“beyond wandpoint” 091a by gingerbred
“11 12d Wednesday - ...and Whine 1 Assessment” Pt 1
Seventh Years: Draco, Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Tracey Davis, Daphne Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson, Alberta Runcorn, Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode (Reserve Beater), Sixth Years: Harper Hutchinson, Aaron Avery, Sheldon Shafiq, Torsten Touchstone, Portraits: Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black, Salazar Slytherin, Swaine Swoopstikes (Potions Master, Professor and Entomologist), Wilhelmina Wilkes (DADA Instructor and Head of Slytherin), Various Others: Hunter Hutchinson, Annelise Burke, Crankshaft (Harper's half-Kneazle)
Originally Published: 2018-10-13 on AO3
Chapter: 091 part 1
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
Characters:
Seventh Years
Draco 7S (Prefect, Team Captain, Seeker, Swot), Theo Nott 7S (Swottiest), Blaise Zabini 7S (Keeper), Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe 7S (Beater, Couch Potato), Gregory Goyle 7S (Beater), Tracey Davis 7S (Swottier), Daphne Greengrass 7S (Sparkly!), Pansy Parkinson 7S (Prefect), Alberta Runcorn 7S (Grumpy.), Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode (Reserve Beater)
Sixth Years
Harper Hutchinson 6S (Prefect, Chaser), Aaron Avery 6S (Reserve Chaser), Sheldon Shafiq 6S (Reserve Beater, and charm on legs), Torsten Touchstone 6S (sleepyhead)
Portraits
Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black, Salazar Slytherin (Founder), Swaine Swoopstikes (Potions Master, Professor and Entomologist), Wilhelmina Wilkes (DADA Instructor and Head of Slytherin)
Various Others
Hunter Hutchinson 4S (Imp), Annelise Burke 4S (Searing Sousaphone Soloist), Crankshaft (Harper's half-Kneazle)
Mentioned:
Salazar Slytherin (Founder), Slinky (the Slytherins' chief house elf), Boadicea Waterhouse (turn of the century Portraitist), Portrait Dilys Derwent (Headmistress), Bartholomew 'Bart' Burke 5S (sallow), Marguerite Burke 1S (garrulous), Gilbert Gibbon 1S (grieving godson), Gisele Gibbon 4S (doting sister)
Previously:
065 Tuesday, seriously slimy Slytherin seventh years, Draco, Blaise, Gregory and Vince received Poste Serpentes from their families blaming them for Professor Snape's bonding to Granger. The Serpents left the boys out of commission, 083 and their Housemates proceeded to decide that... measures should be taken against them.
Indeed.
082 Vince returned from the Infirmary, in terribly poor shape, only to encounter Kneazle fur in his bed. Suffering from an allergy attack, 084 he unwisely crashed in the common room.
080 Theo discovered the letter Draco had received from his mother detailing what Professor Snape had reported to the inner circle as to the reasons for his bonding - apparently the seventh years had kidnapped a Muggle-born student and fed her a Lust Potion. Theo fears the worst and is having a breakdown. Daphne, trying to help, secretly used a Sleeping Charm on him, crafty witch that she is. Not. Nott?
083 The girls agreed to withhold sex from the seventh years (which will prove a source of frustration to a few of them as well), to otherwise make the boys miserable (within reason), and to help the Professor with his Protection Vow by assisting him in looking after... Madam Snape's welfare. They're still trying to wrap their heads around that one.
The first through sixth year boys regretfully decided they couldn't help with the Protection Vow, but they can defend the Head's wife against any slights (which mostly means keeping their own mouths shut), in the process perhaps suggesting they might do more. And they most definitely could try to avenge the Head by hexing the ever living stuffing out of the seventh years. As Vince happened to be readily available that night, they put this to the test.
Ah, but - priorities! - they're agreed, it shouldn't interfere with the Quidditch match. Sadly, most of the girls haven't come to the same conclusion. Millie plans to work on that.
And that's my first attempt at a 'previously', hope that helps. (Credit where it's due, hat tip to Toblass for the first suggestion to include it. Ta. :-))
Blaise is surprised to find he's in decent shape, all considered, and wakes without a great deal of pain. His fitness regimen undoubtedly helps; good condition shouldn't be underestimated. Not that he'd put himself through it if it weren't necessary for Quidditch. Well, and to keep his figure. Probably more the latter than the former on consideration. (Vince instantly comes to mind as a cautionary tale of what one might expect from a less... conscientious orientation...) Truthfully - and Blaise, Theo and Draco all quietly suspect this is the case - Blaise's mother doesn't put nearly the same intent behind her Poste Serpentes as the others' families do.
Merlin knows, Draco's Aunt Bellatrix is in a class of her own.
The Keeper stretches; he can still feel the Serpent's sting in his bones. As usual, he's awake before the windows have even admitted light to their room - although a Tempus confirms only just. He probably has habit to thank for that; he'd given himself the morning off from his exercise schedule, in light of the Serpent, and hadn't set his Tempus. Merlin does he ever feel knackered. Still, he supposes he doesn't really have anything to complain about. That may well be the case, comparatively speaking, but as he climbs out of bed, he can't quite suppress a groan. Then again, he's not overly bothered with doing so as he assumes the others won't be up yet to overhear it.
He has no one here to impress.
It's a toss up if his concern stems from the fact these boys are ostensibly his friends, or they represent the majority of the Quidditch team, but after last night's Serpents, Blaise decides to make a round of the room and take stock of the others. The sconces light at his command as his Self-Sizing Silken Slipshoes slide cozily around his feet and then he grabs his emerald green and silver brocade dressing gown, an absurdly ostentatious affair that would probably look ridiculous on anyone but Blaise or Draco. And even Malfoy might find it a challenge to carry it off.
Draco, the first stop for a number of reasons, is still stretched out in bed from the night before, apparently lost to the world. A gentle shake, atypically, yields no response. Over the past few years, Draco has become a very light sleeper. Blaise tries not to think about why. More aggressive shaking also fails to do the trick, and Blaise begins to become uneasy. He moves on to Theo next, generally a good wizard to turn to when a problem needs sorting, certainly resourceful (his father's influence no doubt), thinking the boy might be able to help rouse Draco.
Inexplicably Theo, who hadn't had a Serpent yesterday, seems to be in even worse shape than Draco. Who had had three. Theo's tossing and turning and completely non-responsive. Blaise finds that hard to comprehend, and having had a Serpent of his own (even if it was a weaker one) won't be able to drum up too much understanding for his Housemate. Next he discovers that Vince has mysteriously gone missing. Blaise wonders if perhaps he'd stayed in the Infirmary overnight. And finally he turns to Gregory for his first success of the morning. It was about time. The boy actually wakes upon shaking, just as the weak light from the windows begins to filter into their room.
Blaise gives the Beater a quick rundown, explaining the others' conditions as Gregory in turn tries to stretch his way through the residual Serpent pains. He isn't able to stifle a groan either, but Blaise takes advantage of Gregory's ignorance of his own infirmity to smirk at him in a rather superior fashion. It raises just the faintest hint of pink on the boy's cheeks. Blaise has always been grateful for his own dark complexion that hides his blushes fairly well; he's never had to suffer the teasing Gregory has. But then Gregory wouldn't have to suffer them as much either were he to get that response better under control. Still, he's better than Daphne.
But then most are.
As he talks, Blaise returns to Draco's bed, pulls back the curtain once more, and in the absence of better ideas, this time he hits the Seeker with an Rennervate. It doesn't come off quite as planned.
Draco's shriek is enough to freeze the other boys' blood in their veins.
