AN: See bottom for more notes.
Chapter 25
Sectumsempra
KIARA
Exhausted but delighted with my night's work, I told Chris and Chrissie everything that had happened during next morning's Charms lesson (having first cast the Muffliato spell upon those nearest us), with a little help from Sian, of course. Chris, Sian - who had not heard how I had got the memory until then - and Chrissie were all satisfyingly impressed by the way I had wheedled the memory out of Beadu, and Chris and Chrissie were both awed when I told them about Zira's Horcruxes and Crighton's promise to take Sian and I along, should she find another one.
"Wow," said Chrissie, when Sian and I had finally finished telling she and Chris everything; Chrissie was waving her wand very vaguely in the direction of the ceiling without paying the slightest bit of attention to what she was doing; Chris, though gazing impressively at me, managed to have some control over his wand, and lowered it. "Wow. You two are actually going to go with Ma ... and try and destroy ... wow."
"Chrissie, you're making it snow," said Sian patiently, grabbing her wrist and redirecting her wand away from the ceiling from which, sure enough, large white flakes had started to fall. Larry Brown, I noticed, glared at Sian from a neighbouring table and Sian immediately let go of Chrissie's arm.
"Oh yeah," said Chrissie, looking down at her shoulders in vague surprise. "Sorry ... looks like we've all got horrible dandruff now ..."
She brushed some of the fake snow off Sian's shoulder. Larry growled at her. Chrissie looked immediately guilty and turned her back on him.
"We split up," she told me out of the corner of her mouth. "Last night. When she saw me coming out of the dormitory with Sian. Obviously he couldn't see you, so he thought it had just been the two of us."
"Ah," I said. "Well - you don't mind it's over, do you?"
"No," Chrissie admitted. "It was pretty bad while he was yelling - well, at Sian more than me, who decided to stand up for me ... until he started having a go at Sian, and then I started yelling at him."
I looked at Chrissie, shocked. "You actually stood up for yourself?" I asked in disbelief.
"Yep. Who would've seen the day when Chrissie got a backbone?" said Chris.
"To be honest, I thought this day would never come," said Sian, shaking her head.
"Why are you so surprised that I stood up for someone?" asked Chrissie.
"Er, probably because Sian always stands up for you," said Chris.
"Exactly," said Sian. "Plus, we've always seen you as a coward in situations like those that we just naturally assumed that you would die that way."
Chris laughed. Chrissie glared at both of them.
Sian's smile faded as she looked round. "Well, it was a bad night for romance all round. Chris and Dena split up too, Kiara."
I thought there was a rather knowing look in her eye as she told me that, but she could not possibly know that my heart was lifting, as though a great weight had been released from it, and my insides were dancing in celebration, but I kept my cool and asked, "How come?"
I saw Chris, Sian and Chrissie freeze for a moment, before Chris said, "Oh, something really silly ... she was always trying to help me through the portrait hole, like I couldn't climb in myself ... I'm not a child, you know!"
I thought there was something odd about the way they were acting, but I brushed it aside; I also brushed aside the happiness I felt at Chris breaking up with Dena, because I knew that Chris needed a friend, so I said, "I'm sorry you two broke up, Chris. Are you OK?"
Chris looked at me, smiled and said, "Yeah, I'm OK, Kiara. To be honest with you, we've been rocky for ages, so I'm not too gutted about our break up."
I glanced over at Dena on the other side of the classroom. Her eyes were red and she looked hurt.
"Of course, this puts you in a bit of a dilemma, doesn't it?" said Sian.
"What d'you mean?" I said quickly.
"The Quidditch team," said Sian. "If Chris and Dena aren't speaking ... "
"Oh - oh yeah," I said.
"Winds," said Chrissie in a warning tone. The tiny little Charms mistress was bobbing her way towards us and Sian was the only one who had managed to turn vinegar into wine; her glass flask was full of deep crimson liquid, whereas the contents of mine, Chris and Chrissie's were still murky brown.
"Now, now, girls and boy," squeaked Professor Winds reproachfully. "A little less talk, a little more action ... let me see you try ..."
Together we raised our wands, concentrating with all our might, and pointed them at our flasks. My vinegar turned to ice; Chris' turned to the dark purple colour of summer fruits juice; and Chrissie's flask exploded.
"Yes ... for homework ..." said Professor Winds, re-emerging from under the table and pulling shards of glass out of the top of her hat, "practice."
