‹ Prequel: Hand Me Downs.
Loonar
Fluffy
I forced myself to cheer up over the next couple of days. I had my detention with Umbridge set for Friday evening so was pushing that out of my mind for the time being. Instead, I was a bit more enthusiastically this time, throwing myself into my lessons and homework.
As it was, for the short period of time before Professor Burbage set any more I was homework free, much to Dale's disgust. He was squashed next to me, trying to manically jot down some bits for his already late work for Hagrid's cover – Professor Grubby Plank. He dodged Burbage's eye and jammed it further under the desk. Across the room Antonia Ambrose rolls her eyes and grabs her quill, jotting down the title on the blackboard. Muggle Studies was a class Dale and I had both picked purely because it was an easy option for us. I know that's bad, but we certainly weren't alone.
Smithy was sat on my other side, paying about as much attention as his roommate. I think the majority of the small class were muggle born or had at least grown up in a very muggle world like myself. That didn't mean it wasn't really interesting, much more than I had thought. To see things from such a different perspective, how the wizarding community had watched technology change around them yet remained mostly ambivalent about it was fascinating....some of the time.
The three of us had been taking it since third year, as soon as it was an option. Ryan liked to comment ever so often about us essentially cheating but soon cheered up whenever we were set a horrendously long set of essays, which happened termly. Professor Burbage brought the class to an end just before the chime of the bell, sensing that it had been a very long morning so far. As all sixth years had double defence against the dark arts, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw first two periods, with Hufflepuff and Slytherin after the break, she was far from wrong.
“No extra work today, but please finish reading that chapter on the 'Tudor Inheritance'.” She half sang, already distracted by the Newtons Cradle tapping away on her desk. “Can you think of anything else I can add?” Dale demands as soon as we're out of the door, the hallways are quite quiet and I let him drag me, Smithy following faithfully, to an alcove. “I don't do this class,” I whine but drag my eyes over his messy notes. “Dan, do you have any ideas?”
“On what exactly?”
“Nifflers in a modern workforce, focusing on the benefits and disadvantages of using a magical creature.” Dale recites dutifully.
“That sounds thrilling.” He nudges me so I spill into Smithy. “Sorry.” Dale dodges a swipe aimed his way. We bicker back and forth all the way up the hallway, where finally we split. Smithy and I share a grin as Dale finally gives up, scratches his name on the top of the parchment and rolls it poorly. He swears, sighs despondently and I chime, “Have a good Herbology lesson.”
“Not likely,” He's still in a mood and I can see Smithy trying to pull him out of it as they cross the courtyard towards the greenhouses. I instead head to Transfiguration, bumping into Cho and a couple of the others along the way. She looks good today, better but still tired. It comes and goes, and Transfiguration is the only class we share now. Does she have nightmares, even though she wasn't there? I want to ask but don't.
I have enough of my own sometimes.
The thought alone puts me in my own bad mood, and I end up accidentally taking my frustration on the poor chick sat on my desk, swelling it three times its size and turning its beak into a doorknob. McGonagall is watching me. I catch her, and quickly reverse my mistake, apologising to the poor thing. I'm normally alright in Transfiguration. It's not my best subject, that has always been Charms, but I'm blowing this more than ever. I take a few minutes, watching as Aaron perfects the spell.
Ryan kicks me under the desk, “You alright?” He mutters, eyes careful on our teacher. You did not speak out of turn without there being a level of risk in this class. I nod, catching his own chick as it threatens to stumble over the edge of the wood.
It's only a single period luckily, and lunch is a welcome relief. Especially as I have a free afternoon afterwards. Fred and George sit close to us as we eat, grumbling lowly about Umbridge who has decided to grace us all with her presence at the staff table, even in our free time. “There's loads of practical for the NEWTS though aren't there?” I allow, although it only deepens the frown on George's face. “Supposed to be. She reckons enough reading and we'll get it without practice.”
“Not great for people who actually care about exams.” Fred echoes, making a monstrously big sandwich. “You weren't about yesterday when Hermione went off on one.” I'm not upset I'd missed that and tell him so. They smirk, impish and identical. Both of them seem especially happy today, which can only mean they've made some sort of breakthrough. I practically demand, as they're both standing to sneak back to their room before they head off to charms, that they fill me in. Fred winks and tries to ruffle my hair in that annoying way he does. He misses, but Ryan more than makes up for it. The three of them laughing so hard draws several pairs of eyes.
