LIX. HEARTS FOR THE LONELY ME
19:09 ─❁────────── 19:79
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❝But he kept it all inside his head
What he saw he left unsaid❞
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"YAY..." SHE SAID GLOOMILY, AS she waited for the Snitch to be unleashed.
It was Valentines Day, need she say more?
Of course she did, because some people (meaning herself,) simple loved watching her in misery. Yeah... perhaps she was a masochist.
Needless to say, although Lucia promised herself that she wouldn't be "gloomy" and instead feeling semi-delighted because Harry was finally going on that date he anticipated so much with Cho, but that seemed to be much more impossible than she predicted.
Perhaps it was a good thing that Angelina had booked the day for Quidditch practices, distracting her from the fact that Harry and Cho might as well be snogging down at Hogsmeade or whatever.
"How long are you going to be like this?" Ginny asked as she swung her bat with full force.
Lucia leaned back on her gifted broom with a sigh of dismay. "Give a moment, will you?" she groaned, rubbing her eyes in frustration. "I haven't been like this for weeks now, so give me a break."
"Boys aren't worth this much effort," Ginny stated simple, before yelling out to the distance: "Oi stupid! Learn to swing will ya?!"
"I know, but that doesn't change the fact that he is someone I fancy. Can't I be gloomy about that?"
Ginny shrugged as she glared at Andrew Kirke that seemed to be having a very hard time trying to swing his bat and hit some Quaffles. "I guess... but in my opinion, boys just aren't worth it. Now girls, they, however..."
Lucia smirked at this, perking. "Is there something you would love to tell me, Ginny?" she teased. "Like a certain blonde Ravenclaw?"
She blushed at this.
"Bugger off," said Ginny bashfully.
"Look, why did you decided to date Michael Corner out of all people?"
"Says the one that's so in love with Harry Potter out of all people," she retorted
Lucia scowled. "I heard from a little birdie that you had a major crush on the same person I have a major crush in the past," She then smile a cheshire smile, "And plus, at least I wasn't the one that wrote a bloody poem for him,"
Ginny whipped her head instantly at her, face red.
"Don't you —"
"How did it go? Oh, right, it went like this... 'His eyes are as green as a freshly pickled toad' —"
"STOP!"
But Lucia did not heed. She refused to, as Ginny's cried filled her ears like musical harmonies; she recited on, lips curling into a mischievous smile. The first smile of the day really.
"'His hair is as dark as a blackboard. I wish he was mine, he's really divine,'"
Ginny clamped her ear shut, crying out, "No — stop it! Stop it!" Reddened with embarrassment.
"— 'he hero who conquered the Dark Lord'" Lucia let out fits of giggles, struggling to balance herself up in the air without toppling off of her broom from Ginny's reaction to this. "I must say, you have quite the talent in poetry, Ginny."
She cringed. "Those were dark times for me," Ginny shuddered.
"Maybe I should ask you to create one for me too," she teased.
"I hate you," the youngest Weasley glared.
Lucia merely smiled. "I love you too."
"Lucia!" the two redheads whipped their heads at the voice and saw Angelina near sobbing as to how terrible the practice was going for Kirke and Ron. "Go catch the ruddy Snitch!" Angelina cried.
The DiFiore winced at this before bidding good-bye to Ginny. "See ya!" and before they all knew it, Lucia was already zooming throughout the Quidditch Pitch.
By the time dinner came around, Ron, Lucia, and Ginny walked into the Great Hall. All three of them were disgruntled and grumpy and muddy as they trudged toward where Hermione and Harry were, right on time for the conversation.
Ron was the first to reach them as he dropped down on the bench on the opposite of the two.
"Is that what she was doing?" said Harry. "Well, wouldn't it have been easier if she'd just asked me whether I liked her better than you?"
"Girls don't often ask questions like that," said Hermione.
"Well, they should!" said Harry forcefully. "Then I could've just told her I dont —"
"I'm not saying what she did was sensible," said Hermione, as Lucia and Ginny hurriedly joined them, sitting on either side of Ron with a look of glower at their food. "I'm just trying to make you see how she was feeling at the time."
"You should write a book," Ron told Hermione as he cut up his potatoes, "translating mad things girls do so boys can understand them."
"Take it that your date didn't go so well?" Lucia asked Harry, spirit oddly a bit more lifted than before.
