tw: blatant racism, anti-asian sentiments, race-related bullying, burn-related injuries (don't read if you're uncomfortable; it's not very graphic)
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟓
MAYA'S NEVER BEEN IN THIS DIRECTION OF HOGSMEADE BEFORE
On this particular afternoon, the trio and her are headed to see Sirius. Sirius Black, to be exact. The mass-murderer that managed to escape Azkaban last year, the very same one the Ministry is currently on a witch-hunt for. Hermione has explained the truth to her — that Sirius was actually framed by his best friend, Peter Pettigrew, after the death of James and Lily Potter. Maya's always had doubts about his sentencing, considering that he used to be a friend of her fathers, a tall, dark-haired man present in the old yearbooks that collect dust at home, sitting in a box beneath her mother's bed. He's also present in some of her baby pictures, laughing uproariously as her two-year-old self zooms around the house with a toy broom.
Even still, it doesn't quell her nervousness at meeting him for the first time.
The winding lane leads them out into the wild countryside around Hogsmeade. The cottages are fewer here, and their gardens larger; they are walking toward the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lies. Then they turn a corner and see a stile at the end of the lane. Waiting for them, its front paws on the topmost bar, is a very large, shaggy black dog, which is carrying some newspapers in its mouth and oddly, looking very familiar. . . .
"Hello, Sirius," says Harry when they reach him.
What?! screams her brain.
Apparently he's an animagus.
The black dog sniffs Harry's bag eagerly, wags its tail once, then turns and begins to trot away from them across the scrubby
patch of ground that rises to meet the rocky foot of the mountain. The four of them climb over the stile and follow. Sirius leads them to the very foot of the mountain, where the ground is covered with boulders and rocks. It's easy for him, with his four paws, but Harry, Ron, Hermione and Maya are soon out of breath. They follow Sirius higher, up onto the mountain itself. For nearly half an hour they climb a steep, winding, and stony path, following Sirius's wagging tail, sweating in the sun. Maya starts to wonder whether she should've just curled up with a novel and stayed in her dormitory.
Then, at last, Sirius slips out of sight, and when they reach the place where he vanishes, Maya sees a narrow fissure in the rock. They squeeze into it and find themselves in a cool, dimly lit cave. Tethered at the end of it, one end of his rope around a large rock, is a Hippogriff. Maya's eyes widen in shock
What has she gotten herself into?
Half gray horse, half giant eagle, it's fierce orange eye flashes at the sight of them. All four of them bowed low to him, and after regarding them imperiously for a moment, the Hippogriff bends his scaly front knees and allows Hermione to rush forward and stroke his feathery neck.
Maya, however, looks at the black dog, which has just transformed back into a man.
Sirius is wearing ragged gray robes; the material hinting that it used to be part of a prison uniform. He looks drastically different than he did in the old pictures; it has been thirteen years, after all. His black hair is greying and matted, falling to his shoulders in a tangled mess that looks as though it hasn't seen a brush in years. He's still tall, but incredibly thin, to the point where he could be considered emaciated; Sirius's cheekbones jut out of his skin, though his eyes still have the same mischief-ridden sparkle that her father used to mention.
"Chicken!" he says, hoarsely after removing the old Daily Prophets from his mouth and throwing them down onto the cave floor. Harry pulls open his bag and hands over the bundle of chicken legs and bread.
"Thanks," says Sirius, opening it, grabbing a drumstick, sitting down on the cave floor, and tearing off a large chunk with his teeth. "I've been living off rats mostly. Can't steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I'd draw attention to myself."
Harry returns his grin, but only just barely.
"What're you doing here, Sirius?" he says, warily.
"Fulfilling my duty as godfather," says Sirius, gnawing on the chicken bone in a very doglike way. "Don't worry about it. Who's your friend?" he question, cocking his head in Maya's direction.
"This is Maya" replies Harry, gently putting a hand on her shoulder, "Maya Rajesh. She transferred from New York at the beginning of term"
Sirius's face goes pale in recognition.
"You're Arjun's daughter, aren't you?" he questions, a slow smile breaking out onto his face, "You look so much like your mother — but you have his nose, and hair color....."
Maya's heart pangs at the fact that he's unaware of her true source of parentage.
