Author's Note:
Alright. My head is still sort of a mess, even if I'm good enough at passing for normal/functional these days. Thanks for all the kind words and comments, even if I haven't gotten around to replying to them yet! In my case, to create any type of work usually requires inspiration and effort/stubbornness. So, if I don't drive myself to write, I'd soon fall out of the habit of doing so. Of course, the balance is ensuring that I don't actually burn myself out, but I'm better at pacing myself these days (I'd like to think so, anyway).
I feel like I'm still searching for pizzazz with this chapter too, and it doesn't quite sit well with me, but the last time I said I was uninspired and can only write this, my sister sent pictures/gifs of her throwing vegetables in my direction on chat. So...it's not as bad as I feared, I guess? Without further ado, here's Chapter 67:
'-
67 Life on Mars II
(See previous chapter's summary for summary)
'-
"So, I think I've got the general outline of the field," Julia said this as she'd finished sketching out a rough map on dirt with a throwaway stick.
Paul hummed in agreement.
"Well, they're forgoing forests completely and went mostly with plains instead. Now, what do you think they're trying to achieve here?" Hermione said.
"You already know, don't you, Hermione?" Patil asked back, his tone amused and his smile lopsided. A curl of hair fell in front of his forehead in a way that drew the eye.
She shook her head. "I wouldn't put it that way. I have a hypothesis, but there are no guarantees that my hypothesis would be the most accurate one."
"They're not trying to obstruct us, that's for sure," Mordred muttered, looking out towards the mostly-open fields instead of at his friends. His unhappy expression matched his black-on-black outfit well. "They're not trying to place hidden holes as traps either—the ditches are all out in the open."
"We did consider that random holes wouldn't be much of an obstruction if you have a teammate that can cast the Seize and Pull charm. It's not a surprise that they would understand that too." Ceres replied.
"Rather than waste time hiding that, they decided to put more effort into more digging. Which leaves us with these ditches. Hip-hip-hooray." Casimir's words ended with a deflated sigh.
"Outright obstacles. They're out there in the open, but unavoidable," Paul finished. "But look on the bright side! The odds are low that there are any hidden traps on the ground—"
"—just everywhere else!" Julia complained.
"Hey, it's probably just the trees….and the rocks." A pause. "And maybe someone might even have the bright idea of hiding in one of those ditches, but that's not much, right? It wouldn't be a challenge without all that." The Prewett twin said all this with a relentlessly upbeat tone.
"Merlin forbid that it would be too easy," Mordred's reply was sarcastic.
Paul patted his shoulder with pride. "Exactly! See, he gets it!"
Casimir groaned at that as he rubbed his face with both hands, the Hufflepuff muttering something about crazy Gryffindors.
"So, ground is mostly ditches, and whatever they might fill the farther ones with, but you don't think that most of the hidden traps would be there?" Ceres summarised before the topic could bounce around again.
The redhead nodded to her. "That's my take on it, anyway."
"Anyone else?" Ceres asked.
"We should just burn the trees down." Mordred commented again. "That would remove around 80% of the hiding areas, I'm sure. And they wouldn't be attacking us if they're busier trying to not be on fire, or putting out fires."
"Hear, hear," Patil chimed in.
Hermione cleared her throat. "There would be no plans for burning the landscape."
"Ah, so we just have to make sure that it's unplanned burning, yes?" Paul asked with gleaming blue eyes.
"Let's just say that whoever starts it is going to have to explain the burnt walls and perhaps burnt hidden paintings and whatnot that's still on the walls to the Hogwarts' Caretaker, hmm?" Hermione's tone was saccharine as she said this, her sharp gaze less so. Suffice to say, any earlier display of bravado was nowhere to be seen after she'd finished. "Fire is not an easily-controlled element, people. It's better if we don't even start in the first place."
"I agree," Casimir spoke up, voice slightly muffled by his Hufflepuff scarf.
Well, nobody outright opposed her statement, so Hermione counted that as a win.
"Hermione, what's your take on the field's layout?" Ceres asked next when it seemed that nobody else was going to speak up.
"They opened up the field to give a clear line of sight to attack; the easier it would be for them to ambush us and attack us from various points, or to just trigger who-knows-what trap. It would be a lot of trouble for us if we have to traverse the ditches while at the same time keeping watch for possible attacks."
"No shit," Patil murmured, and Julia gave his forearm a tap of warning. "Sorry."
"Its's just too bad that there isn't a simple invisibility spell," Ceres mused.
"And even a simple invisibility potion takes a hell of a time to brew, and even then, it's not exactly complete invisibility," Mordred sighed as he said this.
Hermione's expression brightened. "Ah, that reminds me! This could work. We don't really need outright invisibility as long as they don't have any better visibility either. Let me explain—could you find pebbles around here? If each of us have at least a handful, I think I can start."
'-
It took some repetitive work among all of them, though any grumbling was mostly good-natured as no one would argue that it was safer to prepare a lot now than to march carelessly forward without preparation. The transfiguration was the first step—and that mostly fell to Hermione as the best and fastest transfigurator of them all. After that, they moved to the Smokescreen Spell. Everyone already knew that and it didn't really matter how fast or slow they could do it, since they weren't in an emergency here. What most didn't know would be the Sucking Charm.
"The Latin incantation is easy, Sugo, with the name of the object that you're trying to suck appended to the word as a modifier. In this case it would be the smoke, which would be fumus." Hermione explained.
"So, Sugo Fumus?" Patil asked.
Mordred shook his head. "No, no—you have to watch the declension. The 'smoke' is a description of what's being sucked, genitive, so it would be Sugo Fumi."
"That's right," Hermione nodded. "That's the easy part. The movement's a little more complicated. It is actually pretty easy if you already know the movement for Accio since the spell is a further modification of that. It still taps into the same basic spell structure. So, the movements are the same as Accio but with a few more additions after that."
The movements were a little fiddly. Yet they're not trying to get everyone to be able to cast it quickly and accurately in the field, instead of just being slow and careful as they sit around now and stare at every other person doing it. That meant that practically everyone can do it too as each of them picked up one of the bottles they'd piled next to them.
Paul's grin was wide and toothy as he did this, which could be a little…unsettling to some others.
"I knew there was a good reason I like you, Hermione. I love you, even."
"Don't let Tom hear that," Hermione commented, more amused than anything.
