Lavender dressed so fast that she left in a flurry of perfume and hairspray before I'd put on my tights.
"She must think she'll catch my madness." I snorted, tucking my hair out from the back of my blouse.
"Sorry about last night, Rory." Parvati said apologetically, looking after Lavender. "She's just..."
But she didn't answer, she just flitted out of the room after Lavender.
"It's her problem, not yours." Hermione said, holding out a couple of my pills. It seemed Gennie and Hermione were now training themselves to medicate me. "You'd best take a couple of these before breakfast, they can take effect."
"Okay." I said, and shoved them into my mouth. But I didn't swallow them. I tucked them under my tongue. I opened my mouth, shielding the un-swallowed tablets from view. "See, all gone."
When I went to the toilet however, I flushed the tablets down the toilet. Lavender thought I was mad? Well I was going to prove I wasn't to her, by not taking any today.
“What’s the matter?” asked Hermione five minutes later to Harry, when we met the boys across the common room as they all headed towards breakfast. “You look absolutely - Oh for heaven’s sake.”
She was staring at the common-room noticeboard, where a large new sign had been put up.
GALLONS OF GALLEONS.
Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? Like to earn a little extra gold? Contact Fred and George Weasley (or our associates Cole and Alia Wilde), Gryffindor common room, for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs. (We regret that all work is undertaken at applicant’s own risk.)
“They are the limit,” said Hermione grimly, taking down the sign, which Fred and George had pinned up over a poster giving the date of the first Hogsmeade weekend in October. “We’ll have to talk to them, Ron. Or you can tell them to stop Cole.”
Ron looked positively alarmed. Cole just shrugged. "I get money for helping out, I'm telling them nothing."
“Why should I tell them?” Ron moaned.
“Because we’re prefects!” said Hermione, as we climbed out through the portrait hole. “It’s up to us to stop this kind of thing!”
Ron said nothing; I could tell from his glum expression that the prospect of stopping Fred and George doing exactly what they liked was not one he found inviting.
“Anyway, what’s up, Harry?” Hermione continued, as they walked down a flight of stairs lined with portraits of old witches and wizards, all of whom ignored them, being engrossed in their own conversation. “You look really angry about something.”
“Seamus reckons Harry’s lying about You-Know-Who,” said Ron succinctly, when Harry did not respond.
“Yes, Lavender thinks so too,” she said gloomily.
"Plus she thinks there's a conspiracy to hide murders, which is the stupidest thing ever." Gennie added.
“Been having a nice little chat with her about whet her or not I’m a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?” Harry said loudly.
“No,” said Hermione calmly. “I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you both, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down our throats, Harry, because in case you haven’t noticed, we're on your side.”
There was a short pause.
“Sorry,” said Harry in a low voice.
“That’s quite all right,” said Hermione with dignity… Then she shook her head. “Don’t you remember what Dumbledore said at the last end-of-term feast?”
We looked at her blankly and Hermione sighed again.
“About You-Know-Who. He said his ‘gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust —’”
“How do you remember stuff like that?” asked Cp;e, looking at her in admiration.
“I listen, Cole,” said Hermione, with a touch of asperity.
“So do I, but I still couldn’t tell you exactly what -”
“The point,” Hermione pressed on loudly, “is that this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. You-Know-Who’s only been back two months and we’ve already started fighting among ourselves. And the Sorting Hats warning was the same: stand together, be united —”
“And Harry got it right last night,” retorted Ron. “If that means we’re supposed to get matey with the Slytherins-fat chance.”
“Well, I think it’s a pity we’re not trying for a bit of inter-house unity,” said Hermione crossly.
“Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that,” said Harry sarcastically, as some fourth year Ravenclaws promptly ran from us.
As we entered the hall, the enchanted ceiling above them echoed my mood; it was a miserable rain-cloud grey.
“Dumbledore didn’t even mention how long that Grubbly-Plank woman’s staying,” Harry said, as they made their way across to the Gryffindor table.
“Maybe…” said Hermione thoughtfully.
“What?” said both Harry and Ron together.
“Well… maybe he didn’t want to draw attention to Hagrid not being here.”
“What d’you mean, draw attention to it?” said Ron, half-laughing. “How could we not notice?”
Gennie sat down, and then promptly banged her hands loudly on the table. A lot of people looked at her. "Right, Gryffindors." she said in a determined voice. "I'm quidditch captain now, and we need a new keeper now Oliver has left. Tryouts are friday, five o'clock, and everybody has to be there."
