The Flight of the Fat Lady
Charles
In no time at all, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become most people's favorite class. Only Draco Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins had anything bad to say about Remus.
"Look at the state of him," Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Remus passed. "He looks so frail."
But no one else cared that Remus sometimes seemed ill and tired (Charles knew it was because of the full moon). His next few lessons were just as interesting as the first.
After boggarts, they studied Red Caps, nasty little goblin-like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed: in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had gotten lost. From Red Caps they moved on to kappas, creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.
Charles only wished he was as happy with some of her other classes. Worst than ever was Potions. Snape was in a particularly vindictive mood these days, and no one was in any doubt as to why. The story of the boggart assuming Snape's shape, and the way that Neville had dressed it in his grandmother's clothes, had traveled through the school like wildfire. Snape didn't seem to find it funny. His eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Remus' name, and he was bullying Neville worse than ever.
Charles was also growing to dread the hours he spent in Trelawney's stifling tower room, deciphering lopsided shapes and symbols, trying to ignore the way Trelawney's enormous eyes filled with tears every time she looked at him. He couldn't like Trelawney, even though she was treated with respect bordering on reverence by many of the class. Parvati and Lavender had taken to haunting Trelawney's tower room at lunch times, and always returned with annoyingly superior looks on their faces, as though they knew things the others didn't. They had also started using hushed voices whenever they spoke to Charles, as though he were on his deathbed already.
Arithmancy was brilliant. Charles was a natural and the topper of that particular class (irking Hermione, who seemed to be in a foul mood lately). And it seemed to annoy Ron too for some unknown reason.
Dueling was cool enough. They were never assigned any homework at all. Nobody liked Care of Magical Creatures, which, after the action-packed first class, had become extremely dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence. They were now spending lesson after lesson learning how to look after flobberworms, which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence.
"Why would anyone bother looking after them?" Ron scowled, after yet another hour of poking shredded lettuce down the flobberworms' throats.
At the start of October, however, Charles had something else to occupy him, something so enjoyable it more than made up for his unsatisfactory classes. The Quidditch season was approaching, and Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor team, called a meeting on Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season.
Oliver Wood, a burly seventeen-year-old, was now in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed his six fellow team members in the chilly locker rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch field.
"This is our last chance - my last chance - to win the Quidditch Cup," he told them, striding up and down in front of them. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it."
"Gryffindor hasn't won for three years now. Okay, so we've had the worst luck in the world - injuries - then the tournament getting called off last year..." Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. "But we also know we've got the best ruddy team in the school," he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye.
"We've got three superb Chasers." Wood pointed at Harry, Alicia, and Angelina. "We've got two unbeatable Beaters."
"Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us," said Fred and George together, pretending to blush.
"And we've got a Fabulous Seeker!" Wood rumbled, glaring at Charles with a kind of furious pride. "And me," he added as an afterthought.
"We think you're very good too, Oliver," said George.
"Spanking good Keeper," Fred agreed.
"The point is," Wood went on, resuming his pacing, "the Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these last three years. Harry won us the match his first year on the team, but the next two years - ever since Charles joined the team - we've had horrible luck. This year's the last chance I'll get to see our name on the Cup, because I damn well want to win one last time before I graduate..."
Wood spoke so dejectedly that even Harry and the twins looked sympathetic.
"Oliver, this year's our year," Fred said.
Angelina nodded in agreement. "We'll do it, Oliver!"
"Definitely," Charles added.
Full of determination, the team started training sessions, three evenings a week. The weather was getting colder and wetter, the nights darker, but no amount of mud, wind, or rain could tarnish Charles' wonderful vision of finally winning the huge, silver Quidditch Cup.
Charles returned to the Gryffindor common room one evening after training, cold and stiff but pleased with the way practice had gone, to find the room buzzing excitedly.
"What's happened? he asked Ron and Hermione, who were sitting in two of the best chairs by the fireside and completing some star charts for Astronomy.
"First Hogsmeade weekend," Ron pointed at a notice that had appeared on the battered old bulletin board. "End of October. Halloween."
"Excellent," Harry grinned, who had followed Charles through the portrait hole. "I need to visit Zonko's. I'm nearly out of Stink Pellets."
Charles threw himself into a chair beside Ron, his high spirits heightening even more. At that moment Crookshanks leapt lightly onto Hermione's lap. A large, dead spider was dangling from his mouth.
"Does he have to eat that in front of us?" Ron scowled.
Hermione, however, grinned proudly. "Clever Crookshanks, did you catch that all by yourself?"
