A/N: As usual, another content warning, though this one is for discussion, not depiction of heavy material. Introducing Lavender Brown and a long-awaited conversation.
"ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴ'ᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ꜰɪʀᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪꜱ ᴍᴀʀꜱʜ ꜰɪʀᴇ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʏᴘᴛɪᴀɴ ꜱᴄʜᴇᴍᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ ᴏɪʟ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴏᴜʟ. ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴠᴇ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ." — ᴘʜɪʟɪᴘ ᴘᴜʟʟᴍᴀɴ, ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀꜱꜱ/ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏʀᴛʜᴇʀɴ ʟɪɢʜᴛꜱ
Chapter Fourteen: The Witches They Could Not Burn
"Now," said Professor Flitwick, glaring at Crabbe and Goyle, who were misbehaving, as usual, "I want you to all sit up and listen carefully. Today, we will be learning the Fire-Making Spell. Who can tell me the incan— Miss Granger?"
As usual, Hermione's hand had shot up before Professor Flitwick could even finish speaking.
"It's Incendio, sir," said Hermione breathlessly, and Ruby saw Longbottom's head pop up beside her — he must have been daydreaming.
"Excellent," said Professor Flitwick. "Five points to Gryffindor. Now, everyone repeat after me: In-SEN-dee-o."
"In-SEN-dee-o," came the bored chorus.
"What's the point of this?" muttered Blaise Zabini, from behind Ruby. "It's only the Muggle-borns who haven't learned how to pronounce stuff. Dumbledore should put them in the remedial classes — them and Longbottom."
Draco Malfoy sniggered.
"One more time," said Professor Flitwick, blissfully unaware of the whispering and waving his wand like a conductor's baton. "In-SEN-dee-o."
"In-SEN-dee-o," said the class.
"Who can tell me the risks of casting Incendio carelessly — thank you, Miss Granger, but I will choose someone who hasn't spoken yet this week. How about... Mister Potter?"
Harry slumped in his chair slightly. "Well, er, it makes fire, doesn't it, sir?"
A few poorly-suppressed giggles resounded through the classroom.
"Can you elaborate?" asked Professor Flitwick, leaning over his desk.
"Well — um — if you didn't know a spell to put it out — er—"
"Precisely!" Professor Flitwick interrupted. "Anyone who messes around with this spell can expect to see their belongings ruined, or worse yet, their friends or themselves injured."
"Maybe I should hold off on it, then," muttered Harry as Flitwick came by their desk. "If I can't manage to make a feather float gently, I'll be awful at this. What if I burn the entire classroom down?"
"Allow me to worry about that, Mr. Potter," said Flitwick encouragingly, but Harry didn't look the least bit convinced.
"Believe me," said Ron, after he left. "If Hogwarts wasn't fireproof, it wouldn't've survived Fred and George's first year."
Hermione, as expected, was the first to try lighting her candle.
"Incendio," she said primly, pointing her wand at the wick, and instantly, there was a well-behaved little flame nipping at it.
"Can't be that hard if the know-it-all can do it, can it?" muttered Malfoy.
Ruby attempted to ignore him and turned her attention to her own candle. Harry was glumly staring at his, with his chin resting on top of his crossed arms.
She nudged him, but he scowled and moved away.
"Come on," said Ruby. "You won't know until you try."
Hoping that an example might be encouraging, she pointed her own wand at the candle.
"Incendio!"
There was a loud boom, and to Ruby's horror, the entire candle had caught on fire — wax, wick, and all. She dropped her wand and at but leapt out of her chair in shock, and the girl on the other side of Harry let out a piercing shriek.
"HELP! PROFESSOR FLITWICK!"
Apparently, Ron's comment about Hogwarts being fireproof was hyperbole, because the desk had started to burn, too, the flames leaping towards the ceiling as if they intended to eat all the oxygen in the room.
Everyone began to scream, backing away from the roaring fire.
"Calm down!" shouted Professor Flitwick as he hurried across the classroom, though that did little to quell anyone's panic.
Anyone except Harry, who was sitting very still in his chair and looking calmly and intently at the fire. Ruby tugged on his arm, but he had grown strangely heavy.
For some reason, she found this deeply, instinctively worrying.
His shadow seemed to shift and grow somehow darker and more substantial.
"Will you please stop?" he asked, very politely and clearly. The flames froze as if time itself had stopped. Then, there was a soft pop, and the fire vanished, leaving only the smell of charred wood behind.