We had one of our rare joint free periods after Charms and walked back to the common room together. Chris and Chrissie both seemed to be positively light-hearted about the end of their relationships with Dena and Larry, and Sian seemed cheery, too, though when asked what she was grinning about she simply said, "It's a nice day." The three of them did not notice that there was a fierce battle raging inside my brain, which was why I did not look at Chris once on the way back to the common room:
He's Chrissie's brother.
But he's ditched Dena!
He's still Chrissie's brother.
I'm her best mate!
That'll make it worse.
If I talked to her first -
She'd hit you.
What if I don't care?
She's your best mate!
I barely noticed that we were climbing through the portrait hole into the sunny common room, and only vaguely registered the small group of seventh-years clustered together there, until Sian cried, "Keith! You're back! Are you OK?"
I stared: it was indeed Keith Ball, looking completely healthy and surrounded by his jubilant friends.
"I'm really well!" he said happily. "They let me out of St Mungo's on Monday, I had a couple of days at home with Mum and Dad and then came back here this morning. Leon was just telling me about MacGuire and the last match, Kiara ..."
"Yeah," I said, "well, now you're back and Chrissie's fit, we'll have a decent chance of thrashing Raven-Wings, which means we could still be in the running for the Cup. Listen, Keith ..."
I had to put the question to him at once; my curiosity even drove Chris temporarily from my brain. I dropped my voice as Keith's friends started gathering up their things; apparently they were late for Transfiguration.
" ... that necklace ... can you remember who gave it to you now?"
"No," said Keith, shaking his head ruefully. "Everyone's been asking me, but I haven't got a clue. The last thing I remember was walking into the mens' in the Flying Owls."
"You definitely went into the bathroom, then?" said Sian.
"Well, I know I pushed open the door," said Keith, "so I suppose whoever Imperiused me was standing just behind it. After that, my memory's a blank until about two weeks ago in St Mungo's. Listen, I'd better go, I wouldn't put it past Darbus to give me lines even if it is my first day back ..."
He caught up his bag and books and hurried after his friends, leaving Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I to sit down at a window table and ponder what he had told us.
"So it must have been a boy or a man who gave Keith the necklace," said Sian, "to be in the mens' bathroom."
"Or someone who looked like a boy or a man," I said. "Don't forget, there was a cauldronful of Polyjuice Potion at Dragon Mort. We know some of it got stolen ..."
In my mind's eye I watched a parade of Crate's and Gabber's prance past, all transformed into boys.
"I think I'm going to take another swig of Felix," I said, "and have a go at the Room of Needs again."
"That would be a complete waste of potion," said Sian flatly, putting down the copy of Spellman's Syllabry she had just taken out of her bag. "Luck can only get you so far, Kiara. The situation with Beadu was different: you always had the ability to persuade her, you just needed to tweak the circumstances a bit. Luck isn't enough to get you through an enchantment, though. Don't go wasting the rest of that potion! You and I'll need all the luck we can get if Ma takes us along with her ..." She dropped her voice to a whisper.
"Couldn't we make some more?" Chrissie asked me, ignoring Sian. "It'd be great to have a stock of it ... have a look in the book ..."
I pulled my copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of my bag and looked up Felix Felicis.
"Blimey, it's seriously complicated," I said, running an eye down the list of ingredients. "And it takes six months ... you've got to let it stew ..."
"Typical," said Chrissie.
I was about to put my book away again when I noticed the corner of a page folded down; turning to it, I saw the Sectumsempra spell, captioned "For Enemies", that I had marked a few weeks previously. I had still not found out what it did, mainly because I did not want to test it around Sian, but I was considering trying it out on MacGuire next time I came up behind him unawares (and as much as I didn't like MacGuire, I'm glad that I didn't use the spell. The reason for this will be explained shortly).
The only person who was not particularly pleased to see Keith Ball back at school was Dena Wright, because she would no longer be required to fill his place as Chaser. She took the blow stoically enough when I told her, merely hmming and shrugging, but I had the distinct feeling as I walked away that Dena and Zara were muttering mutinously behind my back.
The following fortnight saw the best Quidditch practices I have ever known as Captain. My team was so pleased to be rid of MacGuire, so glad to have Keith back at last, that they were flying extremely well.
Chris really did not seem at all upset about the break-up with Dena; on the contrary, he was the life and soul of the team. His imitations of Chrissie anxiously bobbing up and down in front of the goalposts as the Quaffle sped towards her, or of me bellowing orders at MacGuire before being knocked out cold, kept us all highly amused. Laughing with everyone else gave me an innocent reason to look at Chris; I had received several more Bludger injuries during practice because I had not been keeping my eyes on the Snitch.
