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Chapter 14 : The Seer
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Another great CI by Naala @ TDA!
As I leave the Great Hall, infuriated that Terry Boot has picked up the origami mouse with my note on it scurrying about his feet, then crumpled it up and stuffed it away, leaving the Great Hall before dessert has arrived, I am interrupted by a small presence by my side.
The shadow tugs at the sleeve of my robes, and I whirl around.
“Can I help you?” I say scathingly in my best Slytherin voice. The girl scuttles back in alarm.
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to speak with you quickly, but you looked so upset…” she holds out her hand. “I’m Emma. Emma Turbine. You cursed me, remember, in the dungeons a little while ago.”
She’s still shaking my hand as she states this matter-of-factly, smiling a little to reveal small teeth. These first-years, they’re getting smaller each year, I tell you.
“Er, yeah, about that, don’t you think it would be a bit smarter to be keeping your distance, then? Aren’t you supposed to be a Ravenclaw?”
“I never worry much about what’s the smart thing to do,” Emma shrugs. She pulls a toad from the folds of her robes. “This is Milly. Could you hold her for a moment?”
So I find my hands clasped around the warty, lumpy toad as Emma puts her hair up in a tight ponytail, perches her glasses on her nose, and re-arranges her pockets. I squeeze the toad a little impatiently and Milly croaks up at me reproachfully. Its hard to look the little beast in the eye, knowing the last time we met my dormmate was trying to blow it up. Maybe I should introduce Milly to Guinevere my cat to form an Animals against Demetria Avery Society – the ADAS. I’d much rather belong to that than the ASS, but Guinevere would probably just see Milly as a tasty snack. So much for that plan.
Rambling again, Tor.
Finally, Emma Turbine straightens and holds out her palms for her toad. I release it and resist the urge to wipe my hands on my robes.
“Let’s take a little walk,” Emma says solemnly.
“We’re not supposed to be out of the castle-”
“I know, but we won’t go far. Not out of the light, anyway. Besides, there are loads of Aurors patrolling the borders and keeping an eye on the grounds. Its safer out than in, I’d reckon.”
Glancing over my shoulder to make sure no Slytherins are watching me, I follow Emma into the chilly evening fall air. While one part of me is telling me its ridiculous to be following this little girl (probably a Mudblood to boot), my curiosity is aroused from its cavern of sulking.
“When did you get your toad?” I ask awkwardly, falling into step beside Emma.
“Oh, in Diagon Alley this summer,” Emma says breezily. “My auntie took me – my parents are dead, you see.”
“That’s quite alright. I was very young, I don’t think of them, much, and I grew up living with my other aunt and uncle, who are very kind.”
“So, are you Muggleborn?”
She looks up at me appraisingly. “Does it matter if I am?”
The fading sunlight makes me blunt. “Maybe.”
“Technically, I’m a half-blood. My mother’s family are wizards, my father is Muggleborn. But I grew up with my father’s brother’s family, so I was raised by Muggles. So in a way, yes, I am a Muggleborn, and proud of it.”
Her voice is small and defiant in the great grounds of Hogwarts. In the distance, Hagrid salutes the dusk by locking his hordes of animals into secure cages outside his hovel. A flurry of birds rise up from somewhere deep within the Forbidden Forest. A few students wander the grounds, looking uneasily beyond the great gates.
“What was it like, growing up with Muggles?” I ask, trying to be diplomatic but unable to mask the curiosity in my voice. Ever since Boot’s revelation, Muggles have become more of entities to me: parents and children. It occurs to me that I really don’t know much about them.
“Oh, they’re alright, Muggles. Not as lazy as wizards are, having the whole house magicked around them to do their bidding.” Emma’s tinkling laugh is young and carefree. “They knew I was a witch, of course, and when they found out they were always watching to see if I’d do something interesting. It was sweet. I miss them a lot, but I’m happy to have finally made it to Hogwarts, of course.”
We look up to the castle together, as the orange sun fades on its stones. There’s no place like Hogwarts.
“So, what did you want to tell me?” I ask, a little less sharply than I would have liked. Away from the prying eyes of the fellow Slytherins my attitude seems to crumble a little.
Emma smiles brightly at me. “I’d had a vision about you, and I thought you should know. I don’t usually reveal my visions to people unless I think they need to hear them.”
“Er… your visions?”
