Dark

Chapter 50

Harry
My eyes glanced toward the Head Table, looking for Hagrid. He still wasn’t there. My worry for him only continued to increase. In fact, my mood largely reflected the weather. The past few days it had been leaden and rainy, and this morning was no different.
“But on the plus side, no Snape today,” Ron said bracingly.
Hermione yawned as she poured herself some coffee. She looked mildly pleased about something.
“What’s up with you this morning?” Ron asked.
“The hats have gone. Seems the house-elves do want freedom after all.” Hermione grinned smugly.
Hermione had continued her S.P.E.W. work. She had picked up knitting over the holidays and was pleased that she could now use magic to speed up the process. The previous night she had left a number of hats hidden under trash in the Common Room, hoping to trick some of the elves into setting themselves free.
Ron and I on the other hand had uncovered the hats after Hermione had drifted up to her dormitory for sleep. As Ron had said, “they should at least know what they’re about to pick up.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Ron told Hermione cuttingly. “They might not count as clothes. They didn’t look anything like hats to me, more like woolly bladders.”
Hermione didn’t speak to him for the rest of the morning.
Double Charms was a thankful breeze. We immediately set to work on summoning charms, something which Hermione and I had mastered in preparation for the first task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Following Charms was Transfiguration, which included another lecture about our upcoming exams.
“You cannot pass an O.W.L.,” Professor McGonagall said grimly, “without serious application, practice, and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an O.W.L. in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work.”
Neville made a disbelieving noise at this remark.
“Yes, you too, Longbottom,” McGonagall said. “There’s nothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence. So…today we are starting vanishing spells. These are easier than conjuring spells, which you would not usually attempt until N.E.W.T. level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your O.W.L.”
She had be correct on that front. The vanishing spells were indeed difficult. We had started with a simple review of the work we did the previous term, transfiguring animals into various objects. Half way through the class though we switched to attempting to vanish snails. While Hermioen had successfully vanished her snail on the third attempt, Ron and I largely saw no change in our snails throughout the lesson.
Our homework was quickly piling up. Fred and George had warned us about the intensity of the O.W.L. year, but we hadn’t expected it to be so difficult so soon. We spent our lunch hour in the library looking up the uses of moonstones for Snape’s essay, rather than eating in the Great Hall. Hermione didn’t join us, she was still heated over Ron’s comments about her knitting.
By the time we reached Care of Magical Creatures after the lunch period, my head was aching. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class a little ways from Hagrid’s cabin. A long trestle table was stationed in front of her, laden with many twigs.
“Everyone here?” barked Grubbly-Plank. “Let’s crack on then – who can tell me what these things are called?”
She indicated toward the heap of twigs in front of her. Hermione’s hand shot into the air, but she wasn’t the only one. Eleanor had raised her hand as well. At the same time, Malfoy did a buck-toothed imitation of Hermione jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question. Pansy Parkinson let out a shriek of laughter and the sticks on the table suddenly lept into the air and revealed themselves. They looked like tiny pixieish creatures, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand, and a funny, flat, barklike face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered.
“Oooooh!” Parvatil and Lavendar said.
“Kindly keep your voices down, girls!” Professor Grubbly-Plank asked sharply. She began to scatter a handful of what looked like brown rice among the creatures. “So – anyone know the names of these creatures? Miss Potter?”
Hermione’s shoulders slumped slightly as we turned toward Eleanor.
“They’re bowtruckles,” Eleanor said. “They’re tree-guardians, and they tend to live in trees used for wand wood.”
“Five points for Slytherin,” the Professor said. “Yes, these are bowtruckles and, as Miss Potter rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality.
Eleanor visibly scrunched her nose at the mention of her as “Miss Potter.” I couldn’t help but feel another wave of guilt wash over me.
“Anybody know what they eat?”
“Wood lice,” Hermione said promptly. “But fairy eggs if they can get them.”
“Good girl, take five points for Gryffindor then. So whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of wood lice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will gouge out human eyes with their fingers, which as you can see are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you’d like to gather closer, take a few wood lice and a bowtruckle – I have enough here for one between three – you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body parts labeled by the end of the lesson.”
