Detained Chapter 7 Initiation Part 2

[jenszabo]

Hogwarts, the next day

Katie woke up and didn’t want to die, which made for a nice change.

In a month, Quidditch season would be over. Another month and she’d be done with Hogwarts. She was more than ready. To do what exactly, she had no idea. But she was ready for it.

She dressed quickly and grabbed her bag, making sure that her NEWTs review guide was easily visible underneath her arm-a handy talisman to ward off lectures from Hermione. After a mild collision-Neville should really pay more attention to where he was going, because Katie had very little control when she was sliding down the banister-she made her way into the Great Hall.

Katie chose her seat carefully. Anywhere where Seamus and Lavender were in your line of sight was out, unless you were a particular aficionado of tongues. Parvati and her boyfriend were at the Ravenclaw table today, so she needed to be angled away from that. Then to avoid the usual trouble spots…Draco and Pansy, Hannah and Ernie. Why couldn’t people be satisfied with their own saliva? She could see Ron doing the same triangulations in his head, with the added constraint that he didn’t want to have to look at a Slytherin while eating. People should really refrain from getting their full rut on while others were trying to digest.

As Katie was laughing at Ginny carefully placing her copy of ‘What You Need to Know for OWLs’ between herself and Hermione, the owls started to arrive.
Ron’s spastic owl, Pigwidgeon, swooped and twittered around Katie’s head, absolutely refusing to give Ron his letter until he was absolutely the center of attention. Pig was completely useless and a total menace; Katie adored him. She grinned to herself as Ron berated his owl, while continually feeding him Owl Treats.

Her weekly owls from Angelina and Alicia arrived. They’d both been diligent about that, and Katie had been diligent about writing back…at least since the day they had sent 23 howlers as a gentle reminder. Not expecting anything else, Katie choked on her pumpkin juice as a snowy owl dropped a silver envelope in her lap. She turned it over in her fingers…it might have been from the Harpies. Of course, it might also have been a ‘You May Have Already Won a Winged Horse’ sweepstakes entry. Even if it was from the Harpies, it wasn’t necessarily an invitation to closed tryouts, she told herself firmly. Sometimes they just sent form letters to members of the house teams.

“Uh, Katie,” Harry said, a little nervously. “Do you want to do something about this?”

Katie looked up. Marcus’ overgrown owl was perched in front of her, glaring. She stared at the envelope gripped in its talons. What did he want?

She’d seen him a few times since ‘the incident’. Outside the Great Hall after dinner, or walking beside her as she did her Prefect’s rounds, or ducking and weaving around her as she was out for a broom ride. Absurdly banal questions about NEWTs or slights against her Quidditch team were the only conversation; a hand on her shoulder, his hip slamming into her as they flew, or a grabbed wrist the only contact. Katie had done her best to keep herself quiet and aloof and most of all absent on these occasions. She didn’t think he had any idea how close he was to getting hexed.

The last time had been on the Quidditch pitch last week, when Katie was taking a solitary broom ride. All of a sudden he had been there, suspended in mid-air next to her. Katie had wheeled her broom around and flown, trying to ignore him. He had pursued, at first just flying alongside and then trying to strip an imaginary quaffle from her arms. He had started to bump into her harder, cursing and muttering as she elbowed him. When she’d tried to land, he had forced her to abort, swooping underneath her, almost causing a collision. Finally, she had leaned forward, cheek against her broom handle, and had flown as fast as she could back to the school. She could feel him pursuing her and didn’t stop until she reached the Tower. Once she got there, she risked a glance behind her but there was no one in sight. Maybe she had imagined that he come after her at all.

Katie stared blankly at the gargantuan bird, mind racing. What could Marcus possibly have to say to her now? Maybe he’d written out everything he thought about her so she would have a handy pocket guide of her failures. No, it probably said something like ‘Hey, Bell…I still like absolutely nothing about you. Just thought you’d want to know. Flint’. She didn’t want to read it. She had been fine.

