LITTLE MISS MUDBLOOD – ACT 1 : SCENE 3 : CHAPTER 36
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Y/N ate lunch in the Hall, studying over her Arithmancy notes with interest. She and Daphne sat in a comfortable silence, but Theodore and Blaise were out on the Quidditch Pitch, readying for their first match – which was going to be in absolutely horrid weather.
Professor Snape approached Y/N, an unreadable look on his face. He glanced at the Quidditch Captain badge on her robes before stating, "Your Seeker complains of an injured arm. We're rescheduling Slytherin's game against Gryffindor until after his arm is healed."
Y/N looked up sharply, eyes ablaze and calculating.
"Don't. We still have Higgs," she said, a stern edge to her voice. Snape looked unimpressed.
"Higgs is out cold with dragon pox. Madam Pomfrey estimates another two weeks until he wakes," he said, and he whisked away with a flare of his robes.
Y/N seethed as she watched Malfoy enter the Hall, his pale cheeks pinkened and his eyes alight with glee. Theodore and Blaise walked on either side of him, which angered Y/N even more.
The table shook as Y/N scrambled out of her seat, fists clenched. Daphne pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, eyes widening as she threw her nose in a book. Although, she couldn't help but watch, like the rest of the Hall, as Y/N stormed up to Malfoy, snatched his wrist and dragged him out of the Hall.
And then they heard loud voices.
"What the fuck, Malfoy!" said Y/N, eyes swirling with rage. He looked taken aback.
"What?"
"What? What?" her voice boiled. "You – you fucking coward! You're such a fucking coward! What, are you scared to be beaten by Potter, again? Are you scared that you'll be completely daft again and just let him take the stupid Snitch like a little git? Are you –"
"Don't fucking talk to me like that!" he spat, eyes blazing like a dark storm. "I'm not afraid of stupid little pothead!"
"Oh, right," Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms. She tore her eyes away from Malfoy's, rolling them with disbelief. "Because complaining that your arm is still injured over two months after a small scrape and calling off our first match against Gryffindor isn't a cowardly dick move. Because you don't get like this every time someone mentions that Harry's a better Seeker than you –"
"Potter is not a better Seeker than me!" Malfoy growled, shoving Y/N against the wall. She waited for impact, but it never came; Malfoy's arm was there to take the impact, but it soon disappeared. His hand took her neck gently but hidden strength hid behind it.
Y/N swallowed down the saliva building up in her mouth. His jaw ticked repeatedly; a vein throbbed in his forehead; his face and ears blazed red; and his nose flared with each noisy breath. He bared his pearly white teeth through pink, curled lips, and his hands would tighten briefly before loosening. And then his eyes – oh, his eyes. They held most of his anger, flickering dangerously around before settling on Y/N's. She drew in a sharp breath; his pupils dilated, turning the silvers of his eyes black.
"Get off of me!" her lips trembled and her fingers quivered as she tried prying Malfoy's hands away from her. Although he wasn't being rough and aggressive (and was rather gentle), Y/N's eyes brimmed with frustrated tears as he wouldn't let up. Instead, he simply stared at her before speaking.
"Don't you ever compare me to Potter," he said in a calm fierceness, but a look of loathing and jealousy took over his face. A breath later, his face fell softly, and he looked down at their feet. He whispered, "It's not fair –"
Y/N stopped struggling and went to speak, but the Hall doors flew open and a fuming Daphne came out, looking around. She spotted them and stormed over, fist clenching. Grunting, she clasped Malfoy's shoulder, turned him to face her, and socked him in the cheek. He crumpled to the floor, groaning in pain.
"I might get detention for that but . . ." Daphne scurried over to Y/N and checked her, saying, "Are you alright? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
"N-No," Y/N stuttered, watching Malfoy's white-blonde head disappear down the corridor to the Hospital Wing. "I-I think he's the hurt one. . . ."
"Don't talk rubbish, he's perfectly fine," said Daphne, leading her into the Hall. The students looked at them, specifically Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who looked like they were about to go after Malfoy. Y/N shook her head at them, and they slumped back down into their seats.
