A/N: Sorry this took so long. I'm a university student with no personal computer and research essays to write. (Writing one right now in fact.) Hope I didn't mess it up too much, I was working on some changes and I'm not sure what to make of them. The good news is though, it's all part of my master plan.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never was. However, I lay claim to the "Second Generation" in this story.
*****
Chapter Two
By bedtime the storm had come in earnest and after a violently stormy night, we all woke to find that the light frost that had coated the grounds the day before was once more cold slush. And it did not change all weekend. The rain came again at noon, looking dangerously like razor sharp icicles pouring from the enchanted ceiling as Rigel and I sat watching some First Years play chess. I was never happier to be stuck indoors on a rainy day; just the thought of being out there then raised goose pimples on my flesh.
The wind howled horribly as it swept round the castle and through its grounds, on one occasion knocking over a Christmas tree set up in the open hall before the courtyard. The rain threatened to break through the roof, drumming incessantly on the ancient tiles before spilling noisily over the turrets to the ground below. And the light show with its ensuing thunder… it made me wish I was home again, safely covered in my own bed.
Where I was beginning to wonder whatever happened to Silencing Charms, and the strength of the ones controlling the castle's infrastructure though, Rigel had other concerns. Mainly, like trying to convince me to write a letter to my parents about spending Christmas with him and his grandmother at Malfoy Manor.
I didn't bother; I already knew what the response to that would have been. I could practically see their reactions now: while my mother would sit and carefully write out a detailed explanation as to why not, my father would simply say "No" and that would be the end of that.
Not to mention that I myself was not at all too keen on getting better acquainted with the woman who had done nothing to avert her husband's numerous attempts to prevent my existence before it was even a dream.
But he was not one to be easily dissuaded. "We'll have fun. The manor has hundreds of rooms, you can see some of my Dad's stuff, take it home to your father so he can get a laugh…."
"I don't think so," I replied, trying my best to look bored and uninterested.
"Grandmother would not mind you being there," he tried.
"You couldn't even tell her that you bought a gift for me," I told him.
He stopped a moment as if just remembering this and then took my hands over the table, held them palm up and smiled at me. I did not return it, but he kept smiling anyway and began to plead (which in his way came off more like "mildly command"), "Come on… you know you want to come…."
"No, I don't," I said, firmly.
He bent his head a little, seeking my eyes, but I wouldn't let him. Instead I turned my head away and stared at the display of three giant wreaths going up above the entrance doors. Apparently the house elves were really big on the Christmas cheer this year; I didn't remember anything like that last year. Then again, considering that I never spent break at school before, I might simply have never noticed.
The rain would slow to a heavy drizzle that would continue through the night and a Slytherin First Year would lose his third straight game for the day to his Hufflepuff opponent before Rigel gave up. Deciding that he would have far more success trying to improve the boy's technique, he took the place of his opponent as they started a fourth game. Every once in a while though, he would look away from his pieces to give me an encouraging, hopeful look… and every time he looked my way I ignored it. Unfortunately for him I'd already had a night to sleep on the knowledge that I would be stuck at school for the break and to steel my resolve to accept it.
But one time he looked up, his gaze went past me and his expression darkened, very much as it had momentarily done in Honeydukes. I turned to the doorway at once and was just in time to see Connor turning away and walking back out. And when I looked back to Rigel he quickly buried his nose in the game.
Something was definitely up with those two, that was obvious, but I couldn't quite bring myself to find out what. I would eventually anyway.
On Monday, the air outside threatened nosebleeds, and the ground was definitely bog. Finally though, there was the promise of snow. Large fluffy white-grey clouds were gathering along the horizon and a light mist and frost were coming down from the hills. I sat through History of Magic and Ancient Runes with my eyes to the window, watching for the slightest change in the weather that might bring the fall early. It didn't happen, but hoping that it would was far more interesting than both classes.
