84 84: Perils and Upturns

Harry hadn't been happy these past few days. After what happened to Nott during the match, the game was postponed to mid-December, giving enough time for Slytherin to find a new keeper. He felt terrible, of course, but the snitch had been so close to his hand...

Then there were the Dementors. After the incident on the train, he found himself being more affected than most, and every time... he'd hear a woman's scream. His grandmother's.

He'd heard the story from the enchanted portraits of their home countless times. His grandfather had been bedridden with dragon-pox, and his grandmother was asleep beside a baby Harry and Hope. They were too late to notice the protective wards being broken, and when Euphemia woke up, she found herself face to face with none other the Voldemort. 

According to the headmaster, it was love that protected Harry. Voldemort targeted him, and not his sister. He found it weird at first, but what reason did Dumbledore and the portraits have to lie to him, Hope, and their parents?

Luckily, just before dinner that day, Harry's mood took a definite upturn. He stayed behind as his friends and classmates filtered out of the DADA room at the request of Remus. It still felt weird having to call his pseudo-uncle 'Professor', but nothing that he couldn't manage. 

He learned a lot about Dementors with that conversation, and after Remus promised to teach him the very same spell Alaric used during the match, he left the classroom with a large smile. There was a hint of jealousy in the fact that someone of his age could cast such a powerful Patronus, but now that Remus told him Harry could do it too... he was excited!

What with the promise of Anti-Dementor lessons from his uncle, the thought that he might never have to hear his grandmother's death again, and the fact that Gryffindor had a clear shot at the Quidditch cup with the Slytherins panicking for a decent keeper, Harry entered the Great Hall with a skip in his steps.

Wood became repossessed of his manic energy, so Harry was sure he'd work the team as hard as ever in the chilly haze of rain that persisted through the month, but as long as Harry saw no hint of Dementors on the school grounds, he'd be alright. Dumbledore's anger seemed to be keeping them at their stations at the entrances anyway.

"Settle down, please," The headmaster said, standing in the golden stan near the professors' table. "I have some announcements to make,"

Harry noticed Dumbledore's voice didn't sound as bright as usual, but he shrugged. Maybe the headmaster had the flu. Taking a seat between Ron and Hermione, facing his sister and Lysandra, Harry helped himself to some food as the headmaster began to speak. 

"First, I would like to remind you all that the next Hogsmeade Weekend will take place on the very last weekend of the term," He said, lifting his spectacles from the tip of his nose. "It'll be the last opportunity of the year to enjoy some leisure time and beverages with your friends, explore the quaint and lively corner that the village is, and for those lucky of you... to blossom the young love within your hearts,"

As the headmaster smiled, the Great Hall burst into giggles and whispers from the more excited students. 

"We can do all our Christmas shopping there!" Hermione said. "Mum and Dad would really love those Toothflossing Stringmints from Honeydukes!"

"Well, I'll be spending Christmas here," Ron announced. "Don't think I can stand another two weeks with Percy,"

"Silence, children. Please," This time it was Professor McGonagall who spoke, interrupting their voices and the hundreds of others happening in the hall. 

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore's voice had turned sombre, and so did the atmosphere around the students.

Now Harry was sure something had happened. 

"Earlier this evening," The headmaster began. "A student was attacked,"

Instead of chuckles, gaps of surprise were leaving their mouths. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Hope, and Lysandra looked at each other, wondering not only who was it, but who had done it.

"I will not be divulging their identity as per their request," He continued, stroking his long, white beard and looking around the Great Hall. "But rest assured, as the student finds themself in good condition and the most capable of hands,"

"Is Malfoy at his table?" Ron asked hopefully, trying to peep over the heads of other students. 

"Yeah, I saw him sitting near my brother," Lysandra said absentmindedly, using her fork to play with a small piece of chicken on her plate.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Ron slammed his hand on the table in frustration and proceeded to immediately get slapped by Hermione on the back of his head. 

"Seriously, Ron!" She exclaimed, rubbing the hand she used. "Someone got attacked. This is serious!"

"Probably a scuffle between older students," Hope guessed, not bothering to lift her gaze from her plate full of food. "Dad told me he used to get in duels all the time,"

"Maybe it was Pettigrew?" Harry said with a frown. He couldn't help thinking about it since he heard the man was on the run. "Maybe... maybe whoever is in the hospital wing found him... and Pettigrew tried to harm them?"

"Doubt it," Lysandra said with a shrug. 

"And why is that?" Harry asked, glaring at her.

"If I was Pettigrew," Lysandra began, ignoring the look on Harry's face, and turning to the other three. "If I was him and someone found out I sneaked into the castle, I'd silence them. Simple as that. No witnesses,"

"Exactly," Hope nodded her head in agreement, before looking at Harry. "Still, I doubt he'd risk coming here, Harry... Even with what Mom and Dad told us,"

"What? What do you mean?" Ron asked, wondering what they were keeping from them. 

Hope and Harry exchanged glances and nervously looked at their mother at the professors' table, before nodding in silent agreement. 

"There's a chance..." Harry bit his lip. "That Pettigrew could try and come to the school and... well—"

"Finish what he started," Hope said nervously. 

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked with a lump in her throat. 

