Fic: Hartley Rathaway and the Secret of the Rogues (3/?)
Title: Hartley Rathaway and the Secret of the Rogues
Author: runenklinge
Rating: PG-13
Warning: none
Summary: The Rogues plot something in a bar, there's a snowfight and a bedroom.
Previous Chapters: 1 and 2
The door opened and Roscoe entered the Three Broomsticks. To those who did not know him very well, he seemed every bit the calm prefect. To those who did, he looked utterly miserable, having just spent 3 hours sitting on a white chair with pink pillows, drinking sickeningly sweet tea out of far too delicate porcelain cups and being cooed at by Madam Puddifoot. Roscoe liked being recognized, being praised and receiving attention. He did not like being called “a fine young gentleman with his little girlfriend, oh, I could pinch these cute cheeks!” At least it had made Lisa happy, although he suspected that her primary joy had stemmed from showing him off to the other girls in the tea shop than from actually being in said teashop. When he had accompanied her to the hairdresser afterwards, she had worn that little accomplished smile that meant that she was incredibly pleased. It made her look eerily like Len, this “being incredibly pleased” expression was something that they shared, although on Len it looked more like a shit-eating grin. Speaking of the devil, there he was, right in front of him.
“Stop it!” Roscoe demanded and glared at Len and their group of friends. Most of them looked sympathetic, except for JJ who grinned at him. But since this seemed to be his default expression, Roscoe didn't mind it too much.
“Here's your regular order,” Sam said and pushed a pint over to him. That lifted his mood.
Mark took a sip from his Elderflower wine, “When shall we all meet again? In thunder, lightning or in rain?” he announced and then giggled.
“Shakespeare? I think he's had enough.” Roscoe looked at them accusingly. Could it really be that hard to not get drunk before planning a project?
“Actually, that's his first. And the glass is still half full,” JJ pointed out and resumed placing spells on his small army of cocktail umbrellas that he had gotten from Madam Rosmerta. They floated about an inch over the table and he seemed extremely proud out of himself. The other pubs wouldn't serve alcohol to students - or even let them inside - but they had connections. Well, they had Digger who had grown onto Madam Rosmerta like a fungus. Mainly because Digger always smuggled a few bottles of some exotic beverages out of Australia during his summer holidays.
“Did we get everything?” Roscoe asked after his first refreshing sip of pomegranate juice. Except for JJ, Mark and him, everyone had gotten a pint of butterbeer which were almost mostly empty. JJ had opted for exploding lemonade topped off with cherry sirup. It was sugary, sparkled and was likely to injure anyone who drank it, so of course JJ loved it. Mick fished a small pouch out of a box with the Honeydukes label. “Pure fireimp essence,” he said and held up the pouch which was ever so slightly glowing red.
“Allen's usual parchment order and preferred envelope brand, weaseled out of the clerk at the post office,” Mark said, slid over a big, thick envelope and giggled again.
“I assume the clerk is female,” Roscoe guessed. Mark blushed, emptied his glass and sighed. Definitely female.
Sam pulled a small green envelope from his pocket. “Al says hi and sent us the instructions for the potion.”
Digger raised his pint. “To Al!”
“To Al,” they echoed and clinked their glasses together.
“The finest of his generation,” Roscoe began somberly, “barely escaped the clutches of school, a brilliant young mind, a true genius at potions, and what does the idiot do? Trains to be a teacher.”
“Alas, poor Al, I knew him.”
Len cuffed Mark on the back of the head. “No more Shakespeare.” He placed an inkwell on the table. “I stopped at Zonko's for the disappearing ink. I believe this is it, gentleman, we have only one week until the holidays, and the potions needs three days to brew. Let's get prefect Allen an early Christmas present.”
“What did he actually do this time? Not that we usually need a better reason than he's an arse, because he is, but we normally need a special reason for something this elaborate,” Digger asked, looked into his empty pint and waved over at Madam Rosmerta for a refill.
“He was a dick about stuff,” Len replied, and although he didn't say more, he had said everything. If the issue was enough to piss off Len so that he would go to such lengths to get revenge, it had to be a family thing. Which meant that it concerned either his blood family, meaning Lisa or their scumbag of a father, or it concerned them. And it had been bad. Furthermore, he wouldn't really talk about it, so it was very bad. So that was enough for them.
It was going to be their last big prank before the holidays and they wanted to make it count.
