A Bad Year for Slytherins

Three Dreams on the Transmutations of Metals is a real book. I own the words and ideas contained in it (and so do you! That's what public domain means) but I didn't come up with them; Mr. Nazari did.

Chapter 2: The Barmy Old Codgers Ward

Dinner at the Goyles' that evening was a decidedly grim affair. Beth's father was still refusing to speak to Gregory, and confined his conversation to Beth and her mother to such civilities as "Please pass the salt." He was not a talkative man at the best of times; however, his extreme reticence, combined with the events of the morning, cast a pall over the entire table. Gregory only spoke in barely audible mumbles, and Beth was afraid to open her mouth at all. Beth's mother tried, once or twice, to introduce subjects of conversation, without notable success. The only good news they had had all day was Beth's Hogwarts letter, and this was an understandably sore subject with both Beth's father and Gregory. Beth's father got out a gruff "Well done," at the news, and Gregory mumbled something that might have been congratulations or might have been an observation that he didn't see what was so great about Hogwarts, or younger sisters who thought they were so clever, either. Beth replied "Thank you," to both of them, to be on the safe side, and the family once more applied themselves glumly to their roast beef, potatoes, and mashed leeks.

There was a lot to be glum about. The meal was the best that Beth's mother could contrive from the ruins of her kitchen, and without Bestet's help, who had been putting the rest of the house back together all day. The roast was overdone, the potatoes were watery, the leeks had congealed lumps of flour in, and the only one who seemed to be able to muster enthusiasm for any of it was Gregory, who could have mustered enthusiasm for an old shoe, had it appeared on his plate. That was only natural, Beth reflected: Gregory had been on a steady growth spurt since he was three years old. Beth's own capacities were less legendary, and she was reduced to pushing her food around her plate with a fork.

Great-Grandmother Chant, meanwhile, was taking advantage of the rest of the family's silence to make her opinions known. Her opinions were as follows: Young people today had no respect; when she had been alive she had never been treated in such a disgraceful manner; she would have thought that her own descendants would have had more gumption than to let a trio of jumped-up Ministry officials run roughshod over her, Great-Grandmother Chant's, house; but that was the way of the world these days; the old had to make way for the young, and then the young forgot the old; you'd think, however, that it wouldn't be too much trouble to have a restorer in to look at her once in a while; she was sure that the smoke from the candelabras wasn't doing her blues and yellows any good; but then, perhaps she ought to be grateful that she wasn't being stored in an attic somewhere and being eaten by mice; and she was grateful; she was. These opinions were delivered in a quiet, plaintive tone which suggested that she spoke more in sorrow than in anger. Occasionally Beth's mother made placating noises at her, which affected the flow of her diatribe not at all.

In the end, not even Gregory seemed disappointed that there wasn't pudding, although that was probably because he knew perfectly well that he wouldn't have been allowed any if there had been. Bestet was apparently finished with cleaning the house, because the dishes disappeared directly as Beth's father rose from the table. He went away to the library, and Beth's mother to sit at her desk in the parlor and do whatever it was she did that involved moving bits of paper around and ensured that the household continued to run smoothly. Gregory went up to his room.

Usually this was a sign that he wasn't entirely averse to company, although today it might just have been that he no more wanted to spend time in the east tower than Beth wanted to look at her broken diary. However, Beth, deciding to chance it, followed him up, knocked on the door, and said, "May I come in?"

"Yeah," said Gregory.

Gregory's room showed no signs of having been searched earlier in the day, except perhaps that it was a bit neater than usual. He himself was lying on his bed and staring dully up at the ceiling. "Do you want to play Exploding Snap?" said Beth.

"No," said Gregory.

"Wizard chess?" said Beth.

"No," said Gregory.

"Poltergeist?" said Beth.

"Can you be quiet for two minutes at a time!" said Gregory.

Beth could. She sat down with her back against the bed, took the latest Sylvia's Unicorns out of her pocket, and began to wait.

Her attention was not really fixed on the book. She had already read it twice, and besides, she was really burning to know the truth about the book that Lorelei Eusebius had found among Gregory's school things. It did no good to ask him questions, however. He would speak when he made up his mind to, otherwise, he would not. Remaining silent was a talent that ran in the Goyle family, although, as far as Beth could tell, only in the male line. She herself was restraining her curiosity only with the greatest difficulty. If Gregory didn't say something soon, she would, and then he'd never tell her.

"I wish I'd never laid eyes on that sodding book," said Gregory.

"I didn't know you were interested in potions," said Beth.

