BAD LUCK BLACK! ─── Harry Potter

xxv. The Year of the Rat

Plaster smiles, magically vanished bags—Lorelei's touching the sky. Soaring through fleece clouds, peppering her face with soft mist. Blue within blue skies. Truly, it's how she feels. Weightless. It's so rare nowadays, short lived. Before she knows it, this feeling will be no more than lackluster overcast. She'll plummet.

Torchlight bathes the walls of Hagrid's Hut in a deep glow. Decadent, lively browns induce an autumnal atmosphere despite spring's presence. The sun's setting, yet the sky's washed in greyscale. Lorelei glances down at the oddly shaped creature mewing in the corner. It's got pointy teeth and a smallish beak. Lonnie'd turn red with fury if he knew she'd snuck off . . . again.

In all honesty, it's really quite easy.

"There's jus' one other thing . . ."

Lorelei watches Hagrid lumber towards his makeshift kitchenette decorated by a spattering of dust and cracked dishware. He opens a container and pulls something out, then he faces them again. In the chasm of his palms is a tiny animal.

Scabbers. Peter Pettigrew, allegedly.

"Scabbers! You're alive!" Ron steps forward and gently takes him into his hands, cradling the rat close to his chest.

Slowly, Lorelei's hand lowers to her back pocket, feeling the ligneous shaft of her wand. Brows furrowed, lips curved in a snarl. If what's said is true, that rat doesn't deserve care, gentleness. Not for the hurt he wrought upon the Potters. And, somehow, Lorelei knows he knows. Two beady, inklike eyes meet her own, and it starts squirming.

Closer, Lorelei's hand is now gripping her wand. At any moment, she could pull it out and subdue Pettigrew (Allegedly!). Though, can she? Defense has never been her strong suit. Despite practicing regularly with Lonnie nowadays, she's hardly proficient. The most she's ever done is dual Gilderoy Lockheart, but that was merely luck. Is she feeling lucky?

And Lorelei can't harm Scabbers. There's a possibility she's wrong, and she'd wind up losing a friend due to paranoia. All she needs is to get her hands on him, then she can truly see.

Lorelei startles as a pebble knocks into the back of her head. Wincing, she rubs at the spot. The rock landed flat on the table, dark gray and entirely smooth.

"Oh, my! Lori, are you okay?" Hermione cries, and she steps closer.

"I'm alright," assures Lorelei, but she's more confused than anything. Smash! The glass basin atop the table shatters and another gray rock rattles its victory. Her gaze travels to the open window. "Oh, no."

Headmaster Dumbledore, Minister Fudge, and—Lorelei feels a coldness encase her body in chills—an executioner. A large ax rests on the man's shoulder, as if it's weightless. This is an ordinary day for him, and it sickens her. Draco Malfoy and his ridiculous, entitled, bratty attitude!

"Yeh got to go!" Hagrid panics, ushering Lorelei out of her seat. "It's almost dark. If anyone sees yeh outside the castle, it'll be trouble! Big trouble!" He looks down at her. "'Specially you, Lorelei. Yer uncle'd give me the boot!"

No, Lonnie would never do such a thing. Not that he's incapable, of course he is, but Lorelei would never forgive him. And that, Lonnie can't allow.

Lorelei stops beside Ron. Keenly, she keeps her focus on the mangy little creature tucked in his arms. A hand gently guides her out the back door and into the mushy pumpkin patch. Her shoes slosh in the sludge, and she has to use exceptional force to not lose them in the murk. The quartet evade the notices of the adults and successfully manage to make it to the top of the summit overlooking the Hut.