Harry Potter and the Wizarding World do not belong to me, but to JK Rowling.
Also, since I think its been far too long since I mentioned them, a huge thanks to my beta reader MikkiSteel who makes sure my many grammatical mistakes do not slip through.
Chapter Thirty-Three
When Heather posted the announcement that quidditch tryouts would take place the following Saturday at nine o'clock, she already knew that it would be a spectacle. After only a week of being back at the castle the school had already run out of fresh topics for conversation. Consequently, the beginning of the quidditch season garnered a great deal of excitement. For some, primarily the newer students, this would be their first exposure to the sport, while the older years were eager to see it return after Snape's cancelation of the cup the previous year.
Grudgingly resigned to the fact that this was going to be a show whether she wanted it to be or not, Heather arrived at the pitch early that morning. It had only taken a momentary thought about breakfast for her to lose interest. No matter what she knew that today was going to end only one of two ways. If the team she picked looked good it might go a long way towards chilling the thaw that she felt separating her from the rest of Gryffindor. If her new team looked poorly, then sitting alone in the common room was going to feel even more cold that it already did.
When she had left the castle the sky had been a thick, leaden gray, full of heavy clouds threatening to bring rain. Now, after having spent nearly two hours in the changing tent going over her plans, she stepped out and was greeted by a brisk wind that had pushed the clouds away, leaving a completely empty sky overhead. The breeze couldn't be described as warm, and from experience Heather knew it was one of the first signs of the oncoming and relatively brief autumn.
Each of these details was taken in subconsciously as Heather began walking from the tent towards the covered walkway into the stadium proper. Over one shoulder rested her Nimbus while her other hand clutched tightly at the rolled up parchment Hagrid had given her. It was only as she emerged onto the pitch that her ears finally noticed the loud roar of hundreds of voices filling the stands. Looking up she saw that an entire end of the stadium was full of students, starting somewhere over her head near midfield, wrapping all the way around the goalposts, and then back to a point roughly opposite her. There was hardly an empty seat to be found in the mass of students, and it wasn't just Gryffindors. Here and there were knots of blue and yellow clad spectators, many of whom had already broken out their own quidditch scarves and hats for the occasion.
The crowd, most likely guided by knowledgeable older students, had anticipated which goal posts she was going to use for Keeper trials and had seated themselves accordingly. The seats closest to the three tall hoops were so packed that many of the waiting spectators were forced to stand, some of them on the benches themselves. A sly grin slipped onto her face despite the apprehension swelling within her. She was by no means bound by the crowd's decision. She could always use the opposite end and would certainly enjoy seeing the mad scramble as several hundred students raced along the benches.
Now that she was standing there, gazing around in what she hoped looked like a confident appraisal of the pitch, she felt the electricity in the air. Her skin tingled, sending ripples of excitement through her that could mean only one thing, quidditch. In the back of her mind, the small part of it that still resented the crowd's presence, she imagined what would happen if she chose the opposite end of the pitch, forcing the crowd to quickly race around. Stifling a small grin, she buried the idea.
Many in the stands were holding stacks of toast and other food stuffs quickly snatched from their house tables before rushing down to the pitch. Heather knew that today would be a longer day for them than it would be for her. Immediately after lunch the Ravenclaw team would be conducting their own tryouts and from the looks of it, a large portion of the spectators were prepared to stay down here all day.
With an effort she finally tore her attention away from the crowd, doing her best to tune them out completely and only having some success. She lowered her gaze to the base of the three goal posts where a mass of Gryffindors were waiting for her. At first glance, Heather reckoned that Hagrid must have given her the wrong list. Either that or a large number of students had chosen to come tryout that hadn't bothered with signing up. Instead of the dozen and a half she had been expecting there were close to thirty, ranging from second to seventh years. Each of them was clutching tightly to a broomstick, particularly the younger students, most of whom Heather saw were using the old school brooms.
At the front of this group, standing slightly apart and giving off an air of supreme confidence, stood Ginny with her Cleansweep Eleven casually leaning across her chest. Behind her, looking less sure, Heather saw Demelza Robbins, Jimmy Peakes, and Ritchie Coote, other former players eager to reclaim their positions on the team.