Gregory snorted. "I'm not," he said. "Who could be? Even Malfoy isn't, though he pretends to be, to keep Professor Snape happy. Dunno why he bothers. He's good at potions. But anyway, that's why he got Professor Snape to sign for that book out of the restricted section -- to show an interest. But I wasn't going to pass my potions exam without help, and you saw that book, it's so small, I could hide it in my desk without any trouble. It had all the potions we'd done last year in it, too."

"So it wasn't Dad's book," said Beth.

"Course not," said Gregory. "He knows better than to keep something like that lying around the house."

"But what happened?" said Beth. "With your exam?"

"What do you think?" said Gregory. "It didn't work, did it? Professor Snape caught me before the exam even started. Snarked at me for last-minute studying. But he didn't get me for cheating -- he's all right, I guess. Still, I failed the exam. Now I've got to get good marks in Potions this year, or I'll be tossed out of Hogwarts after all, and never mind Dad and his sodding sacrifices."

"Oh," said Beth.

After a reflective pause, Gregory went on, "After that, the book wasn't in my room; I figured I'd taken it back to the library after all, or Malfoy had. Never thought it was in my trunk until this morning. Now Dad's got to appear before the Wizengamot -- that'd be brilliant, eh, me with my wand broken and him in Azkaban? I can guess what Great-Grandmother Chant'd say."

"She'd be sorry for you, Gregory, you know she would," said Beth. She rested her chin on her knees, thinking hard. "Dad's not going to Azkaban," she finally said. "He hasn't done anything wrong. And you're not getting tossed out of Hogwarts."

"How d'you figure that?" said Gregory.

"Because I'm going to Hogwarts this year," said Beth. "And I'm going to help you."

"Hah," said Gregory. "You don't know Professor Snape -- or the rest of the professors, for that matter. Hogwarts isn't lessons from cousin Mabel. It's hard."

"I can help," said Beth. "I know I can. Just let me try."

Gregory didn't reply, and Beth was afraid that was all she was getting out of him that night. But before she could make up her mind to open her book again, or leave the room altogether, he spoke. "All right," he said, "I've got an essay to write for Potions. They give homework over the summer, that's another nasty fact about Hogwarts you might not have known. I've been putting it off, but I might as well get started. You can help. Get me my Magical Drafts and Potions, will you?" he added, nodding to the schoolbooks stacked up on the desk.

Magical Drafts and Potions turned out to be a thick book with a blue cover, some of whose pages were wrinkled and discolored with damp. It also smelled faintly of sulfur. Beth was not at all surprised that Gregory had not tried to hide it in his desk for the exam -- it was heavy.

She handed the book to Gregory, and he took a slip of parchment from between its pages, scanned it, and handed it to Beth.

"When a potion is compounded," Beth read, "many of the elements undergo a process of transmutation. Discuss. Three feet, two inches. Gregory! That's taller than Bestet!"

"Yeah," said Gregory. "So? How would you go about it, genius?"

"Um . . ." said Beth, "write big?"

"Nothing in ten-inch tall letters is still nothing," Gregory pointed out.

"Yeah, okay," said Beth. "That book's got an index, hasn't it? Look up 'transmutation.' I'll go get a roll of parchment and a pen," she added quickly, so that Gregory wouldn't make her look it up.

Over the next hour, they found every time the book mentioned transmutation. Beth read the passages aloud, and Gregory wrote. "You can't just write down the words in the book," said Beth. "You've got to change them around. Otherwise it's just copying."

"I know that," said Gregory. And then proceeded to tear off the top of his roll of parchment and start again.

When he was finished, Beth got out a measuring tape and measured the essay. "One foot five inches," she said.

"And I was writing my biggest," Gregory said glumly.

"We'll just have to get more books," said Beth. "There's plenty in the library."

Gregory went stony. "I'm not going down there," he said.

"Why not?" said Beth.

"You know why," said Gregory. "Dad's there. He'll sit there and ignore me."

"You're being silly, Gregory," said Beth. But she went down to the library herself anyway. And it wasn't as though her father said anything to her, either. He barely looked up from his book, but when he did, it was with a half-smile. Beth had to admit Gregory had a point. When their father was ignoring you, you could tell from across the room; and when he wasn't, you knew that, too.

She returned with three books: two big fat ones, and one old thin one with a red leather cover that was called Three Dreams on the Transmutation of Metals. "I got this one because it has the word transmutation in the title," said Beth.

"We'll start with that," said Gregory. "It's shortest."