"Yeah," said Harry. He then looked past her shoulder to the Ravenclaw, causing Lucia to follow his gaze.
Perhaps it was mean of her, but it was really hard for her to to stop herself from grinning. Cho had just got up; still not looking at him, she left the Great Hall.
"So, how was Quidditch practice?" Harry asked with a small smile.
"It was a nightmare," said Ron in a surly voice.
"Oh come on," said Hermione, looking at Ginny, "I'm sure it wasn't that —"
"Yes, it was," said Ginny. "It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it."
"I would be too," Lucia winced, rubbing the back of her aching head. "Kirke is no good with aiming I swear..."
The three Quidditch players went off for baths after dinner; Harry and Hermione returned to the busy Gryffindor common room and their usual pile of homework. Harry had been struggling with a new star chart for Astronomy for half an hour when Fred and George turned up.
"Ron, Ginny, and Little Flower not here?" asked Fred, looking around as he pulled up a chair and, when Harry shook his head, he said, "Good. We were watching their practice. They're going to be slaughtered. They're complete rubbish without us."
"Thanks a lot for the words of encouragement guys,"
Fred and George jumped in startlement; behind them stood Lucia, cleaner than before, but with a not so pleased face. The twins looked down at her sheepishly.
"Kidding...?"
Lucia shook her head, rubbing her damped hair. "You guys are absolutely right. We're rubbish. Absolutely rubbish —"
"You and Ginny aren't bad," said George fairly, as Lucia sat down beside Harry with a somber expression. "Surprisingly, you were good. Not as good as Harry —"
"Why do people keep saying that?" she deadpanned. "I wasn't trying to, and it is certainly not boosting up my confidence!"
George only waved her comment off as he went on, "But really good for a beginner. Remember Freddie? When she caught the Snitch way before you months ago?"
"Oh yeah," nodded Fred. "Hurt my pride a bit, but I was proud."
"And Ginny... Actually, I dunno how she got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us," added George.
"She's been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren't looking," said Hermione from behind her tottering pile of Ancient Rune books.
"Oh," said George, looking mildly impressed. "Well — that'd explain it."
"Has Ron saved a goal yet?" asked Hermione, peering over the top of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms.
"Well, he can do it if he doesn't think anyone's watching him," said Fred, rolling his eyes. "So, all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk among themselves every time the Quaffle goes up his end on Saturday."
"But in all seriousness, Ron is seriously talented in Quidditch." Lucia said earnestly, twirling around her damped loose curls.
Fred got up again and moved restlessly to the window, staring out across the dark grounds.
"You know, Quidditch was about the only thing in this place worth staying for."
Hermione cast him a stern look.
"You've got exams coming!"
"Told you already, we're not fussed about N.E.W.T.s," said Fred. "The Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple of drops of murtlap essence sorts them, Lee put us onto it..."
George yawned widely and looked out disconsolately at the cloudy night sky.
"I dunno if I even want to watch this match. If Zacharias Smith beats us I might have to kill myself."
"Kill him, more like," said Fred firmly.
"Don't worry, I-I'll try to catch the Snitch faster..." said Lucia meekly. But she wasn't sure if she could do that.
"That's the trouble with Quidditch," said Hermione absentmindedly, once again bent over her Rune translation, "it creates all this bad feeling and tension between the Houses."
She looked up to find her copy of Spellman's Syllabary and caught Fred, George, and Harry looking at her with expressions of mingled disgust and incredulity on their faces. Lucia let out a soft sigh, too tired for this argument.
"Well, it does!" she said impatiently. "It's only a game, isn't it?"
"Hermione," said Harry, shaking his head, "you're good on feelings and stuff, but you just don't understand about Quidditch."
"Maybe not," she said darkly, returning to her translation again, "but at least my happiness doesn't depend on Ron's goalkeeping ability."
The Saturday match started off very nerve-wrecking for the Gryffindor quidditch team, and apparently rightfully so, Lucia thought. The whole match felt like a game of chance for them whilst Hufflepuffs were almost dominating them. It was simply agonising. The very best thing about the the whole match was that it was short; The Gryffindor spectators had to endure only twenty-two minutes of agony before Lucia had successfully caught the Snitch in her bear hands, and although it was win, it did not felt like it.