"Merlin, Blaise," Gregory shakes his head.
The Spell was good, his intent solid, but Draco was very poorly. He's conscious now, but just barely. He lies there groaning, barely any more responsive than Theo. Blaise still can't really rouse him.
"Draco. Draco? Come on, Malfoy. Draco!"
"Blaise..." Gregory tries objecting.
"Shift yourself, Malfoy! Move your bloody arse!"
"It's no use, mate. Give it a rest," Gregory tells him between groans - both his and Draco's, it's an unusual duet - still struggling to get upright. But he's got a good constitution, he trains hard and long, and ultimately he'll shake a worse Serpent's bite off more quickly than Blaise.
He just needs a moment.
Once Gregory has finally made it to his feet, Blaise has calmed enough to suggest, "We should probably go ask the portraits if they know where Vince is, and we're going to need some help with Draco and Theo." Gregory agrees, although he'd had no more compassion for Theo's state than Blaise had for similar reasons. Still, it doesn't change the facts. They are the two worst equipped in their suite to handle the problem. Draco and Theo are always the ones to turn to. And even Vince is more likely to have something... restorative in his trunk.
No, they need help. Gregory slides into his slippers, neither silken nor self-sizing, and is still wrapping his robe around himself as he follows Blaise from the room.
"Only I have the feeling the others aren't going to want to be of much assistance," Blaise clarifies his assessment of their position.
"You don't honestly think they'd refuse to help us, do you?" Gregory is having a hard time picturing that. The others wouldn't punish them if it were to the House's detriment, would they? They've got a match coming up soon. Against the Moggies even. If that weren't enough to get the others onside, then nothing would be.
He's right about that.
"After what the Serpents hissed? I most definitely do. At least for the near future." Blaise has a far better understanding of his fellow Housemates and their interpersonal dynamics than most.
"So who do we ask for help?"
"We need the girls." He's hoping Pansy's affection for him and Draco will be sufficient that she'll still help. But he wouldn't bank on it. "The question is whether..."
They've reached the common room, and Gregory was looking at Blaise as he spoke and initially misses the sight that had stopped the Keeper in his tracks. Confused, he turns his head, following his teammate's gaze and then finds himself similarly dumbfounded.
Well, they won't need to trouble the portraits.
They've found Vince.
At least, he thinks that's Vince.
Merlin's hairy blue ball sack.
There, groaning softly on the couch before them lies the other Beater, in a pronounced puddle of drool. Gregory may be concentrating on that, because it is frankly the only thing about the picture before him that makes any sense.
Vince looks like an Inferi.
An exhausted Inferi.
With wings.
The wings probably deserve first mention. Not the least because Gregory has never seen them before. Sparkly, glittering, giant, bright, bright, bright purple fairy wings. Merlin. No, no that's definitely new. He hasn't even heard of it. And it seems the sort of thing you'd be likely to hear about, after all, doesn't it?
Through the rips in Vince's shirt (he'd apparently slept in yesterday's clothes), Gregory assumes he has the wings to thank for at least some of those tears, he can see something has gone very wrong with Vince's back. He keeps groaning in time with his wings' flapping, and Gregory is horrified to note that his mouth is stitched closed. Not that it had stopped the drool, mind... But if the look on what he can see of Vince's face is anything to go by, he'd probably be screaming if it weren't for that.
His hair is Snotter green, as they've come to call it. It hadn't looked good on Snotter; it looks worse on Vince. Something seems wrong with his hands, his nails are the colour of pitch, and Gregory sort of hopes it's just cosmetic. But at least one of the girls will probably know how to sort those. If they're willing. And hadn't caused it. Vince's ears are fluttering about as much as the wings, Gregory isn't at all sure what Jinx does that, and his nose... Well, it doesn't look good. No, it looks... it looks huge. And bright red. Which clashes with his wings. The result of Kneazle fur again, no doubt. To top it off, Vince is strewn with bits of bloodied bandages and covered in small cuts and numerous scrapes and knots from tip to tail, although the bleeding at least seems to have stopped...
And he just lies there, pancaked to the couch.
Which seems more than odd. He groans louder, more frantically, as the boys approach, moaning more than Myrtle.
Blaise has a sinking feeling this is in response to the Serpents, it's not like he and his Housemates haven't kipped in the common room before, especially after an evening with a good vintage. The jinxing has never been this bad. Not even close. He's beginning to suspect they'll be in for trouble for some time to come.
He turns to Gregory, too mortified as the repercussions of their situation sink in to be supercilious, "You were wondering if the others would refuse to help us?" He swallows nervously, taking it in. "We'll be extremely lucky if that's the extent of it."
Blaise may have some admittedly questionable morals. As his mother, whom he holds in high esteem, was the only parental constant in his life and remains one of the wizarding world's most notorious - alleged - poisoners, that shouldn't come as much of a surprise. But he is an exceptionally bright boy, and isn't usually slow on the uptake. To be fair, he hasn't had much of a chance to reflect on the news the Serpents delivered before his had essentially put him out of commission last night.
He's catching up quickly.
He hadn't really bothered to think too much about what a bonding - with a Muggle-born at that - what that would mean for Professor Snape. Fair enough. Few had. Hexing the Ravenclaws and Macmillan yesterday, that had been a simple matter of House pride and having Theo's back. Fine, and a spot of fun, naturally. But now... Now he thinks he's realised what his Housemates have decided the likely result of such a bond is.
And what they've decided to do about it.
In the vernacular, he and the other seventh year boys are fucked.
But probably not in their preferred fashions. And certainly not if the Slytherin women have anything to say about it...
It doesn't take them long to determine that Vince is very thoroughly stuck to couch. In some bits it's just his clothes, that's probably easily sorted, but in others it's very clearly his skin attached. Which can't be good. When none of their Countercharms work to free him (the clear advantage of Harper having employed a very rare Charm), the only solution they can currently think to offer is a Diffindo. So strangely, just at the very suggestion the Beater practically begins to cry. That suits the others well enough, not that they'd admit it. Frankly, neither Gregory nor Blaise were all that eager to try; Merlin, if they hit the couch by mistake...
They really don't relish the thought of having to explain any potential damage to the Head. They wouldn't on a normal day. But in light of what the Serpents reported... No, they intend to keep the lowest imaginable profiles. Possibly for the rest of their lives. Certainly for the remainder of their school careers.
For his part, after what Vince had been through with Alberta, Aaron and Sheldon last night, he has no desire to be on the receiving end of a Diffindo ever again. Not that Bartholomew's unusual - and rather cruel, but then the Burkes have a... colourful history - Silencing Charm permits him to say as much. Still, his whimperings do rather get his point across.
Blaise at least remembers the 'Reducio Proboscis' to help sort his nose, but the squeal of pain Vince emits in accompaniment would seem to indicate it had hurt like blazes. An Icing Charm might have helped had he thought of it. That makes roughly one, disregarding the residual pain, of nearly a dozen problems they can readily identify that they still need to sort, just with Vince alone. This isn't going to go well.
"We need help, mate," Gregory tells Blaise softly as he watches the tears leak from Vince's eyes. "Let's go get the girls?"
"Oh, that's a cracking idea, Gregory, I'm just worried about the execution," Blaise sighs in frustration. He runs a hand through his close-cropped curls and sighs again, collecting himself somewhat. "Erring on the side of caution, we probably shouldn't be the ones asking the girls to lend us a hand. I think we should appeal to Harper. He's a teammate, he'll understand - better than most - that we need to get Draco and Vince back on the pitch. If he asks the girls then maybe..." Blaise shrugs. He hasn't got anything better to offer at the moment. And wouldn't he be surprised to know the nature of the discussion Harper had led just last night...