“There’s a formal, academic name, but I just call them as they feel, and they feel like visions. Sometimes it’s a hunch, a feeling, or an image. With you, it was a message of sorts.”
“A message.” I’m exceedingly confused.
“Yes. It came when you rushed by me yesterday, in the Charms corridor. I don’t know if you remember but you ran by, pushed me a little, muttered ‘sorry,’ and then disappeared. And then the vision came.”
I’m suddenly reminded of a conversation with Terry Boot, in which he told me one of the first year Ravenclaws was a Seer. I hadn’t believed him then, why should I believe now? This little kid was probably just trying to play a trick on me, as revenge for hexing her.
“I don’t believe you. I thought that Seers experienced prophecies, which were documented in the Department of Ministries, and that they don’t remember the prophecies themselves.”
“Ah, Astoria, but there’s many different kinds of magic, and different ways to See,” Emma says, eyes shining bright and with a wise voice beyond her years. Somehow, my full name, usually only pronounced by authority figures and people who are angry with me, sounds natural and right rolling off her tongue.
“Like crystal balls and that riff raff?”
“Well, I haven’t really studied that in depth yet,” Emma says hesitantly. “But I know my Auntie is a conventional Seer, the kind who gives the occasional prophecy but has no real control over her Sight. She works here, in fact,” she adds as an afterthought, “and she’s the one who taught me all about Hogwarts and bought me my toad. Then there are those who manipulate the Fates, and yes, they can sometimes use mediums like tea leaves and crystal balls, but those are only tools. Nobody without that kind of Sight would be able to really predict anything, so I think teaching Divination here is a little pointless.” She sighs and shakes her head.
“And your kind of Sight is…”
“In the middle. I don’t choose when the visions come to me, but I remember them and what triggers them, and often I’ll know is something has changed for that person’s future.”
“And do you always tell people what you’ve predicted about them?” I ask, intrigued in spite of myself.
Emma looks sadly in the direction of Hagrid’s hut, where a scrawny boy is taking a picture of the scarecrow in the pumpkin patch while a smaller boy watches eagerly. The elder boy swings his arms around the younger’s and they head up towards the castle together, faces split in the same grin.
“Not always,” she says softly. “Only if it will serve a purpose.”
“Then spit it out,” I say. “What did you predict about me? I’m doomed to be eaten by a Basilisk, so bring a mirror to check around the corners at Hogwarts? Or wait, a werewolf is going to trap me and finish me off. That’s the kind of bloody luck I’ll have.”
“No,” says Emma frostily, “in fact, I think you’re going to have a very long life. You’ll probably survive the war. You’ll have a great, lifelong love, even if its not with the person were meant to be with. I saw, a child, a hearth, laughter and warmth and peace.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.” Even if I’m still at the age when the idea of having a child fills me with dread and the feeling of being trapped.
“There’s more, though. The war is coming, and its going to take a great toll on you. You’ll play a difficult role, so you must be ready to accept its consequences.”
“OK, we all already know there’s going to be a war. It’s stirring as we speak.”
She ignores me. “Its meant to be that two people you love will die in the war.”
A cold chill breaks through my skin and clenches in my chest.
“What? How can you know that?”
“I just Know.” She looks up at me sadly. “But you need to be told, because there’s a catch. One of them will die because of you. It will be your fault if the prophecy comes true. So you need to be warned, because you might be able to save him.
While half of my brain is telling me to ignore this superstitious and over-dramatic child, the other half is starting to slip into full-on panic mode.
“I thought you deserved to know,” Emma said simply.
“Wait… but, who is going to …to die? How am I supposed to know when to save them?”
Emma shakes her head at me. “I can’t tell you, because I don’t know. It wasn’t shown to me. I was just meant to warn you, in case there’s something you can do.”
“Is there?” I ask desperately.
“Astoria, the future is a fickle thing, and the likes of wizards cannot expect to understand it. I have the gift of Sight and I’ve told you what I’ve Seen, and it’s the best I can do. I’m sorry.” She touches my arm gently.
I respond with the only power of affirmation that I own. Some Slytherins would have goaded me to torture and trick her, to force the truth out whether she knew it or not. But I have a different method. I venture towards her mind, prying open the door, and slip inside until I’ve found reached the first circle of her memory. Truth rings out of it: I see myself through Emma’s eyes, running past Professor Flitwick, and the surge of brilliant knowledge. A great love. A child. Two deaths. One will be her fault.
