Clover Hawkings and the Triwizard Tournament

19. A Discovery

Note: this chapter changes from Artemis's to Clover's perspective, although it's primarily in Clover's. Enjoy! 

Artemis's view:

Clover is in the Hospital Wing. Again. My goodness, that girl has the immune system of-of- I don't know what, but not anything good.

"Hey," I say, sitting down beside her. "So- you okay?"

Clover coughs and gestures to her body. She's still in the ratty t shirt and flannel pants she wears for pajamas.

"Yeah, so not so hot. Can I stay?"

Clover nods feebly. It's not because she's sick, I think (again!) but... Afraid? Her hazel eyes are staring down at her twisting hands. Why so nervous? I almost ask, but then remember she's Clover and that conversation would not go anywhere I want it to. This must be handled carefully.

"Today's Halloween."

"Fricky fracky hell," Clover groans to her hands. "I can't believe I'm sick the one day I'd rather not be."

I laugh. "Maybe you'll get better by then?"

"Just bring me some butterbeer," she grumps. For a millisecond, I swear she looked up.

"Hey, so, I found something that might cheer you up." Crossing my legs and facing her, I lean forward and show her an old newspaper.

Clover's view:

"Good luck with that. I mean- what is it?" I say.

"A newspaper."

"Newspaper? Not quite my... what's it about?"

"It's about your, um..stuff." It's her turn to look down.

"My stuff?" For a moment, I forget the word I whispered yesterday. "Oh. My stuff. Cool."

Artemis sets the paper in front of me, and her swinging hair touches me. It's soft. I try to focus on reading the blurry title of the yellowing pages, not how close Artemis is to me, she's so close to me, why's she so close to me?

I don't know how to act.

I ignore the heat creeping up up my face and squint at the text. Promises to your mother are more important than girls, Clover. It's old, at least twenty years, and the font of the title has too many loops and extra swirls.

"Tene-tene-" Is that an h or a b? It's hard to tell. My mind circles back to Artemis, who is sitting right there. How does this work? How could this person possibly be both friends and....investigates with me? See my darkest moments and then eat cherry pie together?

Artemis looks up. The knowing gleam in her eye tells me she knows what it says, reading it upsidedown and backward and all that impressive stuff.

"Tenebras Opacus."

"Can you read it?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's, um..dark dark," Artemis muttered unhelpfully. 

"That's...that's it? What kind of lousy name is that!" I burst. "I mean, really, guys!"

"Not quite," Artemis explained. "More like..darkness overshadowed. Or darkness darkened."

"Oh." I quiet immediately. "Well that's- that's not pleasant."

"No."

"Where did you find them?" I pick it up and begin reading, but keep my eyes on the first word. 

 "Remember that cousin? The one who got drunk with me at that Muggle party?" 

I winceed. "Yeah."

"Anyway, her mother's ex-husband's brother's nie- well, this person works on a hush-hush project for Dumbledore on the side. Because of her job at the Ministry, she has all these stats on, well- You-Know-Who, like how many Death Eaters he had, what percent of each class supported him, the main reason for Death Eater deaths..stuff like that. Anyway, she has a cousin, one of the Blacks, who was a Death Eater, but then turned to our side. He had gathered all this information with another, who also was a double-agent. But they became too great a threat, so You-Know-Who killed them.

"Their deaths were announced in this magazine- the Death Eaters had their own secret magazine, can you believe it? Anyway, this is the article about their deaths."

I laughed. "A magazine? Can you imagine a Death Eater sitting at a desk, recording the people they've murdered?"

"It doesn't seem very logical to me, either. My guess it was mostly for the old families that supported Him. Plus, they've framed it very convincingly that it was a mysterious, unprovoked attack upon noble Death Eaters."

I smile, then look down. It's okay, I tell myself. Artemis is leading this whole thing, just follow her.

I squint. "On the twenty-first of September, 1987, a great tragedy occurred when Charlotte..." I have the feeling I'm being watched, and look up.

Artemis's looking at me, head tipped, eyes smiling. Her eyes are looking in mine. (And smiling?)

Do I stare back? I'm staring back.

"Oh, um-" Artemis comes back. Which is a relief, because I don't want her to see any more things I try not to show.

"That says Charlotte, but it looks like she was known as Charlie."

Oh. oh. We've found it. We really found something helpful, something to push us through and out of this mess-my mess- the mess we've become.

"I'm sorry."

I look back at my interlaced hands. "It's -it's fine," I whisper.

"Do you-" Artemis hesitates. "Do you remember her much? Your mother?"

"I...." I remember bedtime stories. She and Cass would take turns acting out funny voices. When she wasn't there, I'd beg Cass for just five more minutes, in the desperate hope she would come back.

I remember her hair. It was blond, like mine, and long, and I loved playing with it. I would pull it into the tangled knots I called braids and she would laugh. When she cut it all short, I ran my fingers through it, marveling at the texture.

I remember her cloaks. They were always black, and when I was small, I would drape plastic bead necklaces over her neck and arms. She would say: "Now I am fancy, like you!" and I would giggle and say: "Not yet!" and put another one on her.

I remember the fights most of all. She would yell, and then Cass would cry, and then I would cry, and our cries of pain shook the house and dust fell from the ceiling.

Then they would make up, and that meant long, goodbye hugs on the front porch, promises to be good, Cass sniffing in the background. That meant Mommy's going away for a little bit, but she'll be back soon, because Charlie always won.

Always.

Artemis smiles sadly, as if her eyes are laughing and roaring in pain at the same time. "You do."

I shake my head. "Not really. I just remember Cass needs to work on her debating skills."

What now? What next?

"Um, we should probably actually read this thing. That- that might help," Artemis says hesitantly, as if she can read my thoughts. The look her in green eyes- empathy and sympathy and something else I can't quite name- tells me she knows my thoughts are shaking.

Even more terrifying- she hasn't run away from them.