Chimaera of Judgement



CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Digging For Dirt

"Now then," said Professor Finch-Fletchley, turning to face Albus. "You mentioned something before about suspecting young Malfoy, didn't you?"

Ten or fifteen minutes after they'd come in from the frigid lawns found the four of them in Professor Longbottom's office, a small but cozy room with a vague scent of fresh earth lingering about. A non-Petrificused Jezabel was sitting in an armchair wrapped in several blankets, sipping piping-hot mulled cider and trying not to meet the eyes of the other five people in the room - for much to Albus's displeasure, Dryden had met the others there.

"Scorpius?" Dryden's eyebrow raised. "Surely not! I've never had a moment's trouble out of him, he's been a-"

Professor Longbottom halted him with a look. "Austerus, please. Let the boy speak."

"It's like I said before - he and Genevieve, they were laughing and whispering to each other. It looked to me like they had something to do with it, sir."

"Is that all?" Dryden said drily. "That proves nothing, other than they perhaps harbour a rather despicable sense of humour. If that's all the evidence you can provide, then I'm afraid we-"

"But what about the Puddifoot Fiasco?" Rose half-shouted.

"Eh?" said Finch-Fletchley. "Puddifoot... that's the teahouse down in Hogsmeade, isn't it?"

"They were so terrible to her, they- and then- oh, you tell them Al, I can't talk for growling. Besides, you were the one who met her later."

"Er, okay, well-"

"P-please stop," Jezabel whispered, scarcely audible in the small room. "Don't."

Albus stared at her, dumbfounded. "You- but- Jezabel, those sods have been-"

"I- I'd rather no one knew." She clutched the mug tightly in her pale fingers, looking straight down into it. "Please, d-don't tell them."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he said, "I'm sorry, but... but you deserve better." He turned back to the teachers before he lost his bottle. "Rose and I saw Scorpius and his friends standing outside Madam Puddifoot's - this was that weekend before Hallowe'en. Anyway, we overheard them talking, and they as good as said they were playing a joke on her. Jezabel was inside the place, you see, and they were watching her as they talked."

"What sort of a joke was it, Potter?" Longbottom asked.

"Er..." One look at the blotches on Jezabel's cheeks prevented him from divulging the full extent of the truth. "They'd told her somebody wanted to meet her in there that day. Well, they were lying, and I guess they did it to watch her suffer. It was a lousy thing to do."

"Potter," Dryden began slowly, "you say you overheard this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where were you and Miss Weasley standing, exactly?"

He didn't like the direction this was taking. "Er... just on the side of the road."

"There were so many students in the village that day," Rose added helpfully. "Malfoy and his friends probably didn't notice us there, or at least didn't realise we could hear them."

"Indeed." Dryden's navy-hued irises contracted as he scrutinized Albus. "I seem to recall that on the day in question, Mr Malfoy came to me with a severely-burned scalp, saying it had caught fire without warning or cause. You wouldn't happen to know anything about this episode of spontaneous combustion, would you?"

"Sorry," Albus replied, hoping against hope his face was the picture of innocence. "That must have happened after we'd moved on."

"I'm sorry to say," Longbottom cut in sharply as Dryden's mouth opened again, "that without any tangible proof, none of these stories amount to anything more than that - stories. We ought to simply get Miss Skirrow some clothes and-"

"The note!" Rose burst out, turning to Albus, her eyes triumphant. "D'you still have it?"

"Oh, er... I dunno." He hoped for both his and Jezabel's sakes that he didn't.

"Come now," Finch-Fletchley began, leaning on Longbottom's desk to stare at him more directly. "If you have anything at all that can help us put a stop to this..."

He tried to catch Jezabel's eye as he drew his schoolbag into his lap, to let her know that he'd rather not do this and how sorry he truly was, but she had bricked her vision up behind that wall of messy, raven locks. Slowly, painfully, he reached into the forgotten depths of his bag and presented the crumpled note to his Head of House, trying again to communicate nonverbally that he'd rather the note's contents not be made public.