She thought about Malfoy's words. Long and hard, she thought, before dismissing it on hormones. He was thirteen, why would he be thinking about crap like that?
Honestly, he was just being dramatic.
Harry was late for the Defense Against the Dark Arts class the day before his match. And, unfortunately for him, Professor Snape filled in for the sick Professor Lupin.
"Sorry I'm late, Professor Lupin, I –"
The class looked behind themselves to find Harry at the door, looking disheveled. His face pulled into confusion as he saw Snape.
"This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we'll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down."
But Harry didn't move.
"Where's Professor Lupin?" he said.
"He says he is feeling too ill to teach today," said Snape with a twisted smile. "I believe I told you to sit down?"
But Harry stayed where he was. Y/N sighed deeply.
"What's wrong with him?"
Snape's black eyes glittered.
"Nothing life-threatening," he said, looking as though he wished it were. "Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty."
Harry walked slowly to a seat inbetween Y/N and Daphne and sat down. Snape looked around at the class.
"As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far –"
"Please, sir, we've done boggarts, Red Caps, kappas, and grindylows," said Hermione quickly, "and we're just about to start –"
"Be quiet," said Snape coldly. "I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organization."
"He's the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had," said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class – even the Slytherins agreed. Snape looked more menacing than ever.
"You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you – I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and grindylows. Today we shall discuss –"
Y/N watched him flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which he must know they hadn't covered.
"– werewolves," said Snape.
The gears turned in Y/N's head. Werewolves? Why would Snape cover werewolves? Unless. . . .
"But, sir," said Hermione, seemingly unable to retrain herself, "we're not supposed to do werewolves yet, we're due to start hinkypunks –"
"Miss Granger," said Snape in a voice of deadly calm, "I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394." He glanced around again. "All of you! Now!"
With many bitter sidelong looks and some sullen muttering, the class opened their books. Y/N looked it over.
"Harry, has Professor Lupin had any potions lately?" Y/N asked in Harry's ear. His brows furrowed and he turned to Y/N, coming face-to-face with her. She raised her brows in expectancy.
"Yeah, Halloween. Why?"
She shook her head and said, "What'd it look like?"
"Well, it was smoking – slightly blue, I think," he whispered as Snape asked the class a question. "Er – Professor Lupin said it was disgusting, but that's all I know. Y/N, why do you need this information –"
"Silence!" snarled Snape, but he wasn't talking to them. Parvati cowered in her seat. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are. . . ."
"Please, sir," said Hermione, whose hand was in the air, "the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf –"
"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."
Hermione went very red, put down her hand, and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears. It was a mark of how much the class (including Slytherins – they actually liked Hermione's ever-lasting ambition) loathed Snape that they were all glaring at him, because every one of them had called Hermione a know-it-all at least once, and Ron, who told Hermione she was a know-it-all at least twice a week, said loudly, "You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?"
The class knew instantly he'd gone too far. Snape advanced on Ron slowly, and the room held its breath.
"Detention, Weasley," Snape said silkily, his face very close to Ron's. "And if I ever hear you criticize the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed."
No one made a sound throughout the rest of the lesson. They sat and made notes on werewolves from the textbook, while Snape prowled up and down the rows of desks, examining the work they had been doing with Professor Lupin.
"Very poorly explain . . . That is incorrect, the kappa is more commonly found in Mongolia. . . . Professor Lupin gave this eight out of ten? I wouldn't have given it a three. . . ."
When the bell rang at last, Snape held them back.
"You will each write an essay, to be handed to me, on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention."
Harry, Hermione, Theodore, Blaise, and Daphne left the room with the rest of the class, who waited until they were well out of earshot, then burst into a furious tirade about Snape.
"Snape's never been like this with any of our other Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, even if he did want the job," Harry said to them. "Why's he got it in for Lupin? D'you think this is all because of the boggart?"
"I don't know," said Hermione pensively. "But I really hope Professor Lupin gets better soon. . . ."
Ron caught up with them five minutes later, in a towering rage.
"D'you know what that" – (he called Snape something that made Hermione say "Ron!") – "is making me do? I've got to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic!" He was breathing deeply, his fists clenched. "Why couldn't Black have hidden in Snape's office, eh? He could have finished him off for us!"
