beyondwandpoint

“11 13b Thurs - Up With the Serpent”

Severus, Hermione, Staff: Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Poppy Pomfrey, Slytherins: Draco Malfoy, Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Harper Hutchinson, Others: Crankshaft, Maleficent, Portrait Temperance Mathew, Boadicea Waterhouse

Mentioned briefly: Staff: Argus Filch, Slytherins: Tracey Davis, Ella Wilkins, Gryffindors: Ron Weasley, Others: Minny

Originally Published: 2020-02-28 on LJ / DW
Chapter: 118

Characters:

Severus (HoS, Potions), Hermione 7G (Prefect, Supreme Swot)

Staff: Professor Minerva McGonagall (HoG, Transfiguration), Professor Filius Flitwick (HoR, Charms), Poppy Pomfrey (Mediwitch extraordinaire)

Slytherins: Draco 7S (Prefect, Team Captain, Seeker, Swot), Theo Nott 7S (Swottiest, Nervous Wreck), Blaise Zabini 7S (Keeper (but only in the Quidditch sense...)), Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe 7S (Beater, Winged ex-Couch still-Potato), Gregory Goyle 7S (Beater), Pansy Parkinson 7S (Prefect), Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode (Reserve Beater, yes, that.), Harper Hutchinson 6S (Prefect, Chaser, flash Robe Model)

Others: Crankshaft 'Crank' (Harper's half-Kneazle), Maleficent 'Malley' (Millie's Maine Coon), Portrait Temperance Mathew (ex-Healer, ex-Governor, BAMF Muggle-born), Boadicea Waterhouse (Headmaster Black’s favourite lady of the paintbrush)

Mentioned briefly: Staff: Argus Filch (Squib 'Care'taker), Slytherins: Tracey Davis 7S (Swottier), Ella Wilkins 6S (Prefect), Gryffindors: Ron Weasley 7G (Prefect, Keeper (but also only in the Quidditch sense), Others: Minny (Minerva's house elf)

Previously:

Time for a more robust recap again! Or if you know what's up, just skip to the story...

OVERVIEW
The past several days have not been kind to the seventh year Slytherin boys, and most of them don't really understand why, which isn't to say they're undeserving, merely confused. Draco is the only one who retains (slightly altered) memories of Friday's attack on Hermione in the Transfiguration classroom, although Theo and Vince have somewhat inaccurate suspicions centred around an erstwhile classmate, Hufflepuff Megan Jones. The group suffers the worst imaginable headaches all weekend (thanks to Severus' Legilimency, Obliviations, and manhandling), and oddly there is not a phial of Pain Relief to be had in the House. Despite his aching head, Draco has detention all day Saturday and Sunday, and will be spending every Saturday night from now until the end of time or the end of school (whichever comes first) in detention as well. Sunday evening he then falls seven stories down the Grand Staircase, breaking quite a number of bones in the process; shockingly, there is no Pain Relief available in the Infirmary either. (What kind of school is this?) Severus kindly keeps Draco from breaking still more with a timely spell. (But on the other hand, he is the one who had Sunny nudge the boy down the stairwell in the first place, so...)

Vince, highly allergic, is somehow repeatedly exposed to half-Kneazle fur, and everyone's homework keeps disappearing; faculty is not best pleased. Monday comes the announcement of Severus' bonding to their Muggle-born Moggie classmate Hermione. Severus Crucios Draco for being a prat, true enough, and then rushes off to the Manor where he suffers even worse treatment. Tuesday the seventh years receive Poste Serpentes blaming them for the Head's unfortunate bonding in front of the entire House. Since then, unsurprisingly, they've been the target of every imaginable hex as the House tries to avenge Severus. Highlights include Vince's fairy wings, Gregory's curly snake's tail, the dinner from hell with D'aco, Blaise and Theo, and the toilet paper theft that leads Gregory to Scourgify his dangly bits to disastrous results. And it's early days yet. They're beginning to suspect this won't end well for them. (Of course that was likely from the moment they found themselves in the Death Eaters' claws, but that's a different story.) Wednesday night fifth years Bartholomew Burke, Akira Murakami and Jay Petrel deploy a variety of hexes, jinxes and joke products in the seventh years' bathroom.

Wednesday morning, when the seventh year boys discover they're in desperate need of some assistance, Blaise asks Harper to fetch the girls to help them. As the boys are being ostracised for their role in Severus' bonding, Harper is reluctant to cooperate. Blaise ends up giving Harper his robe to get him to do so. (091a LJ / DW) (And Daphne then makes him matching slippers, because Daphne.)