It was hard to say what the worst thing was that it was a close-run contest between Ron's fourteenth failed save, Kirke missing the Bludger but hitting Angelina in the mouth with his bat and shrieking and falling backward off his broom as Zacharias Smith zoomed at him carrying the Quaffle or Lucia almost getting murdered by a Bludger if it weren't for Ginny's quick save. The miracle was that Gryffindor only lost by ten points: Lucia managed to snatch the Snitch from Hufflepuff Seeker Summerby's, so that the final score was two hundred and forty versus two hundred and thirty.
Lucia stared at the Snitch in her hand, contemplating. Did she really do good, or was it all because of luck? It made her miserable to know that she possessed no such skill if it were by luck...
"You did good," Lucia glanced up from the Snitch and saw Harry approaching her at the back on the common room, where the atmosphere closely resembled that of a particularly dismal funeral.
She shook her head in dismay.
"It was all by luck," said Lucia with a painful gaze at the Snitch. "It wasn't a very fast Snitch and Summerby's got a cold, he sneezed and closed his eyes at exactly the wrong moment." She told Harry quietly before glancing back up into his comforting green eyes with a weak smile. "When you're back in the team —"
"I've got a lifelong ban."
"Only if Umbridge is in school, we'll just have to find away to chuck her out. I love loopholes, they're just the best," sighed Lucia chirpily. "But I reckon that as long as you're in this school, no one can replace the real Seeker of Gryffindor. I'm just a replacement, so that means I don't possess the skills of real Seeker unlike you, Harry. So, when you get back into the team, I bet that Gryffindor will start winning again."
Harry chuckled. "Appreciate the motivational words," he said earnestly. "But really, you were good."
"Thanks," said Lucia before she rested her head on his shoulder, "It was really nerve-wrecking, playing competitively, I mean. I thought it would be as fun as you make it out to be,"
"I say those things because the match always goes our way," Harry admitted with a sigh, "But trust me, you'll get to experience that."
"I dunno..." said Lucia unsurely, gripping the Snitch. "I know I tried for Angelina, but I reckon if she didn't see me catching the Snitch back then, she would have surely never wanted me in the team and I'm sure Ginny would've been the Seeker instead."
"Stop saying that," Harry's eyes softened at her. "You did great. Sure, it wasn't our best match, but you did your best."
"And my best isn't enough," she knitted her brows together. "I could've done better."
"Lucia, I need you to listen to me," Lucia locked eyes with him and couldn't help but melt at the fervent determination in his gaze. "You were wonderful — amazing for a beginner. You've never played the sport, yet you were able to win the match. Doesn't it say enough?"
"Luck is an amazing thing," she said airily, looking away from him. She didn't know why, but her mind was filled by the look of disappointment that Harry had, yet she also was not sure whether it was real or not.
Harry was everything but disappointed. She did great, and destructive self-consciousness Lucia had pained him. He wanted to assure her that she did great and that she had nothing to do, but he also knew that she would not hear him out. What could he do to make her more aware of her worth?
He sighed and looked over at Ron, who was hunched in a corner, staring at his knees, a bottle of butterbeer clutched in his hand.
"Angelina still won't let him resign," said Lucia, as though reading Harry's mind. "She says she knows he's got it in him."
Harry liked Angelina for the faith she was showing in Ron, but at the same time thought it would really be kinder to let him leave the team. Ron had left the pitch to another booming chorus of "Weasley Is Our King" sung with great gusto by the Slytherins, who were now favorites to win the Quidditch Cup.
Fred and George wandered over.
"I haven't got the heart to take the mickey out of him, even," said Fred, looking over at Ron's crumpled figure. "Mind you... when he missed the fourteenth..."
He made wild motions with his arms as though doing an upright doggy-paddle.
"Well, I'll save it for parties, eh?"
After a while of more misery around the common room, Lucia finally decided that it was time to retire to her dormitory and the rest of the night, her mind wondered all around, thinking of what would have happened if she hadn't caught the Snitch...
Would they have blamed her for losing?
They entered the Great Hall for breakfast at the same moment as the post owls on Monday morning. Hermione was not the only person eagerly awaiting her Daily Prophet: Nearly everyone was eager for more news about the escaped Death Eaters, who, despite many reported sightings, had still not been caught. She gave the delivery owl a Knut and unfolded the newspaper eagerly while Lucia played around with her porridge when the first owl landed with a thud in front of Harry.