"You were only this big the last time I saw you" Sirius proves this by keeping his hand two or three feet above the ground, "It's weird to see you all grown up now"
He's still grinning, but seeing the anxiety in Harry's face, reverts back to his original point, tone serious and grave, "I want to be on the spot. Your last letter . . . well, let's just say things are getting fishier. I've been stealing the paper every time someone throws one out, and by the looks of things, I'm not the only one who's getting worried."
He nods at the yellowing Daily Prophets on the cave floor, and Ron picks them up and unfolds them. Harry, however, continues to stare at Sirius.
"What if they catch you? What if you're seen?"
"You three and Dumbledore are the only ones around here who know I'm an Animagus," says Sirius, shrugging, and continuing to
devour the chicken leg, "And now Maya, of course". She flashes him a tight smile.
Ron nudges Maya and passes her the Daily Prophets. There are two: The first bears the headline "Mystery Illness of Bartemius
Crouch", the second, "Ministry Witch Still Missing — Minister of Magic Now Personally Involved."
Maya scans the story about Crouch. Phrases jump out at her: hasn't been seen in public since November . . . house appears deserted . . . St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries decline comment . . . Ministry refuses to confirm rumors of critical illness. . . .
"They're making it sound like he's dying," says Maya, slowly.
"But he can't be that ill if he managed to get up here. . . ." trails off Harry, confused.
"My brother's Crouch's personal assistant," Ron informs Sirius, "He says Crouch is suffering from overwork."
"Mind you, he did look ill, last time I saw him up close," says Harry, still reading the story. "The night my name came out
of the goblet. . . ."
"Getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn't he?" says Hermione, an edge to her voice. She's stroking Buckbeak, who
is crunching up Sirius's chicken bones. "I bet he wishes he hadn't done it now — bet he feels the difference now she's not there to
look after him."
"Hermione's obsessed with house-elfs," Ron mutters to Sirius, casting Hermione a dark look. Sirius, however, looks interested.
"Crouch sacked his house-elf?"
"Yeah, at the Quidditch World Cup," says Harry, and he launches into the story of the Dark Mark's appearance, and Winky being found with Harry's wand clutched in her hand, and Mr. Crouch's fury. When Harry finishes, Sirius is on his feet again and starts pacing up and down the cave.
"Let me get this straight," he says, after a while, brandishing a fresh chicken leg. "You first saw the elf in the Top Box. She was saving Crouch a seat, right?"
"Right," say Harry, Ron, Hermione and Maya together.
"But Crouch didn't turn up for the match?"
"No," says Harry. "I think he said he'd been too busy."
Sirius paces all around the cave in silence. Then he says, "Harry, did you check your pockets for your wand after you'd left the Top Box?"
"Erm . . ." Harry thinks hard
. "No," he says, finally. "I didn't need to use it before we got in the forest. And then I put my hand in my pocket, and all that was in there were my Omnioculars." He stares at Sirius.
"Are you saying whoever conjured the Mark stole my wand in the Top Box?"
"It's possible," says Sirius.
"Winky didn't steal that wand!" Hermione insists
"The elf wasn't the only one in that box," says Sirius, his brow furrowed as he continues to pace. "Who else was sitting behind
you?"
"Loads of people," says Maya, her mind reverting back to that night. "Some Bulgarian ministers . . . Cornelius Fudge . . . the Malfoys . . ."
The name brings a rush of fear to her mind.
"The Malfoys!" says Ron suddenly, so loudly that his voice echoes all around the cave, and Buckbeak tosses his head nervously. "I bet it was Lucius Malfoy!"
Or maybe his son, taunts the malicious part of her brain. Maya's eyes flash in alarm, but she quickly covers it up. There's no way a fourteen-year-old boy would know how to cast the dark mark — even if his father is an ex-death eater.
Right?
"Anyone else?" says Sirius.
"No one," says Harry.
"Yes, there was, there was Ludo Bagman," Hermione reminds him.
"Oh yeah . . ."
"I don't know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps," says Sirius, still pacing. "What's
he like?"
"He's okay," says Harry. "He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament."
"Does he, now?" says Sirius, frowning more deeply. "I wonder why he'd do that?"
"Says he's taken a liking to me," says Harry.
"Hmm," says Sirius, looking thoughtful.
"We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared," Hermione tells Sirius. "Remember?" she says to the other three of them
"Yeah, but he didn't stay in the forest, did he?" says Ron. "The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite."
"How d'you know?" Hermione shoots back. "How d'you know where he Disapparated to?"
"Come off it," says Ron incredulously. "Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?"
