Imagine Knowing Me :: Chapter Two (2/7)
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven
CHAPTER TWO
sudden shower of heavy rain had cut Brendon’s plans for his Saturday short. He and Ginny had decided to borrow a couple of school brooms and try for a game of Snitch-catch-Brendon had brought the practise Snitch Aunt Mairwen had given him for Christmas to Hogwarts and had been looking for an opportunity to use it-but they had only had time to catch it once each when the rain put a stop to all outdoor activity. Sopping wet and cold, he had arrived back to find that the Common Room was filling up with drenched students, and that all the seats near the fire were already taken. Disgruntled, he looked around the room and found Spencer in one corner of the room, taking up an entire table with scrolls of parchment and books. He was sucking on his quill, running one finger down a page in one of the heavy tomes open beside him, and as Brendon made his way over he saw that the rolls of parchment were in fact letters-Spencer’s name and House were written neatly just above the cracked seal, stamped into place with the Smith family crest.
“What’s that?”
Spencer looked up from his letters and blinked at him, taking the quill out of his mouth. “This? Just letters from home.”
“You looked so focused.” Brendon peeked across the table, frowning as he tried to read upside down. “We are considering new Concealment Charms. Send me your thoughts on whether Dimwurble’s Mirror Technique is more effective than-what’s that about?”
Spencer shrugged, pulling one book a little closer to him, and Brendon realised guiltily that he was still dripping with rain. “Like I said. Letters from my family-this one’s from my father. They’re renovating the town house. It’s in London, so we need effective Concealment Charms for those areas of the house that are magical. Like the kennel, obviously.”
“But he’s asking you for advice and things.”
“Of course he is. I’m the eldest,” said Spencer, matter-of-factly. “I’m sure your father discusses these things with your eldest brother.”
Brendon thought about Matt, who when he came home now usually did so with a basket full of dirty robes, asking their mother for help with the Scourgify, since you know I never learnt properly, thanks, love you. Is there any pie in the pantry?
“Maybe,” he said uncertainly.
“Right, so you see what I mean,” said Spencer reasonably. “I’m going to do it for myself one day, so the earlier I know how to run the estate, the better.”
Brendon thought about pointing out that Spencer was eleven, but then decided that although this was the case, Spencer was probably the oldest eleven-year-old he knew. (Unless you mentioned farts, in which case he regressed to six.)
“All right,” he said, standing back from the table. “Hey, I’m going to change into dry clothes now, but do you want to play Exploding Snap later?”
Spencer lit up, and then he looked down at his letters again and frowned.
“Maybe after I help you find out more about Dimgubble’s Mirror Technique?” Brendon added quickly. He knew that Spencer took his writing-to-home duties very seriously, but he also knew that Spencer had a great passion for Snap.
“Dimwurble,” said Spencer, but he grinned. “Sure, thanks. Only if you dry off completely though; Madam Pince will have my head if the books are damaged.”
Brendon grinned back and spun on his heel, scattering droplets around him. “Hoi!” Spencer shouted, alarmed, but he was kind of laughing, too.
Brendon dashed towards his dorm, grinning to himself. Maybe it would turn out to be a good Saturday, after all.
inny loved Herbology. It was the only class where they got to work with their hands properly. She liked a lot of their other classes-Charms was great, because Professor Flitwick was good at explaining and was always kind to them, and Potions was always made fun by Brendon’s comments-but there was something special about being allowed to dig her hands into a flower pot, something so real and satisfying about seeing the dirt on her fingers and knowing she had done the work; not her magic.
Ryan was less impressed with Herbology, but even he conceded that today’s lesson had been pretty good. They’d been allowed to stand in the door to Greenhouse Three while Professor Sprout showed the Devil’s Snare and pointed out several important characteristics, and after that they had gone back to Greenhouse One and studied the much tamer Flitterblooms, going through the differences and learning how to distinguish one from the other.
They arrived back to the Gryffindor Tower pleased with the lesson, not even grudging the homework of detailing the important points of difference between the two plants-it was easy enough after spending an hour going through them, and it was a good way for the information to stick in their head. Ginny knew how important it was to keep track of which plants were dangerous and which were safe-Charlie’s latest letter home had detailed how one of his co-workers at the dragon sanctuary had spiced their lunch one day with what she had taken for a Romanian variation on bay laurel, but which had actually turned out to be the magical plant Alihotsy. The resulting hysterics by everyone who had partaken of the dish caused the sanctuary to lock down for five days, and a group of seven Healers had to be brought in to concoct antidote and tend to the sanctuary employees.
Ginny spotted Ron waving at her as she entered the Common Room, and she said goodbye to Ryan before heading over.
“New friend?” asked Ron, nodding towards Ryan and handing her a package. “Here, came from Mum.”
“Thanks,” said Ginny. The package was soft. It was probably a second set of robes-she’d had to make do with one for the beginning of term, since the second-hand shop had had a very small collection of Hogwarts school robes. There had only been one pair fit to wear, and that was after it had been taken in three sizes, but Mum had promised to send a second one as soon as she got hold of it.
“Yes,” she continued, “that’s Ryan. We met through Brendon. He’s really clever, and he’s nice, too.”
“Brendon?” asked Ron, looking puzzled, and then frowned a little as he remembered. “Oh yeah, it’s that Slytherin kid, right?”
Ginny felt herself blush and felt stupid for doing so. “He’s not just some Slytherin kid,” she said. “And you were the one who said that the Uries are cool.”
“Yeah, but...” Ron shrugged and lowered his voice, leaning a little closer. “It’s just-you know what Slytherins are like, right? Just keep an eye on him or something. To be sure.”
He was just trying to be a good brother, Ginny thought, and she appreciated it. She nodded dutifully, but privately she thought that a Sorting that for her had consisted of a slurred Circe’s warts, how many of them are there? Oh well, put it with the other ones. GRYFFINDOR! was not something she would rely solely on for judge of someone’s character.
“Right. Good,” said Ron, straightening up again. “So is that cookies or something?”
“Robes,” said Ginny, checking inside the package to be sure. Ron made a face.
“Everyone else gets cookies,” he muttered.
s this seat taken?”
Spencer looked up from his Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and found Brendon’s Muggle-born friend gesturing at the opposite chair. “Go ahead,” he said. “You’re Jonathan-Walker, right?”
“Jonathan’s fine if you prefer, or Jon works, too,” said Walker. “Everyone at home calls me Jon. My best friend started it, and then everyone sort of followed.”
“Muggle?” Spencer asked. The name Jon seemed to fit him, better than Jonathan, at any rate. However, there were very few people here that Spencer felt he knew well enough to call by their first name-in fact, so far it was only Brendon, and even that was because Brendon had more or less ambushed him into doing so. He certainly wasn’t about to cross that boundary with someone he’d talked to only once before.
Circe’s bloomers, Walker wasn’t even in his House.
“Yeah, obviously. All my friends are Muggle back home.” Walker grinned suddenly. “Only I think maybe the man who owns the store close to us has some kind of magic. Mum always says how strange it is that his fruit is always fresh. Is that possible? Wizards living like Muggles, I mean?”
“It’s possible,” said Spencer, whose father was part of both the Muggle House of Lords and the Wizengamot.
Walker had started to pull up books from his backpack. “Thanks for letting me sit here, by the way,” he said. “I was supposed to meet Luna here, but she seems to be running late. Probably lost her way again...”
“Who’s Luna?” asked Spencer. He didn’t recognise the name, and he couldn’t recall having seen Walker with anyone but Brendon before.
“Didn’t you-oh, sorry, you left before she arrived to the study group, right? She’s from my House. She’s really nice, but sometimes she’s a bit disconnected.” Walker smiled. “Like now, she’s probably wandered into some corridor and is talking to Mockluffs.”
“Mockluffs?” Spencer asked, completely confounded.
“Yeah, Luna told me about them,” Walker said cheerfully. “Said they live in dark corners and eat dust. I’ve never seen any, myself, but apparently they look a bit like fuzzy daddy-long-legs. You’ve never seen any?”
The description made Spencer recall something-his father chuckling as he read out passages from a magazine someone had given him at work. “What’s her last name again?”
“Lovegood, I think. Hey, there she is!” Walker waved as a girl with long, blond hair and a somewhat vacant expression drifted in through the library door, then turned back to Spencer. “We’re going to do our Astronomy project, so we’ll be talking a lot-do you want us to move?”
“No, that’s fine.” Spencer smiled. “I have two younger twin sisters. I’ve learnt to concentrate on what I’m doing.” He wondered if he should warn Walker about maybe filtering out the more odd-sounding parts of what Luna Lovegood said, but decided that it wasn’t really his problem.
What a combination, though. A Muggle-born with no knowledge of their world, and a Lovegood. There was a certain element of pending disaster in that.
“Spencer’s never seen Mockluffs before, Luna,” Walker told his friend, as she sat down beside him and began to unload from her bag several large nuts, a blue feather, two tea towels and eventually books, quills and parchment. “You should show them to us both some day.”
“That’s all right,” said Lovegood. She had a breathy, dream-like voice, and she looked steadily at Spencer as she spoke. “It’s probably because he doesn’t believe they exist. A lot of people don’t, and they’re frightened of people who don’t believe in them.”
“That’s convenient,” muttered Spencer, but under his breath. Walker, however, seemed to take her words at face value.
“Really?” he said, sounding interested. “It makes sense for them to exist, though, I guess. There isn’t a lot of dust in the castle. OK, anyway, what do you think we should start with?”
It turned out to be a very pleasant afternoon, much better than Spencer had anticipated. He realised that despite her apparent dottiness, Luna Lovegood was a skilled Astronomy student, and when he offered a suggestion regarding the estimated trajectory of Jupiter she picked his statement apart with well-weighed criticism before accepting the truth in the matter. He had help in his own studies, as well-when he swore over a particularly difficult Transfiguration question, Walker quickly came to his aid. Spencer was a bit surprised at this, since Ravenclaws were not usually known for their skills in Transfiguration, but recognised that there were always individual variations within a group.
