Mad North

--"I am but mad north by northwest--when the wind blows southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw"

--William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Chapter 2

Isolte didn't dream that night. The sun hadn't risen yet, but she couldn't go back to sleep. Anytime now, and she would have to get up, open the curtains on the bed, and then go about her business as if she knew what was gong on. All she could do was try to keep still, hoping not to wake anyone.

Yesterday, Isolte hadn't looked at the water as the boat glided across the lake. In the distance she could see the castle and its reflection in the lake wobbled as the rain hit the water. She'd closed her eyes, afraid that the reeling picture of the castle would turn into something more discernable. She had smiled reassuringly at Galahad, though she had nothing to be sure about. She hadn't known where they were going, or what they were doing, and how they were going to do it. Phillip had been hard in not discussing the sorting ceremony to Jolie, Galahad, Tristan or herself. What if it was different than magic back home? Well of course it's different you dolt, she told herself, they learn only magic here. When it was first decided she and her two brothers would be going away to Hogwarts, she wondered, What does one do if they can't read or write? Or if they don't have all of their maths finished or something? After all, if you're only learning magic, doesn't that assume that you've learned everything else? She didn't ask though. She felt stupid enough as it was, without adding to it by asking idiotic questions.

The rain soaked them through, and a little boy fell into the lake on their way to the castle. But they made it there unscathed. When small army of students arrived on the opposite side of the lake, the large man in the front boat got out and addressed them.

She could barely understand what the giant of a man leading them was saying. And I thought I was good at accents! Tristan seemed to know what he was doing, so she had slipped her hand in his and followed him.

They were led to the Great Hall, where a woman introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, and then proceeded to explain about the four Houses they were about to be Sorted into. Phillip had told them that much, at least. That and there were ghosts. She hadn't seen any yet, and wondered if they snuck up on you and frightened you when you weren't expecting it? Phillip had talked about them as if the were people, and he had obviously had a conversation with one called The Grey Lady, because he recounted pieces of it to them. What did ghosts look like, she wondered. She didn't have to wait long, as soon as they entered the Entrance Hall she saw several. They were silver and shimmery, see-through renditions of people. That's not that bad, she told herself, they look like normal people. Or at least the ones she could see did.

She had waited her turn before going up to the stool to wear that old, worn-out hat. Of course it would say 'Ravenclaw', just as it had done with her cousin and younger brother. But she was surprised when it asked her, "So, another one, eh?"

Maybe she had imagined it.

"Where to put you..." she heard the hat voice say. It was quiet, as if it were having a private conversation with her. Could Ms. McGonagall hear it?

"You'd do very well in Hufflepuff," the hat had said. "You're quite devoted, I can see."

Could the hat read minds?

"Of course, it makes the process of placing you so much easier. And you have a great deal on yours. Let's see, you'd not do too badly inRavenclaw, either, with a little effort."

I want to be happy, the thought had jumped out of Isolte's mind as if the hat had reached down and grabbed it. It was a most inappropriate thought, she mused, at a time like this.

"Oh no," the hat assured her, "not inappropriate at all. Happy, eh?" the hat was silent for a moment. "Well, in that case, it's GRYFFINDOR!"

She took off the hat, and placed it on the stool. Well, if she was in this Gryffindor house, then Tristan would be too. But she'd barely finished thinking that, when the hat had cried out, "SLYTHERIN!" Tristan took her hand when she held it out to him, and as if in a dream, he squeezed it, and went to his table, like nothing was wrong.

Maybe to him nothing was wrong. He was never bothered by this sort of thing, by newness and aloneness. But he'd never really been alone. He'd always had her. She had always had him. And now...now she had no one.

A few of the people at the table had tried to entice her into conversation, but she didn't trust her voice. She had nodded and shook her head at their questions, managed to croak out her name, and not to cry at the table. She hadn't eaten much. She wasn't producing enough saliva to be able to eat anything and the pumpkin juice had tasted like ash. She only half listened when the Headmaster started explaining about some Tournament, and was vaguely aware that a teacher came barging in. The Hall hushed as he hobbled toward the head table on his wooden leg. After dinner, she followed the rest of the table up the moving stairs. How in the world was she going to be able to find her way around with moving stairs? In the dormitory, she had found her things at the foot of a bed. Without changing, she crawled into it, pulled the curtains, and tried to go to sleep.

