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Hogwarts, and not much else.
The weather has taken a cold swing, and my apartment has taken it to. Today, the ground-level temperature hovers at 61.5 degrees. Shiver!
I've been packing steadily, such that three boxes are now done, and one of them has been shipped. It's very expensive, but I remind myself that, mathematically, it's not that bad - each box contains approx. 60 books. Each book cost about $2 each, on average. Shipping is about $120 per box. That means that, in the end, I got all these wonderful Japanese books for $4 each - still about half the going price in the States. It doesn't help my bank account balance, but it does make the blow of paying $120 to move one box less painful.
Today's entry is very long. I actually wrote relatively little today, but I ended up doing another hour last night, and decided not to post it at the time. Writing these scenes has been very difficult. It's funny; I can make up events that I don't remember very well or that didn't happen but are necessary for story continuity very easily, but this entry has a very different problem. I was so busy playing first Maeve and then Maude Weasley that I wasn't playing Delia for the majority of this entry, and some how it's MUCH harder to fabricate and retell scenes that I perceived from a different point of view than it is to just make shit up. Odd, that. :)
The Hogshead – which today is rather run down and unpleasant, having been supplanted by the newer and more agreeable Three Broomsticks – was then the only tavern in town, and did a rousing business all of the time, and the more so when students had access to the town. Marcus and I waited a full half an hour for a table to be free, but we were lucky when one did free up. We were placed in a corner, with a Christmas tree giving us privacy, yet the table was still close to the fire place, so it was comfortably warm. We sat, Kate curled up in Marcus’ lap, we placed our orders, and, for a moment, we both seemed to be at loss of what to do or say next.
We both started to laugh. Seeing the other laughing, we laughed even more, and we didn’t stop until a barman set down our butterbeers, eyeing us both as if we were lunatics. “Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” I said, breathless, wiping tears from my eyes, “I suppose all that remains is to exchange presents.” I passed him the box. He, meanwhile, passed me a small package that was surprisingly heavy. And once again we stared at each other.
“You first,” we said simultaneously.
“Why don’t we open them at the same time?” asked Marcus, sipping his butterbeer. This agreed on, then, we did so at once.
My package contained a glass jar which was, adorably, shaped like a heart. The jar was tightly sealed with cork and wax, and inside was a pale blue powder. I looked at it for a moment, and noticed that every once and a while it seemed to glitter in the light. With my compendious knowledge of potions and their ingredients, I realized what it was, and nearly dropped the bottle I was so shocked. Powdered gryphon scales! I glanced at Marcus – who was examining the box as if unsure how to open it – and wondered if he knew how much these were worth. Then I thought that was a silly thought, and was horrified that he had spent so very much on me. Gryphons were rare, and they shed scales only rarely, and gathering the scales was dangerous. Add in the powdered scales were a key thickening agent in many potions, and it becomes clear why they are so highly valued. And I now possessed an entire jar of them! I was thrilled, and immediately worried that my own gift would not please as much. I looked at him, worried, and saw him, looking at me, worried. “I love it!” I exclaimed, and he looked relieved. The box was still unopened.
At my slightly insistent look, Marcus opened the box, and whistled through his teeth. He lifted the gun out carefully. “This is that weapon the muggles use,” he sounded impressed, “the one that shoots pain bolts.”
“A gun,” I supplied. “It shoots bullets – they’re in the leather case.”
“But I don’t know how to use it,” he didn’t sound disappointed, though, he sounded intrigued.
“I can show you,” and I winked, “this one doesn’t work like others do.” As I said that, he noticed the runes that I had acid-etched in to the barrel, and his eyes went wide.
“Did you do this?” he asked, astonished. I nodded, enthusiastically. “Wow.”
He held up the revolver and examined it at different angles. Now that I knew he liked it, I had my own question to ask. “How did you get them?” I burst.
“Huh?” he set the gun down. “Oh! Of course. Well, it was a funny thing, Professor Singh found himself raising a whole litter of young gryphons. And he enlisted me to help. They’re adorable, but…violent. Anyway, they shed constantly while they’re growing, and I knew what an important reagent the scales are, and I thought that, given the difficulties of aiding the Professor, it would not be unreasonable for me to take the scales. He concurred, and there you have them!” He blushed slightly, and smiled hesitantly. “You really like them?”
“Oh, yes! I suppose it might be hard for someone who doesn’t feel as I do about potions to truly understand the delight I have, but believe me, there is a great deal of delight.” And we smiled warmly (an outside observer might have used the word “sickeningly”) at each other.
