Hello there!
This is a rather short chapter, but there's a reason behind that. Originally, this was a much longer one, about more than 22K words, however, it struck me as a tad too long chapter which could be divided into two, and so I did. The good news is that I have the next one already written, so all I need to do is to edite and revise it. I will probably upload it next week, if I feel like it.
Chapter 42 - Hogsmeade
Life at Hogwarts was a dragging thing for Theodore Nott.
He'd wake up early in the morning, go through a monotonous and boring routine which involved countless hours sitting as he listened to boring lectures, and then he'd eat and sleep as much as possible. Surely, there were times in which he'd learn something useful, but he could count those occasions with the fingers of one hand.
Even if it sounded stupid, the duels he held with Ronald Weasley were one of the very few things worth his time here. To say that Hogwarts had disappointed him was to put it very, very short.
However, a fun turn might be around the corner for a change.
Around him, the common room buzzed excitedly, for the first visit to Hogsmeade had been announced. It would take place at the end of October, and even if three weeks was a long wait, people just didn't care as long as it meant something they liked.
Funny enough, the excitement mostly came from those who had already visited the little town just outside Hogwarts's terrains. While it was Theo and his promotion, the rookies and thereby those who should have been more excited, who barely showed any reaction at all.
A weird bunch they were, Theo reckoned.
Surely, he had not expected anything else from the likes of Crabbe and Goyle, whose little brains only allowed them to breathe and sent tough glares to those Draco didn't appreciate much. Then you had a witch like Bulstrode, who, in all honesty, had always been very weird to Theo's eyes. There was something wrong with her and everyone knew it. Even so, her father was a powerful man, and that alone saved her from ostracism. Good for her, though; she'd be eaten alive if not for that. There weren't many combinations out there that could top being a half-wit and half-blood.
Theo just shook his head as some whispers got his attention.
Not far from him, Pansy Parkinson and those fourth-year boys she had befriended talked about the news as loudly as they could. She was playing a dangerous game, and poor of those idiots who got tangled in her webs. Now that he thought about it, Pansy could do the part of a spider, whereas those stupid boys were the flies she'd devour. What a pitiful lot indeed—Theo's promotion might have been the weirdest one, but theirs was the most shameful of all. Really, did even one of them have a spine? To think they will sell their pride just for the sweet words of a whore in the making…
The rest had not shown much enthusiasm either, although for different reasons. Weasley and Davis seemed to live in their happy bubble of rainbows and sunshines, whereas Draco was focused on himself and that was all he could think about.
Lastly there was Blaise, but that poor bastard had finally lost his sanity and limited himself to sulk and sulk for the hours to come. Honestly, what could be expected of someone who's had more than ten step-fathers? He had plenty of practice on that, just as his mother had it on spreading her legs for the highest bidder.
Theo snorted at that—it was on these boring days when his wit was at its finest.
He just tossed to the fireplace the piece of parchment which announced the visit to Hogsmeade; the flames devoured it in no time at all, and they grew happy at that. Instead, he read a card he'd received this very morning. In that same weekend, a duelling tournament would be held in the town, an official one within the Federation.
Now this was the kind of news he liked.
All in truth, it was just a Minor, the lowest class of tournaments possible. What's more, a tournament with so little importance that those who had already qualified for the World Series wouldn't even consider attending. The level would be low and even worse, yet for Theo still was an excellent opportunity to try his skills against other opponents of his level. After all, he was gonna take part in the circuit next year.
In fact, he would tell Weasley about it, and that bloody ginger was going to participate whether he fancied it or not. The better he became, the better practice Theo would have, after all.
Hours went by and that boring sunday finally came to an end. He'd spent the entire day doing nothing, just wondering for the umpteenth time if choosing Hogwarts instead of Drumstrang or Koldovstoretz hadn't been the worst mistake of his short life.
When he went to bed, Blaise's curtains were already closed around his bedpost; its thick silk didn't allow any kind of silhouette to show, so there was no way for Theo to know whether his old ally was asleep or awake. As per usual, Weasley came much later, but he also closed the curtains around his bed in silence.
Theo just smirked as he rolled to the side—what a bloody weird promotion, indeed.
Morning came, and with it a new week began; the second of October. On monday, fortunately, the first period was Charms, which they shared with Ravenclaw, and Flitwick said that it was time for them to learn about the Seize and Pull Charm. Although it was long ago when Theo mastered the said spell, he took those news quite well. At least it would be a fun class.
Much to his disgust, the theory ate half of it, and Theo spent all that time with his gaze fixed on the Professor, turning a deaf ear to all those words he spluttered. He was a half-bred, yet he was a very good wizard; truly an extremely rare wonder. Even so, there was another thing about him which made the boy angry. How the hell did he become a Duelling Master when my father could not?
It was an insult to the magical race.
The good part of sharing a period with Ravenclaw was that, oftenly, they didn't need to ask stupid questions to solve their even stupider doubts. And so, the practical lesson began shortly after Flitwick's monologue ended.
"As per usual, pair yourselves with another student," the imp squealed. "If possible, with someone from another House!"