"It's fine! I don't mind being your roguish wizard on the side!" He gave her an exaggerated wink.
Mordred actually grew paler. "That's really, really, not recommended, Prewett. As in, it's a position that is extremely hazardous to your health and wellbeing."
"But don't you think that Hermione's worth it?" Paul asked back. Oh, he's actually pouting, Hermione thought, a grown wizard really had no right to look that endearing. It took some effort to stop herself from snickering.
"Oh relax, Mordy. He's just pulling your leg." Her fellow Ravenclaw rolled her eyes.
"Mordred, Julia. It's Mordred."
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" Paul began, ignoring the other two's byplay,
"Thou art lovelier and promises more explosions.
Rough winds will shake the darling buds of May,
For you'll call hurricanes and other windy rotations—"
Hermione laughed. "Why, thank you. I've never been complimented with explosions and rotations before."
Paul shrugged, still grinning widely. "Yes, the last line still needs some work, but hey, I came up with it on the spot! That's still something."
Casimir snorted. "At least he didn't say gyrations."
Four people turned to him and the Hufflepuff reddened. "What? He's the one who implied it!"
"Yeah, but none of us said it, did we?" Patil murmured.
"Huh. It would fit better, though, you have a point. Thank you, Casimir," Paul thought out loud, barely budging even when Ceres swatted the back of her Housemate's head.
Casimir himself just covered his face with his hands once more with an exasperated sound. "That was not feedback…"
"Well, at least it sounds like it's worth writing down now—"
"No—" Mordred cut in,
"—You're not going to dedicate that to Hermione, right?" Julia cut in before Mordred said more. "We don't need Mr. Paranoid Slytherin here getting twitchy."
"It's not paranoia, since I have a perfectly rational reason to…"
"Sacre bleu." Ceres cursed even as she cast another Smokescreen spell outward.
Hermione didn't hide her continued chuckle. "I think it's time we get back to our Smokescreen casting, everyone."
"And nobody tells this to Tom." Mordred insisted. "And I mean nobody."
"Well, yes," Paul agreed, his expression was somehow completely serious now, even if she could still see the way his eyes twinkle. "I'm not going to write and show it yet. 'Tis half-done still—a raggedy piece. I still have more work ahead of me; hadn't modified the entire sonnet."
Julia let out a frustrated huff and Hermione was already laughing again before she realised it.
'-
Ceres had considered all angles and chose to divide their team into two. Hermione agreed with her. None of them knew what plans Philippe's team had, and at least three people in each team would help with flexibility in reaction. They had a somewhat rough plan of action, but the main plan wasn't complicated, really. Distract, confuse and speed over the field as fast as possible.
Ceres lead the half-team with Paul being her second. Hermione lead the other one because…well, Mordred was more comfortable following than leading, once he realised that he was in the same half-team as her.
They moved slowly at roughly the same rate to the edge of the first ditch. Mordred and Paul glanced at each other, and with a nod, they each threw their first two transfigured bottles to different points on the ground. The smoke from Smokescreen Spell rose and started to cover the ground. Hermione heard a muffled curse from somewhere ahead and a little upward. She could hear that Ceres and her team had started moving, as planned. Hermione and hers moved farther along the ditch for now, putting some distance between them and her hand had started moving for her next spell.
"Carpe Retractum."
A rope of light shot out from her wand and she aimed at a tree across the ditch from her; it coiled tightly around the bark and when she heaved, inertia meant that she was the one that was pulled across the chasm. She cancelled the spell before it brought her crashing all the way into the tree—there was no need to land too close. Hermione sneaked farther ahead while half-crouched, almost to the edge of the next ditch, to scatter two more bottled smoke before running back. While she did that, Mordred cast Seize-and-Pull as well, but to a different anchor—a boulder the size of a pony.
Stray bolts of light occasionally cut through the gloom, here and there, along with some yells. She was sure she could hear Peter loudly complaining that this was really not fun, but neither Hermione nor Mordred was inclined to answer his hails. The smoke had spread far enough that it was not easy to guess where exactly their half-teams had decided to cross.
A nod from Hermione and then it was Mordred's turn to look ahead, and perhaps sneak farther forward to cast some distractions if necessary. Hermione's task now was to cast the Seize and Pull Charm to Julia and pulled her across the ditch. The Ravenclaw prefect made a small sound when she landed. It was hardly audible when both of them had to hit the ground as Hermione saw the movement in the smoke first and tackled her down—a giant green ball flew over them.
"Keep your head down," Hermione whispered. She hissed the same thing to Mordred too when he returned. He nodded to show understanding and they moved together with him as point.
With that, their half-team had crossed the first ditch with no trouble and continued on.
'-
"I am so bloody glad I didn't join you guys at all!" Julia's Ravenclaw chase friend announced as she saw everyone's mess.
"Oh, come on, Celeste. It wasn't that bad and it was fun." Julia disagreed.
She was eating through a bag of crisps as she shook her head vigorously. Celeste Sykes had mostly stayed out of the way and from her expression, she clearly did not regret her decision at all. "Not at all, no. Getting shot at, iced, almost burnt and repeatedly slimed or dunked isn't my idea of fun at all. You guys are nuts."
"Oh, relax Sykes, nobody's going to drag you into anything you don't want to. You do realise that these are all Advanced Defence nuts?" Lysandra asked. She ignored the multitude of 'Hey!' 'Oh, really, Burke?' and the quieter huffs easily. The Gryffindor in black and with red silk flowers in her hair was holding a scroll and a quill now.
"Now, time to tally this round's losses," Lysandra announced. Paul did a quick count.
"That's…six people."
Hermione looked around. "Yes, that would be about it."
"That should've been five," Balthazar muttered, not quite under his breath.
"Well, Jelly-legs jinx isn't fatal, so technically, Casimir is still alive," Patil pointed out. "So, me casting a Feather-light Charm on him and just legging it counts as both of us passing."
"I wasn't talking about you, Patil, but those nicely splattered fellows over there." He pointed at Ceres and Paul. Paul had green slimes from the knee down while Ceres was splashed mostly over her left arm.
"If it was an explosion, that's certainly close enough," Lysandra opined, while the other uninvolved audience nodded vigorously between her crisps. Paul shrugged confidently.
"Eh, not a killing blow for either of us, old boy. Ceres certainly can get away with a wounded left arm."
"But you can't exactly do that without both legs, can you, Paul?"
