A/N: This is my favourite chapter in the whole story. If I had to choose a favourite scene in the story, I'd choose one from this chapter too. I hope y'all enjoy it too, because I sure did when writing it.
Cheers!
Chapter 71: Liquid Laughter
-Tracey-
I punched the wall with the flat of my hand as I reached inside the shower, and felt like I was touched by ice, again. I glared at the floor, where I knew that the Order, beneath, no doubt, were standing in the shower for as long as they wanted, feeling like they were on a beach in Hawaii.
I winced as I stepped inside, and washed myself quickly, trying to think of something else, something good.
The classroom Slytherin girls were staying in was deadly silent when I walked inside, like it usually was. "Warm?" Pansy said from her bad, as I sat down on mine.
"Cold as hell," I said. "Bastards," I muttered, glaring at the floor..
"I think the Order believes we live in the sixteenth century, do they not understand that a girl needs her shower to start her day?" Pansy said.
"Apparently not," I said, rummaging through my trunk for something presentable to wear. "What've you got after Slughorn?"
"Greenhouses," Pansy said.
"Me too," I said, sighing. "Couldn't Voldemort have decided to kill Dumbledore a year earlier, then we could have had the afternoon off, just like everyone else?"
"I blame Potter," Pansy said, sour and stood up to get to the bathroom.
"Hurry!" I shouted after her. "We've only got twenty for breakfast."
-()-
The Order had placed a table next to the entrance of the Great Hall. A man with black eyes and white hair stood behind it, holding a pen he scribbled into his notebook with.
"Group?" he asked as we approached.
"Slytherin girls, one to seven," I said.
The man looked up, watching us with narrowed eyes, as if we were carrying knives and bombs.
"Walk inside," he said. "You've got twenty minutes until the Order's families are coming."
"Then we've got to be gone," I said, smiling sweetly. "Perfect."
I turned around. "Let's go girls," I said.
Apart from Pansy, Millicent and I, there was no girl in Slytherin above the age of fourteen left. Still, there were about twenty of us sitting around the table, eating amid low chatter.
The smaller girl's eyes were darting towards the guard's at the entrance wildly. I smiled at them, trying to make them calmer.
No doubt, the children still remembered the night when the Order took Astoria. I shuddered, so did I, and probably would for the rest of my life.
The bell in the front rang, and the food disappeared from our tables. "Everyone ready?" I said, standing up.
The girls murmured some kind of affirmative, and together, we left the Great Hall, walking towards the fourth floor, where the classes would take place.
"Everyone knows where they're supposed to be?" I said, looking around.
Everyone nodded, and the group split up. I watched them walk away with their shoulders hunched and their eyes glued to the ground.
"You don't have to do that," Pansy said. "You're like a mother."
"Thank you?" I said. "What do you want me to do? The Order won't sacrifice someone to take care of 'only' twenty Slytherins," I said. "And we're not dangerous enough to warrant a guard, like the boys," I said.
Pansy pinched her nose. "I can be dangerous," she said.
"Well, if you want to be, now it's too late to be so," I said.
Pansy frowned as we sat down next to each other. "What? Why?"
I looked at her pointedly. "They couldn't do anything previously, could they? But now, if someone misbehaves, they've got somewhere to send them, don't they?"
"The Camp," Pansy said. "You don't think?"
"Pansy, we're not even allowed to play exploding snap anymore. Do you really think they wouldn't send you there? Your dad has probably fought against half of these people one time or another," I said.
Flitwick appeared at the front, where a provisional black board had been put. The room was filled to the brink, with every single seventh year student inside.
Except for Granger, who had been promoted, to the great excitement of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. There were rumours that she was away from the castle, looking for Potter and fighting Death Eaters.
I could barely hear the short professor as he tried to demonstrate the uses of an advanced gravity accelerative charm. Pansy rubbed her eyes time and again to stop her eyelids from falling shut.
I looked around the room, a few brave people had notebooks out, trying to take notes.
Draco was leaning forwards in his chair, his leg thrumming back and down.
For how much longer would we keep having these lessons? When the school-year ended, would the students be allowed to return home, or would this compulsory protection become a prison?
-()-
We sat on the steps of the staircases, looking glumly at the open doors of the Great Hall. Inside, we could see the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws piling their plates full with chicken, potatoes and gravy, then pouring themselves glasses with butterbeer, with some of it spilling over.
The black-eyed man was watching us like a hawk from his table next to the door, all the girls and boys of Slytherin were sitting on the staircases, stomachs rumbling, waiting for the others to finish their meals.
Since the boys were there, Blaise, Theo, Crabb and Goyle, among them, two Order members were standing close by, their wands in hand. The pair of them were watching us like we were about to storm the castle and kill everyone inside.
"How long will this take?" Pansy complained, as she did every day.
I didn't even respond, we'd already been waiting for thirty minutes, and I knew for a matter of fact that the Order's families were arriving in thirty minutes.
"At this point, I'll have to do my work on an empty stomach," Blasie said. "Surely starving children and then forcing them to work is not something the Order would encourage?" he said loud enough for the guards to hear.
But the pair remained immovable, like guards outside Buckingham Palace.
'Only' a couple of minutes later, the students began piling out of the Great Hall, climbing up the stairs, and we Slytherins were allowed to enter.
The black-eyed man's frown was deeper than ever when he let us through. "Fifteen minutes," he said. "Then–"
"The Order's families are coming," I interrupted. "Great."
He glared at me and made a little note in his book.
The pots and cauldrons of food were almost empty, forcing us to scrape against the very bottom to get a proper meal. I could see the smaller children staring at the Gryffindor table longingly, where house elves were refilling the food in preparation for the Order's families.
I clenched my fists under my table. For the first time, I asked myself whether or not the Order was any different from Voldemort. I stayed within the castle for a reason, so did every Slytherin, but it seemed like that choice went straight over everyone's heads.
