Chapter 8 – Jenny Alone
She sat at the back of her Potions class, trying to focus on the work and not the accusatory stares and dark mutterings that were periodically sent her way. She was the only member of the class without a partner.
She was getting used to it, now.
Apparently tales of indiscretion travelled even faster than tales of teen pregnancy. Nearly a month had passed since three incapacitated Ravenclaws had overheard her argument with the staff in the Hospital Wing, and everyone had taken Remus's side.
This hadn't particularly surprised her. Remus was a wonderful person, and had it been someone else that had allegedly walked all over him she would have been just as angry.
Professor Slughorn was making an effort to include her, however, as were the majority of the staff. She appreciated the effort – particularly as Slughorn wasn't doing anything that brought even more attention to her.
He stopped by her cauldron and inspected the contents with his usual genial demeanour.
"Not bad, not bad," he said, mildly. "You might try adding the eel skins before the rat tail next time – see what it becomes."
He twinkled at her and she managed a half smile; he'd made her feel slightly more human again. She scratched her neck, trying to concentrate on her work.
The feeling dissipated rapidly at the end of the lesson, when James and Sirius – out of a sense of loyalty to their friend – rammed into her, knocking all her supplies to the floor. She sighed and bent to clean them up; she'd nearly finished when Professor Slughorn finally noticed. He waved her away, informing her that someone in her condition shouldn't be crawling around on the floor. She was grateful that the classroom was empty.
She stamped angrily through the corridors, trying not to think about the disgust on Remus's face as he'd passed her, angry and silent.
Wearily, she unpacked and repacked her bag for the afternoon's classes, ignoring her dorm-mates. She scratched her neck, irritably.
She had always got on well with Felicity, Lucy and Joanna, but now they hated her, and had no problem letting her know about it. They had unanimously decided that anyone who could be so horrible to poor Remus Lupin wasn't worth their time.
They had taken to talking loudly over everything she said and refusing to look at her. It was surreal and unpleasant, but Jenny accepted it quietly, privately thinking that incessant questioning would have been worse. At least this way she didn't have to keep denying it.
It was as if she had become a shadow in the Common Room, too – part of the background, but not worth paying attention to.
So much for Hufflepuff generosity.
It seemed that everyone was prepared to be infinitely more generous to Remus, rather than to her.
Shouldering her satchel she headed down to the kitchens, passing a large contingent of Slytherins enjoying their free time. They hooted and catcalled after her, amused that a good little Hufflepuff could have fallen so far and so fast. It was almost a relief that their behaviour hadn't really changed towards her at all, unlike their classmates.
The other Houses seemed to be presenting a uniformly unimpressed front: the Ravenclaws, true to their natures, were faultlessly polite towards her, but always formal and cold where before they had been open and friendly.
The Gryffindors were simmering. They had taken her apparent betrayal as a personal affront, and they were being unusually rude, shooting her dark looks in the corridor and calling her viciously unpleasant names when they thought that the teachers weren't paying attention.
She had found various revolting items in her satchel over the past few weeks – including an entire jar full of slugs that had eaten their way through her Herbology essay. Fed up, she had simply lumped the whole, sticky mess onto Professor Sprout's desk (she still hadn't forgiven her for her obvious disbelief, after all) and walked away. It was a mark of how much her standing in the classroom had shifted that it had earned her a week's detention until Frank had angrily pointed out to the older witch that her ex-favourite student wasn't trying to be disruptive. The news of systematic bullying had apparently come as some surprise to the teaching staff – although heavens knew why, since it was more or less a daily occurrence at Hogwarts – and the entire school had been made to sit through an anti-bullying lecture at breakfast the next morning.
Jenny had seen it coming and found it politic to slip unnoticed out of the Great Hall before they'd started, Dumbledore's eyes on the back of her head as she went.
She elbowed her way through a group of first year Gryffindors under the misguided impression that they were actually in any way threatening, and slipped into the corridor outside the kitchens.
Deciding against her own Common Room, just a little further along the passage, she tickled the requisite pear and climbed inside.
"Miss! Miss!"
She was immediately surrounded by a mob of House Elves, who of everyone in the school could always be relied upon to be delighted to see her.
She smiled properly for the first time that day.
"Hello everyone," she said, peering down at a couple of dozen happy and enthusiastic faces. "Are you all keeping busy?"
There was a chorus of agreement at waist level; the skin of her neck burned slightly, and she scratched at it again.