Hermione nodded as she stared at how drenched with slime his lower trousers were. "Yes, if that was an acid pit, you're not running anywhere until your calves and feet get fixed."
"But who would fill the pit with acid in real life?" Paul groused.
"I would,"
"I certainly do," were the answers from Peter as well as Balthazar. Their respective grin and smirk clearly demonstrated that they were sure that Paul had simply been wheedling instead of actually believing what he said.
"Nuts," Sykes murmured, and the bystander's comment was practically ignored by everyone else. "You're all nuts. Yes, even you, Julia."
Julia huffed, "you're just not used to this. I don't complain half as much about your crazy sky-drop broom club, do I?"
Most of everyone's attention was still with Balthazar's pointed attention at Paul Prewett's slimed trousers.
Verrault shook his head, brows furrowed. "That's not a hit you can limp away from. Crawling may work. Limping? You need at least one working leg to limp. That?" He pointed at the green-slime-covered calves. "No working calves mean no working legs."
Hermione took a deep breath.
"Give it up, Paul, I don't think you can get out of this one. Your mobility's gone, and nobody had made an effort to carry you to the end. Not to mention that your half-team's not the one with the healer either."
"Aww, come on, Hermione. Are you on their side or ours? Is this a revenge for not finishing my sonnet for you?" Paul gave her puppy-dog eyes. She snorted even as Mordred was about to start his protest once more.
"Oh, don't start now, Paul." Hermione stopped him before he started on his ridiculous sonnet again.
"Who's the other one down?" Ceres asked.
"Why, me of course—" that stopped Mordred's complaints as he made a sound of disbelief at her instead, and Hermione continued only after she had his attention, "well, that's what I wanted to say, and it would've been true if Mordred didn't insist on taking my role as bait and played distraction on the last leg of the run. He's the one down because he chose to be the distraction."
Her gaze towards him was two parts peeved and three parts impressed (it was a close thing). Mordred didn't blink when their team's gaze moved to him.
"I did what I had to. Team wise, Hermione had a higher value than I do, so if anyone were to be waving a red flag in front of the bulls, I was the better choice."
Hermione blinked. When Philippe's team had figured out that Ventus would disperse the smoke faster, they were running low on the homemade smoke bombs too; she made the decision to split the team at that point. That Mordred passed a limping Julia to Hermione's side and insisted that he be the bait instead had been unexpected. Now, it turned out that his reasoning was still just as surprising to her.
"That's really nice of you," Gervase, Gryffindor seeker, stared at him askance.
Lysandra scoffed loudly. "—said the naïve young man to the wolf."
Gervase elbowed her a little for that and she merely returned it with a light shove back.
Mordred snorted; the blond was unimpressed with the two Gryffindors in front of him. "Hardly. The scores are counted by the number of successful escapes, yes? If it had been Julia and I, perhaps it was still plausible for both of us to make it. But if it was Julia and Hermione, success is almost certain. She'd be more prepared for any possible, unexpected challenges still ahead than I would, thus ensuring that my team has the higher score."
"As you can see, we won and by a rather large margin, at that." Mordred's smile was professional, but even Hermione could detect the smugness in it and she had no doubt the Gryffindors he was facing could too.
"Morgana's tits, Mordred, you're still a pain even when you win." Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbling a little as his House's prefect lightly jabbed his ribs with her elbow. "And here I thought that you were only an arse when you lose in Defence fights or duels. You're an arse either way, eh?"
"I don't—" he didn't quite manage to finish that.
"You do."
"Indubitably so."
That was Paul and Balthazar's rejoinder. They glanced at each other at that and exchanged a beaming smile and a smirk.
"Yeah, well, good thing that I've been mostly beating you in fights, eh?" Peter's grin was back, and he was as laid back as he'd been before.
Mordred straightened up, looking for all intents like an indignant crow in his preferred outfit. "That's because we've been forced to use a fair field. What's the use of being fair against deadly enemies in real life, I ask you?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and stopped further complaints with a touch to his arm.
"I do agree with you, Mordred. If you have the terrain, alter it to be hostile to your enemies, that's a basic principle for field operations. Well, this had been a great run, but our team's advantage isn't something that's guaranteed to last, anyway," The Ravenclaw said. Her raised hand stopped further words from anyone. "We had an edge because I figured out a creative application of transfiguration the other team hadn't expected at all. Now that they know, they'll take that into account in the next planning and that advantage would be gone."
She gazed at Ceres, "We're good, yes, but we're lucky too."
"Well, I wouldn't argue about luck playing some part, but it does take some skill."
"We also won the first time around," Mordred pointed out.
Hermione shrugged. "It was good work, yes. Still, I'd be greatly impressed only if we managed to stop the entire team from passing. It's easier to play defender than runner, you know? Theoretically, any decent teamwork should be able to take out at least three out of seven people."
Balthazar was outright gaping before his sister pushed his lower jaw up. Lysandra only muttered something about how genius and madness were two sides of the same coin.
"Besides, Verrault hadn't started to think outside the box of what he already knows either. It would've been very difficult if he'd started to do so," Hermione pointed out.
Verrault was taken aback more than anything, his brows unstitched now, and he looked somewhat younger.
"What…are you talking about, Hermione?"
"You take Ancient Runes with me. You could've been more creative with that when it's your turn to play defence."
"Ah. I don't see it yet, but perhaps…"
He seemed thoughtful at that. Balthazar, on the other hand, was the one who looked as if he'd been struck by lightning. He slapped his forehead, and for someone with shadows under his eyes, he actually looked sharp and awake.
"Oh, of all the demons in Malebolge…of course you're right. I can't believe I didn't see it before." He slammed his fist into his palm. Most of his friends just look confused. He merely shook his head at his friends' inquiring expressions. "There are simply other possibilities to alter the field if you've taken Advanced Ancient Runes."
"You've taken it?" Hermione asked.
"I'm taking the second advanced class right now."
Hermione's smile was more rueful now. She only gave a nudge for Verrault to start figuring out using runes for some embedded enchantment, but she wouldn't say that she wanted to go against someone who'd figure out how to weaponise temporary wards. She hoped that wasn't what Balthazar had just realised he could do. That's…the farthest thing from ideal for her as someone that might be on the opposite team from him. Well, it was all out of her hands now; and she did think that it would be more interesting if she had a more challenging opposition, didn't she?
It was Peter who commented next as he shook his head.
