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How not to be a Woodley by NH Stadler
Chapter 27 : Rumour Has It
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 15


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Rumour Has It

 

It hadn’t spread. Although, there was a certain buzz.

While I couldn’t be quite sure, I sometimes felt as though people were looking at me; and not in a normal, random kind of way. They were looking weirdly, as though they knew something they weren’t supposed to.

It didn’t happen all the time, but occasionally; like when I had walked into Transfiguration on Monday, two Gryffindors I had never spoken to in my life had sneaked a quick glance at me before lapsing into excited whispers. A few days later in the restroom on the second floor, a young girl had stared at my reflection in the mirror as I had been washing my hands, her face flushing red when she had realised that I had seen her.

It was only little things, but they were enough to make me feel on edge.

“Did you see that?” I hissed through gritted teeth, quickly turning away from the group of seventh year Ravenclaws that had just stretched in their seats at the other end of the table, glancing suspiciously into mine and Katie’s direction.

“That’s ridiculous, Seth.” Katie speared an exorbitantly large blueberry on her fork, waving it exasperatedly in front of her face. “Nobody is looking at you.”

I glared at her as she popped the blueberry into her mouth. Naturally, I had told Katie and Sam about these weird incidents as they kept happening. However, both of them seemed to think that I was just overly sensitive since the whole snogging-James-Potter-in-public-debacle. Katie was even convinced that I was simply trying to steer the topic away from James, so that I didn’t have to talk about him; or the fact that he had rejected me when I was lying half-naked in his bed, which, admittedly, I had refused to discuss so far. As much as Katie disagreed, in the spirit of leaving everything behind – most of all James Sirius Potter – I needed to not talk about it.

That didn’t change the fact, however, that somehow something must have seeped through and the tale of my utter humiliation by James Potter would soon be fuelling the Hogwarts gossip machine.

“There, they just did it again.” I let my spoon plop back into my coffee as I noticed the same group angling their heads to get a better view of us. It was so blatantly obvious that I wondered if they actually wanted me to notice.

“Honestly, you’re being paranoid. Believe me, nobody knows of-“

“Psht-“ I cut Katie off before she could finish her sentence, earning an irritated eye-roll.

 “No one knows, okay?” She insisted. “I asked Angela Kovak what’s up and she said ‘nothing’”

“Oh well, then.” I couldn’t help the sarcasm as I spoke. “If Angela Kovak says that nothing’s up-”

“The point is,” Katie insisted as her blue eyes found mine. “It hasn’t gotten out. Just be happy and – oh.”

“Oh what?” I turned my head automatically and instantly noticed the two girls at the Hufflepuff table who were obviously looking at me. As soon as they realised that they had been caught, they jumped and turned away again, huddling together to converse in excited whispers.

“Well, that was a weird coincidence,” Katie said quickly when she saw the alarmed expression on my face. “Relax, okay? Anxiety is bad for your skin.”

            I didn’t reply and continued to sip my cold coffee, trying hard to follow my best friend’s advice. I really wanted to believe that everything was okay and that I was simply overly alert and seeing things that weren’t there. But somehow I couldn’t shake off the uncanny feeling that something bad was about to happen.

 

 

***

 

The thick snowflakes fell heavy that day, laced with rain and weighed down to plummet from the sky ungracefully. As January slowly faded into February, the weather got more boisterous, changing the Hogwarts grounds from glittering white fields to a soggy brown mud landscape that made leaving the snug warm castle a proper ordeal. It was, thus, no surprise that the Ravenclaw common room was unusually crammed for a Saturday afternoon, making it impossible to find a quiet corner to study.

            “How is it going with Hector?” I asked Sam as we made our way through the clusters of tables and chairs, noticing that Hector Chang was – as usual – sitting with a group of Quidditch players, engrossed in deep conversation.

            “Well,” Sam sighed, obviously trying not to look at him as we passed by. “We’re kind of seeing each other but not in public.”

            “So nothing has changed?” I pushed open the common room door, glad to leave the hubbub behind for a moment. I still felt as though I was being watched and sitting amongst a massive cluster of people didn’t exactly help to calm me.

            “No, it’s different, I guess.” Sam frowned as though he was contemplating something. “I mean, it’s not like a huge secret, really. He’s just scared of what would happen if we – you know – made it official.”

