cat attacked. Wormtail gathered himself enough to worm his nose between Ron's fingers and breathe the open the stale musty air. Yep, they were in the shack alright. Home-stank-home as James called it. Of course Sirius chose lodgings here. Nobody else would think to look, except Remus who was too busy covering up from Dumbledore. Nobody knew, nobody was coming, nobody to save him. He could smell the cat directly behind and Sirius planted in front. Wormtail had never felt so alive and dead at the same time.
"Don't move any more then you have to," Sirius's easy gravel was mangled from Azkaban and time, "Give me the rat, and all's well ends well."
"I'm not doing a bloody thing you say," Ron's words came through clenched teeth and he cupped his hands over Wormtail shakily. Go, Ron go! Be a Gryffindor! Defend your pet with your life! "You got me here for bait, don't you?"
A whacking sound like somebody kicking a door open (yes, Wormtail knew exactly what that sounded like) as an answer. The rat needed a better measure of the scene and poked his head around the boy's hand. It didn't much improve. Harry and Hermione were blocking the view, making comforting and inquisitive noises until Ron pointed out the mass murderer right behind them. Did these kids have no peripheral vision?
Sirius promptly shut the door like any good villain and expelled the cavalry's wands using Ron's. Now that Wormtail could see him, he'd really let himself go. Sirius had always been the most handsome of them, Wormtail remembered being jealous and admiring of the female gaze his brooding grey eyes and high cheek bones attracted. Now the olive skin had taken on a pale greenish-yellow, the once fashionably careless hair matted and overgrown and the eyes so hauntingly sunken you couldn't tell their color. It was like looking at a corpse, a zombie back from the grave.
"I thought you'd come to help your friend, your father would have done the same for me," Sirius began with a standard jibe at Harry's gullibility. Even through his peril, Wormtail was struck by how Sirius presented himself to his godson. The man wasn't even bothering to plea innocence. Jez muttered an indistinguishable comment of derision to herself. She did that a lot. "Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. It will make everything much easier –"
"You'd be surprised how difficult we can make things," Jezibell butted into the monologue. Her arm crossed Wormtail's vision, holding a wand. Wait a moment. Sirius looked to the girl in understandable confusion. He examined his handful of captured instruments, one of which was much knobbier and misshapen than the others.
"The ole slight 'o' stick," He gave a dry echo of the barking laugh and prepared to disarm her, again. "Nice. But I've waited too long for this."
Debris crumbled down on his head directing attention above it to where a fat loose brick from the wall behind hung on a levitation charm. Slight 'o' brick, then. It was a standard you-hit-me-you-get-knocked-out set up. Sirius sighed and simply pointed the mesh of wands and the stick at Wormtail. Stalemate.
"No, don't even look at him!" Harry yelled, moving between Ron and Sirius.
"Harry!" yelped Hermione, grabbing his arm before he did something conceivably stupider. Like attacking. Not that Sirius was trying to kill him. Was he? Wormtail honestly didn't know anymore. Not that it mattered much in regard to him.
"Jez, what are you waiting for?" Harry demanded, "Kill him or give me your wand!"
"I move it and I can't question Mr. Padfoot."
There was a moment of silence as everybody took that in. Mr. Padfoot? Wormtail knew he had been out of the loop, but since when did she know squat about the secret of secrets?
"Isn't that one of the -" Hermione started uncertainly.
"How much did Remus tell you?" Sirius interrupted his face impassive as melted wax.
"Mr. Moony told us all about the map and how much fun you, him and James Potter had with it," Jezibell's shoulder rolled and the brick dropped a centimeter, "We know what Mr. Moony really does when he's out sick."
"Tell me all about that later," Sirius jerked his skeletal hand, making all flinch. He smiled horridly straight at Wormtail, "First things first."
"If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!" Wormtail's eye level rose as Ron made to stand, but he ended up using Harry as a crutch.
"Lie down, you will damage that leg even more," Sirius randomly switched tact.
"Did you hear me? You'll have to get through all four of us!" Wormtail's ear rang uncomfortably with Ron's courage. Big assumption there, mate. Wormtail wasn't planning on dying for anybody.
"There'll only be one murder here tonight," Sirius was deliberate in his ambiguity. Didn't he want them to know? Or did he think Harry wouldn't believe him if he told? Harry wasn't in a believing mood, granted.
"Why's that?" Harry taunted the alleged mass murderer. "Didn't care last time, did you? Didn't mind slaughtering muggles to get to Pettigrew. What's the matter? Gone soft in Azkaban?"
