"They gave each other a pledge. Unheard of. Absurd…and look at [their] eyes, so hopeful." - Tevye, Fiddler on the Roof (1964)
N
Thick leaves tickled, too wet. Leaves over dirt filled sunlit tunnels. Fur nuzzled. Spud's face, licking Nat's tingling scars. A hammock swung gently underneath. Orange lit posters on a yellow wall papered wall. Not school.
Nat rubbed his patched parka, starlet yellower. A leafy curtain spread out over a door, around the Watford Wombats playing Quidditch. Barnet. Nat shifted in the hammock and Spud bounced down.
Nat slid out, bouncing gently onto the mat sliding towards the door. He laughed, fading, and stretched. He rolled over, grabbed a cushioned railing, and stood up. Slower, pal. He straightened up, curls messy.
Too quiet outside. Nat trudged out, brushing the mezuzah. Downstairs, towards tuna salad and challah wafting.
"Is it Shabbat?" Nat called cheerfully, fixing his tallit.
Dad's heavy footfalls and he came out the living room. "Feeling better, buddy?" He lowered his arm from the doorframe.
"How long'd I sleep?" Nat's stomach. "Seriously."
"You needed it, son, but we tried to wake you," Dad said somberly, grey mustache drooping. "We just finished minha."
"I gotta learn properly somehow." Nat passed around the staircase railing towards the open kitchen. "Ma?"
"I hardly heard you, myszko," Ma said cheerfully, setting plates onto the red table. "Sleep does wonders." The Shabbat candles flickered slightly in the middle.
Nat washed. "It's all good now, but I gotta get used to hard stuff again." He opened the floral cookie tin and popped a few kołaczki in his mouth, jammy less sugary easing.
"Yo," Ma said. "You're getting better, but I hope you're still taking care of your mouth."
Nat swallowed another, jam messy. "Amsterdam's got zahners who could heal the rest, odonotogists," he corrected hastily. "More tolerant than here!" He drew up his cushioned chair.
"They're everywhere!" Dad called in Hebrew. "Any messages from your sister?"
Nat plopped tuna salad on his plate. "Give me a sec." He flipped his Meisnuk the Defiant goblin chocolate frog card over, but nothing. "Nie! Can I have chips?" he added at Ma.
"You won't find any here." Ma headed out, grey waves trailing her shoulders. "Jacob, we give them five minutes-" she went on in Polish.
Nat chewed a small bite, fresh cranberries juicy, but Dad's heavy footfalls came down the hall.
"Let's pray," Dad said. "I'm hungry too, son."
Nat put his fork down and sunk back into his cushion. "Sorry, Dad."
Dad waved a hand and carried the negel vasser to the table, water shimmering. "Today's understandable, but I'd like you to lead a blessing sometime."
"I'll be home for Passover." Nat's arm itched. "Lyssa and I normally make it to synagogue." He pulled his hand away from his plate. "And I rest, I promise."
Dad nodded, trimmed beard tugging. "Angie, zeeskeit." He dropped into his chair.
"Tak, I'm here." Ma stepped in and brought the covered cutting board over.
They washed and blessed, then of the bread. Ma cut the challah and passed some out. Nat nibbled his slice, still lightly warm. And dipped it in his salad. He closed his eyes, breathing.
Orange sun streaked the tile. Distant childish laughter. Seawater floats dingily. A sharp warmth. Dad lowered his napkin, heavily wrinkled.
The Shabbat candles flickered. Ma smiled and Nat reached into his pocket, warm.
AstroGirl33: I'm on my way. Stuff happened but BRBallMan77 be all right!
Nat inhaled sharply. He pocketed it and ate salad.
"Was that Larissa?" Dad got another slice of bread.
"Well, today's special." Nat's other arm prickled. "Can't been at the bakery," he muttered.
"Natan?" Ma said.
Dad shifted, glancing at Nat warily. "What happened, pal?"
"Joe Poltkin," Nat said. "But he's always checking their bakery." He pushed tuna and spinach on his fork. "Lyssa didn't have details, she's coming."
Ma put a hand on Dad's arm. He clutched her hand shakily.
Nat wiped his whiskers. "Their mum's bakery's not your old one, Dad?"
"What?" Dad grabbed his fork, cutting his open faced sandwich. "Told you, mine here blew up." He chewed, mustache flecked, but he snapped his fingers awkwardly.
"Yeah," Nat went on casually. "Bakeries change owners easily." He smiled slightly, whiskers damp.
Dad chuckled, candles glinting. "Let's see what your sister says, buddy." He took a larger bite, chewing grimly towards the curtains.
Some five minutes later, Lyssa messaged she was outside but no scooter motor. Ma hurried and unbolted the back door. She let Lyssa in, the American-Polish flag flapping off the porch, and shut the door.