            I looked sideways at Sam’s profile for a moment and couldn’t help feeling bad for having been so absorbed in my own life lately. All this drama that had seeped in had taken control of it, but slowly, now that James Potter had miraculously disappeared from my life, it was getting back to normal again.

            “Are you? Scared, I mean.”

            Sam smiled slightly as he pushed open the door to the library, holding it for me. “I don’t know. Not really. I guess it’s harder for Hector with Quidditch and everything. But if he needs time I’m okay with it. I’m just glad he’s still there.”

            We fell silent as we entered the extensive library, our last words still echoing from the vaulted ceiling. A couple of people who were grouped around the seating possibilities near the entrance looked up as they heard the door close, but – to my great relief – did not seem to be even remotely interested in us and quickly turned their attention back to their books and parchments.

            “Let’s try back there,” I whispered, immediately attracting the unwanted attention of Madame Pince, who perched behind the wooden counter across the library entrance. She looked as though she was ready to pounce if I opened my mouth again and so I simply grabbed the sleeve of Sam’s jumper and dragged him with me into the labyrinth of groaning book shelves.

            “Where did Katie and Tarquin go?” Sam asked as soon as we had brought a couple of shelves between the librarian and us, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

            “Well, I know that Quin was planning a picnic,” I said as we turned a corner and a large round-top window came into view. Usually it offered a sweeping vista of rolling hills and the Quidditch pitch in the distance; today, however, there was nothing but torrents of rain.

            “He probably has a plan B, though.”

            “Who wants to have a picnic in January anyway?” Sam mumbled, probably more to himself than to me, as we put our books down on the last free space next to a towering shelf full of dusty volumes which apparently hadn’t been picked up in over a century. The prime seats in front of the window had already been claimed by a group of girls who were poring over their grade four spell books.

            “Defence against the Dark Arts?” Sam sighed heavily as he held up a thick, purple book which looked as though someone had kicked it around the common room several times.

            “Go ahead,” I told him as I dived under the table to pull the largest and heaviest of my books out of my bag. “I have to finish my essay on poison distillation for Slughorn.”

            Sam watched me flip through the mouldy book for a moment, a sudden frown creasing his forehead. He looked as though he was fighting a bout of nausea which, even though the book smelled mildly of old socks, seemed out of place.

            “What is it?”

            “What?” Sam looked me as though I had just slapped him across the face. “Um – oh – nothing. I just – I thought how glad I am that I dropped Potions when I had the chance.”

“It’s not that bad,” I laughed, unfurling the scroll of parchment on which I had started my essay, scanning the last paragraph to remind myself where I had stopped last night.

            “Only out of interest-” Sam interrupted my train of thoughts, just when I had figured out how to pick up the essay. “How long does it take before potions turn bad? I mean, until they cannot be identified anymore.”

I looked up at him, frowning and he shifted in his seat uneasily, his eyes avoiding mine. Like most of the school, he was probably talking about Albus Potter. After Christmas, Albus had returned to Hogwarts, looking healthy and more like himself than ever with chaotic hair, normal clothes, and – if the rumours were true – newly single again. There was no trace of the terrible effect the mystery poison had had; unfortunately, however, the potion that had been responsible for his alarming collapse at Slughorn’s Christmas party had remained exactly that: A mystery.

It wasn’t official knowledge, of course, but among the prefects Slughorn’s failed attempts at identifying the remnants of poison in Albus’ blood had been discussed at length. The common opinion was that, if one of the most renowned potioneers of our time was unable to even name the potion that had almost permanently harmed a Hogwarts student at a teacher-supervised party, one could only hope that the perpetrator had not set their eyes on them next.

“Well, that depends,” I said, leaning in a little when one of the girls next to the window looked up from her book and casually turned her head towards the corner we were sitting in. “Some potions last for years, others only for a day or even an hour. It really comes down to the ingredients.”

Sam bit his lower lip as he contemplated my answer. Something about the way he behaved seemed off; his features were taut and his brow furrowed as he began to knead his hands in his lap. He still seemed to avoid my gaze and there I finally realised what was really going on.

“Sam,” I whispered, leaning across the table even further to ensure that no one would overhear. I grabbed his hands and he stopped fidgeting immediately. “You don’t have to worry about the Graviditas. Felicity took it. It’s gone. No one will ever find out. I promise.”

He finally looked up at me, the odd expression still on his face as he forced a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah. Right.” He swallowed, attempting another smile. “You’re right. Thanks Seth.”