A lot of people nodded and started talking about Gennie being captain and trying out for keeper.
“I’d forgotten Wood had left,” I said, sitting next to Cole and pulling plate of toast towards me. “I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?”
“I s’pose,” said Harry, taking the bench opposite. “He was a good Keeper…”
“Still, it won’t hurt to have some new blood, will it?” said Ron. With a whoosh and a clatter, hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water.
Hermione, had to move her orange juice aside quickly to make way for a large damp barn owl bearing a sodden Daily Prophet in its beak.
“What are you still getting that for?” said Harry irritably, as Hermione placed a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl’s leg and it took off again. “I’m not bothering… load of rubbish.”
“It’s best to know what the enemy is saying,” said Hermione darkly, and she unfurled the newspaper and disappeared behind it, not emerging until Harry and Ron had finished eating. “Nothing,” she said simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. “Nothing about you two or Dumbledore or anything.”
Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out schedules.
“Look at today!” groaned Ron. “History of Magic, double Potions, Divination and double Defense Against the Dark Arts… Binns, Snape, Trelawney and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George’d hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted…”
“Do mine ears deceive me?’“ said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing on to the bench beside Harry. “Hogwarts prefects surely don’t wish to skive off lessons?”
“Look what we’ve got today,” said Ron grumpily, shoving his timetable under Fred’s nose. “That’s the worst Monday I’ve ever seen.”
“Fair point, little bro,” said Fred, scanning the column. “You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like.”
“Why’s it cheap?” said Ron suspiciously.
“Because you’ll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, they haven't got an antidote yet,” Cole said with a smile.
“Cheers,” said Ron moodily, pocketing his timetable, “but I think I’ll take the lessons.”
“And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes,” said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, “you can’t advertise for testers on the Gryffindor noticeboard.”
“Says who?” said George, looking astonished.
“Says me,” said Hermione. “And Ron.”
“Leave me out of it,” said Ron hastily.
Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered.
“You’ll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione,” said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet. “You’re starting your fifth year, you’ll be begging us for a Snackbox before long.”
“And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?” asked Hermione.
“Fifth year’s OWL year,” said George.
“So?”
“So you’ve got your exams coming up, haven’t you? They’ll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they’ll be rubbed raw,” said Fred with satisfaction.
“Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to OWLs,” said George happily. “Tears and tantrums… Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint…”
“Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d’you remember?” said Fred reminiscently.
“That’s ‘cause you put Bulbadox powder in his pajamas,” said George.
“Oh yeah,” said Fred, grinning. “I’d forgotten… hard to keep track sometimes, isn’t it?”
“Anyway, it’s a nightmare of a year, the fifth,” said George. “If you care about exam results, anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow.”
“Yeah… you got, what was it, three OWLs each?” said Ron.
“Yep,” said Fred unconcernedly. “But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement.”
“We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year,” said George brightly, “now that we’ve got-- now that we’ve got our OWLs,” George said hastily. “I mean, do we really need NEWTs? But we didn’t think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world’s biggest prat.”
“We’re not going to waste our last year here, though,” said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. “We’re going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from a joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, then produce products to fit the demand.”
“But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?” Hermione asked skeptically.
“You’re going to need all the ingredients and materials - and premises too, I suppose…”
“Ask us no questions and we’ll tell you no lies, Hermione. C’mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology.”
“What did that mean?” asked Gennie looking from Harry to Ron. “‘Ask us no questions… ’ Does that mean they’ve already got some gold to start a joke shop?”
“You know, I’ve been wondering about that,” said Ron, his brow furrowed. “They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer and I couldn’t understand where they got the Galleons…”
“D’you reckon it’s true this year’s going to be really tough? Because of the exams?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Ron. “Bound to be, isn’t it? OWLs are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what NEWTs you want to do next year.”
"What do you two want to do after Hogwarts?" Gennie asked me and Cole as we exited the hall.
"I dunno really." Cole said, scratching at his head. "Fred and George said they'd get me a job with them if I needed extra cash. But maybe... I could see if I could get into St Mungo's, on the long-term ward."
"Sounds worth-while." Gennie said, linking her arm with Cole. "I'm going into the ministry, working with werewolf and other creatures rights. Rory, what about you?"
"I've honestly never thought of it." I said truthfully. "I mean, Harry and the others are on about aurors, but I don't want that. I'd rather help people like Cole said. I wouldn't mind helping those with severe memory loss, get them something back..."