Wednesday morning. Harper takes photographs of a thoroughly hexed Vince ('the Inferi Princess') with the intent of selling them to his Housemates. The image of Vince stuck to that couch with those sparkly fairy wings is definitely something worth preserving for the ages, and honestly the seventh year is enough of a bully that most feel he has it coming anyway. (091b LJ / DW) Vince means to prevent that sale and exact a measure of revenge for Harper's audacity and Wednesday evening he gets in a couple of good hits against the younger boy. Harper's weak Protego, while a help, unfortunately doesn't do much to absorb the momentum of those blows. Ella does her best with her General Purpose Healing Charm to right her friend and Tracey supplies him with two phials Pain Relieving Potion. Both are a great help. (Although he probably appreciated Daphne cradling his head in her lap even more. (Because Daphne. 😉)) (112a LJ / DW)

Monday evening. Noting that Hermione seems very uncomfortable at the sight of the centaur portrait in Minerva's classroom, Severus removes it. It has the added advantage of keeping Minerva from interrogating them as to the events of Friday evening. Eventually it occurs to Severus that the centaurs had watched the young woman being attacked and hadn't gone for help, at which point he begins systematically destroying the portrait. He explains some of that in broad strokes to his mortified colleague who in an attempt to be supportive, asks Hermione if she has any preference for a replacement. Hermione requests a painting of a Muggle-born witch. (068 LJ / DW) Minerva tasks Argus, Ron and Oliver Rivers (7H) with searching for the portrait of Healer Temperance Mathew. So strangely, a pail of spiders lands unceremoniously on Ron's head and he runs off shrieking only to tumble down a flight of stairs. His screams lead Argus to find the missing portrait. (108 LJ / DW)

Subjected to public censure for her support of Vince and Gregory - they're her teammates and friends after all - and particularly for telling Vince where he can find Harper, Millie's behaviour modifying pendant turns very dark indeed. It's largely in response to her reactions (decidedly less than polite) to the other girls' lecturing, but Pansy's perceived betrayal upsets her most of all. Millie's mother had stipulated that the pendant must reflect a certain degree of success or Millie's cat Malley will be turned over to Madam Bulstrode's friend Madam Lyssandra, the proprietress of Dogweed & Deathcap, ostensibly for potions ingredients. Millie is understandably distraught. (115 LJ / DW)

A/N: 'Nomen est omen', loosely: 'the name speaks for itself'.

Harper wakes, feeling like he's been hit by an Erumpet. Repeatedly. His first thought is a rogue Bludger - he really does take his duties as a member of the House's team seriously enough to have what Ella has laughingly dubbed 'Quidditch brain' - before he remembers Vince's assault from the previous evening. Merlin's left nut. Feeling not at all himself, he reaches for the second phial of Pain Relief that Tracey had given him and quaffs it, and then far more stiffly than usual, drags himself out of bed.

It's strange, because having taken the Potion, he's no longer in any pain (unlike the 'Universal Solvent' in this case 'nomen est omen'), and yet his body still feels decidedly... off. Like it's not quite bending to his will.

Crankshaft watches attentively from where he's curled up at the foot of Harper's bed. He knows the drill, he won't be able to join the boy. Instead he'll try to get a little more sleep. Once Harper leaves for classes, Crank will take the Caterwalling tunnel to the Habitat, where he expects to spend his morning with Shawshank as usual and any other pets people choose to bring by. If the feline had his choice, he'd prefer to keep an eye on his boy - Harper hadn't even stopped to pet him, that's how out of sorts he is - but then half-Kneazles are rarely asked about their preferences, and when they offer them of their own accord, humans rarely seem to comprehend.

Harper rifles through his trunk at the foot of his bed for the older set of pyjamas he'd charmed black that serve as his workout kit, throws them on, dons Blaise's - erstwhile - robe for good measure before pulling on his training slippers (with a regretful look at Daphne's far superior set that sadly aren't task appropriate), and feeling every step of the way, and yet not (Pain Relieving Potion is truly good stuff), forces himself to go to the fitness room.

He isn't certain what to expect until he gets there. Usually he'd meet Draco and Blaise there and they'd workout together. And there's no denying it was helpful to have someone spot him on the free weights. But right now, he's thinking he'd rather they weren't there, at least not until they've had a chance to lay down some ground rules, to somehow work things out with the rest of the House well enough that their training together would be sanctioned, or at least not lead to any unpleasant surprises. (Cursed weights come to mind... It's probably best not to be anywhere too close to the seventh years just now.) Harper had considered exercising in his room again, but he isn't willing to forgo the use of the equipment, to cede the right to use the training facilities to those boys of all people. Certainly not after whatever it was they'd done.

Draco seemed like he'd be reasonable about this, understood the issues, and yet he hadn't kept Vince from pounding Harper something fierce yesterday... Although it's unclear that he should have... Probably not. No, Harper is just feeling a little sorry for himself - fair enough, his stomach is not happy - but he'd known what he was doing when he took those pictures of Vince, and really, he can even understand the boy's response. He'd expected it. At the moment the whole scheme just doesn't feel quite like the good idea he took it for yesterday.

Everything will look different when the Galleons begin rolling in.

Neither of the seventh years are there when he enters the Training Room, and none of the girls are either. Hestia and Val aren't as regular with morning workouts, and they probably won't have wanted to deal with Draco and Blaise until things were sorted either. Of course, they're just as likely to train with Gregory and the rest in the evening on any given day, if not more so. Gregory was pretty helpful about giving the others tips to improve their fitness regimens, and it was social. Fun. Or had been. Hard to say how that was going to shape up now. But the primary problem with evening practice was there were more people vying to use the same equipment all at once, and there was some subsequent standing around idle involved, chit chatting while waiting for one's turn, and Harper simply doesn't have the spare time for it. He'd rather get up a little earlier and get more of a workout in in less time.

