Chimaera of Judgement



CHAPTER TWELVE: Patching And Blatching

"All right, everyone, listen up."

The students who had been talking fell silent, sitting up straighter as Professor Longbottom leaned against the wall, running his hand through his shaggy brown hair. "After talking it over with the Headmaster, your teachers have agreed that this... unusual behaviour of the ghosts, though frankly bewildering, poses no immediate threat. Until a possible danger arises, please rest assured that we will be working to figure out what caused this, and in the meantime there is no cause for alarm. We would like you to report any further incidents of this sort to your Head of House, or any other teacher. Now, try and get some rest, all of you."

The students all began to talk at once. It took a lot of willpower for Albus to disregard the sight of Rose climbing the staircase to her dormitories, pointedly ignoring him, but he made firmly for Longbottom before he could escape.

"Professor!"

He turned, eyebrow raised. "Mr Potter, what's-"

"Listen... can I talk to you for a moment?"

The man seemed startled, but he nodded. "Let's just step outside the portrait hole."

Once on the other side, the professor took him by the elbow and led him a short ways along the hallway before saying, "All right, then, what's up?"

"Well, only... I think Peeves might be responsible for these strange things, sir."

It's irksome the way adults will sometimes smile at those still underage when they try to engage them in serious conversation, as if they're being especially cute for a photograph. "Hmm, maybe. But don't worry, we'll be racking our brains all night on this one, and if the problem gets any worse we'll probably contact the Minist-"

"No, see- that chandelier a couple weeks back. Why did it fall? A ghost would have no trouble getting up to the ceiling, but they can't touch solid objects - it'd have to be a poltergeist, or else-"

"Albus," said Longbottom kindly. "Please, listen. I'm not trying to blow you off, but you really shouldn't be worrying about this - you've got O.W.L.s coming up! And don't think we won't travel down the very avenues of thought you've suggested. We might not have exactly the same brains as you, but between the entire staff I do believe we know rather a lot. Have a little faith."

Gritting his teeth, he nodded.

"I appreciate you coming to me, though," he said as he led Albus back toward the Fat Lady. "Shows you've a deep loyalty to our school, that your concern is for more than your own safety; it's a real virtue, to be sure. Also... I was afraid you'd carry a grudge against me for being so harsh about that fistfight you, Weasley and Macmillan got yourselves into."

Albus couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, you did nearly shout yourself hoarse at us, sir... but we deserved the detentions, we were acting like prats."

Longbottom smiled warmly, whispered "Gillyweed" to the Fat Lady, and patted Albus on the back. "Tuesday morning, then?"

"Right. And thanks, Professor."

"Of course."

The only real regret Albus had about the conversation was that he forgot to mention his older suspicions, the ones about Peele and Dryden possibly being involved. Though Peeves was still his prime suspect, both of those new teachers had been present, and hadn't seemed especially unnerved by the sight of normally-friendly spirits deciding to race each other around the ceiling of the Great Hall, wailing at the top of their insubstantial lungs. But all he could do now was cross his fingers and hope the other members of staff were the detectives his Head of House made them out to be.

o o o

Nothing of interest happened in the first week of November aside from a dark aura of depression hanging stubbornly about the castle - at least, it did for Albus. Several things contributed to this, the largest of which was Rose's stony silence which he could not penetrate. Try as he might to get her alone and apologise, or at least open the lines of communication, she seemed to find new and exciting ways to avoid him altogether every day. He might have been angered by this had it not been mostly his fault to begin with, and as such he was reduced to feeling mopey.

Another thing that helped in no way at all was Ryan Macmillan's newfound fascination with both him and banshees. It wasn't as if Ryan had decided they were bosom companions and started treating him with any form of respect; he continued to throw jibes and insults at him as he prattled on and on, spinning various theories from nothingness that became more and more far-flung. If he hadn't been starved for conversation due to estrangement from his cousin, he would have told him to go swim to the bottom of the lake until the giant squid and the grindylows had him for tea.

Then again was the business of the nonliving residents at Hogwarts, none of whom had any recollection of their bizarre antics at the Hallowe'en feast and seemed rather offended by the notion that they had acted so unlike themselves. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, seemed especially dismal these days due to most students avoiding him like the plague, lest he start whirling around them.

"I'm not sure how much longer I care to endure this," Nick confided in Albus at lunch on Friday. "I haven't contracted the Vanishing Sickness! Why, I even saw young Bulstrode shoving one of his fellow Slytherins to the ground to avoid being too near the Bloody Baron, whom is normally on excellent terms with the students of his House! We don't even remember these alleged events they speak of!"

"I know, Nick," Albus sighed for the umpteenth time. "This'll all blow over, I'm sure."