“You should really join our study group,” Walker said as they packed up, several very efficient hours later. Spencer had finished all his Transfiguration homework as well as Charms and knew that he could look forward to a relatively work-free weekend. “It would be nice to have you there. And it’s helpful, as well as a lot of fun.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Spencer said evasively. “I don’t know why, but Fridays always seem to be booked up...”
“That sucks,” Walker said sympathetically. “Well, if you’re ever free, you know where to find us, right?”
“Right.”
Spencer watched Walker and Lovegood leave, making for their tower, and thanked his lucky star as well as Salazar Slytherin for preferring sub-ground level residences for his students. He could never have stood trudging up those stairs every evening.
Walker was really a nice person, he thought as he started on his own way back to the dungeons. Shame about the whole Muggle thing.
It wasn’t that Muggles and Muggle-borns were necessarily stupid, of course, like some of the more fanatic pure-blood families were wont to say. (When he was six, Spencer had in a fit of temper called one of his sisters stupid like a Muggle, a term borrowed from one of the Rosier kids. His father had had a very stern talk with him after that, and Spencer had never used Muggle as a derogative again.) Ignorant, yes, and sometimes they seemed almost wilfully blind, but one had to make concessions for how their culture had taught them to see the world.
The problem with Muggle-borns was that many of them could never fully understand the Wizarding World, or why it was so important to keep it hidden. They hadn’t grown up learning how to control their magic or in which situations it should or should not be used, and seven short years at Hogwarts wasn’t enough to take in what wizarding children learned along with their letters and first steps. Spencer’s father had told him that seven times out of ten when the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office was called out, it was to reprimand Muggle-borns who’d thought it would be a brilliant idea to “just help things along” by enchanting their everyday Muggle items. (The remaining three times, Spencer conceded to himself, the culprits were people from secluded pure-blood families like the Weasleys-who had the same problem as the Muggle-borns, only approached from the other direction-or Muggle-baiting idiots, also usually found in pure-blood families.)
Still. It was a shame. For all that, Walker seemed like he was probably fun to hang out with.
t was Ryan’s second time at the Friday night study group meeting, and he had ended up chatting with Jonathan while they waited for Luna. Ginny and Brendon were comparing notes on broomsticks, not a subject either he or Jonathan felt comfortable adding to.
It was the first time Ryan had actually had a chance to talk to Jonathan. The Friday before, Jonathan had arrived late, left early and seemed a bit distracted during their study time, and in the Astronomy classes they had shared since then, Ryan hadn’t had the chance to talk to either of the Ravenclaws-partly because Ginny now monopolised him.
Which wasn’t entirely bad, of course. But still.
“So you’re in Ravenclaw?” he said, after talking politely about Transfiguration for a while. “What’s that like, really?”
Jonathan shrugged. “It’s all right. Luna’s fun. And there’s this guy two years up who does really cool stuff with oranges and a Spinning Spell sometimes in the Common Room. But it’s a bit boring, too. I sort of wish I was in Gryffindor. You seem to have so much fun all the time. What?”
Ryan was staring at him. “That’s so unfair,” he said miserably. “I don’t want to be in Gryffindor. I want to be in Ravenclaw so, so much. That’s really unfair.”
“Huh.” Jonathan grinned at him. “We should find out a way to switch or something.”
“Yeah, right.” Ryan looked thoroughly dejected, or at least as thoroughly dejected as he dared with Brendon around. Over the past couple of weeks he had noted a tendency of Brendon’s to take any excuse he could get to hug someone-and OK, so it was actually kind of nice, but it was embarrassing, too. “I hate the Sorting Hat. I bet it put me in Gryffindor only to spite me.”
“Come on, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Jonathan tried, his voice soothing. “Ginny told me the Hat takes a lot of inner, hidden qualities and stuff into consideration. It probably had a good reason to put you there. Besides, I think it seems like a nice House to be in. Maybe you should just give it a try?”
Since Jonathan seemed to actually like the idea of being in Gryffindor, Ryan kept silent about his own opinion that if he had hidden Gryffindor qualities, then he’d very much like them to stay hidden. Deeply so.
Ryan had no patience for the idea that one’s fate or path was set by the talents or traits one had been born with. If he honed the qualities praised in a Ravenclaw all his life, the Sorting Hat had no right to decide he was better suited for Gryffindor only based on some previously ignored quirk. Maybe whatever made him a Gryffindor was a part of himself he did not want, an aspect of himself he did disliked and wanted to quench, rather than nurture.
These reflections were all based upon the assumption that Ryan actually possessed some Gryffindor qualities. With the way his Sorting had panned out, he was sceptical.
“Hello,” he thought, when the hat touched his head, “I’m Ryan Ross, son of Jennifer Ross who you may perhaps remember Sorting into Ravenclaw eighteen years ago. I’m skilled in Astronomy and Charms, and I feel like I’ve made good headway with the Arithmancy problems my mother has introduced me to, so I hope and believe you’ll agree with me that I’m well suited for-”
GRYFFINDOR! the Sorting Hat shouted, and before Ryan even had time to protest, the Hat was whipped off him and he was pointed in the direction of his new home away from home.
It might be that Jonathan was right, and it had sensed some core of Gryffindor-ness in him, but Ryan was inclined to think the Hat had simply thrown him into Gryffindor for a laugh. Mainly because it had been laughing when it was lifted off his head.
But whatever the case, and whatever the reason, Ryan couldn’t think that he had been fairly Sorted. If the Hat didn’t take your own choices into the reckoning, it seemed to say that Hogwarts had a very poor view of students trying to take their destiny into their own hands, Ryan thought bitterly. And that was something he would never accept. Every person should have the right to choose what kind of person they wanted to become, and what aspects of their personality they preferred to discard.
Then again, Ryan reflected, looking at Brendon’s laughing face, there was something pretty nice about putting all of yourself out there for the world to see. Brendon was one of those people that was exactly what he appeared to be, Ryan thought. And despite the fact that Brendon combined many of the qualities that annoyed Ryan-first and foremost being the tendency to always act before thinking-he felt that he knew who Brendon was.
It was a nice feeling.
ix weeks or a little more had passed since Brendon had started Hogwarts, and life had settled into a steady routine. Some of the novelty of the school had faded, but none of the charm. He had learnt enough of the passageways to make it in time for most of his lessons (even if getting to Transfiguration was always a bit of a puzzle). He had study group meetings with Jonathan, Ginny, Luna and Ryan every Friday, and he and Spencer had a regular catching-up time every Sunday afternoon, when they finished whatever work hadn’t been done earlier in the week. Every Saturday he took a broom out for an hour or two, and two or three times he’d been joined by Ginny.
Brendon was happy, but there was something that was nagging at him. It wasn’t real worry, just something that poked at him sometimes, in the back of his mind.
He wondered why Colin never talked to him any more. The first couple of weeks they had still talked, but now Colin looked away whenever Brendon caught his eye in class, and he never joined Brendon, Ginny and Ryan when they offered to work with him in Potions.
It wasn’t just Colin, either. There were several people he’d spoken to during the train ride to Hogwarts or in the boats that still smiled at him a lot, but always seemed to be busy when he wanted to talk more with them. His sisters, when he asked them about this, said that that was how it worked-you couldn’t expect every acquaintance made on the train to turn into friendship, and most people stuck mainly with the people in their House, anyway-but still, it made him a little downcast.
He realised that it was probably naïve of him to expect to stay best friends with all the people he had met during his first couple of weeks, but he had thought that he would stay close with a few more of them.
small problem about being on reasonably good terms with Malfoy, Spencer thought, was that you tended to be in his vicinity a lot of the time-more specifically, a lot of the time when Harry Potter was also in his vicinity. The attempts at witty banter were usually bad enough, but several times things had come to magic blows, and the results tended to be ugly. None so more than one rainy Monday, when Spencer entered the library to find Brendon sitting among a wreckage of paper, tentatively patting the shoulder of his Gryffindor friend, Ross. Neither Malfoy nor Potter were visible, but Spencer quickly found out that Malfoy had stopped by Brendon and Ross’s table to say hello to the former and that Potter had run into him there. Snide words about a shared Potions lesson had led to wands being pulled, and Brendon had pulled Ryan out of the line of fire in time-but not the book.
“I think it was Tarantallegra,” Brendon told Spencer quietly, gathering up torn pages. “When you cast in on a person, it just makes them dance, but it made the book explode. We’re going to see if Madam Pince can do anything when she comes back-she’s off trying to get Draco and Potter expelled right now.”
Brendon looked extremely unhappy. By contrast, Ross just sat very still and very pale, staring at the reasonably intact cover of the book that still spelled out Potions and Possibilities-A Treatise on Development Potential For Healing Magic in fading silver letters. It had belonged to his mother, Spencer gathered, and was a pretty rare book at that.
He helped collect the bits of pages and covers and even patted Ross on the shoulder a couple of times, but he left before Madam Pince returned, leaving Brendon to do the consoling when it became obvious that there was nothing to be done. Spencer had the feeling that a book so thoroughly destroyed would be a bit beyond what Madam Pince could manage-book-restoring was a particularly complicated business. (The twins had had a difficult period when their mother was trying to teach them to read, and Spencer had overheard several frustrated conversations between his parents on the subject.)
He was a bit surprised when he only a couple of days later saw Ross bring out a copy of Potions and Possibilities during their Potions lesson, but realised that Brendon with his talent for persuasion had probably found an older student or even teacher willing to part with theirs to make Ross feel better.
He’d done a good job of finding a decent copy. Spencer thought that the letters on the cover were even faded the same way they had been on Ross’s book.
t was the first Saturday with somewhat acceptable weather since October had arrived, and Brendon had talked Ryan into coming along for an hour of flying. Up until now, Ryan had resisted, but when the excuse of rain no longer worked he admitted defeat and agreed to join, if only to put an end to Brendon’s incessant nagging. Having no broom had already proved to be an ineffective excuse.
