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"Go to page 269," Snape drawled.
Fred and George snickered quietly.
"69," George remarked.
"Detention, Weasleys!"
"Bel?!"
"Why??"
An unlikely conversation, just because we are at chapter 69.
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The week that followed the announcement of the Champions was a peculiar one for Betelgeuse.
On Monday, the Black wrote a long letter home after attending her Astronomy class. She reported everything that had happened so far, including the peculiar sensation she had when Potter had been appointed as the second Hogwarts Champion.
On Tuesday, she began to discern the new shift in the school balance. Between Ancient Runes in the first period and double Transfiguration, she had a free period and decided to stroll around. It became clear that the entire school, just like the Gryffindors, believe Potter had entered himself for the tournament. Unlike the Gryffindors, however, they did not seem impressed.
The Hufflepuffs, who were usually on excellent terms with the Gryffindors, had turned remarkably cold toward the whole lot of them. It was plain that the Hufflepuffs felt that the spectacled boy had stolen their champion's honour; a feeling exacerbated, perhaps, by the fact that Hufflepuff House very rarely got any glory, Betelgeuse mused.
The Black noticed a remarkable distance between Harry and Ron. An event that could only be explained by Ron's latent but never placated envy towards the Boy Who Lived.
How disappointing.
Such is the hunger for distinction and honour, it buries blood ties and loyalties.
The next few days were some of Betelgeuse's busiest at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall informed the girl that the Headmaster had agreed on allowing Alchemy as an elective subject for sixth and seventh-years. So, she had to balance her usual schedule with the additional subject and the Potions tutoring she had been doing for extra credits since her third year.
And so, Betelgeuse found herself walking towards the dungeons for a long session of tutoring the fourth-years in Double Potions on Friday. It was an arcane mystery why Snape felt the necessity to have her as help during an hour and a half of Potions with Gryffindors and Slytherins.
On second thought, it is painfully clear why.
She paused at the beginning of the corridor that led towards the Potion class, glancing at the crowd amassed there.
Her sharp mercury eyes scanned the group, recognising Granger, Potter, some unfamiliar Slytherins of no consequence and — Draco.
Suddenly, wands were raised, and a cacophony of spells cut the peace of the corridor. Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles — Betelgeuse hurried towards the chaos, noticing that the damage was not limited to Harry and Draco. A Slytherin boy bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up — Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.
"Hermione!"
Ron had hurried forward to see what was wrong with her. Hermione's front teeth — already larger than average — grew at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin — panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry.
"And what is all this noise about?" Abruptly said a soft, deadly voice. Betelgeuse turned around. Snape had arrived.
The Slytherins clamoured to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Draco and said, "Explain."
"Potter attacked me, sir —"
"We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted.
"— and he hit Goyle — look —"
Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi. "Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly.
"Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron accused. "Look!" He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth — she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back.
Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference." Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears; she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.
It was lucky, perhaps, that both Harry and Ron started shouting at Snape at the same time; lucky their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor, for in the confused din, it was impossible for him to hear exactly what they were calling him.
He got the gist, however. "Let's see," he said, in his silkiest voice. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions."
"Actually, Professor," Betelgeuse interrupted with poised manners. "If you will grant me permission, I would relish in some adjustment." She spoke with confidence, nailing Draco on the spot with her unforgiving glaring eyes. "I concord with you, Professor, on the deduction of fifty points from Gryffindor, but allow me, a Prefect, to do the same with Slytherin. What I saw with my eyes was a duel, fair and square. Fifty points from Slytherin for provoking a duel."
Her speech left Snape with a clenched jaw, Draco with a deep frown and Harry with a less ringing rage for the suffered injustice.
Only at that moment did the Black notice what each and every one of the Slytherins wore. Large badges on the front of their robes, all boring the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage.
SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY—
THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!
Some of the Slytherins pressed on their badge and the message upon it vanished, replaced by another one which glowed green.
POTTER STINKS
Childish and folksy cruel.
Betelgeuse walked inside the classroom, noticing Harry all by himself at his table. His thoughts were so loud that she could clearly sense that the boy wanted to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces.
On the other side of the dungeon, her cousin turned his back on Snape and pressed his badge, smirking.
POTTER STINKS flashed once more across the room.
Harry sat there staring at Snape as the lesson began, picturing horrific things happening to him — If only he knew how to do the Cruciatus Curse — he'd have Snape flat on his back like that spider, jerking and twitching —
"Potter," the melodious, low voice of Betelgeuse interrupted his nefarious train of thoughts as she laid a delicate hand on his shoulder. The Pureblood saw the younger boy turn to her with dazed eyes and clenched fists. "Do not dwell in the tempting embrace of fury."
"Antidotes!" Snape declare, making Betelgeuse divert her attention to him. He looked around at them all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. "You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one; Ms Black will help those of you who are not capable of even doing this simple task alone."
☆☆☆
"Bel, where have you been? I missed you!" George cried out as she sat at the Gryffindor table for supper.
"I do not possess the energy for this," Betelgeuse replied in a bored tone.
"For what, love?" Fred inquired, kissing her forehead.
Betelgeuse did not reply but gestured vaguely towards George, making Fred and Lee snicker.
"Oi!" George protested, crossing his arms over his chest. "That was low, Lady Black."
"Something else could be lower," she groaned in reply.
"What?"
"Your tone of voice."
"Ah!" George cried, clutching his chest, a pained expression on his freckled face. "And so the valiant paladin perishes, struck by the arrow of Betelgeuse the Cruel." He finished his play leaning heavily again Lee and closing his eyes.
