One Day in the Life of Alexandra Sutton

Chapter 3

In Hogsmeade, the Ministry curfew and patrolling dementors were keeping the good citizens indoors. The Hog's Head was, of course, brightly lit so the not-so-good ones must've thought it reasonable to risk having their soul sucked out in order to get a drink. But we saw nobody as we quickly found the house we wanted.

"This is where we can get Nick fixed up?" I asked.

"That's right," said Sarah as she rapped the door knocker, "I overheard some seventh year girl saying this was where you come if you have a problem you don't want Madame Pomfrey to know about."

I could guess the kind of problem the unknown seventh year was referring to. Madame Pomfrey had never fully grasped the concept of patient confidentiality. What she knew, Dumbledore would know; what he knew, your parents would know. The most certain way of avoiding all that would involve pointing your wand at yourself in some quiet corner while trying to carefully follow the instructions in a medical textbook propped open in front of you. In Muggle terms, this was about as sensible as doing your own appendectomy with a Swiss Army Knife and a hand-mirror. It was news to me that there was an alternative, but not a complete surprise.

After a few moments, we heard bolts being drawn and the door opened a fraction. We were examined carefully by the person inside, though all I could see of him was an eye and a small part of his face.

"Don't you know you're not supposed to be out after sunset? What do you want?" demanded a voice.

"Healer Serway? We need help; we've got somebody here who crashed his broom. It looks like he fractured his leg," said Sarah in the entreating manner she usually reserved for asking for extensions for her essay deadlines.

"I'm not on duty tonight. You can go to the infirmary, across the street from the robe shop, where Healer Webber will be better able to treat your friend or you can use the fireplace at The Three Broomsticks to Floo directly to St. Mungo's. Clear?"

"We were recommended to see you," I said politely, repressing a sudden urge to send a hex through the crack in the door.

"I'm flattered. But if you want to be treated by me, you break your leg on Monday, Tuesday or Friday. This, in case you've not noticed, is Saturday. Besides which, we have to record details of everybody we treat and fill in forms that are sent to St. Mungo's and the Ministry. All that stuff's at the infirmary, so you may as well go straight there."

He tried to slam the door, but I had the better reflexes and jammed my foot in the gap first.

"Look, I'll be completely honest with you," I said, as I silently thanked God and Doctor Marten for boots with steel toecaps. "We're in a serious mess. We were flying over to Norway for the big game on Monday. You know, the Arrows versus the Vaagland Valkyries? We stopped at a Muggle pub for bite to eat. Only, my cousin here was a bit premature with the victory celebrations. When we took off, he went smack into one of those Muggle telephone pole things. Now, he's already up to his neck in trouble with the Magical Transportation Department but it was hushed up -"

"Involved the Department Head's niece and an illegal, flying carpet, I heard," interjected Sarah.

"Exactly. So if they now find out he crashed a broom in a Muggle area whilst under the influence of alcohol... they'll use it as an excuse to throw away the sodding key! Please! We desperately need to keep this quiet; we'd happily make a donation to the St Mungo's fund to compensate for the bother."

"Perhaps you'd better come in."

He opened the door, revealing himself to be a short, slightly overweight, dapper man in his early fifties wearing a dressing gown, night-dress and an annoyed expression. He had a dense, but neatly trimmed, black beard which suited him so badly that it could only have been grown to camouflage a particularly awful looking chin. Alternatively, somebody had, for a joke, given him a magical mirror that was a compulsive liar.

He ushered us into a cosy but tasteful sitting room, shut off the radio with a flick of his wand and motioned us to place Nick on the sofa.. He had the air of somebody reluctantly doing a favour: not precisely what you hope to see in a devoted, humanitarian medic who'd just had one of the needy dropped on his doorstep. I was just charitable enough to assume he'd had a rough week.

"Who're you?"

"I'm Katie Bell," I said. "This is my friend, Alicia Spinnet, and my cousin, Fred Weasley."

"Oh yes..." He undid Nick's splint and began carefully examining him. "Not by any chance, related to Gustavus Bell?" he asked with too much casualness.

"Probably."

"I see..." He continued to delicately probe Nick's leg with his fingertips, humming the tune that'd been on the radio. Finally, he seemed satisfied and stood up.