From what Ryan had seen so far, students with their own brooms guarded them slightly more fiercely than a mother dragon did her eggs. Brendon, however, had managed to borrow not only one, but two Nimbus 2001’s from a couple of his House mates on the Quidditch team. Ryan was grudgingly impressed.
“This is great,” said Brendon enthusiastically, grinning at Ryan as he fastened the last straps on his shin guards. Ryan had never seen the guards used during Flying lessons, and Brendon had explained that this was because the danger level there barely rose above what he’d begun to get bored with by the age of nine. He’d promised his mother to always wear them when flying on his own, though, after some incident during a family Quidditch match involving an errant Quaffle and a picket fence. (Brendon hadn’t elaborated.)
“The school brooms are enchanted to stick to this really boring pace and height,” Brendon continued. “The private brooms don’t have anything like that, so they’re much more fun to fly with.”
“Uh-huh,” said Ryan sceptically. After more than one and a half month at Hogwarts and six flying lessons he had yet to understand what had everyone so excited about flying. It was OK, and some of the obstacle courses they’d been doing at lessons lately were kind of fun, but he didn’t really get the over-excitement shared by not only Ginny and Brendon, but most of the Gryffindor first-years-even Colin, who was a Muggle-born, for crying out loud.
Then again, Colin was still fascinated by how their food appeared at meal times. If he gasped in awe one more time when they sat down to dinner, Ryan might have to smother him in his sleep.
“You ready?” Brendon asked, and Ryan shook himself out of his slightly homicidal reverie.
“Sure.”
The sky was already flecked with black shapes when they exited the changing rooms. Brendon waved to some of them, calling out to one,
“Kayla! Kayla, hi! That’s my eldest sister,” he added to Ryan. “She’s on the Hufflepuff team as Chaser. Kayla!”
One of the figures-to Ryan indistinguishable from any of the other specks in the air-raised an arm in greeting, waving. Ryan suddenly realised how high up they were.
“Isn’t she afraid of falling off?” he asked, trying not to sound as apprehensive as he felt. During flying lessons they had yet to venture above twenty feet.
“Huh? No, the brooms are really safe,” Brendon replied, matter-of-factly. “Come on, let’s see if we can catch up with her!”
Without waiting for answer he slung one leg over his broom and kicked off, soaring into the air with a speed that far outstripped anything he’d previously shown in flying classes. Ryan swallowed. Then, thinking that he was probably going to regret this later, he got on his borrowed broom and kicked off from the ground.
At approximately the height of the castle’s sixth floor he met Brendon, who was on his way down towards him and looking flustered.
“I’m sorry,” Brendon said, “I forgot that you haven’t flown a lot. Do you want to go a bit lower?”
“This is fine,” said Ryan, realising with some surprise as he said it that it was actually true. Somehow, at this height, it didn’t seem entirely real any more, and the farther away from the ground he rose, the more he felt that a fall now wouldn’t actually hurt all that much. “Actually, can we go a bit higher?”
The castle from above looked like a child’s model; a plaything. Ryan could see the sun glinting off his dorm window and knew that a few hours ago he’d been lying in his bed, inside that tower. At the same time, it was impossible to imagine. He couldn’t fit in a room that small.
There was a shout from behind him and Brendon soared past, rolling his broom in the air. Ryan sucked in his breath sharply, but then he heard Brendon laughing and realised it was on purpose. Intrigued, he leaned sideways and downwards, gasping when the broom rolled with him. It was in equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. He grinned to himself and tried the roll again, this time putting more speed into it and laughing out loud when he spun like a top in the air. He could already feel the huge difference between his borrowed broom and the school ones he’d ridden so far in lessons-the Nimbus answered to commands much quicker, obeying Ryan’s changes of speed and direction without the two-second lag that Ryan now realised was an incredibly annoying feature of the school brooms. He tried a dive, thrilled with the speed with which he could pull out again and wondering what one would have to give for a reasonably good broom.
Christmas was suddenly much too far off.
“Ryan!”
Ryan halted in mid-air, blinking to clear his eyes from the moisture forced out by the speed of the dive. Brendon was gesturing, laughing, towards the Astronomy Tower, where a couple of people in Hufflepuff’s canary-yellow Quidditch robes were swooping around the ramparts. They were trying to catch the balls that another canary-yellow-clad student, standing on the top of the tower, was Conjuring and throwing in all directions, and scattered laughter reached Ryan as balls were caught and missed, in the latter case disappearing before they had fallen more than a few feet.
“Want to try and catch some?” Brendon asked, floating closer. “They’re not having a serious practise or anything, so I’m sure Kayla would let us play.”
Ryan had met the Gryffindor Quidditch team on the way in from practise once and thought that they seemed rather serious and almost grim-not the sort to welcome any intrusion in their practise time. Then again, that could of course be explained by how the meeting had occurred at eight thirty in the morning-after a two-hour practise, if he’d heard correctly-and how it had been pouring outside. And since this wasn’t a real Hufflepuff practise, maybe it was more OK for strangers to join in.
Besides, Ryan had always been pretty good at ball games. He was sure he could probably catch some of the easier throws, at least.
“Sure, why not?” he agreed, and laughed when Brendon took both hands off his broom in a gesture of glee and almost lost his balance completely.
Speeding after Brendon, with the sun warm on his neck, Ryan thought that maybe he was beginning to understand what all the fuss was about, after all.
ctober was a disgusting month, Spencer thought grumpily and sneezed. Cold and damp and muddy, and all around miserable for everyone.
Huh. Almost everyone, it appeared.
“Hey,” Walker said cheerfully. Since the time they had met by accident, he and Spencer had taken to meeting in the library on Wednesdays-a kind of mini study group, since Spencer still hadn’t found it in him to join the one on Fridays.
He had thought about it, especially during the first weeks, when Brendon still pestered him about it. But eventually Brendon had given up, and it had fallen from Spencer’s mind. Besides, he always got such a lot of his work done on Wednesdays-he couldn’t really see the point of extended group studies, especially not since he regularly worked with the other Slytherin first-years, as well.
“You’re looking happy,” Spencer said, in his very sourest voice. No one ought to be that radiant when it had been raining for three weeks straight.
“I’m just really looking forward to Halloween,” said Walker, setting his books out in front of him. “It’ll be nice to see it from the right side, you know? Before I’ve only dressed up as a wizard. Hey, are you all right?”
Spencer glared at him, still recovering from his last sneeze. “Madam Hooch forced us to do this outdoors course yesterday,” he said. “Even though it was raining.”
“More like drizzling, wasn’t it?” asked Walker, who seemed to be trying to hold back a grin.
“Raining,” Spencer repeated. “Practically pouring. And we had to duck under things and fly over things and fly slalom. And she timed us.”
“We just did that course, too,” said Walker, who ought to be drawn and quartered, Spencer thought. Just come from a flying lesson in the rain and he still looked happy? That was probably not even allowed. “I thought it was pretty fun, but then, I like flying. I guess it wouldn’t-whoa, that’s your third sneeze.”
“Urgh,” said Spencer miserably.
Walker chewed his lip. “Tell you what,” he said, “I have a History assignment that’s due tomorrow, but it’s only couple of inches more and then I’m done. And after that I can follow you to the Hospital Wing. Luna says Madam Pomfrey’s Pepperup Potion is really good.”
Spencer thought about protesting that he’d prefer not to walk around like an animate tea pot, thank you, but two sneezes in quick succession put a stop to his objections.
“Right,” said Walker, no longer trying to hide his grin. “Let me just finish my piece on Urghart the Useless and we can go.”
Once they were at the Hospital Wing they found that there was a line before them with over a dozen other snivelling students from various Houses, as well as Professor McGonagall-who glared at them as though to say that any subsequent mention of this would mean a week of detentions. Spencer did not doubt that she was serious.
“There you go, dear. Don’t wear a hat for the next couple of hours-the steam can stain the fabric. Also, no drinks containing cinnamon until tomorrow or you may have a nasty reaction, and I really don’t have space for you at the moment.” Madam Pomfrey gave her last cautionary words to her current patient and whisked aside the curtain they had been seated behind. “Your brother will follow you back to your Common Room, I’m sure, and I’d recommend you lie down for a bit. It’s your second Potion, after all, dear. Mr Weasley!”
A gangly sixth-year who had been engrossed in one of the Daily Prophets in the waiting corner sprang up and took the arm of his sister, and Spencer realised that it was Ginny Weasley who was being ushered away. Walker lit up and grinned at her as she and her brother passed, but she only gave him a weak smile in return. Walker settled back into waiting, frowning to himself.
“Wasn’t that your friend from Gryffindor?” Spencer asked, wondering how he should frame his next question. It seemed like their usually friendly terms were somewhat subdued, but without knowing exactly what their relationship was, Spencer felt that it would be all too easy to overstep his boundaries. Thankfully, Walker answered his question before he’d even asked it.
“There’s something up with Ginny lately,” he said, gnawing on his lip again. “She’s gone really quiet. It seems as if there’s something wrong, but I don’t know... It could be that she’s just ill, I guess, but... well.”
“Have you tried talking to her?” asked Spencer.
“Yes, but she just changes the subject.” Walker frowned again, looking quite anxious. “That’s what has me worried. Usually we tell each other everything.”
“Huh.” Spencer didn’t know why he was so surprised. Walker and Weasley spent a lot of time together, after all, and seemed to get along well. But for some reason, he had never thought-maybe it was just that he was unused to the idea of inter-House couples.
He finally got his Pepperup after having waited in line for more than half an hour, and then had to sit through the extended version of the lecture he’d heard Madam Pomfrey give Weasley. When he was finally finished, he and Walker sat outside the Hospital Wing until the worst of the steam had dissipated, talking about Halloween and classes and Quidditch.