Coming to a stop ten feet from the crowd she fixed them with a determined look. "Right," she shouted across the buzz of the crowd which instantly dropped in intensity as hundreds of ears tried to pick out what she was saying. "Welcome to tryouts. Before we get started I want to make a few things clear." A sense of calm came over her as the mass of hopefuls seemed to lean forward, hanging on her every word. "First," she held up a finger, "everyone here gets one chance. One! No do overs, no repeats, and" she leveled the finger at the crowd, "no complaints. If I say you're not on the team, then you're not on the team and you leave." She pointed at the archway leading back out onto the grounds. A few nodded while a few faces darkened.
Internally shrugging, Heather continued on. Adding a second finger to the first, she said, "Second, those of you who have played for me before know that just because you're a former player does not guarantee you a place on the team this year." She looked at the four veterans. "You've got to earn it just like anyone else." Ginny did not appear phased by this, but she had been expecting it. If Demelza, Jimmy, or Ritchie had been hoping for anything else, they didn't show it. In reality Heather didn't expect anyone to beat them out, but she wanted to give the younger students some hope so that they'd do their best. A quick glance showed her that the effort hadn't been wasted. Several second and third years were looking more determined and were eagerly shifting their broom around with nervous anticipation.
"Now, I'm going to form you up into…" she did a quick headcount, "four groups. Weasley, Robbins, Peakes, Coote, step forward." She spaced them several feet apart from each other, then began randomly assigning the rest of the crowd to them until she had three groups of eight and one of seven, led by Coote. "We're going to start with a simple test. Each group is going to fly around the pitch five times before landing back here. This is not a race," She added firmly. "Show me you know what you're doing on a broom, and you'll move onto the next round. Anyone who can't complete the circuit is out. Questions?" Hearing none, she pointed at the group led by Demelza. "You lot, go."
As she knew from prior experience conducting tryouts, this test was a good one to weed out the weaker half of the crowd without requiring much effort on her part. As each group made their circuits, she watched as some of the fliers remained so focused on not running into the sides of the stadium that they failed to remain aware of their other surroundings. More than once this resulted in mid-air collisions. When this happened Heather ejected everyone involved, justifying it to one crying third year who didn't think it was fair when she had been crashed into by saying, "Well, if you'd been paying better attention, he wouldn't have been able to take you down."
Another boy, Heather guessed he was a second year, tried to hard to outdo the rest of his group and took off at top speed. This seemed to be working for him until he failed to adjust his breakneck pace for the turn at the far end of the pitch and landed on the other side of the curve in a heap. It had taken several minutes, during which the rest of his group kept flying, for him to stop retching into the grass while the entire stadium bombarded him with jeers and laughter. Two figures emerged onto the grass, his friends assumedly, and guided him away supported between them.
Now, almost an hour later, Heather stood near the remaining fourteen while she tried not to lose her temper on that same third year girl who refused to accept she hadn't made the cut. "Listen, I've tried to be nice about this," she said as calmly as possible, "but if you don't get off the pitch and out of my sight then not being on quidditch team is going to be the least of your concerns." Her anger had escaped her grasp towards the end of this statement, and the last few words came out as a not-so-subtle roar. She felt her hair come loose from its braid and begin to tickle the back of her neck, which only added to her irritation. The girl blanched, took a step back, and then took off at a run. Heather watched her until she had disappeared into the stands, muttering several of Ron's choicest swear words at her retreating form.
Sighing, she returned her focus to tryouts. "Right, sort yourselves out by the position you're trying out for," she said wearily. After some good natured shoving and banter, she faced one large group, a trio of three boys made up of Coote, Peakes, and Andrew Kirke, and a solitary girl on the end, standing several feet away from either group so there was no mistaking her as part of either.
She was staring at Heather with a defiant scowl while she held her broomstick, an older model Heather wasn't familiar with, straight up and down behind her back. Intrigued, Heather chose to start with her. "Name?" she asked, moving closer and staring down at her.
"Natalie McDonald," the girl replied in a thick Irish accent.
After finding her name halfway down the list, Heather followed up with, "What year and what position?"
"Fourth year, Keeper." Natalie replied, still looking defiant. For a moment Heather interpreted this as hostility until she saw Natalie's eyes flick towards the older students. After looking at Ginny, she adjusted herself, straightening her back even more trying to imitate her self-confidence.
