Imagine Knowing Me :: Chapter Five (5/7)
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven
CHAPTER FIVE
t eight o’clock on a Sunday morning, the Great Hall was usually very empty. Breakfast didn’t officially start until nine, and neither students nor staff usually stuck their nose outside their dorm or office before that time anyway. But breakfast could usually be found for the early bird from about seven thirty, and when Brendon woke from uneasy dreams and found himself unable to sink back into sleep, he got dressed as quietly as he could (not very, but thankfully the others were relatively heavy sleepers) and padded softly out of the dorm.
Higgs was sitting lazily cross-legged in an armchair pulled close to the windows, reading a book. Brendon nodded at him and received a short wave in reply.
As expected, the Great Hall was almost empty. There were four Ravenclaws of varying ages seated at their table, but apart from them the only other student present was a splash of red at the Gryffindor table. Brendon grinned.
Ginny didn’t hear him approach, so absorbed was she in what she was doing. Curious, Brendon halted a little behind her, looking over her shoulder.
(Brendon was a youngest child. Privacy was a bit of a foreign concept.)
Ginny was decorating the inside cover of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. There were small hearts interspersed with I and H lining the edges, and a large heart in the lower right corner proclaimed H + G in painstakingly elaborate, curling letters. Right now she was shading the outline of the heart, making the picture steadily more dramatic.
“Does that stand for Harry?” asked Brendon.
Ginny jerked, then shrieked and half turned. At the same time she attempted to erase the picture with one fierce slash of her wand, leading to the cover being set on fire.
Brendon’s attempts to douse the fire and repair the damage were well-meant enough, and it did stop the blaze from spreading onto the wooden table, but it was still a soot-stained and water-dampened book they stood looking at a little while later. The Ravenclaws had left in disgust, and there were titters from a hidden corner that suggested the House Elves might have overcome even their hard-trained deference to wizardkind in the face of such hilarity.
“I think I know how to fix it?” Brendon offered.
“You can’t just snoop on people like that!” Ginny exclaimed. She was blushing as only a red-head could, even her forehead an angry flush.
“I didn’t mean to snoop,” Brendon defended himself. “I just happened to see what you were writing.”
Inspiration struck him, suddenly. “You know what?” he said. “I just had a great idea.”
Ginny’s obvious scepticism to this statement did not faze him. He had just realised how to both pay for his part in the book’s partial destruction and prove to Ginny that he wasn’t out to tease her about Harry Potter. It was a fantastic idea.
ey,” Spencer said, sitting down opposite Jon. “Good book?”
“It’s fantastic,” Jon replied, looking up briefly from Dugbogs and Dragons-A History of Attempts to Domesticate Danger. “I really wish third year would come soon. I can’t wait for Care of Magical Creatures, can you?”
“Maybe,” said Spencer non-committally. He did enjoy working with animals, but he didn’t have the same unconditional love of everything four-legged as Jon, and he wasn’t sure that Care of Magical Creatures was the very best subject for him to choose. There was more than a year to go before he would have to make those choices, however-plenty of time to consult his family and older students.
He spotted a flash of red as he sat down and pulled out his own books, and saw that Weasley was sitting a few tables away, bent over something together with-yes, that was Brendon. Nudging Jon, he inclined his head towards the duo, and when Jon turned around to look said, “We could join them if you want.”
Jon looked at him, the tiniest of frowns creasing his forehead. “I thought you and Brendon weren’t talking right now?”
Spencer started. “What? Why did you think that?”
“You haven’t been to study group the last two weeks, and you and Brendon haven’t really talked in class, either. Also, Brendon has seemed down for a while.”
There was a host of questions underneath Jon’s calm expression, and Spencer didn’t know how to begin to answer them.
“We had a fight,” he said eventually, realising as he said it that although he hadn’t actually seen it like that before, it was true. “I was,” and this, too, was true, “I was wrong. About some things. We’ve sort of made up, I guess, but everything’s been a bit-it’s just been awkward. And it seemed weird to come and pretend like everything was fine. I didn’t really know what to do.”
He looked over at Brendon and recalled again the helpless feeling of realising that what he had referred to as Brendon’s “act” for over half a year was actually who Brendon was, the feeling of ground shifting underneath his feet. Suddenly he had no idea of how to act around Brendon-how to speak, when he could laugh and when he shouldn’t. Before, he’d always coated whatever he said with a very thin veneer of irony; making himself safe. If Brendon wanted to take him at face value, he could, but if he wanted to dissemble Spencer’s statements for weaponry, there was nothing to hold on to. It had made for tricky conversation on Spencer’s part, and he’d been slightly annoyed to realise Brendon hadn’t noticed anything at all. Spencer had actually been really clever.
Still, it was less anxious, in a way, now-he didn’t feel like he had to think things through as much before he said them.
“Things are going to be fine, though,” he said, and realised that he believed it.
“OK,” said Jon, and that was it. Spencer knew he wouldn’t ask anything more about the matter, and he felt a breath he hadn’t known he was holding escape him.
“You should come back to study group, though,” Jon continued, looking back down into his book. “It’s more fun when we’re all there.”
There was something stupidly gratifying about being included in the “we”, and Spencer didn’t really know how to react to it. “But you don’t want to join them now?” he asked to mask his confusion, nodding again towards Brendon and Weasley.
Jon made a disinterested noise. “Nah, they’re writing Valentines. Anyway,” he looked up and smiled, “it’s Wednesday.”
Spencer was somewhat mortified to find himself completely stumped for a reply. Then, the weirdness in the first part of what Jon had said struck him.
“Did you say Valentines?”
“Huh? Yeah, Brendon’s helping Ginny write hers, I think-he came over a while ago and asked me for a rhyme for Potter. I suggested he try with Harry instead, but he said the only rhyme that really worked was ‘marry’ and apparently Ginny balked at-”
“Wait,” said Spencer, who now found himself scrambling to catch up, “Harry Potter? Weasley’s writing a Valentine to Harry Potter? Why?”
“Because she likes him,” said Jon, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
“But,” Spencer tried, “don’t you mind?”
“Why would I?” Jon asked, frowning slightly. Spencer blinked, flabbergasted. He knew Jon was a pretty easy-going guy, but this was odd even for him.
“Isn’t she your girlfriend?” he asked.
He didn’t really know what he expected, but he knew that is was not Jon staring at him as if he’d grown an extra head and then starting to laugh so hard Madam Pince glared at them.
“Why,” Jon snorted, in between chuckles. “Why on earth would you think that?”
“You hang out all the time,” Spencer muttered, feeling slightly ridiculous now that he came to say it out loud.
“So do you and Brendon.” Jon started to laugh again. “So do you and I!”
“Well, sorry for being stupid,” Spencer said. “I just thought.” He didn’t think it was that weird a conclusion-certainly it didn’t merit Jon continuing to laugh until Brendon and Weasley were looking at them, perplexed, and Spencer was blushing hotly.
“So can I tell her you said that?”
“No!”
alentine’s Day at Hogwarts was overstated and bombastic in the way that only Professor Lockhart could manage. The walls were covered in heart-shapes and pink hangings, fairies gibbered nonsense at the students from every corner and a dozen dwarves with angelic wings and rather less than angelic expressions stalked around the school, attacking students and teachers alike with Valentine cards and-in some horrifying cases-songs. Ryan would late forget the look on Professor Flitwick’s face when the entire Charms class was treated to a long and rather out-of-tune ode to the professor’s dignified nose. If he hadn’t known that the tiny professor was probably incapable of violence against even a spider, he would have feared for both the composer’s and Professor Lockhart’s life.
As if the humiliation of the dwarves’ aggressive Valentine-deliveries wasn’t enough, some students preferred to deliver their Valentines in person. Parvati and Lavender had cornered Ryan at the end of lunch and, giggling in synch, had handed over a large and lurid pink card, confessing that they found him “adorable”. He had fled in something close to panic, and hadn’t calmed down from the ordeal until halfway through the Transfiguration lesson.
He thought he’d seen the worst of it, then. He was wrong.
Herbology had been concentrating on theory for the best part of winter, and the class would be held in an otherwise unused class room on the second floor at least until the end of February. The Gryffindor first-years were making their way to this for their last lesson of the day, and the Slytherin first-years were leaving it, having just had a Herbology lesson of their own, when the flow in the corridor came to a sudden stop. Craning his neck, Ryan observed that the cause for the blockage was another one of the Valentine dwarves-this one tackling Harry Potter to the ground in a fascinating display of Valentine goodwill.
“Right,” said the dwarf, “here is your singing Valentine.”
Ginny breathed in sharply next to Ryan, and at that moment he also became aware of Brendon among the Slytherins, on the other side of the spectacle, who grinned at Ginny and gave a small thumbs-up.
Oh, no, thought Ryan, his heart sinking. Brendon and Ginny had written Valentines together.
The dwarf strummed his harp a couple of times and then began to sing in a deep, gravelly voice:
His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,
His hair is as dark as a blackboard,
I wish he was mine, he is really divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.
The corridor exploded into laughter, and Brendon’s grin froze. Ryan looked quickly at Ginny. She had turned even paler than usual, and her jaw was clenched. Oh, no.