I withdraw from Emma’s head and nod curtly.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Its alright,” she says kindly. “I think, if things were different, I could quite like you. Ginny Weasley does, too, you know. She told me. She doesn’t have a lot of people to talk to anymore, but she wants to like you.”
The words blood traitor curdle in my mouth.
“Thank you,” I say again. We’ve reached the castle doors and step back inside into the warmth. Emma smiles and turns towards the stairs, hurrying up them two at a time and not pausing to look back at me.
The morning of the Gryffindor-Slytherin match is clear and bright, a perfect day for whupping some red and gold behind. Sadly, I of course won’t be part of that whupping, thanks to new star Beater Griselda Goyle.
The team leaves breakfast early to go and warm up, and Pyxis, Amaris, Phin and I cheer as our friends Theo and Taurus saunter by, their walks full of confidence. My Theo looks so good in green: his skin seems to lose its pallor of the last month, his hair has a healthy sheen to it. Taurus is a fair sight, tall, blond and strong, his mouth set in a good-natured smile perched on his mouth. The rest of the team, excluding Theo and Skin, are rookies, so they seem to be hiding some nerves under their swaggering walks through the Great Hall.
“We all know Potter will get the Snitch,” Pyxis argues with Phin as we head down to the pitch. “I mean, its probably rigged so Dumbledore’s favorite team wins, anyway.”
“Zelda’s a good flier, though,” Phin retaliates. “And Potter will be too busy making sure his team is sitting the right way forward on their brooms.” The boys laugh cruelly and nudge each other. Meanwhile, Amaris and I walk arm-in-arm behind them.
“I’m sorry its not you,” she whispers sympathetically to me.
“Whatever. At least we’ve still got the prank to look forward to.” The revenge prank against Griz is still in the works, and is involving a lot more bribery and convincing than we originally thought.
Amaris nods. “About that, I spoke with my brother’s seventh year friends, and they’re in. They thought it was brilliant, actually, and promised to, er, convince some of the younger years to take part.”
“Lovely.” I can’t muster up much bloodlust at the moment.
In the stands, someone attempts to start up a round of “Weasley is our King,” but its not the same without Malfoy conducting from the sky. I wonder where the slimy kid is off to, anyway. Crabbe and Goyle aren’t here to cheer on Griz, their snog-friend and sister respectively, either. Odd.
Amaris watches Harry Potter slapping a high-five with his friend and Keeper, Ron Weasley.
“You know, I always thought red hair was kind of sweet,” she murmurs to me.
“Weasley was born in a bin,” I sing softly, and she bursts into laughter.
“You have a point. Don’t tell anyone I said so, okay! Actually, his elder brother works at the Ministry, with Umbridge, and he’s not so bad. He used to bring us interns donuts and coffee. I think the donuts might have been homemade, too.”
“Bound to be one good seed in the lot,” I add, my eyes are watching Griz Goyle soar through the air. I hope she falls off her broom (but only after we win the match).
Pyxis and Phin are seeking out second and third years that they know have a lot of pocket money and encouraging them to enter the betting pool for the match. Really, Taurus is a sure bet for male prefect in our year, because those two have not matured since they turned nine or so.
The Gryffindor Chasers align themselves across from the Slytherins. There is a distinct lack of Katie Bell, and even though she is a stranger to me my skin creeps at her absence. Ginny Weasley looks serious and bloodthirsty as she eyes the Slytherin Chasers. Seriously, that girl frightens me sometimes.
I watch with detached envy as the match continues. To everyone’s surprise, Ron Weasley saves shot after shot, leading to great cheers from the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff stands. The Slytherin crowd is seething and subdued, except of Pyxis, who is urgently trying to go back his money back for all his betting of how long it will be until Weasley fell off his broom.
“Pssst!” Something nudges my leg.
A hand reaches from nowhere and taps me on the leg. Confused, I duck down quickly to the space by my ankles.
Terry Boot is staring up at me, silently motioning for me to come down. I scramble around so it looks like I’ve dropped something when Amaris gives me a questioning look.
Come on, Boot mouths. I look at Amaris and my fellow Slytherins again: they’re all staring dumb-founded at the pitch, where Ginny Weasley has sent a rocketing Quaffle past Theo Nott’s outstretched fingers. A couple seats down, Xander Avery, who isn’t renowned for being the brightest star in Slytherin, is still chanting Weasley will make sure we win to himself.