“Take it back,” she said, to the owl. “Return to sender. Big guy, bad teeth and unpleasant disposition?” The huge bird’s black eyes just stared at her. She grabbed the envelope from its talons, and then gave it back. It remained impassive. Blast. Even his owl was impossible. When she rose and left the table, it flew after her. Perfect. This was going to make Quidditch practice a tad awkward.

Pig dashed out after them, clearly wanting to play. Katie swore softly. She was sure Marcus’ owl would be more than happy to play too…only the game would be ‘Food Chain.’ Katie carefully trapped Pig in her cupped hands, and took him back to Ron, who reddened. When Katie left the great hall, bird behemoth trailing behind her, Pig was careening around inside Ron’s robes, hooting happily.

This was demented. Speeding up, turning, shouting and heaving bread rolls smuggled out of the Great Hall-nothing had any effect. She felt like some brainless bimbo in a fairy tale; any second and she would be singing a duet with a woodland creature. Katie smiled politely at the passing students, who were looking at her curiously. Feigned nonchalance probably wasn’t very effective with an ostrich following you around. There was no way she could ever feel any more idiotic than she did right now.

How could she get rid of it? What kind of hexes would be effective but not too damaging? Katie really didn’t want an owl-avenging Marcus showing up here, shouting about her molesting his familiar.

Water. Birds hated water, right? Katie ducked into the girl’s bathroom, darting into a shower stall angling the showerhead behind her and spelling the water on full blast. Katie smiled at the annoyed squawk, as the owl darted out of the stall. Yes! Sure, she was slightly damp but she had struck a blow for mammals everywhere. She turned off the water and sauntered out of the stall.

The owl was waiting. It immediately flew to follow her. Owl 2, Katie 0.

OK…what were her options? She could stay in the bathroom; eventually, it would give up. As stimulating as Katie’s company was, it probably couldn’t compare to snacking on field mouse innards. Who would want to hang out in a loo all day? Hey, maybe this had been how Moaning Myrtle had started out! Circe. Katie was leaving now.

She felt a sharp tugging on the back of her head, and turned to look. The owl had entwined some of her hair around its talons, making fleeing an impossibility. As Katie left the bathroom, the feathered felon flew directly above her, causing some of Katie’s hair to be pulled toward the ceiling.

OK, she had been wrong. She felt more idiotic now.

Hagrid! Hagrid was great with animals. She’d just run down to his cottage and see if he had any suggestions. If Hagrid couldn’t come up with anything to get rid of the FlintFowl, maybe Fang, fine fellow that he was, would eat it. She quickly moved down the hallway towards the entrance hall.

“Miss Bell.” Blast.

Katie turned and smiled as innocently as possible at Professor Snape. He coolly surveyed her, eyes narrowing a bit as he examined the owl. She knew he was going to take points, but what reason could he possibly use? Interfering with the mails? Excessive and distracting personal ornamentation? That’s what they had used to ban Parvati’s singing barrettes. Did owls violate the dress code?

“I know this seems strange…” Katie said, her voice trailing off. Snape’s eyes glittered in amusement. Or possibly malice. The owl settled on a sconce and peered at both of them.

“Miss Bell, the most remarkable facet of this situation is how unsurprising I find it to be,” he said coldly. “Explain.”

“There is an owl tangled in my hair.” Simple. To the point. Elegant, really.

“Explain, not describe, Miss Bell.”

“I’m sorry, Professor. The owl’s motivation is shrouded in darkness.” She opened her eyes as widely as possible, and bit the inside of her cheeks trying not to laugh. This technique always caused Snape cognitive dissonance; he could either accuse her of having the brain of a puffskein or of being incredibly disrespectful. As those were both pet theories of his, it pained him to have to choose.

Snape stared back at her, black eyes glittering. “I believe the owl’s rationale is clear. It has a letter to deliver. It is your motivations that are somewhat inscrutable. I hypothesize that this is just a colorless girl’s rather sophomoric attempt to attract attention. The fact that your clothes appear to be wet is somewhat puzzling, but I will not inquire.”