After his last Herbology class, Piper somehow got involved into a snowball fight of epic proportions. He couldn't explain how, exactly. What he had planned was to go to the Great Hall for lunch. What he did do was hide behind an incredibly impressive snow wall and throw snowballs at blurs. James had crossed his way, smiled and before he knew what had happened, Piper had ended up on Team “Chocolate” fighting the Team “Strawberry” - apparently a debate about Neapolitan style ice cream had escalated to the point of violence and warfare. Half an hour into the fight he still wasn't sure if this was about the best or the worst kind of ice cream. Also, there had been a Team “Vanilla”, but it consisted only of that Australian guy and he had opted very quickly to join their team. Snowballs weren't the only things hurled - apparently insults and at one point spells were deemed acceptable. Piper got hit in the head, the chest and even in the back - damn cowards.
They were eventually defeated by the other team storming their snow fort - they were pelted by a flood of snow balls and his face was rubbed into a puddle of dirty, icy water. By the looks of it, his team mates weren't in a better position. Poor Mark got someone stick snow up his jacket, and god, what was the name of the Australian guy, had some stuffed down his pants. James just looked like he got turned into a snowman. Piper looked up to see Len Snart throw a snowball up like it was a baseball and grin in a way that was both very happy and still threatening.
“Now will you agree that Strawberry is the flavor to be left for last?”
“Hell no, you eat it first so it's out of the way, and so you can enjoy chocolate,” Mark said while trying to get the snow from under his jacket before it melted.
“Wait, that's what this is about?” Sam asked, “I thought this was about savoring chocolate for the end because it's the best?”
Piper put 2 and 2 together.
“You had this, “he gestured at the snow forts, an ice sculpture in the middle and the rest of their battlefield, “war because you agree that you like chocolate best?”
He could see the gears inside the brains of the ...soldiers, friends, crazy guys.... turning.
“Ummm....yes?” Mick said in a way that a student gives an answer of which he isn't sure if it's right but still hopes it is.
“You're idiots!” Piper yelled, “I'm wet, cold and I'm pretty sure that you, “he pointed accusingly at Roscoe, “hexed my hair red!”
Like the snowflake that starts the blizzard, it lead the way to a fight, this time with less ice and more punches. Various variations of “it's your fault” were hurled around, along with kicks and insults.
Eventually, Piper decided to be smart and slowly inched away from the fight until he could watch it from afar. Sighing, he plunked down on a small stone wall and pulled off his completely soaked through cap.
“Hey there!”
And he almost fell down again. A familiar blond head had poked up from behind the wall and smiled at him.
“James! You... you startled me. How did you get here?”
“I've been hiding here for five minutes, wondering when you'd come around.”
They sat in silence, watching the fight turn into lazy punches which turned into staring because the participants were too exhausted for anything more.
“Did we really just have this,” he said in lack for a more appropriate word, “because of ice cream?”
“Len takes ice cream very seriously.”
“Huh.”
For a few minutes Piper pretended he wasn't sneaking glances of James out of the corner of his eyes, watch him swing his legs back and forth and find him utterly handsome.
“I think it's over,” James announced and hopped off the wall. Piper followed him less gracefully.
They joined the group who trotted back towards the castle. When they reached the stairs and Piper was about to say goodbye (or hopefully a version that sounded less final) James had already joined him and the stairs had just moved.
“I thought the Slytherin common room was in the dungeon.”
“And I think you just answered the follow-up question of why I wouldn't want to go down there right now.”
“Is it as uninviting as they say?” God, he hoped that didn't come off as rude.
“You have to be more specific, I have heard things about the room that you wouldn't believe.”
They walked up and with each passing step, Piper's heart bounced. Or flew. The direct vicinity of James still made him a horrible poet.
“Can it top a secret passageway underneath the lake?”
“The one that leads to the submarine or the one that leads to Salazar Slytherin's gold treasure?”
“What's a submarine?”
“I'll tell you later,” James answered and grinned, “now let me think. According to rumors, we have a torture chamber, a pool filled with blood, zombies and Professor Snape's pet snake.”
“Does Snape have a pet?”
“Oh please, as if he was capable of keeping anything alive, he probably can make cacti die within just two days.”
“He sure can let dreams and hopes wither and pass away.”
“You have no idea.”
