"ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪʟʟ ʟᴜᴄᴋ ʙᴇɢɪɴꜱ, ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ɪɴ ꜱᴘʀɪɴᴋʟᴇꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪɴ ꜱʜᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ." ― ᴍᴀʀᴋ ᴛᴡᴀɪɴ
Chapter Nine: Prescience and Bad Omens
Mafalda stared down at her returned Auror application, which was now sporting a blood-red, hastily-stamped REJECTION on the front page.
Narcissa Malfoy, read the card beside the plain, freshly-painted white door in front of her, Special Advisor to the Minister for Magic.
I can't believe she even gave me an appointment, thought Mafalda, checking her watch. The moment the second hand reached twelve, the door swung open as if by an unseen force.
"Come in," said a woman's voice, neither particularly low nor high but immaculately refined. Mafalda obeyed.
Why Narcissa, Mafalda had wondered, but what she saw answered that question perfectly. The walls of the office were painted a stark white. A row of floor-length windows showed a facsimile of Diagon Alley from several stories up; the white marble floor echoed emptily against Mafala's shoes as she walked forward. The sheer whiteness made her feel dirty. And a little mad. Was the sanatorium-like feel intentional?
The marble desk seemed to be part of the floor, with no seam visible to demarcate a boundary. And behind it sat Narcissa Malfoy herself, her white-blonde hair done up in a neat chignon and wearing beautifully tailored ice-blue robes. As Mafalda approached, she laid her swan-feather quill aside and steepled her fingers expectantly.
"Mrs. Malfoy."
"Miss Prewett. Do sit."
Malfada did not. She held up the stack of papers by her forefinger and thumb so that the signature under the stamp was visible. The elegant 'M' was unmistakable.
"I did not mean to offend. I merely... think your talents would be put to better use elsewhere."
Malfada was silent.
"Mr. Shafiq has been in touch?"
She flinched at the thought of being alone with Hassan in the conference room, of him trying to recruit her and sway her to Voldemort's side. When it snows in hell, I'll follow him.
"What if I tell everyone why you're here?" asked Mafalda.
With a gentle shake of her head and the faintest glimmer of a smile, Narcissa pointed out: "That would not be wise. As you recall, my husband was exonerated of all charges, and I never stood trial."
And after all, both the Minister and Umbridge are on her side. And who knows who else?
Mafalda reached into her briefcase for her copy of the latest Prophet. "What about this?" She placed it on the table.
Narcissa reached out with a manicured hand to turn the newspaper towards her, skimming the article.
"Well, Miss Prewett, I was brought in to... iron out inefficiencies, and record-keeping was one of them," said Narcissa placidly.
Drawing heavily on her willpower, Mafalda resisted the urge to cast her eyes toward the ceiling. "Record-keeping a list of Muggle-borns? Mrs. Malfoy?"
"Why ever not?" asked Narcissa with a great deal of dignity. She let that question hang in the air as if daring Mafalda to answer it and make it into an accusation. Mafalda thought of her blunders with Lockhart, and her face burned.
What, she wanted to ask, are you really trying to accomplish? But she couldn't, so Mafalda settled for: "I didn't imagine the Special Advisor to the Minister for Magic would trouble herself with internal job applications."
"Generally, no. However, you, Miss Prewett, are a very talented witch. And," she lowered her voice ever so slightly, "pureblood."
Mafalda drew herself up to her full height and amended proudly: "I'm the daughter of Squibs."
"We can't all be perfect, so, nevertheless, I am presenting a counteroffer." Narcissa flourished her wand, and a stark-white business card appeared in Mafalda's hand, the expensive card paper sturdy yet soft between her fingers. "I hope you'll contact me. Take care."
Her gaze lingered for a while, and then the older woman reached for her quill, and Malfalda shoved the business card into her briefcase, turned towards the exit, and left.
I will not, she thought hotly, bloody contact her.
When Mafalda returned to the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, she found Hassan busy clearing out his desk.