Crookshanks slowly chewed up the spider, his yellow eyes fixed insolently on Ron.
"Just keep him over there, that's all," Ron said irritably, turning back to his star chart. "1've got Scabbers asleep in my bag."
Charles yawned. He really wanted to go to bed, but he still had his own star chart to complete. He pulled his bag toward him, took out parchment, ink, and quill, and started work.
"You can copy mine, if you like," Ron said, labeling his last star with a flourish and shoving the chart toward Charles.
Hermione, who disapproved of copying, pursed her lips but didn't say anything. Crookshanks was still staring unblinkingly at Ron, flicking the end of his bushy tail. Then, without warning, he pounced.
"OI!" Ron roared, seizing his bag as Crookshanks sank four sets of claws deep inside it and began tearing ferociously. "GET OFF, YOU STUPID ANIMAL!"
Ron tried to pull the bag away from Crookshanks, but the cat clung on, spitting and slashing.
"Ron, don't hurt him!" Hermione squealed; the whole common room was watching. Ron whirled the bag around, Crookshanks still clinging to it, and Scabbers came flying out of the top -
"CATCH THAT CAT!" Ron yelled as Crookshanks freed himself from the remnants of the bag, sprang over the table, and chased after the terrified Scabbers.
George made a lunge for Crookshanks but missed; Scabbers streaked through twenty pairs of legs and shot beneath an old chest of drawers. Then the cat skidded to a halt, crouched low on his bandy legs, and started making furious swipes beneath it with his front paw.
Ron and Hermione hurried over; Hermione grabbed Crookshanks around the middle and heaved him away; Ron threw himself onto his stomach and, with great difficulty, pulled Scabbers out by the tail.
"Look at him!" he said furiously to Hermione, dangling Scabbers in front of her. "He's skin and bone! You keep that cat away from him!"
"Crookshanks doesn't understand it's wrong!" said Hermione, her voice shaking. "All cats chase rats, Ron!"
"There's something funny about that animal!" said Ron, who was trying to persuade a frantically wiggling Scabbers back into his pocket. "It heard me say that Scabbers was in my bag!"
"Oh, what rubbish," Hermione said impatiently. "Crookshanks could smell him, Ron, how else d'you think -"
"That cat's got it in for Scabbers!" said Ron, ignoring the people around him, who were starting to giggle. "And Scabbers was here first, and he's ill!"
Ron marched through the common room and out of sight up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.
Harry
After all that commotion, Harry exited the common room after a quick shower, with Alicia beside him, for their patrol together. As they were strolling near the defense corridor, Alicia suddenly said, "What would you say about going to Hogsmeade with me at Halloween?"
Harry studied her, thinking. They had both definitely gotten closer as friends lately, nearly always walking to classes together, being on the Quidditch team together, practicing Dueling together, and almost always having assigned patrols together. He certainly liked her company a lot...
"Sure." Harry shrugged. "Meet me in the Entrance Hall after breakfast?"
Alicia agreed happily.
Charles
Ron was still in a bad mood with Hermione the next day. He barely talked to her all through Herbology, even though he, Charles, and Hermione were working together on the same puffapod.
"How's Scabbers?" Hermione asked timidly as they stripped fat pink pods from the plants and emptied the shining beans into a wooden pail.
"He's hiding at the bottom of my bed, shaking, " Ron said angrily, missing the pail and scattering beans over the greenhouse floor.
"Careful, Weasley, careful!" Professor Sprout cried as the beans burst into bloom before their very eyes.
They had Transfiguration next. Charles, who had joined the line outside the class, was distracted by a disturbance at the front of the line. Lavender seemed to be crying. Parvati had her arm around her and was explaining something to Seamus and Dean, who were looking very serious.
"What's the matter, Lavender?" Hermione asked anxiously as she, Charles, and Ron went to join the group.
"She got a letter from home this morning," Parvati whispered. "It's her rabbit, Binky. He's been killed by a fox."
"Oh," Charles winced, "I'm sorry, Lavender."
"I should have known!" Lavender wailed tragically. "You know what day it is?"
"Er-"
"The sixteenth of October! 'That thing you're dreading, it will happen on the sixteenth of October!' Remember? She was right, she was right!"
The whole class was gathered around Lavender now. Seamus shook his head seriously. Hermione hesitated and then said, "You - you were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?"
"Well, not necessarily by a fox," Lavender said, looking up at Hermione with streaming eyes, "but I was obviously dreading him dying, wasn't l?"
"Oh," said Hermione. She paused again. Then, "Was Binky an old rabbit?"
"N - no!" sobbed Lavender. "H-he was only a baby!"