Piper turned to look at him. “I thought he was generous with you Slytherins,” at least he had had the impression during his potions classes.
“In public, yes; but when no one's around, he's tough on us. Have you ever seen a Slytherin who was bad at potions? I mean, really think about it.”
Absen-mindedly Piper waved at the ghost of the Grey Lady as she passed them by and through the wall. Usually he had better things to do during potions, and Slytherins were never pointed out as bad examples, but...
“No, not really.”
“Snape's doing. We don't dare to fail.” Then he sneezed. “Geez, remind me not to pick epic battles unless it's summer, I'm freezing.”
“Duly noted.”
They had reached the door to the Ravenclaw common room. “Say my name and I disappear. Who am I?”
“A fellow with a name which doubles as an insult and who gets easily offended?”
“James!”
“What? It could be true.”
“Silence, the answer is Silence,” he said, hoping the knob would recognize James' answer as the stupid joke it was. The door opened, Piper breathed a sigh of relief and they entered.
“Wow, this is nice!”
Piper remembered how he felt on the first evening - then sun had gone down then so the high windows only showed night, but the room itself had been illuminated by candles. The best thing was of course the ceiling - painted with stars, to look like the sky. Bookcases lined the walls, tables and chairs were distributed everywhere for the students so they could study, do homework or play games. Not surprisingly, a lot of chess sets were set up. Piper had been forced by his parents to learn chess, and they had given him a set, but he had used it exactly once in a game against an older student who had only wanted to be nice to him: the pieces - sounding remarkably like his father - had insulted the girl's tactics, looks and upbringing, so Piper had stuffed them inside their box and locked it shut. He had of course apologized profusely, but she never asked him to play chess again.
James walked in a small circle, eyes fixed on the ceiling and the twinkling stars, until Piper grabbed his elbow to keep him from walking into an impressive tower of books.
“Do you guys actually use these for studying or is this a book-fort in progress?”
“That one? Studying. Fort Minerva fell just after Halloween when Professor Flitwick made an appearance.”
James looked at him and for a second, it was as if time had stopped. James' eyes were so blue - not that Piper hadn't noticed, of course he had - and Piper forgot to breathe.
“You're not kidding,” James said eventually. It wasn't a question, or a suspicion, it was a fact.
“How do you know?” Piper wanted to know.
“There are no secrets that can be kept from me. I just...I can see when people lie. They look different when they do. But not you, you mean it,” James cocked his head and smiled, “I like that.”
Piper's heart skipped a beat. Desperately he wanted to reply, to say “yes”, or “I like you” or just something that was cool and not horribly cliched, but no words came. Piper felt like he was under a spell, but that was over just a moment later.
“A book fort? Really? Aren't you Ravenclaws too sophisticated and mature for that?”
“Are you kidding? The house that panicks over a lost quill or when the essay is a roll short?”
“I'm just kidding, my friends Mark and Sam are Ravenclaws, and I know they're on the opposite end of mature as well as sophisticated.”
“That is so true,” Piper remarked. James grinned at him.
Only then did Piper realize that they were both drenched, dirty and beginning to shiver. “Let's go to the bed room, I'll get you a towel.” He really, really hoped no one else would be in there.
James bounded up the stairs and went inside the bedroom for the 6th graders. Hartley's heart jumped in his chest and he was to pre-occupied with a thought loop of “James in my bedroom” to ask himself how James knew where his bedroom was. Smiling, Hartley followed him. The Ravenclaw bedrooms were a sight to behold - tall windows, high arches and the ceiling was painted with stars. And being magical, naturally they moved, displayed planet motions and highlighted star constellations. A fire roared in the fireplace, and the whole room was toasty, and to Hartley - especially in his wet, half-frozen state - it was heavenly. And to his immense delight, the room was empty except for them. The ceiling just switched to highlighting the constellation of Orion, when he heard a wet slap. And then another. It was James, stripping. Hartley's mind went blank for a little bit - this was a dream come true, but it was so soon, and he wasn't prepared, and not ready, and of course it was just James taking off his soaked clothes. When he was down to just a pair of jeans and an orange t-shirt - and no socks - Hartley cast a Leviosa and levitated the pile of clothes from the floor to the rack near the fireplace that had been installed for just that purpose.
“Is that one yours?” James pointed to one of the beds.
“Yes, it is, how did you know?”