Harry shook his head as if he had just woken up, and blinked at Flitwick groggily, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. He looked confused, his gaze wandering from Flitwick to the burnt desk, and up to Ruby, with a questioning look.
No one moved. The classroom had gone as still and silent as a mausoleum. The air felt empty, as if something had been ripped out of it.
Even the other Slytherins looked shocked. Daphne, Tracey, and Pansy stood huddled together, all paler than usual and with identical, scared expressions.
The girl on the other side of Harry, who had called for Professor Flitwick first, was sobbing quietly.
"I believe that is enough for today," said Professor Flitwick, looking around at the clumps of shocked students clinging to each other, his gaze settling curiously on Harry. "We will pick up on Thursday."
Pointing his wand at the charred spot on the desk, he said: "Reparo!"
"Well, run along, then," said Professor Flitwick with what even Ruby could tell was false cheeriness. "Have the rest of the period free."
False cheeriness or not, twenty minutes of freedom could not be taken for granted. The classroom filled instantly with the sounds of chairs scraping against the floor and books being thrown into bags.
"Harry," said Ruby as she leaned down to retrieve her wand. "What happened?"
He seemed far-away.
"It happened again," said Harry irritably. "I knew it would."
"What happened again?" she asked, trailing him to the door as he barrelled past a confused-looking Ron and Hermione.
Harry tugged the door open, looked back, and held it for her.
"Go on," he said. "Not here."
"Okay," said Ruby, feeling very unnerved as he followed her outside. "Are you sure—"
A gang of Slytherin boys had come up behind them in the empty corridor: Draco Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini.
Theodore was further down the hallway and looked away, embarrassed, when Harry and Ruby noticed him.
"Look, there's Miss Accident-Prone."
Crabbe snorted and doubled over with laughter as if Malfoy had made the joke of the year.
"Who even sets candle wax on fire — competing with Longbottom for the biggest klutz award, are we?"
"Oi, Potter — Pyromaniac Potter—"
"Leave my sister alone, Malfoy," said Harry, stepping past Ruby to glare at him.
"Or what?" taunted Malfoy. "You can't even cast spells properly—"
"Try me!" said Harry, drawing his wand and pointing it at him. It went unnoticed to the others, but Ruby watched, horrified, as his shadow darkened and shuddered on the wall beside them, black fingers stretching and sharpening to deadly points.
For a moment, Ruby thought that Malfoy was going to tackle him — even though the black eye from the last time they fought had only properly faded a day ago.
Then came the sound of footsteps down the corridor, growing louder and louder.
"Come on, Draco," said Theodore, pulling on his sleeve. "Pansy wants to talk to you."
Malfoy turned around to follow Theodore, and Ruby turned to follow Harry. But just before she did, Theodore gave her a conspiratorial wink.
But, she thought it might have been her imagination.
"Come on," said Harry, pushing another door open and gesturing for her to follow him outside.
It was windy in the courtyard, and Ruby wished she'd brought a scarf. Instead, she pulled her sleeves over her hands and crossed her arms.
Harry looked as cold as she felt. He hunched over, too, copying her posture.
"I did that before," he said quietly. "In the Gryffindor common room, on Friday. I was distracted, and my shadow went blotchy like it did today, and the fire went out."
He seemed upset. Ruby reached for his hand; his fingers felt damp and limp.
"But what you did today was good, Harry. I blew up the candle, and you fixed it."
"It was good, then!" said Harry. "Look, it started with making a feather float, and now it's extinguishing fires, too. What if — What if I kill someone, next!" His voice went quiet. "What if I hurt you?"
Ruby, not for the first time, didn't know how to comfort him.
"Well, maybe you can learn to control it, right? Make it less... dangerous?"
Harry appeared to be thinking. He squinted down the length of the courtyard.
"Quirrell," he said slowly. "Quirrell said he could help me."
For some reason, the mention of Quirrell left her mouth tasting sour (okay, that was an exaggeration, but it was the mental equivalent). For a few minutes, they were both silent.
"Look!" said Ruby, pointing towards a spot of white circling determinedly above them. It was hard to see against the background of the grey sky, but as it grew closer, they figured out what it was.
"Hedwig!" said Harry, grinning as the snowy owl landed gently on his outstretched arm and flapped forward to nuzzle the side of his face with her beak. He carefully extricated the roll of parchment tied around her leg, and Hedwig hopped onto his shoulder.