The class moved forward and Ron, Hermione, and I snatched up a bowtruckle. As we found a decent patch of grass to sit on and do our work, I couldn’t help but notice Eleanor and Malfoy. Though I had warned Malfoy to stay away from her, I knew better than to think he actually would. He had already approached Eleanor, Blaise Zabini at his side. I couldn’t tell what he was saying, but Eleanor simply ignored him. As she walked away, she latched her hand onto Zabini’s sleeve and pulled him along with her as she approached a sandy-haired Slytherin boy.
Malfoy watched after her. Though I would have expected him to look angry, he appeared more downcast than anything else.
“Harry? Were you listening?” Hermione asked, drawing my attention back toward our work.

Draco
“Eleanor, will you just wait up?” I shouted after her. As soon as the bell had rang out, somewhat faint from the castle, she had made her way up the sweeping lawns.
I still didn’t know why she was avoiding me. I had even approached the Greengrass girl at breakfast, hoping that she knew something that I didn’t about the situation. To my great misfortune, she was as useless as ever.
“I don’t know, Malfoy. Maybe she just doesn’t like you anymore.” Greengrass had said.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked. It wasn’t the words she used that seemed to indicate a deeper meaning, but the way in which she had said them. There had been a strange emphasis that threw me off.
“Oh please. You cannot be that daft, right?” She asked, looking at me disbelievingly. “It’s obvious that you like her, no matter how many times Eleanor denies it. I can see it.”
“What are you talking about Greengrass?” I had hissed.
“To be fair, I’m certain Eleanor is into you as well.”
My eyes went wide at this. Where in the world had she gotten such ideas?
“That’s not –“
“I don’t know why she’s upset with you, Malfoy. Maybe you should just try leaving her alone.”
Then she gathered up a piece of toast in her hands and swept out of the Great Hall. I had been so thrown off by her strange comments that I didn’t even try to get more information out of her.
As the day wore on, I had to push such ideas out of my head and focus on both my classes, and figuring out what was going on with Eleanor. Neither of which seemed to be going very well. And now here I was, chasing after her again.
“Eleanor, just stop ignoring me!” I shouted, surprising even myself.
She came to a stop and turned toward me.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” She said quietly.
“I want to know what the bloody hell I did.” I said, trying to calm my voice with difficulty. “I want to know why you’re avoiding me. I want to know why you were so upset on the platform.”
Eleanor looked away and shook her head. Her lips were pursed and her arms were crossed over her chest. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“Like hell you aren’t, Eleanor.” I said. “Then at least tell me what that was in Defense yesterday. What were you thinking? She wants you expelled!”
“Yeah, well she tried. Wasn’t very successful. I just ended up with detention for the rest of the week.” She said.
Some of the tension I had been holding in my shoulders began to ease. At least she wasn’t going to be expelled. But I still had questions. So many questions, and no answers. I took another couple of steps toward Eleanor, finally standing level with her at the top of the hill.
“You didn’t answer my other question.” I said cautiously.
“What question?”
“I wanted to know why you were upset on the platform. I’ve never seen you –“
“Stop, Malfoy! Just stop, all right?” Eleanor said, stepping further back from me. “It’s none of your –“
“It was Potter, wasn’t it?” I asked, cutting her off.
Eleanor stared up at me, looking as though she were torn between answering me and running away.
“What did he say to you?”
“Just…more of the same…” She answered, averting her gaze from mine again.
I wanted to pry more, to know what exactly that imbecile had said to her to upset her so much, but before I could open my mouth again her eyes shifted up toward the school.
“I have to go.” She said suddenly and turned to leave.
“Eleanor, wait!” I called after her.
I followed, only a mere ten feet away but as we entered the castle I realized what she was after. Her eyes were locked on the Weasley twins as she followed them down a corridor.
What was she doing with them?

George
“Fred,” I heard being called behind us, “George!”