There was still some sort of commotion around Potter, who had now been joined by none other than Draco Malfoy and seemed to be fighting over someone’s diary. Ryan’s eyes narrowed. He had not forgotten what had happened the last time Potter and Malfoy fought in a public place. Things tended to get caught in the crossfire-books, for example.
He touched Ginny’s elbow, trying to get her to follow him into the class room, but she was rooted to the spot, still staring at the tableau in front of them. Only when Potter managed to magic the diary-his diary, Ryan supposed-out of Malfoy’s hands did she finally move. But by then it was too late. Malfoy, foiled in his attempt to humiliate Potter, had seized upon her as a new potential victim and as she passed him, he shouted suddenly and maliciously,
“I don’t think Potter liked your Valentine much!”
Ginny gasped, a sound closer to a sob than anything else, and rushed into the class room, hands over her face. Ryan wheeled around, furious, but Malfoy was evidently pleased enough with this parting shot and had already moved on down the corridor.
“’Ere, mister,” said a voice by his shoulder, “are you Ryan Ross?”
Ryan turned to a surly dwarf, its decorative golden wings askew, standing just beside him. “I am,” he acknowledged.
The dwarf, seemingly having exhausted all his communicative abilities by now, silently thrust a card into his hands, then turned and stalked off, here and there applying an elbow to an unwary stomach. Ryan looked at the card. It was large and square and was decorated with a picture of a pair of bluebirds, inexpertly painted. It was also covered in a thick layer of glitter. He opened the card carefully-glitter scattering all around him-and saw the words,
Thank you for being a wonderful friend! I always love flying with you. - Brendon
Oh, Ryan thought.
He left right after Herbology, this time finding his way without the help of Primula. He had been expecting the door to be on the other side of the corridor, or at least to have moved a little, but it was in the exact same place as the last time he’d been there (he had noted a crack in the wall just beside it). It made his idea that the castle had somehow created an entire room just for Brendon suddenly seem very fanciful indeed.
He opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief. At least Brendon was still visible. He was sitting in the armchair, knees drawn up tightly against his chest. In front of him was a pile of pink and white cards, and Brendon was levitating them one by one to about eye height, then setting each card on fire with a flick of his wand.
“Hello, Ryan,” he said quietly.
“What are those?” Ryan asked, watching with fascination as yet another card crisped and curled and vanished in flame. Brendon really was incredibly good at effortless Charms.
“Valentines,” Brendon replied, with a reasonably good attempt at disinterest. “Lots of people have been giving them to me today.” He paused. “I have never even talked to half of them. And the cards all say things like ‘want to show you my support’ and ‘hope for beneficial future partnerships’.” Another pause. “How is Ginny?”
Ryan hesitated, but he had always been an essentially truthful person. “Not good,” he admitted. “She seemed really upset, and she was pale all through Herbology. I was thinking of going to cheer her up. Do you want to come?”
“I don’t think she wants to see me,” said Brendon dully, and then, quietly, “I just wanted to help.”
“You did something good,” Ryan said earnestly, because it was true. Brendon always tried to do good. It sometimes turned out to be not as fantastic an idea as he had thought, but he always tried.
“Everything just goes wrong,” Brendon mumbled, echoing this sentiment. “Today is supposed to be fun. And instead I make Ginny sad and there are all these people thinking I’m the Heir of Slytherin and trying to kill people and everyone tries to be on my good side but no one likes me.”
“I like you,” said Ryan.
Brendon sat very still.
“I made you a card, by the way,” Ryan continued, trying to fill up the pause. “Wait, here.” He rummaged around in his backpack and eventually located and handed over a simple white card, printed with careful calligraphy:
A garden saw I, full of blossomy boughs
Upon a river, in a green mead,
There as sweetness evermore enough is,
With flowers white, blue, yellow, and red,
And cold well-streams, nothing dead,
That swimming full of small fishes light,
With fins red and scales silver bright.
“It’s from Chaucer’s The Parliament of Fowls,” Ryan said, while Brendon gazed silently at the card. “Widely regarded as the first Valentine’s poem. I modernised the words, of course-the original text is a bit too difficult on the eyes, if you’re unused to reading medieval English.”
Brendon said nothing.
“It’s thought that Chaucer met Cyprian Youdle on a trip to Norfolk,” Ryan continued, slightly desperate, “and that this is how the concept of St Valentine became introduced into wizard traditions. It took a few years for the tradition to-”
A sniffle interrupted him.
“Thank you,” said Brendon quietly.
***
Half an hour after Brendon and Ryan finally left the room, there was a soft noise as of a broken-off yawn or sigh, and the little wooden door to Brendon’s room shrank and disappeared.
he Ravenclaw first-years finished late on Mondays, and Jon and Luna arrived back in the Common Room at half past six, having just sat through double Charms with a more testy than usual Professor Flitwick. There was some sort of commotion when they entered the Common Room-a great number of students were gathered around one of the prefects, Clearwater. Jon made his way to the group and nudged Patil.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“Someone sent us a Valentine,” she replied, stretching up on her toes and trying to peer through the crowd. “Addressed to Ravenclaw House. Clearwater is trying to translate it.”
“Translate it?”
“Yeah, it’s in latin. We’ve all been trying to figure out who it’s from, there’s no-” Patil said, but was interrupted by Clearwater’s voice.
“I think I have most of it,” she said. “There are still a few phrases that-but mostly, it runs like this.
“Oh raven bronze on field of blue
How proud Thy head, how wide Thy brow!
Believe my heart to Thee holds true,
Unending love I hereby vow.
Stars of wisdom in Thine eye,
Well of knowledge, learned in lore,
Oh raven, but one wish have I:
To sing Thy praise-forever more.
“There is a clever pun here, with the use of magis. And of course the last line is a very cunning reference to Edgar Allen Poe and his rather more ominous raven. Very nicely done indeed.”
“I wonder who sent it?” asked Patil.
“Professor Flitwick?” suggested someone.
“No, his is already on the board,” answered someone else.
“Professor Flitwick sends Valentines?” asked Jon, who had thought that the professor didn’t seem very much in the mood for that sort of thing.
“Yes, every year he sends a card with a riddle. Whoever guesses the riddle first gets to choose a book from his private library,” Patil answered slightly impatiently. “But then, who sent this one?”
“It’s someone who really likes Ravenclaw, in any case,” said Carmichael, because he had a tendency to point out the obvious.
“Maybe one of the ghosts-”
“Ghosts can’t write, are you stupid?”
“An old student?”
“Professor Sinistra was in Ravenclaw...”
“Whoever sent it, it really is very nicely put,” Clearwater determined, and fastened the card with a Sticking Charm on the Common Room message board right in the centre-the place of honour.
Jon grinned to himself. Somehow, he had a feeling he knew where that Valentine had come from.
ou have to lose to him,” Spencer said, and could see by Brendon’s bewildered expression that he did not understand at all. Spencer sighed.
Malfoy and Brendon had remained on relatively courteous terms since their fight, but the communication had been sarcastic and icy on Malfoy’s part and anxiously careful on Brendon’s. It was wearing on Brendon, Spencer knew, and he had finally promised to help Brendon get back into Malfoy’s good books.
“It’s like this,” he tried to explain, “when you revealed all the skeletons in the Malfoy closet, Malfoy lost face. Lost respect,” he elaborated, noting that the expression was entirely new to Brendon. “He felt like you’d shown him up, made him look small. That you’d taken his power from him. And if you want to be friends with him again, you have to give that power back.”
“I never took power from Draco,” said Brendon, with what Spencer felt was unnecessary stubbornness.
“He felt like you did,” he said, for what felt like the fiftieth time. “If you want to get back to normal with him, Malfoy must be made to feel like,” Spencer emphasised the words ridiculously, “the balance between you is restored. He has to win over you.”
Brendon still looked confused and kind of rebellious, but he nodded slowly. “How?” he asked.
Spencer stifled a sigh, relieved. Now that he had finally got Brendon to agree, this part would be easy.
“I think I can probably help you there,” he said.
He left Brendon, who was meeting up with Ross, and went back to the Common Room, pleased when he found Malfoy sitting with Crabbe and Goyle in one corner. He had decided on a plan some time ago, and now he just wanted to get it over with.
“Malfoy,” he said, nodding respectfully. The fight between Malfoy and Brendon had meant that Spencer’s and Malfoy’s relationship had thawed somewhat, and they were now on relatively friendly, if still careful, terms.
“Smith,” Malfoy acknowledged.
“Can I talk to you?” Spencer asked, and glanced ever so briefly at Crabbe and Goyle before continuing, “In private?”
Malfoy gave him an appraising look, then nodded. Crabbe and Goyle rose without needing to be told, lumbering off towards another end of the Common Room. Spencer sat down next to Malfoy.
“I would like to talk about alliances,” Spencer said, affecting a disinterested tone.
“Oh?” Malfoy asked, in the same tone but with eyes narrowed in suspicion. Spencer shrugged.
“The recent thing with Brendon,” he said, “has made me realise how-unreliable he is. I can handle him well enough now, but if there should come a break, I need to know there’s someone else I can trust.” He thought he’d weighed this pretty well-he was indulging Malfoy’s ego by asking for help, but without showing a weakness that would lose him respect.
