Chapter 21) The Reality

Selected Listening: Better- Regina Spektor

"Hmm," Albus pondered over the slip of burnt parchment. He turned it this way and that, extruded another parchment piece from his robes and compared the one Anastasia handed him to the complete one reading Harry Potter.

"What do you think it means?" Anastasia asked. They sat in the warm corner of the Hogwarts kitchens at the round table that the house elves had decked with a white tablecloth, silver and gold platters, and glass goblets. The two Dumbledores were starting to grow comfortable with the temporary change in venue, albeit Anastasia still missed their breakfast nook in the headmaster's suite.

"What I can say…is that the handwriting on the slip of paper with Harry's name and what supposedly is yours is the same. There was someone trying to sabotage both of you."

Anastasia felt the floor drop out from under her.

"Why?" she demanded. "Why would they care about us? Neither of us were doing anything different than anyone else."

Albus shrugged and sighed.

"I cannot say…but you know as well as I, dark forces are at work. Unfortunately, I do not know why yours was disposed from the goblet damaged. I do not believe you are compelled to compete…yet you are otherwise involved." Albus picked up the glass carafe on the table and poured himself a bit more water.

"How?"

"Let's invite our friend Ludo Bagman to dinner this coming week. We can discuss what he thinks. As the game master, he would know if there were any applicable fine print to the rules."

Anastasia's shoulder's drooped, "Okay."

"Don't lose heart, my dear. It might be very simple. And in truth, whoever's name is written here might not be yours at all. We aren't certain quite yet."

"Right…" she drifted off desolately and began fiddling with her pendant necklace.

"You might find a chuckle in that a certain Mr. Fred Weasley came to me the other day during his bout with senior citizenship," he mentioned, slyly taking a sip from his goblet.

Anastasia scoffed and learned on her elbow on the table's surface.

"What did he say?" she asked bitterly.

"He said he was afraid for you after the injury he spotted at the beginning of the year. Afraid that the Malfoy boy had harmed you."

"He needs to mind his own business," Anastasia grumbled, blushing. "Draco didn't hurt me, it was Moody who—"

Albus put his hand up to calm her.

"I reassured him that Draco Malfoy has nothing but your best interests at heart, and the injury must have been received elsewhere. It seemed to provide him some relief."

Anastasia glanced at the corner. She saw the head of a house elf peeking out, bordered by large elephant-shaped ears. She continued holding her mother's necklace thoughtfully.

"Well, I'm glad he's convinced to back off at least."

Albus smiled a wry smile but did not say more.

The next morning, Anastasia told Draco the plan as their Blast-Ended Skrewt dragged them across the castle grass along with the other fourth years-all struggling to hang on to their own beasts.

"We're going to have dinner with Bagman," she explained, "see what he knows."

"You're not competing?" he asked, grabbing the leash and steering the skrewt away from the Black Lake.

"I don't believe so," she answered, pushing against his side to assist with the turn. "Ergh...my whole name didn't come out. Otherwise, I would have."

"Can't believe Potter had the nerve to enter himself. I wonder how he did it—"

Anastasia tripped over her feet and lost hold of the leash for a moment.

"Have you not been listening to a thing I've been saying?" she asked, grabbing the leash once more. Their skrewt thrashed against the pull. "The handwriting matched. Someone tried to sabotage us both."

"How do you know for sure it's not Potter's handwriting?" he dared, nearly growling.

"What?" she asked, bewildered. Harry couldn't manage to get out of the limelight himself. He didn't have the time to put someone else in it. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it? Because he's been hogging all the attention ever since we started school. Everything has to be about him, have you noticed? Even his Weaslebee is sick of it."

Anastasia did notice. Ron and Harry were not talking on an indefinite basis, as evidenced by their cold shoulders at breakfast that morning.

"Harry doesn't want anything to be about him—and he certainly doesn't need to shove me under the bus with him."

Draco set his jaw firmly as they tripped their way over to the cages where Hagrid was calling him back.