She must have slept some, because she didn't remember waiting the entire night through for dawn to come. She heard some movement from one of the other beds, and wondered how one knew when to get up. I don't have to worry about it today, she thought, get up and take a shower.

But I don't know where the bathroom is.

It has to be off the Common Room, they can't expect people to wander around this old castle naked, can they?

That was the first logical thought Isolte had since this entire debacle began.

It's your fault you're in this debacle, she reminded herself.

She found the bathroom with very little trouble. It was comprised of several baths and several open shower stalls. She chose a shower, thanking any Unseen Power that could hear her for the room being empty, stripped and washed. She was surprised at the amount of dirt that was coming off of her. That's right, it was raining last night.

An older girl came in as she was finishing, and smiled at her. "Good morning," she said, stripping herself down, and turning on one of the other showers.

"Good morning," Isolte muttered, wrapping herself in her dressing gown. Guess you're going to have to get used to bathing in front of other people. She ran back to her dorm room.

The dorm consisted of five beds, all four posters with red velvet curtains drawn around them. The other four girls were still in theirs, Thank goodness, and Isolte took her clothes from her trunk, and crawled back into her bed, pulling the curtains shut. What did one do for privacy around here?

Draw the curtains to the bed, stupid.

But did you get dressed in your bed every day? That seemed rather inefficient.

She was worried about it, because she didn't know.

There was so much she didn't know. Did you make your bed or did someone else mae it for you? How did you get your clothes washed? What if you found someone else's clothes along with yours when they were washed? What happened if you outgrew your clothes, or they shrunk in the wash? What if you were thirsty in the middle of the night, and needed to get a drink of water? Better stock up on bottled water when you go to that village on the weekends. Why in the world had she not thought to ask Phillip these questions on the train here? Because you had bigger things on your mind. What bigger things were there than going away to boarding school? Your entire life before this.

Once fully dressed, she got out of her bed as quietly as she could, grabbed a book from her trunk, and headed down the Common Room. Read until everyone leaves, she told herself, and then just follow them.

She was surprised by the warmth of the Common Room. There was a fireplace on one wall, and lots of armchairs, the kind that sucked one into them when one sat down, and made it very difficult to get back up again. There were also several tables with wing-backed chairs. She chose one of the squashy armchairs, and opened her book The Bond Between Witches and Their Familiars: A Historical Study.

She didn't have to wait long. As if by some internal alarm clock, waves of students started emerging from the dormitory stairs, many of them smiling at her as they passed. They exited through the portrait of the Fat Lady--Was that really the name of the portrait?--and once enough of them had done so, Isolte followed them.

Getting to the Great Hall, she discovered, was easy, one simply went down the stairs until one reached the bottom level. If that had not been relief enough, Tristan was waiting outside the Great Hall doors. He made eye contact with her, and she ran the rest of the distance to him.

"I see you got here alright," he said, taking her arm and leading her into the Great Hall.

She didn't get a chance to reply, Jolie and Galahad threw themselves at them, and began dragging them to the Ravenclaw table. "Come eat with us," Jolie said, "Phillip said it was alright."

"Isn't it great?" Galahad beamed as he sat down next to his cousin, "We talked to The Grey Lady this morning, didn't we Jol?" Jolie nodded her head. "That's our House Ghost," Galahad explained. "You talked to yours yet?"

"No," Isolte answered. Nor do I any desire to.

"Apparently ours doesn't do much talking," Tristan said. "He glares occasionally, but from what I can gather, that's about all you can get out of him."

Phillip and a group of Seventh Years came to them at the table. "Hey, Phil," an older boy sat down. Phillip, his hair pulled back in a pony tail sat down next to him.. "They all don't half look like you, do they?"

Phillip laughed and sat down, "You should see their mother and my dad," he said, "they're like these two here." He pointed Tristan and Isolte with his fork. "You two are going to cause a world of upset when mum and dad find out you've bolted tradition."

Isolte looked over at Galahad, he'd winced at the mention of his mother. "Will it be bad?" he asked Phillip, "that they're not in Ravenclaw with us? Will Auntie Coleen be angry?"