"Nearly sunset!" Ma tightened the door, buttons glowing.
"Sorry." Lyssa pushed her curls out of her face. "The Poltkins were on their way to synagogue-" She washed, "-when Joe suddenly said he'd be right back, to check Shalom Bakery." She plopped in her chair. "You'd think they'd leave the note on Friday afternoon."
"A cursed scroll?" Dad said hollowly.
"What else?" Lyssa scooped salad on her bread. "He's at Wizarding Finchley Memorial but-"
Dad sat up, knee hitting and the table shook. Nat gasped, loosening his tight fork.
"Any of us would've stayed, if at all possible," Dad's voice strained, letting go of the table. "Paris or Poland, for either us or your birth parents. Poland hasn't been worth living in anymore, since the first pogroms." He turned from Lyssa towards Nat. "Ken?"
"Got it," Nat said stiffly. "Just leave Poland behind, forgotten."
Ma's face glistened. "Only go reasonably, dearest," she said in Polish. "Channah, how is Joesph?"
"Should be fine," Lyssa said slack. "Not serious. Dad," she sniffled, "you fought and all too."
"I know, I know." Dad scooped a bite. "Your age, only natural."
"The family I found in France," Nat rubbed his starlet, "you'd know for sure, Dad. I know them, I'm positive."
"Bit risky for me, son," Dad said, as Lyssa stuffed her face. "But we've got the Amiens trip in November. Maybe then."
"I know," Nat's forearm sharper, "but you can't blend in any?"
Dad jerked a finger at his face. Nat nodded, curls heavy.
Dreams, Nat's deepest netherworld but wonderland too. A bustling bakery. Cinders float. Dad, younger, in army uniform. A vague wife. A dark wavy haired boy dashes to his sisters. Bricks tower into skyscrapers, dingy seawater wafting.
A wet tongue. Bed still deeply soft. Yellow sun barred. Past eleven am.
Nat stretched and swung his legs out. Around his deflated mat. Downstairs towards cooking cabbagey gołąbki, but still quiet and no Dad or Lyssa anywhere.
"How's Joe Poltkin?" Nat cut his scrambled eggs on toasted challah, once at the table.
"Your dad visited him this morning, just awake but more tired than anything." Ma marked scores in her S.S.S. Magizoology folder across the table. "More potions and plenty more bed rest will get him back on his feet."
Nat nodded stiffly. "Where's Dad now?"
Ma glanced up. "Family nearby, myszko. Do you have plans for today?"
"I'll drop by the Poltkins but mostly, I mean to stick around Barnet." Nat chewed racuchy z jablkami.
"Och?" Ma smiled slightly.
"Aside from Dad panicking," Nat's throat strained but he cleared it, "I missed most of yesterday."
"That's best, tak," Ma said quietly. "I know you care, but I worry about Larissa. Our traditions are so important, even if we explore."
"Youth I bet," Nat said, "but she'll probably round out like Aunt Tina, more proud." He smiled slightly. "The rest of the Scamanders too."
"Of course." Ma's face glinted. "Perhaps some seawater at the Scamanders today."
"I'm okay." Nat stuffed half a racuchy to his cheek, apples cinnamony. "Rupe needs it more."
Dad's Pontiac engine slowed down the street.
"Seconds thoughts, maybe," Nat mumbled. "Why not the Floo?" he said louder.
"If the Scamanders can find a good reason," Ma said sternly. "I never liked fire transportation either."
Floating cinders fading. Nat swallowed eggs.
The Pontiac pulled into the driveway and Dad parked. A gate closed. A car door opened and shut. Nat magically warmed his toast and kept eating. Ma hurried out, unbolted the front door, and Dad unlocked the rest. They whispered and Dad came in, both bolting the door up.
"I'm in here!" Nat called, forearm sharp. "I can ride myself, but I'm not leaving the district."
"Even then, pal." Dad came down the hall. "After yesterday-"
Nat turned, spine crackling as Dad stepped in. "Forget practically nineteen, I've been overage for six years."
"Don't start that argument." Dad scrubbed at the sink. "We need to remain humble-"
"Faith won't save you." Nat forced his right arm up, pushed on the table, and grabbed his plate. "I know you've got your reasons, but I thought we were supposed to talk more." He passed Ma, backing away, and went upstairs.
He slammed his bedroom door, waving his wand till the doorknob glowed. Spud sat up and Nat set his plate on his desk.
"Sorry, buddy." Nat dug into his expanded backpack.
He pulled out his locked binder, tapped the magical key, and fitted it. He sunk into his yellow swivel chair and unrolled the Kowalski pedigree chart.
Under Aunt Becki and Uncle Tony, Michael between his sisters, all within two years of each other. Flitting across Dad's siblings over and down to Maman and Tata. Nat stuffed a pancake down.