"…You know that you have some pretty unrealistic standards, don't you, Hermione? It's really…wow. I thought I know it and yet I have no words."
The brunette rolled her eyes. "I think it's actually rather straightforward! I can explain the precise metrics that I use if you want to know."
Julia was smiling for some reason, her tone fond. "It's really not, Hermione. It really…not."
"Well," Verrault clapped his hands together with an oddly enthusiastic resolve. "Now that it's completely done and over with, it's certainly is time for the post-battle analysis."
Before anyone could do anything, he'd summoned a spare table from the side to their spot and started unrolling some scrolls. The twins only exchanged glances once before shrugging and following suit, and everyone else had started drifting in that direction too.
'-
"Alright, I think we're all pretty spent now, aren't we? I don't think anyone can do two more rounds of that." Ceres announced.
Julia groaned first, among others. "I don't think I can do another round."
Paul nodded. "Yes, it's pretty different when you have to take turns in being the opposing side."
"Well," his brother said, "it's time for the hardest part now, then."
"And what would that be, brother mine?"
"Same thing we do every time, Paul—clean up."
Now that ensured that practically everyone was moaning and groaning as if Kettleburn suddenly decided to release a horde of Hippogriffs after them.
"Nobody's leaving early yet! Yes, that means you, Julia, Sykes," Philippe warned with a voice that was much to cheerful for everyone's preference.
"Well, Paul and Peter did the hard work of the initial prep and set up. It's unfair to them if they have to tidy up as well." Hermione agreed, even if she wasn't looking forward to it either.
"Wait, I have this in hand," Balthazar said. "You must've had help from your family's house elfs too, correct?"
The twins nodded at that.
"Excellent. I'll go ahead and call some of mine, then. You might as well call yours too, Mordred."
His blond Housemate nodded. "Ah, yes. Any additional hands would help, right?"
"Yes. It would be easier for all of us."
"The perks of being from an old family," his sister agreed with relish. "What use is your ominous family name if it can't make your life easier once in a while?"
'-
It did actually finish at a far faster rate than Hermione expected. Then again, the army of house elfs wearing tea cosies, towels and the like with different family liveries was a lot of help, even if their magic were less flashy than the students'.
"So, still in the mood to explode things?" One of the twins had sidled up to Ceres' side.
"What do you mean?"
He waggled his eyebrows without saying anything. Realisation hit her as she thought over things a little further.
"Ah, I see…not so much anymore, no." The corners of her lips curved up slightly.
"Great!" His smile was less of a joking one now. "I mean, we probably don't know how to make you feel better, but we thought we can take your mind off things for a bit."
She patted his shoulder. "Thank you. You're not bad at that, Peter. Not bad at all."
Hermione had been summoning several of the fake trees still standing into the twins' mokeskin bag and she added what little she can when Peter had moved away and was stacking the cauldrons. "You can talk to me anytime you want, Ceres."
She was quiet and Hermione didn't bother her for the next minute (she still had her part of the clean up to do). Her shoulder-length hair hid her face from the side when her head was lowered with the weight of her thoughts even as her back remained tall and unbowed. When the Gryffindor finally spoke up again, her voice was quiet and serious.
"I'll probably take you up on that soon."
'-
The two Gryffindor prefects had just escorted a second year Slytherin back to the dungeons when the child stumbled upon them as they were discussing the results of the simulated fight arranged by the Prewett twins. Philippe had groaned when the young wizard had stumbled upon their corner seat by accident, seemingly still lost in Hogwarts even after a full year here.
("How you manage your classes with a hare's memory like that, I have no idea." Philippe stared at the literal snot-nosed brat, unimpressed. He couldn't hide his wince when the kid wiped his nose with his sleeve.
"I-I tripped on my roommates' sneezing powder." The shorty said. He didn't have to be a prefect to know a bullshit excuse when he heard one.
Ceres gave him a look for his tone. He sighed and knelt in front of the younger wizard, pulling his handkerchief out. "La vache. Come 'ere, that sleeve needs cleaning, yes, that one. Scourgify. I presume you don't have a handkerchief, then? Here, just take mine and please don't use your sleeve again. That's just horrible."
She leaned forward next to him. "Come on, we're both prefects. You're lost, aren't you? We can help you find your way."
"Yeah. Where were you going, little rabbit?")
Now that the snot-nosed brat was back in the bosom of the serpents (and it didn't surprise him that Ceres could perceive the shorty's house before the child said anything), it was no longer their business and he could return to their previous topic.
"I'm a little surprised, actually," Philippe opened conversationally, "that you punched me."
Ceres seemed more amused than anything. "Is that even a surprise to you?"
"Pas du tout!" his grin was wide as he said this. "I just thought that you'd kick me! You've worked your legs out into rather dangerous limbs over the summer."
Before he could remind himself not to look down, his eyes decided to ignore his brain and just flicker down anyway. He forced his gaze upwards just as he felt his inner idiot yell something about no regrets, and how great it was that he was partnered with one of the few witches who wore trousers.
She was shrugging and didn't seem to notice his momentary distraction.
"Well, I had just tackled you down. That's not exactly kicking distance, is it?"
Pip turned his head to stare down the hall before he did something more stupid like stare at her sizeable chest. Melusine, now was not the time to remember how soft they felt pressed down against his back, even if the memory came with him eating dust at the same time. Worth it—no, think of something else! Now!
"Oh, Mignonette, I just remembered! What do you think if we spar now?"
"Don't you think we've practised enough today, Pip?"
He could almost hear the raised eyebrow in her tone, but he still didn't turn. He wouldn't be thinking straight enough if his blood flowed south. "No, no…not the magical way. We haven't boxed in a while, have we? And it would be unfair to most of our Hogwarts friends if we were too physical in our attacks."
"Ah, savate practice! Yes, we haven't practised in…hmm, at least two weeks. Eager to get the stuffing kicked out of you?"
"Heh. In your dreams, certainly not if I can beat you first."
If their grins would seem a tad bloodthirsty to other people, it wasn't a concern of theirs as the corridors were mostly empty anyway.
"To professor Merrythought, then, to borrow the keys to one of her classrooms?"
"Certainly."
The two of them went off to do their best in kicking the stuffing out of each other for a bit, before moving on to the slower, more methodical practise of making sure their forms were actually correct. Pip only got out one complaint about that, and how he'd much prefer sparring. Then, Ceres' pointed remark of how he couldn't even punch a wall properly the last time around was a direct hit to the ego. As much as he didn't like that, he couldn't even complain because he certainly messed up then.
