Something Like the Truth
Book One: How to Disappear Completely
Chapter Six: Word of the Day
Author's Note: So sorry for the long wait but I have this one out now! I particularly liked the ending to this one and I hope you will too. Please forgive me for any misspelled words; my Harry Potter terminology is a bit rusty. Thanks to all who left a comment and added this story. Please enjoy!
Days slowly transformed into weeks and not so much as an occasionally test threatened our merry existence. Ron's wand continued to malfunction during the duration of this time, providing something amusing to discuss in hushed whispers. No one dared ventured too close towards the red head in fear that his wand's next victim just may be them.
Autumn had settled in comfortably over the grounds, setting a blazing fire of color upon the leaves. The air was thin, crisp, and seemed to clinch tightly around your skin, producing a series of chills through out the vertebra. It was perfect for Quidditch.
At first I did not know what to think of the outlandish game. It was bizarre and eccentric, but exactly the right thing to accompany this school. I soon found myself thinking of nothing but it. It reminded me so fondly of the old football games my parents used to take me to. Absolutely freezing, but our warm spirits greatly improved the atmosphere. Here, it was no different. We woke early to flock towards the stands and cheer on our favorite players, even if it was only practice.
Every weekend I found myself awake early in the morning to be sitting in the stands, accompanied by Hermione and Ron. Lips chapped and cheeks rosy from the bitter twinge of the frosty air, we watched on in awe as the Gryffindor team dove through out the air. It was magnificent to watch, a true rare honor that could only be described as the simple things in life. Scarlet blurs fanned out around the grounds, each one swooping down low and taking a certain stance.
It was exciting and new, similar towards a breath of fresh autumn air.
Hours seemed to drift by merrily as I looked on at the progressing team. Excitement bubbling forth, I soon found it hard to sit confined in the stands. From the sour pain my face excreted I could tell that I was smiling all the while in the stands, slightly in fear of it being frozen on.
I soon found out the hard way that five minutes in the bitter cold could change a person. This theory was rested when glancing back at Hermione and Ron bickering and failing greatly to share my level of enthusiasm. Ron was currently warming his hands by the thermos I charmed to heat our hot chocolate which was considered wrong in the eyes of Hermione Granger. Her ever lasting nags flocked through his ears about hogging the coco. It was such a warm sight that it brought me back towards simpler times, before magic and mayhem, as well as presenting the bitter wind of autumn another chance to freeze the smile upon my lips. Despite questioning their level of friendship at the moment, I knew they were true friends, destined to laugh about this later. It reminded me of simpler times, before magic and mayhem.
A longing pushed forth from its cage, whishing to fill every cell with memories of an almost forgotten past. A moments worth of silence was sacrificed but I was able to press it back to its confinement, yet hints of the past remained. It surfaced, reopening several scars to bleed fresh into the morning air. Some were forgotten instantly but others, others I could not be so lucky with. It took me seven years to forget and now it would take seven more.
After several more minutes of patiently waiting, Ron had had enough. "Aren't you done yet?" he called impatiently towards a scarlet blur with wire glasses and a mess of black hair. "It's been ages out here." He suppressed a shiver as Hermione wrenched the thermos from his barren hands to pour a hardy cup of hot chocolate.
"No," Harry called back towards us. His voice was strained with exhaustion and bitterness as he presented himself in front of us. "Wood's been passing out hours of new drills and tactics." His gaze fell longingly over the assortment of food we gathered.
Noticing Harry's eyes lingering upon a particular banana nut muffin, I pressed it further towards him. Bewilderment stretched out across his thin features only to be washed away with embarrassment. It seemed that his hunger had taken hold.
"Are you sure?" he questioned, gaze falling back upon the inviting article of food.
A smile tugged upon the very corners of my mouth as I placed it in the center of his palm. "I'm sure. You must be starving by now." A moments worth of pondering silence as Harry spent carefully pealing back the wrapper passed when I spoke again on a lighter note. "Besides, I can always go back towards the kitchens to get another."
"You know where the kitchens are?" Ron asked incredulously, unable to hold back the hunger in his soft brown eyes. "But no one knows where the kitchens are!"
"I think your brothers would disagree." I took a long and inviting sip from my hot chocolate before continuing, "I overheard them whispering about it one day."