A few minutes later, Nat's chest looser with his stomach fuller and more notes open.
"Nat?" Dad's footfalls edged heavily onto the landing. "You're right, buddy. I'm sorry, eh?"
Nat gripped his wand, other forearm stabbing, and flicked his wand towards the door. His wand clattered, whole. He panted, gripping his arm.
"Nathan?" Dad's voice said.
His elbow joint damp, voices clearer. Keys jangled. A wood door? Nat gasped.
"Nat," Dad's voice somewhere near. "Home, it's Dad." A flappy arm.
Nat gripped it. Dad's strained curly mustache. Nat let go, gasping. His right arm slumped on his lap. Dad raised his left hand, forearm tight.
"I try," Nat managed.
"You're okay," Dad said softly, rolling up Nat's wool sleeve.
Nat shut his eyes, breathing. Dad whispered kindly and wiped it up, creamy potion easing. He patted a bandage down and rolled Nat's sleeve down.
"Not bad, we caught it in time." Dad patted Nat's knee. "You okay, Nat?"
Nat sniffled. "My wand."
Dad blobbily picked up Nat's wand, whole?
"It fell, but it's okay," Dad said softly.
Nat held his hand out shakily and Dad gently helped Nat wrap his fingers, silver birch wand shaky.
"Your gift from Elokim," Dad said. "Never let anyone take that, son."
Nat flicked it. A rusty Sacred Hoop fastener floated from under his bed. Another flick. The totems shone, still rusty.
"I'm rusty too." Nat's hand slipped.
The fastener clattered. Dad scooted himself towards it and picked it up.
"Everyone's rusty." Dad rubbed it. "That's life, but we get back up." He flipped it and caught it, totems up and he smiled.
"Yeah, but crack in half, that's me." Nat tugged his Polish quilt. "Barnet or Brooklyn?"
"We're in Barnet." Dad pulled himself up on the bed. "Still unsure where for our summer vacation though."
"Dad." Nat flicked his fingers.
Dad laughed but stepped over away, pulled the fastener from behind his fingers. He flipped it and Nat caught it.
"When's Shavuot this year?" Nat fitted it on his parka jacket.
"Between both of your birthdays," Dad said. "When's the school year let out in France?"
"Early July, but we could manage." Nat's arm itched. "Wherever, we better get tickets soon."
"We'll discuss Amsterdam more seriously long term." Dad rubbed his left forearm. "History you'll understand better now." He rubbed his curls. "Tolerant, but less wary than Britain is about the Zanos."
"Yeah." Nat bent his arm carefully. "Lyssa likes France but I'm not sure."
Dad nodded, glancing towards Nat's desk. His mustache drooped. He rubbed it, smiling back at Nat. "I better write to this Sam Kowalski then, eh? If it is, we never meant to lose contact."
Nat nodded and rolled back over. He warmed his food and chewed his eggs.
"I'm okay, thanks," Nat said.
"We're downstairs, buddy," Dad said. "We love you." He plodded out, door already half open. "Open or closed?"
"Ajar." Nat pushed his plate aside. "You can take this too."
"Can do." Dad came over. "Some fruit on these pancakes too." He picked up Nat's plate. "I'll get this fixed up." He lifted the plate and set out.
A Yankees baseball flag just up. A Yonkers Pirates Quodpot poster. Barnet F.C. His West End Fiddler the Roof poster. Somebody. A wood door swung ajar. Across, his Phoenix Scout wood plaque and name shining. December 1965. Nat exhaled. His heart hammering under his patches, still alive?
F
New moon, even riskier with the news after the protest march in Memphis, Tennessee. Friday night around Shabbat was their best chance for an E.V.F. Awareness meeting. Kelsey Bell led again (as new deputy), but turned to Hugo Leach to discuss committee nominations. Eight of them left, with four now on exchange.
"Nellie's risked everything she can," Hugo said at the blackboard, after Paul Corner noted her absence. "Awareness membership is by far the most secret, but not as dangerous as it used to be."
Vasu shivered. Frank exhaled, beads steadier.
"That could change," Hugo's voice stony, and he sunk into the head chair. "They can agree to not shatter the law again, even if they swore a solemn oath." He glanced down each of them. "Where do each of you stand?"
Kelsey raised her RAF roundel bead. "My family's proud, to the end."
"I live and breathe reconciliation." Vasu sent a white feather flapping, quickly vanishing. "Neither of us taking advantage of the other."
"You know where I stand," Frank said, voice deeper.
Hugo smiled slightly.
"I've got prouder friends, but I'm staying," Paul said, beside Xeno Lovegood distracted. "Still with us, Xeno?"
Xeno crumbled a parchment, eagle quill loose. "We're far too small. Get Jing in." He turned on Frank and Vasu, his bright clay creature beads. swinging. "Where's Teddy? What about Kay Weasley? Graham isn't certain."
