The Wrath of the Coven
Later that evening, Blake Ellsworth was in the Seventh Year boys dormitory, complaining loudly to the others. “The nerve of that girl! Acting all coquettish and then turning on me! Since when does a Muggleborn refuse a pure-blood Slytherin Seventh Year like me?”
“Felwich has spoiled that green-eyed vixen,” said Arnold Brent. “Treats her like a full-fledged member of the club instead of the token Muggle-born extra that she is.”
“I agree,” said Pierce Mageford. “The trouble starts with Felwich. The prefect title went to her head before she even had it! She’s been Acting Head Girl all year. I hope it goes to someone else.”
“What do you care?” asked Arnold. “You won’t be here next year. None of us will.”
“No, Pierce is right,” said Blake. “Once Felwich gets that title officially, she will be completely unsufferable. She will be Head Girl over all of us for the rest of her life.”
“She’ll be eighty years old,” said Pierce, laughing, “and she’ll still be trying to lord it over people that she was Head Girl of Hogwarts at seventeen.”
Umberto Calais appeared in the doorway. He stood there silently until the older boys acknowledged him. “What do you want, Calais?” asked Blake.
Umberto’s eyes bored into Blake, and his voice was low and stern. “The Coven is displeased with you, Ellsworth,” he said. “In fact, they are quite angry.”
“They are angry?” said Ellsworth. “I was the one hanging from the ceiling for half an hour.”
“It was more like two minutes,” said Pierce.
“And where do they get off calling themselves The Coven?” continued Blake. “There’s got to be 47 covens of girls at this school, but Felwich’s is The Coven?”
“I would apologize to them, if I were you,” said Umberto. “To Pauline and to Tess, and to Morwena also.”
“They should apologize to me!” shouted Blake. “Every one of them!” He pointed to his crotch. “They all need to line up right here, on their knees. Langlet first, then Covenshire, and then Felwich. And then you, Calais,” he finished with a sneer. “I know you’d like it.”
The tips of Umberto’s ears were pink, but otherwise, he was unmoved. In his low, stern voice he said, “You have been warned.” He turned on his heels and left.
Umberto walked down the corridor, quaking with suppressed rage. Rarely in his days at Hogwarts had he been taunted so. It galled him to walk away without retaliating, but he was one against three, and they were Seventh Years.
Ellsworth will pay, he told himself. Morwena will see that he does.
He went through the public spaces to the border of the girls’ dormitories. There, Morwena Felwich was waiting, a hardbound book pressed tight to her chest. “What did he say?” she asked him.
“Throw the book at him,” said Umberto.
A grim smile crossed Morwena’s lips. “I shall,” she said. “Gladly.”
Sunday morning, as Blake was heading for the showers, he slipped on the damp tile and fell onto his tailbone. The other boys laughed, and Blake laughed with them. “Haven’t done that since I was a Firsty!” he said.
The pain soon receded, but an hour later, as he sat down at the Slytherin table for breakfast, his back stiffened up. He rubbed it as best he could, then cast an analgesic spell on himself. The hot chocolate he poured for himself was particularly hot, and it burned the top of his mouth. He cursed softly but went on with his breakfast. He did not connect the two events together, though his back stiffened up every time he sat down, and at every meal, the burned roof of his mouth ached.
Monday morning, he did not slip in the shower, nor did he burn his mouth further. Yet, he was walking out to the greenhouses for Herbology when another unfortunate event occurred. The sky above was grey; there was a respite in the rain. As he passed by one of the trees along the pathway, the wind or perhaps the flight of a bird shook the tree enough that it let loose all the rain that had gathered in its branches and leaves during the overnight storm. The deluge hit him square over the head. None of the other students walking in the same direction got as much as a misting.
Blake cursed as he shook the water from his hair. “I am having the most atrocious luck!”
Another of the Seventh Years, a Ravenclaw named Audra Mooncrest stopped and said, “Goodness! That tree really got you.” She drew her wand, ready to cast a spell to help him dry off, but immediately, she pulled back her hand. “What have you done?” she asked.
“What have I done?” asked Blake, aggrieved. “I was walking along, minding my own business, when this tree relieved itself on me!”