"It's from Hagrid," he said. "He's asked us to tea on Sunday — you, me, Ron, Hermione, and Anthony."
Harry folded up the piece of parchment. His expression had gone severe again. Unreadable.
"I'm going in," he said. "The Gryffindors've got History of Magic."
"Have fun," said Ruby. "Go on; I want to stay outside for a bit."
It was freezing, but at least the discomfort was external. At least she could put the sick feeling in her stomach down to the wind biting at her nose and cheeks.
To say that she was worried about Harry was an understatement. And Ruby really, really didn't have a good feeling about Quirrell, and she didn't quite understand why. There was no logical reason why she should feel this way. It didn't make any sense at all.
"Hi!" said someone loudly. Ruby nearly flinched.
"Uh, hi."
A girl wearing a swarm of brightly-coloured butterfly clips nestled in her curly hair and one-too-many coats of cherry lip-gloss (Ruby could smell it) was standing directly in front of her. Her red-and-gold Gryffindor scarf fluttered in the wind.
"You're the screamer from Charms," said Ruby, cringing when she realized that she'd spoken aloud.
"Sorry about the fire," added Ruby, hoping to often the blow.
If the girl was offended, it didn't show.
"I'm Lavender!" she said excitedly. "Lavender Brown. I noticed you wear the same clothes all the time when you're not wearing your uniform, so all of the first-year girls in Gryffindor put something in for you!"
Lavender thrust a package at her. Ruby wasn't quite sure how to respond, so she just muttered "Thank you" and took them.
"I love Muggle fashion," she said giddily. "I sorted through them, y'know, so nothing clashed? Sometimes people don't understand the colour wheel."
Judging by the assortment of butterfly clips, maybe she loved it a little too much.
And with that, Lavender skipped off, leaving Ruby dumbfounded and with a bundle of strange clothes in her arms as she stared after the other witch.
What could she possibly hope to gain from this?
Why is she being nice to me?
The remaining days of the week seemed to fly by, and very soon, it was Sunday. Autumn had started to paint leaves all shades of red, orange, and yellow.
"Didn't Professor Dumbledore say that we're not supposed to go in the Forbidden Forest?" asked Hermione. She was wrapped up in several scarfs, a knitted hat, and mittens — Ron had not missed the opportunity to tease her about 'dressing for an expedition to the North Pole' when the five of them had met outside the Great Hall.
"It's not the Forbidden Forest," said Harry, brushing away a low-hanging branch that had just smacked Anthony in the face. "It's on the edge."
He looked distracted, Ruby thought. That was usually Anthony's thing.
Hermione opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. The trees had opened up into a small clearing, and a few yards in front of them stood a hut.
Anthony, who was the furthest in front, ran towards the door and knocked. Instantly, a very loud dog began barking.
"Fang!" came a faint call.
The door swung open, and suddenly, Hagrid's enormous figure was looming in the doorway, accompanied by a giant black boarhound, who had leapt forward and was presently attempting to lick Anthony.
"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, ushering them all inside. "Get down now, Fang."
Obediently, the colossal dog — Fang — let go of Anthony and trotted off to curl up next to the fireplace. Ruby followed the others into the single room, where an enormous copper kettle was bubbling fiercely over the fire and sat down beside Ron on the oversized, patched sofa.
Hagrid offered them some of his home-made rock cakes; Ruby politely said thank-you and proceeded to nibble at the edge of hers. Ron had unfortunately bitten straight into his, and she had to stifle a laugh when she heard his teeth crack.
Harry looked similarly off-put, but likewise, said nothing. Hermione had employed a similar technique to Ruby. Anthony's was long-forgotten as he chattered loudly to Hagrid about who-knows-what (he spoke so quickly that Hagrid looked very confused and simply nodded along to whatever he was saying).
Finally, he stopped and took a large breath.
"I was on the third-floor corridor," Anthony began.
"Yeh shouldn' be breakin' rules like tha'," said Hagrid. "If Dumbledore knew—"
"I saw this enormous—" Hagrid, seeing that Anthony was in danger of spilling his cup of tea all over himself, extricated it gently from his grip and set it on the table, which Anthony barely noticed in his excitement "—drooling, growling three-headed dog — y'know, like Cerberus or something!"
Ron burst out laughing, and Ruby, Hermione, and Harry soon followed, but strangely, Hagrid looked frightened.
"Three-headed dog?" he asked. "Yeh must be mistaken. Th' door was locked."