Lucia quirked a brow. Since the whole term started, Harry and letters have not been seen since so this was wildly odd to see.
"Who're you after?" he asked it, languidly removing his orange juice from underneath its beak, thinking it was a mistake.
The owl hooted and Lucia immediately perked up at this.
"He says its not a mistake, Harry," said Lucia as the owl hooted more. "It's for you."
"Did you just bloody..."
"No, I didn't, Ron," she said dismissively. "That was only a figment of your imagination."
Ron turned to Harry and Hermione, who shrugged.
Leaning forward, Harry went to see the recipient's name and address. And Lucia was not wrong; it is for him.
Frowning, he made to take the letter from the owl, but before he could do so, three, four, five more owls had fluttered down beside it and were jockeying for position, treading in the butter, knocking over the salt, and each attempting to give him their letters first.
"Harry!" said Hermione breathlessly, plunging her hands into the feathery mass and pulling out a screech owl bearing a long, cylindrical package. "I think I know what this means — open this one first!"
Harry ripped off the brown packaging. Out rolled a tightly furled copy of March's edition of The Quibbler. He unrolled it to see his own face grinning sheepishly at him from the front cover.
Lucia peered over his shoulders and managed to red the large red letters across Harry's picture:
HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN
"It's good, isn't it?" said Luna, who had drifted over to the Gryffindor table and now squeezed herself onto the bench between Fred and Erin, who was visiting. "It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these," she waved a hand at the assembled owls still scrabbling around on the table in front of Harry, "are letters from readers."
"That's what I thought," said Hermione eagerly, "Harry, d'you mind if we — ?"
"Help yourself," said Harry, feeling slightly bemused.
Ron, Hermione, and Lucia started ripping open envelopes.
"This one's from a bloke who thinks you're off your rocker," said Ron, glancing down his letter. "Ah well..."
"This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's," said Hermione, looking disappointed and crumpling up a second.
"Oh my, what big words they are using," said Erin as she peered over Hermione's shoulder in amusement, before ripping up her part of the letter. "This one wishes for you to seek therapy,"
Lucia snorted. "That's more like they're looking after them. Like this one is recommending him to take some good remedial tea for his brain," she said before folding it in half neatly.
"This one looks okay, though," said Harry slowly, scanning a long letter from a witch in Paisley. "Hey, she says she believes me!"
"This one's in two minds," said Fred, who had joined in the letter-opening with enthusiasm. "Says you don't come across as a mad person, but he really doesn't want to believe You-Know-Who's back so he doesn't know what to think now... Blimey, what a waste of parchment
"This one is from an anonymous — nice handwriting —" she then let out a gasp before continuously smacking Harry's arm in excitement. "They believe you, Harry! They believe you!"
"Here's another one you've convinced, Harry!" said Hermione excitedly. "'Having read your side of the story I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you very unfairly... Little though I want to think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth...' Oh this is wonderful!"
"Another one who thinks you're barking," said Ron, throwing a crumpled letter over his shoulder, "but this one says you've got her converted, and she now thinks you're a real hero — she's put in a photograph too — wow."
"Ooh, let me see!" said Lucia, Ron, with a snort, handed her the photo. Lucia stared down the photo in awe. "She's pretty... I would date her."
The Weasleys and Hermione quirked a brow at her, surprised by this revelation whilst Erin, Luna, and Harry were left unperturbed. Though, Harry rolled his eyes, feeling a jab in his heart.
"Well, I wouldn't," said Harry fervently. "She isn't that pre —"
"What is going on here?" said a falsely sweet, girlish voice.
Professor Umbridge was standing behind Erin and Luna, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table in front of them. Behind her was many of the students watching them avidly.
"Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?" she asked slowly.
"Is that a crime now?" said Fred loudly. "Getting mail?"
"Toerag," Erin hissed at him to stop testing Umbridge's patience.
"Be careful, Mr. Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention," said Umbridge. "Well, Mr. Potter?"
Harry hesitated, but he did not see how he could keep what he had done quiet; it was surely only a matter of time before a copy of The Quibbler came to Umbridge's attention.
"People have written to me because I gave an interview," said Harry. "About what happened to me last June."
