The Transfer

Disclaimer: the usual, not my stuff etc.

So, I am officially all over the board with this story. In the same 48 hour period in which I entertained the thought of deleting the whole thing, I also wrote about 3500 words on the back end. Chapter 17 I suppose. Or is it up to 18 now?

I guess anything I write here or at the end of a chapter should be taken with a grain of salt. I'm a knucklehead after all.

Anyway, on to the story—temper, temper Mr. DiFranco

Ch10 Decisions

Secret Society? Underground Army? The following Tuesday night as I sat in front of the fire strumming my guitar and debated between Fell on Black Days or Black Hole Sun, two songs that fit my mood, I pondered exactly what the Order was doing. Professor McGonagall hadn't been very forthcoming with information, giving the four of us just enough to answer our basic questions but not enough to satisfy our hunger for knowledge.

Harry, Hermione and Ron already knew of the Order's existence, but they listened intently, hoping to hear some new information as she lectured on who the members were and what they where doing against Voldemort. It was good to know that there was a more organized resistance to the Death Eaters than what the Ministry was providing.

Things hadn't been going well, at least not in the public eye. Earlier in the year, Professor McGonagall had come into a class to pull a student and tell them that a family member had been killed. Since then, it didn't seem like there was any good news in the Prophet. This wasn't helped by Ron asking Hermione every morning “Anyone we know?” as she opened the paper.

Personally, my mood was darkened by lack of communication. I had written Mom two nights prior and not received a reply from her, which worried me for a number of reasons. Mom was a good letter writer, she never missed a chance to correspond, and her lack of a reply told me something was wrong. But had Dad been fired, or had they been attacked?

Lack of communication also weighed down my relationship with Harry, Hermione and Ron. Harry had returned from his second lesson with Dumbledore without much to say on it. I suspect he pulled Ron and Hermione aside privately later and filled them in on whatever happened. It shouldn't have bothered me; they had all been through things together that I hadn't. They were closer with each other than I could have hoped to be, but after being let in on the Order of the Phoenix, I was hoping things would change.

Worse still, earlier in the day, during Herbology, as I sat alone in the Common Room finishing an essay for Professor McGonagall, Hermione asked Ron to Slughorn's recently announced Christmas Party.

She. Asked. Ron.

Harry, of course, had been invited too. I was on the outside, looking in.

So, arpeggiating the cords slowly, I sat by myself on a couch next to the fire and tried to put my mind on other things as Dennis Creevey shuffled up to me tentatively.

“Hey Vinny, how's things going?” he asked, as if he spoke to me every day.

“Not bad little Creevey,” I lied, not looking up from the guitar, “What's up?”

He chuckled to himself, either thinking `little Creevey' was funny, or wanting me to think he did. “Well, I was wondering, if you aren't too busy - cause if you are, I can ask someone else…”

“Spit it out Dennis.”

“Right, sorry. Um, I was just wondering if you could help me with my Arithmancy?” he said, holding out his textbook and a blank parchment.

I sighed. Dennis Creevey, who I hadn't spoken to since the first night of the term, wanted my help with homework.

Damn, why am I such a softie?

“Let's see what you've got here,” I said, taking his book from him and leading him to the last empty table in the room.

“Oh, thanks Vinny! I'm the only Gryffindor in my year taking Arithmancy! My brother says I'm mental to take it at all, but I know if Hermione can do it and you can do it--,”

He eventually shut up and we started in on his homework. It was pretty complicated stuff, actually. He was in fourth year, which was good because if he had been in fifth year, I might have had to ask Hermione to help me help him.

An hour later, with his essay written and an understanding of the fundamentals of Arithmancy taking root in his mind, Dennis stood up to depart for bed.

“Thanks, again Vin. Oh, can I call you Vin? I hear Ron and Harry calling you that all the time but I don't know if it's ok for me too as well. Anyway, I'm sorry I had to bother you with this, I usually ask Hermione for help but I couldn't find her tonight and - hey Hermione!”