“Sure.” I squeezed his clammy hands comfortingly and gave him what I hoped to be a reassuring smile before leaning back again to resume my Potions essay.

 

***

 

The hours slipped away as I moved through the homework assignments that had piled up during the week. By the time I had finished my Ancient Runes translation, the sun had set and my right hand was sore and weak.

“I can’t believe I’ve still got one to go,” I groaned, pulling a grimace at the piercing pain that flashed through my neck and shoulders as I sat up straight for the first time in two hours. Across from me, Sam’s head was drooping, his mouth hanging open as soft snoring noises accompanied his low and deep breathing.

“Really?” I laughed, bumping my foot against his shin underneath the table. “Hey sleepyhead!”

Sam grumbled in response, releasing a string of incoherent syllables before shifting his position to a more comfortable one, his eyes still closed firmly and his arms folded in front of his chest.

“Fine,” I sighed, supressing a yawn myself as I stretched my arms above my head, “I need a book from the Arithmancy section. Don’t go anywhere.”

Sam answered with another slurred grunt and I pushed myself up from the comfortable wingback chair, resolving to definitely wake him up when I came back. It looked like he had dozed off in the middle of his Astronomy homework, which featured a wonky sort of line-drawing that probably was supposed to be a stellar constellation, but which rather resembled a connect-the-dots colouring page.

 

The library had emptied considerably in the last couple of hours, but there were still a few people – mostly fifth and seventh years – occupying the many nooks and corners of the sprawling construction, bent low over books and parchments. There was a particular mood to the Hogwarts library at night, when the flickering flames of the countless candelabras were the only source of light, casting ever-changing patterns onto the bookshelves.

It was intriguing, yet slightly eerie, and I couldn’t help feeling uneasy as I ran my index finger across the backs of the ancient Arithmancy books, scanning them for the title I was looking for. It was strange, but as I stood there alone in front of the towering shelf, this feeling I had had all week – that I was being watched – suddenly intensified, making the fine hairs in my neck stand up.

I was relieved to finally find the volume I needed and quickly pulled the heavy book out of the shelf, eager to get back to Sam. However, just as I turned around to leave, there was a bang and I crashed – book-first – into something large and hard.

“Woah, Woodley,” someone called out and I felt two hands gripping my arms as I threatened to fall backwards against the shelf.

For a moment I simply stared at James, my heart still racing as I pressed the dusty old book to my chest as though I was expecting him to steal it. The truth was that I simply needed something to hold on to until my heart would stop trying to force itself through my ribcage.

Finally, after what felt like an awfully long minute, I managed to catch my breath. “Are you insane?”

James looked at me, his brown eyes almost black in the dim light as he took in my face; to say that the situation was strange would have been an understatement.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said after a moment of silence and I could feel the awkwardness between us creep back in like the foul smell of rotten doxy eggs. There was the boy who had seen me in nothing but my knickers. Worse than that, however, he was also the boy who reminded me of that insecure, weak version of myself that had done something so stupid in the first place.

“Well then you shouldn’t have crept up on my like a mad axe-murderer, should you,” I snapped in a hushed voice, forcing myself to withstand James’s gaze. The last time we had been this close to each other had been almost a month ago on the train back to school; an encounter which I would have gladly erased from my memory.

“Just out of interest, what exactly did you expect to happen in the school library?” James raised an eyebrow at me, looking annoyingly amused all of a sudden. Of course, there was no logical explanation for why I had been so jumpy. In my defence, however, I had spoken to a bodiless voice once who had insisted that someone was plotting against me.

“What are you even doing here?” I said briskly for lack of a better retort. I was, of course, referring to the perpetually forsaken Arithmancy section. James, however, deliberately misunderstood.

“It’s a library. What do you think I am doing here?”

“Oh I don’t know,” I said in mock-contemplation, “It can’t be studying so –“ I stopped abruptly, suddenly realising what I was actually implying. It felt not only awkward but also uncomfortable to talk about the possibility of James snogging some random girl in a dark corner when, only a couple of weeks ago, I had been that girl with the poor judgment.

James seemed to have picked up on the underlying insinuation of my statement; strangely enough, however, he didn’t retaliate as I would have expected him to, but simply kneaded his dark eyebrows.