While she said it with a wide smile on her face, her aura of steel certainly ensured that she did not consider said practise optional. Not if he knew what was good for him. Pip had enough brains to back away from an argument he wasn't going to win.
Besides, when he was spotting for Ceres seriously, he had an acceptable reason to stare. That was certainly less stressful than having to remind himself from time-to-time to stop bloody ogling.
"Pip?"
"That high kick looks too risky…too easy to unbalance." He said without thinking. It was true. On the other hand, he certainly had no plans in enlightening her just why he was rather distracted at staring at her legs.
"Still a good move if I managed a direct hit to the head. That would be a quite close to knocking someone out."
He shook his head. "I don't think it's worth it…never mind, let's settle this argument with another spar."
Ceres sighed. "Sure thing."
It was certainly a lot more convenient to be a wizard than a muggle, Pip thought. Other than some padding for the head and the quick arrangement of mats on the floor, they didn't need to bother with gloves or arm and leg guards because a healing spell would've taken care of any bruises or cuts that they could inflict to each other. They took their distance, their preferred stances, and on a silent count to three they begun. Ceres went on the offensive first while his left leg had guarded against her first kick easily. After that, a flurry of movements was exchanged.
Hook, jab, duck, kick. She evaded sideways and kicked again, but his reach was longer and his kick hit her ribs when hers only grazed his. Heh. Ceres cursed and moved, he had to parry or counter a few more blows by instinct as her speed was faster than his. A feint to the left he didn't fall for, then she went for a body hit. He'd turned enough to reduce the impact and she'd jumped back before he can trap her arm. A deep cleavage—
Wait, when did she—
Merde !
He didn't manage to voice that as her heel had just hit his nose. The pain was blinding as he staggered. Pretty sure it cracked there, if not outright broke.
Ceres hopped back, as light on her feet as any dancer before she realised how bad the hit was.
"Pip! I'm sorry!"
"Nah, it's fine." He wiped the blood running down his nose. "Will probably need an Episkey and…what's that bone-fixing spell again."
She easily cast Episkey at his nose before staring at his nose for a while. "That's the one that's best supported with a small dose of Skele-Gro drunk alongside, isn't it? Shouldn't we go to the infirmary first?"
He shook his head. "This isn't anything as serious as a concussion. We can just wait until the end of our practice."
Philippe didn't even bother to distract himself this time as his gaze zeroed in quickly to Ceres' now visible collarbones and lower. When he met her gaze, his tone was all-too casual. "You know, this is a month before Noël, in winter. And you have three buttons off your shirt."
"Two."
"Aha!"
Her cheeks were ruddy, which unfortunately for his concentration just made her more attractive. He narrowed his eyes before she can distract him further.
"The heater is a bit too much after we started exercising for a bit!" she replied. "Look, you're also sweating!" she accused right back.
"Are you pretty sure you're not trying to distract me—"
"Pip!"
They stared each other down for a while, almost glaring at each other before one of them started laughing and the other followed suit.
"Alright, this is ridiculous," she said. "I'll try to find the damned valve for the thing and then we can start again."
"And no trying to trip my stupid wizard head."
"I don't think your brain's doing any thinking for me to trip," her counter was swift even when the colour had yet to fully subside from her face.
"My brain isn't my stupid wizard head," he muttered.
He had been sure that she didn't hear that until she suddenly froze near the heater and gave him a look when she understood what he meant. That was oddly slow of her.
"It is a known weakness, alright? That's what Professor Merrythought keeps telling us about, isn't it? To be aware of our own weaknesses so we could fix them or go around them." His reply was a little defensive. "So, if you're trying to get me to fight on even ground with you, hitting me right there isn't going to do it."
She was staring at him for a bit, for what he couldn't figure out before she sighed.
"Alright, noted."
'-
Melchior had just walked out of the infirmary with a complicated feeling in his chest, even if none of his turmoil showed on his placid expression. Errant petals of yellow rose and lavender dotted his left sleeve, but he wasn't paying much attention to care about it much—his suit and robes were perfect otherwise. Just because he had to wear the Hogwarts' uniform doesn't mean that he couldn't put together an impeccable outfit that fit the school's requirements. Choosing a fabric that's far above what's required was only the first step.
He'd only found out that Hermione had a healer's apprenticeship when he'd finally gathered his sense of duty together to visit Jemima—and ended up encountering Hermione there. Being taken off-guard wasn't exactly his idea of fun, but the fact that he'd always found her company pleasant helped. His reaction wasn't anything too embarrassing because of that.
Her easy dismissal of Jemima's potential threat, though, piqued something in his memory. Something about a prior conversation with Mordred (yesterday, no, that was last Sunday evening) where he met the Twin Troubles from Gryffindor? The details escaped him, though. Never mind, it would come to him sooner or later.
She was a powerful witch—Melchior wasn't even going to pretend otherwise—but he didn't think she'd accept it herself so soon. Perhaps her getting seriously hurt made a difference? He shook his thoughts away. It doesn't really matter; as long as she was more willing to use force against those who tried to harm her, the less Tom was going to need to be concerned about her wellbeing. A win for everyone all around. He hoped Jemima was going to learn her lesson from this point on too, but if she hadn't, well…he was sure Hermione could keep her in line.
(A part of him he'd pushed down and ignored for long was simply glad that Hermione was merciful).
Everyone else, on the other hand, hmm…
There were…arrangements to be made. Melchior found himself humming a pleasant tune as he made his way back to the Slytherin common room. Supper was not going to start for another two hours or so, so most people were free. Well, they could choose to be too busy to meet him, but if they couldn't even spare some time for him, then he can hardly be blamed afterwards if he didn't take into account their concerns or interest later on.
This was why he'd taken over Tom's usual seat at one of the corners of the Slytherin common room. It was his for the duration of the evening. The house elf of Slytherin House had prepared for tea too, from the white table cloth with a trimming of green ribbons and silver lace. He was not as precise as Abraxas, he knew. His friend would've known exactly what he wanted for the cakes and petit fours; instead, he amicably settled with the house elfs with whatever the kitchen was cooking for the professors' own tea. Whatever the house elfs' planned menu was, it was good enough for him.
He was a better tea connoisseur than a dessert enthusiast.
