The Broken Victory

Chapter 12: The New Year Needs Resolutions

Break came to an end as fast as the semester had. I spent most of it getting ahead in all of my subjects. Dippet was talking about moving me into second year Charms, and I felt ready to take him up on it. I also finished the History of Salazar, which had been extremely interesting. One person hypothesized that he went crazy after he killed a man during a duel they had, where he used all three of the Unforgivable Curses in succession. It went into great detail on them, which was probably why the book had been restricted. The man, a Muggle-born, had been trying to get Salazar thrown into Azkaban for his magic practices for years. Salazar had died before he was brought to a trial. His only known relation was a brief marriage with a part Veela. She had dropped out of the history somewhere after the founding of Hogwarts, when he started becoming synonymous with the dark arts. On his deathbed, he apparently had spoken of an heir. Unfortunately, while many had tried to lay claim to that title, no one had yet proven to be his heir. It was assumed his last words were really mere dementia. Since he had no other known relations and his wife had disappeared, any factual information on the Slytherin line ended with his death.

I felt frustrated. In my mother's letter, she had sounded bitter and forceful--hardly the way one would talk to someone they had worshipped. In my heart, I doubted she would bow down to another in such a way anyway. I thought there might be another connection between them, but there was nothing for me to go on.

The day before New Year's Day, I was just returning from a futile trip to the library when I ran into a tall woman I didn't recognize. She had sleek, brown hair pulled tightly back, and her dark eyes showed no hint of weakness. She raised an eyebrow at me, not amused.

I smiled at her. "Good afternoon, ma'am."

She didn't return the smile. "What are you doing about? All the other students are in their rooms unpacking."

I put on an innocent face, glad I hadn't taken anything out of the restricted section this time. "I stayed here for holiday. I was just in the library, getting a head start for my classes." Not that it's any of your business.

At that, her severe expression lessened slightly. But in an inquiring voice, she still demanded, "Are you Thomas Riddle?"

I nodded slowly, and she said, "Ah, I've heard about you. I am Madam Patricia Hagglings, a war informer for The Daily Prophet. Perhaps you've read some of my articles in class or in the paper?"

I hadn't. "Of course," I said.

She smiled, though it wasn't really welcoming. "Your Headmaster invited me here to take over the Muggle Studies class. He didn't say anything before, because he knows how troubling change can be to little ones. He thought it would be better announced now, so the children didn't have a worrisome break." She seemed annoyed at that, but I smiled because it did sound just like Dippet. She eyed me and continued, "Your Professor Dumbledore especially wanted me to meet you. He said you were very insightful and interested in issues that are being dealt with in the Muggle world. He even placed you in my class, though I told him I only wanted third years and above. But he was insistent." Looking me over, she said condescendingly, "I do believe he is overreaching. He's a tad overzealous, I think."

She must be the person Dumbledore wanted me to meet. I already had enough of her for a lifetime. Politely excusing myself, I made a face at her back and left the room. I didn't really want to see who was back or hear about their holidays, so I went back into the library. I stayed there until dinner, when I had to go to the dining hall for the "special announcement." At the professors' raised table, Madam Hagglings and Dumbledore started arguing loudly about the mystical star reading of the centaurs. It was almost worth being there to see Professor Zwipp actually get up and leave the table when Madam Hagglings offered to give him a free reading since she knew so much centaur magic, not realizing that the "sky" above the table was really an illusion.

I didn't know why Dumbledore wanted me to meet Hagglings. She was an incredibly pompous woman, who criticized every aspect of the Muggle world and droned on about how she would improve it in her speech after dinner. I crossed my arms throughout the evening, irritated. She didn't seem to know very much about the Muggle world, and that bothered me more than what she was saying. Then my eyes widened at I realized what Dumbledore must have been doing, and I seethed. Dumbledore's itinerary was for me to feel precisely this way about her and draw a comparison between her and myself. I glared at him from the safety of the back of the room. If Dumbledore was trying to tell me I sounded like a bombastic Muggle outsider, criticizing the workings of the magic community I had only just joined, he truly was insane. I was nothing like this lady.

I at least knew what a real sky was.

