Hello there, again!
Nightmare, such a common word as of the present age. But there was once when this word meant one of the greatest horrors known to mankind. Creatures so dreadful and powerful, born to be but our natural and mightiest predator. Of countless kinds, as if of different races yet still the same, their origin runs as old as ours, if not more.
Who was first to start the endless war that almost ended both races? Us, because we hunted them down because of fear toward the unknown and the different, or them, because of hunger and natural instinct? Many have wondered so, yet no erudite has ever felt brave enough to give a clear answer. Nor do I, of course.
And I fear the answer to this riddle might never be found, for, fortunately, these creatures of old met their end years before the Doom, wiped out by the Alezthi and their alliance with the other peoples of the world in what came to be known as the War for Dawn.
Lawrence the Third, in 'History of the Wizarding World', chapter 16.
Chapter 11 - Research team
The Quidditch season had officially begun, and though Ron was not as enthusiastic about the sport as he'd thought he'd be, it was always good to have a way to divert his mind from all those problems which swarmed it as of late. Small things, truly, such as the end of the world and the death of his loved ones.
This didn't mean he was free of stress as of this moment. For he was presented with a huge dilemma—which team to root for.
On the one hand, there was Slytherin's team; his House's team. He had no love for them, but Ron had come to understand that the mood was far better within the House if they did well in the race for the Cup; and winning a game meant a lot of points. On the other hand, however, Ron really wanted to root for Harry and his own twin brothers. It would be so beautiful to see them silence the snakes, who had been so arrogant until the game started.
"This year both teams are incredible," Blaise observed, impressed.
And not without a reason. The game was a fast-paced one, full of quick combinations and incredible plays. Gryffindor had taken the early lead, their chasers red and golden arrows amidst the blue sky. Angelina Johnson had scored four goals so far, as the twins had made sure no bludger was to come her way. But still the game was tied, seventy points for each team.
Suddenly the crowd roared in anger, for Harry had been fouled once more by Marcus Flint, Slytherin's captain. Such had been their strategy—to focus the rookie, trying to get him out of the game. Needless to say, such a plan had put the crowd even more against them. No one wanted to see Slytherin winning the Cup for another year in a row, it seemed.
"Potter is incredible!" Tracey mused in awe, eyes following the quaffle whenever the ball went. "This is his first game, and still he's beating Higgs as if he'd been competing for years!"
Ron hummed in agreement, his eyes also lost in the game. How could he not, when the game was so spectacular? Even Blaise—whom Ron hadn't taken for a fan of the game, nor of anything else but potions and his card games—could but enjoy it. But there was a certain person who wasn't so enthusiastic about the sport, however.
Daphne could only roll her eyes at their amazement. She'd complained the entire morning about the game, arguing that she had much better things to do than spending so many hours on such a silly thing. In the end, she'd tagged along when it was clear she was alone. Her complaining had been constant yet almost silent since then.
Despite that, it was her who noticed something amiss with Harry.
"Hey," she started, "if Potter's so good, why does it seem like he has no control over his broom?"
All the eyes abandoned the quaffle's frenzied dance and went upward, to where Harry had stilled. It started as some strange movements, which he managed to suppress.
"The wind, maybe?" Blaise guessed. "I reckon it will be far stronger up there."
Harry's broom turned so sharpy that it threw the boy down. He managed to hang from it by one arm, fortunately. The crowd's gasping put sound to the dreadful spectacle as the Gryffindor tried to climb back into his broom. But it was useless, as the broom kept swaying to both left and right.
Ron's heart was about to leap out of his chest so hard it beat. And he almost leaped down the grandstands so startled he was by Gerd's voice.
"Where is that girl going? Your friend, the one with the bushy and thick hair. Is she so worried about Harry she cannot look? But why is she running so fast?"
Ron looked toward where Gerd's finger pointed at. There, sprinting under the Slytherin stands, was Hermione Granger. Ron need not think about it. He sprung up to his feet, and said in a hurry, "I'll be back in no time at all! Don't you dare to finish my sweets, Tracey!"
He paid no mind to their questions. All he did was to run after Hermione. Many students complained at him, some even shouted obscenities which would've made the twins smile and laugh when he accidentally stepped on their feet. Fortunately, he was much faster than the girl, even when moving through that sea of legs. It took him less than a minute to catch her up.
"Hey!" Ron called between ragged breaths. Merlin, was he really so out of shape? "What are you doing?"
Hermione turned around, eyeing him up suspiciously. "Ronald? Did you follow me?" Her forwardness made the redhead grimace. They were somewhat friends now, after the incident with the troll, but it still was hard for her to act as such.
Gerd dashed past Ron and glided around Hermione in circles. She eyed the girl with curious eyes.
"I did," Ron replied. "I saw you running like a madwoman, while Harry fought for his life to regain control of his broom. It struck me as quite odd, you see. So, have you thought of something?"
He ignored the way she could help their friend, but she was clever, and clever people always knew what to do. One just had to look at Percy to know that.
Hermione bit her lip for a moment, then said, "I think Professor Snape is doing something to Harry." Ron was about to laugh, but her serious look made him change his mind. "Yes, I do know he is the Head of Slytherin. But he was mouthing something as his eyes were glued to Harry. And then his broom went crazy! I know a spell when I see one!"
Snape's unfairness toward Gryffindor was very well-known, and he took to heart the duty of proving so every day. But to imply he could try to kill a student? That was too far.
Hermione drew her lips to a thin line. "Look, I've got no time to convince you. Harry needs my help. So, you either come with me or stand here like a fool. It's up to you."
She ran away before he could utter a word. This girl! She really needs a few lectures on communicating! Still he followed her, of course. Hermione took him under the grandstands, through a narrow passage in which they needed to crouch down. The muttering reached them from above. They sped up, no longer being cautious of drawing attention.
Hermione halted suddenly. "Stop!" she said in a whisper, looking upward. The end of a black cape seeped through the gap in between the lines of grandstands. She didn't hesitate. Drawing out her wand, the girl muttered, "Incendio!" and the fine silk was set ablaze.
The foul smell of burning silk was first to appear, but still people paid no attention to the growing fire so busy they were watching Harry trying to survive. Hermione crawled away, sweaty and pale. There was a touch of bewilderment in her eyes, as if she couldn't believe what she'd just done. Ron was sure he looked the same, finding it quite hard to believe his friend had acted this way.
Someone shouted from above, "Professor, your robes are on fire!" Gasps and curses followed. Ron and Hermione used the commotion to their favour, raising to their feet and running for their lives.
"You are crazy!" Ron hissed in a low voice, not looking backward.
"I am?" she repeated, having trouble speaking amidst sharp intakes of breath. "I attacked a Professor… I am crazy! I really am!"
Ron dashed into sunlight once again, so suddenly it almost blinded him. He just led himself down, his back against the wooden post of the grandstands, and tried to regain his breath. Hermione did the same to his side. They both remained silent for a few seconds, then looked upward at the same time.
Harry was back onto his broom, in perfect control of it.
"Wow," Hermione gasped, then. "I just set fire to a Professor's robes. And it was exciting. Wow."
"You could've warned me," Ron observed dryly, though he shared her excitement. He'd come to respect Snape in his brief time as a Slytherin—more or less, that's it—but the thrill of adventure was a powerful thing. More so to a Weasley, who had grown up hearing so many tales from his older brothers and their adventures in the castle. "We were lucky that no one heard us. Running away the way we did it, we were lucky indeed."
Silence returned, only disrupted by their heavy breathing, as they watched what little they could of the game. But it was a brief one.
"Now, you are going to tell me why you were so sure that it was Snape who was cursing Harry," Ron started. "I mean no offence, but it has to be something serious for you to act as recklessly as you just did."
Hermione bit her lip once more. "Well, ehm. That's something we shouldn't talk about here, I think. Besides, I need to consult with Harry and Neville."
That made Ron snort. "Since when do the three of you keep secrets? And why can't you tell me? Is it because I'm a bloody snake? Oh, come on!"
