Chapter 3: Oneironaut
Professor Lupin was talking about ghosts that day. It was an unusually hot day for autumn, and sunlight from the large glass windows was shining brightly into Astoria's eyes. They were having this particular Defense Against the Dark Arts class with the first year Hufflepuffs, and apparently there had been some drama among a few of the girls recently. Astoria could tell because their furious thoughts were preventing her from paying attention to the professor's lesson. Two in particular could not seem to concentrate on anything but this petty feud.
I can't believe she told Brian about it! I thought she was my friend!...
That hare-brain Garnet! Why she expects me to do everything she wants me to I don't know…. One other was also preoccupied with the situation, but this one was glowing with prideful happiness.
Those two fools don't see that he already likes me more than them. I hope they both jinx each other in some idiotic duel tonight...
Astoria shook her head furiously, trying to rouse her drooping eyelids. The food she had eaten from lunch seemed to weigh her down. Professor Lupin had moved to the small chalkboard provided to the room, trying to clear the board of notes Astoria hadn't written down yet. She desperately tried to write down what she saw before Lupin erased it, succeeding only at getting the last two lines. He started talking again. What was he saying?
"Practically, they aren't very dangerous to living people, except for those with heart conditions, but they are considered by some to be dark because they are created by something that seems to prevent a natural, healthy process," Lupin said as energetically as he could, though he occasionally lost his train of thought and yawned. Astoria skipped a few lines to make room for the notes that she missed while she was distracted. Even now, the buzzing of angry thinking threatened her concentration.
"Sir Absolon de Bernay here has graciously agreed to demonstrate the effects that the manifestation of human spirits has on some physical elements," the professor continued. The ghost of a knight with an arrow sticking out of the visor in his helmet, floating next to a desk with various materials in bowls, gave a little wave. He then hovered his hand over the bowl of burning charcoal, the flames of which flickered and turned a pale blue.
"Now, you may remember from any scientific education you've had that blue fire is hotter than normal fire. This is true in this case, even though ghosts usually have the effect of making an environment cooler. It is not known why this is the case for fire," Lupin continued. Astoria got that down in her notes before a strong wave of drowsiness came over her and a thought broke into her consciousness.
I'm so embarrassed I wish I could just die! Astoria's hand messed up a letter that she was in the process of writing.
I hate her I hate her I hate her!
Look at her, just sitting there as if nothing happened and she's the best person in the world. Astoria tried to rouse herself by stabbing her fingertips with the dull point of the purple ballpoint pen she had bought for five galleons from John White, the feeling of her anger rising in her chest like bile. She had apparently missed the rest of the demonstration by the ghost of the knight, as he had moved away from the table. Astoria blinked, trying to get her eyes to focus. She briefly considered walking up to the ghost and sticking her head in his chest to wake herself up.
"Spirits can speak any language, even if they had no way of knowing it in life," said Lupin. "Can anyone here speak a language or dialect other than English?" She raised her hand drowsily, hoping that interacting with the teacher could help her pay attention.
"Oh? What language do you speak, Miss, ah, Bluegrass, was it?" the professor asked. The ghost turned his helmed head to face her, staring with black voids where his eyes must have been. Feeling chilled, Astoria answered,
"It's Greengrass. I speak Welsh, sir."
"Oh, sorry, Miss Greengrass. Sir de Bernay, could you speak Welsh?"
"No, I lived entirely in France and Northern England in life," the ghost answered in a hoarse voice that echoed in his phantom armor. "In fact they did not even speak this form of English in my day."
"Miss Greengrass, please ask Sir de Bernay a question in Welsh and judge for us whether or not he sounds like he knows the language well," said Lupin. Astoria thought for a minute, trying to block out her unique distractions. Oddly, now that she had been asked to speak Welsh, she couldn't think of anything to say. She finally settled on something basic.
"O ble wyt ti'n dod?" she asked. The rest of the children were staring at her. Despite herself, she felt her cheeks get warmer. She hoped it was just the sunlight from the windows.
"Dw i'n dod o Normandi," answered the knight, with perfect pronunciation. "O ble ydych chi'n dod?"
"Dw i'n dod o Gwynedd," she answered, shocked. "That was good Welsh, professor."
Showoff, someone thought irritably. Lupin went on to a different point after thanking her for participating, and Astoria checked her watch. It was only halfway through the class period, she realized to her horror. Meanwhile, Lupin had moved on to a different subject.