I was beginning to drift off from her droning when she said, "And we believe that spies of Grindelwald are everywhere. Everywhere." She gave a dramatic pause there, ominously staring from one corner of the room to the other. To me, it appeared as if she had an odd tick. Barely stifling a snort, I half-listened to her drone on. "The Muggle world is just as likely a place for him to strike or to seek an alliance. You can't be too careful, and the Ministry is doing everything it can to eradicate problems before they start. So any unusual behavior at school, at home, and in the Muggle world if that is where you reside, the Ministry asks you to report to your Headmaster. Especially those of you who are of Muggle descent. This includes activities related to magic and otherwise. We aren't on a witch hunt, per se, but these are troubled times." She looked solemnly at us. "So be careful who you trust, and don't hide any information to yourself."

I turned and caught Dumbledore's eye, finding him looking right at me. I swallowed hard, averting my eyes. Did he mean my being a Parseltongue or being unusually gifted in my classes? Or did he know about my going into the restricted section of the library to read forbidden things and suspected me? Was he going to turn me in?

Calm down, I told myself irritably. He's just using this lady to try and teach me not to be so arrogant in my opinions. Or he probably means for me to be careful around others in talking to Snicks or doing the extra work everyone assigned me. It's probably for my own protection. I told myself this repeatedly, but the knot in my stomach didn't decrease. I didn't think highly enough of Dumbledore to really believe any of what I'd thought.

I left for my room after dinner, barely listening as Randy told me of his holiday. My mind was on Dash, because he and Damien had not been present at the dinner. Once we got back to the Slytherin commons, I went to Dash's door and knocked tentatively. I heard nothing, so I knocked a little louder. Finally I heard Dash's voice bid me enter.

I pushed the door open and entered his room. It was as pristine and immaculate as always, except for the unopened trunks sprawled directly in the middle of the floor. I nearly tripped over them - actually, I did trip, almost falling onto the bed. Flushing a bit, I immediately straightened up properly, glad he hadn't said anything. Then, as I turned to examine him, I realized he hadn't even seen my clumsiness. Dash was sitting on the floor, papers spread all about him. He didn't look up as I walked over to him, merely asking distantly, "Yes, what do you want?"

A bit stung, I replied, "A nicer welcoming?" I expected Dash to smile at that. Usually when I said such things, he would break out of these moods and come around. But he merely sniffed and kept his head down. Normally I would have taken the hint and left, but instead I found myself more concerned. It was an odd feeling, not one I was sure I liked, but it was still there. Christmas gift or no, Dash still had been the kindest person to me in my life. Not only would life be even more miserable if he turned against me, but I also felt some appreciation for him. After all, he had kept Damien off my back more than once. As a result, I sighed and remained awkwardly standing there.

Craning my head, I tried to read the papers Dash was sorting, though they were upside down to me. I made out the words parents and special occasion, before they were ripped from my sight. Dash had scooped them up to his chest and thrust them onto his counter. Still scattered on the floor were different colored quills. Apparently Dash had been writing the things by hand. My brow furrowed in confusion; why hadn't he just charmed them? I looked up, and he still wasn't facing me.

On edge now, I asked again, softer, "Dash, what is it?"

In a strained voice, he replied, "Dippet is having all the Houses post these signs. He didn't make the announcement at dinner, I suppose." He still wasn't facing me. I shifted uncomfortably. It seemed as though Dash was talking to himself rather than me, and I was merely eavesdropping. But I still couldn't tear myself away as he continued. "There is going to be a parents' day in a few weeks. Dippet thinks it'll be good for the kids. Of course, only magic parents can come. The other professors tried to tell him it wasn't fair to the Muggle-borns, but he said it was better than nothing. Especially now--" He swallowed hard.

I could surmise what Dippet had meant. The Dark Lord Grindelwald had defeated a rebellious colony of wizards and witches in northern France; I suspect that was where our previous Muggle Studies professor had met her end. In the paper, there had been a long list of people who had been killed or were now in the hospital. The latter would probably never leave Mungo's because of the attack. I had recognized a few of the names the list and supposed them to be relatives of certain students here. Dippet probably thought this parents' event would be a good moral booster for everyone. And good P.R. for him to prove to terrified parents that Hogwarts was still the best place for their children.