"Harry, quiet," mumbled Hermione without real conviction.
"Answer him," Jez ordered Sirius like she still had the upper hand, "Why?"
"I don't care why -" Harry groaned, "HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD! Dammit, Jez, give me your wand!"
"No –!"
Harry grabbed her arm, wrenched away the wand and lunged at Sirius. The brick smashed through a window, making Wormtail duck back into the pocket. Downstairs, somebody shouted. Upstairs, nobody breathed. Then Hermione started screaming, "WE'RE UP HERE WE'RE UP HERE SIRIUS BLACK QUICK!"
Shoes clomped up rickety stairs, door banged open and Wormtail listened for his hope spot.
"Expelliarmus!" cried the savior, and then, "Where is he?" asked Remus.
Remus. Asking where he was. Hope spot flew out the window with the brick, shattering upon impact. Smashed, gone, kaput, and dead. Why weren't the kids doing anything? Hurry up and kill him, Harry! Don't you have an insatiable desire for revenge? Ron's hand tightened around his body, smothering cloth around his ears in a dark net of silence.
Over the next nerve grating Merlin-knows-how-long Wormtail sat in this terrified lump, near oblivious to the events outside. Ron's heart jumped in his ear and assorted smells mixed with the musty shack gave his feverish nose something to do, but beyond that Wormtail was forced to guess. He supposed his death was so labored over because Sirius and Lupin were explaining it all to the kids. He wondered how much all of it was, but it didn't really matter at this point. All he cared about was how Harry was going to take it. Maybe he wouldn't believe a word. If he found out Remus was a werewolf and Sirius had no proof to support the crazy claim of a dead man surviving as his best mate's rat, he might go ahead and kill them both. Wormtail just hoped Sirius hadn't kept the paper.
He knew full well how his school friend had found him. It must have been the Prophet. Sirius could've gotten it from any human visitor to Azkaban. Wormtail remembered the photo that took up half the front page. Ron had an argument with the Percy over letting his rat in the shot and Wormtail had to be woken up from a sun nap to be dangled onto Ron's shoulder. Say cheese, Scabbers. See Percy, the camera likes him! He'd been rewarded for it, got a bit of exotic fruit that was quite delicious at the time. Not worth getting his soul sucked out, but very refreshing on a hot Egyptian day. Wormtail was cut off in his reminiscing by Ron's hand, which had been a buffer between him and the world up till now, cupped around him and pulled the rat kicking and squeaking into the light.
Light was hell. His bones stretched, muscles tensed and pulled like putty and hair seared his scalp in a thousand crimping needles. It wasn't usually so horrid, when he transformed voluntarily there nothing more than a tingle, but being forced into it was something else. He landed on his feet in the robes, twelve year old robes, somehow still keeping balance as the wretched cramps dulled. After it was done, he still felt like a rat, or at least still found the feline tyrant perched on the bed a legitimate threat. He rubbed his wrists; the extremities still ached and took in the scene he was now the center piece of. Sirius and Remus had their wands pointed at him, looking quite ready to give the death blow at any provocation. No provocations then. Harry, Ron and Hermione were staring dumbstruck by his appearance to the left. Severus Snape was bound and knocked out against a wall for some reason. Curious, but unhelpful. Jez was blocking the door, and thereby the stairs and the exit which was completely out of reach. He'd known that depressing fact already, but still, damn her.
Remus was the first to address, "Hello, Peter. Long time no see."
Ahahaha, Peter was so dead. Sirius leered from his corner, confirming the sentiment.
"S-Sirius, R-Remus," He stuttered a bit on their names, surprised and reviled by his voice. It was weak, blubbery and cracked at every other syllable. Again he looked to the door in the vain hope it had moved closer in the last two seconds. "My friends, my old friends."
"We've been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You may have missed the finer points while squeaking around down there on the bed."
The cat had clawed its way out of the bag. There was nothing Peter could do but deny.
"Remus, you don't believe him, do you?" Peter knew full well there was no swaying Remus, but it wasn't really him he was banking on. "He tried to kill me, Remus.
"So we've heard. I'd like to clear up one of two matters with you, Peter, if you would be so –"
"He's come to try and kill me again! He killed Lily and James and now he's going to kill me too – you got to help me, Remus!
Pity, he needed pity. Somebody, anybody feel sorry and generous NOW.
"No one's going to try and kill you until we've sorted a few things out."