Gennie smiled at the two of us. "Well look at the three of us, being serious about our futures."
History of magic passed considerably quickly, considering I slept for the whole period. Hermione let me have her notes on the grounds of staying awake next lesson, and I was happy to oblige.
At break time, we stood under a secluded corridor shivering with the cold drizzle that kept falling down the backs of robes. We'd just finished discussing how awful potions was going to be, when somebody called harry.
“Hello, Harry!”
It was Cho Chang and, what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of girls.
“Hi,” said Harry, his face looking very red.
“You got that stuff off, then?” Cho asked.
“Yeah,” said Harry, trying to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was funny as opposed to mortifying. “So, did you… er… have a good summer?”
Something seemed to tauten in her face--most likely grief-- but she said, “Oh, it was all right, you know…”
“Is that a Tornados badge?” Ron demanded suddenly, pointing to the front of Cho’s robes, where a sky-blue badge emblazoned with a double gold ‘T’ was pinned. “You don’t support them, do you?”
“Yeah, I do,” said Cho.
“Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?” said Ron, in what I considered an unnecessarily accusatory tone of voice.
“I’ve supported them since I was six,” said Cho coolly. “Anyway… see you, Harry.”
“You are so tactless!” Gennie hissed.
“What? I only asked her if -”
“Couldn’t you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?” Hermione said with a frown.
“So? She could’ve done, I wasn’t stopping -”
“Why on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team?”
“Attacking? I wasn’t attacking her, I was only -”
“Who cares if she supports the Tornados?”
“Oh, come on, half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season -”
“But what does it matter!”
“It means they’re not real fans, they’re just jumping on the bandwagon -”
“That’s the bell,” said Harry dully, because Ron and Hermione were bickering too loudly to hear it. They did not stop arguing all the way down to Snape’s dungeon.
I was quite glad to take my usual seat next to Gennie and Cole in potions to get away from Hermione and Ron's arguments, but a lump of emotion had formed in my throat. Up until June, Draco had sat next to me, and we'd hold hands through lessons.
I could see him out the corner of my eye, and saw him looking. I focused on getting my equipment out, feeling awful for my mind being a screw-up.
“Settle down,” said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him.
There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped.
“Before we begin today’s lesson,” said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, “I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an ‘Acceptable’ in your OWL, or suffer my… displeasure.”
“After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,” Snape went on. “I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye.”
While I didn't like the idea of another two years of Snape, I had worked out that I'd need potions if I ever wanted to go near St Mungo's to work. So i'd have to grate my teeth and do my best.
“But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell,” said Snape softly, “so, whether or not you are intending to attempt NEWT, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students.
“Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: if you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing."
Snape told us where the ingredients and instructions were, and then we all got to work, blundering around the classroom. Snape couldn't have set a more fiddly potion. Everything needed to be put in at a certain time or everything would implode on itself.
“A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion,” called Snape, with ten minutes left to go.
I held my breath and stared at my potion, willing for it to look silver. Just as I was abandoning hope and Gennie was trying to fix Cole's now bright blue potion (don't ask) the smallest possible amount of vapour came out.
Fortunately, this vapour came when Snape walked past our cauldrons. He snapped at Gennie to add something else (hers was still a dark silver) and told Cole it would be much better to just bin his and start over. His eyes passed over mine silently, and this meant that I was doing a half-way decent job.
“Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing,” said Snape. “Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion making, to be handed in on Thursday.”
Gennie and I helped Cole as best we could, until his potion resembled dark tar. However, it was better than blue so we took it to the front. Just as I was picking up my bag, I felt somebody tap me on the shoulder.
I looked up, to see Draco clasping my tablet container. Gennie must have slipped it into my bag to remind me to take some later. "I think these are yours."
"Thanks." I said quietly, taking them from him, and then I told him the answer to his un-asked question. "I'm getting better."
Draco smiled, one of those genuine smiles he only gave to me. "Well that's good. I saw your potion down the front, it was much better than mine." He paused. "I missed us being potions partners."
But then Pansy started shouting for him, so he patted me on the shoulder and left promptly. I stood in the potions classroom for a few moments, until Snape chucked me out.
But the only words going through my head were: I miss us, I miss us, I miss us.
* * *
I tuned out during lunch time, tasting the food, but not really tasting in. I kept thinking over and over again about those three words Draco had said. He sounded so sad and nostalgic saying it, that it made my heart ache.
