Chapter 3
"It's done," Damon announced triumphantly one evening. "Grovel before your new champion."
"You haven't won yet, your majesty," Lyra said, not bothering to look up from our game of wizards chess.
Her dark brows furrowed in concentration, assessing how badly I was annihilating her. Abandoning the game in defeat, she pulled Damon onto the plush chair beside her.
"I know I may be no good at chess, but I do know that there's no way you'll be the champion," she said, with the air of someone revealing some long sought after secret.
"Oh yeah?" he challenged, more intrigued by her confidence than annoyed by her doubts. "How do you reckon?"
I chose this time to look busy packing up the chess board, stowing all the pieces into my bag.
"Well," Lyra said, a devious glint in her eye, "I may have had Alice bet all her money on your odds of being chosen."
"You wouldn't have!" he gasped in mock horror, cursed with the knowledge that I was doomed to lose, and bring him down with me.
"She did," Cassius confirmed solemnly.
"I can't believe you went along with this treachery," Damon sighed. "I would expect it from them," he shot Lyra and I accusatory glances, "but not you! You've been corrupted."
"I warned you that I would bet on you almost a month ago," I reminded him. "And I'm sure the Goblet's complex magic won't be undermined by my rotten luck you're truly meant to be the Hogwarts champion."
"Don't sell yourself short. He'll be declared pitifully unworthy, and that will pave the way for me to win," Lyra said, rubbing her hands together in exaggerated anticipation.
"You treacherous little..." Damon trailed off, playfully pushing her off the chair. "What happened to honour and 'may the best man win'?"
"You make a good point. One might argue I am indeed the best 'man' to win, because I'm utilising all my resources."
"What about you?" Damon asked, turning to Cassius, who was sitting cross legged on the floor, scratching his checkered calico cat behind the ears. "Have you put your name in the running?"
Cassius couldn't quite meet our eyes, pink tinging his cheeks.
"I know I won't be chosen, but I thought I would... you know. It's stupid, I really shouldn't bother," he muttered.
Our collective over-protective antennae shot into the air and Damon, Lyra, and I tripped over each other doing our best to reassure him.
"No, you should go for it!" Damon urged.
"You deserve to be champion more than this brute," Lyra comforted, sitting back against Damon's legs.
"We really don't know how the Goblet chooses its champion, so perhaps you're the person it's looking for," I offered reasonably.
If anything he looked even more embarrassed than before, but Cassius conceded, "Thanks. I guess I'll probably put my name in tonight."
"Must be nice," Lyra sighed wistfully. "We still have detention every night for like four more weeks."
"No one forced you to throw that porridge at Abel," I pointed out, only slightly envious. I'd harboured many a daydream about throwing things at him over the years.
"I couldn't let you two get all the attention."
"Attention hog." Damon rolled his eyes. He turned to address me. "Have you changed your mind about that ridiculous decision to not put your name in, yet?"
"Nope," I replied, popping the 'p', an annoying habit I picked up from him. "I promised my brother I wouldn't, since it's dangerous."
In truth, I made no such promise, at least not formally, although it was true that my main reason for not putting my name in was in consideration for Thomas. If anything happened to me then he'd... I didn't even want to think of it. I couldn't bare to entertain the thought. He needed me alive. That was all that mattered. I was all he had.
"It's a shame," Cassius said quietly. "You're actually among the top five to be chosen in the betting pool, behind the Head Boy, Damon, and Lyra. You're even before the Head Girl or any of the prefects."
My eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Really? A lot of people are in for a disappointment then." I reconsidered. "Or maybe they'll be happy, since that will increase their own odds."
"I still think you should go for it," Cassius pressed. "I'm sure you'd do be chosen. Your stock absolutely skyrocketed when you threatened Abel for me." He grinned somewhat guiltily at the memory. "All three of you are really popular."
"I think 'notorious' was the word you were actually looking for," I corrected, unable to fight a wry grin forming.
"Who cares what others think," Damon amid with a large yawn, reclining back with his arms behind his head.
"Yeah, we're just troublemakers," I agreed. "Nothing to be proud of."
"I'm proud of it," Lyra added, unhelpfully. "Anyway, if you need me, I'm going to be breaking into the kitchens for a mid-evening feast. Having detention during supper blows."
She pushed herself to her feet and walked out the Hufflepuff Common room like she owned it, her dark red curls bouncing behind her as she pushed her way out.