"It's more likely he did it than Winky," says Hermione stubbornly.
"Told you," says Ron, looking meaningfully at Sirius, "told you she's obsessed with house —"
"Oh shut up!" snaps Maya, tired of Ron's constant beration of Hermione's passions..
But Sirius holds up a hand to silence them both
"When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and the elf had been discovered holding Harry's wand, what did Crouch do?"
"Went to look in the bushes," says Harry, "but there wasn't anyone else there."
"Of course," Sirius mutters, pacing up and down, "of course, he'd want to pin it on anyone but his own elf . . . and then he sacked her?"
"Yes," says Hermione in a heated voice, "he sacked her, just because she hadn't stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled —"
"Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!" says Ron. Maya opens her mouth to to retort, but immediately stops as Sirius shoots her a wary look.
Sirius shakes his head and says, "She's got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals."
He runs a hand over his unshaven face, evidently thinking hard.
"All these absences of Barty Crouch's . . . he goes to the trouble of making sure his house-elf saves him a seat at the Quidditch
World Cup, but doesn't bother to turn up and watch. He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops
coming to that too. . . . It's not like Crouch. If he's ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I'll eat Buckbeak."
The Hippogriff gives an indignant squawk of protest.
"D'you know Crouch, then?" says Harry.
Sirius's face darkens. He suddenly looks as menacing as the "wanted" picture of his face that decorates the daily Prophet.
"Oh I know Crouch all right," he says, quietly. "He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban — without a
trial."
"What?" say Ron and Hermione together.
"You're kidding!" says Maya, appalled.
"No, I'm not," says Sirius, taking another great bite of chicken. "Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?"
The four of them shake their heads.
"He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic," says Sirius. "He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical — and power-hungry. Oh never a Voldemort supporter," he says, reading the look on Harry's face. "No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side . . . well, you wouldn't understand . . . you're too young. . . ."
"That's what my dad said at the World Cup," says Ron, with a trace of irritation in his voice. "Try us, why don't you?"
"Yeah, we weren't born yesterday" replies Maya, defiantly setting her chin. She swears she sees a flicker of pride in his eyes, as a grin flashes across Sirius's thin face.
"All right, I'll try you. . . ." He walks once up the cave, back again, and then says, "Imagine that Voldemort's powerful now. You don't know who his supporters are, you don't know who's working for him and who isn't; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You're scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing . . . the Ministry of Magic's in disarray, they don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere . . .panic . . . confusion . . . that's how it used to be.
"Like the dark days of the Circle. . . . " Maya whispers, in shock as Sirius continues.
"Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning — I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers — powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you — plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened. . . ."
Sirius smiles grimly.
"Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power."
"Crouch's son was caught?" gasps Hermione.
"Yep," says Sirius, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak, flinging himself back down on the ground beside the loaf of bread, and tearing it in half. "Nasty little shock for old Barty, I'd imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn't he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while . . .gotten to know his own son."
He begins to wolf down large pieces of bread.
"Was his son a Death Eater?" says Harry.
"No idea," says Sirius, still stuffing down bread. "I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I'd bet my life were Death Eaters — but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf."
"Did Crouch try and get his son off?" Maya whispers.
Sirius lets out a laugh that's much more like a bark.
"Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Maya! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again — doesn't that tell you what he's like? Crouch's fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn't much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy . . . then he sent him straight to Azkaban."
"He gave his own son to the dementors?" asks Harry, quietly.
"That's right," says Sirius, and he doesn't look remotely amused now. "I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through
the bars in my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his
mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though . . .they all went quiet in the end . . . except when they shrieked in
their sleep. . . ."
For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius's eyes becomes more pronounced than ever, as though shutters have closed behind them.
"So he's still in Azkaban?" Harry says.
"No," says Sirius dully. "No, he's not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in."
"He died?" questions Maya, shocked.
"He wasn't the only one," says Sirius bitterly. "Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son's body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it."
Sirius throws aside the bread he had just lifted to his mouth and instead picks up the flask of pumpkin juice and drains it.
"So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made," he continues, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic . . . next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation."
There's a long silence. Maya thinks of the way Crouch's eyes had bulged as he'd looked down at his disobedient house-elf back in the wood at the Quidditch World Cup. This, then, must be why Crouch overreacted to Winky being found beneath the Dark Mark. It had brought back memories of his son, and the old scandal, and his fall from grace at the Ministry.
"Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards," Harry tells Sirius.
"Yeah, I've heard it's become a bit of a mania with him," says Sirius, nodding. "If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater."
"And he sneaked up here to search Snape's office!" says Ron triumphantly, looking at Hermione.
"Yes, and that doesn't make sense at all," says Sirius.
"Yeah, it does!" says Ron excitedly, but Sirius shakes his head.
"Listen, if Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn't he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him."
"So you think Snape could be up to something, then?" asks Harry, but Hermione breaks in.
"Look, I don't care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape —"
"Oh give it a rest, Hermione," says Ron impatiently. "I know Dumbledore's brilliant and everything, but that doesn't mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn't fool him —"
"Why did Snape save Harry's life in the first year, then? Why didn't he just let him die?"
"I dunno — maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out —"
"What d'you think, Sirius?" Harry says loudly, and Ron and Hermione stop bickering to listen.
"I think they've both got a point," says Sirius, looking thoughtfully at Ron and Hermione. "Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was," Sirius adds, and Harry and Ron grin at each other. "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters."
Sirius holds up his fingers and begins ticking off names.
"Rosier and Wilkes — they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges — they're a married couple — they're in Azkaban. Avery — from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse — he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater — not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble."
"Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet," says Ron.
"Yeah, you should've seen Snape's face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!" says Harry quickly. "Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape's been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn't see what it was."
"He showed Snape something on his arm?" says Sirius, looking frankly bewildered. He runs his fingers distractedly through his filthy hair, then shrugs again. "Well, I've no idea what that's about . . . but if Karkaroff's genuinely worried, and he's going to Snape for answers . . ."
Sirius stares at the cave wall, then makes a grimace of frustration.
"There's still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn't, but I just can't see him letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he'd ever worked for Voldemort."
"Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape's office then?" says Ron stubbornly.
"Well," says Sirius slowly, "I wouldn't put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher's office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defense Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody. I'm not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he's seen, it's not surprising. I'll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though . . . he's a different matter . . . is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape's office? And if he's not . . . what's he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so important he didn't turn up in the Top Box? What's he been doing while he should have been judging the tournament?"
Sirius lapses into silence, still staring at the cave wall. Buckbeak's ferreting around on the rocky floor, looking for bones he might have overlooked. Finally, Sirius looks up at Ron.
"You say your brother's Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?"
"I can try," says Ron doubtfully. "Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch."
"And you might try and find out whether they've got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you're at it," says Sirius, gesturing to the
second copy of the Daily Prophet.
"Bagman told me they hadn't," says Harry.
"Yes, he's quoted in the article in there," says Sirius, nodding at the paper. "Blustering on about how bad Bertha's memory is. Well, maybe she's changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn't forgetful at all — quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip. It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic . . . maybe that's why Bagman didn't bother to look for her for so long. . . ."
Sirius heaves an enormous sigh and rubbed his shadowed eyes.
"What's the time?"
Harry checks his watch.
"It's half past three," says Hermione.
"You'd better get back to school," Sirius says, getting to his feet.
"Now listen . . ." He looks particularly hard at Harry. "I don't want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you."
"No one's tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of grindylows," Harry says, but Sirius scowls at him.
"I don't care . . . I'll breathe freely again when this tournament's over, and that's not until June. And don't forget, if you're talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?"
You can't judge a book by it's cover, Maya thinks, as she falls asleep that night, Ironically, an ex-convinct is the only responsible adult in my life as of late.
By breakfast the next day Ron's and Hermione's bad moods have burnt out. When the post owls arrive, Hermione looks up eagerly; she
seems to be expecting something.
"Percy won't've had time to answer yet," says Ron. "We only sent Hedwig yesterday."
"No, it's not that," says Hermione. "I've taken out a subscription to the Daily Prophet. I'm getting sick of finding everything out from the Slytherins."
"Good thinking!" said Harry, also looking up at the owls. "Hey, Hermione, I think you're in luck —"
A gray owl is soaring down toward Hermione.
"It hasn't got a newspaper, though," she says, looking disappointed. "It's —"
But to Maya's bewilderment, the gray owl lands in front of Hermione's plate, closely followed by four barn owls, a brown owl, and a tawny.
"How many subscriptions did you take out?" says Maya, seizing Hermione's goblet before it's knocked over by the cluster of owls, all of whom are jostling close to her, trying to deliver their own letter first.