She tapped on his cubicle. "Finally terminated?"
"No," he said smoothly, gathering up a bundle of quills. "Narcissa Malfoy was so kind as to recommend me to join the annual Auror recruitment programme."
"Lucky you," said Mafalda, and she didn't care if he could hear the jealousy in her voice. She turned on her heel, went past the corner, and sat down heavily at her own desk; as usual, her 'mailbox' was piled with defective amulets, and her workspace strewn with broken quills and used parchment scraps.
One of the scraps twitched. Mafalda grimaced. She hoped it wasn't another Cornish Pixie. There'd been an infestation on the sixth floor, and it was just her luck if they'd made it here.
Sighing, she gingerly snatched up the scrap with her forefinger and thumb, hoping not to get bitten. Thankfully, there were no pixies below it, but surprisingly, the handwriting was not her own.
Across it, in a jaunty little scrawl, was:
𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘵 9 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 (𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦) 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘬𝘦𝘺, 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.
-𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘬𝘴
Ruby really could not ever remember a lesson lasting so long.
It was the day of the end-of-autumn Defence practical, after which would be revision until the holidays. This meant that they all had to line up and perform a series of tasks, including blocking and dodging hexes from Sirius himself. Everyone else but her, and maybe Neville Longbottom, seemed excited by this prospect. Hermione was whispering spells under her breath and practising arm motions.
However, the only thing Ruby could focus on was Lavender and Parvati at the very end of the row, whispering amongst themselves, Lavender's distinctive high-pitched giggle bubbling up every now and then. Somehow, Ruby felt more alone than she had with Tee knee-deep in the desolate moors.
"Sirius Black is a really good Defence professor, isn't he?" murmured Theodore Nott, right against her ear. Ruby jolted as if he'd poured a cauldron full of snow down the back of her robes.
She turned towards him, but he was now intently watching Ron's practical as if he hadn't said anything at all.
He knows, she thought, a pit of misery settling in her stomach. He knows absolutely everything.
How? The question gnawed at her, but she didn't have the strength to attempt an answer.
In her mind, Ruby heard Tee telling her that she was scared; she saw Trelawney's reproachful glare during Divination in the weeks after she stopped attending their meetings.
"Next," Sirius called.
"That's you," Hermione supplied when Ruby didn't move.
"Oh. Sorry."
She hastily stepped forward, suddenly aware of everyone's eyes on her.
"Whenever you're ready."
Does it matter? Ruby nodded, rolling her shoulders back.
There was a slight furrow between Sirius's eyebrows. She hoped he didn't go easy on her. That would make her look weak.
Somewhere to her right, Harry and Ron had broken off their conversation, and now she felt her brother's eyes on her, too.
"Incendio!" A column of flame leapt from the floor up to the ceiling, the heat scorching her face.
The right spell came instantly to her mind. Focusing on where she wanted the water to go, Ruby faced the flames and said very clearly and carefully, "Aguamenti!"
A jet of water splattered against the flame with an audible hiss, leaving only the faint smell of charred wood in the room. She deflected a Trip Jinx and countered a Tongue-Tying Curse; recited all the ways to ward off a vampire and catch pixies.
Ruby worked her way through the rest of the practical, only half-concentrating on her tasks; for her distraction, she was rewarded with catching an Itching Hex on her ear, but at least she'd done better than Neville, who was sporting a painful-looking set of boils on his face.
The concern showed on Sirius's face, but Ruby couldn't imagine him discussing anything with her Head of House, not with their unexplained hostility.
As soon as class was dismissed, she gathered her things without saying a word to anyone and left the room before anyone else could. Divination was next, but Ruby didn't think she could bear an hour of Trelawney and, in a moment of impulse, decided to make her way towards the Headmaster's Tower (probably not the best choice of a hideout when skiving off class).
She let herself in and slipped past the gargoyle, then up the stairs and into the familiar surroundings of Dumbledore's office.