Why was he even bothering to talk to me, make the effort to inform me he saw a future for us. He could be free of me, all my identity issues and guilt, and be with somebody who he wouldn't have to meet in secret, or be terrified to be with.
I stabbed my chicken viciously. Gennie looked at me oddly. "Are you okay?"
"She's just wishing things were different." Cole said in a far-off voice that made me believe he understood what I meant.
* * *
After Harry went off in a huff after Ron and Hermione argued, we all headed up to divination. I was still in a strange limbo in my mind, hearing words but not taking them in.
I finally seemed to snap back into place when Gennie asked me in divination: "Right, so tell me one of your dreams?"
"Is this some form of therapy?" I asked dully. "What about your dreams?"
I knew Gennie knew I still had nightmares, but I didn't want to share in detail with her. The graveyard full of green light, Kayley's mournful smile and Jenna's marble green eyes... Those were things I couldn't share.
"Uh I was playing Quidditch the other night." Gennie said. "It might have foreshadowed my captainship--I have no idea if that's a word--of the quidditch team, but I don't know."
"It probably means an evil marshmellow will eat you when you sleep." I muttered. It was very dull work looking through the oracle. The rest of the lesson went by with Gennie and I each taking turns in waving the candle over the tablecloth, and making sure it doesn't catch on fire.
Things weren't any better when Trelawney said we'd have to keep a dream diary for a whole month.
"We have too much homework." Cole whined as we headed down to defence. "Essay from Binns, Snape and the dream diary! Bloody hell, at this rate I'll use the twins' faulty nougats to get out of it!"
"Lets just hope this Umbridge woman doesn't give us any..." I muttered.
The class was quiet as we entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.
“Well, good afternoon!” she said, when finally the whole class had sat down.
A few people mumbled “good afternoon” in reply.
“Tut, tut,” said Professor Umbridge. “That won’t do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge’. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!”
“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” we chanted back at her, but Cole rolled his eyes rebelliously.
“There, now,” said Professor Umbridge sweetly. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.”
The order “wands away” had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. This day was getting duller by the minute. I grabbed my text book from my bag, which also looked dull and would look nicer in a thousand pieces.
“Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn’t it?” stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. “The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year.
“You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.”
Words appeared on the board: Course Aims:
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When
everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge’s three course aims she asked, “Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”
There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.
“I think we’ll try that again,” said Professor Umbridge. “When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge’, or ‘No, Professor Umbridge’. So: has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”
“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” rang through the room.
"Oh my god, kill me now." I hissed to Gennie. "She's so patronising it's unreal."
“Good,” said Professor Umbridge. “I should like you to turn to page five and read ‘Chapter One, Basics for Beginners’. There will be no need to talk.”
Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher’s desk, observing them all closely with those pouchy toad’s eyes.
It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. My concentration sliding away from him; I had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words.
I glanced over to Hermione and got a shock. Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air.
After several more minutes had passed, however, I was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione’s mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge’s eye rather than struggle on with ‘Basics for Beginners’. When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.
“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?” she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.
“Not about the chapter, no,” said Hermione.
“Well, we’re reading just now,” said Professor Umbridge, showing her small pointed teeth. “If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.”
“I’ve got a query about your course aims,” said Hermione.
Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.
“And your name is?”
“Hermione Granger,” said Hermione.
“Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully” said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.
“Well, I don’t,” said Hermione bluntly. “There’s nothing written up there about using defensive spells.”
There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.
“Using defensive spells?” Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren’t expecting to be attacked during class?”
“We’re not going to use magic?” Ron exclaimed loudly.
“Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. -?”
“Weasley,” said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.
Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. I stuck my hand up in the air, determined
"And you are?"
"Aurora, Aurora Potter." I said. "And surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?”
“Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Potter?” asked Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice.
“Last time I checked, no." I said sarcastically. "But--"
“Well then, I’m afraid you are not qualified to decide what the ‘whole point’ of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way -”
“What use is that?” said Harry loudly. “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be in a -”
“Hand, Mr. Potter!” sang Professor Umbridge.
Harry thrust his fist in the air. Again, Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him, but now several other people had their hands up, too.
“And your name is?” Professor Umbridge said to Cole.
“Cole Wilde.”
“Well, Mr. Wilde?”
“Well, it’s like Harry said, isn’t it?” said Cole. “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk free.”
“I repeat,” said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Cole, “do you expect to be attacked during my classes?”
“Unless my girlfriend throws this stupid text book at me to wake me up--then no." Cole said.