We both turned toward the sound to find Eleanor jogging after us, her black hair falling behind her shoulders as she approached. The scars on the side of her face were revealed. I had nearly forgotten they were there, she so often kept her hair pulled over her shoulder, mostly concealing them.
“Yes little Potter?” Fred asked teasingly.
“Don’t call me that,” Eleanor snapped.
“Well, what an attitude.” Fred continued.
“Will you stop being strange?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at my twin.
“Only for you, our favorite Slytherin.” I said.
Eleanor’s hand rushed up to smack my arm. I hissed in mock pain.
“Oh no, you’ve killed me! The vicious Slytherin has murdered me, Fred!” I called out.
Eleanor’s eyes really seemed to be on fire now. She narrowed them at me and the laugh seemed to die on my lips.
“Okay, we’ll stop.” I said.
“What did you want?” Fred asked.
“I was just…” Eleanor bit her lip and looked away for a moment, seeming to consider whether she truly wanted to ask the question on her mind.
“Whatever it is, you can just tell us.” I said gently.
“I was wondering if you could…help me with something.” She said slowly.
“Help you with what exactly?” Fred asked her, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion.
“I wanted to learn…how to, well…play Quidditch.” She said.
“You want to learn to play Quidditch?” I asked, taken by surprise.
“Well why didn’t you spit it out sooner?” Fred said, ecstatic.
“Couldn’t you have just asked Malfoy?” I teased, a mischievous smiling beginning to form.
The look in Eleanor’s eyes though wiped that smile from my face. It wasn’t that she was angry, anger would have been her normal reaction to most things. This look, it was more like sadness. Had Harry’s words really bothered her that badly? She had been adamant that Malfoy wasn’t like his father, but was she actually questioning that?
“Sorry, nevermind.” I said. “We’d be happy to teach you more about Quidditch. Right, Freddie?”
“Right you are, George!”
“I don’t want to just learn about Quidditch, I want to play it.” She said.
“Why though? Are you wanting to try out?” Fred asked, and Eleanor looked away again, almost in an embarrassed sort of way.
That wasn’t a look I was used to seeing from her.
“Yes.” She said quietly.
“Wait, really?” I asked, astonished. She hadn’t seemed nearly that interested in it when we talked about it last term.
“What position?” Fred asked excitedly.
“There’s an opening on the Slytherin team for a Beater.” Eleanor answered.
“You want to be a Beater?” I asked before I could stop myself. “You realize Slytherin hasn’t had a girl on the team in years, right? And they’ve never had a girl as a beater.”
Eleanor’s face fell for a moment, but then she clenched her jaw and pursed her lips. “Well then it’s about time they have one.”

Harry
I had, quite disappointedly, left the Great Hall to make the trek to Umbridge’s office. I had been ordered to detention with her every night for the rest of the week. I had expected McGonagall to be furious when I turned up to her office after class the previous day. But in the end, she was disturbingly understanding of the situation.
She had warnd me to watch myself around Umbridge, told me that the Ministry was trying to interfere with Hogwarts, just as Hermione had said after Umbridge’s speech at the Welcoming Feast. When I asked what would happen to Eleanor, she hadn’t known.
I assumed that Eleanor hadn’t been expelled when I saw her in Care of Magical Creatures. But maybe Umbridge simply hadn’t had the chance to do it yet. Either way, I was worried.
That worry turned to confusion though when I reached Umbridge’s office to find Eleanor leaning up against the wall.
“Looks like we have detention together this week.” She said as I approached.
“Did she –“
“Expell me? No.” Eleanor said. “Dumbledore put a stop to it.”
“What were you thinking, Eleanor?”
Before she could say anything the door Umbridge’s office opened and she called us inside.
I had known this office under three of its previous occupants. When Gilderoy Lockhart was the Defense teacher, the office had been plastered with his own beaming portraits. In Lupin’s time here, it was usually occupied by some sort of fascinating Dark creature. When the imposter Moody was here the previous term, it had been filled with various artifacts for detecting wrongdoing and concealment.