Making a choice and going to hell with it all, I excuse myself very quickly to Amaris, who’s too focused on the game to really care. Squeezing past some protesting fifth years, I run into the bowels of the stands, beneath the hundreds of pairs of legs and feet, and an abrupt hand seizes my wrist and pulls me into the darkness.
Suddenly, his lips are on my own, his hand cupping my face. I slowly kiss him back, entangling my cold hands in the collar of his robes, my eyes closed. Above us, there is a great rumbling as the Slytherins spring to their feet and cheer, but I hardly register, hardly care.
Boot and I draw away suddenly. He takes my hand with both of his, his warm fingers cradling my cold ones, and pulls me carefully outside of the stands, behind the pitch where nobody can see us.
“Will you walk with me?” he asks, his eyes blue and hopeful, his hair shining in the sunlight.
Suddenly I remember that we’re not on the best of terms. That kiss under the stands had temporarily Petrified my memory and Slytherin pride. I’ll walk with him, but I’m not going to be thrilled about it.
“Do you do that often?” I spit at him, and Boot raises his eyebrows in amused concern.
“Er, what? Go for walks? Not particularly, I’m more of a stay-in and read kind of kid…”
“Ambush girls with kisses under the bleachers?”
“Nope.” He looks wryly at me. “It was a first. I wasn’t even intending to kiss you, you know. You just look so sweet in your Slytherin colors and your furious, feisty expression. I had to do something.”
“Well, you don’t have the right,” I inform him, trying to ignore the familiar warmth that comes from being near Boot. He’s not off the hook.
“I know.” He sighs. “Look, I know I shouldn’t want anything to do with you. We’re different sides of the ideological spectrum. We’re on opposite sides. Hey, someday you could be my enemy.”
“I don’t want that,” I say quietly. “You don’t know how confusing it is for me: to be told one thing all my life, and then to be confronted with someone like… like you.”
“I want to understand you,” Boot continues. “I’m not sure why, Tor Greengrass, but you draw me in. I want to understand why you’re so stuck on thinking like a pureblood.”
“Because I am a pureblood.”
He sighs. “I wish I didn’t feel this way towards you, it’d be so easy to hate all prejudiced purebloods, blissful, almost. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I like how you’re silly and serious. You make me question things, even if you’re not sure why. I haven’t felt this pulled towards a person in a long time.” He blushes a little. “Sometimes I find my eyes wandering to you in the Great Hall and I just stare until someone interrupts me. Sorry, that probably came out really creepy, but its true.”
I laugh, not quite ready to tell him I do the same thing myself.
“I like you too,” I say instead. “I don’t understand it, I don’t want it, but I do. I care about you.”
We are exhilarated and terrified all at once. His arms are around me, holding me close because in embraces there’s no need to talk, no calling to think. His chest is warm and his heart beats against my cheek, his face buried in my hair.
“I need to keep seeing you,” I say, pulling away and looking at him seriously. He’s just so darn… cute, with his floppy hair and wide-toothed, genuine smile. “We can deal with the consequences later.”
I get back to the dorm hours later, enraptured in the afternoon spent with Terry Boot while the rest of the school was roaring at the Quidditch pitch. We talked, we laughed: there was even a little wrestling and playful jinxing going on. He succeeded in turning my hair bright pink and only released it when I threatened him with Densaugeo, saying that I didn’t know the counter-curse. We kissed, in the shadows of the trees that skirted the Forbidden Forest, on a rock bench looking out onto the Black Lake, in the crevices of the castle where nobody would think to look.
I go to bed, feeling swollen and light-headed. Slytherin House is moody and angry tonight, because we lost the match. Up in Gryffindor Tower, Potter, the Weasleys and their friends will be celebrating until the early hours, but here it is melancholy and grimness. I’m sure some of my Housemates will be patrolling the corridors tonight, waiting for some Gryffindors to come along on which to take out their anger.
Pyxis recoils on the ground, clutching at his, er, tender spot and howling in pain in the Room of Requirement. Facing him, the wicked trinity of Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson and Gregory Goyle laugh evilly. It was Goyle of all people who had cast the unfortunately aimed curse in a nasty flash of purple light.
“Time out!” I scream.
Not taking my eyes from Malfoy’s face, I step forward and kneel beside my friend.
