Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's except for Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.
Chapter 11-Mad-Eye Moody
The storm has blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall is still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter gray swirl overhead as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I examine our new course schedules at breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan are discussing magical methods of aging themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament.
"Today's not bad . . . outside all morning," says Ron, who is running his finger down his schedule. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures . . . damn it, we're still with the Slytherins. . . ." Oh well at least I can hang out with Ariana this morning not that it will make up for having Malfoy as well.
"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groans, looking down. Divination was his least favorite subject, apart from Potions. Professor Trelawney kept predicting Harry's death, which he found extremely annoying. I'm beginning to find it amusing.
"Great more acting lessons then. I see… a fly it is rather annoying buzzing around my head, but then it lands into my tea and drowns! Oh no I'm going to die by being drowned!" I cry waving my hands wildly and swooning into Ron. He and Harry laugh and Ron shoves me off of him.
"At least Trelawney believes you." Ron says.
"Believe the lie Ronald, live the lie!" I say bursting into giggles unable to even believe myself on that one.
"You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you?" says Hermione briskly, buttering herself some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy." She doesn't approve of me lying in class obviously. Wait a minute— is she eating?
"You're eating again, I notice," says Ron, watching Hermione add liberal amounts of jam to her toast too.
"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," says Hermione haughtily.
"Yeah . . . and you were hungry," says Ron, grinning. Thank Merlin I don't have to force feed one of my friends. I could see that going downhill quickly.
We finish breakfast in relative silence since Harry's mood has seemed to take a downturn in the last few minutes since Hedwig didn't arrive. Neither did Di so I'm not too terribly worried.
Harry's preoccupation lasted all the way across the sodden vegetable patch until we arrive in greenhouse three, but here we are distracted by Professor Sprout showing the class the ugliest plants I have ever seen. Indeed, they look less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each is squirming slightly and has a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appear to be full of liquid.
"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout tells us briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus —"
"Quite nasty don't you think?" Ariana whispers to me. I nod my head in agreement.
"The what?" says Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted.
"Pus, Finnigan, pus," says Professor Sprout, "and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus."
Squeezing the bubotubers is disgusting, but oddly satisfying. As each swelling is popped, a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid bursts forth, which smells strongly of petrol. We catch it in the bottles as Professor Sprout has indicated, and by the end of the lesson have collected several pints.
"This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," says Professor Sprout, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. "An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples."
"Like poor Eloise Midgen," says Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, in a hushed voice. "She tried to curse hers off."
"What happened?" I ask Ariana turning my attention to her. She sighs and shakes her head.
"Tried a curse and blew her nose off her face. It was quite terrifying to watch actually." She says paling. I shiver thinking about how Voldemort had no nose when I saw him on the back of Quirrell's face.
"Silly girl," says Professor Sprout, shaking her head. "But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end."
A booming bell echoes from the castle across the wet grounds, signaling the end of the lesson, and the class separates; the Hufflepuffs climbing the stone steps for Transfiguration, and the Gryffindors heading in the other direction, down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's small wooden cabin, which stands on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Hagrid is standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There are several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang is whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely. As we draw nearer, an odd rattling noise reaches our ears, punctuated by what sounds like minor explosions.
Oh this is new and interesting. Hopefully Hagrid isn't as afraid of covering more interesting creatures this year.
"Mornin'!" Hagrid says, grinning at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me. "Be'er wait fer the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this — Blast-Ended Skrewts!"
"Come again?" says Ron. Hagrid points down into the crates.
"Eurgh!" squeals Lavender Brown, jumping backwards. Even though I'm revolted I can't help but snicker at Lavender's reaction, anything to make her day worse as they say.
"Eurgh" just about sums up the Blast-Ended Skrewts in my opinion. They look like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There are about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They are giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks will fly out of the end of a skrewt, and with a small phut, it will be propelled forward several inches.
"On'y jus' hatched," says Hagrid proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"
"And why would we want to raise them?" says a cold voice. The Slytherins have arrived. The speaker is Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle are chuckling appreciatively at his words.
Hagrid looks stumped at the question. "Because you want to pass the class Malfoy. Unless you want to be a fourth year for the rest of your life." I say sweetly. Malfoy glares daggers at me.
"I mean, what do they do?" asks Malfoy ignoring me. "What is the point of them?"
