The Eagle and the Badger

Chapter Five: Stormy Weather

Toward the end of the week, the winds shifted and rain clouds rolled in. Students came back from the greenhouses and paddocks soaked and disgruntled, except for the lucky few who'd mastered weatherproofing charms.

Dripping wet and shivering, Lucia trudged up to Ravenclaw tower after Herbology, hoping against hope that the eagle's riddle hadn't changed. She was in a hurry to get to the dormitory and dry clothes. Her hopes were dashed, however, when the brass bird opened its beak.

Pronounced as one letter

But written with three,

Two letters there are,

And two only, in me.

I'm double, I'm single,

I'm black, blue, and grey,

I'm read from both ends,

And the same either way.

Lucia looked around hopefully, but there wasn't another soul in the passageway. Whether she was in the mood or not, she'd have to solve the riddle. She raised the knocker and listened again, more carefully, then took the riddle line by line.

Several three-letter words were pronounced as one, like sea, bee, pea . . . Only one could be read both ways, though.

"It's an eye," she said confidently.

"Ah. And with my eye, I see clever Miss Malfoy. I shall have to make these challenges more difficult in future. Nighty-night," chuckled the eagle as the door swung open.

No one she knew was in the common room except for Claudia, who was sitting in her favorite chair by the window, deep in a book as usual.

Lucia sighed. It was strange knowing so little about the girl she shared a dormitory with, but Claudia Vector had remained steadfastly aloof from the other girls, especially Lucia. She responded to overtures with a nod or a few brief words, but mostly she kept to herself. The only person she really talked to was the older boy from the library, who did turn out to be a Ravenclaw.

All in all, Claudia Vector seemed to glide through life like a shadow. If anyone asked, Lucia would have had trouble describing her. She was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, pretty nor notably ugly. In short, she was a cipher.

A cipher: Now, that was funny. Amanda, who seemed to know everything about Hogwarts, had told her roommates that Claudia was the daughter of the former Arithmancy professor, who'd left the school on the night of Voldemort's defeat, never to return.

"When I wrote Dad about my dorm mates, he made the connection," Amanda explained.

Ruth looked puzzled. "Don't you mean the professor's her grandfather? He'd be too old to be her father if he was your dad's teacher."

Amanda shook her head, looking smug. "Nope. I asked Claudia, and she confirmed it."

Lucia had to admire Amanda for being able to draw the other girl out, at least to that extent. Maybe, if she kept trying, she could do the same.

She changed into dry robes and towel-dried her hair. Her mother used a Hair-Drying charm many times but Lucia was reluctant to try it before being formally taught. What if she set her hair on fire, or went bald?

Back in the common room, she took a seat at her favorite table and pulled out her half-finished Transfiguration essay. Transfiguration was turning out to be her favorite subject, and so far, it seemed to come fairly easily. Everything about magic was fascinating in its own way, of course, but the idea of transforming one object into something entirely different made her imagination soar.

LIke many pureblood children, Lucia had grown up with fairy tales and myths, including those of Muggle origin. If they were about magic, no one cared where they came from. Lucia's favorites were the ones in which a maiden could turn into a tree or a mouse into a footman or a prince into a frog, waiting for the princess' kiss . . .

Despite her good intentions, Lucia's quill was soon moving across a fresh piece of parchment as the possibilities in the Vector mystery - and it did seem to be a mystery - sparked her imagination. It was hard to believe a professor would just suddenly leave his post in the middle of a battle to save the school. And Voldemort was defeated that night, so why hadn't he returned? Where was he now?

Suppose some evil hag had turned the professor (she pictured him as looking just like Claudia, only taller and with a long, grey beard) into a frog, so that even his own daughter didn't recognize him, and he couldn't tell her because he could only croak? No, wait - better yet, he was a toad, and unbeknownst to Claudia, he was her familiar and was now at Hogwarts after all . . .

In the dormitory? Ugh!

But Claudia didn't have a toad, did she? Besides, for all Lucia knew, her father was very much a part of Claudia's life.

It was another father who'd really disappeared, wasn't it?

All Lucia Malfoy had left of her father were some photographs, the locket he'd given her for her fifth birthday - now much too small to wear but kept safe in a velvet box at the bottom of her trunk - and the barest outline of a story.

One day, shortly after that birthday, Draco Malfoy had left the family villa in the south of France, announcing he was going for a walk. He never returned, and no one had heard a word from him since. If her mother, her grandparents, or any of their friends had any theories about Draco Malfoy's disappearance, they did not speak of them in front of the little girl and when she asked questions, they simply told her she was too young to worry about such things. Soon enough, she stopped asking.