"It's a simple fracture which should only take a few minutes to mend. I've just boiled the kettle so you may wait in the kitchen and make yourselves a cup of tea while I'll see to Mr ...Weasley."

On the kitchen table, I found a heap of sausages, bacon and kidneys under a covered dish. So we passed the time by feeding some of the healer's intended Sunday breakfast to the dog. After about fifteen minutes, Serway called us back in.

"Who did the Sine Dolore?"

I mumbled a confession.

"Did you also put his leg in a splint? Have you considered a career as a healer, Katie? That was exactly the right thing to do."

"How is he?" asked Sarah.

"His leg's healed. But I'm letting him sleep off the drink he's had. A Sobrius charm could have nasty side effects when combined with a Sine Dolore and ahem...ageing potion. But aside from his hangover, he'll be quite all right tomorrow. Now, if I'm to have such a busy Monday morning that I completely forget to file the paperwork..."

I caught Sarah's eye. She got the hint and emptied the contents of her purse onto a side table. I extracted Nick's wallet from his coat pocket and added his money and mine to the pile.

"Twenty-three Galleons and fifteen Sickles?" she said, after a quick count.

"That's a nice watch," said Serway.

"Thank... you," I said, suddenly feeling like there was a lead weight in my stomach.

"I don't know much about Muggle watches. But it looks like it'd be a very generous donation to the St Mungo's fund."

"Are you utterly fucking mad? This is a 1950's vintage Omega Constellation! Have you any idea how much they're worth?"

"Frankly, no. But it does-"

"-look like a nice one." I finished his sentence.

There was no way out of this. Feeling murderous, I undid its leather strap and placed it on the pile of Galleons.

"You should be able to get rooms for tonight at The Broomsticks," said Serway. As he pushed us towards the door, he pretended to believe our story out of politeness. "If you still want to press on to Norway tomorrow, then look up Owen Hindmarsh for a new broom. Make sure to thoroughly test-fly anything he offers you and don't pay more than half his asking price. Goodnight!"

He slammed the door.

***

We were soon through Hogsmeade and over the railway tracks. The edge of the forest was about a mile to our right, the lake to our left and I could see the lights of the school in the far distance. Bugger! It was getting chilly. I tried cheering myself with thoughts of our common room fireplace and promised myself I'd be in front of in about forty-five minutes time. But in a moment, it got colder. It was like falling into icy water, a sudden paralysing shock all over my body, on the cusp of being painful that made me feel like I'd never be warm again. My mind seemed to collapse inwards on itself; my head felt like one of those sped-up films of a bowl of rotting fruit. Whatever was good and clean and happy was instantly consumed into disgust, decay and horror. Those cotton-wool and candy-floss prisons we carry in our heads that lock away our demons were gone for good.

Then, all at once, I remember everything...

I'm in a remote corner of the library, it's not my favourite table but one where I can sit with my back to a wall. It's seven days since Clearwater and Granger were attacked and Dumbledore removed. Months have passed since Justin and that odd little kid with the camera had been petrified. I had assumed it was nothing but a stupid, dangerous prank that'd got out of control, that they'd soon revive the victims and nail the culprit. I had convinced myself that whatever it was, it was over. Now I know it's not.

The teachers are tight-lipped and don't take well to questions. I'm sure they know little about what's happening and can do less. But the pattern's obvious. Everybody's edgy, but I can see the Muggle-borns exchanging fearful glances in the corridor, wondering who's next, wondering if somebody will be killed like last time. I'm not wondering: the stories about some secret chamber are obvious nonsense. It's clearly some delusional nutcase who thinks he's heir to Slytherin, has learnt enough Dark Arts to be dangerous and is being told by the voices in his head to go after Muggle-borns. I'm not quite Muggle-born, but I know that technicality doesn't impress Slytherin's blood-purity clique. For the last week, I've been feeling like somebody's drawn a great big target on my back.

I've never claimed to be brave. After lunch, I'd spent ten minutes kneeling over a toilet bowl, retching over and over again, until long after my stomach was empty and I'd become exhausted from the effort. Now I'm trying to work. I spent an hour reading and re-reading the same paragraph without comprehending a single word. It'll soon be curfew time and Madame Pince will lock up and escort the few students in the library back to their respective common rooms. Another day will have ended and it'll all begin again tomorrow.