A new addition caught her eye, a simple but elegant basin carved out of lustrous stone or perhaps metal. It reminded her strangely of the basin in the Cave, but instead of fear, gazing at it filled her with a terrible curiosity. Unable to help herself, she drew closer and closer.
Ogham runes and strange symbols that Ruby didn't recognise were carved into the basin, and many precious gems were set into it. A silvery, luminescent liquid swirled inside, and a pale, pleasant-scented fog rose from the basin.
"Ahh. I see you noticed the Pensieve."
Ruby jumped and then reprimanded herself internally. Why should she be surprised to see Dumbledore in his own office? If she had wanted to be alone, she would have fled to the courtyard or the Astronomy Tower or any of the various uninhabited nooks and crannies in the castle. Some part of her had wished to be here, to talk to someone about everything.
"Oh! I... I suppose I'm getting detention."
Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow.
"I'm supposed to be in Divination, but I haven't been going to my private lessons, and Professor Trelawney is probably really disappointed in me." Ruby didn't know why she was talking so much. The words just kept coming, like vomit. She almost choked on them as they came spilling out. "Everyone thinks I'm a monster, and they're probably right. Even Lavender and Parvati won't speak to me. Or Anthony, either, come to think of it. I can't really blame them, can I? It's all lies, all the way down, everything I've ever said and done here."
"In that case," said Dumbledore placidly. "I think I have something you might like to see." He gestured towards the basin — the Pensieve.
Taking in Ruby's confused expression, he added: "I appear to have neglected to explain its purpose. A Pensieve allows one to view a memory at leisure, without the need of a Legilimens or a terrible headache."
She stared back at him. "Your memories, Professor?"
"In the main," said Dumbledore. "Sirius donated something he thought you and Harry might like to see. Do tell your brother to come visit, too." He went to one of the many drawers on his desk, which chattered as it slid open; it was filled with what seemed to be hundreds of bottles of the same mother-or-pearl liquid swirling about in the Pensieve.
Dumbledore retrieved one and poured its contents into the Pensieve; it flowed smoother than water. Out of curiosity, Ruby stepped closer, peering into the iridescent pool. She had a brief recollection of Tee and the green potion in the Cave, of that strange compulsion he'd seemed to experience. Her vision blurred, and her head spun. Ruby had the impression of falling asleep, but then, she suddenly jerked awake again.
Where's the office? The room she was standing in was completely unfamiliar. It looked like someone's living room, but not the sort of living room Ruby was used to. There were armchairs and coffee tables and even a baby grand piano, but the piano was playing itself, a large broom was sweeping up dust in the corner, and the rug swore loudly when the man who entered the room stepped on it.
"Evening, Pete," said a voice she recognised. Sirius Black was sat on the window seat, legs outstretched, and looking through Ruby.
She turned to see someone she knew, Peter Pettigrew, with his friendly, cheerful, smiling face, and flinched.
He was their friend, too, she thought glumly.
"Same to you. Remus is—"
"Furry little problem."
"Ah."
Peter, Ruby, and Sirius all jumped as the door banged loudly open; a woman entered the room, sighing and muttering under her breath, and made a beeline to the nearest armchair. Pieces of parchment with arcane symbols scribbled all over them wafted from her open bag to the ground.
Ruby's heart leapt as the woman fumbled with her auburn hair, brushing it back from her face, and turned towards them. Her navy robes were emblazoned over the breast with a strange symbol in gold stitching, and her almond-shaped eyes were leaf-green with a splotch of yellow in the middle of the irises, just like Harry's.
Lily Evans. She had seen that face in pictures, memorising it, trying to tell if she had her mother's eyes, or her nose, or her smile because people said Harry looked like their dad but with their mum's eyes, but she didn't look like anyone in particular. But nothing came close to seeing her like this, almost real.
"Someone's preoccupied," said Sirius, a teasing lilt in his voice.
Lily frowned, the skin between her eyebrows creasing. "Nothing," she said heavily. "Just work. And—you know—the Order."