From the group of waiting chasers Heather heard a snigger but when she looked over the culprit had sobered up enough to hide it. She shrugged. If Natalie was the only applicant, then she deserved a chance to prove herself. Looking back down at her, Heather pointed into the sky over their heads. "Well, get up there then. Show me what you've got." Natalie flashed an eager grin, mounted her broom in a practiced motion, and kicked off hard. Even as Heather turned to address the chasers, she saw the girl already orbiting the goal posts like a dragon guarding her clutch of eggs.
Sorting out the chasers ended up taking most of the morning, and ended up being a particular challenge to Heather's sense of fair play. No matter what she had said at the start, it was nearly impossible for her to not assume that both Ginny and Demelza were two of her three choices. Flying together or with others they outperformed their competition .
To everyone's surprise, and the Gryffindor's in the stands delight, the real test for winning a spot on the team came down to a single check. Of the ten chaser tryouts, only four of them were able to score on Natalie McDonald, and she had not made it easy. Ginny alo e had managed to get the quaffle through the hoop without looking worn out by the attempt. Heather was thunderstruck. Either because the girl was small, and therefore more agile on a broomstick, or because she had some sense of exactly where the ball would be before it was even thrown, she was a natural keeper. After a particularly spectacular block the entire Gryffindor section of the stands erupted in cheers while the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws moaned. To them it looked like their chances of taking home the cup this year were already draining away.
Of the four remaining options, it had been easy to select both witches to return to the team, leaving only the last chaser slot to be filled. The candidates waited for her decision even as she struggled to make up her mind. One option was Dean, who had flown as well as he had during his time as a stand in chaser during their sixth year. In fact, it was his experience with his former teammates that had given him an edge on his competition.
Standing next to him was a fourth year named Rhys Clarke. He had not performed as well as Dean had when flying with Ginny and Demelza, but had done well enough with other groups and so had averaged out with him nicely. Rhys did not have the build that Heather usually associated with chasers. He was half a foot shorter than Dean with broad shoulders and a thick chest that gave him a very substantial presence. He would never be able to outmaneuver an agile chaser, but then again, he might not need to. Heather could easily picture him as a scarlet clad bludger, brushing aside attempts on the quaffle or blowing holes in opposing formations to allow his smaller teammates to score.
Beyond his apparent ability, it was this fact that attracted Heather to the idea of recruiting him over Dean. Gryffindor's chasers had long been considered the best in the school, going all the way back to her first year, but they had never been heavily built. This had never cost them a game, but it had meant that they'd been forced to give up points when skill or natural agility hadn't been enough to keep hold of the quaffle. Rhys gave every indication of being able to walk the line between the quickness Heather needed on the team while at the same time bringing something new. Still, she hesitated before dismissing one of her old friends, who was also a decent player himself, out of hand.
"Right," Heather said at last, trying to find time to think. "You lot give me a minute. Beaters!" she called to the trio who had been waiting for at least an hour and a half by now for their chance, "Get on up there." Their trials were over faster than Heather wished. Andrew Kirke missed every swing, though at least he managed to stay on his broomstick. He retreated from the pitch, pursued by a taunting crowd as Peakes and Coote went off to join Natalie.
Without any other reason to delay a decision, Heather opted to make this quick. Turning to the four chaser hopefuls, she said, "Ginny, Demelza, welcome back." Both girls grinned widely and walked over to their new teammates while Heather eyed the remaining boys. She sighed. "Dean, I'm sorry." Dean's face broke out into a relieved smile, only to slide into a deep frown as the rest of Heather's short statement struck home. "It's nothing personal," Heather continued, half apologetically, as Dean turned on the spot and stormed away.
"Yeah, alright," he said over his shoulder, then he was gone.
Forcing a tired smile onto her face, Heather faced Rhys. "Sorry about that, welcome to the team."
Rhys wasn't able to hide his look of amazement. "Thanks, cap'n. I'll do my best," he said dazedly. From the stands the Gryffindors were on their feet and making their approval known. They had their team and, if today was any indication, it was a good one.