Hermione blushed. "That's not the reason! I trust you. And so do they. But-"
Just then did Harry rocket toward the ground, so fast he became a colourful spot in the air. Ron stood up, walking toward the handrail of the grandstands, gripping it tightly. The ground got closer and closer and closer and… Harry made a sharp turn just in time, flying in parallel to the ground now.
Hermione came to stand by his left. "Wait a moment. What is he doing?"
Harry had taken a hand up to his mouth, and seemed to be retching. A second later, he raised his arm, waiving it so the crowd could see the gleaming snitch in his hand. Even from so far Ron was able to see the wide grin on his friend's face. And then he was swarmed by his teammates.
"Did he just…" Hermione muttered. "Is that possible? Or even legal?"
Ron blinked. "It's legal, that I know. Possible? Well, that bastard just did so, so I guess it is." The Slytherin team flocked around Madam Hooch as if an angry bunch of crows. Their captain, Marcus Flint, was the loudest. Ron could but snicker at that. "Ha! It serves them well! One thing is to play tough, another to bully Harry the way they did it."
So giddy Ron was that it took him by surprise when Hermione grabbed his arm. "You still want to know about Snape and all?" she asked with a sigh.
"Of course I do!"
"Follow me, then."
"Wait. I need to tell my friends. I told them I'd be gone for just a moment."
"No. Either you come or you leave."
Ron eyed the girl sharply, a hundred foul words in the tip of his tongue. Still he refrained from his annoyance and followed after her. Hermione made him wait behind the Hufflepuff stands, where people barely paid them attention as they made their way down. And she made him wait plenty, for they only moved after every student was well on their way to the castle.
"We are good to go," she mused.
Hermione dragged him through Hogwarts's terrains, toward the Forbidden Forest. Ron felt a bit of dread crepting up his body. The last time he'd ventured into the Forest, he'd known of the horrible future that awaited. But she took a sharp turn to the left in the Forest's boundaries, fortunately.
Their destination was clear to him now.
Hagrid's hut was a small, wooden thing which fit very well within the shady and green picture of the forest. Smoke poured out the chimney, and light seeped through the closed window now that dusk was almost upon the castle. There was a small garden behind the hut; plenty of vegetables growing there. A few scarecrows stood watch over it, shaped like large men with their arms raised.
The girl knocked on the door. They were granted entrance a few seconds later.
The hut was also humble inside. A black carpet, old and faded out, covered most of the floor, made of wooden planks. A large table had been set in the middle, with four chairs around it. There was a gigantic bed just below the window, and to its side the warmth was ablaze. A little steel saucepan hung above the weak flames, as if daring the fiery tongues to touch it; a nice smell came from it, of cinnamon and other spices which Ron couldn't name.
Hagrid was crouching down before the warmth, stirring the contents of the saucepan as he hummed some rhythmless melody. Harry and Neville were already here, clear surprise in their faces. In fact, it was Neville who voiced out his thoughts in a not so warm way.
"What's he doing here?"
"Nice to see you too, Neville!" Ron replied sourly. "I guess it takes one more than saving you from a troll to become your friend."
His face reddened in the blink of an eye. "Oh, sorry. It's just that… Well, after what Snape did… He's the Head of your House, after all."
Ron rolled his eyes, thinking it wiser not to let his tongue run free of what he thought about those words. "Apologies accepted, I guess." He then took a seat in the chair next to Harry's, who gave him a far warmer nod as a greeting.
The large man finally rose up, eyeing them with suspicion. "What has Snape done now?" he asked. It was then when Ron noticed the funny-looking apron he wore; white and pink, with drawings of dogs chasing rabbits. "He's a good man, he is. A bit rude, but a good man."
The four students shared a look.
It was Hermione who took the word. "He tried to curse Harry's broom! I saw it, as clear as water. And when I interrupted his incantation, Harry regained control over his broom instantly!"
Hagrid snorted. "That's utter rubbish! Ain't no way Professor Snape would do somethin' like that. He's grumpy and scary, he is, but Dumbledore trusts him. That's all it matters." He picked up a little jar and sunk it into the saucepan, filling it to the brim. "This is nice. Oh, it smells so well."
The Gryffindor trio shared a look, then glanced at Ron.
"Should we…" Hermione left the question hanging in the air.
"Come on," Harry cut in with a shake of his head. "We can trust Ron. Besides, he already knows about that thing."
"That thing?" Ron repeated slowly. "Wait, are you talking about that monster which…" He got lost the moment a blue flash seeped through the open window. It was Gerd, dressed in her usual white dress which reached down to her feet, where it waived as if gusted by some nonexistent air. Fortunately, the Gryffindor trio took his stuttering as surprise, and just nodded in response.
Gerd came to stand atop of his shoulder. "I do take my eyes away from you for a second, and you run away on me!" she huffed, though there was evident amusement in her voice. "I got a bit lost out there. Let it be known, how discourteous you are to pull such a move on a lady as I am."
Ron blinked, trying to take in her words. It was something he'd come to note, that Gerd was slowly going back to the way she'd been before the Incident—that was the way Ron liked to refer to that dreadful day. She still acted weirdly sometimes, of course, but again, what was to expect of a woman who was more than two-thousand years old? A woman who once died to be reborn so many centuries later, and with just tiny bits of her past life.
"Tea, anyone?" Hagrid had come to stand before them, a steaming pitcher in his large hands. "It's hot, perfect for a cold day. I like it extra hot, I do."
Ron was about to accept, but Hermione cut in before any word could come out his mouth. And she sure did it in a way no one else but her could—with a complete lack of touch and preparation.
"We know about the three-headed dog which guards the forbidden corridor," she said.
Hagrid, who had just taken a sip of his cup, could only splutter it out in a rain of drops. "You what!?" he mouthed, aghast. "Wait, what? You know about… About Fluffy?"
No bloody way! Ron glanced around, and his eyes met with Harry's—he shared the same bewilderment.
"Fluffy?" Hermione repeated slowly. "Is that his name?"
"Yes, he's mine," Hagrid grunted. He left the cup aside, on the table, and sat down to stare at them with a seriousness so improper to him. "Bought him from some Greek lad I met in a pub this summer, after a game of cards went horribly wrong. He was quite eager to sell him, and cuties like Fluffy are my weak spot."
Did he just say cutie? To that rabid monster that wanted to bite our heads off? Merlin, he's barmy! Ron had tried to forget that night, and he'd certainly succeeded after the Incident. But now that the matter was back on the table, he was reminded of Hermione's words back then. That hellish dog had been guarding a trapdoor beneath its feet.
It smelled horribly suspicious, indeed.
Harry tried to keep the gatekeeper talking. "What about it, then?"
"Don't ask me anymore about it!" Hagrid shook his head. "None of your business, I say! Also, forget about that thing with Professor Snape. He ain't evil, just a little… rude and grim and cold."
"Then," Hermione pressed, "if he's so clean as you say, why did he try to kill Harry just an hour ago? I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid."
It became a Quidditch game between the girl and the man, but one played with words rather than balls. She tried to place the blame on Snape while asking for Fluffy at the slightest chance, and he tried to make him look innocent as he kept his mouth shut when the creature was brought up. The three boys become spectators to it, and so did Gerd, still atop Ron's shoulder.
She tilted her head, then, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What is this all about?" she asked. "What is that demonic creature she just mentioned?"
Oh, right. She doesn't know about that night's adventure. It had taken place in that time when she'd left him to gather what little energy she could. It was time to leave and do quite a bit of explaining, it seemed.
Ron stood up and said to Harry in a whisper, "Hey there. I've just remembered that I got this very important thing to do. If he slips about something else, you let me know. Whatever the hell you guys are planning, I want in."
"Sure!" Harry nodded.
Ron bid them farewell with a wave of his hand, and made his way out as the echoes of the argument thundered behind. Outside, the sun was well on its way down, almost hidden behind the far hills of the west. It was cold, so the boy wrapped himself tightly in his robes; he lamented not having brought his scarf.
"So," Gerd hummed into his ear, "care to give me an answer now that we are alone?"