Screw him. Screw Flint, too.

“You’ve caught me out, sir. I thought it would impress my peers if I had minions,” Katie said sunnily, gesturing at the owl. “The hunchback will arrive on Monday.”

“Take the letter, Miss Bell,” Snape snapped, eyes narrowed. “Then Mr. Flint’s owl may be on its way. I would not want him to use his owl’s absence as a pretext for a visit.” His voice clearly suggested that had been what Katie was planning. She reached up and angrily snatched the letter away. Both beady-eyed, hook-nosed sadists continued to stare at her. “Open it, Miss Bell,” Snape ordered. “I think the courier would be reassured if he saw evidence that you actually understood the process.”

Katie ripped open the letter. Odd. It was a list of the open try-out times and locations for all the British Quidditch teams. With a derisive hoot, the owl finally flew away, taking a few strands of Katie’s hair with it. Off to harass Sinbad, no doubt. She turned back to Snape, glaring.

“Twenty five points from Gryffindor, Miss Bell, for being too impressed with your own cleverness,” Snape said, icily. “However, the recommendation letters I have written for your post-Hogwarts applications will remain unaltered.” He shook his head in a way that Katie would have interpreted as disappointment in anyone else. “You are dismissed, Miss Bell.”

“Yes, sir.” Feeling oddly chastened, Katie retreated back down the hallway. Biting her lip, she ducked into an empty classroom and took a longer look at Marcus’ letter. The first page was just the times of the try-outs…which wasn’t really that helpful seeing as The Daily Prophet published it about every two weeks. It was probably just Marcus’ oblique jibe about no teams being interested in Katie. A little out of character for him to be oblique about anything though…Marcus was usually all too happy to be blunt.

Katie frowned as she read over the other pages. Detailed lists of the teams, broken into several categories-analyses of the scouts, the coaches and the management, the types of players each team was looking for (the entry for the Falcons said: Big, mean, brilliant and devastatingly sexy), recent trades. Even what kind of drills each team liked to use to test potential players. Katie snorted as she read the last page-‘Susceptibility to Bribes and Blackmail.’ Ew. Note to self: Never leave broom unattended in Ballycastle’s change room.

Where had Marcus gotten his hands on this? Why would he send it to her? Probably so that when she still didn’t make a team, it would be even more humiliating. No, Katie corrected herself, that wasn’t it. Marcus could be a colossal jerk but his nastiness usually wasn’t choreographed. It must be guilt or possibly pity.

She didn’t need his help. She didn’t need him. It would be really nice if someone would occasionally listen to a single thing she said.

A tap of her wand and a whispered Confettini, and the letter exploded into a million iridescent pieces, all corkscrewing off in different directions. That was taken care of.

What else was on her to-do list? Deciding on her future, studying for NEWTs, figuring out how to tell her father that she wouldn’t be working in his lab or living in his house this summer (probably after having to gently remind him who she was), then figuring out how she was going to handle that independence financially, and owling Ang and Ali. That last one sounded OK. The others she would figure out…later.

Katie headed into the library, picking a table that was in a quiet section, yet near enough some troublemakers that she wouldn’t be Pince’s most likely suspect. Just in case inspiration struck. She pulled out two pieces of parchment and her charmed Duo-Quill from her bag, carefully tucking the unopened silver envelope back in. Maybe she’d open that one after her first NEWT, as a reward. Now it was time to write the next installment of ‘Katie Bell’s Life at Hogwarts-The Complete and Unvarnished Truth.’ As she wrote with one quill, the other copied her words on the second piece of parchment.

Dear Ang and Ali, Big news at Hogwarts! This week, the wizarding romance novelist Passionata Puffskein was revealed to be none other than our own beloved Professor Snape. While we were initially surprised by this, on reflection it seems obvious that our dear professor is the mastermind behind the torrid trilogy, But She’s a Werewolf!, She’s Also a Vampire! and Oh Well, At Least She’s Not a Gryffindor. For his next passionate love story, Professor Snape claims that he is trying for a slightly more sophisticated feel but with all the love, lust, and laughs of his first three books. Word on the street is that the tentative title for this new novel is Roasting Harry Potter on a Spit.