Theo rolled his eyes at that; why on earth did they care so much about damn cooperation among Houses? Things were pretty good as they were—everyone hated Slytherin, and Slytherin hated everyone. However, since Weasley and Draco had already found a partner, Theo went after Anthony Goldstein.
"You will be my partner today," the lanky boy said as he jumped between Goldstein and Turpin. The girl was about to complain, but one of his emotionless smiles was enough to send her away; just like that, her attitude was long gone. "I hope you don't mind me chasing out your girlfriend. She's cute, I'll give you that, but not that much to be so attached by the hips to her."
Goldstein just stared at him for a while. "Lisa is not my girlfriend," he finally said, a bit puzzled. "And don't talk about her like that."
"Whatever you say, Romeo," Theo smirked. Look at that. I didn't know this snob had fire within him. Maybe it was time to find out if Goldstein could back up his tough attitude. Theo pulled out his wand, and so did the Ravenclaw a tad later. He looked nervous. "Do you wanna try first? I swear that I won't go too hard on you—you have too much of a pretty face for me to ruin it."
That seemed to do it.
"Carpe Retractum!" he chanted.
From his wand came a purple cord of light which flew towards Theo. It came fast and precise, and it coiled around his wrist in the blink of an eye. This clearly wasn't the first time Goldstein used this spell.
"Damn!" the lanky boy whistled, impressed. "If I hadn't moved my hand away, you would have gotten my wand! Nice work, pretty boy!" Theo tried to break free from it just by sheer strength, but it was useless—Goldstein had gotten him good. "Neat! Anyhow, what comes next, pretty boy? Who's gonna to pull from who?"
This spell had two well known uses—one, to pull from anything lighter than the caster and thereby to bring it closer, and two, to pull from anything heavier and thereby flying towards it. However, theory turned a bit hard to decipher in situations like this one, in which the two elements weighed roughly the same.
Goldstein pulled nonetheless, and Theo had to shift his weight in order to not get dragged towards him. The snob is stronger than I first thought. His pull had only moved him a few inches, but it had also drawn blood from his wrist, where the light cord was tightly coiled. That angered Theo—he didn't like bleeding for the sake of it.
"Finite Incantatem," the Slytherin hissed. He grabbed the purple cord with his free hand, and it bursted in a cloud of light particles. Theo then flexed his wrist a few times; it seemed to be just a silly scratch.
"Hey!" Goldstein called out. "That wasn't allowed! We were meant to practise the Seize and Pull Charm and nothing else!"
"Shit happens," Theo said, eyes still on his wrist. Then he finally looked up. "But you are right. I think it's my turn, isn't it?" He didn't give any time for the Ravenclaw to prepare. "Carpe Retractum!" From his wand came an orange cord, and it seized Goldstein around the wrist, giving him a taste of his own medicine. Theo then lowered his centre of gravity and pulled from the cord. Goldstein didn't move an inch, but neither could he step back now.
Here starts my fun! Non-bervally, Theo also casted the spell with his free hand, from which came another light cord. Unlike the first, he used this one to seize a thick book from a random table, then he pulled from it. It rocketed towards Goldstein's face at a high speed, so much that a cracking sound was heard when the book impacted.
The hit was strong enough to send him tumbling to the floor, whimpering and whining in pain like the crying baby he was. "You think this is enough?" Theo asked aloud, a wide, shady smile on his face. This time, the second cord coiled itself around an ink jar, and with a way more delicate motion, the Slytherin emptied it over Goldstein.
Out of the blue, his spells came to an end.
From the other end of the large room, Flitwick strode towards him. He was followed by a pale-looking Lisa Turpin, whose eyes seemed to be about to pop from their sockets just as her lip quivered like there was no tomorrow. She made her way towards Goldstein, and helped him to sit up.
"That was too much, Theodore," the imp said with a firm yet faint voice. It was a good move on his behalf, Theo reckoned. Most of the students had been so focused on their part that they still were totally unaware of what had just happened. The Professor didn't want unnecessary drama.
"You told us to practise, and that's what I did," the Slytherin said with a shrug. "In fact, I think you should give me a bit of praise. I mean, casting this spell with my wand and without it at the same time it's quite the achievement. Non-bervally, on top of that."
Flitwick didn't even bat an eye at his words. "I said that it was too much." His firm gaze made Theo uncomfortable, to a point in which he, unconsciously, took a step back. That made him blush out of embarrassment. "I will take ten points from Slytherin due to the use of unnecessary and disproportionate violence. Take this as a warning, young one—the last I will give you. Next time this happens, you will serve detention with me for a month."
This being said, the Professor left in search of Goldstein, who was back on his feet still helped by Turpin. His nose bled; broken, Theo hoped.
"Come on," he mused, still ashamed of himself for being intimidated by an imp. "It's just a damn scratch. He also hurt me, and I didn't whine about it like a damn girl. An eye for an eye. That's how life works."
Still furious, Theo made his way towards his table and took a seat on it. There, he just observed his classmates as they practised their pitiful spells. He felt a few eyes on him—Goldstein's and Turpin's, scared and even a bit angry, and Weasley's, serious and cold.
Theo just refrained himself from taking a decision he'd regret. "I should have chosen Drumstrang, that I know now," he mused. "They'd surely understand how life works there."