“Oh, there you are!” A soft voice suddenly broke the silence, slicing through the awkwardness like a knife. As if on cue, a girl had appeared behind one of the shelves, taking a few tentative steps towards us before suddenly stopping dead in her tracks. “Oh – um – am I interrupting?”

It took me a second to realise what she was even talking about; only when her eyes travelled down to my shoulders, I understood: James’s hands were still resting on my arms, making it look as though we were tangled up in some weird half-hug.

“Um, no,” I said quickly, taking a step backwards just as James pulled back his arms, bringing a reasonable distance between us. For an excruciatingly long moment, no one said anything; I wasn’t even sure where to look until James finally cleared his throat.

“Um, Seth, this is Helen, she’s…,” he paused for a moment, giving me a strange look. “She’s helping me with Potions.”

I could feel a tiny pang somewhere in the pit of my stomach, but willed myself to retain what I hoped was an indifferent expression as James’s gaze lingered on my face. I had seen him look at me like this before; almost as though he was trying to solve a difficult Arithmancy problem.

“Helen, this is –“

“I know,” the girl said quickly, cutting James off midsentence. “I mean, Seth and I know each other,” she explained, giving me a small smile. “We’re both in Slughorn’s Advanced Potions club.”

            “Hi Helen,” I said awkwardly, although trying to force a smile as I briefly raised my hand to greet her. It had taken me a moment to identify the curvy brunette with the long, shiny braid and the flattering black skirt as Helen MacFarley, a seventh-year Hufflepuff who usually occupied the seat in front of me at the club’s monthly meetings. I had never seen her looking so dressed-up before, which was, of course, no surprise as we never actually hung out outside the confines of the Potions classroom.

“I just thought I’d see where you had gone,” she said to James, her pouty lips now curling into an adorable smile. “I saw you wandering off into the wrong section and thought you might have gotten lost.”

There was some sort of coy undertone to her voice; she flashed him another smile and I suddenly felt wildly out of place as I stood there in my loose jumper and the dusty old book wedged in between my arms and my chest. It somehow bothered me that Helen looked so put-together and smart while I had thrown on the first pair of jeans that had fallen out of my wardrobe this morning. The fact that I cared about this in the first place, however, bothered me even more.

I needed to get out of here. Now.

“Well, happy studying then,” I said in a lame attempt at cheerful nonchalance, which I regretted almost instantly as I noticed James’s deepening frown and the politely confused look on Helen’s face.

“I’ll -” I stopped talking abruptly as soon as I realised what I had wanted to say: ‘I’ll see you around’, which – and this hit me with a sudden force – wasn’t actually true. We wouldn’t be seeing each other around; there was simply no more reason to.

“Goodbye,” I said quickly, just as James had opened his mouth to say something and, ignoring the strange expression on his face, I pushed past him, leaving the Arithmancy section as fast as I could.

It was good that he had asked for someone else to tutor him; I kept telling myself so as I paced past overflowing bookshelves, barely paying attention to where exactly I was going. This probably saved us both hours of mortifying awkwardness.

Why then did my chest feel so tight and heavy?

            I stopped to catch my breath for a second, trying to breathe through the large lump that had lodged itself somewhere in the region of my sternum, but it only seemed to swell, pushing violently against my ribcage.

            My head spun and I leaned against the shelf behind me, feeling the sturdy saddles of the old books pressing against my spine as a few wet drops suddenly rolled down my cheeks, dripping from my chin and onto the book in my arms.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I whispered to myself as I quickly wiped away the tear streaks on my face, thankful that nobody was around to whiteness this pathetic display of weakness; no one would ever know that James Potter had made me cry.

 

***

 

            “You look-”

            “Radiant?” I interrupted Katie, flashing a big smile at her.

            “No.” She frowned. “Worrisome.”

            “Why thank you Kat,” I laughed, turning my attention back to the bewildered frog on my desk which, just seconds ago, had been a mouse. As it kept trying to hop off the desk, I couldn’t help wondering if it had always been that suicidal or if the transfiguration had triggered this particular need to jump to its death.

            “Please, talk to me?” Katie wailed under her breath, her eyes piercing my temple as though she was trying to see inside my head. “I can’t stand this any longer.”

            “I am fine,” I whispered as Professor Hockanum strolled past our table, looking pleased at the sight of the two healthy frogs that roamed around our desk. “There is nothing to talk about. Honestly.”

            “Sam said you were crying.”