Hagrid opens his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there is a few seconds' pause, then he says roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things — I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer — I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake — just try 'em out with a bit of each."
"First pus and now this," mutters Seamus. I can't help but agree with him.
Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. I can't suppress the suspicion that the whole thing is entirely pointless, because the skrewts don't seem to have mouths.
"Ouch!" yells Dean Thomas after about ten minutes. "It got me!" Hagrid hurries over to him, looking anxious.
"Its end exploded!" says Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.
"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," says Hagrid, nodding. Well good at least we're back to this class being dangerous and dull instead of just dull.
"Eurgh!" says Lavender Brown again. "Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"
"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," says Hagrid enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdraws her hand from the box). "I reckon they're the males. . . . The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies. . . . I think they might be ter suck blood."
"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," says Malfoy sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"
"I don't know Malfoy I ask that question all the time when dealing with you?" I say drolly. Malfoy takes a step forward glaring at me angrily.
"You want to have a go Pendragon?" He snarls. I grin at him baring my teeth.
"You wouldn't even last a second Malfoy, so why would I even bother." I reply. Hermione grabs my arm and pulls me back over to the crate by Harry and Ron.
"Quit it." She hisses at me. I sigh and attempt to let the tension out of my body. I've been angry at him ever since he's made those comments about the Weasleys and my family's money. It has just gotten under my skin horribly. I know that the Weasleys wouldn't take us in just for the money but now that the idea is there it's sticking.
"Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful," Hermione snaps. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"
Harry, Ron, and I grin at Hagrid, who gives us a furtive smile from behind his bushy beard. Hagrid would have liked nothing better than a pet dragon, as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I know only too well — he had owned one for a brief period during our first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert. Hagrid simply loves monstrous creatures, the more lethal, the better.
"Well, at least the skrewts are small," says Ron as we make our way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later.
"Not for long." I say.
"They are now," says Hermione in an exasperated voice, "but once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long."
"Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?" says Ron, grinning slyly at her.
"You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up," says Hermione. "As a matter of fact I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all."
"Ah what's the harm in having a few fire expelling blood sucking monsters as pets? I think they'd make perfect guard creatures, no unwanted guests then, and you already know what has most likely killed you." I comment.
We sit down at the Gryffindor table and help ourselves to lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione begins to eat so fast that Harry, Ron, and I stare at her.
"Er — is this the new stand on elf rights?" says Ron. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?"
"No," says Hermione, with as much dignity as she can muster with her mouth bulging with sprouts. "I just want to get to the library."
"What?" says Ron in disbelief. "Hermione — it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!"
Hermione shrugs and continues to shovel down her food as though she has not eaten for days. Then she leaps to her feet, says, "See you at dinner!" and departs at high speed.
Well that was just all kinds of odd coming from my friend. I guess that I'm going to have to start worrying about Hermione again. Can't my friends just be okay and normal for a while?
When the bell rings to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Harry, Ron, and I set off for North Tower where, at the top of a tightly spiraling staircase, a silver stepladder leads to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling, and the room where Professor Trelawney lives.
The familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire meets our noses as we emerge at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains are all closed; the circular room is bathed in a dim reddish light cast by the many lamps, which are all draped with scarves and shawls. Harry, Ron, and I walk through the mass of occupied chintz chairs and poufs that cluttered the room, and sit down at the same small circular table.
"Good day," says the misty voice of Professor Trelawney right behind Harry, making him jump.
A very thin woman with enormous glasses that makes her eyes appear far too large for her face, Professor Trelawney is peering down at Harry with the tragic expression she always wears whenever she sees him. The usual large amount of beads, chains, and bangles glitter upon her person in the firelight.
"You are preoccupied, my dear," she says mournfully to Harry. "My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas . . . most difficult . . . I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass . . . and perhaps sooner than you think. . . ."
Oh Merlin here we go again. My friend will die at some point this year; yeah right excuse me if I don't hold my breath for that outcome.
Her voice drops almost to a whisper. Ron rolls his eyes at Harry, who looks stonily back. Professor Trelawney sweeps past us and seats herself in a large winged armchair before the fire, facing the class. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who deeply admire Professor Trelawney, are sitting on poufs very close to her. A dangerous combination that is daft and dumb, leading the daft and dumb.
"My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars," she says. "The movements of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays, which intermingle . . ."
I allow myself to tune out most of what she is saying. This class is easy to pass and in the end you never really have to learn anything.