He just couldn't wait for the Minor to take place—poor of those who'd face him!
Harry had taken this route multiple times, but still his body and mind fell prey to nerves yet again. Funny that he had yet to visit the Headmaster's office for a good thing, he reckoned. At least, this time there was no catastrophe involved.
For the time being, that's it.
The elevator reached the top and its doors opened as the platform finished spinning, however, he took no further step. Down there the stone gargoyles had allowed him entry, but that didn't mean he'd been welcomed by the Headmaster. Instead he just paced through the little platform, hopefully waiting for a call.
And it didn't take long to happen. "You can come in, Harry!" Dumbledore's voice came from inside, loud and amused.
Harry just took one more breath before doing it, and so he crossed the threshold.
A part of him felt relieved after seeing the office hadn't changed a bit since his last visit, with all those strange instruments making weird noises and those shelves packed to the brims with books. However, this last train of thought turned out quite badly, for he also remembered the cause of the said visit. That day not only did he learn about the existence of Tom Riddle's diary, but he was also told about Voldemort's foregone return.
"Come here and take a seat, dear boy," Dumbledore kindly pulled him out of his thoughts. There was a knowing glint in his eyes, Harry could tell, and it only made him feel worse. "Do you fancy any kind of sweet? I've been told you are quite fond of chocolate lately, but I'm afraid I left my sweet tooth behind a few decades ago. In fact, lemon drops seem to be all my body asks for nowadays!"
Puzzled, Harry just took a seat in front of the Headmaster. Many people all around the world feared this man, and those who didn't instead regarded him as a mythic figure, a man no short of being a living legend. With time and thanks to their many—and mostly unpleasant—conversations, Harry had almost grown used to his weird antics. Almost.
"I'm fine," the boy answered, his mind already busy finding a way to bring the important matter to the table. "Look, Professor, I… Well, I…"
Dumbledore just raised a hand. "I know why you came here today, Harry," he started, "and allow me to praise you a bit now. Dolores Umbridge is quite an unpleasant woman to treat with, even so, despite your delicate circumstances, you did a wonderful job! You had no further option but to bow your head and accept their demands. You got caught in a very ugly game of cats and dogs, and still you played it flawlessly! Congratulations are in order, just as an apology on my behalf."
Harry blinked, though he accepted it all without much trouble. This was Albus Dumbledore, of course he would know.
"Well, can't say I don't deserve this," Harry said with a grimace. "I lost control and hexed my aunt, turning her into a human balloon. I broke the law and handed myself to the Ministry on a silver plate. I don't feel sorry for her, that I know, but I now wish I had done things differently."
"Indeed, you should have controlled yourself," Dumbledore sighed. "But you didn't. The past is gone and we must not get lost in it, Harry. We've all been fools once or twice in our lives, me included." As if agreeing to that, Fawkes, perched atop of his nest near the oval window, croaked loudly. "See what I'm talking about?" the Headmaster smiled fondly. "Fawkes knows it far too well!"
"And I've done it," Harry went on. "I got myself in this mess, and I need to get out of it myself. That's where the problem comes in, Headmaster. Umbridge and Fudge want me to spy on you; their eyes and ears, they said. I tried to play the fool, but she's given me an ultimatum. My plan ended as I was cornered into this crossroad, and I no longer know what path I should take."
"If so, then we should give them the honey they so crave for, right?" Dumbledore smiled, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "If they want information, then information they will obtain. I don't really like it, but, oh, I can't say I do not enjoy these games of chess between politicians and I. Let's move our pieces, Harry, and wait to see their response."
Harry just listened raptly as the Headmaster elaborated his plan, and soon enough he also found himself in a better mood.
Ron never thought he'd come to think this of Hogwarts, but so far, his third year had been rather monotonous, and perhaps, one could call it boring.
Not that he minded it, of course! For the first time in what felt like ages, there was no evident threat to the castle and the students' lives. No trace of possessed Professors in search of a legendary Stone which granted eternal youth, nor of a mythical Chamber which harboured ineffable horrors as it awaited the return of Slytherin's Heir.
No, thankfully, there was none of that. Although there certainly was a nosey and insufferable witch by the name of Umbridge who got worse and worse as the days went by. She seemed to have Harry on the edge, and lately also Hermione, but that was as far as she'd gone.
In these past weeks, Ron had trained and trained as soon as he found a bit of free time, which was no small feat. For starters, there were loads of homework to do each week; of large and hard essays, of arduous practical work to master spells and potions, of long trips to the Forbidden Forest and the Astronomy Tower which took hours of their day. All of this had not contributed to his progress, and although Gerdnyaram thought of it to be sufficient, he knew it wasn't.
In short, Ron was quite fed up with his year so far.
Whenever he had a bit of free time—not including that he used to train—and whenever he wasn't exhausted enough to not drop dead on the spot, he and Tracey would just enjoy that moment of peace as they talked and talked about anything. She also had this same problem due to the extreme training Flint had put them through.
It may have been a monotonous routine, but he would take it rather than another year of dangers and disasters.
Even so, that was bound to change today. After all, the first visit to Hogsmeadge was supposed to be something special and unique. Even though it started in a rather ordinary way.
