Mystique → Hermione Granger [2] ✔

I 07 I Treats and Tricks

~*~

During the next few days, Alexander couldn't forget about his mother's name on the trophies and medals. He was tempted to return and stare at them properly, just to gain any further insight. Surely, there had to be a photograph of his mother or something? But didn't get an opportunity. Once, when he lingered outside, trying to go inside the trophy room, Filch almost caught him. Alexander heard his huffing and puffing coming up from the corridor in time as he was about to unlock the door and scarpered before the caretaker could give him detention. And if it wasn't Filch then it was Mrs Norris, whose glowing eyes pierced him.

Writing to Grandfather was also useless. His grandfather would either give very vague statements that revealed practically nothing or deliberately ignore the subject. Eliot hadn't known his mother when she was alive or had even known Grandfather, so he was out of the question. Alexander was on his own like always.

One option he could think of was to talk to Madam Hooch. He didn't know if she were Quidditch referee during his mother's years at Hogwarts, but it couldn't hurt to find out. The only problem was that she was practically impossible to track down. As the Quidditch Season was fast approaching, she was busier than usual and wouldn't see anyone except the Captains of the teams. Alexander was left with bidding his time and waiting for the window of opportunity to open.

∞ ϟ 9¾

The Autumn season arrived with regal ease. Students were bounded up in hats and scarves. The castle felt the effects: raindrops thundered on the windows while they practised spells or reluctantly listened to Lockhart's daring deeds through one-ear; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. They towered over Alexander and his friends, with Hagrid beaming proudly at his creation. The Whomping Willow switched to a garland of scarlets and golds that adorned the branches. The beautiful sight from his dormitory window almost made Alexander forget just how vicious that tree could be.

The worst though was Snape, who still breathed down their necks. Neville kept trembling under Snape's disdainfully glare as he messed up multiple mixtures. The hours were long and the chamber chilly as Alexander and Blaise, his partner, shivered while working on their Potions.

Alexander fell under a spate of cold; he woke up one morning with a sniffing, reddish nose with watery eyes. He was sniffing all through his lessons until Snape snapped at him to take care of it.

He wasn't the only one ill, however. Nia, tie loose and shirt untucked, awkwardly leaned against a bed while waiting for Madam Pomfrey to treat her cold. Her hair was shorter, as it bounced on her shoulders, her face was not as podgy as last year, and she was taller by an inch, the same height as Alexander. Her dimples appeared as she gave a tiny half-smile when spotting him. They'd usually wave to each other through corridors or exchange passing words since the start of the year. He was glad to talk to her, albeit briefly, while Madam Pomfrey was attending to a stocky fourth-year boy, who appeared to be gurgling a purple substance.