He pointed over my shoulder to the couch where I was sitting earlier to reveal Hermione curled with her copy of The Standard Book of Spells Year Six.

She looked up at us, a heavenly smile painting her face. “All caught up then, Dennis?”

“Thanks to Vin here, I am!” he chirped in a sprightly voice. I turned to him and glared.

Have I said you could call me Vin, little man?

“Right, off to bed then. Thanks again, good night.” He took off up the stairs like he had just been swatted with a broom, leaving Hermione and I alone.

“I didn't see you come in,” I said coolly, her discussion with Ron in Herbology still weighing heavily on my mind, “Have you been there long?”

“Long enough,” she replied, rising and sitting next to me in the seat Creevey had just occupied. “That was very sweet of you to help him like that, Vinny.”

“Yeah well, gotta help out my fellow Gryffindor swot, right?”

She giggled, leaning close to me while placing her hand over mine on the table as a euphoric heat rose in me, Finally, were getting somewhere…

I turned toward her in my seat and put my arm around her, “You're making it hard to stay mad at you, you know.”

“Angry with me? Why are you angry with me?”

“Gee, I dunno,” I began sarcastically, pulling her closer, “Maybe asking Ron to the Christmas party might have something to do with it…”

She shrugged my arm off her shoulder and said, “Oh, please Vinny! Don't think twice about that. I only asked him so he would shut up about not being included in any of Slughorn's events. Besides, he turned me down flat; said he and Lavender already have plans that night.”

Somehow, that didn't make me feel any better.

“What if he had said yes, Hermione? You, Harry and Ron head off to Sluggy's party and the Yank sits up in the Common Room with his guitar for company?”

“Oh, I'm sure Parvati, or Ginny or any of a dozen of your admirers would keep you company!” she retorted, face getting red with anger.

I took a deep breath and stretched my arms out in front of me trying to calm down. Easy now, thirty seconds ago you were in the fast lane to make-out-ville.

“But Hermione, I,” I pointed at myself, “want to go,” I walked two fingers across my palm, “with you!” I pointed at her.

“Well you have a strange way of showing it!” she cried, just a level below a shout. “I tried to get you to come and say something to Slughorn at Honeydukes, anything at all! But you just glared at the back of his head like you didn't care!”

“Are you insane? Do you know how hard I busted my ass in his stupid class!?” Fuck this, you wanna argue, let's argue. “I don't give a God damn about Slughorn or his opinion of me, or any of that crap! I did it all to be with you.” I tried to sweeten my tone on that last sentence, but somehow, I don't think I had the desired affect.

“Oh, please! If you really wanted to go with me you would have said something to him at Honeydukes! You would use every opportunity!” her face twisted as her eyes glistened with unshed tears, “I wish Ron had said yes to me, at least then I wouldn't have to go stag, like I've had to for every other party Slughorn has thrown!”

I could feel my heartbeat in my temples, my fingertips, everywhere, I was so fucking angry.

“Ya know, you may be the smartest witch of your age, but you're still a witch, a typical woman. Absolutely fucking insane!”

And then, I could tell that Hermione was hearing her heartbeat in her ears, the same as I was. Unlike me though, she had the good sense to simply turn on her heal and run from the room, not saying something hurtful and making things worse.

The next morning we said nothing to each other during breakfast or Ancient Runes. Ron and Harry noticed something was wrong, but neither of them seemed brave enough, or to care enough, to mention it. It wasn't until Charms in the afternoon that the silence was finally broken.

“Now class,' began Professor Flitwick, perched somewhat perilously on a stack of book so we could all see him, “Today we are going to be learning the Shadow Charm; observe.” The classroom had been arranged into tables with a lantern and five chairs at each. Flitwick held an identical lantern in his hand and waved his wand at it slowly. A small bubble of darkness appeared over the flame, causing it to dim and then disappear all together. He pulled his wand away and the flame retuned to full strength. “The incantation is here,” he motioned to the board behind him, “but I would like you all to perform the charm silently, if you could. This charm is usually tested during N.E.W.T. examinations, though you'll have something much more difficult to diminish than an oil lamp. Oh, and if you can all manage to darken your lamps, so there is no light in the in the classroom, I'll refrain from assigning homework!”