-()-
The greenhouses seemed to run forever, greenhouse after greenhouse after greenhouse. The comparatively few houses present last year looked pristine compared to the rest which looked like they were about to fall down any moment.
And I had to go into one of the newest ones, which would be furthest from the school. Me and Pansy let go off a sigh together, and split off, each walking in our direction. Greenhouse number 732, it was the fourth last in the row, to the right. That was where I'd been assigned.
Walking inside, I was overwhelmed by the everpresent, heavy air inside the greenhouse, like the air had stood still inside for a month.
As I had walked a couple of steps inside the dimly lit room, the door opened again, revealing Hannah Abbott to me. She acted like I wasn't there, and leaned against the wall, at least she wasn't the supervisor for the greenhouse.
I walked around the pots and the lanes of dirt, as of then unplanted, for several minutes. With each step, I found my will to burn the whole place down, increasing and increasing, like a cauldron slowly reaching boiling temperature. The door opened again, this time much slower, and Neville stepped inside.
It could be worse.
"Hello," he said, his eyes landing on his friend in Dumbledore's Army. "We've been assigned to grow rasping radishes," he said, his gaze flicking to me for a moment.
I wanted to roll my eyes. Eating rasping radishes was like chewing grass, but it tasted like flour. It was nutritious, though, and more importantly, I surmised, easy and quick to grow.
"Hannah," Neville said. "I was thinking you could supervise the irrigation." He turned to me, looking at my forehead. "Uhh, Davis, could you do the harvesting?"
"Sure. You do both the planting and cropping then?" I surmised.
"Well, I am the supervisor, it's only natural that I do most of the work."
I shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me." I turned around. "If only everyone shared your sentiment," I added, under my breath.
Neville got going immediately with his work not saying much, he moved from one pot to the next with almost dazzling speed, each seed went into the pot, and soon, due to the magically amplified seeds, a green piece started to grow.
Hannah lumped along where he'd been, hovering the watering-tool with her wand.
"Not too much water there, Hannah," Neville said, his back turned to her. "You don't want to kill it."
As it was, the metallic, rasping sound only emerged from about half the pots, making me smirk in Hannah's direction.
"No matter," Neville said. "We'll have plenty of time to perfect this over the next few weeks."
In five minutes, after Neville had cut off the arms which sprouted up and tried to push the radish out of the ground, the radish was ready to be harvested.
With a sigh, I reached inside the pot, searched for the radish's eye, and stuck my finger in it, killing it and making it safe to consume.
I threw the radish in a huge bag, which four adults could have fit inside, and with my hands dirty and radish-eye-goo under my nails, I got on with the next.
Hand in. Poke. Throw. Hand in. Poke. Throw. Hand in. Poke. Throw. Hand in. Poke. . .
-()-
I rinsed my hands again under the cold water, rubbing the soap in until my hands were red.
I inspected my hands again, and wanted to smash the slightly ajar mirror as I still saw traces of red beneath my nails.
Pansy was lying on her beds, her hands sprawled out, eyes closed. "If I ever have to see a carrot again, I'll stab myself in the eye with it."
"At least you didn't have to poke your thumb into an eye a billion times."
Pansy opened an eye. "At least you got to grow something magical."
"Muggle vegetables are easier to grow, rather do that for the next few weeks than fucking radishes."
Pansy sat up. "What? We're going to be doing this for weeks?"
"Neville implied so," I said.
Pansy fell back against the bed. "How am I supposed to enjoy tonight when knowing that I'll hear Lisa fucking Turpin whining that my carrots aren't long enough." She punched her pillow. "I mean, considering who her boyfriend is, why the fuck is she complaining about things that aren't long enough?"
I snorted. "Make sure to tell her that tonight, you might get demoted to growing potatoes."
"Or worse, cattle duty," Pansy said. "Did you see Blaise and Theo?"
"They looked worse than the pigs," I said, shaking my head. "It's such a coincidence that only Slytherin boys were selected for that."
Pansy scoffed, and sat up. "Such a coincidence. I'm going to get ready now, if that is possible."
"Water's still cold," I said. "Have fun."
Pansy ripped her bag open and stalked towards the bathroom, her green dress in hand. I looked around the room, no one inside was going to the party. It was rather sad, I remembered last year, when the party had been full of people.
Instead, I opened my own bag and took my dress out. It was my last year at the school, after all; the Order could take a lot, but they couldn't take that. . . I hoped.
-()-
Blaise was waiting for us outside the door to our room. He was sitting on a bench, his head in his hands.
"You okay?" I said.
He looked up, his eyes blood-shot. "Fuck yeah," he said. "Never enjoyed myself more than when Podmore said that wands weren't allowed because it scared the fucking pigs." Blaise looked ready to rip his hair out.
I patted his shoulder. "You're coming tonight though, right?"
He nodded. "Obviously. I just need someone to fuck. After spending the entire day with pigs, my bar is pretty fucking low."
I rolled my eyes. "You're only going to have to do it for a few weeks," I said, smiling smugly. "It's not that bad."
He swallowed, and stood up like a robot. "My bar is so low I don't have a bar," he said. "This is my last night in this world. After tonight, I'll be stepping into hell, with Podmore as the devil."
In contrast to previous years, the party wasn't in the fourth classroom to the right on the third floor's corridor by the huge statue of a beetle.
No, it was in the Great Hall, something which immediately rang warning bells in my head, me and Pansy exchanged a glance. Would we even get in?
The answer turned out to be yes, since the black-eyed man was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he actually had a life, apart from glaring at us. Huh.
The music was loud and almost shook the floor. By the entrance, two Order members sat, chatting with each other. As we walked inside, they immediately straightened their backs, their eyes sharp as a hawk's.