We enjoyed the rest of our meal in relative quiet, with dopey smiles and puppy dog eyes, and after we were finished we left the Hogshead, and we – still strolling – went to a deserted spot where I could demonstrate what the revolver did. Once he saw that, he was much more interested in the revolver even than he had been, and I was gratified. He asked if I could show him how to enchant, too.
The rest of the day passed, thankfully, in peace. I was dreading that at any moment something would happen, someone would need one or the other of us, and we’d lose this precious time, the last time we would have before the following semester. We parted after dinner both hugely content, heaping thanks on the other for our gifts, and comparing our schedules. Smaller and smaller amounts of time were starting to seem adequate, as long as they had the pleasure of at least seeing each other. (And I feel that I should emphasize that those stolen moments truly were that innocent. How young we were!)
If I had thought that time before the holidays – all 5 days that remained! – would be uneventful, though, I was as shocked as the rest of the school when they turned out not to be. Indeed, I had the peculiar pleasure of being one of the people, one of the few, present when the event took place on Monday.
Auror Weasley had, since the arrest of Professor Tremens’, remained in the school. She mostly stormed around being a bother, in truth. I didn’t think very much of her, and that was one of the nicest reactions I had encountered. I tolerated her almost entirely because she seemed to make the Headmaster happy. In addition to monitoring student activity, helping with detentions, overseeing the prefects, and any other job she could find herself, she also sometimes came to watch professors while they were working. Furthermore, she had taken over Professor Tremens’ classes in her absence, which meant that she taught Charms. Automata, which the professor knew nothing about, had been suspended until a new teacher could be found.
I myself was in the lower level charms class, being of course quite poor at them. My classmates included Reginald, Fred, Elena, Lydia Malfoy, and Galatea, among a number of others. That day, we were learning “petrificus totalus.” When Elena, quietly, pointed out that this wasn’t really a charm, all she got in reply was a very stern look, and so we all set about practicing the wand motion. However, no one wanted to volunteer to be struck by the spell. Finally, Auror Weasley got so frustrated that she stormed over to Reginald. “You, boy, you know the counterspell, right?” he nodded, petrified about being put on the spot. “Good. Cast the spell on me. That way, everyone will see that there is nothing to worry about, and we can get on with the lesson.” The whole thing was said quickly, in a waspish, irritated tone.
Reginald was clearly terrified. His wand hand was shaking. He was about to attack a teacher, but was it really the wrong thing to do if the teacher had ordered him to do it? His lip trembled as he worked up the nerve. The first time he tried, he stumbled over the words so badly that nothing happened at all. “Oh, for heavens sake,” exclaimed Auror Weasley. She seized his hand, held it steady, and made the motions for him. “You have it?”
He nodded, set his jaw, steadied his hand, and, as firmly as he could manage – he only quavered slightly – he said, “Petrificus Totallus!” …and Auror Weasley was petrified!
With that done, of course, he immediately cast the counter, which was simply “Sullatot Sucifirtep,” and he was much steadier. And nothing happened. He tried it again, but he was shaking again, and still nothing happened. Fred, who had been partnered with him for work, tried it, and nothing happened. Hesitantly, she approached the Auror, who had fallen onto cushions laid out for the purpose. She tried the spell again. And bent down over her. And then she screamed.
“Auror Weasley…Auror Weasley is dead!” she screamed.
“What did you DO?” demanded Lydia Malfoy of Reginald.
“Nothing, nothing,” he stammered.
“Right.” I snapped. “I’m going to get the Headmaster.”
“I didn’t do anything,” squeaked Reginald.
“I know that,” I replied, “we all saw what you did. No one leave, I’ll be back soon.”
I ran.
The Headmaster ran too, more flustered and upset than I had ever seen him. He assessed the scene in a hurry, and glanced at me. “Ms. Prince,” he said, his voice sounding shaky, “I am certain that you had no part in this, so please gather the Prefects and the Head Boy, and have the students assembled in the Great Hall before rumors can start. I will undertake the investigation myself. And inform the other teachers.”
It was all done as he said. The students were all talking in hushed tones, wondering what had happened, wondering where those who were missing were. I had hastily explained to the teachers, and to Marcus, but no one else had any inkling of the truth. As such, as it always does, rumors flew wildly every which way, not a one of them close to the mark. Minutes after everyone was assembled, and Professor Lestrange had taken command of the situation in her usual brusque way, forcing the rumors down to so soft a tone that she couldn’t hear them, there was another commotion. The doors, which had just been secured, were being pounded on. Marcus, who was standing before them, looked at Professor Lestrange.