And so, at a very early age, Lucia began making up her own versions of the Draco Malfoy story. While these varied greatly in detail (in one, a dragon swoops down and carries him off to a remote island kingdom, where in time he forgets his old life), all of them had two features in common. The handsome prince Draco was alive and some powerful magical being or force was preventing him from returning to his loved ones.

Because he did love them and would never willing part from them. Of that, Lucia was quite, quite sure.

For a good hour, her quill scratched across the page, to the accompaniment of lightning flashes and rolls of thunder. At some point, Calypso jumped into her lap, curled into a ball, and fell asleep.

Just as Lucia got to the part where the prince's son forms a rescue party, Mike, Ruth, and Amanda returned to the common room and pulled her into a rousing game of Hearts. The Muggle card game, introduced by Mike, had become an instant favorite with the first years. Lucia hadn't quite dared to shoot the moon yet - that was Amanda's forte - but her cautious strategy usually kept her from losing.

Laughter and competition soon drove all thoughts of lost fathers from Lucia's head, and she simply enjoyed herself until dinnertime.

ooOoo

Smiling, Hugo folded that morning's letter from his mum, which was newsy, full of good advice. He could almost hear his mum's voice in it, and whether he followed the advice or not, it brought him a touch of home.

Before he could put the letter into his pocket, a pair of hands closed over his eyes.

"Guess who!"

"Rosie, cut that out!" Hugo grabbed her hands and pulled them away.

"Just saying hello, bro."

Hugo twisted around to face his sister.

"Hello to you too, and don't even think about messing with my hair."

Rose smirked at him and lowered her outstretched hand.

"I was wondering, are you planning to try out for Quidditch today? Lily is - Fred too."

Brother and sister were standing near the door, letting the crowd leaving the Great Hall swirl around them while Trevor hovered just behind Hugo's shoulder.

Of course, Hugo knew about Quidditch tryouts. Ever since he'd almost missed his flying lesson, he 'd made a point of checking the notice board in the Hufflepuff common room every day.

However, now that Rose brought it up, he found he had no idea how to answer. To stall for time, he looked up at the ceiling, which currently glowered with thick grey storm clouds.

"Well?" Rose crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "Kneazle got your tongue?"

Hugo opted for evasion.

"Er - I haven't decided. Anyway, I don't have a broom, do I? Mum insisted I wouldn't need one for at least a year, so she bought me Loki instead. Anyway, first years hardly ever make the team."

Rose regarded her younger brother with an appraising eye.

"Lily and Fred aren't letting that little detail hold them back. You know all the houses have open tryouts now, so it doesn't matter what year you're in. If you're the best at your position, you're on."

"I know. Trevor here's trying out."

Rose looked at the tall boy and smiled. "That's the spirit. What position are you going for?"

"Keeper, and I'll need some luck. I hear Chalmers is pretty good."

Rose nodded. "Pretty good, yeah, but I've seen better.

"Look," she went on, turning back to Hugo. "Don't worry about the broomstick thing. You can borrow mine."

"Aren't you trying out?" He could see why she might not, with Danielle and James, and Louis already on the team, Albus reserve Seeker, and Lily - who was truly brilliant - breathing down her neck. Among the cousins, only Molly turned up her nose at school Quidditch, declaring it far too rule-bound for her taste.

Rose was currently reserve Chaser, but owing to the skill of her teammates at avoiding Bludgers, hadn't yet played in a real game. Since wishing one's teammates ill was bad form, she could hardly complain about it.

Rose shrugged. "Hope springs eternal, I suppose. You can still borrow the broom, as we'll be done before it's Hufflepuff's turn. Let me know."

She turned and walked off, long red curls bouncing. She almost never tied them back, and Hugo wondered idly how she managed to keep her hair out of her potions.

Trevor watched Rose go, then turned to his friend.

"You are trying out too, aren't you? I know it's daft, since I've never played, but I'm a pretty decent flyer, and I've got the long arms - "

He mimed reaching for a Quaffle, and a boy Hugo didn't know had to duck to avoid being hit in the nose.

"Er, sorry," Trevor called after him. "Anyway, I've nothing to lose, right?"

"Right," Hugo agreed.

And Trevor might actually have a chance; he'd taken to flying like a young falcon. Hugo wished him the best, though the attraction of playing Keeper was lost on him. Too much waiting around for something to happen, and then a ton of pressure when something did.

He shrugged. "We've got plenty of time before tryouts. Let's go back to the common room and relax.