Suddenly Ron is nudging Harry and I turn back in to hear what craziness is going on now.
"I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn," says Professor Trelawney to Harry, a faint note of resentment in her voice at the fact that he has obviously not been hanging on her words.
"Born under — what, sorry?" says Harry.
"Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!" says Professor Trelawney, sounding definitely irritated that he isn't riveted by this news. If only she knew that I'm paying even less attention. "I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth. . . . Your dark hair . . . your mean stature . . . tragic losses so young in life . . . I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?"
"No," says Harry, "I was born in July." Ron and I hastily turn our laughs into hacking coughs.
Half an hour later, each of us have been given a complicated circular chart, and are attempting to fill in the position of the planets at our moment of birth. It is dull work, requiring much consultation of timetables and calculation of angles not my strong suit.
"I've got two Neptunes here," says Harry after a while, frowning down at his piece of parchment, "that can't be right, can it?"
"Better than a Saturn though Harry." I say as seriously as I can with a smile.
"Aaaaah," says Ron, imitating Professor Trelawney's mystical whisper, "when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry. . . ."
I sputter out a laugh attempting not to choke. Seamus and Dean, who are working nearby, snigger loudly, though not loudly enough to mask the excited squeals from Lavender Brown — "Oh Professor, look! I think I've got an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"
"It is Uranus, my dear," says Professor Trelawney, peering down at the chart.
"Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?" says Ron. Most unfortunately, Professor Trelawney hears him, and it is this, perhaps, that makes her give us so much homework at the end of the class.
"A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart," she snaps, sounding much more like Professor McGonagall than her usual airy-fairy self. "I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses!"
Great all because Ron had to open his big disgusting mouth. I'm not happy with him at the moment. Oh well there's math involved in this. I'll get Hermione to help me out even if three is a lot of hemming and hawing.
"Miserable old bat," says Ron bitterly as we join the crowds descending the staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. "That'll take all weekend, that will. . . ."
"Lots of homework?" says Hermione brightly, catching up with us. "Professor Vector didn't give us any at all!"
"Well, bully for Professor Vector," says Ron moodily.
"I'll be your best friend forever Mione if you help me out." I say batting my eyes at her. She laughs and shakes her head at me.
"Well if you put in that way…"She says. We reach the entrance hall, which is packed with people queuing for dinner. We have just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rings out behind us.
"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!" Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I turn. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle are standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.
"What?" says Ron shortly.
"Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" says Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed entrance hall can hear. "Listen to this!
FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."
Malfoy looks up. "Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?" he crows.
Everyone in the entrance hall is listening now. Malfoy straightens the paper with a flourish and reads on:
"Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("policemen") over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of "Mad-Eye" Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene."
"And there's a picture, Weasley!" says Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house — if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"
Ron is shaking with fury and truthfully so am I. Everyone is staring at him.
"Get stuffed, Malfoy," says Harry. "C'mon, Ron. . . ." Malfoy turns to me.
"Oh yeah, you live with them now don't you, Pendragon?" sneers Malfoy. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?" That's it. This boy has to die now.
"You EVIL SMARMY BASTARD!" I shout lunging for him, but before I can my arms are caught and I'm pulled by the waist against someone.
"Calm down Jamie. He isn't worth it. He isn't worth it. He's a right git but he's not worth your time, and getting in trouble." A soft voice breathes into my ear making me shiver and slump slightly back into Ariana. I'm still angry ragingly so.
"You know your mother, Malfoy?" says Harry — both he and Hermione have grabbed the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy — "that expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"
Malfoy's pale face goes slightly pink. "Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."
"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," says Harry, turning away.
BANG!
Several people scream, and Harry reaches into his robes as a jet of blue light shoots next to his head. I hear a second loud BANG, and a roar that echoes through the entrance hall. Ariana's grip on me becomes tighter for I'm back to struggling to kill Malfoy for an entirely different reason now. No one attacks my friends when their back are turned no one!
"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!" I finally register the shout. Professor Moody is limping down the marble staircase. His wand is out and it is pointing right at a pure white ferret, which is shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing. Oh my Merlin is that who I think it is. I feel shaking from behind me and look up to see Ariana smother her laugh against me. So I am right. I lean further back into her, a pleased smile on my face.
There is a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody is moving a muscle. Moody turns to look at Harry — at least, his normal eye is looking at Harry; the other one is pointing into the back of his head.