“Someone put a jinx on you,” said Audra.
“What?”
Audra waved her wand slowly back and forth, revealing the enchantments that had settled over Blake, including a glowing yellow pentagram indicating the work of five witches. “This is Coven magic,” she said. “I’m not touching it.” She walked off without a word, leaving him to dry himself off with his own wand.
A few waves of his wand sent the water scattering off him. He was cold but dry, except for the bit that had dribbled from his pant leg into his shoe. The water made a squishy sound as he walked the rest of the way to the greenhouses. Before the start of class, he took off his shoe and blasted his sock with a drying spell. He cast the same spell on the inside of his shoe as well.
Coven magic, eh? he mused. So that was Felwich’s doing. If this is the worst those girls can do, then I’ll be fine.
The wrath of the coven, however, had not been sated, and that was not the worst that they could do.
Whatever molecules of water that was left in his shoe after drying began to multiply. Everywhere he walked for the rest of the day, his shoe made a squishy sound, and his foot was damp and cold. Before dinner, he changed shoes and socks, and the problem went away, though his foot was still cold, and his back, sitting on the bench of the Slytherin table, was stiff again.
Monday night, Philip and Pauline helped Madam Pince shelve books. During the day’s classes, Pauline had seemed the same as always. Philip watched her smile and listened to her laugh, and waited for those green eyes to briefly settle on him. That evening, however, she seemed low. She didn’t say a word to him or to Madam Pince. As the two of them walked together with their cart of books to shelve, she kept her head down, lost in thought. Every so often, she would flinch and look around as if she were pursued by hidden predators.
He asked, “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I guess I’m not good company right now.”
“Do you need some time alone?”
At this, her eyes went wide, and she clutched his arm. “No, please stay with me.” She edged closer to him and looked around them once more. “This old castle is so full of dark shadows! Gives me the creeps sometimes.”
“I’ve always felt safe here,” he told her. “Nothing bad will happen to you. Not while I’m around at any rate.”
“Oh, Hark,” she said, and pressed her cheek into his shoulder. “You are so kind to all of us, and we just take you for granted.”
Having her so close to him awoke both his anxieties and his desires for her. Part of him wanted to run away, excuse himself, go to the restroom to collect himself. But she had asked him to stay with him. The only thing to do was to put out his arm and slip it around her waist. She closed her eyes and clung to him. He breathed in the perfume from her hair. Finally, she broke the embrace and beamed up at him. “We’d better get a move on,” she said. “Madam Pince will accuse us of shirking.”
“Yes,” agreed Philip. “She’ll go and replace us with a few eager Ravenclaws.”
“She would have already, I’m sure,” said Pauline, laughing, “but she can’t keep them from sitting and reading every book they touch.” They laughed together.
Pauline’s mood brightened, and she became more talkative, though she did not tell him what had made her so sad or felt so frightened. Every so often, she would touch his arm and gaze into his eyes. Philip had never felt so happy.
At the end of the evening, Rhiannon showed up at the library door. “The library is closed,” said Madam Pince.
“Sorry, Madam Pince,” said Pauline. “She’s come for me.”
Philip and Rhiannon shook hands. Rhiannon said to Pauline, “How was your shift?”
“Everything went fine,” said Pauline. “I was feeling blue but Hark always makes me feel better.” She beamed at him, and he blushed brightly.
Philip walked with the girls down to the Entrance Hall and to the door that led to the straight stairs. Here, Pauline gave him a hug, and there was another firm handshake between him and Rhiannon. “See you tomorrow!” she said.
Blake Ellsworth’s miserable week continued. On Tuesday afternoon, he had just reached the eaves of the forest for NEWT Magical Creatures when a hippogryph flying in the air above him shat upon him. This time, Greenleaf helped clean him off.
“I am having the most atrocious luck this week!” he told her.
“Anything that I need to know about?” asked Greenleaf.
He could have told her about the jinx – it’s likely that she could sense it just as Audra Mooncrest had - but that would inevitably lead to a description of his night with Pauline Langlet. He did not relish having that conversation with any staff member, but especially not a female teacher like Greenleaf. I don’t need that kind of trouble, he told himself. It’s better just to tell them I’m having a week of rotten luck.