"Like they can," Frank said flatly, loosening, "but we're up for any other Weasley nominations." He turned to Paul. "If the Changs can do any more, even to help."
Paul nodded, glancing over Xeno's shoulder. "That's ruddy mad."
"Then what would be the point?" Xeno glared, but relaxed. "Is Trevor Fortescue coming back next year?" He glanced towards Hugo.
"All questions regarding Trevor need to be shut down," Hugo asserted. "At the same time, keep the Katzs just as safe."
"So the Bells getting hexed is fine?" Paul said half-sarcastically. "We could lose all your roommates."
"Then shut the talk about Amsterdam and redirect it all to France," Hugo's scarred face tight, as he glanced over the rest of them. "Luke and I need a year abroad. I'm not even considering any further school badges."
"So," Vasu edged, "are we getting Puja Bindra back at least? If I leave, and we don't have an Indian voice here." He twisted a hand, colorfulness sifting out of his pocket.
Frank slapped the table, bouncing off sticky orange putty. Paul and Xeno chortled. Frank peeled it off.
"She hopes so," Hugo said. "Now, next year's fourth years-"
Frank tossed a bit of putty at Vasu, but Hugo cleared his throat.
"We have plenty up for committees nominations," Hugo went on, as Frank and Vasu picked putty off. "-I don't want any of them on A.N.T. possibilities until they've had other committee experience. We may also need to bar at the age fifteen for here."
"Starting when?" Xeno protested.
Hugo flipped through his notes. "I'm not barring you off three weeks, mate. You're too good to not keep."
"Thanks," Xeno said.
"Kelsey, back to you," Hugo said. "Everyone keep nominations and recruitment in mind." He stood up and they swapped chairs.
"We better turn to projects," Kelsey said. "Xeno, it looks like you've got something to share."
"Yes, I do." Xeno picked up a parchment.
After a progressive meeting, Hugo sent Xeno and Paul out first and Kelsey called Vasu aside. Hugo waved Frank over to the blackboard.
Frank fixed his jacket and reached Hugo, glancing back but Vasu and Kelsey were eagerly talking.
"Oso?" Frank said quietly.
"Culture, along with Danny Scamander," Hugo muttered. "Possibly Luke Perks too, for his expertise and it keeps Danny safer. It's the A.N.T. leadership I worry about."
"If Puja's coming back," a lump rose.
"Top secret," Hugo breathed barely audible, "but she's up for officers. Arthur was leaving already, mate."
"Me though?" Frank raised a sticky hand. "Impossibly distracted?"
Hugo nodded, wrapping an arm around Frank's shoulders. "You wanna know the last to be so devoted as you are?"
Frank's fingers brushed through his motto beads, lingering at his pendant. "Who?"
"Nathan Kowalski and Rupert Weasley," Hugo's afro tickled. "And everyone looks up to you."
Frank chuckled. "Is Nellie up?"
"Depends, but if she goes, or can't, probably not though." Hugo patted Frank's back. "Talk to your parents, but I expect it'd be deputy."
Frank shook his head. "I'm starting the Gold for the AofM, for Scouting."
"Think about it, eh?" Hugo smiled slightly. "It'd bring a lot of opportunities too."
"Aye." Frank's gut uneasy. "Get back safe though." He trudged for the table and swung his bag on, stuffing his beads away.
"Hey, mate." Vasu came around. "You okay?"
Frank nodded. "Come on."
"You're awfully pale." Vasu tossed his bag on, and tucked his beads.
"Wand out." Frank waved at Kelsey and rapped Vasu's head.
Vasu grinned, both of them camouflaging, and flicked his wand at Frank. Something slapped at his nose and Frank tugged Vasu's arm for the door.
"We need to take this more seriously." Frank gripped the doorknob. "Right?"
"I gotcha, mate," Vasu said. "Really. But if I start acting like it." He poked Frank's chest and grinned. "We going?"
Frank unsealed the door and they snuck out.
Arms linked through the classroom, Frank and Vasu joined security in the outside corridor.
Down the stone spiral staircase off the Room, they made it safely to the kitchen corridor and into the tunnels. Vasu flitted back to the common room for a side exit and Frank kept through outside tunnels, out the boys' tunnel door.
Talk drifted about Martin Luther King Jr. and mixed views about a shot teenage boy on top of next week's wizcricket match, but Frank quickly joined the advocate side.
"Good nap, laddie?" Craig McIntyre said cheerfully, as Frank dropped down at his study table.
"Aye." Frank unlocked Intermediate Transfiguration, beads heavy.
Paul and Xeno got caught and questioned, but were let go. Over the weekend, security ramped up especially for Hugo and Uncle Nobby with the news about Dr. King. Rumors about student protests in Paris and Apollo 6 launch on Saturday. April came with the Hogwarts Wyverns slamming the St. John's Kings in a home match.