Strange. Hagrid didn't deny the existence of the three-headed dog.
"No, it wasn't," said Anthony staunchly. "It was wide open, and the dog was very angry. Someone must have gone in before me. I only looked in."
"Someone already gone in?" Hagrid repeated. "Mus' — Must tell Dumbledore."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a look.
"Why, Hagrid?" asked Hermione finally. "What's the dog guarding?"
"Guarding?" asked Ron, wrinkling his nose. "Oh. Oh."
"Nothin'," said Hagrid, quickly moving to clear the cups of tea. "Yeh should all be goin' back now before it starts to get dark."
"He's a terrible liar," Ron mouthed. "What do you think he's hiding?"
"He's right," said Harry as he got up. "We should go."
"Go ahead," said Ruby. "I'll catch up."
He stopped and gave her a strange look, as if he wanted to say something. But the thought must have disappeared as quickly as it came, because he shrugged, turned around, and followed Ron and Hermione outside, making sure to give Fang a wide berth.
"Hagrid, can I ask you something?" asked Ruby, as soon as the door had shut behind them. Anthony was still there, but he never paid attention to things like this. It had been bothering her ever since Alastair mentioned it — no, actually — ever since they had spoken about it on the train. "What do you know about Dark Magic — the Dark Arts?"
Hagrid frowned as he took the kettle off the fire. "Yeh shouldn' be askin' about somethin' like that. Where would yeh get an idea like tha' from?"
"Nothing — no one," said Ruby, attempting to backtrack. "Just a book in the library — the older kids in Slytherin — I'm just curious, I promise."
Hagrid leaned closer. "When a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to em anymore... do yeh understand me, Ruby? Do yeh want to end up like You-Know-Who?"
"I'm sorry," she said, chastised. "I understand. It was just a hypothetical question. I shouldn't've brought it up."
"Are yeh makin' friends?" he asked, looking concerned all of a sudden."Yeh don't get on with the girls in yer year in Slytherin?"
"Pansy doesn't like me," Ruby explained. "She's like the queen bee, so they all do what she does — all the other girls. Sometimes Daphne speaks to me, and Theodore Nott's a bit weird, but he waves at me when Malfoy's not looking. It's not a big deal, honestly. It doesn't bother me."
Hagrid did not seem altogether convinced, but she took the opportunity to get up, say good-bye and thank him for the tea (she couldn't bring herself to mention the rock cakes), and leave with Anthony for the Great Hall.
Alastair and Gemma were noticeably absent at dinner, along with Professor Dumbledore and the Heads of House.
"What's going on?" she asked the first person she saw.
"Prefect meeting," they explained. "Happens every once in a while. Nothing special."
Ruby looked up and saw Quirrell wave at Harry, who waved back shyly. She stopped in the middle of the Hall and stared. The professor's gaze swept back over the room, lingering on her for barely a second. There was just a hint of a sardonic, knowing smirk and the slight lift of an eyebrow (it might have been her imagination), and then he moved on.
The sound of clanking drew her attention elsewhere.
Just then, the pearly-white spectre of a gentleman covered in silvery bloodstains and wearing chains drifted past.
"Uh, sir?" asked Ruby cautiously. She had been warned about the bloodstains, but what else was a trigger for him? The Bloody Baron had a famously hot temper, after all, and the last thing she wanted was to be tormented by a shrieking, caterwauling ghost.
"Yes, little girl?" he asked, putting a hand on the hilt of his broadsword, which was poking out of its scabbard, and turning towards her in an imperious gesture.
"What, er, should I call you?"
"Well," said the Bloody Baron, puffing out his chest, "I am Ælfhere, Ealdorman of Mercia. So, you may refer to me as My Lord or Your Lordship."
And, barely under his breath, he added: "Children, these days... absolutely no manners... no breeding."
Ruby shifted nervously, fidgeting with the ends of her hair. "Uh, well, er, My Lord, do you think Professor Quirrell seems a little bit... off?"
The Bloody Baron laughed shortly. "Off?" he repeated before floating away. "Anyone who takes that position after it was jinxed is a little bit off, my dear girl."
Discouraged, she muttered her thanks and walked up towards the Slytherin table, intending to sit at her usual spot.
"Not here, Potter," said Pansy, putting a hand on the seat next to her. "We don't sit with uglies. No wonder you've got no friends."
It was stupid and childish, and it shouldn't have hurt her feelings, but it did.
You've got no friends.