I look up with a start when I hear somebody's footsteps. That brat Malfoy, what does he want? Normally, he and his toadies and myself and the other muddy Slytherins find it convenient to pretend the other group doesn't exist. I slump back in my chair and, over the top of my book, watch him approach.

"Do you want something, Malfoy?"

"I do Sutton, but you're still here."

Sticks and stones...

"Even the greatest minds never realise their ideals in any matter," I quote. "So I suppose somebody like you doesn't stand a chance, Draco dear."

He sits opposite me, deliberately placing himself uncomfortably close.

"Oh, I so hope you're next Sutton. I sneaked into the hospital wing yesterday to look at Granger and the other Mudbloods. It'll be fun to do it again when you're there. Crabbe wanted to know if all their clothing got petrified as well. Perhaps, in a few days time, we'll get a camera and see if yours is."

"Is that your scene, Draco? Dirty pictures? You ought to have a chat with Dorny. One of his dorm-mates told me he's got three years worth of Hexing Hussies hidden at the bottom of his trunk. In comparison, my stony nudity would have to be a disappointment."

Maintaining an air of nonchalance is taking an effort but I'm happy to see it's starting to make him angry. This has stopped being idle amusement for him.

"Your mouth'll be shut Sutton, that's enough for me. Perhaps it'll be shut for good. Some Mudblood got killed when this happened years ago. I hoped it'd be Granger this time but I'll settle for you instead. It'd serve you right for thinking some filthy mongrel with a blood-traitor cow of a mother could ever be worthy of Slyt-"

"PETRIFICUS TOTALIS!" I'm holding my wand under the desk. I suppose Draco never saw Star Wars.

I'm feeling more relaxed than I'd done in weeks. Unthinkingly, as if I'm watching a movie of somebody else, I gently lower him to the floor and lift two thick volumes from the shelf behind me: Collected Proceedings of the London Thaumatological Society, 1927 and 1928. One goes under his left elbow, one under his wrist and I stamp as hard as I can.

"Alex! ALEX SUTTON! Wake up, Alex!"

Somebody was licking my face. A small corner of my mind was functioning well enough to hope it wasn't Sarah. Life's complicated enough.

I was lying on the ground. I could feel the cold prickliness of the frost stiffened blades of grass on the back of my neck but it was a blast of doggy breath that finally kick-started my muddled senses. I sat up too quickly and immediately felt dizzy; it took an effort to remain upright. The cold had ebbed back to a natural, Scottish chill that felt like a rush of heat from an open, oven door.

"Alex, are you all right? That was a dementor. It was only there for a few seconds. I was okay but you passed out. We can stop here for a while until you're feeling better."

"OK Sarah," I mumbled. I ruffled the dog's fur. "Thanks, Poochie; you're a star." He barked and licked my face again. Strange... you'd almost think he understood what you were saying.

The epilogue to that little incident last year: I got away with it. I pointed out to Draco that getting thrown out of Hogwarts would've, at that moment, suited me just fine. I pushed over a pile of heavy books and pretended to Madame Pince he'd tripped whilst carrying them when she rushed to investigate the crash. Malfoy said nothing, he wanted me to stay around because he wanted me cursed or dead, not merely expelled. I did a convincing, concerned housemate act, took him to infirmary and half an hour later, his arm was healed. After that, it was my word against his. I could pat myself on the back; it was all very, very neat.

But you see, I calmly broke the arm of a thirteen-year-old child because he said nasty things to me. I wasn't provoked, I wasn't even angry, even now, my conscience doesn't seem to trouble me as much as I think it ought - it just seemed like a good idea at the time. But since then, I've found myself lying awake at four in the morning. Wondering if something like that will ever happen again, wondering what might happen one day when doing something infinitely worse just seems like a good idea. It's not good to discover exactly what you're capable of what you're only fifteen.

Surprised? Well, at what point in the preceding narrative did I actually claim to be a nice person?