On the way, they met up with Robbie and Gabe, then Sandy and Susan, and Hugo let their conversation flow around him as he thought about the tryouts.

That Weasleys and Potters played Quidditch was a fact of life, right up there with magic, Christmas at the Burrow, and red hair. He was usually up for joining in the family games, wild free-for-alls in which everybody played every position and no one - with the possible exception of James and Lily - took the game too seriously.

He had the build for Beater, but he didn't actually like hitting people with an iron ball, especially girls. James accused him of being soft, and maybe he was right.

"So, what do you think?" Trevor's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Er - dunno. Still thinking about it."

"Well, while you're thinking, maybe the weather will clear up. We go last, anyway."

They reached the entrance to the common room, where Robbie gave the password ("artichoke") and everyone trooped in.

"Maybe it will." Not for the first time, he wished Trevor's chronic optimism would rub off on him. To Hugo, the storm looked likely to last all day.

ooOoo

As Hugo walked with Trevor down to the Quidditch pitch, trying vainly to dodge puddles, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed closely by a loud clap of thunder. The rain was falling even faster than before, turning the pitch into a quagmire.

Hugo was quite sure that everyone in his family (except his mother, who had no interest whatever in Quidditch), expected him to try out. That's what Weasleys did. Then again, Weasleys were always in Gryffindor, and he wasn't. Having broken one rule (even though he hadn't meant to), perhaps breaking another wouldn't be the end of the world. Besides, there was always next year.

None of this would matter if Hugo really felt like getting on a broomstick and chasing a Quaffle or trying to block one or - . He stopped dead, realizing he'd already eliminated two positions, so what exactly would he try out for?

He and Trevor, who was far too excited to notice that he was the only one talking, took their seats in the stands just as a fresh burst of cold rain sent rivulets down the back of his neck. He shivered and turned up the collar of his cloak as he peered into the gloom, trying to follow the action.

Broomsticks darted about overhead as a prospective Gryffindor Chaser - Lily, he thought, though it was tough to tell through the downpour - raced toward the goal, neatly dodging a Bludger. Better her than me, Hugo thought, then groaned inwardly.

What kind of attitude was that?

A flash of lightning revealed that the red-haired Chaser was actually Rose, still with the Quaffle and in good position to score. His sister was doing well, he realized with a touch of pride.

Lily replaced her, and Fred took over from Louis to try for Beater, though it was quickly clear he was no match for his older cousin. Lily, on the other hand, hurled herself after the Quaffle as though pursued by a werewolf, but the Quaffle was so slippery by now, it kept squirting out of her hands. Hugo couldn't make out her expression, but he could imagine it.

Trevor nudged him. "Isn't that your cousin Albus trying out for Keeper?"

Hugo pushed sopping strands of hair out of his eyes and peered through sheets of rain.

"Looks like him," he said. "I didn't know he was going to challenge James."

How either of them could spot a tiny Snitch in this foul weather, Hugo had no idea. The brothers were competing head to head, swooping and diving and circling the field for what seemed like ages, until finally one boy held up a fist in triumph.

There were gasps among the onlookers, followed by cheers and applause from some. Even though the driving rain and gathering darkness, Hugo could tell the winner of the head-to-head contest: Albus, not James.

A moment later, James was striding off the field, so close to where Hugo was sitting that he almost brushed against him. His expression was dark as any thundercloud.

Hugo couldn't really blame him for being angry. James had taken his position for granted for the past three years, and now at best he'd be reserve Seeker. He couldn't blame Albus for wanting the position, but Hugo guessed the atmosphere in the Gryffindor common room was going to be tense tonight.

The Gryffindor tryouts wound down, and the Hufflepuff captain, Melissa Marks, blew her whistle to call prospective players out onto the field. As Rose passed by, her robes a sodden mess and her hair plastered to her skull, she thrust her broom at her brother.

"Good luck," she said. "I'd better go try to pacify James. He's so used to beating Albus at everything, he doesn't know what to do."

Except maybe kill Albus, thought Hugo. He balanced the broom in his hands, not moving as the Hufflepuffs who were trying out left the stands to gather around Melissa. Trevor charged forward, then turned back toward his friend.

"C'mon," he said. "Hurry up, or you'll miss out."

When tryouts ended, Hugo was still sitting in the stands with his sister's broomstick across his knees.

He had only stayed to watch Trevor attempt to displace Malcolm Chalmers, a fourth year, as Keeper. Amazingly, the first year novice flyer was more than holding his own. Maybe he really did have a chance to beat out the older player.

Though he wasn't really in the mood to talk to anyone, Hugo waited as Trevor slogged across the muddy field, face shiny with rain and triumph.