"Fine," said Ruby as firmly as she could. "I don't want to sit with you, either!"
Then, she spun on her heel while her dignity was still somewhat intact and walked out of the Great Hall.
As soon as she got past the door, the tears started flowing — streaming out of her eyes, unwanted and unbidden. She raced past a couple of shocked Hufflepuff students, sprinting up the steps to the second floor, flung the door to the girls' toilets open, and started bawling as if her heart would break.
"This is my toilet," said a whispery voice. "I cry in here."
"Well," said Ruby, scrubbing at her eyes and nose, "you're going to have to get used to the company."
"I used to cry like that," said the other girl. "Olive Hornby used to tease me about my glasses — oooh, it was dreadful."
Ruby glanced up to see a transparent face peering at her curiously.
"Go away!" she snapped and shut the stall door with a clang, sniffling and rocking herself back and forth as the ghost amused herself with howling and making terrible splashing noises.
After what seemed like an eternity, when her tears had run dry, and she was left with a sore throat, a hoarse voice, and a swollen face, someone knocked on the stall door.
"Are you crying?"
Ruby rubbed her eyes hard with the back of her hands.
"No! I'm not! Go away, please!"
"You're crying!" said the other girl. "Open up, c'mon! It's Lavender, Lavender Brown! You're Ruby, right? I recognized your voice."
"It's just you? No one else is in here?"
"Nope."
Defeated, Ruby let the stall door swing open. Sure enough, Lavender Brown, through the haze of tears, was staring back at her.
Ruby dragged her sleeve across her eyes hard, trying to dry them.
"Hey, don't do that," said Lavender. "Your eyes will go all wrinkly."
"Who cares?" She sniffled. "I'm ugly anyway."
"Who says?"
"Everyone." Ruby sniffed. "Tracey and Daphne and Pansy."
"Pansy's a mean bint," said Lavender with an air of utter confidence. "Besides, she can talk. She looks like my uncle's pug."
Ruby laughed despite herself.
"Look! You're smiling now!" said Lavender.
"Tracey said I could make a mirror crack. And don't say she's not pretty."
Lavender pouted. "My mum says beauty comes from the inside, so Tracey's ugly too. C'mon, wash your face and let's go to dinner."
"I look like I've been crying," Ruby griped as she allowed Lavender to pull her towards the sinks. The ghost from earlier was nowhere to be seen.
The bathroom door swung open, and both of them jumped in surprise.
"I've been looking all over for you," said Gemma as the door shut behind her, and she strode towards the two of them. "You can't just run off like that without telling anyone. Professor Dumbledore wants to lock the school down overnight, and everyone has to be accounted for."
"Sorry," said Ruby, staring at the floor. "I didn't know that. Why does Professor Dumbledore want to do that — is he going to send us all home?"
Gemma laughed. "No, no. It's probably just a precaution, although none of us have any idea why. Anyway, you two can't stay in the bathroom all night."
She tilted her head. "Ruby, I'll like to speak to you, if that's alright. Lavender, can you—"
"Yeah, I can go to bed — I know the way. Good night!"
And with that, she rushed off.
"I heard about Charms class," said Gemma, her voice low and careful.
"Sorry," muttered Ruby as she followed the older girl out of the bathroom. "I didn't mean to."
Gemma sighed. "To be completely honest... Professor Dumbledore and I spoke about you."
"Spoke about me?"
She nodded. "Yeah — I think he's worried about something — I don't know what."
For a minute, there was only the ghostly sound of the subterranean corridors leading to the Slytherin Dungeon.
"You know magic has an emotional aspect, right?" asked Gemma suddenly.
"Grew up with Muggles," Ruby reminded her.
"Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry, I forgot. Sometimes you don't just do magic — you feel it — that's where accidental magic comes from. And, well, fire, amongst other things, is a perfect conduit for negative emotion..."
"That's why you and Professor Dumbledore thought I blew up the candle?" asked Ruby. "Because I was angry?"
"Well, were you angry?"
Ruby shrugged. "I dunno."
Something occurred to her. Hermione's flame had been remarkably well-behaved, controlled, like her. Ruby wondered if there really was some merit to this...
"That's all the first-year girls," she heard Gemma say to Alastair as they went into the common room. "Now, don't leave the common room tonight, for any reason."
"Why?" asked Ruby. "Has it got to do with the prefect meeting?"
Gemma and Alastair exchanged a strange look; she hadn't seen them so... coordinated... since the Sorting Ceremony.