"You may be wondering whether or not Peeves is a ghost. Strictly speaking, he, or it, rather, is not. It, like other poltergeists, is the dregs of the various strong emotions of anger, mischievousness, et cetera of people, especially adolescents…"
I wonder what homework I should do tonight. I don't think I can do that whole assignment in one night…
Is everyone in my year a complete git or a weirdo? I swear I can't relate to anyone my age…
Is it too much to ask for the house elves to make some plain sandwiches once in a while? I am sick and tired of…
Look at the blood coming out from under that ghost's helmet. I wonder if it would be rude to ask him to show me the wound… The heat of the classroom was making the rich smell of dusty parchment permeate the stagnant air. Suddenly, Astoria felt nauseous. What was the professor writing on the board now? Something about "non-beings." She hurriedly resumed writing her notes, trying to focus only on the sound of her breathing and heartbeat, like Professor Snape instructed, her wrists pressed against her ears. A tall boy sitting two rows in front of her was passed a note. Two Hufflepuff girls off to the left giggled quietly, and Professor Lupin paused his writing until it subsided. The boy covertly opened it, and tensed up. Astoria could see, now that it had attracted her attention, that it read "Do you like her back?" The boy was afraid of the consequences of his answer. He did not like whoever it was. She could almost feel the sweat on her own face as it started to bead up on his. He wrote the truth on the note and passed it back.
The other Hufflepuff students noticed and started a barely-concealed, manic dance of delight and painful empathy. The expressions on the girls' faces when they got the note back got everyone in the room's attention, including the Slytherins. What was the teacher writing on the board now? Astoria started writing it down again, leaving another big gap to fill in later. "Similar to bioluminescence, but with the lack of anything living or material…"
I can't wait to give this to her! That'll take her down a peg!
Hope they shut up soon, this is getting really distracting…
This is all so stupid. Romance is stupid…
"Miss Greengrass, are you all right?" It took a second or two for Astoria to discern that that voice was spoken instead of thought.
"What?" she said. She realized she had her head on her desk, with her wrists still pressed tight to her ears.
"Oh. I think…" she looked at Professor Lupin to try and judge his mood. "I think I need to go. May I go to your office later to catch up on notes?" Professor Lupin stood there, obviously confused, but then he remembered being told about a special student by the Headmaster and Professor Snape. Astoria saw a snippet of that conversation: Professor Dumbledore looking down his bespectacled nose sagely at her – or Professor Lupin, rather – saying,
I trust you'll treat this student with the care that her special condition affords, as you understand what that is like yourself… Then, a night sky illuminated by a full moon, viewed in blurry glimpses as a field of grass moved by shakily. Professor Lupin suddenly smiled warmly, empathy radiating from him.
"Ah yes, you may go, Miss Greengrass. Perhaps we can talk after class." The whole class was looking at her now, curious and disapproving. Some were envious, others suspected her of somehow manipulating the teacher unfairly. She tried not to care as she walked out of the narrow stone passage to the hallway. That was her last class of the day, so she supposed she would go find a secluded spot in the library to try to do homework until around dinner time.
Astoria started descending the stairs to go to the hallway that would take her to Professor Lupin's office. She was hungry, but she was impatient to get the notes over with. The small, high windows built to hide from hostile penetration showed the sky had a violet dye now. As she was nearing the bend that would take her to the second floor, the echoing sound of Peeves' ghoulish crooning floated down to her. Astoria quickened her pace, shivering. The last time she had interacted with it, it had tied her hair to the back of the chair she had been napping in. It had taken her an hour to free herself, and she missed a Herbology class – a missed class that cost her dearly with her already poor marks. Who knew what would happen if it found her today? She fled down the steps, her heart thudding in her ears, barely touching a step before alighting on the next one. Somewhere up above her, Peeves cackled mischievously, hearing the running footsteps.
After Astoria's next step, she felt the stone of the staircase envelop her leg up to her shin. Her momentum prevented her from stopping herself or pulling her foot out safely. Gravity pulled her downwards, and she felt searing hot pinpricks of pain in her trapped leg, now pushed against the edge of the trick step. More and more pinpricks stabbed into her leg until a burning ring tightening around it, cutting through to her bone. Astoria heard a cracking noise, and she let out a piercing wail, more from surprise than pain. Gravity was working against her once again as more stone steps rushed up to greet her. She barely brought up her arms in time to protect her face. In panic, she realized her right leg, now free of the step, was beginning to numb. There was no way she could run on it now.
"Someone help me!" Astoria yelled.
"Oooh, that's a shame! Is another little bitty first-year stuck again? Let Peevsie help you!" it squealed. At this, Astoria started to crawl down the stair, trying not to let her injured leg touch the floor. She dared to look at it – half of the shin was bent forward unnaturally, and red splotches were quickly appearing under the skin. The pain pulsing through her body from her shin was too distracting for her to hear footsteps come up beside her.
"Hold still," a familiar, male voice said. Astoria looked up to see a pair of hands descending from above her to grip her shoulders. He tugged upwards, and soon she was leaning against a lanky boy. The boy, who was wearing a Gryffindor tie, put his arm underneath hers and started helping her further down the stairs. Astoria looked up at his face, and his pleasant, deep brown eyes. Her heavy breathing turned as silent as she could muster and she became even hotter than she was because of her leg.
"Oh, it's you," he said in a voice that was suddenly almost emotionless, masking the swell of disgust that came from him. Piercing memories flashed in his consciousness: the old road, the Drooble's Best Blowing Gum he had brought, the old woodsman's house. She tried with all of her might to ignore them.