Gregory agrees, he trusts Blaise's judgment, although he's beginning to fret about what it might mean if Blaise isn't just being overly paranoid. "You get Harper then?" Both know Blaise is the better choice if they need to blag a favour off of someone. "I'll try to do what I can here. Maybe get him talking again." Vince squeals at the very notion, he's not wrong, but the other two do their best to ignore him. That's a lot easier when all he can do is make muffled noises.
Blaise lowers his voice, there are portraits about after all, and one never knows when they're watching. "We're probably going to need something to get Draco moving. And it would be smart to do that before we have too many witnesses. Ask him if he has anything in that trunk of his that could help."
Gregory nods and Blaise leaves him to it, heading for the sixth years' room.
Blaise's point about requiring a potion from Vince settles the matter. Gregory needs to get him speaking before the others arrive on the scene. Unfortunately, he's not the most creative of Snakes.
"Hold still," he starts, it's met by a number of snorts from the portraits - ranging from amused to contemptuous, depending on the source - and another indignant squeal from Vince, who is very much incapable of moving, thanks ever so. "Right, sorry, it's just... I'm going to try a Diffindo to undo the stitches on your mouth..." That's met with more openly panicked squealing, not that it isn't perfectly understandable, and one of the portraits - Headmaster Black is the usual suspect - whispering that the Goyle boy isn't exactly the sharpest Diffindo himself.
"I don't suppose you saw who did this?" He asks of the portraits in general and Black in specific, fixing him with a significant look. He can't imagine why they wouldn't have cried out and woken Vince.
"I'm afraid it was quite dark," Black evades, truthfully enough, none of the others pipe up, and Gregory gets the feeling they won't just have to worry about their Housemates' responses to the Serpents. But then, he can't change that, and the portraits are rarely all that useful. See the case in point...
Gregory lifts his wand, and disproving that last thought, Salazar finally calls out; there are limits to what he can take, the inevitable blood bath this should cause would clearly be it. "You, boy." Both boys' eyes tick to him, he sighs and gets more specific. "Goyle," he drawls in poor humour. "If he didn't want you using the Diffindo on his clothes, do you really feel using it on his face is the best choice?"
Gregory just blinks. They're used to the portraits hanging there, and occasionally one or the other chimes in, usually to point out when students are out of...
"And just what, Mister Goyle, are you wearing?" Another of the portraits speaks up. Ah, naturally. Professor Swoopstikes, the wizard who had taught Professors Slughorn and Dumblebore Potions in his day. Sluggy had had tales galore.
... uniform.
"Classes haven't started yet, Professor," Gregory answers patiently, fairly unconcerned, as he kneels next to Vince to get a closer look. This isn't the first time this particular portrait has jumped the wand. They'll reassure him of the time, and nothing will come of it.
"They haven't even had breakfast, Swoopstikes," Salazar tries to reason with the man.
"Merlin's beard, Swaine, curfew is still on. He can wear whatever he bloody well pleases." Phineas complains to the wizard next to him in the group portrait. Swaine Swoopstikes' portrait is notorious for having a wretched sense of time. Strangely, the man himself didn't - for a Potions Master, that could have proven disastrous - and he was generally known for being obsessively punctual. He had, however, kept his portraitist waiting on several occasions when he was meant to sit for her, while he was covertly called in by the Ministry to assist with the strictly classified work on a cure for the highly lethal Lethargic Lurgy. A rather frustrated Mistress Waterhouse, naturally unaware of the circumstances, had poured that perceived quality into his painting.
Somewhat ironically, the fact they were too late in developing just that cure had led to the deaths of quite a number of the people who had sat for the portraits in Hogwarts.
"Although I can't imagine anyone choosing to wear that robe of his own accord..." Phineas continues needling.
"Or her own accord," erstwhile DADA instructor Wilhelmina Wilkes objects from across their wizarding chess table.
"Please. No witch would touch it," Phineas counters as he moves his knight.
"You don't think he's Imperiused?" Swoopstikes sounds scandalised. "We'd have to report that."
"Unless Imperiused," Wilhelmina corrects Phineas, sacrificing a pawn.
"Lost a wager, more like." Salazar sounds sure.
"Touché," Phineas grins at the witch as he moves a piece to claim the sacrificial pawn, which falls with a squeal to rival Crabbe's.
"He's not Imperiused," she assures old Swoopstikes calmly.
Even after all this time - he's been dead for nearly three quarters of a century now - Phineas still finds their portraits odd. He'd known both of them during their lifetimes, studied under each, and worked alongside them for years. In Swaine's case, decades. As with most portraits, they aren't but superficial representations of the people they once were, and that can prove quite saddening when he spends any length of time with them. It's one of the reasons he tends to spend most of his time in the Headmaster's office, where the portraits are a great deal more... themselves.
But something he continues to find disconcerting, even after all this time, are the differences between the portraits and the people he knew. Swaine's addition to the group portrait had very obviously been done rather late in his lifetime, and it was a little sad to see what had been captured of him. But then Boadicea had never enjoyed Potions, and that may have coloured her painting every bit as much as the Alizarin Crimson and Phthalo Green.
Wilhelmina, by marked contrast, had been captured in all her glory (she was only forty-two at the time of her death, after all), possibly even more radiant than she'd been when he'd known her. Only a dozen years their senior, she'd been their young Head of House and DADA Professor when he and Boadicea were students, and later became his close friend when he first began working at the school. Boadicea's fondness for the witch really shines through in the painting.
This painted rendition of Wilhelmina probably couldn't demonstrate a single Spell she hasn't learnt from watching the students in the dungeons, the portrait hadn't been primed and she hadn't retained her knowledge, but Boadicea had fully recognised - and clearly valued - Wil's intelligence and vibrant personality and it showed. She'd been painted at the chess board and her portrait was an absolutely deadly threat at the game (more so than Dilys even), and just as astute as ever. It reminds Phineas, fondly, of all the hours he'd spent with the witch in just such a pursuit.
Swaine's other portrait (depicting him with his vast insect collection) hangs in the Tracery Hall, beside a painting of wizards watching a Quidditch match. Those wizards, in turn, have portraits scattered throughout the castle. Inserting Swaine into the common room's group portrait was one of the last jobs Phineas had commissioned as part of his continued efforts to widen the Slytherin portrait coalition's net, increasing speed and coverage. It hadn't hurt when selecting old Swoopstikes for the position that Phineas had always quietly thought he'd outlive the man. Hadn't he been surprised when that addition meant the group portrait had to be held back for six years after Phineas' death until Swaine, too, had passed. But then there are few certainties in life.
Gregory ignores the portraits. Or tries to. He's having mixed success. But this is more along the lines of what he's used to. Usually they only speak up to complain about uniform infractions or occasional ill behaviour, to natter at one another or to tell tall tales, but they very rarely critique your work... That seems a little... rude. It's not like they can work magic themselves, the old sods... But Vince is grunting enthusiastically, presumably in agreement, and it gives Gregory pause. "Well, what would you suggest?" He asks Salazar Slytherin's portrait.
Salazar mutters something about Arithmancy ruining the curriculum, and what are they teaching the children these days; it's such a common refrain, it was put to music three centuries ago and has more recently become a drinking game for the senior classmen. Salazar's objections might have the remotest bearing had Gregory ever sat for a single hour of Arithmancy, but no, no he most certainly hasn't. Still, the changes to the curriculum last century had generally been far from good as any of a number of portraits and a fair few members of staff would happily attest.
And regularly do.