Ryan heads down to meet Dale, who apparently has been huddled with up Matt from Ravenclaw getting his work finally completed. Aaron instead waits for me to finish eating, “Library?” I sigh but agree. McGonagall has set us practising today's task for homework, and we have to make a pit stop to pick up our chicks from her office. Finally, we're seated as far out of the way in the library as can be, “You don't need to practise. You got it after three tries.”
“And we don't have Transfiguration until next Tuesday so I don't want to forget it.” He counters, “Besides,” the puff of yellow chirps, “He's cute.” He sticks out his index finger and the chick pecks it on cue.
“You've named him haven't you?” He shoots me a bashful smile, “We're not going to be able to keep them Aaron, you know that.”
“But look at his little face.” Madam Prince appears and shushes us the instant we start giggling. After several more tries, I can both turn my own chick both invisible (the starter activity) and into a small dollhouse. The door even works, although I feel a little squeamish wondering exactly what part of the chick I'm technically opening up as I close the house up with a small click. An incantation later both birds are back to normal.
“Come on Fluffy.” Aaron sings, opening up the small cage we'd transported them in. I smirk at this, remembering another Fluffy that used to live in this very castle.
The common room is pretty much empty when we get back, only a few of the seventh years and Cormac. He joins us when we sit in our usual chairs and chatters nonsense for what feels like forever. We're as receptive as can be, and thankfully he leaves when some of the others reappear. Ryan and Dale go straight up to shower, they're covered in mud and Ryan looks like he has several scratches on one side of his face.
Finally, what seems like a ridiculously long day ends.
I hadn't managed to properly speak to Fred and George, who were currently going as Gred and Forge again. Although Forge (George) had invited me to sneak to Hogsmeade with them at some point, apparently they needed certain ingredients that they were concerned wouldn't get past Filch.
“We won't get caught, promise.”
“Good.” I stretch, getting off of Lee's bed – the cleanest by far in their small dormitory, “I've already got detention with Umbridge tomorrow. And judging from just how happy Harry seems every time he comes back from it, I'm really looking forward to it.”
“At least it's only for one day, right?” I nod, “And you didn't mention 'you-know-who', that seems to really get her going.”
“I'll bear that in mind.” I huff, wishing them all a good night. George, who reveals his 'secret' identity in a flourish walks back down to the common room with me to grab a forgotten quill. Harry isn't back yet, I note. “Has Angelina calmed down now?” I murmur, keeping my voice low so she doesn't hear me over the fire. George shrugs, “Training isn't going as bad as the first one so she's not as scary.” That was good, I'd been fairly sure when Harry had been set his second week of detentions with Umbridge that she was going to explode right there over breakfast. “Good. The last thing he needs is Angelina all over him.” George makes some noise of agreement.
It both had and hadn't been as bad as I was expecting. I heard comments, and I knew that Seamus was being the worlds biggest tosser and taking the word of the Ministry as gospel. He was even worse than Sarah, and I was all but over her. “Alright, I'm actually going to bed now, night!”
He surprises me with a hug. I return it but get the exact same feeling I had when he was comforting me over Draco. We're not touchy people. It's never been that sort of relationship, far more punches on the shoulder then kisses on the cheek. I feel flushed when he lets me go and say goodnight again before heading up the stairs. Our dormitory is the third from the top, so I don't have that much time to wait for the burning I can feel on my face to go down.
What the hell is going on? It's George, the same old George he's been for six years. Why did I have butterflies? I try and shake it off, best I can.
I eat a quick dinner, feeling all sense of fun ebb out of me as the watch hands on my wrist move further around. “Enjoy yourself,” Leanne says, not unkindly, but with a hint of sarcasm. I pull a face, call Harry's name and leave the table with him.
I'd meant to catch him over lunch and ask exactly what detention with Professor Umbridge consisted of. I asked now, “It's er...” His eyes flicker nervously. “lines....technically.”