Malfoy seemed to be taking it well, too, nodding thoughtfully. “And what would I get out of this?” he asked.
Spencer shrugged casually, trying not to look nervous. This was what the plan hitched on. “Like I said, I can handle Brendon. I can make sure you get your apology, your chance to get even, and that you don’t have to deal with any further attacks.”
Malfoy was still maintaining an impassive expression, but there was a glint in his eyes that told Spencer he was intrigued indeed by this turn of events. “Urie has a lot to make up for,” he said.
“And I can make sure he does,” Spencer said, nodding.
Malfoy looked at him for some times, then nodded and looked away, dismissive. In some matters he had been taught well, Spencer conceded grudgingly. He had been expecting something crude, like a handshake on the deal, but Malfoy had handled the conversation with quite a bit of class.
Spencer inclined his head in farewell and rose. He had to fight to keep the grin off his face. He had solved Brendon’s problem and had managed to make his own position better in same stroke. A friendship with Malfoy, he had come to realise over the past month, was actually to be preferred over the endless battle of will and power and influence they had had before-but until now, he’d had no way of bringing that about without yielding to Malfoy.
He’d played that well.
There was now only the small matter of Malfoy’s retribution, but Spencer felt sure that that could be managed somehow. The Urie family was full of oddballs like Brendon’s wandless aunts, whose situation didn’t embarrass Brendon at all, but who would offer Malfoy no end of vicious glee. Yes, some kind of public embarrassment that would set the record straight for Malfoy but not actually hurt Brendon would be easy to arrange, now that the important part-the promise of peace-had been settled.
he temperature in the greenhouses was a lot warmer than the feeble sun had promised, and Spencer ducked inside Greenhouse Two gratefully, unwrapping his scarf. Brendon was already there, having left lunch early, and was talking to Jon.
“Hi, Brendon,” said Spencer, nodding at him. “Hey, Jon.”
Jon looked startled. “Um, hi,” he said.
“Did that Transfiguration thing go well in the end?” Spencer asked him, vaguely aware that Brendon, for some unknown reason, was grinning rather widely. Maybe he’d been in the middle of a joke.
“Oh.” Jon blinked, then smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, it did.”
Spencer grinned. It had been a tricky practical problem, and he and Jon had spent quite some time on it that Friday. “That’s great.”
Jon nodded, almost too enthusiastically, and then turned back to Brendon.
Spencer didn’t get a chance to speak to him again, since he’d already promised Grey he’d work with her that lesson. It was a shame-he would have liked to hear if something was bothering Jon. There was something a little odd about him. His smile wasn’t quite right, and it seemed as if he was sitting closer to Brendon than usual as the two of them worked together. He disappeared right after class ended, too, instead of hanging back to chat for a while, like he usually did.
Maybe he was ill.
After Herbology, Spencer sat through a mainly incomprehensible theoretical Charms lesson impatiently, then went straight to the library with the intention of getting some work done on a terribly boring History of Magic essay before Jon joined him. He was surprised, therefore, when he found Jon already sitting at their table, Voyages with Vampires open in front of him.
“Hey,” Spencer said, “don’t you have Flying class now?”
Jon looked a bit shifty. “I’m skipping it,” he said. “I wasn’t feeling too good after lunch, so I figured it was best.”
Ah, Spencer thought. That explained the weird behaviour in Herbology.
“So what are you doing now?” he asked. Jon grinned at him.
“Defence against the Dark Arts homework,” he said, and Spencer laughed. Jon had been supplying them all with poems based on Lockhart’s books for the last few months. They were of rather atrocious quality, but extremely flattering to Lockhart, and the study group members had been thankful for the lightening of their load. None of them had found Professor Lockhart’s persistent attempts to make them write odes to him easy to satisfy, but Jon had displayed a remarkable talent for composing badly stumbling but smarmy verses. (He seemed to find it funny.) He also loved sharing his produce, and a regular feature of their Friday was now dividing the week’s effort among them. Spencer in particular had found it very difficult to meet the homework requirements, and was infinitely grateful for the help.
“I have a couple already,” said Jon. “You can have yours now, if you want.”
“That’d be great,” Spencer said, grinning. “What am I writing about this week?”
In reply, Jon assumed a lofty expression and began to declaim (badly):
With no fear of blood
Our hero strode bravely
Casting off his hood
He looked at the vampire’s castle gravely
His hair was like fine gold as it blew in the breeze
And he stared
At the castle, not even trembling in the knees
There was probably nothing he didn’t dared.
“Hark!” he said, putting a hand to his ear
“that must be
the maiden I hear
Shouting Help! to me.”
His wand he pulled out
And manfully shouted “Alohomora!”
The gate opened, and another shout
Was heard from behind the castle’s door. A
Vampire stood there...
By the sixth verse, Spencer was crying with laughter.
yan caught Jonathan after breakfast the day after. “You haven’t told Smith about the Polyjuice?” he said quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot.
Jonathan shrugged, smiling. “Haven’t got round to it,” he said.
“Don’t you think you should tell him?” Ryan asked, confused. As far as he could tell, Jonathan and Smith seemed to be pretty close friends.
Jonathan shrugged again. “I was going to,” he said, “but then I couldn’t find a moment. Now I’m thinking it could be fun to see how long it’ll take him to figure it out on his own.”
Ryan looked at him, sceptical. He wanted to ask if that was such a good idea, but then he thought that Jonathan probably knew Smith best, anyway. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll just keep pretending to be you when I talk to him, then.”
Jonathan grinned at him. “And you’re doing such a good job of that,” he said. “By the way, you need to teach me about the Helmholtz Technique. Corner keeps asking me to continue our discussion about it and that’s going to get awkward quick if I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
In reply, Ryan just rolled his eyes. That wasn’t the only awkward conversation he could foresee in Jonathan’s future.
t had been a pretty efficient Friday, and Spencer had put aside his books and parchment to explain Gobstones to Jon. On the other side of the table, Ross and Lovegood were arguing about Locomotion charms. For once, Brendon was the quiet one, staring into the table with a brooding look on his face. Presently he looked up and cleared his throat meaningfully, effectively calling the separate conversations around the table to a halt.
“We have to do something to help Ginny,” he declared. Spencer suppressed a sigh. It seemed that since he’d joined the study group, the question of Weasley’s health had been called into question with depressing regularity. Jon was nodding thoughtfully in agreement, however, and Ross and Lovegood were looking attentively at Brendon.
“It’s, um,” Brendon said, a blush beginning to creep over his face as the focus was turned entirely on him, “it’s just that today is the third Friday she’s missed. And Ryan says she’s been really quiet in class the last two weeks-right?”
“She’s always been pretty quiet,” Ross pointed out. “But she seems distracted. She spends time in the Common Room now, at least, but she sits by herself a lot.”
“It isn’t the same as this autumn,” said Jon. “Then it seemed more like she was fading or something. Now, it’s a bit more like she chooses to be alone, so I suppose in a way it’s better. But it isn’t good. Right?”
“Right,” Brendon agreed, and Ross and Lovegood nodded. Spencer began to shrug, then changed his mind and nodded, too. He had to admit that Weasley was a valuable part of the group. She was one of the best at Defence Against the Dark Arts, for example-well, not the subject as it was now taught, but as it was supposed to be and as they tried to teach each other.
Also, she was actually kind of funny.
“She doesn’t seem happy. I think she might have caught something,” said Lovegood. (Spencer groaned inwardly; he recognised the tone of voice.) “There are a lot of creatures the Ministry doesn’t want us to know about, because people tend to panic when you talk about things living in their heads. It’s a bit strange, of course, because after all they live in their heads, too.” She nodded to herself, then added, “Or it might be the Spell-slaying Sickness. I will look up the symptoms.”
There was a bit of a pause. “Sounds like a good plan,” said Jon eventually and diplomatically. “We can all try to think of different explanations, right?”
They agreed to this, Brendon looking relieved that some course of action had been decided on. Spencer was more sceptical.
“Don’t you think that she may just be homesick or something?” he asked Jon in a low voice, once the discussion between Ross and Lovegood resumed and Brendon joined in. Jon shrugged, frowning a little.
“I talked to her only a couple of days ago and then she wasn’t looking forward all that much to going home for Easter,” he said. “Her brothers are all staying here, but her mum wanted her home, and Ginny wasn’t too happy about that. Still, I’d be happy if it was just something like that. But I’m worried that-yeah, I don’t know. She just seems to be anxious about something, and I don’t know what it is.”
inny was in agony. She had thought she had got rid of it-and then there the diary had been, back again, even though she was sure she had flushed it away. And it had been in the hands of Harry Potter.
She hadn’t known what to do. She probably should have told him about the diary; warned him-but then she’d have had to tell him she’d been writing in it, what it had been making her do... She just couldn’t.
Maybe it would be OK anyway. He was Harry Potter. He had defeated You-Know-Who twice. If anyone could figure out how to handle the diary, it had to be him, right? She had thought he would be the last person to be affected by whatever spell the diary was working, but from Valentine’s Day she started watching Harry closely. (Well, even more closely than before.) She was sure he wasn’t well. He looked tired, he yawned all the time and she felt like he was paler than he’d been. He was still really handsome, but he looked worn out.