“Come to the library this Friday,” said Walker eventually. “You missed out on a good few hours of study time today, and Friday might be a good time to catch up. Wouldn’t it be nice to be totally free for Halloween?”
Spencer conceded reluctantly that yes, it would.
“We usually sit pretty far back in the library. The risk of being seen with Gryffindors is pretty small. And you can say Brendon forced you,” Walker added, with a hint of mischievousness that seemed to grow as Spencer blushed.
“That’s not it at all,” he said with dignity, and privately thought that Walker was a bit more perceptive than he let on.
Partly because he was flustered by Walker’s implication, Spencer found himself agreeing-almost defiantly-to come that Friday, and he spent the remainder of their time outside the Hospital Wing reflecting that Walker might have a hitherto hidden talent for cunning persuasion. They parted ways a little before curfew, Spencer promising before he left for his Common Room to mention Weasley’s disquieting quietness to Brendon, as well.
Draco Malfoy was being noisy again when Spencer arrived at the Common Room, detailing the Quidditch team’s latest practise and holding forth on how very flattened Gryffindor and most importantly Harry Potter would be when the Quidditch season began with the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match, only little more than a week hence. Spencer rolled his eyes, wondering if he ought to point out that Malfoy’s obsession with Potter seemed to be unhealthy bordering on stalker.
“Oh, hello, Smith,” Malfoy said, catching sight of him. “I was just talking about how well our Quidditch practises are going. How is your own flying coming along? You know that you can always come to me for advice, I hope-I know that many beginners start out with the wrong grip, for example, and I would be more than happy to give you a few pointers.”
“Thank you,” said Spencer pleasantly, “but flying isn’t my greatest interest, I have to admit. After all, if I wanted to obsess about Quidditch and concentrate all my energy on sports instead of actually getting an education, I ought to have been in Gryffindor, right?” He smiled, noting with satisfaction how Malfoy’s own smile froze.
“Yes,” Malfoy said, regaining composure impressively quick, “I know that we’re all talented in different areas. If one is best suited to sit with one’s nose in a book at all hours, for example, that’s what one ought to stick to, right? Especially one has a,” he glanced at the steam still pouring from Spencer’s ears, “weak constitution. How is the library at this time of night, by the way? I must admit I’ve never had any reason to find myself there after six o’clock.”
Spencer’s chance to retaliate was stopped by Brendon, who had previously been listening to Malfoy’s Quidditch tales with apparent rapt attention and now cut in with, “It’s awesome! All these candles light up by themselves and the books in the restricted section start murmuring spells. Apparently that’s how they sleep-I asked Madam Pince and she said of course the spells don’t have any power when they’re being said by books, but by speaking them the books keep the spells fresh. Or something like that.”
Spencer and Malfoy shared a look over Brendon’s head, both declaring the match of strength some kind of tie, this time, and sharing their puzzlement. It had been almost two months, and Spencer still understood Brendon no better than he had from the start. He had yet to show his true personality even to the Slytherins, although he sometimes used his innocent face to deliver stinging statements-such as the day before, when he’d broken into a rather poisonous debate about Muggle-wizarding marriages with an “Oh, right, like your aunt, Parkinson!” and left Pansy Parkinson holding back tears of fury and shame. He hadn’t declared loyalty, either. Most Slytherin students between Year One and Three had by now settled, at least vaguely, into either the Smith or the Malfoy faction-even though there were a few exceptions like Blaise Zabini, who somehow got away with switching back and forth according to mood.
Brendon, however, gave an awfully good impression of not even being aware of the existing differences.
But that was Brendon’s thing, wasn’t it? That was how he kept people on their toes-by never showing what he actually thought. Even those sudden, venomous jabs like the one meant for Parkinson were given with his usual honest-to-goodness, earnest expression. He had a large following of students from both factions in the Slytherin lower years (which he of course did a splendid job of pretending not to know about), and they all walked in awe and fear of him. For with his extended network of contacts and way of weaselling his way into people’s confidences, Brendon got to know things-and revealed them, when someone displeased him.
That it was virtually impossible to know when you had displeased him until the hour of reckoning struck only added to the mystery, of course.
It wasn’t only the Slytherin students that were catching on, either. Most of the first-years as well as several older students of all Houses had by now realised that Brendon was someone you wanted to have on your side. So his influence only continued to grow, spreading further and further through Houses and Years.
He was much more dangerous than Draco Malfoy would ever be, Spencer had realised. Malfoy didn’t seem to understand that to really have some sort of pull within the structure of Hogwarts School, he would have to concentrate on more than the Slytherin House. Sure, within their ranks he was respected well enough, and he had after all a certain air of romance about him that could sway many of the students around him-but because he was, plainly put, a not very subtle bully, he would never have friends in the other Houses. Brendon on the other hand... The day he wanted to make an imprint on this school, he would have his view supported by a broad legion of students, from every clique and group. With a few years’ cultivation, Brendon’s influence in the school could well be a force to be reckoned with.
And Spencer still did not know in which direction that force would turn. Were the Uries newfangled pure-blood activists, like the Malfoys and Rosiers? Were they of the “live and let live”-persuasion? Were they like the Weasleys, eager to join the Muggle world to the magic one but with as much practical foresight as a Puffskein? Did Brendon even have a larger political agenda, inherited or otherwise, or was he just a sneakier form of Draco Malfoy-esque bully?
He looked at Brendon again, watching him expand on the story of after-hours library visits to a group of eagerly listening students. He thought that sometimes, he wished the charming fiction he could see each day was the real one-that Brendon really was as honestly cheerful as he appeared to be. For all that Spencer could see through the mask, he wished, somehow, that it was true. There was something extremely likeable about Brendon, and Spencer would have been happy if that had really been all there was to him.
Knowing that it couldn’t be was kind of sad.
rendon was worried.
Ginny hadn’t been to study group the day before, and now she hadn’t turned up for the Halloween Feast, either. Ryan had said that she’d been spending less and less time in the Gryffindor Common Room, as well, each day arriving back in the Tower by curfew or a little earlier and retreating almost instantly to her dorm.
It was a shame that yesterday’s study group had been Spencer’s first, Brendon thought, because they had all been a little subdued. They had noticed that Ginny had been a bit quiet for the last two or three Fridays, but they had put it down to the weather and the generally depressing state of things, now that autumn had arrived in earnest. When she wasn’t there and they had the opportunity to compare notes, however, what their individual observations added up to was this: something was off with Ginny.
They hadn’t talked about it for long yesterday-Spencer had begun to fidget, and they had all agreed to focus on studying for the night-but Ryan had agreed to see if he could talk to her before the Feast and see if there was anything unusual going on. Now, however, when Brendon looked over towards the Gryffindor table, he could see no sign of Ginny anywhere, and Ryan was eating alone.
“Well, I don’t think it’s much of a feast. At home we always hire this Chinese chef who specialises in fruit carving to do our pumpkins properly. And Father books the best singers to entertain at the party, not just some mouldy old skeletons.”
Brendon frowned as he heard Draco Malfoy elaborate on the superiority of his family’s parties over Hogwarts’-and, indeed, the rest of wizarding England’s. Draco was his friend, but sometimes he acted a bit mean. Brendon hadn’t figured out how to tell him without being mean in turn, however, so he mostly let it pass.
Sometimes, though, he tried to give Draco a gracious hint.
“I think it’s really nice,” he said defiantly. “Especially the pumpkins-it’s amazing how large Hagrid got them to grow.”
Draco glared at him for a moment, then snorted and shrugged. “Whatever,” he said. “I just hope the skeletons aren’t going to sing.”
Brendon turned away from him, back towards the Gryffindor table. He caught Ryan’s eye and mouthed a question: Ginny?
Ryan shrugged and put one hand to his temple. Sick, he mouthed back, but he looked pensive, as if there was something more to it. Brendon resolved to ask him more about it at the first opportunity.
At the moment, however, there was the Feast to concentrate on, and he put the thought of Ginny out of his head for the time being and attacked his laden plate with gusto. The main courses eventually disappeared to make way for pudding, and there was enough even for Crabbe and Goyle, who were widely recognised in the Slytherin House as having the best appetite of them all. Even when the meal was officially over, plates of cupcakes and bowls of candy and roasted pumpkin seeds remained on the tables, for the students to nibble on while the entertainment got started.
Four Ravenclaw fifth-year students performed a song about Boggarts, and Professor Flitwick set loose a great storm of bats among the tables, that disappeared into puffs of black smoke just before the students had time to be alarmed-dropping a chocolate frog onto the plate of the student lucky enough to be right under a bat when it disintegrated. The dancing skeletons that Draco had been so sceptical about also proved to be wonderful entertainment, and even Draco himself cracked a couple of reluctant smiles as they finished a number by folding in on each other and then rose again, each skeleton now having exchanged several bones with its neighbour. Brendon, meanwhile, laughed so hard he spat pumpkin juice all over his plate.
The Feast came to an end far too soon for his liking. It seemed as though many of the Slytherin students felt the same way, and a couple of fourth-years began to talk about heading up to one of the towers to see if they could spot the bonfires in Hogsmeade instead of going straight to the Common Room. Soon most of the students around Brendon had decided to go with the idea-having first agreed that curfew rules were always more lax during holidays-and they joined the throng of students milling out of the Great Hall and heading up the stairs.
Brendon was talking excitedly with Spencer about the pumpkin decorations at home, and he didn’t notice the sudden standstill until he walked straight into Blaise Zabini.
“What-” he began and realised quite suddenly that the entire student body had gone completely silent. He looked at Spencer, who looked back at him, frowning and shrugging. And then he heard Draco’s voice, high and excited.
“Enemies of the heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”
Brendon stretched as far up on his toes as he could manage, peering over Zabini’s shoulder. The students had stopped in the entrances to the passage in front of them, and the corridor was empty apart from Harry Potter, Ginny’s youngest brother-who was possibly called Ron, Brendon thought-and their friend Hermione Granger. And beyond them...
