#although dumbledore's 6th year marked the one time he told the lot of them to just pretend they'd been dealt with harshly

[wellpresseddaisy]

The Demon Prefect Rides Again

Bertram Harroway put on his evening clothes as if headed to war. In a way, he was. It would be an emotional war, he supposed. He let his valet help him into his coat and glanced down at the letter from Vera Dalrymple that kicked the whole thing off.

Darling Bertie,

That certainly wasn’t what she’d called him when he found her in a compromising position with Hector Grantham in her fifth year. And Eliza Dearborne in her sixth.

As you are possibly the only person on this planet who can make Albus Dumbledore mind you,

He thought, perhaps, one other existed, but it didn’t do to dwell on Gellert Grindelwald. He’d never liked the little wart, no matter how infatuated Albus was with him.

could you please do something about him? I popped into town last weekend and ran into him in Diagon. He looks dreadful. And his robes!

Bertram sighed. He knew precisely what Vera meant.

He’s gone old on us. I know it started creeping up on him in the aftermath of That Man followed on by That Gobby Upstart in the seventies, but something is really, terribly wrong. I suspect a whacking great load of guilt and grief, but really, Bertie, he looks like a stiff wind will carry him off. He looks more like he’s in the middle of his two-hundreds than just past his first century.

Trust Vera to look at a dark lord terrorizing the country and call him a gobby upstart. He’d seen photos of Albus recently and he agreed with Vera. Voluminous robes only his so much and Albus always had been nervy, no matter what he pretended otherwise for the magical public.

Honestly Bertie, I’m worried. He’s always worked much too hard and taken on too much responsibility, but he’s never been so frail before. He wouldn’t even go to tea with me and there is little Albus Dumbledore loves more than a cream tea and a good gossip. He doesn’t go anywhere, either. He used to love the theater and I can’t remember when he last made up part of a theater party. I think he might be punishing himself, in some bizarre way.

That was the part that spurred him into action. A quick note to the Deputy Headmistress and he secured a Saturday evening away for Albus.

He isn’t researching and he won’t meet with friends and it’s as if all he’ll allow himself is duty. It can’t go on. It simply can’t, Bertie. You remember how he got after exams? We’re headed for a crash the likes of which we’ve never seen and I’m so frightened it’ll take him from us. You’re the only one I could think of who might get through to him. Our Vally needs the Demon Prefect to come out of mothballs.

He'd see what he could do. Vally Dumbledore (nicknamed for the way he’d valiantly come to the defense of anyone he thought wronged) was the most infuriatingly stubborn young man he’d ever met.

We’ll plan a little reunion for all of us this summer. Dahlia wants everyone to see her gardens, in any case. She’s doing some interesting things with roses these days. Or perhaps, if you can persuade Vally to take care of himself, we could make up a theater party. I hear the latest from that Carruthers girl is splendid fun.

With love and thanks,

Vera

PS It probably isn’t my place to say so, but I’m going to anyway. He always had. G.P. for you and you ought to have swept him off his feet, all Oxford-polished, before That Man had a chance to get his hooks in. You helped create this problem by being as obtuse as a box turtle, so you can fix it.

Bertie sighed and went down to the Floo room. He knew he bore some responsibility in never acknowledging his own feelings. He simply hadn’t thought it appropriate since he was a perfect and then Head Boy. He could easily have picked up their acquaintance once Albus left Hogwarts. Although…there came a point where Albus pushed everyone away after his mother died, when all those lovely plans he’d made fell through so he could care for his sister. He never really let any of them back in after.

He wondered if he could have made a difference there, kept Albus from ending up so cut off from the academia he loved that he clung to the only person able to keep up with him. They would never know, he supposed.

He checked his pocket watch and collected coat and hat from his hovering valet.

“Thank you, Deverell. Don’t feel the need to wait up if I’m late returning.”

“Of course, sir.” If he didn’t know better, he’d think his valet quietly judging him.

Most likely the man judged his early departure. If he knew Vally as well as he once did, it would take quite a bit of persuasion to rout him out of his office and make him dress properly, especially if Vera was right and he was somehow punishing himself for his failures, perceived or otherwise.

Vera, irksomely, was usually right.

As he stepped to the Floo and gave the direction, he wondered if he should bring his old slipper. It always made an impact on a  recalcitrant Vally.

-----------

Hogwarts hadn’t changed in the decades since his leaving. Like Oxford, she endured, only she housed grubby schoolchildren instead of grubby undergrads. Professor McGonagall sending him through the internal Floo system came as a surprise. He’d never really thought about the professors needing to get somewhere quickly before.