He hangs the robe from one of the hooks on the wall by the door, it looks much better there now that it's his, a thought that finally makes him smile at least a little, and then with some difficulty he folds himself into one of the machines and begins his training. For all his good intentions and discipline, he doesn't accomplish anywhere near what he usually does in the time.

Determined creature that he is, that only makes him work longer.

Filius enters his lounge to discover an envelope on his couch table that hadn't been there the night before. A spell sends it flying to his hand, not before completing an intricate and rather impressive series of loopings he's quite satisfied with, and Severus is just fortunate to have missed it. The abiding lack of caution his colleagues' habits evince serves only to prove time and again how little understanding they have of their present political situation. But as it is, the part-goblin merely stands there rocking back on his heels, pleased as Punch with his spell.

A flick of his wand sees the envelope opened, he removes the contents and then with a squeak exclaims, "Oh dear, my very dear!"

He's still making a series of tsking noises, his head on auto-shake, when his Floo flares to life and Poppy's voice calls through the flames, "Filius, could you step through? I'm afraid we need you here again."

"Of course, Poppy. Immediately." A Depulso banishes the card to the mantle, and with a last shake of his head, the Charmsmaster steps into the green flames and disappears off to the Infirmary.

Blaise and Draco are quick to agree they'd best keep to their room this morning. Frankly, if they could get away with it, at this point they'd likely remain there full stop. Sadly, that's not an option.

Draco Engorgios his set of weights from his trunk - monogrammed, gilded things, absurdly enough, but quite in character - and Blaise begins working on his reps while the blond sets about a series of sit ups, push ups, squats and thrusts that more than a few of the girls used to enjoy watching. That isn't to say the sight was enticing enough to coax all that many from their beds this early, certainly not when they can easily watch Sheldon at a far more sensible hour, and now that the seventh years are exercising in the boys' dorms, the girls wouldn't be able to enter before curfew ends at any rate. Still, that loss is acutely felt.

The two wizards have nearly finished with their routines, and they start quietly discussing the advisability of switching to evening practice sessions when Gregory and Vince could join them. There's safety in numbers, after all. The problem, obviously, is that there are quite a number of the others using the room then as well. Maybe Harper would agree to shift to evenings and they can convince the two Beaters to join them for their earlier training, not that they expect it to go over well...

Vince rouses a little earlier than usual, possibly the Silencing Charms on his curtains hadn't been quite up to snuff and the faint noise of conversation had disturbed him. It's the first time all week he's risen able to breathe, but he's not a morning person even on his best of days and with a barely coherent grunt towards his roommates (who don't interrupt their training to more than nod in reply), yawning, Vince pads off to the lav, heeding nature's call.

It's not long before the relative silence is broken by a call of his own, "For fuck's sake!"

"Language," Draco retorts between pushups and then pauses midway. "Everything alright there, Vince?" Gregory pokes his head out from behind his bed curtains to see what's wrong, and Theo gives up trying to sleep and simply throws his wide, wand in hand in case it's something serious. They're understandably on edge after the past couple of days.

"Bloody buggering fuck," comes the reply, but it sounds more angry than distressed, and his roommates relax again. "Can one of you Conjure up a bog roll?"

Blaise laughs, "That's all of us then? Who haven't they caught out with that?"

"They got me yesterday," Gregory offers quite superfluously. By now the entire House is all too aware of that fact, and a good portion of the school as well.

"What happened?" Theo asks Vince as he Transfigures a few sheets of parchment for him in response.

"Bloody stuff turned to that much dust when I touched it. Just 'poof'. Dust." And with Gregory's unfortunate experience from yesterday well in mind, so oddly Vince had eschewed any creative options in favour of a more conservative plea for aid.

"Here you go," Theo's Wingardium Leviosa sees the paper neatly over the stall door.

"Cheers," comes the grateful reply.

Blaise and Draco cease their fitness efforts, Draco shrinks and sends the weights back to his trunk as Gregory pulls on his slippers, and the three roommates join the other two in their bathroom.

"It has the advantage of not being toilet paper," Theo explains. "Depending on what the Spell is, it can be a real help that it's actually something else Transfigured. And the fact it was mine means it can't be Summoned by anyone else."

"Yes, they caught me with an Accio yesterday, too," Draco has to agree with Theo's reasoning.

"Could you show me how to do that?" Gregory asks Theo, gesturing to suggest the Spell, clearly hopeful. That presents a bit of a problem in as much as Transfiguration quite honestly isn't his strong suit.

There's a flush and Vince exits the stall, heading towards the sink, "Me too, Theo. With the way things are going..."

Theo isn't terribly optimistic about his chances, but after what Gregory had gone through the day before, he doesn't want to refuse them out of hand. "I can try," he agrees, Summons a bunch of parchment he deposits on the other basin and begins to demonstrate the Spell. Vince, eager not to miss anything, joins them, drying his hands on his thighs. Theo is all too used to Vince's ways and without comment just demonstrates again on the piece of parchment a Wingardium Leviosa suspends in front of him. He's clever enough to keep well clear of his roommates when they're trying to learn something new.