"It means he's coming to kill them," Lysandra finished, staring at the stand as the headmaster continued his speech.

As they continued their conversation, the headmaster finished his speech.

"In times of uncertainty, unity becomes our greatest strength," He said with a small smile. "And remember, patience and kindness often hold the strongest magic within them. Enjoy your dinner,"

__________

Alaric lay in his dormitory bed trying to remember, feverish and headachy, too uncomfortable to sleep, sheets twisted around his ankles like manacles, whatever dream he just had. He was sure it was a vision. 

A chaotic one, by the state he woke up in. He looked like he ran ten laps around the castle. It was only a blur now, but at least, there was one thing he could remember. A graveyard. 

"Morning, Al," A soft, sad voice spoke to him. Alaric had to rub his eyes and blink a few times before he even realised it was Blaise. 

"M-mornin'," He slurred, groggy from the migraine that began to settle. It always made his accent slip, which he hated. "What 'ere you doin' up so eerly?"

Blaise sat on the end of his own bed and stuck out his foot.

"Went to check up on my ankle. It's fine now, German boy,"

"Oh, good," Alaric nodded, pulling himself up into a sitting position. He frowned a second later. "And shut up,"

Blaise laughed softly, before turning to look at his hands.

"I saw it was Flint who was attacked," He said, fiddling with the end of his tie. "D'you have something to tell me?"

Alaric stared intently at him. After what seemed an eternity but was only ten seconds, he dropped back into his pillows. 

"You seem to already know," Alaric pulled the sheets over himself. "Why bother?"

"How was it?" Blaise asked, turning his head in Alaric's direction. 

"Excuse me?"

"How did it feel?" He asked again. "Did you feel better afterwards?"

As the sun began to peek over the Scottish mountains on the horizon, filtering sunlight into the room, Alaric stared at Blaise again, before tightening his jaw in frustration.

"No. Felt worse, actually,"

"Figured as much," Blaise sighed. 

"I... I don't know what came over me," Alaric placed his arm over his eyes and grimaced. "But that tosser had the gal to make fun of the situation,"

"Well, it was only a Biting curse, right?" Blaise tried to see the bright side. "At least, that's what I heard Madam Pomfrey mutter,"

"Huh? Oh, right, a Biting curse, yeah," Alaric was glad he altered Flint's memories, even if he felt somewhat bad for him now. He didn't want to imagine his friends' faces if they knew what he really did. "Daphne and Tracey 'ere too?"

"Nah," Blaise looked down at his shoes. "Giving them a break from me,"

"I don't think they mind,"

"I do, though,"

Alaric nodded. He didn't like being fussed over either. 

"Al?"

"Yeah?"

"You know how you said it wasn't my fault?"

"It wasn't your fault," Alaric said, firmly. A little bit too firmly. He felt the muscles in his throat strain and contract and he began to cough. He was parched. Blaise hopped off the bed and grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand, handing it to Alaric. Alaric gulped it down rapidly, spilling a bit down his front. 

"I couldn't have done anything, you're right," Blaise said, looking out the window over Alaric's head, squinting slightly as if he was looking for something out there. They were just a few feet above the water. 

"But... when I saw him fall like that, I thought... I thought - don't let him die."

"Well, of course," Alaric frowned. He wished Blaise would meet his eye. "He's one of your best friends, of course you didn't want him to—"

"I wasn't thinking about him, thought," Blaise said. "I was thinking about me. I was thinking... if he dies, then you and I will be the only ones left, and the team will... I wouldn't have anything in this school to distract myself. I need Theo to stay alive. I need him to stay on the team so my mom lets me play, so it doesn't matter that I'm a 'bad son', That's what I was thinking. I'm a coward,"

Alaric didn't know what to say — it was the first time Blaise mentioned anything about this — but he had to say something. 

"You'd still have been extremely sad if he died, though. Not just because of that,"

"Yeah, best friend and all. But my first thought—"

"People don't think properly when they're scared. Believe me," Alaric said, sounding authoritative. "I saw you. You risked your life to try and save him — that's not cowardly. Broke your stupid ankle like the idiotic knobhead you are. Too much like a Gryffindor, if you ask me," He laughed at the end. 

Blaise exhaled a strained little laugh. He looked at his feet again, then at Alaric. Alaric smiled at him, encouragingly, even though his head still hurt. 

"Theo mailed me this morning," He said. "You too, but you were asleep so..."

"You got my letter?" Alaric asked with an arched eyebrow. 

"I kind of opened it..." Blaise chuckled nervously. "But it was the same as mine,"

Alaric rolled his eyes. "Just tell me what it said,"

"He said he's okay," The dark-skinned boy grabbed a folded paper from his pocket.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Being waited on hand and foot sounds like. His father tried to get him out and Flint kicked off the team too, but he stopped him,"

"There you go then," Alaric smirked and grabbed the paper from his friend's hands. "You can still be the bad son,"

Blaise laughed.

**********

Whoa?! The beginning of Blaise's character arc? Who knows~

Also, I always find myself enjoying writing other character's POVs that aren't Alaric. It's like a breath of fresh air. For that reason, I'll ask you guys to comment on what character you'd like to have a POV chapter of their own!

Hope you're enjoying the story!