Katie paused for a second. That owl incident this morning was the first thing that had actually happened this year that was funny or interesting enough to put in an owl. She hadn’t really shared all the relevant backstory with Ang and Ali though…like the fact that she had even spoken to Marcus since his graduation from Hogwarts. Back to fantasy then.

Love is in the air at Hogwarts! Mandy Brocklehurst bared her soul to our own Dean Thomas, claiming that he was a god who walked as a man, that she had always adored him, and that he was infinitely shaggable. Dean immediately claimed that he had always adored her too, and provided her with a detailed list of her many sublime qualities -as is mandated by the Law of Narrative Expectation, except, of course, if the witch is unattractive. We wish them happy and harmonious co-ownership of children and pets in the future.

Does the Pumpkin Mafia have undue influence at Hogwarts? The plaintive cries have echoed off the walls of the Great Hall for years-‘why can’t we have just have some orange jui-‘

“Miss Bell.” Katie jumped. Professor McGonagall was standing by her table. This didn’t bode well.

“Yes, Professor?” It was surprisingly hard to look innocent when you weren’t sure what you supposed to be guilty of. Maybe that’s why so many Slytherins looked confused.

“I need to speak with you in regards to your career counseling appointment,” McGonagall informed her, brusquely. “You only put down two possible professions on your form. You’re required to have at least three.”

“I put down three,” Katie protested, widening her eyes in a semblance of innocence. Please. Katie was certain McGonagall hadn’t made Ali or Ang list three. Apparently she felt little Katie needed all the help she could get.

“’Unicorn’ isn’t a profession, Miss Bell, as I’m sure you’re aware. Professional Quidditch is clearly a chancy proposition for anyone. With your OWLs and Hogwarts’ reports, I think St. Mungo’s MediMagic School will almost certainly accept you…but mediwitchery is a highly competitive field as well. It is my responsibility to ensure that you receive the most efficacious counseling possible. Please pick a third profession that you feel is interesting, not unduly difficult, and easily attainable.” She thrust Katie’s form at her, and stood there calmly waiting.

Fine, then. Katie wrote Hogwarts’ Transfiguration professor on the bottom of her form and handed it back. Professor McGonagall read it and her lips tightened. Looked like Katie was going on a final farewell tour of detention. She almost looked forward to it.

To Katie’s surprise, Professor McGonagall smiled at her. Uh-oh.

“Miss Bell,” she said dryly. “Being a member of the faculty at Hogwarts is rewarding. However, while you’re an acceptable Transfiguration student, you are truly remarkable with Potions. Might I suggest you direct your ambitions to that area? Good day.” She turned and calmly left the library.

Alright, Katie grudgingly admitted…that had actually been pretty funny.

OK…back to the task at hand. Katie was debating between ‘Purpose of Quaffle explained to Gryffindor Quidditch Captain Harry Potter’ and ‘Peeves named as new DADA professor’, when Morag MacDougal entered the library with some friends. Katie tensed, and started gathering her things. No, she told herself firmly. It didn’t matter who Marcus spent time with; after all, Katie had reached her decision about him long before she’d heard about Morag. She was going to have to learn to deal with this sort of thing. Well, either that or permanently Silencio Lavender and her ilk.

In any case, Katie should be working on her magnum opus. Why bother wasting time on thoughts of Monotone MacDougal or the dread lord of the Falcons? Morag’s conversation wasn’t even worth eavesdropping on, unless you were passionately concerned about ‘wizarding unity’ and ridiculously credulous. Or if you were troubled by insomnia.

“I know I’ve always mocked that ball,” Morag said, sitting down at the table next to Katie’s, ”but last night was the greatest night of my life.”