Ron started. "Well, this might be a bit difficult to explain. Thing is, months ago, we had this night escapade, and for various reasons we ended up in a forbidden corridor. All sounds well enough so far, I know, but then we barged into this dark and large room. There was a bloody monster there. A three-headed dog; as large as a grown elephant, with fangs as tall as I myself and claws sharp as knives. Supposedly—so Hermione says—it was guarding some trapdoor at its feet. As you can imagine, I tried to forget that night. But it seems that won't be possible."
Gerd jumped off his shoulder, coming to stand in front of him. There was no chirpiness within her anymore. "And it had three heads, you said?"
Ron halted, dread blooming within him. "Do you know something about that monster, Gerd? Please, tell me you don't."
The Essentia let out a tired sigh, then she started to walk around his head, the air being her road, with her hands folded over her breast. Her attire changed suddenly. The sleeves of her dress grew down her arms and shaped like gloves at last, while the wide skirts around her feet tightened, almost becoming trousers.
"I do know a few things about it," she confessed, her voice so low it was almost unheard "It's just an assumption, however. To be sure of it, and to not make you worry needlessly, I would need to see such a creature with my own eyes. Until then, I will not speak to you about what I know. You already have too many problems for a child your age."
Ron wanted to laugh. "There's no way I'm going back to that room. No, forget about it. No way, I said."
Her gaze hardened. "Don't be like this! You don't need to get so close to it. All you need to do is to take me there, then open the door for me and allow me to seep into the room. You can remain outside, if you are so afraid."
"I said no," Ron gritted his teeth. "Not only I don't want to face that beast again, but that's a forbidden corridor, Gerd. It will be well guarded, more so after we almost got caught in our first incursion. If I get caught in that bloody place at such late hours, I might be signing my own death warrant as well. Because I will get expelled, and then my mother will kill me. No, I won't do it. Period."
Gerd rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. I just thought that you wanted to know what that beast is doing in the school. Because there must be a reason, right? But if you don't want to know… Well, I guess it's fine. Perhaps it isn't so important."
Ron took in her words. "Are you trying to provoke me?"
"How dare you imply something so foul? Me, provoking you? Never!"
"You are going to kill me someday, you bloody woman," Ron sighed in defeat. "I guess I do want to know, and I guess it's important enough." Besides, the redhead knew he couldn't pass on this opportunity. Because Gerd knew something important about the dog, and it was something grave enough to startle her if just a bit. "It's important to have eyes and ears everywhere, right? As we know nothing about the future save for a few meaningless visions."
Gerd gave him an arrogant smirk, knowing herself victorious in their argument. "You won't regret this! Also, if you are so scared of being caught, you can always follow me. I cannot enter that room by myself, but I certainly can walk ahead of you and warn you in case of undesired guests."
"We have a plan, then."
"It's all clear!" Gerd told him. "You can get out!"
Ron appeared from behind a rusty and large armour which had hidden his body for about five minutes. His legs ached in protest, having spent all that time crouching down on them. Still, he could only admit her plan was a good one. Who knew that having an invisible spirit by one's side was so helpful?
Ron let out a relieved sigh. "Great. That bloody classroom is not so far from here. I gotta give it to you, Gerd. Your plan worked really well, and now the worst part is done."
Gerd gleamed, so alight she shone into the dark corridor. "What else is new? I'm great and my ideas are the best!"
Ron rolled his eyes, walking forward until he came to stand before the door. He drew in a deep breath in preparation, but still did his hand tremble when it rose to grab the knob. Here I am once more. Oh, to hell with this! He pulled the door open. Inside awaited darkness, deep and tight. And silence, too, oppressive and cold.
"Light, now," Gerd commanded.
"Lumos!"
And there it went his facade of calm, which had allowed him to act as if there wasn't a monster a few metres away. Three pairs of large and gleaming eyes stared back at the boy, as if glowing rubies. The beast laid on the floor, huddled down, its breathing a faint whistle which cut through the room's silence. It eyed Ron like the prey he was, and it took the boy a mighty effort to not run away.
"There you have it," Ron mused. "Do whatever you will, but do it quickly, please."
Gerd ignored his remark and zipped around the monster. For a moment Ron thought it was about to close its jaws on her, but the dog was oblivious to her too. Its fangs gleamed white when it showed them at the boy, long and sharp as knives. Ron took a step back, prey of fear.
"I need the light!" Gerd barked at him. "Come closer, if just one more step!"
It only made the beast more nervous. But still it did lay motionless rather than lunging at the intruder.
"I see it!" Gerd said, almost to herself. "There is a trapdoor. They are using the Cerberus as a guard; and a very well trained one, on top of it. Oh, what have they done? Whatever it is that lies within the castle must be very important, for no one in their sane mind would ever use such a beast as a simple pair of eyes."
"Gerd!" Ron hissed in a whisper. "Can we go now? You've taken more than a look at it! And don't mutter like a madwoman, as if I wasn't here!"
His words seemed to pull the Essentia out of her trance. "Oh, right. I did start to rumble, didn't I? Well, let's go. I have what we came looking for."
Ron walked backward as Gerd soared toward him; her faint and warm weight upon his shoulder a more than welcome source of comfort. His back clashed against the door and, with his eyes still on the beast, Ron pushed it open with his back. He didn't allow himself a breath until the door closed after him, now bathed in the far brighter light of the hallway.
"Never again," he told himself with a shaky voice.
Then he started running; to nowhere in particular, but as far from the monster as possible. Ron left hallway after hallway at his back. Gerd remained a silent companion all the way, deep lost in her thoughts. He only halted when his legs gave up, before a classroom's door at the north wing of the very same floor. He stepped inside, lungs also begging for a rest.
Totally out of breath, Ron dropped himself on the floor, back sliding down the cold, stone wall. "Well, there you had your desired sneak peak," the redhead grunted. "Now, you better tell me what the hell made you so stressed. And I want every bloody detail, Gerd."
Gerd, wearing her calm mask once more, just took a seat in front of him with her legs folded underneath; though she sat amidst the air, right at the level of his eyes.
"That beast is called a Cerberus," she started. "Its kind was once known as… Wait. What would be the most adequate translation? Their original name, in Alazthi, is Allidasep. In your tongue, it should be Nightmare. Yes, I think so."
Ron blinked in confusion. "What are you on about?"
Gerd let out an exasperated sigh. "I believe it is time for a history lesson, though a very brief and incomplete one. For it would take me years to even begin the tale." She stood up, walking around with her finger pointed at Ron. "In the Ancient Times, way before I was even born, there were two major powers fighting for the control of the world. One was us, those wizards of past ages, and the other was the Nightmares, some of the foulest and vilest creatures to ever exist. It was an endless feud, bloody and violent as none. They preyed upon our flesh and bone, being to them far more delicious than that of those who weren't blessed by magic. And we retaliate with just as much of violence, wiping out some of their races in revenge and rage."
She halted, eyes full of sorrow now. "After centuries of blood and death, the different peoples of the world bonded with one another at last. It was an union born out of necessity, but we finally tossed aside all our differences and formed a united front against the Nightmares. Therefore, the gravest and bloodiest war of them all came to be—the War for Dawn. We were led by the greatest warriors of all, the lords and ladies of the Alazthi Elite. But it was a union never seen before, in which every civilization took part. There was the kind People of the Forest; the warlike Maidens of Hecate; the shady and mistrustful Citadel and its Sages; and many more whose only remains are the blurry memories I have of them. And only thanks to that, to such an effort and all those sacrifices, we won. Oh, but what a price we paid! Countless lives were lost; families torn and children orphaned. But we won, and we wiped the Nightmares out. Or so I had believed until today."
Ron shuddered. Even if her words made no sense to him, it was the emotion she put into them that made him tremble in dread.
"So, you are telling me that the beast we just came to stand in front of—bloody Fluffy—is an extremely dangerous creature which its kind once used to devour us for lunch? Great, bloody great! Nice move, Headmaster. Really."
Gerd took a seat once more, sprawled in the air. "Maybe, but that one was a little specimen. Nothing like the Nightmares of old. In fact, I say he isn't worthy to be considered one, so small and tame it was."