His partially-severed head wobbled on his especially-thick ruff as he nodded vehemently. "I should say so! To think that I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, was to be seen screaming and streaking around the Great Hall like a common harpy!"

It was, by coincidence, Guy Fawkes Night, but there were definitely more sparks shooting between Albus and Rose than in the skies. The cousins sat on opposite sides of the locker room all the way through Olivia Wood's dissection of tactics that evening, and refused to look at each other during practise. As a result, they kept fouling things up so often that Olivia decided she had something to say.

"What the bleeding hell is wrong with you two?! Have you been Confunded by the Slytherins?"

They glanced at each other as briefly as they could before turning away sulkily. It was Rose who told her, "Keep out of it."

"That's rich! The Keeper telling the Captain to keep out of it?!" Olivia leaned heavily on the back of a chair to glare at them, a stray dreadlock falling into her eyes. "Well, you can just keep on practising then - for another hour!"

"What?!"

"The rest of the team need some sleep, but apparently you have too much animosity to burn off! C'mon, let's hop to it!"

And so Olivia kept them flying around, passing the Quaffle between each other for about twenty-five minutes before it came apparent they weren't so much passing it as trying to knock each other off their brooms - or at least draw blood. After another berating, she stormed up to the castle, leaving them to change and put their brooms away alone.

They dressed in silence, still taking opposite ends of the locker room. Albus finished first (perhaps because Rose was lingering on purpose) and stomped out; he thought he heard her say "git" as he left, but he didn't fancy turning back to ask.

He was somewhere along the fourth floor when it bowled him over - he had lost his best friend. This was possibly the third time in the week that the fact had given him a sound thump, but every time it felt fresh and raw. Moreover, he didn't care that he'd been trying to apologise, or that she was just being a baby about it - he didn't know how much longer he could stand being at Hogwarts without Rose. Making an unpleasant descision, he sprinted up the last few staircases to his dormitory, threw open his trunk and ripped a long, thin box from its depths. Nodding to himself in an off-to-the-gallows sort of way, he sprinted back down to the Gryffindor common room, and was just in time to see the Fat Lady swing forward again to admit Rose, who stopped cold when she saw him.

It was tense, no denying it. Rose's features were mutinous, as if daring him to say anything, anything at all so she could rip him a new one. Taking this hint in stride, he instead thrust the box forward.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"It's the other present I got for being made prefect," he said shortly. "And... it's yours."

"I don't want your stupid present."

"Go on, just... just take it, okay?"

She laughed harshly, the stray yellow clump of bangs drifting into her eye. "You really don't get it, do you? You think this is all about some old map your dad gave you, that I'd be that petty? It's the fact that you don't even trust-"

"Hold it right there!" He found his temper was rising. "God, I can't believe you, Rose, here I am trying to give you a peace offering and all you can do-"

"If that's all you've got to say-"

"It bloody well isn't!" The sheer volume in his voice was enough to quiet her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the map, okay? It was just a- look, will you take this blasted cloak, which I also didn't tell you about because I didn't think it mattered! If you like, I'll tell you about whether or not I love my shoelaces, and what drifts through my dreams at night, and I'll go into great detail after every time I use the loo! Just stop ignoring me!"

The air seemed to ring with his last four words as they stared each other down, neither one wanting to show weakness by making the first move. Then, frowning slightly, Rose reached over and snatched the box from his grasp, tossing the lid off carelessly and fishing out the cloak inside.

"It's nice," she said grudgingly.

"Yeah. And... and it's yours," he repeated.

"Bribing me to talk to you again, eh?"

"Well, obviously."

And when she laughed, it was just the barest bit warmer than the time before. "Prat."

"Go on, put it on."

Focusing on the transfer of the gift seemed a lot easier than facing the heart of the matter again, so she swirled it about herself, fastening it in the front with a flourish.

"How do I look?"

"I... I don't know."

An impatient tutting. "Come on, I'm not going to start ignoring you again if you think it doesn't suit me. Out with it!"

"No, I mean- I mean I can't see you."

"What?"

He hadn't noticed her draw her wand, much less perform any kind of spell, so he couldn't help wondering who had done the Disilliusionment Charm; nobody else was in the common room. Just then, he heard footsteps, and Cousin Barty appeared at the top of the stairwell.

"What's all this shouting? Albus, what on earth-"

"Barty, is that you?"

Another impatient tutting; everyone was being so short with him. "Yes. Who were you talking to?"

"Oh, er... no one. Rose, she- she's gone up to bed already."

"Well, you ought to do the same, then! And please, do watch the noise level!"

"I will. Sorry!"

As Barty's steps receded, Albus turned to look at where Rose had vanished, and was very startled to see her head floating in midair.

"Holy-!"

