"Hey."
Isabella looked up from her Arithmancy notes. She had been studying in the singularly inadequate library while the rest of her friends were in Herbology. Pandaros stood there, looking very pleased with himself. She could see his friends in the background, looking impressed and watching the two of them.
"Hello," she said coldly, turning her a page of notes and reading the chart on the back.
"So we should go out," Pandaros announced.
"I don't know you," she replied, not even bothering to look up.
"My name's Pandaros Aiskhúlos," he said immediately. "And you're Isabella Petrroci. See, I already know you."
"Do you want an award or something?" Isabella asked, rolling her eyes. A brief flash of annoyance crossed Pandaros' face, but he hid it with a quick smile and sat down on the arm of her chair. Isabella calmly collected her notes and stood up. Picking up her book bag she put her notes in and slung the strap over her shoulder.
"Where are you going?" Pandaros asked, standing as well.
"As far away from you as I can," she retorted. Now he was angry in earnest.
"What, am I not good enough for you, Italy?" he snapped. "Too Greek for you? Or are you dating that fa-"
"Don't call him that!" she snarled. She might have pulled out her wand and dueled him then and there, but Madam Jacqueline, the librarian, was looking their way. Instead, Isabella bit her lip, threw Pandaros the dirtiest look she could muster, and left the library.
She retreated to the girl's dorms, intent on closeting herself in her room and studying. But when she got there, Isabella saw Castro sitting on the bed, looking highly pleased with himself. He had been missing for that first week of classes and now she could see why. Six envelopes lay on her bed.
Castro crooned silently as she dropped her book bag in the corner and practically jumped on the bed as the first snowflakes of the year began to fall, twirling gracefully, past her window.
"Ben cotto, mia bella," she smiled, stroking his feathers as she ripped open the first envelope.
"Dearest Bella,
I hope that you are doing well. You have not written to us and this concerns your mother greatly. You must learn, in these times, to be overcareful in your correspondence.
Have you made any new friends? I know that at Hogwarts you were particularly attached to your old friends, but there are many new and wonderful people at the Academia for you to meet.
Are your classes going well? Do you like your teachers? How is Valentino?
Florean seems to get under everyone's feet. At least he has the good sense to avoid your grandfather! I must admit I understand how he is feeling. It is horrible to sit in the house every day while all of your aunts and uncles go off to work, doing useful things and fighting back. I feel so useless.
My fondest love,
Papi"
The next letter was written in neat, slanted handwriting.
"Bella,
I am writing to confirm that I have received your plans from your Uncle Valentino. They look perfect! I cannot express how much your ideas will benefit our nation. Hundreds of lives may be spared because of you.
I hope you are enjoying the Academia, a fine institution of excellent merit. You will learn many wonderful things in these days of academic study, but I hope you also have made friends with other students from Italy.
Sincerely,
Basilio"
Isabella could not help but stare as the last sentence for a while. "With other students from Italy." There seemed to be a deep-seated nationality she had been unaware of until being thrown into an environment with Italians and other nations. And it wasn't one-sided:
"What, am I not good enough for you, Italy? Too Greek for you?"
Casting aside this letter, Isabella picked up one with very familiar handwriting, but the words and letters seemed scrambled around. She had to tap this letter once with her wand and then turn it over three times saying "Dumbledore's Army" with each turn. This was the system she and Luna had developed for reading each other's messages.
"Hello Bella,
I do miss you this year. There are very few people anymore who will listen to Daddy's theories about the Rotfang conspiracy or Heliopaths. But I don't mind so much; Morgan and Alex are always very kind to me.
Hogwarts really isn't the same anymore. There are these two Death Eaters, a brother and a sister, who teach Defense Against the Dark Arts (except that it isn't anymore, it's just the Dark Arts) and Muggle Studies, which is just awful. You wouldn't stand for it, you really wouldn't. That's because people like you who have been bitten by Gulping Plimpies usually are quite open-minded and rebellious.
Snape encourages corporal punishment. That what we have to do in the Dark Arts class, we torture people who have detention. It was really terrible. Little Nigel Wespurt- do you remember him?- he was caught doing magic in the hallway. Amycus (that's the name of the Death Eater) was going to make Neville perform the Cruciartus Curse on Nigel, but Neville wouldn't do it. They hurt him pretty badly for that.
The Daily Prophet isn't very informative, but it never really was, was it? Not like Potterwatch orThe Quibbler. Speaking of which, I've enclosed a copy. Daddy and I were so pleased at how its subscriptions suddenly increased when Daddy wrote an article about helping Harry Potter. I suggested that perhaps if we made half the magazine about Harry and half about Crumpled Horn Snorkaks, the next issue would sell very well.
I hope your school is nice and you are making friends. You must tell me if there is a colony of Wrackspurts there.
Thank you for being my friend,
Luna."
Isabella was horrified and outraged by the letter. Her hands were shaking and burning tears filled her eyes from fury rather than sorrow. She had half a mind to jump on her broomstick, fly to England, and duel Snape and this Amycus person. Then she remembered that she had left her broomstick at home.
She placed the letter aside and picked up another two: from Alex and Morgan. They basically said the exact same thing, only without the references to the Rotfang Conspiracy, Heliopaths, Gulping Plimpies, Crumple Horn Snorkaks, or Wrackspurts.
Alex was terrified because she was only a half-blood and - though that was apparently "adequate blood lineage" - she was afraid of being kicked out. One part of her letter gave Isabella hope, though, of the resistance being carried on against the Carrows and Snape:
"As for Dumbledore's Army, Neville, Luna, and Ginny are still trying to keep it up and going. They usually just sneack out of the dorms and write things like, 'Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting,'. It drives Snape up the wall every time. Of course, I don't do it. That's just plain vandalism. But I, and a lot of the other students, really like it. Gives us hope, you know? That was the thing about the DA: active resistance."
Isabella re-read this part and smiled. She should have known Luna, Neville, and Ginny would not take this treatment lying down. But she was still worried for them. Snape knew who had been in the secret Defense Against the Dark Arts society. He knew who had been at the Department of Mysteries... suddenly, Isabella was very glad she was no longer at Hogwarts.
The last letter was from Fred and George. It was written hastily, and not in code because, of course, the twins did not know the spell the four girls had come up with last year.
"Hey,
Not much time. Shop's doing well. Worried about trouble on the official end ever since wedding.
Listen: PW. WL. Ph.
You good? Hope you enjoy school.
F&GW"
It took a few moments to decipher. It appeared that this letter had been written by George; Isabella recognized the handwriting as being his, at any rate. As far as she could tell, the reason they didn't have time to write was not only because their joke shop was doing well, but also because of "trouble on the official end", which Isabella could only assume meant the English Ministry of Magic, which was now under the control of Voldemort.
"Listen: PW. WL. Ph." she read out loud. "PW? Percy Weasley? Purple water? WL? Wood lice? Weasley... something? Ph... Philosopher? Phineas? Or maybe... that's it! Phoenix! And PW..." Isabella snatched Luna's letter up and scanned it again. There it was: "The Daily Prophet isn't very informative, but it never really was, was it? Not like Potterwatch or The Quibbler."
"PW. Potterwatch!" Isabella realized. "But what on earth could it be? Damn it George! What are you trying to tell me? Potterwatch... Phoenix..."
Checking her watch, Isabella knew there was just enough time to write back before dinner.