I shrugged, though I knew he couldn't see me. "As one without parents of any kind, I don't care. I mean, I think it's a rather odd idea--"

"It's a stupid idea!" Dash cut in furiously. His shoulders almost shaking, he spat out, "The best wizards and witches around are parents of the students here. It's the worst risk, to gather them all here together. And of course they'll come. They won't want to leave their children alone during this time. They aren't stupid. Or, rather, they're that stupid, because they care..." He breathed deeply. My uncertainty had increased, and I felt I was doing little good here. I was ready to escape, not wanting to be present any longer, when he finally eyed me. Then his voice changed, as if he were afraid he had scared me. His tone now paternal, he said, "Of course, there will be protection. And Grindelwald can't Apparate here. Plus they are staggering the event over four days--one for each House. So they never will actually all be here on the same day. But still--"

He was rambling again. I cleared my throat to remind him of my presence. Dash jumped and then turned around. He was still in shadows, because there was no light on in the room. His voice echoing, seeming disembodied, he said, "Sorry. I'm not really here today. It's been a--a hard time." His voice made a small, choking sound, and he turned back around. I felt even more embarrassed. It didn't fit my image of Dash to see him so torn. I knew I had no experience in these situations, but I still wanted to help in some way. And I fervently hoped he wouldn't begin to cry - I didn't want an image of him doing something I found so...well, pathetic.

Finally in a small, awkward voice, I said, "I'm sorry." It sounded feeble even to my own ears, but Dash actually smiled. He hesitated for a minute and then walked over to me. I looked up and could barely withhold the gasp rising in me. Dash was not wearing robes, and in his loose shirt and trousers, he seemed almost as gaunt as I. His face looked emaciated and ill. His eyes, which had always been a lighter shade of gray than Damien's, were now a smoking charcoal. I hid my horror and tried to smile encouragingly at him, as he had done for me my first night here.

Dash stopped quietly before me, his expression somber. "My mother is at Azkaban, Tom." He paused and then pushed on before I could say a thing. "It was a quick trial, and she was imprisoned just the other day."

"I-I'm sorry," was all I could think to say. I didn't think Dash would want anything else. He certainly wouldn't have taken to pity. I looked at him, my insides twisting in a confusing blend of disengaged emptiness and guilt. I felt sympathy but not empathy. I never had anyone close that could be taken away. Except for my mother, but I always tried not to think of her in that way. Finally I asked, "How is your father?" I don't know why I brought it up, but it was easier to ask that about his father than about Damien, or even about Dash himself.

At my question, Damien's eyes burned. He said shortly, "He says that he is broken from it." Internally I cringed, feeling stupid for having brought up his father. I didn't ask anything else, studying my shoe tops when Dash spoke again. I glanced up, seeing his face a statue of impenetrability. His eyes were hollow, and somehow his voice belied his weak physique. I preferred that. His voice still slightly strained, he said solidly enough, "I'm fine. But I think Damien is really distraught about it. What am I saying? Of course he is. He's only a child." He saw my slight flinch and said harder, "Yes, even you are still a child, Tom. And you may be stronger than Damien, but I am not sure that is something to be so proud of."

I nodded mutely, feeling worse. Even though I didn't really agree with Dash on that one, I didn't say so. Despite what Damien thought, I knew Dash was protective of his younger brother. My thoughts were further proven when Dash said, troubled, "He won't speak about it at all. I thought about sending him to the nurse, but--" Dash's eyes faded away again. "I did try to keep him away from the court, but they insisted on questioning him. And I wasn't there till the end; I was at Durmstrang, with our father. We were kept away till the very end. Things kept coming up, preventing Father from taking me home. Damien was alone with her when they came...the officials and dementors...we didn't even get to say goodbye to her."