On Wednesday afternoon, Frank wiped his charcoal covered hands with a wet paper towel carefully, Hogwarts' starlit castle imposing. Doomed? Luke Bell set off with his canvas from the head of their table.
"All done?" Kelsey raised her report from beside her giant elephant drawing, mini-photo on the paper.
"Good enough." Frank pocketed his report and picked up his canvas.
They joined Shirley Summerbee and Clara Pye between the other tables. Frank and Kelsey pressed together, hands at their sleeves. Miss Crockford among kids at the main tables.
"What's so fascinating about maps?" Kurt Bryson shot, towards the front.
"You've literally got a wolf," Luke Bell said.
Faces had turned. Ingrid Sheringham was nowhere and no Puja Binda on defense. Kelsey exclaimed. Frank's fingers empty.
His canvas scurried under a table and he scrambled, wand out. He dodged familiar younger Slytherin girls but tripped. They exclaimed. Light darted from somewhere. His canvas hit the floor.
His knees rammed into the floor. He panted, gripping an empty stool legs. Arguments loud but red paint swarmed across Hogwarts' towers:
FORGET YOUR FANTASY
TRADITION LASTS FOREVER
It sped away and people shrieked.
"Look what you did!" Ingrid Sheringham snapped. "Your Highness?"
"Out of the way!" Nellie Malfoy exclaimed. "Nobody touch that!"
People jumped away. Sheringham snapped.
"Calmly, please!" Miss Crockford cried.
Frank grabbled for his wand. It rolled away. Kids scampered. Ringing voices. Lights above. His fault?
"Don't," a girl said frantically.
"Here." A Slytherin girl held out Frank's ebony wand shakily, dirt under her fingernails.
He took it. "Ta."
The fair girl smiled. A dark haired girl came over and tugged the fair girl away. Frank sent up a Shield Charm around them and stood up, deflecting a spell. Paint exploded overhead. Lights faded.
"Most of the advanced students, outside please," Miss Crockford said sternly.
Luke tugged himself out of Kelsey's grip and fixed his robes, fresh black eye bruising. Bryson stormed out.
"Any plans before, miss," Luke said calmly, "was an act of defense on our part."
"Of course," Miss Crockford said, "but did it need to resort to a physical fight?"
Luke went around Kelsey, arms crossed.
"We are taking it to Professor Bones!" Nellie said haughtily. "Miss, Sheringham literally vanished earlier."
"Misses Malfoy and Malone, see Mr. Longbottom's drawing out safely." Miss Crockford waved her arms for the the door. "Miss Yates, you're in charge."
Frank joined Shirley and Clara out.
Gone, but Nellie and Lisa loudly cleared the corridors further on. Outside just down the corridor, two other Ravenclaws had pinned Bryson to the wall, his chin and eye bruised. Basil Traddles had Sheringham cornered. Frank pressed his tingling bum against the wall.
Miss Crockford closed the door and faced them all. "From initial sight, Miss Sheringham and Mr. Bryson are in the most trouble. However." She turned towards Luke, half blocked by Kelsey. "What else do you have today, Mr. Bell?"
"Crusader's Guild," Luke said.
"So do I." Bryson pushed at his housemates.
"I don't have authority over you, but I strongly don't think it a good idea for either of you. Mr. Bryson, report to the hospital wing then your housemaster."
Bryson fixed his robes. "What about him? Cozied in his common room?"
"I will take the actions necessary," Miss Crockford said. "The Bells can leave first."
Luke and Kelsey headed on and the Ravenclaws blocked Bryson. The Bells left and Bryson had crossed his arms.
"Whatever happened, miss," Bryson said. "He deserved it."
"It's been rather frequent," Miss Crockford said. "Please, join your housemates for the hospital wing now then Miss Sheringham and Mr. Traddles to Professor Griffiths."
Bryson pressed on, squeezed between them then Traddles and Sheringham. Once they had gone and footfalls down along the corridors, Miss Crockford finally turned to Frank.
"You're not in too much trouble, dear," she said kindly. "I know people will stare, but it's best if the three of you return to your seats now. I'm sorry about this, but I will talk to the class."
"Thank you, miss," Shirley said.
Frank cleared his throat. "And me?"
"We can discuss it later." Miss Crockford raised her arm towards the door.
Shirley, Frank, and Clara went inside.
"Please, back to your work, dears," Miss Crockford called, and mutters faded. "I have the matter in hand."
People turned away. Shirley, Frank, and Clara passed for the sinks. The fair haired Slytherin girl glanced over, and her dark haired friend over her shoulder. Frank smiled and kept along.
"Are you all right?" Martha Yates said worriedly, standing up at their partly wrecked table. "We did the best I could."