It had to be the diary. It was doing something to him.
She had to get it back.
una was sitting at a library table, surrounded by books. A couple lay open in front of her, overlapping each other, and seven or eight dangerously high, tottering piles of literature formed a rough semicircle around her. Ryan’s first impression was of chaos, but as he drew nearer he saw that there was a method to the madness. All the spines were turned inwards, and Ryan noticed that although untidily placed, the books were sorted alphabetically by author.
He gave her a perfunctory greeting, but when she only hummed distractedly in reply, he didn’t feel guilty about not engaging in conversation and instead went directly for the shelf of reference literature a little in front of her.
Hermione Granger walked into their aisle right about then, and waved to Ryan briefly. Thankfully she didn’t stop-she had a tendency to try and start up discussions about complicated magical theory, and while Ryan could enjoy that sort of thing on an otherwise empty evening in the Common Room, right now he wanted to find a book-but instead made for Luna’s table. “Hello,” she said.
“Hello, Hermione Granger,” Luna answered. Hermione blinked.
“How do you know my name?” she asked, looking startled. Luna smiled at her.
“I’ve heard about you. You’re very clever.”
“Oh. Thanks,” Hermione said, displaying the usual reaction to Luna’s unnervingly forthright speech (confusion as well as slight suspicion). “Sorry, I just wanted to look at a book-Nigella Barnhill’s Overview of Ministry Laws Passed in the Twentieth Century. Madam Pince said you might have it.”
“Oh, yes, you can have that if you want.” Luna nodded and started walking her fingers through the pile on her furthest left. “I didn’t find it very helpful. It’s interesting, of course, but I couldn’t find anything to help me right now.”
“What do you need help with?” Hermione asked politely.
“Well, a friend seems to be feeling bad,” Luna said. Her fingers stopped their walk down the pile at a point somewhere in the middle, and she frowned briefly before elaborating, “I thought she might have been infested. Some creatures do that, you know-live in your head. Like Wrackspurts.”
“Wrackspurts?”
“Yes, they get in through your ears. It’s very annoying.” Luna shrugged slightly, then turned to a pile of books to her right. “But it isn’t Wrackspurts, because I started hearing a voice, too. I think it must be same as hers, don’t you?”
“A voice.”
Ryan sighed, recognising by Hermione’s tone that she had just become convinced of Luna’s insanity. Luna could pass for normal for a little while with new people, but the façade invariably cracked some time into any conversation. Sadly, that second impression was usually enough to put most people off ever trying for a third.
“Mm. It could just have been because I was infected, too, of course, but I know that if it was Wrackspurts I’d recognise the signs. They make your brain go fuzzy, and my brain isn’t fuzzy.”
(Ryan could tell that Hermione probably wouldn’t agree with that statement.)
“It must be something else, you see? I’ve been looking at other creatures that live in your head, but none of them really seem to fit. So I started really listening, and now I don’t think the voice is in my head at all.”
“Oh?”
“I think it lives in the walls-but then I don’t know how it’s affecting my friend. I’ve been trying to listen to it but all it says is ‘Ss’. I think that maybe it stutters, so I try to talk to it and calm it down. Otto Mason in my class stutters a lot, too, but always less when he’s calmer.” Luna sighed softly and then laughed, pulling a book from beneath one of the ones lying open before her. “How silly of me. Here it is, Barnhill’s book. I hope you find it useful.”
“Thank you.” Hermione took the book with every show of gratitude, probably in large part because she could now get out of Luna’s presence. “And good luck with your search.”
“Oh, thank you so much.” Luna smiled again. “I think I might need it. This all seems very difficult.”
“Thanks again. Bye.” Hermione waved shortly and turned, rolling her eyes at Ryan once she had her back to Luna.
What a loony, she mouthed, and Ryan grinned back uncomfortably. Partly because he was afraid Luna might have noticed the slur-then again, from the way she smiled at him when he looked at her, maybe not-and partly because the conversation had made him realise that he had been slacking off in his own investigation.
He found the book he’d been looking for, and when he passed Luna’s table on his way back, he hesitated and stopped.
“Do you need help with any of those?” he asked.
rendon gazed anxiously towards the Gryffindor stands. No sight of Ginny yet.
“She’ll show,” Spencer said. “Isn’t she a Quidditch nerd, too?”
Brendon nodded absent-mindedly. True to the last weeks’ form, Ginny had failed to show up for study group the day before, but this Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, at least, ought to draw her out. Still, if she intended to come, she was cutting it close. The Gryffindor Keeper was already flying around his goal posts, warming up, and Brendon could see Kayla and her Hufflepuff team mates standing in the middle of the field, performing their pre-game pep routine.
He was looking at their huddle, distracted for a moment from thoughts of Ginny by the searing wish to some day stand in a huddle like that, clapping his team mates on the back and wishing them all the best in the match, when Professor McGonagall’s voice issued loudly over the stadium.
“This match has been cancelled.” There was a pause, and then just as Brendon spotted her down on the pitch-almost buckling under the weight of a huge megaphone-she spoke again, “All students are to make their way back to the House Common Rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!”
The general reaction was one of grumbling and complaining, but Brendon looked to Spencer and found that he, too, looked troubled rather than disgruntled. As they filed down from the stands, Brendon looked out over the Quidditch pitch and saw Ginny’s brother Ron detach from the crowd and follow Professor McGonagall in.
Ginny, he thought, certainty settling on him like an icy weight, and by Spencer’s intake of breath behind him, he knew Spencer had noticed the same thing as him.
They joined the rest of their House in marching back to their Common Room, Brendon listening to the theories around him with a rising feeling of panic. That there had been an attack and that it was the work of the Heir of Slytherin most agreed on by the time the entered Hogwarts, but after that opinions diverged. The monster had attacked five people at once, someone said, and no, it was a professor who was attacked this time, said someone else.
Someone just behind Brendon said, in little above a whisper, “I heard someone died,” and Brendon gripped Spencer’s arm tightly.
It was probably half an hour before they were all assembled in the Slytherin Common Room, and by that time Brendon was sick with fear. Professor Snape thankfully made his misery as short as possible by getting right to it.
“Two students were found Petrified half an hour ago,” he said, and Brendon instantly relaxed his grip on Spencer’s arm a little. Petrified. Not killed. He felt Spencer unwind a little, too, heard him let out a long slow breath.
“A Ravenclaw fifth-year prefect, Penelope Clearwater,” Professor Snape continued, “and a Gryffindor second-year, Hermione Granger. Because of this double attack, the faculty has decided on a number of new safety measures. Until this menace is over, curfew is moved to six o’clock for all students,” he emphasised as several older students made noises of outrage and protest. “Evening activities are, for the moment, entirely suspended, as are Quidditch matches. Furthermore, you are not to venture outside the Common Room and dorms except for class, unless you have cleared your reasons with me. Starting Monday, teachers will escort you to and from classes. Now, if there are any questions...”
The Common Room exploded into sound, but Brendon could only concentrate on his own spinning head. Ginny wasn’t one of the Petrified students. She hadn’t been attacked. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still in danger. Something was not OK, still.
“We have to find Ginny,” he said.
“But she wasn’t attacked,” said Spencer. Brendon shook his head.
“There’s something wrong,” he said. “I don’t know-but it’s not all right. Not yet.”
Spencer looked at him in silence for some time. Then he looked towards Professor Snape, now surrounded by complaining students. No one was looking at them. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, and Brendon nodded. “All right. We probably only have this chance.”
He rose quickly, pulling Brendon with him. Together they walked slowly towards the Common Room door, trying very hard not to look suspicious. They needn’t have bothered. The complainants around Professor Snape were proving to be entertainment enough for those students not interested in joining the debate.
“No, Miss Dirie, I am so bored in here is not a sufficient reason,” was the last thing they heard before they slipped out of the door.
“Now what?” said Spencer. “How were you planning to find Weasley?”
“I have a spell-wait,” Brendon said, then recalled a discussion with Ryan. You had to move your hands, and then... “There,” he said. His palms were tingling, and his temples felt tight. The pressure lifted a little when he took a step forward, and pictures of stairs came unbidden to his mind. “Now I-I sort of know where to go. The second floor, to start with.”
“And you’ll know when we get there where to go next?”
“I-yes, I think so.”
“Good, then let’s go.”
Spencer said nothing until they reached the second floor, when he asked for further directions. Brendon didn’t need the prompt-he was already walking through the corridor, towards the foot-high letters that still stood out violently against the gloomy wall behind it:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
Spencer muttered something behind him, but Brendon stopped half-way down the corridor, peering into a deep alcove in the left-hand wall.
“There’s something,” he began, then stopped. Spencer had already muttered his wand into life with a lumos and he now shone its light into the dark opening. It lit on red hair, and the pressure on Brendon’s temples lifted entirely as he recognised Ginny. She was sitting far back in a corner of the alcove, her head lolling against her shoulder.
“Ginny!” Brendon exclaimed, hurrying forwards and taking her hands in his. Spencer followed more slowly, shining his wand-light into every nook. “Ginny, Ginny, wake up.” Her hands were cold, but she sighed as he rubbed them, and then her eyes fluttered open.
In the gloom her pupils were huge, and she stared from Brendon to Spencer and then back.