There was a murmur of approval as everyone started trying to dim the flames at the center of their table. Hermione went first in our grouping of Ron, Harry, herself, Neville and I. The fire in the lamp dimmed slightly, her wand shaking as she concentrated her full strength on it. Harry went next with nearly the same result. Ron and Neville got nothing but purple in the face. Now it was my turn, and I had done this charm before.

“Should I do everyone's so we can have a night off from Charms homework?” I asked the four of them, leveling my wand at the lantern. Ron smiled approvingly, Hermione crossed her arms and tried to ignore me. A small bubble appeared, snuffing out the flame. Perfectly round and black as pitch.

“Well done Mr. DiFranco,” squeaked Flitwick as he toured the classroom, coming to our table with perfect timing. “Ten points to Gryffindor for mastery of yet another difficult charm!” He scampered off to the next table, as Hermione made her second attempt.

“Let's see,” I said venomously to Hermione, “that's seventy five points awarded so far this year, which puts me in the lead, as you had sixty—,”

“Sixty eight,” she said curtly, “I think you'll find if you subtract the twenty points docked by Professor Slughorn,” she emphasized his name, “for damaging lab equipment, that I am still securely in the lead.”

I stood up, wondering if steam might be coming out of my ears and pointed my wand from lantern to lantern atop each table, until the only light in the room came from the window at the pinnacle of the wall where the two sides of the roof met.

“Should I do the window too, Professor?” I asked as I heard Seamus in the dark behind me whisper, “No homework, well done Vin!”

“Yes, yes, Mr. DiFranco, well done, but I think your classmates need a chance to practice, if you don't mind.” Flitwick undid the charms to all the lamps and shot me an annoyed look. I sat back down and crossed my arms as the others practiced.

Twenty minutes later, Harry and Hermione could snuff the flame completely while Neville could get the bubble to take shape, though the flame was still visible through it.

“Have you done this charm before today?” he asked.

Always the perceptive one, Neville.

“Yeah, I used to cast it over the eyes of the nerdy, know-it-all kids at my school before I pushed them down and took their lunch money,” I said, staring at Hermione.

“Oh, very mature,” she huffed, turning to Ron who still hadn't managed to get the bubble to form. He was casting correctly, it was a willpower problem. A small spark of darkness came from the tip of his wand, but he couldn't get any control of it to place it over the flame.

“No, no, Ron. Your not moving your wand properly, here--,” she reached to take his arm and he jerked away from her.

“Oh, leave him alone Hermione,” I moaned. “Not everyone can master a spell on their first attempt like you!”

“I never said--,” but she stopped short, her eyes wide with terror as she looked over my shoulder. Professor McGonagall stood at the threshold of the classroom, her normal, even-keel expression fixed to her face. Everyone fell silent and swiveled in his or her seat to look at her. Someone's family had been attacked, maybe killed; that was why she had interrupted the last class she appeared in, and that was why she was here now.

“Professor Flitwick,” she said without emotion as he ascended his podium and looked across the classroom at her, “I was wondering if I might have a word with Mr. DiFranco.”

My insides went cold as all eyes turned to me. Somehow, I stood up, not gathering my books or waiting for Flitwick's response. As I started to turn towards McGonagall, I looked down at Hermione, her hands over her mouth in shock, eyes wide as saucers.

I know it should have been her comforting me, but for some reason, I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder whispering, “It'll be alright,” with a squeeze as I turned and followed McGonagall out of the classroom.

Once past the threshold, the class erupted in murmurs and whispers and I heard Flitwick call out, “Now now! It is entirely too bright it here, let's get back to it!”