Phillip laughed, and Isolte felt a surge of anger that he should be so insensitive to her brother. "No," he said finally, "she'll be surprised, but she won't be angry. And how funny is that?" He turned his attention to the twins, "One Slytherin and one Gryffindor."

"And you're in the same house as Harry Potter," Jolie giggled and grabbed Isolte by the arm. "You can tell us all what he's like."

"I imagine he's like anyone else," Isolte said quietly, reaching over to serve herself some eggs. "You'd better hurry up and eat, love," she told Jolie, "or you'll be hungry."

"You sound like mum," Jolie squinched up her nose.

"I'm supposed to," Isolte told her with mock indignation, "your mum gave me permission."

At that, the five of them laughed.

"So where are you going first?" Tristan leaned in and spoke in her ear, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear her.

She took out her schedule. "Herbology, but look!" she pointed to the paper, "I'm with you in the class after that: Care of Magical Creatures." She turned to him and smiled.

He didn't smile back, merely nodded, leaning over a little more to see her schedule. "And we're together tomorrow too. And Friday."

"We'll have to eat lunch and dinner together," Isolte said, her voice low, "we're not together at all Wednesday or Thursday."

Tristan nodded his head as a loud bell rang. It sounded like a church bell, slow and deep and distant. The students began getting up and walking en masse toward the doors. She looked at her twin, knowing that her eyes must have betrayed her anxiety.

"Time for class," he said. He stood up, picking up his school books, and headed toward the door.

Finding her way to Herbology was easy too, she simply had to go outside, walk toward the greenhouses, and go in the one that had people in it. Not being sucked in by the drenched earth was another problem altogether. Her feet squelched each time she walked, her squelches blended in with the squelches of tens of other students outside on their way to classes, making a symphony of rude noises. The First Years'll get a kick out this.

The Herbology teacher, who introduced herself as Professor Sprout, was short and plump, with hands that had obviously done a lot of work in their day. She started off by calling roll, and Isolte looked about at each of the students as she called their names. When the teacher came to hers, she smiled at her warmly and said, "Welcome to Hogwarts Miss Stands-Rike." Once she was finished the roll, she directed the students to the plants that were set up on the table. "Bubotubers," she said briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus--"

"The what?" said one of the Gryffindor boys, sounding revolted.

"Pus, Finnigan, pus," said Professor Sprout, "and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You'll collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus."

Islote pulled on her gloves and began squeezing the swellings on the plants. When they popped, a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid burst forth, which smelled strongly of petrol. "Gross," she muttered, collecting it in her bottle.

"Isn't it, though?" asked a girl across from her.

Isolte nodded her head, and looked around at her classmates as she pus-collected. She noticed that they gathered together in twos and threes, forming their own little groups, talking as they worked. She noticed that Harry Potter was talking to a girl with bushy hair and a tall red-headed boy. He looks rather...ordinary, she thought, popping another pustule.

What were you expecting?

I don't know. The great Harry Potter, the way everyone talks about him. I guess I figured he'd be...bigger.

She guessed that he was about her height, maybe even a little shorter. Not that she was the smallest girl in the world. But, her height was the least of her complaints about herself, if she were to list them. His hair was very messy, and his glasses kept sliding down his nose, like they were too big for him. They were too big for him. He looked up, and made eye contact with her for a brief moment, She looked away, embarrassed at being caught staring, and picked another of the bubotuber's shiny swellings. She noticed, in that one second, that his eyes were bright green, as if they were made of emerald glass and a light was turned on behind them.

Professor Sprout came around and began corking the bottles of bubotuber pus. "This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," she said. "An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples."

"Like poor Eloise Midgen," said a Hufflepuff girl, "she tried to curse hers off."

"Silly girl," said Professor Sprout. "But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end."

Isolte gasped, having a sudden vision of a black haired girl in pig tails, her nose gone, and where it should have been, only a flat, blank space. She had her mouth open in a desperate attempt to breath and tears streamed down her face. Isolte closed her eyes tight, trying to block the image out of her mind. A booming bell resounded, and with it the image of Eloise Midgen dissipated.

The Gryffindors then left the greenhouse and headed toward a little hut Isolte had seen in the distance, by the edge of the forest. Hadn't the Headmaster said something about not going in the forest last night? Isolte couldn't remember. She'd have to ask Tristan.