“Did I kill anyone?” she asked.
Next chapter
CHAPTER FIVE
t eight o’clock on a Sunday morning, the Great Hall was usually very empty. Breakfast didn’t officially start until nine, and neither students nor staff usually stuck their nose outside their dorm or office before that time anyway. But breakfast could usually be found for the early bird from about seven thirty, and when Brendon woke from uneasy dreams and found himself unable to sink back into sleep, he got dressed as quietly as he could (not very, but thankfully the others were relatively heavy sleepers) and padded softly out of the dorm.
Higgs was sitting lazily cross-legged in an armchair pulled close to the windows, reading a book. Brendon nodded at him and received a short wave in reply.
As expected, the Great Hall was almost empty. There were four Ravenclaws of varying ages seated at their table, but apart from them the only other student present was a splash of red at the Gryffindor table. Brendon grinned.
Ginny didn’t hear him approach, so absorbed was she in what she was doing. Curious, Brendon halted a little behind her, looking over her shoulder.
(Brendon was a youngest child. Privacy was a bit of a foreign concept.)
Ginny was decorating the inside cover of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. There were small hearts interspersed with I and H lining the edges, and a large heart in the lower right corner proclaimed H + G in painstakingly elaborate, curling letters. Right now she was shading the outline of the heart, making the picture steadily more dramatic.
“Does that stand for Harry?” asked Brendon.
Ginny jerked, then shrieked and half turned. At the same time she attempted to erase the picture with one fierce slash of her wand, leading to the cover being set on fire.
Brendon’s attempts to douse the fire and repair the damage were well-meant enough, and it did stop the blaze from spreading onto the wooden table, but it was still a soot-stained and water-dampened book they stood looking at a little while later. The Ravenclaws had left in disgust, and there were titters from a hidden corner that suggested the House Elves might have overcome even their hard-trained deference to wizardkind in the face of such hilarity.
“I think I know how to fix it?” Brendon offered.
“You can’t just snoop on people like that!” Ginny exclaimed. She was blushing as only a red-head could, even her forehead an angry flush.
“I didn’t mean to snoop,” Brendon defended himself. “I just happened to see what you were writing.”
Inspiration struck him, suddenly. “You know what?” he said. “I just had a great idea.”
Ginny’s obvious scepticism to this statement did not faze him. He had just realised how to both pay for his part in the book’s partial destruction and prove to Ginny that he wasn’t out to tease her about Harry Potter. It was a fantastic idea.
ey,” Spencer said, sitting down opposite Jon. “Good book?”
“It’s fantastic,” Jon replied, looking up briefly from Dugbogs and Dragons-A History of Attempts to Domesticate Danger. “I really wish third year would come soon. I can’t wait for Care of Magical Creatures, can you?”
“Maybe,” said Spencer non-committally. He did enjoy working with animals, but he didn’t have the same unconditional love of everything four-legged as Jon, and he wasn’t sure that Care of Magical Creatures was the very best subject for him to choose. There was more than a year to go before he would have to make those choices, however-plenty of time to consult his family and older students.
He spotted a flash of red as he sat down and pulled out his own books, and saw that Weasley was sitting a few tables away, bent over something together with-yes, that was Brendon. Nudging Jon, he inclined his head towards the duo, and when Jon turned around to look said, “We could join them if you want.”
Jon looked at him, the tiniest of frowns creasing his forehead. “I thought you and Brendon weren’t talking right now?”
Spencer started. “What? Why did you think that?”
“You haven’t been to study group the last two weeks, and you and Brendon haven’t really talked in class, either. Also, Brendon has seemed down for a while.”
There was a host of questions underneath Jon’s calm expression, and Spencer didn’t know how to begin to answer them.
“We had a fight,” he said eventually, realising as he said it that although he hadn’t actually seen it like that before, it was true. “I was,” and this, too, was true, “I was wrong. About some things. We’ve sort of made up, I guess, but everything’s been a bit-it’s just been awkward. And it seemed weird to come and pretend like everything was fine. I didn’t really know what to do.”
He looked over at Brendon and recalled again the helpless feeling of realising that what he had referred to as Brendon’s “act” for over half a year was actually who Brendon was, the feeling of ground shifting underneath his feet. Suddenly he had no idea of how to act around Brendon-how to speak, when he could laugh and when he shouldn’t. Before, he’d always coated whatever he said with a very thin veneer of irony; making himself safe. If Brendon wanted to take him at face value, he could, but if he wanted to dissemble Spencer’s statements for weaponry, there was nothing to hold on to. It had made for tricky conversation on Spencer’s part, and he’d been slightly annoyed to realise Brendon hadn’t noticed anything at all. Spencer had actually been really clever.
Still, it was less anxious, in a way, now-he didn’t feel like he had to think things through as much before he said them.
“Things are going to be fine, though,” he said, and realised that he believed it.
“OK,” said Jon, and that was it. Spencer knew he wouldn’t ask anything more about the matter, and he felt a breath he hadn’t known he was holding escape him.
“You should come back to study group, though,” Jon continued, looking back down into his book. “It’s more fun when we’re all there.”
There was something stupidly gratifying about being included in the “we”, and Spencer didn’t really know how to react to it. “But you don’t want to join them now?” he asked to mask his confusion, nodding again towards Brendon and Weasley.
Jon made a disinterested noise. “Nah, they’re writing Valentines. Anyway,” he looked up and smiled, “it’s Wednesday.”
Spencer was somewhat mortified to find himself completely stumped for a reply. Then, the weirdness in the first part of what Jon had said struck him.
“Did you say Valentines?”
“Huh? Yeah, Brendon’s helping Ginny write hers, I think-he came over a while ago and asked me for a rhyme for Potter. I suggested he try with Harry instead, but he said the only rhyme that really worked was ‘marry’ and apparently Ginny balked at-”
“Wait,” said Spencer, who now found himself scrambling to catch up, “Harry Potter? Weasley’s writing a Valentine to Harry Potter? Why?”
“Because she likes him,” said Jon, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
“But,” Spencer tried, “don’t you mind?”
“Why would I?” Jon asked, frowning slightly. Spencer blinked, flabbergasted. He knew Jon was a pretty easy-going guy, but this was odd even for him.
“Isn’t she your girlfriend?” he asked.
He didn’t really know what he expected, but he knew that is was not Jon staring at him as if he’d grown an extra head and then starting to laugh so hard Madam Pince glared at them.
“Why,” Jon snorted, in between chuckles. “Why on earth would you think that?”
“You hang out all the time,” Spencer muttered, feeling slightly ridiculous now that he came to say it out loud.
“So do you and Brendon.” Jon started to laugh again. “So do you and I!”
“Well, sorry for being stupid,” Spencer said. “I just thought.” He didn’t think it was that weird a conclusion-certainly it didn’t merit Jon continuing to laugh until Brendon and Weasley were looking at them, perplexed, and Spencer was blushing hotly.
“So can I tell her you said that?”
“No!”
alentine’s Day at Hogwarts was overstated and bombastic in the way that only Professor Lockhart could manage. The walls were covered in heart-shapes and pink hangings, fairies gibbered nonsense at the students from every corner and a dozen dwarves with angelic wings and rather less than angelic expressions stalked around the school, attacking students and teachers alike with Valentine cards and-in some horrifying cases-songs. Ryan would late forget the look on Professor Flitwick’s face when the entire Charms class was treated to a long and rather out-of-tune ode to the professor’s dignified nose. If he hadn’t known that the tiny professor was probably incapable of violence against even a spider, he would have feared for both the composer’s and Professor Lockhart’s life.
As if the humiliation of the dwarves’ aggressive Valentine-deliveries wasn’t enough, some students preferred to deliver their Valentines in person. Parvati and Lavender had cornered Ryan at the end of lunch and, giggling in synch, had handed over a large and lurid pink card, confessing that they found him “adorable”. He had fled in something close to panic, and hadn’t calmed down from the ordeal until halfway through the Transfiguration lesson.
He thought he’d seen the worst of it, then. He was wrong.
Herbology had been concentrating on theory for the best part of winter, and the class would be held in an otherwise unused class room on the second floor at least until the end of February. The Gryffindor first-years were making their way to this for their last lesson of the day, and the Slytherin first-years were leaving it, having just had a Herbology lesson of their own, when the flow in the corridor came to a sudden stop. Craning his neck, Ryan observed that the cause for the blockage was another one of the Valentine dwarves-this one tackling Harry Potter to the ground in a fascinating display of Valentine goodwill.
“Right,” said the dwarf, “here is your singing Valentine.”
Ginny breathed in sharply next to Ryan, and at that moment he also became aware of Brendon among the Slytherins, on the other side of the spectacle, who grinned at Ginny and gave a small thumbs-up.
Oh, no, thought Ryan, his heart sinking. Brendon and Ginny had written Valentines together.
The dwarf strummed his harp a couple of times and then began to sing in a deep, gravelly voice:
His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,
His hair is as dark as a blackboard,
I wish he was mine, he is really divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.
The corridor exploded into laughter, and Brendon’s grin froze. Ryan looked quickly at Ginny. She had turned even paler than usual, and her jaw was clenched. Oh, no.