Now it was completely unrecognizable. As I walked into the room I was taken aback by the vast amounts of pink, lace, dried flowers, and oddly enough, kittens. There was a collection of ornamental plates hanging on one wall, each adorned by a different kitten, meowing quietly and looking around the room. Lace doilies covered most of the surfaces, and pink vases of dried flowers seemed to litter the room.
Umbridge was sat behind her desk, her hands folded together in front of her as she looked up at me and Eleanor.
“Good evening, Potters.”
“Evening,” I said stiffly.
Eleanor simply ignored her.
“Well, sit down,” she said, pointing me toward a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for me.
The same setup was repeated on the other side of the room, where Umbridge had motioned for Eleanor to take a seat.
“Er,” I said, taking my seat, “Professor Umbridge? Before we start, I-I wanted to ask you a…a favor.”
Umbridge turned her gaze to me, her eyes narrowed.
“Oh yes?”
“Well I’m…I’m on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o’clock on Friday and I was – was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it – do it another night…instead…”
“Oh no,” Umbridge said sickly sweet, smiling widely. “Oh no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one’s convenience. No, you will come here at five o’clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you.”
I slumped back in my seat slightly. I knew that wasn’t going to go well. When I turned to look at Eleanor, I found her glaring at the back of Umbridge’s head, her fists clenched tight upon the table she was sitting at.
“Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me. No, not with your quill,” she added as I bent down toward my bag to fetch one. “You’re going to be using rather special ones of mine. Here you are.”
She handed me a long, thin black quill. Then she shuffled across the room to present one to Eleanor as well.
“Mr. Potter, I want you to write ‘I must not tell lies.”
“How many times?” I asked.
“Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in,” Umbridge said sweetly.
Then she turned to Eleanor and bent down close to her. She whispered something in Eleanor’s ear, and then moved back to her desk. I could actually see Eleanor shaking, whether from rage or something else I wasn’t sure. What could she have said to Eleanor to make her react that way? What is it that she told Eleanor to write? Why hadn’t she simply given Eleanor’s instructions aloud as she had done with mine?
“Off you go.” Umbridge said, taking her seat again.
I moved my quill toward the parchment, but then realized I couldn’t begin.
“You haven’t given us any ink,” I said, looking back up toward Umbridge.
“Oh, you won’t need ink.” She said, sounding as though she were close to laughing.
I hesitantly placed my quill on the paper, seeing Eleanor do the same. I began to write: I must not tell lies.
I let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time I had written them, however, a shooting pain erupted in my hand. My eyes shifted to the back of my hand and I was horrified to find the words I had just written etched into my skin. As quickly as they appeared, they faded again.
“Yes?”
“Nothing,” I said quietly, returning to my paper and ignoring Umbridges knowing stare.
I wouldn’t let her have the satisfaction of knowing I was in pain. And so I sat there, for hours, scratching those words into my hand over and over again. By the time Umbridge had stood from her desk again, the words had stopped fading all together. Instead, they were more present than ever, red and bleeding on the back of my hand.
“Come here,” Umbridge called.
Eleanor and I stepped up to her desk and she held her hand out to me, “Hand,” she instructed.
I held my hand up and she took it in her own, examining the bloody words.
“Tut, tut, I don’t seem to have made much of an impression yet,” she said with a sickly smile. “Well, we’ll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won’t we? You may go.”
I turned to grab my bag, hearing Umbridge ask for Eleanor’s hand as I made my way toward the door. I tried to linger but she wasn’t allowing it. “I said you can go, Mr. Potter.”
I stepped out of the room and waited for Eleanor to appear. It was a few minutes before she finally opened the door and made her way into the hall. There was a disturbingly far off look in her eyes. I tried to steal a glance at her hand, but she had pulled her robe sleeve down over it.
“Eleanor?” I asked tentatively.
She didn’t respond.
“Are you all right?”
Still nothing.
“What did she make you write?”
“Nothing…” Eleanor said quietly, and then she began to move, sweeping quickly down the corridor and out of sight.
What could it have been? What could she have forced Eleanor to scratch into her hand that had such an effect on her?