He stepped out into the Headmaster’s office and brushed the slight traces of soot from his clothes.

“Good evening, Vally.” He began.

Albus looked up sharply from a thick book propped on his desk.

“Bertram Harroway? What are…how…”

He ended by staring as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Thankfully, he looked a good bit better than Vera described. Still too thin, of course, but he’d always forgotten meals or spent an hour just moving his dinner about his plate when in the grip of An Idea (or nerves). He looked as if he'd let go of some of the guilt and grief weighing him down. His hair, which had turned white practically overnight, had regained its more youthful ginger hue. The deep lines carved into his face by decades of worry seemed to have filled in. He looked more like he ought to look, like a non-magical of fifty or sixty instead of a man nearing the end of his life.

“Vera sent me, Vally. She said you’re getting old and could do with a bit of livening up. I thought you might like a night out. I have a box at the Savoy. They’re doing Pinafore at the moment and I know how you feel about well done G and S.” He moved into Albus’ office, helping himself to a chair when Albus continued to stare.

“Vera Dalrymple said she’d rather be boiled in Frederica Morningside’s failed potions projects than ever communicate with you again via any medium.” Albus finally spoke.

“I had just gated her for the rest of term. You can’t blame her for being distraught.”

“I couldn’t possibly go out on such short notice. This whole idea is patently ridiculous.” Albus nodded firmly, as if he’d made up his mind.

“You can go and get dressed right now is what you can do.” Bertram insisted. “The show starts at eight and I booked a table for supper after, at the Palace.”

“India Palace?” He at least looked interested at that. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve been there.”

The wistful note in his voice belied his firm refusal.

“It was the day you got Greta Saatchi’s autograph after standing in pouring rain for two hours and we spent a further two getting you properly warm again when you returned.” He chuckled at the memory.

How had they been that carefree?

Well, he hadn’t. He’d had to play the heavy when the miscreants tried to slip back into the castle with the Hogsmeade crowd, as if they hadn’t slipped off to London for a matinee and a curry. Albus shifted slightly, as if remembering Bertram’s method for warming him up.

“We were thrilled when you finally left to terrorize Oxford, did you know?”

“I’m sure you were. I’ve returned just to terrorize you, Vally, you know?”

“Oh how lucky am I.” Albus replied acidly. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve decided.”

How well he remembered that rather sulky tone. He certainly heard it often enough.

“I suppose I could go and fetch my slipper if you need convincing? I don’t care to see Vera so distressed, you know.”

It wasn’t often that anyone shocked Albus Dumbledore into complete silence.

“You still have that…that thing?” It always entertained Bertram to see shades of their youth in his friends.

“Of course I do. It’s an exceedingly motivating piece of footwear. Now, be a good chap and go get dressed. Theater waits for no man and Professor McGonagall assured me you were overdue for a night out. Something about you working all hours?” He put a bit of the old Demon Prefect in that one, the same tone he’d used countless times when locating an Albus who quite forgot about such mundanities as curfews.

Albus was out of his chair and halfway to the door to his quarters when he stopped.

“What do you mean Professor McGonagall assured you?” he asked waspishly.

“Of course I wrote her first to ensure you could have a nice evening with an old friend. It’s no use organizing a surprise one can’t pull off in the end.”

Albus gaped at him. “You cannot just go about organizing the world as you please.”

“It’s worked for me thus far.” Bertram answered mildly. “Do go and get dressed, Vally.”

“I can go as I am.” Albus insisted.

“Oh no you are not. I know you own perfectly nice evening clothes. Go and put them on.” He cared very much for Albus, but he’d rather chew his own arm off than attend a public event with Albus wearing golden yellow robes patterned with swirling suns. “We aren’t leaving until you are attired to my satisfaction.”

Albus stared at him for a moment before turning, very clearly not stomping to the door, and entering his quarters. He shut the door just shy of a bang.

Bertram settled down, quite pleased with his evening’s work. They’d make the theater in a timely manner now, and he could treat Albus to a lovely meal after. He’d have to suggest Dahlia and Hitty invite a little party for dinner one evening. And perhaps Albus would join him for the theater more frequently now. Albus, now more than ever, needed the people who cared for him to pull together.

The feelings he once thought faded raised their heads again, like a parched garden in the rain.

[liw-the-melancholic-apple]

How it may have gone - Humble beginnings

If you're into Harry Potter maybe give this a read. Let me know what you think. It is a  marauders fic with tons of original characters.

James, Sirius, Remus and Peter are a bunch of things. But mainly they're teenagers. In their 6th year the political climate in the magical community gets colder and conflict is near inevitable. At hogwarts that leads to more animosity between some of the students. But it also bands some together.