"Ah, I see." Perhaps he was desperately imagining it, but he thought he saw a wave of sympathy flash briefly across Longbottom's round, scarred face. "And you suspect Scorpius himself wrote this? Well, there are simple enough ways to test that. Here-"

Still unsure if these things were a mere figment, Albus again was positive he waved his wand first at the slip in his hand before flicking it in the direction of a nearby filing cabinet. The second drawer crashed open, and several rolls of parchment flew out, landing neatly on the desk.

"Last year's final written exam," he gusted, unfurling the topmost roll. "Hmm... the handwriting is strikingly similar. See for yourself, Dryden."

Albus had felt sure Professor Dryden would glance up at him the moment he spotted his name, but he did not - the Potions Master merely grunted, saying, "Inconclusive."

"But Austerus," said Finch-Fletchley, peering down at the evidence himself, "almost every stroke is-"

"And how did Miss Skirrow come by this?" Dryden asked, frowning at the miserable head amid its nest of blankets. "Did she find it atop her clothes one morning? Really, anyone could have forged young Malfoy's hand and left-"

"No, sir," Albus interrupted. "She told me he gave it to her himself."

"Told you he- you've spoken with her about this before?"

"Yeah... that is, we had a talk, about a fortnight after. She says her Housemates are always doing nasty things like this to her, because- er, well..." Though there was no shame in it, he found he could not expose her secret without her consent; it wasn't his right.

"Why not?" He was startled to find it was Jezabel who'd spoken the words. "It's not as if it matters anymore, they already know so much." She fidgeted a moment before blurting out, "I'm a Mudblood."

Dryden and Finch-Fletchley's jaws dropped, and Longbottom's brow furrowed. Several looks of utter disbelief were exchanged between the teachers; meanwhile, their students grew increasingly uncomfortable, trying not to feel like they were foolishly making a mountain out of a molehill. Finally, Professor Dryden spluttered, "Well, this- this- I've never heard of such a thing! A Muggle-born in Slytherin House? Salazar himself would be shocked!"

"Austerus," said Longbottom warningly.

"It is unheard of," Finch-Fletchley murmured, also glaring at the Potions Master. "With the general attitude prevalent there, it's no small wonder she's still alive."

"Justin, please!" Dryden snapped, drawing himself up. "You can't think I would ever condone- I merely meant it's severely unusual! These are progressive times, to be sure, but traditions aren't so easily broken as-"

"Thank you, Austerus." Sighing wearily, Professor Longbottom rose to his feet. "Now, it certainly has been many years, and... and we should consult with the Headmaster first, obviously, but I should think-"

"HeadMISTRESS, you mean."

Everyone turned to the doorway, simultaneously aghast and delighted to see the aged Professor Sprout leaning heavily on a cane, a playful look of incredulity on her cheery face. "Honestly, you miss one term and everyone's quite ready to forget you exist. Where is the loyalty, I ask you?"

"Pomona!" Professor Longbottom leapt to his feet at once, hurtling around his desk to greet her so fast he nearly sent Finch-Fletchley to the floor. "You're back, we- when? Oh, there had been no word, we would have planned a welcoming, or-"

"Oh, pish-tosh, Neville," Headmistress Sprout muttered, hobbling over to an empty chair and sinking into it with a groan. "Term is over, the students will be leaving in the morning - no sense making a fuss."

"Really, it'd have been no-"

"Merlin's beard," she breathed, glancing around at the rolls of parchment, Albus and Rose, and Jezabel, huddled amid her sheets. "What's all this, then?"

Longbottom followed her line of sight, all previous thought having been swept from his mind by the reappearance of his favourite professor and current superior. "Oh... spot of trouble, nothing dire- though we should discuss it eventually." Albus noticed him glance at he and Rose, as if the subject were suddenly no longer fit for mere students' ears. Sure enough - "I think it best you two go and get started packing. In fact, let's us teachers move this to the Headmistress's office to give Miss Skirrow here some privacy so she can get some clothes on."