I had only managed a few steps when McGonagall spun around and said, “DiFranco, before you begin to think it, let me assure you that your parents have not been attacked or injured. They are in fact in the castle as we speak, waiting for us in the Headmaster's chamber to discuss you future here at Hogwarts.”

My head reeled as I tried to wrap my mind around all that she had just said, “My future at Hogwarts?”

“Yes, now if you'll follow me.”

I stumbled along behind her, wondering if Dad had been fired like Mom had been hinting or if maybe they had been attacked and just managed to get away unharmed. Dad is pretty handy with a wand, isn't he?

“Acid Pops,” said McGonagall, and the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmasters quarters leapt aside, revealing an escalator-like staircase that wound up to an oak door. She knocked hard and then pushed it open and I saw Professor Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, pouring two cups of coffee for the occupants of the high backed chairs in front of him.

“Ah, and here is young Mr. DiFranco now,” he said, smiling brightly from his oversized chair

“Vinny!” my mother cried, jumping from her seat and grabbing me in a crushing hug. My heart was still racing from when McGonagall had called my name in the classroom and seeing my mother and father for the first time in months - I put my arms around her and held her tight.

“What happened, why are you--,” I stuttered.

“Your parents have come to discuss the future of your education Vincenzo,” said Dumbledore, with a pleasant calmness in his eyes that slowed my heartbeat. “Things have changed dramatically with regards to your father's employment situation in the last twenty four hours, and you have a decision to make.”

“Please, Professor, you can just call me Vinny.”

“If I must,” he said with a happy reluctance, “Vincenzo rolls from the tongue so much more eloquently, though.”

I smiled at him and then turned to my father who was still sitting stiffly in the high-backed chair. He extended his hand, business-like as ever and said, “So how are things going for you here, Son?”

“I can assure you, Anthony,” said Dumbledore to my father before I could reply, “that Vincenzo - I apologize, Vinny, is making quite a name for himself here, isn't that correct Minerva?”

“Quite,” said Professor McGonagall from behind me, “He and another Gryffindor are currently the top students in my class. He is undoubtedly very talented.”

“Well, that's good to hear Albus,” said Dad, his chest puffing slightly in fatherly pride as I wondered when he and Professor Dumbledore had come to know each other on a first name basis. “What subject do you teach Professor McGonagall?”

“Transfiguration,” she said proudly, annunciating each syllable.

“Ah, well you always did have a talent for the ol' Presto Chango, didn't you Vin?”

I didn't look back at McGonnagal, but I was pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate having her Transfiguration referred to as the ol' Presto Chango.

“Yes, quite,” said Dumbledore, “Well, as you have probably guessed by now, your father is no longer the American Liaison to the Ministry, and your parents have secured a floo connection back to America, scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

My parent's faces went unchanged as he spoke, and I realized that this was it, I had a nice little run, but it was time to go home. After all, I was only here because of my father's job. Now that he no longer had any business in England, neither did I.

“Well then I had better get to my dorm and pack up my stuff, I guess,” I said, turning towards the door.

“Now, now, Vincenzo,” said Dumbledore with an air of amusement, “If this issue was as black and white as you seem to think it is, why would I have asked Professor McGonagall to bring you here and not to your four poster to get packing?”

I stopped mid step and looked back at the old wizard behind his desk. During the welcoming feast he had been far away at the head table or ministering from the podium, but now, a few feet from me in his throne-like chair, I got a good look at him. I hadn't seen him up close really, until that moment.

His eyes, covered by old-fashioned spectacles, had a glow about them that I head never seen before. Well, no, that wasn't true. I had seen it, but never in anything alive. It was like the barrier at platform nine and three quarters, or the haze that I had come to realize surrounded the whole castle. It was magic, deep inside of him, so that it was as much a part of him as his beard or his shriveled hand that he was now concealing beneath the table.