There was still some sort of commotion around Potter, who had now been joined by none other than Draco Malfoy and seemed to be fighting over someone’s diary. Ryan’s eyes narrowed. He had not forgotten what had happened the last time Potter and Malfoy fought in a public place. Things tended to get caught in the crossfire-books, for example.
He touched Ginny’s elbow, trying to get her to follow him into the class room, but she was rooted to the spot, still staring at the tableau in front of them. Only when Potter managed to magic the diary-his diary, Ryan supposed-out of Malfoy’s hands did she finally move. But by then it was too late. Malfoy, foiled in his attempt to humiliate Potter, had seized upon her as a new potential victim and as she passed him, he shouted suddenly and maliciously,
“I don’t think Potter liked your Valentine much!”
Ginny gasped, a sound closer to a sob than anything else, and rushed into the class room, hands over her face. Ryan wheeled around, furious, but Malfoy was evidently pleased enough with this parting shot and had already moved on down the corridor.
“’Ere, mister,” said a voice by his shoulder, “are you Ryan Ross?”
Ryan turned to a surly dwarf, its decorative golden wings askew, standing just beside him. “I am,” he acknowledged.
The dwarf, seemingly having exhausted all his communicative abilities by now, silently thrust a card into his hands, then turned and stalked off, here and there applying an elbow to an unwary stomach. Ryan looked at the card. It was large and square and was decorated with a picture of a pair of bluebirds, inexpertly painted. It was also covered in a thick layer of glitter. He opened the card carefully-glitter scattering all around him-and saw the words,
Thank you for being a wonderful friend! I always love flying with you. - Brendon
Oh, Ryan thought.
He left right after Herbology, this time finding his way without the help of Primula. He had been expecting the door to be on the other side of the corridor, or at least to have moved a little, but it was in the exact same place as the last time he’d been there (he had noted a crack in the wall just beside it). It made his idea that the castle had somehow created an entire room just for Brendon suddenly seem very fanciful indeed.
He opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief. At least Brendon was still visible. He was sitting in the armchair, knees drawn up tightly against his chest. In front of him was a pile of pink and white cards, and Brendon was levitating them one by one to about eye height, then setting each card on fire with a flick of his wand.
“Hello, Ryan,” he said quietly.
“What are those?” Ryan asked, watching with fascination as yet another card crisped and curled and vanished in flame. Brendon really was incredibly good at effortless Charms.
“Valentines,” Brendon replied, with a reasonably good attempt at disinterest. “Lots of people have been giving them to me today.” He paused. “I have never even talked to half of them. And the cards all say things like ‘want to show you my support’ and ‘hope for beneficial future partnerships’.” Another pause. “How is Ginny?”
Ryan hesitated, but he had always been an essentially truthful person. “Not good,” he admitted. “She seemed really upset, and she was pale all through Herbology. I was thinking of going to cheer her up. Do you want to come?”
“I don’t think she wants to see me,” said Brendon dully, and then, quietly, “I just wanted to help.”
“You did something good,” Ryan said earnestly, because it was true. Brendon always tried to do good. It sometimes turned out to be not as fantastic an idea as he had thought, but he always tried.
“Everything just goes wrong,” Brendon mumbled, echoing this sentiment. “Today is supposed to be fun. And instead I make Ginny sad and there are all these people thinking I’m the Heir of Slytherin and trying to kill people and everyone tries to be on my good side but no one likes me.”
“I like you,” said Ryan.
Brendon sat very still.
“I made you a card, by the way,” Ryan continued, trying to fill up the pause. “Wait, here.” He rummaged around in his backpack and eventually located and handed over a simple white card, printed with careful calligraphy:
A garden saw I, full of blossomy boughs
Upon a river, in a green mead,
There as sweetness evermore enough is,
With flowers white, blue, yellow, and red,
And cold well-streams, nothing dead,
That swimming full of small fishes light,
With fins red and scales silver bright.
“It’s from Chaucer’s The Parliament of Fowls,” Ryan said, while Brendon gazed silently at the card. “Widely regarded as the first Valentine’s poem. I modernised the words, of course-the original text is a bit too difficult on the eyes, if you’re unused to reading medieval English.”
Brendon said nothing.
“It’s thought that Chaucer met Cyprian Youdle on a trip to Norfolk,” Ryan continued, slightly desperate, “and that this is how the concept of St Valentine became introduced into wizard traditions. It took a few years for the tradition to-”
A sniffle interrupted him.
“Thank you,” said Brendon quietly.
***
Half an hour after Brendon and Ryan finally left the room, there was a soft noise as of a broken-off yawn or sigh, and the little wooden door to Brendon’s room shrank and disappeared.
he Ravenclaw first-years finished late on Mondays, and Jon and Luna arrived back in the Common Room at half past six, having just sat through double Charms with a more testy than usual Professor Flitwick. There was some sort of commotion when they entered the Common Room-a great number of students were gathered around one of the prefects, Clearwater. Jon made his way to the group and nudged Patil.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“Someone sent us a Valentine,” she replied, stretching up on her toes and trying to peer through the crowd. “Addressed to Ravenclaw House. Clearwater is trying to translate it.”
“Translate it?”
“Yeah, it’s in latin. We’ve all been trying to figure out who it’s from, there’s no-” Patil said, but was interrupted by Clearwater’s voice.
“I think I have most of it,” she said. “There are still a few phrases that-but mostly, it runs like this.
“Oh raven bronze on field of blue
How proud Thy head, how wide Thy brow!
Believe my heart to Thee holds true,
Unending love I hereby vow.
Stars of wisdom in Thine eye,
Well of knowledge, learned in lore,
Oh raven, but one wish have I:
To sing Thy praise-forever more.
“There is a clever pun here, with the use of magis. And of course the last line is a very cunning reference to Edgar Allen Poe and his rather more ominous raven. Very nicely done indeed.”
“I wonder who sent it?” asked Patil.
“Professor Flitwick?” suggested someone.
“No, his is already on the board,” answered someone else.
“Professor Flitwick sends Valentines?” asked Jon, who had thought that the professor didn’t seem very much in the mood for that sort of thing.
“Yes, every year he sends a card with a riddle. Whoever guesses the riddle first gets to choose a book from his private library,” Patil answered slightly impatiently. “But then, who sent this one?”
“It’s someone who really likes Ravenclaw, in any case,” said Carmichael, because he had a tendency to point out the obvious.
“Maybe one of the ghosts-”
“Ghosts can’t write, are you stupid?”
“An old student?”
“Professor Sinistra was in Ravenclaw...”
“Whoever sent it, it really is very nicely put,” Clearwater determined, and fastened the card with a Sticking Charm on the Common Room message board right in the centre-the place of honour.
Jon grinned to himself. Somehow, he had a feeling he knew where that Valentine had come from.
ou have to lose to him,” Spencer said, and could see by Brendon’s bewildered expression that he did not understand at all. Spencer sighed.
Malfoy and Brendon had remained on relatively courteous terms since their fight, but the communication had been sarcastic and icy on Malfoy’s part and anxiously careful on Brendon’s. It was wearing on Brendon, Spencer knew, and he had finally promised to help Brendon get back into Malfoy’s good books.
“It’s like this,” he tried to explain, “when you revealed all the skeletons in the Malfoy closet, Malfoy lost face. Lost respect,” he elaborated, noting that the expression was entirely new to Brendon. “He felt like you’d shown him up, made him look small. That you’d taken his power from him. And if you want to be friends with him again, you have to give that power back.”
“I never took power from Draco,” said Brendon, with what Spencer felt was unnecessary stubbornness.
“He felt like you did,” he said, for what felt like the fiftieth time. “If you want to get back to normal with him, Malfoy must be made to feel like,” Spencer emphasised the words ridiculously, “the balance between you is restored. He has to win over you.”
Brendon still looked confused and kind of rebellious, but he nodded slowly. “How?” he asked.
Spencer stifled a sigh, relieved. Now that he had finally got Brendon to agree, this part would be easy.
“I think I can probably help you there,” he said.
He left Brendon, who was meeting up with Ross, and went back to the Common Room, pleased when he found Malfoy sitting with Crabbe and Goyle in one corner. He had decided on a plan some time ago, and now he just wanted to get it over with.
“Malfoy,” he said, nodding respectfully. The fight between Malfoy and Brendon had meant that Spencer’s and Malfoy’s relationship had thawed somewhat, and they were now on relatively friendly, if still careful, terms.
“Smith,” Malfoy acknowledged.
“Can I talk to you?” Spencer asked, and glanced ever so briefly at Crabbe and Goyle before continuing, “In private?”
Malfoy gave him an appraising look, then nodded. Crabbe and Goyle rose without needing to be told, lumbering off towards another end of the Common Room. Spencer sat down next to Malfoy.
“I would like to talk about alliances,” Spencer said, affecting a disinterested tone.
“Oh?” Malfoy asked, in the same tone but with eyes narrowed in suspicion. Spencer shrugged.
“The recent thing with Brendon,” he said, “has made me realise how-unreliable he is. I can handle him well enough now, but if there should come a break, I need to know there’s someone else I can trust.” He thought he’d weighed this pretty well-he was indulging Malfoy’s ego by asking for help, but without showing a weakness that would lose him respect.