Headmaster Black, who'd been perfectly willing to watch the scene play out - boredom is such a curse - now decides to lend a more constructive hand. So to speak. It helps, of course, significantly, that he doesn't believe that he's particularly helping the boys by doing so. Oddly, after the things he'd learnt yesterday evening, he's not overly willing to do so. "Transfiguring something into a knife and trying to cut the stitches by hand is far better idea." Merlin knows, Severus would agree. "Assuming you have even rudimentary capabilities wielding cutlery."
Gregory doesn't even blink at the slight. Several of the other portraits chime in their agreement, which gets the point across if the single voice hadn't. He hasn't had a Transfiguration class in a year and a half, and he's rusty. Frankly, he'd never been all that good at it to begin with, which is why he hadn't continued the course past his O.W.L. But he picks up one of the Quidditch Monthly magazines that can usually be found in the common room and after a few tries has a sort of blobby shaped thing with an edge in his hand. Coincidentally, it bears more resemblance to a caveman's tool than a knife, but it will probably serve.
It also isn't likely to get any better.
While he undoubtably cuts his friend less often than he would have with a Diffindo, the going is far from smooth... Or blood-free. Or silent.
Even some of the portraits cringe.
Blaise weighs how to... finesse Harper. Briefly he considers just offering him money - everyone knows he needs it, it's a poorly kept secret - but there's probably no good way to do it in this instance without insulting him to the point of him becoming thoroughly uncooperative in the process. Blaise is rather banking on their being teammates to reach him, and the girls being better disposed towards the sixth year. If Vince's frankly shocking state is anything to go by, the seventh years aren't exactly popular at just the moment, or at least the male half. With some luck, the girls might be more likely to respond to a request for aid for them coming from Harper than from Blaise, and isn't that an unexpected turn of events. He can't believe it's come to this...
Sheldon Shafiq is the sixth years' charmer, of course, which might make him the logical choice, but as a reserve teammate, he may actually have an interest in keeping the other boys out of commission. No, no Harper is clearly their best bet. And judging by the way he looks out for Hunter, he has reasonably well developed caretaking instincts, too. At least, Blaise sincerely hopes so.
Harper is on the floor, still in his pyjamas, doing push ups when Blaise enters, Aaron Avery having answered Blaise's knock on his way to the showers. The fact he just continues on to the bathroom without sparing a greeting for Blaise is probably a bad sign.
Blaise takes a seat on Harper's bed, still trying to think how best to attack this, and for his part Harper doesn't stop his morning callisthenics. Crankshaft, Harper's usually all too affectionate ginger half-Kneazle, picks himself up lazily and rather demonstratively moves further down the bed away from Blaise. He's beginning to feel like a persona non grata. But surely the feline wouldn't be in on it, would he?
"We weren't supposed to meet to train this morning, were we?" Harper asks the older boy between controlled breathing exercises. "I figured with your Serpent last night..."
That earns him a, "For Merlin's sake, Harper, be quiet..." and a protracted whine from behind the curtains of Torsten Touchstone's bed, where the boy is trying, with moderate success, to hide under his pillow from the light.
"You need to get a wriggle on anyway, Torsten," Blaise informs him, still reasonably confident in his superior standing, if only because he's more senior. But the silence that meets that has him wondering a little more... Still, the other boys are already in the showers, and bowing to common sense, Torsten reluctantly slumps off to join them.
"No, we hadn't made arrangements, you're right." Blaise reclines a little archly. "And you're quite right about why, too," he chuckles, but it lacks mirth, and he's making too much of a point of agreeing with Harper, who becomes instantly wary. "Speaking of..." Blaise is just the model of insouciance. "We could use your help. We've got a couple of men down, and considering we already missed practice yesterday and in light of the upcoming match... I simply don't think we can afford to miss out again today."
They've got a week and a half to practice, which makes the match a far less critical concern than implied. Harper also doesn't miss that Blaise was very quick to appeal to the fundamental desire to annihilate the Moggies that pretty much every Snake has nursed since the infamous House Cup Theft of '92. No, for Blaise's standards, that was a pretty rubbish ploy.
Still, he's not altogether wrong.
Harper finishes his set and pulls himself upright. "What's up?" He'll allow the Keeper to explain the situation before he commits. It proves a real challenge not to laugh when Blaise describes Vince's condition; it sounds even better than expected. And when the seventh year finishes, Harper still has questions, "So what happened to Theo?"
"I haven't an inkling, I'm sure. I was... indisposed when whatever it was took place. I couldn't say." He doesn't sound terribly concerned; ultimately, the fact he'd had a Serpent and Theo hadn't is making that more difficult than it would normally be for the already relatively self-absorbed boy. That lack of empathy, however, sits poorly with Harper. Not that it shows.
"And what would you like me to do?" Blaise explains that he'd like him to fetch the seventh year girls. The 'why' goes without saying. Harper has to suppress his grin at that again. Say what you will about Blaise, he's not stupid. He is, however, rather vain, and Harper is quite sure having to admit Harper has better chances must be grating.
Sheldon comes out of the bathroom in his towel and gives the two boys a look. Harper can imagine why. But they had agreed to see to it that nothing would interfere with the boys' ability to play... Still, his roommates have something of a schedule of their own, and Sheldon's return calls the time to mind. Harper casts a Tempus to check. "There's no point, Blaise. Curfew is still in effect. They can't come help you."
"Even if they wanted to," Sheldon grumbles to himself, but Blaise picks it up anyway. He'd been right. Things are going to get ugly.
"By the time you explain it to them and have talked them round," personally Blaise thinks the latter will take Harper a good deal more time than the explanations, "it won't be any more."
"I'm going to be late for breakfast." It's matter-of-fact, and not mulish. An opening move.
And this sounds like something Blaise knows how to solve. "I'll make it worth your while."
"Fine. I'll start with your robe." Sheldon snorts his amusement and Blaise quirks a brow in disbelief, but Harper is quite serious. "I'm not going over there just in my pyjamas." It's mostly just to mess the arrogant seventh year about. Naturally the robe is worth more - far more - than Blaise would normally offer in Galleons, anything else would be tacky (either as robes or bribes go), not that the expense matters to him (yet), and Harper could certainly use the ready money instead. And of course it would leave Blaise standing there in his pyjamas... But then that was probably the point. It's a clear demonstration of how much he wants this.
"You'll start and end with my robe," Blaise tells him firmly. Harper nods; he'd expected at least some negotiation. Honestly, he hadn't expected the dressing gown. Without further discussion, Blaise unbelts the garment, removes it and hands it to Harper who throws it on over his pyjamas.
Sheldon just laughs. "It doesn't suit you at all."
He's wrong. It suits him nicely, but it's not a very familiar look on the boy. The posh number is certainly a marked departure from the worn cotton pyjamas he's wearing beneath it. Harper just shrugs, unconcerned, and grabs his wand.
"Just hurry, would you?" Blaise asks.
"Hold your Thestrals. I'm practically on my way," Harper answers. He toes on his misshapen slippers - grotty things; at a guess, they were Transfigured from something - and the two leave together. As they cross the threshold to the room, a Spell ripples over them to remove any trace of Kneazle fur from their clothing. They're so accustomed to it, neither notices. That Spell and a magical barrier to ensure Crankshaft doesn't leave the suite and enter the shared areas make it possible for someone with Vince's allergies to live in the same dorms as a Kneazle. Half-Kneazle.
Both boys turn to the right, and Blaise accompanies Harper as far as the seventh years' room, then leaves to check on the others. Harper quickly continues on to the common room, full of purpose.
That lasts until he catches sight of Vince. Then even the best intentions aren't enough to keep him from standing there laughing. This, this is bloody brilliant.
