Dean and Seamus and I left earlier than the others to meet Neville outside Moody's office. They seemed to be finishing up as we arrived. Neville held a rather large volume under his arm and his eyes looked rather red. Professor Moody nodded when he saw us coming down the corridor.
"Ah, see there, here come your friends now."
Neville waved at us, smiling, before turning back to Moody. "Thanks for the book, Professor."
"Of course, Longbottom," he nodded, one eye on us, the other on Neville. "Being an Auror means you can recognize another's strengths. You were really brave in class today, sonny. Give yourself some more credit."
"How'd it go?" Dean asked as the four of us rounded the corner.
"It was alright," Neville shrugged. "He turned out to be nice. He just wants us to be ready, I suppose."
Ready for what? I wanted to prompt him, but decided against it in the moment. His gaze was far off, expression longing.
"Perhaps he's just old-fashioned, as well as a bit mad," I mused. "I still don't like him, and I don't like what he put you and Harry through today."
"We talked about my parents, in his office," Neville told me softly. "He said he arrested the Death Eaters that hurt them. He's a good guy, he's just tough."
"If you say so," I reached out and patted him between the shoulders. Only because I'd spent so much time with Neville could I tell that he was putting on a brave face, and I knew Dean and Seamus knew it too. We walked back to the common room making subdued small talk, but I was immediately accosted once inside.
"Lila!"
Hermione had materialized beside me and started tugging my arm toward a table where Harry and Ron were sitting.
"Sorry, boys, but I have to borrow her for a second," Hermione told Seamus, Neville, and Dean. Hermione led me to a box filled with monogrammed buttons.
"Ah, so I see you went with spew," I said. Quickly, I corrected myself, "I mean, S.P.E.W."
"Lila is Vice President and campaign manager," Hermione said proudly to Harry and Ron. I blinked.
"I am?" I asked blankly. Hermione looked at me very seriously.
"Of course. People listen to you. You're an essential part of us reaching our goals," she cleared her throat. "Which is, by the way, where I'd left off: Our short-term aims are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly underrepresented."
I wasn't sure exactly how I was going to get people to go along with this, but I was flattered that Hermione thought I could.
"And how do we go about doing this?" Harry asked, seeming more amused than anything.
"We start by recruiting members," Hermione said, seeming very pleased that Harry had asked. "I thought two Sickles to join — that buys a badge — and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron — I've got you a collecting tin upstairs — and Harry, you're secretary, so you might want to write down everything I'm saying now, as a record of our first meeting."
There was a pause. Ron looked as if he'd been hit over the head, Harry was trying to hide his laugh, and I was still puzzling over the rapid events that had just occurred. My mind was still trying to process the whole issue with Moody and suddenly I'm campaign manager for elf-rights.
There was a tap at the window. Much to my surprise, it was Hedwig. Harry jumped up, launching himself at the window to open it excitedly. Hedwig flew inside and landed on the back of Harry's now empty chair.
"About time," he said, grinning. "And look, she's got an answer!" He untied the filthy looking parchment from Hedwig's leg, sitting back down to read. Hedwig hopped down to rest on his knee. Harry skimmed over the paper first, frowning, but then began to read out loud.
"Harry —
I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore - they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is.
I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry.
Sirius."
Harry looked up at us, and we stared back at him.
"So he's coming back?" Hermione whispered.
"After all that we did to get him out," I muttered.
"Dumbledore's reading what signs? Harry — what's up?" Ron frowned. Harry and I exchanged a look. I could tell he was remembering our conversation from last year.
"Lila has this theory-"
"Dumbledore is preparing us for something," I explained. "That's why he's got Moody here, to teach us. And I've got the idea that the whole Triwizard Tournament is to distract us from more sinister ploys that are afoot."
"Like what?" Hermione pursed her lips. "You don't mean-"
"Think about it!" I exclaimed. "Pettigrew escapes, Trelawney makes her second real prediction ever that Voldemort's coming back, and now Harry and I are having matching nightmares!"
"You've got to tell Dumbledore!" Hermione insisted.
"That's my point, Hermione," I replied. "He already knows, whether Harry and I tell him about our dreams or his scar hurting or not."
Harry suddenly smacked a palm to his forehead, startling all of us. "I shouldn't've told him!" He said angrily.
"What are you on about?" Ron asked. I belatedly realized he was talking about Sirius.
"It's made him think he's got to come back!" Harry hit his fist on the table. "Coming back, because he thinks I'm in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me! And I haven't got anything for you," Harry looked irritably at Hedwig, "you'll have to go up to the Owlery if you want food."
Hedwig looked at him affrontedly before taking back off through the window, hitting him in the head with her wing as she left. Hermione pursed her lips.
"Harry," she tried, but he shook his head.
"I'm going to bed," he said sharply. "See you in the morning."
As Harry marched up the stairs, Ron and Hermione both looked at me with questions in their eyes.
"So, what then," Ron began, "you think the Tournament is meant to hide what's really happening? Why would Dumbledore do that?"