Silently, James pointed to the flute case on the bedside table.
“Oh, okay.”
James hopped onto the bed. That did really weird things to Hartley's stomach. Hartley himself took off his jacket, scarf and cap, threw them on the rack and fished for his slippers under the bed. As he got up, he heard a strange noise, like really strong wind. James was sitting cross-legged and pointed his wand at his head. A warm blast of air burst out of it, and he was using it to dry his hair. It turned from a dark-blonde wet mess, to a mass of wild curls. He looked ridiculous and Hartley couldn't help laughing.
“What? Never seen someone so desperate for a blowdryer he spent two weeks in the library trying to find a spell that acted like one?”
“A what?
“Blowdryer. Great to dry your hair...and you can stick it up your shirt in the winter, it's awesome.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Don't you attend Muggle Studies?”
“We never cover so practical stuff, like 'what is this?' or 'what does that thing do?'; more like the judicial system of England, muggle history of Europe and all that.”
“I never thought being a pureblood had disadvantages.”
“Depends on where you are. In high society circles, you're being praised, but when it comes to practical things, you're just hopeless. I love it in Ravenclaw, but sometimes when people talk, it goes right over my head. My parents are big on the pureblood angle, you should have seen their faces when I told them I didn't land in Slytherin.”
“You should have seen the faces of the Slytherins when they realized my dad was a muggle and I grew up mostly like a muggle myself. I think some of them can't comprehend that a Slytherin can be not a Pureblood.”
“Do they, I mean, are they being mean to you? I mean, you're a Quidditch star, I can't really imagine it.”
James sat up straight. “Oh, they were. But they soon found out that I can take care of myself and I'm very creative when it comes to revenge. And then I found friends and they didn't dare to mess with me.”
“I wish I could have seen that, I bet it was brilliant.”
He grinned. “It was. And is. But shhhh, that's my little secret. I never got caught, and I intend to keep it that way.”
They talked more, mostly gossip and bemoaned the huge amount of homework they had gotten over the christmas vacation.
Hartley didn't even realize that time was just flying by. It got dark and when he looked up, suddenly it was after 8pm, and they had both missed dinner.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kept you, you must be hungry.”
“Starving, in fact,” James replied. Well, that wouldn't do.
“If you're not adverse to leftover candy from the last Hogsmeade trip, then-”
“I love candy! Do you have Charm Choc? That's my favorite!”
Hartley smiled and opened the drawer of his bedside table. He got a bag with the Honeydukes label and emptied it on the covers. Brightly wrapped candy spilled out, and James immediately grabbed a handful.
“What is that?” ha asked and pulled a little purple box of the pile.
“The music box, I had forgotten I put it in the bag. Should have warned you.”
“No, it's alright. Did you like it?”
“Yes, it's wonderful. Mozart's my favorite composer, did you know?”
“I'm afraid not, that's just the only name I recognized,” James answered and smiled sheepishly.
“I still love it.”
Oh crap. He almost hadn't said 'it'. That had been close.
“You're the biggest music fan I know.”
“Uh...thanks?”
“It's a compliment, hey, you should be honored. I think you almost drooled when you saw that one flute back at Maestro's.” Hartley thought back to their trip to the music shop and smiled fondly.
“Did I really look that...bad?”
“A little bit of enthusiasm is never wrong. And really, how big are your chances of ever getting the flute? I know I'd probably have to find the secret treasure of Salazar Slytherin if I wanted to get my hands on the Firebolt II. A pity that it doesn't actually exist. Although it's kind of a Slytherin sport to go looking for it at least once.”
“Oh, actually, my parents are kinda rich. I told them that I wanted the flute, and in exchange for keeping my grades up, I'll get it. The one thing to look forward to when I'm going home for christmas.”
“You're not close to your parents then?”
“No, not really. I'm in the wrong house, have the wrong hobbies, wrong talents, wrong friends.”
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up.”
“Don't be. I'm sure you'll have a lot more fun at home than I will, but I'll manage.”
“I doubt that,” Hartley wanted to say something, but James continued, “not like that. I'll have fun, tons of fun. But I'm not going home. None of us are.”
“What?”
“Me and my friends. We all stay.”
Hartley wanted to ask, but not be rude or insensitive. James wasn't going home? He was staying at Hogwarts, during christmas of all times?