I looked around, it felt more like a gala than a party. And the people, I saw people I'd never seen before. People who shouldn't be there.
Lavender was there, with both Patil twins, which was fine; but they were standing with Weasley, Neville and even more outrageously, with fucking Granger.
"You know what, I've changed my mind," Blaise said. "I do have a bar."
"This thing was sacred, once," Pansy said. "They've ruined this too, the mudbloods."
"They have," I said. "But you better quit the racism or you'll join Blaise tomorrow."
"Yeah yeah," Pansy said. "Is there even someone remotely interesting here?"
I looked around, searching for someone –anyone– who wasn't part of Dumbledore's fucking Army.
"Conor's here," I said, as I spotted the boy I'd met last year.
"Who the fuck is Conor?" Pansy said.
"Him," I said and nodded towards him. "The one with the pink bowtie."
"He's new, isn't he?" Pansy said.
"He was at the party last year," I said. "He was wearing a pink bow tie then, too."
"Sounds like a dork," Pansy said.
"Name one person here who isn't," I replied. "I'll go talk to him, I haven't got anything else to do really."
"We could leave," Pansy said.
"We could look like dorks," I responded, leaving Pansy and Blaise to speak to the boy by the wall.
Conor saw me approach, and his face lit up in recognition. "Hello there," he said.
"Hi," I said. "What are you doing here? Someone like you shouldn't be wasted hiding at the edge of the room, that bowtie is–"
"Magical," he finished. "Haha."
"Indeed," I said. "What's up?"
Conor shrugged. "Not much, I don't think Lavender will be interested in talking to me."
I looked over at the large circle by the centre of the room, where Dumbledore's Army was chatting and laughing.
"Nor do I," I said. "How'd it go last year?"
"With Lavender? Okay, I think, we– we uhh. . ."
"Kissed?"
Conor blushed. "Yeah, that too, so I'd say it was a success. Until, well, some seventh year Hufflepuff asked her out. . . in front of me." Conor shook his head. "She glanced at me for a second, then told him she'd love to hang out."
"That's rough," I said. "Sorry."
"Don't be," Conor said. "If nothing else, I've learned that the kind of girl who'll kiss me five minutes after I've met her, is not for me."
Conor was giving me a knowing look.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I said. "I do not kiss someone after five minutes, it's gotta be at least ten."
"Impressive," Conor said. "I'm sure you're close to some kind of record there."
I tilted my head and looked at Conor in a new light. "You've changed," I said. "In a good way," I added quickly. "Last year, you– well, you could barely speak to me."
"I know," he said. "But there's no reason for me to be nervous talking to you, is there?"
"Not really," I said. "So you never get nervous when a pretty girl is talking to you anymore?"
He raised her eyebrows. "Of course I do, which bloke doesn't? But–" He smiled at me smugly. "But I'm not talking to a 'pretty' girl, am I?"
My mouth fell open. "Fuck you," I said. "Had you said that last year, there would be rumours that you were an eunuch for the rest of your fucking life."
"Shame it's this year, then." He laughed. "I'm sorry, but you kind of handed the opportunity to me."
"Let me give you another tip about girls," I said.
"Will this one also lead to me getting dumped?"
"Yes," I said. "Doesn't matter. You'll get dumped either way."
"Ouch," he said. "Can we stop insulting each other, just maybe?"
"Maybe," I said sourly. "What do you think of it? The castle, I mean."
"I'm a Hufflepuff so I'm out of the way of it all, the war and all that shit, I mean."
"You should try being a Slytherin," I said. "That's always been quite an experience, but this year is just extreme."
"I've noticed," he said. "I'm not the only one either. People speak, and the command will have to do something soon. Otherwise there'll be problems inside the castle, too."
"There's problem outside?" I said. "In the camp?"
Conor nodded. "My parents and younger sister are in there." He swallowed, looking at his feet. "Riots broke out today when they handed out food. Apparently, the carrots ran out before even half got their portion, same with the potatoes and the bread. The rest were forced to eat rasping radishes, if they got anything at all; and if you've ever eaten rasping radishes, you know they–"
"Taste like an old fucking rug, yeah," I finished. "I had no idea the Camp was like that."
"I guess the Order doesn't want everyone to know, but they've doubled the guard down there, I think."
"Will it help?"
"There's thousands of people in that camp," he said. Conor was watching the group of Dumbledore's Army members in the middle of the room with a frown.
"Why do you guys look like you've seen a ghost?" Blaise said, as he walked up beside me.
"Because we smelled you," I said. "It's hard to miss the fact you worked with pigs all day."
"Haha," Blaise said. "Better get used to it, as you said."
"Maybe not," Conor said. "I'd prefer it if I didn't have to spend any more afternoons supplying Water Snouts with water."
"You're working too?" Blaise said. "You're not seventeen, right?"
"Nah," Conor said. "Sixteen."
"So they're forcing the younger years to work too, now," I said. "Sounds reasonable."
Conor shrugged. "I don't mind, I just imagine that my younger sister gets the food I'm making, or my parents."
"Still, we're like slaves," Blaise said. "I would never set foot in a pigsty if I didn't think I'd get kicked out otherwise."
"Well, your mother has assassinated more people than I can count," I said. "Perhaps some vigilance is warranted."
"So you condone slavery?" Blaise said.
"No!" I said. "I fucking hate it too, but what am I supposed to do? I'm a Slytherin in here and a half-blood outside, it's like playing a game of quidditch and being the referee."
"You make the rules?" Blaise said, his brow arched.
"Everyone wants to fucking kill me," I said.
"Just wait. Just wait," Conor said. "The Order is slipping, they're losing control. Things will change sooner rather than later. Until then, just do your work, and enjoy your free time. I've never had a better shower than today, after having stood and worked all day."
"Our water is cold," I said. "The showers. . . They're difficult to enjoy."