"Tristan, do you know any painkilling spells?" she hissed through her gritted teeth.
"No, they don't teach us anything like that here," he replied. Tristan paused for a minute, his hands lifting off her a couple of times, but he began to help her down the staircase. His focus turned from the best way to carry her down the steps to her uniform – specifically her green and silver tie.
Fitting.
The next flight of stairs was in a hush, except for Astoria's gasps of pain. His hands felt white-hot on her, though he kept them from touching her as much as possible. Whenever they had more contact, she felt a stirring of hope, but then he recoiled in subtle horror.
"I haven't seen you in a while," she started. Before the boy could say anything, a few steps from the first floor, the body of a stunted, misshapen little man materialized before their faces. The brightness of the colors it wore contrasted with the way they faded into the background like a sad memory and the blackness of its malevolent eyes. Its face was so wrinkled with its smile that it seemed almost to be turning in on itself.
"I bet you forgot about me, huh?" Peeves whispered in its fluty voice. Tristan, leading Astoria, tried to sidestep the spirit, but it moved, giving them both a little destabilizing push backwards.
"Baron!" Astoria shot out in panic. "I'll tell the Bloody Baron you were preventing me from getting to the Hospital Wing!" The poltergeist's shark-like smile faltered.
"So? Why does he care about what you say?" it sang.
"I'm a Slytherin. He's my House Ghost," Astoria said more confidently. "In fact, I'm one of his favorite students." Peeves floated in place, apparently thinking hard. Finally, he blew a loud raspberry and rapidly ascended back up the staircase, leaving the path to the Hospital Tower relatively clear.
Pain flashed up her leg again. Tristan hurried, and soon they reached the Hospital Wing, where a large group of students had congregated. He rushed her in, where Madam Pomfrey was not immediately visible. Astoria strained to pick her out of the crowd – perhaps her delirious mind failed to recognize her – when she came out of her storeroom towards the bed in the center of all the students with a pale, crystalline potion.
"It wasn't- I didn't-" Astoria started. Tristan left her on a bed before she could attempt to continue. She left her arms hovering in the air like she had them when he was supporting her before realizing that he was gone. The pain in her leg brought her back from the disappointment of his absence. Where was Madam Pomfrey? The cloud of feelings and snatches of thought in the room had the air of a crowd at a freak show – pity, amusement, a little fear, and quite a bit of derision.
The children parted for the Matron, revealing a blond boy with his left arm in bandages. He had contorted his face in a theatrical grimace of pain. His eyebrows seemed to almost be disappeared under his loose bangs. She wondered whether he would put the back of his hand on his forehead, like the fainting women in the books and plays her mother enjoyed. She remembered him from the common room, but she could not quite remember his name at the moment. At any rate, she could not concentrate very well at the moment. She looked to the door to see if Tristan was coming back.
"What seems to be the – oh, poor dearie!" said Madam Pomfrey. Apparently she was done with the blond boy, as she had walked up beside Astoria. She promptly fetched some medical supplies from her office and got to work on the broken leg. First, with a little crunch that made Astoria gasp, she straightened the leg with a wave of her wand. With more silent spells the red splotches, which had turned purple, receded and the pain numbed. Finally, Madam Pomfrey conjured a splint and some bandages that wrapped around the leg firmly.
"Is that better, dear?" asked the healer, smiling benignly.
"Yes, Ma'am," she replied quietly, distracted. There were so many people thinking and speaking excitedly in the room that she could barely piece out the kindly old woman's fatigued, frustrated thoughts.
"You should be able to leave tomorrow morning after I check it again. Just tell me if you feel anything unusual. I want to make sure it heals correctly," she said. To distract herself from her situation and whom she had just met, Astoria tried to figure out what had happened to draw so many people into the Hospital Wing. It was obviously because of the dramatic one over there. She knew what his name was, if she could only place it. He was from a family that her parents didn't like, a Dark family. Oh, right, Malfoy. And he had a Greek-sounding name. Plutarch, maybe? Solon? Phanourios?
Maybe I can get Hagrid fired. I hope I can, it's not like he actually deserves the job, but there's no way Dumbledore will fire someone he likes…
What was she thinking about? Ah, Draco? Yes, that sounded right. Draco Malfoy. Well, if that strong thought was from him, he probably had the right idea. Astoria had heard some stories from the older Slytherins – Hagrid seemed like a decent person, but a horrible teacher. But what had happened? Obviously something had happened to his left arm. There here more bandages on his forearm, so most likely something hurt him there.
This is getting pathetic…
Not very interesting. It would've been better if he really got hurt…
God, what a tool… Interesting. That last one was a member of the Quidditch team. People were leaving rather quickly now, leaving only Marcus Flint, Crabbe, Goyle, Graham, and Daphne. Flint and Graham were talking to Malfoy, trying to get him to return to practice sooner. Daphne was standing to the side, bored. She spotted Astoria lying on the bed nearest to the door.