"What on earth — ?" Hermione says, taking the letter from the gray owl, opening it, and starting to read. "Oh really!" she sputters, going rather red.
"What's up?" says Ron.
"It's — oh how ridiculous —"
She thrusts the letter at Harry, Maya leaning over to read it, and seeing that it's not handwritten, but composed from pasted letters that seem to have been cut out of the Daily Prophet.
"You are a WickEd giRL. HarRy PotTER desErves BeTteR. GO back wherE you cAMe from mUGgle."
"What the hell?" Maya whispers, horrified and angry at the same time. She expected some backlash, but hate mail?
"They're all like it!" says Hermione desperately, opening one letter after another. " 'Harry Potter can do much better than the likes of you. . . .' 'You deserve to be boiled in frog spawn. . . .' Ouch!"
She opens the last envelope, and yellowish-green liquid smelling strongly of petrol gushes over her hands, which begins to erupt in large yellow boils. Maya gasps in horror, hands flying to cover her mouth.
"Undiluted bubotuber pus!" says Ron, picking up the envelope gingerly and sniffing it.
"Ow!" said Hermione, tears starting in her eyes as she tries to rub the pus off her hands with a napkin, but her fingers are now
so thickly covered in painful sores that it looks as though she's wearing a pair of thick, knobbly gloves.
"You'd better get up to the hospital wing," says Harry as the owls around Hermione take flight. "We'll tell Professor Sprout where you've gone. . . ."
"No matter," replies Maya, gently taking Hermione's hands in hers to inspect the damage, "I can try and heal them; Magnus taught me how"
But there's no time to dwell on Hermione's injuries; a tawny owl Maya doesn't recognize drops a package in front of her plate. Harry and Ron flash her warning looks, but she sighs.
"Can't possibly be worse than that" replies Maya, gesturing to Hermione's hands, "Besides, it's probably something from back home"
"Maya, don't —"
She ignores them, quickly unwrapping the paper-covered package to reveal a bright purple bottle, completely unmarked. Maya frowns. Could this possibly be that new shampoo Isabelle was talking about — Kerasilk or something, makes your hair grow longer? Maybe the young Shadowhunter's decided to send her a sample —
Maya shrieks as the bottle explodes, red-hot liquid flying everywhere. She tries to cover herself, but it's too late; the crimson liquid stains her white blouse, burning holes in the fabric as it steams and hisses on her neck. A pained shriek escapes her lips as the liquid burns on her skin, Maya hissing in pain as she furiously tries to wipe it off with her hands, creating blisters on her fingers.
"Ow!!" she screams, as Harry grabs her hands to stop Maya from hurting herself even more, "By the Angel, it HURTS-"
"Pepper-up potion" replies Hermione, masking her pain through gritted teeth, "A nasty little trick if you ask me. It burns your skin if you accidentally spill it."
"And it looks like Romilda Vane's the culprit" says Ron, warily cocking his head to the seat of the curly-haired Gryffindor. She sniggers to her friends, shooting a triumphant look in Maya's direction. The latter's hands curl into fists, nails piercing the soft flesh of her palms. Maya gives Romilda a murderous glare, eyes slowly filling with tears because of the sheer physical pain she's in.
"There's a note too. . . ." whispers Hermione, looking at Maya with pity despite her own injuries. Maya's eyes are filled with liquid fury as she snatches the piece of paper from the table, somehow untouched by the potion. She unfolds it.
"Go back to your country, you gold-digging bitch"
And that's the last straw for her.
"You two better get up to the hospital wing," says Harry, concerned, as the owls around them take flight. "We'll tell Professor Sprout where you've gone. . . ."
"Don't bother" snarls Maya, snatching her satchel from the bench, "I'm not giving her the satisfaction of hurting me"
"You're not going to walk around all day with that, are you?!" questions Ron, horrified as Hermione also stands up, Maya helping her with her textbooks in order to reduce the pain in her fingers.
"We'll see" she replies, defiantly, before striding out of the Great Hall, avoiding the eyes of Romilda and her gang of girls.
"She really made a mess of you, didn't she?"
Maya hisses as Diana lightly presses her fingers to the edge of the burn on Maya's shoulder, trying to do something to help her. It's three hours later, and after numerous cooling charms and reapplications of salve, the injury still burns as though she's trapped in the sweltering heat of Edom. Maya's sat out of classes up until lunch, barely able to move an inch without putting herself in excruciating pain. Now, however, she's starving, having barely touched her breakfast, which had the potion spilled all over it.