I never thought it would have been possible for me to feel sorry for Damien. I didn't know what his home life was like, but this must have hit him hard. And I could relate to not getting to say goodbye to one's mother--though I never really knew mine. But I felt even worse for Dash. Watching him, he looked as if he had just asked me about my break, not said his mother had been given a death sentence. Perhaps by now, he was too deadened to give off any hurt. I racked my mind, trying to think of things I'd heard were comforting, but nothing plausible came up. What was I to I say? That it would get better? Tell him not think about it, and move on? Words sprang into my head, but none of them fit. That certainly wasn't how I felt about my father abandoning me, leaving my mother to die and me to rot. I wasn't over that. And I felt pathetic and angry for not being over it.

My mind spun as thoughts of my past surfaced into my consciousness. I found soft words leaving my mouth, though I was not looking at Dash anymore. "If your mum didn't deserve this treatment, then I hope whoever does, pays." My gaze returned to his face, and I added seriously, "And I hope you get to be the one who does it."

A small crack in his façade spoke millions more than his harsh words. "That isn't the answer, Tom. Do I want revenge? Bloody hell, yes. But I don't think--I don't--I don't know what the answer is. My father says he thinks the way you do." He fell onto his bed, his eyes shutting. Quietly he whispered, "I'm not sure of anything anymore. Is she any more innocent than the children Grindelwald is murdering? I'm not about to spend my whole existence now trying to kill him, though look at all the innocent people he's destroyed. Yes, I am selfish. But I also just don't know if that would really do any good. The people who took my mum, they believed in what they were doing--they were trying to bring Grindelwald to an end. That's what she was charged with, acting under him. So do they deserve to be punished? I don't know who has the right to revenge, but I don't think it's me." He opened his eyes, staring into a void in front of himself.

I left quietly. Walking straight into the dormitory, I passed the ruckus of the common room. In a daze, I barely noticed the Exploding Snap game in front of me till I nearly tripped over the people playing it. I truly was having a marvelous night. Ignoring their indignant mutterings, and the various explosions from a gag wand on the other side, I entered the solitude of the dormitory. First and second years lived together, as did the third and fourth, and fifth and sixth levels. Only seventh years and prefects got a separate room. Dippet had said that, if a big enough grant came in, they would build a dormitory for each grade in all the Houses. I personally thought the money should be spent on scholarships, but I didn't say anything. Either way, it was nearly impossible to find the dormitories empty.

I went over to my bed, where Snicks was lying down, eating a rat. I glared at him and said in a soft whisper, "I hope that's not someone's pet."

Snicks glared right back at me and said, "It's nature'sss way. And don't you knock?"

"Don't you have enough manners to not talk with your mouth full?" I stopped, realizing how foolish I sounded, and changed the topic. "I'm sorry, Snicks." He snorted, so I added, "Everything's wrong again." Snicks must have noticed my broken expression, for he left the rat and slithered onto me.

Concern in his hiss, he asked, "What'sss wrong?"

I shook my head. My throat ached as I said, "Just everything. I can't explain it, because I don't even know what it is--I don't know anything. I was so sure I was finally doing things right, or thinking right--that I should punish those who are bad, who hurt me. That I should stop them before they can. Like my father." My eyes clouded over as I tried to reason my way out of my conflicting thoughts. "But where did I get so righteous? I'm not a better person than anyone else--well, maybe some, but look what I said to Jiminy, and even Cathleen. Everyone seems to think I'm more inclined to help myself than others, that I don't think of others, and I think that's...well, that's true. But what alternative did I have? And I thought all people were that way. I still do, I think--but I am not sure. And I can't control my magic, and those visions still terrify me."

I sighed, and Snicks said consolingly, "You are better. You jussst need more training, issss all."

"That's what I thought. But after what Dash said, I think he has a point. It's not realistic that I could defeat Grindelwald, or anyone. In my dreams, I'm not even Grindelwald's real target all the time. Besides, even more than what gives me the right to harm him, what gives me the means? I wish I knew that I wasn't ruining my whole life by doing something."

"You can't ruin your whole life from one misssstake," Snicks offered.

I shook my head, my voice unsteady. "I don't know that. I wish I knew. I wish--" I paused and took a deep breath before continuing. I stopped whispering to him in Parseltongue. Forgetting myself in the dark room, I said out loud to no one, "I wish my mum was here to tell me." That was the first time I had mentioned her in a long time, and the first time I had ever voiced my desire to have her back. Snicks dropped his head onto my lap, as a cry sounded across the hall.