Under this tumult, Heather said to Rhys. "I'm sure you will. I'm sure you all will. Now," she beckoned the rest of the team close and began giving instructions for their first practice, which was to take place this coming Tuesday evening a seven o'clock. "That doesn't mean you get here at seven," Heather said sternly, more so to her new players than her veterans. "I expect everyone here fifteen minutes early to get changed. Anyone who's late might find themselves replaced, got it?" Judging by the eager faces all around her, no one would be late.
The stands were emptying, with some heading back to the castle while the Gryffindors swarmed the pitch. Along with the rest of their house, the new team marched proudly out of the stadium, looking for all the world like they had already won the cup. Heather, who quickly felt overwhelmed by the mass of bodies, ducked into the changing tent and the peace within it. As good as the praise had felt after two weeks of almost cold indifference from most of her house, she felt like there was something behind it that felt forced. Some part of their joy and approval that came off as fake to her senses and soured her good mood.
The stands were almost empty when she emerged onto the pitch a few minutes later, having waited for most of the noise to subside before risking being seen again. A few of the more dedicated fans were still in their seats or were moving to secure better ones while the rest of the school ate lunch, but they were mostly talking to themselves and ignoring Heather. The crowd would be back soon, eager to watch Ravenclaw, but in this moment she had some quiet.
All things considered, Heather thought she had made the right decision. Dean would probably be sore for a while, but it would pass. Besides, she figured that he would still be willing stand in on the off chance that one of her three chasers were unable to play. "Who knows," she muttered, feeling a cloud momentarily blanket her confidence, "maybe I'll be hexed or something and Ginny will have to cover for me again." Shaking away the dark thoughts and mounting her broom, Heather kicked off, eager to try and find the positivity that had just abandoned her even as her fears once more began to mount.
The thought of going into the Great Hall and sitting down for lunch at the Gryffindor Table where there were more than a few hurt feelings regarding her did not sound appealing. Pushing down the grumbling of her empty stomach, she began taking laps of the stadium to cool herself down, physically and emotionally.
It was on her third pass that she saw a blonde haired figure sitting alone at the top of one of the stadium's towers. Her curiosity overcoming her caution, Heather came to a stop in order to take a better look. Without realizing it, she drifted slowly forward towards the unknown person. She was twenty feet away when the figure looked up and Heather realized it was Daphne. After another few feet she saw that Daphne was crying. Even from this distance the pink of her cheeks stood out plainly on her pale face and the wetness shone in the sunlight.
As Heather approached slowly, Daphne loudly blew her nose into a handkerchief and turned away from her. When she came to a stop, hovering just on the other side of the banister that ringed the seats, Daphne let out another loud blow. From her own recent experience, Heather could tell that Daphne had been crying for a while now.
"Hi," Heather said, now feeling embarrassed and wishing she'd left well enough alone.
"Hi," Daphne replied thickly. Her face was still hidden from Heather's view but it seemed she had managed to stop crying. She sat there, resolutely not turning to face Heather and staring off into the distance.
Glancing around herself and now truly regretting this imposition on Daphne's privacy, Heather noticed two things. First, the place Daphne had chosen was an excellent place to see without being seen by anyone who wasn't also already at this height, and this tower was on the opposite end of the stadium from where she had been holding Gryffindor's tryouts. Across the pitch she could see other students in the tower seats, but picking out individual faces was impossible.
Now more than ever Heather considered just flying away. Daphne clearly hadn't wanted company or even to be seen. Still, Heather wasn't one to simply leave her friends when they were crying, it just wasn't something she could do. "What's up?" she asked as nonchalantly as possible considering the circumstances.
"Nothing," muttered Daphne.
Deciding that since she wasn't going to just leave it was ridiculous to continue this conversation over a railing, Heather pulled up and drifted closer. As deftly as possible she climbed off her broom onto the bench Daphne was sitting on, then lowered herself down to sit next to her. "Daphne, what's going on?" she tried again once she was as comfortable as possible.
"Nothing," Daphne repeated, trying to put a firmer note in her voice. "You should go, Potter."
Heather arched an eye at her friend's back. "Since when did you start calling me Potter again?"
Daphne did not respond immediately. She huffed, then turned to look at a point just past Heather's left ear. "Listen, I appreciate what you're trying to do here. But you really should go."