Professor Umbridge talked over him. “I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school,” she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, “but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention,” she gave a nasty little laugh, “extremely dangerous half-breeds.”
“I'm assuming you mean my Dad." Gennie said hotly. "And just to say, that is utter bullshit. He was the best damn teacher this school has ever had, werewolf or not. And just to say, I restrained him for six years of my life, I should know if he's dangerous or not. It's pure bullshit prejedice and bigotry, and I'm not staying in a class with a moron who believes these things."
And with that, Gennie grabbed her bag, chucked her text book on the floor and sauntered out. Cole started to slow-clap, and soon over half of the class joined in.
"Will all of you be quiet!" Umbridge hissed. "As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day -”
“No we haven’t,” Hermione said, “we just -”
“Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!”
Hermione put up her hand. Professor Umbridge turned away from her. “It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you.”
“Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn’t he?” said Cole, his voice hollow. His face was pale, and judging by the nervous tremor in his hand, he was thinking of Cameron. "Right, well I'm out, this class is crap anyway."
And with that, Cole went out of the room, looking close to tears. I stared after him worriedly. Cole had all of these terrible things happen to him, but wouldn't open up about them. I vowed to find him--then Gennie--after class.
“Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?” she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.
“Parvati Patil, and isn’t there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren’t we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?”
“As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions,” said Professor Umbridge dismissively.
“Without ever practicing them beforehand?” said Parvati incredulously. “Are you telling us that the first time we’ll get to do the spells will be during our exam?”
“I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough -”
“And what good’s theory going to be in the real world?” said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.
Professor Umbridge looked up.
“This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world,” she said softly.
“So we’re not supposed to be prepared for what’s waiting for us out there?”
“There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Harry. His temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, had reached boiling point.
“Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?” enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.
“Hmm, let’s think…” said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. “Maybe… Lord Voldemort!”
Pretty much everybody gasped or shuddered at the name, and I could feel my blood run cold. “Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter.”
The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry.
“Now, let me make a few things quite plain.”
Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.
“You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead -”
“He wasn’t dead,” said Harry angrily, “but yeah, he’s returned!”
‘“Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for yourself,” said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. “As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.”
“It is NOT a lie!” said Harry. “I saw him, I fought him!”
“Detention, Mr. Potter!” said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. “Tomorrow evening. Five o’clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, ‘Basics for Beginners’.”
Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him.
“So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?” Harry asked, his voice shaking.
I clenched my hands into fists. I could see it again, Cedric's face dancing in front of me, green light meeting his surprised face. The thump of his body as it hit the floor...
“Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accident,” she said coldly.
“It was murder,” said Harry. “Voldemort killed him and you know it.”
Professor Umbridge’s face was quite blank. For a moment, I thought she was going to scream at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, “Come here, Mr. Potter, dear.”
Harry kicked his chair aside, and waited by the desk as she wrote something. “Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,” said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.
He took it from her without saying a word, turned on his heel and left the room.
"You know you're a really bad teacher, right?" I said loudly.
"Rory, don't rise to it!" Hermione hissed, clearly aware that three of our friends had left the room.
I shook her off, and looked at Umbridge square on. "I mean, regardless of what people think happened June 24th, Harry and I saw Cedric die. I saw the light die from a boy's eyes, when he should still be here now. And by denying what really happened, you're denying the respect Cedric Diggory deserves. Basically, you are a bitch who slightly resembles a toad."
Umbridge's lip curled. "Detention this evening, Miss Potter."
I shrugged. "I'll turn up if I remember."
And then I walked out, and a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders. I hadn't realised until know how suffocating the class was. The corridors were silent, and it made it much easier in my journey to seek out Cole.
At first, I had no idea where he would go. But then I remembered on boxing day after I broke things off with Draco, Cole had been up in the astronomy tower.
So I went up to the tower, two stairs at a time. When I reached the large circular area, I thought that it was empty, that I'd gone to the wrong place. But when I heard an anguished sob, I knew I was in the right place.
"Cole?" I asked nervously. "Is that you?"
"How did you find me?" Cole's voice was husky from tears, and his head popped up from behind the solar system. His eyes were red from tears, his hair sticking up everywhere. In his hands was a bottle of fire whisky.
I sighed inwardly. I should have expected this. Cole had done this before, after he learnt Sam was going to the ball with his brother--but I didn't think he would go near alcohol again.
I crossed the tower, and sat down next to him. "I remembered we talked up here before, after Christmas."