"I can't believe those prates!" The soft features in Ron's eyes quickly hardened upon the mention of his twin brothers, Fred and George. "They never tell me anything and I am their brother for crying out loud!" The rest of the time he spent mumbling about them with a disdainful tone. He sent several rigid glares towards them as well through out the continuation of their practice. This only resulted in several Bludgers thrown his way followed by cackles of laughter from the twins.
Through five minute intervals I noticed a particular pair of eyes pressed upon mine, harsh and calculating. I hated to admit it but I suppressed a shiver every time I noticed them.
"What's his problem?" I asked, nodding off towards the keeper.
"He thinks you're a Slytherin spy." Ron spoke bluntly, as if it were the most common thing in the world to be accused of as a spy. It must be some British trend I'm not familiar with.
"But I'm in Ravenclaw." I protested defensively, questioning the man's sanity all the while wondering how many times he must have been hit in the head by a stray Bludger. Surly that must have something to do with it.
It was Hermione who restored order and brought clarity towards the matter. "It makes no difference towards Wood. He has a deep paranoia that everyone's trying to steal his plays."
So in other words, he is insane.
"Bit of a nutter really," Ron admitted, looking out over the field towards Wood who happened to still be looking upon us in a condescension fashion. "But he makes some brilliant plays."
"I don't think he can accuse you anymore though," Hermione chimed, instantly gaining our attention. Her gaze followed down from her left hand, pointing towards the field where a group of green rested. "They're already here."
"Better check it out," Ron muttered, following his defensive instincts towards the field. If the Slytherins were in, then no good could possibly come out of it.
It seems that we were not the only ones who had noticed the repugnant presence of the group of Slytherins for the majority of the Gryffindor team scurried down to protest their arrival. Oliver Wood, for one, did not seem too pleased with their presence. His face held a look of discomfort, almost as if a peculiarly sour lemon was placed upon his tongue. Muttering was made out from the clacking of his tongue towards the roof of his now dry mouth. "I don't believe this," he repeated it several times, allowing the very words to turn inside his own mind.
"Flint!" Oliver bellowed towards a particular large broke who seemed to have a permanent scowl attached to his smug, angular face. His upper lip pulled pack in a lopsided smirk, revealing the atrocity of his teeth. They only seemed to add towards his vile demeanor. "This is our practice time. I booked the pitch for Gryffindor a month ago!" Oliver's eyes traveled across the snarls from the Slytherins, each one standing shoulder to shoulder similar towards a military line up.
"Relax Wood, don't get your knickers in a twist," he taunted in a gruff voice that reminded me of the sound a knife made scratching across the crisp surface of a burnt piece of toast. It was a horrid sound that was slightly more acceptable towards the sound of nails on a chalkboard. "I've got a note from Professor Snape saying the pitch is ours for the day."
A bitter rage washed over the Gryffindor team at the mention of their dreaded potions teacher. He wasn't a very doting man for any of the Gryffindors, especially Harry. He always seemed to have an unprecedented grudge against him that always made their encounters less than enjoyable.
Oliver snatched the piece of parchment away from Flint in disbelief. He read it allowed, pausing over the mention of a new seeker. "You have a new seeker?" His rage subsided, leaving room for calculations to be made. It was easy to tell that he was already forming new plans of attack for his team.
The Slytherins parted in the center to reveal their secret weapon, one smirking Malfoy. His bleach blonde hair was slicked tightly back, highlighting the intensity of the sharp angels towards his face. He was enjoying the shocked glances that dispersed through out the opposition, but none of which truly mattered to him. His eyes were fixed upon Harry as a broad smirk widened across the thinness of his lips. This was now made into a personal matter.
I scoffed over his presence which earned me several rude glares from the Slytherin team.
"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" Fred was the one who asked, not sparing a moment's worth of repugnant glares towards the boy.
"Funny you should mention Draco's father." Flint's snarl broadened into a smirk, as well as the majority of the other Slytherins. It was easy to tell that we were not going to like the outcome of the following conversation. My assumptions remained correct as they embellished heavily polished brooms. It was sleek and it shined with that new broom finishing. Trimmed gold lettering looped its way across the midnight handle and supported the twinge of yellow at the bottom of the broom's bristles. Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed in the fresh morning light.
The Slytherins continued to boast about the "charitable donation" to their team, comparing them to an assortment of other brooms, which coincidently were owned by the Gryffindors. It was present from their triumphant smirks that they were able to out fly any broom at the blink of an eye. Our snide remarks were hindered towards several rolls of the eyes as their jests grew, declaring the age of several of the more older models the Weasley's had.