He opened his mouth, but James grabbed his hands and he closed it again. James' eyes seemed to shine. “Let me tell you about the Rogues.”
Author: runenklinge
Rating: PG-13
Warning: none
Summary: The Rogues plot something in a bar, there's a snowfight and a bedroom.
Previous Chapters: 1 and 2
The door opened and Roscoe entered the Three Broomsticks. To those who did not know him very well, he seemed every bit the calm prefect. To those who did, he looked utterly miserable, having just spent 3 hours sitting on a white chair with pink pillows, drinking sickeningly sweet tea out of far too delicate porcelain cups and being cooed at by Madam Puddifoot. Roscoe liked being recognized, being praised and receiving attention. He did not like being called “a fine young gentleman with his little girlfriend, oh, I could pinch these cute cheeks!” At least it had made Lisa happy, although he suspected that her primary joy had stemmed from showing him off to the other girls in the tea shop than from actually being in said teashop. When he had accompanied her to the hairdresser afterwards, she had worn that little accomplished smile that meant that she was incredibly pleased. It made her look eerily like Len, this “being incredibly pleased” expression was something that they shared, although on Len it looked more like a shit-eating grin. Speaking of the devil, there he was, right in front of him.
“Stop it!” Roscoe demanded and glared at Len and their group of friends. Most of them looked sympathetic, except for JJ who grinned at him. But since this seemed to be his default expression, Roscoe didn't mind it too much.
“Here's your regular order,” Sam said and pushed a pint over to him. That lifted his mood.
Mark took a sip from his Elderflower wine, “When shall we all meet again? In thunder, lightning or in rain?” he announced and then giggled.
“Shakespeare? I think he's had enough.” Roscoe looked at them accusingly. Could it really be that hard to not get drunk before planning a project?
“Actually, that's his first. And the glass is still half full,” JJ pointed out and resumed placing spells on his small army of cocktail umbrellas that he had gotten from Madam Rosmerta. They floated about an inch over the table and he seemed extremely proud out of himself. The other pubs wouldn't serve alcohol to students - or even let them inside - but they had connections. Well, they had Digger who had grown onto Madam Rosmerta like a fungus. Mainly because Digger always smuggled a few bottles of some exotic beverages out of Australia during his summer holidays.
“Did we get everything?” Roscoe asked after his first refreshing sip of pomegranate juice. Except for JJ, Mark and him, everyone had gotten a pint of butterbeer which were almost mostly empty. JJ had opted for exploding lemonade topped off with cherry sirup. It was sugary, sparkled and was likely to injure anyone who drank it, so of course JJ loved it. Mick fished a small pouch out of a box with the Honeydukes label. “Pure fireimp essence,” he said and held up the pouch which was ever so slightly glowing red.
“Allen's usual parchment order and preferred envelope brand, weaseled out of the clerk at the post office,” Mark said, slid over a big, thick envelope and giggled again.
“I assume the clerk is female,” Roscoe guessed. Mark blushed, emptied his glass and sighed. Definitely female.
Sam pulled a small green envelope from his pocket. “Al says hi and sent us the instructions for the potion.”
Digger raised his pint. “To Al!”
“To Al,” they echoed and clinked their glasses together.
“The finest of his generation,” Roscoe began somberly, “barely escaped the clutches of school, a brilliant young mind, a true genius at potions, and what does the idiot do? Trains to be a teacher.”
“Alas, poor Al, I knew him.”
Len cuffed Mark on the back of the head. “No more Shakespeare.” He placed an inkwell on the table. “I stopped at Zonko's for the disappearing ink. I believe this is it, gentleman, we have only one week until the holidays, and the potions needs three days to brew. Let's get prefect Allen an early Christmas present.”
“What did he actually do this time? Not that we usually need a better reason than he's an arse, because he is, but we normally need a special reason for something this elaborate,” Digger asked, looked into his empty pint and waved over at Madam Rosmerta for a refill.
“He was a dick about stuff,” Len replied, and although he didn't say more, he had said everything. If the issue was enough to piss off Len so that he would go to such lengths to get revenge, it had to be a family thing. Which meant that it concerned either his blood family, meaning Lisa or their scumbag of a father, or it concerned them. And it had been bad. Furthermore, he wouldn't really talk about it, so it was very bad. So that was enough for them.
It was going to be their last big prank before the holidays and they wanted to make it count.