“Are you alright? Pyx?”
Pyxis nods, scowling. Theo, who is refereeing this duel, points his wand at the score board that the Room has provided.
My team, made up of myself, Pyxis and Amaris, are losing.
But the Vipers aren’t playing fair. It was obvious from the first few minutes of the duel that the teams are mis-matched: three fourth years against three sixth years, one of whom is an official Death Eater before he’s even of age, and has learnt spells that my friends and I have never heard of.
Not to mention, Amaris is kind of rubbish at dueling. Don’t get me wrong, that girl is brilliant: she gets much higher scores in our classes than I do, but she’s a perfectionist. When you’re dueling, there’s no do-overs until you do it just right.
Pyxis gets worked up to easily, letting his hate for his opponents create an easy target of himself. All emotion, that boy. Still, Goyle didn’t need to hit him with a spell that viciously. We’re playing for practice and points, not body parts.
I’m probably the best out of the three of us, but most of my action has been fending off spells and a few rusty, if effective, Shield Charms. I really should have ditched my friends in favor of a better team, like a clever Slytherin would do.
“Duel resumes in five seconds,” Theo drawls from the sidelines. “Pyxis, if you’re out, then find a place to hide so Tor can work on defending her own ass, not yours.” Pyxis awkwardly rolls out of the way and into the spectators area, which is basically a bunch of beanbag chairs with a Shield Charm hovering between them and the duelers.
“Go Tor! Woooo! Yaxley! Yaxley!” Zelda calls. A few half-hearted cheers are sent out: most of them are too afraid of Malfoy’s new status.
I smile grimly at my cousin and resume my stance next to Amaris. Malfoy and Parkinson exchange triumphant looks, while Goyle appears to be attempting to catch my eye. I ignore him.
By some miracle, my non-verbal spell gets through and hits Goyle straight in the chest, causing him to rise up as if caught by a hook around his ankle. Distracted for a short second, Pansy is hit by my Expelliarmus. Malfoy scowls, taking a moment to Summon her wand and toss it back to her, all the while keeping up defending himself from the barrage of spells Amaris and I keep sending across the room.
Goyle’s back to gravity, and team Viper is angrier now. They resume slashing spells at us with even more force, and Amaris and I slowly find ourselves backed into a corner. The three points I’d earned for Disarming Goyle and Parkinson are quickly made up as a spell sends me flying backwards, and Amaris is hit by a Jelly-Legs curse and a Blindness curse at the same time.
I scramble to my feet and focus on projecting a shield between us and the Vipers while Amaris can right herself instead of grappling around dumbly. Malfoy smirks: he’s going in for the kill. Goyle hoots loudly. Parkinson bares her teeth. Amaris and I are their cornered playthings, but that won’t keep us from continuing to fight.
The curses are getting steadily nastier.
With shock, I block the Unforgivable Curse. I sense it rather than see it as it misses my best friend and I. Its impossible to identify which one of them cast it, but I know on whom to place my bet.
So, anything goes, eh? I think grimly, feeling some sense of decorum and honor snap. I take a moment to focus my thoughts on summer months, on the voice of my father coolly instructing me in his signature Curse. I can do this, I think. I’m certainly angry enough.
The curse creeps to him along the ground, clear, concise. It crawls in through his pores, settles in lovingly, and I feel a weight in my wand-arm, the burden of the puppet master. I can’t see his eyes, but they’ll be glazed and empty.
Together, my Goyle-puppet and I round on his teammates. He hits Pansy in the back with the Imperius curse, perfectly timed and executed by my mind channeled into his wand. Suddenly without backup, Draco Malfoy’s defenses slip.
“Petrificus Totalus!” My two puppets and I say in unison, wands flaring with three jets of red light which knock Malfoy on his backside, paralyzing him. I politely command my Slytherin-puppets to lie down on the floor of the Room of Requirement, and they lower into submissive postures of defeat. I look at Theo triumphantly. Maybe having them kneel to be was going a bit far.
“The Adders are the winners!” He says, nodding at me, but there’s unease behind his gaze. I try and catch the eyes of Pyxis, Amaris and Taurus, but they can’t seem to meet me. What’s the problem? We’ve won, haven’t we?
Amaris slowly puts her hand on my arm. “Tor, you can release them now,” she whispers.