Three Dreams on the Transmutation of Metals did not have an index. Gregory began to page through it. "What does this even mean?" he said. "Whoever bites me must bite himself first; otherwise, if I bite him, death shall bite him first, in the head; for first he must bite me -- biting being the medicine of biting."

Beth looked over his shoulder. "Maybe that it's important to do all the steps in the right order?" she suggested doubtfully. "Like, if you add the ingredients in one order, you get medicine, but if you add them in a different order you get poison?"

"Whatever," said Gregory. "I'll write that down."

"Put in the quote, too," Beth suggested. "And make sure you write the author's name. Giovanni Battista di Nazari. That's good for half an inch at least."

"It's got a picture," said Gregory. "Is that supposed to be a dragon? It looks like a blowfish."

"More like a three-headed ostrich," Beth said. "I don't expect you could get away with putting a picture in your essay?"

"Nah," said Gregory. "I can't draw, anyway."

One of the big books, Precision Potion-making, turned out to be mainly concerned with the effects that the time of day, positions of the stars, phases of the moon, and so on had on potions, and did not mention transmutation at all. But On the Principles, etc. (what the etc. stood for was never made clear, and the only reason Beth didn't miss out the book altogether was the picture of a cauldron on the spine) had an entire chapter on transmutation in the making of potions. Neither Beth nor Gregory understood half of it, but that put it one step above Three Dreams on the Transmutation of Metals. The essay had grown to two feet, ten inches, when their mother stuck her head in the door.

"Gregory!" she said. "Are you working on your schoolwork? How nice!"

"Beth's helping," said Gregory.

"I wanted to see what the work at Hogwarts was like," Beth added by way of explanation. She didn't think that the time was right to get into a discussion of Gregory's academic troubles.

"She's doing a good job," Gregory said.

Their mother was nearly levitating with pride as she walked into the room. "I have the two best children in the entire wizarding world," she said, kissing them each on the forehead in turn. "But Beth, it's time for bed. Remember, tomorrow's the day we visit Aunt Eudoxia."

Gregory unsuccessfully stifled a groan. The prospect of ice cream afterwards was never enough to reconcile him to a visit to St. Mungo's Barmy Old Codgers Ward. Beth's mother's mouth flattened to a line. "Good night, Beth," she said with an air of finality. Beth took the hint and ran off to her own room, closely followed by the sounds of furious scolding from behind Gregory's closed door. Disrespect for Aunt Eudoxia merely served as a jumping-off point for a rehashing of the day's events, and it went on from there, although by that time, Beth could no longer make out actual words. Eventually, her mother's tones grew softer, and then fell silent entirely, but Beth lay awake for some time after that. The nap she'd had that afternoon had left her restless, and she spent some time worrying about her father, Gregory, and her own entrance to Hogwarts before she finally fell asleep.

If she dreamt of the transmutation of metals, it was the last things on Beth's mind the next morning. She put on her second-best robes -- a sprigged calico which had once belonged to Cousin Mabel -- and cleaned her nails very thoroughly before coming down to breakfast. She did not know how Aunt Eudoxia, who couldn't see two inches in front of her face, could always spot ragged or dirty fingernails, but there it was.

As soon as she smelled food, she realized how hungry last night's unsatisfying dinner had left her. Fortunately, the kitchen was back in order, and Bestet was in top form. Beth piled bacon, fried potatoes, and French toast onto her plate, and spent the next several minutes silently but very contentedly indeed. It was altogether more cheerful than last night. The Goyles breakfasted in the kitchen, so Great-Grandmother Chant was nothing more than a distant hum. Beth's father had unbent enough that, when Beth's mother said that she was taking the children to London to visit Aunt Eudoxia, and afterwards to do some shopping for school, he told her to say hello to Old Aunt Doxy from him, and gave Beth eight Sickles. He did not give Gregory anything. Gregory spent most of breakfast staring at his plate -- which was not that unusual -- and not eating much -- which was. He looked scrubbed and unhappy in his own second-best robes, which were already a bit too small for him, although they'd been new last Christmas.

When breakfast was over, Beth's father floo'd to work, and Beth, Gregory, and their mother to the big furnace in Diagon Alley. Then Beth's mother said a quick Obscuring Charm, and they walked the two miles of Muggle London that separated Diagon Alley and St. Mungo's Hospital. Being in the Muggle world always made Beth's mother nervous, and she held tightly to both children's hands, and walked through the crowd with her eyes straight ahead and a determined expression on her face. Beth did not blame her. It sometimes seemed as if there were more Muggles in one block of London than there were wizards in the entire world, and that each of them had two cars, one of whose horns was hooting, and one of whose alarms was going off. Muggles were loud.