"Sorted things out," He repeated ruefully. Fate had been sorted decades ago. A second take at the room told him windows were boarded as they always had been, Remus must have repaired the one the brick smashed, and the door still miles away. Back to pleading, but everything he said could and was used against him.
He'd known Sirius would come after him for twelve years! Now why would he think a person could break out of Azkaban? He never touched Harry during his time sleeping two meters away from the kid! He is a coward who only acts when it's in his interest. How could Sirius possibly have escaped Azkaban without express knowledge of Dark Magic? He's an Animagus who knew he wasn't guilty. Peter's lies were Swiss cheese. He used to be so much better at this and supposed his loss of the skill came from not talking. It was time to utilize his final defense, the one thing Peter Pettigrew did well. Beg.
"Sirius, it's me. It's Peter, your friend, you wouldn't –"
"Remus! You don't believe this – wouldn't Sirius have told you if he changed the plan?"
"Ron, haven't I been a good friend? A good pet, you wouldn't let them kill me, Ron, will you? You're on my side, aren't you?"
"Sweet girl, clever girl, you won't let them –"
"Harry, you look just like you're father. Just like him –"
No sell, not one not even his trump card, James' son. If he could have only convinced Harry, just Harry and Harry alone, Sirius and Remus would do anything for the boy. There was still one left, but she wasn't worth it. Not after the hole in the ace, there wasn't a point. But Peter was the expert on crusading without a god and so turned, Sirius and Remus still casting on him meaningless words of perfidy, to face Jez. But he couldn't bring himself to plead with her. Not because of her disdainful memory tugging expression, but how perverse their positions were.
The first two years of Hogwarts with Ron were the best Peter ever had. He felt like he was adventuring with the Marauders again, falling back to his old position as the fourth fat stupid member who was kept because he rounded out the group. It wasn't exactly the same with him being a rat, but it was close enough so Peter could pretend, just for bit, it was real. Then she came, a cruel parody of his time with James and the others. Watching her lie so blatantly as they more and more leaned on her friendship, yet she disappointed every time. The outcast who nobody liked, isn't that sign you should stay away? That this 'friend' is going to pull out a knife the moment you present your back? They were in the same boat, the HMS Parasite, yet she had the gall to look down on him like His Right Hand always did like she was somehow his better. Peter wasn't going to snivel for this witch the last two seconds of his life, so instead he spoke his mind.
"You can't judge me, someday you'll be here. Then you won't be so smug."
Jez blinked in dull surprise, Sirius and Remus raised their wands and Peter Pettigrew prepared to die as an honest man.
"NO!" Harry lunged suddenly between death and Peter, "You can't kill him! You can't!"
The audience was dumbstruck, but nobody more so than Peter. It worked. Faking out the universe genuinely no tricks, no second guessing really worked! It was incredible, inspiring and completely terrifying. And false. Harry clarified his motives as indifferent to Peter's life. He wasn't saving Peter out of pity or because he thought Peter might be worth after all. No, he was really rescuing Sirius and Remus from the irredeemable fate of being murderers. Oh well, the action counts and Peter lay down at Harry's knees for it. He was going to Azkaban! YES. If Sirius escaped by being an animagus, then so could he. Didn't think of that, did they?
They thought of everything else for the procession to castle. Peter in a binding spell and tied jointly between Remus and Jez so as not to escape went first down the stairs and to the tunnel, preceding the still inexplicably unconscious Severus levitated by Sirius, followed by Harry and Hermione supporting a crippled Ron. The stupid cat led the parade like he was the Grand Master.
As they neared the end of the tunnel, Peter started to worry again. What if they changed their minds? What if instead of taking him to the castle, the Dementors came and Kissed him right there? What if Sirius lost it and killed him anyway? What if they put him in a special cell at Azkaban, where there were no bars to slip through and actual prison guards? He looked at the faces beside him to see if he could read answers there. In Remus' face resolution, in Jez's disregard of him entirely. Don't think you have any power just because the Dark Lord finds you temporarily useful, Wormtail, her jutted chin said. You are not of his inner circle and are completely disposable. But the proud Death Eater's words held no water in present day. There was no charmed circle anymore. Even a gutter rat as an ally would be indispensable to the Dark Lord of the flies. What if Peter escaped now?