Y/N woke early the next morning, a goal set in mind – apologizing to Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. She hadn't gotten the chance to since Snape told her about Malfoy's complaints, but she felt today would be the perfect time to.
She quietly readied herself for the day, throwing on a red jumper and tight blue jeans and applied a thin layer of makeup. Y/N tightened her watch, put on her diamond earrings from Daphne, and clipped her emerald necklace from Hermione around her neck. Snatching her wand from her bedside, she quickly slid on some white sandals and grabbed her scarf before walking quietly out of the dormitory.
As she opened the door, a familiar furry friend brushed against her leg. She bent down and took the lead out of Goldfish's mouth, shaking her head.
"Why not just get dear ole Malfoy to walk you?" Y/N sighed, squatting to clip it to his collar. She shuddered as she mentioned him. "After all, you seem to like him better than me."
Goldfish whimpered and sported his best puppy-dog eyes. Y/N rolled her own.
"Let's go," she grumbled, leading him out of the common room and through the dungeons. It was only when they reached the first floor did she realize it was storming. However, Goldfish was persistent. "Lil' fucker," she muttered to herself, raising her wand and producing an invisible umbrella.
She took Goldfish out in the rain, unhappy as mud splashed onto her boots. Everything was, well, fine, until her dog halted, looking at the Forbidden Forest. And then –
"Goldfi-ISH!" Y/N shouted as he broke into a sprint, toppling Y/N off her feet and dragging her behind him. She screamed as he ran toward the Forbidden Forest, barking madly at wide, gleaming eyes watching them. "Goldfish! Stop, boy, stop! Bad boy! Bad boy!" Y/N continued to yell.
It was only when Hagrid stepped in front of Goldfish that he stopped, whimpering as he peered around the giant. Y/N, too, looked around him, catching a brief glimpse of the hulking outline of something very big, before it disappeared. Y/N gasped. The Grim!
"Yeh alright?" said Hagrid, pulling Y/N up from the ground. Spooked, she nodded and thanked him, wrapping Goldfish's lead tighter around her hand.
"Hagrid, what was that thing?" she asked, accepting the mug of tea that he held in his hand.
Hagrid looked back into the forest, squinting his eyes. Turning back, he shrugged and said, "Prolly somethin' bad, ter get yer Gol'fish chasin' after it. That or another dog."
Y/N gulped, sipping the tea.
"Yeh could jump inter the lake if yeh want," said Hagrid, gesturing to her muddy clothes. His face contorted. "Oops, no – not with those ruddy dementors out. Here, I'll escort yeh ter the castle . . ."
Y/N and Goldfish stuck close to Hagrid on the way back to the castle. They walked through the rain in silence, until Hagrid piped up.
"Why were yeh out on the grounds anyway?" he said. "S' rainin' cats 'n dogs."
Y/N shrugged. "Goldfish wanted me to take him on a walk so I did. Probably won't do that again, though."
They reached the castle entrance and Hagrid waved her off. Slumping through the corridor, Y/N entered the Hall, making her way over to Malfoy. She shoved the lead in his hand.
"He's yours when he wants a walk," she grumbled, glaring down at the blonde. Avoiding his eyes, she watched as his face turned into a scrunch of confusion. "Meaning, you're taking him on his morning and afternoon walks from now on, for the rest of your life. You're now his . . . dogfather."
She walked off before he could respond and sat at the Gryffindor table next to Harry, who hunched over a bowl of porridge. He looked her up and down.
"The fuck happened to you, princess?" he said, snickering. Y/N glared.
"Goldfish dragged me through the mud, the little whore," she huffed, sliding his bowl in front of her. She picked up his spoon, eating quickly. "Listen; he was running to the forest, going after this big black dog with yellow eyes. If Hagrid hadn't been there –"
"You mean," said Harry, picking a piece of toast, "you saw a grim?"
Y/N shrugged. "I don't know, honestly. But it fucking scared me, and you'd better make it up to me you bloody git."
Harry scoffed. "This is my fault because – ?"
Y/N swallowed the last of the porridge and said, "It's your omen! Not mine!"