"Am I really invisible?" she breathed, holding out her arms and gazing at them in wonder. "Just like that?"

"Yeah," Albus said. "Well, I can see your head again."

"That's because I took the hood off," she said, hoisting it up again so it only hid half her face- the effect was ghastly. "How do I look now?"

"Like something we'd study with Hagrid," he muttered, and she giggled.

"Blimey, I can't believe you'd give something this brilliant away! You-"

And quite suddenly she was crying again, or very nearly so. Albus found he didn't want to see it, and when he turned away slightly it had nothing to do with how much of her was invisible.

"You... you actually missed me."

"Are you daft? Of course I did."

"Wow, I-" It was plain she was trying not to let the tears leak out, and she laughed again. "You must really have been desperate for company to part with a great thing like this! A real Invisibility Cloak!"

He squirmed. She'd be more impressed if he let her think that, but being that the whole point of contention was honesty... "Er, to tell you the truth... I didn't know that's what it was. I never actually tried it on before, I just figured it was a really fancy thing for parties."

"Oh... well, still." Then she looked up at him. "So, when you said you didn't mention it because you thought it didn't matter-"

"Yeah. I mean, who cares that much about new clothes? You didn't tell me about those socks until the night you put them on."

The thing that escaped her throat as she threw her arms around his neck was something halfway between a sob and a chuckle. Though he could do without the wetness she was leaving on his neck, he couldn't have been happier if he'd suddenly won ten thousand Galleons.

"I- I've been acting like an old harridan," she half-sobbed; he fought off a thrill of giddiness when he realised the back he was patting consolingly was invisible. "Holding you to that crap oath, of all the- we're adults now, you shouldn't have to tell me every little thing."

"Shh, don't do that. I should've told you about the map."

"But... it's not that I'm just nebby for the sake of it," she pleaded with him, drawing back and wiping her eyes. "No, really, I've always thought I was more like... more like a sister than just some cousin to you, like we could share anything!"

He frowned, trying not to let her words get to him as much as he knew he deserved. "Come on, I've already got a sister - and I certainly don't tell her any deep, dark secrets. You're my twin, remember?"

Rose grinned blearily, and in unison, they said, "One month, eighteen days' delay!" before breaking down in fits of laughter.

o o o

The mending of bridges between Albus and his cousin buoyed his confidence going into the first Quidditch match of the season like nothing else. At breakfast, he couldn't even hear the jeers from the Slytherin table, and while he appreciated the pats on the back and thumbs up from his housemates, those couldn't compare to knowing his best friend no longer wanted to liquify his innards.

Their constant stream of contented chatter began to greatly annoy the rest of the team in the locker room, so much so that James took them aside and hissed, "For Merlin's sake, will you shut it? We can't concentrate on the game with the pair of you tittering away like that!"

"Sorry, James. Guess you didn't know about... well, what they're saying."

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, trying to read his brother's expression. "What? You mean... saying about me?"

"Let's go," Olivia said at that moment, and began leading them out and onto the pitch.

"Out with it, twerp!" James snapped, but Albus merely shrugged as he grabbed his broom and hurried to cactch up, Rose covering her mouth with her hand as she did the same. He used this method of pestering infrequently enough that his brother had never quite caught on.

"Now, I want a nice, clean game," Madam Chang said, leering down Francis Litchfield, the dour-looking Captain of the Slytherin team; Albus refused to acknowledge the heat trying to rush to his face from being too near their referee again. "Try to keep the blood-letting under two or three pints, shall we? Right... captains, shake hands."

Francis and Olivia shook, nearly arm-wrestling in the process, before they mounted their brooms. With a quick glance around at the rest of the teams, Madam Chang kicked the crate containing the four balls of Quidditch over - both iron Bludgers and the tiny Golden Snitch soared into the air. She then caught up the Quaffle and held it in front of her, blowing her silver whistle just as she tossed it high into the air, and fifteen manned brooms followed it - the game was underway.

"And right off it's Potter - er, James Potter, damn confusing now Albus is on the team-"

"Language, Finnigan!"

"Sorry, Professor," Martin apologised to Professor Abbott, who was in charge of making sure the student announcer ran a socially acceptable commentary. Albus felt better about Martin not making the team now that he'd been chosen as the new commentator, replacing a rather callous Ravenclaw bloke who had left school in the Spring. "Anyway, Moore's got it now, spunky new player, wonder if a guy like me had-"

"Finnigan..."

"Right, sorry again - oops, Moore's lost it to Pucey, Pucey moving up the pitch with Pot- er, James on his tail - nice pass to Malfoy, Malfoy moving for the hoops, come on, Weasley - Wood's moving for the goal but she won't be quick enough - Malfoy shoots, will - BLOCKED!"