Small and tame? Yes, she'd certainly lost her mind.
"Say what you will, but it doesn't change the fact the Headmaster is keeping a very dangerous creature under the same roof as us, "Ron went on. "Also, did you see how it simply eyed me from a distance? I saw it in its eyes, how much he wanted to lunge at me. And still he did nothing."
"And obedient and tame beast, indeed, as I said. One trained to guard that trapdoor."
"What do you make of it?" Ron asked, stretching his aching legs. His breathing had gone back to its usual pace, too. "You are the clever one here, Gerd."
"What I told you before," the Essentia replied with a shrug. "That it must be something very important to use such a creature as a simple guard."
Those words fell heavy upon Ron's mind. Something very important. To be guarded in Hogwarts, already one of the safest places on the planet. A place in which nothing escaped from Albus Dumbledore's eyes; the so-called Great Sorcerer. He could only link this to the events of the Incident. A cold claw seized his heart, then.
"Breathe in and out, Ronald," Gerd said soothingly, darting closer to him so she could place a warm hand on the boy's cheek. "I know this is scary. But you are a brave boy. And I'm here, by your side."
"What the hell could it be, Gerd?" the boy muttered. "This is Hogwarts, probably the safest place on earth." A sudden thought carved its way through his mind. "Wait a moment. Do you reckon they could be keeping it so another person can't steal it?" He then remembered one of the visions Gerd had bestowed upon him. A black mist, crimson eyes glowing through as a dozen of masked and hooded wizards kneeled to it. "I-It cannot be Him… Right?"
Gerd folded her arms upon her breast as she looked upward, deep in thought. "You mean that horrible wizard whose name became forbidden after the war? We can't overlook that possibility, certainly. But I don't think it's him. Not yet, at least. Such a dark presence, one to which the Great Sight looked upon ages ago, he cannot just simply return without the world not noticing it. But it could be someone akin to him. One of his most devoted followers, perhaps. And whatever is being kept here, it could mean a way to make him return sooner."
Her words hung in the air, dark and heavy.
Ron couldn't believe them—more like he didn't want to believe them. There was no way He could return so soon. One thing was to see the future in some strange visions and act upon them, facing a mountain troll to save a friend. Another was to be certain they would come true, and that the most feared man in history would come back no matter what.
Ron laughed aloud; thunderous guffaws with no hint of mirth in them.
"This is way out of our reach, Gerd!" he snapped at last, as soon as he calmed down a bit. He felt like crying now, though. "We can't do anything if You-Know-Who is involved!"
"Calm down," Gerd told him once more. "The future is unavoidable, certainly. But you must not allow fear to seize control of your mind. That's when a man becomes unable to fight. And our time to fight is not here yet. Because you said it yourself, my dear Ron. Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world. If someone wants to steal whatever is being kept here, I say let them come. We will become the eyes that act from the darkness, you and me. We will stand aside, far from danger but still close enough to act upon what we know of the future. All we saw in the visions, we can act upon it. As you proved a few weeks ago."
Ron drew in a deep breath. He saw reason within her words, but fear had a strong grip on one's heart. Now, was his determination even fiercer?
"We won't allow Him to return," he mused weakly. "We must protect them all, Gerd. Oh, but I'm so scared! Still, to watch from afar, that's something I can do now. Though I know it won't be enough in the future. Promise me you will make me stronger, Gerd, enough to save them. Promise me that."
"I will make you stronger, Ron. We will save them."
And he believed her.
Ilvermorny roared with life.
Not the castle itself, of course, which laid as sombre and regal as always atop Mount Greylock. There was a faint veil of mist around the silvery fortress, which hid its true beauty. Walls made of elegant marble and basalt, seamed with touches of bright minerals all over them. The magnanimity and austerity of one of the Eight Schools. A story written in blood, with the Snakewood Tree as its main pride and flag.
But as great as it was, it was also cold and lifeless.
And such was the reason why the Emerald Valley was created; an expansion to the castle, built about fifty years past. It was a wish from the current Headmistress, Alycia Lessard; a very eccentric yet lovable woman. To create a place in which the students could enjoy and spend their time in a far more lively place. In which they could enjoy the sun and breathe fresh air.
If the castle was a mix of whites, greys and blacks, the Valley was of greens, browns and blues. It stretched as far as sight went. Full of green hills and plains marbled with flowers and trees. A long yet narrow river ran through them in a zigzag, getting lost into a deep forest of darker trees. There even was a little village, of small and simple buildings, in the largest plain, where some shops and business could be found. Humble and kind locals who found in the Valley a chance to make their living.
And yet, today the Valley looked even more colourful and radiant. Because the grand finals of the World Duelling Series were to be held there for the weekend. A grandiose event in which the eight best duellists of the world would fight for the so-desired crown. An event in which a full season of work and effort was to culminate in glory or shame. And people knew it, for they had come in plenty from all over the world to witness such a spectacle.
The festivity was a fight of colours in which none wanted to lose. Tents and marquees had been raised all over the large plain. Small business, some funded by the Federation and others from individuals who wanted to make a bit of money. Food and drink were the most seeked after goods; booze being a far too attractive thing for the fans of such an exciting sport. A few men had already been taken away by the Aurors, in fact, yet no fight had brewed yet.
There were many unfamiliar faces in the Valley, and Alexander could but glance at them with a keen eye. He drank in the colourful robes some wore, the many differences in their faces and behaviour, but also in the way they too eyed the Valley in awe. If they had things of their own to boast about, Ilvermorny wasn't one to be left behind.
Then, there were some people who'd taken a rather keen interest in the food.
"This curry is the most delicious dish I've ever tasted!" Lara exclaimed with a mouth full of food. It was the tenth time she'd pronounced those exact words today, and surely there were many more to come.
She was a short girl of brown hair—which reached about her shoulders—and likewise eyes. Kind and outspoken, but with a temper to fear whenever she reached her end; as it was usual in those sorted in Wampus. Lara was also one of Alex's few true friends, even if she wasn't of the Blood. Or perhaps because of this. A girl who had never known her parents, as they were slaughtered in the Great War, and whose adoptive father was no other than Nathan Miller, the head of security of the Great House of Shawn.
Alexander rolled his eyes to her words. "You've said so every time you try a new dish. Honestly, I have no idea how you can stuff so much food into your stomach, so short you are."
"Because I'm bold enough to try!"
Alexander had a witty reply at the tip of his tongue, but someone else beat him to it.
"At least she does know how to enjoy things!" Such a girlish and familiar voice made Alex groan in resignation. He was outnumbered here. "You could try to smile a bit from time to time, you know. I get that you like to act all high and mighty around people you don't know, my lord, but I didn't think you'd turn into such a jerk thanks to this festival. Well, not this much of a jerk, that's it."
In the game of witty and dry remarks, Laure Smith was his one and only rival. She was the other girl in their group of friends. Laure was pretty, with long and straight hair of a golden shade; always styled in a messy tail. Her eyes were grey, cold as steel, and would roar as furious as a storm when angry, being all the more noticeable due to her paleness. And much to Alexander's annoyance, Laure was about his same height. Not to mention she was as fast and strong as he was.
"Give me a breath!" Alexander huffed, waving his arm at her. "I have some expectations to meet. It ain't easy to be heir to a Great House. Some folks here expect a lot from me, and I need to meet their expectations. My father's orders."
"What cannot be easy is to have an ego of that size," Laure went on with a smirk. Still she offered him an ice-cream as she dashed past him. It was chocolate, his favourite. "But we knew that already, and we like you still. Come on! Let's go in search of Killian and Russ. They must be around, somewhere."
"This soon?" Lara complained. "But I wanted to try that Italian post! This isn't fair at all!"
Laure paid no mind to her whining, leading them through the crowded plaza. A long marquee of yellow and red silk had been set atop them, tied to the branches of the tallest trees, to shield them from the bright sun. So late into the year the sun and its warmth was a precious treasure, especially to those who lived beneath a veil of mist, but it seemed there were important people who didn't want their flesh tarnished by its touch. Fools, if one were to ask Alex about them.