"You guys have water?" Blaise said. "Me and Theo were forced to clean ourselves with fucking 'augamenti'!"
I snorted. "Did you clean each other?" I said.
Blaise shook his head. "I think I'll leave now, but the answer is no, okay?" As promised, Blaise left the two of us, drifting away until he found his next target.
"They've got it rough," Conor said. "The Slytherin boys."
"They do," I said. "I think we girls have got it pretty rough, but I can't even imagine how it feels to walk around with someone watching your every moment."
"I think the guards creep everyone out," Conor said. "My friend, Isaac, swore that he saw one of them sharpening a knife the other day."
"That wouldn't surprise me at all," I said.
"Isaac also claims that he's been inside the Chamber of Secrets," Conor said. "So take that with just a little pinch of salt."
I shrugged. "I mean, Potter has been inside, right? So why wouldn't he be able to?"
"He's an idiot," Conor said. "That's why." He sighed. "I'd like Potter to come back, somehow, I don't think he would have approved of how the castle was run."
"Nor do I," I said. "He was nice to Slytherins, kind of, eventually," I said. "Even if we weren't especially nice back."
Memories trickled to the forefront of my mind, memories I didn't want to have.
I was walking towards Daphne's secret hideout, and opened the door with a bang. Inside were Potter and Daphne, looking like they'd been caught in the middle of intercourse.
They'd seemed so friendly back then, even if half of it had been insults.
I refused to believe that the Daphne inside the room with Potter would have killed Dumbledore and would have killed Potter too, if Draco didn't intervene.
Nor could I possibly believe the Potter I met in classes everyday could snap like a twig, and commit mass murder.
I'd never seen the bodies, but the grass was scorched where the slaughter had taken place; the Order had opted for burning all the gore away.
"I can't fault him if he doesn't come back," Conor continued. "But I do hope he does, because without him, we'll lose, no matter which side wins."
"We might lose, even if he wins," I pointed out.
"We –the normal people– will lose, no matter what happens," Conor said. "It's just a question of what we will lose."
"I think I'll become depressed if we keep talking about this," I said. "Do you mind if I leave you and talk to some other people?"
"Not at all," Conor said. "Have fun, Tracey, you'll need it."
"You too," I said, turning around to survey the Great Hall.
Pansy was talking with a pair of younger Ravenclaw girls, who looked like they thought Pansy would jump them and shove a knife in their gut.
Blaise was gone. I hoped, for his sake, that it was a good sign.
With not much else to do, I aimed for the table filled with drinks. Unfortunately for me, Granger decided to do the same thing.
"Davis," she said and tilted her head.
"Granger," I responded, gritting my teeth.
"How did you find work today?" she said, sipping from her drink with a content smile.
"Splendid," I said. "You?"
Granger snorted. "I don't have time for that," she said. "Voldemort is pounding on the door."
"And you're the only thing keeping him at bay," I said dryly. "I'm sure he is shaking with fear when thinking of you."
"No," she said. "But the thought of us –the castle– united, should make him."
I raised my eyebrows. "What are you going to do next to ensure a united castle? Prohibit the Slytherins from using toothbrushes?"
Granger refilled her glass. "There's a war, Davis. All of us have made sacrifices, I'm sorry if you have to do that too. I'm sure wearing clothes that are worth more than what most of our teachers make in a year is such a struggle for you."
"At least we don't force the teachers to work," I said.
"As I said, it's war," Granger said. "Some of us have sacrificed real things, Davis, don't complain just because your nails aren't shining like diamonds."
She walked away, leaving me staring at her back, thinking about throwing the drink at it.
"Great way to get kicked out," I whispered to myself, putting the cup down on the table.
"Hello Davis," came a voice from behind me. "You did well today."
Neville was inspecting a bottle with a frown, reading the table of contents.
"Thank you," I said. "I think it's 14 percent," I added.
He put the bottle down. "What?"
"The bottle, I think it's 14 percent alcohol."
"Oh," he said, blinking. "Is that a lot?" he said.
"Have you ever had a drink before?" I said.
He blushed, and looked at his feet. "No," he said.
"Then yes," I said. "It'll probably feel like you've been run over by a truck tomorrow if you drink that."
He took a step away from the bottle. "Okay," he said. "That's not good."
"Agreed," I said. "If you disappear, our greenhouse's efficiency will decrease by 90 percent."
Neville smiled. "No," he said. "You and Hannah could easily do what I'm doing, but you're right, I can't miss tomorrow."
"Sure," I said, taking the bottle Neville inspected and filling my glass.
Neville was looking at me, frowning. I began drinking. "You should angle your thumbs," he said. I finished drinking.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I said as I put my drink down, looking at him, bewildered.
Neville blushed again. "When you pop the eyes," he said. "Don't poke your thumb straight into the eye, you should have it at an angle."
"Alright," I said, blinking at the abrupt change of topic. "Why?"
Neville put his glass down. "Because it'll preserve the juice better," he said. "Much of the juice is lost if done your way. I mean, I don't mean that you do it badly, you did it very–"
"I get it," I interrupted.
"Okay," he said, lost. "Just, you should angle your thumbs, it keeps the juice in the eye and it doesn't make you as dirty."
"Huh," I said. "I'll try that tomorrow, I guess. We wouldn't want to produce substandard radishes."
Neville chuckled nervously, as though he wasn't sure if I was joking. "See you around," he said.
"See you," I said, sipping off my drink.
-()-
"Hannah!" Neville exclaimed. "Be careful, that one is dead too, now."
Hannah sighed and folded her arms over her chest.
"It's fine," Neville said. "Just add a little less water next time," he said, smiling at her supportively.
Hannah picked up the watering tool again, and went onto the next.
Neville glanced at me, and I went back to my work.