Malfoy seemed to be taking it well, too, nodding thoughtfully. “And what would I get out of this?” he asked.
Spencer shrugged casually, trying not to look nervous. This was what the plan hitched on. “Like I said, I can handle Brendon. I can make sure you get your apology, your chance to get even, and that you don’t have to deal with any further attacks.”
Malfoy was still maintaining an impassive expression, but there was a glint in his eyes that told Spencer he was intrigued indeed by this turn of events. “Urie has a lot to make up for,” he said.
“And I can make sure he does,” Spencer said, nodding.
Malfoy looked at him for some times, then nodded and looked away, dismissive. In some matters he had been taught well, Spencer conceded grudgingly. He had been expecting something crude, like a handshake on the deal, but Malfoy had handled the conversation with quite a bit of class.
Spencer inclined his head in farewell and rose. He had to fight to keep the grin off his face. He had solved Brendon’s problem and had managed to make his own position better in same stroke. A friendship with Malfoy, he had come to realise over the past month, was actually to be preferred over the endless battle of will and power and influence they had had before-but until now, he’d had no way of bringing that about without yielding to Malfoy.
He’d played that well.
There was now only the small matter of Malfoy’s retribution, but Spencer felt sure that that could be managed somehow. The Urie family was full of oddballs like Brendon’s wandless aunts, whose situation didn’t embarrass Brendon at all, but who would offer Malfoy no end of vicious glee. Yes, some kind of public embarrassment that would set the record straight for Malfoy but not actually hurt Brendon would be easy to arrange, now that the important part-the promise of peace-had been settled.
he temperature in the greenhouses was a lot warmer than the feeble sun had promised, and Spencer ducked inside Greenhouse Two gratefully, unwrapping his scarf. Brendon was already there, having left lunch early, and was talking to Jon.
“Hi, Brendon,” said Spencer, nodding at him. “Hey, Jon.”
Jon looked startled. “Um, hi,” he said.
“Did that Transfiguration thing go well in the end?” Spencer asked him, vaguely aware that Brendon, for some unknown reason, was grinning rather widely. Maybe he’d been in the middle of a joke.
“Oh.” Jon blinked, then smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, it did.”
Spencer grinned. It had been a tricky practical problem, and he and Jon had spent quite some time on it that Friday. “That’s great.”
Jon nodded, almost too enthusiastically, and then turned back to Brendon.
Spencer didn’t get a chance to speak to him again, since he’d already promised Grey he’d work with her that lesson. It was a shame-he would have liked to hear if something was bothering Jon. There was something a little odd about him. His smile wasn’t quite right, and it seemed as if he was sitting closer to Brendon than usual as the two of them worked together. He disappeared right after class ended, too, instead of hanging back to chat for a while, like he usually did.
Maybe he was ill.
After Herbology, Spencer sat through a mainly incomprehensible theoretical Charms lesson impatiently, then went straight to the library with the intention of getting some work done on a terribly boring History of Magic essay before Jon joined him. He was surprised, therefore, when he found Jon already sitting at their table, Voyages with Vampires open in front of him.
“Hey,” Spencer said, “don’t you have Flying class now?”
Jon looked a bit shifty. “I’m skipping it,” he said. “I wasn’t feeling too good after lunch, so I figured it was best.”
Ah, Spencer thought. That explained the weird behaviour in Herbology.
“So what are you doing now?” he asked. Jon grinned at him.
“Defence against the Dark Arts homework,” he said, and Spencer laughed. Jon had been supplying them all with poems based on Lockhart’s books for the last few months. They were of rather atrocious quality, but extremely flattering to Lockhart, and the study group members had been thankful for the lightening of their load. None of them had found Professor Lockhart’s persistent attempts to make them write odes to him easy to satisfy, but Jon had displayed a remarkable talent for composing badly stumbling but smarmy verses. (He seemed to find it funny.) He also loved sharing his produce, and a regular feature of their Friday was now dividing the week’s effort among them. Spencer in particular had found it very difficult to meet the homework requirements, and was infinitely grateful for the help.
“I have a couple already,” said Jon. “You can have yours now, if you want.”
“That’d be great,” Spencer said, grinning. “What am I writing about this week?”
In reply, Jon assumed a lofty expression and began to declaim (badly):
With no fear of blood
Our hero strode bravely
Casting off his hood
He looked at the vampire’s castle gravely
His hair was like fine gold as it blew in the breeze
And he stared
At the castle, not even trembling in the knees
There was probably nothing he didn’t dared.
“Hark!” he said, putting a hand to his ear
“that must be
the maiden I hear
Shouting Help! to me.”
His wand he pulled out
And manfully shouted “Alohomora!”
The gate opened, and another shout
Was heard from behind the castle’s door. A
Vampire stood there...
By the sixth verse, Spencer was crying with laughter.
yan caught Jonathan after breakfast the day after. “You haven’t told Smith about the Polyjuice?” he said quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot.
Jonathan shrugged, smiling. “Haven’t got round to it,” he said.
“Don’t you think you should tell him?” Ryan asked, confused. As far as he could tell, Jonathan and Smith seemed to be pretty close friends.
Jonathan shrugged again. “I was going to,” he said, “but then I couldn’t find a moment. Now I’m thinking it could be fun to see how long it’ll take him to figure it out on his own.”
Ryan looked at him, sceptical. He wanted to ask if that was such a good idea, but then he thought that Jonathan probably knew Smith best, anyway. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll just keep pretending to be you when I talk to him, then.”
Jonathan grinned at him. “And you’re doing such a good job of that,” he said. “By the way, you need to teach me about the Helmholtz Technique. Corner keeps asking me to continue our discussion about it and that’s going to get awkward quick if I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
In reply, Ryan just rolled his eyes. That wasn’t the only awkward conversation he could foresee in Jonathan’s future.
t had been a pretty efficient Friday, and Spencer had put aside his books and parchment to explain Gobstones to Jon. On the other side of the table, Ross and Lovegood were arguing about Locomotion charms. For once, Brendon was the quiet one, staring into the table with a brooding look on his face. Presently he looked up and cleared his throat meaningfully, effectively calling the separate conversations around the table to a halt.
“We have to do something to help Ginny,” he declared. Spencer suppressed a sigh. It seemed that since he’d joined the study group, the question of Weasley’s health had been called into question with depressing regularity. Jon was nodding thoughtfully in agreement, however, and Ross and Lovegood were looking attentively at Brendon.
“It’s, um,” Brendon said, a blush beginning to creep over his face as the focus was turned entirely on him, “it’s just that today is the third Friday she’s missed. And Ryan says she’s been really quiet in class the last two weeks-right?”
“She’s always been pretty quiet,” Ross pointed out. “But she seems distracted. She spends time in the Common Room now, at least, but she sits by herself a lot.”
“It isn’t the same as this autumn,” said Jon. “Then it seemed more like she was fading or something. Now, it’s a bit more like she chooses to be alone, so I suppose in a way it’s better. But it isn’t good. Right?”
“Right,” Brendon agreed, and Ross and Lovegood nodded. Spencer began to shrug, then changed his mind and nodded, too. He had to admit that Weasley was a valuable part of the group. She was one of the best at Defence Against the Dark Arts, for example-well, not the subject as it was now taught, but as it was supposed to be and as they tried to teach each other.
Also, she was actually kind of funny.
“She doesn’t seem happy. I think she might have caught something,” said Lovegood. (Spencer groaned inwardly; he recognised the tone of voice.) “There are a lot of creatures the Ministry doesn’t want us to know about, because people tend to panic when you talk about things living in their heads. It’s a bit strange, of course, because after all they live in their heads, too.” She nodded to herself, then added, “Or it might be the Spell-slaying Sickness. I will look up the symptoms.”
There was a bit of a pause. “Sounds like a good plan,” said Jon eventually and diplomatically. “We can all try to think of different explanations, right?”
They agreed to this, Brendon looking relieved that some course of action had been decided on. Spencer was more sceptical.
“Don’t you think that she may just be homesick or something?” he asked Jon in a low voice, once the discussion between Ross and Lovegood resumed and Brendon joined in. Jon shrugged, frowning a little.
“I talked to her only a couple of days ago and then she wasn’t looking forward all that much to going home for Easter,” he said. “Her brothers are all staying here, but her mum wanted her home, and Ginny wasn’t too happy about that. Still, I’d be happy if it was just something like that. But I’m worried that-yeah, I don’t know. She just seems to be anxious about something, and I don’t know what it is.”
inny was in agony. She had thought she had got rid of it-and then there the diary had been, back again, even though she was sure she had flushed it away. And it had been in the hands of Harry Potter.
She hadn’t known what to do. She probably should have told him about the diary; warned him-but then she’d have had to tell him she’d been writing in it, what it had been making her do... She just couldn’t.
Maybe it would be OK anyway. He was Harry Potter. He had defeated You-Know-Who twice. If anyone could figure out how to handle the diary, it had to be him, right? She had thought he would be the last person to be affected by whatever spell the diary was working, but from Valentine’s Day she started watching Harry closely. (Well, even more closely than before.) She was sure he wasn’t well. He looked tired, he yawned all the time and she felt like he was paler than he’d been. He was still really handsome, but he looked worn out.
It had to be the diary. It was doing something to him.
