Author's Notes: Before some of you point out that in Goblet of Fire, Harry uses Ascendio to escape the Lake Task. I'm choosing to ignore this since it only happened in the movie, and the only source material I can find that covers Year Seven lessons include that spell in its Charms curriculum.
Also, the exact details of the dream in this chapter are different than we saw in the movie, but as Harry/Heather did not witness much of what happened, her imagination had to take over.
The Wizarding World of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling
Chapter Thirty
"Heather, you look absolutely awful."
"Gee, you know just what to say sometimes, Hermione." Heather grumped even though she couldn't really argue with the statement. Her reflection, staring dolefully back at her in the mirror showed just how poorly she'd slept. Heavy, dark bags hung low under her eyes and her skin had a sickly pale sheen to it.
"Didn't sleep well?" Hermione asked. She had just finished brushing her teeth and was beginning to pin back her hair so that it was kept out of her face.
Heather answered with a shrug. Her makeup lay scattered on the sink while she wondered just how to make herself look at least slightly less like a walking corpse. "Bad dreams," she said at last, which was the truth even if it wasn't the whole truth. It hadn't been dreams, but the dream once again. It had taken her a long time to fall asleep in the first place, and after the dream she hardly slept the rest of the night.
The look Hermione fixed her with through the mirror told Heather that her friend had suspected as much, but there was something else there as well. "You're still having nightmares, aren't you?"
"I guess…hang on, how'd you know I've been having nightmares?" Heather asked. She shot a quick look over at the bathroom door to check that it was still closed. Lavender had been gone when Heather had gotten out of bed, but Pavarti was still out there changing, and Heather didn't need her overhearing this.
"You were having them before I left for Australia," Hermione explained patiently, restraining a particularly defiant strand of hair securely behind her left ear. "Not to mention, I know they never really stopped. Ron, Susan, and Luna all told me."
Heather's heart sunk downwards, ending up somewhere around her navel. "They heard me, didn't they." It wasn't a question, it didn't need to be. She knew there had been nights when she'd forgotten to place the wards around her bedroom, she'd just been holding out hope that because no one mentioned it then they hadn't heard her.
"There," Hermione said with satisfaction, turning her head this way and that to take in her reflection from all angles. "Yes, they did," she then said to Heather, "but it's not as bad as you think. All they told me was that they'd occasionally hear shouts from your room in the night. Never enough for them to really worry, though. I think it'd be expected for you to have some nightmares, you know, after everything."
Somewhat mollified, Heather began applying her makeup. "Do you want to talk about them?" Hermione asked quietly when Heather didn't offer any reply.
In point of fact, Heather wasn't really sure talking about them was a good idea. For one thing, she didn't know if she'd be able to describe the dreams well enough for Hermione to understand precisely how terrifying they were. How could she adequately put into words the sheer terror of being faced with your phantom self? Not to mention, as nice as it would be to have someone on the inside of the madness with her, this more than anything might finally convince Hermione that she was losing it completely. Her sleep deprived head swam with fear.
"On the way to breakfast," she said at last, just before Pavarti pushed into the bathroom with her own bag to get ready. At the sight of their roommate, both girls quickly finished their morning routines.
After politely declining an offer from Pavarti to walk with them to breakfast in case anyone had any unpleasantness planned for them in the common room, Heather and Hermione snatched up their school bags and started down the staircase. They met a handful of girls on the stairs, but it seemed that they were content with, at worst, ignoring Heather. She supposed this was certainly preferable to other alternatives, even if it didn't help her already low spirits. Thankfully, no one was waiting for them and, only after ensuring that the path to the portrait hole was clear, they crossed the common room swiftly. Out in the corridor Heather pulled Hermione aside to allow another group to get far enough ahead of them so they wouldn't be overheard. In soft tones, barely audible over their footsteps, she began to tell Hermione what had troubled her sleep of the night before.
To ensure that Hermione understood completely that this was not some isolated or unrelated dream, Heather gave a quick summary of the other dreams, focusing on the dark corridor that she was constantly being pursued down. "That sounds almost like those dreams Voldemort was sending you during our fifth year," Hermione said thoughtfully as they rounded a turn in the sixth-floor corridor. Her brows were tightly knitted together in thought.
"I've thought that too. But I can't see how it could be him. He's dead," she argued, trying to completely believe that.