"Yes and no," said Alastair finally, forcing a smile that was nearly as fake as Professor Flitwick's. He sounded tired. "Look, don't worry about it too much. It'll be fine."
But regardless of the prefects' platitudes, something had changed. Gemma had taken account of them all at breakfast, and when Ruby got to Potions, she was greeted by two people in scarlet robes. Aurors.
Or, more accurately, she collided with one.
"Oh, Merlin, I'm such a klutz," groaned the Auror as she knelt down to help Ruby pick up her books, her spiky pink hair—
Spiky pink hair. Why did that look familiar?
"Tonks?" asked Ruby. "I met you in the Leaky Cauldron before school — remember?"
Tonks grinned.
"Wotcher — Ruby — did I remember right?"
"Yes," she said, with a tiny, slightly embarrassed nod.
"Bit of a hassle, isn't it, all this security?" asked Tonks, glancing down at the roll of parchment she was holding. "Ruby... uh... Ruby Potter?"
"That's me."
Tonks's eyes widened.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Ruby tried to move the conversation on.
"Is it very hard, being an Auror?"
"I'm just one of the trainees," said Tonks. "I've just started, really—"
"TONKS!" shouted a gruff voice. "Stop fraternizing with the students!"
Both Tonks and Ruby turned to face a frowning man as grizzled-looking as his voice sounded. His face was crisscrossed with scars, and a chunk of his nose was missing.
But the most striking thing about the man was his eyes, not the tiny, beady left eye, but the right one, which was electric-blue and whizzing around in his head like the little message in a Magic 8 Ball.
"And you!" he said, fixing Ruby with a gaze that seemed to go right through her head and into the far wall. "Stop faffing around and get to class!"
"Lighten up, Mad-Eye," said Tonks, pouting and putting a reassuring hand on Ruby's shoulder. "We're old friends, aren't we, Rubes?"
"Hmph," said Mad-Eye, but he did not look impressed.
"He's right," said Ruby, shouldering her bag. "I should get to class, or else Professor Snape'll cut me up for ingredients."
Tonks laughed heartily, but Mad-Eye did not show a glimmer of a smile.
As she had expected, Professor Snape was highly displeased with the prospect of having his class watched by an Auror — a taciturn wizard who quietly and briefly introduced himself as 'Proudfoot.'
On the bright side, she'd narrowly managed to avoid sitting with Longbottom (whom she had learned from Harry was Neville, not Melville) and instead ended up with Hermione. It was nice working with someone who wasn't afraid of her, or their own shadow, for that matter.
For the most part, Snape swept about the classroom, peering into cauldrons disapprovingly and giving monosyllabic answers to any questions asked of him.
"Now, who can tell me about Dittany?"
Hermione's hand shot up.
Snape looked around the classroom as if willing a miracle to happen.
"Anyone but Miss Granger? How about... Mister... Nott?"
There was a swarm of nudging and giggling.
"It heals cuts and bruises, sir," said Theodore, his gaze fixed on his desk.
Snape looked unimpressed. "Very well. Five points to Slytherin. Can anyone... elaborate?"
Just then, the door swung open. Snape looked up, annoyed.
"To what may we attribute this... interruption... Miss Farley?"
What's Gemma doing here?
Gemma nodded, looking around the classroom as if searching for something and then glancing back at Professor Snape.
"I apologize for the disturbance. Professor Dumbledore wants to see Ruby Potter, Professor Snape."
She walked forward, holding out a piece of parchment. The Auror, Proudfoot, stepped out of the shadows, and Harry turned all the way around in his seat to have a look.
"Hmph," said Snape. "Whatever... Professor Dumbledore requires, shall be granted."
He turned sharply, his black robes swirling around him.
"Potter! Collect your things and go with Miss Farley."
"Yes, Professor Snape," said Ruby, getting up hurriedly and collecting her books. The classroom began to fill with whispering, and Harry mouthed something at her, but she was too far away to read his lips.
Gemma, walking quickly, as usual, led her away to a tower that Ruby had never visited before.
"Whizzing Fizz— Oh, no, I mean Fizzing Whizbee," she told the great gargoyle staring down at them. It stepped away, and Gemma gestured up the stairs.
"I'll wait here," she said. "Professor Dumbledore wants to talk to you alone."
"Am I—" Ruby stammered, looking up at the staircase and feeling a wave of trepidation. "— am I in trouble?"