"Tori? What are you going here?" asked Daphne.
"Quicksand step. Was running from Peeves. Tristan helped me," she replied.
"I told you about the stairs, sis," she said, embarrassed. She became a bit softer, though. "Well, it's over now, anyway. So you found Tristan again, huh? You two used to be best friends. You getting together, now?" Astoria reddened, but did not answer.
"Greengrass, no one really 'gets together' when they're your age. They just pretend to. Isn't that right, Casanova?" interjected Flint.
"I was just saying," said Malfoy, trying to hide his annoyance, "that if it scars, he should probably be punished more because-"
"Which Greengrass were you talkin' to, Marcus?" said Daphne.
"Both of you."
"Whatever. I don't have to take advice from a super seventh-year," said Daphne, rolling her eyes and smiling slightly. She was thinking about her newest boyfriend in two months, William Holiday, a Ravenclaw. Flint frowned.
"Well, I don't have to take advice from the leader of some mediocre, two-man 'band' that practices in unused classrooms."
"Hey!" said Daphne, her voice hitching. "Blood Bath is not mediocre!" If she weren't wearing so much white makeup, one could probably see her cheeks becoming pinker.
"Shall we go to dinner, boys? It's getting a bit hot in here." Graham interrupted. He had his usual smooth, jocular demeanor going, but he was nervous about a fight starting.
"Oh yeah, how am I supposed to eat up here?" asked Draco indignantly.
"I have food brought up from the kitchens, dear. You'll have to wait until the house elves are cleaning up after they've taken care of the rest of the food," said Madam Pomfrey from within her office. The visitors around Malfoy excused themselves, except for Daphne, who went up to Astoria. Neither of them could think of anything to say for a few minutes. Daphne wanted to say something nice to her sister. Astoria felt that the vaults of kindness in her sister's heart were about to crack open to release a choice gem or two to brighten up her day, but for some reason she was too scared to do it. Her own heart started beating uncomfortably again.
"Well, you know what I'm thinking anyway," Daphne finally said.
"Really? You're associating with Flint, Crabbe, and Goyle? You hate those three," said Astoria in Welsh, as she didn't want Malfoy to know what they were saying.
"I can do whatever the hell I want," said Daphne, in English. "I 'associate' with a lot of people. Whoever fits my wants and needs at the moment, whatever I think of them and whatever anyone else thinks of them – even family. Especially family. Anyway, we're all brothers and sisters in this House. You would do well to remember that." Malfoy turned his attention from the medical supplies near his cot to them.
"I don't - Fine. Could you go to Professor Lupin's office and tell him I can't come to get the notes?" Astoria said dejectedly.
"Sure. You know, if you really want to see Tristan again, he always sits next to the stained glass window near the library during lunch. "
"Which one?" Astoria tried to conceal her excitement at the revelation. She didn't know how to feel that she now had the ability to contact Tristan again.
"You can see it perfectly well, can't you, little miss psychic?"
"…Yes." She suddenly had an idea. "Madam Pomfrey?"
"Yes, dear?" Madam sounded a bit peeved.
"Can I have my pet in here?"
"I'm afraid not, dear. Only in very special circumstances." Daphne felt relieved – she had guessed that Astoria would want her to bring her toad from her dormitory. She disliked him because he always found his way into places she didn't want him at home, such as soupspoons or expensive shoes. That, and he was ugly. That was one thing Daphne and her parents could agree on – they were all mad that Astoria insisted on keeping him.
"Well, I'll see you around, Tori," said Daphne, spinning around smartly and strutting out the door.
"Don't forget about Professor Lupin!" Astoria called after her. Daphne just gave an absentminded wave in response. Left almost alone now, Astoria got her books out of her bag. She would have to finish her homework here. Madam Pomfrey was now focused on organizing her medical supplies: a quiet, monotonous activity that made her thoughts quickly become background noise. Malfoy, on the other hand, was busy thinking feverishly about a trio of Gryffindor third-years, the third-year Slytherins Astoria had seen him associate with, a strange eagle-horse hybrid, a long-haired man Astoria took to be his father, and the dull ache in his left forearm. She reflexively rubbed her arm in the same spot, forgetting that it wasn't her own wound for a moment.
Her pen hovered above her parchment indefinitely. She was supposed to be answering some questions about a reading she managed to do in the library, but Malfoy's fevered, silent musings about the reaction of various people to his ordeal that day, and the hot, stifling feeling of shame and fear that lurked inside her kept her from collecting her thoughts long enough the write anything beyond the word "the."
"You're really loud, Malfoy, can you go to sleep?" she eventually said irritably.
"I beg your pardon?" He worked up his righteous indignation once again.
"I want you to go to sleep. Please go to sleep," she said, working up her confidence.
"No. What are you ta- oh. Aren't you supposed to be working on getting control of that power, anyway? Deal with it." Astoria sighed.
"Madam Pomfrey, I can hear his thoughts and they're preventing me from doing my homework that's due tomorrow," she called. "Can you give him a sleeping potion or something?"