Another prefect in the group doesn't seem like a good idea on paper, but it turns out that the soap opera aspects of high school as well as the downsides of wizardry are better faced with Friends. The more the merrier.

Masterlist

One: Skip the step

Six old-timey claw footed armchairs with purple upholstery. Two little side tables, dark wood, also claw footed with visible glass marks on the shiny tabletop. No windows. Thick velvet curtains to both sides of the door. Their colour was somewhere between magenta and burgundy. They should have clashed with the armchairs but didn’t. The floor was dark graphite or something like it. No rug.

Three gigantic bookshelves with glass cabinets to my left. One of them held the same book over and over and over again. I had checked. I had double checked. I actually was the very same book, same edition, same author, exact same title. First I had thought that it was the biggest encyclopaedia I’d ever seen. But it was just copies over copies of one book. “How to survive wizardkind” by Agathe Lieberschenk. Sounded German.

The door of the second cupboard was covered with inky black fabric, so I couldn’t see if it held the same book again. Though, I was pretty sure it didn’t. There wouldn’t be any need to keep people from prying if it was just the same book again.

the case closest to me buzzed quietly. In the middle a large contraption was stored. I had no idea what the thing was but it caused the buzzing. A large triangle  made out of what seemed to be white gold pipes spinning on its tip in mid-air over a silver tray engraved with runes that I couldn’t decipher. The buzzing got on my nerves. I was absolutely sure that it got several octaves higher since I first entered the small and stuffy room.

I forced my eyes away from the décor and found myself staring at the top of the doorframe again, although I knew that the clock which hung there was not showing the actual time but the centuries that had passed since the it was hung. Currently, the big hand sat at 8. Old clock. Old room. Old castle.

Frustrated that I had no idea how long I’d been sitting in my stupid purple chair I huffed audibly. Blue-ish grey eyes darted at me curiously. I didn’t need to check. I knew. They had done so every single time I had moved or even breathed loudly. They were nervous. 

The boy they belonged to sat across from he in his very own stupid purple chair. Feet tapping an uneven rhythm on the stone floor, fingers clawing into his knees. As I looked up to his face I expected his face to express his anxiety just as much as his body did. But it was calm, statuesque. Breathing was quiet en deep, eyes, still looking in mine, were expressionless and the skin was the usual pale, instead of the flustered red I had expected.

After a while the slightly narrow-set eyes looked to the top of the door. The brows furrowed in annoyance but quickly returned to their original position, helping the face try to convey calmness again. His fingers gripped his trousers even faster, though.

I didn’t like to admit it but the way in which Black was capable of controlling his expression was impressive. My emotions were always readable for anyone and everyone, his face was nearly always as made of stone. It must have driven him insane that is body betrayed his efforts of hiding his anxiety.

“God, how long can it take to tell them off!” I jumped a little at the exclamation and heard the tall boy next to me chuckle.

“Well, maybe he finally kicks them out of school and goes through the paperwork with them”, I couldn’t see the boy that voice belonged to, as he sat next to tall chuckler but he was clearly amused.

The tapping of the feet across from me got louder as the four other boys started fantasising about the conversation behind the closed door that held us in the stuffy purple buzzing chamber. As I wondered whether Black maybe tap-danced in his spare time a slightly bigger foot stepped on his. “Relax Reggie”, the boy belonging to the foot said softly. Black scoffed at his brother and kept tapping.  “Why are you so nervous, mate?”, Potter pushed his glasses back up his nose as he leaned forward to inspect the state the younger Black was in. Another scoff but no actual answer.

“Look at the goodie-two-shoes over there, they seem perfectly fine”, Potter continued vaguely gesturing toward Remus and me.

“I doubt she’s fine”, Remus chuckled again, looking down to me. I refused to take part in the conversation so I remained silent and stoic, inspecting the ornaments on the side tables for the eightieth time.

But Remus was right. I was not fine. I was fuming. Fuming because we would definitely be late for dinner and I was starving. Fuming because I was sitting next to that goddamn buzzing triangle that had just gone another octave higher and threatened to explode my drums. Fuming because I had let them get the better of me. Fuming because of what had been said. Yeah, mainly because of what had been said. But my feelings were none of their bloody business.

“She looks fine”, the voice behind Remus had leaned forward just like Potter, round face looking at me perfectly innocent. Now, it was my turn to doubt. I was no Regulus Black. I was annoyed and I bet that that was very visible.

“Meh”, Remus said turning towards me. “Pretty sure she’s never been here before and doesn’t like it.” I turned my attention to the curtains again, doing my best to ignore them.