The battle still raged inside my head: Chris or Chrissie? Sometimes I thought that the post-Larry Chrissie might not mind too much if I asked Chris out, but then I remembered Chrissie's expression when she had seen him kissing Dena, and I was sure that Chrissie would consider it treachery if I so much as held his hand ...
Yet I could not help myself talking to Chris much more than usual, laughing with him, walking back from practice with him instead of Chrissie; however much my conscience ached, I found myself wondering how best to get him on his own: it would have been ideal if Beadu had given another of her little parties, for Chrissie would not be around - unfortunately, Beadu seemed to have given them up. Once or twice I considered asking for Sian's help, but I did not think I could stand seeing the smug look on her face; I thought I caught it sometimes when Sian spotted me staring at Chris, or laughing at his jokes. And to complicate matters, I had the nagging worry that if I didn't do it, somebody else was sure to ask Chris out soon: I often noticed girls looking at him, waving at him and casting smiles in his direction, which made me think that him being with Dena had made him popular - well, his looks at least, anyway.
All in all, the temptation to take another gulp of Felix Felicis was becoming stronger by the day, for surely this was a case for, as Sian put it, "tweaking the circumstances"? The balmy days slid gently through May, and Chrissie seemed to be there at my shoulder every time I saw Chris. I found myself hoping for a stroke of luck that would somehow cause Chrissie to realise that nothing would make her happier than her best friend and her brother falling for each other and to leave us alone together for longer than a few seconds. There seemed no chance of either while the final Quidditch game of the season was looming; Chrissie wanted to talk tactics with me all the time and had little thought for anything else.
Chrissie was not unique in this respect; interest in the Lion-Heart - Raven-Wings game was running extremely high throughout the school, for the match would decide the championship, which was still wide open. If Lion-Heart beat Raven-Wings by a margin of three hundred points (a tall order, and yet I had never known my team fly better) then we would win the championship. If we won by less than three hundred points, we would come second to Raven-Wings; if we lost by a hundred points we would be third behind Badger-Stripes and if we lost by more than a hundred, we would be in fourth place and nobody, I thought, would ever, ever let me forget that it had been I who had captained Lion-Heart to our first bottom-of-the-table defeat in two centuries.
The run-up to this crucial match had all the usual features: members of rival houses attempting to intimidate opposing teams in the corridors; unpleasant chants about individual players being rehearsed as we passed; the team members ourselves either swaggering around enjoying all the attention or else dashing into bathrooms between classes to throw up (I did not do either of these things, just so you know). Somehow, the game had become inextricably linked in my mind with success or failure in my plans for Chris. I could not help feeling that if we won by more than three hundred points, the scenes of euphoria and a nice loud after-match party might be just as good as a hearty swig of Felix Felicis.
In the midst of all my preoccupations I had not forgotten my other ambition: finding out what Malty was up to in the Room of Needs. I was still checking the Scallywag's Map and, as I was often unable to locate Malty on it, I deduced that Malty was still spending plenty of time within the Room. Although I was losing hope that I would ever succeed in getting inside the Room, I attempted it whenever I was in the vicinity, but no matter how I reworded my request, the wall remained firmly doorless.
A few days before the match against Raven-Wings, I found myself walking down to dinner alone from the common room, Chrissie having rushed off into a nearby bathroom to throw up again, Sian having dashed off to see Professor Wessex about a mistake she thought she might have made in her last Ancient Runes essay, and Chris was finishing off his Arithmancy essay. I made my usual detour along the seventh-floor corridor, checking the Scallywag's Map as I went. For a moment I could not find Malty anywhere, so I assumed that she must indeed be inside the Room of Needs again, but then I saw Malty's tiny, labelled dot standing in a girls' bathroom on the floor below, accompanied, not by Crate or Gabber, but by Old Moany.
I only stopped staring at this unlikely coupling when I walked right into a suit of armour. The loud crash brought me out of my reverie; hurrying from the scene lest Match should turn up, I dashed down the marble staircase and along the passageway below. Outside the bathroom, I pressed my ear against the door. I couldn't hear anything. I very quietly pushed the door open.
Dani Malty was standing with her back to the door, her hands clutching either side of the sink, her white-blonde head bowed.
"Don't," crooned Old Moany's voice from one of the cubicles. "Don't ... tell me what's wrong ... I can help you ..."
"No one can help me," said Malty. Her whole body was shaking. "I can't do it ... I can't ... it won't work ... and unless I do it soon ... she says she'll kill me ..."
And I realised, with a shock so huge it seemed to root me to the spot, that Malty was crying - actually crying - tears streaming down her pale face into the grimy basin. Malty gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror and saw me staring at her over her shoulder.