"Oh, you're that student I was told about. I'm afraid that I'm not allowed to give a student a potion that isn't strictly needed," she replied. The sun was finally dipping below the horizon now. It had been so harsh that day, but it was becoming gentler as is slid down the sky like a tear. Malfoy had gotten out of his quiet mood and began asking Madam Pomfrey what various healing tools around the room did, partially out of curiosity, partially to irk Astoria, and partially out of the desire to control the Matron. Astoria once again tried to concentrate as he worked his way around the Hospital Wing.
"What does the potion on that table do?"
"That helps against circulatory shock."
"What's that?"
"That's when your blood doesn't flow around enough and your organs don't function well." Madam Pomfrey was getting more and more annoyed, her thoughts becoming vindictive (Irksome boy. Who does he think he is, distracting me like this?). Malfoy scoured the room for more objects of inquiry with glee. Astoria gripped her pen hard enough to break.
"Madam Pomfrey, these questions are due tomorrow," she said. Madam Pomfrey was very tempted to give in to Astoria's wishes. She said that needed to go get their dinner and left. The silence that the two patients in the Hospital Wing were left with was broken with a loud croak. A small, black and yellow-striped toad poked its head from a side pocket of Astoria's book bag.
"Spaghetti!" she said with delight. She pulled Spaghetti out of the pocket, but in her haste dropped him. The toad hopped over to Malfoy's bed.
"Spaghetti, come back!" she said, in a voice as imperious as she could make it. Malfoy was filled with derision.
"Toads don't understand orders, fool."
"This one is weird," Astoria said defensively. "He could…he could probably follow orders if he wanted."
"I didn't ask for its life story." Astoria felt a little heat rise to her cheeks. She did not feel like giving him the pleasure of an answer, though. She started to pay more attention to what he was thinking. Mostly, he was just thinking about the best way to humiliate his opponent, just like she was doing. She wanted to know how he got in the Hospital Wing in the first place, but he wasn't thinking about that now – she needed more control over how "deep" into his mind she went. She tried to push past the outer veil of his current thoughts and step into the inner sanctum of his memories. After some concentration, the mind-numbing babble softened and she could see a group of students standing in a semicircle in near the Forbidden Forest. Professor Hagrid stood in front of them and said something, but she couldn't make it out very well.
Easily offended…never insult…last thing yeh do… The veil was coming back down to protect the memories now, and the vision was blurring.
Why the hell are you just sitting there with your eyes shut, you little shit? You up to anything funny? That wasn't a memory. So he couldn't feel what she just did. Or maybe he could, but he didn't know it was her bringing up that memory instead of him – but that was unlikely.
"It's not very nice to call me that, you know. I thought you were supposed to be a gentleman," she said to him.
"I am a gentleman. All that means is I am of the nobility. The magical nobility, of course. You are too, but judging by the way your sister acts sometimes you probably don't know that. I am right, aren't I?"
"Yes," she said, thinking back to the night with the pureblood dinner guest. "Anyway, that's a pretty nasty scram you've got there. How'd you get it?" Malfoy became offended, his voice lowering.
"I have a nasty, what, exactly?"
"You've got a nasty scram. On your arm. How. Did. You. Get. It?" Astoria drew out and enunciated her speech to insinuate that she was talking to a simpleton. At this, Malfoy thought back to the memory Astoria had been viewing before. Seeing the spectacled boy - probably Harry Potter, something of a celebrity even among the first years - succeed in befriending the griffon-like creature in front of the combined Slytherin and Gryffindor classes, feeling hot jealousy as he noticed signs of admiration in his classmates, strutting up to one of the creatures, getting slashed, being carried to the Hospital Wing by Hagrid, like a damsel in distress. A large group of Slytherins followed them to the Hospital Wing, which had given Malfoy some comfort to assuage the humiliation.
"Hagrid, the great oaf, brought dangerous creatures to class. One of them attacked me for no reason," he said, hoping beyond hope that she would believe him after what he presumed she saw. He had an annoying way of emphasizing words that made him sound sarcastic, even though Astoria knew he was completely serious – as stupid as that was.
"Oh? What were the creatures? Hippocampi, right?"
"Hippogriffs, fool. Much more dangerous."
"Mmmhmm. And were there any pretty girls that saw you embarrass yourself? Pansy Parkinson, maybe?" Astoria made her voice as falsely sweet as she could manage. Malfoy felt aversion when she mentioned Parkinson, but before he could stop himself, his mind jumped to a buck-toothed girl who was with Harry Potter. Presumably, she was Hermione Granger, whom he and many of the other third-year, proud pureblood crowd often insulted with glee in the common room.
Fuck, he thought. Astoria giggled.
"Oh, is that why you're so obsessed with those three? Do you maybe want to make Potter look bad compared to you? It's not working," she said.
"No!" he said. It was true. He also felt the revulsion of sickening envy when she mentioned Potter. Just as she had suspected when she observed him at the opening feast.