"There are plenty of carriages here," Tracey said as they walked out of the castle, through the Entrance Hall. "They are the same we use on the first day."
Ron had gotten used to those strange carriages pulled by some invisible force, but that didn't mean it was no longer a weird sight. There, more than a hundred of them were parked right outside the castle's entrance, looking to the path which led to Hogsmeadge and its station. Fortunately, they had arrived quite early, as most students had yet to finish their breakfast, so they were able to move through them with ease.
"Better for us," the redhead said. "I don't fancy sharing it with people we don't know. Or worse, with Malfoy and his ilk."
"We could always invite Nott," Tracey added. "You two seem to be quite the friends lately."
That made Ron snort. Just in the last few weeks, Nott had pestered him again and again about some random tournament which would take place today. It would be a good opportunity for Ron to get experience, he'd said. Which, per se, wasn't a bad idea. However, instead of suggesting him to participate, Nott had almost forced him to do it—hell, he'd been about to draw his wand out!
"If I appear dead on my bed one morning," Ron huffed in response, "you better avenge me. You won't have much trouble finding the culprit."
Tracey had the nerve to snicker at that, even though Ron opened the carriage's door for her! Indeed, girls were some cruel beings. Inside, a familiar sight awaited them—the softness of these red seats, the faint touch of lavender and clattering of the wooden wheels as the carriage moved forward.
"Have you ever wondered what makes these carriages move?" he asked out of the blue. He'd given it quite a few thoughts, but no answer had ever come to his mind. There needed to be an explanation, because it was the way magic worked, as he long ago came to understand. Perhaps a complex spell? Or maybe a rune, a more advanced version than those they'd seen in class.
"No idea," Tracey said with a shrug. "What do you reckon it can be?"
"There's a reason why I asked you first," Ron said with a roll of his eyes. He looked outside, just to find a sea of trees at both sides of the carriage. It wasn't a long way, but not a quick one thanks to the carriage's speed. Honestly, can't we go faster? I swear a bloody snail would overtake us!
Well, maybe it wasn't so drastic, but who could blame him? Ron really wanted to visit Hogsmeade!
Tracey's eyes also wandered outside, and Ron took his chance and tried to use his time for something useful. He took a long breath, then opened his magical aura—and so, he welcomed the Sense. It almost felt like a second nature by now; after countless hours of failure, of course. Even with his eyes closed, he was able to locate Tracey with no trouble. Her aura was weak and faint, and its flow changed again and again; almost to the beat of some non-existent song. Far away, some other presences could also be felt, but they were so faint he had no way to identify them.
Ron then expanded his magical aura. He couldn't do much yet, but the range he'd managed was enough to feel those who were in the carriage next to theirs. Even with his eyes closed, he couldn't help but to roll them. This presence he now felt was far more prominent than Tracey's. It also had a very calm flow, like that of a lake rather than a river. It was a very refined and elegant aura, and it belonged, of course, to Daniel Williams.
After many hours of studying everyone's auras in the common room, he now was able to tell them apart with ease; it was similar to recognising a person by their scent, sort of. Perhaps he still had a lot of trouble with those that didn't stand out in anything at all, but it was just a matter of time. To look at the world with new eyes, Gerd had once said, and he couldn't agree more with her.
Then he felt it; a strange aura came from the front of the carriages. It was very diffuse, but not weak at all, as Ron discovered once he studied it at great length. No, it was just different. In fact, it reminded him of those from the Hippogriffs. Wait a moment… Don't tell me these carriages are being pulled by invisible beasts? That would make a lot of sense given what he'd just learnt.
His pondering came to an end as Tracey softly nudged his shoulder. "We've arrived," she just said with an excited smile.
Ron also found himself smiling, and wasted no time hopping down the carriage—and so, he came to stand in front of Hogsmeadge.
It was a little village of cottages and shops, quite picturesque since no roof seemed to be made of the same material nor had the same colour. A large, pavemented alley cut the town in two halves, which was walked through by some of the locals. At the far end of it, atop of a hill, the infamous Shrieking Shack crowned the village; a wooden mansion which seemed about to fall apart.
"It is just as I had pictured it to be," Tracey whistled by his side.
"Wait, you've actually never been here before?" Ron asked.
"Of course not! Why would I lie to you?"
"I don't know!" he defended himself. "Daphne told me she'd been here plenty of times, and so did Malfoy and other pureblood kids according to what I overheard."
"My parents didn't want to spoil me the surprise," she said with a shrug. "They said this should be a special occasion to enjoy with my friends, like they once did. I guess we'll find out today if the wait was worth it, right?"
His brothers had told him plenty of wonders about Hogsmeade; it needed to be worth the wait.
"What do you fancy doing first?" Ron asked as they walked towards the village. They'd been one of the first carriages to arrive, so there weren't many familiar faces around. Still, most of the locals beamed at them as the two third-years set a foot in Highland Alley. "I mean, we are obviously visiting the Shrieking Shack, but that's for later. By the way, I should probably head to the marquee Nott told me about; the one in which the tournament will be celebrated."
"Are you gonna participate?"