Wednesday brought a new catastrophe upon him, worse than any of the others so far. He had just taken his seat for his NEWT Arithmancy lecture. He reached into his bag for his parchment and notebook, when he felt something wet. He withdrew his hand and saw his fingers were stained with ink. He quickly emptied his bag, but the damage had been done.
The cap had come off his ink well, and ink had soaked through all his parchment sheets. Ink blackened his quills and seeped into the pages of several books, including a notebook he had been using for his main Arithmancy project.
He confronted Umberto about it in the common room before lunch. “Look what those witches have done to me!” he cried, holding up the Arithmancy notebook. Wide purple blotches covered each page. “This is for my final project! I’ve been working on it since spring semester, last term. All those notes are ruined! It’s going to set me back weeks and weeks!”
“I told you they were angry,” said Umberto. “You must apologize to them.”
“Me apologize! They’re the ones ruining my life! They should apologize to me! I have half a mind to take this to the staff.”
“Which would force you to explain how you nearly raped Pauline,” said Umberto.
“Rape is a strong word,” said Blake in a warning voice.
“It fits the facts.”
“Hardly!” shouted Blake. “Nothing happened!”
“Only because Tess intervened.” Umberto stepped close to Blake and said in a low voice. “You are facing an escalating series of jinxes. The next one will be even worse. Apologize, and it stops.” Umberto turned and left without another word.
Blake spent the evening trying to salvage his Arithmancy notes. He found that if he held the pages up to the lamplight, he could begin to discern the pencil marks that lay below the ink splotches. The effort was painstaking, slow, but he was able to transcribe a few pages into a fresh notebook, which he defended against the jinxes with a series of countercharms.
Thursday morning, after his morning shower, he felt cold. Once he was dressed, he lingered in the Hearth room and stood by the fire to warm himself. He was speaking to Pierce and Arnold with his back to the blaze, when Pierce said, “Ells, you’re on fire.”
Any other week, Blake would have thought this was a prank. Now, he turned in alarm, fearful that some new calamity had befallen him. Sure enough, a spark from the fire had landed on his cloak, and despite the charms that were intended to keep this very thing from happening, the hem of his robe was now burning. He quickly shed it and stomped the fire out, but the robe was ruined. He would have to transfigure another, which would pull time away from his other projects.
Just then, Morwena and her coven entered the Hearth Room on her way to breakfast. Holding the still smoldering robe in his hand, he confronted her. “What are you trying to do to me? That could have killed me!” Morwena was unmoved; she stared coldly back at him.
“What do I have to do to get out of this?” asked Blake. “You want me to say I’m sorry? Do you want me on my knees?” He fell to his knees before them. “Here I am!” he shouted. “I did it. Now give me my life back.”
Morwena turned her head slightly to the left, and Pauline stepped forward. Gazing angrily down at Blake, she said, “I never want to see you again. Don’t try to talk to me. Don’t even look at me the rest of the year. Graduate and get out of my life!”
“Fine! I’ll do it. This is the last thing I’ll ever say to you.”
There was a silent exchange between Morwena and Pauline, then Morwena said solemnly, “You are released from the jinx.”
Blake quickly got to his feet. He brushed his hand roughly over his knees. With one more angry glare at Morwena, he stormed back down the stairs.
The scene was observed by many in Slytherin House. The younger witches gazed in wonder that a girl, any girl, could force a Seventh Year boy to his knees. Alyssa, her voice full of admiration, said, “Those are some wicked witches.”
From the shadow of the opposite corridor, Reginald Dennison had watched the scene as well. His throat burned at the sight of Muggleborn Pauline Langlet getting the better of a pure blood Slytherin boy like himself.
We cannot let this stand, he told himself. It’s not just Ellsworth’s honour that’s at stake. The honour of all pure blood Slytherin men has been besmirched by this!
Ellsworth is too weak to challenge Morwena’s coven, but I am not. Among all the boys here, only I have the power to strike back against these insolent girls. My book will teach me what to do. I must get it back! And then, Langlet will pay. When Lord Mahglin strikes, none of their vaunted coven magic will be able to save her!