After lunch we had Potions, and as Aisling and I often partnered for that class, we walked down to the dungeons together. All the way she yawned, and all the way, I, ever being the helpful friend, jabbed her in the side. She was so tired that the resulting glares looked increasingly like a losing battle to keep her eyes open.
It couldn't be helped, after Saturday's Hogsmeade visit the sadistic Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Wayne Hadley-the new Oliver Wood according to some-had insisted that the team meet for a remedial practice that very afternoon. His excuse was that he wanted to ensure that what happened against Ravenclaw wouldn't again; my belief was that he just liked to see others suffer. She was so tired when she finally stumbled through the portrait hole with her team-mates she could barely lift her arms. And then he had them back on the field again all Sunday.
When I pointed out though, that she should report the nutter to our Head of House and Herbology teacher, Professor Neville Longbottom, she point blank refused. She was as barmy as her father when it came to Quidditch, and looked at me as if I'd just spoken some form of blasphemy. She'd just have to endure my rib jabs for the rest of the day then.
But as we got to the beginning of the final corridor before the dungeons, which was several degrees colder than the rest of the castle as usual, we were greeted by a crowd of Sixth Years on their way up. They walked right into us, and I collided with a tall Slytherin girl who at first simply pushed me out of the way and then stopped and said, "Oh, hey Lillie, sorry."
I stopped as well then, and turned to look at her, along with almost everybody else. It wasn't everyday that a Slytherin apologised to a Gryffindor, even to me. But as soon as I saw her face I knew why. It was Camilla Longbottom, Uncle Neville's daughter.
A tall, slender girl of sixteen with a perfectly oval face, almond-shaped grey-green eyes, a full, rouge mouth, clear, porcelain pale complexion and waist-length ebony hair, where Hortense could be considered the prettiest girl in the school, Camilla was. Nobody could pass her by without taking a second look and for boys that sometimes turned into a long stare that ended only when they collided with something or someone. She made even Rigel go dreamy-eyed, and that alone was reason for most of the other girls in school to go Slytherin green with envy and devious plans for revenge to match.
But for all the fuss Camilla didn't seem to care. She was a prefect in the running for Head Girl and spent much of her time in the library studying or the greenhouses with her father so that she usually aced her classes every year. In Quidditch season she was Slytherin's star Seeker and pity the House that sent up a hormonally-crazed male against her, that day the Snitch would be hers. She was one of the best duellists in the restarted Duelling Club, and despatched her opponents with a smirk that often tempted many to slap her. Smart, fast, talented and beautiful, it was a wonder that she wasn't more popular. All the beauty and intelligence in the world, it seemed, could make you arrogant and cold.
She didn't have any or very many friends, for she had so far dismissed any and all romantic and platonic advances with the gentle sensitivity usually ascribed to a jagged dagger through the chest. The only people she was actually friendly with were her father, the Weasleys, my family and Professor McGonagall. And it was rumoured that the last was probably because she was afraid she'd never become Head Girl if she wasn't.
I replied then as was custom, "Hi Camilla, that's okay," and then we both turned and parted company through the throng.
The new Potions Master wasn't new at all. By machinations we were yet to fathom, the Ministry of Magic had been somehow convinced that instead of sending Severus Snape to Azkaban for the Kiss my father believed he so richly deserved, that it would be fitting instead for him to endure permanent house arrest at the school he had first sought refuge in after the First War. With Professor McGonagall as Headmistress, surrounded by some of his former colleagues and his guilt they must have expected him to suffer perpetually for denying them all and himself the benevolence of Professor Dumbledore. They were wrong.
Since he had been allowed to teach again nearly fourteen years ago, Professor Snape had become, if possible, an even more spiteful man. (Surprisingly this did nothing to his appearance, for he was still the hook-nosed, crooked-teeth, greasy-haired old bat, or Old Greasy Bat-OGB for short-my parents had known and despised.) It didn't take him long to settle into his old ways of teaching, and even after many complaints he stubbornly refused to change, presenting steadily high Potions scores in OWLS and NEWTS as evidence why he shouldn't. Luckily, I was given a wide berth… if one could call being pointedly ignored "lucky".