It didn't take them long to reach the stadium. It was a colossal building, raised where the Quidditch field stood. Walls of pale stone with wide arcs to welcome the people inside, through which they flowed as ants into their nest. It was open to the sky, as if the sun was to bless the many combats with its rays. Many posts from the Federation had been raised beneath its long shadow, as if mushrooms beneath the shadow of a tree. Merchandise of all kinds was sold in them.
The noise reached them well before getting inside. A thunderous whispering, loud yet dim. It was no mystery there was such a chaotic choir, as countless people from all over the world had come to see the best duellist of the present decade to fight for their crown.
"Again, which fight comes next?" Lara asked. Her thirst for food seemed to be forgotten, so busy her eyes were taking in all the strange faces around them.
"It's the semifinals," Alexander replied. "Leon Krause against James Nott."
They made it into the stadium. It was warmer inside, perhaps because of the sun or maybe because of the amount of people around them. All the seats had been booked, just as expected. The grandstands resembled a colourful sea in which its waves clashed against one another. And then, there were the private suites—luxurious and special balconies for the important and wealthy guests. They stood by the stadium's feet, where fights were seen best. These were devoid of such colours. Paler, more elegant, fit for the highborn.
Laure nudged him on the shoulder, pulling Alexander out of his thoughts. "Look! There they are!"
It only took them a few hallways to meet with their friends. Their seats were nice, with a great view to the duelling pit and not so far from the food posts. And all thanks to his own father, Lord Elend, who had booked them for his son and his friends.
"Took you long enough!" Russ huffed. "The duel is about to start!"
Russel Bryant was a half-blood wizard, of dark skin and eyes. He too shared a passion for duelling, and for many other things. It was one of the reasons why they had bonded so early into their lives. They were a breeze of fresh air to one another, so different to most of the other purebloods and other members of their social circle.
Alexander dropped himself on his seat, his ice-cream almost gone by now. "This duel is not so interesting. James Nott has nothing to do against Leon Krause. It's going to be a stomp, just like all his other duels."
"Is he that good?" Killian asked, voice full of curiosity.
Killian Leonard, the last member of their group and the second muggleborn. He was a peculiar lad, for many reasons. Despite his lack of magical upbringing, he was a wonderkid to whom magic felt as natural as breathing; just like Alexander himself. And still he was the friendliest and kindliest person he'd ever met—though that wasn't much of a feat, given the nature of his companionship. So much that Alexander had started to think that, perhaps, muggleborn wizards could be as gifted as pureblooded ones.
And then came his physical features.
His hair was short and messy, but so fair a shade it looked white under the sun's light. And his eyes, of a blue so azure it rivalled Alexander's own. If he wasn't the son of two muggles—his father a muggle Auror and his mother a nurse—Alexander would've been very envious of him. For such features, they were of royalty. If one were to see them as the old Alazthi lords saw them, that's it. Times in which the fairness of both hair and eyes made one a royal.
Alexander finally answered his question. "Leon is the best duellist I've ever seen. He's always been the best since his debut. In fact, he's the youngest winner ever in all three categories. And if he wins this year, he'll be first to win his crown for three years straight."
Lara whistled, impressed. "You sure like him, don't you?"
"I admire him," Alexander said with a shrug of his shoulders. "He's good, and I respect excellence."
"Your uncle Nalar could've been the first to accomplish that," Russel cut in. "But he retired too early. Why did he retire, by the way?"
"Well, he was anointed a Knight by the Ancestral Council." Alexander had never understood his uncle's decision. Why become a tool for those of the Blood, when their own family already belonged to the elite? "A shame, truly. He was even more refined in combat than my father."
Killian and Lara shared a dumbfounded glance.
"A Knight?" the boy asked. "What does that mean? It doesn't sound very friendly at all."
Alexander always forgot that his friends weren't supposed to know every detail about the Wizarding World. "That's because they aren't meant to be friendly," he replied. "Well, how can I put this into words…"
"A Knight is a pureblood peacekeeper," Russ cut in as the announcer introduced the duellists. He stretched his neck, eyes eagerly seeking their faces, but still he continued his explanation. "It's an ancient order, that of the Knights Royal. Let's just say that when there's a dispute between two Great Houses, the Knights are the ones who shut it down in case it goes out of control. Most of the time there isn't any blood spilling, but, well, purebloods are proud and arrogant folk, and things do get ugly from time to time."
Lara shook her head in disbelief. "You purebloods sure are a bunch of freaks! Oh, and how do you know all of that, Russ? I thought you weren't fond of purebloods and their things."
"I don't like them one bit," the boy mouthed. "But I'm part of them whether I like it or not. Well, half of me is. My maternal family is the Great House of Scamander, in case you forgot. They hammered into my head all of what I just said when I was an infant."
Alexander was about to step into the conversation, his pureblood pride slightly wounded, when a flash of red caught his eye from the other end of the stadium. A red-haired woman walked toward the section where the English lords had been placed; they'd come plenty, to show public support of their comrade James Nott. She did so with a confident stride, as if she belonged with them. But he knew all their faces and names, and neither of hers figured in such a list.
And then the strangest happened.
A few steps before the gallery she turned to the right, going downstairs toward a grandstand for the commoners. And where she'd just stood, in that upper hallway, a man he knew went forth, toward the private balcony. It was no other than Jacques Yaxley, the twin brother of Lord Corban Yaxley.
Alexander shook his head. What the hell? That man… His cape was moving in a weird way! Could it be?
The boy sprung up from his seat. "I need to take a piss," he announced. And not even the way Laure seemed to condemn his vulgar use of words with a roll of her eyes amused him. "You lot better get me something from the trolley to eat later!"
Alexander fought his way through the hallway, so crowded as it was. He shoved a man aside with his shoulder, and the shouting followed, "Stupid kid! Look where you are going!" which he ignored easily. He was able to reach the British section before the ceremony began. That's where he halted at last, eyeing the guards which stood before the suite.
I can't get inside unless they were to move, Alexander thought. Well, I'll check on the woman first, I guess. He went downstairs, just to freeze amidst them. The woman wasn't there. The hell? She was right there a minute ago!
A hoarse voice reached him from above. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Got some business to take care of."
"Of course, my lord Yaxley!" one of the guards said.
Jacques Yaxley bid the guard farewell with a stiff nod of his head. Alexander waited until he was far enough, then set after him, using the crowd to his favour. Once, he halted to look at the duel, feigning excitement and awe. Another, it was to buy another ice-cream from a trolley, which he dropped after a few licks. He wasn't a master of spying, still he tried his best.
Yaxley exited the stadium, making his way toward the Emerald Valley's forest; getting further and further away from the crowded areas. It all smelled horribly wrong, though Alexander chose to ignore that. He was heir to the Great House of Shawn, after all. Cowardice was not meant for him.
Alexander ventured into the lion's den all by himself.
Not even a minute of purposeless striding through the forest, Yaxley banished before him. Alexander was left so surprised he couldn't move, standing like a fool amidst the forest. Did he Apparated away? No, that is impossible. Then, if so…
A loud snickering alerted him.
Alexander sprung into action, unsheathing his wand and falling into a defencive stance. His eyes travelled from one shadow to the other, trying to unveil whatever danger awaited in them. Save there was none.
An amused voice came from above. "Didn't your parents teach you not to meddle into other people's business? My, my! You are a curious boy, aren't you?" It belonged to a woman, he was sure of that.
His head bolted upward. And so did his wand, gleaming in red with a stunner eager to be casted upon its prey. It was useless, however, for Alexander's wand flew away from his fingers.
"Oh, is this yours?" the woman asked, her voice coming from a different direction now.
At last did Alexander locate her, atop a thick branch of a shorter tree. She was the same red-haired woman he'd seen at the stadium. Smirking down at the boy from above, she rolled Alexander's wand between her fingers.
"You should be more careful, you know. Your wand appeared right into my hand out of nowhere. Now, I'm a nice woman, so I'll give it back to you. But some people aren't as kind as I, so you better take care of your wand in front of them."