"Anyone know what the meeting later's about?" A fourth person had entered the room, and Ruby turned towards the voice along with everyone else.
A shudder of recognition went through Ruby, and she understood why Remus and Sirius had been so taken aback by Harry's appearance. James did look almost exactly like Harry but older, but in a way that couldn't come across in pictures, was remarkably un-Harry-like. Harry definitely didn't have that easy confidence and unmistakable look of being well cared-for.
And maybe he would have, said a bitter little voice. It was the same bitter little voice, Ruby thought with a strange twinge, that had encouraged her to mix wolfsbane into Vernon's tea all those years ago.
She wondered what her parents would have made of that bitter little voice if they could see her now.
James knelt down to scoop up the fallen papers, and Lily instantly dropped to the floor to hastily gather them up.
"Don't worry, not looking, top secret, I know— wait, you shouldn't even be taking these from Level Nine, should you?"
Lily frowned once more. "It's a personal project."
"At least," said Sirius, "tell us which room you work in."
Lily exasperatedly put a hand up to her face. "No, Sirius. For the four-hundred and forty-third time, no."
"Time Room?"
"No."
"Death Room?"
"No! Sirius, I'm not playing this game."
"It's no use. Even I can't get her to crack," said James.
"You," Lily pointed at Sirius, "and you," at James, "have no respect for my job! Doesn't this uniform mean anything to you?" Despite her frown, her eyes were smiling, and Ruby could hear the barely suppressed mirth in her voice.
But it soon became serious once more. "I'm pretty certain Rookwood's a Death Eater."
"And which room does he work in?" asked Peter slyly.
"Thought Chamber," said Lily as she put her papers away. "He's just so... nice. Too nice."
"I'd be nice to you, too, if we were colleagues," said James. Lily rolled her eyes.
"No, trust me, I have a nose for these things!"
Peter snorted. "Like your best friend Sevvy?"
"That's different. You know that."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room.
"Uh, want to see the personal project?" asked Lily, shrugging awkwardly. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small box, whose contents she shook out onto the coffee table. A tangle of gold tumbled out.
James nudged the pile with his finger and gently extricated a miniature hourglass pendant, holding it between his forefinger and thumb.
"I suppose we know which room Lily works in now, Sirius," said Peter, reaching for one, too.
"It's not like that," said Lily crossly. "The manufacturing process is really delicate; they throw out defective ones all the time, and no one keeps an eye on them. They're little more than pretty jewellery—"
The other three regarded her with unconvinced expressions.
"Well, thanks for the present." Peter slipped one over his head, much to James and Sirius's amusement.
"I was thinking," said Lily, shooting a glare at all of them, "about mediums. We have the tradition of wands in Britain, but that's not a worldwide phenomenon. And maybe it's not an optimal one, either, especially during combat, if your wand gets knocked away or broken. Or maybe your opponent paralyses you, and you can't use your arms. Anyway, it would be nice to have a backup. Or maybe even a primary medium that's not a wand." She plucked the pendant from James's hand, and he looked up in surprise. The two shared a look for a little longer than they should have. "Ahem — anyway, this one's a dud, and the ones I've gotten to work give out after a few spells. But it's at least theoretically possible. I'm just having a hard time with powering the enchantment. With wands, there's a life force from the wood and core, but metal is metal."
She paused again. "What do you think?"
"I think you're an egghead, and I love you," said James.
Aunt Petunia was right, thought Ruby, fiddling with her pendant. Mum really was clever.
"What's usually in the hourglasses, in real Time-Turners?" asked Peter.
Lily bit the inside of her cheek. "Yeah, that's the aforementioned delicate secret process. I'm sure I can figure out an alternative, though."
"You'll have to wait until after Frank and Alice's debriefing on the Death Eater raid last Tuesday," said Peter.
"Ohhh, so that's what it's about."