The greatest night of her life was spent in a stuffy ballroom, eating murtlaps in puff paste while dressed like Glinda the Good Witch? Someone didn’t know how to play Quidditch, apparently.

“He’s just so sophisticated!” Morag said, giddily. “Charming conversationalist, divine dancer and magnificent manners.” Katie dropped her quill. Interesting. Morag had apparently decided to leave out ‘amazingly arrogant’, ‘hugely homicidal’ and ‘stupendously sullen.’ Maybe Morag was just delightfully deluded. Maybe Marcus was different with her. ’Divine Dancer’, though? Katie wasn’t an expert but she’d have sworn that Marcus would hex for less. “Antony Flint!” Morag went on, grinning. “I couldn’t believe how lucky I was.”

Antony?! Katie tried to slow her suddenly racing heart.

Well…that made Morag’s manners comment a little more believable, at least. Had Lavender been wrong? Maybe Marcus hadn’t been Morag’s escort...Oh, and maybe Marcus had laryngitis when he couldn’t come up with a single nice thing to say about Katie, her mind sneered. Maybe at this very moment, he was sitting in his flat writing a poem about her perfection. Maybe he wanted to ride broomstick by broomstick with her for the rest of their lives. Try not to be such a mewling little girl, Katie. It didn’t matter which Flint had been Morag’s escort. Whatever had gone on with Morag and Marcus, it was none of her business.

“Antony is just the perfect man,” Morag continued dreamily.

Idiotic comments like that were definitely Katie’s business, though.

Antony the perfect man? Only if vacant was the new valiant. He was a pleasant guy, no question. It had been sweet of him to ask Katie to dance at the Yule Ball, whatever his reason for doing it. However, to Katie’s mind, perfection required a little more in terms of synapses and sense of humor. To be fair though, she had derived much amusement from Antony’s habit of responding to anything he didn’t understand with a completely unrelated anecdote about his school days in France.

“I told him all about the paper I would be presenting, and my ideas about wizarding unity,” Morag was gushing. “Then, he told me so many fascinating things about Beauxbatons!” Katie had to bite down on her quill to keep from laughing.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mandy Brocklehurst laughed. “Best thing since hair-drying spells. The pinnacle of manhood.”

“Absolutely. Especially compared to my escort,” Morag sighed. “Mr. Terrible Teeth himself.”

Question answered.

Wait a minute, though. Mr. Terrible Teeth? Was she serious? Was she five? Katie felt sorry for Morag’s future dates-‘Ugly McMeanie’ and ‘Poopbrain’. Amateur. ‘Denti-Dementia’ or ‘Uncouth DeTooth’ or ‘Lord of the Liquid Diet’ would have been funnier, and those were just off the top of Katie’s head. Besides, his teeth were only about the twelfth most mockable thing about him. Ravenclaws.

“What I want to know is how you managed it?” Lisa Turpin drawled, flipping through the Daily Prophet. “You’re clever, I know, but Marcus must have noticed you swapping him out for his brother in the middle of a ball. He’s not that thick. So, how did you make the trade?” Probably in the exact same way people could manage to trade a galleon for a knut.

“All Antony’s doing,” Morag smiled. “He came over and rescued me. They had a brief discussion in French and Marcus slunk off to do whatever it is that trolls do.”

Even putting aside the absurd casting of Marcus Flint in the role of ‘Bitch Boy’, that was still about the most pathetic sentence ever. ‘To do whatever it is that trolls do?’ Try ‘engage in a border dispute with some billygoats’ or ‘investigate housing availability beneath the Tower Bridge.’ One thing was for sure, if Marcus ground Morag’s brains to make his bread, he would be going hungry. Why did people think this witch was clever?

“Your picture made the social page of the Prophet,” Lisa told Morag, shoving it toward her and snickering. “Will you be putting it into your scrapbook?”

“Please, my mother probably had it framed,” Morag replied, rolling her eyes. “Her finest moment.” All three witches laughed. Aw, a mother who was proud of her. What a difficult life Morag led.