“Open them,” she snapped. And he did so.
Professor Tremens’ came sweeping in to the room, followed by…Auror Weasley! I gasped, and it sounded very loud in the quiet Great Hall. “Yes!” exclaimed the Professor, misunderstanding, “my sentence has been suspended, I’ve been freed! And it’s all thanks to this wonderful woman,” she threw her arm around Auror Weasley, and hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. And then I realized, feeling very dull, that if it was Auror Weasley, she had grown her hair a foot and changed clothing, changed in to an outfit unlike anything she had ever worn around the castle. The Auror always wore full robes. This woman was dressed in a strange assembly of wizarding items and muggle things, and looked quite…well, the nicest thing I could call it was odd.
I took all of that in in a moment, and then went to the Professor; the other members of my house had all gotten up to. We all loved our head of house, and Professor Lestrange – though coughing her disapproval – did not stop us from celebrating cheerfully. I couldn’t do it for more than a moment, though, for I knew what had happened, and so I edged up to the stranger, and in the hubbub I asked her quietly, “are you Auror Weasley’s sister?”
She smiled happily. “Oh, you recognize me!” I nearly choked. They were almost identical! “Yes, Maeve is my twin, I’m Maude! Is my sister about?”
I looked at her very steadily, and then glanced towards Professor Lestrange. She was tut-tutting the noise. I switched to Professor Tremens’, but she was absorbed in her welcome. And so I edged over to Marcus, who was guiding the door. “I need to go out,” I said. He nodded, and I went back to Maude Weasley. “Can you come with me? I’ll explain as we go.” She nodded a bit more solemnly, seeming to catch my tone. We snuck out, mostly unnoticed, and I walked hurriedly towards the classroom where I knew the interrogation of my classmates was being conducted.
Though I had gained a lot of varied experiences in recent months, I had learned nothing that could help me figure out how to tell a woman that her sister had just been murdered, and that I was taking her to the scene. I felt awful, awful about what happened, awful for this poor clueless woman, awful for Headmaster Nigellus. But I had to say something. “Ms. Weasley?” I asked hesitantly.
“Yes?” she smiled very pleasantly. Her personality was like day to Auror Weasley’s night.
“I…I have some bad news to tell you.”
“Oh? Has my sister already left? Tsk, what a pity! Well, she’s always in a hurry to go somewhere, but I had so hoped to see her today, she had assured me she would be at Hogwarts as long as that man Nox was here…”
“No, no, she didn’t leave, she…” all I could do was say it, right? “Earlier to do, she was teaching the Charms class, and she died.” I felt like an insensitive wretch.
“Well, no wonder she left,” dithered Ms. Weasley, “she did always hate teaching! La, when I see her, I’ll tell her that she can come back, she doesn’t have to teach now that Icaria is back, and…” she paused, and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Wait, what did you say?”
I swallowed hard. “She just…just died,” I stuttered lamely. “I was there, and I didn’t understand it, either. Reginald just cast ‘petrificus totallus’ on her – she had ordered him to do so – and when he cast the counterspell, it didn’t work, because she was…she was…Oh!! I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, all my misery apparent in my tone.
“No,” she said softly, and she wasn’t babbling or silly any more, “you don’t need to apologize, child, you’ve done nothing wrong. I daresay this boy, Reginald, hasn’t done anything wrong, either. It’s good that I’m here, I can help poor Phinneas, he’ll be terribly upset.”
“Yes,” I said, still miserable, “he was – is. Well, we’re here. This is where it happened, and Headmaster Nigellus is inside, along with the students who were in the class, other than me.”
“Thank you,” she said solemnly to me, and I opened the door for her. I needed to get back to the Great Hall without too much notice, so I didn’t go in, but I caught a glimpse of the Headmaster looming over Reginald, who was cowering in a chair, by himself, in the middle of the room, as I closed the door behind Ms. Weasley. I hadn’t liked Auror Weasley much, truly, but it was still so very sad that I wished none of it had happened.
I hurried back to the Great Hall through the twisting corridors of the school. It was eerily quiet. Night was falling – early, for it was nearly the solstice – and though the torches that lit the hallways were springing to life, they still seemed like isolated islands of yellow in a sea of grays. With all of the students and staff assembled, there was not another living soul in the halls, and I found myself hurrying just to escape the creepy sense of emptiness. One of the suits of armor – wreathed in a garland strung with bright red berries which seemed a washed out ocher color in the twilight – turned and waved to me merrily, but even this could not alleviate the oppressiveness of the castle. Murder had been done, and I was alone in deserted corridors. I ran.