"Get off of me, George!" Lee grumbled, trying to move the boy. "I want to see my dearest Angelina. You're blocking the view, you oaf!"
"I am the view!" George protested, running his fingers through his red hair.
Fred grinned, shaking his head at his twin. "I totally blame your influence for that, love."
Betelgeuse smiled, then her eyes fell on the lone figure eating alone at the end of the Gryffindor table. "I will see you later," she said and kissed Fred's cheek, admiring the faint blush that adorned his ears. Smiling once again, she raised to her feet and walked towards Harry.
"Sulking does not suit you, Potter."
"What?"
Betelgeuse sat in front of the boy and fixed him with a steady look.
Silence stretched.
"What are you doing, Bel?" Harry asked with wariness after the muteness had become unbearable for him.
"I am offering to you my presence as comfort," the Black replied with nonchalance. "I read somewhere that Muggles tend to do that."
"I wouldn't know," Harry muttered, casting his eyes down.
"Tell me, Potter. Are the badgers bothering you, or is it the fact that Ron forfeited your friendship because of a lie that rendered you a moping mess?" Betelgeuse inquired.
"Both," Harry answered in a tiny voice.
"The badges are little insignificant trinkets that my imbecile of a cousin came up with to compensate his raging inferiority complex, nothing of consequence. Ronald is a young and sometimes naive boy; your fame precedes you and obscures his achievements. He is entitled to feel envy and to resent you on rare occasions. You would concur, I expect," Betelgeuse finished, her mysterious eyes never leaving the green ones of Harry, nailing him on his seat.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you're brutally honest?" Harry asked with the weakest of smiles on his young face.
"It may have been mentioned once or twice," the Black said, waving her hand with impatience. "Now, about the Goblet —"
"No one believes me," Harry interrupted.
"It might come as a shock to you, Potter, but I do."
"You're just saying that."
"Why would I? We are not friends," Betelgeuse stated, smirking slightly. Harry grinned at the older girl as she continued. "I have, shall we say, a gift of the sort, curbed by my acquaintance with the twins, of knowing when someone is lying to me. You are not, Potter. The confusion on your face was not fabricated; I saw true bewilderment when your name was called. Trust me, I recognised a fashioned emotion."
Harry stared quietly at Betelgeuse for a moment. "How do I make everyone stop from thinking I'm lying?"
"You might not be able to," the Black responded, watching Harry's face fall. "However, do you genuinely care about others' judgement? Do you consider what strangers assume about you? Is it not more beneficial to channel your energies in making your friends understand the truth?"
"That — that's not so simple," Harry meekly protested.
Betelgeuse hummed. "Friends fight, Potter. It is in the natural order of things. If you craved to never have belligerences you had to be content with your only company. Peace demands time, war only a second.
And for the others, they are not going to change their mind soon and easily. I am the epitome of that. I am a Gryffindor, I have been one for six years now, and I can still hear the hushed murmurs and the cautious glances stalking me around the Castle. They stare like owls waiting for the madness to show."
"How do you deal with them?"
"I kill them on sight and bury their corpses in the deepest recesses of the Forbidden Forest," Betelgeuse replied with a straight face, enjoying the jolt that crossed Harry's body. "I am jesting, Potter. Do not worry. You need to learn to ignore their judgement and hex some of them with discretion," Betelgeuse rejoined, making Harry laugh.
"That was excellent advice, Bel. Thank you," Harry stated, smiling.
Betelgeuse waved her hand again, rising to her feet. "Do not thank me and hex someone, Potter."
Harry watched the tall, ravine-haired witch walked away towards the Entrance Hall, mulling about what she had said in his solitary state.
☆☆☆
Betelgeuse returned to Gryffindor Tower, thinking of the two pages long assignment she had to do for Alchemy about the Aqua Vitæ, distillates of alcoholic beverages, the creation of which was a common alchemic experiment among European alchemists in the Middle Ages.
"You've had an owl," Alicia said the moment Betelgeuse walked into their dorm. She was pointing at Betelgeuse's bed. Castor was waiting there, with his patient yellow eyes fixed on her.
"Hello, my dear Castor" Betelgeuse softly cooed, petting the massive Eagle Owl. She took the letter off its leg and unrolled it.
Meus Stella,
I am rejoiced by the knowledge of you not being of age for the Tournament. From what you have inscribed, I assume it will be a treacherous affair.
I cannot divulge everything I would desire to in a letter; leaving such delicate matters to the relentless evidence of paper and ink is a fool errand.
Sirius had addressed a letter to Harry Potter for a peculiar meeting of the sort. Can you ensure that the boy will show up alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd of November?
Your dimwit of an uncle concluded that it was the best course of actions without consulting me first. Typical of him, that stupidly handsome himbo.
I comprehend better than anyone that you are capable of looking after yourself, dearest. Even though I despise Old Fool and Cyclops in equal measure, while they are at school, I do not deem it unsafe for you to continue with your usual life.
Someone is attempting to lure Harry Potter into something that I still cannot fathom with clarity.
Sirius is positive about this whole peculiar ordeal; I am not.
Be on the watch, Meus Stella. Report to me anything that you deem unusual. You will see Sirius on the 22nd of November; he will articulate on my behalf.
I love you.
R.
Betelgeuse sighed; another year of intrigue and threats was starting to come forth.
She cackled as she read the letter once again. Dramatics and subtle insults delivered with honeyed words, she mused as she descended the stair to the Common Room once again. The twins were waiting on her there.
Her father was a master in theatrics.
Perhaps, he even surpasses Sirius.
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