Seventh Years: Draco, Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Tracey Davis, Daphne Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson, Alberta Runcorn, Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode (Reserve Beater), Sixth Years: Harper Hutchinson, Aaron Avery, Sheldon Shafiq, Torsten Touchstone, Portraits: Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black, Salazar Slytherin, Swaine Swoopstikes (Potions Master, Professor and Entomologist), Wilhelmina Wilkes (DADA Instructor and Head of Slytherin), Various Others: Hunter Hutchinson, Annelise Burke, Crankshaft (Harper's half-Kneazle)
Originally Published: 2018-10-13 on AO3
Chapter: 091 part 1
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
Characters:
Seventh Years
Draco 7S (Prefect, Team Captain, Seeker, Swot), Theo Nott 7S (Swottiest), Blaise Zabini 7S (Keeper), Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe 7S (Beater, Couch Potato), Gregory Goyle 7S (Beater), Tracey Davis 7S (Swottier), Daphne Greengrass 7S (Sparkly!), Pansy Parkinson 7S (Prefect), Alberta Runcorn 7S (Grumpy.), Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode (Reserve Beater)
Sixth Years
Harper Hutchinson 6S (Prefect, Chaser), Aaron Avery 6S (Reserve Chaser), Sheldon Shafiq 6S (Reserve Beater, and charm on legs), Torsten Touchstone 6S (sleepyhead)
Portraits
Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black, Salazar Slytherin (Founder), Swaine Swoopstikes (Potions Master, Professor and Entomologist), Wilhelmina Wilkes (DADA Instructor and Head of Slytherin)
Various Others
Hunter Hutchinson 4S (Imp), Annelise Burke 4S (Searing Sousaphone Soloist), Crankshaft (Harper's half-Kneazle)
Mentioned:
Salazar Slytherin (Founder), Slinky (the Slytherins' chief house elf), Boadicea Waterhouse (turn of the century Portraitist), Portrait Dilys Derwent (Headmistress), Bartholomew 'Bart' Burke 5S (sallow), Marguerite Burke 1S (garrulous), Gilbert Gibbon 1S (grieving godson), Gisele Gibbon 4S (doting sister)
Previously:
065 Tuesday, seriously slimy Slytherin seventh years, Draco, Blaise, Gregory and Vince received Poste Serpentes from their families blaming them for Professor Snape's bonding to Granger. The Serpents left the boys out of commission, 083 and their Housemates proceeded to decide that... measures should be taken against them.
Indeed.
082 Vince returned from the Infirmary, in terribly poor shape, only to encounter Kneazle fur in his bed. Suffering from an allergy attack, 084 he unwisely crashed in the common room.
080 Theo discovered the letter Draco had received from his mother detailing what Professor Snape had reported to the inner circle as to the reasons for his bonding - apparently the seventh years had kidnapped a Muggle-born student and fed her a Lust Potion. Theo fears the worst and is having a breakdown. Daphne, trying to help, secretly used a Sleeping Charm on him, crafty witch that she is. Not. Nott?
083 The girls agreed to withhold sex from the seventh years (which will prove a source of frustration to a few of them as well), to otherwise make the boys miserable (within reason), and to help the Professor with his Protection Vow by assisting him in looking after... Madam Snape's welfare. They're still trying to wrap their heads around that one.
The first through sixth year boys regretfully decided they couldn't help with the Protection Vow, but they can defend the Head's wife against any slights (which mostly means keeping their own mouths shut), in the process perhaps suggesting they might do more. And they most definitely could try to avenge the Head by hexing the ever living stuffing out of the seventh years. As Vince happened to be readily available that night, they put this to the test.
Ah, but - priorities! - they're agreed, it shouldn't interfere with the Quidditch match. Sadly, most of the girls haven't come to the same conclusion. Millie plans to work on that.
And that's my first attempt at a 'previously', hope that helps. (Credit where it's due, hat tip to Toblass for the first suggestion to include it. Ta. :-))
Blaise is surprised to find he's in decent shape, all considered, and wakes without a great deal of pain. His fitness regimen undoubtedly helps; good condition shouldn't be underestimated. Not that he'd put himself through it if it weren't necessary for Quidditch. Well, and to keep his figure. Probably more the latter than the former on consideration. (Vince instantly comes to mind as a cautionary tale of what one might expect from a less... conscientious orientation...) Truthfully - and Blaise, Theo and Draco all quietly suspect this is the case - Blaise's mother doesn't put nearly the same intent behind her Poste Serpentes as the others' families do.
Merlin knows, Draco's Aunt Bellatrix is in a class of her own.
The Keeper stretches; he can still feel the Serpent's sting in his bones. As usual, he's awake before the windows have even admitted light to their room - although a Tempus confirms only just. He probably has habit to thank for that; he'd given himself the morning off from his exercise schedule, in light of the Serpent, and hadn't set his Tempus. Merlin does he ever feel knackered. Still, he supposes he doesn't really have anything to complain about. That may well be the case, comparatively speaking, but as he climbs out of bed, he can't quite suppress a groan. Then again, he's not overly bothered with doing so as he assumes the others won't be up yet to overhear it.
He has no one here to impress.
It's a toss up if his concern stems from the fact these boys are ostensibly his friends, or they represent the majority of the Quidditch team, but after last night's Serpents, Blaise decides to make a round of the room and take stock of the others. The sconces light at his command as his Self-Sizing Silken Slipshoes slide cozily around his feet and then he grabs his emerald green and silver brocade dressing gown, an absurdly ostentatious affair that would probably look ridiculous on anyone but Blaise or Draco. And even Malfoy might find it a challenge to carry it off.
Draco, the first stop for a number of reasons, is still stretched out in bed from the night before, apparently lost to the world. A gentle shake, atypically, yields no response. Over the past few years, Draco has become a very light sleeper. Blaise tries not to think about why. More aggressive shaking also fails to do the trick, and Blaise begins to become uneasy. He moves on to Theo next, generally a good wizard to turn to when a problem needs sorting, certainly resourceful (his father's influence no doubt), thinking the boy might be able to help rouse Draco.
Inexplicably Theo, who hadn't had a Serpent yesterday, seems to be in even worse shape than Draco. Who had had three. Theo's tossing and turning and completely non-responsive. Blaise finds that hard to comprehend, and having had a Serpent of his own (even if it was a weaker one) won't be able to drum up too much understanding for his Housemate. Next he discovers that Vince has mysteriously gone missing. Blaise wonders if perhaps he'd stayed in the Infirmary overnight. And finally he turns to Gregory for his first success of the morning. It was about time. The boy actually wakes upon shaking, just as the weak light from the windows begins to filter into their room.
Blaise gives the Beater a quick rundown, explaining the others' conditions as Gregory in turn tries to stretch his way through the residual Serpent pains. He isn't able to stifle a groan either, but Blaise takes advantage of Gregory's ignorance of his own infirmity to smirk at him in a rather superior fashion. It raises just the faintest hint of pink on the boy's cheeks. Blaise has always been grateful for his own dark complexion that hides his blushes fairly well; he's never had to suffer the teasing Gregory has. But then Gregory wouldn't have to suffer them as much either were he to get that response better under control. Still, he's better than Daphne.
But then most are.
As he talks, Blaise returns to Draco's bed, pulls back the curtain once more, and in the absence of better ideas, this time he hits the Seeker with an Rennervate. It doesn't come off quite as planned.
Draco's shriek is enough to freeze the other boys' blood in their veins.
"Merlin, Blaise," Gregory shakes his head.