I was puffing as I arrived on the brightly lit stretch before the Great Hall, and it dawned on me that I had a problem. How was I to sneak back in with the doors guarded? Perhaps if I tapped lightly, Marcus would hear? Assuming he was still the one before the doors. I walked slowly towards the doors…and realized I had nothing to worry about it. Marcus now stood sentry outside them, instead. He saw me, and waved, showing no sign of being affected by the atmosphere that had frightened me so. “Professor Lestrange asked me to make sure we would not be surprised again,” he explained. “Is the lady alright?”
“As well as could be expected,” I replied sadly. “Auror Weasley was her twin sister.” He nodded expressively.
We stood silently for a few minutes, Marcus holding my hand but saying nothing, and then he sighed. “I would like your company; there is something about tonight…” he shook his head. At least it wasn’t just me! “Professor Tremens’ was asking where you were, she said she wanted to thank you for something, though she didn’t say what.”
“Probably to do with the key,” I replied. He agreed, and opened the door enough for me to dart in to the Great Hall.
Things were very much as I had left them, though everyone was back at their tables now. The Ravenclaws – and a few students from other houses who were partial to Automata or Charms – were huddled in a babbling mass around the Professor, who was conducting the whole affair like a queen among her subjects, though a very gracious and kind queen. The students at the other tables talked quietly amongst themselves, occasionally moving around. Professor Lestrange stood before the staff table, arms folded under her breast, look furiously at the whole lot, but she could hardly shush the students from other houses while the Ravenclaws were still so boisterous, and Professor Tremens’ made no effort whatsoever to keep them quiet. Professor Lestrange must have been getting more and more angry the whole time; when I’d left she had been looking daggers, but now she looked like she’d swallowed a lemon.
I was moving towards the cluster of my housemates when one of the Lunari’s came up to me. “What’s going down?” she asked.
“I…I’m sure it will be announced soon enough,” I said softly. “If Professor Lestrange hasn’t announced it yet, it’s not my place to do so.”
“Come on,” she joked, “you can tell me!”
“No, I really shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”
She looked at me, shocked, perhaps that I was following the rules so assiduously, and then left, soundlessly shaking her head in wonder.
Professor Tremens’ greeted me warmly, hugged me aggressively, thanked me for me help with “you know what,” and was generally cheerful and thrilled and happy. She didn’t talk about being in the prison, though a few students asked. It was a reasonable curiosity; set on island – though no one knew where the island was – Azkaban was a solid fortress. No one had ever escaped from it, and very few people ever left it. Only those sentenced to life in jail ever went there, others were held in less secure facilities. It was supposedly grim, and it always rained, and people were worked to death doing menial, pointless tasks, or died of boredom, or starvation. But all anyone really knew were rumors. She deflected attempts to gain more solid intelligence, though, saying that it was awful and that none of us should have to worry about such things, and then went right on with her effervescence.
The minutes seemed to crawl by but, at length, the doors swung open and Headmaster Nigellus, Ms. Weasley at his side, came in to the Great Hall, with the students he had been questioning trailing behind. A buzz of talk filled the room.
“I will have silence,” and quiet fell immediately. People talked of Headmaster Nigellus’ temper, and they talked of his strictness, and we had all heard him command the student body in a tone of voice that shouted the punishment to any who didn’t listen, but none of us had heard him sound like this. He was perfectly quiet, and perfectly calm, and his tone brooked no refusal. The silence was absolute as the students who had followed him went to their tables. The Ravenclaws and other admirers around Professor Tremens’ took their seats, and the Headmaster walked to stand beside Professor Lestrange, and the only sound was the rustle of robes and scraping of shoes across the stone floor.
Lestrange moved aside, and the Headmaster took her place, commanding the attention of the entire room. “At 2:13 this afternoon, Auror Maeve Weasley died while teaching the beginning Charms class in the West Wing,” he glared for a moment at Reginald, who was already white as a sheet and who now blanched somehow even further. “She was poisoned. The Ministry of Magic has been contacted and is sending Auror’s to investigate this crime. They will arrive shortly and commence questioning each and every one of you, at which point you will be permitted to leave the hall. Until then, you will sit silently, you will not move, you will not whisper, you will wait. Any student who violates these injunctions will spend a very long time regretting it.” And he took his seat, sat still as a statue, Maude Weasley stood behind him just as still, and we all waited, and not a sound was heard.