            I didn’t look up at her but shifted in my chair uneasily. “I told you; I was just overly emotional – it was late and I was tired and overworked-”

            “Oh bollox!” Katie snapped, squeezing her frog so tightly that it issued a panicked squeal. I watched the newly created amphibian’s anxious struggle for freedom for a bit, not sure what else to say. Frankly, all I wanted was to finally forget about James Potter.

            “Maybe – maybe you should talk to him,” Katie said hopefully, loosening her grip on the writhing frog. Despite the growing scowl on my face, she continued unwaveringly. “Maybe it’s all just a big misunderstanding. I mean, maybe-“

            “Maybe we should just forget this whole thing ever happened and just move on.” I looked up at my best friend and, in the process, let go of my frog for the fraction of a second, which was enough for it to take a great leap of freedom and promptly fall off the desk with a pitiful squawk. “Honestly, Katie, I don’t want to talk about it – him – anymore, okay?”

            She looked at me with a fierce defiance glinting in her eyes and I was sure she was going to argue; after a second, however, her features softened. “I want you to be happy”

            “I know. I am. Really,” I assured her quickly. “Look, I was just embarrassed. This whole thing was excruciatingly humiliating and I guess it just kind of was a bit too much that day.” It was the truth; or at least so I had been telling myself ever since my inexplicable breakdown in the library last Saturday. The last couple of months had been more emotionally straining than the past five years at Hogwarts and it was time things went back to normal again.

            “Well, can we at least talk about who you’ll go to the Valentine’s Dance with?” Katie said after a while and I couldn’t help groaning as I shook my head.

Fortunately, I was saved the need to reply when suddenly there was a loud knock on the classroom door and the entire class turned around curiously, apparently in desperate need for a distraction.

“Yes!” Professor Hockanum boomed and the door opened with a creak, revealing a tall, blonde boy, who I thought I had seen on the Slytherin team before. A couple of girls giggled irritatingly, but he didn’t seem to even notice as he walked up to Hockanum’s table and handed him a neatly folded piece of parchment.

The Professor studied it for a moment before looking up again, a slight frown creasing his forehead. “Very well then. Miss Woodley-”

I jumped at the sound of my name, meeting Hockanum’s gaze with complete bewilderment. He looked unusually stern and a sudden uneasy feeling washed over me.

“You are to see the headmistress in her office. Without delay.”

“What? But why?” Katie’s voice rang out loudly before I could even so much as open my mouth. Her tone carried a definite note of indignation and a few people snickered at her boisterous reaction. Most of the class, however, was simply staring at me, some undeniably intrigued, others – so it seemed – with knowing looks on their faces.

“I’m afraid that is no concern of yours, Miss Banks,” Professor Hockanum sighed, albeit sounding quite resolutely as he did so. “Miss Woodley. The headmistress awaits you.”

 

***

 

My eyes travelled over the paintings that hung impressively behind the sturdy oak desk, but I barely registered the vaguely interested glances I received from their inhabitants. My heart was once again thumping against my chest and my hands felt clammy as I forced them to lie still in my lap. By now, my mind had conjured up the wildest theories of why I had been called into the headmistress’s office in the middle of class and none of them was good.

“Miss Woodley,” McGonagall finally addressed me after putting down the quill in her hand. Next to her pristine stationary stood a large tartan cookie jar, which somehow looked at odds with the otherwise functional items on her desk. “You are aware of what has happened to Albus Potter, I assume?”

I looked up at her, completely caught off guard. “I – um – no. Well, I mean, yes. I know something happened.”

“He was poisoned.”

I shifted in my seat involuntarily, hoping that the heat that was crawling up my face did not show on my cheeks. Of course I knew that Albus had been poisoned; everybody knew. That didn’t change the fact, however, that I wasn’t supposed to.

McGonagall studied me for an endless second, her eyes narrowing warily when she finally said: “You don’t look surprised.”

I sighed, realising that there was no point in pretending. After all, I had been a witness to part of the crime and it was quite understandable that I would be interrogated about what exactly had happened the night of Slughorn’s Christmas party. “I just – I heard rumours that it might have been that.”

McGonagall still looked rather stiff as she scrutinized me over the brim of her glasses. “I understand that Albus Potter and you have been,” she paused for a second, pressing her thin lips together, “- friendly before the incident.”