Though Professor Sprout's eyebrows receded into her white flyaway hair, she said nothing as they exited Longbottom's office. Just before closing the door, Dryden said, "One moment, we've forgotten-" And he conjured a set of robes, resting in a pile on the desk as if they'd been there all day. "No need to bring the blankets or mug with you, I'm sure the house-elves will see to them."

Rose twitched at this, but seemed to decide now was not the time.

"Oh, Potter," said Longbottom, stopping short as the other teachers began to move off. "I believe this was yours?"

Albus was surprised to find the scrap of parchment being pushed back into his hands. He muttered a thanks as the professor hurried to catch up with his fellow staff members.

"Like we wanted it back," Rose grumbled.

"Rose, look."

As he'd suspected (and was relieved to find he was right), Longbottom had magically removed his name from the note before showing it to the others.

"But that's- he can't have-"

"Guess he did."

"Wow, that's... that's big of him to do that for you."

"Yeah. Suppose he reckoned it wouldn't hurt if-"

The door to Professor Longbottom's office creaked open and eyes hidden in a tangle of dirty hair peered out at them. When the door began to close again, Albus grabbed the handle.

"Jezabel, please, I'm sorry! I didn't want to tell them any of that stuff, really, but- but we-"

"Then why did you?" The tone of her voice was dismayed, but he had a sneaking suspicion she was angry. "I... I just want to be left alone, and now you've gone and told- now- what if they kick me out of school, or snap my wand in half? What will I do then?"

"Come off it, they wouldn't destroy your wand," Rose scoffed. "Not for being on the receiving end of attacks!"

"But you heard them." At last, she surrendered and stepped out into the hallway, now wearing grey woollen robes that looked itchy but only stocking-footed; Dryden hadn't produced a pair of shoes. "All of them. They were as shocked as you when they heard I'm a Mudblood - moreso, even."

"Stop calling yourself that!" Albus fought back an unnatural desire to shout her down for using the term. "And, well, I'm not sure what Dryden's problem is, but he's bang out of order. So what if you're not a pureblood witch? My grandmother was Muggle-born."

"So's my mum," Rose put in. "Those Slytherins are just a gaggle of gits, you ask me."

When Jezabel spoke again, Albus noticed a tremor in her tone, and that her hands were twisting at the cuff of her frayed sleeve. "That's the problem, though, isn't it? I'm supposed to be one of them! And now the teachers know I'm not, and th-they- it's just like Patricia used to tell me, they're going to expel me because there's no place for me here! Oh, Albus, why couldn't you have left it alone?!"

He made to block her as she pushed past him, fighting back a fit of sobs with little success, but Rose latched onto his arm with a grip so firm he thought she might snap his forearm. When he opened his mouth to protest, she hissed, "Let her go."

"Go? Rose, she's got it all-"

"Give her time. I know, Al," she sighed when she caught the mutinous look in his eyes, "but she's had an especially rotten day in her already rotten life. Leave her be."

"But-"

"We can talk to her tomorrow."

"No, we can't!" he burst out hotly. "Tomorrow we're catching the Floo!"

"That's right." Her face slackened. "I forgot."

"Don't you see? We have to catch up with her now, right now - we can't let her go two long weeks with this rubbish hanging over her!"

"We'll do it in the morning," she said firmly. "We can wake up early, stake out the dungeons - make sure we've got a chance to talk some sense into her."

Albus hated that plan. He hated every plan that didn't involve storming into the Slytherin common room and forcing Jezabel to see reason. Even so, he could appreciate that Rose probably knew what she was talking about, and so it was that he allowed her to shunt him down and into the Great Hall, where he could scarcely even look at his supper, much less eat any of it.

o o o

It seemed to Albus that Rose lacked a sense of propriety. This thought came to him when he awoke to find her sweaty hand over his mouth, their noses an inch apart. When his eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw her other hand holding a finger to her lips and stopped struggling; they were going to try and catch Jezabel before she went home for the holidays. She waited until he sat up, nodding, before she tiptoed back to the open door and shut it behind her as quietly as she could manage.