For some reason he glanced up at the staff table as he said this. He had the strangest feeling that Dumbledore had been watching him a second before, but when he looked, Dumbledore seemed to be absorbed in conversation with Professor Flitwick.
"An interview?" repeated Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. "What do you mean?"
"I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them," said Harry. "Here —"
And he threw the copy of The Quibbler at her. She caught it and stared down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet.
"When did you do this?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Last Hogsmeade weekend," said Harry.
She looked up at him, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers.
"There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr. Potter," she whispered. "How you dare . . . how you could..." She took a deep breath. "I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions."
She stalked away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her.
"Well," Lucia broke the silence. "That went well."
Noting her sarcasm, it really did not go as well as they thought. By mid-morning enormous signs had been put up all over the school, not just on House notice boards, but in the corridors and classrooms too.
——— BY ORDER OF ———
THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.
Signed,
Dolores Jane Umbridge
High Inquisitor
For some reason, every time Hermione caught sight of one of these signs she beamed with pleasure.
"What exactly are you so happy about?" Harry asked her.
"Oh Harry, don't you see?" Hermione breathed. "If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read your interview, it was banning it!"
"Hmm... she can't possibly be expelling all of Hogwarts like that," said Lucia simply. "Almost all of the Ministry workers is either healthy or just plain old nutters. By the time we reach adulthood, they need people to work for them or else there would have a shortage in staffs and the Ministry could simply, well, fall. So that funny decree is pretty faulty when you think about it."
"You over-analysing things maybe the best thing that ever happened in the word," said Ron jokingly.
"Ha ha, Gingerbread," she nudged his ribs. Hard. Ron doubled in pain. "Anyway, does anyone want toffee?"
By the end of that day, The Quibbler had been seen in every corner of the school. The whole place seemed to be quoting the interview at each other; Lucia heard them whispering about it when she went down to the library, discussing it over lunch and in the back of lessons, whilst Hermione even reported that every occupant of the cubicles in the girls' toilets had been talking about it when she nipped in there before Ancient Runes.
"And then they spotted me, and obviously they know I know you, so they were bombarding me with questions," Hermione told Harry, her eyes shining, "and Harry, I think they believe you, I really do, I think you've finally got them convinced!"
Meanwhile Professor Umbridge was stalking the school, stopping students at random and demanding that they turn out their books and pockets. Evidently, she was looking for copies of The Quibbler, but the students were several steps ahead of her. The pages carrying Harry's interview had been bewitched to resemble extracts from textbooks if anyone but themselves read it, or else wiped magically blank until they wanted to peruse it again. Soon it seemed that every single person in the school had read it.
The teachers were, of course, forbidden from mentioning the interview by Educational Decree Number Twenty-six, but they found ways to express their feelings about it all the same. Professor Sprout awarded Gryffindor twenty points when Harry passed her a watering can; a beaming Professor Flitwick pressed a box of squeaking sugar mice on him at the end of Charms, said "Shh!" and hurried away; and Professor Trelawney broke into hysterical sobs during Divination and announced to the startled class, and a very disapproving Umbridge, that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but would live to a ripe old age, become Minister of Magic, and have twelve children.
Although there were many good things that were happening this week, Lucia couldn't help but feel slightly faulty in the feelings; she was on her way to Transfiguration with Neville when the pair stumbled upon Harry standing in the middle of the corridor. They made to greet them but stop immediately when Cho appeared from the sea of students, laying an abrupt kiss on his cheeks that made them aware that perhaps Harry had made up with her from the Valentines mess.
Lucia could only stare distantly at this as her heart sunk. Neville turned gingerly to his childhood friend, knowing of her evident crush on the Boy-Who-Lived. He knew just how deep her feeling were for him, and was immediately shocked to see, instead of an open frown, she managed a small smile.
"Are you sure you okay, Lucia?" Neville asked quietly, a hand over her shoulder as a mean of showing comfort.
Lucia breathed begrudgingly and nodded, "Of course not," she said, smile not faltering. "I'm happy for them."
"Are you really?"
"Yeah, I am," her voice cracked.
Neville casted her a deadpanning look, causing her to whine when she saw it.
"Don't look at me like that!" said Lucia. "I mean, it hurts and all but I can't exactly do anything, can I? Sure, I like Harry, but why should I fight Cho for his heart? Fighting her is useless and no way in need,"
"But it hurts?" Neville echoed.