"What did I even do to her?" questions Maya, softly, jerking backwards as Diana tries to cast a healing charm, "I don't even like Harry that way — ow!"
"She's just jealous that you get to hang out with him and she doesn't" replies Diana, smoothly, grumbling out her next words, "What a cow. And stop moving, it's only going to make the pain worse!"
"I'm trying!" hisses Maya, impatiently, "It feels like someone's set my skin on fire."
"I can't do this," replies Diana, finally drawing back, wand clutched in her hand, "It's too serious; I think you should go to the Hospital wing"
"Are you crazy?" questions Maya, raising her eyebrows, "I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of having hurt me!"
"You literally can't move because of the amount of pain you're in"
"I'll deal with it myself later" replies Maya, wrapping the strap of her bag on her wrist instead of on her shoulder, "Right now, I'm starving."
"Maya, this isn't healthy," states Diana, concerned, "You shouldn't hurt yourself just to prove a point"
"Di" chastisizes Maya, brushing a strand of blond hair out of the Hufflepuff's face, "I'll be fine. Magnus has a spell that he's used on similar injuries. I'll call and ask him about it after classes, okay?"
Diana sounds unconvinced, but sighs and gives her a terse nod. Maya grabs her hand and they walk to the Great Hall for lunch.
The one-hour-break passes by somewhat smoothly — Hermione is still stuck in the hospital wing, Harry and Ron are disgruntled and moody from Herbology, Diana's nervous about her transfiguration test, which Maya helped her study for last night. They eat lunch in a relatively comfortable silence, Maya adjusting her robes around herself to hide the fact that she's wearing a grey crew-neck t-shirt instead of her uniform blouse and sweater, since the latter irritates the sensitive, inflamed skin even more.
"Aaah, don' worry," says Hagrid gently, looking down at her with concern during Care Of Magical Creatures. "I got some o' those letters an' all, after Rita Skeeter wrote abou' me mum. 'Yeh're a monster an' yeh should be put down.' 'Yer mother killed innocent people an' if you had any decency you'd jump in a lake.' "
Maya suddenly feels foolish for thinking that no one could have it worse than her.
After two more classes (and countless cooling charms) her school day ends and she decides to head to the library for some quiet reading time. Sure, Maya would normally go back to her dormitory if she wanted to curl up with a novel, but something within her decides a change of scenery would help her sour mood. Also, it's a bit of a risk going back there by herself. If Romilda had the courage to hurt her in front of all those people, who knows what she would do if she found Maya in her dorm, alone?
The thought makes a terrified shiver go down her spine.
Anyway, it's about an hour or so after she's made this decision when Maya's browsing one of the shelves in the library filled with wizarding romance novels. Maya has an affinity for these types of texts — not that she's ever going to admit it to anyone. They're refreshing to her, stories that have romantic pursuits as the main elements, a kind of detox from the draining aspects of everyday life. Maya knows it's a bit cliched, but they just make her happy, in some strange way.
Although she's never fallen in love herself (and doesn't plan to anytime soon) the process of watching the love interests meet, grow closer, facing obstacles together weirdly gives her a strange type of satisfaction. The classic ones are her favorite. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte — though that's more of a horror novel than a romance one — Wuthering Heights, and most recently, Persuasion, by Jane Austen. Though she's only five or so chapters in, Maya's already hooked by the character of Anne Elliot, a twenty-nine year old heiress who's plagued by the lost love of Captain Wentworth, a fearless naval officer and her ex-fiancee. Though Wentworth hasn't even appeared yet, the side characters are interesting enough to keep her engaged, particularly that of Mary Musgrove, whose attention-seeking behaviour she finds amusing and reminiscent of Magnus's when he's sulking.
Although now, it reminds her more of a certain blond Slytherin boy.
"You read Jane Austen?"
Maya jumps at the familiar voice, swiveling around to find none other than the person who'd just crossed her mind. Draco Malfoy raises his eyebrows, as the pain in her shoulder worsens from such a sudden movement. In hand is a floral-patterned copy of Persuasion, the very same one she accidentally left in the library two days ago.
"Give me that!" Maya practically snaps , hand reaching for the book, an embarrassed flush painting her cheekbones. He holds it higher, smirking, so that it's out of her reach. Maya is irritated by the flare of amusement in his eyes, as she jumps, arms flying upwards to catch the book. Draco doesn't let up, just holding it higher out of her reach.