“Does she talk?”, older Black chuckled.

“Yeah, she usually does. A lot even. Which is why I doubt she’s fine.” I could hear him grin. He had a way of looking like a hyena when he felt mischievous. Which was often. Prefect or not, he was just as involved in the pranks, schemes and fights as the other three Gryffindors.

“Proof it!”, Potter demanded, leaving me puzzled as to who needed to proof what.

“Proof what?”, Remus asked.

“That she talks.”

“She’s not a parrot, Prongs. And I’m most definitely not her keeper or her tamer. And I’d like it to be understood that I know that”, with those last words he turned completely to me. I knew that he was looking at me and I also knew that it was childish to pretend he didn’t exist or that I had not heard the conversation. So, I looked at him and gave him a quick nod.

My acknowledging Remus’ existence was interpreted as an invitation to talk to me directly by his friends. “ Come on De Witt, just say hello or something”, Potter whined. He pronounced my name wrong. Most people did. They all pronounced it Do-it. Not Deh-vitte. Very annoying.

“That’s not how you pronounce that”, younger Black said to not only my surprise. “It’s deh-vitte. German name.”

“Dutch”, I couldn’t help myself and instantly bit my tongue.

“Aha!”, Black the elder shouted pointing at me frantically as if he had just seen my spew fire.

“I told you she could talk”, Remus commented, grinning again.

“They already knew she could talk, Lupin, they’re trying to wind her up.” Younger Black seemed to have decided that just tap-dancing and clawing open wounds into his knees wasn’t enough to combat his uneasiness.

“How do you know how to pronounce her name”, Pettigrew asked confused, neglecting that they had long passed my surname.

“She’s in my year. Corrects the teachers all the time. You’d think they’d remember how to pronounce her name but they don’t.”

“Why would they?”, Potter pushed his glasses back again.

“She’s been here for nearly five years now and she’s rivalling Remus in classes. You’d think a teacher would know how she’s called, wouldn’t ya?”

Against my will I shot Black a surprised look. How on earth did he know about my marks? Then again, I knew about Remus’ and I only ever spoke to him if I had to.

“So, you’re a goodie-to-shoes and a know-it-all, huh?”, the older Black looked me up and down. I sighed and faced him.

“So it seems.” The triangle skipped an octave and practically screamed at me. Irritated I turned to the cupboard.

“It only does that for as long as you pay attention to the sound”, Pettigrew informed me. I looked at him blank-faced. “What?”

“That thing, if you ignore the buzzing, it will actually stop.”

I looked at him, then back at the annoying triangle and let out a “huh”.

“How do you know?”, I asked after a quick moment, forgetting that I was fuming and didn’t want to talk to those boys, because I was too curious about the infuriating contraption in the cupboard.

Older Black started pointing at me again dramatically and reminded me of toddlers at the zoo. Potter and Remus started laughing a bit and Pettigrew turned red. “Well, eh, uhm”, he began when Remus rescued him: “Not our first time, here. We figured that out” he pointed toward my bookshelf, “in second year. Maybe third.” I nodded. Of course they knew every little detail of Dumbledore’s waiting room. The practically lived in his office.

I was contemplating whether I should ask if they knew what was up with the endless copies of that one book, when the door opened and Professor McGonnagal came in. She did not look amused. Her eyes met mine, her head darted toward the door she had just come through and then she turned around again.

As I got up Potter shouted after her: “Oh, come on Minnie, we’ll miss dinner if she’ll take just as long!”

McGonnagal turned back around. “Well, Mr Potter, so will I. But do you hear me whine?”, she shot him a cold look, then graced every single one of the boys with it, while I stood stupidly waiting for instructions. I felt awkward. The professors look lingered on Remus, then she waved him to also follow her.

We walked behind her, crossing the small corridor from the waiting room to the big oak French door to Dumbledore’s office.

We were guided toward two new old-timey claw footed armchairs with purple upholstery and sat down. No sign of the six Slytherins who had been called in before us. I looked at my headmaster on the other side of the heavy antique desk and waited.

He took his time saying something. Looking at Remus first, then me, then back to Remus, ever so slightly shaking his head. In disappointment?

“I would have expected much more from two prefects than to end that situation by hexing classmates. If there is anybody who knows this is against the rules, it is the pair of you.” I wanted to correct him but he lifted his hand effectively shutting me up.