"I don't see why I shouldn't," Ron replied. "It can be an interesting experience. Besides, there's no way I'm reaching the finals, so we'll still have plenty of time to explore as much as possible."
"You certainly won't get very far with that attitude," Tracey snickered. "I'm joking, of course! I know you can do it—and you better do it, because I'll be watching."
"I'll be happy as long as I don't get to face Nott in the first round," Ron said as his eyes wandered around. Far ahead, the Three Broomsticks Inn already had a crowd outside, while Zonko's Joke Shop just opened its doors to welcome a pair of fifth-years from Hufflepuff. "Not because I'm scared of him, of course, but because it would be such a waste of time. I've already duelled him more than twenty times, for Merlin's sake!"
"Of course, of course," Tracey sent him an amused glance. "I'm pretty sure that's the only reason. Anyhow, hear me out. What if you head to that tent right now as I explore this place a little? I wanna get something nice for Darren, and it will surely take me a while. Obviously, I won't visit Zonko, the Three Broomsticks and those sorts of places without you! Remember that the first butterbeers of the year are on me!"
Ron just nodded in response as he took a sideways alley—the Spiral Alley, as it could be read on a sign atop the wall of a third-rate pub, the Hog's Head Inn. In theory, the marquee wasn't far from here, and it should be large enough for him to find it with little trouble. In the end, it took Ron a few minutes, which he lost wandering around those little alleys.
To say it was eye-catching was to put it short. It was a huge tent of golden and crimson silk that expanded several metres in every direction, height included. The wind, soft and cool, seemed to crash against it as if its walls were made of solid rock. Right before the entrance, a check-in post had been placed—merely a wooden table with some papers over it and two wizards dressed in gold and red, who looked around with a bored look.
With a sigh, Ron made his way over them. "Hello, is this where the Minor of Hogsmeadge will be held?" he asked.
One of the officials, the short and bald man, raised a brow at his question. "I think that's pretty evident, isn't it?" he said. "Whatever. You look around the age of entry, so I will assume that you are here to participate, right? Well, did you submit your entry and paid the fee in advance through owl?"
"Ehm, no?" Ron replied, quite dumbfounded.
"Right," the guard sighed. "A late notice, then. Oh, I hate you folks! Anyhow, give your name and age, then hand the entry fee to my partner here… Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Did the Grim eat your tongue?"
Ron blushed a bit, and not because of the man's rude behaviour. "I- I didn't know there was an entry fee. How much are we talking about?"
"Five galleons for the participants, one for the spectators," the official replied. "I thought it was bloody evident! The prices are always the same for the Minors."
"I don't have so much money," Ron finally answered with a sigh.
All in truth, his family's lack of money didn't bother him so much nowadays. Much to his surprise, he'd come to accept poverty since he was sorted into Slytherin. Against all odds, he hadn't been judged nor frowned upon because of it, and although Malfoy certainly used it as a weapon back during their first brawls, it was soon a forgotten matter.
He'd never wanted any luxury, and neither had his siblings, but it certainly bothered him to be reminded yet again of the fact they couldn't do simple things just because of poverty. In fact, the one and only galleon in his pockets seemed to weigh more now—a gift from Pansy Parkinson, from once she tried to mock him, back when he'd been the Heir of Slytherin.
As he was about to turn around and go in search of Tracey, the second official suddenly spoke. "Wait a moment, Johny," the taller man, of dirty-blond hair, said. "By any chance is your name Ronald Weasley, thirteen years old as of today?"
"Huh? Sure, that's me."
"Your name is right here, boy, among those who paid the entry fee in advance."
Ron was taken aback by that. "But I paid nothing. Like I said, I have no money."
The taller man scratched the back of his neck. "That's weird, but it's still here, and that's what really matters. A friend of yours must have credited your entrance. Well, either that, or you have a very thoughtful enemy who wants to make a statement today. It wouldn't be the first time it happens, I'm afraid." The two officials seemed to share a knowing look. "Anyway, all seems to be in order, young lad. Be sure to put up a good show for the locals, will ya?"
Oh, that bloody bastard! It was quite easy to figure out who had paid his fee. I know he really wanted me to participate, but, oh, that psycho went too far here! Ron was half a thought from going back to the castle, but he finally decided not to. Theodore Nott would not ruin his first visit to Hogsmeade. No, he couldn't run away from him like that.
Ron needed to show him a lesson once and for all. This time he wouldn't lift his wand from his neck for an instant.
And so, the redhead walked into the marquee.
What he found there left him pretty astonished. The enclosure was very well illuminated, partly thanks to the sun's light which seeped through the silk, and partly due to the many torches placed here and there. In the middle, there was a huge arena of around forty metres both in width and length; it seemed to be made of polished rock, but not of any kind he could recognise. Then came six more around it, but far smaller and with not so much spotlight on them; they were, perhaps, a third of the large one.
Around them, four large grandstands had been set, with enough capacity to host a few hundred spectators. Made of wood, crimson and golden banners fell from its handrails—sewn there was a wand over two crossed swords, a blazon.
Wait. There's no way so many people are coming to watch us, a bunch of no names. Right? So far, less than ten people were sitting there, and even that was enough to make him nervous. Also, there's very little movement here. Have I come this early? No one seemed to pay him much attention; just one official who sent him an annoyed look when Ron didn't move out of her way on time. Merlin… Why are all these folks so angry? Is the pay that horrible?