Heather didn't move. "Not until I get some answers," she pressed. "Is this going to be the lift at the Ministry all over again?"
A glimmer of a smile passed momentarily behind Daphne's eyes before an emptiness replaced it. "You don't want to be seen with me," she explained, glancing around quickly as though she was scared of being seen.
"And why is that? We're friends, aren't we?" Heather asked, also looking around out of reflex.
Daphne looked torn between vexation that Heather wasn't taking a hint and a weariness that had nothing to do with a lack of sleep. She had just opened her mouth to say something when a blue clad blur pulled up short in the air near where Heather had just been hovering.
"Pitch is ours, Potter," the girl said. Her eyes shifted from Heather to Daphne. In an instant her brow creased and her voice filled with scorn. "You know the rules," she continued to Heather. "Players from other houses get lost." After another scathing look at Daphne, who had hidden her face again, the Ravenclaw player was gone.
"Bye," Daphne whispered before disappearing down the stairs in a flurry of unkempt blonde hair.
Heather sighed and rose, staring at the spot Daphne vanished. It was tradition that no one who played on another house's team be present for tryouts. On the surface this was to allow the captains to keep some surprises in their rosters until the first game and preserve some sense of sportsmanship.
In reality, this tradition was easily circumvented. The first thing any captain would do after another house's tryouts would be to grill anyone from their house who had been there. On top of that it was no secret that houses would spy on each other's practices in the run up to a match. More than once, Oliver Wood had sent the Weasley twins to watch Slytherin for that reason.
Heather personally didn't care about watching Ravenclaw one way or another. Still, it wouldn't do to garner any antagonism. Still wondering what was going on with Daphne, Heather mounted up and flew off towards the castle, hoping fervently that the crowd in the Great Hall had thinned out somewhat and she might be able to eat lunch in peace. She kept an eye out for Daphne as she soared over the grounds, but she did not appear from the stands.
Her arrival into Gryffindor Tower after having second helpings of lunch was the cheeriest it had been since her return to school. Several people rushed towards her as she climbed through the portrait hole, eager to get her opinions on Gryffindor's chances. Try as she might to enjoy this positive attention, there was still that ring of falseness to it all. Like there another shoe waiting to drop and change it all again. Whether it was real or only a figment of her imagination, Heather saw something lingering behind the eyes of everyone who spoke to her. The barest hint of an implied threat. 'Your team looks good, so we'll be nice to you. Lose the cup, lose even one match, and that's going to change.' More than once she ran a hand over the back of her neck in an attempt to settle the hairs there that never stopped standing on edge.
Once she got through the crowd she saw Hermione sitting near the fireplace, having taken over an entire table with her Ancient Runes homework. Hermione had not felt the need to "waste a perfectly good morning where I can get some work done" down at the pitch. Whether this had to do with the noticeable lack of a certain tall red-headed keeper, Heather opted not to speculate. Since Hermione's fervent denial of any lingering feelings towards Ron in Diagon Alley, neither Heather nor Ginny had pressed the point.
Now that quidditch tryouts were over, Heather had no real excuse to avoid the mountain of homework waiting her attention. Trying to relax and enjoy the rest of her afternoon off, she returned to her dormitory to change out of her sweaty quidditch robes and into a long sleeve shirt and jeans. Ten minutes later she settled into a chair next to Hermione and extracted parchment and a quill from her schoolbag. Try as she might, however, the rest of the house did not seem willing to let her work. Every few minutes or so someone else would stop by their table to chat or, in the case of a few people, complain about their friends not being chosen.
When the time came for them to head down to dinner, Heather hadn't made any real progress on her paper for Professor Brindlemore. It was impossible for her to tune out the loud voices all around her enough to focus on ward breaking. Feeling more than a little irritated and intending to pick the essay back up after dinner, she shoved it back into her bag and followed Hermione down to the Great Hall.
"How's the team look?" Hermione asked as they walked, expressing her first interest in quidditch all day. She had pointedly ignored anyone who had come to talk about it.
"It should be a good one. They look like they have a lot of promise." Heather replied.
That was the extent of their conversation until they reached the Gryffindor Table and joined Ginny, who was already loading up her plate. When she saw them, Heather noticed Ginny's cheeks turn a shade of pink. "What's up?" she asked as they slid into their seats.