Gregory, however, did not like his hand being held, and jerked away, colliding with a large Muggle in an ill-fitting suit, who frowned at him for a moment before the charm took effect and his eyes slid away. Beth's mother didn't say anything, but she must have been looking out of the corner of her eye, because her mouth went flatter and her eyes narrower. Gregory shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking.

Eventually they arrived in front of Purge & Dowse Ltd., the department store that was a front for St. Mungo's. Beth's mother grabbed Gregory by the elbow to make sure he stood in front of the display window, and whispered, "We're here to see Eudoxia Egg." A dummy beckoned them inside, and they stepped through the window.

Once they were safely in the wizard hospital, Beth's mother immediately relaxed, and did not even seem that annoyed when she said, "Gregory, dear, you must be more careful in the Muggle world." Gregory merely grunted in reply. He was still sulking.

As they stood in the queue at the Welcomewitch's desk, Beth occupied herself by reading the notices on the wall. They were always rather alarming, and today was no exception: Between magical bugs, dangerous creatures, and jinxed artifacts Beth found herself wondering why anyone got out of bed in the morning, unless of course it was to escape an infestation of Bombastic Bed-Beetles. The sign just above the Welcomewitch's head was flashing, in lurid reds and greens, the words DID YOU CHECK YOUR SHOES FOR CARNIVOROUS FUNGUS THIS MORNING? Beth hadn't, and wriggled her toes apprehensively.

"Next!" said the Welcomewitch, as a man whose face was being eaten by what looked like maggots hurried off to the lifts.

Beth's mother stepped forward. "We're here to see Eudoxia Egg, Barmy Old Codgers," she said.

"Ah, yes," said the Welcomewitch with a grimace. "They're through that door today," she said, gesturing off to her right, where there was a large oak door with iron fittings, quite unlike the other institutional-style doors in the hospital. "The latest report says it's two flights up, one down, then the third door on the left when you get to the endless corridor. Madam Egg should be in the first room on the right."

For once, the Welcomewitch's directions proved to be accurate. The first flight of stairs was a narrow stone spiral, lit at intervals by torches in brackets along the walls. It clearly belonged with the oak door. Beth would have liked the next flight better -- the stairs were wide and covered in a floral carpet, and the air smelled vaguely of lavender -- except for the fact that each step was almost half as tall as Beth herself. One of the barmy old codgers was clearly projecting a very early memory. The flight down was very similar to the first one, but it was straight, and cold as well as gloomy.

"Oh!" said Beth's mother. "It's the stairs leading to the Potions dungeon at Hogwarts!" This made Gregory even more grumpy, but Beth looked around herself with interest, imagining herself going down the original of the staircase with a group of friends, on their way to their first Potions lesson. Gregory said Potions was hard, but surely that just meant interesting?

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, however, they did not arrive at the Potions dungeon, but in a long corridor carpeted in something red and ankle-deep. There were doors along the corridor at intervals as far as Beth could see in either direction, interspersed with blank canvases in ornate frames that whispered indistinctly. The light was dim and Beth couldn't determine its source: The walls had neither windows nor any sort of light fixture, and there didn't seem to be a ceiling at all, just walls rising up into infinity. A figure shuffled along the corridor towards them.

As it got closer, Beth could see it was a young witch wearing a nurse's uniform. "Oh, thank goodness!" said the nurse when she saw them. "I'd just gotten off on break and I found myself in this beastly corridor . . . can you tell me how to get back to the main hospital?"

"Up this staircase, then down two more," said Beth's mother. "We've just come from there. Hurry before it changes."

The nurse took this advice to heart, and sprinted up the stairs, not even pausing as she shouted a breathless "Thanks!" over her shoulder.

Beth's mother shook her head. "Must be new," she said. "Poor thing, I wonder how long she was wandering around before she saw us?"

The third door on the left did turn out to be the Barmy Old Codgers Ward, as was immediately evident from the architectural riot that faced the Goyles when they went through. The ceiling was trying to be high and vaulted, and low with wooden beams at once. It made Beth's eyes water. She did not even try to see what the walls and the floor were doing, but dove for the plain low door that always stood in front of Aunt Eudoxia's room. There was a bit of a collision at the handle, and the three Goyles more-or-less fell into the room, dizzy, mussed, and, in Beth's case, with a knock on the head, whether from Gregory's elbow or her mother's handbag, she wasn't sure.