"And here I thought that this would be a boring day."
The voice came from his back, so Ron turned around to find a boy about his age dressed in blue and golden silk. Half a head shorter, he had striking azure-blue eyes and hair of a light brown shade. His features were sharp, but not as much as the smirk he gave to Ron.
"Do I know you?" the redhead asked.
"Nah," he replied. "But I do know you—Ronald Weasley, right?"
"And how is it that you know my name yet I don't know yours? I'm not a famous person, precisely."
"Perhaps, but we have friends in common," he said with a shrug. "The name is Alexander Shawn, and I study at Ilvermorny. See where I wanna get?"
For a few seconds, Ron did not answer. It turned out that he actually knew this boy—Alexander Shawn, who got into a terrible fight with Nott a few years ago and also a friend of Daphne. He pushed that last part away. He didn't care about the blond girl anymore. No, he did not.
"I do," Ron finally said. "What do you want from me?"
"A bit of your time, perhaps?" Strangely, the question left Shawn a bit thoughtful. "I came here and saw no one, then I found you. I was about to walk outside, but you really left an impression on me, Ronald Weasley. I'm gonna be blunt honest now—I came to this Minor thinking that I would crush everyone with little trouble. But now… Now I see that this could indeed turn out to be a fun day!"
Ron just blinked. "Say again?"
Shawn also blinked, then tilted his head a bit. "It was a compliment. I can see that you at least know what the Sense is. In fact, you've been using it for quite a while, right?"
At that moment, Ron noticed that no aura came from his soon-to-be rival. No, wait a moment. He focused, and found out that he was wrong. It was incredibly faint, indeed, but he could feel Shawn's presence if he tried hard enough. Ron could also expand and shut his aura at will, but his skills were a tad worse when shutting it down. By any means was he as skilled as Shawn seemed to be.
"I'm ready to bet a huge amount of money that not many of those we'll face today are as skilled as you are," Shawn went on, "if they can even use the Sense, to begin with. What's more, I dare to say that you will be my toughest opponent in this event."
Ron raised a brow at that, not knowing whether to feel complimented or surprised. "I appreciate the praise," the redhead huffed, "but I wouldn't bet on me if I were you. I know for a fact there is, at least, someone better. His name is Theodore Nott, and he is a bloody lunatic."
"No way in hell!" Shawn exclaimed. Was that confusion what Ron saw in him? "There's just no way he's better than you!"
"Well, I'd say so," Ron said with a grimace. "We've duelled about twenty times, and I've been defeated in all of them. I must add that some of those defeats were quite humiliating."
"Twenty out of twenty?" To that question, Ron just nodded. "Damn! If so, this day is shaping up to be quite a boring one."
This attitude of his reminded Ron a bit of Malfoy's when they first met—it seemed that pureblood heirs couldn't be beaten in the game of arrogance. However, there was something about Shawn that set Ron off. Even if he seemed to look down upon him a bit since he found out that Ron wasn't so skilled, the redhead just couldn't detect a trace of malice in his eyes.
No, he was, plainly and simply, disappointed.
"Are you better than Nott?" Ron asked, instead. He knew there was very bad blood between those two. Still, it was quite hard to imagine someone could be crazy enough to have a dispute with Theodore Nott.
"You ask if I'm better?" Shawn asked back, showing him the glimpse of a smirk as he turned around. "We play in different leagues, Weasley. I look forward to meeting you in the final. Daphne thinks very highly of you, and I need to see the reason with my own eyes. Don't let me down—don't let her down." He waved at Ron, and just like that, he went for the exit.
Bloody great! Just one more psycho that I need to watch out for. Honestly, can I be more unlucky? Shooking his head, Ron also walked out the marquee. He needed to meet with Tracey and clear his head a bit.
Merlin knew he was gonna need it this afternoon!
Hermione felt overwhelmed here. It hadn't been as bad as the day she discovered she was a witch, of course, and neither as bad as the day she first set foot on Hogwarts, for sure. Even so, Hogsmeade was as fantastic as she'd been told.
The Shrieking Shack had caught her eyes from far away almost instantly, but there have been plenty more surprises. The streets were crowded by locals and students alike, most of them outside the Three Broomsticks Inn and also around Zonko. However, Hermione had other ideas. For starters, she wanted to visit Dervish and Banges, where she would have her favourite quill repaired. Then she'd visit Ceridwen's Cauldrons, the best cauldron shop in the entity country.
Despite that, she found herself at Honeydukes, waiting at the front of a very long line of students. "I can't believe we are wasting so much time here," she mused in annoyance. "It's almost lunch time, and there still are plenty of places to visit!"
"Maybe, but few of them are as awesome as this one is," Neville replied, his eyes fixed on some of the sweets displayed behind the window shop. "Besides, we aren't supposed to see all of Hogsmeade on our very first visit. You've heard the twins."
Harry just nodded in agreement, his gaze also fixed on the window shop.