Beyond them was a dead cat, hanging by its tail on the wall. Above it was writing.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
Next chapter
CHAPTER TWO
sudden shower of heavy rain had cut Brendon’s plans for his Saturday short. He and Ginny had decided to borrow a couple of school brooms and try for a game of Snitch-catch-Brendon had brought the practise Snitch Aunt Mairwen had given him for Christmas to Hogwarts and had been looking for an opportunity to use it-but they had only had time to catch it once each when the rain put a stop to all outdoor activity. Sopping wet and cold, he had arrived back to find that the Common Room was filling up with drenched students, and that all the seats near the fire were already taken. Disgruntled, he looked around the room and found Spencer in one corner of the room, taking up an entire table with scrolls of parchment and books. He was sucking on his quill, running one finger down a page in one of the heavy tomes open beside him, and as Brendon made his way over he saw that the rolls of parchment were in fact letters-Spencer’s name and House were written neatly just above the cracked seal, stamped into place with the Smith family crest.
“What’s that?”
Spencer looked up from his letters and blinked at him, taking the quill out of his mouth. “This? Just letters from home.”
“You looked so focused.” Brendon peeked across the table, frowning as he tried to read upside down. “We are considering new Concealment Charms. Send me your thoughts on whether Dimwurble’s Mirror Technique is more effective than-what’s that about?”
Spencer shrugged, pulling one book a little closer to him, and Brendon realised guiltily that he was still dripping with rain. “Like I said. Letters from my family-this one’s from my father. They’re renovating the town house. It’s in London, so we need effective Concealment Charms for those areas of the house that are magical. Like the kennel, obviously.”
“But he’s asking you for advice and things.”
“Of course he is. I’m the eldest,” said Spencer, matter-of-factly. “I’m sure your father discusses these things with your eldest brother.”
Brendon thought about Matt, who when he came home now usually did so with a basket full of dirty robes, asking their mother for help with the Scourgify, since you know I never learnt properly, thanks, love you. Is there any pie in the pantry?
“Maybe,” he said uncertainly.
“Right, so you see what I mean,” said Spencer reasonably. “I’m going to do it for myself one day, so the earlier I know how to run the estate, the better.”
Brendon thought about pointing out that Spencer was eleven, but then decided that although this was the case, Spencer was probably the oldest eleven-year-old he knew. (Unless you mentioned farts, in which case he regressed to six.)
“All right,” he said, standing back from the table. “Hey, I’m going to change into dry clothes now, but do you want to play Exploding Snap later?”
Spencer lit up, and then he looked down at his letters again and frowned.
“Maybe after I help you find out more about Dimgubble’s Mirror Technique?” Brendon added quickly. He knew that Spencer took his writing-to-home duties very seriously, but he also knew that Spencer had a great passion for Snap.
“Dimwurble,” said Spencer, but he grinned. “Sure, thanks. Only if you dry off completely though; Madam Pince will have my head if the books are damaged.”
Brendon grinned back and spun on his heel, scattering droplets around him. “Hoi!” Spencer shouted, alarmed, but he was kind of laughing, too.
Brendon dashed towards his dorm, grinning to himself. Maybe it would turn out to be a good Saturday, after all.
inny loved Herbology. It was the only class where they got to work with their hands properly. She liked a lot of their other classes-Charms was great, because Professor Flitwick was good at explaining and was always kind to them, and Potions was always made fun by Brendon’s comments-but there was something special about being allowed to dig her hands into a flower pot, something so real and satisfying about seeing the dirt on her fingers and knowing she had done the work; not her magic.
Ryan was less impressed with Herbology, but even he conceded that today’s lesson had been pretty good. They’d been allowed to stand in the door to Greenhouse Three while Professor Sprout showed the Devil’s Snare and pointed out several important characteristics, and after that they had gone back to Greenhouse One and studied the much tamer Flitterblooms, going through the differences and learning how to distinguish one from the other.
They arrived back to the Gryffindor Tower pleased with the lesson, not even grudging the homework of detailing the important points of difference between the two plants-it was easy enough after spending an hour going through them, and it was a good way for the information to stick in their head. Ginny knew how important it was to keep track of which plants were dangerous and which were safe-Charlie’s latest letter home had detailed how one of his co-workers at the dragon sanctuary had spiced their lunch one day with what she had taken for a Romanian variation on bay laurel, but which had actually turned out to be the magical plant Alihotsy. The resulting hysterics by everyone who had partaken of the dish caused the sanctuary to lock down for five days, and a group of seven Healers had to be brought in to concoct antidote and tend to the sanctuary employees.
Ginny spotted Ron waving at her as she entered the Common Room, and she said goodbye to Ryan before heading over.
“New friend?” asked Ron, nodding towards Ryan and handing her a package. “Here, came from Mum.”
“Thanks,” said Ginny. The package was soft. It was probably a second set of robes-she’d had to make do with one for the beginning of term, since the second-hand shop had had a very small collection of Hogwarts school robes. There had only been one pair fit to wear, and that was after it had been taken in three sizes, but Mum had promised to send a second one as soon as she got hold of it.
“Yes,” she continued, “that’s Ryan. We met through Brendon. He’s really clever, and he’s nice, too.”
“Brendon?” asked Ron, looking puzzled, and then frowned a little as he remembered. “Oh yeah, it’s that Slytherin kid, right?”
Ginny felt herself blush and felt stupid for doing so. “He’s not just some Slytherin kid,” she said. “And you were the one who said that the Uries are cool.”
“Yeah, but...” Ron shrugged and lowered his voice, leaning a little closer. “It’s just-you know what Slytherins are like, right? Just keep an eye on him or something. To be sure.”
He was just trying to be a good brother, Ginny thought, and she appreciated it. She nodded dutifully, but privately she thought that a Sorting that for her had consisted of a slurred Circe’s warts, how many of them are there? Oh well, put it with the other ones. GRYFFINDOR! was not something she would rely solely on for judge of someone’s character.
“Right. Good,” said Ron, straightening up again. “So is that cookies or something?”
“Robes,” said Ginny, checking inside the package to be sure. Ron made a face.
“Everyone else gets cookies,” he muttered.
s this seat taken?”
Spencer looked up from his Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and found Brendon’s Muggle-born friend gesturing at the opposite chair. “Go ahead,” he said. “You’re Jonathan-Walker, right?”
“Jonathan’s fine if you prefer, or Jon works, too,” said Walker. “Everyone at home calls me Jon. My best friend started it, and then everyone sort of followed.”
“Muggle?” Spencer asked. The name Jon seemed to fit him, better than Jonathan, at any rate. However, there were very few people here that Spencer felt he knew well enough to call by their first name-in fact, so far it was only Brendon, and even that was because Brendon had more or less ambushed him into doing so. He certainly wasn’t about to cross that boundary with someone he’d talked to only once before.
Circe’s bloomers, Walker wasn’t even in his House.
“Yeah, obviously. All my friends are Muggle back home.” Walker grinned suddenly. “Only I think maybe the man who owns the store close to us has some kind of magic. Mum always says how strange it is that his fruit is always fresh. Is that possible? Wizards living like Muggles, I mean?”
“It’s possible,” said Spencer, whose father was part of both the Muggle House of Lords and the Wizengamot.
Walker had started to pull up books from his backpack. “Thanks for letting me sit here, by the way,” he said. “I was supposed to meet Luna here, but she seems to be running late. Probably lost her way again...”
“Who’s Luna?” asked Spencer. He didn’t recognise the name, and he couldn’t recall having seen Walker with anyone but Brendon before.
“Didn’t you-oh, sorry, you left before she arrived to the study group, right? She’s from my House. She’s really nice, but sometimes she’s a bit disconnected.” Walker smiled. “Like now, she’s probably wandered into some corridor and is talking to Mockluffs.”
“Mockluffs?” Spencer asked, completely confounded.
“Yeah, Luna told me about them,” Walker said cheerfully. “Said they live in dark corners and eat dust. I’ve never seen any, myself, but apparently they look a bit like fuzzy daddy-long-legs. You’ve never seen any?”
The description made Spencer recall something-his father chuckling as he read out passages from a magazine someone had given him at work. “What’s her last name again?”
“Lovegood, I think. Hey, there she is!” Walker waved as a girl with long, blond hair and a somewhat vacant expression drifted in through the library door, then turned back to Spencer. “We’re going to do our Astronomy project, so we’ll be talking a lot-do you want us to move?”
“No, that’s fine.” Spencer smiled. “I have two younger twin sisters. I’ve learnt to concentrate on what I’m doing.” He wondered if he should warn Walker about maybe filtering out the more odd-sounding parts of what Luna Lovegood said, but decided that it wasn’t really his problem.
What a combination, though. A Muggle-born with no knowledge of their world, and a Lovegood. There was a certain element of pending disaster in that.
“Spencer’s never seen Mockluffs before, Luna,” Walker told his friend, as she sat down beside him and began to unload from her bag several large nuts, a blue feather, two tea towels and eventually books, quills and parchment. “You should show them to us both some day.”
“That’s all right,” said Lovegood. She had a breathy, dream-like voice, and she looked steadily at Spencer as she spoke. “It’s probably because he doesn’t believe they exist. A lot of people don’t, and they’re frightened of people who don’t believe in them.”
“That’s convenient,” muttered Spencer, but under his breath. Walker, however, seemed to take her words at face value.
“Really?” he said, sounding interested. “It makes sense for them to exist, though, I guess. There isn’t a lot of dust in the castle. OK, anyway, what do you think we should start with?”
It turned out to be a very pleasant afternoon, much better than Spencer had anticipated. He realised that despite her apparent dottiness, Luna Lovegood was a skilled Astronomy student, and when he offered a suggestion regarding the estimated trajectory of Jupiter she picked his statement apart with well-weighed criticism before accepting the truth in the matter. He had help in his own studies, as well-when he swore over a particularly difficult Transfiguration question, Walker quickly came to his aid. Spencer was a bit surprised at this, since Ravenclaws were not usually known for their skills in Transfiguration, but recognised that there were always individual variations within a group.