And just like that, she threw it down.
Alexander caught it mid air with one hand, frowning.
"Also," the red-haired woman went on, "you shouldn't follow other people like that. Some might find it a bit unpleasant, and their response won't be as chirpy as mine."
"Thanks for the advice," Alexander grunted. Had he really been disarmed so easily? "I was looking for you, though."
She crooked an eyebrow. "Doesn't change the fact I could have hurt you. Or worse, kidnap you."
"Here, in Ilvermorny? When there's so much security? No, I don't think so. I mean, you could have probably done it. But then, the Headmistress would have moved heaven and earth to find me, and she's a rather powerful woman. She's also rather fond of me, in case I haven't mentioned it before. You just put two and two together and tell me the result."
The red-haired woman frowned. "You got a smart mouth on you, don't you?" And then she stood up, straightening the long skirt of her yellow dress-robes. "I don't like 'em, so off I go. You've made me lose so much time already."
I need to do something!
The words simply flowed out of his mouth, "I know who you are."
The woman startled, coming to a halt. "How on earth would you…" she asked while turning around. "Oh, I see. Say my name, then." A wide grin stretched her face when Alexander remained silent. "Come on, kiddo! Tell me who I am."
Damn it, woman. You were not supposed to say that. His bluff had been caught in an instant. "I mean," he started, trying to fix the mess he'd caused, "I don't know exactly who you are. But I'm certain you are one of my father's business partners. Sort of."
She raised a brow, letting the boy know how far from being correct his guess was.
Alexander huffed in annoyance. "Well, I needed to give it a try," he said with a shrug.
"Actually," she started, her lively demeanour long gone, "I don't know how the hell you know that information, but you weren't so far from nailing it. Though business is not a word I'd have used myself."
His neck was starting to ache because of the long time he'd been looking upwards, but the boy ignored it. "To be honest, I know little about you or the relationship you have with my father. But I've seen you twice at our manor, and my old man is certainly busier than ever. That's pretty much why I followed you. Just wanted to know something about this whole mess."
The woman stared at him dead in the eyes, then let out a deep sigh. "Like father, like son. Or so they say." She stood up, shaking her head. "Listen, I'm going to give you some life advice, kid—stay away from adults' business. We are a terribly boring lot, I'm afraid. Enjoy whatever the hell kids like you are supposed to do nowadays. Like Quidditch or-"
She glanced sharply aside. One look at the dirt road, and then she jumped down the tree. Before the boy could react, the red-haired witch had an arm around his waist.
"What the…" Alexander grunted in surprise.
She jumped. How on earth did she manage to make them rise so high and strong into the air, it was something he could not figure out. All he knew was that, a mere second ago, he'd stood on the ground, and now he soared upward as if pushed by a galing gust of wind.
Heart drumming against his chest, Alexander found himself atop the tree she had stood seconds ago, hidden into the dark thicket. The woman crouched before him, raising a finger up to her mouth, beckoning him to remain silent.
A voice reached them from below.
"Are you sure the bastard came this way? Hell, if we don't find him, then we are in big trouble!"
A couple of men strode into the clearing. They wore robes of black upon a white shirt underneath. There was a badge upon their left shoulder, which Alexander could not see well enough from his position; a blazon to indicate to which House they had sworn allegiance, most likely
"I bloody know!" the other man, taller and thinner, replied. "I listed myself because this was supposed to be an easy job. And now I'm supposed to hunt down a bastard who dared to impersonate my lord Jacques… Bah! You go that way, and I'll go deep into the forest. He must not escape!"
Alexander kept his eyes on them as they ran away. The sound of their footsteps faded until it was no more. Only then he did raise his head toward the woman. "How did you know they were coming?"
Her response was a much direct one than he could anticipate. And much bolder, too.
She slapped him in the back of his neck. Not too sharply as to hurt him, but neither too soft as for it to be a caress. "You silly boy!" she snarled. "You almost got us caught! Had I not been… Wait a moment. The hell are you grinning for?"
Alexander felt as if snickering. "So, this little business my father and you are planning, it has to do with Yaxley and the British lords, doesn't it?"
"Bloody kid," she cursed. "Have I told you already how much I hate you?" He shook his head, his smirk growing wider. "Well, now you know it."
"Father says I got it from my mother," he added casually. "The meddling and the skill to be so infuriating, I mean." This witch had mocked him to no end a few minutes ago. It was payback time.
She took a menacing step forward, her face bright with a blush. "Listen. I was also a curious and meddling brat when I was your age, right. And I learned my lesson long ago. The lesson that bad things may happen to nosey kids. Besides, I do not think Elend would be very enthusiastic about his son sticking his nose where he should not. Was I clear enough?"
Tough, cold words, those had been. Still, Alexander did not feel intimidated one bit. He'd grown up among soldiers and war veterans. He'd seen coldness in his eyes, the gleaming of danger within. Her threats had been a play. So her eyes had told him.
And she was aware of it as he held her gaze.
"Bah!" she snarled, standing up from her squat. "Take my hand and let's jump down. I'm not in the mood to educate someone's son."
Their descent was a rather peculiar one. A freefall at first, as expected, but when their feets were about to touch ground, their fall slowed down greatly, softening the impact.
Alexander glanced at the woman eagerly. "What kind of magic did you use?" he asked. "It wasn't a simple spell, I know. It didn't feel like that. Also, it was the same kind of magic for both the ascension and the descent, right?"
"I used magic," she replied sourly. She then set off without further word, yet came to a sudden halt after a few steps, turning around to glance at him. "Now, before I finally get rid of you, let me ask you something. Why did you chase after me? As far as you knew, I was Jacques Yaxley."
"Oh, that is pretty simple."
It wasn't, but he wanted to make her believe he was far more knowledgeable than he was in truth.
"Really?"
"Yup."
"Enlighten me, then."
Seconds went by. A time in which her eyebrows rose up, as if they wanted to touch her very hairline, whereas Alexander shifted on his feet, at last raising his hands into the air. "Actually, I have no damn idea. I saw your cape moving weirdly, and that's all I guess. My intention was to follow both the woman and the man, but she disappeared as if banished, so I set after the man. And here I am."
She shook her head, snorting in disbelief. "You gotta be kidding me! I should have done something incredibly awful in another life, because to put up with you is a hell of a punishment, kid. Did you really follow me just because of that?"
"It was strange, and I like strange things. Ordinary things are boring. Can't fault me for that, can you?" Alexander hesitated, then asked, "You aren't going to tell me how you did it, right?"
"Nope."
"Please?"
"I've given you enough details already," she said. "If you cannot guess it, try harder." She then leaned forward, closing the distance in between them so she could stare right into his eyes. Her finger raised, tapping against his chest. "Now let's talk about serious business. I will not tell your father about this little escapade of yours. It will be our little secret. But please, forget my face and what you saw today. Trust me, I would really hate having to Obliviate you. I know of your face and name."
Alexander grew bolder. "Is that a threat?" And all that boldness his words showed, he felt none of them. Obliviation. That was a thing to fear.
"Yes, that is precisely what I'm doing."
That said, the woman banished into thin air before him.
Oh, that must be a Disillusionment Charm. Still, it wasn't the technique she used before. Alexander let out a tired sigh—he really had no idea about what kind of magic she'd made use of. She used the word 'impersonating', though. But how the hell can someone be at two different places at the same time? I saw them both with my own eyes, the woman and the man.
Lost deep in thought, he walked back to the stadium. It had been a far more interesting day than he thought it would. To see a duel between Leon Krause and James Nott was not funny, as it was pretty clear who would emerge victorious. Now, to know what Father was up to? That was nuts.
That witch had told him not to meddle in. A shame he had never been good at doing what others told him to do.
Christmas was yet to arrive, just around the corner, but its cold fingers had long stretched toward them. Snow was a regular sight in Hogwarts; the evergreen fields now painted white as far as the eye could tell. Only the bravest dare to step outdoors, and poor of whoever took a stroll around the castle without wearing a few layers of clothes.