***

Soon after our encounter with the dementor, we were squatting at the base of the life-size statue of Amphiaraus in the rose garden, munching the chocolate I'd bought in Lairg. I was still shaking slightly. If Sarah noticed she didn't comment She seemed remarkably untroubled by the experience - I suppose the darkest horror lurking in the pits of the average Ravenclaw mind is an improperly footnoted essay.

"Do you have any idea how to get in?" she said, between mouthfuls of Mars Bar as she idly stroked the dog.

I'd not snuck out at night since third year. It was easy two tears before, but God only knew what they'd done to secure the place since then. Especially after Black broke in at Halloween.

"I think the best way will be through the courtyard at the kitchen entrance and then through the kitchens."

"We stroll right past dozens of House-Elves?" she said sarcastically. "No wait, you think that with them there to raise the alarm, it's less likely that Flitwick'll have bothered to put security charms on the doors?"

"Give that girl a coconut! If we tell the House-Elves we want some food as we missed dinner, which is true, we should get away with it. It's not as if they're going to dare question us."

"That might work..." She went quiet. I could tell she was searching for a flaw in my plan. "You know, if you're wrong and the doors are charmed, our punishment will be postponed by a month whilst we recover in the hospital wing."

"Am I to take it that means 'Alex goes first'?"

"Spot on! You could have been a Ravenclaw!"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

So much for the Code of the Suttons: never volunteer for anything, always let some other silly bugger go first and always keep an eye on the escape routes, physical and otherwise. Grandfather would be turning in his grave, if he were dead.

The back way into the kitchens was through a sort of service courtyard that jutted out of the wing of the building that housed the Great Hall. It was where the deliveries came and it was where the store-rooms, the laundry and the House-Elves' barracks were located. I'd found it in my second week but quite a few, perhaps most, students wouldn't come here once in their entire seven years.

We edged through the archway into the courtyard. In a dark corner, behind a mossy, old, stone water trough, I untied and revived Nick while Sarah kept a lookout.

"Twenty-five minutes 'till curfew, Alex."

"Stop looking at your watch; there's plenty of time. Nick, it's Alex. How're you doing, boy? It's all going to be okay, we're back at Hogwarts. Tap, help me lift him."

We draped his arms round our necks struggled to get him up. "Might I venture to suggest," she said, between grunts, "when we get him to the Hufflepuff common room, we find Steb and his gang. Then we can-"

As the same moment we saw a lantern shining in the archway. I couldn't see the shabby figure of Filch, but I knew it could only be him, even before he spoke.

"Whoever y'are, I saw you come through here! This is the only way out so you may as well give yerselves up now!"

Merde! Of all the times to go for a late-night stroll round the grounds he picks now, and with a lunatic killer on the loose! For all he knew it could have been Sirius Black he'd just seen, in which case the idiot would be departing the scene in twenty different directions and Dumbledore would be advertising for a new broom pusher in Monday's Prophet.

Damn it, Alex, concentrate! No time for wishful thinking.

My first panicked thought was to knock the lantern out of his hand with a spell and made a dash for it, trusting in the mist and darkness. But with Summers slung between us, we wouldn't outpace an arthritic amputee and I knew from experience that Filch could move smartly when he wanted. It'd only take him a minute to search the courtyard and I could almost hear the bastard's exultant crowing as he frog-marched us to the staffroom. It seemed the only choices were to wait to be caught or to stroll out of the shadows and give up with a suitably arrogant piece of insolence.

Good plan, Alex! That might distract him and make him forget to search for any others. If Sarah and Nick stayed hidden, they might still get clear. Please don't think I've got some sort of martyrdom complex - I knew whatever punishment I'd get for being outside after dark would be trivial compared to what would happen to me if they found out the full facts. So I was trying hard to think of a good insult when the dog started a furious barking.

That bloody animal! It was going to completely spoil my moment!

The lantern light whipped round to us at the same moment as the dog dragged itself out of Sarah's hands and raced towards Filch, his claws scrabbling on the smooth cobblestones. Filch yelled with surprise as the dog raced past him, through the archway and out into the night. A moment later, Filch was running in pointless pursuit.

"He pulled himself out of my grip, Alex, I tried to hold him with my free hand but he was too strong."