“You should really join our study group,” Walker said as they packed up, several very efficient hours later. Spencer had finished all his Transfiguration homework as well as Charms and knew that he could look forward to a relatively work-free weekend. “It would be nice to have you there. And it’s helpful, as well as a lot of fun.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Spencer said evasively. “I don’t know why, but Fridays always seem to be booked up...”
“That sucks,” Walker said sympathetically. “Well, if you’re ever free, you know where to find us, right?”
“Right.”
Spencer watched Walker and Lovegood leave, making for their tower, and thanked his lucky star as well as Salazar Slytherin for preferring sub-ground level residences for his students. He could never have stood trudging up those stairs every evening.
Walker was really a nice person, he thought as he started on his own way back to the dungeons. Shame about the whole Muggle thing.
It wasn’t that Muggles and Muggle-borns were necessarily stupid, of course, like some of the more fanatic pure-blood families were wont to say. (When he was six, Spencer had in a fit of temper called one of his sisters stupid like a Muggle, a term borrowed from one of the Rosier kids. His father had had a very stern talk with him after that, and Spencer had never used Muggle as a derogative again.) Ignorant, yes, and sometimes they seemed almost wilfully blind, but one had to make concessions for how their culture had taught them to see the world.
The problem with Muggle-borns was that many of them could never fully understand the Wizarding World, or why it was so important to keep it hidden. They hadn’t grown up learning how to control their magic or in which situations it should or should not be used, and seven short years at Hogwarts wasn’t enough to take in what wizarding children learned along with their letters and first steps. Spencer’s father had told him that seven times out of ten when the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office was called out, it was to reprimand Muggle-borns who’d thought it would be a brilliant idea to “just help things along” by enchanting their everyday Muggle items. (The remaining three times, Spencer conceded to himself, the culprits were people from secluded pure-blood families like the Weasleys-who had the same problem as the Muggle-borns, only approached from the other direction-or Muggle-baiting idiots, also usually found in pure-blood families.)
Still. It was a shame. For all that, Walker seemed like he was probably fun to hang out with.
t was Ryan’s second time at the Friday night study group meeting, and he had ended up chatting with Jonathan while they waited for Luna. Ginny and Brendon were comparing notes on broomsticks, not a subject either he or Jonathan felt comfortable adding to.
It was the first time Ryan had actually had a chance to talk to Jonathan. The Friday before, Jonathan had arrived late, left early and seemed a bit distracted during their study time, and in the Astronomy classes they had shared since then, Ryan hadn’t had the chance to talk to either of the Ravenclaws-partly because Ginny now monopolised him.
Which wasn’t entirely bad, of course. But still.
“So you’re in Ravenclaw?” he said, after talking politely about Transfiguration for a while. “What’s that like, really?”
Jonathan shrugged. “It’s all right. Luna’s fun. And there’s this guy two years up who does really cool stuff with oranges and a Spinning Spell sometimes in the Common Room. But it’s a bit boring, too. I sort of wish I was in Gryffindor. You seem to have so much fun all the time. What?”
Ryan was staring at him. “That’s so unfair,” he said miserably. “I don’t want to be in Gryffindor. I want to be in Ravenclaw so, so much. That’s really unfair.”
“Huh.” Jonathan grinned at him. “We should find out a way to switch or something.”
“Yeah, right.” Ryan looked thoroughly dejected, or at least as thoroughly dejected as he dared with Brendon around. Over the past couple of weeks he had noted a tendency of Brendon’s to take any excuse he could get to hug someone-and OK, so it was actually kind of nice, but it was embarrassing, too. “I hate the Sorting Hat. I bet it put me in Gryffindor only to spite me.”
“Come on, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Jonathan tried, his voice soothing. “Ginny told me the Hat takes a lot of inner, hidden qualities and stuff into consideration. It probably had a good reason to put you there. Besides, I think it seems like a nice House to be in. Maybe you should just give it a try?”
Since Jonathan seemed to actually like the idea of being in Gryffindor, Ryan kept silent about his own opinion that if he had hidden Gryffindor qualities, then he’d very much like them to stay hidden. Deeply so.
Ryan had no patience for the idea that one’s fate or path was set by the talents or traits one had been born with. If he honed the qualities praised in a Ravenclaw all his life, the Sorting Hat had no right to decide he was better suited for Gryffindor only based on some previously ignored quirk. Maybe whatever made him a Gryffindor was a part of himself he did not want, an aspect of himself he did disliked and wanted to quench, rather than nurture.
These reflections were all based upon the assumption that Ryan actually possessed some Gryffindor qualities. With the way his Sorting had panned out, he was sceptical.
“Hello,” he thought, when the hat touched his head, “I’m Ryan Ross, son of Jennifer Ross who you may perhaps remember Sorting into Ravenclaw eighteen years ago. I’m skilled in Astronomy and Charms, and I feel like I’ve made good headway with the Arithmancy problems my mother has introduced me to, so I hope and believe you’ll agree with me that I’m well suited for-”
GRYFFINDOR! the Sorting Hat shouted, and before Ryan even had time to protest, the Hat was whipped off him and he was pointed in the direction of his new home away from home.
It might be that Jonathan was right, and it had sensed some core of Gryffindor-ness in him, but Ryan was inclined to think the Hat had simply thrown him into Gryffindor for a laugh. Mainly because it had been laughing when it was lifted off his head.
But whatever the case, and whatever the reason, Ryan couldn’t think that he had been fairly Sorted. If the Hat didn’t take your own choices into the reckoning, it seemed to say that Hogwarts had a very poor view of students trying to take their destiny into their own hands, Ryan thought bitterly. And that was something he would never accept. Every person should have the right to choose what kind of person they wanted to become, and what aspects of their personality they preferred to discard.
Then again, Ryan reflected, looking at Brendon’s laughing face, there was something pretty nice about putting all of yourself out there for the world to see. Brendon was one of those people that was exactly what he appeared to be, Ryan thought. And despite the fact that Brendon combined many of the qualities that annoyed Ryan-first and foremost being the tendency to always act before thinking-he felt that he knew who Brendon was.
It was a nice feeling.
ix weeks or a little more had passed since Brendon had started Hogwarts, and life had settled into a steady routine. Some of the novelty of the school had faded, but none of the charm. He had learnt enough of the passageways to make it in time for most of his lessons (even if getting to Transfiguration was always a bit of a puzzle). He had study group meetings with Jonathan, Ginny, Luna and Ryan every Friday, and he and Spencer had a regular catching-up time every Sunday afternoon, when they finished whatever work hadn’t been done earlier in the week. Every Saturday he took a broom out for an hour or two, and two or three times he’d been joined by Ginny.
Brendon was happy, but there was something that was nagging at him. It wasn’t real worry, just something that poked at him sometimes, in the back of his mind.
He wondered why Colin never talked to him any more. The first couple of weeks they had still talked, but now Colin looked away whenever Brendon caught his eye in class, and he never joined Brendon, Ginny and Ryan when they offered to work with him in Potions.
It wasn’t just Colin, either. There were several people he’d spoken to during the train ride to Hogwarts or in the boats that still smiled at him a lot, but always seemed to be busy when he wanted to talk more with them. His sisters, when he asked them about this, said that that was how it worked-you couldn’t expect every acquaintance made on the train to turn into friendship, and most people stuck mainly with the people in their House, anyway-but still, it made him a little downcast.
He realised that it was probably naïve of him to expect to stay best friends with all the people he had met during his first couple of weeks, but he had thought that he would stay close with a few more of them.
small problem about being on reasonably good terms with Malfoy, Spencer thought, was that you tended to be in his vicinity a lot of the time-more specifically, a lot of the time when Harry Potter was also in his vicinity. The attempts at witty banter were usually bad enough, but several times things had come to magic blows, and the results tended to be ugly. None so more than one rainy Monday, when Spencer entered the library to find Brendon sitting among a wreckage of paper, tentatively patting the shoulder of his Gryffindor friend, Ross. Neither Malfoy nor Potter were visible, but Spencer quickly found out that Malfoy had stopped by Brendon and Ross’s table to say hello to the former and that Potter had run into him there. Snide words about a shared Potions lesson had led to wands being pulled, and Brendon had pulled Ryan out of the line of fire in time-but not the book.
“I think it was Tarantallegra,” Brendon told Spencer quietly, gathering up torn pages. “When you cast in on a person, it just makes them dance, but it made the book explode. We’re going to see if Madam Pince can do anything when she comes back-she’s off trying to get Draco and Potter expelled right now.”
Brendon looked extremely unhappy. By contrast, Ross just sat very still and very pale, staring at the reasonably intact cover of the book that still spelled out Potions and Possibilities-A Treatise on Development Potential For Healing Magic in fading silver letters. It had belonged to his mother, Spencer gathered, and was a pretty rare book at that.
He helped collect the bits of pages and covers and even patted Ross on the shoulder a couple of times, but he left before Madam Pince returned, leaving Brendon to do the consoling when it became obvious that there was nothing to be done. Spencer had the feeling that a book so thoroughly destroyed would be a bit beyond what Madam Pince could manage-book-restoring was a particularly complicated business. (The twins had had a difficult period when their mother was trying to teach them to read, and Spencer had overheard several frustrated conversations between his parents on the subject.)
He was a bit surprised when he only a couple of days later saw Ross bring out a copy of Potions and Possibilities during their Potions lesson, but realised that Brendon with his talent for persuasion had probably found an older student or even teacher willing to part with theirs to make Ross feel better.
He’d done a good job of finding a decent copy. Spencer thought that the letters on the cover were even faded the same way they had been on Ross’s book.
t was the first Saturday with somewhat acceptable weather since October had arrived, and Brendon had talked Ryan into coming along for an hour of flying. Up until now, Ryan had resisted, but when the excuse of rain no longer worked he admitted defeat and agreed to join, if only to put an end to Brendon’s incessant nagging. Having no broom had already proved to be an ineffective excuse.