Lucia nodded. "Of course it does, but I'm not going to jeopardise someone else's happiness to achieve mine," she pursed her lips. She was happy for them...
"Do you want a hug?" he asked, and Lucia turned to him helplessly.
She nodded.
"Yes please,"
Neville sighed as he shouldered his school bag, giving space for Lucia to sink into his embrace. He wasn't sure whether it was comfortable for her, seeing as she was a head taller than he was, but it seemed that his worried was no need, for she merely limped her body against him pitifully. "Pining on somebody sucks,"
Neville, half-amused and half-war for her, rubbed her back comfortingly, "There, there, it'll be okay," Lucia put up a comically funny scene in the middle of the corridors.
When the reached for Transfiguration, they sound found Harry with Seamus, talking civilly for once since the start of the school year.
"I just wanted to say," he mumbled, squinting at Harry's left knee, "I believe you. And I've sent a copy of that magazine to me mam."
At this, Neville and Lucia looked at one another. Things were looking up.
Harry was a hero in the Gryffindor common room that night; daringly, Fred and George had put an Enlargement Charm on the front cover of The Quibbler and hung it on the wall, so that Harry's giant head gazed down upon the proceedings, occasionally saying things like "The Ministry are morons" and "Eat dung, Umbridge" in a booming voice. Hermione did not find this very amusing; she said it interfered with her concentration and ended up going to bed early out of irritation.
Lucia did admit that the picture was seemingly getting annoying little by little and since she was doing her homework at that time, it really did left her almost to tears because she couldn't understands a word she was reading. Before she could cry even more, she ended up retiring for the night and continued her homework by next morning.
She sat in the Great Hall, scribbling her words messily on the parchment all the while Hermione helped her when she caught glimpse of Harry and Ron, who were trying their best to catch their attention.
"What in the bloody hell are those idiots trying to do?" said Lucia.
Hermione looked to where she was gazing at and sighed. "Let's go."
They soon found themselves standing together in the breezy and cool corner of the courtyard as Harry told the girls all about his 'dream' with every detail he could. And when he was finished, Lucia was oddly concerned with this as it dawned on her the hundredth time that this war was coming, and it was real. They were only kids, and yet they had to go through the school year, fearing for the upcoming war...
Hermione said nothing at all for a few moments but stared with a kind of painful intensity at Fred and George, who were both headless and selling their magical hats from under their cloaks on the other side of the yard.
"So that's why they killed him," she said quietly, withdrawing her gaze from Fred and George at last. "When Bode tried to steal this weapon, something funny happened to him. I think there must be defensive spells on it, or around it, to stop people from touching it. That's why he was in St. Mungo's, his brain had gone all funny and he couldn't talk. But remember what the Healer told us? He was recovering. And they couldn't risk him getting better, could they? I mean, the shock of whatever happened when he touched that weapon probably made the Imperius Curse lift. Once he'd got his voice back, he'd explain what he'd been doing, wouldn't he? They would have known he'd been sent to steal the weapon. Of course, it would have been easy for Lucius Malfoy to put the curse on him. Never out of the Ministry, is he?"
"He was even hanging around that day I had my hearing," said Harry. "In the — hang on..." he said slowly. "He was in the Department of Mysteries corridor that day! Your dad said he was probably trying to sneak down and find out what happened in my hearing, but what if —"
"Sturgis," gasped Hermione, looking thunderstruck.
"Sorry?" said Ron, looking bewildered.
"Who?" said Lucia, confuddled.
"Sturgis Podmore," said Hermione, breathlessly. "Arrested for trying to get through a door. Lucius Malfoy got him too. I bet he did it the day you saw him there, Harry. Sturgis had Moody's Invisibility Cloak, right? So what if he was standing guard by the door, invisible, and Malfoy heard him move, or guessed he was there, or just did the Imperius Curse on the off chance that a guard was there? So when Sturgis next had an opportunity — probably when it was his turn on guard duty again — he tried to get into the department to steal the weapon for Voldemort — Ron, be quiet — but he got caught and sent to Azkaban..."
Silence befell upon them before Lucia glanced up at Harry. "And now Rookwood's told Voldemort how to get this weapon...?