Shirley explained. Frank's sketchbook front pages torn, but the rest fine. He closed it on Moonhunter. Clara stared, but blinked turning away.
"Mad, yeah," Frank muttered. "But ta."
"You really need it." Clara summoned her things and sat on his other side.
Shirley came over with her bag and dropped on Kelsey's stool. Frank opened to his project's sketch and etched another star.
Watches ticked. The bell rang and stools scooted. Frank shoved his things away and stepped between Shirley and Clara, and they pressed out in the crowd.
Frank fiddled with his beads at his collar. Safely through the corridors to the fifth floor landing and downstairs. Some people grumbled but some blocked at the third floor landing.
"Clear the way!" a witch called.
People backed away.
"-Longbottom not in bigger trouble?"
Frank gripped his bag strap and they kept on to the entrance hall. Frank, Shirley, and Clara headed down the kitchens staircase and saw Frank to housemates. Once Shirley and Clara were back to the staircase, Frank headed down with housemates through the outside tunnels and for the boys' main dormitory tunnel.
Down and through the the third archway, past Badger End, quiet, but the door to Warblewood swung open and Sam Abbott hurried out. Frank passed inside.
"Where's Rawkes?" Frank said flatly, as Sam sealed the door waving his wand.
"On duty." Craig's bright legs dangled, seated between his fishing net across. "Nellie's-"
Frank tossed his bag at his loft bed. Patches and Rex squeaked loudly.
"Why?" Frank wrenched himself up. "Her dad hasn't come yet!" His foot slipped and he slumped into his robes.
Sam helped Frank sit up. "How are you?"
"Drawing, fine." Frank pushed off his bum and threw his robes off. "Crockford'll be forced to give me detention when Malfoy storms in here."
"What can he do with two days left?" Craig said.
"Whatever." Frank grabbed the rope and heaved himself up, flopping on his side. "Where's Teddy and Vasu?"
"Teddy's got football practice." Sam vanished underneath. "Lucky he left before things exploded in Art and we were on the grounds already. Vasu's somewhere."
"We need to be more vigilant about Vasu," Frank said.
Patches and Rex squeaked calmer.
"Sorry, lads." Frank summoned his bag.
"It's Wednesday," Craig said. "Did Crockford say anything about Crusader's Guild?"
"Luke Bell and Bryson shouldn't." Frank opened his binder. "I'm s'pposed to see her later."
"Take a break." Sam crossed the dorm past the stove. "We've got the holidays."
"You said I'm really behind." Frank dumped homework onto his tie dyed sheets.
"For the moment, obviously," Sam said tiredly, pulling himself through his yellow curtains and flopped in.
"G'night, laddie," Craig said.
Frank unfolded his timetable, unrolled his Anglo-Saxon Studies essay, and grabbed a Spell-Checking Quill.
Frank was banned from Guitar Club but Miss Crockford's concerns for needing Red Cross Club wouldn't matter when Frank quickly landed himself in detention with Fittleworth on Thursday evening. A lecture then achingly sorting conjured items.
Out the window, orange sunlight drooped behind the mountains as Frank pulled himself up grabbing a bookcase. He trudged towards Fittleworth's carved desk and Frank straightened up against the back of the hard chair ahead.
"What have you learned?" Fittleworth flicked his cane over his large desk, stuffed golden eagle's head cocked at Frank, gaze lightless.
"It's better," Frank said flatly, letting his tongue flit, "but you could get a softer rug."
Fittleworth struck the desk. Frank inhaled sharply.
"I understand you do try with certain teachers and lessons, yet even if you do not care-" Fittleworth flicked the cane closer, "-the same communication and effort must be attempted. You have the Easter holidays to catch up, or else."
Frank jerked away. "And if not?"
Fittleworth set his cane on the desk in front of him. "Explain why your care for vanishment is much easier than to transform the simplest creature."
"Vanishment in general is," Frank caught his tone. "You laid it all out. If I don't care, then I don't care." He backed up, but stumbled on the chair catching the arm.
"Does it send some political statement if you keep this up, Longbottom?" Fittleworth said matter-of-factly. "You have already accomplished far too much from yesterday's incident alone."
"Defense." Frank turned his neck sharply. "I prepared. They laid the evidence out that Luke Bell had the most against him, Muggin advocate wise." He raised his shaky palms. "Do you think I could hide like that?"
Fittleworth reached into his pocket. Frank recoiled, but Fittleworth clicked open his silver watch and raised it. The hands ticked past eight, VIII.
"Each moment influences the next, I'm afraid. Mr. Bell has the same role models as you do and therefore, it continues ceaselessly. Should the teacher not be able to trust the student and vice versa?"
Frank brushed his own wristwatch, past eight. "What are you expecting from me exactly, sir? That our fight for equality clearly won't stop until everything's tolerantly fair?"