“Both of you are very skilled when it comes to communication and you have been chosen to be the prefects for your respective houses because you can keep a level head and remain objective in situations such as the one that landed you here. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

I waited about one heartbeat to give Remus a chance to defend himself. When he didn’t I addressed the bearded man with the silly hat myself: “Remus shouldn’t be here. Professor Dumbledore. He didn’t hex anybody. If you want to scold someone for not being a proper prefect, it should be me. Remus has not broken any rules and if you let him leave now, he might still have full choice at dinner.” I looked at the headmaster in anticipation. He turned is his halfmoon glasses toward Remus and raised both eyebrows.

“Well, Sir, she isn’t wrong. But I don’t think she’s right either.” Dumbledore’s eyebrows jumped up even higher on his forehead.

“I might not have hexed anybody myself, but I also didn’t keep anybody from doing so. And if I’m honest I would have if Jette hadn’t disarmed me.” He paused for a second, glancing at me, then continuing:” And while we’re defending each other: Jette didn’t hex her classmates, she disarmed them – in pretty badass move by the way –“, he notched me in the side and I couldn’t help but smile at the compliment. “And she only disarmed them – us – because we were about to hex each other. And it also wasn’t her first attempt of keeping us from doing it.”

“It wasn’t?”, Dumbledore interrupted, redirecting his attention to me. “No, Sir, it wasn’t. When I stumbled across them, wand at the ready to curse each other I first conjured protection. But as soon as I let that go, they were at it again. So, in order to prevent any actual harm, I disarmed them.”

“In a pretty badass move!”, Remus said again.

“Why are you so hung up on that?”, I asked, momentarily forgetting that I was here to try and not get punished, rather than discussing Lupins enthusiasm over my Defence-against-the-dark-Arts-techniques.

“’cause it was a clean sweep in one move. Very elegant. Never seen anybody do that.”

“Why thanks, Remus.” I was honestly flattered.

“What you are telling me is that Mr Lupin did only make himself guilty of wishing to hex somebody and that Miss De Witt’s only crime was to prevent any hexing?” We stupidly looked at each other, then nodded in unison. That was pretty much what happened.

I thought that he was satisfied with that answer and would maybe let us of the hook and into the Great Hall with a warning but he wasn’t done with us yet.

“Do either of you know why there were a total of twelve students trying to assault each other in the transfiguration corridor?”

If I were to answer that question my still searing anger would get the better of me, so I hoped Remus would just say no.

“I don’t know who started it Sir, we rounded the corner when Jette yelled at them to stop. As soon as Sirius realised that Mulciber and his friends were hexing Regulus he got in on it. And so did the rest of us.”

“Not you, though?”

“Well, technically only Black got to actually cast a spell, Sir”, I interrupted. “The rest of them were going to but couldn’t because of the Protego. Including Remus.”

“You were there before Mr Lupin, I understand?”

The old man’s eyes were far too bright, lively and inquisitive for someone his age, and they looked directly into mine.

“Yes, Sir. A bit.”

“Do you know how the rowl started?” Yes, yes, I did. But I didn’t know whether I could tell him while keeping a level head and staying objective. Those damn elitist Slytherins!

“They had words, Professor.”

“Who did?”

“Mulciber and Black, Sir.”

“They had words?”

“They argued.”

“About what?” His eyes bore in mine as if he already knew what they had fought about and he just wanted me to tell him.

“Ehm…” I started trying to win time to calm down a bit and find the right words. I realised I wiggled my lips from left to right as I was thinking.

“About the company Black was keeping during lunch”, I finally said, forcing myself to sound calm. Remus’ head twitched towards me.

“He had lunch with us.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just shut up.

“Why would Mr Mulciber be interested in or upset about who Mr Black spends his lunch with?” Dumbledore’s eyes wouldn’t let me go.

“I… think that’s a question for him, Sir.”

“You heard the argument, didn’t you, Miss De Witt?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t know what Mulciber is thinking…”

“Would you recount the argument for me?” No. No, I really wouldn’t. I’m not one to use those terms!

“I’d rather not, Sir. It was…unpleasant.” Remus sighed next to me in understanding. But Dumbledore wouldn’t let me off the hook.

“Humour me, Miss De Witt. Please.”

My teeth clenched I breathed in and out a couple of times, begging myself to not fly into pure rage.

“Mulciber – and his friends – are apparently … proud of… their heritage.” I managed to say slowly through my teeth. I hoped the headmaster would just take the hint. He had whatever Mulciber told him – I assumed he would have no problem repeating the insults he had used – and he could also ask Black the younger about the argument. It was his after all.

“You meant to say they are proud to be pureblood wizards?”, the old man’s eyes softened. A bit.

“Yes, Sir. That.”

“What does that have to do with Mr Black’s lunch?”, he asked very innocently and as if he had no idea, although Remus had already said that Black the younger had sat with him and his friends. Couldn’t the grandmaster of the Wizarding gamot just use his abnormally large brain to figure that out?