Peter opened the door and disappeared into the hallway, his footsteps loud against the uncarpeted floor. Lily stepped forward and nearly tripped over the hem of her robes, James catching her by the elbow just in time. Ruby could not help but notice that Lily's hand went protectively to her stomach. Something dark seemed to cross her mother's mind because she grimaced again.
"What's wrong?" James seemed to pick up on it, too.
"Nothing, I just..." Her hand clutched at her robes, the fingers pale and anxious. "I have a bad feeling," said Lily quietly. She deposited the defective Time-Turners in her overflowing bag and brushed imaginary dirt off her robes before marching out of the room, leaving James and Sirius behind. A silence settled over them.
"So, when were you two going to tell me?" asked Sirius.
James turned to his friend. "Tell you what?"
"That I'm going to be an uncle. I mean, I better be the godfather, at least."
"Godfather?" James spluttered. It was hard to tell with his olive complexion, but Ruby thought he might have blanched a little. "Whose godfather?"
Sirius facepalmed. "You really don't know, do you? Lily's pregnant, you absolute and utter moron! Didn't you notice?"
A look of realisation and shock slowly spread over James's face as the cogs turned in his brain. He jogged to the door and yanked it open, then continued down the corridor, calling out to her.
Shaking his head, Sirius strode up to the wide-open door and disappeared through the frame.
Ruby felt as if someone had yanked her head back with their fist wrapped around the ends of her hair, and all of a sudden, Dumbledore's office melted into place like a watercolour. Feeling somewhat like a wet cat, she coughed up a bit of silvery liquid, and droplets ran off her skin and down her hair to the floor.
Dumbledore was watching her quietly as she shook the last of the droplets off.
"I saw my parents... and Sirius... and Peter Pettigrew. He was really their friend?"
"Really," said Dumbledore solemnly.
Ruby sat down heavily in her usual chair, staring at her hands. "It felt so real." They had been close enough to touch. She'd stood amongst them.
"Some people consider Pensieves dangerous. They encourage one to focus on what has been and passed, not what can be done in the present. But I think, when used in moderation and with purpose, they are excellent tools."
Something Lily had said floated to the top of her mind.
"Lily — our mum — she said she had a bad feeling about being pregnant with me and Harry. Was she..."
"Prescient? No. Likely cautious. Less and less Hogwarts letters have been sent every year since the war."
Dumbledore checked his watch. "I believe skipping one class is a sufficient distraction. Professor Trelawney's lecture, I suppose, is nearly over."
"Yeah, I suppose so." Ruby stood up. "Goodbye, Professor. And... thank you."
He half-smiled, and Ruby's gaze, as she turned to leave, was caught by a picture on the cluttered desk of a younger Dumbledore, with auburn hair, a wry smile, and the same twinkling eyes, and beside him, wearing a Hogwarts uniform and with a silver badge pinned to it, a stony-faced Tom Riddle.
The next day was the last Saturday of November, and also the second Quidditch game of the season. Slytherin had already beaten Ravenclaw, and today, Gryffindor was playing against Hufflepuff.
Slytherin House disliked those two houses almost equally as much, so people (Blaise Zabini) were betting on the outcome.
"Three Sickles on Potter catching the Snitch!" shouted a girl from further down the table.
"Potter hasn't played matches in almost two years," someone retorted. "My vote's on Diggory."
Ruby looked over her shoulder. Cedric Diggory, surprisingly, had gone up to the Gryffindor table, and was conversing with Harry. Both boys were smiling, and it looked amicable enough.
Ever the model Hufflepuff, it seems. And he's basically a shoo-in for Head Boy next year if that's something you care about.
"Who are you supporting?" asked Blaise. Ruby looked up, glancing behind her again, used to people treating her as if she were invisible.
Realised she was the one being asked a question, she responded curtly: "Gryffindor."
She'd already wished the whole team good luck, which seemed to make the entire Gryffindor table uncomfortable. Ginny Weasley, in particular, had given her an odd look and then concentrated very hard on her pumpkin juice.