"How are you feeling today, Miss?" one of the nearer elves asked, his ears twitching nervously; Jenny recognised him as Lofty – so called because his mother had given birth to him somewhere in one of Hogwarts numerous and vast attics.
He had emerged as a sort of general spokesperson for the mob on several occasions, though he never seemed entirely comfortably with that fact.
"Better, thank you Lofty – I've not felt sick for two weeks now."
There was a small cheer, which made her laugh.
Being around the elves, with their pride in their work and extraordinarily positive outlook on the world was good for the soul.
"Could I eat lunch down here again today, please?"
"Of course, Miss!"
There was a shout of agreement and elves scattered in every directions to set out table, chair and food.
"We was worried about you Miss, when you didn't turn up for breakfast," said Lofty, hovering at her knees.
"I'm sorry, Lofty, I overslept again," she apologised, dropping gratefully into the proffered seat.
"You is wanting to take better care of yourself, Miss," he admonished; he covered his mouth with long, spindly fingers when he'd realised what he had said.
"No, that's alright, Lofty," Jenny said quickly, before he ran off to punish himself for such an extraordinary breach of etiquette. "You're right. I'm just having trouble sleeping at the moment, that's all."
The young elf still looked mildly horrified, so she added, "anyway, sometimes part of looking after people is pointing out where they're going wrong – let's not dwell on it, alright?" she finished, scratching her neck awkwardly.
Lofty cleared his throat, dreadfully embarrassed.
"Yes, Miss," he squeaked and rushed off, blushing dark green.
Jenny ate her lunch in relative peace, only interrupted by the occasional question or offer of more food; it was entirely possible that House Elves would feed you until you were the size of a small house if you let them. She liked the chaos of the kitchens. It was soothing, in a way, to be a small island in a sea of clamour that was at once practical and entirely mystifying.
It reminded her of the orphanage.
No one really came down here during the day – or even over dinner- so she was rarely disturbed, and then only by Frank, who knew where to find her. Remus and his friends undoubtedly knew how to get in, given their reputation for excellent parties and general misbehaviour, seemed to have a way of knowing when she was there, too, and avoided confrontations by waiting until she was gone.
It was a small concession, she knew, but she was glad of it. She strongly suspected that she had only escaped several inventive hexings because everyone thought she was pregnant and didn't want to hurt the imaginary baby.
Nobility, she thought wryly, and snorted into her pudding. Well there was irony for you.
She was so used to her solitary meals now that when the portrait hole opened she nearly dropped her spoon.
When Professor Dumbledore stepped inside, she really did drop it, splashing cream all over her tie. She rubbed at it, hurriedly, in a belated effort to not make her blatant rule-breaking any worse.
"Ah, yes, hello," Professor Dumbledore said to the crowd of excited House Elves that had materialised out of nowhere. Given how often Jenny suspected people illicitly turned up in the Kitchens and their subsequent ebullient greetings, it was a wonder they ever got anything done.
"I thought I might join Miss Baker for lunch, if I may?" Dumbledore continued.
His eyes flicked over to her and she nodded, numbly. How could she refuse?
Professor Dumbledore had always been a distant and kindly figure to Jenny, and the thought of actually having a conversation with him didn't entirely fit into her head. It would be like sitting down to breakfast with Father Christmas.
"Ah yes, and a nice cup of tea, perhaps?" he was saying, as he conjured a chair beside her at the table.
He was smiling sympathetically at her over the small mound of sandwiches that the elves had just produced, as if from nowhere. He steepled his fingers.
Jenny looked down at her pudding, no longer hungry; she could well guess what he wanted to talk about, and she was far from comfortable with that thought.
"Thank you," she heard him say, as the small horde of elves dissipated. "Now, Miss Baker," he said, through a bite of ham and pickle sandwich. "How are you?"
Jenny forced herself to meet his piercing gaze.
"I've been better, sir," she said, honestly.
"I note you have been absent at almost every meal for the last three weeks – I assumed that you had made alternative arrangements, but I thought it best to make sure."
Jenny wasn't sure what to say to that, so she stayed quiet, watching the House Elves bustle around the five enormous stoves along the far wall.
"Would you like a sandwich?" asked Dumbledore, proffering the plate. "They're mostly tuna."
"Er –" she stared at him, surprised. "No, thank you sir, I've just finished…"
"A pity," he said, jovially, setting the plate back down. "They're really rather good."
There was a pause which Dumbledore enjoyed his lunch; Jenny studiously avoided his eyes.
"How are your friends treating you?" he asked, gently.