"Just wait until I tell the others!" she said with glee. Malfoy considered politely asking her not to, but could not bring himself to do it.
"You know, you're pretty eloquent when you're insulting people," Malfoy began, his voice breaking once. "Too bad you're pretty useless when you're trying to have a normal conversation." That hit the mark, and he could tell.
"Oh?! Well, um, look who's talking!"
"Who's this Tristan fellow you were talking about? I bet you scared him away with your freakish meddling." Astoria didn't have to answer that, as Spaghetti had somehow gotten to the top of Malfoy's nightstand. He only realized that the Harlequin toad was there at that moment. He picked it up, intending to toss him across the room, but when Spaghetti started screaming the way toads do when they are threatened, he merely dropped it. He said exactly what he was thinking:
"How fitting – the tiny, human squeaky toy has a tiny, squeaky pet. If he's so special, why don't you shut him the fuck up?!" It was Astoria's turn to smirk, now.
"Nah," she said.
"What is this I hear?" said Madam Pomfrey, her voice ominous. Foul language, and an animal in the Hospital Wing?" Astoria looked around to see her standing in the entranceway, angrily gripping a tray of food that she had presumably gotten from the house elves while she was out.
"He was in my bag, ma'am! He does that sometimes. I'll put him back tomorrow morning, I swear!" Astoria said, distressed. The thought of getting on the bad side of the faculty even more than she already was made her stomach turn. Madam Pomfrey looked at her suspiciously, not quite believing her.
"No, that's out of the question. It might contaminate my potions or knock over my supplies." She turned to Malfoy, who thought he was getting off the hook.
"But what do you have to say for yourself, hmm? I know what I heard."
"Surely you've heard swearing before, haven't you?" he asked, an insolent grin on his lips.
"Young lady, did he use any other foul language while I wasn't here?"
"Why yes," Astoria said, trying to make herself look and sound as angelic as possible. "He called me a 'little shit.'" Madam Pomfrey raised her eyebrows in shock. She turned slowly to Malfoy, and his smile slid slowly from his face.
"That's a lie! I never said that! Don't believe anything she says!" Malfoy almost shouted.
"Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. There will be no more curses or insults in my Hospital Wing, is that clear?" He didn't say anything, looking down in rage.
Nice job setting us back in the House Cup, freak. Like we need it, he thought.
I could say the same to you, she thought back before remembering he could not hear her. Instead she just attempted to imitate Daphne's hair flip. Madam Pomfrey set the trays of food on their nightstands in a huff, snatching up Spaghetti when she came to Malfoy's domain. The toad started screaming louder than he was when Malfoy grabbed him, making the Matron's eyebrows furrow even more.
"I suppose I'll have to bring this creature down to your Head of House to repatriate. Merlin, I don't like disturbing that man," she grumbled walking out of he Hospital Wing again. Malfoy tried to look like he was paying no attention to either of them, starting his meal without talking, but anticipating an insult or threat from Astoria. She was torn between tormenting him further and keeping quiet. She settled on the latter, as it may lead to him quieting down and going to sleep. Then, maybe, she could do her homework. Perhaps she could do more of Professor Snape's practices while she waited. Her meal was apparently reheated, judging by the slightly chewy texture of the shepherd's pie. It was delicious, nonetheless. She ate quickly and lied down on her soft bed - her soft, warm bed - and became aware of how tired she was.
The ceiling of the Hospital Wing was very tall. It was beautiful with its vaulted arches and pinkish-grey stonework, but the grandeur seemed unnecessary. Now that she thought if it, some other things seemed unnecessary in the castle as well, such as the trap stairs, the moving stairways, and the rooms in the dungeons that looked like they used to be prisons or torture chambers. They should probably get rid if the trick steps, at least. Obviously, they did more harm than good in modern times, when there was clearly no need to injure or confuse invaders.
Malfoy was thinking about his homework now – several exercise pages of a potions book. Hopefully Astoria could do her own homework while Malfoy was thinking of his. She began by trying to meditate like Professor Snape instructed. On the ceiling where some of the arrises met there was a stone carving of the head of a many-eyed angel enveloped by its six wings. She followed the cycle of its overlapping feathers around and around and around, and then tried to count its eyes.
It was a bit challenging, considering some of them were underneath its wavy hair, and that the carving was so far away on the ceiling. It was also hard to tell if Malfoy's thoughts were growing fainter, but if she tried to tell, that would break her concentration. After a few minutes she became entranced with the veiny, delicate stone and the angel's intent stare. For a moment, it almost felt like the voices in her head – both hers and Malfoy's – fell away and she floated up to meet the creature, pulled by its inscrutable gaze. But like the dreams where you are falling and you wake up, Astoria became sharply aware of her surroundings with a jolt that made her chest hurt.
I'll have to write that down for Snape, she thought. I wonder what did it. Those questions weren't doing themselves, so she reread the passage she had attempted to write about before. She found it easier this time for some reason. Perhaps it was because Malfoy had become sleepy, or because she had gotten energy from her meal. Before too long the essential homework was finished, and she went to sleep.