The three witches continued to gossip and banter back and forth. Really. Didn’t they understand that this was a library? Katie had homework that she might have eventually gotten around to trying to do. People should be more considerate.

“There is entirely too much noise in this section!” Madam Pince had come barreling over. Finally. “The library is not a place for conversation.” Pince looked at Katie suspiciously; she’d never been a fan of Katie’s since the ‘Restricted Section Red Cap Rampage’ back in 4th year. Finally, Pince grudgingly decided that the three girls with no books open were the more likely culprits than the solitary Katie, and threw them out. Katie nodded her approval at Pince. Pince glared at her. Oh, well.

Morag and her minions had left the Daily Prophet on the table. A picture of a portly wizard nuzzling a lime green bird with a long tail caught Katie’s eye. Fudge Fondles Fwooper, the headline read. Katie reached over and grabbed it. She was just curious, that’s all.

The article detailed two possible theories for Fudge’s latest scandalous behaviour: 1. Fudge was a sick freak for whose carnal lusts species was no barrier. 2. Fwooper feathers were really soft, and Fudge was kind of an idiot. Interestingly enough, the Yule Ball ‘wedged in chafing dish’ snogging incident was used as supporting evidence for both theories.

Katie flipped to the Quidditch section, smiling as she found Angelina’s and Oliver’s names on the stats page. She might as well look at the social pages too. They were always mock-worthy. Katie snorted as she scanned the pictures of the deb ball. Vapid-looking witches clinging proudly to the arms of their ‘escorts.’ What were they so proud of? Didn’t these witches realize that the need for escorts implied that they were so dumb they needed a bloke to steer them?

There was a picture of Morgaine Montague revealing cheekbones that could cut you to ribbons, and eyes that suggested she’d like nothing better than to do just that. There was also a picture of Draco, his parents and Pansy. The Malfoys might have the ‘purest’ bloodlines in wizardry, but at least Pansy had pigmentation. Albino prats.

Miss Alicia Spinnet and Mr. Terence Higgs. Miss Alicia Spinnet and Mr. Markham Montague. Miss Alicia Spinnet and Mr. Roger Davies. In each picture, Alicia laughed and waved happily at Katie. Katie smiled. Alicia had always referred to the deb ball as ‘Wizarding Society’s Bloodstock Sale and Steeplechase.’ Alicia always got the joke.

The next photograph was the one Katie had tried to tell herself she wasn’t looking for. Morag looked uncomfortable, sidling to the edge of the photograph, and fidgeting. Marcus hardly moved, face grim and dark eyes intense. The grimness wasn’t all that surprising. The only thing Katie had ever seen him look at affectionately was his broom. His wizarding photographs were always pretty still, as well. Katie supposed he was always precisely where he wanted to be, so why move?

Any worries Katie had been harboring that Marcus might actually feel something for Morag were dispelled immediately by the photograph. He clearly felt nothing for her besides his default emotions of irritation and disdain. Whatever reason Marcus had for escorting Morag, it had nothing to do with feelings.

Nothing with Marcus had much to do with feelings, probably. Katie had wasted all that jealousy and angst on the likes of Diana Bletchley and Tansy Trudeau. They weren’t why Marcus didn’t want Katie. At least not the only reason.

Marcus had plans. There were people so ambitious and single-minded that others didn’t really even register in their sneak-o-scopes. It was good to have people like that in the world. People like that defeated tyrants and discovered things and cured diseases.

It was good to have people like that in the world. It just wasn’t good to care about them. Thank Merlin, Marcus hadn’t told her some lie. She’d have hung onto it and believed, and Katie had seen what happened to people who did that. He had really done her a kindness.

Besides, Katie had plans of her own. She pulled out the silver envelope, and yanked it open, forcing herself to read it.

Miss Katie Bell, The Holyhead Harpies would like to invite you to their closed try-outs at Hagshead Stadium on August 1st of this year…

Katie’s eyes slid shut. Thank you.