"I didn't hear all the conversation, but that's what it sounded like," said Harry. "Rookwood used to work there... Maybe Voldemort'll send Rookwood to do it?"
Lucia looked back down at her book whilst Hermione nodded, apparently still lost in thought. Then, quite abruptly, she said, "But you shouldn't have seen this at all, Harry."
"What?" he said, taken aback.
"You're supposed to be learning how to close your mind to this sort of thing," said Hermione, suddenly stern.
"I know I am," said Harry. "But —"
"Well, I think we should just try and forget what you saw," said Hermione firmly. "And you ought to put in a bit more effort on your Occlumency from now on."
Just when they thought the week was supposed to be their best week out of all the months with the evident rebellion growing, something horrible happened. Oddly Lucia found herself standing along the rest of the onlookers in the entrance hall in horror as her hands were over her cheeks, resisting to cover her eyes at the sight. Astoria, Ginny, and Neville who stood around her watched nervously with her.
It was fine just a while ago, another Hogwarts evening, and all four of them were making their way for dinner when they suddenly heard shrilly screams that almost sounded like bloody murder coming from the entrance hall and before they knew it, students had come flooding out of the Great Hall, where dinner was still progress, to see what was going on. Others had crammed themselves onto the marble staircase. All the onlookers had formed a great ring, some of them looking shocked, others even frightened. Professor McGonagall was directly opposite them on the other side of the hall; she looked as though what she was watching made her feel faintly sick.
Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the entrance hall with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other, looking utterly mad. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; her innumerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside down; it looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her. Professor Trelawney was staring, apparently terrified, at something Lucia could not see but that seemed to be standing at the foot of the stairs.
"No!" she shrieked. "NO! This cannot be happening... It cannot... I refuse to accept it!"
"You didn't realize this was coming?" said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused, and Lucia saw Trelawney's terrifying vision was nothing other than Professor Umbridge. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?"
"You c-can't!" howled Professor Trelawney, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses, "you c-can't sack me! I've b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!"
"It was your home," said Professor Umbridge. It was disgusting to see the enjoyment stretching her toadlike face as she watched Professor Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, onto one of her trunks, "until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us."
But she stood and watched, with an expression of gloating enjoyment, as Professor Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking backward and forward on her trunk in paroxysms of grief. Lavender and Parvati were both crying silently, their arms around each other. However, something happened: Professor McGonagall had broken away from the spectators, marched straight up to Professor Trelawney and was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes.
"There, there, Sybill... Calm down... Blow your nose on this... It's not as bad as you think, now... You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts..."
"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. "And your authority for that statement is..."
"That would be mine," said a deep voice.
The oak front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. Although Lucia had no idea what he's been doing out in the grounds, she had to admit that the headmaster looked awfully intimidating for once in all her five years of school.
Dumbledore stood framed in the doorway against an oddly misty night. Leaving the doors wide behind him, he strode forward through the circle of onlookers toward the place where Professor Trelawney sat, tearstained and trembling, upon her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.
"Yours, Professor Dumbledore?" said Umbridge with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here" — she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes — "an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."
Surprisingly, Dumbledore continued to smile. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk and said, "You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid," he went on, with a courteous little bow, "that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts."
At this, Professor Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccup was barely hidden.
"No — no, I'll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere —"
"No," said Dumbledore sharply. "It is my wish that you remain, Sybill."
He turned to Professor McGonagall.
"Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"
"Of course," said McGonagall. "Up you get, Sybill..."
Professor Sprout came hurrying forward out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney's other arm. Together they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked, "Locomotor trunks!" and Professor Trelawney's luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear.
Professor Umbridge was standing stock-still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.
"And what," she said in a whisper that nevertheless carried all around the entrance hall, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"
"Oh, that won't be a problem," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."
"You've found — ?" said Umbridge shrilly. "You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twenty-two —"
"— the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if — and only if — the headmaster is unable to find one," said Dumbledore. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?"
He turned to face the open front doors, through which night mist was now drifting. Lucia heard hooves, she turned to Astoria, Ginny, and Neville in confusion, who mirrored her expression. There was a shocked murmur around the hall and those nearest the doors hastily moved even farther backward, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer.
Through the mist came a face: white-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes, the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse.
"This is Firenze," said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. "I think you'll find him suitable."