They neared the end of the tunnel and the cat had frozen the willow overhead with the special knot. The night was warm with summer and very black except for the yellowy wand-light streaming out of the tunnel. There was no lunar activity that Peter could see. Maybe it was a new moon. No wait, the clouds parted as the party made the first few steps onto the grass to reveal the vague silvery light of a moon round as a coin. It took Peter a second to register what that meant.
"Lupin! Fxysmirkss. Turn around, get back in the tunnel," Jezibell yanked Peter's left to the side, calling to those behind them.
"He didn't take his potion tonight, he's not safe!" Hermione cried.
A low wine shook Peter's right and Remus broke the cuff as he transformed beside him. The werewolf beside him… Then he wasn't. Padfoot leapt, tackling the werewolf before he could bite Peter or Jez. Peter grabbed fallen wand, shot a stunner and confounder at the first things to cross his vision. Ron and then the cat went down. Jez twisted it from his wrist. Moony had thrown Padfoot off and ran for the forest, Padfoot pounding wounded to castle to alert Dumbledore there was a werewolf on the grounds. Harry took off after his godfather, Hermione in his wake. For a second nobody was paying the mass murderer any mind. The second Peter needed. He dove, dragging the girl down with him, at the willow and grappled his hands over the knot.
Nothing changed. Then –
"Get up, Wormfood," Jez hissed in his ear and there was jabbing in the back of his neck, "You know what tha -"
CRACK!
The second cuff ripped viciously off his hand and the girl went flying as a tree branch whipped overhead. Peter transformed in an instant, prepared to dash from Hogwarts grounds with nothing and nobody to stop him.
"Ga-hak," A few meters away Jez was pushing herself up by an arm, the other clutching her torso and reeking of fresh blood. "You ra –ah, not again…"
Wormtail wasn't going to wait for her to complete that thought. In his shrunken furry alter ego he fled into the unknown. He didn't know where he was going just yet, or whether or not he felt the worse for leaving a life that might have turned out alright. Oh, why did Sirius have to come? But looking back to his past was painful, useless and counterproductive, so Peter never did. Her glare raised hair on his back all the way to the gates.
Hospital Wing, June ninth
Again with the screaming.
"HE DIDN'T DISAPPERATE! YOU CAN'T APPARATE OR DISAPPERATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS! HAS! SOMETHING! TO! DO! WITH! POTTER!"
Surprise, surprise. A BAM of someone needlessly abusing a door rattled in her skull like a trapped bludger. Worst wakeup call ever.
"OUT WITH IT POTTER – WHAT DID YOU DO?"
"PROFESSOR SNAPE!" A woman shrieked, "Control yourself!"
Snape. Snape was knocked out. By her, because of Sirius. Sirius – Shrieking shack – Harry – werewolf. Right.
"THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE I KNOW IT!"
Escape, Wormtail escaped. But Snape missed that, being knocked out. So if not Wormtail, then –
"YOU DON'T KNOW POTTER, HE DID IT I KNOW HE DID IT!"
Jezibell was assured that if anything displeasing Snape had been done, Harry was prime suspect. Dumbledore didn't think so, he was speaking now. He left the ward ten minutes ago, locking the door. Unless Snape was suggesting Harry and Hermione could be in two places at once. Hermione? Well, that filled all the plot holes neatly. Dumbledore left with another geriatric muttering about an escaped hippogriff and the Dementors trying to Kiss an innocent boy. Wonder who that could be. She opened her eyes to the off-white ceiling of the Hospital Wing and tried to prop herself up. Breath caught at the brace of bandages wound tightly around her rib cage and her right arm restricted by the sling wasn't really up to propping, so she wuffed back onto the matress.
"What happened?" moaned Ron a few beds to her right. "Harry? Why are we in here? Where's Sirius? Where's Lupin? What's happened to Jez? What's going on?"
Harry voice responded a bit further down, "You explain."
"Um," said Hermione from the same, "I'm not sure where to –"
"Start," Jezibell addressed the ceiling, "with 'innocent boy', my arse."
Hermione told it the best she could with Ron punctuating every half sentence with "But what about…" To summarize: Snape woke up; Sirius got caught and handed to the Dementors. After recovering from a Dementor attack, Harry and Hermione went back in time and fixed everything. Well, except Wormtail, Jezibell still let him escape in the altered past. Sirius was on the run too, but at least now he had the utterly inconspicuous Buckbeak to bus him around. Also Lupin was good as sacked, seeing as the werewolf was out of the study. Then there's the minor issue of the grandfather paradox Harry induced by saving himself from being Kissed. Because if Harry hadn't gone back in time yet at the time he was about to be Kissed, then how could he still be soul-filled in the future to go back and –
"Don't think about it," he advised through a mouthful of chocolate, "I'm trying not to myself."