It was Hermione who decided to level the playing field as she replied in a sharp tongue, "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."
A flicker of annoyance faulted Malfoy's smirk but our snide comebacks were far from over, or at least mine weren't.
"I don't think you have anything to worry about Oliver." I added, leaning over to the fuming Quidditch captain. "All the time in the world won't prepare him against Harry." This was enough to regain the spirit of the team as they smirked down upon the raging boy, remembering their secret weapon.
"No one asked for your opinions," he spat towards Hermione and me before adding with a scowl, "you filthy little Mudbloods."
Hermione and I knew in an instant that Malfoy had gravely crossed a line as Fred and George fought their way towards him. They threatened to break his new toy broom and send him crying back towards his father as Flint stood towards his full six foot two height, blocking out Malfoy from view. Several gasps were heard from the trio of the Gryffindor's chasers as the eldest shrieked out "How dare you!"
The Slytherins fits of laughter never ceased, even when Ron's hand plummeted deep into the pockets of his robes to reveal his wand. Hermione and I exchanged nervous glances towards one another, not sure if offensive would be the proper emotion for this situation.
"You'll pay for that one Malfoy!" Ron roared before a spark erupted from his wand. All would have been well except for the tiny little detail that it shot from the wrong end. The sound of fire echoed through out the stadium as a green enchantment engulfed Ron, stomach first. The effect of the blast sent him back into the air until he landed hard upon his back in a grassy patch of field.
The Slytherin team bellowed out several howls of laughter as we hastily ran over towards the slumped over Ron. Draco seemed to be enjoying the incident the most as he beat the ground repetitively with his fist, occasionally wiping away a few stay tears of enjoyment.
"Ron! Ron!" Hermione flocked over him, helping to lift him up towards his knees. "Are you all right?"
He looked up at her incredulously, preparing his mouth to reply something sarcastic but the words never came. Instead, a glistening green slug replaced his comment. It dribbled down his mouth until it landed upon his lap, squirming about trying to find appease from the ground. A verdant tint dispersed across his pale face, giving the impression that the slug fest was far from over.
My hand gripped tightly across my wand, knuckles white with murderous intent. Rage painted the scene a crimson red as the gurgling sounds of Ron faded away, overshadowed by the growing laughter of the Slytherins. Hexes flooded my mind, each one promising something new and worth wile as I pictured performing various ones on Malfoy and his band of ghouls. In seconds, my breathing maintained and all thoughts of torture subsided. My wand was still gripped securely in my grasp, a reminder of what could be. Looking down upon the belching Ron, I realized there would be time for revenge later.
"What should we do?" The question was directed to anyone with a hint of leadership. The emotional range of the Gryffindors was limited towards two options, repulsion with a hint of nausea or worry with a side of sympathy.
"We should take him to Hagrid's," Harry concluded as he helped his friend to his feet. "He's the closest." I hadn't the faintest clue as to who or what this Hagrid was, but if he could help then there will be no complaints from me.
A blinding white flash followed by a familiar sound of clicking prolonged our departure as we stumbled back from lack of sight. "Can you turn him around, Harry?" Collin held his camera high towards his face, barley covering the grand gap the grin of his mouth formed.
Harry was in no mood for a photo shoot today and gently pushed his way past the bubbly boy. "Get out the way, Collin!" This did little to falter the boy's exhilaration as flash after flash went off. It took little effort to tell that this was his first time at Hogwarts as well.
We followed a winding path that stretched its way across the grounds before abruptly stopping at the edge of a dark forest. It was the same forest the enchanted car rode off through. Thoughts of suspicion flooded my mind as I watched the trio suppress chills as we walked along its edge. A small cabin with a roof made from stay bundles of hay cam into view. Despite its size, it looked rather inviting and cozy. There were a small patch of pumpkins that wrapped itself across the right side of the home. A welcome mat lay frayed and worn out across the stoop. Fresh prints of mud could be seen distinctly, even from a few feet away. Whoever he was, he was home and looked to already have a visitor.
Gilderoy Lockhart emerged from the oddly large door frame, supporting the faintest color of mauve robes for the day. His generally eager face seemed duller than usual and it was odd to look upon him and not see a smile.
A sharp tug upon the left sleeve of my robe sent me into a nearby bush. I looked back at Harry to glare upon him but was met with a look of apology. It seems that Lockhart was the last person he wanted to run into with a hexed Ron and I for one did not blame him. The man was sure to want to "help" Ron and we were unaware of what dire consequences that might cause. There was always the chance that Ron could be transformed into a slug, belching out miniaturized versions of himself.