"Of course it can't be him, but the similarity is worrying," Hermione replied, half reassuringly. "What happens next?"
"Well, when I finally get to the door I go into this room that's filled with light, and then it's always something different." Heather continued.
"What was it this time?" Hermione asked as they ducked into one of Heather's shortcuts that would take them directly to the third floor.
Feeling a strange sense of embarrassment over the original memory this dream had been based on, Heather massaged the back of her neck where her school bag was rubbing and asked, "You remember during our first year when you overheard Ron saying those horrible things about you after a charms lesson?"
Arching an eyebrow, Hermione half faced her while still walking. "You mean after you both were being horrible about me?"
"Right, yeah," Heather said quickly, trying to get past that and onto the details of the dream. "Well, that was the night Quirrell let the troll into the castle, if you remember, and well, we became best friends."
"Heather, I think I can be trusted to recall a night I almost got murdered in a bathroom by a troll." Hermione replied, making a 'get to the point' gesture with her hand.
In last night's dream, after making it through the door and into the room filled with light, Heather had found herself sitting in a bathroom stall crying. It had been her, not Hermione, who had been crouching in that toilet while thunder rolled and lightning flashed outside the tall windows. This time she hadn't even been watching her apparent eleven-year-old self as she had with the Quirrell dream, but instead Heather had actually been inside her, been her completely. She remembered even now in the waking world the feeling of tears running down her face and stinging her eyes.
Suddenly the floor beneath her feet had begun to tremble, sending tremors across her tiny body. Under the green wooden door of the stall, she had watched breathlessly as two, large gray feet slowly stomped down the row of sinks outside. From somewhere beyond, there was the sound of a door being slammed closed and the rasp of a key hurriedly being turned in a lock.
The two feet turned suddenly at the noise and Heather had made the tiniest squeak of fright. The troll heard her, because the stall door hiding her had swung open and Heather had stared up in terror at the granite skinned face of a mountain troll. It considered her for a moment, as though unsure of what to do, before letting out a roar that flecked Heather with spit. She screamed, and Heather wasn't entirely sure whether or not she had only screamed in the dream of if it had escaped into the real world. In utter panic, thinking only of getting away from the troll as quickly as she could, she had begun to scurry under the partition into the next stall and then on into the next. The troll followed, slamming open the door of each stall in turn, roaring each time it caught sight of her. She pressed on, thinking that maybe if she could just reach the end of the row before the troll did, she might be able to dodge around it and escape through the door. But when she stuck her head out from under the last stall, she found the troll already waiting for her. It roared again, turning her blood to ice. Its club, held in both massive fists, swung into the side of the stall, showering her with thin wooden splinters.
At the edge of her awareness, a door had burst open like a cannon going off, and even over the renewed roaring of the troll she had heard two sets of footsteps racing into the bathroom. Risking opening her eyes, she saw through the splinters covering her as two boys, one tall with red hair, the other shorter, more solid, and with shockingly black hair and green eyes, raced towards to confront the troll. The redhead, who she knew now to be a representation of Ron, shouted something at the troll and threw a metal pipe that ricocheted off its shoulder. This angered the troll, the noise if not the force of the blow, and it turned, leaving Heather momentarily forgotten. The other boy now threw himself at the towering figure, wrapping his arms around the thick neck. More by accident than design, the boy's wand went straight up the troll's nose as he clung to the broad back for dear life.
"That sounds like what really happened, except for it being you in there and not me," Hermione interjected at this point. They were on the third floor now and Heather was speaking quickly, trying to get it all out before they reached the Marble Staircase.
"Right, but then it all changed." Heather said ominously. She had known even while having the dream that this is how it would play out, at least up till this point. Something told her that all she needed to do was stay hidden and these two boys would save her. The black-haired boy had always saved her, hadn't he? He was still clinging to the troll, shouting for the redhead to do anything. Before he could help, before he could even raise his wand, the troll snatched hold of the black-haired boy and threw him against the wall, close to where Heather was still hiding.
He hit the cold stone hard and slid to the ground. Crawling from her hiding place, Heather saw blood beginning to trickle down the side of his head from his ear, and also, for what reason she couldn't guess, from the bottom tip of his scar. His eyes fluttered open and found Heather's.