"Well your memory is getting better." Cole chuckled dryly, swallowing more fire whisky. "I see class isn't over. What did you do to get kicked out?"
"Well Harry told Umbridge that Voldemort was out there, but she called Cedric's death an accident. Harry went mental and kicked a chair. I stuck up for him, and then walked out."
Cole threw his arm around me. "Aw look at you, little rebel! Want some?"
Usually I wouldn't, but I was filled with a need to block everything out--I nodded. I took a deep swig of the fire whisky, and it burnt my throat. But I was filled with such a calm and buzz from it, I could see the appeal.
"It's nice, isn't it?" Cole said, sitting back. "I always keep a bottle on me in case things get too much."
I lay down next to him. "I should do that. But I'd have alcohol poisoning by now."
Cole turned to me, and laughed. And then the two of us went hysterical, taking turns from drinking from the fire whisky. But then Cole's laughs turned to sobs, and I looked at him with concern.
"You're not okay, are you?"
"Not really." Cole said. "I'm such a screw-up at life."
"Well look at me, my parents and adoptive mother are dead, I'm severely depressed--and avoiding my medication at the moment--have driven my boyfriend away, caused the death of three people and I'm spending my time getting drunk."
"Medication sucks." Cole empathized. "I'm avoiding mine because it tastes like wet feet."
"How do you know what feet taste like?" I giggled, waiting for Cole to laugh back. But he didn't, and the buzzing effect of the alcohol seemed to be wearing off, leaving me with a stinging headache.
"Gennie probably hates me." Cole moaned, hitting his head with his hands. "At the cup last year she told me drinking was stupid, and that it made me act like an idiot. But instead of listening to the girl I love, here I am getting wasted with my best friend!"
"That's funny," I said. "Because Gennie was the one who thought you weren't happy with her."
"Well that's crazy." Cole said dryly. "I love her more than anything, it's just I'm too much of a screw-up to tell her what's wrong."
"What's the matter though?" I asked. "Is it something with your parents or... him?"
"You know, I'm allowed to be triggered by hearing the mention of torture, I did fucking go through it." Cole snapped, and then he burst into loud and noisy tears.
I squiged up next to him, and put my arm around him while he sobbed. "I know everybody says this, but things will be better, Cole."
"But look, I'm fucking up my friendship with you as well!" Cole sobbed, burying his head in my shoulder. "I don't want to be angry and sad and scared all the time! I just want to be happy without drinking or taking things to calm down! I just want to kiss Gennie and prank with the guys and hang out with you! Is that so hard to want?"
"It's not, Cole, it's not." I said. "And you haven't ruined your friendship with me, we're screwed up buddies who stick together through trauma... And you've been through so much, you deserve all the help you can get. So from now on, the two of us help each other through these crappy things, okay?"
Cole rubbed at his eyes with his jumper. "Why am I so emotional?"
"Because you're human." I said. "And now, I'm going to finish that bottle--because day one of taking care of Cole is making you sober."
Cole nodded, and he looked tired. "Will you let me sleep for a bit? I'm too tired to move."
I stroked at his hair. "Of course. I'll wake you up before dinner."
Cole lay down on the floor, putting his head in my lap. I pulled my cardigan off, and put it over Cole like a blanket. His eyes were growing heavier, and I could tell he was close to falling asleep.
"Cole, how much sleep do you get?"
"Not enough." Cole said, his voice getting heavier. "Will you not... will you not tell Gennie about this? I don't want her to worry?"
"Course not." I said, stroking at his hair. The next time I looked to him, he was fast asleep.
He looked very young asleep, his hair tousled and jaw slack. Cole's vulnerability made me realise something. Stopping taking my medication was just a stupid way of pretending I was alright.
And just look at Cole, who seemed to take medication for something--but didn't ask for help or guidance. He went through it alone, the whole thing--from Cameron's treatment of him, and the aftermath of his near suicide. But he stayed strong, he always tried to smile.
And I'd had so much help to get me through depression, when Cole had suffered in silence with something much better. If my drinking session with Cole had taught me anything, it was that if Cole could attempt to get through this--I could as well.
- - - - -
A/N Sorry for the f-words if you don't like language like that. But Cole really needed to express himself.. yeah. Cole is literally my favourite character I've ever created, and writing about his breakdown makes me so sad.
As you can see, Cole is going thruogh a rough patch, and will be elaborated on further on in the book.
And if you think my chapters are getting too long, they actually aren't. They're really like 6,000 words, but end up being like ten pages.