The huge man who took them across the lake was standing outside the hut, one hand on the collar of an enormous dog. There were several open crates by his feet, and the dog was whimpering and straining at his collar. An odd rattling noise came from the open crates, followed by what sounded like minor explosions.

"Mornin'!" the huge man said. Was it Hedric? Isolte tried to remember what he had said his name was from the night before, Harrigid perhaps? He grinned widely at Harry Potter and the red head and girl that were with him. "Be'er wait fer the Slyterins, they won' want ter miss this--Blast-Ended Skrewts!" He seemed only to talk to those three particular students, ignoring the rest of the Gryffindors as if they were even there.

"Come again?" asked the red head.

The huge man pointed at the crates, and one of the girls squeeled. "On'y ju' hatched," said the giant of a man, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

"And why would we want to raise them?" inquired a cold voice.

Isolte turned around to see another group had joined them, the Slytherins she presumed. She smiled upon seeing Tristan emerge from the crowd and skipped over to him. "Isn't this wild?" she whispered.

Tristan shrugged.

"Who's that?" Isolte jerked her head to the boy who was wondering why he would want to raise the Skrewts. He was flanked by two very large boys on either side, as if they were some sort of bodyguard. She giggled to herself at the thought.

Tristan ignored her giggling. "His name is Malfoy," he said, "and those two beside him are Crabbe and Goyle," he raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

"That's not their names," Isolte clicked her tongue.

"It is," Tristan shook his head again, looking very much like an old man reprimanding a youngster. "Everyone here goes by their last names."

"I've noticed that," Isotle said.

"I've been Stands-Rike all morning," Tristan muttered, leading his sister over to a crate and peering inside. "What are these things called again?"

"Blast Ended-Skrewts," Isolte answered. "I've been Miss Stands-Rike. We can't both be Stands-Rike in the classes we have together." She looked around at the other students, and noticed they had begun to pick up slimy somethings from buckets beside the crates and were dropping them in. "Isn't this wild?" she asked again.

Tristan made a face, and then looked at her. "I wonder what they do?"

"Oh," she glanced down in the crate. "I dunno."

"How was Herbology?" Tristan asked, poking the Skrewt with a finger.

"Neat," Isolte smiled broadly, turning her full attention to her brother. "They've loads of greenhouses back there," she gestured to them, "and they're all full of magical plants. We popped the zits on one."

"What?" Tristan made another face.

Isolte nodded enthusiastically, "It's not just reading out of books and writing papers, we actually get to do stuff here!"

"Yer not feedin' yer Skrewts!" the huge man came over to the two of them. He sounded as if he was offended, but Isolte couldn't quite tell with his big, black beard covering most of his face.

In unison, the twins looked in the crate and then in the bucket. "What's this again, Mr. Hagrid?" Tristan asked, gesturing to the bucket.

"Ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake...not sure yet what they like. Go on," he gestured to the crate. "Give i' a try."

Tristan plastered his painted on smile, and gestured to Isolte. "Ladies first."

"Gee," she reached in a grabbed what might have been a bit of grass snake or a part of a frog liver, she couldn't tell which, "thanks." Just as she dropped it in the box someone shouted--

"Ouch!" It was one of the Gryffindor boys. "It got me!"

"Who's that?" Tristan asked.

Hagrid hurried over to him.

"Dunno," Isolte replied.

"Weren't you paying attention during roll?" he said.

"Obviously not as closely as you," she retorted.

"Its end exploded!" the Gryffindor boy said angrily.

Isolte dropped her bit of grass snake and clutched her hand to her chest.

"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," said Hagrid nodding.

"Blast off?" several students echoed.

"Eurgh! Hagrid," said one of the Gryffindor girls, "what's that pointy thing on it?"

Tristan leaned over, his lips almost touching Isolte's ear, "You've got a House full of complainers."

"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," said Hagrid enthusiastically. "I reckon they're the males. The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies....I think they might be ter suck blood."

"Well," said Malfoy, "I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive. Who wants pets that can burn, sting and bite all at once?"

Isolte rolled her eyes, "Yours are much better?" she asked her brother in a dry tone.

"Just because they're not very pretty," said the girl who was with Harry Potter and the red head, "doesn't mean they're not useful."