I blinked, too perplex to actually realise the implication of this statement. “We talked occasionally. Yes. But I don’t understand-”

“Apparently,” McGonagall continued before I even had the chance to finish my sentence, “there is a rumour going around school that it was you who poisoned him.”

What?” I jerked forwards, my fingers wrapping around the armrests of my chair as my head began to swim. “But-“

The headmistress held up her hand, silencing me once again before I could lounge into a ferocious speech for the defence. “Of course, I do not care about juvenile gossip and I usually abstain from indulging in such trivial diversions,” she sighed, sounding weary all of a sudden. “But this is about a student’s welfare.”

“I understand,” I said quickly, now gripping the armrests so fiercely that my knuckles turned white. “But I didn’t do it. I would never do such a thing!”

She gave me a long, appraising look and a soft muttering broke out around the room as the portraits began to discuss the question of my guilt among each other.

“I wouldn’t even have called you here if there had not been a witness who has come forth, linking you to the disappearance of dangerous ingredients from Professor Slughorn’s cabinet.”

            I could feel the muscles in my neck tighten, but I forced myself to sit still as my stomach began to twist.

This could not be happening.

“Caleria root and essence of Gravidas in combination are commonly used to brew a highly complicated potion to determine whether its taker is pregnant,” she gave me a stern look before adding, “which is – and I am sure you are aware of this as a Prefect – on the list of forbidden substances at Hogwarts.”

            It grew silent as McGonagall’s gaze continued to linger on me and I knew that I needed to say something. Anything.

I couldn’t tell her the truth; admitting to brewing the pregnancy potion would automatically link me to the poison attack on Albus. There was no way anyone was going to believe that I had had nothing to do with it. Even worse, the truth would not only get me into trouble but also incriminate Sam and Katie.

However, I also didn’t want to lie.

“I didn’t steal the ingredients,” I told her truthfully, withstanding her piercing gaze. “I never took anything from Professor Slughorn’s cabinet without permission.”

The door creaked and, as if he had been waiting outside for his name to be called, Slughorn entered the office, looking mildly curious as he caught sight of me.

“Horace,” McGonagall said in a tone that suggested she had been expecting the potions master. “You know Miss Woodley, I take it?”

“Of course,” Slughorn boomed in his usual ostentatious manner, giving me a bright smile. “She is my most talented student.”

McGonagall raised her eyebrows and I knew instantly that Slughorn had just unknowingly gotten me into even greater trouble. “Do you consider Miss Woodley capable of brewing advanced and potent potions such as Graviditas?”

At the sound of the potion’s name, realisation seemed to dawn on Slughorn’s face and his chubby cheeks lost some of their puce colour. “Well I-” He spluttered, looking quite helpless as his gaze wandered from McGonagall to me, “Minerva, I really don’t think that Miss Woodley would ever-”

“Is she capable, Horace?” McGonagall cut across his meagre attempt at backpedalling.

The two teachers looked at each other for a moment and, after an excruciatingly long pause in which Slughorn kept dabbing his sweaty forehead, he said meekly: “Yes. Yes, she is. But-”

McGonagall nodded, taking off her glasses as she turned back to me, her expression as unreadable as ever. “As I said, I disapprove of rumours. I have known you as an excellent student, Miss Woodley, but I also have to inform you that I will monitor this situation most closely from now on.”

“I – I understand,” I replied somewhat trance-like. None of this seemed real and I wondered vaguely if there was still a chance that this might be a bad dream.

“Very well. You may go.”

 

I couldn’t remember leaving the office nor descending the winding staircase. The way up to Ravenclaw tower was nothing but a confused blur as I paced along the corridor, bumping into slowly moving bodies left and right, all the while feeling a wave of nausea crawling up my throat. All these weird incidents; the whispers, strangers staring at me – it had had nothing to do with James Potter.

            It was me.

            People thought I was brewing illegal potions and – worst of all – they seemed to think that I had poisoned Albus Potter.

 

A/N:

DUN DUN DUN.

And thus the plot thickens.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter (which I made extra-long to make up for the lengthy wait) and I honestly can’t wait to hear what you think about it! I literally am addicted to your feedback and can’t tell you enough how much it means to me to read your notes, comments, reviews, suggestions, etc. Also, I’m always curious on your theories as to WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON ;) So leave me a comment, drop me a note, or, if you’re feeling extra fancy, I do enjoy poetry as well ;)

Love to you all – I hope you have a spectacular day, wherever you are. 


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