Malty wheeled round, drawing her wand. Instinctively, I pulled out my own. Malty's hex missed me by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside me; I threw myself sideways, thought Levicorpus! and I flicked my wand, but Malty blocked the jinx and raised her wand for another -
"No! No! Stop it!" pleaded Old Moany, his voice echoing loudly around the tiled room. "Stop! STOP!"
There was a loud bang and the bin behind me exploded; I attempted a Leg-Locker Curse that backfired off the wall behind Malty's ear and smashed the cistern beneath Old Moany, who screamed loudly; water poured everywhere, and I slipped over, as Malty, her face contorted, cried, "Cruci- "
"SECTUMSPEMPA!" I bellowed from the floor, waving my wand wildly.
Blood spurted from Malty's face and chest as though she had been slashed with an invisible sword. She staggered backwards and collapsed on to the waterlogged floor with a great splash, her wand falling from her limp right hand.
"No - " I gasped.
Slipping and staggering, I got to my feet and plunged towards Malty, whose face was now shining scarlet, her white hands scrabbling at her blood-soaked chest.
"No - I didn't - "
I did not know what I was saying; I fell to my knees beside Malty, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of her own blood. Old Moany let out a deafening scream.
"MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"
The door banged open behind me and I looked up, terrified: Triphorm had burst into the room, her face livid. Pushing me roughly aside, she knelt over Malty, drew her wand and traced it over the deep wounds my curse had made, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like song. The flow of blood seemed to ease; Triphorm wiped the residue from Malty's face and repeated her spell. Now the wounds seemed to be knitting.
I was still watching, horrified by what I had done, barely aware that I too was soaked in blood and water. Old Moany was still sobbing and wailing overhead. When Triphorm had performed her counter-curse for the third time, she half-lifted Malty into a standing position.
"You need the hospital wing. There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that ... come ..."
She supported Malty across the bathroom, turning at the door to say in a voice of cold fury, "And you, Pride-Lander ... you wait here for me."
It did not occur to me for a second to disobey. I stood up slowly, shaking, and looked down at the wet floor. There were bloodstains floating like crimson flowers across its surface. I could not even find it in myself to tell Old Moany to be quiet, as he continued to wail and sob with increasingly evident enjoyment.
Triphorm returned ten minutes later. She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
"Go," she said to Moany and he swooped back into his toilet at once, leaving a ringing silence behind him.
"I didn't mean it to happen," I said at once. My voice echoed in the cold, watery space. "I didn't know what that spell did."
But Triphorm ignored this.
"Apparently I underestimated you, Pride-Lander," she said quietly. "Who would have thought you knew such Dark magic? Who taught you that spell?"
"I - read it somewhere."
"Where?"
"It was - a library book," I invented wildly. "I can't remember what it was call- "
"Liar," said Triphorm. My throat went dry. I knew what Triphorm was going to do and I had never been able to prevent it ...
The bathroom seemed to shimmer before my eyes; I struggled to block out all thought, but try as I might, the Half-Blood Princess' copy of Advanced Potion-Making swam hastily to the forefront of my mind ...
And then I was staring at Triphorm again, in the midst of that wrecked, soaked bathroom. I stared into Triphorm's icy-blue eyes, hoping against hope that Triphorm had not seen what I feared, but -
"Bring me your schoolbag," said Triphorm softly, "and all of your schoolbooks. All of them. Bring them here to me. Now!"
I knew that there was no point in arguing, so I turned on my heel at once and splashed out of the bathroom. Once in the corridor, I broke into a run towards Lion-Heart Tower. Most people were walking the other way; they gaped at me drenched in water and blood, but I answered none of the questions they fired at me as I ran past.
I felt stunned; it was as though a beloved pet had turned suddenly savage. Many questions formed in my head as I ran: what had the Princess been thinking to copy such a spell into her book? And what would happen when Triphorm saw it? Would she tell Beadu - my stomach churned - how I had been achieving such good results in Potions all year? Would she confiscate or destroy the book that had taught me so much ... the book that had become a kind of guide and friend? I could not let that happen ... I could not ...
"Where've you - ? Why're you soaking - ? Is that blood?"
Chrissie was standing at the top of the stairs, looking bewildered at the sight of me.
"I need your book," I panted. "Your Potions book. Quick ... give it to me ..."
"But what about the Half-Blood - ?"
"I'll explain later!"
Chrissie pulled her copy of Advance Potion-Making out of her bag and handed it over; I sprinted off past her and back to the common room. There, I seized my schoolbag, ignoring the amazed looks of several people who had already finished their dinner, I threw myself back out of the portrait hole and hurtled off along the seventh-floor corridor.