“With all due respect, Sir, I think you know”, I answered vaguely.

“Please, Miss De Witt, just give me your account of events.” I groaned involuntarily.

“Really, Sir, I’m just gonna get angry.”

“Feel free to”, he smiled at me in encouragement. I quickly glanced at Remus and he shrugged.

Again I took a moment to collect myself before I started talking. 

“Well. Mulciber and his goons had seen that Black had been lunching with his brother and Remus, Pettigrew, Potter and Evans at the Gryffindor table”, I started feeling heat rising all over my body as I remembered the scene in the transfiguration corridor right after lunch.

“They weren’t happy about that because of their being proud pure bloods”, I spat the word like it was poisonous. “In their mind a fine pure blood Slytherin boy like Black should never, under any circumstance, fraternise with people who aren’t purebloods – or Merlin forbid those people who defend halfbloods and muggleborns.” I got really worked up now.

“So, when they met Black in the corridor they yelled at him that he was a disgrace to Slytherin House and his family, just like...”, I interrupted myself and glanced at Remus again. He looked at me scarred face all serious and nodded slightly.

“Just like his blood traitor brother.” Now that I said it, there was no going back and I knew I was going to yell in just a couple of seconds letting out all my frustration and fury.

“His blood traitor brother who does not only eat lunch with the filthy halfbreeds and unworthy muggleborns but who has the audacity to be friends with them and publically defend them and their rights.

Mulciber called Black – the younger Black – a bloodtraitor himself threw around some great insults for Remus and Pettigrew and then – in front of the whole goddamn year!!! – he shouted that Black should stop hanging out with a – and I quote – filthy mudblood like Evans who should be hunted like the vermin she is.

Then Mulciber pulled his wand and gave Black the Lion tattoo in his neck. Only then did Black take up his own wand and tried to protect himself. That lot”, I gestured at Remus, nearly poking his eye out, “had come ‘round the corner just before the hex and probably heard the last few sentences Mulciber had said. Naturally, other Black and Potter were up in arms immediately and that’s when I cast the Protego. Mind you for all of them. Including Mulciber and his racist friends, Professor. I cast a Protego for them. And don’t think that any of that stopped them from yelling and insulting and throwing words around that I have learned to never use however angry I am.

And what happens after I disarm the lot of them? We all get dragged to your office. We all get the same speech from McGonnagal. And we”, again I gestured at Remus, who had to duck away as I had risen from my chair standing up in all my anger. “get to wait for hours and miss dinner, while that elitist, racist snob gets to have some pudding. Tell you what, Professor Dumbledore if I had known that acting my age and remaining reasonable would have landed me here in the exact same spot as that piece of shit I would have never even bothered to protect them. I would have loved to help Black jinx Them into the next century and back!

How dare you punish Black when he only acted against a useless and unwarranted prejudice by standing up for his brother and his friends in public. Him having to go back to his dorm and common room should be punishment enough. They’ll rip him to shreds and you don’t even let him have a last dinner before that? He’s done the right goddamn thing!

How dare you punish Remus, Potter and Black when they only helped the clear underdog and stood up for not only themselves but also every single student in this school who happens to not be a Sacred 28? With the current political climate you should award every single student who speaks for mixed heritage a medal or 500 housepoints, not make them go crazy in that maddening buzzing room!

You should’ve thanked them for speaking some sense, for showing that those elitists aren’t scary, that you can easily get the better of them. That it’s your right to defend yourself when somebody calls you unworthy of even existing! But would do you do? You haul them in here to punish them. How’s that fair, huh? How’s that fair?

And don’t get me started on the fact that I fought the urge of just bashing Mulciber’s head into the wall and instead made sure that nobody got harmed! Not that bottomfeeder of a Slytherin, not his very justified attackers, not the innocent bystanders, of which there were a lot in that corridor. No one harmed.

You should just thank us all and let us go for trying to fight discrimination. Because that’s a noble thing to do. And you should thank Black twice because I honestly think that he mostly agrees with Mulciber’s twisted opinions but still stuck up for his brother and the lot.

And while we’re at it: I think you should also expel that wanker Mulciber for openly attacking others, physically and verbally, with terms that are as unforgivable as the curses!”

I huffed and puffed and figured I had nothing more to say. So, I stood, breathing heavily for a while, then sat back down. I quickly looked at Remus to figure out how he saw my chances of staying at the school after that outburst, but had to find that he looked at me like I had just introduced him to the horsemen of the apocalypse and announced the end of the world. No help there.