"Why?" Harry Potter asked. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed himself to his feet, swaying a little as he did so. The troll, angered that his victim still had the strength to face him, raised his club once more. Ron shouted "Wingardium Leviosa," but it had no effect. The club swung through the air and impacted somewhere around Harry's midriff. He flew once more across the room, landing in a huddled mass in a far corner. He did not get back up this time.
Only then, still staring at Harry's still body, had the real Heather finally managed to force herself awake. As they had been each time before, her sheets were icy cold with sweat and the pounding of heavy breathing filled her ears. A quick peak through her curtains showed there was no reaction to any noises she might have made, and going by the darkness outside the window next to Hermione's bed, it was still very late.
Trying to still her shaking hands, she had laid back after drying and warming her sheets with a charm, but try as she might she had trouble going back to sleep. Even when she could finally drift off, it wouldn't be long before she was shaken awake again by the vision of Harry laying crumpled against that wall.
"Is that all he asked?" Hermione asked when Heather finally finished speaking, "Why?"
"It's all he ever asks," Heather said. They had almost reached the Great Hall now and she didn't have time to really get into the other forms the dream had taken in greater detail.
Hermione's eyebrows furrowed again, "and you don't have any idea what he could be asking?"
"You mean what I'm asking?" Heather asked, "I mean, isn't he still me?"
"I'm not sure," Hermione replied thoughtfully. "You don't still think of yourself as Harry, do you?"
Heather shook her head fervently. "No, not for a long time now."
"And, haven't you had dreams before when you, Heather, and 'Harry' have faced and spoken to each other?"
"Not like this." There had been a series of dreams like this during her fifth year, she recalled now, back when she had first faced the reality that she wanted to be a girl, but never had the Harry she'd encountered then been so adversarial. "What do I do?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," replied Hermione, now looking worried. "You're going to have to figure out what this phantom Harry is asking, I think."
An approaching group of Ravenclaws ended their conversation, though Heather was unsure just what else there was to really say. Through the door into the Great Hall, they could hear the chattering voices of the rest of the school heartily enjoying their breakfasts. Heather had to take several deep breaths, working up the nerve to willingly put herself into that mass again.
"Don't worry," Hermione said, snaking her arm into Heather's and guiding her forward, "It's all going to be okay. No one's going to try anything in front of a table full of teachers."
The breakfast was as good as she remembered, even if her stomach tried to refuse it. She forced her way through some bacon and eggs, only managing to eat about half of it before her throat closed up on her. She and Hermione had secured seats with Ginny to one side and Seamus and Dean to the other. Whether because she was surrounded by friends or because Hermione's prediction about troublemakers not acting under the eyes of the teachers, no one bothered them the entire breakfast.
After a while, Hagrid began making his way down the long table with a large stack of parchment in his massive arms. Whether she thought Hagrid needed assistance this first time handing out schedules, or she simply wanted to keep a close eye on her newest Head of House, Professor McGonagall came along in his wake.
Hermione's schedule was handed to her with only the smallest delay. She was cleared to resume all of her classes. Instead of dashing from the hall, she waited patiently for Hagrid to finish up with Heather, who was next.
"Right now, Heather…Heather," Hagrid muttered, flipping through the stack until he pulled hers from somewhere near the bottom. "Right, looks like you're all set to keep taking Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Charms." He handed the parchment to Heather, who looked over it feeling slightly crestfallen.
"Err, Hagrid, what about Potions?" she asked hesitantly, feeling the Headmistress' eyes boring into her from behind Hagrid's bulk.
Sidestepping around Hagrid, which was no small feat in the tight space between the two tables, Professor McGonagall stepped forward and said in clipped tones, "Potter, Professor Slughorn has informed me of some…irregularities in your marks from your last term. As such, I am unable to allow you to continue in the subject." Heather stared up into McGonagall's eyes, which were looking down at her past her nose.
Turning in her seat to glance over at the Slytherin table, Heather could see Slughorn, who had quite a few less schedules to hand out than any other head of house, chatting amiably with Blaise Zabini who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. "Please, Professor. Can I speak to Professor Slughorn about this?"
Professor McGonagall considered her for a moment before nodding jerkily. "I suppose so, Potter. It is, after all, his decision. Though, I must inform you that any further irregularities and there will be consequences." With this she moved on to Ginny, leaving a nervous looking Hagrid behind.
"Something wrong 'tween the two of yeh?" he asked quietly so that McGonagall wouldn't overhear.
Heather shook her head. "It's nothing, she's just not happy with me these days. Not many people are."