The Spell was good, his intent solid, but Draco was very poorly. He's conscious now, but just barely. He lies there groaning, barely any more responsive than Theo. Blaise still can't really rouse him.
"Draco. Draco? Come on, Malfoy. Draco!"
"Blaise..." Gregory tries objecting.
"Shift yourself, Malfoy! Move your bloody arse!"
"It's no use, mate. Give it a rest," Gregory tells him between groans - both his and Draco's, it's an unusual duet - still struggling to get upright. But he's got a good constitution, he trains hard and long, and ultimately he'll shake a worse Serpent's bite off more quickly than Blaise.
He just needs a moment.
Once Gregory has finally made it to his feet, Blaise has calmed enough to suggest, "We should probably go ask the portraits if they know where Vince is, and we're going to need some help with Draco and Theo." Gregory agrees, although he'd had no more compassion for Theo's state than Blaise had for similar reasons. Still, it doesn't change the facts. They are the two worst equipped in their suite to handle the problem. Draco and Theo are always the ones to turn to. And even Vince is more likely to have something... restorative in his trunk.
No, they need help. Gregory slides into his slippers, neither silken nor self-sizing, and is still wrapping his robe around himself as he follows Blaise from the room.
"Only I have the feeling the others aren't going to want to be of much assistance," Blaise clarifies his assessment of their position.
"You don't honestly think they'd refuse to help us, do you?" Gregory is having a hard time picturing that. The others wouldn't punish them if it were to the House's detriment, would they? They've got a match coming up soon. Against the Moggies even. If that weren't enough to get the others onside, then nothing would be.
He's right about that.
"After what the Serpents hissed? I most definitely do. At least for the near future." Blaise has a far better understanding of his fellow Housemates and their interpersonal dynamics than most.
"So who do we ask for help?"
"We need the girls." He's hoping Pansy's affection for him and Draco will be sufficient that she'll still help. But he wouldn't bank on it. "The question is whether..."
They've reached the common room, and Gregory was looking at Blaise as he spoke and initially misses the sight that had stopped the Keeper in his tracks. Confused, he turns his head, following his teammate's gaze and then finds himself similarly dumbfounded.
Well, they won't need to trouble the portraits.
They've found Vince.
At least, he thinks that's Vince.
Merlin's hairy blue ball sack.
There, groaning softly on the couch before them lies the other Beater, in a pronounced puddle of drool. Gregory may be concentrating on that, because it is frankly the only thing about the picture before him that makes any sense.
Vince looks like an Inferi.
An exhausted Inferi.
With wings.
The wings probably deserve first mention. Not the least because Gregory has never seen them before. Sparkly, glittering, giant, bright, bright, bright purple fairy wings. Merlin. No, no that's definitely new. He hasn't even heard of it. And it seems the sort of thing you'd be likely to hear about, after all, doesn't it?
Through the rips in Vince's shirt (he'd apparently slept in yesterday's clothes), Gregory assumes he has the wings to thank for at least some of those tears, he can see something has gone very wrong with Vince's back. He keeps groaning in time with his wings' flapping, and Gregory is horrified to note that his mouth is stitched closed. Not that it had stopped the drool, mind... But if the look on what he can see of Vince's face is anything to go by, he'd probably be screaming if it weren't for that.
His hair is Snotter green, as they've come to call it. It hadn't looked good on Snotter; it looks worse on Vince. Something seems wrong with his hands, his nails are the colour of pitch, and Gregory sort of hopes it's just cosmetic. But at least one of the girls will probably know how to sort those. If they're willing. And hadn't caused it. Vince's ears are fluttering about as much as the wings, Gregory isn't at all sure what Jinx does that, and his nose... Well, it doesn't look good. No, it looks... it looks huge. And bright red. Which clashes with his wings. The result of Kneazle fur again, no doubt. To top it off, Vince is strewn with bits of bloodied bandages and covered in small cuts and numerous scrapes and knots from tip to tail, although the bleeding at least seems to have stopped...
And he just lies there, pancaked to the couch.
Which seems more than odd. He groans louder, more frantically, as the boys approach, moaning more than Myrtle.
Blaise has a sinking feeling this is in response to the Serpents, it's not like he and his Housemates haven't kipped in the common room before, especially after an evening with a good vintage. The jinxing has never been this bad. Not even close. He's beginning to suspect they'll be in for trouble for some time to come.
He turns to Gregory, too mortified as the repercussions of their situation sink in to be supercilious, "You were wondering if the others would refuse to help us?" He swallows nervously, taking it in. "We'll be extremely lucky if that's the extent of it."
Blaise may have some admittedly questionable morals. As his mother, whom he holds in high esteem, was the only parental constant in his life and remains one of the wizarding world's most notorious - alleged - poisoners, that shouldn't come as much of a surprise. But he is an exceptionally bright boy, and isn't usually slow on the uptake. To be fair, he hasn't had much of a chance to reflect on the news the Serpents delivered before his had essentially put him out of commission last night.
He's catching up quickly.
He hadn't really bothered to think too much about what a bonding - with a Muggle-born at that - what that would mean for Professor Snape. Fair enough. Few had. Hexing the Ravenclaws and Macmillan yesterday, that had been a simple matter of House pride and having Theo's back. Fine, and a spot of fun, naturally. But now... Now he thinks he's realised what his Housemates have decided the likely result of such a bond is.
And what they've decided to do about it.
In the vernacular, he and the other seventh year boys are fucked.
But probably not in their preferred fashions. And certainly not if the Slytherin women have anything to say about it...
It doesn't take them long to determine that Vince is very thoroughly stuck to couch. In some bits it's just his clothes, that's probably easily sorted, but in others it's very clearly his skin attached. Which can't be good. When none of their Countercharms work to free him (the clear advantage of Harper having employed a very rare Charm), the only solution they can currently think to offer is a Diffindo. So strangely, just at the very suggestion the Beater practically begins to cry. That suits the others well enough, not that they'd admit it. Frankly, neither Gregory nor Blaise were all that eager to try; Merlin, if they hit the couch by mistake...
They really don't relish the thought of having to explain any potential damage to the Head. They wouldn't on a normal day. But in light of what the Serpents reported... No, they intend to keep the lowest imaginable profiles. Possibly for the rest of their lives. Certainly for the remainder of their school careers.
For his part, after what Vince had been through with Alberta, Aaron and Sheldon last night, he has no desire to be on the receiving end of a Diffindo ever again. Not that Bartholomew's unusual - and rather cruel, but then the Burkes have a... colourful history - Silencing Charm permits him to say as much. Still, his whimperings do rather get his point across.
Blaise at least remembers the 'Reducio Proboscis' to help sort his nose, but the squeal of pain Vince emits in accompaniment would seem to indicate it had hurt like blazes. An Icing Charm might have helped had he thought of it. That makes roughly one, disregarding the residual pain, of nearly a dozen problems they can readily identify that they still need to sort, just with Vince alone. This isn't going to go well.
"We need help, mate," Gregory tells Blaise softly as he watches the tears leak from Vince's eyes. "Let's go get the girls?"
"Oh, that's a cracking idea, Gregory, I'm just worried about the execution," Blaise sighs in frustration. He runs a hand through his close-cropped curls and sighs again, collecting himself somewhat. "Erring on the side of caution, we probably shouldn't be the ones asking the girls to lend us a hand. I think we should appeal to Harper. He's a teammate, he'll understand - better than most - that we need to get Draco and Vince back on the pitch. If he asks the girls then maybe..." Blaise shrugs. He hasn't got anything better to offer at the moment. And wouldn't he be surprised to know the nature of the discussion Harper had led just last night...