They stayed what was left of the night till noon the next day, Jezibell's ribs and funny bone and Ron's leg needing to heel entirely and of course Harry and Hermione had the special-edition anti-Dementor healer shoved down their throats. Only Madam Pomfrey could make Honeydukes sweets taste bitter as a Pepperup potion. Speaking of Hogsmeade, the four abstained from the trip as life risking doesn't put one in a shopping mood. Harry used the free day to say his goodbyes to Lupin while Ron, Hermione and Jezibell moseyed around the grounds, Hagrid's hut and relayed the night to Emmy. The hybrid seemed rather impressed by Crookshanks' part and preferred to hear the whole story from him personally. Hermione told her so. The remaining week passed in a pensive haze, for Jezibell, Harry, Ron and Hermione at least. The other students didn't know the full of the story since there was no point trying to advocate Sirius's case now that he fled the scene of the crime and with no proof other than the word of a werewolf. So for everyone else…
"Again he got in, again –"
"I'm glad the Dementors left, it was so much better in Hogsmeade –"
"Not sure why we had 'em in the first place, they didn't help any –"
"Terrifying, they were, just terrifying –"
"Maybe they'll get dragons next –"
"Speaking of monsters, you know that hippogriff escaped –"
"Bet the gamekeeper turned it into a turtle-catching shrub –"
"Our ministry really can't do anything –"
"GRYFFINDOR WON THE CUP! GRYFFINDOR –"
Life was coming back down to normal, whatever that was at Hogwarts. The year had been long and convoluted enough to rival the last, yet like its predecessor everything settled itself within the last week of school. Well, almost everything…
There was still an obligation of sorts Jezibell meandered around. She consulted Emmy and reread the books Harry got her for Christmas, sharpened quills and got beat by Ron at chess. It still wasn't done. An endless round of declarations and excuses kept her thoughts on edge until the last day of term when the exam results came.
Jezibell moved away from the group to review hers, and soon found it was a good call. She passed, mostly. Transfiguration, fine; Charms, fine; Potions, very fine. Care of magical creatures, Astronomy, History, Muggle Studies, and DADA, all fine. Herbology, not so much. Not very much at all. She rolled the parchment back up serenely and went for a walk. She could use the stretch and there was still the train ride tomorrow. The last day had taken long enough and summer didn't come without anticipation for the familiar and natural. It really was useless to pretend she was ever at ease in Hogwarts. But reflecting on her year with the trio and recent events, Jezibell found there wasn't much to regret for. Except the one. Cutting through the courtyard, she wacked elbows with a guy also too deep in thought to pay attention to where he was going.
"Jezibell," he muttered irritably, his exam report wafting to the ground.
"Theodore," Jezibell stooped to retrieve the parchment. She wasn't looking, not explicitly anyways, but her eyes still found the Muggle Studies score at the bottom. It beat hers. He glared at her, knowing full well she'd seen.
"Can I have that back?"
"There's a vacancy in Divination," Jezibell ignored the question. "And after Buckbeak escaped and the Black Attack, the school board's not breathing down Burbage's neck."
"Yeah," He sighed, and then snatched the grades back, "So?"
"Yeah, so nothing." She smiled, just a bit.
He crumpled the parchment, "You're chipper."
Was she? Maybe, "Just knowing… even tornadoes can have silver linings."
"Never would have pegged you for an optimist," He snorted derisively.
"I keep 'em guessing," She smirked. "See you next year."
Next day brought the Hogwarts Express and a very smug Emmy, "I told –"
"Quiet, you. It's not over until the blond harpy sings."
Harry gave Jezibell a quizzical look to which Emmy made her faux-chuckling noise. But she knew not to push it and coiled herself on the seat beside Crookshanks in compartment 16. Jezibell made no comment. There were other things to address anyway, such as Hermione's decision to drop Muggle Studies, and by extent the Time Turner. She'd discussed (i.e. monologued) her reasons the night before with Jezibell and finalized it that morning with Professor McGonagall. They all agreed that it was for the best, but Ron still was indignant that Hermione hid it from him and Harry the whole year.
"If Jez could know, why not us?"
"I promised I wouldn't tell anyone. Jez found out on her own," Hermione narrowed her eyes and Jezibell rolled them.
"You could've lied," she pointed out.