"I can't believe you," he hissed five minutes later as he joined her in the deserted common room. "Sneaking into the boys' dormitories - what would your mother say?"

"She'd say, 'Oh, I used to do that, too.' Hurry up, will you?"

They weren't even serving breakfast yet when the twosome arrived downstairs, yawning and gazing around blearily for other signs of life. A few minutes ticked by before Rose said, "Oh - Al, do you have the map on you?"

"Right." Taking a moment to listen for approaching footfalls, he withdrew the weathered parchment, activated it and scanned the dungeons for Jezabel's dot. There it was, safely tucked away in her dormitory, so he pocketed it and said, "She's not up yet."

"Thought not. Well, let's settle in, then - Chocolate Frog?"

An hour crawled by. It hadn't taken them long to revive the subject of the latest attack on Elizabeth, and the unsettling conversation they'd listened in on at the Three Broomsticks.

"What if that's why Dryden was so cold to you in Longbottom's office?" Here Rose paused to take a bite out of the half-eaten Licorice Wand she'd found in her pocket. "Because he knows we were tabhanging?"

"I don't think so," he said slowly. "He sounded angry enough about what Peele was saying to him without needing any other reason to be sulky."

"It did sound like a bad row," she conceded. "And she said they should do something about it, whatever it is. Almost sounds like Dryden was scared."

"D'you think this might be what all this business is about? Dryden using the ghosts to make the other Houses feel scared, or else physical pain? Y'know, to make the Slytherins look good - and he didn't want me accusing Malfoy of doing anything to Jezabel, cos that makes it seem like they can't even get along amongst themselves. And now Professor Peele's onto him, or he's getting cold feet or something."

"But the ghosts scared everybody on Hallowe'en, including the Slytherins, so that can't be it..."

"Maybe..."

"What?"

It was far-fetched, even by his own standards, but it surely would do no harm to give voice to the hypothesis. "What if it's all just a great smokescreen? What if he's up to something really awful, with this chimaera of his, and he's casting - I don't know, the Imperius Curse on the ghosts just to keep everybody distracted?" When she didn't tell him he sounded like an idiot, he pressed on. "I don't know if you'd remember, but I had a thought before, that- that Logan may have found out something about Dryden, something bad, and that's why he had to get him out of the way! I mean, what if Elizabeth found out the same-"

"Is there a reason you two are up with the sparrows?"

It was as if they had invoked his name. "P-Professor Dryden, we-"

"Why, it's only now coming on six o'clock," he said quietly, staring between the two Gryffindors. His piercing eyes swept over their relaxed positions on the floor, and narrowed further when they reached the sweet wrappers strewn around them. "Most students are scarcely waking, yet here I find you camped out on the doorstep of my dungeons. I'm sure you'll think me rude for asking, but... what the devil are you doing?"

"Waiting for Jezabel," Rose said promptly.

"Jezabel?" Now he genuinely seemed surprised. "Why?"

Albus cleared his throat. "Well, sir... she seemed really upset yesterday, and- and we just wanted to make sure we got the chance to say something to her before we went home for Christmas."

"Hmm, yes... how very sweet." It appeared the truth did not convince him. "Unfortunately, Miss Skirrow has already left, so I'm afraid your words of comfort must wait until January."

Rose did a double-take. "What?! But- Professor, how can she have gone already? We thought- it's so early, there's-"

"Surely you two of all students can appreciate why the poor girl should want to expedite the return home after what happened?"

Albus knew he had a valid point. "Y-you're right. Sorry for the outburst, Professor."