Raised voices for an argument could be heard across the field as Lockhart turned back to scold Hagrid, or who I presume to be him. "It's a simple matter if you know what you are doing!" The man's generally tidy hair fell in messy clumps around his face as he continuously ran his hands through it, a clear sign of frustration. He continued to rant on about some trivial matter and somehow manage to tie the conversation back towards his book. To be honest, I was not paying that much attention. I was too engrossed by the half giant to take into consideration whatever the fuming Lockhart was recommending. Hagrid was a tall, bulky man with frizzed out hair that was loosing the once rich black color it possessed. It framed his face heavily, stopping only inches away from the point of his beard. His eyes were small and set heavily upon his purple rings of exhaustion and age. They were merely inches away from the bridge of his nose but their gleam was not lost.
After the disappearance of Lockhart, Harry hastily dragged Ron towards Hagrid's hut, impatiently rapping upon his door. This was our, Hermione and I, cue to follow. Within the moment, Hagrid appeared in the door frame, barely able to squeeze himself in it. His face was soured but soon smoothed out into a kind smile upon realization that it was only Harry. They greeted each other fondly, as if they were long lost friends reunited after a period of five years.
Hagrid welcomed us into his home, stating that "any frien' of 'Arry's is a frien' o' mine." His hut was an enchanted room with a tall ceiling, supporting an assortment of cages dangling from it. Regardless of walls, the room was divided into three separate areas: a kitchen, bedroom, and living room. A large bed sat tucked away in the far off corner next to several chairs and a couch. There was a frumpy basket with a blanket sprawled across where a hound laid watching with one eye barley open. He stood to slobber over Harry who scratched him delightfully behind the ears.
We quickly explained the predicament, leaving out a few minor details, as we slumped Ron into a nearby chair. Hagrid placed a large wooden bucket with iron rims in front of him, calling it his "specialis' equipment."
"Better out than in," he added as Ron hugged the bucket. His head ducked down as several more slugs spewed from his mouth. It defiantly wasn't his crowning moment as he wiped a bit of slime from the corner of his mouth. It seemed the only thing to do was to wait for it to stop.
Between the flow of slugs, Harry stroke up a conversation with Hagrid about Lockhart's presence. From the bits that I gathered it seemed that Hagrid wasn't too thrilled about his teaching career either. Hermione made her disagreement present, referring back to his "classical" works of literature and bravery.
I placed a reassuring hand upon Ron's shoulder as his head disappeared within the bucket. Smiling gently towards him, I offered him a Kleenex which he took gratefully. It proved to be better than the corners of his sleeves.
A few more minutes slowly tugged by before Ron's case lightened slightly. The slugs were now making their appearance in waves instead of one continuous flow. By the grotesque looks he was giving each one, I could tell he was far from enjoying himself.
"So tell me," Hagrid spoke a moment later, curiosity shinning in his deep seated eyes. "Who was he tryin' ter curse?" He jerked his head towards Ron but there was no need, we all knew who he was referring to.
"Malfoy," Harry replied bitterly upon recognition of the day's event. "He called Hermione and Abby," he paused upon the term before continuing in confusion, "well I don't really know exactly what it means. It must have been really bad" he added quickly at the sight of Ron's grim face, "because everyone went wild."
"It was bad," Ron said in a hoarse whisper before excusing himself as he ducked down again towards the bucket. Reluctantly, he pulled his head back up to continue his explanation. "Malfoy called them 'Mudbloods.'" Blotched with bits of purple, Ron's face appeared from the bucket only momentarily before hiccupping several more slugs. It clashed greatly with the fire red of his hair. It too seemed to be paling by the moment.
A loud gasp shock the room as Hagrid growled, "He didn'!" Fang retreated under the bed from the excess noise, leaving Harry to dispose of his saliva.
"He did," Hermione assured as she abruptly stood to walk towards another corner, arms folded across her chest. "To be honest," she started timidly, "I don't know what it means." By the sympathetic glances of the boys she pressed on in confidence, "But I could tell it was rude, especially if it came from Malfoy's mouth."
I sighed lightly upon the subject, not sure entirely of the context of the word. I could only guess what it truly meant, and none of my guesses were nice ones.