His first guest had approached him. Melchior stood up and smiled.
"Please, sit. I'm usually more of a Scottish Breakfast man myself, but Pendleton had deigned to share some interesting blend he'd received with from Miss Lee—after much cajoling from my side—so we'll be having lotus green tea today."
He was sure that Pendleton had the even rarer Osmanthus tea, but there was no way the blond was going to part with some of that without bloodletting involved; Pendleton might be level-headed, but it didn't mean he was a pushover for the things he actually cared about. Besides, it wasn't as if he himself was going to waste something that nice on Avery, even if he somehow managed the miracle of getting some.
"You're…" the seventh-year started.
"Yes?"
Irwin Avery stared at him with some degree of disbelief, the shadows under his eyes seemed to be even darker than Balthazar's. It was quite an accomplishment, as Balthazar was prone to staying awake all night simply to read books and then attending classes the next day with nary a rest.
"Is it not to your preference at all? Would you rather have some other tea?" he asked back.
Melchior could see exhaustion creeping at the corner of the seventh-year's eyes. If the house elfs had not been responsible with his wardrobe, he would bet that the other wizard would've been more unkempt.
"You invited me to have tea?"
"Why should I not?"
"…"
He rounded the table easily when it seemed that his guest was too unsettled to have taken a seat yet. With the quick movements of the feather-light charm memorised all too well, he cast it with a whisper and a quick tap to the nearest wing-backed chair before pulling it back for Avery.
"Please, make yourself comfortable."
The other Slytherin stared at him for a while—looking for what, he had no idea. He merely blinked a few times and waited, and when Irwin finally sighed and sat down, Melchior pushed the seat a little inwards before cancelling the last charm. He was back in his seat in no time and was pouring tea for both of them. He took pot of sugar and removed the lid.
"Sugar?"
"…please."
With that, the light tinkling of spoon against fine china and the pleasantries of tea and cakes occupied them for a while. Melchior had closed his eyes to savour the tea's fragrance with the first sip before he set his teacup down. His tone was warm as he spoke up next.
"So, how have you been, Irwin?"
He could see the flicker of tension over the blond's jaw. "…fine."
"Are you really, though? It looks to me that you still have things on your mind. Not to mention that you've only visited your sister once or twice."
"Have you been watching me?"
Melchior's smile was amused now, "Please, why would I waste my time that way? I've just visited her this afternoon and had a nice long chat with Madam Edelstein's apprentice. I heard then that you're not one of her regular visitors. You surprise me, really. I thought you cared for your sister more than that."
His mildly disappointed tone triggered a flush of colour over pale cheeks, and a look so cold it would've struck him down on the spot if it was made of pure magic.
"And whose fault is that?"
"Me?" His eyebrows rose and he feigned a little surprise. "Why, I'm certainly not forbidding you from visiting—why would I even do that?"
"But…"
He shook his head. "Nobody forbids you from visiting, Irwin. We all have more important things to do than to be senselessly petty like that. Besides, I do wish for Jemima to recover quickly." He poured more tea to Irwin's almost-empty teacup as well as his own. "It would be better for us all if she were to come to her senses than not. That's why I was asking you about your visitations. It might help her to hear a familiar voice regularly."
"You would not want me to be too near to…her."
Irwin used no name, but the restrained loathing in his voice informed the Knight just as easily. He shook his head.
"She's a professional, Irwin, she'd understand. Even Tom would understand. After all, you're just a brother concerned with the well-being of his sister, aren't you? I certainly find that admirable. What I would have a problem with is any attempts at sabotage or harm—all quite normal concerns, I assure you." He picked up a tiny bird confection with liquorice eyes that lay in its own little nest of spun caramel.
"Then again, I'm sure you're not such a stupid or senseless person, right?"
Hmm, marzipan. The house elfs are certainly putting some practice in for their Christmas menu.
"What is it to you?" Irwin's tone had more belligerence than he'd expected.
Melchior's smile was entirely cordial.
"Well, I'm sure Jemima would be sad if she had to be an only child. Though the Sussex Averys may perhaps be more…enthusiastic of the prospect of being the main house instead of a cadet branch that they may cheer you on to any foolishness you might be inclined to do. Their son is, what, a second or third year now?"
"First year," Irwin corrected, even if he sounded as if he said it through gritted teeth.
"Ah, well, my apologies. My memory isn't perfect." he said, outright lying without blinking.
"I won't forget this threat, Melchior."
He chuckled and easily met the blond's glare head on. "What threat? I'm making a simple observation. We're living in dangerous times, Irwin. Who knows who would survive Grindelwald's madness and who wouldn't? No need to worry about Jemima, though, I can take care of her if you can't, and Tom is fair in his considerations that he'd listen."
That last part was said on purpose, and considering that the other wizard's sudden heightening of colour yet again, Melchior had made a hit with the precision of a sharpshooter. After all, Irwin had completely failed to protect his sister, hadn't he?
"Now, I was just about to inform Clytemnestra that I am free to receive her now; though I'd be thankful if you could pass the word along from me if you happened to meet her after this."
'-
When Mordred entered the Slytherin common room, Melchior made a point to wave him from where he currently sat. The sixth-year prefect approached him out of curiosity. The moment that Clytemnestra leaned out from the winged-back chair that she was using was something he found entertaining, as both of them leaned back from each other with the expression of people who'd smelled something rotten.
"Montmorency." Her tone could curdle milk.
"Gamp." He spat her name like a curse.
Melchior smiled. "Well, well. Since we might as well be done now, Clytemnestra. I'm sure a lady such as you have more important things to do than to entertain little old me. Besides, I do have things I'd like to discuss with Mordred too." He stood up just as she did out of simple courtesy.
She practically leaped out of her seat at his announcement, taking the side farther from Mordred to enact her departure (escape) as if her skin couldn't even bear to be too close to him.
The blond wizard sniffed and cast Scourgify on the seat, in a volume that Melchior was certain was a little louder than necessary, especially with the medusa-level glare that Clytemnestra levelled back to her prefect partner from her dorm's entrance.
The dark-haired wizard was laughing when Mordred took his seat.
"Well, what business do you have that you need to deal with that witch?"
It was clear that only his sense of politeness was stopping him from using a different word. "Ah, well, simply a reminder and perhaps a word of warning or two. I had to let her read some of Pendleton and Ves' work on Hermione's background to stop her from being obstructive in the future."