"I don't know, Ron, that's the issue. But think of the timing!" I gestured grandly with my hands. "This is objectively the worst time to be having this kind of event. And I can't bring myself to take anything Dumbledore says at face-value, anymore. He's deceived me too many times, deceived others. . ." I trailed off, then sighed. "I had a dream, a memory of a conversation between him and my mother."
I told them both what I'd seen and heard, how Dumbledore had been told about Pettigrew all along, how he'd spoken of me in a prophecy, of being on the wrong side.
"He waited thirteen years to tell me who my mum really was," I told them both, seething. "He said it was for my own safety, but that was a lie. He said the sooner I learned about the prophecy, the more dangerous and unpredictable I'd be."
"That's the nature of prophecies though, isn't it?" Hermione frowned. "From what I've read, they've got funny ways of working out. They're unpredictable and dangerous in of themselves. You can't control them, just like you can't predict fate."
"Dumbledore is surely trying to," I assured her angrily. "He has been all my life. All Harry's life. There are still things he hasn't told us, secrets he's still keeping."
The three of us were quiet for a few minutes afterward, staring into the fireplace. Hermione and Ron both looked deeply thoughtful.
"Okay, so maybe we do some investigating of our own," Hermione suggested. "I'm not sure what we'll find, but it's worth a try. Whatever Dumbledore's doing, I'm sure he thinks it's the right thing to do. Maybe not for us, but for everyone."
I knew that Hermione had a point, that Dumbledore wasn't an inherently bad person. But he wasn't entirely good, either. And even if he thinks whatever he's scheming is for the best, perhaps there would be a better choice if only Harry and I knew the truth.
When we finally went to bed, I found Willow waiting for me inside. Lavender and Parvati were both asleep, but I figured one of them must have let her in.
"Sorry you had to wait," I told her, scratching her favorite spot in between her eyes. She closed them happily as I untied the letter from Angela and my father. Next to it was a small, paper parcel — another of Angela's products, likely.
Dear Lila,
I'm so glad to hear you've finally found out about the Tournament! I was just bursting to tell you the entire time, but I had to keep it a secret. I'm intrigued to hear old Moody's taking the Defense Against the Dark Art's job. Despite his . . . eccentricities, he certainly knows what he's doing — you'll learn a lot this year, I'm sure of it.
Your father and I (we're writing this together, but I have better penmanship so ha!) are very sorry for not writing earlier, but we didn't want to disturb you at the Weasley's. Obviously, we heard about what happened at the Quidditch World Cup and were worried sick. As much as we want to berate you for running off on your own, we're also really proud of you for saving that Muggle girl.
Business is going really well, in case you were wondering. Our products are getting better and better courtesy of testing with your father, and I'll be sure to update you every so often about that. But anyway, besides that, we hope you're doing well at school, and that you enjoy the Tournament. It's about time you catch a break.
Love from,
Father Holmes and Angela.
Despite last night's events, Harry seemed quite calm the next morning. His shoulders were settled and he looked quite self-satisfied.
"What did you do?" I asked suspiciously as I slid in beside him. Ron had taken my spot again.
"What do you mean?" He asked innocently, putting some pancakes on his plate and avoiding eye contact.
"You did something to make sure Sirius would stay put, didn't you?" At his silence, I smirked triumphantly. "Come on, spill it!"
"Sometimes when you smirk, you remind me so much of Malfoy that I seriously wonder why we're friends," Harry rolled his eyes at me. "Maybe I owled Sirius saying I must have imagined it. I mean, if there's no reason for him to worry, he won't come back."
"That was a lie, Harry," Hermione said scoldingly. "You didn't imagine your scar hurting and you know it."
"So what?" said Harry indignantly. "He's not going back to Azkaban because of me."
"Drop it," Ron told Hermione as she opened her mouth to argue again. Much to my surprise, she listened. Sirius was a smart man — he'd see right through it.
During our free period before History of Magic that morning, Hermione, Dean, and I sat in the library working on the week's homework as well as some campaign ideas for S.P.E.W. Hermione had somehow coerced Dean into being head of advertisement, and he was currently sketching a logo with one hand while copying down the S.P.E.W from one of the many buttons onto a large posterboard with red and gold paint with the other.
Hermione and I were hunched over a piece of parchment with a list of people we planned on recruiting, followed by a timeline of progression in the movement. If Hermione wasn't my best friend, I would be sitting outside with Ron and Harry while the weather was still nice in Autumn. I stared longingly out the window before a voice from behind me startled me out of my daze.
"What's all this?"
A tan, slender hand reached between Hermione and I to take one of the S.P.E.W buttons from the box. "With all due respect, why are you putting spew on a button?"
I looked up to see Inés there, amusement stretching her lips into a smirk. I hadn't seen her since that match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw — she did a great job of avoiding people.
"Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare," Hermione explained brightly.
"Don't tell me," a laugh startled me from behind, "all this is for house-elves?"