"I smoked Chalmers, didn't I?" he demanded. "Eight saves to his six. Actually playing Quidditch is so much better than watching it, don't you think? I just know I'm going to make the team! Not that I'm bragging, or anything . . ." he trailed off, finally noticing he was doing all the talking.

"You did great. Congratulations," said Hugo sincerely. "When do the results get posted?"

By now, the two boys were hurrying toward the castle through the rain, which showed no signs of letting up.

"Tomorrow," Trevor replied. "But I thought you were going to try out, too. What happened? You're not ill, are you?"

Hugo could have pointed out that he'd never actually said he would try out, but he didn't.

"No . . . no, of course not. I just - decided not to."

"Oh, well, no worries.," Trevor said. "There's always next year. Looks like Gabe decided to wait, too. Maybe he'll learn to fly before next year."

When the two boys entered the common room, they found all the other first year Hufflepuffs sitting together, as usual, in a large circle, some in armchairs or on the big, squashy sofa they'd claimed as their own, others sprawled on the carpet at their feet. Something was off, though, and it took Hugo a moment to figure out what it was: no one was smiling.

"What's up?" Trevor asked. "You lot look as though somebody died or something."

Oblivious to his sopping clothes, Hugo stood there, looking from one person to another. The boy who'd been sleeping the night Hugo first arrived broke the silence.

"Nobody's died, so far," he said in sepulchral tones.

During the past few weeks, Hugo had come to learn that his dorm mate, Marco Ferengi, tended to look at life with a jaundiced eye. Hugo thought this attitude might have something to do with his father's being was some sort of political exile, drummed out by the Ministry of - what country was that? Hungary, Bulgaria, one of those. Trevor, on the other hand, insisted he'd take a dim view, too, if he looked like a garden gnome.

"What do you mean, so far?" Hugo asked, an edge of worry in his voice.

"It's nothing, really. How did tryouts go?"

The speaker, a slim blonde girl with brown eyes, was Sukie Lawrence. The troubled expression in her eyes contradicted her light tone.

"Good, then," Trevor answered. "I think I might make the team."

While everyone congratulated him, Sukie reached out and handed Hugo

a folded piece of parchment.

He read it twice, not quite believing his eyes.

The note contained only a few stark words: This is a warning, Mudblood. In place of a signature appeared a serpent, drawn vertically with its head at the top. Its forked tongue stuck out, as though to taunt the recipient of the note.

Robbie was the first to speak. "It has to be a Slytherhin who wrote that. Who else would use that foul word? And the way that snake's drawn, it's clearly meant to be an S."

His tone expressed the disgust they all felt. What had quiet, unassuming Sukie Lawrence ever done to deserve a threat, even a vague one?

"I didn't even know what a - what that meant until Robbie explained it to me," Sukie said, obviously struggling for composure.

As he silently handed the note back to Sukie, Hugo thought about what his family had told him about Slytherin. In their parents' day, all Slytherins were purebloods and many openly associated themselves with Voldemort, even to the point of joining his ranks.

His dad, he was pretty sure, still thought they were all prats, but his mum always said you shouldn't prejudge people. Since Voldemort's defeat, things were supposed to have changed. There were even Muggle-borns as well as half-bloods in Slytherin now, and if not everyone was pleased about that, actual Muggle-baiting was a thing of the past.

Wasn't it?

"I'm sorry, Sukie," Hugo said. "What are we going to do about this?"

This remark was addressed to the group.

Again, Robbie was the one to speak. "I've been saying, I think we should tell Professor Witherspoon, and the sooner the better."

Wilbur Witherspoon, the Hufflepuff head of house, also taught Muggle Studies. He was a round, pink-cheeked, jolly sort, a bit like the Muggle Father Christmas, down to the long white beard.

"I don't know, Robbie," Susan demurred. "He's very pleasant, but he'd probably just tell us it's a silly prank and not to worry."

"Well," said Hugo firmly, "he'd probably be right. Why would anyone, even a Slytherin, want to harass Sukie? There are lots of Muggle-borns and half-bloods at Hogwarts. And as far as that goes, the only other person I know who nearly got hexed is as pureblood as they come."

Nine pairs of eyes were trained on him at once, and he was forced to relate the tale of Lucia Malfoy and the vanishing stair once more.

"See? What did I tell you? Slytherins!" said Robbie with an air of triumph when Hugo finished.

Sandy Murray shook her head at her cousin. "I think we should concentrate on what we can do to protect Sukie," she said. "Just in case."