Still, most of the students were very excited about Christmas, for it meant two weeks of holidays. More so in Slytherin, Ron had noticed. He'd heard them all talking about how eager they were to return home, to their luxurious and boring lives. Well, he hadn't heard that last bit—it was what he thought of them. And that included his three friends, who would go home too.
Ron, however, had known for long that he would remain at Hogwarts. It had been the only available choice, given his strained relationship with his mother. Yet, as of today… I will read it once more. Just in case.
The boy held the letter with trembling fingers, his eyes eager to devour those words.
Dear Ronnie.
I'm sorry. That's all I wanted to tell you. I'm sorry because of how poorly I treated you. Because of my prolonged silence. Because of how little trust I've shown toward you. And I know I can't excuse myself, act as if nothing had happened, try to bury it all under a few pretty words.
I had my reasons to be wary of Slytherin. And afraid, too. I still am, in fact, just as I fear for you. However, I've read all the letters you sent home in these past months. Your friends, they sound like good folk, good people to be around with. And I wanted to tell you that I approve of them. Not that you needed my permission to befriend them, of course, but… I wanted you to know that I like them, that's all.
Now, I do not expect you to forgive me so easily—I would never dare to. After all, I know you got your temperament from me and not from your father. I would understand if you were still angry with me after reading this letter. This, however, doesn't mean I will miss this chance to tell you how proud I am of you.
I didn't want to see it back then, when I learned of your sorting, nor when you opened yourself to us. And it took me a long while to sort out the mess within my head and heart. In the end, I realised I was blaming you for being true to those principles we raised you all to follow.
You tried to judge others by their character rather than by what their parents once did. I allowed myself to be blinded by my hatred and prejudices. Quite hypocritical on my behalf, right? This said, I'm willing to learn from my mistakes. And I'm ready to wait out for your anger to suffice.
This winter, we are visiting your brother Charlie in Romania. He's been accepted into a dragons facility, and we wanted to celebrate with him. All of us, together.
I love you, don't ever forget that.
Ron grinned, his face so stretched it almost pained him, as he grabbed a quill to write his response.
"Hey there!" Tracey shouted from all across the common room. She stood before the door, dressed in a thick, dark coat with a green scarf to alight it, waving her hand at him. "Come on, sleepyhead! We are gonna be late for potions!"
Shit, I'm late for the last class of the year! Ron bolted up, storing the letter and his quill into his bag as best as possible. Only Tracey had remained behind to wait for him. That's what friends are for! Still, it didn't erase the smile from his face. Their friendship had truly progressed since the first days, much to his surprise.
Sure, there still were plenty of differences to get past, but they all tried their best to not make them as loud and flashy as they were.
Blaise, for starters, yet acted as if he didn't care about a single thing in the world. It had annoyed Ron a lot back then—was he really such a nuisance for Blaise? Now, the redhead knew he greatly enjoyed their company, even if he tried to hide it under a facade of indifference, for a reason he couldn't understand.
He was quite alike to Daphne in that regard, in fact, who acted as if she was royalty and nothing could bother her. Unfortunately for her, she was far easier to read than Blaise. And far easier to anger, to blush, to make laugh and pretty much everything else. Long gone was her facade of Ice Queen—or as Ron had once thought of her, the Insufferable Queen. Now, Ron had learnt to appreciate her frustration when something didn't go her way; her smile when she achieved something; her smirk when she beat him in chess…
Who would have guessed? Not him, certainly.
"What are you thinking about?" Tracey asked curiously as she trotted beside him.
"Nothing," Ron answered. "Cursing myself for missing breakfast this morning."
"Really? Because you got this look on your face, 'Oi! I'm beating my brain into a pulp so hard I'm thinking!'. It's cute, you know."
Ron snorted a laugh, speeding up, taking delight in Tracey's gasp when he made her run faster.
He liked her the most. Mainly because she didn't care about his friendship with the Gryffindors. Daphne and Blaise, they simply looked the other way and acted deaf and blind. They didn't approve of it, but even they could understand that, perhaps, taking down a troll could make a friendship blossom even between snakes and lions.
And talking about lions and snakes, they'd be sharing a double period of Potions first thing in the morning.
Once they made it to the cold and austere classroom within the dungeons, Ron took his usual seat by Daphne's left. Since Blaise was the best in this subject, he was to sit with Tracey, the worst.
"Running a bit late, don't you think?" the blond asked with a raised brow.
"But I made it just in time, didn't I?" Ron observed with a grin. He was all sweaty after his run, and now, sitting still on his chair, he noticed how bloody cold the room was. They could cast some Warming Charms here! Merlin, I'm about to freeze!
All across the room, Snape tidied the ingredients they were about to make use of today. No one dared to utter a single word which could disrupt his maniatical ritual; they'd learnt how bad it could end for one. None save for the foolest of the fools, whose voice raised above the silence of the room.
"I really do feel sorry for whoever has to spend Christmas here at Hogwarts. Can you imagine not being wanted at home? I would dig a hole into the ground and sink my head inside to never rise again, I'm telling you."
Was there a more horrible sound than Malfoy's voice? Ron didn't think so. This time, however, his remarks filled Ron with a boiling rage. Because he knew those words hadn't been meant for him to hear. This time, it was Harry whom he was making fun of. He'd been doing so since Slytherin lost to Gryffindor in spectacular fashion, when Harry captured the snitch by swallowing it whole.
Ron, red-faced, fidgeted with his wand. All the spells he'd practised in these past few weeks came to his mind, begging him to let them free. Until Daphne's hand fell upon his.
"Don't," she said sharply. "Just don't do it. He's trying to bait you. Look, it's quite evident, isn't it?"
Snape roamed about, eagerly waiting for the perfect chance to take some points from Gryffindor. Harry, much to Ron's admiration, held his composure, though his eyes blazed with fury.
"Thanks, I guess," Ron bit back in a whisper.
Daphne crooked her eyebrow, smirking, but she didn't ask him to repeat those words louder so she could rejoice herself in them. Nothing else of interest happened in the lecture. Because Neville melting another cauldron wasn't a rare sight anymore. He had to have destroyed the record for most cauldrons broken in a year, and there were still six more months to go. Truly remarkable, indeed. Well, nothing save the fact Daphne's smirk and far too sweet voice stuck with them for almost two hours. She was truly remarkable at being obnoxious, also.
When the period ended, they all left as it was usual—first, the lions, almost running away as if they were late to something important, and then the snakes, snickering mockingly at their rivals.
"So," Tracey said, trying to start a conversation, "what are you guys doing for Christmas? Anything interesting? Are you travelling to Sweden, Daphne?"
"Don't think so. Father is not fond of my uncle. It will be a solitary Christmas in the Greengrass state."
"Oh. And you, Blaise?"
"Mother wants to visit Italy," he replied sourly. "She has another bachelor, I think."
His abrupt silence put Tracey on the edge, who blushed and stuttered, embarrassed of her mistake. "I-I see. Well, and what about you, Ron? Ehm… Ron? Are you listening to me?"
Actually, he wasn't.
Ron's eyes were set on Hagrid, the castle's gatekeeper. He carried a large tree through the narrow hallways of the dungeons. His brown coat, so large it could stretch over five people, dragged behind him through the stone. Harry, Hermione and Neville stood beside him. Speaking to him in hurried whispers.
Could it be that they've found another clue about that mysterious package that bloody dog is supposedly guarding? Harry had told him of the day he became a part of the Wizarding World, of his trip to Gringotts and what he discovered there. Or perhaps about that Nicolas Flamel lad? That was a name Hagrid had slipped after being questioned—or interrogated, better said—by Hermione. He had ended the conversation right away, pale and sweaty.
A hand fell upon his shoulder, nudging him back into reality. "Ron! Are you there?"
Ron, however, summoned his most inner Slytherin from deep within. "Oh, crap! I think I've left my books in the classroom," he said, smiling rather idiotically at his friends. "It makes sense why my bag feels so light."
Tracey snickered. "Only you could be so forgetful!"
Blaise, instead, simply rolled his eyes. Knowing him, he probably thought that forgetting something was the most stupid thing someone could ever do. Daphne said nothing, however, thinning her lips into a pale line.