I've been packing steadily, such that three boxes are now done, and one of them has been shipped. It's very expensive, but I remind myself that, mathematically, it's not that bad - each box contains approx. 60 books. Each book cost about $2 each, on average. Shipping is about $120 per box. That means that, in the end, I got all these wonderful Japanese books for $4 each - still about half the going price in the States. It doesn't help my bank account balance, but it does make the blow of paying $120 to move one box less painful.
Today's entry is very long. I actually wrote relatively little today, but I ended up doing another hour last night, and decided not to post it at the time. Writing these scenes has been very difficult. It's funny; I can make up events that I don't remember very well or that didn't happen but are necessary for story continuity very easily, but this entry has a very different problem. I was so busy playing first Maeve and then Maude Weasley that I wasn't playing Delia for the majority of this entry, and some how it's MUCH harder to fabricate and retell scenes that I perceived from a different point of view than it is to just make shit up. Odd, that. :)
The Hogshead – which today is rather run down and unpleasant, having been supplanted by the newer and more agreeable Three Broomsticks – was then the only tavern in town, and did a rousing business all of the time, and the more so when students had access to the town. Marcus and I waited a full half an hour for a table to be free, but we were lucky when one did free up. We were placed in a corner, with a Christmas tree giving us privacy, yet the table was still close to the fire place, so it was comfortably warm. We sat, Kate curled up in Marcus’ lap, we placed our orders, and, for a moment, we both seemed to be at loss of what to do or say next.
We both started to laugh. Seeing the other laughing, we laughed even more, and we didn’t stop until a barman set down our butterbeers, eyeing us both as if we were lunatics. “Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” I said, breathless, wiping tears from my eyes, “I suppose all that remains is to exchange presents.” I passed him the box. He, meanwhile, passed me a small package that was surprisingly heavy. And once again we stared at each other.
“You first,” we said simultaneously.
“Why don’t we open them at the same time?” asked Marcus, sipping his butterbeer. This agreed on, then, we did so at once.
My package contained a glass jar which was, adorably, shaped like a heart. The jar was tightly sealed with cork and wax, and inside was a pale blue powder. I looked at it for a moment, and noticed that every once and a while it seemed to glitter in the light. With my compendious knowledge of potions and their ingredients, I realized what it was, and nearly dropped the bottle I was so shocked. Powdered gryphon scales! I glanced at Marcus – who was examining the box as if unsure how to open it – and wondered if he knew how much these were worth. Then I thought that was a silly thought, and was horrified that he had spent so very much on me. Gryphons were rare, and they shed scales only rarely, and gathering the scales was dangerous. Add in the powdered scales were a key thickening agent in many potions, and it becomes clear why they are so highly valued. And I now possessed an entire jar of them! I was thrilled, and immediately worried that my own gift would not please as much. I looked at him, worried, and saw him, looking at me, worried. “I love it!” I exclaimed, and he looked relieved. The box was still unopened.
At my slightly insistent look, Marcus opened the box, and whistled through his teeth. He lifted the gun out carefully. “This is that weapon the muggles use,” he sounded impressed, “the one that shoots pain bolts.”
“A gun,” I supplied. “It shoots bullets – they’re in the leather case.”
“But I don’t know how to use it,” he didn’t sound disappointed, though, he sounded intrigued.
“I can show you,” and I winked, “this one doesn’t work like others do.” As I said that, he noticed the runes that I had acid-etched in to the barrel, and his eyes went wide.
“Did you do this?” he asked, astonished. I nodded, enthusiastically. “Wow.”
He held up the revolver and examined it at different angles. Now that I knew he liked it, I had my own question to ask. “How did you get them?” I burst.
“Huh?” he set the gun down. “Oh! Of course. Well, it was a funny thing, Professor Singh found himself raising a whole litter of young gryphons. And he enlisted me to help. They’re adorable, but…violent. Anyway, they shed constantly while they’re growing, and I knew what an important reagent the scales are, and I thought that, given the difficulties of aiding the Professor, it would not be unreasonable for me to take the scales. He concurred, and there you have them!” He blushed slightly, and smiled hesitantly. “You really like them?”
“Oh, yes! I suppose it might be hard for someone who doesn’t feel as I do about potions to truly understand the delight I have, but believe me, there is a great deal of delight.” And we smiled warmly (an outside observer might have used the word “sickeningly”) at each other.