-M-A-
Torn from a dream she could no longer remember, Astoria was suddenly aware that she was no longer inside her own head. She was standing in a wide expanse blank with snow. There were no colors that she could see, just the blinding whiteness of the ground, the ash color of the sky, and the black of an austere shadow, cast by a large mansion that was almost too far away to see, that stretched itself an eerily impossible length along the earth. A few snow-covered trees stood far away from each other, lonely. Having nothing else to do, Astoria out towards the mansion. It seemed no matter how long she walked towards her destination, it never got any closer. There it lay, exactly at the same place on the flat horizon as it had before. The snow crunched like glass under her bare feet, and a cutting wind blew steely gray feathers into her face, leaving little red scratches. She stopped, holding out her hands to shield herself. The sound of crunching footsteps continued and grew louder. A laugh carried to her ears, hard to make out.
Hearing this, her heart started beating like the wings of a bird in a cage. Not bothering to look behind her, Astoria sprinted towards the dark house in the distance, finally able to pass into its colossal shadow. Her vision blurred with exhaustion, and she could barely force air into her stinging lungs. Whoever was following her quickened his pace, and soon she could feel his chilling breath on the back of her neck. Just as his fingers started to grip her hair, her foot hit something buried under the shards of snow that was now sable. As she fell in numb surprise, her hunter seemed to pass through her, continuing to run off into the distance, laughing all the way. Whatever she tripped over stirred, and clumps of the glasslike snow fell from it softly. Astoria used her bleeding hands to push the snow away from the figure to reveal a sleeping child. She stood him up and shook him, suddenly wanted him to wake up with an irrational passion. He had to wake up, or the other person would come back and kill her with his ghostly voice. In the distance, a clock chimed a triumphant tune that made her feel some peace despite herself. The child started to cry tar-like tears. Without opening his eyes, he whispered
"Go away."
Astoria jolted awake, gasping and whispering curses. It was still nighttime. The weak silver feather of a moon barely gave enough illumination to show the ghostly tops of the nightstands through the windows. Apparently, when she had what appeared to be a even small breakthrough, her powers came back to haunt her worse than usual. She would have to write that down for Snape, too. She scowled, imagining the look of his face when he knew she had slipped. He'd probably say something to the effect of,
"Can you even…conceive…of how much…trrrouble…you are giving me? And you…seem…to be giving no…effort to your part of our little…arrangement." Despite her foul mood, she smiled at her little caricature of his slow, deliberate speaking cadence and habit of rolling his "r's." She had to look on the bright side – at least it wasn't another one of those kinds of dream that her parents told her they would tell her about when she got a little older.
Nevertheless, after that less than pleasant encounter being in either Malfoy or Madam Pomfrey's dream, she did not want to go back to sleep then. Astoria reached under the cover and felt her leg. It felt absolutely normal: no swelling, and completely straight. She paused a little before venturing farther down, holding her breath a little before pressing the place where it had broken. No pain, even when she pressed hard. She slid quietly out of the sheets, put her shoes back on, and took her wand from her nightstand. She crept out slowly, starting with the blades of her feet and rolling them to the softer parts, like Daphne had showed her. When she had gotten out of the Hospital Wing, she risked a little light from her wand. The dim glow, shielded by her hand, barely illuminated the floor in front of her, making it look otherworldly, like the surface of the moon. Now, where to go? Nowhere near the edges of the castle, of course, to avoid the dementors.
Astoria decided that climbing up to the Astronomy Tower might tire her out enough to go back to sleep. She crept along at a snail's pace, doing the "fox step" that she had used before to get out of the Hospital Wing. Her little light revealed the space around her slowly as well, lifting the veil on pale imprints of objects one by one by one, reaching out into the void. In the dark it was hard to count the steps to avoid another trick one, so she prodded each step she came across with her wand before she put her foot down.
After climbing up the twisting spine of the Astronomy Tower, Astoria reached a large pair of dark blue double doors, which were locked. A quick alohamora spell fixed that, and soon the sky was visible. Because the moon was so frail, the sparse stars stood out like freckles, as miniscule as they were. Astoria was not as tired as she had hoped because she had been moving so slowly, but the breeze was pleasantly chill, and a little gust made her catch her breath. The Great Lake was a hunk of strangely shaped black glass that shivered and twisted when the wind hovered over it. The same breeze stirred her hair around like idle fingers.
Astoria felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, though she could not tell why yet. The sound of the tinkle of metal upon metal became apparent to her now. Perhaps she had heard it before, but she had not noticed it until then. Behind her on the stone, carved with elaborate star charts that could barely be made out, a pair of eyes opened up slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep. The barely perceptible irises rolled around in the pale orbs dreamily until they locked onto her. Astoria gasped and froze in place.