"Didn't peg you as the romantic type, Maya" he taunts, with that insufferable smirk on his face yet again. Maya grits her teeth, resisting the urge to grab her wand and hex him senseless.
Just when she thought her day might be getting better, ferret boy had to show up.
"Give me the damn book, Malfoy" she snarls, not even bothering to conceal her rage.
"Someone's in a bad mood today, " he remarks, still dangling the book tauntingly out of her reach. Maya's eyes narrow menacingly, and she glares up at him with as much malice as she possibly can — which does absolutely nothing to coax him into giving it back.
"You'd be too if you were getting hate mail"
Something in his expression changes at her words. Maya's cheeks flush with embarrassment, wondering how easily the words left her lips in front of him. She usually prefers to keep her personal struggles out of the spotlight, grin and bear it instead of burdening other people. But for some reason, her usual filter seems to disappear in front of him.
"You're what?"
"Nothing" Maya replies, a little too quickly, turning back to the shelf to avoid making eye contact with him, "I didn't say anything".
She can feel his eyes narrow behind her.
"You're a horrible liar, Maya, you know that?" he states, leaning against the opposite shelf. She rolls her eyes.
"You don't even know me, Draco"
"But I can tell that you're trying to cover something up"
Maya sighs, turning around to face him.
"Why do you care?" she retorts, defensively crossing her arms over her chest.
"I don't" he replies, something flashing in his eyes, as he surveys her, "I'm just curious as to why you're so.....wound up"
Maya exhales, running a hand through her hair — for some reason, she feels completely exhausted, both emotionally and physically. Granted, it's been a pretty eventful two days, but somehow, her resolve seems weaker today. And the way Draco is being so persistent, like an ice pick chipping away at the surface of a lake, she knows he's going to wear her down completely. Besides, what's the harm in telling him? It's not like he's going to do anything about it — as if he'd ever be caught dead with a Gryffindor.
Which still doesn't explain why his insults toward her aren't as harsh as they used to be.
"After Skeeter's article," she starts, unsure of how to word this, "Some idiots thought it would be a brilliant idea to start sending me hate mail. At first, they were just notes, super petty, nasty stuff that some jealous fangirls tried to hurt us with. But some of them took it too far. Hermione got sent bubotuber pus at breakfast today — it exploded all over her hands, she was in the hospital wing all morning. I thought it would end there. Romilda Vane decided that it would be splendid to send me Pepper-Up Potion disguised as shampoo. I thought it was from a friend, so I opened it — and it exploded. All over me."
"Oh yeah" replies Draco, an almost-wistful expression on his face, "I remember seeing you running out of the Great Hall"
"You were looking at me?" she questions, raising an eyebrow.
Draco rolls his eyes.
"The entirety of Slytherin was looking at you" he replies, switching to a new tone at her now-murderous expression, "Though that probably doesn't help with your — condition, if I may call it that"
She snorts, turning back to the shelf and continuing to browse the selection of Wizarding romance novels.
"Are you hurt or anything? Your shoulder looks......questionable"
Maya looks over her shoulder, surprised.
"You noticed?"
He scoffs.
"You aren't exactly doing a good job at hiding it. Aren't you going to go to the hospital and let Pomfrey do something about it?"
She looks at him like he's suggested she jump into the icy waters of the black lake.
"Romilda will know if I go there, and I don't want to give her the satisfaction of having hurt me"
Draco raises his eyebrows in shock.
"You look like a dragon just mauled you"
She sighs in frustration.
"I'll deal with it later"
Maya hears Draco groan, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shuts his eyes.
"If you're not going to get it healed, what about Vane? Are you just going to let her get away with it?"
Maya is shocked, turning and looking at Draco with wide eyes.
"What, and go down to her level?" she retorts, "No way in hell"
He scoffs, looking up at the ceiling as if trying to draw strength from it.
"Merlin, I knew you were a Gryffindor," replies Draco, haughtily, "But I never thought you'd be this righteous"
"I'm not righteous" states Maya, indignantly, flushing at the 'oh really?' look he gives her, "What? I'm not! I just — I just don't think fighting fire with fire is going to do much. If anything, it just proves that I'm no better than her."