Unluckily, that didn't extend to Aisling.
No sooner than had we entered the classroom than he began, "Miss Weasley your last Potions essay was atrocious, of all the things to inherit did you have to take your father's intellectual capacity?"
Someone snickered softly, I glared carelessly behind me and they abruptly fell silent. But then Snape identified them a moment later when he said, "And you Mr Finnegan, you wrote the wrong essay altogether. Were you even awake in the last class?"
It was Eoin; a sandy-blonde-haired, blue-eyed Irish boy my mother said was the spitting image of his father, Seamus, and currently long-time enemy of mine. I smiled at his radish-red face and followed Aisling to our table. As we took our seats, Snape rose from his desk and walked past each of ours dispensing red-inked essays.
"Mr Jones, this was many sentences too short… Mr Macmillan, you've now proven my point five times over why you don't deserve to attend Hogwarts at all. Complete rubbish, a house-elf could do better… Miss Wood how you've managed to exist in the first place never ceases to amaze me and that's the only thing about you so far… Mr Perry, you didn't submit an essay, detention! Miss Weasley, I've already said what I have to say on this essay, don't let me have to again… Miss Potter… Mr Murphy, for once a coherent essay, though totally incorrect and poorly researched…."
See?
He walked past me, black voluminous robes billowing behind him as usual, while my essay floated down onto my desktop. That was another thing, he chose to magically send it to me rather than hand it over like he did everyone else. I resisted the urge to turn round and glare at his back, instead saving the energy to reel at the lack of red-ink on the paper. For a second too, I wondered if he'd even bothered to mark it, and then I noticed the small scribble at the bottom: "Good".
My eyebrows surely vanished into my hairline: the OGB actually thought my work was good? What, did somebody spike his pumpkin juice again?
His voice jolted me out of my astonishment from the head of the classroom.
"The ingredients are on the board, you have an hour and a half, absolutely no talking!"
I looked across to Aisling, still disbelieving, saw her busy at work gathering her ingredients and turned my attention to my own.
By the end of his time-limit most of the class was only halfway done. This was mainly because some of them were too busy trying to draw the heat from their fires in the freezing dungeon to warm up. As expected, this displeased him greatly.
"Anyone who isn't finished has detention with me Saturday night!" he declared angrily. "Stop what you're doing; get away from the tables, all of you, now!"
We did as we were told, Aisling and I backing into a pillar with Bridget Wood and Eoin who looked very ill. One glance at his table revealed why: he clearly wasn't finished. But then neither was I.
Snape stalked between our tables with the air of a hungry wolf. Every so often he would stop, look over a bubbling pot and declare, "Poor", "Atrocious", or "Pass". But then there were those instances where he barked, "Detention!" and the hapless student would stifle a disappointed groan and shuffle back to the table to clear it. Eoin kicked back at the pillar when he received the news, but though I was clearly only halfway through the potion, he passed mine without a word. And while I stared behind him surprised and then increasingly annoyed, he finished his inspection and announced, "Class dismissed! Those of you who weren't finished I expect to see you here promptly at seven."
No one dared point out that that was usually around dinner time in the Great Hall. If you'd escaped why mess with fate?
We left quickly and quietly, but once we were in the hall, Eoin grumbled by, "It's only because of your Dad you get away, you know?"
I retorted as lamely as possible, "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, if your Dad wasn't the Man-Who-Triumphed you'd be in there with the rest of us, like you deserve!" he snapped, his voice unnaturally loud in the dark and silent hall.
I was ready this time, "What are you talking about? He hates my father and everybody knows it!"
"Then why aren't you in detention?" he asked, stopping in front of me with his arms folded.