Instead Hermione shook her head, disappointed yet not surprised. Even so, her opinion about Honeydukes ended up changing the moment she took a bite of the 'three chocolates cake', one of the place's specialties. It took them almost an hour, but they finally stepped outside at last. At this hour, Highland Alley was way less crowded than before.
"Well," Harry started, still licking his lips after the sweets feast he'd enjoyed so much, "to where now?"
"It's lunch time," Neville piped in, "although I don't really fancy taking another bit of any kind of food for a few more hours at least."
"We could try some butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks Inn," Hermione proposed, which made the two boys stare at her with a dumbfounded look. "Hey, don't give me that look! I've heard they are incredible, of course I'd want to try them. Besides, there's still plenty of time to visit those shops of my choosing in the afternoon. Right?"
The two boys shared a look, yet ended up nodding in agreement.
Now, Hermione had never gotten herself into a fight, but moving through the inn sure felt like one. Elbows and knees were weapons at her disposal, but so they were for everyone else; and unlike her, they had no qualms at using them.
"Oh, that hurt," she mused as she got past some seventh-year girl from Hufflepuff. The bar was packed to the brim, and so were most of the tables. The noise was so deafening it almost made it hard to think straight. Yet it wasn't the worst. Not when it was so hot in there that Hermione had to take her jumper off as she walked behind Harry.
"There," the boy managed to say, diving into the crowd with no further thought.
Hermione cursed his friend, yet followed after him regardless. He'd found Ron and Tracey, who sat at a little table at the end of the inn. "Finally," Hermione gasped as she let herself down on an empty chair by Tracey's side. "I thought we were done there."
Neville came back with two more chairs in his hands. "Someone elbowed me so hard that I thought my nose broke," he complained as a little trail of blood came out of his nostrils. Ron handed him a handkerchief with a faint smirk on his face. "Thanks." He cleaned it, then sniffed rather loudly. "Okay, the good news is that I don't think my nose is broken."
"And the bad ones?" Ron asked with a raised brow.
"That it hurts like hell!"
Hermione perked at that, and she got her wand out in no time at all. "I might be able to do something about it." That turned her into the centre of attention. "I mean, there's a certain spell I read about last week, and I've been dying to try it. For the record, I needed a wounded person, so I couldn't just hurt someone myself."
Neville seemed doubtful about it, but Hermione got a closer look of his nose before he could repent. It was a bit red and swollen, and there were faint traces of dry blood. I got this. I really do. She took a breath, then mused, "Episkey."
Neville jumped back, and Hermione's heart forgot to beat then. Wait, did I fail? The boy touched his nose, and his eyes opened in surprise. "It doesn't hurt anymore!" he gasped.
Hermione sighed in relief. "Okay, that's good. For a moment I thought I'd screwed it up. Not that I thought I couldn't do it, of course, but… Well, you know what I mean, right?"
"That was fantastic!" Tracey clapped.
"It was," Ron said with a nod. "In which year are we supposed to learn that charm? It sure rings a bell to me, so I will assume it was Percy who talked to me about it."
"Fifth year," the girl answered. "Both in Charms and Defence, I believe."
Just then appeared a blond, curvy waitress with a tray of butterbeers on it. "Hello, dears," she smiled. "I know you only ordered two, but I saw your friends coming here, and I thought that three more butterbeers would harm no one." In the blink of an eye all the drinks were served. "First time here, I assume. My inn doesn't get this crowded usually, just the first weekend of the year. Anyway, enjoy the drinks!"
Hermione eyed her drink with a keen eye. The foamy beverage was about to pour off its jar, and it really resembled a lot of ordinary beer. Way too much. "Wait," she started, "can we even drink this? I mean, it isn't alcoholic, right?"
"It is," Ron said as he grabbed his. "Not ours, of course. It's pretty evident we aren't of age, so all we could order were these. However, Fred told me that he knows a way to get the real ones." Hermione glared daggers at the redhead, which he replied to with a simple shrug of his shoulders. "I'm just saying. From what I know, they have very little alcohol. I could pour you one and you'd not be able to tell them apart."
"We are thirteen, Ron," she said.
"You are fourteen, though. But whatever. We came here to enjoy a good drink, didn't we? Let's get to it then." This being said, he just took a long gulp of his.
Harry and the rest didn't take long to follow him, and they all seemed quite delighted after taking a sip. "This is…" the boy started. "This is great! It's so sweet!"
"People say that Madam Rosmerta, the owner of this pub, uses a secret recipe she invented herself in her youth," Neville piped in. "I had tasted butterbeer before, at Diagon Alley, but this one is much better. It's sweeter and far more delicious. No wonder even people from other countries come here to try them."
Hermione finally tried hers, and the taste was much better than she expected. "Wow," she mused. "I've never had something like this. It's so unique…"
Out of nowhere some dishes appeared on their table. The larger one was of chips and some rosy sauce Hermione couldn't identify, while the other two, smaller and with less food, were of mini-hamburgers and a variety of sandwiches. "Feel free to take a bite," Tracey said, her butterbeer almost gone. "We ordered food for two, but we can always order a bit more. The menu is quite large and good here."
As she said that, Ron had already picked up one of the sandwiches, which he devoured in no time at all. "Huh? The twins didn't lie when talking about this inn's food! It's wonderful! Come on, serve yourselves; you won't regret it."