"Okay, let's say it's not Potter. Your father's certainly the competitive type. He could have put your names in the cup. Ensure his favorites are in the rankings even though it breaks his own age limit rule? That would explain why they were in there to begin with—"

Anastasia rounded on him.

"Stop! Grandad isn't competitive. He doesn't want me anywhere near this game. He doesn't care about some stupid trophy—"

Draco smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Because I seem to remember Gryffindor winning the house cup for three years straight, due to points given out haphazardly at the last moment for sneaking out at night and fighting criminals." Draco smirked teasingly at her.

Anastasia scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"It's not the same. It's like comparing a gold star to a trial by fire. And I don't want to compete, and he knows that."

"Whatever you say, Stasia, but I doubt this was an accident."

Harry and Ron's coldness towards each other continued. The tense atmosphere lasted the entire week. Unlike most of the school, Ron still wasn't directly taunting Harry. None of the Gryffindors were. It seemed everyone, at least in their house, still had an ounce of loyalty to him. Whether they believed him or not was a different story. Anastasia stood up for him whenever she got the chance, but no seemed to believe her. Eventually, she stopped trying unless asked directly.

But things boiled over before Friday's double potions session. The Slytherins were already standing outside the classroom, boasting shiny metal buttons on their chests. As the Gryffindors approached, they could read the line about supporting Cedric, the true Hogwarts Champion.

"Are you serious?" Anastasia asked Draco directly, bitterly.

"What, do you like it?" He smirked and pressed the button, now deflating into the message, "POTTER STINKS."

"I already told you he didn't do it—"

"Open your eyes, Anastasia!"

Anastasia looked back to Harry, his eyes flashing red with anger, but it was Hermione who spoke.

"Those are soo funny," she mocked, "really clever."

"Want one?" Draco asked, extending his hand slightly with the button, "Oh," he drew back, "but don't touch me, you'll get your mudblood slime everywhere."

Anastasia felt the shock set in. It was the same shock she felt in the forest at the campground. The one that couldn't believe the boy who doted on her could be this much of an arse to her friends. But it didn't matter how nice he was to her…it didn't change how he was raised.

A bright red spell blasted past her from Harry's wand towards Draco. Hermione jerked her out of the way by the hood. Anastasia ducked, but an amber light hit Hermione square in the mouth.

As boils sprouted all over Goyle's face, Hermione's teeth began to grow.

Draco and Harry stared at each other viciously.

"Stop it! You're both need to calm down—"

"What's this noise all about?" Snape demanded as he emerged from the classroom. Draco, Crabbe, Harry, and Ron all stuttered over each other as they tried to get everything out.

Snape took points away from Gryffindor, gave Harry and Ron detention, and told Goyle to go inside and wait for him for the treatment. Draco chuckled.

"Hermione too," Anastasia grabbed her friend's arm and pointed, but Snape looked at the muggleborn Gryffindor with little interest.

"I see no difference," he said, and departed.

Hermione turned and ran, crying, towards the infirmary.

Anastaisa glared at Draco, who smirked proudly. The rest of the class followed inside.

"You're such a foul twat!" she shouted at him and pushed him by the shoulders. "How dare you say that to her—"

Draco grabbed her hands, pulling her closer, and lowered his voice.

"Anastasia, they did this. Can't you see? Potter isn't smart enough to get his own name in, he had to have help…He probably threw your name in just so he could save your arse in a task and get in Dumbledore's good graces—"

"I can't believe you!" she shouted, turned over her shoulder and ran after Hermione.

Anastasia stood, facing the door of the infirmary, listening to Hermione sniffle behind the privacy curtain as Madame Pomfrey aimed the shrinking spell at her teeth.

They were monsters. Snape and Malfoy both. She had been grateful for them, ever since her near-death experience becoming an animagus, but she could never excuse the way they treated people. She used to trust Snape. Now he was just another of her father's bad hiring decisions.

But Draco was another story. Draco, she was fully attached to. Draco, she entirely cared for…and maybe even…she couldn't even think it. Small tears sprung to her eyes.