Jenny very nearly laughed.
Instead, she changed the subject:
"You should try the chocolate pudding," she said, fighting to keep the note of annoyance out of her voice. "It's very good."
"You haven't finished yours," Dumbledore pointed out, amiably.
"I'm not very hungry any more," she stated, shortly.
"The other staff members tell me that your schoolwork is, as ever, exemplary," he said, changing tack. Jenny wondered where this was going; she scratched her neck, irritably. "And I hear from Pomona that you are continuing to help her in the Greenhouses."
"Yes, sir."
"I was glad to hear it," he said, kindly.
Jenny frowned at him. It was becoming increasingly difficult to bite back acerbic comments. Although she knew that Professor Dumbledore was doing this because he cared about his students, she couldn't help but remind herself that if no one thought that she had slept with someone other than her boyfriend and fallen pregnant then he probably would never have even noticed her. Her neck itched terribly, but she resisted the urge to scratch it, not wanting to draw attention to herself.
As nice as Dumbledore was, he had always been something of a hands-off headmaster.
"You must let us know if anyone is saying anything unpleasant, or behaving in an untoward manner."
Jenny, who had been thinking about the slugs in her satchel, snorted aloud.
"Oh, yes sir," she said, unable to stop herself. "Well, since you asked, the Ravenclaws are treating me as if I'm some kind of distasteful foreign dignitary, the Slytherins are being as repulsive as usual – which is nothing new, I might add – and the Gryffindors either knock my things over, put revolting things in my schoolbag or try to trip me over in the corridors. My own dorm mates won't even look at me and every staff member looks at me as though either I'll break or I'm incredibly stupid, and quite frankly, I'm sick of it. Particularly since I –"
She broke off; she was red in the face now, and her voice had risen in sheer frustration. Several of the House Elves were shooting worried looks in her direction.
"Particularly as no one seems willing to listen to a single thing I say," she finished, more quietly, but with no less venom.
Dumbledore simply watched her, calmly, from the other side of the enormous plate of sandwiches.
"Apart from Frank," she conceded, too angry to be embarrassed about talking to her Headmaster anymore. "And currently you, sir."
He nodded.
"Thank you for including me," he said, mildly. She could tell that the old sage was amused, but had the good sense not to take this personally; she suspected that this meant he was treating her as a person, and not as a child.
It was about time someone did.
"I'm listening now," he said. "How would you like to deal with what seems like flagrant victimisation?"
"Ignore it," she said, simply. "I am, and for the most part the other staff are too." Feeling brave, she added: "It's what usually happens around here, why treat me any differently?"
Dumbledore frowned, and Jenny's eyebrows shot behind her fringe.
"You didn't know, sir?" she gave a hollow laugh. "I've been fine up to now, but some people live in a constant nightmare in this Castle. All it has ever needed is slightly more vigilance on the part of the teachers. Particularly Madame Pomfrey," she added. "I know more than one person that's grateful of her policy of not asking too many awkward questions, but really how many times does one student have to be admitted before someone notices that they're been hexed or beaten up regularly?"
"I am sorry to hear that," said Dumbledore in a pained voice. He looked devastated by her fair but rather blunt assessment of the permanent undercurrent of bullying that existed at Hogwarts, and she felt suddenly sorry for him.
"For the most part, Hogwarts is a wonderful place," she told him, gently. "But not for everyone, and not all the time."
And as soon as I said that, several students' names have sprung to mind, haven't they sir, she thought, shrewdly.
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Jenny crossed her arms, still too angry to really care how much trouble she could potentially bring upon herself.
After all, she thought. At this point I could hardly make it worse, could I?
Dumbledore cleared his throat, almost awkwardly.
"If you are having trouble with anyone in particular I would like you to come to me."
"Thank you," she said, managing to sound gracious; he was trying to help, after all. They both knew that she wouldn't.
He leaned forward and she folded her arms again, defensively.
"Now I would like you to listen to me, Jennifer, and have a think about what I have to say."
She frowned, suspecting that she knew where this was going.
"I'm aware that the position you are currently in is a very difficult one," he began, delicately. "And I know that – in many ways – it may seem easier to ignore a problem that to deal with it, but it isn't necessarily the best approach."
Jenny merely stared at him, numb with indignation. She'd actually thought she had been getting somewhere with the headmaster.
"Poppy tells me that you aren't attending your weekly check-ups – may I ask why?"
Her voice was surprisingly level when she spoke, but it really didn't sound very much like her any more. She wondered whether Dumbledore could tell.