"Money on the Great Potter Comeback, too, I assume?"
He was scribbling something down.
"I didn't say I wanted to bet!"
"It's a one Sickle minimum, pay up."
"You," said Ruby with as much venom as she could manage as she rummaged in her coin purse, "are incorrigible." Still, a tiny bit of her was grateful that Blaise remained as consistently and non-maliciously annoying as ever. In fact, she was beginning to doubt that he really could be the source of Theodore's cantarella.
"Bets, Theodore?"
Theodore, who had been staring into space, smiled softly. "Oh, I think it'll be a draw. Is that an option?"
Blaise shrugged as Theodore pushed a stack of coins across the table. "I suppose so. You'd get to take the whole pool if it is, but if it's not, which is much more likely, you lose it all," he finished cheerfully, then turned to the student on his left. "Daph?"
"No, don't bother." Daphne was staring intently at her pumpkin juice as Ginny had as if trying to uncover a new method of scrying.
"Pansy?"
"I'll bet two Galleons Harry Potter falls off his broom again," she said with a sneer. Ruby dug her nails into her palms and breathed out.
Blaise was still collecting wagers when people started to file out of the Great Hall, the Quidditch teams first, and then a steady trickle of professors and students after. Ruby hurried after them, trailing a few feet behind Pansy and Daphne. She found herself staring at Lavender and Parvati, who were ahead of her in the loose crowd, their heads together and whispering conspiratorially. Her heart ached in her chest like a day-old bruise.
It was no use bothering to sit in the Gryffindor stands.
It was bitterly cold and foggy outside, the freezing wind grabbing at her hair and scarf as she climbed the stairs. Ruby managed to find herself a place in the front, peering over the railing as red and yellow lines entered the pitch, which filled with raucous cheering. She could just make out Harry at the very end of the red line and Cedric at the front of the yellow one. The smallest Gryffindor Chaser, she assumed, was Ginny.
The two Captains shook hands as Lee Jordan's magically magnified voice resounded across the pitch, announcing the game and listing off the players' names and accomplishments.
"—and last but not least of the Gryffindor Chasers is Ginny Weasley, with a very respectable personal average of seven goals per game. You'll remember her as last year's Seeker. This year's Gryffindor Seeker, of course, is Harry Potter, last year's reserve and the youngest Seeker in a century in his first season, returning from his... er... illness. Of course, he's up against Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff, with three years more of experience and a very impressive average record of two point four out of three catches per season. Will talent or skill triumph over the Golden Snitch? Though Potter beat Higgs, with nearly five years of experience, to the Snitch on his first showing—"
"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall had gotten to her feet in the professors' box. "WE ARE NOT HERE TO REVIEW HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH HISTORY!"
Blaise snorted.
"Sorry, Professor," said Lee, chastised. "Over to you, Madam Hooch."
The players took their places, and Ruby watched as the four oddly-shaped balls soared into the sky. Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the pitch instantly became a swarming mass of canary yellow and crimson blurs moving too fast for Ruby to track. She didn't know how Lee could possibly keep up.
"Angelina Johnson scores the first goal — nice one, Angelina — the Quaffle's in play again, in possession of Heidi Macavoy — Ginny Weasley and Johnson in pursuit — The two Gryffindor Chasers are headed off by Rickett—"
Ruby watched the two split off and dive to avoid a Bludger sailing their way, only for George to send it back towards the Hufflepuff Chaser, which she dodged, her grip on the Quaffle slipping.
"Macavoy passes to Applebee — intercepted by Ginny Weasley — look at her go!"
A red comet streaked across the pitch faster than the eye could comprehend. Ginny wound up and tossed the Quaffle towards the hoops on the other side of the pitch, pulling up to avoid an incoming Bludger.
"That — that went in! Gryffindor is a whole thirty points ahead, and it's still early in the game — neither Diggory nor Potter have spotted the Snitch."