This time Malfoy rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back to his Skrewt. The two new students had paired up with each other, despite them being in different Houses. Didn't they know how it was done here? Of course they didn't, they were obviously from some backwater village somewhere in the Australian Outback, dancing around fires with Aborigines. The boy still nudged at him somewhere in the back of his brain, something he'd seen somewhere else. Maybe he reminded him of someone.

After the dinner last night, they had all returned to their Common Room, and Tristan hadn't lingered in it, instead going straight to the dorm. Draco had followed him, Crabbe and Goyle trailing loyally behind him. Pansy had said something, he hadn't really paid attention, and pretended he hadn't heard her. It turned out that this year the new boy's bed was next to Draco's, and Draco had noticed his trunk was devoid of much paraphernalia. "Didn't bring much," he said.

Stands-Rike looked up, his face blank. "All my stuff's at home."

"Doesn't do you any good there, does it?"

Stands-Rike shook his head. "No," he agreed. "It doesn't."

Draco blinked. He opened his mouth to say something, but it suddenly flew from his head when Stands-Rike had answered.

"You 15?" Crabbe asked, opening his own trunk, and taking out a pair of pajamas.

Stands-Rike shook his head. "No, I'll be 15 in November."

Crabbe had raised him eyebrows and frowned. "Oh."

"Where are you coming from?" Blaise Zabini asked. Draco hadn't noticed when he'd come in the dorm, he'd been too busy trying to watch Stands-Rike and get his own pajamas out of his trunk.

"Gloustershire," Tristan said.

"You don't sound like you're from Gloustershire!" Goyle said through his pajama shirt. His head popped out of the head-hole, and he said again, "You don't sound like it."

Tristan had given him that painted on smile again, and shrugged. Then he parted the curtains to his bed, taking his pajamas in with him, and closed them up again. Draco had heard the muttering of a spell, and waited a moment for something like a dandelion to sprout from one their heads. When it didn't, he took his own shirt off, and changed for the night.

After Care of Magical Creatures that morning, they went into the Great Hall for lunch. Draco saw that the twins ate at the Ravenclaw table again, with their cousins and brother. He felt someone hit his arm.

"What's so interesting about him?" Pansy barked, sitting herself down in between Goyle and Draco. "You've been staring at him all morning."

"I have not," Draco reached over and took a lamb chop. "There is something wrong with him."

"What do you mean?" Pansy turned her attention, none to delicately, to the Ravenclaw table. "Is he slow or something?"

Draco shook his head, "I don't know, I haven't been able to figure it out." He blinked, and turned to look at her. Damn, she'd caught him off guard, and he was babbling. "What do you care anyway?" he asked.

"Just wondering," she crossed her arms. "You've been awfully interested in him all morning, is all."

When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Draco saw the twins get up and part company at the Great Hall door. He lingered close enough so he could hear them.

"Good luck," the girl said, smiling broadly, her eyes twinkling.

"You're the one who needs luck," the boy said, walking away from her.

Isolte watched him go, and then headed up to the North Tower, following several other Gryffindors in hopes they were going the same way. She saw Harry Potter climbing up a silver ladder followed by the red head, and followed them. The smell in the room almost knocked her back down the ladder. It was laden with a heavy, sweet perfume, and it took a moment for both her nose and her eyes to adjust. The curtains were closed, and the room was bathed in a dim, red light. It was filled with chintz chairs and poufs for the students to sit on, all around little circular tables.

"Good day," said a misty voice from behind her.

Isolte turned, almost saying 'good day,' back, when she realized the misty voice wasn't speaking to her. It was speaking to Harry Potter.

Well, not the misty voice, but rather the person attached to it. She was a very thin woman, even thinner than Isolte herself, with enormous glasses that made her eyes appear huge. She must be close to blind, Isolte thought. She wore a great array of beads and bangles, so that she glittered in the faint light and was peering down at Harry Potter with a tragic expression on her face, her eyebrows drawn together in an upside down v.

"You are preoccupied, my dear," she said mournfully to him, "my Inner Eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see times ahead for you, alas...most difficult..." A little melodramatic isn't she? Isolte bit her cheeks, "...I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass...and perhaps sooner than you think..." her voice dropped to almost a whisper and she swept past them to front of the room. She did not even look at Isolte as she walked by, and seated herself in a large, winged armchair before the fire.