After his last Herbology class, Piper somehow got involved into a snowball fight of epic proportions. He couldn't explain how, exactly. What he had planned was to go to the Great Hall for lunch. What he did do was hide behind an incredibly impressive snow wall and throw snowballs at blurs. James had crossed his way, smiled and before he knew what had happened, Piper had ended up on Team “Chocolate” fighting the Team “Strawberry” - apparently a debate about Neapolitan style ice cream had escalated to the point of violence and warfare. Half an hour into the fight he still wasn't sure if this was about the best or the worst kind of ice cream. Also, there had been a Team “Vanilla”, but it consisted only of that Australian guy and he had opted very quickly to join their team. Snowballs weren't the only things hurled - apparently insults and at one point spells were deemed acceptable. Piper got hit in the head, the chest and even in the back - damn cowards.
They were eventually defeated by the other team storming their snow fort - they were pelted by a flood of snow balls and his face was rubbed into a puddle of dirty, icy water. By the looks of it, his team mates weren't in a better position. Poor Mark got someone stick snow up his jacket, and god, what was the name of the Australian guy, had some stuffed down his pants. James just looked like he got turned into a snowman. Piper looked up to see Len Snart throw a snowball up like it was a baseball and grin in a way that was both very happy and still threatening.
“Now will you agree that Strawberry is the flavor to be left for last?”
“Hell no, you eat it first so it's out of the way, and so you can enjoy chocolate,” Mark said while trying to get the snow from under his jacket before it melted.
“Wait, that's what this is about?” Sam asked, “I thought this was about savoring chocolate for the end because it's the best?”
Piper put 2 and 2 together.
“You had this, “he gestured at the snow forts, an ice sculpture in the middle and the rest of their battlefield, “war because you agree that you like chocolate best?”
He could see the gears inside the brains of the ...soldiers, friends, crazy guys.... turning.
“Ummm....yes?” Mick said in a way that a student gives an answer of which he isn't sure if it's right but still hopes it is.
“You're idiots!” Piper yelled, “I'm wet, cold and I'm pretty sure that you, “he pointed accusingly at Roscoe, “hexed my hair red!”
Like the snowflake that starts the blizzard, it lead the way to a fight, this time with less ice and more punches. Various variations of “it's your fault” were hurled around, along with kicks and insults.
Eventually, Piper decided to be smart and slowly inched away from the fight until he could watch it from afar. Sighing, he plunked down on a small stone wall and pulled off his completely soaked through cap.
“Hey there!”
And he almost fell down again. A familiar blond head had poked up from behind the wall and smiled at him.
“James! You... you startled me. How did you get here?”
“I've been hiding here for five minutes, wondering when you'd come around.”
They sat in silence, watching the fight turn into lazy punches which turned into staring because the participants were too exhausted for anything more.
“Did we really just have this,” he said in lack for a more appropriate word, “because of ice cream?”
“Len takes ice cream very seriously.”
“Huh.”
For a few minutes Piper pretended he wasn't sneaking glances of James out of the corner of his eyes, watch him swing his legs back and forth and find him utterly handsome.
“I think it's over,” James announced and hopped off the wall. Piper followed him less gracefully.
They joined the group who trotted back towards the castle. When they reached the stairs and Piper was about to say goodbye (or hopefully a version that sounded less final) James had already joined him and the stairs had just moved.
“I thought the Slytherin common room was in the dungeon.”
“And I think you just answered the follow-up question of why I wouldn't want to go down there right now.”
“Is it as uninviting as they say?” God, he hoped that didn't come off as rude.
“You have to be more specific, I have heard things about the room that you wouldn't believe.”
They walked up and with each passing step, Piper's heart bounced. Or flew. The direct vicinity of James still made him a horrible poet.
“Can it top a secret passageway underneath the lake?”
“The one that leads to the submarine or the one that leads to Salazar Slytherin's gold treasure?”
“What's a submarine?”
“I'll tell you later,” James answered and grinned, “now let me think. According to rumors, we have a torture chamber, a pool filled with blood, zombies and Professor Snape's pet snake.”
“Does Snape have a pet?”
“Oh please, as if he was capable of keeping anything alive, he probably can make cacti die within just two days.”
“He sure can let dreams and hopes wither and pass away.”
“You have no idea.”
Piper turned to look at him. “I thought he was generous with you Slytherins,” at least he had had the impression during his potions classes.