She had to get it back.
una was sitting at a library table, surrounded by books. A couple lay open in front of her, overlapping each other, and seven or eight dangerously high, tottering piles of literature formed a rough semicircle around her. Ryan’s first impression was of chaos, but as he drew nearer he saw that there was a method to the madness. All the spines were turned inwards, and Ryan noticed that although untidily placed, the books were sorted alphabetically by author.
He gave her a perfunctory greeting, but when she only hummed distractedly in reply, he didn’t feel guilty about not engaging in conversation and instead went directly for the shelf of reference literature a little in front of her.
Hermione Granger walked into their aisle right about then, and waved to Ryan briefly. Thankfully she didn’t stop-she had a tendency to try and start up discussions about complicated magical theory, and while Ryan could enjoy that sort of thing on an otherwise empty evening in the Common Room, right now he wanted to find a book-but instead made for Luna’s table. “Hello,” she said.
“Hello, Hermione Granger,” Luna answered. Hermione blinked.
“How do you know my name?” she asked, looking startled. Luna smiled at her.
“I’ve heard about you. You’re very clever.”
“Oh. Thanks,” Hermione said, displaying the usual reaction to Luna’s unnervingly forthright speech (confusion as well as slight suspicion). “Sorry, I just wanted to look at a book-Nigella Barnhill’s Overview of Ministry Laws Passed in the Twentieth Century. Madam Pince said you might have it.”
“Oh, yes, you can have that if you want.” Luna nodded and started walking her fingers through the pile on her furthest left. “I didn’t find it very helpful. It’s interesting, of course, but I couldn’t find anything to help me right now.”
“What do you need help with?” Hermione asked politely.
“Well, a friend seems to be feeling bad,” Luna said. Her fingers stopped their walk down the pile at a point somewhere in the middle, and she frowned briefly before elaborating, “I thought she might have been infested. Some creatures do that, you know-live in your head. Like Wrackspurts.”
“Wrackspurts?”
“Yes, they get in through your ears. It’s very annoying.” Luna shrugged slightly, then turned to a pile of books to her right. “But it isn’t Wrackspurts, because I started hearing a voice, too. I think it must be same as hers, don’t you?”
“A voice.”
Ryan sighed, recognising by Hermione’s tone that she had just become convinced of Luna’s insanity. Luna could pass for normal for a little while with new people, but the façade invariably cracked some time into any conversation. Sadly, that second impression was usually enough to put most people off ever trying for a third.
“Mm. It could just have been because I was infected, too, of course, but I know that if it was Wrackspurts I’d recognise the signs. They make your brain go fuzzy, and my brain isn’t fuzzy.”
(Ryan could tell that Hermione probably wouldn’t agree with that statement.)
“It must be something else, you see? I’ve been looking at other creatures that live in your head, but none of them really seem to fit. So I started really listening, and now I don’t think the voice is in my head at all.”
“Oh?”
“I think it lives in the walls-but then I don’t know how it’s affecting my friend. I’ve been trying to listen to it but all it says is ‘Ss’. I think that maybe it stutters, so I try to talk to it and calm it down. Otto Mason in my class stutters a lot, too, but always less when he’s calmer.” Luna sighed softly and then laughed, pulling a book from beneath one of the ones lying open before her. “How silly of me. Here it is, Barnhill’s book. I hope you find it useful.”
“Thank you.” Hermione took the book with every show of gratitude, probably in large part because she could now get out of Luna’s presence. “And good luck with your search.”
“Oh, thank you so much.” Luna smiled again. “I think I might need it. This all seems very difficult.”
“Thanks again. Bye.” Hermione waved shortly and turned, rolling her eyes at Ryan once she had her back to Luna.
What a loony, she mouthed, and Ryan grinned back uncomfortably. Partly because he was afraid Luna might have noticed the slur-then again, from the way she smiled at him when he looked at her, maybe not-and partly because the conversation had made him realise that he had been slacking off in his own investigation.
He found the book he’d been looking for, and when he passed Luna’s table on his way back, he hesitated and stopped.
“Do you need help with any of those?” he asked.
rendon gazed anxiously towards the Gryffindor stands. No sight of Ginny yet.
“She’ll show,” Spencer said. “Isn’t she a Quidditch nerd, too?”
Brendon nodded absent-mindedly. True to the last weeks’ form, Ginny had failed to show up for study group the day before, but this Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, at least, ought to draw her out. Still, if she intended to come, she was cutting it close. The Gryffindor Keeper was already flying around his goal posts, warming up, and Brendon could see Kayla and her Hufflepuff team mates standing in the middle of the field, performing their pre-game pep routine.
He was looking at their huddle, distracted for a moment from thoughts of Ginny by the searing wish to some day stand in a huddle like that, clapping his team mates on the back and wishing them all the best in the match, when Professor McGonagall’s voice issued loudly over the stadium.
“This match has been cancelled.” There was a pause, and then just as Brendon spotted her down on the pitch-almost buckling under the weight of a huge megaphone-she spoke again, “All students are to make their way back to the House Common Rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!”
The general reaction was one of grumbling and complaining, but Brendon looked to Spencer and found that he, too, looked troubled rather than disgruntled. As they filed down from the stands, Brendon looked out over the Quidditch pitch and saw Ginny’s brother Ron detach from the crowd and follow Professor McGonagall in.
Ginny, he thought, certainty settling on him like an icy weight, and by Spencer’s intake of breath behind him, he knew Spencer had noticed the same thing as him.
They joined the rest of their House in marching back to their Common Room, Brendon listening to the theories around him with a rising feeling of panic. That there had been an attack and that it was the work of the Heir of Slytherin most agreed on by the time the entered Hogwarts, but after that opinions diverged. The monster had attacked five people at once, someone said, and no, it was a professor who was attacked this time, said someone else.
Someone just behind Brendon said, in little above a whisper, “I heard someone died,” and Brendon gripped Spencer’s arm tightly.
It was probably half an hour before they were all assembled in the Slytherin Common Room, and by that time Brendon was sick with fear. Professor Snape thankfully made his misery as short as possible by getting right to it.
“Two students were found Petrified half an hour ago,” he said, and Brendon instantly relaxed his grip on Spencer’s arm a little. Petrified. Not killed. He felt Spencer unwind a little, too, heard him let out a long slow breath.
“A Ravenclaw fifth-year prefect, Penelope Clearwater,” Professor Snape continued, “and a Gryffindor second-year, Hermione Granger. Because of this double attack, the faculty has decided on a number of new safety measures. Until this menace is over, curfew is moved to six o’clock for all students,” he emphasised as several older students made noises of outrage and protest. “Evening activities are, for the moment, entirely suspended, as are Quidditch matches. Furthermore, you are not to venture outside the Common Room and dorms except for class, unless you have cleared your reasons with me. Starting Monday, teachers will escort you to and from classes. Now, if there are any questions...”
The Common Room exploded into sound, but Brendon could only concentrate on his own spinning head. Ginny wasn’t one of the Petrified students. She hadn’t been attacked. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still in danger. Something was not OK, still.
“We have to find Ginny,” he said.
“But she wasn’t attacked,” said Spencer. Brendon shook his head.
“There’s something wrong,” he said. “I don’t know-but it’s not all right. Not yet.”
Spencer looked at him in silence for some time. Then he looked towards Professor Snape, now surrounded by complaining students. No one was looking at them. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, and Brendon nodded. “All right. We probably only have this chance.”
He rose quickly, pulling Brendon with him. Together they walked slowly towards the Common Room door, trying very hard not to look suspicious. They needn’t have bothered. The complainants around Professor Snape were proving to be entertainment enough for those students not interested in joining the debate.
“No, Miss Dirie, I am so bored in here is not a sufficient reason,” was the last thing they heard before they slipped out of the door.
“Now what?” said Spencer. “How were you planning to find Weasley?”
“I have a spell-wait,” Brendon said, then recalled a discussion with Ryan. You had to move your hands, and then... “There,” he said. His palms were tingling, and his temples felt tight. The pressure lifted a little when he took a step forward, and pictures of stairs came unbidden to his mind. “Now I-I sort of know where to go. The second floor, to start with.”
“And you’ll know when we get there where to go next?”
“I-yes, I think so.”
“Good, then let’s go.”
Spencer said nothing until they reached the second floor, when he asked for further directions. Brendon didn’t need the prompt-he was already walking through the corridor, towards the foot-high letters that still stood out violently against the gloomy wall behind it:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
Spencer muttered something behind him, but Brendon stopped half-way down the corridor, peering into a deep alcove in the left-hand wall.
“There’s something,” he began, then stopped. Spencer had already muttered his wand into life with a lumos and he now shone its light into the dark opening. It lit on red hair, and the pressure on Brendon’s temples lifted entirely as he recognised Ginny. She was sitting far back in a corner of the alcove, her head lolling against her shoulder.
“Ginny!” Brendon exclaimed, hurrying forwards and taking her hands in his. Spencer followed more slowly, shining his wand-light into every nook. “Ginny, Ginny, wake up.” Her hands were cold, but she sighed as he rubbed them, and then her eyes fluttered open.
In the gloom her pupils were huge, and she stared from Brendon to Spencer and then back.
“Did I kill anyone?” she asked.
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