I jumped up, illuminating my wand. My stomach fell when I saw Damien also standing. He had been lying, not on his bed, but on another second year's named Archers. He appeared as bad as Dash had, only it was clear he had been crying. The telltale trails and streaks flashed a damp pink against his marble skin. His lower lip trembled, but his eyes looked murderous.

In a voice shaky yet still full of malice, he hissed, "Making up stories to rub it in, are you, Mudblood? You're so glad my mum is dying right now; you just had to come up here and start in at it, didn't you? You disgust me."

I tried to make my voice mild. "Damien, I had no idea you were here. I mean, it would make sense, but I didn't think of it. I was thinking of you, though, and Dash. He said some things...they made me think of my mum. I really am sorry, Damien. I didn't think it was possible, but I truly am." More so for Dash, but I refrained from saying that.

I waited, expecting more taunting. I promised myself I wouldn't resort to his level no matter what, for Dash's sake--and hoping I could keep that promise. But Damien didn't say a word. I could actually see the hatred draining from his eyes, replaced by the familiar coldness. In a voice that wasn't sympathetic, he said, "That's right; you don't have either parent."

I sucked in my breath. "No, I don't. Well, my father isn't dead, but he disowned me. My mother is dead, though. Even though I don't remember her, I can relate to missing her, though God - erm, Merlin - knows I try not to."

Damien was looking at me, curiosity building in his cold eyes. I hadn't planned on spilling all of this to him, but it did put us on more even ground. After all, Dash had told me about his mother, and if I could bring peace to this situation, it would be easier on all of us. Besides, I really didn't want Damien going around telling everyone how I had cried out for my mum if it could be avoided.

Damien's expression was now cautious, as if he were testing my patience. "Well, who would have thought we'd share something, Mudblood?" he drawled. When I refused to speak, the childish taunting increased. "What, you only talk to Dash? He doesn't even really like you, you know. He just puts up with you to annoy me, because he hates me." He turned and was about to walk away when I stopped him.

"That's not true," I said softly. He glared at me, but I continued through gritted teeth. "He doesn't hate you--he was very concerned about you. More so than himself. I suppose when you have someone to worry about, it keeps you sane." Some of what Dash said was beginning to make sense, at least as to who Dash was. More to myself, I added, "It keeps you from risking things, even when you want to." Dash couldn't go after Grindelwald; he had his family to think of. I, on the other hand, had no one to think of or turn to. I resumed looking at Damien, a jealous rage building up within me. Coldly I said, "You're lucky to have him."

Damien was speechless at that. I was completely prepared for another round, but apparently Damien wasn't up for it. His words were slower than usual, from fatigue. He went over to his bed and said in an attempt to be haughty, "What, did Dash tell you that himself? Or did you make it up when you were mumbling to your snake?"

I almost asked, "What?" but clamped my mouth shut at the last minute. How stupid could I be? He heard me whispering to Snicks! I thought furiously at myself.

I began to try to think up some frantic excuse for that, when Damien said sleepily, "Honestly, don't you think you're past the age of holding conversations with your pet? Thankfully, I didn't hear a clear word you said...probably better for my sanity."

I stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment. I would have laughed if I hadn't been too emotionally spent by now. "Yes," I said seriously. "I'll have to be more conscientious of that." Then I simply stood there, feeling awkward. I didn't really want to go to sleep, especially with only Damien in the room. So I grabbed my new charms book that Vallandora, the Charms professor, had given me. It was for second years. I had indeed been moved up a grade in that.

I was trying to quietly exit, but Damien was still awake and caught me. His eyes immediately took in the book, and he said, frowning, "What are you doing with a second year book?"

I tried to smile. "I got moved up a year. Wonderful news, isn't it?"

Damien was silent for a moment, as if thinking something through. I waited for his response, for some reason. I didn't think we were bosom friends now, but for a minute or two, the constant hostility had eased between us. Finally he said, "Too bad you don't have any family to share the news with," and flopped down on his bed.

