Stories from the Vault - Hogwarts Mystery One Shots

Barnaby's Gift

Regretfully, Sarah emerged from the comfort and warmth of the Three Broomsticks to the biting wind on the chilly streets in Hogsmeade with her newest friend, Barnaby Lee.

The Three Broomsticks had become one of their favorite places to meet up. Sarah loved getting to know Barnaby outside of class, and Barnaby really loved butterbeer. He was much more relaxed and fun when he wasn't worried about failing an exam or preparing for a fight.

The subject of their conversation hadn't exactly been cheerful; they'd been making plans for the next day, when they would finally sneak into the restricted section of the library and break into the next cursed vault--The Vault of Fear. Somehow, Barnaby was able to make even that topic less scary. She was fascinated by the way he thought of things, and he how he was able to make light of almost any situation.

Sarah supposed he'd had a lot of practice at this. He'd told her all about his childhood, how his parents were in prison for being Death Eaters, how brutally they'd treated him when he was little, how he'd stared into the red, cold eyes of Lord Voldemort. She gave a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold. Barnaby had to find a way to focus on the positives, or he'd probably have gone mad with grief.

"It's gonna rain soon," he said, as they trudged up the steep hill that led to the castle.

Sarah looked up at the sky, but saw hardly any clouds. "How can you tell?" she asked.

"Listen," he said.

They paused in their walk and Sarah strained her ears. After a moment, she heard in the distance a long, mournful cry.

"What is it?"

"Augurey," said Barnaby, "the Irish Phoenix. People used to think whoever heard it's cry was going to die soon, but Gulliver Pokeby heard one and he didn't die. He figured out the cry just means it's gonna rain."

She stared at him, astonished that so many people thought him dim. Sure, he wasn't the brightest when it came to large words or complex Transfiguration, but his intelligence wasn't something that could be measured with essays and exams.

"You're pretty smart, Barnaby," she said.

He smiled, looking down at the ground. "You're always so nice to me. But I know I'm not smart."

"Smarter than me," she said, shivering again and wrapping her arms tightly around herself as the two were hit with another gust of wind. "I was too thick to bring a jumper."

"Here," he said, shrugging out of his gray sweater and handing it out to her.

"I can't," she said. He was only wearing a white, short-sleeve shirt underneath. "You'll freeze."

"Don't worry about me," he said, patting his thick, muscled upper-arm. "I've got thick skin." He opened up the sweater. "Arms up."

She held up her arms and he pulled the sweater over  her head. She sighed as she was enveloped in the smell and warmth of his body.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes, but now I have a new problem," she giggled, holding up her arms to show the sleeves dangling past her fingers by about six inches.

Without a word, he grabbed one  of her arms at a time and rolled the sleeves back until her hands and wrists were visible. Sarah watched his face as he worked, trying to imagine the boy she'd first met--the boy with the cold glare that had threatened to vanish all the bones in her body. How, in a matter of weeks, had that boy become the most loyal, caring person she knew?

"How about now?" he asked.

"New problem," she teased. "Now my body's warm, but my hands are freezing!"

He picked up both of her hands and held them up, squeezing them gently and rubbing them with his thumbs.

"Now?"

"Perfect," she said, unsure why her voice had become a whisper. Perhaps it was because he was standing so close. She could see the tiny flecks of gold near the center of his green eyes. 

"Hey, look!" they heard a somewhat nasally voice call. They looked over to see a group of Slytherin boys in their year walking down the hill a short distance away. "The Troll's got himself a girlfriend!" said the nasally boy, a stalky guy with a large noise.

Barnaby dropped Sarah's hands. "What's that, Michael? Did you say you want to duel me again?"

Michael said nothing, but he and the other boys continued their march down the hill at a more brisk pace than before. Barnaby chuckled.

"Did they just call you 'the Troll?'" Sarah asked.

"Yeah," said Barnaby. "A lot of people call me that, because I'm big and strong, and not very bright."

"Those gits!" said Sarah, marching back down the hill so she could hex all those Slytherin boys' mouths shut.

"Hey, hey," said Barnaby, grabbing her arm and pulling her back, laughing. "It's okay, really. I don't mind it anymore."

"They shouldn't call you that!" she spat. "You're not a troll."

"Nobody I care about calls me that," he said. "Come on, let's get inside where it's warm."

She let him lead her back up to the castle. When they arrived in the courtyard, she pulled of the sweater.

"Thanks," she said. "I love this thing."

"Then you have it," he said, pushing it back to her.

"I can't keep it," she said. "It's yours. Anyway, it's got the Slytherin house crest on it."

"Hmm," said Barnaby. "I'm sure we could figure out how to transfigure it to Gryffindor's."

"It's okay, Barnaby," said Sarah. "You keep it."

"I want you to have it," he said. "It makes me happy to see you in it. It makes me feel like I helped make you warm. And happy."

"Okay," she said, whispering again, as she took it back.

They stepped into the Entrance Hall, Sarah bound for Gryffindor tower and Barnaby for the dungeons.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Where at, again?"

"The library."

"Right," he said.

He left, and she felt the fear of facing the next vault flood back into her. It was easier to keep the fear at bay when Barnaby was around. She hugged his sweater. At least she had great friends like him to face the vaults.

She headed up to her dormitory, thinking she'd sleep in the sweater for the night, so it might keep the nightmares about the next day away.