Albus spared a glance in the direction of his team's goal hoops to see Rose smirking as she tossed the Quaffle to Wood, who was already nearby. He couldn't help but flash her a grin in return.

"Wood passes to - ooh, nasty Bludger from Goyle, new Beater for the Slytherins, but not nasty enough, just missed her - James passes to Moore again, Moore ducks Rosier and gets - okay, that Bludger found its mark, but James is there, he's maneuvering to score - Litchfield dives wildly - IT'S IN!"

The crowd erupted; James waved cheekily to a group of Gryffindors in the stands, the girls swooning in a way that briefly made Albus wish he had a different surname.

"Rosier now in possession, the score ten to zero in favour of Gryffindor!"

"Oi, Pallid Potter!" Scorpius shouted as he passed. "How're you gonna catch the Snitch while holding hands with Rosie-Posey?"

Albus glared back, but immediately put his words from his mind; in fact, Malfoy had done him a favour by reminding him that he had a job to do. Angling his dad's Firebolt up, he began circling the pitch in hopes of spotting the golden gleam that would net their team an extra hundred-and-fifty points.

"And the Keeper saves it again!" Martin said, trying his best not to sound too happy. "Bad luck, Rosier, almost had it - and it's Moore in possession, love that sporty hair of hers-"

"Mr Finnigan, you can ask her out after the match!"

"Right you are, Professor, may just do - oops, sorry Moore, think I might have distracted you there - Rosier streaking up the pitch, she's got a clear - NOT ANYMORE! Nice Bludger from McLaggen sorted her, and now Wood's got the Quaffle, she's diving down below Malfoy, he can't wrest it from her hands - she shoots - GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's twenty to nothing!"

As the cheering swelled from the red-and-gold section of the stands, Albus caught sight of the Slytherin Seeker speeding off toward the other end of the pitch; had he spotted the Snitch? Gripping the handle of his broom tightly, he sped off after him, but was halfway there when a bat swung at his throat from nowhere - he barely had time enough to duck out of its way. Then he heard a whistle.

"And that's a penalty called on Bulstrode, illegal use of a Beater's bat there - ooh, interesting, Moore's being given the Quaffle!"

Cursing under his breath, Albus turned to watch Wendelyne's penalty shot, thinking he'd rather Madam Chang had let him try and find the Snitch. Litchfield got a piece of it on the tips of his fingers, but the Quaffle ricocheted off and into the leftmost of the three hoops.

"SCORE! Gryffindor is up by thirty points thanks to their fetching new Chaser, with possession passing to Malfoy - no, it's Rosier's got it, Rosier blazing up the pitch, nobody can catch her - Bludger from Macmillan just missed her this time - quick pass to Pucey, Pucey puts it - DENIED! Weasley is in top form today, ladies and gents, and it's Wood with the Quaffle, Wood passing to - Oi, I think Albus has seen something!"

Albus had, indeed, seen something; the Golden Snitch was hovering inches above the grass near the Slytherin scoring area, and he pushed his aged broom into a sharp dive, air whistling through his ears as he became a blur to all others watching, eyes squinted against the wind.

"I do believe Potter has clapped eyes on the Snitch - yes, Yaxley's after it as well, he's streaking from the other way, two brand new Seekers tested on the field of battle! Oh, Wendelyne's scored again while the other Chasers were distracted, bang up job, Moore!"

"There are other players on the pitch, Mr Finnigan!"

"Begging your pardon, Professor, but when there's a shining star like Moore out- wait, has he got it?!"

Albus's fingers were inches from closing around the fluttering Snitch, soaring just out of his reach, when Yaxley came out of nowhere and scrabbled for it. Both Seekers struggled in midair, trying simultaneously to keep the other from succeeding and grasp it themselves. Just when he was sure the Slytherin player was going to be able to throw him off, he heard a sickening crunch from somewhere above.

"Whoa! Now that's just bad form! Faith and begorrah, I've never seen a foul like that in all my - wait a minute - yes! Ladies and gentlemen, Potter's got it! Potter's got the Snitch! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

Beaming widely, he pulled out of the dive, having taken full advantage of Yaxley's oh-so-brief lapse in concentration to end the game and secure a victory for Gryffindor. To his confusion, however, the cheers weren't as loud as they ought to have been - what was wrong with this crowd?

But then he saw Madam Chang bending over something on the ground, lying between the left and centre goal posts.

"-worst display of blatching I've ever seen, those clots should be-"

"Finnigan, please!"

Dismounting his broom shakily, he shoved his way through the knot of Gryffindors and teachers already gathered around a prone figure lying on the grass, an abandoned broomstick several yards away. Though he was still being pushed back, a brief glimpse of a canary-yellow forelock ripped his stomach from him.

"ROSE!"

END Chapter Twelve