His words cut me, and I stamped out, angry I had let my guard down. If that is what families are like, I'm glad I don't have to put up with one, I told myself.

I spent the next few weeks as if a fog had been lifted from me. It really was odd, but I never before paid much attention to the rules my fellow students lived by. Samantha, for instance, had to write home every day. She said it was so her parents wouldn't worry about her, and there was nothing worse than making your family worry unnecessarily. Simon always did his studying from eight to ten at night, because that was when his father had told him to. He had grown up with those habits, and he always listened to his father, who in return was proud of him. Randy sent home all of his highly marked papers, which had increased since I tutored him, to his mother. She then sent him cauldron cakes for decent marks, and chocolate frogs for excelling. He claimed he did it for the candy, but he always got a worried look in his eye when a mediocre mark crept up on him, muttering, "Mum'll kill me. This is so bad."

I realized there was more to fitting in than learning the spells. At the orphanage, at least everyone didn't have a clue how to act. All we were told by the Blunts was to look happy and smile and we would be bought. But here I was the only orphan that I knew of. And it was becoming more and more important to me that I fit in with this new community, since it was the only one I had. I was determined to find out exactly what my heritage was, to fill the empty void inside of me with something, anything. I just prayed fearfully that I would not be as disappointed with my mother's side as I was with my father's.

In the meantime, I tried to adapt to those around me, so as to avoid the pity and mocking with which Damien had so recently cut me. Damien, also not desiring pity I suppose, used any opportunity to turn on me. Nobody said anything to him, either for fear of reprimand by Dash or discomfort for his own situation. Either way, he now referred to me constantly as "the Mudblood orphan," jeering when I didn't get mail or gifts or have anyone to show my marks to or write to. I was sick of the misunderstanding sympathetic looks that almost everyone gave me. I needed some way to show them I couldn't be more content with my situation, so they'd stop. Even if that was the farthest feeling from the truth possible.

I was musing this as I sat in Potions. In actuality it was an interesting class for me, since it combined both the magical and intellectual reasoning. I was partnered with Simon, Cathleen, and William Weasley. We were working on a swelling solution. At the moment I felt fairly safe, since Cathleen was busy with the Gryffindor.

"Billy, smart wand. Is it fourth generation? Is it supposed to show the dragon's scale through the wood? Or is it yet another pathetic hand-me-down?" Cathleen was taunting as she added a scarab beetle wing into the vial.

William, or Bill I suppose, flamed as red as his hair. He had a terrible temper, as I recalled. He spat back, "At least my family gets my stuff legally."

Cathleen looked furious. Simon hurriedly picked up the book, saying to shift the conversation, "Tom, how many Rat Spleens do we put in? We have to calculate that, since our beacon is smaller."

I glanced at the paper, then immediately said loftily, "Three." I left it at that, and Cathleen and Bill went back to their scowling match. Simon glared at me for not helping, and I shrugged back at him innocently. I couldn't help it if I was quick at calculations. I wouldn't downgrade my performance to soothe another's situation.

"I heard your father was promoted--to the Muggle division at the Ministry. That's like when our janitor was promoted to our broom washer. It must be a big night for you Weasleys. Are you going to splurge and share a dog bone for supper?" Cathleen wasn't even bothering to keep her voice down. Her face was red from blood pumping. She had been worse than ever after finding out Damien's mother was now at Azkaban, too. Other than me, she didn't have anyone to take out her pent up frustration on. Bill was getting a nice chunk of it now. I thought about stepping in, but then I recalled how Bill had acted the other time I had spoken in his favor. The last thing I wanted now was his ingratitude again, accompanied by Cathleen's saying how disloyal I was to Slytherin.

Bill had turned an ugly shade of purple. He looked like he was choking he was so mad. But before he could say anything, Zwipp turned up. He looked at each of us in turn, saying mildly in his baritone voice, "Problem, gentlemen...and lady?"

Bill was practically spitting, while Simon was burying himself in the textbook. Cathleen shrugged innocently, her face flushed. Zwipp then turned to me and asked directly, "What is going on, Mr. Riddle?"