"This means they got in here again," Blaise states the all too obvious. Draco and Theo are good enough not to mention that fact; Vince and Gregory fail to recognise it.

"Blaise, check if you can detect any other Hexes, I'll see to the door," Draco suggests.

Blaise nods and starts to make his way around the room, casting a variety of Revealing Spells. "If you have a particularly nasty ward, that might be called for," he hollers to Draco from the next stall. Sure enough, a moment later its toilet paper has also been reduced to dust. "Charming," he mutters.

"'Hexing', more like," Gregory giggles, as he tries to replicate Theo's wandstroke to no avail.

"I really don't want to have to explain to the Head what I've done if it goes wrong," Draco objects to Blaise's suggestion for the wards. Monday evening's Crucios have not been forgotten. Nevertheless he applies the most robust passive protections he knows to the door to the corridor. And then stands there looking at it contemplatively.

He turns to the bin and a flick of his wand Summons the empty bottle of shampoo Blaise had discarded the evening before and begins to Transfigure it into a boulder he then slots into place in front of the door. He regards it for a few moments before rejecting the solution, and with a more complicated series of wand moves sets about rendering it a stretch of wall that blends so seamlessly with the rest, were it not for the architraves, it would be virtually undetectable.

"Do you really think that's necessary?" Blaise asks him.

"The proper Finite Incantatem, and they'd have been right through the boulder, and if not, there was always a Bombarda Maxima."

"Same's true of your wall," Vince interrupts Theo's lesson to object, accurately enough.

"No, with a bit of luck, they won't even attempt it. We can't do a thing to the castle walls. Believe me, I've tried. I want them to think the Head did this and leave well enough alone."

"Would the Head leave the door there only to put a wall behind it?" Blaise doesn't seem convinced either.

"He might if he weren't trying to draw attention to it. Either way, it's certainly no more vulnerable than the boulder was, and the psychology works in our favour." No one can object to that, and Draco's usually right about those kinds of things anyway.

"What do you mean 'I've tried' attacking the walls?" Vince asks. His Transfiguration attempt goes badly wrong, and Theo quickly Finites the fiercely snapping fish evidently comprised almost entirely of teeth that appears in the air between them.

"Fuck's sake," Gregory exclaims, taken aback and only just managing to get his hands to a safe distance. "I could have lost a finger." And then he apologises, admonishing himself, "Language, sorry."

It gets lost in Theo's indignant, "Pay attention, Vince!" which spares the boy some mocking. Gregory's going to make a piss-poor Death Eater, they're sure. They're less in agreement as to whether or not that's a bad thing - not that they'd dream of discussing it - that it isn't advantageous in the current political climate, however, is abundantly clear.

"That's Parchment to Pissy Piranha. You need to go more to the left and put a hook on it."

"'Pissy Piranha'? What on earth would you need that for?" Blaise enquires from the furthest shower where he's searching for more signs of tampering. So far he's coming up empty, but then that's the disadvantage of looking solely for spells as opposed to including physical objects and potions in his scans.

"I assume someone just had the temerity to name their miscast," Theo replies.

"Probably a Turkey," Blaise chuckles.

Draco answers Vince's question as though there hadn't been an interruption. They're all too used to the occasional spell backfiring. "Well I wasn't stupid enough to try Fiendfyre in a closed room, obviously, or anything much like it - how would I even justify it? - but what did you think the Practice Room was for?" Theo would respond 'not assaulting the castle itself' but sees no advantage to it, and instead takes Gregory's hand in his and patiently leads him through the wand movement again. The others are simply impressed, having never thought to use the room that way. It frankly sounds a good deal cleverer than it was, neglecting, as it does, to mention Draco's father had tried it back in his day before him on the advice of several others, he'd been confident of the results prior to starting anything, and that the room itself had naturally been reinforced to withstand any errant spells anyway. Still, it's the sort of interaction that only reinforces their roles.

"You honestly didn't think your wards would be enough?" Blaise is genuinely curious, and slightly worried. If Draco thinks he isn't up to the threat, they have a real problem here.

"Bart knows more than you think, about wards and great deal more, and Sheldon's library is a wonder." Coming from a Malfoy, that's saying something. "Their families both have more answers at their disposal than most of wizardom."

"Put together," Theo quietly adds, but then most people aren't particularly well versed in these matters, to say nothing of well read, so he feels that isn't saying much. The Nott library was eminently respectable as well - or perhaps 'disreputable'; it's all a question of vantage point - unfortunately it had been seized with many of their other resources at the time of his father's arrest a year and a half ago. The family's lawyers were still battling Scrimgeour's decision, unlawful by any measure, but the Ministry was adept at keeping things once they'd sunk their claws into them. Only Lucius' decision to place most of the family's assets in Narcissa's name had spared the Malfoy's the same fate as the Notts and the Crabbes.

"I'm not taking any more chances," Draco concludes.

Unsatisfied with his work, he keeps at his Transfigured wall as though to prove that, first working on the texture and then on the subtle veining of the stone. As none of the others think there's much by way of a visible difference, it only serves to highlight the severity of the threat he believes they're facing. It's a little sobering.