"Because when I tell her that her diagnosis is wrong, she refuses to believe me."
Dumbledore appeared to consider this quite seriously for a moment. He looked deeply concerned, like a father whose child insists on injuring themselves, over and over.
"I've found that denial is something that can only hurt us in the end," he said, gently.
For a few moments there was absolute silence in the vast Kitchens, all the House Elves immediately became immediately engrossed in whatever task was in front of them.
Distantly, the bell signalling the end of lunch echoed through the school.
"I think you are probably right about that, sir," she said, evenly, meeting his steely-blue gaze with her own, level stare.
"But I am telling the truth."
She stood, and picked up her schoolbag.
"If you'll excuse me, sir, Professor Flitwick will be expecting me."
Without waiting for permission, and with tremendous dignity she walked out of the Kitchens.
Dumbledore watched her go, frowning deeply, staring at the back of the painting of the bowl of fruit for quite some times, thoughtfully.
He was still there at four o'clock, when he scared the living daylights out of Peter Pettigrew and James Potter, who had snuck in for a post-Transfiguration snack.
He excused himself, their arrival having jolted him out of his thoughts, and left the two boys gazing after him, dumbfounded.
0o0o0o0
"No Alice, this is not up for discussion!"
Jenny, who had taken refuge after Charms in the shadowy nook on the Transfiguration corridor, looked up in surprise. In all the years that she'd known him, she had never heard Frank Longbottom raise his voice.
"And why is that?" a second voice demanded; Jenny immediately recognised its owner as Alice Roberts, Frank's girlfriend, and all-round Very Nice Person. "You know what people are saying!"
"And you know my answer," he said, seriously. "You do believe me, don't you?"
Jenny winced.
There was a pause, and after it Alice's voice was much softer.
"Yes, of course I do, Frank," she said, and Jenny imagined them stepping closer to one another, an acknowledgement of their mutual affection. Her heart ached with jealousy for the same, simple contact. She pushed it away, disgusted with herself.
"But after what she did to Remus –"
"I don't believe she did anything," said Frank, firmly, and Jenny felt a rush of gratitude for her friend – loyal to the end.
He should have been a Hufflepuff, she thought, fondly.
"And that is something else that is not up for discussion," his tone was calmer now, but still not one you'd lightly argue with.
"But Madame Pomfrey –"
"There's a first time for everything," he said. "Everyone makes mistakes and Madame Pomfrey is no exception."
"And if she hasn't made a mistake?"
Jenny could imagine Alice's face; she sighed, sadly. It was very difficult to make Alice dislike anyone, and she had incurred the undying hatred of the nicest girl in school.
"Then Jenny will need a friend more than ever," he said, with obvious resolution. "And that is what I intend to be, with or without your blessing."
Alice sighed, heavily.
"You really believe her, don't you?" she said, and Jenny supposed that Frank had nodded, since Alice continued: "You're too nice, sometimes, Frank. I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree."
"Yes," said Frank, firmly.
"Alright," said Alice. "I won't bring it up again, since we both know our minds."
"Thank you," said Frank, sounding relieved.
Jenny listened to their receding footsteps and stared blankly at the wall of her nook.
Before all this nonsense, she and Alice had got along rather well: to hear her open condemnation and dislike had been very hard indeed.
She brushed away a few, angry tears, trying to crush the wave of guilt that was washing over her. Frank had been so kind, and he and Alice were so good together… she hated to think that she might have jeopardised that.
She scrubbed at her neck, irritably. The skin there was still burning; Jenny lost her temper – with it, with the other students, with the universe.
What the hell is going on? she thought, furiously.
Huffing, she grabbed her satchel and made a beeline for the nearest girls' bathroom.
Dropping her bag by the sink, she loosened her tie and moved the neck of her shirt out of the way.
She caught her breath as her fingers passed over a ridge of minute bumps; they were red and angry looking, as though something was pushing its way up through the skin of her neck.
A bubble of fear blossomed in the pit of her stomach as she traced the line of lumps behind her neck and down her back with her fingers. They ran on her other side, too.
Shaking slightly, she pulled the first few buttons of her shirt open; the lines continued down her chest, along the far side of her breasts and – after further, frenzied investigation – down the sides of her abdomen. Further, even: they grated against the elastic and rough fabric of her skirt.
Trembling, she met her eyes in the mirror; cold, glinting yellow eyes stared back at her from her own face, and she bolted from the room, utterly terrified.