We weren't supposed to, but being divided across each of the Houses as we were, we had unofficially adopted Hufflepuff House as our neutral zone, or perhaps it was more accurate to say that Hufflepuff House had adopted us. Some of the younger students were even so deluded as to think that us three intruders were, in fact, Hufflepuff, considering how we ate at their table and lounged all day in their spaces — when we weren't in detention, that is. The older students, naturally, knew the truth, but it took a lot to phase a Hufflepuff. They couldn't care less, most of the time, so long as it wasn't bothering anyone.
The other Houses were more nit picky about intruders amongst them, especially Slytherin, where many would probably faint in horror if I, in all my muggle-born glory, marched on in. Ravenclaw was also out of the equation, due to the difficulty of trying negotiate riddles with an owl every time upon entry. Damon and Lyra resorted to attempting to curse the door down the last time they even tried.
"I should go, too. I promised to come in early to detention today to help Professor Aragon with his potion," I admitted, pulling my bag over my shoulder.
"Oh, okay. Have fun," Cassius said, sounding disappointed. "See you later."
• — • — •
"It almost seems like you've been avoiding me."
I paused, cursing my consistently rotten luck. Of course I would have to run into him.
"I was under the impression that you didn't want to be seen with me." I turned grudgingly to face the Head Boy.
Altair.
He didn't so much as nod to cede my point, but rather tilted his head to the side, his dark evening coloured hair casting shadows over his eyes.
"No one is around to see us," he pointed out.
"Well, I don't want to be seeing you, if my opinion matters."
"I'd always assumed we would end things if the other started courting, but you're not courting anyone..." His eyes narrowed infinitesimally in contemplation. "...Are you?"
I blew out an irritated breath. "Do you even need to ask that?"
I tried to push past him down the corridor to my detention, or else I would somehow manage to be late to the detention I had taken measures to arrive early to, but he stopped me. With the swiftness of the Seeker he was known for being, he pressed me into the wall between his arms, his breath tickling my ear.
"Let me go!" I snapped indignantly.
His body crushed against mine so thoroughly, I could feel the gentle ridges of the muscles he'd built up from playing quidditch these past seven years. "Not until you answer me honestly," he purred, sending shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
"After how you've treated me — treated my best friend — what makes you think I would want to talk to you again?" I replied, letting my arms fall limp at my side.
"I messed up," he whispered into my hair, seemingly taking my lack of physical rejection as acceptance — a reason to hope. "We both have, but we can move past it."
Too late. Far too late. While I considered myself fiercely loyal to my friends, I wasn't stupid. Forgiveness found no place to rest in my heart.
"I can't afford to be dragged down with you," I finally managed. "You know that better than anyone."
Which was part of the reason our falling out had stabbed so deeply just months ago.
My words were low, barely audible. Altair leaned back slightly and cocked his head to the side inquisitively, examining me through his misty grey eyes.
The sound of footsteps down the corridor shattered the bubble we had isolated ourselves in, snapping us back into reality.
"Am I interrupting something?" Professor Aragon asked.
His words came out uncharacteristically cold for the usually light hearted professor. He surveyed us stiffly, a mask of authority carved into his face making him seem years older than his early thirties.
Altair casually stepped back from me, a charming smile on his face that wouldn't have seemed possible a moment before. It transformed him, making him into an entirely different person. Trustworthy. Happy. Things I knew for a fact that he wasn't.
"Everything's perfectly fine, professor," he said, strolling confidently down the corridor. "We were just... catching up."
Aragon didn't say anything until Altair had turned the corner, pursing his lips in a tight line. When Altair was finally out of view, he turned back to me, while I busied myself straightening up my rumpled robes.
"I'm not going to ask what that was about, that's between the two of you," he said after a moment's thought, "but whatever it is, as your teacher I'm obligated to advise against it." Flashing a half smile, he continued, "I'm not supposed to speak ill of my students, but that boy is troubled. I'd feel... more at ease if you stayed far away from him."
We walked in silence the rest of the way to his Potions classroom, each lost in thought, but I couldn't help but wonder if the professor beside me would still treat me the same if he knew I was even more messed up than Altair. The professor didn't know the half of it. He didn't know I owed that troubled boy my life and more, and those types of bonds were made of steel, not easily severed with a few harsh words.