Theo keeps trying to teach Vince and Gregory how to perform the paper Transfiguration, but is coming to accept that just handing them a bunch of Transfigured parchment is going to be much simpler. It'll take a few minutes more before the boys realise that as well.

"The curve on the hook needs to be sharper. See?" He demonstrates it one more time. "You need to consider the relative sizes of the objects, what you're starting with and what you wish to achieve. You're going from larger to smaller, thicker to thinner, more robust to more delicate. You need to take that into account, and reflect that in your casts. Do the maths." And that last may be the magic word, finally beginning to suggest to his roommates that mastering the Spell might be beyond their capabilities.

They're momentarily spared having to admit it to themselves when Blaise suddenly cries out, "I've got something! There's something wrong with the towels!"

The others interrupt what they're doing to join him. Draco casts a spell of his own and confirms that something is amiss, but he has to bow to Theo's expertise to determine what. "I think whatever they used is dormant, dependent on certain conditions being met." Theo tells them after a few diagnostic spells of his own.

"Well it's not contact, because I touched them," Blaise supplies.

"Blaise," Theo scolds. "You're not supposed to do that until you've thoroughly tested everything. That was rather the point of this exercise."

Annoyed, the Keeper turns his back on Theo, grumbling over his shoulder, "Yes, well, I found it, didn't I? You sort that, and I'll keep looking."

Despite their growing frustration, Vince and Gregory keep practising, slowly coming to accept what Theo had realised before them: they aren't going to get the hang of this Spell, certainly not in passing. A tad regretfully, Gregory asks their roommate, "Theo, when you're done with that, do you think you could just Transfigure some sheets for us?" Vince appreciates that Gregory invariably capitulates before he does. As he's generally able to piggyback on that, it helps reduce the number of favours people feel he owes.

"Sure, just give me a few moments more..."

The others put their heads together and begin to discuss their various approaches to the 'loo roll problem', coming to realise they'll presumably need to do a good deal more of that sort of thing, conferring with one another, if they wish to survive the year unscathed.

Well... less scathed.

Chances are slim they'd be able to fend off everything, but if they work together, they should be able to reduce the number of problems that arise. It's a fruitful discussion, although it's not long before Blaise, typically enough, manages to insult Vince for not being familiar with the function of bidets. Vince, fortunately, is less quick on the uptake, and unsure he's been insulted, thankfully no hexing ensues. Quietly convinced as Vince is that in matters political he so thoroughly eclipses the far wealthier boy, he doesn't feel pressed to take him all that seriously and somewhat surprisingly for the others, there isn't even any posturing to speak of.

Draco leaps in before that changes. "We really need to figure out what we're doing about the Training Room," he informs the others. "I was thinking the two of you could join us mornings. I think it would be... wise to keep an eye out for one another for the foreseeable future..."

Vince merely groans. The last thing he wants to do is rise early to exercise. Gregory's suggestions that perhaps they needn't change anything if only they could convince the rest of the House that their animosity is threatening the team's success is met by Blaise's scoffing. Blaise is certain he can still feel the after effects of yesterday's flurry of Sticking Charms. The others bloody well knew what they were doing and still hadn't cared to stop. Yes, by all means, appeal to their better natures why doesn't he?

"Look, can't we somehow make it clear to them it's about beating the Moggies? This isn't just any match," Gregory half pleads, but he's seen Draco work wonders motivating the House in the past. He's underestimating the difference it makes that they're now on the outs, but then some of that is wishful thinking, some is ignorance, and some of it is simply denial.

It sparks brief debate that even if they were successful - as a whole, not deemed precisely likely - it might cause the House's irritation with them to build to such a degree it would make the period after the game all but unbearable.

"I can almost guarantee they'd save everything up for after the match and strike even harder," Draco objects once again, more vehemently this time, still championing his idea that letting the others vent those frustrations, at least a little, will prove easier on them in the long run. Harper had been sure of it.

"Or it's possible they could forget some of their anger and calm down by then," Vince suggests.

Gregory, lamb that he is, quietly points out that a grace period until the game wouldn't help Theo in the least. On the contrary, it would leave him as the sole target... Theo's ears are good enough that they picked that up, and he smiles to himself as he continues to cast his spells. Gregory is a good egg.

Vince secretly thinks that Gregory's objection happens to be more of a feature of the proposal. Theo most likely would enjoy some protection from the fact he'd been the only one not to get mailed a Serpent blaming him for this train wreck. Of course, and far more relevantly, it would give the rest of the House a chance to work some of their anger out on Theo and the seventh year Quidditch players would be free and clear for a while, but even Vince is smart enough not to give voice to that.

Instead he counters, "If we do well against the Gryffindorks, they may be more likely to forgive us," not entirely mistaken about what a win would mean to many of his Housemates.

Blaise snorts derisively, "As long as the others can see Granger-Snape strolling around the halls, they're unlikely to forget let alone forgive."

"Forgive what??" Gregory replies, growing a little frustrated with apparently being to blame for something he knows nothing whatsoever about. Beyond the Heads bonding, of course, but what the blazes was he supposed to have done to cause that?