Dryden's close-cropped head cocked to one side. "You really were waiting to speak with her, weren't you?" When neither of them replied, he muttered, "Hmm," and turned toward the marble staircase.

"We missed her."

"Sorry, mate," Rose whispered. "This is all my fault, I- maybe we should've gone after her last night. I mean, you're not supposed to put off 'til tomorrow what-"

"No, you were right." The words had already felt bitter in his mouth, even before he said them. He whipped the Marauder's Map back out, more to give him something to do other than feel useless, but it turned out Dryden was not lying; Jezabel had vanished. "She was going to pieces, she needed some time alone."

"Yeah, well, she's got loads of it, now. Merlin's pants, who'd have thought she'd get up at the crack of dawn, too? It's like she knew we were going to do this!"

"Nah... it's just bad luck, that's all."

"The worst of it is," said Rose as they plodded into the Great Hall, "the Slytherins are probably going to get away with this - again. Nothing really changes, does it? They're going to keep on being dungbrains, and keep on playing the same dirty pranks on unsuspecting kids."

"Not the same," he growled. "This is an all-time low. Rose, they took off all her clothes, Body-Bound her and stuck her in below-zero weather like some mad scarecrow, not bothering about if she got frostbite, or died, or- or-"

"Actually, they probably cursed her before taking off her clothes. I was there, Al, I do remember bits and pieces." She pursed her lips as she pulled a glass of orange juice toward her. "One thing I seem to recall is a certain Gryffindor fifth-year jinxing Malfoy instead of helping Jezabel. Let me think, now, who could that have been?"

Albus attempted to hide his pinkening cheeks behind a slice of toast. "Did you have to bring that up?"

o o o

The time finally came for Albus and Rose to hug each other goodbye in Professor Longbottom's office, knowing full well they'd be seeing each other in about a week but dreading the time apart all the same. He watched Rose take a handful of Floo powder and throw it into the fireplace, turning the flames green, then walk calmly inside. Taking a deep breath, she stated clearly, "The Library!" and was gone in a roar of flame and puff of soot.

Hugo followed her, and Lily followed him, her cat struggling in her arms as she disappeared; there were only two more students left in the queue. A mad desire to take action possessed Albus, and he could not shake it. When James tried to shove Albus forward, he whispered, "No, you go on ahead, I'll catch up in a minute."

His brother gave him a quizzical look, but shrugged and took his turn, nodding to their teacher before disappearing as his family had done.

"Professor, I wanted a word."

"Another one, Mr Potter?" Longbottom asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "We'll have to start marking these meetings on our calendars if this keeps up."

Albus laughed before settling himself on the edge of the seat in front of his desk. "It's... it's about the ghosts. I know you're all working hard on this, really, but... I think you should know Rose and I overheard something in the Three Broomsticks..."

Professor Longbottom gave his full attention to Albus's retelling of the dire-sounding whispers in the pub, asking for details occasionally, silent with his hand on his chin most of the time. At last, he said, "Hmm."

"Yeah. Er, I don't know what any of it means, sir, but-"

"Well, no, neither do I exactly. It seems to me they were being intentionally vague, or else you missed something extremely important when Rose, er... coughed, did you say?" The look he gave Albus made it clear he saw through Albus's explanation for the missed words. "But a chimaera? They're fierce, I remember, and quite large, but... perhaps I should have a word with Hagrid about this, he'd be able to tell me more about a chimaera than he ought to know, I'm sure."

They sat in silence for a moment before Albus pushed himself to his feet. "Anyway, sir, I should be getting back to my family."

"Right, of course, I'm sorry," the professor chuckled, rising to see him off. "But thank you for coming to me with this, Albus. Happy Christmas, and-"

"Yes, sir?"

It might have been his runaway imagination up to its old tricks again, but he was sure his Herbology teacher was going to give him some word of warning. Instead, all he said was, "Send my regards to your parents, would you?"

"Of course."

END Chapter Sixteen