Gemma shrugged. "Whatever it is, I say get it over with."
She nodded and climbed the stairs, gripping the bannister with a sweaty hand.
The Headmaster's Office was as cluttered as Professor McGonagall's was neat, but yet, it was beautiful in its own, strange way. It was a large, circular room, and the sun's rays, stained goldenrod and marigold by the sunset, tumbled merrily out of the vast windows. She stepped towards one of them, pressing her palm against the sun-warmed glass and staring out at the school grounds.
Someone cleared their throat, and she jumped.
It was a tall man, very old but not frail nor bent. He was wearing turquoise robes and had a long, silvery beard. His demeanour was untouchably serene, and the eyes behind his half-moon glasses seemed ageless, twinkling, and a blue bright enough to look brilliant rather than watery or pale.
"Professor Dumbledore?"
"It is always curious," said Dumbledore, his voice light and pleasant, "to see what draws visitors' attention first in this room. Why, do you think, did you choose the window? Is there something you wish to escape from?"
Without waiting for an answer, he continued as he strode behind the claw-footed desk.
"Will you sit?"
She did, silently, and folded her hands in her lap.
"Now, Harry and I have spoken about your about your past living situation."
They have? Why didn't he tell me?
"At any rate," said Dumbledore, "if you no longer call that place home, your mother's charm must be sealed onto Harry's only other living blood relative, now that you are old enough for the magic to take. Voldemort would never dare venture into Hogwarts while I remain Headmaster. Still, every precaution must be taken — the protection must be bound to you and this castle. But we shall discuss the details of that process at some later time."
"Um, Professor," she said quietly. "What about me?"
He regarded her carefully over the top of his half-moon glasses.
"Yes," he said. "That does remain a problem. Your mother's protection does not extend to you. We can only hope that since he did not go after you on the night your parents died, he will disregard you as a target."
"I must talk to you," said Professor Dumbledore. "About the Dursleys."
"What about them, sir?"
Ruby could not parse his reaction. But she feared that he would not be as easily dissuaded as Professor McGonagall.
He sighed.
"I know," he said heavily. "I know Vernon Dursley is dead, and I believe I know what killed him."
"Please, sir— I have nowhere else to go!"
Dumbledore shook his head and continued. "It was a case that confused the Muggle police greatly, I'm afraid. The official cause of death was cardiac arrest; not hard to believe. But I paid a visit myself. Though the police did not find anything of note in the tea that he had been drinking before his death, I certainly did."
Carefully, Dumbledore extracted a clipping from inside the desk, levitating the limp purple flower to rest on top of it.
It lay between them, innocent and wilted.
Ruby flinched.
"Will you tell me what this flower is? I discovered it growing in the Dursleys' garden."
She swallowed. Suddenly, a lump had come up in her throat.
"It's monkshood, sir."
He raised an eyebrow.
Ruby stared at her hands; they were numb and tingling like they did the day it happened.
"The queen of poisons, sir."
"You knew it might kill, or at least seriously injure your uncle. It did not simply happen."
She nodded.
"I wish to know why, and I want you to tell me the truth. I would like to believe this was inadvertent, but that would be an insult to your intelligence and mine. Leave nothing out."
Leave nothing out.
Her head spun.
"I don't want to talk about it," said Ruby, biting back tears (She was not going to cry. Aunt Petunia hated crying for no reason).
It's locked away, and it's safe. I don't want to—
"I shall be inclined, then," said Dumbledore, "to believe that you are a cold-blooded killer. What other conclusion can I draw from such an efficient and meticulously planned out murder, in the home of your own flesh and blood, no less? If so, I should be remarkably disappointed."
"Blood's not the only thing that makes family, Professor," she said.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"Continue," he said. "What was lacking?"
"It's not fair! Why don't you love us?"
"Don't you understand, freak? This is the kind of love that you deserve."
"They hate us," said Ruby quietly. "Because we're not normal. Because we're magic."
"How do you know that?" asked Dumbledore.
Stop, please.
She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, trying and failing to block everything out.
"She tells us... she tells me I'm going to end up like my mother..."
She could see the salmon-coloured nails, clear as day. The light tumbling neatly through the windows and making the well-varnished table shine.
"End up like your mother?" repeated Dumbledore, though he sounded a million miles away.
The clear liquid swirling in the glass. The smell of Aunt Petunia's breath... I never liked sneaky children.