I had to stop as well and replied, stammering annoyingly, "I-I-I don't know!"
"I think you do," he said, stubbornly insisting on his point.
Suddenly, someone said behind him, "Wait a minute leprechaun, you think?"
What was left of the class in the hall turned round to find Rigel and a group of other Fourth Year Slytherins blocking the exit. Almost as one they all stiffened where they stood, chins high and Eoin said, "I wasn't talking to you, Weasley."
The Slytherins bristled and one girl made to go to Eoin-who paled at the sight of her-but Rigel held her off. "Don't, he was talking to Aisling."
Eoin made no attempt to contradict him, and Aisling rolled her eyes. Grabbing my arm she pulled me off behind her towards the head of the hall, saying as she went, "Let's go, if Snape finds us here we're all getting detention."
The Slytherins parted easily to let us pass, and Rigel surreptitiously handed me an envelope as we went, followed by the rest of the Gryffindor class in single file. When we were clear of them we parted ways and I opened the note. It was from Milo, my darling younger brother, "thanking" me for the sweets.
Lillie,
You did not buy the blood-flavoured lollipops. Mum says do not go into the forest while you are at school. Dad says if you really have to make sure to take Aisling and Hortense with you, and if you really, really have to, Rigel. Grandma is sending you a cloak, Grandpa is sending a book and Kenzie and me the usual: nothing. Freeze to death.
Milo
Oh why doesn't your father like me? What does he think we'll do in the forest? There are more than enough broom closets in the warm school for that. ;)
Rigel
I rolled my eyes at both scribbles, pocketed the note and went off to my next class.
*****
The next morning, as luck would have it, we had Care of Magical creatures. And, even luckier, the weather hadn't changed, as a matter of fact it had rained again the night before. But what was a little mud in the name of education?
Forced to trek through the slippery, freezing slush then, by the time we stood before the hut the hems of our winter cloaks were coated in mud and we were all shivering slightly. But Hagrid, who was dressed warmly in what looked like the pelts of five different creatures (and with his shaggy hair and beard, to transform him into a sixth) looked full of the Christmas cheer. He greeted us all with a broad grin and said, "All righ', all righ', settle down… okay class, I know that you're all cold, and probably wondering why I've brought yeh out of the warm castle today. But that's because I've got a surprise… something that'll warm yeh right up-"
He was interrupted by Eoin, significantly recovered from his mood yesterday, "Um… professor… it's not… a Blast-Ended Skrewt… is it?"
Hagrid broke into a broad grin, "Nope, that's not until next year. But like I said, I have a surprise for yeh, I know you've probably heard of these creatures before, but… here it is!"
He turned slightly and from behind the fence post he had been leaning against lifted a hefty gilt birdcage. We collectively gasped when we saw what was inside: a large, beautiful scarlet and gold bird that could only be one thing, a phoenix. And apparently it was not just any phoenix either, for Hagrid continued, still grinning, "This, boys and girls, is Fawkes. Yeh've probably heard of him, he belonged to the late Headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, and, more famously, helped yeh father, Magnolia, and yours, Aisling, through a number of scrapes over the years, yeh can ask 'em, until the Headmaster's death…. The last we saw of him was shortly after the war's end… and now, he's back. Have a good look!"
We did, and very eagerly too. As soon as we were given permission we practically surged forward unto him, completely forgetting the weather and the muddy ground. We had heard about phoenixes, studied them, but never actually seen one, and this one was extra special too….
"As yeh know," continued Hagrid over our heads as we pushed and shoved each other out of the way to get a better look at the bird, now proudly preening itself in the limelight, "phoenixes can live for hundreds of years, and only one can exist at any given time. Their tears can heal and their songs, most beautiful thing yeh'll ever hear…."
"Can it sing for us?" asked Joanne Goldstein, the daughter of another of our parents' schoolmates, Anthony.