I stuck my hand in the dirt, found the eye, and poked it, feeling the thing burst with juice.
Neville gave me a pointed look from across the room.
How the fuck did he even know? My hand was in the fucking dirt.
I threw the radish in the bag, which was filled about halfway up, and moved on to the next one.
This time, when I stuck my hand in and found the eye, I angled my thumb, like he'd described.
Poke.
The sensation was far softer, and when I threw the radish into the bag, I noticed there was no more red on my hand.
Huh.
"Well done," Neville said, somehow having magically appeared next to me. "You've got it."
"Thanks," I said, moving on to the next.
"Hannah!" Neville shouted.
She stopped watering, and moved on to the next, muttering under her breath.
"Efficient worker," I muttered. "Truly inspiring."
Neville frowned, but didn't say anything.
-()-
I inspected my nails closely. They were white and shiny and smooth.
Not a trace of red, I noted with a smile.
Pansy was laying on the bed, her hands orange. "I will never eat a carrot again in my life," she said. "When all this is over, I'll move somewhere carrots don't exist."
"Be careful," I said. "Or you won't have anything left to eat after all of this is over."
Pansy groaned. "How long until dinner?"
"Twenty minutes," I said. "You better hurry, or you'll eat with orange hands."
-()-
I pulled my coat closer and shuddered. The rain was smashing against the windows of the greenhouses, making them shudder too. Suddenly, the long walk wasn't a respite from work, but a great nuisance.
I opened the door and hurried inside, letting out a sigh of relief as the warmth embraced me. "Hi," Neville said. "Nice weather, huh?"
I hung my coat on a hanger, letting the water drip off slowly. I closed my eyes and listened to the relentless smattering against the roof.
"Hannah's been reassigned," Neville said. "She won't be joining us today, or any other day."
"Do we get a replacement?" I said, moving to the first pot, ready for harvest.
"I told them that I would manage her work," Neville said. "It might go a little slower–"
"Probably not," I interrupted. "And the quality will probably be better too."
"Hannah did fine," Neville said.
I smiled at him and raised my eyebrows. "So why isn't she here then? Only you and I knew how well, or rather: how badly, she worked. I sure didn't tell anyone. So it must have been you who asked to have her reassigned."
Neville muttered something under his breath and cropped off the next arm. "I just thought her talents could be utilised better somewhere else," he said.
I shrugged and got to work. Arguing with Gryffindors was like trying to win a quiz against Ravenclaws.
Hand in. Poke at angle. Throw. Hand in. Poke at angle. Throw. Hand in. Poke at angle. Throw.
"So," Neville said. "How are you?"
I didn't glance up from my pot. "Splendid," I said. "I've always dreamt of harvesting radishes in my freetime."
There was a brief moment of silence. "I'm sorry," Neville said. "You don't deserve this."
I snorted. "I probably do, I mean, I've gone to a hairdresser costing fifty galleons once a month throughout my entire childhood."
"That doesn't mean anything," Neville said. "Just that you had rich parents."
"Parent," I corrected. "And no, it does mean something, because clearly, it has made most of the castle wanting me to suffer."
"The Slytherins eat at different times for a reason," Neville said. "It's not because everybody hates you."
"Really?" I said, ripping the radish out, making dirt fly. "Is it because we're dangerous? Is it because of Greengrass?"
"Well– yes," Neville said. "But don't you think it's valid? I mean, she killed Dumbledore and would have killed Harry too, if Malfoy hadn't stopped her."
I raised my eyebrows. "So one Slytherin murdered and one saved from murder, that's an even scoreline. Why does everyone treat us like we've got a huge lead?"
Neville disappeared from view behind a huge plant. "Because you kind of do," he said. "Your friend, Parkinson, has a father who murdered Mr. Geralt's wife, just to mention one."
"Who the fuck is Mr. Geralt?" I said. "And why is Parkinsons judged based on her father's actions?"
"Mr. Geralt is the man outside the Great Hall, who supervises the meal times, and for your second question: I don't have an answer, but Dolohov's daughter became part of the Death Eaters, it's not unreasonable that Parkinson becomes so too."
"And why do you think that is?" I said. "It couldn't be because you're treating us Slytherins like slaves?"
"You're not slaves," Neville whispered. "No one is forced to work."
"Really?" I said. "But what happens if we don't? Will we get kidnapped, like Astoria? Will we get thrown out?"
Neville paused his work and looked at me. "I don't know," he said. "And I'm ashamed to say this, but I don't think you want to find out."
-()-
We were sitting outside the Great Hall again, waiting for the other houses to finish their meal. The black-eyed man –Mr. Geralt– was looking at us with narrowed eyes, his pen secured in his hand.
I heard the doors to the entrance of the castle open, allowing a pair of figures to go inside. One of them went straight into the Great Hall, the other, walked up to us.
"You waited long?" Draco said, sitting down next to Blaise.
Blasie roused from his sulking next to him. "Only five hours," he said sourly. "I'm surprised they're letting us eat at all."
"I'm famished," Draco said, looking at the ceiling far above. "I've been up since three."
Me and Pansy exchanged a glance. "Why the fuck do you even bother?" I said. "You don't even get to eat proper food!"
"It's the right thing," Draco said. "I know the Order isn't the best, but it is infinitely better than him."
"We know, we agree, kind of," I said. "But let's be honest here, the three of you" –I gestured to Blaise, Pansy and him— "would be far better off with Voldemort in control."
"Perhaps," Draco said. "But that's beside the point. I don't get up in bed at three o'clock to stand on top of a wall, freezing, because Ithink it's fun."
"I don't get how you bother," Blaise said. "I have to work with pigs, and that's fucking something, but at least I don't have to sleep a maximum of four hours in a day."
"I think of you," Draco said. "Everyone in here. I remember how we used to be when we were eleven, twelve, thirteen. I would have been terrified if all this happened back then. So if I can make just one of those people sleep at night, that's worth it, right?"