Draco stood across from Inés, behind my chair, and was looking at the display over my shoulder. Hermione huffed.
"They deserve pensions, wages, and sick leave," she said shortly. "The same working rights that we have. Right now, what they do is slavery!"
"Sick leave? Pensions? Granger, I thought you were supposed to be smart," I could hear the smirk in his voice. "House-elves don't want all that. They enjoy working."
In order to stop Hermione from going off, I hastily spoke up. "Well, we already know most of them don't want it — but those that do deserve the option, yeah?"
Draco seemed to be considering the argument. Inés fished into her pocket and forked over two silver Sickles.
"Get me a button," she said. "I'm in."
I had trouble believing it, since Hermione's argument hadn't worked on anyone else. But then Draco forked in two of his own, and Hermione's jaw fell clean open.
"I'm making a donation," he insisted. "If the house-elves don't take the money, please, for the love of God, use it to buy Weasley some new dress robes. Those are a charity case if I've ever seen one."
Hermione was clearly fighting a chuckle, while Dean and I laughed quietly.
"How selfless of you," Inés remarked. "Don't you have a house elf?"
"Used to," Draco shrugged. "But he hated working for us, so I might as well save a few others the trouble." He raised an eyebrow at her. "What brings you here? I thought it was dangerous for you to be out during the day."
"Oh, ha, ha," Inés rolled her eyes. "If anyone isn't beating the vampire allegations it's you, Malfoy. You're paler than the moon."
"What?" Hermione finally broke, perplexed.
"Inés has earned herself a bit of a reputation," Draco started to explain, smirking. "She avoids people by staying in during the day and only leaves the common room at night."
"You mean you skip all of your classes?" Hermione looked aghast.
"You come to art, though?" Dean raised an eyebrow at her. Inés just shrugged.
"It's the only one I find worthwhile."
Draco whistled lowly. "Wonder why that is."
Inés shot him a deathly glare. Draco seemed quite pleased with himself.
"Oh no! Class is starting in twenty minutes," Hermione fretted. She hastily handed the two Slytherins their buttons, though Draco hadn't actually asked for one. "Come on, let's bring all this back to the Art room."
"I'll help," Inés said quickly, picking up one of the tubs on the floor. I tried not to laugh — she was almost an entirely different person around Dean. I remembered her being much more standoffish and surly.
"It really only takes two people," Dean told her, entirely oblivious. "I think Hermione and I can do it. We brought it here, anyway."
"No, Granger's got to walk Lila to class," Draco cut in. Dean raised an eyebrow at him.
"Hermione, Lila, and I have the same class, Malfoy. Care to take my place?" He asked drily.
"Of course not," Draco told him. "I also have to walk Lila to class. Goodbye Thomas, Reyes."
Before Dean could protest, or make another remark about Draco being my boyfriend, he steered both Hermione and I away.
"Why doesn't Inés ever mention her surname?" I asked when we rounded the corridor.
"Because she comes from the richest and most powerful Wizarding family in Spain," he explained. "She actually transferred here in our first year. Her parents wanted her to network with other purebloods in Britain. Apparently owning practically everything in one country wasn't enough."
"Oh, so she's richer than you?" I teased. Draco scoffed.
"That's hardly even a question," he told me. "They say they had to build a new vault for her family in Gringott's — just to hold half their wealth."
"They sound pretty elitist, from what I've heard," I remembered. "So on a scale of one to ten, how much is Dean's life in danger?"
"Zero, if they don't find out," Draco explained. "They don't pay much attention to her. Her brother's the heir, so he's their primary focus. Eleven if they do find out, though. He might have to go into hiding for a few decades, at least."
He said it casually, but I knew he wasn't joking. It made sense that Inés never talked about her family, and her strange habit of avoiding people. The vampire thing made sense as well, from an objective view — what other bloodlines are stereotypically old, powerful and wealthy?
In front of the History of Magic room, Draco bid us goodbye. He leaned against the wall, facing me with his arms crossed. "I'll see you in detention, then."
"It's a date," is what slipped out before I could stop myself. This led to the both of us going brilliantly pink and Hermione shrieking with laughter as she tugged me into the classroom.
"You're the one who isn't beating the allegations," she told me, cackling. "I can't believe you just said that."
"Me neither," I replied. My face was in my hands. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean, that's just a thing people say."
"Tell yourself that," she patted my hand in hers consolingly.
When Dean finally slid into the seat behind mine, I hardly had time to question him before Binns started lecturing. Instead, we resorted to passing notes.
Since when have you started talking to Inés?
She complimented my watercolor in class last year and said that she met you. Came his response. On a separate line, he added, Since when has Malfoy walked you to class?
At this I looked back at him to roll my eyes. My sarcastic response came soon after.
Don't you know? We're dating now and are terribly in love. He has to accompany me everywhere or we'll both turn into skrewts.
Dean must have found this response particularly funny, because he let out a poorly-timed snort right after Binns mentioned the Great Massacre of 1613. Lavender kicked him under the table.