“I don't understand Professor, if they're leaving--,”

“Vinny, we've been talking about you staying here - while your father and I,” Mom choked on the words, “go back home. Just for the year, I mean. You'd be back with us the day the term finished!”

I took Mom's hand, trying to comfort her and looked at Dad, “You're ok with this?” I asked. I couldn't imagine him not taking issue with the arrangement. He had almost asked my Aunt in Modesto if I could move in with her for the year instead of going with them to London.

“I have assured your father that you will be under my personal protection for the remainder of the year,” said Dumbledore. “The school has been fortified so that it is one of the safest places in all of England. I have given them every guarantee of your safety.”

“The decision is yours Vinny,” said Dad “Just remember; if you decided to stay--what we talked about on the phone before you got on the train.”

I thought for a moment about going back home. Roselyn might be waiting for me; she said she would want to be with me if I came home. Then again, she had said she would wait for me to come back after the school year too.

My mind wandered over everything that had happened to me so far that year. Harry and Ron, my friends and housemates. Seamus, Neville, Dean and Ginny with their advice and camaraderie.

Hermione. We had been screaming at each other last night, but when McGonagall came into the classroom, it was all forgotten. The look on her face, the fear in her eyes. I didn't want to leave.

Besides, I still owed Malfoy a foot in the ass.

“I'll stay,” I said with as much determination as I could muster. Mom smiled weakly and wiped a tear from her eye. Dad nodded and then looked at Dumbledore.

“Then Professor McGonagall and I will leave you to say your farewells.” The oak door shut softly behind them and we were alone.

“Dad, what happened?” I said, trying not to sound accusatory.

He grunted, and said, “The British Ministry is a mess, Son. About a third of the members are either in league with Voldemort, or too scared to take any action against him.”

I put my hand to my forehead and leaned against Dumbledore's desk, Thank God for the Order of the Phoenix, I thought to myself.

“I wrote a bill to allow the use of American and French Aurors on British soil with the French Liaison, but during the debate on that bill, I was removed from my position by the new head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” He crossed his arms and stared at a spot on the floor, “Ever since Amelia Bones was killed, there's been no good from the Ministry. If not for Dumbledore's promise to keep you safe…” he trailed off shaking his head.

“Well, we shouldn't dwell on things like that,” said Mom, as brightly as she could. “Do you need anything from us Vinny? You still have enough money?”

“Yeah, I'm fine, Mom.”

“Alright then, we have to get back to the apartment and finish packing. God, we had just finished unpacking and now--,”she sighed and bent to collect her purse from the chair she was seated in when I came in.

“Why do you have to leave so soon?” I asked. Everything was happening so fast; they were dead, they were alive, they were leaving. “Couldn't you just take your time and we could spend Christmas here? I have break coming up in a couple months and--,”

“Sorry son,” said Dad, putting his hand on my shoulder, “Floo connections, especially international links too and from England, are getting hard to schedule these days. It's this damn war. The security protocol for anyone traveling from England is ridiculous. If we don't take this floo now, we'll be buying airplane tickets and shipping our household back on a cargo ship before we wait for the next one.”

“Alright,” I said, knowing better than to try and change my fathers mind. “I'll just hang out at school for break, then. I'm sure I won't be the only one here.”

I had said it to try and rationalize it for myself, not to make my parents feel guilty. Mom grabbed me and hugged me tight again though. I guess she realized I would be spending Christmas alone.

“Oh, Vinny, I'm sorry, Honey. Are you sure you don't want to come home with us?”

For a small moment, I hesitated answering, seeing myself cruising Laguna Beach behind the wheel of the Camaro my father had been hinting at for my joint present that year. My birthday was in January, so close to Christmas.

But I said, “No, I better stay.” I had learned a lot about the real magical world in the last few months and I wanted to learn more.

“Ok,” she said, kissing my cheek, and we opened the oak door, stepping out to meet the waiting Professors.

Next up—Temptation…