I skidded to a halt beside the tapestry of clubbing ogres, closed my eyes and began to walk.
I need a place to hide my book ... I need a place to hide my book ... I need a place to hide my book ...
Three times I walked up and down in front of the stretch of blank wall. When I opened my eyes, there it was: the door to the Room of Needs. I wrenched it open, flung myself inside and slammed it shut.
I gasped. Despite my haste, my panic, my fear of what awaited me back in the bathroom, I could not help but be overawed by what I was looking at. I was standing in a room the size of a large cathedral, whose high windows were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls, built of what I knew must be the objects hidden by generations of Dragon Mort inhabitants. There were alleyways and roads bordered by teetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed away, perhaps, to hide the evidence of mishandled magic, or else hidden by castle-proud house-elves. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt burned of graffitied or stolen. There were winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees, some still with enough life in them to hover half-heartedly over the mountains of other forbidden items; there were chipped bottles of congealed potions, hats, jewels, cloaks; there were what looked like dragon egg shells, corked bottles whose contents still shimmered evilly, several swords and a heavy, bloodstained axe.
I hurried forwards into one of the many alleyways between all this hidden treasure. I turned right past an enormous stuffed troll, ran on a short way, took a left at the broken Vanishing Cabinet in which Montague had got lost in the previous year, finally pausing beside a large cupboard which seemed to have had acid thrown at its blistered surface. I opened one of the cupboard's creaking doors: it had already been used as a hiding place for something in a cage that had long-since died; its skeleton had five legs. I stuffed the Half-Blood Princess' book behind the cage and slammed the door. I paused for a moment, my heart thumping horribly, and as I gazed around at the clutter, a thought struck me ... would I be able to find this spot again, amidst all this junk? Seizing the chipped bust of an ugly old witch from on top of a nearby crate, I stood it on top of the cupboard where the book was now hidden, perched a dusty old wig and a tarnished tiara on the statue's head to make it more distinctive, then I sprinted back through the alleyways of hidden junk as fast as I could go, back to the door, back out onto the corridor, where I slammed the door behind me and it turned at once back into the stone.
I ran flat out towards the bathroom on the floor below, cramming Chrissie's copy of Advanced Potion-Making into my bag as I did so. A minute later, I was back in front of Triphorm, who held out her hand wordlessly for my schoolbag. I handed it over, panting, a searing pain in my chest, and waited.
One by one Triphorm extracted my books and examined them. Finally the only book left was the Potions book, which she looked at very carefully before speaking.
"This is your copy of Advanced Potion-Making, is it, Pride-Lander?"
"Yes," I said, still breathing hard.
"You're quite sure of that, are you, Pride-Lander?"
"Yes," I said, with a touch more defiance.
"This is the copy of Advanced Potion-Making that you purchased from Flourish and Blotts?"
"Yes," I said firmly.
"Then why," said Triphorm, "does it have the name "Christy Daizin" written inside the front cover?"
My heart missed a beat.
"That's my nickname," I said.
"Your nickname," repeated Triphorm.
"Yeah ... that's what my friends call me," I said.
"I understand what a nickname is," said Triphorm. Her cold, icy-blue eyes bore once more into mine; I tried not to look into them. Close your mind ... close your mind ... but I had never learned how to do it properly ...
"Do you know what I think, Pride-Lander?" said Triphorm, very quietly. "I think that you are a liar and a cheat and that you deserve detention with me every Saturday until the end of term. What do you think, Pride-Lander?"
"I - I don't agree, ma'am," I said, still refusing to look into Triphorm's eyes.
"Well, we shall see how you feel after your detention," said Triphorm. "Ten o'clock Saturday morning, Pride-Lander. My office."
"But, ma'am ..." I said, looking up desperately. "Quidditch ... the last match of the - "
"Ten o'clock," whispered Triphorm, with a smile that showed her yellow teeth. "Poor Lion-Heart ... fourth place this year, I fear ..."
And she left the bathroom without another word, leaving me to stare into the cracked mirror, feeling sicker, I was sure, than Chrissie had ever felt in her life.
"I won't say "I told you so"," said Sian, an hour later in the common room.
"Leave it, Sian," said Chrissie angrily.