"Don't worry, Tap. I'm sure we'll see him again; he won't go far. But let's not hang around. Filch may think he only saw a dog come through here but I don't want to be waiting for him if he comes back to check."

He saved our necks! Time, I think, to revise my opinion of dogs.

In the kitchen, things had wound down from the frenzy of activity at dinnertime. The four huge tables that ran the length of the kitchen were mostly clear and the fires in the great cooking ranges had been banked up for the night. The House-elves were still busy, mixing, kneading and baking, scrubbing down the tables and polishing copper pans big enough to cook themselves in. During term-time the kitchen was working round the clock. Except for that instant when thirty Elves, in unison, stopped to stare at us. A heartbeat later, twenty-nine quietly resumed their work and one broke off, to approach and find out want we wanted.

"Hello," I said brightly. "You're Fluxweg aren't you?"

He grinned happily at my recognition and bowed so deeply that I was glad we weren't standing behind him (the little chap's teatowel did not preserve his modesty quite as well as I'd have liked).

"Would Miss wants something? What can we gets you?"

"We missed dinner. So I'd like some roast beef sandwiches (with horseradish), a couple of slices of that excellent fruitcake we had on Friday, if there's any left, and two or three apples. Tap, what do you want?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" hissed Sarah.

"Look, Tap, we might as well. We're here anyway."

"Miss, is Sir all right? Sir doesn't look well."

"Can you forget about stuffing your face, Alex? We don't have time!"

"Oooh elves! Hello little Elfie!"

"SHUT UP, Nick!" thundered Sarah. "Umm...Fluxwig, our friend is fine. He's a little ... tired. It's getting late now, so we've changed our minds about getting something to eat. Come on, Alex!" Showing a surprising strength, she pulled us out, into the corridor.

I was relieved the paintings in the kitchen corridor were only of food: I could assume the risk of being reported by a pair of dead partridges or a bowl of fruit was slight. The Hufflepuff common room usually wasn't too far from the kitchens but we had to haul Nick up two flights of stairs and were panting when we got to the entrance - a pair of big heavy oak doors, each carved with a twice life-size badger. They were looking at us expectantly as Sarah and I gratefully unhooked Nick's arms from around our necks and lowered him to the floor.

"Ohhh, we're back! Tap, Alecss, say hello to Melley and Milley," said Summers.

I'm not expert on badger body language (is anybody?), but I don't think they like the nicknames the Hufflepuffs had given them.

"Please Nick, this is fairly important now. We really, really need your password," said Sarah.

"Whuut! No way, Tap. No way! Can't tell you that with some Slithy listening. No, no!"

"I'm not just some Slithy! I'm the bloody Slithy who's helping to save your arse, Summers, and who would really, really like to know why she's bothering. NOW TELL US!"

Okay that was a lie, I knew why I was bothering. A few years ago, the hat sang something that stuck in my mind: "-in Slytherin you'll make your real friends." Well, it was misinformed: in Slytherin you don't have friends, you have allies, and that's not the same thing at all.

"Okay. It's ... it's..."

"What was that, Nick?" I growled.

"Labor omnia vincit!" he said. He grinned like he'd done something clever.

The doors opened. Talk about living up to your own stereotype! But Slytherin was no better. Reciting all the synonyms for purity, in several languages, always got you in there sooner or later. Ravenclaw was always something like "sesquipedalianism" or "boustrophedonic". The Gryffindors, bless them, probably had to stick to three-lettered words or a particular sequence of grunts.

There were half a dozen seniors in the common room; a couple playing chess in front of the fire glanced up at us as we staggered in.

"Who're you? What happened to Nick?" said the girl.

"I know them! They're fifth years: Sarah Fawcett from Ravenclaw and Alex Sutton from Slytherin."

That certainly killed the conversation in the room! They stopped drinking cocoa and talking about exam revision to goggle at us.

"We're returning something that belongs to you fine people," I said, trying to using a tone of voice that suggested we were going out of our way to do them a favour and they ought to show some gratitude. We gently lowered Summers onto a sofa. "And now we'll be on our way."

"You two are going nowhere!"

I suppose it was inevitable that one of the Hufflepuff seventh year prefects would be sitting in a far corner of the common room, quietly reading, when we came in.

"Oh...hello, Tim," I said weakly.