"Your Transfiguration professor stepped up and ensured your fair school. Do your part now lest you influence every single one of the children who look up to you."
Frank's bum prickled. "So I'm the one making a political statement? I'm trying to leave so I can do my homework."
"Quite, with no deviations or distractions, you return directly — to your common room and revise every ounce of Transfiguration — You place all your effort towards your academics then perhaps we can trust you."
Frank's tongue dried. Seriously?
"Did you hear what I said?" Fittleworth said sharply, reaching for the cane. "To your common room through the front door to do your homework?"
"Yeah," Frank managed, tugging back with the chair arm. "Got it."
"Dismissed," Fittleworth said.
Frank stumbled for the door, tossed his bag on, and hurried out.
At the end of the corridor, Frank fell against Dickon Ward panting harshly.
"Mate?" Dickon rubbed Frank's back. "Are you-"
"Fine," Frank coughed. "Front barrel."
Dickon got out Frank's water bottle and helped him drink.
They trudged for the library corridor and down the stairs, pushing his muscles on. Off the first floor visible, they joined camouflaged security and kept down the darkening marble staircase.
Off the porch into the bright sunlit common room, faces stared but Frank and Dickon set for their usual area. People chatted about a better Hufflepuff Quidditch practice today.
Frank and Dickon took an empty study table and got their Transfiguration stuff out. Dickon thudded his book down while Frank snuck Soothing Potion, muscles easing.
Hours, till his brain pounded on Transfiguration with Celtic Magic and Potions, but an odd flickering wave of something. Bright again. His head against his inky essay.
The next morning, Frank rolled over to dimmer sunlight, but Stripey was gone. Noise echoed through the tunnels. Frank tugged his curtains open.
"Sam and Dickon ran out to see what's up, laddie," Craig said. "Apollo 6 hopefully."
"Too frantic." Frank flipped over his chocolate frog card on his pillow.
Herby23: Not good. Regular post swarmed in.
Echoing noise. Footfalls rushed out. Frank swung on his rope and down. Sam's and Dickon's footfalls slogged closer and the door pushed open. Dickon helped Sam in, wobbly.
"What happened?" Craig caught Sam, stumbling over. "Sammy?"
Dickon pulled his lower yellow curtain aside and Craig guided Sam into the desk chair. Dickon's gerbils squeaked worriedly. Dickon lingered back.
"Sammy?" Frank dropped down on Sam's other side, hand on Sam's shoulder. "What's happened?"
"Dr. King," Sam mumbled vaguely. "Dead."
Craig caught Sam, gasping. Frank caught the desk, breaths short. Squeaking. Frank exhaled. Craig whispered softly and Sam sniffled.
"Frank?" Sam managed, settling back against the chair.
Craig held a hand out to Frank. "Alright?"
"Hugo." Frank fumbled for Craig's hand, squeezing it.
After Craig managed to help Frank to the sink room, Frank collapsed on his knees and Craig held him. Finally ready, Hugo had messaged he'd be late since he was preparing to talk at breakfast. Frank, Dickon, and Craig helped Sam down the tunnels.
The common room flickered dimmer and they followed after the silent queues to the kitchen hole where Miss Crockford ushered them in, checking names off and smiling tiredly.
The packed table was popping up chairs endlessly and Dr. King's face calm from newspapers. Across, Professor Kettleburn was surrounded by some worried first to third years.
Frank, Craig, Dickon, and Sam sunk beside Teddy, Vasu, near Melissa Smeek, Wynna Dearborn, and Jo Gibson. Down, Nellie Malfoy's and Laney Prewett's faces hidden. Less sixth and seventh years. Professor Kettleburn's weary gaze fell on Frank who nodded.
"Once again, we are faced with the news of another assassination. And yes, across the ocean and another world, but it affects us all. Dr. King was a man of peace and friendship and yet, disturbances have broken out in Gryffindor and Slytherin particularly. I ask each one of you to do your part to discourage anything that may lead towards disturbances anywhere, no matter what."
People sniffled.
"Remember the unity Minister Leach once brought in only a few years ago and I know his radicalism is questionable, but I remind that the Muggle Heritage slash Advocate Protection Bill is to bring out the rights for those who have none. That does not put down those who have them now."
People turned. Seventh years came in, filing for their side. Hugo Leach stepped in with sixth years.
"Just in time, Mr. Leach," Professor Kettleburn said wearily.
His friends sat down and Hugo took his badge off, on his notebook paper but smiled.
"I'm just your housemate, your friend, and I'll be brief so we can eat but pour some tea if you don't. I didn't understand the weight of my dad's election would bring. First, at St. Hilda's Abbey then here." He glanced towards the younger kids.
Inga Vetrova, Lalita Jatav, and Kat McCrimmon giggled quietly.