"What about a buddy system?" Hugo suggested at once. "We can make sure somebody's with her at all times.

"Well, not all times," he amended, as the girls broke into giggles.

"That sounds good," Trevor agreed. "Don't worry, Sukie. We're not going to let anybody hurt you."

Everyone nodded, apparently satisfied, except Gabe Link, who'd kept quiet so far.

"What about me?" he demanded.

Hugo looked at him in confusion. "Don't tell me you got a note, too."

Gabe colored slightly. "No, but . . . "

"If we're all sticking together," Sukie reassured him, "then you'll be protected as well, though I still think this is just someone being stupid."

That settled, everyone seemed to relax a bit.

"Erm, Hugo, you're dripping on the carpet," Sarah Soloway said, pointing at the puddles around the hem of Hugo's robes. Along with Glinda Pomeroy, who could usually be found with Sarah, she was the girl Hugo knew least well so far. He had no trouble remembering which was which, though, as Glinda could have been Professor Sinistra's daughter, and Sarah was about Hugo's height and build, with light brown hair even shorter than his.

"Oh, right. I'll just go change, then." He started toward the dormitory, boots squelching.

"I'll go with you," Trevor said, following Hugo through the round door to the dormitories.

"One thing I don't get," Trevor said, as the two boys pawed through their trunks for dry robes. "If this is about hating Muggles, why threaten Sukie and not Gabe?"

Hugo shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe the sender doesn't know about Gabe, or has a personal grudge."

"Hard to imagine anyone hating Sukie," Trevor said. "Unless it's some girl who's jealous."

Hugo looked at him, puzzled. Why would someone be jealous of Sukie? She was nice enough, but . . .

Trevor didn't answer, as he was very busy fastening his robes.

After a moment, Hugo asked, "All right, Trev?"

"Yeah. I just never thought about the whole blood-status thing. It never occurred to me it could be, you know, a problem."

"Me, either."

Hugo sat down on his bed to lace up a dry pair of boots. "This bloke probably just wants to put the wind up people. He must have known she'd show the note to someone, word would get around - "

"People would start looking over their shoulder - "

"And he'd get a laugh out of the whole thing," Hugo finished, hoping against hope his theory proved true. He wasn't at all sure a laugh was what the git wanted.

Trevor nodded, and both boys headed for the door. "So, we're not going to let him get to us."

"No way," Hugo agreed.

ooOoo

Mike sighed, slinging her heavy plait back over her shoulder as she squinted down at her Charms essay.

"D'you think Professor Flitwick is going to take points off for my handwriting?" she asked Lucia, frowning as she shoved the parchment across the table to her friend.

Lucia looked up from her own nearly finished essay and scanned Mike's.

"Well - your handwriting does look a bit - large. Larger than normal, I mean."

Mike snorted. "You could say that. I've tried, really I have, but I can't think of a word more to write about Levitation. I'm quite sure I'll be Levitating buses before I understand all this wretched theory. It's such an awful bore."

Evidently, a bus was something heavy. She had to admit, her dorm mate was turning out to be quite talented at doing spells. Unlike most Ravenclaws, however, her interest in magic seemed limited to its practical applications.

"Have you read all of Chapter Five?" Lucia asked her, pushing the essay back across the table. "You haven't put in anything about how the spells were invented, the early practitioners . . ."

Mike grimaced. "Oh, bother. I don't suppose I could just tack on another paragraph or two?"

She looked at Lucia hopefully, but the other girl shook her head.

"I suppose I'll have to start all over, then," Mike sighed. "A decent mark would be such a lovely novelty. Of course," she added, "my parents have no more idea than newborn infant what my marks mean. If I told them 'D' stands for 'Delightful,' they'd believe it."

Lucia smiled. "I suppose you're lucky, then. Not that Mother asks much about my marks, but she knows what a D is."

Most first years would be pleased to have a parent who didn't probe about marks and such, but down deep, Lucia wished her mother took more of an interest in the details of her day-to-day life.

But that wasn't fair. If Lucia was having problems with her studies- which she wasn't - what would her mother be able to do about them?

Stop being a baby, she chided herself.

Lucia put the final touches on her own completed essay, stowed it away in her bag, and walked over to the window. One advantage of living in Ravenclaw tower was the magnificent view. At present, even through the darkness, she could see trees bent nearly double as the wind whipped them. Rain still lashed the windows. A storm like this was rather nice, really, as long as one didn't have to be out in it.

It was the inner storms that could hurt a person. She thought of the conversation she intended to have with her older brother after dinner, and sighed. It wasn't going to be any more pleasant than the weather.