"Perhaps we should address that," Theo suggests simultaneously, looking up from his work on the towels. "If we tried to be more helpful, made more use of ourselves, conceivably that might mollify the others." Not that he necessarily wants to find himself regularly duelling to defend the witch's honour - Merlin, Draco was an absolute mad lad - but surely there must be some way to be useful to the Head, to find some safe ground in between...

Blaise admits, "The Head certainly seemed put out yesterday morning when he was called in to undo all the damage their hexes had caused. If we can play to that..."

"Speculation is all well and good, but I don't think we can definitively answer this right now. We'll need to keep our options in mind, be flexible, and play things by ear, but your idea has merit, Theo," Draco acknowledges, doing his best not to smirk that it had probably originated with his actions in the corridor yesterday against the Hufflepuffs. Theo shoots him a look that says he knows just what his friend is thinking, a clear advantage of knowing each other so long.

"So, are we agreed as to the Training Room?" Draco tries to get them to commit to a plan.

Vince looks positively dour at the prospect of early fitness sessions, and again Gregory tries to smooth things over between his roommates, "But it isn't as though no one else uses the room then. Harper trains there most mornings." Vince's eyes may have narrowed reflexively at the mention of the boy. Perhaps that wasn't quite the way to unruffle his feathers.

"I think Harper might be reasonable about letting us use the room," Draco replies with a not so subtle look in Vince's direction, "unless you gave him reason not to be."

"If not, I'm certain a few Galleons will see that he is," Blaise mutters highhandedly. He mightn't have if he knew a Gringotts' owl was presently winging its way towards him bearing less than stellar news about his trust fund.

Draco throws him a disparaging look, "Do try to be less peevish about your robe, Blaise. That was your own choice."

Vince reins in his gut response to Draco's challenge, still very mindful of yesterday evening's discovery of the missing phial of Liquid Lust that may well have given rise to their present predicament.

"Look, if I had any Pain Relief, I'd give it to Harper." He most definitely wouldn't, how ridiculous, or he could just as easily have not hit the Chaser in the first place and he'd sell it in any event, but it's a safe claim to make at this juncture as he knows for a certainty he has none. It's all well and good trying to make nice, but Vince is positive he was perfectly within his rights on that score. For fuck's sake, anything else would have made him a mark. To let someone treat him as Harper had and get off Scot-free? Without any repercussions? Unthinkable. Unsafe.

Somewhat annoyed at being forced to take such measures, he resorts to trying to reason with the others, "Bloody hell, if I'd had any, I'd've taken it last weekend." Draco and Blaise glare at the reminder, the weekend had been wretched, and Vince quickly tries to recover. "We all would have. Look, I'll have root about and see if there's anything useful," he offers, trying to demonstrate his good will, if nothing more; he knows full well it's a fool's errand.

Rather theatrically, Vince returns to their bedroom and begins to search through his trunk. It's surprising how noisy such an undertaking can be when one tries to draw as much attention to it as possible. Gregory follows him, more because he believes he should than any genuine curiosity; he'd been at the trunk only yesterday and doesn't find its contents all that fascinating. It's not like he hasn't been to an Apothecary before. Blaise trails after, finished searching their bathroom and idly curious about the spectacle.

With a shake of his head at Vince's thoroughly rubbish panto, Draco casts a Tempus and decides they've wasted enough time that he'll have to skip his shower if he doesn't want to be late to breakfast.

"Theo?" He prompts.

"I think I've almost got it. Go ahead. Don't wait for me."

With a nod, Draco returns to their room now as well and begins applying an assortment of Charms to get ready for his day. It's not long before he's dressed and impeccably coiffed. Theo and Blaise will likely follow suit. Gregory and Vince are less adept at the spells, and having exhausted their allotment of favours from the others this morning will no doubt resort to manual means of getting ready, a conclusion that will soon be supported when both begin to change into their robes.

But first, Vince is on his knees mid-rummage when he makes another horrible discovery. The trunk is apparently good for those.

Minerva is doing her best to enjoy her morning before the day can wear her down. It's been a rough week, and it's still only Thursday. There had, however, been an exceedingly pleasing spot of good fortune last night. Argus had found the portrait of Temperance Mathew she wanted for her classroom, and it had been in perfect nick. Of course it was rather difficult to inadvertently maltreat a painting when it's capable of objecting to such rough handling, but still, that was fortunate. It's best to recognise it as such and appreciate that when it occurs, and perhaps not focus so much on aspects such as the ease with which the portrait had been found. Proof - had she needed it, but sadly did not - that no one had sought to look for it all these years, and that the Muggle-born are all too often held in lower esteem.

She shakes the thoughts off - those are far too likely to lead to the depressing state of affairs beyond Hogwarts' gates - to consider the portrait's fate once more. Perhaps it's more accurate to couch things as the Muggle-born witch quite naturally hadn't had the family in the wizarding world who would have insisted on the portrait being hung. Less a question, then, of deliberate shunning or disregard than a lack of connections. Presumably as a confirmed bachelorette, married to her research, Temperance simply hadn't formed them. No husband, no children to succeed her... Thoughts like that sometimes make Minerva wonder about her own life, her legacy, and she makes a mental note to send her nephews owls this week. It's been too long...