“Lines?” I repeat, “Why do you look so uncomfortable if it's lines?” We pass a couple of Slytherin Seventh years, and although I miss what the chubby one mutters under his breath my jaw clenches.
“Leave it Amelia.” Harry sighs, looking despondent.
I'm going through several hundred possibilities of what Umbridge may be doing. Harry has had the bones in his arm removed, been whacked by bludgers, faced Voldemort three times. And he won't even meet my eyes. “What does she do?”
“It is lines.” He walks a few more steps, sinks to a bench in an alcove. “I haven't told anyone other than Ron and Hermione.” Struggling a bit he gestures for me to sit and tugs his overly long sleeve back to his wrist. Words are emblazoned into the back of his hand, scratched in deep like a scar. “I must not tell lies.” I read carefully, keeping my voice level. “Why haven't you told anyone? She can't... that's sick Harry!” Words stumble in my mouth, catch behind my teeth. “She can't do this, there's no chance Dumbledore would allow it...”
He pulls his hand back to his lap, “We don't want to be late, come on.”
I follow him, still arguing, “Come on? So I can let her carve something into me? She can't do it, she's a teacher! Wizard or not, you can't abuse students! Not even Filch would. Speak to McGonagall.”
“So she can get herself fired?” He snaps, and it echoes in the empty corridor. “Umbridge is the high inquisitor now, isn't she? She can get them fired. I don't want anyone losing their job!”
“Harry...”
“I'm not getting anyone else in trouble. Not with stuff like it is already.” He runs his hands through that perpetually messy hair. “I'm not asking you to get it Amelia, I just...”
“If she causes too much trouble, digs too far...” The Order is at risk. That bit lays unsaid but obvious. I try, one last time, “Dumbledore...”
“Has enough on his mind.” He says firmly. I tread over, gently take his cool hand again and look over it.
My stomach is twisting, “Okay.” I breathe, wondering what phrase I'll soon have tormenting me. “Let's not be late then.”
“Thank you.” He holds my gaze as I keep a soft grasp on his hand, an odd expression on his face.
By midnight, Harry's hand is red raw and dripping blood. Mine isn't as bad, one day versus eight. But the words are healing over, scar tissue on the pale, thin skin.
I must act my age.
As it was, for the short period of time before Professor Burbage set any more I was homework free, much to Dale's disgust. He was squashed next to me, trying to manically jot down some bits for his already late work for Hagrid's cover – Professor Grubby Plank. He dodged Burbage's eye and jammed it further under the desk. Across the room Antonia Ambrose rolls her eyes and grabs her quill, jotting down the title on the blackboard. Muggle Studies was a class Dale and I had both picked purely because it was an easy option for us. I know that's bad, but we certainly weren't alone.
Smithy was sat on my other side, paying about as much attention as his roommate. I think the majority of the small class were muggle born or had at least grown up in a very muggle world like myself. That didn't mean it wasn't really interesting, much more than I had thought. To see things from such a different perspective, how the wizarding community had watched technology change around them yet remained mostly ambivalent about it was fascinating....some of the time.
The three of us had been taking it since third year, as soon as it was an option. Ryan liked to comment ever so often about us essentially cheating but soon cheered up whenever we were set a horrendously long set of essays, which happened termly. Professor Burbage brought the class to an end just before the chime of the bell, sensing that it had been a very long morning so far. As all sixth years had double defence against the dark arts, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw first two periods, with Hufflepuff and Slytherin after the break, she was far from wrong.
“No extra work today, but please finish reading that chapter on the 'Tudor Inheritance'.” She half sang, already distracted by the Newtons Cradle tapping away on her desk. “Can you think of anything else I can add?” Dale demands as soon as we're out of the door, the hallways are quite quiet and I let him drag me, Smithy following faithfully, to an alcove. “I don't do this class,” I whine but drag my eyes over his messy notes. “Dan, do you have any ideas?”
“On what exactly?”
“Nifflers in a modern workforce, focusing on the benefits and disadvantages of using a magical creature.” Dale recites dutifully.