"Well," Hagrid said, lightly slapping Heather on the back with enough force to make her stagger against the table, "that's nothing new, ain't it. You just keep your chin up, Heather." He hurried off after McGonagall, who was now several more students further along up the bench and was clearly impatient.
Hermione, who had picked up her bag and was now waiting for Heather, said, "You're going to have to deal with her at some point."
"Not right now. Listen," she looked down at the schedule in her hand, "You go on ahead to Charms. Save me a seat, alright?"
Professor Slughorn was talking to a first-year girl by the time Heather finally forced her way through the crowd of students to reach him. Catching sight of her, he smiled broadly, the first-year now completely forgotten. "Heather, m'dear. I was wondering if I'd be seeing you this morning," he said heartily, folding his hands together on his prodigious stomach.
"Yes, sir" she said in a rush even as she processed this greeting, "I was wondering if you'd let me continue in Potions this year. I know what I told you about Snape's old book and my marks that year, but still. Is there any chance we can come to some arrangement so I can keep attending your class?" Over Slughorn's shoulder she saw as the last of the crowd filtered out of the hall. She would be hard pressed to reach the Charms Corridor before class started if this negotiation took long.
The Potions Master considered her, his mustache dipping in what at first glance appeared to be a thoughtful frown. "Now, see here Heather. I want to say yes, Merlin knows I would like nothing better than to keep you as a student, but…why do you wish to continue in my subject? I understand from Professor McGonagall that you had done so when I first came here in hopes of becoming an auror. But," he held both arms out to his sides, "that ship has sailed, so they say."
Heather was caught between two different trains of thought. For one thing she did not actually have an answer to this question, but beyond that it felt like there was something else to it. Slughorn looked eager for her reply, and behind his eyes she could see the desire there. She had seen this before, when he had so insistently invited her to Slug Club meetings. It was the same look he once had while looking at a picture of her mother, and Tom Riddle. Thinking quickly, she replied, "Well, honestly Professor, I don't entirely know what I want to do for a career anymore. But," she pressed on as Slughorn's frown deepened, "I sort of figured that, since I can't start any new subjects in my seventh-year, it makes sense to keep as many of my old ones as possible. You know, keep my options open."
Slughorn was nodding thoughtfully now. "Of course, of course. As you say, it does make some sense. Heather, were you any other student I would have no choice but to say no, however due to mitigating circumstances…" he trailed off, inviting her to argue her point. In an instant, she understood. He had always intended for her to continue Potions, but by making her come to him and ask permission, he could set the terms. She would have to move very carefully so as not to bite off more than she could handle.
"You mean, like the fact that I saved your life?" she retorted, trading diplomacy for bluntness. If she didn't catch Slughorn off guard quickly and claim a victory, then he might just find his feet again.
The Potions Master flinched as though he'd been slapped. For a second Heather wondered if he was going to shout, but instead he began to chortle. "You know, I would have thought that by now you would have learned to restrain that nerve of yours, girl," he said, wagging one finger at her as the other hand rested on his stomach again. "Yes, yes," he continued in momentary defeat. "You did save my life, and I have yet to thank for properly for that. Hmm," he hummed under his breath. "I suggest this," he said at last. "I will allow you to continue taking potions, on the provision that you attend private lessons with me at least once a week so that we can be sure you are, coping with the coursework, shall we say." He eyed her, no longer hiding the fact that he knew he was about to get everything he wanted in this deal. "Do you consider that a fair trade?"
Heather had to do a quick mental calculation. Adding a weekly potions lesson to her evenings which would soon be packed with Quidditch and homework was less than ideal, but this was the best deal she was going to get. She nodded with a small sigh.
"Excellent!" beamed Slughorn. "I shall inform the Headmistress and send you a note with the date of our first lesson. Watch for my owl!" he said happily, turning and strutting away from Heather. She waited no more than ten seconds before following him, still trying to entirely wrap her head around what had just happened. Clearly Slughorn was more intent than ever to 'collect her,' and would almost certainly use these extra lessons as an attempt to get her to rejoin the Slug Club.
She shook her head as she dashed up the Marble Staircase and raced towards the third floor. Her watch showed her that she had a bare five minutes to get there before she would be late for her first lesson of the term, which was never a good look. Thankfully the corridors were empty as she sprinted along, feeling her skirt whip around her legs with the breeze. Professor Sprout's hints at modesty chose this moment to surface in her mind, but she couldn't care about such things now.