The portrait had been an excellent find. It was beautifully done - one of Boadicea Waterhouse's, beyond any doubt - an absolutely exquisite work. Quite possibly one of her best. For that reason alone she'd have been happy to have it hanging in her classroom, had she only known about it before. It had been a matter of moments to get it cleaned up and hung on her wall (which is probably overlooking all the work the Caretaker and Oliver Rivers had put into tidying it), and she's quite pleased with the results. She's also eagerly anticipating introducing Miss Gra... Madam Snape to Healer Mathew.

Really, it was rather a shame she hadn't thought to do so long ago.

That anticipation helps counterbalance her frustration with Mr. Weasley, who had apparently absconded midway through his detention the evening prior. The children do so insist on challenging her authority. Perhaps actually having to thoroughly tidy the castle's many broom cupboards might help the boy see reason. Argus had mentioned something about spiders; this might yet see the boy cured of that aversion. There was something to be said for immersive therapies.

Trying not to let such thoughts ruin her morning, she wraps her hands around her fine bone porcelain teacup - the softest, most translucent of whites, decorated with delft blue thistles; her favourite - and deeply inhales the scent of the brew before taking a sip. Minny has brought her a truly perfect cup of tea - one of these days, she really must enquire how the elves do that - and dressed and largely steeled against her day, Minerva steps into her lounge.

There's another envelope waiting for her there, at this point she merely assumes it's from Severus again - not another voucher for art, surely - and a bit of magic has it unsealed and suspended in the air for reading before her. She has the all too typical bit of misfortune of having just taken another sip as the card is freed from its confines...

And she promptly begins to choke on her tea.

She only narrowly avoids dropping her cup in the process - she shouldn't have liked that, the Reparo is never quite one hundred percent - but sadly isn't in enough of a state to appreciate either that or the fact Pomona isn't there to clap her over-enthusiastically on the back as she's wont to. In fact, Minerva is now so distracted by the offending bit of parchment, she also fails to send Minny to enquire in the Infirmary after students of hers, and so misses the report of Mr. Weasley's fall and subsequent overnight stay.

Pity, as that might have tempered her mood.

Hermione couldn't really explain if pressed, why she'd dashed to wait for him there, book propped open on her lap, and it was just that, wasn't it, a prop and nothing more, something to suggest she'd been there all along, and hadn't just Transfigured her uniform skirt seconds before. It would have been smarter - wouldn't it? - to remain in her room, to wait until the Professor went to his, or to his office or his laboratory... Except what if he didn't? Then her entering the lounge was only likely to give rise to conversations about heading to the meal. This was less conspicuous, certainly.

Probably.

This way, frankly, he's more likely to withdraw, she thinks with a twinge, and then she could scurry off when he's otherwise occupied, that conversation avoided... The usefulness of that arrangement keeps her from feeling too guilty. She's really quite good at that.

All in all, it sounds like an almost convincing explanation for her behaviour, except part of her knows she was only too curious about what he'd been doing out at this hour, and she has the smallest of hopes his appearance might provide answers.

And as soon as he enters their chambers, she's sorry the thought ever occurred to her.

Mercy.

Superficially, he's just as always, his clothing lends no hints, except there's a tousled, sweat slicked look to his hair and unaccustomed colour to his cheeks, and she's instantly back to wondering what he'd been doing, what it takes to do that to him...

Which has her staring at him like a numpty, nibbling her lip and idly playing with the phial on a chain around her neck. So helpful.

He doesn't fail to register her surprise at his appearance - and that's what he gets for lumping her powers of observation in with all the rest of the students; duly noted. It's not as though he hadn't planned on showering anyway, ta, although he may find himself applying the shampoo a second time now... Nevertheless he recovers more quickly than she does, of course he does, but that only serves to rouse her competitive spirit. "Good morning, Miss Granger. I trust you slept well?"

"Thank you, Sir. I did. You're up early." She tries not to blush, because goodness, she may be fishing here. He tries to ignore her embarrassment that all too often accompanies their interactions, but it leaves him feeling a touch provoked.

"I had some... things to attend to."

She'd puzzled that out herself, thank you very much. She pastes a politely indifferent smile on her face, deciding she can count herself lucky he isn't resorting to the lies he'd promised to tell her. Regularly at that. It was none of her business anyway, and yet - ever so slightly - she feels entitled to know what makes her bondmate look like... that.

She's a muddle. Nothing too upsetting, but nothing he can understand either. He's trying to decide if this is down to women in general, or the witch in the chair in front of him in specific, and finds he has no ready answer. He chooses to ignore it, and just as nonchalantly as she's perched there reading, perhaps somewhat deliberately just because she is seated there, he crosses to the hearth to begin seeing to his daily tasks.

It's unexpected at first to see him approaching her, and then slightly more so when she realises he was headed for the fireplace instead. She chides herself for that surprise almost immediately when she recognises what he means to do; sometimes she's far too much of a Muggle.

"Forgive me," he begins, taking a scoop of Floo powder in hand, "I need to see to some matters." He may as well have said nothing for all the good that did. She tries to focus on the apology. It was mannered, mutual respect and civility, after all. Somehow it's less satisfying than she'd have expected when she first suggested it.