It entailed admitting that they all knew Tom was the likeliest Heir of Slytherin this century. At least that stopped her from being too concerned about the necessity for Tom to marry upwards.
The blond nodded in understanding. "Ah, I see. Yes, I find that an early and clear warning saves you a lot of grief when dealing with her. Better that she knows the cost of crossing you than not."
His mouth twitched at the corners; the mutual dislike between the two had always been a bit of a mystery in Slytherin. His curiosity was eager to be satisfied right now, but he was unsure of how acceptable a question would be when Mordred was still on his guard.
"Well, anyway, we had an interesting conversation of your…participation with one of the Troublesome Twins' indoor jungles and adventure last Sunday, but we were just getting started then before we had our own affairs to tend to."
The blond nodded. "Oh, yes. Half of the participants were from my Advanced Defence class, you see, which was what made it worth it, and half were also prefects. Both categories combined easily covers some 2/3 or 3/4 of them all."
"I only caught the part where you said the other half were Gryffindors."
Mordred waved it away easily. "Well, they have to fill the rest from somewhere, right? And considering that both the twins as well as Ceres and Philippe are Gryffindors, it's not surprising that they would end up dragging their Housemates with them to plug the gaps."
"I see," he nodded as he flipped open his journal to check.
"You were speaking of Hermione's involvement since she was friends with…" Melchior glanced down. "Julia Goldstein, Ravenclaw's sixth-year prefect?"
Mordred clarified that Hermione was present, but she came later and seem to come to chat with Ceres, so it was plausible that Ceres was the one who had invited her instead. Hermione seemed to be friends with both Gryffindor prefects, after all. Melchior made some clarifying notes himself, in case it was relevant later, but it was mostly the blond prefect providing more details to how it was setup and what happened.
There were two teams of seven each, with an observer-cum-memory-keeper in the form of Lysandra Burke. Ceres Victorinus and Philippe Bernadotte lead one team each, though the original plan seemed to have been for the Twins to lead each (Mordred had no idea what caused the change, it was probably something trivial, he'd mused aloud).
"She's a great fighter, isn't she?" Melchior asked at one point, quill tapping against the Nott signet ring in thought.
"I've seen the memory of her duel with Tom, so I'm not surprised at that," The straight-backed blond replied. "Trust me, once you've reached the Second Advanced Defence class, you'd start facing great fighters too. That wasn't what caused me to start wondering deeper about who she is."
"What is it, then?"
"She doesn't think like a fighter."
He paused. "Excuse me?"
Mordred shook his head slowly, his left hand holding his chin in thought as his gaze drifted away. "No, that's not exactly accurate. How shall I put it? She doesn't think just like a fighter. She's more. I'm sure she helped her team extensively in planning their run, but it feels less like a fight and more like…well, as crass as it might be to say, like war, really. Not that I'd know that much about it."
The prefect remembered that Verrault actually copied his sketches of the fields and the meeting notes on the post-fight analysis that they made together. He'd copied it for anyone interested, and Mordred was certainly interested. It was a flurry of paper once more as he tried to recover where the scroll was.
"Hold on, let me get it from my dorms."
Melchior nodded and let him get on with it. Five minutes later, he came back down and the fifth-year temporarily moved the tea things to a spare stool. There were more papers than expected.
"That…doesn't look like just the post-fight analysis."
"I know. These are the notes of the post-Hogsmeade Crisis meeting that Emma generated with verbatim quills."
His voice was filled with disbelief. "You had a prefect meeting, then?"
Suddenly he was never more thankful that Tom was the Slytherin prefect from their year instead of him if this was what he had to deal with. Wasn't Tom shot with a muggle weapon, then?
Mordred waved his right hand impatiently. "Irrelevant right now. What's interesting is that we also noted down all the prefects' encounters with their attackers to save us all the effort of being interviewed—Emma's excellent initiative, as always. Now, where's Hermione's account and Tom's among all this…"
He found what he was looking for and started skimming down.
"Immediate use of Smokescreen Spell to reduce visibility. The similarities are clear; yes, the strategy is clearly mainly hers." The sixth-year shook his head with disappointment in his voice. "I should've studied these earlier."
"Well, no use crying over spilt milk."
"I suppose…"
Mordred pushed two different scrolls across the table to Melchior's. He skimmed the first and read the second as quickly as he could before he began comparing the two. When he finished, he saw that the blond wizard had his hands steepled together in front of his face, lost in his own musing before his pointed gaze met Melchior's.
"Her tactics…it's clear that she's not inexperienced in an actual, life-threatening fight, and not merely once or twice. She's good at it and this isn't from a class or a book, Melchior. Our class still doesn't exactly teach us much for larger-scale fights, battles. Oh, there are lessons on observing the field and ensuring that it advantages you more than your enemy, but many students will fail to integrate that with the fighting itself."
But she knew how to do it anyway, Melchior could hear the conclusion himself, even if Mordred didn't say it out loud. How? Where? When Melchior spoke up next, his voice was measured, as he wasn't sure that he could guess all that Mordred wanted to ask.
"What do you want me to say, Mordred?"
"Where did she come from, exactly? What happened in Norway?" Urgency gripped his tone.
"We both know that Grindelwald-allied forces had occupied Norway." Melchior pointed out.
"And yet she'd only arrived recently, long after the invasion occurred." He countered. "She stayed there for two years. Well, perhaps only one year, if she'd lived in an obscure corner that took time for the invading forces to reach. Still, why?"
To fight, neither of them said, even if Melchior was certain that Mordred was thinking it as much as he did. What he said instead was what he knew would advance the Knight's interest.
"Do you understand now why we wanted to know about the wizarding circles of Kopervik, Mordred?"
The other wizard leaned back as realisation lit his face. "Ah, so it is Kopervik, then?"
"She made no secret of it, and perhaps for a good reason." He shrugged, palms open and helpless. "We could hardly find any news about what happened there from public sources—merely an unspecified 'accident' and 'explosion'. I bet she realises this too."
"That was why you were asking about where in the Ministry is my family and Emma's, and Oswin's as well."
"Yes. If you find that out, perhaps you will find the answers to your questions too."
"I see," he nodded in thought.
"With that said, you understand why I offered you to join the Knights of Walpurgis, don't you?"
"I…no, not really."