“In public, yes; but when no one's around, he's tough on us. Have you ever seen a Slytherin who was bad at potions? I mean, really think about it.”
Absen-mindedly Piper waved at the ghost of the Grey Lady as she passed them by and through the wall. Usually he had better things to do during potions, and Slytherins were never pointed out as bad examples, but...
“No, not really.”
“Snape's doing. We don't dare to fail.” Then he sneezed. “Geez, remind me not to pick epic battles unless it's summer, I'm freezing.”
“Duly noted.”
They had reached the door to the Ravenclaw common room. “Say my name and I disappear. Who am I?”
“A fellow with a name which doubles as an insult and who gets easily offended?”
“James!”
“What? It could be true.”
“Silence, the answer is Silence,” he said, hoping the knob would recognize James' answer as the stupid joke it was. The door opened, Piper breathed a sigh of relief and they entered.
“Wow, this is nice!”
Piper remembered how he felt on the first evening - then sun had gone down then so the high windows only showed night, but the room itself had been illuminated by candles. The best thing was of course the ceiling - painted with stars, to look like the sky. Bookcases lined the walls, tables and chairs were distributed everywhere for the students so they could study, do homework or play games. Not surprisingly, a lot of chess sets were set up. Piper had been forced by his parents to learn chess, and they had given him a set, but he had used it exactly once in a game against an older student who had only wanted to be nice to him: the pieces - sounding remarkably like his father - had insulted the girl's tactics, looks and upbringing, so Piper had stuffed them inside their box and locked it shut. He had of course apologized profusely, but she never asked him to play chess again.
James walked in a small circle, eyes fixed on the ceiling and the twinkling stars, until Piper grabbed his elbow to keep him from walking into an impressive tower of books.
“Do you guys actually use these for studying or is this a book-fort in progress?”
“That one? Studying. Fort Minerva fell just after Halloween when Professor Flitwick made an appearance.”
James looked at him and for a second, it was as if time had stopped. James' eyes were so blue - not that Piper hadn't noticed, of course he had - and Piper forgot to breathe.
“You're not kidding,” James said eventually. It wasn't a question, or a suspicion, it was a fact.
“How do you know?” Piper wanted to know.
“There are no secrets that can be kept from me. I just...I can see when people lie. They look different when they do. But not you, you mean it,” James cocked his head and smiled, “I like that.”
Piper's heart skipped a beat. Desperately he wanted to reply, to say “yes”, or “I like you” or just something that was cool and not horribly cliched, but no words came. Piper felt like he was under a spell, but that was over just a moment later.
“A book fort? Really? Aren't you Ravenclaws too sophisticated and mature for that?”
“Are you kidding? The house that panicks over a lost quill or when the essay is a roll short?”
“I'm just kidding, my friends Mark and Sam are Ravenclaws, and I know they're on the opposite end of mature as well as sophisticated.”
“That is so true,” Piper remarked. James grinned at him.
Only then did Piper realize that they were both drenched, dirty and beginning to shiver. “Let's go to the bed room, I'll get you a towel.” He really, really hoped no one else would be in there.
James bounded up the stairs and went inside the bedroom for the 6th graders. Hartley's heart jumped in his chest and he was to pre-occupied with a thought loop of “James in my bedroom” to ask himself how James knew where his bedroom was. Smiling, Hartley followed him. The Ravenclaw bedrooms were a sight to behold - tall windows, high arches and the ceiling was painted with stars. And being magical, naturally they moved, displayed planet motions and highlighted star constellations. A fire roared in the fireplace, and the whole room was toasty, and to Hartley - especially in his wet, half-frozen state - it was heavenly. And to his immense delight, the room was empty except for them. The ceiling just switched to highlighting the constellation of Orion, when he heard a wet slap. And then another. It was James, stripping. Hartley's mind went blank for a little bit - this was a dream come true, but it was so soon, and he wasn't prepared, and not ready, and of course it was just James taking off his soaked clothes. When he was down to just a pair of jeans and an orange t-shirt - and no socks - Hartley cast a Leviosa and levitated the pile of clothes from the floor to the rack near the fireplace that had been installed for just that purpose.
“Is that one yours?” James pointed to one of the beds.
“Yes, it is, how did you know?”
Silently, James pointed to the flute case on the bedside table.
“Oh, okay.”