Gregory agrees, he trusts Blaise's judgment, although he's beginning to fret about what it might mean if Blaise isn't just being overly paranoid. "You get Harper then?" Both know Blaise is the better choice if they need to blag a favour off of someone. "I'll try to do what I can here. Maybe get him talking again." Vince squeals at the very notion, he's not wrong, but the other two do their best to ignore him. That's a lot easier when all he can do is make muffled noises.
Blaise lowers his voice, there are portraits about after all, and one never knows when they're watching. "We're probably going to need something to get Draco moving. And it would be smart to do that before we have too many witnesses. Ask him if he has anything in that trunk of his that could help."
Gregory nods and Blaise leaves him to it, heading for the sixth years' room.
Blaise's point about requiring a potion from Vince settles the matter. Gregory needs to get him speaking before the others arrive on the scene. Unfortunately, he's not the most creative of Snakes.
"Hold still," he starts, it's met by a number of snorts from the portraits - ranging from amused to contemptuous, depending on the source - and another indignant squeal from Vince, who is very much incapable of moving, thanks ever so. "Right, sorry, it's just... I'm going to try a Diffindo to undo the stitches on your mouth..." That's met with more openly panicked squealing, not that it isn't perfectly understandable, and one of the portraits - Headmaster Black is the usual suspect - whispering that the Goyle boy isn't exactly the sharpest Diffindo himself.
"I don't suppose you saw who did this?" He asks of the portraits in general and Black in specific, fixing him with a significant look. He can't imagine why they wouldn't have cried out and woken Vince.
"I'm afraid it was quite dark," Black evades, truthfully enough, none of the others pipe up, and Gregory gets the feeling they won't just have to worry about their Housemates' responses to the Serpents. But then, he can't change that, and the portraits are rarely all that useful. See the case in point...
Gregory lifts his wand, and disproving that last thought, Salazar finally calls out; there are limits to what he can take, the inevitable blood bath this should cause would clearly be it. "You, boy." Both boys' eyes tick to him, he sighs and gets more specific. "Goyle," he drawls in poor humour. "If he didn't want you using the Diffindo on his clothes, do you really feel using it on his face is the best choice?"
Gregory just blinks. They're used to the portraits hanging there, and occasionally one or the other chimes in, usually to point out when students are out of...
"And just what, Mister Goyle, are you wearing?" Another of the portraits speaks up. Ah, naturally. Professor Swoopstikes, the wizard who had taught Professors Slughorn and Dumblebore Potions in his day. Sluggy had had tales galore.
... uniform.
"Classes haven't started yet, Professor," Gregory answers patiently, fairly unconcerned, as he kneels next to Vince to get a closer look. This isn't the first time this particular portrait has jumped the wand. They'll reassure him of the time, and nothing will come of it.
"They haven't even had breakfast, Swoopstikes," Salazar tries to reason with the man.
"Merlin's beard, Swaine, curfew is still on. He can wear whatever he bloody well pleases." Phineas complains to the wizard next to him in the group portrait. Swaine Swoopstikes' portrait is notorious for having a wretched sense of time. Strangely, the man himself didn't - for a Potions Master, that could have proven disastrous - and he was generally known for being obsessively punctual. He had, however, kept his portraitist waiting on several occasions when he was meant to sit for her, while he was covertly called in by the Ministry to assist with the strictly classified work on a cure for the highly lethal Lethargic Lurgy. A rather frustrated Mistress Waterhouse, naturally unaware of the circumstances, had poured that perceived quality into his painting.
Somewhat ironically, the fact they were too late in developing just that cure had led to the deaths of quite a number of the people who had sat for the portraits in Hogwarts.
"Although I can't imagine anyone choosing to wear that robe of his own accord..." Phineas continues needling.
"Or her own accord," erstwhile DADA instructor Wilhelmina Wilkes objects from across their wizarding chess table.
"Please. No witch would touch it," Phineas counters as he moves his knight.
"You don't think he's Imperiused?" Swoopstikes sounds scandalised. "We'd have to report that."
"Unless Imperiused," Wilhelmina corrects Phineas, sacrificing a pawn.
"Lost a wager, more like." Salazar sounds sure.
"Touché," Phineas grins at the witch as he moves a piece to claim the sacrificial pawn, which falls with a squeal to rival Crabbe's.
"He's not Imperiused," she assures old Swoopstikes calmly.
Even after all this time - he's been dead for nearly three quarters of a century now - Phineas still finds their portraits odd. He'd known both of them during their lifetimes, studied under each, and worked alongside them for years. In Swaine's case, decades. As with most portraits, they aren't but superficial representations of the people they once were, and that can prove quite saddening when he spends any length of time with them. It's one of the reasons he tends to spend most of his time in the Headmaster's office, where the portraits are a great deal more... themselves.
But something he continues to find disconcerting, even after all this time, are the differences between the portraits and the people he knew. Swaine's addition to the group portrait had very obviously been done rather late in his lifetime, and it was a little sad to see what had been captured of him. But then Boadicea had never enjoyed Potions, and that may have coloured her painting every bit as much as the Alizarin Crimson and Phthalo Green.
Wilhelmina, by marked contrast, had been captured in all her glory (she was only forty-two at the time of her death, after all), possibly even more radiant than she'd been when he'd known her. Only a dozen years their senior, she'd been their young Head of House and DADA Professor when he and Boadicea were students, and later became his close friend when he first began working at the school. Boadicea's fondness for the witch really shines through in the painting.
This painted rendition of Wilhelmina probably couldn't demonstrate a single Spell she hasn't learnt from watching the students in the dungeons, the portrait hadn't been primed and she hadn't retained her knowledge, but Boadicea had fully recognised - and clearly valued - Wil's intelligence and vibrant personality and it showed. She'd been painted at the chess board and her portrait was an absolutely deadly threat at the game (more so than Dilys even), and just as astute as ever. It reminds Phineas, fondly, of all the hours he'd spent with the witch in just such a pursuit.
Swaine's other portrait (depicting him with his vast insect collection) hangs in the Tracery Hall, beside a painting of wizards watching a Quidditch match. Those wizards, in turn, have portraits scattered throughout the castle. Inserting Swaine into the common room's group portrait was one of the last jobs Phineas had commissioned as part of his continued efforts to widen the Slytherin portrait coalition's net, increasing speed and coverage. It hadn't hurt when selecting old Swoopstikes for the position that Phineas had always quietly thought he'd outlive the man. Hadn't he been surprised when that addition meant the group portrait had to be held back for six years after Phineas' death until Swaine, too, had passed. But then there are few certainties in life.
Gregory ignores the portraits. Or tries to. He's having mixed success. But this is more along the lines of what he's used to. Usually they only speak up to complain about uniform infractions or occasional ill behaviour, to natter at one another or to tell tall tales, but they very rarely critique your work... That seems a little... rude. It's not like they can work magic themselves, the old sods... But Vince is grunting enthusiastically, presumably in agreement, and it gives Gregory pause. "Well, what would you suggest?" He asks Salazar Slytherin's portrait.
Salazar mutters something about Arithmancy ruining the curriculum, and what are they teaching the children these days; it's such a common refrain, it was put to music three centuries ago and has more recently become a drinking game for the senior classmen. Salazar's objections might have the remotest bearing had Gregory ever sat for a single hour of Arithmancy, but no, no he most certainly hasn't. Still, the changes to the curriculum last century had generally been far from good as any of a number of portraits and a fair few members of staff would happily attest.
And regularly do.