"How sweet," Blaise said. "What's next? You'll defeat Voldemort with the power of friendship and love?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "That's up to Potter," he said.
"If he returns," Pansy said. "He seems to have thrown the towel in."
"He'll return," Draco said, sounding so terribly sure about it, like it was a fact, inevitable. "He's just got some business to conclude."
"In America, yeah," I finished. "And if the rumours are to be believed, it's about that old friend of his."
"Alice," Draco said. "I don't know for sure, but I think it could be."
The students inside the Great Hall began piling out, and climbing the stairs if you were fifteen and below, but walking outside the castle, towards the greenhouses, if you were sixteen or seventeen.
I met Neville's eyes in the commotion, he was frowning at us Slytherins, sitting in the staircase like stray beggars.
"Let's fucking eat," Blaise said clapping his hands together like he was at a sports game.
"Have you ever wondered if you've eaten one of those pigs you're taking care of every day?" I asked Blaise as he was piling his plate with some rare bacon.
He froze, looked up from his plate. "What the fuck?" he said. "Why did you have to give me that idea?"
-()-
"How was lunch?" Neville asked as I stepped inside the greenhouse.
"Better than usual," I said. "We actually got gravy for the meal today, it was like eating at a fancy restaurant."
Neville hummed. "Did you see the radishes?"
"Yup," I said, and poked the first radish in the eye. "And I stayed damn clear of them."
"Don't you think it's nice eating things you've grown yourself?"
"There's five other greenhouses growing radishes, statistically, the chance is very low that I eat one of mine."
"It's twenty percent," Neville said, apparently a genius in maths. "But does it matter? You could imagine that it is one of those you threw in the sack yourself."
"I could, but I won't," I said. "I spend enough time around radishes as it is, I can make do without eating them too."
"Fair enough," he said.
We got on with our work in silence.
Hand in. Poke at angle. Throw. Hand in. Poke at angle. Throw. Hand in. Poke at angle. Throw.
I moved on to the next pot, but noticed that it hadn't been watered yet. I scanned the greenhouse, and saw no radish ready to be plucked. Neville was holding the watering-toll in one hand, at the same time he tried to cut off an arm with the other.
"Sorry," he said when he arrived at mine and added water. "You've become much better at this."
"Thanks," I said, beginning my work again.
Every now and then, I glanced up, looking Neville sprinting around the room like a lunatic, cutting arms off, watering, then, as soon as he came to an empty pot, stuffing a new seed inside with the required care.
"Neville," I said, when he nearly tripped on his own legs. "For the love of god, would you just ask me to do something more?"
Neville planted a seed, not looking up. "I'm the supervisor here," he said. "It's not your responsibility to keep things running."
"You're being stereotypically Gryffindor," I said. "Stop it."
"Thank you," he said. "That's a good thing."
I rolled my eyes, but decided for another approach. "You're limiting our output," I said. "You're making us produce less. Do you want that?"
He stopped his work and glanced at the sack with radishes. "We've usually harvested more by now," he observed.
"Exactly," I said. "And since cropping and watering are the two most time consuming steps, and you're doing both, as well as the planting of the seeds, we're being slowed down."
"I can work faster," Neville said.
"Or we can do two steps each," I proposed. "I can harvest the plant and plant the new seed, okay?"
"The two easiest steps," he observed.
I shrugged. "Well, I'm trying to be nice, but I'm not trying to be that nice."
-()-
"Why are you smiling?"
Pansy was watching me across the table with narrowed eyes, as if I was planning to stab her in the back.
I quickly schooled my expression and ate another piece of bacon for lunch.
Pansy bit into her bacon with fervour when I didn't answer. "I don't get it," she said. "What do you have to be happy about? Chewing this bacon is like chewing fucking toilet paper."
"How do you know what chewing toilet paper feels like?" Blaise asked.
Pansy glared at him. "Don't you think she's weird?" she said, gesturing to me.
Blaise watched me for a moment. "No more than usual."
I rolled my eyes, and yet, Pansy was right. I didn't quite know why, but I found myself smiling throughout the entire day, when waking up, walking to breakfast and sitting in the daily class. It was as if I was affecetd by some kind of disease; a wonderful disease I never wanted to be cured from.
The lunch finished and I went with quick, light steps towards the greenhouse. The sky was grey and bleak, darker than ever, but the plants inside the greenhouse was greener than ever, and the radishes looked lovingly red.
"Hi Neville!" I greeted him with a smile as he entered.
"Hello Tracey," he said quietly. "Everything alright?"
"Yup," I said, knowing I was telling the truth but not knowing why. "It may sound weird to you, but I'm almost looking forward to harvesting some rasping radishes."
Neville watered one of the seeds I'd planted with a frown. "Are you an impostor?" he said, glancing at me.
"What would you do if I said 'yes'?"
Neville moved on to the next few pots, watering all of them rapidly. "Not much," he said. "You're much better than the real Tracey Davis at working."
I pouted. "Hey! I'm trying my best."
"I know," he said. "If only Tracey could do so too."
"Challenge accepted," I said. "If there are any seeds left without water by the end of the day, I win."
"Sure," he said. "And if I manage to water all of them, I do?"
"Deal," I said. "The loser must give the other something. . . something of value."
Neville stopped working for a second and watched me, brows furrowed. "Oh," he said.
"Oh indeed," I said. "Now, get watering, or rather, don't."
-()-
The clock had struck seven o'clock, and out shift was over.
There was one row with eight pots without water.
I licked my lips. "You let me win, didn't you?"
Neville put the watering can down, his back was turned to me. "Never," he said.
I shook my head. "You're still being stereotypically Gryffindor."
"Thank you," he said. I could see his shoulders tense up. "Now. . . What do I owe you?"