Indeed, both Seekers seemed to be aimlessly wandering about the pitch, though giving their teammates a wide berth so as not to get in their way.
All of a sudden, a faraway spot of yellow made a steep dive, which even Ruby knew could only mean one thing.
"Diggory has spotted the Snitch! Now, this game could be over quickly, either side winning with a considerable margin!"
A chant started up in the Hufflepuff stands — "DIGGORY! DIGGORY! DIGGORY!" — and spread throughout the pitch until it was nearly deafening.
Blaise lowered the binoculars he had been peering through and rolled his eyes, then lifted them again. Ruby couldn't see to the other end of the pitch in the fog, but fortunately, she didn't have to.
"Looks like Potter noticed — He's in pursuit now — and the Snitch has just switched directions."
The Snitch must have darted towards the maelstrom in the middle of the pitch because that was where the two blobs of red and yellow were speeding towards, and soon enough, Ruby could properly make out Harry and Cedric, neck and neck.
Again, the red comet shot past the Hufflepuff rings, but the blur wobbled strangely and then stopped.
"Ginny!" she heard someone shout as the girl stopped in midair and then began to plummet. Two streaks of red — Fred and George — shot towards her, but too slow, Ruby realised with a sick horror.
Harry broke off from Cedric and sped towards her, the gap between them narrowing.
Ruby was going to be sick. Her stomach felt like it had disintegrated. To her left, Daphne was already hiding her face.
Against hope, Ruby glanced at the professors' box, but Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen.
Something dropped with a wet, horrible thump.
"You look," muttered Blaise, and he handed her his binoculars. Her heartbeat in her throat, Ruby peered through them.
A broom lay in splinters on the pitch.
Harry hovered a mere six feet off the ground, grimacing with strain; he had slid half off his broom, holding with one hand, and only barely managed to hold onto Ginny by her wrist. Her body was limp, and her chest didn't seem to be moving.
Above them, Fred and George came to an abrupt halt, and the group glided down. One of the twins picked up Ginny, which meant either she hadn't regained consciousness or was too weak to walk.
"They made it," said Ruby, lowering the binoculars, although she didn't feel as relieved as she ought to have, with Ginny having suddenly and eerily gone completely limp and unresponsive. The other players slowly floated to the ground, the stands filling with chatter.
"I guess Theodore wins the whole pool."
She glanced sideways at the boy, who had resumed his usual nervous, easy-to-ignore demeanour. He hadn't said a thing during the match. Had he even reacted to Ginny falling?
On the other side of Blaise, Daphne slowly lifted her head, blinking in the mist. She turned, glancing at Theodore with a frown, but he continued to stare straight ahead into the distance.
"You knew," she said slowly and accusingly. "Didn't you? Who bets on a draw?"
It was Pansy's turn to look uneasy at her friend's outburst.
Sighing, Theodore turned his head, tilted it condescendingly, and said: "Of course not, Daphne. Don't be hysterical. Why would I care so much about winning a silly bet? And besides—" He lowered his voice "—I'm not the one with a body count."
Ruby stifled a retort and pushed past the Slytherins, her eyes stinging. Snowflakes had begun to fall from the sky, further obscuring visibility, and she broke into a run as she neared the castle entrance.
A puddle of snowmelt from boots and cloaks was already forming on the floor, and she imagined Flich would have something to say about it later. There was no use heading towards the Slytherin Dungeon before she absolutely had to, and it was a full moon tonight, so Remus wouldn't be in the library.
Maybe she could check on Ginny.
The Hospital Wing, to Madam Pomfrey's chagrin, was filled with chatter — the whole Gryffindor Quidditch Team was there, along with Ron, Hermione and Cedric. When Ruby entered, the Healer noticeably winced.
When the other students noticed her, the chatter faded to complete silence, leaving Ruby standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. It was so quiet that the only sound was the wind rushing past the windows.
"How's Ginny?"
"Fine."
It was Ginny herself who had spoken. She regarded Ruby warily.