Ron scratched the back of his head, almost sheepishly. "You guys go ahead and wait for me in the warmth of the common room. I'll be quick, I promise."
That said, he trotted back into the depths of the dungeons, hearing his friends' footsteps getting fainter and fainter. Once around the corner, he halted and waited for them to be no more. Then he stepped back into the corridor, a goofy grin on his face.
"I'm getting better at this lying thing! Never thought I'd say this, but living among snakes sure has its advantages!"
Ron ignored the fact sweat ran down his face, and also that his robes felt far too tight, almost suffocating. Still, it was a win, and he'd take it gladly. Now it was time to round off the act. And so, he waited until the Gryffindors were done talking with Hagrid. It did not take him much waiting, for the gatekeeper left in a rush, leaving behind a trail of small branches and dark leaves as the tree shook with each step he took.
Their words reached him.
"That went well," Harry observed sourly.
"I think you pressed him too much, Hermione," Neville added. "Ehm… Perhaps?"
Hermione surged from within the corner, huffing, waving a hand at the boys behind. "Next time, you try it! Unless you want…" She saw him from the corner of her eyes, which widened beyond measure. "Ron! What… What are you doing here?" She took a hand up to her breast, taking quick breaths. "You scared me!"
Harry and Neville catched up with her as Ron stepped out into the adjacent hallway, greeting them with a waive of his hand which they replied with a nod of their heads. "Hey there, you three. Hagrid sure left in a hurry, didn't he? He looked quite upset. You wouldn't have, by chance, asked him something about our little… thing, right?"
Hermione took the word for herself, shooing her surprise away. "I did ask him plenty about Fluffy, Flannel and the package. But he said nothing. Do you have any information of your own?" She sounded a tad too eager. Perhaps she saw in Ron a book holding the answers to her next essay.
"Not a bloody thing," the redhead said with a shrug. "I even asked some fifth-year Prefect about Flannel, but he knew nothing."
The boys looked disappointed at their lack of results. Hermione, however, just nodded as if she had expected nothing else. "Will you stay in the castle for the holidays?" she asked, already thinking ahead.
"I don't know. My parents are going to Romania to visit my brother Charlie. Most likely, us Weasleys will remain here. I think."
She clapped her hands. "Great! Then you can help Harry in his research! Hey, wait a moment. What's with that face?"
"It's Christmas, Hermione," Ron huffed. Behind her, Harry gave a firm nod to his words. "Wasting my time in the library, searching through hundreds of books about a man we know nothing about, isn't the plan I look forward to the most during holidays. We'll have the castle all to ourselves! Think about the many things we could do."
She frowned—the most polished one Ron had ever seen. And ode to spoilsporting, truly.
And he gave up, waving his hand at her in defeat. "Bah!… I'll help him, of course I will."
Neville glanced at him with sympathy. That look spoke of an understanding beyond words. Merlin, how would it be to study daily with this girl?
Hermione seemed satisfied enough, though that changed the moment she glanced down the watch around her wrist. "Oh, God! We are going to be late to History of Magic! I can't believe time went away that quickly! Come one!" She ran away like a woman possessed, dragging poor Neville with her by the sleeve of his robes.
Harry chuckled as the two boys stared at the dashing figures. "She is still a bit awkward around people," he said, "but she means well. She is the main reason we are doing well in class, actually."
"Just a bit awkward, you say?" Ron snorted. "But, yes, I've noticed. That little adventure with the troll really changed us all. It's funny, you know. I never thought I'd make friends that way. I reckon it beats most of the twins' anecdotes."
"I guess so. And I also guess that we are going to be quite busy this Christmas."
"Don't remind me of it! Just when we get rid of the daily homework, she decides to punish us with more library work. If they knew, the twins would be horrified."
"I know this is important, but don't think I'm barmy enough to spend all my free time in the library," Harry said. "Everyone in Gryffindor is going home for Christmas, and that means peace and freedom. And being as loud as possible without being shouted at. You can come to the Tower to play. Oh, you know what? I think it's about time you hop onto my Nimbus. It's bloody amazing!"
Ron's eyes widened. "Me? On a Nimbus? Blimey. I'm gonna teach you how a real wizard flies!"
Harry grinned daringly as he walked away, still facing the redhead. "You are gonna bite the dust. We'll talk later. I'm gonna be really late unless I run for the classroom, and I don't want Hermione to kill me. See you!"
Ron observed him disappear into the next hallway, swallowed by the dim light of the dungeons. And he did so with a wide grin on his face. Merlin, it has been long since I last felt this good! Perhaps Gerd was right. I shouldn't stress so much about things out of my reach.
He made it back to the common room with a lively stride, thinking about how it would feel to fly atop a Nimbus, to have the winds dashing past him at such a speed. He rounded a corner, and…
"Who is Nicolas Flamel?"
Ron came to a halt, turning around with a start. And he came face to face with Daphne, who leaned against the wall with her arms clasped behind in a too innocent posture. He stared at her, forgetting to even blink. At first she raised a brow at him, curious, even amused. But then she really took in his reaction. The lack of it, precisely.
"Is he… so important to you? You've turned all white, Ron. If it is such an important matter, you should not discuss it in the middle of a hallway, where anyone may listen to you."
It took Ron a moment to gather his thoughts. She spied on us. It took him a while longer to process that information. She bloody spied on us! Anger blossomed within as it replaced the cold stupor. Friends were not supposed to do these kinds of things. And yet she'd done it. And yet she dared to look so innocent before him.
"You spied on us," Ron hissed coldly, redness taking over the white of his face. "I cannot believe it! Have you gone mental?"
Daphne's face reddened too, as if envious of his. "Hey! Don't talk to me like that! I only did it because I was worried about you!"
Ron felt like laughing. "Is that the best lie you could come up with? Bah! What is to bloody worry about, Daphne? I was just talking to my friends!"
She raised her finger accusingly, tapping against his chest with a strength it surprised him. "Because you lied to us, you daft fool! You did not forget your books. I saw you store them into your bag. And then you left in a rush. And I waited and waited, but you did not come back, so I went in your search. And I found you, surrounded by those lions in a deserted corridor, speaking in hushes and whispers. I could only listen to your conversation… They could have been blackmailing you!"
What. The. Hell? It was too absurd a situation that Ron forgot he was livid at the girl. "Blackmailing me? My friends? No, wait, it's even worse. Neville Longbottom, blackmailing me? He couldn't blackmail a bloody ant to save his life!"
"Don't curse so much!" Daphne snapped back. "Look, I'm sorry if I got it wrong, okay? It was the first thing that came to my mind. It is quite a common thing among us, purebloods. You would not believe how many times I have seen it. Even children make an art of it."
Ron massaged his temples, trying to breathe in as much air as his lungs allowed him to. "Let me get this straight. You noticed my lie, so you, worried, came in my search. Up to that, I get it. And I appreciate it, don't get me wrong. But then… You see me talking to my friends, and think they are trying to blackmail me."
Daphne bit her lip, looking a bit embarrassed. "If you say it like that, well, it does sound a bit silly."
"Blimey!" Ron huffed. "I'm surrounded by weirdos!" Daphne's hand raised for a quick smack on the back of his neck, but this time he was quick enough to lean away from it. "Okay! I take back that last bit! You sure have a quick hand…"
Daphne made an angry pout, gathering her hair into a tight tail. "Whatever! Ah, but don't think I've forgotten you have yet to answer my question. Who is Nicolas Flamel, and why is he so important to you? Shall I remember you that you lied to us, your good and caring friends, so you could discuss this matter with the Gryffindors?"
Merlin, how dramatic is this girl? Then an idea popped into his mind. And he could only smirk, proud of himself.
"Now that I think about it," Ron started, "you are going back home for Christmas, aren't you?"
"Of course I am."
If I manage to play this right, I might be able to get Daphne to help us with the research without involving her too much. It was time to make that Slytherin part within him proud.
"Well, it's your lucky day! I may have some extra homework for you to do this holiday. All you need to do is to…"