She skated through the door and into the seat Hermione was saving for her just as the bell rang. The classroom was packed. Flitwick had always been fairly easygoing with his N.E.W.T. class, only requiring the minimum pass grade of "Acceptable" on the O.W.L. to continue. This meant that it was not uncommon for the majority of each year to stick with his subject. As was customary on the first day of term, he began with taking the roll. He read through the names quickly, by now only needing a cursory glance at the rows of seats to locate the person he was searching for. He hardly bothered even calling out the names. Heather wondered if this would hold firm when he reached her name, and was not disappointed. "Potter, H." he called in his squeaky voice, thankfully omitting Heather's first name. Around the rumble of whispers that broke out, Heather raised her hand and called out, "here!"
Professor Flitwick looked up over the top of the roll and nodded. "Ah, yes. Welcome back, Miss Potter." He continued reading the last names over the continued whispers, ignoring them completely.
Banishing the parchment with a wave of his wand, Flitwick called the class to order. Before he began the lesson proper, he spoke at length about what they would face at the end of this year, both in his and their other subjects. "This is your final year here with us," he said, clasping both hands behind his back. "At the end of this year you will each sit your N.E.W.T. exams, after which you will officially be done with your education. As their name implies, these tests will push you to your breaking point and will truly show just how much each of you has learned during your seven, ahem, eight years here. Therefore, I expect every one of you to be properly prepared for the workload that I and your other teachers will be assigning you. I trust I do not need to point out that Hogwarts has always maintained a high pass rate for our N.E.W.T. students, something our new Headmistress is determined to maintain."
Heather felt her nerves rising as he spoke. This was the sort of speech she would have expected from McGonagall, not Flitwick. The Charms Professor had always been direct, true, but he had never quite so directly laid their fates so bare. Without stopping for a pause, Flitwick whipped out his wand and tapped the blackboard behind him. Diagrams and charts quickly filled the space as the diminutive professor launched into a lecture on the Ascension charm. Heather, who had not been expecting such an abrupt shift, quickly fumbled in her bag for a quill and parchment. This lesson being a double period, Flitwick did not stop speaking for close to two hours. From what Heather had gleaned, the charm itself was not overly difficult, but there were quite a few considerations that had to be kept in mind when using it. Her hand and wrist cramping fiercely, both equally out of practice with such heavy note taking. Beside her, Hermione was also massaging her wrist, making Heather feel a little better.
As neither of them had another class before lunch that day, after which Heather had a free period while Hermione had her first Ancient Runes lesson, it didn't make any sense to return to Gryffindor tower just to turn back around and come downstairs again. So, for lack of anywhere else to go, they followed along with the rest of the seventh-years, eventually ending up in the library. Together they passed several tables that were already full before finding a row that only a few others had reached. It was only after sitting down that Heather took stock of their neighbors and saw that, seated around the table closest to them, was Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbot, and Justin. From the way they all laughed within a few moments of Heather and Hermione sitting down, Justin must have been telling some hilarious joke, swiftly summoning the wrath of Madam Pince. Once the irate librarian had wandered off to find other noise makers in her hallowed halls, Justin caught sight of Heather, who was doing her best not to make eye contact with him. His face broke out in an ugly leer that she could see out of the corner of her eye, and which made her stomach turn queasy.
"All right there, Heather, Hermione?" asked Ernie, glancing around to see what Justin was staring at like that.
"Well enough, and you?" replied Hermione politely. She was directly facing their table and so was unable to hide her expression of unease at the way Justin was watching them.
"Oh, I'm all right." Ernie said nervously, "How about you, Heather? Had an eventful summer I hear?"
Looking over her shoulder while still trying not to make eye contact with Justin, Heather nodded. "Eventful is probably the best word for it, yeah."
"Right, well, it's good to see you back," Ernie said before turning and muttering to Justin, "Oy, let it go."
At this, Heather's eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch. "There a problem?"
"No, no problem." Hannah said quickly to her before turning to Ernie. "Get him out of here," she said in low tones. Ernie grabbed Justin by the sleeve and pulled him to his feet. After Justin took one last, disquieting look at Heather, they were gone. Hannah, who looked almost as tired as Heather felt, said softly "Listen, Justin's going through some stuff right now. It's not an excuse for what happened at the party, it's just the truth." She also rose to leave and follow her friends.