Whoever owned the eyes opened them even wider than before and rose up through the floor, and soon a transparent face as ghostly as the moon appeared. It was gaunt, with dark rings under the eyes and thin, wide lips. His hair and beard were dark, and moved as if suspended in still water. The ghost drew up further very quickly and attempted to grab her shoulders with his hands, which were almost black with blood. Of course, the merely passed through, leaving a frigid trail.
"…Oh," he said in a deep, hoarse voice. "Too late." Astoria did not respond. It occurred to her that he was trying to keep her from falling from the roof, though she thought she had only swayed a bit due to shock. She tried to tune in to his thoughts, but she could not pick up on anything. There was something there, but it just kept slipping away.
"You should be more cautious near the edge of the tower, child."
"Thank you, sir. I will try to bear that in mind."
"Baron. I'm a baron, not a knight, child," he said with a bit of an edge in his voice, though his expression remained the same.
"I'm sorry s- baron," she replied. Astoria tried to look the Bloody Baron in the eyes, but the way they stared at her without blinking was unnerving. Her own eyes kept straying to his chest, where a hole over his heart produced a wide trail of ghost blood that dripped down his rich-looking tunic and jeweled belt. From the same wound sprouted several chains that he had draped and wrapped around himself like a corpse's bandages. The Baron's clothes floated as if in dead water like his hair, but the chains dragged straight down.
"Who…" he said, trailing off.
"Who? Who am I?" she prompted.
"…Yes," he said.
"I am Astoria Greengrass. Pleased to make your acquaintance, baron," she said, her voice shaking ever so slightly.
"I don't think we've had one of your family before. Oh…no, wait…"
"Not besides Daphne." She said. "What is your name?" The ghost seemed genuinely taken aback at this question, his thick eyebrows drawing closer and lower, making him look either angry, concerned, confused, or all three.
"I remember when I was your age," he finally said. His voice had not changed, though he wore the same troubled expression.
"Oh. That's, er, good, I suppose," was all she could think of saying.
"It is hard to decide which emotions to follow. Be careful, child." Astoria thought she had gotten over the unease of talking to the ghost, but she was wrong.
"I should get back to the Hospital Wing."
"And you. What do you want to do when you grow up?" The Baron's tired eyes dragged themselves over in her general direction. Meanwhile, he seemed to have lost his attention somewhere over the side of the tower, as he had drifted over there to look down at the ground.
"Um, Bloody Baron?" she called. Perhaps he would become offended if she left without saying goodbye.
"'Bloody?'" he said, his mood hard to discern. He hoisted up some of his chains and looked them pensively, as if weighing each possible response carefully. "Yes. Though that is not part of my title, Miss Daphne."
"It's Astoria," she replied harshly. "I don't even look like her."
"Yes you do," he said simply. Then, he gasped a little, the sound like the wind whispering through a crack in old wood. "Ah, the murderer! You should not be about at this hour."
"Yes. That's why I am leaving now, baron," she said, already turning to walk back towards the passageway.
"I shall find a prefect to accompany you. It would be safer that way," the Baron said.
"Oh. Thank you, s-baron," she replied over her shoulder as she jogged towards the door to the interior. "I really appreciate it."
It seemed to Astoria that the journey back to the Hospital Wing went by a lot quicker, even though she had to move slower because she had to use less light to avoid detection by whichever prefect the Baron would alert to her presence. The sleeping faces of portrait subjects were more unsettling to Astoria than before, as she expected her light to fall on the transparent imprint of the Baron's emaciated face, or the face of a thunderous Gryffindor prefect (or even worse, a Slytherin one). She made it to the Hospital Wing safely, however, and promptly pretended to be asleep. A few minutes later, Astoria heard the door slowly creak open. She was tempted to freeze and stop breathing, but that had gotten her caught before.
"It looks like you're mistaken again, Baron. There she is, sleeping soundly," said a deep, scratchy voice that sounded vaguely familiar to her.
"I am not mistaken! I was just talking to her," replied the Baron.
"Maybe you 'just talked to her ' a few years ago, old man," replied the voice affectionately. "Anyway, no harm done, right? I need to get back to my patrols." The door quietly closed again, and Astoria heard faint footsteps creep away. She could still hear the Baron's chains clinking quietly near the entrance, though.
"Oh look, Abraxas is here as well. I wonder if he ever got a new pet bird," he mused softly. Eventually the sound of his chains drifted away. Astoria sighed in relief. There, another few points saved for the team.
I wonder how many times I'll have to protect Slytherin's standing. I don't want to make the others angry at me… However, the idea of constantly bending over backwards to please others made her feel trapped. Why did she even try so hard with schoolwork, now that she thought of it – bending over backwards, that is? It's not like she couldn't just take over parts of the family businesses whenever she felt like it.
Because I want to be the kind of person who can do well in school. Also, you need good marks to have the power to choose other things. It's the only thing worth trying to do. It was the only option, like the cold light of an unknown place faintly gleaming at the end of a long, long, tunnel, stretching and stretching on no matter how hard you ran. She would need to get those notes from Lupin as soon as she could.