We enjoyed the rest of our meal in relative quiet, with dopey smiles and puppy dog eyes, and after we were finished we left the Hogshead, and we – still strolling – went to a deserted spot where I could demonstrate what the revolver did. Once he saw that, he was much more interested in the revolver even than he had been, and I was gratified. He asked if I could show him how to enchant, too.
The rest of the day passed, thankfully, in peace. I was dreading that at any moment something would happen, someone would need one or the other of us, and we’d lose this precious time, the last time we would have before the following semester. We parted after dinner both hugely content, heaping thanks on the other for our gifts, and comparing our schedules. Smaller and smaller amounts of time were starting to seem adequate, as long as they had the pleasure of at least seeing each other. (And I feel that I should emphasize that those stolen moments truly were that innocent. How young we were!)
If I had thought that time before the holidays – all 5 days that remained! – would be uneventful, though, I was as shocked as the rest of the school when they turned out not to be. Indeed, I had the peculiar pleasure of being one of the people, one of the few, present when the event took place on Monday.
Auror Weasley had, since the arrest of Professor Tremens’, remained in the school. She mostly stormed around being a bother, in truth. I didn’t think very much of her, and that was one of the nicest reactions I had encountered. I tolerated her almost entirely because she seemed to make the Headmaster happy. In addition to monitoring student activity, helping with detentions, overseeing the prefects, and any other job she could find herself, she also sometimes came to watch professors while they were working. Furthermore, she had taken over Professor Tremens’ classes in her absence, which meant that she taught Charms. Automata, which the professor knew nothing about, had been suspended until a new teacher could be found.
I myself was in the lower level charms class, being of course quite poor at them. My classmates included Reginald, Fred, Elena, Lydia Malfoy, and Galatea, among a number of others. That day, we were learning “petrificus totalus.” When Elena, quietly, pointed out that this wasn’t really a charm, all she got in reply was a very stern look, and so we all set about practicing the wand motion. However, no one wanted to volunteer to be struck by the spell. Finally, Auror Weasley got so frustrated that she stormed over to Reginald. “You, boy, you know the counterspell, right?” he nodded, petrified about being put on the spot. “Good. Cast the spell on me. That way, everyone will see that there is nothing to worry about, and we can get on with the lesson.” The whole thing was said quickly, in a waspish, irritated tone.
Reginald was clearly terrified. His wand hand was shaking. He was about to attack a teacher, but was it really the wrong thing to do if the teacher had ordered him to do it? His lip trembled as he worked up the nerve. The first time he tried, he stumbled over the words so badly that nothing happened at all. “Oh, for heavens sake,” exclaimed Auror Weasley. She seized his hand, held it steady, and made the motions for him. “You have it?”
He nodded, set his jaw, steadied his hand, and, as firmly as he could manage – he only quavered slightly – he said, “Petrificus Totallus!” …and Auror Weasley was petrified!
With that done, of course, he immediately cast the counter, which was simply “Sullatot Sucifirtep,” and he was much steadier. And nothing happened. He tried it again, but he was shaking again, and still nothing happened. Fred, who had been partnered with him for work, tried it, and nothing happened. Hesitantly, she approached the Auror, who had fallen onto cushions laid out for the purpose. She tried the spell again. And bent down over her. And then she screamed.
“Auror Weasley…Auror Weasley is dead!” she screamed.
“What did you DO?” demanded Lydia Malfoy of Reginald.
“Nothing, nothing,” he stammered.
“Right.” I snapped. “I’m going to get the Headmaster.”
“I didn’t do anything,” squeaked Reginald.
“I know that,” I replied, “we all saw what you did. No one leave, I’ll be back soon.”
I ran.
The Headmaster ran too, more flustered and upset than I had ever seen him. He assessed the scene in a hurry, and glanced at me. “Ms. Prince,” he said, his voice sounding shaky, “I am certain that you had no part in this, so please gather the Prefects and the Head Boy, and have the students assembled in the Great Hall before rumors can start. I will undertake the investigation myself. And inform the other teachers.”
It was all done as he said. The students were all talking in hushed tones, wondering what had happened, wondering where those who were missing were. I had hastily explained to the teachers, and to Marcus, but no one else had any inkling of the truth. As such, as it always does, rumors flew wildly every which way, not a one of them close to the mark. Minutes after everyone was assembled, and Professor Lestrange had taken command of the situation in her usual brusque way, forcing the rumors down to so soft a tone that she couldn’t hear them, there was another commotion. The doors, which had just been secured, were being pounded on. Marcus, who was standing before them, looked at Professor Lestrange.