Heather, who thought that this was far short of an apology, and in any case was from the wrong person, felt bile rise in the back of her throat. "Well, you just tell him that if he tries anything again, he'll come off with worse than just a black eye. Going through stuff or not, he'd better keep his hands to himself."
"He will, or he'll have me to answer to before you can get to him," Hannah said with a half-smile. She took a few steps away then stopped. Over her shoulder she said, "by the way, not every girl at Hogwarts is a total bitch. Believe it or not, some of us actually like you, Potter. Don't let those arseholes in your house get you down, alright?"
Heather nodded and watched her leave. "A black eye?" asked Hermione.
"He deserved it," Heather shrugged, not exactly eager to relive the memories of that dark night.
Lunch was easier to force down than breakfast had been. This might have been due to the fact that Heather, whose hand was still cramping horribly, had to restrain herself to smaller forkfuls of food.
On more than one occasion when she had overloaded her fork, a hand spasm had decorated Seamus, who was seated to her left, with bits of roast beef. Everyone around her, not including Seamus for obvious reasons, had a good laugh at this. Heather only lowered her head and muttered a quiet apology to her friend. Right now, she didn't want or need any attention, light hearted or not.
Their lunch eaten and the start of the next class approaching quickly, Heather followed Hermione up to the sixth floor, where they each went their separate way. "Harmony," Heather said to the Fat Lady a few minutes later. Unlike last night the common room was almost empty, with only a few sixth and seventh years who also had a free period lounging around. Few of them acknowledged her, and those that did stuck to perfunctory nods. Despite being relatively free of overt hostility, it was still not the sort of welcome that made Heather want to spend time there alone, and so she pushed on up to her dormitory. As she reached the door, she saw the same sixth year who had tried to bar her way the night before glaring at her, while also resolutely staying where she was.
Heather's first impression of her dormitory was that it was empty when she pushed inside. A sudden movement on the edge of her vision as she dumped her school bag on the floor alerted her to the room's other occupant. Lavender, startled by the noise, had sat half upright in bed where she had been resting. She stared out at Heather with bleary looking eyes that took several moments to focus on the source of the noise.
"Oh, sorry Lavender," Heather said quietly.
"Wha?" Lavender replied blearily, blinking several times. "Oh, it's you." She said once she determined who Heather was. Instantly her voice took on an edge not unlike the one Ginny's had held in the common room the night before. Her scars looked even more pronounced then they had , even in only the half light filtering in past the curtains. Greyback may be dead, but what he had done to her once beautiful features would not soon be recovered from. Without another word she picked up her wand and magically closed the curtains around her bed with a fluttering snap.
Heather sighed wearily and laid back on her own bed. Not for the first time since boarding the Hogwarts Express, had that really only been yesterday, was she forced to realize just what coming back to Hogwarts with Ron meant. She had never had a period, free or in class, that Ron had not been at her side. While Hermione was arguably her best friend, not that she would say so openly to Ron, her schedule was so full that they would rarely see each other outside of meals and classes during the school day, meaning Heather would be spending most of her free periods alone. While it was true that there might be times when Ginny's schedule would line up with Heather's, this would still leave her with large portions of time that she would be by herself. And for the time being, that meant Heather felt very uncomfortable. She could hardly spend any time in the common room by herself, at least not until her detractors cooled off. It wasn't as though she were afraid of confrontation, those were going to happen no matter how many people she surrounded herself with. No, dealing with those people was bound to happen, still, tactically it was still better to face such things with backup than by herself.
So, what could she do? The library was perhaps slightly better than the common room, and she would be able to possibly see Susan or Luna there, but even that was full of unknowns. On the one occasion before now that she had considered this problem, she had intended for her dormitory to be a safe enough place to spend time, however even through the thick red curtains, Lavender's unhappiness at her presence seeped into the room.
Feeling a mixture of weariness, anxiety, and sensing the dark cloud closing in on her thoughts, Heather sprang from her bed. If she stayed still any longer then the darkness would claim her, and she would be damned if she let that happen. So she was alone, she'd been alone before. So people didn't like her, big deal. She began to walk back and forth next to her bed, activity holding the darkness at bay even while she tried to think of something to do. She had an hour and a half to get through before Herbology, after which was dinner. The afternoon sun streaming in through the window was what finally made up her mind. She would go out into the grounds, maybe take a walk down by the lake. No, she would go flying. It would do her good to get back on the pitch, and she damn sure wasn't going to stay somewhere she clearly wasn't wanted.