"He's been drinking," announced chess-girl, who was checking to see if Summers was okay. "He reeks of it."

"Fawcett, you'll tell me exactly what happened this evening!" ordered Timothy.

"Um... well it was quite a saga but if I tell you all of it, you, as a prefect, would be duty bound to report everything to Professor Sprout. I should warn you before I start, I estimate the house-point loss from Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Hufflepuff will be at least a hundred and fifty each. Do you still want to hear?"

I could almost see the mental gears grinding as Tim considered the option of doing his duty and handing the House Cup to the Gryffindors on a plate. It goes without saying that the perverse unfairness of public opinion would probably see the losing three-quarters of the school blaming him, not us. As somebody who's Saturday evening had, in less than 30 seconds, gone from quiet-relaxation-after-a-hard-week to unwelcome-and-unexpected-stinking-big-problem, he looked vexed. For a dreadful moment, I thought he might actually do the proper thing and turn us in but the danger passed.

"Ken, would you help me get Nick cleaned up and put to bed?" he said wearily. "Are you two still here?" He glared at us.

"Leaving this instant," I said. I wanted to ask for ten minutes use of one of their bathrooms to clean up. But it looked like a vicious jinx would be the only response, and I'd still be grubby when I came round.

"Well I think that went as well as could be expected," said Sarah, in the corridor, after we'd been thrown out. "Next time we do this, we'll bring a Gryffindor, then nobody will dare report us."

"It's getting late; I'm going to bed."

"OK, I'll see you tomorrow, Alex," she said and skipped off in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower.

"See you, Tap. Oh... and good luck in the morning."

She stopped and turned to look at me. "Good luck?"

"Yeah, good luck when you break into Filches' office to get me a replacement watch from the lost property box...Night."

***

In the toilets, a muddy, pallid derelict stared at me out of the mirror. White polyester insulation poked out of a rent torn in my jacket (my notion we could take a shortcut to Hogsmeade through a pine plantation had only led to an entertaining five minutes with a deer-proof, barbed wire fence). My front was smeared with Hogwarts mud and non-mud-coloured stains I preferred not to think about.

"Before you say anything, you should know I've had a shitty day and could easily find a half-brick at short notice."

Silence: either it was non-magical or it had noticed my expression. I cleaned the trousers as best as I could and reparoed the jacket. In the cubicle I'd been in that morning, somebody had written below my graffiti:

"NOBODY LIKES A SMARTARSE!"

How dull!

Below that, another's considered opinion was:

"PARTICULLY A SLYTHERIN SMARTARSE!"

Oooh, somebody's perceptive!

Below that, a row of Egyptian hieroglyphs had been added. I translated as I sat there.

Folded cloth, S; lion, L; two reeds, Y; half-circle, T; square with opening, H; mouth, R; zigzag line, N. This was followed by a zigzag-line and a basket - I didn't know that one. Then a helix, a zigzag and an arm (meaning 'with') and finally the ideogram for goats, plural.

Riiight! It should be straightforward to compose an obscene insult to Ravenclaws (who else?) in Gobbledegook. After all, the Goblins have twelve words meaning "human" and none of them are nice. But that could be something for tomorrow. Five minutes later, I was walking briskly back to the Slytherin common room and everything looked clear. I was crossing the entrance hall, about to quietly slink down the stairs to the dungeons when I spotted Dumbledore and Snape, descending the great, marble staircase.

Merlin's tits! Too late to avoid them! Look innocent, Alex! Walk quickly past them and just say good evening. Innocence, think innoc-

"Good evening, Miss Sutton," rumbled Dumbledore. "Perhaps it would be useful to hear Miss Sutton's opinion on this matter, Severus, if she's kind enough to offer it."

Snape looked icily at me and said nothing. If he was truly interested in my (or any other students) opinion on anything, it would be the first time in the five years I'd known him.

"I noticed in the school regulations this afternoon," continued Dumbledore, "a somewhat obscure rule that explicitly places the nearby Muggle towns out of bounds to all students. The penalties for breaking this regulation are, rightly, most severe. In the light of the present situation, I thought I should announce this to the school tomorrow at dinner, in case any students are unaware of the rule or need to be reminded of it... Are you feeling all right, Miss Sutton?"