Isolte sat down at the table in the very front of the class, two of the other Gryffindor girls were there also. They were both looking up at the teacher with adoration on their faces. They even held their hands in their laps the same way she did. Isolte's heart beat in her throat. She had waited her entire life to meet someone who could Divine--a real Witch who could Divine. And here she was in Diviniation class. There were teacups on shelves at the corner of the room, and a large map of the sky behind her.

"My dears," the Professor said. Isolte liked that...my dears, like the students were special to her, "it is time for us to consider the stars." She went on about planetary rays and human destiny for several minutes before turning her attention to Harry Potter once again. "For example, with our dear Harry," she said, "we can tell from his tragic life, and the tragedies yet to happen to him that Saturn was in a position of great influence when he was born." She paused. Harry Potter just stared into space. "My dear," she repeated in her wispy voice.

"Harry!" muttered the red head.

"I was saying, my dear," said the Professor, "that you were clearly born under the influence of Saturn."

"Born under--what, sorry?" said Harry.

"Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!" said the Professor, sounding irritated. Why was the Professor spending so much time on Harry Potter? He wasn't even paying attention to her! Every class she had been to today, the teacher had doted on him, like he was some sort of prized object, and so far he had acted only like a spoiled brat! She was going on and on about his dark hair and his tragic life, and he wasn't even pretending to pay attention. Isolte bit her lip and took a deep breath to keep from shouting out loud at him.

The Professor passed out charts to each student to have them fill in the position of the planets at their moment of birth. Isolte almost rose out of her chair with excitement as she hurriedly calculated the positions. The Professor, who Isolte heard one of the girls at her table called, "Professor Trelawney," came over to her after a while, and peered over her shoulder at her chart. "Oh my dear," she said, putting a sympathetic hand on Isolte's shoulder. "You've never taken Divination before, have you?"

Isolte swallowed before answering. "It's my favorite subject," her voice was quiet.

"I can see that your last teacher spared your feelings as best she could," Professor Trelawney said, "but I can also see that your Inner Eye is not strong."

Isolte opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"Don't worry my dear," Professor Trelawney patted her shoulder again, "we cannot all be strong in the Divination Arts."

Just then one of the girls at her table squealed, "Oh Professor, look! I think I've got an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"

Professor Trelawney left Isolte, floated to the other side of the table, and began to talking to the other girl. Isolte didn't hear what was being said. She kept her eyes on her chart, already completed, and heard Professor Trelawney's voice in her mind, "I can also see that your Inner Eye is not strong...I can also see that your Inner Eye is not strong..." She didn't hear what else was said the entire class, and followed the other Gryffindors back to the Great Hall, where Tristan was waiting for her by the door.

When she saw him, she blinked, and two tears rolled down her face.

"What's the matter?" he asked, as if he already knew.

"Nothing," she croaked, slipping her hand in his and walking toward the Ravenclaw table.

"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"

Isolte's breath was knocked out of her by a gravelly bellow from behind her. He hasn't done anything wrong. He hasn't done anything wrong, the words sped around her mind as the Entrance Hall behind her grew silent. She looked over at Tristan, his face was impassive, but the pink streak across his cheeks and nose was gone, replaced with a translucent whiteness that showed the purple veins under his skin. I haven't done anything wrong, she heard his voice in her head, I haven't done anything wrong.

In unison they turned, so see the professor with the wooden leg and large, strange eye pounding a white ferret against the floor. "Never--do--that--again--" said the professor, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again.

"Professor Moody!" said a shocked voice.

Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.

Isolte felt her stomach lurch. The acrid taste of bile filled her mouth, and she turned around quickly, grabbing Tristan's hand. A crowd and developed behind them at the doorway, and she dragged her brother through the people. She couldn't intake breath, and she held the bile in her mouth, which made her gag again. Breaking free of the crowd, she ran to the Ravenclaw table, and sank down on the bench. She grabbed a cloth napkin and spit into it. Her eyes were watering, I can't cry here, the thought was wild and panicked. She wiped them, and then looked up at Tristan. His large muddy, green orbs were watching her intently. They were red rimmed and his lips shone purple against his white face. In his hand, he also held one of the blue and silver napkins in his hand also.