I had never made it to dinner; I had no appetite at all. I had just finished telling Chris, Sian and Chrissie what had happened, not that there seemed to have been much need. The news had travelled very fast: apparently Old Moany had take it upon himself to pop up in every bathroom in the castle to tell the story; Malty had already been visited in the hospital wing by Parry Parker, who had lost no time in vilifying me far and wide; Keziah Rea-Bradley had not yet been to visit her cousin, but had come to me instead, and once Sian let me know she was out there, I went to face her. Naturally, Keziah was furious and demanded to know why I did it. I told her that Malty was going to use the Cruciatus Curse on me and that I was trying to defend myself, stating that if I had known what the spell did I wouldn't have dared used it on her cousin, or anyone else for that matter. I then told Keziah that I was truly sorry for what I had done, hoped that we were still friends and hoped that she would forgive me. Keziah studied me long and hard for a few moments, then told me that we were still friends, but that she would never forgive me for what I did to her cousin, before she turned around and walked away.
Meanwhile, Triphorm had told the staff precisely what had happened: I had been called out of the common room once again to endure fifteen highly unpleasant minutes in the company of Professor Darbus this time, who had told me I was lucky not to have been expelled and that she supported whole-heartedly Triphorm's punishment of detention every Saturday until the end of term.
"I told you there was something wrong with that Princess person," Sian said, evidently unable to stop herself. "And I was right, wasn't I?"
"No, I don't think you were," I said stubbornly.
I was having a bad enough time without Sian lecturing me: the looks on the Lion-Heart team's faces when I had told them I would not be able to play on Saturday had been the worst punishment of all for me. I felt Chris' eyes on me, but I did not meet them; I did not want to see disappointment or anger there. I had just told him that he would be playing Seeker on Saturday and that Dena would be rejoining the team as Chaser in his place. Perhaps, if we won, Chris and Dena would make up during the post-match euphoria ... the thought went through me like an icy knife ...
"Kiara," said Sian, "how can you still stick up for that book when that spell - "
"Will you stop harping on about the book!" I snapped. "The Princess only copied it out! It's not like she was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, she was making a note of something that had been used against her!"
"I don't believe this," said Sian. "You're actually defending - "
"I'm not defending what I did!" I said quickly. "I wish I hadn't done it, and not just because I've got about a dozen detentions. You know I wouldn't've used a spell like that, not even on Malty, but you can't blame the Princess, she hadn't written "Try this out, it's really good" - she was just making notes for herself, wasn't she, not for anyone else ..."
"Are you telling me," said Sian, "that you're going to go back - ?"
"And get the book? Yeah, I am," I said forcefully. "Listen, without the Princess I'd never have won the Felix Felicis. I'd never have known how to save Chrissie from poisoning. I'd never have - "
" - got a reputation for Potions brilliance you don't deserve," said Sian nastily.
"Give it a rest, Sian!" said Chris, and I was so amazed, so grateful, that I looked up. "We know that Kiara did a bad thing, but you don't need to go breathing down her neck like you always do whenever she or one of us does something wrong; can't you see she feels guilty enough as it is? And by the sound of it Malty was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, so you should be glad Kiara had something good up her sleeve!"
"Well, of course I'm glad Kiara wasn't cursed!" said Sian, clearly stung. "But you can't call that Sectumsempra spell good, Rickers, look where it's landed her! And I'd have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match - "
"Oh, don't start acting as though you understand Quidditch," snapped Chris, "you'll only embarrass yourself. So for once in your life, sister, why don't you back off?"
Sian looked stunned, staring at Chris as though she had just seen him for the first time. Her eyes flickered quickly to me before landing on Chris' face again, and I thought I saw a small flicker of amusement cross her features, and then, without saying a word, she turned away from him. Chris glared at her and looked in the opposite direction.
Chrissie and I stared: Chris and Sian, who had always got on remarkably well for brother and sister (well, apart from that time during our third year when he and Chrissie were both convinced that Sian's cat, Lucifer, had killed their beloved pets), were now angry with each other. But what surprised us more was Sian not saying a word, no comeback, no argument, nothing. Chrissie looked nervously at me, then snatched up a book at random and hid behind it, just as Chris got up and stalked across the room to the stairs leading to the dormitories. Wanting to thank him, I got up and followed.
He was slightly ahead of me and had no idea that I was following him. So, halfway up, I decided to get his attention.
"Chris, wait!" He turned around, looking at me curiously. I ran until two steps separated us. "Back there ... what you said ... no one's ever stood up for me like that before ... why did you - ?"
"Because you've already been given enough grief today as it is," Chris said gently.
"But ... aren't you angry with me?" I asked, surprised. "About Quidditch - "
"Kiara, there are more important things than Quidditch. Don't get me wrong, I want to win," he added quickly. "I do, but I'm wise enough to know that Quidditch is just a game, and we can win many more games if we don't win this one. And as for being angry with you ... I don't think I can be for what you did today. Disappointed, yes, but not angry. And I think it's about time that someone stood up for you like I did ... isn't it?"