“Open them,” she snapped. And he did so.
Professor Tremens’ came sweeping in to the room, followed by…Auror Weasley! I gasped, and it sounded very loud in the quiet Great Hall. “Yes!” exclaimed the Professor, misunderstanding, “my sentence has been suspended, I’ve been freed! And it’s all thanks to this wonderful woman,” she threw her arm around Auror Weasley, and hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. And then I realized, feeling very dull, that if it was Auror Weasley, she had grown her hair a foot and changed clothing, changed in to an outfit unlike anything she had ever worn around the castle. The Auror always wore full robes. This woman was dressed in a strange assembly of wizarding items and muggle things, and looked quite…well, the nicest thing I could call it was odd.
I took all of that in in a moment, and then went to the Professor; the other members of my house had all gotten up to. We all loved our head of house, and Professor Lestrange – though coughing her disapproval – did not stop us from celebrating cheerfully. I couldn’t do it for more than a moment, though, for I knew what had happened, and so I edged up to the stranger, and in the hubbub I asked her quietly, “are you Auror Weasley’s sister?”
She smiled happily. “Oh, you recognize me!” I nearly choked. They were almost identical! “Yes, Maeve is my twin, I’m Maude! Is my sister about?”
I looked at her very steadily, and then glanced towards Professor Lestrange. She was tut-tutting the noise. I switched to Professor Tremens’, but she was absorbed in her welcome. And so I edged over to Marcus, who was guiding the door. “I need to go out,” I said. He nodded, and I went back to Maude Weasley. “Can you come with me? I’ll explain as we go.” She nodded a bit more solemnly, seeming to catch my tone. We snuck out, mostly unnoticed, and I walked hurriedly towards the classroom where I knew the interrogation of my classmates was being conducted.
Though I had gained a lot of varied experiences in recent months, I had learned nothing that could help me figure out how to tell a woman that her sister had just been murdered, and that I was taking her to the scene. I felt awful, awful about what happened, awful for this poor clueless woman, awful for Headmaster Nigellus. But I had to say something. “Ms. Weasley?” I asked hesitantly.
“Yes?” she smiled very pleasantly. Her personality was like day to Auror Weasley’s night.
“I…I have some bad news to tell you.”
“Oh? Has my sister already left? Tsk, what a pity! Well, she’s always in a hurry to go somewhere, but I had so hoped to see her today, she had assured me she would be at Hogwarts as long as that man Nox was here…”
“No, no, she didn’t leave, she…” all I could do was say it, right? “Earlier to do, she was teaching the Charms class, and she died.” I felt like an insensitive wretch.
“Well, no wonder she left,” dithered Ms. Weasley, “she did always hate teaching! La, when I see her, I’ll tell her that she can come back, she doesn’t have to teach now that Icaria is back, and…” she paused, and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Wait, what did you say?”
I swallowed hard. “She just…just died,” I stuttered lamely. “I was there, and I didn’t understand it, either. Reginald just cast ‘petrificus totallus’ on her – she had ordered him to do so – and when he cast the counterspell, it didn’t work, because she was…she was…Oh!! I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, all my misery apparent in my tone.
“No,” she said softly, and she wasn’t babbling or silly any more, “you don’t need to apologize, child, you’ve done nothing wrong. I daresay this boy, Reginald, hasn’t done anything wrong, either. It’s good that I’m here, I can help poor Phinneas, he’ll be terribly upset.”
“Yes,” I said, still miserable, “he was – is. Well, we’re here. This is where it happened, and Headmaster Nigellus is inside, along with the students who were in the class, other than me.”
“Thank you,” she said solemnly to me, and I opened the door for her. I needed to get back to the Great Hall without too much notice, so I didn’t go in, but I caught a glimpse of the Headmaster looming over Reginald, who was cowering in a chair, by himself, in the middle of the room, as I closed the door behind Ms. Weasley. I hadn’t liked Auror Weasley much, truly, but it was still so very sad that I wished none of it had happened.
I hurried back to the Great Hall through the twisting corridors of the school. It was eerily quiet. Night was falling – early, for it was nearly the solstice – and though the torches that lit the hallways were springing to life, they still seemed like isolated islands of yellow in a sea of grays. With all of the students and staff assembled, there was not another living soul in the halls, and I found myself hurrying just to escape the creepy sense of emptiness. One of the suits of armor – wreathed in a garland strung with bright red berries which seemed a washed out ocher color in the twilight – turned and waved to me merrily, but even this could not alleviate the oppressiveness of the castle. Murder had been done, and I was alone in deserted corridors. I ran.