"Well, how does it look? Are they any better?" Hermione asked as she came around the curtain, pointing at her incisors.

Anastasia wiped her face clean and looked. They were smaller even than they started out as, and well…

"Hermione, you're beautiful. You always have been."

She beamed.

The two girls walked down the hall in stride. Anastasia tried to keep the melancholy from gracing her face. Hermione, skipping and grinning, was the happiest she'd seen her in her whole life.

As they approached the corridor to the staircase, they saw a woman in a bottle green suit, blonde curls, and glasses strut out of the charms room.

"Hermione go—go."

Anastasia tried to get her friend to run, but it was too late. Rita swarmed upon them.

"Anastasia! It's been quite a while, hasn't it? Did you love my feature on you this August?"

The fire rolling in Anastasia's temper reached her lips.

"How did you get those pictures? You weren't anywhere around us. Not in the restaurant or the salon! How did you—"

"Oh, you didn't see me?" Skeeter asked innocently, "You must have been in your own little world. I would have been if I were being shown a world of glitz and glamor just beyond my fingertips." Her gaze rolled around to Hermione as Anastasia grew too furious to speak. "And who's this? A friend of yours?" Rita pointed to Hermione's nose with her quill.

"Hermione Granger," she pushed the woman's hand aside. "And you should answer her question. It's rude to take pictures without asking—"

Skeeter twittered.

"My dear, I'm a journalist!"

But Hermione continued arguing in her defense.

"Last time I checked, journalists told the truth instead of making things up about people. Anastasia didn't know those places deter muggleborns. You didn't even bother to interview her—"

"Miss Skeeter—" the woman wheeled around to see Albus walking down the hall at a swifter pace than normal. "Let me escort you out."

"I remember the way. Remember, Professor? Graduating class of 1968?" she asked amusedly.

"Ah, yes, well as of today we are making that a permanent arrangement."

Albus took her elbow, a shoving spell pushing her forward down the steps to the front door as Hermione and Anastasia snickered behind them.

"That was excellent," Hermione chirped.

"I agree," said Anastasia.

But it wasn't the last person they saw. An older, average sized man hobbled towards them in plaid pants, a button up, and a black wool vest.

"Hello there! Miss Dumbledore! It's been ages, I haven't seen you since you were a first year."

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," she chimed. Happy to see a face she never doubted. Hermione nodded hello. "What are you doing here?"

Ollivander waved it off as if it were nothing.

"The weighing of the wands as they call it. A way to judge the champion's wand fitness before the games officially begin—make sure nothing's been tampered with and such. While I'm here, I can check yours if you like. Please, humor me—it's a pleasure to see fine craftsmanship in action."

He took Hermione's first, observing it this way and that. "Ah, yes, Miss Granger's wand, vinewood, ten and three-quarter inch, dragon heartstring." He pointed it at a nearby knight and the statue raised his sword in salute.

The girls' eyes widened in awe. He gave Hermione's wand back with both hands and gestured to Anastasia. She handed the russet brown wand to him by the handle, but again he took it in both hands as if he were examining an ancient artifact.

"Ah, yes, Eastern elderwood, eight and a half inch, demiguise hair." Ollivander shot her wand into the air. Golden sparklers showered the girls. "Beautiful," he commented, "how are you liking it?"

"Quite well," she said, "seems to know me."

He presented it back to her.

"That is what's important," he took a few steps towards the stairs before turning over his shoulder, "You know, it's funny. I can't seem to sell the one that matched you at my shop. Hasn't chosen anyone else. Of course, its magic is quite different than the one you're holding there."

"Oh," Anastasia remarked, suddenly remembering the day when Ollivander awkwardly tried to sell her one of his own wands instead of the one made especially for her. The one she found there had been too powerful, and now, she realized, a bit dark. "I'm sure you'll find the right person eventually."

Ollivander smiled with a spark in his eyes.

"It's still waiting, should the need arise."