Chris' forest-green eyes were gazing at me so gently, so intently, that it took all of my strength to nod my head. Chris then climbed down the two steps so that we were on the same stair, and I had to move slightly and stand against one of the walls in order to make room for Chris. Our eyes were still locked on each others, and as Chris searched my face, I felt my heart begin to speed up as the colour rushed to my cheeks. I stood there, my back against the wall, watching him. I then saw his hand coming slowly towards me, and when he touched my cheek, both of them burned in the best way, even as my heart glowed, butterflies started fluttering excitedly in my stomach and electricity shot through me. My eyelids fluttered closed as I melted into his touch, and my heart leapt for joy that this was happening. I caught his scent of sandalwood, which I took it to come from his wood carvings, mixed with pine and fresh berries coming closer to me, and then I heard him whisper huskily, "Kiara ..."
"Chris," I moaned, as our noses rubbed against each other and our breath mingled together. I felt his lips lightly brush against mine, setting my entire body on fire ... I opened my mouth slowly -
Someone laughed from the common room below, breaking the spell: Chris and I jumped apart, our breathing heavy. I looked at Chris, and as he looked at me, I knew that the moment was over.
"Goodnight, Kiara," he said shakily, before he ran up to the boys' dormitories.
I stood there for I don't know how long, waiting for my heart to stop racing. As soon as my heart was beating a regular rhythm again, I climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitories, having no wish to go back to the common room. Once I was in my dormitory, I got into bed but stayed awake for a long while, thinking about Chris and that almost-kiss we shared reliving every moment in my mind. These thoughts followed me into my dreams, imagining what would have happened if Chris and I hadn't been interrupted, and I woke the following morning feeling very cheerful.
Alas, my light-heartedness was short-lived. I endured many Snake-Eyes taunts the next day, not to mention much anger from my fellow Lion-Hearts, who were most unhappy that their Captain had got herself banned from the final match of the season. I also received a letter from my father, telling me how disappointed he and my mother were in me, and that they both agreed in the punishment Triphorm had picked for me, adding that they couldn't believe what I had done and hoped that they would never hear me doing anything like that ever again. By Saturday morning, whatever I might have told Sian, I would have gladly exchanged all the Felix Felicis in the world to be walking down to the Quidditch pitch with Chris, Chrissie and the others. It was almost unbearable for me to turn away from the mass of students streaming out into the sunshine, all of them wearing rosettes and hats and brandishing banners and scarves, to descend the stone steps into the dungeons and walk until the distant sounds of the crowd were quite obliterated, knowing that I would not be able to hear a word of commentary, or a cheer or groan.
"Ah, Pride-Lander," said Triphorm, when I knocked on her door and entered the unpleasantly familiar office that Triphorm, despite teaching floors above now, had not vacated; it was as dimly lit as ever, and the same slimy dead objects were suspended in coloured potions all around the walls. Ominously, there were many cobwebbed boxes piled on a table where I was clearly supposed to sit; they had an aura of tedious, hard and pointless work about them.
"Mr Match has been looking for someone to clear out these files," said Triphorm softly. "They are the records of other Dragon Mort wrongdoers and their punishments. Where the ink had grown faint, or the cards have suffered damage from mice, we would like you to copy out the crimes and punishments afresh and, making sure that they are in alphabetical order, replace them in boxes. You will not use magic."
"Right, Professor," I said, with as much contempt as I could put into the last three syllables.
"I thought you could start," said Triphorm, with a malicious smile on her lips, "with boxes one thousand and twelve to one thousand and fifty-six. You will find some familiar names in there, which should add interest to the task. Here, you see ..."
She pulled out a card from one of the topmost boxes with a flourish and read, "'Nala Home and Pumbaa Warts. Apprehended using an illegal hex upon Bernard Axley. Axley's head twice normal size. Double detention.'" Triphorm sneered. "It must be such a comfort to think that, though they are gone from this school, one more further than the other, a record of their great achievements remain ..."
I felt the familiar boiling sensation in the pit of my stomach. Biting my tongue to prevent myself from retaliating, I sat down in front of the boxes and pulled one towards me.
It was, as I had anticipated, useless, boring work, punctuated (as Triphorm had clearly planned) with the regular jolt in my stomach that meant I had just read my mother or Pumbaa's names, usually coupled together in various petty misdeeds, occasionally accompanied by those of Timon Meers and Alan Abster. And while I copied out all their various offences and punishments, I wondered what was going on outside, where the match would have just started ... Chris playing Seeker against Khan ...