With a wave of my wand I cut the strings binding Goyle and Parkinson to me, and quickly revive Malfoy. The three of them are dazed, tired, and suspicious. Pansy gives me a look of pure hatred. Malfoy’s face is one of humiliation and rage.
I’ve successfully cast my first Unforgivable Curse.
Pyxis asks if I want to do a kitchen raid with him instead of going back to the dorm, and I agree, knowing that he probably just wants to talk. If he really wanted food, he’d just Summon Selby the House Elf to fetch him some.
We walk in the opposite direction from the rest of the ASS. Pyxis waits until we’re out of earshot, then whirls on me.
“What the hell were you thinking, Tor?” he whispers furiously.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I won, and wasn’t the point of the exercise to win, Pyxis? After all, you weren’t much help.” This last is a low blow, and I feel bad immediately. “Okay, I’m sorry, that was rude. But you must have heard it, someone had cast the Cruciatus Curse!”
“Maybe so, but you shouldn’t stoop to their level. Are you trying to get on Draco Malfoy’s bad side, because sometimes it really feels like you are.”
This is one argument I refuse to lose. “I’m not trying to get on anyone’s bad side, I’m just trying to learn how to fight. If people are going to get upset about the methods I choose, then maybe they just shouldn’t bother dueling me.”
Pyxis’ hands are on my elbows, he’s staring at me earnestly as if to impart his wisdom into my brain.
“Astoria Greengrass-Yaxley. Can’t you imagine in that thick head of yours what would had happened if you’d Imperiused Malfoy instead of knocking him out? Honestly, I would be afraid for your life if you had.”
“You’re being an over-dramatic prick.”
“He’s a Death Eater!”
“So is my father, and he’s actually serving the Dark Lord, not rotting away in Azkaban like a useless lump!”
Pyxis recoils from me, stung. Once again I’ve said the wrong thing.
“Look, I’m sorry, Pyx. Your father isn’t useless: you know how much I care about him. It’s the Malfoys. They’re rotten to the bone and I don’t trust Draco as far as I could throw him. He may be a Death Eater, but he’ll never be one of the greats. He’s the lowest of the low, the Dark Lord’s lackey. There’s nothing he can do to me, and even if he did, my father would have his head on a spike.”
“We need to be more careful,” Pyxis says solemnly. “Its real now. I know why you did what you did, why you cast that curse. You had to win. But sometimes you can lose by winning, or win through losing. Any practice isn’t really going to make a difference when we’re out there, battling for our lives.”
“I won,” I remind him. “And I’ll keep winning.”
Pyxis sighs. I know he finds this role uncomfortable, playing the big brother. Whenever I have to tell him off, it feels funny too, since usually we’re happy to continue the playful relationship of our childhood. But maybe Pyxis is right, and things are fundamentally changing, preparing to test our characters and our resolve. My mind flashes back to Emma Turbine’s words of warning. Two people that you love will die, unless you can save one of them.
As Pyxis and I sneak back into the Slytherin Common Room, half an hour past curfew, we’re stopped by a horrible sight taking place on one of the couches.
Two figures are entwined, pale skin against dark, his fingers tumbled in her long brown hair. They’re kissing frantically, as if tonight is the last kiss they’ll ever have. I realize the girl is not wearing a shirt, and that this is something explicitly private that I was never meant to walk in on.
(Although, if that’s the case then why choose to hook up in the Common Room?)
The girl hears a noise behind her, and whirls around, breaking free of her embrace. Pyxis and I gasp collectively. Its my sister Daphne.
“Astoria, Pyxis, what the hell are you doing?” Daphne cries, quickly covering herself with a blanket. Beside her, the snogging partner looks haughtily down his nose at us, which is a hard thing to look dignified doing when your shirt’s unbuttoned. He pulls it off, though.
Before I can stop him, Pyxis Nott has stormed across the room and punched the rumpled Blaise Zabini right in the nose as Daphne and I watch in horror.
A/N: I just realized that this chapter turned out ridiculously long! Haha, ah well. Please review and let me know what you thought of Emma’s prediction about Tor, about Tor and Terry being together, and of the ASS duels! I’m going to be traveling for a couple weeks but I have a lot written and will do my best to keep updating, even if it’s a little slower. If you get bored, check out my one-shots ‘Derwent Demented’ and ‘Grizzled.’ Can’t wait to hear what you readers think!!!
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