Five minutes later she was recrossing the common room, her school bag on one shoulder, her broomstick slung on the other. It would be easy enough to stash her Nimbus out of sight for Herbology and then run it back upstairs before dinner. As she marched out into the grounds, the sight of the newly rebuilt quidditch pitch drew her gaze in and she soaked up the sight. The bare framework was still uncovered, and would stay that way until just before the quidditch season began, giving it a skeletal, abandoned feel. Still, as Heather soared over the stands, she had taken off only moments after leaving the castle, a thrill took hold of her. She landed in the first row in what would be the Gryffindor section and hid her bag under a stool before taking off again and doing a few laps of the pitch.
As memories of her many victories, and a few defeats, in this stadium swept back to her, that same feeling she had felt standing outside the carriage last night also returned. She was home. This, Hogwarts, this pitch, Hagrid's hut, which she could see easily from this height, these places were her home. She had been right to return. She found her favorite haunts, seeing as though they were really there, scarlet robed figures racing this way and that as Lee Jordan's voice rang through the air. It felt very good to lose herself here for a while.
As she flew, the sun began its slow descent towards the western horizon, and before she knew it she only had about fifteen minutes left before it was time to be queued up outside Greenhouse Four. As her thoughts returned to her body, she came to realize that there was a very necessary stop she would need to make before Herbology, and if she was going to go it had better be now. Without stopping to land she summoned her bag from its hiding place in the stands and soared off towards the castle, landing on the lawn not far from where she had taken off. Moving quickly across the Entrance Hall and up the Marble Staircase, she turned left and headed off towards the closest bathroom she could remember, making absolutely certain she did not enter the boy's toilet on accident. It was only after she had pushed open the door of the first floor girl's bathroom that she realized this was the very same one her dream had taken her too the night before. Trying hard not to look at the stretch of wall where 'Harry' had died, she stepped briskly into the nearest stall and slid the door shut behind her before she could be seen. No one entered while she took care of her business and she had just breathed a sigh of relief while drying her hands when the door to the corridor opened and two girls walked in. To her dread, they were the same two girls that had been following Romilda Vane around on the train and, catching sight of Heather, their leers returned in full force. The taller of the two, who had shoulder length blonde hair and revealed yellowing, slightly crooked teeth with her sneer, stepped forward to block Heather's exit.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here, Beth?" she sniggered to her friend, who was shorter, slightly plump, with curly black hair that looked brittle enough to snap. "What do you think you're doing in here, Potter?"
Feeling tired and not wanting to waste time or energy on these two, Heather shrugged her shoulder back towards the stall she had just vacated and moved to try and get around the two girls. "I think that's fairly obvious." Both girls moved again to block her, and Heather sighed. Why couldn't they just leave her alone? She had never done a thing to them, in fact she hadn't even spoken to them before yesterday. "What?" she finally blurted out, irritation overcoming restrain as they continued to block her.
"You should keep out of places you don't belong you…you…creepy boy!" cackled the shorter girl, clearly at a loss for a more scathing insult. Out of the corner of her eye, the taller of the two sent her friend a look that plainly said, 'let me do the talking.'
"Wow," Heather said unimpressed, the fiery knot in her stomach forcing its way into her tone. "If that's the best you can come up with then I think Romilda needs to find some smarter cronies." Taking advantage of the two girl's momentary disorder, she ducked around them and didn't stop moving until she had made it a dozen or more feet down the corridor and around a corner. There she stopped to lean against the wall and take a few steadying breaths. She was ready for the day to be over.
Unlike the rest of the day so far, Herbology was almost a relaxed affair, that is if you considered dealing with biting plants relaxing. The best thing that could be said about it was that they were all kept so busy that thinking about anything more complex than getting out of there with all their fingers intact was nearly impossible. Professor Sprout had kept the beginning of class short and easy, perhaps sensing that her pupils' heads were already swimming with a full day's worth of classwork. Heather wasn't the only one nursing a headache and several bruises by the end, and she felt like she could easily sleep for a week or maybe a year.