A little weary I turned back to Dumbledore, whose mouth was somewhat stuck between a smile and a smirk. He took a deep breath, keeping his freakishly youthful eyes on me, then he spoke: ”Thank you for coming in and clearing the whole thing up. Seeing that the pair of you are prefects and supposed to make sure that he rules of this school are followed, you’ll understand that you have to be disciplined for breaking them. Please report to Madam Pince every day after your last class for the next week to serve detention.” He was calm, not the least bit shaken, confused, angered or shocked by my fit of rage and pointed to the door. “That’s all”.

Confused out of my mind I slowly got up again and followed Remus out of the office. As we opened the door we nearly collided with Professor McGonnagal who stood right behind it, back to us, gesturing vividly as if she was guarding a hoard of three year olds. As the door closed I heard different voices shouting and finally McGonnagal stepped away.

“That was bloody brilliant!”, Pettigrew stared at me as if I was some kind of apparition. Potter slammed his hand against my back several times, while the older Black wiped away a non-existing tear from his eye. Younger Black just smiled at me a little crooked and mouthed a thank you. Before I even got a chance to process the last couple of minutes, let alone react to my newly founded fan club Dumbledore appeared in the door to his office and ushered the four boys in. Remus and I remained in the hall.

“You’re free to go”, McGonnagal informed us with her usual stone cold, strict face but her voice sounded a lot warmer than usual.

I didn’t waste one second and basically ran down the stairs to get away from that whole mess of a situation and to my well-deserved dinner.

I did not get very far. I had just left the griffin gargoyle behind me and turned left to get back down to the ground floor and the Great Hall when I heard some sniffles. Then sobbing. Oh, great! I really wanted to ignore the sounds of despair and just leave whoever it was to fix their own misery but I knew that that wasn’t me and that I didn’t lose my prefect badge in the headmaster’s office, so it was basically my job to investigate the crying.

♠♠♠

For the I-don’t-know-how-many-th time that day I took some stabilising and calming breaths, then walked backwards to the little alcove I had just passed. Bingo!

There she sat, no older than 12 dressed in black robes with blue and bronze accessories balling her eyes out. I took in my surroundings again before I approached her. This was upper-classmen territory. I had only just started coming here myself, so surely the little Ravenclaw was really lost.

I kept my distance, standing just before the alcove’s entrance and crouched down. “Hey, you alright there?” Despite my efforts not to seem threatening and the use of my I-can-help-you-find-your-mummy-face and voice I startled her. She hick-upped as she lifted her head and stared at me with the biggest and wettest eyes.

“You seem a little out of place”, I tried again sitting down putting my arms around my knees with a smile.

She sniffled. Her eyes fluttered to my face, then my yellow badge with the cursive “Prefect” on it and back to my face. “Uhm…” She started. “I… am…lost?” It sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Huh”, I answered. “How’d you get here?”

“Stupid stairs”, she said more to herself than me.

“Oh, yeah those will mess up your day”, I chuckled. “And they will forever. Doesn’t matter how long you’ve been here and how well you think you know your way around the castle, those stairs will have you wandering around for hours without the foggiest idea whether you’re even still in Scotland. Happened to me just last week.” It hadn’t. I hadn’t gotten lost in this school since my third week of first year, but I figured she could use the reassurance. And I was right. She gave me a shy smile.

“It did?”

“Sure thing”, I lied getting up and reaching out my hand to help her do the same. She only hesitated a short moment before taking my hand and standing up.

“So, where were you headed?”

“Dinn…”

“Oi, de Witt!”, she was interrupted by the voice of Remus Lupin and some heavy footsteps. Pained expression on my face I turned to see that he and his posse ran toward me and my insecure second year.

I considered ignoring them and just taking the girl to the Great Hall but they already were too close for me to pretend that I didn’t hear them.

“Yeeeeeees?”, I stretched out the word as much as I could to stress my unwillingness to talk to them. Remus came to an abrupt stop just  few feet away from me catching his breath. He opened his mouth to say something, realised I wasn’t alone, closed it again and started anew: “New friend?”

“Uhm… we just met actually. And we were going to dinner”, I responded. “If that’s still happening that is…” While Remus tried again to say what he originally intended, Potter crouched down in front of the girl and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m James. Did the stairs get you?”

The second year carefully shook his hand. “Jill. And yes.” Jill didn’t look up at him she stared at her feet, clearly uncomfortable.

“Oh well, don’t sweat that!”, laughed Black the elder. “Happens all the time to everybody.” Liar.

“Why don’t you just jump on and let Peter here explain to you how you best avoid those tossers’ tricks?”, Potter suggested while turned around, still crouched, to let her climb on his back. She looked up at me as to get my permission and because I didn’t really know what was going on I just shrugged and she smiled.