"How'd you get it in the cage, will it come out? Can we let it out?" asked Eoin, pressing down those before him so that he could examine the door.
"Do you know where it's been all this time?" called Aisling beside me.
I didn't really care, and I doubt that the others did either. Another boy, Euan Richter, after shoving his way through the crowd announced boldly, "I think it's ready to moult!"
That sent us surging forward again, and Hagrid, encouraged by our excitement, said, "One at a time… one at a time… I'll let him out, and you'll see for yourselves…."
We stepped back for him to open the cage and then held our collective breaths as, at first, it took two tentative steps to the door, and then two more to come out of it altogether and stand on the fence post. There was a moment more where it stood absolutely still, as if testing wind speed and direction, and then it spread its majestic silky wings and took to the air. And a few of us very nearly tried to fly off after it.
Against the pale grey sky above it looked like an animated firework or even a particularly lively kite that had just finally freed itself from the hold of a string, and we craned our necks painfully trying to see where it would end up. When it took off in the direction of the castle we ran after it, when it soared down to the lake we paused wondering if it would land on Professor Dumbledore's cold white tomb, and when it changed direction for the forest, we held our breaths, wondering if it would fly away again. But it didn't, and just as it was coming in to land we were interrupted by someone calling from the castle, "Hagrid! Hagrid! I have to speak to Magnolia!"
We all turned at once to find Professor Trelawney, shawls flying, hair wild, ambling comically through the muddied lawn to us at the hut. I shrank back in horror, what on earth could she possibly want?
Hagrid gallantly came to my rescue, "Could'n' this wait teh the end o' my class?"
She shook her head vehemently, "I have foreseen something terrible! A portent of darkness! She must be warned now!"
All around me I could hear my classmates beginning to snicker. I wanted to die. This time there would be no Rigel to rescue me at the last minute, no Aisling to drag me away-she was just as amused as the others-and they'd all completely forgotten about Fawkes. I would have to face my public humiliation alone.
Professor Trelawney managed to make her way to the hut at last, just as the phoenix came in to land on the fence post beside me. She stopped abruptly, and stood staring at it for such a long time that we all began to wonder (hope) if she'd gone into catatonia, before Hagrid interrupted, "You wanted to see Lillie?"
That brought her back to us, and she at once came to me, grasped my shoulders, dragging me closer to her so that I could fully absorb the scent of the cooking sherry she'd been mixing into her tea of late, and said in a low, dramatically-mournful voice, "There is a terrible danger awaiting you child. A vengeful foe of your family's past seeks to do you harm. Beware of the hound lover and his attendant, their secret contact fuels dark fire. That phoenix will not be able to protect you; the time has come that you will have to watch over yourself. Beware, beware!"
It was now official, she was completely insane. All that cooking sherry, incense and tea had finally done her in.
For a long moment I just stood trapped in her grasp staring up at her, not quite believing what I'd just heard, and then I shook her off and backed, painfully, into the fence post.
Here Hagrid asserted his authority again and said, "All righ' that's enough, there's no need to be giving Lillie that nonsense. I think you it's time you left professor."
"Nonsense?" she screeched, outraged.
Hagrid looked upset himself, but came to her calmly and briskly began to lead her away from the hut back up to the castle. "Lillie doesn't need to be frightened like tha' while her parents are away."
"`Frightened?' I'm warning her, there is danger coming, I have seen it in the cards!" she raged.
Hagrid said something that we couldn't hear-they were now well past the gate and on their way up the slope leading the castle-and she shrieked, and continued to do so all the way back looking for all the world like a St Mungo's escapee.
We stood there all stunned silent watching her, and then Eoin broke the silence. "Perfect, now you've got a prophecy behind you, should we all start looking out for Dark Wizards and Death Eaters?"
"Shut up, Eoin!" snapped Aisling.
He glared at her and me when I turned to sneer at him, the stupid little git. But he was wrong; my Dark Wizard was a friend.
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