That night, stuffed from dinner and wishing for nothing more than a long shower and an even longer sleep, the Gryffindors climbed the many staircases back to their tower, the seventh years in particular feeling as though their heads were quite ready to explode. Neither Pavarti nor Lavender were Herbology N.E.W.T. students, and so they were already in the dormitory when Heather and Hermione finally arrived. Both girls were in the midst of their evening routines, with Lavender moving slowly towards the bathroom door as their roommates entered. Halfway across the circular room, Lavender stumbled and clutched at her shoulder, her shower bag landing on the floor and rolling to a stop at Heather's feet. She scooped it up and approached Lavender, holding it out. "Here you go," she said.
Lavender made no reply through teeth gritted in pain other than snatching the bag back and shuffling off as though Heather hadn't spoken.
Heather stood rooted to the spot, the emotions of the day finally reaching a point that there was no chance of restraining them any longer. She opened her mouth to demand an explanation when Pavarti cut her off. "Don't, Heather," she whispered from near her bed.
"Why not?" Heather demanded, whirling around to glare at Pavarti and feeling her cheeks flame red.
Holding her hands up as though to defend herself from Heather's ire, Pavarti continued speaking in that same, soft voice. "She's…she's going through something right now," she offered as a not quite excuse, sparing a single sad look for the door into the bathroom through which Lavender had disappeared, puling it closed behind her.
Heather huffed audibly. "You know," she growled, "that's the second time today I've been told that as an excuse for someone being rude." Her voice had grown into a loud bark and was slowly approaching a yell. "We're all going through stuff, myself included. That doesn't give her," she gesticulated wildly towards the closed door, "or anyone else the right to be an ass!"
Pavarti held up her hands again in another attempt to quiet Heather. "I know, but you aren't going get very far with her going about it that way. She only just got out of the hospital last week. And, she isn't the same Lavender you remember."
Hermione sat on the edge of her bed and asked before Heather could unleash another tirade, "But what does that have to do with giving Heather the cold shoulder?"
Pavarti took a heavy breath. "She doesn't want you here," she said, looking firmly at Heather's shoes. "It's not like she hates you or wants you to leave Hogwarts or anything, she just doesn't want to be sharing a dormitory with you."
"So what am I supposed to do then, sleep in the common room to make her happy?" Heather shouted exasperatedly, throwing her hands up in the air.
Pavarti shrugged wearily. "I don't really think anything's going to make her happy. It's the world she's angry with, not you. Being mauled by a werewolf does that to you."
"Well, it still doesn't give her the right to chase me out of my own dormitory." Heather grumped.
Unheard under this, the bathroom door had opened again and Lavender limped back through it, still dressed and clutching tightly to her bag. "It was our dormitory first," she said in a low, dangerous tone, looking at Heather for the first time since they had returned to school. "So, I think what that means is that if we," she nodded towards Pavarti and Hermione, "want you out, then you get out." She came to a stop in front of Heather, her chest rising and falling quickly with the effort of remaining upright.
Heather was not moved to pity her, even as the damage done to her features became clear this close to her face. More than one thin line streaked across her pale skin, looking like livid pink fissures behind which, her pain was laid bare. Sweat was forming across her forehead and was already dripping down towards her chin but it was her eyes that drew Heather's gaze more than anything. There was no hot fire of anger there to be seen, only an icy blast from the cold of winter.
"She's staying," Hermione said firmly, getting up from her bed and approaching the two squared off adversaries.
"What do you say, Pavarti?" asked Heather, not taking her eyes off of Lavender's. A long moment passed while Pavarti, who was uneasy being called on as the deciding vote, hesitated. "Well, Professor McGonagall said it was okay," she temporized before quailing under Lavender's sudden, fierce glare. "And, I mean come on, Lav, she's obviously not a boy anymore."
"It doesn't matter." Lavender barked in an almost wolfish way. "She, he, whatever doesn't belong here."
Her eyes returned to Heather but again, Heather refused to flinch.
"Well, the vote says I do belong here. So, you can either get over it or ask to change dormitories." Heather retorted. She could already feel the bottom falling out under her anger and knew that before long all that would be left was dark emptiness. This needed to be resolved now.
After one more look at Pavarti, one that showed plainly that she felt betrayed by her best friend, Lavender turned back to the bathroom. "Fine, whatever you say, Potter. Just make sure you and I are never alone in here together." The unspoken 'or else' that ended that threat hung in the air like a cloud behind her as the door slammed shut once again. Only Crookshanks' low growl at the noise broke the silence.