"Please, don't let me keep you," she agrees immediately, so magnanimously, and yet is affronted, just a smidge, when he apparently silently casts some manner of Privacy Charm, because she can't hear a thing as the flames woosh and turn green and he begins speaking into the fire.

She directs her attention to her book and begins to read, belatedly realising she's on the wrong chapter altogether, but then it's not as though he'd know. It does have her feeling a little foolish, though, as she rereads last month's lesson.

Millie's back in their bathroom, arms propped on one of the sinks, standing stock still in front of the mirror, just staring at her reflection, which is highly unusual. Ordinarily she's finished by now, not one for faffing about with makeup or Beauty Charms, believing, erroneously, that with all her extra pounds and her rubbish looks, there's nothing whatsoever there for them to work with anyway. Not like Pansy with her sleek and silky, oh so shiny, super straight hair and dream petite figure... It would be different if it were solely a question of Millie having decided against such measures; as it stands, it ignores her perfect peach complexion and the wealth of red-gold highlights to her softly wavy, deep brown hair that Pansy would give her eye teeth for. (After all, there are spells to regrow those, if need be.) Pansy charms highlights into her hair and has done for years now, never to such satisfactory results, and there aren't words enough to describe her envy of Millie's flawless skin. It's a pity she's never thought to mention it to her friend.

Presently Millie has her eyes ruefully fixed on her deep, deep, deep grey pendant. Which isn't to say it's black; surely it isn't. Except it very much looks like it is.

Bugger.

Er... Drat. Yes, that. She sighs, out of tears at this point and simply exhausted from the effort.

Drat. Yes.

Pansy quietly enters the lav, and it occurs to Millie that the others girls had changed their routines some. They have the room to themselves. That can't be coincidence. And now that she thinks about it, Pansy, just hovering there tentatively, is running a bit late.

Well it's too fucking late for apologies, too...

Er. No. Any apology at this point would be too little, too late, she amends, the pendant growing warmer against her skin in reward and Millie's lips draw to a tight, thin line. Still, she manages to stop the thoughts there, and is almost proud of the effort. The chances that will lead to the necessary lightening of the ruddy thing before she's required to mail a snapshot home on Sunday, however, are effectively nil.

But all this thinking about apologies has sparked an idea.

"Mil..." Pansy begins just as Millie - very stiffly - launches into an apology of her own.

"I wanted to apologise, Pansy, most sincerely, for thinking you were an insufferable cow last night." Pansy may have just blinked at that. The pendant warms once again, and encouraged, Millie proceeds. "I'm sure you only did what you thought was best and simply couldn't help all the stupidity that resulted." Pansy blinks anew, and Millie continues more enthusiastically, "It really wasn't fair of me in the least to think you were a complete and utter bitch either."

"I wasn't aware you had," Pansy remarks drily.

"Yes, yes I'm afraid I did. I was quite certain of it, in fact. Shameful, just shameful, I know." There's the biggest shit-eating grin on Millie's face, fuelled by her necklace's warmth. The only thing that improves the situation is the expression on Pansy's face.

"I take it you've realised your Pettichap's Performance Pendant doesn't detract for insults couched as apologies."

Millie's grin grows impossibly wider. The 'yes' and 'just now' are implied.

"Thought as much." Pansy nods, surrendering. There's little point in trying to talk to her when she's like this.

"Pettichap's Perfect Performance Pendant," Millie adds, enjoying the nearly unheard of opportunity for pedantry.

Pansy elects not to comment on that. As though there could have been any doubt which pendant was meant... "I guess I'll see you at lunch?"

"Oh, I don't think so," Millie is all too happy to inform her. "We have an extra practice then. But I'm sure I'll miss you terribly." And with that she turns on her heel and leaves the room, a genuine smile on her face for the first time in what feels like a very long time.

Pansy watches her friend leave, soft curls bouncing in her wake. Well, she has to acknowledge, that had been a remarkable failure. But at least it seems to have cheered Millie up, which, really, had been half the point of the conversation she'd intended to have, so there's that at least.

She considers the problem a little more and decides she'll probably need to speak to Harper for Millie. Her friend is too much of a hothead, and just as likely to mangle any request for assistance. No, this is better left in her deft hands.

For her part, Millie sobers as soon as she sees her beloved cat on her bed. In a flash, she's Reducioed her school supplies and pocketed them and then scoops Malley into her arms. Clutching the Maine Coon a mite tightly to her chest - Malley, the little sweetheart, patiently does nothing but purr in reply - she flounces from the room to take her to the cat habitat before she heads to breakfast. If she can do nothing else for her pet, she means to see to it their last days together are the best they can possibly be.

Reluctantly she has to admit to herself that Pansy had probably had a point about Harper when she'd suggested asking him for help last night. Millie resolves to work up the courage to speak to him during the reserve team practice as to what could be done about the pictures of her necklace. He is rather clever. But asking at practice, that's rather clever, too. It will help emphasise the teammate aspect, which might help him forgive her faster for shopping him to Vince. Maybe, just maybe he'll be able - and willing - to help...

Unfortunately that plan isn't likely to work for her, but then she obviously has no way of knowing that by lunch - were he able - Harper would be thinking very dark thoughts about Vince's attack the previous evening.