"Umm, quite all right, Professor; thank you. Just a slight cough I've had for a few days.... Yes I think that's a very sensible idea. If you'll forgive a slight presumption, I should imagine you've already got quite enough problems arising from that lunatic Black being on the loose. Really, the last thing you must want right now would be to have to clear up the mess left by some complete idiots who've made trouble with the Muggles."

What is it about talking to this guy that makes me so long-winded?

"Precisely my reasoning, Miss Sutton. I was sure you would concur with me."

"Thank you, Professor." Oh fuckety fuck!

"Goodnight, Miss Sutton."

"Goodnight, sir."

"It's late, Sutton; get to your common room. Now," ordered Snape.

"Yes, Professor Snape. Goodnight, Professor."

Snape grunted something, which might have been goodnight ... Or might not.

In the Slytherin fifth-year girls dorm, which I don't like to call home, Christine Randall was lying on her bed, still engrossed in the hardback Lord of the Rings I'd given her for Christmas (escapist fantasy is a hit here; who'd have guessed?). Gwendolyn Hopkirk was squatting by the fire, using her dragonskin gloves to retrieve a brick that'd been heated in the embers.

She looked up at me. "Where've you been all evening?"

"Do you know the picture on the fifth floor of the dogs playing poker? They invited me to join in. They're actually quite decent players, but they'd be better if they could learn to stop wagging their tails when they get a good hand."

She snorted her familiar, Alex-is-being-idiotic-again-and-I'm-ignoring-it snort and wrapped her hot brick in a towel before shoving it into her bed (heating beds with a flame in a jar had been banned just before Christmas as some idiot first year had set his blankets on fire). I hung up my coat and got changed into my night things, dropping my clothes on the patch of floor known as Alex's wardrobe. I had three dorm-mates who were neatness freaks of varying degree and trying to drive them up the wall was one of life's small pleasures.

Victoria Pembroke appeared at the bathroom door, furiously brushing her teeth. She was meticulous in all things, from inflicting pain on anybody who dared call her Vicky to brushing her teeth for the proper two minutes. Yet she was easily bored so she tended to wander about the room rather than stand brushing at the sink. One of the dubious benefits of boarding school is that you spend seven years having to put up with the odd personal habits of three or four other people who you might, or might not, choose for friends given the option. You may as well be married to them!

"I was frozen last night! Could somebody charm the logs for tonight?" she said, in between brushes. "And I don't mean you, Alex Sutton! Not after last time."

I had them shouting "Banzai" in a squeaky helium voice. Well I thought it was funny.

"That firewood's supposed to last until Friday," commented Christine, tearing herself away from the Battle of Helm's Deep with a visible effort "And you can be sure I won't be the one who goes grovelling to Filch for more!"

Grovelling to Filch was a well-known waste of time. His response to plaintive pleading for more firewood would be the offer of the loan of an axe and sarcastically delivered directions to the forbidden forest.

"Perhaps Alex could flutter her eyelashes at him," said Victoria. The others seemed to find this funny.

"Undignified and likely to be unproductive" I said, knowing I sounded like a pompous twit. "On the other hand, I know the Hufflepuffs have a filthy huge stash of wood in their common room."

"Which I'm sure they'd happily hand out to any Slytherin who asks," said Gwendolyn.

"I'm sure, but why trouble them? I was rather thinking of going in there, early tomorrow morning before anybody's up, and taking as much as we can carry."

"That's easy if you happen to know the Hufflepuff password" said Vicky in her number-one sarcastic tone.

I just grinned and spread my heavy, winter cloak over the bed where it would be an extra blanket.

"If somebody sets an alarm clock for six am, we can be warm every night for the next week."

I climbed into bed and shut the curtains. It was a strange day: plenty of things had gone wrong but some had gone right. I would still be in Hogwarts on Monday morning. There would be no hundred point loss for Slytherin and I would not be having to get up at dawn, every morning until June, to spend a couple of hours in Hagrid's animal enclosures, armed with a bucket and shovel. I'd had an evening out though but it had cost me twenty pounds and my watch, and I was still starving hungry.

I suppose it was a good day, I just hope I don't get any more like it.

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