James hopped onto the bed. That did really weird things to Hartley's stomach. Hartley himself took off his jacket, scarf and cap, threw them on the rack and fished for his slippers under the bed. As he got up, he heard a strange noise, like really strong wind. James was sitting cross-legged and pointed his wand at his head. A warm blast of air burst out of it, and he was using it to dry his hair. It turned from a dark-blonde wet mess, to a mass of wild curls. He looked ridiculous and Hartley couldn't help laughing.
“What? Never seen someone so desperate for a blowdryer he spent two weeks in the library trying to find a spell that acted like one?”
“A what?
“Blowdryer. Great to dry your hair...and you can stick it up your shirt in the winter, it's awesome.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Don't you attend Muggle Studies?”
“We never cover so practical stuff, like 'what is this?' or 'what does that thing do?'; more like the judicial system of England, muggle history of Europe and all that.”
“I never thought being a pureblood had disadvantages.”
“Depends on where you are. In high society circles, you're being praised, but when it comes to practical things, you're just hopeless. I love it in Ravenclaw, but sometimes when people talk, it goes right over my head. My parents are big on the pureblood angle, you should have seen their faces when I told them I didn't land in Slytherin.”
“You should have seen the faces of the Slytherins when they realized my dad was a muggle and I grew up mostly like a muggle myself. I think some of them can't comprehend that a Slytherin can be not a Pureblood.”
“Do they, I mean, are they being mean to you? I mean, you're a Quidditch star, I can't really imagine it.”
James sat up straight. “Oh, they were. But they soon found out that I can take care of myself and I'm very creative when it comes to revenge. And then I found friends and they didn't dare to mess with me.”
“I wish I could have seen that, I bet it was brilliant.”
He grinned. “It was. And is. But shhhh, that's my little secret. I never got caught, and I intend to keep it that way.”
They talked more, mostly gossip and bemoaned the huge amount of homework they had gotten over the christmas vacation.
Hartley didn't even realize that time was just flying by. It got dark and when he looked up, suddenly it was after 8pm, and they had both missed dinner.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kept you, you must be hungry.”
“Starving, in fact,” James replied. Well, that wouldn't do.
“If you're not adverse to leftover candy from the last Hogsmeade trip, then-”
“I love candy! Do you have Charm Choc? That's my favorite!”
Hartley smiled and opened the drawer of his bedside table. He got a bag with the Honeydukes label and emptied it on the covers. Brightly wrapped candy spilled out, and James immediately grabbed a handful.
“What is that?” ha asked and pulled a little purple box of the pile.
“The music box, I had forgotten I put it in the bag. Should have warned you.”
“No, it's alright. Did you like it?”
“Yes, it's wonderful. Mozart's my favorite composer, did you know?”
“I'm afraid not, that's just the only name I recognized,” James answered and smiled sheepishly.
“I still love it.”
Oh crap. He almost hadn't said 'it'. That had been close.
“You're the biggest music fan I know.”
“Uh...thanks?”
“It's a compliment, hey, you should be honored. I think you almost drooled when you saw that one flute back at Maestro's.” Hartley thought back to their trip to the music shop and smiled fondly.
“Did I really look that...bad?”
“A little bit of enthusiasm is never wrong. And really, how big are your chances of ever getting the flute? I know I'd probably have to find the secret treasure of Salazar Slytherin if I wanted to get my hands on the Firebolt II. A pity that it doesn't actually exist. Although it's kind of a Slytherin sport to go looking for it at least once.”
“Oh, actually, my parents are kinda rich. I told them that I wanted the flute, and in exchange for keeping my grades up, I'll get it. The one thing to look forward to when I'm going home for christmas.”
“You're not close to your parents then?”
“No, not really. I'm in the wrong house, have the wrong hobbies, wrong talents, wrong friends.”
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up.”
“Don't be. I'm sure you'll have a lot more fun at home than I will, but I'll manage.”
“I doubt that,” Hartley wanted to say something, but James continued, “not like that. I'll have fun, tons of fun. But I'm not going home. None of us are.”
“What?”
“Me and my friends. We all stay.”
Hartley wanted to ask, but not be rude or insensitive. James wasn't going home? He was staying at Hogwarts, during christmas of all times?
He opened his mouth, but James grabbed his hands and he closed it again. James' eyes seemed to shine. “Let me tell you about the Rogues.”