"Did he get you?" Moody growls. His voice is low and gravelly.
"No," says Harry, "missed."
"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouts.
"Leave — what?" Harry says, bewildered.
"Not you — him!" Moody growls, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who has just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seems that Moody's rolling eye is magical and can see out of the back of his head. Though gross that is ridiculously cool.
Moody starts to limp towards Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gives a terrified squeak and takes off, streaking towards the dungeons.
"I don't think so!" roars Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again — it flies ten feet into the air, falls with a smack to the floor, and then bounces upwards once more.
"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," growls Moody as the ferret bounces higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do. . . ."
Part of me is thrilled that Malfoy is finally getting what's coming to him since he really is a smarmy weasel, but the other part is horrified that he would do this.
The ferret flies through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. "Never — do — that — again —" says Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hits the stone floor and bounces upward again. Okay now I'm a little scared.
"Professor Moody!" says a shocked voice. Professor McGonagall is coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.
"Hello, Professor McGonagall," says Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.
"What — what are you doing?" says Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air.
"Teaching," says Moody.
"Teach — Moody, is that a student?" shrieks Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.
"Yep," says Moody. I watch the ferret some more. Okay not even Malfoy deserves this.
"No!" cries Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy has reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He gets to his feet, wincing.
"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" says Professor McGonagall weakly. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"
"He might've mentioned it, yeah," says Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock —"
"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"
"I'll do that, then," says Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike. Ariana finally lets go of me, but stays close to my side as if worried that I'll still attack Malfoy now that he's not a rodent anymore.
Malfoy, whose pale eyes are still watering with pain and humiliation, looks malevolently up at Moody and mutters something in which the words "my father" are distinguishable.
"Oh yeah?" says Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy. . . . You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son . . . you tell him that from me. . . . Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"
"Yes," says Malfoy resentfully.
"Another old friend," growls Moody. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape. . . . Come on, you. . . ."
And he seizes Malfoy's upper arm and marches him off towards the dungeons. Professor McGonagall stares anxiously after them for a few moments, then waves her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.
"You okay now?" Ariana asks me. I turn around to face her and nod my head. I feel heat rush to my cheeks.
"Yeah, he just really gets to me you know. I don't like it when he bad mouths the people that mean a lot to me." I say. She nods her head knowingly and smiles reassuringly.
"You'll be fine Pendragon. That level of loyalty is characteristic of a Hufflepuff, I'll convert you yet." She grins. I scoff and roll my eyes at her.
"As if Dumbledore. I'd give half your house heart attacks before the week is out." I tell her as we go separate ways to our tables.
"Don't talk to me," Ron says quietly to Harry, Hermione, and me as we sit down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what has just happened.
"Why not?" says Hermione in surprise.
"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," says Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret . . ."
Harry, Hermione, and I all laugh, and Hermione begins doling beef casserole onto each of our plates.
"He could have really hurt Malfoy, though," she says. "It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it —"
"Hermione!" says Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again, "you're ruining the best moment of my life!"
Hermione makes an impatient noise and begins to eat at top speed again. "Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" says Harry, watching her.
"Got to," says Hermione thickly. "Loads to do."
"But you told us Professor Vector —"
"It's not schoolwork," she says. Within five minutes, she has cleared her plate and departed. No sooner has she gone than her seat is taken by Fred Weasley.
"Moody!" he says. "How cool is he?"
"Beyond cool," says George, sitting down opposite Fred.
"Supercool," says the twins' best friend, Lee Jordan, sliding into the seat beside George. "We had him this afternoon," he tells us.
"What was it like?" asks Harry eagerly. Fred, George, and Lee exchange looks full of meaning.
"Never had a lesson like it," says Fred.
"He knows, man," says Lee.
"Knows what?" asks Ron, leaning forward.
"Knows what it's like to be out there doing it," says George impressively.
"Doing what?" says Harry.
"Fighting the Dark Arts," says Fred.
"He's seen it all," says George.
"'Mazing," says Lee. Ron dives into his bag for his schedule.
"We haven't got him till Thursday!" he says in a disappointed voice. I chew on a piece of my casserole and think thoughtfully. Moody knew my parents that I'm sure of. He had said so when Luka and I had met him before. Maybe I can convince my brother to go and talk to him with me. Oh well at least I have a fantastic mental image of Malfoy the ferret to remember for all time.