Headmaster Black, who'd been perfectly willing to watch the scene play out - boredom is such a curse - now decides to lend a more constructive hand. So to speak. It helps, of course, significantly, that he doesn't believe that he's particularly helping the boys by doing so. Oddly, after the things he'd learnt yesterday evening, he's not overly willing to do so. "Transfiguring something into a knife and trying to cut the stitches by hand is far better idea." Merlin knows, Severus would agree. "Assuming you have even rudimentary capabilities wielding cutlery."
Gregory doesn't even blink at the slight. Several of the other portraits chime in their agreement, which gets the point across if the single voice hadn't. He hasn't had a Transfiguration class in a year and a half, and he's rusty. Frankly, he'd never been all that good at it to begin with, which is why he hadn't continued the course past his O.W.L. But he picks up one of the Quidditch Monthly magazines that can usually be found in the common room and after a few tries has a sort of blobby shaped thing with an edge in his hand. Coincidentally, it bears more resemblance to a caveman's tool than a knife, but it will probably serve.
It also isn't likely to get any better.
While he undoubtably cuts his friend less often than he would have with a Diffindo, the going is far from smooth... Or blood-free. Or silent.
Even some of the portraits cringe.
Blaise weighs how to... finesse Harper. Briefly he considers just offering him money - everyone knows he needs it, it's a poorly kept secret - but there's probably no good way to do it in this instance without insulting him to the point of him becoming thoroughly uncooperative in the process. Blaise is rather banking on their being teammates to reach him, and the girls being better disposed towards the sixth year. If Vince's frankly shocking state is anything to go by, the seventh years aren't exactly popular at just the moment, or at least the male half. With some luck, the girls might be more likely to respond to a request for aid for them coming from Harper than from Blaise, and isn't that an unexpected turn of events. He can't believe it's come to this...
Sheldon Shafiq is the sixth years' charmer, of course, which might make him the logical choice, but as a reserve teammate, he may actually have an interest in keeping the other boys out of commission. No, no Harper is clearly their best bet. And judging by the way he looks out for Hunter, he has reasonably well developed caretaking instincts, too. At least, Blaise sincerely hopes so.
Harper is on the floor, still in his pyjamas, doing push ups when Blaise enters, Aaron Avery having answered Blaise's knock on his way to the showers. The fact he just continues on to the bathroom without sparing a greeting for Blaise is probably a bad sign.
Blaise takes a seat on Harper's bed, still trying to think how best to attack this, and for his part Harper doesn't stop his morning callisthenics. Crankshaft, Harper's usually all too affectionate ginger half-Kneazle, picks himself up lazily and rather demonstratively moves further down the bed away from Blaise. He's beginning to feel like a persona non grata. But surely the feline wouldn't be in on it, would he?
"We weren't supposed to meet to train this morning, were we?" Harper asks the older boy between controlled breathing exercises. "I figured with your Serpent last night..."
That earns him a, "For Merlin's sake, Harper, be quiet..." and a protracted whine from behind the curtains of Torsten Touchstone's bed, where the boy is trying, with moderate success, to hide under his pillow from the light.
"You need to get a wriggle on anyway, Torsten," Blaise informs him, still reasonably confident in his superior standing, if only because he's more senior. But the silence that meets that has him wondering a little more... Still, the other boys are already in the showers, and bowing to common sense, Torsten reluctantly slumps off to join them.
"No, we hadn't made arrangements, you're right." Blaise reclines a little archly. "And you're quite right about why, too," he chuckles, but it lacks mirth, and he's making too much of a point of agreeing with Harper, who becomes instantly wary. "Speaking of..." Blaise is just the model of insouciance. "We could use your help. We've got a couple of men down, and considering we already missed practice yesterday and in light of the upcoming match... I simply don't think we can afford to miss out again today."
They've got a week and a half to practice, which makes the match a far less critical concern than implied. Harper also doesn't miss that Blaise was very quick to appeal to the fundamental desire to annihilate the Moggies that pretty much every Snake has nursed since the infamous House Cup Theft of '92. No, for Blaise's standards, that was a pretty rubbish ploy.
Still, he's not altogether wrong.
Harper finishes his set and pulls himself upright. "What's up?" He'll allow the Keeper to explain the situation before he commits. It proves a real challenge not to laugh when Blaise describes Vince's condition; it sounds even better than expected. And when the seventh year finishes, Harper still has questions, "So what happened to Theo?"
"I haven't an inkling, I'm sure. I was... indisposed when whatever it was took place. I couldn't say." He doesn't sound terribly concerned; ultimately, the fact he'd had a Serpent and Theo hadn't is making that more difficult than it would normally be for the already relatively self-absorbed boy. That lack of empathy, however, sits poorly with Harper. Not that it shows.
"And what would you like me to do?" Blaise explains that he'd like him to fetch the seventh year girls. The 'why' goes without saying. Harper has to suppress his grin at that again. Say what you will about Blaise, he's not stupid. He is, however, rather vain, and Harper is quite sure having to admit Harper has better chances must be grating.
Sheldon comes out of the bathroom in his towel and gives the two boys a look. Harper can imagine why. But they had agreed to see to it that nothing would interfere with the boys' ability to play... Still, his roommates have something of a schedule of their own, and Sheldon's return calls the time to mind. Harper casts a Tempus to check. "There's no point, Blaise. Curfew is still in effect. They can't come help you."
"Even if they wanted to," Sheldon grumbles to himself, but Blaise picks it up anyway. He'd been right. Things are going to get ugly.
"By the time you explain it to them and have talked them round," personally Blaise thinks the latter will take Harper a good deal more time than the explanations, "it won't be any more."
"I'm going to be late for breakfast." It's matter-of-fact, and not mulish. An opening move.
And this sounds like something Blaise knows how to solve. "I'll make it worth your while."
"Fine. I'll start with your robe." Sheldon snorts his amusement and Blaise quirks a brow in disbelief, but Harper is quite serious. "I'm not going over there just in my pyjamas." It's mostly just to mess the arrogant seventh year about. Naturally the robe is worth more - far more - than Blaise would normally offer in Galleons, anything else would be tacky (either as robes or bribes go), not that the expense matters to him (yet), and Harper could certainly use the ready money instead. And of course it would leave Blaise standing there in his pyjamas... But then that was probably the point. It's a clear demonstration of how much he wants this.
"You'll start and end with my robe," Blaise tells him firmly. Harper nods; he'd expected at least some negotiation. Honestly, he hadn't expected the dressing gown. Without further discussion, Blaise unbelts the garment, removes it and hands it to Harper who throws it on over his pyjamas.
Sheldon just laughs. "It doesn't suit you at all."
He's wrong. It suits him nicely, but it's not a very familiar look on the boy. The posh number is certainly a marked departure from the worn cotton pyjamas he's wearing beneath it. Harper just shrugs, unconcerned, and grabs his wand.
"Just hurry, would you?" Blaise asks.
"Hold your Thestrals. I'm practically on my way," Harper answers. He toes on his misshapen slippers - grotty things; at a guess, they were Transfigured from something - and the two leave together. As they cross the threshold to the room, a Spell ripples over them to remove any trace of Kneazle fur from their clothing. They're so accustomed to it, neither notices. That Spell and a magical barrier to ensure Crankshaft doesn't leave the suite and enter the shared areas make it possible for someone with Vince's allergies to live in the same dorms as a Kneazle. Half-Kneazle.
Both boys turn to the right, and Blaise accompanies Harper as far as the seventh years' room, then leaves to check on the others. Harper quickly continues on to the common room, full of purpose.
That lasts until he catches sight of Vince. Then even the best intentions aren't enough to keep him from standing there laughing. This, this is bloody brilliant.