I looked around before saying, "Would you believe a friendly debate?" If I was not a Slytherin and possessing the highest marks in the class, that response might have cost me. But Zwipp, being charitable because earlier I had reorganized his cases of molding troll toes, merely snorted.

Turning, he threw over his shoulder, "Use that mouth of yours to bring some peace to your group, Mr. Riddle. Your debate has made you fall behind the others."

"Yes, sir." I turned solemnly to my group. "I bring you peace." With a wave of my wand, I produced the image of a dove in the air. It blew away too quickly for Zwipp to have seen it. Cathleen and Simon looked confused. Bill, to his credit, actually broke into a grin.

I explained to Simon before he could ask. "It was a dove--it's a peace symbol in the Muggle world."

Cathleen snickered at the mention of Muggle, but Simon interrupted him excitedly. "That was so amazing, Tom! We don't learn how to dispel living images like that forever. Well, till like fourth year. And I've never heard of them doing a--a whatever you said that thing was. How'd you do it?"

I shrugged. "I memorized the dispel spell awhile ago. I just had to picture a dove instead of the owl they used--I began by first drawing it out, since there are no pictures of doves here, and using that as a springboard. And once I got used to doing the spell like that, I practiced doing it without the picture. Now I can do it straight from my mind and can control its movement and form easier that way. It's an adaptive spell." They all were staring at me. "What?" I asked.

Bill was caught between amazement and still trying to look angry. "We aren't supposed to be teaching ourselves magic."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Oh, back off, Gryffindor. Like your House never breaks a rule. I can't count how many times you all have tried to break into the Slytherin commons with those enchanted water balloons. You're just lucky we are good sports--and you're tricky to catch. But anyway, Tom, you are going to teach us how to do that, right?"

I smiled, feeling comfortable in my position and surroundings right then. It was a welcome relief, and I said, "Certainly, Simon, if you want me to. But we have to finish this potion, or Zwipp will make us eat it. Or drink it, rather."

Bill tilted the glass up and thoughtfully said, "You know, it doesn't look half bad." He looked cautiously at me--as if this were an apology in disguise.

Simon groaned and went to pull it away from him. His eyes were on the clock, which said we had less than ten minutes to finish. "You both are disgusting. Stop goofing; we have to finish it."

However, I was feeling lighthearted for once, and I didn't want to pass up this opportunity for a truce. One less person detesting me was a nice goal for the day. I caught the closed vial Bill suddenly tossed and held it out of Simon's reach. "You're actually right. It looks like soda...."

Bill pushed Simon's frantic hand away from my vial-enclosed hand. "And you might have been right about that eating part."

I nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I'd imagine the wings and boomslang teeth would give it a nice textured crunch. Though the poison might be a little rough going down. Cathleen, would you care to try?"

Simon frowned, and then his face brightened as he pulled out his wand and said, "Expelliarmus!" The vial flew from my hand neatly into his. A smug look crossed his face at pulling one over Bill and me. He tucked the vial safely under his arm and said witheringly at me, "I hate it when you start doing your weird sense of humor. It isn't funny, you know." He turned to Cathleen, who was scowling. Only Bill had a quiet smile on his face. I shared it for a moment before my grin faded as I glanced around. Looking at Cathleen reminded me of Damien. I couldn't help but remember how we had hit it off back on the train. He had even said we shared the same sense of humor. Yes, we'd got on, until he'd found out about the "unfit" side of me. So much had changed in some ways. And yet, in other ways, nothing ever seemed to.

In spite of Simon's hurrying, which caused another spill that turned his fingers hairy, we finished with three minutes to spare. I did all the calculations in seconds, while Cathleen and Bill cut and measured with precision, giving the ingredients finally to Simon to pour in. When it was over, Cathleen brushed by us without another word, but at least there hadn't been another fight between her and Bill to fail us or throw us all in detention. Simon was trying to sneak out to the nurse's without Zwipp noticing his predicament and subtracting points from our group. On my way out, Bill called to me tentatively.

I turned and looked expectantly at him as he shuffled. Finally, not really looking at me, he muttered, "It wasn't bad--for a slimy Slytherin."

"Same here, Gryffin-ape." We both looked at each other with caution but not hostility and then went our separate ways.