I walked up to him smiling. "Hmm. . ." I said, stroking my chin. "A bottle of firewhisky. . . and a bag of chocolate frogs."
He blinked, his mouth was open for a second. "Oh," he said.
I raised my eyebrows. "Did you expect something else?"
He blushed and looked at his feet. "No," he said. "Of course not I'm just. . . I don't know, but I think I may be able to perhaps, possibly get you that bottle."
"Good," I said. I tilted my head and watched him. "What did you think I would ask you for?"
His cheeks grew pink again and he averted his gaze. "I don't know," he said.
"Really?" I raised my eyebrows. "Please be stereotypically Gryffindor and summon the courage to tell me."
He chuckled. "Well," he said. "You have a reputation. . . I've heard about you doing similar things with boys before."
I laughed. "Really? And what have you heard?"
He scratched his neck. "Umm."
I gave him a pointed look.
"Well. . . there is usually some" -he cleared his throat- "kissing involved."
I licked my lips and took a step closer, so that were a metre apart. "Aha," I said. "And is that what you thought I would ask for, or what you wanted me to ask for?"
Neville blushed again, making me smile. "I- uhh-"
I gave him another pointed look.
I could see him understand what I was trying to tell him.
Be a stereotypicall Gryffidnor.
"I- I maybe wouldn't mind," he whispered.
I took another step closer to him. "Good," I said. "Neither would I."
-()-
Dinner had just finished, the castle was dark, with only the vague torches illuminating the walls. Like a shepherd, I was leading the younger girls towards our room, for sleep.
I waited for all of them to enter, made sure everyone was accounted for, with my head foggy from exhaustion.
"Tracey!"
I froze in my movement to close the door.
Conor appeared at the end of the corridor. "Tracey!" he whispered again.
I closed the door and stalked over to him, albeit quietly. "What!?" I hissed. "Curfew starts soon."
"I know," Conor said. "But I'm going to go somewhere, and I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me."
"Go where?" I said, already knowing the answer.
"The Camp," Conor said. "I'm going to see my parents."
"Is that allowed?"
"Why do you think I'm asking you this now?"
I glanced at the closed door to my room. "I shouldn't," I said. "But I'm curious."
"I thought so," Conor said. "I've managed to convince one of the guards to let me in to see my parents."
"Who? And will he let you back in the castle afterwards?" I said.
"It's Joshua Montague," Conor said. "We were in a chess club together at school. I wouldn't say that I trust him, but I know him."
"Well, I know him," I said. "Did you know that Montague is known in Slytherin for cheating at chess?"
"He never cheated when we played."
"Sounds like he did a good job, then," I said. "Are you sure about this?"
"I want to see my parents," Conor said. "You don't have to come, obviously."
I sighed. "Why am I behaving like a fucking Gryffindor?"
"Good," Conor said, seemingly taking that for an answer. "Let's get going."
Curfew wasn't in effect just yet, and as such, there weren't any guards patrolling the corridors.
"I've prepared a distraction," Conor said. "It should allow us to slip out unseen."
I arched my brow. "What kind of distraction?"
The door to the Great Hall slammed open, revealing a boy just younger than me, clad entirely in pink.
"Is that–"
The boy began singing something, loudly, in a language I didn't understand.
Conor grabbed my hand and tugged me along. The guards along the entrance approached the boy, who showed no sign of stopping his fervid singing.
We managed to slip out of the doors, and closed them behind us, muting the singing.
"Well done Isaac," Conor muttered.
"That's you friend?" I said. "Huh. What was he singing?"
"The Norwegian national anthem," he said.
"Why?" I said. "You could have chosen any national anthem –or any song at all, for that matter– why the Norwegian?"
He glanced at me. "Why is this so important to you?"
"Just answer the goddamn question."
"It's an inside joke," he said, scratching his neck.
"Do I want to know?"
He chuckled. "No, you do not. All I'll say is that Norwegian girls are much prettier than British."
"Thank you," I said. "You're so sweet."
"I meant what I said at the party," he responded.
"So did I," I said. "Fuck you."
We continued our trek in silence, our ears perched for any signs of guards or movement, but none came, and slowly but surely, the blend of orange lights in the distance distinguished themselves as a bunch of torches.
"We're here," Conor said. "I can't believe it."
"How long's it been since you saw them?" I wondered.
"In person? Months, but we've exchanged a couple of letters, and some of the guards are willing to help."
"Glad to see not all of them are inhuman," I muttered.
"All the guards are following orders," Conor said. "Technically, the guards helping us are the bad guards."
"Not in my book."
"But in the Order's book," Conor said. "And that book is written in a language I don't think you understand."
There was a fence around the entire camp, with one of the sides even stronger, with an all out wall.
"Montague!" Conor whispered. "You there?"
There was no reply, but in the fence, a hole appeared out of nowhere. Conor dived inside without hesitation, and I climbed inside afterwards, hearing the hole close up after we left.
My feet splashed against the ground; there was no trace of grass left, only mud, which my feet sank into.
The Camp
I was there, finally.
Tents stood in rows in front of me as far as I could see, each tent was closed, but inside some of them, I could see silhouettes moving.
"My parents are on the other side of the camp," Conor said. "Is there anyone you want to visit?"
"My father is a muggle and my mother is in Greece, so no," I said.
Conor nodded. "I won't be long, you can wait outside."
It felt like walking through inside a mirror. Everything just repeated itself, time and time again. None of the tents stood out.
"This is where they serve the food," Conor said, pointing at a stand in what appeared in the middle. There was a small hut behind it, which was protected with wire and magic.
I felt myself growing green. Mere days earlier, if not earlier that day too, this place was packed with people, each of them pushing ahead to get to that stand first.
"This isn't safety," I said. "They would have been safer staying home."