As Ron explained the term with comments from Hagrid whenever he had to pause to free a slug, I felt the anger build upon the room as well as in myself. I silently contained it but was unsure for how long it would last. No wonder he was such an ignoramus. A genetic disorder from intermarriage is a sufficient explanation. Dirty blood! What rubbish! I'll show him dirty blood!
Feeling the overwhelming twinge of hunger, Harry excused us towards the Great Hall. Hagrid happily offered several pieces of treacle fudge which he declined gently. After taking one myself I could see why. It was caramel in substance but acted more as cement. My teeth remained stuck towards one another for the remainder of the visit until Harry showed me a trick towards wrenching them apart.
One foot barley in the entrance towards Hogwarts and we were greeted with the shrill voice of McGonagall. "There you are," her voice echoed through out the narrow hall, sure to grab the attention of anyone present. "You three will be serving your detentions tonight."
We nodded absent mindedly towards her announcement, our minds stretching further away from the conversation as we wondered what sort of punishment would be inflicted upon us. Fred and George, someone with more experience in this department than I, almost had me believing in the thought of battling against a Troll they kept locked in the dungeons.
The unmistakably frail sound of laughter could be heard faintly from a distance away. Further down the hall stood Draco and several other Slytherins, all laughing upon our misfortune. At one point Draco gained the attention of Ron only to gag in front of him, a new jest that was sure to become persistent over the week.
Upon my glare he offered one of his own as he mouthed out something. Mudblood just so happened to be the word of the day.
Refusing to defer my glare, I informed Professor McGonagall about my actions I would be further taking. "I'm sorry Professor but you are going to have to give me another detention." I could feel her confused glance, as well as those from the golden trio, upon my back but offered no explanation in turn. I was sure that a demonstration would be more appropriate as my hand clasped over the smooth cherry wood of my wand.
"What in heavens are you – "
"Stupefy!" My cry drowned out her frill question as I looked upon the unfolding scene before me with a triumphant smirk.
A stream of violent red collided into the smug features of one Draco Malfoy, bestowing a slight pinch of age upon him as it highlighted the worried line of his brow. With the force of a hurricane, it sent him flying into the adjacent wall that cradled him flat upon its surface until his body slowly lost consciousness. His head rolled down as his body slowly drug itself across the stone wall, allowing him to meet the cool confinement of the marble floor.
"That's for Ron you low life parasite!" I called out towards him, daring him to stand back up for round two.
Ron stood there, the tip of his ears pink with a wide grin directing from one to the other. Vengeance was sweet even if it wasn't inflicted by his own hand.
"Mrs. Williams!" McGonagall's shrill grew in size as she stared at the girl in sheer perplexity. Her gaze quickly flittered towards Harry and Ron who's once jovial facial expressions became solemn under her supervision.
"Do try to contain yourself," she advised, surrendering her gaze back towards me. I watched on as my faith rested upon the thin line of her lips. "Hogwarts does not tolerate that kind of behavior, especially from a second year student." Perhaps it was my imagination but I could swear to it that I saw a hint of jubilance in her stone gray eyes as she scanned the unconscious Malfoy. "However," her voice became noticeably softer as it dropped a few octaves, "seeing as you are new," she treaded across her words, thinking of countless of loopholes, "punishment will not be administered this time. I must warn you though to not do it again."
I contained my smile with a word of thanks before turning back to the matter at hand, our detentions. With no more petty disturbances in the way, McGonagall was free to deliver her news. It seems that Ron was requested by Flint to hand polish all of the silver in the trophy room (which just so happens to be the majority of what the awards were made of incase you were wondering) where Harry and I were free to choose between Lockhart and Snape, the only two available for detention. This decision rested heavily upon us once McGonagall was out of sight.
"I know this must be hard on you," I turned towards Harry with optimism for striking an agreement, "having to choose between the two people you just so happen to despise the most."
Warily, Harry rose a brow, suspicion filling his movements. I decided to skip towards the point and with a small smile I announced cautiously, "So in order to lessen your burden, I call Professor Snape."
"How humble of you." The roll in his green eyes hinted towards his sarcasm. He knew fairly well of my strong dislike for the wizard with the extendable title of professor.
"At least your not polishing silver, mate." The whine in Ron's tone was highly detected by all.
"No magic!" He changed his tactics toward barking. "He's going to have me there all night!"
Hermione was quite silent upon the subject. Unable to meet our glances, it was apparent that she felt we deserved this.
With more mumbles of irritation, we left for our separate detentions. I brushed past several rigid shoulders of Slytherins and ignored their glares as I found my way to the dungeons.