This chapter could have taken a few different directions, but I eventually had to settle for one of them. See if you can spot the leftover plot ideas in the chapter.
"There's something different about today's food," Scott declared, scrutinizing his white pudding. He poked at the meat with a fork, before peering at me. "What spells do you know that check for poison?"
"Who'd want to do that to the food?" I frowned. Scott's hunches usually ended up true, but the notion that someone would tamper with our food seemed absurd. "If you really want to know, though. It'd probably be Lorem Uenenus." He nodded his thanks, and turned back to his plate, forehead scrunched up in concentration.
Scott carefully took out his wand- 10 inches long, hemlock and with Veela hair, and gestured cautiously at his dish. "Lorem Ueneus!" There was a faint white glow from the tip, which fizzled out quickly. A few Slytherins turned to look at the commotion, but quickly returned to their food. Lucian Bole, on the other hand, had set down his fork, quizzically watching us.
Annoyed, I wrangled the wand out of Scott's spindly fingers. "You're doing it wrongly." I jabbed the wand forward sharply. "Lorem Uenenus!" A silver shimmer briefly enveloped Scott's plate, before dying. "Looks like nothing's wrong. I'll get back to eating."
He snatched his wand back, gently tucking it into his robe. "Never hurts to be cautious," he huffed. I returned to my breakfast: a few pieces of toast and a hard-boiled egg. Mid-bite, it occurred to me that Bell had wanted to meet me. Quickly, I gulped down the last few morsels of my breakfast, before leaning back to observe the Gryffindors' table. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff's tables were in my way, however, making it difficult to see if she was there. I bandied about the idea of going over, before deciding that showing my face to the Gryffindors was not a good idea. It would have been worse if I was Flint or Warrington, but they probably thought me to be involved in the fight nonetheless.
I'd probably find her afterwards in that case We would have combined Herbology classes in a few days: she could approach me then if she wanted to. I doubt she really meant to talk, anyway. Watching as my used plates and utensils disappeared, I let my mind wander. There was probably another fifteen minutes till my first class: Transfiguration. I didn't find the subject particularly difficult, so I wasn't too worried about it.
Would Montague, Warrington or Derrick be the next captain of the team? Flint's run was over: even with an extra year in Hogwarts, he couldn't field a winning team. Cassius Warrington was far from exemplary: Snape was sure to notice his fouls during games, and he was ultimately the one who decided who got the position. Graham Montague was Flint's favourite, and I personally liked him too. He used to practice with me, and offered me Quidditch advice. Still, he seemed to have an alarmingly poor academic record, and Snape most likely didn't like him for pulling down Slytherin's average. Then again, the only one Snape seems to like is that damn Malfoy.
That left Peregrine Derrick. He had the brutal efficiency of Warrington combined with the cunning of Montague, but there were rumours his father and Snape loathed each other. That, combined with a Quidditch accident caused by Derrick's enthusiastic use of the bat around Snape made him a poor contender for the position of captain. It was funny to see Snape's hooked nose get bent further, but I doubted Snape saw it that way.
Could it be me? I entertained the fleeting idea that Bole or I could be the next captain, but quickly dismissed it. Snape probably wouldn't have wanted us to be the leader of the team, as much as he disliked his current candidates. Hopefully, the same went for Malfoy.
It was probably time for me to get to class now. No point sticking around, I'm done with my food anyway. Sliding out of my seat, I looked at Scott. Instead of accompanying me as he usually did, however, he waved his hand absentmindedly, gesturing for me to go on. "I'm expecting an owl here from my parents, you go on ahead."
I cast a final glance at Scott, before slowly making my way towards the exit of the Great Hall. Walking past a half-emptied Ravenclaw table and then brushing through a gaggle of chattering first-year Hufflepuffs, I craned my neck as I neared the Gryffindor table. If you wanted to see me today, Bell, now would be a good time to do so, I mused. Some other time then. I left the Great Hall, turning right as usual. The Transfiguration classroom was only three flights of stairs and a few turns away.
"Miles!" Out of the usual commotion, I picked up a girl calling my name. In spite of myself, I felt a grin cross my face as she jogged up to me, a stack of books under one arm.
"You're early, Bell," I started the conversation, watching her face flush as she briskly walked to keep up. She clutched her jaw, irked, before she realized I was jesting. Nevertheless, she rolled her eyes. "Ugh, enough with the jokes. I've got enough of them, sitting beside the Weasley twins today."
"They're really that bad, huh?" I had heard tales of their exploits, but had never been on the receiving ends of one of their pranks: yet. Still, their infamous reputations as tricksters surely had merit. Bell nodded furiously at that statement.
"You don't know how bad it is, Miles." She gave me a wry grin. "Just two weeks ago, they laced my breakfast pumpkin juice with some potion of theirs. My voice was two octaves higher for the rest of the day!"
I let out a throaty chuckle. "At least they sound fun, Bell. The people I hang out with are absolutely useless. Malfoy and Warrington probably have enough space between their ears to store their broomsticks."
"The Weasleys are great friends once you get to know them well. They smuggle in Firewhiskey from Hogsmeade for Common Room parties often: Merlin knows where that comes from." I raised an eyebrow, and Bell continued, "The worst they'll do to a friend would be to shrink your head. What they do to people they don't like, on the other hand, is completely different."
From across the hall, Darius Berrow waved at me. I returned the gesture absentmindedly, imploring Bell to continue.
"Anyway, one year they got in trouble with Filch for something stupid they pulled: when they were let in the supply room to get polish for the trophies, they absolutely wreaked havoc! I heard they nicked Filch's diaries and some other things of his, and turned all the tools into chocolate! Professor McGonagall had to help transfigure the things back."
"They sound like interesting people to know." My voice wasn't half as disinterested as I felt: I was painfully aware of the fact I was making small talk. I never did so: today was the exception. We were almost at my classroom now, and all we had talked about so far were her Quidditch teammates, not even herself.
"Still, Bell, did you actually want to discuss something? Or were you trying to make conversation?" My words came out harsher than I intended them to be, and I inwardly chided myself for not possessing tact. Bell wasn't fazed, though.
"I'm just here to talk, Miles. Isn't that what friends do?" Her tone was one of genuine confusion. She combed a few fingers through her blonde hair as we climbed the third flight of stairs.
Friends? I wasn't expecting that, not at all. Our most meaningful interactions had all occurred within the span of two days: first, she saved me from breaking ten bones, only to steal the Quaffle from me. Following that, I protected her from my own teammates by attacking them from the sidelines. We then went on to testify to McGonagall, before we had the bare minimum of a conversation. A friend should be someone you can come to depend on and confide in, someone who's supportive, not just anyone who waltzes in. It seemed Bell's definition of friendship differed from mine.
"Yeah, Bell... That's what friends do." I blinked. Were we friends, though? I felt my hands quiver badly: Scott would have scolded me if I were here. Bell didn't pick up on this. She seemed lost in thought, her eyes vacant. A faint smile crossed her face. Her eyes snapped back to mine.
"That's good to hear," she chirped. "I'd love to stay and talk, but Professor Lupin wants me to come in earlier for Defence classes now. I enjoyed your company today, Miles." I supposed I did too, in an odd sort of way. It was a refreshing change of topic from listening to monologues, which was often the case with Scott.
"You too, I'll see you around, Bell." Her bemused look never left her face as she hurried down the hallway, disappearing into the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom.
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