From what Ryan had seen so far, students with their own brooms guarded them slightly more fiercely than a mother dragon did her eggs. Brendon, however, had managed to borrow not only one, but two Nimbus 2001’s from a couple of his House mates on the Quidditch team. Ryan was grudgingly impressed.
“This is great,” said Brendon enthusiastically, grinning at Ryan as he fastened the last straps on his shin guards. Ryan had never seen the guards used during Flying lessons, and Brendon had explained that this was because the danger level there barely rose above what he’d begun to get bored with by the age of nine. He’d promised his mother to always wear them when flying on his own, though, after some incident during a family Quidditch match involving an errant Quaffle and a picket fence. (Brendon hadn’t elaborated.)
“The school brooms are enchanted to stick to this really boring pace and height,” Brendon continued. “The private brooms don’t have anything like that, so they’re much more fun to fly with.”
“Uh-huh,” said Ryan sceptically. After more than one and a half month at Hogwarts and six flying lessons he had yet to understand what had everyone so excited about flying. It was OK, and some of the obstacle courses they’d been doing at lessons lately were kind of fun, but he didn’t really get the over-excitement shared by not only Ginny and Brendon, but most of the Gryffindor first-years-even Colin, who was a Muggle-born, for crying out loud.
Then again, Colin was still fascinated by how their food appeared at meal times. If he gasped in awe one more time when they sat down to dinner, Ryan might have to smother him in his sleep.
“You ready?” Brendon asked, and Ryan shook himself out of his slightly homicidal reverie.
“Sure.”
The sky was already flecked with black shapes when they exited the changing rooms. Brendon waved to some of them, calling out to one,
“Kayla! Kayla, hi! That’s my eldest sister,” he added to Ryan. “She’s on the Hufflepuff team as Chaser. Kayla!”
One of the figures-to Ryan indistinguishable from any of the other specks in the air-raised an arm in greeting, waving. Ryan suddenly realised how high up they were.
“Isn’t she afraid of falling off?” he asked, trying not to sound as apprehensive as he felt. During flying lessons they had yet to venture above twenty feet.
“Huh? No, the brooms are really safe,” Brendon replied, matter-of-factly. “Come on, let’s see if we can catch up with her!”
Without waiting for answer he slung one leg over his broom and kicked off, soaring into the air with a speed that far outstripped anything he’d previously shown in flying classes. Ryan swallowed. Then, thinking that he was probably going to regret this later, he got on his borrowed broom and kicked off from the ground.
At approximately the height of the castle’s sixth floor he met Brendon, who was on his way down towards him and looking flustered.
“I’m sorry,” Brendon said, “I forgot that you haven’t flown a lot. Do you want to go a bit lower?”
“This is fine,” said Ryan, realising with some surprise as he said it that it was actually true. Somehow, at this height, it didn’t seem entirely real any more, and the farther away from the ground he rose, the more he felt that a fall now wouldn’t actually hurt all that much. “Actually, can we go a bit higher?”
The castle from above looked like a child’s model; a plaything. Ryan could see the sun glinting off his dorm window and knew that a few hours ago he’d been lying in his bed, inside that tower. At the same time, it was impossible to imagine. He couldn’t fit in a room that small.
There was a shout from behind him and Brendon soared past, rolling his broom in the air. Ryan sucked in his breath sharply, but then he heard Brendon laughing and realised it was on purpose. Intrigued, he leaned sideways and downwards, gasping when the broom rolled with him. It was in equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. He grinned to himself and tried the roll again, this time putting more speed into it and laughing out loud when he spun like a top in the air. He could already feel the huge difference between his borrowed broom and the school ones he’d ridden so far in lessons-the Nimbus answered to commands much quicker, obeying Ryan’s changes of speed and direction without the two-second lag that Ryan now realised was an incredibly annoying feature of the school brooms. He tried a dive, thrilled with the speed with which he could pull out again and wondering what one would have to give for a reasonably good broom.
Christmas was suddenly much too far off.
“Ryan!”
Ryan halted in mid-air, blinking to clear his eyes from the moisture forced out by the speed of the dive. Brendon was gesturing, laughing, towards the Astronomy Tower, where a couple of people in Hufflepuff’s canary-yellow Quidditch robes were swooping around the ramparts. They were trying to catch the balls that another canary-yellow-clad student, standing on the top of the tower, was Conjuring and throwing in all directions, and scattered laughter reached Ryan as balls were caught and missed, in the latter case disappearing before they had fallen more than a few feet.
“Want to try and catch some?” Brendon asked, floating closer. “They’re not having a serious practise or anything, so I’m sure Kayla would let us play.”
Ryan had met the Gryffindor Quidditch team on the way in from practise once and thought that they seemed rather serious and almost grim-not the sort to welcome any intrusion in their practise time. Then again, that could of course be explained by how the meeting had occurred at eight thirty in the morning-after a two-hour practise, if he’d heard correctly-and how it had been pouring outside. And since this wasn’t a real Hufflepuff practise, maybe it was more OK for strangers to join in.
Besides, Ryan had always been pretty good at ball games. He was sure he could probably catch some of the easier throws, at least.
“Sure, why not?” he agreed, and laughed when Brendon took both hands off his broom in a gesture of glee and almost lost his balance completely.
Speeding after Brendon, with the sun warm on his neck, Ryan thought that maybe he was beginning to understand what all the fuss was about, after all.
ctober was a disgusting month, Spencer thought grumpily and sneezed. Cold and damp and muddy, and all around miserable for everyone.
Huh. Almost everyone, it appeared.
“Hey,” Walker said cheerfully. Since the time they had met by accident, he and Spencer had taken to meeting in the library on Wednesdays-a kind of mini study group, since Spencer still hadn’t found it in him to join the one on Fridays.
He had thought about it, especially during the first weeks, when Brendon still pestered him about it. But eventually Brendon had given up, and it had fallen from Spencer’s mind. Besides, he always got such a lot of his work done on Wednesdays-he couldn’t really see the point of extended group studies, especially not since he regularly worked with the other Slytherin first-years, as well.
“You’re looking happy,” Spencer said, in his very sourest voice. No one ought to be that radiant when it had been raining for three weeks straight.
“I’m just really looking forward to Halloween,” said Walker, setting his books out in front of him. “It’ll be nice to see it from the right side, you know? Before I’ve only dressed up as a wizard. Hey, are you all right?”
Spencer glared at him, still recovering from his last sneeze. “Madam Hooch forced us to do this outdoors course yesterday,” he said. “Even though it was raining.”
“More like drizzling, wasn’t it?” asked Walker, who seemed to be trying to hold back a grin.
“Raining,” Spencer repeated. “Practically pouring. And we had to duck under things and fly over things and fly slalom. And she timed us.”
“We just did that course, too,” said Walker, who ought to be drawn and quartered, Spencer thought. Just come from a flying lesson in the rain and he still looked happy? That was probably not even allowed. “I thought it was pretty fun, but then, I like flying. I guess it wouldn’t-whoa, that’s your third sneeze.”
“Urgh,” said Spencer miserably.
Walker chewed his lip. “Tell you what,” he said, “I have a History assignment that’s due tomorrow, but it’s only couple of inches more and then I’m done. And after that I can follow you to the Hospital Wing. Luna says Madam Pomfrey’s Pepperup Potion is really good.”
Spencer thought about protesting that he’d prefer not to walk around like an animate tea pot, thank you, but two sneezes in quick succession put a stop to his objections.
“Right,” said Walker, no longer trying to hide his grin. “Let me just finish my piece on Urghart the Useless and we can go.”
Once they were at the Hospital Wing they found that there was a line before them with over a dozen other snivelling students from various Houses, as well as Professor McGonagall-who glared at them as though to say that any subsequent mention of this would mean a week of detentions. Spencer did not doubt that she was serious.
“There you go, dear. Don’t wear a hat for the next couple of hours-the steam can stain the fabric. Also, no drinks containing cinnamon until tomorrow or you may have a nasty reaction, and I really don’t have space for you at the moment.” Madam Pomfrey gave her last cautionary words to her current patient and whisked aside the curtain they had been seated behind. “Your brother will follow you back to your Common Room, I’m sure, and I’d recommend you lie down for a bit. It’s your second Potion, after all, dear. Mr Weasley!”
A gangly sixth-year who had been engrossed in one of the Daily Prophets in the waiting corner sprang up and took the arm of his sister, and Spencer realised that it was Ginny Weasley who was being ushered away. Walker lit up and grinned at her as she and her brother passed, but she only gave him a weak smile in return. Walker settled back into waiting, frowning to himself.
“Wasn’t that your friend from Gryffindor?” Spencer asked, wondering how he should frame his next question. It seemed like their usually friendly terms were somewhat subdued, but without knowing exactly what their relationship was, Spencer felt that it would be all too easy to overstep his boundaries. Thankfully, Walker answered his question before he’d even asked it.
“There’s something up with Ginny lately,” he said, gnawing on his lip again. “She’s gone really quiet. It seems as if there’s something wrong, but I don’t know... It could be that she’s just ill, I guess, but... well.”
“Have you tried talking to her?” asked Spencer.
“Yes, but she just changes the subject.” Walker frowned again, looking quite anxious. “That’s what has me worried. Usually we tell each other everything.”
“Huh.” Spencer didn’t know why he was so surprised. Walker and Weasley spent a lot of time together, after all, and seemed to get along well. But for some reason, he had never thought-maybe it was just that he was unused to the idea of inter-House couples.
He finally got his Pepperup after having waited in line for more than half an hour, and then had to sit through the extended version of the lecture he’d heard Madam Pomfrey give Weasley. When he was finally finished, he and Walker sat outside the Hospital Wing until the worst of the steam had dissipated, talking about Halloween and classes and Quidditch.
“Come to the library this Friday,” said Walker eventually. “You missed out on a good few hours of study time today, and Friday might be a good time to catch up. Wouldn’t it be nice to be totally free for Halloween?”