"She could've seriously hurt you," retorts Draco, annoyed, "Blinded you — if the potion had gotten in your eyes"
"You won't get it" states Maya, annoyance filling her tone, "You're used to retaliating — I'd rather move on and keep the peace,"
"It's not about 'keeping the peace' " replies Draco, through gritted teeth, "It's about making them pay for the way they hurt you. You think it's going to stop at this? She could trash your dorm, throw your textbooks into the lake —"
"I doubt she'd actually go that far" interrupts Maya, as Draco rolls his eyes. He gives her a hard look, cutting into her bones with how pissed-off it is.
"I don't understand why you're being so stubborn," he says, quietly, voice betraying his frustration at her refusal to attain revenge.
"I just don't want to make the situation worse than it already is," replies Maya, tone a little softer, crossing her arms over her chest, "It's different for you, Malfoy. You'll be able to walk away with no damage caused. But me? If I fight back, she'll hit harder. It'll become a vicious cycle. There's no use in trying to get even when you know you're going to get hurt in the end"
They look at each other for a long time — Draco still has the same hard expression in his eyes, one that now mirrors Maya's. He'll never know, Maya thinks to herself, what being hurt feels like. Draco Malfoy was born with privilege oozing off of him. He's never had to fight for anything in his life. He can just walk through the same rooms Maya has to claw her way into. 'Oppression' is just a word to him, not something he'll ever have to experience.
No matter how hard they try, Maya knows they're never going to be able to truly understand where the other comes from.
"If you're not going to do anything about Vane's little 'surprise', at least let me heal you" he states, a little while later, to her pure astonishment.
"And why would I ever do that?" she replies, warily, eyeing his wand.
"As much as I.......dislike..... you" he states, "I'm not going to let you walk around like that. I've spilled Pepper-Up Potion on myself before — I know what to do"
Maya still looks at him suspiciously. How can she even trust him? Wasn't he the one who decided to blackmail her in the first place? Although now, she's starting to think that this arrangement means more than that to him. In fact, Maya doubts 'arrangement' is even the right word for it anymore.
"Oh for fuck's sake, stop with the fuss, Rajesh" he snaps, exasperation filling his tone, "I'm not going to hex you"
Maya sighs, debating the options in her head. Walk away with her dignity, and endure another day of classes & pain? Or risk inviting a curse and let Draco Malfoy, of all people, heal her? What to do, what to do. . .
Maya sighs, walking so she's within reaching distance of him. Something triumphant flickers in Draco's eyes at her submission — a hint of a smirk appears on his face from the way he's bent her will — and she glares up at him, defiantly, letting her hands nervously rest at her sides.
"Try anything funny, and I'll make sure your ancestors roll in their graves" she spits, malevolently. Draco just rolls his eyes, letting his fingers delicately skim the edge of the burn. Maya hisses, but one look from him renders her silent. He whips out his wand from the pocket of his trousers.
"Et calor trahere" he breathes out.
Maya shudders as blue light escapes the tip of his wand, a strangely cool tingling feeling touching her skin. It doesn't feel unpleasant, more soothing, actually. It wraps all around the edges of the burn, up to where the neckline of her shirt starts. He taps it once against her skin, and the burn vanishes, skin faintly pink where it was burning moments ago. There's still a bit more, right between her breasts, but Draco's cheeks flush as he meets her eyes.
"I-I think you can do the rest yourself," he stammers, eyes still not wavering from hers.
Maya somehow cracks a smile at his awkwardness, it's different, kind of cute in fact, seeing him like this, flustered.
"Thanks. . . . Draco" she manages, as his eyes widen.
What is this sorcery?! screams the rational part of her brain, How can you go from hating him to thanking him in just a few moments?
"Don't mention it, " he replies, voice strangely tight as he looks down at her. Something's different between them, a lingering sense of faint trust in the air.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't my two favorite lovebirds" drawls a familiar voice from around the corner. Diana stands at the end of the aisle, a telltale smirk on her face. Draco jumps back, removing his hand from her shoulder — right on her bra strap, where it was moments before.
"Diana, it's not what it looks like — " Maya tries, face scarlet with embarrassment. Her smirk only grows wider.
"So you weren't just groping my best friend?" questions Diana, shamelessly, turning to her brother. Draco's face turns scarlet, resembling that of a tomato, and he backs against the opposite shelf, putting a considerable amount of distance between them.
"No! Of course not!"
Diana snorts, the sound indicating that she will never let Maya hear the end of this.
"A likely story"