I was puffing as I arrived on the brightly lit stretch before the Great Hall, and it dawned on me that I had a problem. How was I to sneak back in with the doors guarded? Perhaps if I tapped lightly, Marcus would hear? Assuming he was still the one before the doors. I walked slowly towards the doors…and realized I had nothing to worry about it. Marcus now stood sentry outside them, instead. He saw me, and waved, showing no sign of being affected by the atmosphere that had frightened me so. “Professor Lestrange asked me to make sure we would not be surprised again,” he explained. “Is the lady alright?”
“As well as could be expected,” I replied sadly. “Auror Weasley was her twin sister.” He nodded expressively.
We stood silently for a few minutes, Marcus holding my hand but saying nothing, and then he sighed. “I would like your company; there is something about tonight…” he shook his head. At least it wasn’t just me! “Professor Tremens’ was asking where you were, she said she wanted to thank you for something, though she didn’t say what.”
“Probably to do with the key,” I replied. He agreed, and opened the door enough for me to dart in to the Great Hall.
Things were very much as I had left them, though everyone was back at their tables now. The Ravenclaws – and a few students from other houses who were partial to Automata or Charms – were huddled in a babbling mass around the Professor, who was conducting the whole affair like a queen among her subjects, though a very gracious and kind queen. The students at the other tables talked quietly amongst themselves, occasionally moving around. Professor Lestrange stood before the staff table, arms folded under her breast, look furiously at the whole lot, but she could hardly shush the students from other houses while the Ravenclaws were still so boisterous, and Professor Tremens’ made no effort whatsoever to keep them quiet. Professor Lestrange must have been getting more and more angry the whole time; when I’d left she had been looking daggers, but now she looked like she’d swallowed a lemon.
I was moving towards the cluster of my housemates when one of the Lunari’s came up to me. “What’s going down?” she asked.
“I…I’m sure it will be announced soon enough,” I said softly. “If Professor Lestrange hasn’t announced it yet, it’s not my place to do so.”
“Come on,” she joked, “you can tell me!”
“No, I really shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”
She looked at me, shocked, perhaps that I was following the rules so assiduously, and then left, soundlessly shaking her head in wonder.
Professor Tremens’ greeted me warmly, hugged me aggressively, thanked me for me help with “you know what,” and was generally cheerful and thrilled and happy. She didn’t talk about being in the prison, though a few students asked. It was a reasonable curiosity; set on island – though no one knew where the island was – Azkaban was a solid fortress. No one had ever escaped from it, and very few people ever left it. Only those sentenced to life in jail ever went there, others were held in less secure facilities. It was supposedly grim, and it always rained, and people were worked to death doing menial, pointless tasks, or died of boredom, or starvation. But all anyone really knew were rumors. She deflected attempts to gain more solid intelligence, though, saying that it was awful and that none of us should have to worry about such things, and then went right on with her effervescence.
The minutes seemed to crawl by but, at length, the doors swung open and Headmaster Nigellus, Ms. Weasley at his side, came in to the Great Hall, with the students he had been questioning trailing behind. A buzz of talk filled the room.
“I will have silence,” and quiet fell immediately. People talked of Headmaster Nigellus’ temper, and they talked of his strictness, and we had all heard him command the student body in a tone of voice that shouted the punishment to any who didn’t listen, but none of us had heard him sound like this. He was perfectly quiet, and perfectly calm, and his tone brooked no refusal. The silence was absolute as the students who had followed him went to their tables. The Ravenclaws and other admirers around Professor Tremens’ took their seats, and the Headmaster walked to stand beside Professor Lestrange, and the only sound was the rustle of robes and scraping of shoes across the stone floor.
Lestrange moved aside, and the Headmaster took her place, commanding the attention of the entire room. “At 2:13 this afternoon, Auror Maeve Weasley died while teaching the beginning Charms class in the West Wing,” he glared for a moment at Reginald, who was already white as a sheet and who now blanched somehow even further. “She was poisoned. The Ministry of Magic has been contacted and is sending Auror’s to investigate this crime. They will arrive shortly and commence questioning each and every one of you, at which point you will be permitted to leave the hall. Until then, you will sit silently, you will not move, you will not whisper, you will wait. Any student who violates these injunctions will spend a very long time regretting it.” And he took his seat, sat still as a statue, Maude Weasley stood behind him just as still, and we all waited, and not a sound was heard.