"What?" Ginny asked quickly, "Oh, nothing. It's not important." Looking to change the subject she asked, "You heard about that second year who crashed into the ground?"
"The one from our tryouts or was this a Ravenclaw?" Heather replied, forking two chicken legs onto her plate.
Ginny sniggered. "Ours. That boy who didn't adjust for the turn."
"Oh yeah, him. What about him?"
Still laughing, Ginny filled her and a curious Hermione in. "From the sound of it he's still in the Hospital Wing, moaning. Demelza says he's acting like he's dying."
"But why?" Hermione asked, "surely Madam Pomfrey would have fixed anything wrong with him hours ago."
"There's nothing wrong with him," Ginny said confidently. "From what Demelza says he's trying to convince people he was unfairly booted from tryouts." Heather's face darkened angrily. "Oh don't worry, Heather," Ginny said across her. "No ones buying it."
"Still," Heather muttered. She was distracted from continuing the conversation when someone lightly tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up quickly to see Andrew Kirke standing there.
"Yes," Heather asked wearily. Her initial assumption was that he was about to complain about not getting picked, but his face held none of the anger that would have accompanied that intention. If anything Heather thought he looked like he had accepted his rejection and she hoped quietly that he would let his quidditch playing ambitions fade away.
"Erm, sorry to bother you," he said to Heather, extending a roll of parchment bound in green silk towards her. "Professor Slughorn asked me to give this to you."
"Oh, right," Heather replied, taking the roll from him and quickly finding Slughorn's empty place at the staff table.
"Well," Kirke said, clearly eager to leave, " See you, and good luck, Potter."
After untying the silk and unrolling the note, Heather began to read.
Heather,
My apologies for the delay in this invitation, but as you can expect one thing does tend to drive out another during the first weeks of term. I was hoping you would be able to join me this evening for a brief potions lesson in my office at seven o'clock. No need to bring anything other than your copy of Advanced Potion Making, as this will be an entirely theoretical lesson.
Yours most affectionately,
Horace Slughorn
Slughorn's ostentatious handwriting covered the little scrap of parchment, making the message seem longer than it actually was. A quick check of her watch showed she had thirty minutes before the appointment, more than enough time if she left now, considering she would first need to return to the tower for her book. Knowing that it would be better to get there early, as much to appease Slughorn's ego and make him easier to deal with as it was in the hope that by starting early, they might finish early, Heather scarfed down several large mouthfuls of dinner in a way that made Hermione looked scandalized.
"I know, I know, not ladylike and you taught me better," Heather cut off her scolding and got up. "Got to run. See you both back in the tower."
She met no one between the Great Hall and Gryffindor tower, with most of the castle's inhabitants filling their stomachs with dinner. Not until she had retrieved her book and was halfway down the staircase leading to the sixth floor did she hear someone shuffling along nearby. Coming to a stop on the landing where the staircase turned she listened carefully. From the corridor below came the twinkling sound of many beads on glass that was joined quickly by an overpowering smell of sherry. Heather did not need the Marauder's map, which was in any case hidden in her trunk, to know who she was about to meet. Glancing around quickly for a place to hide, she saw that a large alcove that had once been the home of a suit of armor and was now empty on the landing. She dove into it and vanished from sight under her cloak just as a bent figure began climbing the staircase towards her.
Moments later Professor Trelawney's head appeared over the top step, followed quickly by the rest of her. The many beads hanging from her neck echoed loudly off the stone walls as they bounced off the glass bottle she held clutched in one shaking hand. As she shambled across the landing and past Heather, she began to mutter to herself. Straining her ears, Heather managed to pick up a few words. "if only, if only they would hear, the dear child. Dreams and portents, visions of the inner eye. Now more than ever she needs…" Then the words were lost, buried beneath the echoes of the sherry bottle.
When she deemed it safe to move, Heather took of the cloak and raced in the opposite direction of the divination professor. Trelawney was on a short list of people at Hogwarts she had no real desire to encounter this year. Not only had the woman foretold Heather's death far too often for comfort, but along with that the two real predictions she had made in her life had profoundly affected Heather's life. Regardless of anything else, both of these facts made the thought of a future meeting the woman uncomfortable. As far as Heather was concerned the future was as foggy as a crystal ball and she was perfectly happy to leave it that way.