Aunt Eudoxia's room rarely changed. It was small and neat and chilly, and everything in it was tall and narrow, from the great wooden bed that Aunt Eudoxia needed two nurses to help her into at night, to the window, which was showing, as it usually did, a bright scene of rolling hills and new-fallen snow. The only exception was Aunt Eudoxia herself, a tiny, toothless, nearly bald woman who sat in a wheelchair by the window and stared straight ahead without blinking. Her face was so covered with wrinkles that the only distinguishing feature in it was a pair of enormous, thick glasses that sat on what once must have been a nose.

Beth's mother straightened her robes, and Beth and Gregory followed her across the room and hung nervously back as she bent to kiss Aunt Eudoxia's cheek. There was no telling on any given day whether Aunt Eudoxia would be silent for the entire visit, or talkative and rambling without any clear idea of who her visitors were. It did not help that she had been a gifted Seer when she was young; it just meant that you were as likely to be mistaken for your grandchild as for your grandparent.

"Good morning, Aunt Eudoxia," Beth's mother was saying. "It's Charlotte, Polyhymnia's granddaughter. I've brought my children, Gregory and Beth, to visit. You remember Gregory and Beth."

Aunt Eudoxia did not respond to this obviously false statement, except perhaps by blinking especially slowly. Beth's mother began to relate the news from Cousin Mabel, who was teaching at a witch's finishing school in Switzerland. Aunt Eudoxia's eyes slowly focused on Gregory. "Where's my wand?" she demanded. "I want my wand."

The barmy old codgers were not allowed wands; it was judged that they were enough trouble without them. However, telling Aunt Eudoxia this was sure to upset her, and upsetting Aunt Eudoxia, with a wand or without, was a good way to earn a stay on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's, while they re-attached your face. So Gregory just shrugged. Aunt Eudoxia's gaze grew sharper. "You never listen to a word I say, do you?" she said. "I told you, that's a no-good woman, I told you, she'll be the death of you, I told you. If you think I care anymore, you're wrong. I'll dance at your funeral yet, Godfrey."

"That's great, Aunt Eudoxia," said Gregory. "Only I'm not Godfrey; I'm Gregory. Charlotte's son."

"Charlotte . . . Charlotte . . ." said Aunt Eudoxia. "Married that Goyle fellow?"

"That's right," said Beth's mother encouragingly.

Aunt Eudoxia shook her head slowly, and tried to click her tongue, although without teeth she couldn't quite manage it. "Terrible thing, that gel," she said. "Poison."

Beth's mother somewhat anxiously tried to draw Aunt Eudoxia out on the subject, but she had lapsed into silence once more, and eventually Beth's mother gave up and returned to relating the news. She did not mention the visit from the Ministry of Magic, or the upcoming hearing, but she did mention Beth's Hogwarts letter. Aunt Eudoxia's eyes snapped into focus once more. "Beth's going to Hogwarts?" she said.

"Yes," said Beth's mother, "and we're all so proud--" But Aunt Eudoxia was once more shaking her head and making the wet sucking sound that meant she was trying to click her tongue.

"Bad things happening," she said. "Bad, bad things. The chamber's open."

Beth glanced at the door, which was closed. Beth's mother said, "No, Aunt Eudoxia, you're thinking of when Martha was at Hogwarts. Your daughter."

"You hush, Martha," said Aunt Eudoxia irritably. "I know what I'm talking about. Beth's first year at Hogwarts, that's the one. Come here where I can see you, gel."

Beth's mother gave her a little prod in the back, and Beth went and stood in front of Aunt Eudoxia's chair. This was not good enough for Aunt Eudoxia, who continued to mutter "Closer . . . closer . . ." until Beth had her toes underneath Aunt Eudoxia's chair, and was leaning so far forward that the felt she might fall over any moment. An unpleasant medicinal smell filled her nose, and she hoped desperately that she wouldn't sneeze.

Aunt Eudoxia grunted. "You're no beauty," she said. "You take the left fork, hear?"

"What fork?" said Beth. "What's going to happen, Aunt Eudoxia?"

Unfortunately, Gregory had, in listening to this interplay, wandered too close to Aunt Eudoxia, and she took advantage of this opportunity to grab his arm and lean intently towards him. Beth managed to turn her forwards stumble into a backwards one. Aunt Eudoxia's eyes went wide behind her glasses, and the scene outside the window abruptly changed to summer. Gregory plucked at her fingers, trying to extricate himself, but it was too late. "Phillip!" said Aunt Eudoxia, in a voice quite unlike the one she had been using up until now: girlish, breathy, and suffused with tears. "I didn't mean it, Phillip, don't go! Oh, Phillip, if you leave, you'll never come back!" Then the window exploded.