His lips pursed. "Maybe you actually do have death in your future."
"Being best friends with you?" Y/N let out a huff of air, "Of course I do."
Y/N, fortunately, got to apologize to Oliver Wood when he and the rest of the team had joined her and Harry that morning. He simply said it wasn't her fault and actually thanked her for her apology, before addressing the team. Finding her cue to leave, Y/N snatched the rest of Harry, Fred, and George's toasts before heading for the Quidditch Pitch to save front-row seats.
The wind was ferocious when Hermione, Ron, Theodore, Blaise, and Daphne joined her in the stands. Y/N didn't realize the teams were on the field until cheers could be heard around the stadium, making her squint through the rain, searching for scarlet red and canary yellow robes. Madam Hooch's whistle gave a shrill and distant blast, and the figures rose high into the air, starting play. Y/N had no idea what was happening (which sucked because she wanted to figure out their strategy) and faintly heard Lee Jordan calling out the scores. By the time the first flash of lightning came, Gryffindor was up fifty points and Wood called a time out. Hermione gasped and disappeared.
She came back five minutes later, a look of pride on her face. She explained to them that she made Harry's glasses repel water, which would help him catch the Snitch. Y/N grumbled, not liking it one bit. Her team would have to work extra hard if Gryffindor won.
The teams were back in the air but Y/N could see no better. She wished she had water repelling goggles, until she realized she did, but they were back in the castle. Muttering under her breath, she blinked water out of her eyes and watched the match.
Two claps of lightning frightened them all, but they recovered when Cedric Diggory, Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff team, pelted down the field with Harry close behind. But something odd happened. An eerie silence fell across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was forgetting to roar. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as though they had all suddenly gone deaf. Ron, Hermione, Theodore, Blaise, Daphne, and Y/N exchanged worried looks, all thinking the same thing.
What was going on?
A horribly familiar wave of cold swept over Y/N and she looked at the field, her breath leaving her. At least a hundred dementors were standing beneath Harry, all looking up at the frozen figure. He couldn't seem to move.
"Harry! HARRY!" Y/N desperately called, her voice going hoarse. Though, it seemed he couldn't hear her, even though her voice was the only thing breaking the dead silence. The other students looked at her, frightened. She almost toppled out of the stands, hopelessly wishing to get to him. But why was she so desperate to get to him? "Harry fucking Potter! Harry, MOVE! Harry!"
Harry moved, but it wasn't what Y/N wanted. Instead of flying away, he fell off his broom, speeding towards the ground. However, before the dementors could get to him as he plummeted, Professor Dumbledore sped onto the field, furious as he waved his wand. Harry almost looked as if he were in slow motion as he fell, and with another wave of Dumbledore's wand, the dementors were driven away by the same silvery stuff Professor Lupin conjured on the train.
"Lucky the ground was so soft," said someone as the Gryffindor Quidditch team stood in the hospital wing around Harry's bed. Y/N sat next to his figure, one hand gripping his arm while the other combed through his sodden hair. Her throat felt dry and hoarse, and a burning sensation bubbled in the back of her throat. She turned her head away from the group, swallowing thickly and gripping Harry's arm even tighter.
"I thought he was dead for sure."
So did Y/N. Was he dead? Was he dead? Was he dead? rang through her head like an alarm clock. She still didn't know if he was dead, even if Madam Pomfrey told them he wasn't. Clenching her jaw, Y/N moved her hand from Harry's forearm to his wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was there, but it didn't soothe Y/N. Not one bit. What if he was in a coma? What if he didn't remember her? What if he didn't remember anything? It was just a dementor – but she's read bad things about them . . . and Harry's had true horrors in his past.
"But he didn't even break his glasses."
Y/N couldn't believe someone was worried about his fucking glasses when he could have died. She felt her chest tighten painfully. It felt like the castle was sitting on top of her chest, like a heavy weight was lying on top of her. But her chest wasn't just the problem; her stomach felt queasy too. Nausea overtook her and her insides squeezed in on themselves, bringing a feeling of uncomfort and dizziness. Biting her lip, Y/N checked for a pulse again – it was still there. However, that still didn't calm her.