"Heather, m'dear!" Slughorn exclaimed in delight. It had taken less than five seconds between her first knock and his opening the door. "I was beginning to wonder if my note reached you. Come in, come in." He stood aside and welcomed her to his office with a sweep of one massive hand. His office was as ornate as it had been the last time Heather had been here, rivalling the Headmistress' for comfort and outright surpassing it in open space. In her opinion it matched Slughorn's personality perfectly. Only the best would do. "I do hope you aren't too tired after the events of the morning?"
"Oh no, sir." Heather replied easily.
"Excellent, excellent." He led her towards the large dining table and held out a chair for her to sit. "So," he said after lowering his large form into his own, much grander chair. "Tonight we delve into the magical mysteries of potions in an attempt to catch you up.
Heather textbook down in front of her on the table. Slughorn stared fondly at her. She saw that he also had a copy of Advanced Potion Making sitting on the table nearby but he made no move to pick it up. She waited patiently as he continued to look at her.
"My dear, Heather. I hope you do not mind me saying once again just how pleased I am that you returned to us here at Hogwarts. After all, not only does your story resound through these halls inspiring everyone around you, but it allows us, your professors, a last chance to truly prepare you for the rest of your life." Heather thought she detected more than one meaning in this statement but chose not to interrupt. "I myself am particularly glad that you decided to return to Potions. I suspect that deep down you still possess your mother's innate abilities in the subject, just waiting to be coaxed out." He waved airily off to the side as he said this. Nearby on an expansive side table was the collection of photographs depicting Slughorn's chosen former pupils, his mother included. Tom Riddle's picture was nowhere to be seen.
"Now, for this evening I thought we would not dive too deeply into anything too strenuous. I suspect, despite what you might claim, that you are probably quite worn out from the day's exertions." He chuckled indulgently. "As a matter of fact, I hope you will not take it amiss delay our lesson until after a brief chat?" Heather replied with a polite smile, and he forged right on ahead. "Excellent! Then we shan't be needing these quite yet." Both copies of Advanced Potion Making slid towards the far side of the table, leaving a clear field between them.
"Professor," Heather said suddenly, realizing she hadn't said anything since sitting down and had allowed Slughorn to control the conversation so far. It wouldn't do to let him run roughshod over her. Grasping desperately at a topic, she almost blurted out, "Did you take the train this year?" She paused just long enough to catch her breathe before adding, "I was surprised not to receive an invitation to lunch."
Slughorn winked and chuckled lightly. "Alas, my dear, no. Professor McGonagall took something of a dim view to this and, ahem, politely requested that I did not. In any case, there would hardly have been room with all the extra students, would there?"
"No, I suppose not." Heather replied, smiling politely.
If there was a particular subject Slughorn wanted to talk to her about, he seemed to be willing to take the slow way around to it. He shifted to questions about Heather's health. "I do trust that you have sufficiently recovered from our…encounter in that unfortunate village?"
"Err, more or less." Heather replied, unsure of just how much had become public knowledge about the aftermath of that raid. The look in Slughorn's gaze when he asked convinced her after a moment of close inspection that his reasons for asking were genuine. His little games aside, he had to know that he owed his life to Heather and the team of aurors, and most likely had learned of the casualties that skirmish had resulted in.
"Of course. Some wounds take longer to heal than others," he said somberly. "Still, it doesn't do to linger on yesterday when tomorrow, with all its promise, beckons."
"I suppose so, sir." Heather replied evenly. The strength to verbally spar with Slughorn was evaporating as darkness began to creep into her mind.
They lapsed into silence as Slughorn considered her. "Heather, I should like to get to the point of why I truly asked you here this evening, if I may. I have a few questions I wish to ask."
"Such as, Professor?" Heather asked.
Slughorn waved the title away with a hand. "Please, call me Horace. Titles and formalities are all fine in the classroom, but I feel as though we have seen far too much to get hung up on such trivialities."
"Err, right. Horace." Heather added, the name feeling quite strange in her mouth.