"Aunt Petunia says she got pregnant..." If she'd had enough to drink. "...That she was a loose woman, and she got herself blown up. That she was a freak like me, and she deserved what she got."
And then the scent of Lysol. Cleanliness hides a multitude of sins. Wiping the dirt away makes everything better.
Creeping inside your mouth and under your nose, making your eyes water... mixed with the sawdust, it makes you cough and sneeze, and the world fades away...
Dumbledore's office had disappeared.
"She said no one is ever going to put up with our freakishness but them. There's nowhere for us to go but the streets. And as soon as we turn eighteen, we're not their responsibility anymore. We're the government's problem."
"And Vernon?"
It was too much to bear.
"Harry," she said simply, and her heart threatened to burst.
Everything went dark. The sound of sobbing closed in on her from all sides.
"Can't you see he's upset?"
"Stop hurting him, please!"
Then, loudly: "Finite!"
Light pierced the veil of darkness, and the shadows melted away.
She was sitting in Dumbledore's office.
Almost too quiet for Ruby to hear, he said: "They didn't like my sister, either. My father... my father... did the same."
She wasn't sure if she was meant to hear it or not. Or what it meant.
He glanced at her once more; this time, Dumbledore seemed to be evaluating something.
"Very well," he said. "Miss Farley will take you back to the Great Hall."
Ruby stood up. Her legs felt like she hadn't walked for days.
"This conversation is not over," said Dumbledore firmly. "We will arrange a time to meet again."
He seemed to be trying to decide on something.
"Sit back down," said Dumbledore, and she did, folding her hands in her lap.
"I am going to tell you a story each time you visit, and I am afraid that they will not be pleasant ones."
"Is this my punishment, sir?"
Dumbledore's expression was unreadable.
"No," he said gravely. "That will come later. For now, I want you to listen."
"I had a sister," said Dumbledore.
"Her name was Ariana; she was a sweet, kind girl who wished harm on no one. Like the rest of our family, she had magic — she was a witch. One day, when she was six years old, she was playing by herself at the end of the garden, playing with her magic, as children sometimes do.
Three Muggle boys were spying on her — looking through the back garden hedge. As I am sure you know, children cannot control their magic; I have only known one who could."
He paused.
"What happened to her, Professor? What happened to Ariana?"
Dumbledore sighed. "I expect they were frightened at first, scared of the unknown. And then, they became bolder. Bold enough to force their way through the hedge and demand her to show them the trick. And when, of course, she could not, and they finally understood what she was, they became something worse than frightened."
"Angry?"
"Yes. Very. Do you know what they used to do to witches?"
"Burn them at the stake. Duck them in water until they drowned. Make them sit on red-hot stools. Hang them. Behead them. Aunt Petunia used to tell me."
And with great glee, Ruby realized. Now it all made sense.
"Yes," said Dumbledore, his voice growing even more solemn. "And in that incomprehensible, mad rage, they attempted to recreate the punishments of their ancestors. They kept trying to punish her for being a witch... to kill her... but real witches do not die easily."
"She survived?"
"In the way that children sometimes can," said Dumbledore. "In the way that a tree might survive a hurricane. Alive, yes... but changed. Forever."
"And the Muggle boys? The ones who attacked her?" asked Ruby.
Dumbledore was silent for a long moment.
"That is a story for another time."
Endnotes:
As I was drafting this fic and developing ideas for Ruby's character, I realized just how much Lyra from His Dark Materials made an impression on me (she's one of my favorite characters), and was (somewhat unwittingly) a major inspiration for her character. Hence the quote.
Ælfhere, Ealdorman of Mercia is actually a historical person.
Dumbledore really isn't an expert in (especially child) psych by any means. I think he feels that if he had gotten the truth out of Tom at some point, disaster might have been (partially) averted. He's a complex character, and I intend to portray him as such.
Not 100% canon, but in the movies, Aunt Muriel says that Percival Dumbledore killed the Muggle boys who assaulted Ariana.
But I'll let you draw the rest of the possible conclusions/headcanons for yourselves! I think about this far too much, so feel free to shoot me a PM if you're up for discussing our favorite controversial characters :)
Excited for Chapter 15 (draft is nearly ready to go)! It's been one of my favorites to write so far (and might have some moments that are actually funny - I mean, you know me, it's not going to be all sunshine and rainbows, but it has its moments).
Lysol has a little known history of promoting itself as a 'feminine hygiene' product in the 1930s. Disturbing.
Also, snowy owls (especially females) rarely hoot.