"I may or not be planning elsewhere next year but it isn't like we're trying to revolutionize any countries. It happens sometimes," Hugo said. "Now, Dr. King, made his last speech on Wednesday, but whatever happens, I hope we've spread awareness and made some changes."
He raised his prefect badge.
"I've already declined nomination to Head Boy or Deputy, because I don't want it. Of course I wouldn't have received prefect if not for Headmaster Dumbledore but, it's only the next step. I'm just glad I've had great people to go to school with, all of you."
Hugo smiled around. "But never forget everything we still fight for, or it's all in vain." He sat down and raised his Hufflepuff mug of steaming tea. "To Dr. King?"
Frank and Craig raised their mugs with friends, and everyone else followed. They drank. Gingery honey. Frank's stomach looser. Out the windows, the strawberry fields brighter in the distance.
No wizarding papers or wireless reports came. Everyone grouped up out and advocate posters scattered in the regulated entrance hall. The muffled bells distantly faded. Hugo went down to the dungeons surrounded by N.E.W.T. students.
After the bell during double Locomotion, Frank and Dickon packed up but a tap.
"A moment please," Professor Eikenboom's German accent calm, and they settled down. "Remember your homework and studies over the holidays but please keep yourself safe out there." She smiled kindly, grey wavy bun slightly tousled. "You may go,"
Down the corridors to join roommates, frantic whispers about Hugo and the Minister. Clamor downstairs. Staff's voices distant. People pushed. Across the landing for the library staircase.
Few turned off on the second floor and the clamor downstairs closer. A distant cane. Frank tripped over Sam and they stumbled. Some headed off for the hospital wing.
"Straight across for the sanctuary!" Miss Bexley's voice amplified from the landing. "Please, for peace!"
Staff ahead of the marble staircase waving arms and others joined from the main stairs. Strikes downstairs. Frank's legs jerked. Sam's hand around Frank's arm. They kept on, but Frank pulled. Cries behind.
"Frank!" Dickon's voice clear.
Frank dove around a shorter wizard.
"Stay back!" the wizard grabbled.
Craig pressed against Frank. They shot downstairs, casting Shield Charms.
They tore past robed boys, lights reflecting. Frank and Craig blocked behind. People danced. Others on guard. No Hugo. A crowd clambered and dueling around blocked strikes. Prophets scattered. Uncle Nobby's and Dr. King's faces.
ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT
Frank skidded and collapsed, into a pile of graffitied advocate posters. His wand gone. Craig?
"Too easy, Longbottom," a cold boy's voice said somewhere. "Lose your roommates?"
Frank pushed himself up, reaching into his jacket. "Show yourself." He fumbled through pranks.
Orange mist exploded. Camouflaged figures dueled. The boy fell. Kay Weasley appeared, jaw set.
Kay held a hand out to Frank. "You okay?"
Frank squeezed. Kay helped him up, and summoned his wand.
"Hugo?"
"Attacked downstairs," Kay said furiously, as they pressed together. "Max Brown-"
Frank blocked but Kay shot a spell.
"Block!"
A spell shot. Frank dragged Kay down.
"Max?" Frank panted.
"Pringle, yeah." Kay pushed.
A spell sped over Frank's back. Someone exclaimed behind.
"Oi, Weasley!" a boy shouted ahead.
Frank pulled Kay's arm. Lights surrounded. Frank's and Kay's arms swept. Kay's wand flew overhead. Frank's gone. Kay threw a Faux Fire Ball. And it blew.
"It's your turn, Weasley," a boy stated. "No brothers to protect you."
Frank raised a blue ball. "No more."
"Snap it forever!" Kay threw an Earth Ball.
Frank tossed the Water Ball and mud shot. Arms gripped Frank's from behind. Kay snapped. They were forced up into each other. Captors camouflaged. Kay was dragged away, shouting soundlessly.
"Take me!" Frank snapped.
"Mudleach is down," his captor hissed, and Frank jerked. "How was his last speech?"
"Had enough Weasleys," he said flatly.
The boy's grip released. Frank shoved and rammed into the floor. Laughter. A poster was tossed down beside him. Spotty. A cane struck somewhere. Frank pushed himself up, but slumped, and caught his head.
"Kay," Frank gasped.
He clutched the poster. Another strike. Rupe's too long inky mop top. Frank's muscles slacked. The cane's hits lost. Frank panted.
"Got your wand," a familiar boy's voice whispered, robes brushing. "Frank."
"What?" Frank gripped his wand. "Who?"
"Forget it." Fabian Prewett swept off.
Frank grabbed the poster. Red scribbled ink: IN VAIN AFTER ALL over Rupe's mod jacket. Frank crumbled and tossed it.
Bag heavy, he dragged up and half camouflaged. Frank ducked, spell flying. Staff's voices loud. Dumbledore. Fittleworth. McGonagall. Poole. Black.