Slughorn smiled, looking for all the world as though he had bestowed upon her a high honor. Then, as he asked his next question, his eyes grew somber again. "Heather, I trust you will understand my reasons for asking what I am about to and will not take offense. So far as I am aware you and I are the only people still alive who are aware of the full extent of my involvement in Riddle's horcruxes. I expect that you also informed Miss Granger and Mister Weasley during your travels last year, and trust that you were as discreet as possible." He paused, looking unable to ask the question. "And yet-"
"I didn't tell the Death Eaters, or anyone else." Heather said, fighting to keep the coolness out of her voice. "Neither did Ron or Hermione." She crossed her arms defiantly and leaned back in her chair.
"Oh no, of course you didn't," said Slughorn hurriedly, who looked relieved nonetheless. "What I wanted to ask was if you had some idea how that despicable man Yaxley found out what I knew? You see, while I doubt that anyone would accuse me of any wrongdoing on the subject, after all that conversation took place so long ago, I would prefer that particular piece of information be kept as quiet as possible."
Heather considered him. The ice in her stomach faded and she regretted her immediate defensiveness. Every line on Slughorn's face had deepened, revealing once again the worry and doubt that had plagued him for decades now. She shook her head. "I don't, I'm sorry. If the Ministry ever found out then it would have been after I, umm…resigned."
"Of course, of course," Slughorn said quietly, one hand now caressing his enormous moustache.
"If you'd like I can write to my old mentor in the Auror Office. She'd probably know and can also keep a secret. I'm fairly certain I can keep your name out of it." Heather offered.
Slughorn looked up, his attention returning in a rush. "Would you?" he asked eagerly. "I cannot tell you what a load off of my mind that would by, my dear." He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. The haggard look faded and his boisterous voice filled the room. "Now that that nasty business is over with-"
"Excuse me, Professor, but I just remembered something." Heather interrupted.
"Yes, m'dear?" Slughorn replied warily.
"That night, after we learned you'd been kidnapped, I had to tell Kingsley Shacklebolt and Gawain Robards what I knew."
"So," Slughorn replied slowly, "The Minister for Magic and the Head of the Auror Office know? Well, hmm. I suppose I should take that as some good news. What with the time that has elapsed since that horrid night, I must assume that they have chosen not to pursue the matter. I trust they intend to keep it secret?"
Heather nodded. "Everything about Riddle's horcruxes has been classified by the Aurors. So, unless one of the surviving death eaters spills what they know, you should be safe."
"I see. Well then I suppose that is the best I can hope for." A cloud passed over his face while Heather watched concernedly. "In any case, I do have a few other subjects I would like to discuss. Seeing as how you were expecting an invitation to a lunch with me aboard the Hogwarts Express, I would hope that news of my dinner parties will be greeted with similar anticipation." He wagged a finger at her, and she feared that some semblance of dread had been detected in her expression. "Aha! Don't think I've forgotten how adeptly you dodged my invitations my first year here. Ha ha, in fact if I did not know better I would think all your talk of lunch on the train was just to butter me up. So much like your mother you are, not that your father was incapable of turning on the charm when needed either. No, I think I can firmly state you are very much like them in that regard. Well now, I think I shall take your statement at face value, whether you meant it as such or not. And," he winked, "I shall expect your presence at my first little party. No excuses will be accepted."
"Yes, sir." Heather smiling resignedly, relishing in this second comparison to her mother. She wasn't even put out that her attempt at flattery had been so easily detected.
Slughorn glanced at his watch and Heather noticed that outside the window evening had fallen. "Good lord, it's getting on, isn't it?" He asked, stuffing the watch back into a pocket on his waistcoat. "Well Heather, shall we get cracking on tonight's lesson? I seem to recall you having some difficulty in understanding Golpalott's Third Law. As this is crucial to what we will be covering in our next few lessons, I suggest we start there."
For half an hour Heather listened as Slughorn did his best to break down exactly how to not only understand but use Golpalott's Third Law. By the time he was finished and had bowed her out of his office, she felt like just maybe she was beginning to understand it. On her walk back to Gryffindor Tower she wondered if Potions was actually going to be different this year. Maybe she would enjoy it after all. One thing was for sure however, tonight Slughorn had certainly come out on top in their verbal sparring.