"You'd see it in a second and have found out the rest quick enough," Hermione accused. "You knew there was something up with Professor Lupin after all."
"Ha!" Ron laughed, "You don't know the half of that one! Miss Paranoia thought you were keeping your mouth shut about Lupin helping Sirius kill to Harry with the map. Brilliant, Jez, just brilliant. You confound us all with your powers of deduction."
"Lay off," Harry turned from his melancholy window gazing, "She got the Marauders and their names right. How did you manage that anyway? When we found Sirius, you called him Padfoot and Professor Lupin Moony."
"Sirius's animagus was a dog with large padded feet. Indicative. Moony was a guess, both names only showed up this year but Padfoot was already taken." Jezibell flipped through the twelfth Time After Time novel, One Week, uncomfortably, "Besides, I still lost Wormtail."
"That wasn't your fault. I went back in time and couldn't change it," Harry said sorely. The problem was he was telling the truth.
"How about next time we leave the figuring to Hermione, slight o' stick to Jez and the rescuing to Harry," Ron opened a package of sweets from the trolley.
"What do you do, then?"
"I play chess and point out the obvious."
"Oh, stop being detrimental," Hermione chided, "We've all made plans, found things out and saved each other's lives. Nobody needs a job."
"No, I get it," said Harry, "We're like a cinnamon bun, or one of these things."
"A Wangdoodle?" Ron asked as Harry held up the candy.
"Yeah, this. We're all good at different things and ok on our own, but together we can fight trolls, slay basilisks and change time."
"Does that make you the nuts?" Jezibell quipped.
"No more nuts than a talking cat," He scratched Emmy's ears in the preferred spot. Touché.
"I still think it's ridiculous," said Hermione.
"I still think it's delicious," said Ron, "Pass us over here."
Not long after, they were interrupted by a letter from Sirius via post owl. He assured them he was in hiding with Buckbeak and revealed that the Firebolt had indeed been sent by him, granting Hermione a second I-told-you-so for the week. The envelope also included a handy signed note for Harry's Hogsmeade activities, a hippogriff feather and the bird that carried it as a gift to Ron. All's well that ends well. Well, not quite yet.
Some hours later, the train pulled into Kings Cross, the bags and animals collected. The four were at the barrier, Hermione and Ron through and Harry halfway. On the other side was Mother, Draco and three months to forget.
"Hey, Harry," Jez pulled him back by the shoulder. "Can I talk to you, over there?"
"Sure," he steadied his trolley agreeably and she led him over a little to the side of where students were lining up to enter the muggle world. "Go ahead."
"I want to… I mean, I didn't mean - Ah, you remember the… argument at the start of winter break. I said what I thought I meant at the time. I – ah, underinterpreted – misunderestimated – no, I'm," losing command over the English language. Jezibell knew what she had to say, but wasn't leading up to it properly and when she started thinking about it failed basic articulation entirely. "Sorry -"
"Jez, apology accepted," Harry smiled easily and she felt ridiculous, making such a deal out of something that happened months ago. But then again this sort of thing was important, to some people. Padfoot and Moony thought so. Harry did too, hence the botched apology. She thought he needed it. Now she wasn't sure which one of them had. He was teasing her now, "but don'ttry to tell me about levitating bricks again. Alright?"
She nodded just enough to communicate and they walked through the barrier together, most of the other students already through. Jezibell spotted her family quickly. Mother looked like a stewardess in a green silk muggle suit.
"See you September," Jezibell lingered a bit with Harry, remembering Draco's letter and decided to milk her mother's high society fears for all their lack of worth. Yes, look at her be good friends with Harry Potter. Publicly, good friends. What can she do?
"Maybe sooner, Ron said the Weasleys might be taking me to the Quidditch World Cup. Will you be going?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Jezibell sneered in hard sarcasm that was lost on Harry as he laughed and turned away to reunite with his muggle relatives. Even Burbage and all her mugglephilia would have nothing pleasant to say about them. They stood deliberately apart from everybody else, with mixtures of disgust and fright running wanton on their faces. When Harry came to them, the obese mustached male barked at him and they waddled with Harry in tow to a particularly large and smelly car. They appeared to be living embodiment of all the worst stereotypes associated with muggles; stupid, fat, middle class, ugly jerks.
"Makes you almost ashamed, going back to the Manor," Emmy observed from her perch in the trolley.
"Almost,"Jezibell emphasized with a grimace, wheeling around to her face her kin. The harpy sung.