"I'm full," Harry said. "We visited Honeydukes, and I must say it was the best thing ever."
"Same here," Neville nodded. "My stomach will probably complain tonight, but it was so worth it."
"Damn," Ron whistled as he dropped his empty jar on the table. There was a trail of foam and crumbs around his mouth, which he cleaned quite unceremoniously with the back of his hand. "We were planning to go right after lunch. It's one of the places we've yet to visit along with the Shrieking Shack. However, I don't think it will be possible to do all that today."
"Why's that?" Hermione asked.
"Well, there's this duelling tournament here, and I'm gonna participate," the redhead replied. "It will start in an hour or so, and it will take away most of my afternoon. Or so I hope, at least. It would be quite a pity to go out so early."
"Oh, I've heard about it," Hermione said. It had been announced at the front page of the local newspaper, although it had been relegated to a small spot on the corner, so she'd paid it no attention at all. "I didn't know you were so into it. I mean, I knew it was important to you, but more like a hobby to do in your free time, not so…, professionally?""
"I like it," Ron admitted, "and it is also quite useful. I mean, look at the past two years we've had… It ain't strange one would want to be as prepared as possible."
He let those words hang, and not without a reason.
Hermione knew her friend still blamed himself for the acts the Heir of Slytherin committed, and although he'd talked about it with both her and Harry, pain and regret could still be seen in his eyes. He is right, though. Each year the threat changes, let it be in face or name, but it's all the same in the end. As long as we remain by Harry's side, we are bound to face danger sooner than later. We are bound to face Lord Voldemort sooner than later. Which meant that they would be in danger forever.
"Can I still participate?" Harry asked out of the blue. "Or it's too late already?" There was a seriousness within his eyes Hermione had never seen before. And they all noticed it. Harry took in their eyes, then sighed, "I have a target on my head, and I will always have it. So far we've made it, but barely. I've given it quite a few thoughts this summer, you know, and I reached the conclusion that I wanted to be ready. Not just for me, but because of you all. I know you will stand by my side no matter what happens or what I say. I need to be ready when they come at us."
It took Ron a few seconds to answer. "I don't know, mate. It ain't far from here, so we can go and ask right away. I think it's a good decision."
Harry just stood up and eyed them all. "Anyone else wanna tag along?" he asked.
Much to her surprise, Neville did look thoughtful for a second, but he finally refused with a shake of his head. "Sorry, but I just don't have it in me."
Tracey was quick to nod to those words, while it took Hermione a tad longer to make a decision. She could really use the practical experience, that's for sure, but she didn't feel so confident about it. Fighting wasn't something she really appreciated, and most of her repertoire didn't include combat spells. Perhaps if she'd known it beforehand…
"I don't think I'm taking part either," she finally said. "If there's a next one, then I will prepare myself for it and participate. This time I will limit myself to watching you from the sidelines. I'm sure there's plenty I can learn either way."
Ron then devoured a bunch of chips and took one more sandwich for the way. "Here, I think this will be enough." He dropped a golden galleon on the table. "You better use it, eh? The butterbeers are on you, but that's all."
The two boys left and fought their way through the crows, and then Tracey allowed herself to snicker. "What he doesn't know is that I will put this back into his robes when he least expects it. Honestly, how can you be so proud? This ain't no charity work, just a kind girl trying to help her dear friend."
"That's a Weasley for you," Neville smiled fondly. "They've always been like that, my grandma says; kind of heart, but stubborn as a mule. Time will pass and it will change all—all but Weasleys and the power of money, she also says."
Hermione took another gulp of her drink, lost deep in thought about certain matters. Harry and Ron are right. Trouble is coming for us, and we need to be ready. Am I doing enough? Are books and wits enough, or do I need to reach further? Back in their first year, Stone of Life at perish, she'd been quite useless when it mattered. And so went for the second year, in which the Heir of Slytherin managed to get rid of her quite easily.
She reached for the jar and took another gulp, then realised it was empty.
Unaware of her distress, her two friends continued talking. "Quidditch training is so tough!" Tracey complained. "Much worse than I first expected, at least. I love it, don't get me wrong, but when it ends all I wanna do is to sleep for a week."
"Do you know when you'll play the first game of the season?" Neville asked.
"The exact date is yet to be decided, but we've been told it will take place midway through November," she answered. "It's gonna be either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. Apparently, there are some issues within the calendar they need to sort out."
And so, the two of them talked about mundane matters, although Hermione soon joined them, trying to avert her mind from those serious matters. This was supposed to be a special and fun visit; there would be room for all else later on.
Tracey finally finished her lunch. "We still have a bit of time before the tournament starts," she began. "Do any of you have any proposals? I'm all ears here."
"Dervish and Banges, perhaps?" Hermione said. "I need to have my quill repaired, and I don't reckon it will take long."
"Oh, that's a good one," Tracey nodded. "I also need to have some of mine repaired. I swear Snape's last essay, the one about the Shrinking Solution, shattered them once and for all! Honestly, whatever is causing his horrible mood lately, cursed be it!"
Well there it was. Next chapter will be all about the tournament and its duels. See you then!