“That sounds thrilling.” He nudges me so I spill into Smithy. “Sorry.” Dale dodges a swipe aimed his way. We bicker back and forth all the way up the hallway, where finally we split. Smithy and I share a grin as Dale finally gives up, scratches his name on the top of the parchment and rolls it poorly. He swears, sighs despondently and I chime, “Have a good Herbology lesson.”
“Not likely,” He's still in a mood and I can see Smithy trying to pull him out of it as they cross the courtyard towards the greenhouses. I instead head to Transfiguration, bumping into Cho and a couple of the others along the way. She looks good today, better but still tired. It comes and goes, and Transfiguration is the only class we share now. Does she have nightmares, even though she wasn't there? I want to ask but don't.
I have enough of my own sometimes.
The thought alone puts me in my own bad mood, and I end up accidentally taking my frustration on the poor chick sat on my desk, swelling it three times its size and turning its beak into a doorknob. McGonagall is watching me. I catch her, and quickly reverse my mistake, apologising to the poor thing. I'm normally alright in Transfiguration. It's not my best subject, that has always been Charms, but I'm blowing this more than ever. I take a few minutes, watching as Aaron perfects the spell.
Ryan kicks me under the desk, “You alright?” He mutters, eyes careful on our teacher. You did not speak out of turn without there being a level of risk in this class. I nod, catching his own chick as it threatens to stumble over the edge of the wood.
It's only a single period luckily, and lunch is a welcome relief. Especially as I have a free afternoon afterwards. Fred and George sit close to us as we eat, grumbling lowly about Umbridge who has decided to grace us all with her presence at the staff table, even in our free time. “There's loads of practical for the NEWTS though aren't there?” I allow, although it only deepens the frown on George's face. “Supposed to be. She reckons enough reading and we'll get it without practice.”
“Not great for people who actually care about exams.” Fred echoes, making a monstrously big sandwich. “You weren't about yesterday when Hermione went off on one.” I'm not upset I'd missed that and tell him so. They smirk, impish and identical. Both of them seem especially happy today, which can only mean they've made some sort of breakthrough. I practically demand, as they're both standing to sneak back to their room before they head off to charms, that they fill me in. Fred winks and tries to ruffle my hair in that annoying way he does. He misses, but Ryan more than makes up for it. The three of them laughing so hard draws several pairs of eyes.
Ryan heads down to meet Dale, who apparently has been huddled with up Matt from Ravenclaw getting his work finally completed. Aaron instead waits for me to finish eating, “Library?” I sigh but agree. McGonagall has set us practising today's task for homework, and we have to make a pit stop to pick up our chicks from her office. Finally, we're seated as far out of the way in the library as can be, “You don't need to practise. You got it after three tries.”
“And we don't have Transfiguration until next Tuesday so I don't want to forget it.” He counters, “Besides,” the puff of yellow chirps, “He's cute.” He sticks out his index finger and the chick pecks it on cue.
“You've named him haven't you?” He shoots me a bashful smile, “We're not going to be able to keep them Aaron, you know that.”
“But look at his little face.” Madam Prince appears and shushes us the instant we start giggling. After several more tries, I can both turn my own chick both invisible (the starter activity) and into a small dollhouse. The door even works, although I feel a little squeamish wondering exactly what part of the chick I'm technically opening up as I close the house up with a small click. An incantation later both birds are back to normal.
“Come on Fluffy.” Aaron sings, opening up the small cage we'd transported them in. I smirk at this, remembering another Fluffy that used to live in this very castle.
The common room is pretty much empty when we get back, only a few of the seventh years and Cormac. He joins us when we sit in our usual chairs and chatters nonsense for what feels like forever. We're as receptive as can be, and thankfully he leaves when some of the others reappear. Ryan and Dale go straight up to shower, they're covered in mud and Ryan looks like he has several scratches on one side of his face.
Finally, what seems like a ridiculously long day ends.
_____
I hadn't managed to properly speak to Fred and George, who were currently going as Gred and Forge again. Although Forge (George) had invited me to sneak to Hogsmeade with them at some point, apparently they needed certain ingredients that they were concerned wouldn't get past Filch.
“We won't get caught, promise.”
“Good.” I stretch, getting off of Lee's bed – the cleanest by far in their small dormitory, “I've already got detention with Umbridge tomorrow. And judging from just how happy Harry seems every time he comes back from it, I'm really looking forward to it.”