"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life."
It was, for Y/N. Sure, she's fallen many times herself, but she's hardly ever seen anyone else she cared deeply for fall. Maybe once, or twice. But never in a field full of a hundred dementors. It took Y/N back to the train, where her compartment had come face-to-face with one of those wretched things. It didn't make Y/N feel very good.
Y/N went to check Harry's pulse again when his eyes snapped open. She let out a deep breath and bit down on her lips so hard it bled, but she didn't care. She slipped her arms around his waist and breathed deeply, catching a whiff of his scent as his fingers combed through her dripping hair. Still on edge, Y/N leveled her ear with his heart, listening to his heart beat rhythmically. Ever since she was young, the sound of a heartbeat always made her feel at ease. She didn't know why, or how, but she never dwelled on it.
"Harry!" said Fred. "How're you feeling?"
He didn't respond. Instead, he sat up abruptly, saying, "What happened?"
"You fell off," said Fred. "Must've been – what – fifty feet?"
"We thought you'd died," said Alicia, who was shaking.
Hermione made a small, squeaky noise. Her eyes were extremely bloodshot.
"But the match," said Harry. "What happened? Are we doing a replay?"
No one said anything. Harry looked horror struck.
"We didn't – lose?"
"Diggory got the Snitch," said George. "Just after you fell. He didn't realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square . . . even Wood admits it."
"Where is Wood?" said Harry, looking around.
"Still in the showers," said Fred. "We think he's trying to drown himself."
Harry put his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair. Frowning, Y/N rubbed circles into his back and Fred clapped a hand to his shoulder, shaking it roughly.
"C'mon, Harry, you've never missed the Snitch before."
"There had to be one time you didn't get it," said George.
"It's not over yet," said Fred. "We lost by a hundred points, right? So if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin . . ."
Y/N's ears flicked.
"Hufflepuff'll have to lose by at least two hundred points," said George.
"But if they beat Ravenclaw . . ."
"No way, Ravenclaw is too good. But if Slytherin loses against Hufflepuff. . ."
"Slytherin's not going to lose against Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw so give it a rest, boys," Y/N said hoarsely, and tried to clear her throat. They ignored her.
"It all depends on the points – a margin of a hundred either way –"
Harry lay there, not saying a word. Y/N, though wishing she could take a Calming Draught, didn't feel one bit bad for the boy who lost a Quidditch match for the first time. Maybe it'll teach him to be a little bit less cocky.
After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey came over to tell the team to leave him in peace.
"We'll come and see you later," Fred told Harry. "Don't beat yourself up, Harry, you're still the best Seeker we've ever had."
The team trooped out, trailing mud behind them, and Theodore, Blaise, and Daphne hurried it. Madam Pomfrey shut the door behind them, looking disapproving. They, Ron, and Hermione moved nearer to Harry's bed.
"Dumbledore was really angry," Hermione said in a quaking voice. "I've never seen him like that before."
Daphne cleared her throat and said, "He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away. . . . He was furious they'd come onto the grounds. We heard him –"
"Then he magicked you onto a stretcher," said Ron. "And walked up to school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were . . ."
His voice faded, and Y/N slipped her hand in Harry's once more. He looked up.
"Did someone get my Nimbus?"
Ron and Hermione looked quickly at each other. Theodore, Blaise, and Daphne looked away.
"Er –"
"What?" said Harry, looking at them all.
"Well . . . when you fell off, it got blown away," said Hermione hesitantly.
"And?"
"And it hit – it hit – oh, Harry – it hit the Whomping Willow."
Harry's hand tightened around Y/N's.
"And?" he said dreadfully.
"Well, you know the Whomping Willow," said Ron. "It – it doesn't like being hit."
"Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came around," said Hermione in a very small voice.
Slowly, she reached down for a bag at her feet, turned it upside down, and tipped a dozen bits of splintered wood and twig onto the bed, the only remains of Harry's faithful, finally beaten broomstick.
Y/N cringed. "You can borrow mine, I'll use the 2001."
But Harry wasn't listening. He was staring down, horrified, at his inanimate best friend, and Y/N swore she saw a little bit of him die inside.