"No," Conor said. "They came here for a reason. I don't think anyone who hasn't been forced to flee their home can understand that. . . not even I do, and my own family have been forced to."
I could see the stand in front of me, but also, I could see baskets upon baskets full of radishes, potatoes and carrots.
Hand in. Poke at angle. Throw.
Each sequence meant food for one person.
"Hurry!" Conor said. "We've lingered too long already."
I looked at every tent as we crossed the camp. With each silhouette, I couldn't help but ask myself: had they eaten a radish of mine? Had they chewed one of Pansy's carrots? Had they delighted in some of Blaise's pork?
Conor dived into a tent suddenly, leaving me hiding behind it. I didn't want to intrude.
Was it worth it?
It felt like there was a ringing in my ears; every day, we feast like kings in the castle, while these people were here.
Each day, I rinsed my face with clean water, and showered, while these people were here.
"The fucking Order," I whispered. "The fucking Order."
How could the supposed champions of the light allow this to happen?
"Tracey!"
Conor was standing in the entrance.
"Come in for a moment."
I was inside the tent before I had time to think about it.
It was, of course, larger on the inside than the outside, but the furniture looked cheap. The beds, three of them, were aligned against the wall, looking like they would fall apart at any moment.
"They wanted to ask you something," he said.
Conor's family stood by a small couch; a patched and dusty couch. His sister hid behind her parents' legs, looking at me with wide eyes.
All of them were looking at me with a mixture of fear and wonder, like I was an alien.
"I told them you know Potter," Conor said, running a hand through his hair.
I gave him a questioning look.
"Will he come back?" Conor's mother said. "Will he return?" Her lip trembled slightly, her hand was intertwined with her husband's, like in a prayer.
"Yes," I said immediately, before my mind registered what was said. I felt like Draco, when he sat on the stairs. "He'll be back," I whispered. "Potter will be back. I know it."
And in that tent, I believed it; like it was a fact, inevitable.
Conor's mother and father exchanged a look, and in their eyes I saw something, a feeling I would never see one name bring forth like that again: hope.
"Then it is true," Conor's father said. "It's not lost yet. Dumbledore's will lives on."
I felt my hairs stand on end, but I didn't feel cold.
"We'll endure," the father said. "Everyone in this camp will, as long as he will return. Then, we will be ready, everyone will."
I stammered for a reply, but Conor dragged me out, after hugging his family like it was the last time he'd see them.
On the way back, every torch seemed to shine differently, the shadows not as terrifying.
"Montague!" Conor whispered, when we reached the fence again.
There was silence for a moment, then the same hole appeared, and dived through. The sky was black as ink, but I could imagine the stars hiding behind the dark clouds in the sky.
Once outside, Conor grabbed hold of my shoulders, clutching me like his life depended on it..
"Do you see"?" he said. "We need Potter! Dumbledore chose him and everyone knows it! It doesn't matter if he was the chosen one or not, because we made him the chosen one. Inside each and every one of those tents, people are sitting at night, praying that the day after will be the day Potter arrives. He is the one thing keeping the Camp from breaking into anarchy. Without him, without the hope of him, this would all be over already!"
Conor was breathing heavily.
"Potter isn't a saint," I said. "You know what he did to those Death Eaters."
"I know, and everyone else knows it too; but everyone else also knows that he is the one supposed to lead the Order, he is the one supposed to oppose Voldemort, he is the saviour!"
I swallowed. "No man can do all of that, not even Potter."
"He has to," Conor said. "My family, they believe in him, everyone in there believes in him."
"But how?" I said. "He's as bad as the Death Eaters."
Conor snorted. "No," Conor said. "Don't you ever say that again." He swallowed, his eyes were dancing in the moonlight. "He is the one who won the triwizard tournament, despite everything going against him. He is the one who sacrificed his own chance for glory to save his friends from Umbridge. He is the one who saw his lover turn her wand on his mentor and himself." Conor smiled. "Everyone has heard the stories, and countless others! The Chamber of Secrets! The fight at the ministry! The Battle of Gringotts!" He looked at me in desperation. "I swear to you, every child in that camp is raised on his stories, on his adventures, his heroics. Each time, before bed, every parent tells their child that Harry Potter will return and save them, and how could they not believe them!? He's Harry Potter! He's the one who always saves the day, of course he will do that here too."
"He's human, Conor," he said. "He lost control when Daphne betrayed him. He's not all you say he is."
"You're wrong," Conor said. "He's become so much more than human, even if he doesn't even know it himself. He's a symbol. Every person who wants Voldemort gone whispers his name, awaiting his return."
"Let's hope he will return, then," I said.
"He will," Conor said. "I'm sure of it. Potter is greater than us, Tracey! He's greater than everyone in the camp and everyone in the castle! Not because he can destroy mountains or summon demons, but because people believe in him! Belief, Tracey! Belief! Having one person believe in you, put their faith in you, is incredible." He gestured to the camp behind him. "But to have thousands. . ."
He swayed on the spot, his knees going weak.
I felt goosebumps along my spine.
No matter what went on inside the castle, I too, couldn't help but pray, cross my fingers, and beg for Potter's return.
Did he even know what he was? Did he even know what he inspired?
If he didn't, I hoped that he would. Daphne may have betrayed him and Dumbledore may have died, but they weren't the important ones here.
He was.
Not because of his incredible strength of knowledge of magic, but because of belief; because of what he inspired.
-()-
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was almost time to get up, I hadn't closed my eyes once, but I didn't feel tired.
I was filled with this inexhaustible vigour for life. This unexplainable force that nothing, absolutely nothing would be able to erase. It felt like I could run around the entire earth, fly to the sun and climb to the top of Mount Everest.
Belief.
When Potter returned, I knew he would win. I believed it with every fibre of my being, I felt as assured about it as I was about the fact that the sun was warm.
Belief.