“At least it's only for one day, right?” I nod, “And you didn't mention 'you-know-who', that seems to really get her going.”
“I'll bear that in mind.” I huff, wishing them all a good night. George, who reveals his 'secret' identity in a flourish walks back down to the common room with me to grab a forgotten quill. Harry isn't back yet, I note. “Has Angelina calmed down now?” I murmur, keeping my voice low so she doesn't hear me over the fire. George shrugs, “Training isn't going as bad as the first one so she's not as scary.” That was good, I'd been fairly sure when Harry had been set his second week of detentions with Umbridge that she was going to explode right there over breakfast. “Good. The last thing he needs is Angelina all over him.” George makes some noise of agreement.
It both had and hadn't been as bad as I was expecting. I heard comments, and I knew that Seamus was being the worlds biggest tosser and taking the word of the Ministry as gospel. He was even worse than Sarah, and I was all but over her. “Alright, I'm actually going to bed now, night!”
He surprises me with a hug. I return it but get the exact same feeling I had when he was comforting me over Draco. We're not touchy people. It's never been that sort of relationship, far more punches on the shoulder then kisses on the cheek. I feel flushed when he lets me go and say goodnight again before heading up the stairs. Our dormitory is the third from the top, so I don't have that much time to wait for the burning I can feel on my face to go down.
What the hell is going on? It's George, the same old George he's been for six years. Why did I have butterflies? I try and shake it off, best I can.
___
I eat a quick dinner, feeling all sense of fun ebb out of me as the watch hands on my wrist move further around. “Enjoy yourself,” Leanne says, not unkindly, but with a hint of sarcasm. I pull a face, call Harry's name and leave the table with him.
I'd meant to catch him over lunch and ask exactly what detention with Professor Umbridge consisted of. I asked now, “It's er...” His eyes flicker nervously. “lines....technically.”
“Lines?” I repeat, “Why do you look so uncomfortable if it's lines?” We pass a couple of Slytherin Seventh years, and although I miss what the chubby one mutters under his breath my jaw clenches.
“Leave it Amelia.” Harry sighs, looking despondent.
I'm going through several hundred possibilities of what Umbridge may be doing. Harry has had the bones in his arm removed, been whacked by bludgers, faced Voldemort three times. And he won't even meet my eyes. “What does she do?”
“It is lines.” He walks a few more steps, sinks to a bench in an alcove. “I haven't told anyone other than Ron and Hermione.” Struggling a bit he gestures for me to sit and tugs his overly long sleeve back to his wrist. Words are emblazoned into the back of his hand, scratched in deep like a scar. “I must not tell lies.” I read carefully, keeping my voice level. “Why haven't you told anyone? She can't... that's sick Harry!” Words stumble in my mouth, catch behind my teeth. “She can't do this, there's no chance Dumbledore would allow it...”
He pulls his hand back to his lap, “We don't want to be late, come on.”
I follow him, still arguing, “Come on? So I can let her carve something into me? She can't do it, she's a teacher! Wizard or not, you can't abuse students! Not even Filch would. Speak to McGonagall.”
“So she can get herself fired?” He snaps, and it echoes in the empty corridor. “Umbridge is the high inquisitor now, isn't she? She can get them fired. I don't want anyone losing their job!”
“Harry...”
“I'm not getting anyone else in trouble. Not with stuff like it is already.” He runs his hands through that perpetually messy hair. “I'm not asking you to get it Amelia, I just...”
“If she causes too much trouble, digs too far...” The Order is at risk. That bit lays unsaid but obvious. I try, one last time, “Dumbledore...”
“Has enough on his mind.” He says firmly. I tread over, gently take his cool hand again and look over it.
My stomach is twisting, “Okay.” I breathe, wondering what phrase I'll soon have tormenting me. “Let's not be late then.”
“Thank you.” He holds my gaze as I keep a soft grasp on his hand, an odd expression on his face.
By midnight, Harry's hand is red raw and dripping blood. Mine isn't as bad, one day versus eight. But the words are healing over, scar tissue on the pale, thin skin.
I must act my age.