"Snape says I was poisoned," she said, her voice tight and pinched.
"Why is she even here?" another Gryffindor Chaser muttered under her breath. Ruby flinched.
Madam Pomfrey had left to attend to someone else. Noticing an empty chair next to Harry, Ruby went towards it and sat down, trying her best to ignore the stares and the way her wet boots squeaked on the polished floors in the deafening quiet.
"Hermione was just going over what happened," said Cedric, who was still wearing his canary-yellow Quidditch uniform.
Everyone seemed to look slightly less uncomfortable, and Hermione cleared her throat uneasily.
"Yes, we were just saying that Snape gave Ginny the same antidote he gave Harry after he got poisoned. So, that implies the poisons were the same or very similar. Is there—" Hermione shook herself nervously before she went on "—anything you have to add, Ruby?"
They were all already staring at her, but the stares grew icier.
Last time, it was the pumpkin juice, wasn't it? And that strange thing Harry says Luna Lovegood told him — if we can trust Luna Lovegood to tell the truth.
"Daphne drank the pumpkin juice," Ruby pointed out. "She's not sick."
Hermione tapped a finger to her chin, considering this. "Daphne did, Ginny did, so did Harry before he got poisoned. But like you said, Daphne didn't get sick, so it can't be that."
"Maybe the Slytherins got a different batch," Ron suggested. "Whatever it is, maybe they're only putting it in the Gryffindor's pumpkin juice."
It seemed plausible enough.
"Harry and Ginny are both on the Quidditch team," said Hermione slowly. She turned to the team. "Did anyone else have pumpkin juice this morning?"
They all shook their heads in unison.
"Harry?"
"No, not today," he said. "Why? You think someone's trying to bump off the Gryffindor Quidditch team? Who would do that?"
Angelina cracked a small grin. "Oliver would have definitely tried to bump off the Slytherins." She glanced at Ruby, and her expression soured a little. "Should she be here?"
"I didn't poison the pumpkin juice if that's what you're asking," snapped Ruby. "Come on, if anything, do you seriously think I would try to kill Harry?"
"Well, I don't know," said Angelina diplomatically. "Maybe somebody made you do it."
"Theodore Nott doesn't have anything left to blackmail me with."
Hermione held up her hand. "Wait a second, wait a second. Nobody who drank the pumpkin juice and isn't on the Gryffindor Quidditch team has gotten sick. And nobody who is on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and didn't drink the pumpkin juice has gotten sick. And these two things seem to happen within an hour of each other, drinking the pumpkin juice and playing Quidditch, but only for Gryffindors..." She trailed off, looking at Cedric. "No one on your team took sick?"
He shook his head.
"But what've those two things got to do with each other?" asked Ron.
"And more importantly, who's doing it?" asked George.
"Maybe," said Hermione, springing up in a flutter of excitement and turning to face everyone, "it's not canterella. Remember how Snape couldn't detect the poison in the pumpkin juice?"
"But that was why we thought it was canterella," Harry pointed out.
"No, what if it's like how you can't light a candle without the presence of oxygen?"
"Oxy-what?" That was Fred.
"Never mind. What if the pumpkin juice is perfectly fine? What if the poison's in something else, and pumpkin juice activates the poison? Without the pumpkin juice, the poison's inert. But with it..." She gestured at Ginny.
"You think someone from the team did this?" spluttered the same Chaser who'd muttered under her breath.
Hermione sighed. "No, Katie, I think all or some of you must have touched or eaten something that's been tampered with."
"That could be anything!" said Angelina. "How would we even know when we find it?"
Ginny, who had propped herself up in a sitting position, surveyed the room with a critical eye.
"For one, I know this is what half of you are thinking, but I don't think Ruby did it. And the answer to your question, Angelina, is probably right under our noses."
A/N: I'm not a fan of sports and never watch them (hence why I dread and avoid writing Quidditch scenes and write them for the POV of Ruby who also is not super into sports), so I hope Lee's commentary sounds realistic.