Spencer conceded reluctantly that yes, it would.
“We usually sit pretty far back in the library. The risk of being seen with Gryffindors is pretty small. And you can say Brendon forced you,” Walker added, with a hint of mischievousness that seemed to grow as Spencer blushed.
“That’s not it at all,” he said with dignity, and privately thought that Walker was a bit more perceptive than he let on.
Partly because he was flustered by Walker’s implication, Spencer found himself agreeing-almost defiantly-to come that Friday, and he spent the remainder of their time outside the Hospital Wing reflecting that Walker might have a hitherto hidden talent for cunning persuasion. They parted ways a little before curfew, Spencer promising before he left for his Common Room to mention Weasley’s disquieting quietness to Brendon, as well.
Draco Malfoy was being noisy again when Spencer arrived at the Common Room, detailing the Quidditch team’s latest practise and holding forth on how very flattened Gryffindor and most importantly Harry Potter would be when the Quidditch season began with the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match, only little more than a week hence. Spencer rolled his eyes, wondering if he ought to point out that Malfoy’s obsession with Potter seemed to be unhealthy bordering on stalker.
“Oh, hello, Smith,” Malfoy said, catching sight of him. “I was just talking about how well our Quidditch practises are going. How is your own flying coming along? You know that you can always come to me for advice, I hope-I know that many beginners start out with the wrong grip, for example, and I would be more than happy to give you a few pointers.”
“Thank you,” said Spencer pleasantly, “but flying isn’t my greatest interest, I have to admit. After all, if I wanted to obsess about Quidditch and concentrate all my energy on sports instead of actually getting an education, I ought to have been in Gryffindor, right?” He smiled, noting with satisfaction how Malfoy’s own smile froze.
“Yes,” Malfoy said, regaining composure impressively quick, “I know that we’re all talented in different areas. If one is best suited to sit with one’s nose in a book at all hours, for example, that’s what one ought to stick to, right? Especially one has a,” he glanced at the steam still pouring from Spencer’s ears, “weak constitution. How is the library at this time of night, by the way? I must admit I’ve never had any reason to find myself there after six o’clock.”
Spencer’s chance to retaliate was stopped by Brendon, who had previously been listening to Malfoy’s Quidditch tales with apparent rapt attention and now cut in with, “It’s awesome! All these candles light up by themselves and the books in the restricted section start murmuring spells. Apparently that’s how they sleep-I asked Madam Pince and she said of course the spells don’t have any power when they’re being said by books, but by speaking them the books keep the spells fresh. Or something like that.”
Spencer and Malfoy shared a look over Brendon’s head, both declaring the match of strength some kind of tie, this time, and sharing their puzzlement. It had been almost two months, and Spencer still understood Brendon no better than he had from the start. He had yet to show his true personality even to the Slytherins, although he sometimes used his innocent face to deliver stinging statements-such as the day before, when he’d broken into a rather poisonous debate about Muggle-wizarding marriages with an “Oh, right, like your aunt, Parkinson!” and left Pansy Parkinson holding back tears of fury and shame. He hadn’t declared loyalty, either. Most Slytherin students between Year One and Three had by now settled, at least vaguely, into either the Smith or the Malfoy faction-even though there were a few exceptions like Blaise Zabini, who somehow got away with switching back and forth according to mood.
Brendon, however, gave an awfully good impression of not even being aware of the existing differences.
But that was Brendon’s thing, wasn’t it? That was how he kept people on their toes-by never showing what he actually thought. Even those sudden, venomous jabs like the one meant for Parkinson were given with his usual honest-to-goodness, earnest expression. He had a large following of students from both factions in the Slytherin lower years (which he of course did a splendid job of pretending not to know about), and they all walked in awe and fear of him. For with his extended network of contacts and way of weaselling his way into people’s confidences, Brendon got to know things-and revealed them, when someone displeased him.
That it was virtually impossible to know when you had displeased him until the hour of reckoning struck only added to the mystery, of course.
It wasn’t only the Slytherin students that were catching on, either. Most of the first-years as well as several older students of all Houses had by now realised that Brendon was someone you wanted to have on your side. So his influence only continued to grow, spreading further and further through Houses and Years.
He was much more dangerous than Draco Malfoy would ever be, Spencer had realised. Malfoy didn’t seem to understand that to really have some sort of pull within the structure of Hogwarts School, he would have to concentrate on more than the Slytherin House. Sure, within their ranks he was respected well enough, and he had after all a certain air of romance about him that could sway many of the students around him-but because he was, plainly put, a not very subtle bully, he would never have friends in the other Houses. Brendon on the other hand... The day he wanted to make an imprint on this school, he would have his view supported by a broad legion of students, from every clique and group. With a few years’ cultivation, Brendon’s influence in the school could well be a force to be reckoned with.
And Spencer still did not know in which direction that force would turn. Were the Uries newfangled pure-blood activists, like the Malfoys and Rosiers? Were they of the “live and let live”-persuasion? Were they like the Weasleys, eager to join the Muggle world to the magic one but with as much practical foresight as a Puffskein? Did Brendon even have a larger political agenda, inherited or otherwise, or was he just a sneakier form of Draco Malfoy-esque bully?
He looked at Brendon again, watching him expand on the story of after-hours library visits to a group of eagerly listening students. He thought that sometimes, he wished the charming fiction he could see each day was the real one-that Brendon really was as honestly cheerful as he appeared to be. For all that Spencer could see through the mask, he wished, somehow, that it was true. There was something extremely likeable about Brendon, and Spencer would have been happy if that had really been all there was to him.
Knowing that it couldn’t be was kind of sad.
rendon was worried.
Ginny hadn’t been to study group the day before, and now she hadn’t turned up for the Halloween Feast, either. Ryan had said that she’d been spending less and less time in the Gryffindor Common Room, as well, each day arriving back in the Tower by curfew or a little earlier and retreating almost instantly to her dorm.
It was a shame that yesterday’s study group had been Spencer’s first, Brendon thought, because they had all been a little subdued. They had noticed that Ginny had been a bit quiet for the last two or three Fridays, but they had put it down to the weather and the generally depressing state of things, now that autumn had arrived in earnest. When she wasn’t there and they had the opportunity to compare notes, however, what their individual observations added up to was this: something was off with Ginny.
They hadn’t talked about it for long yesterday-Spencer had begun to fidget, and they had all agreed to focus on studying for the night-but Ryan had agreed to see if he could talk to her before the Feast and see if there was anything unusual going on. Now, however, when Brendon looked over towards the Gryffindor table, he could see no sign of Ginny anywhere, and Ryan was eating alone.
“Well, I don’t think it’s much of a feast. At home we always hire this Chinese chef who specialises in fruit carving to do our pumpkins properly. And Father books the best singers to entertain at the party, not just some mouldy old skeletons.”
Brendon frowned as he heard Draco Malfoy elaborate on the superiority of his family’s parties over Hogwarts’-and, indeed, the rest of wizarding England’s. Draco was his friend, but sometimes he acted a bit mean. Brendon hadn’t figured out how to tell him without being mean in turn, however, so he mostly let it pass.
Sometimes, though, he tried to give Draco a gracious hint.
“I think it’s really nice,” he said defiantly. “Especially the pumpkins-it’s amazing how large Hagrid got them to grow.”
Draco glared at him for a moment, then snorted and shrugged. “Whatever,” he said. “I just hope the skeletons aren’t going to sing.”
Brendon turned away from him, back towards the Gryffindor table. He caught Ryan’s eye and mouthed a question: Ginny?
Ryan shrugged and put one hand to his temple. Sick, he mouthed back, but he looked pensive, as if there was something more to it. Brendon resolved to ask him more about it at the first opportunity.
At the moment, however, there was the Feast to concentrate on, and he put the thought of Ginny out of his head for the time being and attacked his laden plate with gusto. The main courses eventually disappeared to make way for pudding, and there was enough even for Crabbe and Goyle, who were widely recognised in the Slytherin House as having the best appetite of them all. Even when the meal was officially over, plates of cupcakes and bowls of candy and roasted pumpkin seeds remained on the tables, for the students to nibble on while the entertainment got started.
Four Ravenclaw fifth-year students performed a song about Boggarts, and Professor Flitwick set loose a great storm of bats among the tables, that disappeared into puffs of black smoke just before the students had time to be alarmed-dropping a chocolate frog onto the plate of the student lucky enough to be right under a bat when it disintegrated. The dancing skeletons that Draco had been so sceptical about also proved to be wonderful entertainment, and even Draco himself cracked a couple of reluctant smiles as they finished a number by folding in on each other and then rose again, each skeleton now having exchanged several bones with its neighbour. Brendon, meanwhile, laughed so hard he spat pumpkin juice all over his plate.
The Feast came to an end far too soon for his liking. It seemed as though many of the Slytherin students felt the same way, and a couple of fourth-years began to talk about heading up to one of the towers to see if they could spot the bonfires in Hogsmeade instead of going straight to the Common Room. Soon most of the students around Brendon had decided to go with the idea-having first agreed that curfew rules were always more lax during holidays-and they joined the throng of students milling out of the Great Hall and heading up the stairs.
Brendon was talking excitedly with Spencer about the pumpkin decorations at home, and he didn’t notice the sudden standstill until he walked straight into Blaise Zabini.
“What-” he began and realised quite suddenly that the entire student body had gone completely silent. He looked at Spencer, who looked back at him, frowning and shrugging. And then he heard Draco’s voice, high and excited.
“Enemies of the heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”
Brendon stretched as far up on his toes as he could manage, peering over Zabini’s shoulder. The students had stopped in the entrances to the passage in front of them, and the corridor was empty apart from Harry Potter, Ginny’s youngest brother-who was possibly called Ron, Brendon thought-and their friend Hermione Granger. And beyond them...
Beyond them was a dead cat, hanging by its tail on the wall. Above it was writing.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
Next chapter