Parvati tightened her arm around Lavender's shoulders.
"But then, why would you dread him dying?" Hermione frowned. Parvati glared at her.
"Well, look at it logically," Hermione insisted, turning to the rest of the group. "I mean, Binky didn't even die today, did he? Lavender just got the news today-" Lavender wailed loudly. "-and she can't have been dreading it, because it's come as a real shock-"
"Don't mind Hermione, Lavender," Ron said loudly, "She doesn't think other people's pets matter very much."
Professor McGonagall opened the classroom door at that moment, which was perhaps lucky; Hermione and Ron were glaring daggers at each other, and when they got into class, they seated themselves on either side of Charles and didn't talk to each other for the whole class.
Harry
On Halloween morning, Harry awoke with the rest and went down to breakfast, feeling thoroughly cheerful.
He found Alicia waiting at the entrance hall as promised, where Filch, the caretaker, was standing inside the front doors, checking off names against a long list, peering suspiciously into every face, and making sure that no one was sneaking out who shouldn't be going.
Harry and Alicia sat in a carriage with Fred, George, and Angelina. Harry realized that he hadn't been spending much time with his fellow Prowlers lately, which may be due to him being with his Gryffindor friends most of the time. Since they now had telepathy, he hadn't felt so disconnected from them till now, but as he sat with the others, he realized just how much he missed them.
Hey, guys? Harry reached out mentally, Wanna hang out at the Shrieking Shack tomorrow?
Finally! came back Adrian's exasperated reply. We've been waiting for you to realize that you've been avoiding us lately for ages!
After the classes? Jéricho suggested.
They agreed and ended the conversation, and Harry once again paid attention to the others around him. Adrian's comment had made him a bit uneasy.
When they entered the village, Harry turned to Alicia. "So, where d'you wanna go first?"
Their date ended quite nicely, with them having snogged twice. They'd gone to Honeydukes, the Three Broomsticks, and a few other places to buy some stationary stuff. Harry was grateful that Alicia wasn't the type of girl who liked Madam Puddifoot's, otherwise, he'd have had to break up with her!
For the return journey, they got a carriage to themselves, and then proceeded to cross into the Great Hall together. It had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats, and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes.
The food was delicious; even Harry and Alicia, who were already full to bursting with Honeydukes sweets, managed second helpings of everything. The feast finished with entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had great success with a reenactment of his own botched beheading.
It had been such a pleasant day that Harry's good mood couldn't even be spoiled by Malfoy, who shouted through the crowd as they all left the hall, "The dementors send their love, Potters!"
Harry and Alicia followed the rest of the Gryffindors along the usual path to Gryffindor Tower, but when they reached the corridor that ended with the portrait of the Fat Lady, they found it jammed with students.
"Why isn't anyone going in?" Alicia asked curiously.
Harry peered over the heads in front of him. The portrait seemed to be closed.
"Let me through, please," came Percy's voice, and he came bustling importantly through the crowd. "What's the holdup here? You can't all have forgotten the password - excuse me, I'm Head Boy -"
And then a silence fell over the crowd, from the front first, so that a chill seemed to spread down the corridor. They heard Percy say, in a suddenly sharp voice, "Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick." People's heads turned; those at the back were standing on tiptoe.
"What's going on?" asked Charles, who had just arrived.
A moment later, Professor Dumbledore was there, sweeping toward the portrait; the Gryffindors squeezed together to let him through, and Harry and Alicia moved closer to see what the trouble was.
"Oh, my -" Alicia grabbed Harry's arm.
The Fat Lady had vanished from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously that strips of canvas littered the floor; great chunks of it had been torn away completely. Dumbledore took one quick look at the ruined painting and turned, his eyes somber, to see Professors McGonagall, Remus, Sirius, and Snape hurrying toward him.
"We need to find her," said Dumbledore. "Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."
"You'll be lucky!" said a cackling voice.
It was Peeves the Poltergeist, bobbing over the crowd and looking delighted, as he always did, at the sight of wreckage or worry.
"What do you mean, Peeves?" Dumbledore asked calmly, and Peeves's grin faded a little. He didn't dare taunt the Headmaster. Instead, he adopted an oily voice that was no better than his cackle. "Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful," he said happily. "Poor thing," he added unconvincingly.
"Did she say who did it?" said Dumbledore quietly.
"Oh yes, Professorhead," said Peeves, with the air of one cradling a large bombshell in his arms. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see." Peeves flipped over and grinned at Dumbledore from between his legs. "Nasty temper he's got, that Regulus Black."