Potter stood back up looking very happy with himself and introduced Jill to Pettigrew. Pettigrew threw himself in a story of how he was trapped in the prank step for hours in his third year and gave Jill a long list of helpful and not so helpful tips. I followed the trio with both Blacks and Remus.

“Her entire year will be jealous of that piggy back ride”, chuckled Remus knowing very well how popular Potter was with the girls.

“Not just her year”, I corrected knowing very well how popular Potter was with the girls.

“If you give her a high-five in the Great Hall she will be a legend at least for the rest of the year”, I said to Black the elder and earned a surprised but satisfied grin.

The whole Jill-thing had calmed me down quite a bit I realised and I didn’t mind the boys’ company.

“I had no idea you could blow up like that”, younger Black said, smirking at the sight of Jill laughing and squealing in joy as James went into Rodeo-mode.

“Well, I usually don’t in front of headmasters… or people I don’t know that well.”

“Thanks, anyways.”, I looked at younger Black crunching up my face.

“For defending me. Us, really. You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I had to! And meant every word. Mulciber, I swear to god…”, I cut myself of because I was getting angry again.

“There were quite some compliments in there, Jette”, Remus broke his silence and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he finally said what he wanted to say when called out for me a couple minutes earlier.

“So?” What’s wrong with that?

“I didn’t know you thought so highly of us”, he grinned that mischievous grin of his.

“Highly?”

“If I recall correctly you called us noble”, Black the elder answered for Remus with that crooked halfsmile that had become his signature thing.

“I think I called your actions noble. Your actions in that very specific situation. Let’s not get too carried away”, I corrected but laughed at the same time. Black rolled his eyes.

“So you’re on library duty with him”, younger Black asked with a side look to Remus.

“Yes, a week’s worth of detention with the ever so chatty Madam Pince.” I sighed. She and I didn’t really get along. Not that I visited the library more than absolutely necessary anyways.

“What about you?” While I asked that question I realised that I was having a pretty civil conversation with two of the school’s most well-known troublemakers and younger Black who had silently agreed with me to just ignore each other’s existence for most of our school career.

“Reporting to Hagrid for a week every night”, younger Black said non-chalantly. “That can’t be too bad, right? I always wanted a good reason to go into the forest.”

“For someone who shit his pants in fear of punishment just about an hour ago you speak with a lot of confidence, Reggie”, his brother teased and earned a fist to the shoulder.

We caught up with Pettigrew, Potter and Jill just in time to hear Pettigrew hammer home the point that one should always skip the trick step. He had Jill repeat it several times and nodded heavily. I giggled. Pettigrew then mentioned some actually interesting bits of information about how she should always look out the window if the stairs messed with her to figure out on which floor and in which wing she was, before reminding her that it was most important to skip the step. This time I giggled in unison with Jill who seemed to thoroughly enjoy her evening now.

As we rounded the last corner to the foyer Pettigrew had Jill repeat the Top Five Tips he had given her starting with five. As she got to one Pettigrew dramatically winked at her and said it with her:” Always skip the step!” Jill broke into laughter at the doors of the Great Hall, which Pettigrew threw open dramatically to let Potter gallop in there, Black the elder right beside him. When all eyes were on them Potter let Jill dismount, smiled at her widely and wished her a great evening. Black the elder raised his hand for a high five and told her – louder than necessary – to just ask them for help if ever she needed it. I simultaneously rolled my eyes at their exaggeration and smiled at their effort to make her feel better once and for all.

She had just turned to go to the Ravenclaw table when Peter yelled after her: “Skip the step!” which had her smile from ear to ear.

Black the younger scoffed a little, lifted a hand as greeting farewell and was already on his way to the Slytherin table when his brother shouted: “Hey Reggie, don’t forget to…

“Skip the step, I know”, Black interrupted in turning half around grinning and waving dismissively.

“Well that was…an unexpected turn of events.” I said as I walked to the two left tables with the boys. Halfway down my table I stopped having found my friends and I was going to just sit down and breathe in my dinner but I couldn’t help it.

“Oi. Pettigrew”, he looked at me surprised. “Remember to skip the step, yeah?” I giggled at his expression somewhere between extreme confusion and extreme delight, as Black the elder laughed a barky laugh, Remus gave me a double thumbs-up and Potter ruffled through Pettigrews hair.

I sat down fully between Chloe and Milla who looked me up and down as if I was ill, just like Crick on the other side of the table. I considered telling them the entire story, but looking at the scarce rests of the dinner buffet, I decided to first eat. I deserved some pork chops