I glanced again and again at the large clock ticking on the wall. It seemed to be moving half as fast as a regular clock; perhaps Triphorm had bewitched it to go extra slowly? I could not have been there for only half an hour ... an hour ... an hour and a half ...
CHRIS
The match was going well; Lion-Heart were in the lead, three hundred to one hundred and forty. As Chris searched the pitch fruitlessly for the Snitch, dodging Bludgers that were thwacked at him and glowering at Khan every time he saw him, Chris' thoughts weren't just on the game, they were also focused on someone, someone who should have been out here, playing Seeker instead of him, and not up at the castle serving detention with Triphorm.
Kiara. The girl he loved. The most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He knew that if Lion-Heart won that it would make his chances of getting Kiara even greater. And Chris wanted to win - not just because this was the final match, oh no, it was just so he could beat Khan for once.
Khan. What on earth had Kiara seen in him, Chris found himself asking for the hundredth time. As far as he was concerned, Khan Chan was more than a snivelling pretty-boy (although the snivelling had calmed down a lot lately). Chris knew that the only reason he hated Khan was because of jealousy, which was useless now, Chris knew, seeing as Khan and Kiara had been broken up for over a year, but that did not stop Chris for being annoyed at Khan for getting Kiara first, and that made him hate Khan more, which made him even more determined to win. Besides, Kiara needed someone who would fight for her, who had been there for her through most of the things she had been through, who understood her and saw her like no one else did, not some train wreck who was still grieving for his old flame.
Was Chris nervous about the idea of him and Kiara? Of course he was! He'd be a fool not to be. After all, he had known he'd loved Kiara for a couple of years - no, thought Chris suddenly, no more deluding yourself, Rickers. You've loved Kiara since you first laid eyes on her and you know it. Chris knew that the voice in his head was right, but that did not hide the fact that he knew that Kiara had seen him as just a friend, possibly a brother, for many years. And yet there had been moments over the past year where he had seen Kiara looking at him for long moments, her eyes looking at him with longing and ... something else, something that he had only hoped and dreamed of seeing in her eyes for a long time now, not to mention that almost-kiss that had happened a few short days ago, something that had been following him into his dreams ever since that night, and that made him even more hopeful -
There it was. The Snitch. It was fluttering around near the Rave-wings goalposts. Chris dived, the rush of the wind and the noise of the crowd ringing in his ears. As he was closing in on the Snitch, he felt rather than saw a second person racing with him: Khan Chan urged his broom on, trying to pick up speed, but Khan was faster, and they were both neck and neck as they closed in on the Snitched, hands outstretched, and -
KIARA
My stomach started rumbling when the clock showed half past twelve. Triphorm, who had not spoken at all since setting me my task, finally looked up at ten past one.
"I think that will do," she said coldly. "Mark the place you have reached. You will continue at ten o'clock next Saturday."
"Yes, ma'am."
I stuffed a bent card into the box at random and I hurried out of the door before Triphorm could change her mind, straining my ears to hear a sound from the pitch, but all was quiet ... it was over, then ...
I hesitated outside the crowded Great Hall, then ran up the marble staircase; whether Lion-Heart won or lost, the team usually celebrated or commiserated in our own common room.
"Quid agis?" I said tentatively to the Fat Lord, wondering what I would find inside.
His expression was unreadable as he replied, "You'll see."
And he swung forwards.
A roar of celebration erupted from the hole behind him. I gaped as people began to scream at the sight of me; several hands pulled me into the room.
"We won!" yelled Chrissie, who came bounding into sight. "We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!"
As I looked around at the many smiling, happy faces staring at me, I realised that there were two things that were missing: Chris and the silver Quidditch Cup. Before I could ask where either of these things were, Sian came over to me, hugged me and whispered quickly, "If you're wondering where Chris is, he took the Quidditch Cup down to the room where you first practiced dancing for the Yule Ball together, and he told me to tell you he's waiting for you there." Pulling back, Sian winked knowingly at me and rejoined the party.
I stood there, letting the information Sian had just given me wash over me. Then, accepting all she had told me and grinning broadly to myself, I hurried back out of the portrait hole and rushed to find Chris.
AN: You really didn't think I was going to make it that easy, did you? That I was going to let Chris and Kiara get together like that? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Well, you're just going to have to wait until the next chapter to see that. So I hope you enjoyed this chapter and you, my dear readers, will see Chris and Kiara together, at long last, next week.