"You're observant, and you would investigate something that interests you yourself without relying on someone else to ask that of you beforehand. That level of initiative is rare when coupled with intelligence. You already know who Tom is; you don't think that reclaiming his ancestral position would be easy, do you?"
Mordred shook his head slowly, "Ah, I see. Yes, I can't imagine that it would be easy. Still I…I'm not sure how acceptable I would be for Tom—for your Knights."
"Why not?"
He sighed, long fingers tapping the armrests at the speed of his thoughts. With his lean and tall frame, he was reminiscent of a scarecrow. Melchior had to stop himself from telling him that the cut of his current Hogwarts blazer was completely unflattering and that it would be better for him to find a new and better skilled tailor. Now's not exactly the right moment to give sartorial input, he thought to himself.
"I'm just someone who wishes to get into the Ministry and gain a stable position, to live a steady, if mundane, life. Hogwarts is one of the premier magical schools in Europe and there are many geniuses here. I'm quite aware that I'm not one of them, Melchior, nor am I so adventurous a person that others will think to send on great quests derring-do."
The fifth-year held back the urge to snort. Mordred wasn't anywhere near mediocre either.
"You do realise that Abraxas pulled Mulciber and Parkinson into the Knights with him, don't you?"
Mordred let out a surprised bark of laughter at that, before he stared in amazement when Melchior's face didn't change at all.
"You're serious."
He ran his hand through black curls and nodded. "I am. So, if inadequate intelligence was your concern, trust me, you're far, far from the worst possible."
"I'm still only an administrator at heart, Melchior."
"Do you think that's not part of what I do?" Melchior retorted. "We need people of diverse talents, Mordred, not simply…fighters. A government is constructed of many kinds of people. And even on the topic of fights your record speaks for itself."
He gestured at the post-fight notes that the other Slytherin had provided. The expressions crossing the sixth-year face made it clear that Melchior was making some headway and crumbling his resistance.
"I'll think about it."
"Thank you, that's all I ask of you." There really was no need to keep pushing right now when he had the upper hand.
Melchior rolled the scrolls on the table automatically with a few spells cast and handed them to the prefect. After that, he moved the tea set back on the table. Casting a warming charm on the pot, he waited for two seconds before he started pouring tea for both of them. He picked up his by holding the saucer and he waited until Mordred started drinking.
"Now, I have to ask, did you and Clytemnestra have a disastrous attempt at sex with each other or something?"
The other Slytherin choked on his drink. Melchior had a wide, unapologetic grin even as Mordred glared at him across the table while coughing liquid out of his airway.
"Merlin's sake, Melchior!"
"Well, it's not like I have a better idea."
"Her family estate is only two hills away from mine, to my everlasting regret. I keep seeing her smug, conceited face in every other occasion. That she had a bunch of admirers later on didn't help with her ego either."
"Ah, I see."
"No, you don't. She doesn't sneer at you if you get too close to her when you're not of the Sacred 28."
Melchior blinked. "…Gamp isn't a Sacred 28 name either."
"I never said the woman was rational, did I?"
Well, it was a more ordinary reason than Melchior had expected, but he did not really mind much listening to Mordred complain. It was always a good thing to know more about other people. It informs you of what they care about and what sort of offers you can give that might interest them. He found it funny that he'd heard Clytemnestra air her grievance about her prefect partner earlier, and her complaints had been how he'd always had that 'judging expression' on his face even from when he was a child, and how she always felt that he doubted her ability ('he actually said 'don't worry your pretty head about it' to me once, Melchior!').
Inwardly, he shrugged. Their disagreement or fight wasn't exactly any of his business. It wasn't as if it affected their ability to cooperate as needed either, if Tom's stories of how they usually did their prefect duties when forced to work together was a good enough reflection.
It was a while later as their easy conversation was winding down and Mordred thanked him for the lotus tea and agreed that it was excellent. As the dark-haired wizard stood up, he ensured that important things were still kept in mind.
"So, do you think you can help find out more about Kopervik?"
The blond paused, mulling over it carefully. "I think I can. I'm not sure how fast it would be, since it would be up to my mother, but I think I have better odds than Emma or even Oswin on this."
Melchior grasped Mordred's forearm before the other wizard moved any farther. He clasped it firmly in the old way instead of a mere handshake, and the blond reciprocated even if the choice confused him slightly. It was important that the weight of his, the Knights', trust and expectation was conveyed in more than just words.
"Excellent. Thank you and take your time. I'm looking forward to see whatever you'll find."
'-
.
.
.
End Notes:
Paul is obviously creatively editing Shakespeare's sonnet there.
'-
List of Stuff One Might Try to Look Up:
Lotus tea: Green tea infused with the fragrance of lotus flower petals.
Malebolge: (Literature) From Dante's La Divina Commedia, the name he gave for the eighth circle of hell.
Osmanthus tea: Tea made from the flowers of Osmanthus fragrans.
'-
Additional Notes:
"How you manage your classes with a hare's memory like that, I have no idea.": Philippe was referring to the phrase ‹avoir une mémoire de lièvre›, 'to have a hare's memory', which implies to have poor memory.
'-
Irwin Avery (OC): Seventh-year Slytherin pureblood, the Averys are part of the Sacred 28. He shares Advanced Charms with Tom Riddle. Solidly built, he's one of the beaters on the Slytherin House's quidditch team. Irwin is not one of the louder wizards of his House (or year). Older brother to Jemima Avery and heir to the Averys. He has enough sense to adjust his plan when new information comes to light.
The name 'Irwin' is from an Old English given name 'Eoforwine', where the individual elements eofor means 'boar' and wine means 'friend'.
Lysandra Burke (OC): Fifth-year Gryffindor witch. Lysandra Burke is not easily impressed with the average pureblood because she's part of the Sacred 28, still related to the Blacks and descendant of one of Hogwarts' headmasters (Phineas Nigellus Black). The Burkes run the largest private lending library in England. She loves books as much as other Burke family members, and woe betide any fool that gets in her way. Her impatience to almost everything else unrelated to books might be a contribution as to why she ended up in Gryffindor. That, and she really does not like being intimidated by anyone and would rather fight back, whatever the odds are.
If one has to classify her, Lysandra is actually a politically apathetic misanthrope. Her opinion on purebloods is that they are 'inbred prats'. Her opinion on muggleborns is that they 'clueless twats'. While halfbloods are 'walking identity crises waiting to happen'.
'-