Night Terrors by Karaley Dargen
–And remember,†Professor Flitwick informs us for about the tenth time, –it’s two taps to the left, and one to the right.†He demonstrates the wand movement very slowly for all of us to see.
Something terrible must have happened with this Full Body Shield Charm in one of his classes, or he wouldn’t bother explaining it in all this detail. It doesn’t look that difficult really. It’s just a swirly thing in the air, and then you tap your wand twice on your left side and once on your right. Half an hour and a half-chocked Slytherin, two cracked Hufflepuff ribs, and a leg-locked Gryffindor later, I realise that I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’m lucky that I don’t even get the shield working at all -- at least mine isn’t squeezing me to death. It turns out that it’s really hard to get the size of it right, and unfortunately, most people that manage to produce a shield seem to be making it too small. Next to me, Martha has managed a sort of flickering cone around herself. I’m not sure it would really deflect anything, and it’s not exactly adapted to her body shape, but it’s a lot more than I have to show.
The only ones that really seem to have worked things out are, as Flitwick points out between sending two students to the hospital wing, the three Ravenclaw students in the class. I’m just glad Ida Bulstrode doesn’t take Charms -- I doubt I could stand the smug look on her face two days in a row. The Ravenclaw who seems to be doing best, Morgan, I don’t actually mind. He has a shimmering blue shield all around his body, just a couple of inches away from his skin, and I can see some of the remaining students throwing him unhappy looks.
Flitwick dismisses the rest of us who aren’t Ravenclaws or in the hospital wing, with instructions to practise on oranges and raw eggs over the weekend. That sounds like a bit of a waste of a good breakfast, but definitely safer than crushing ourselves.
–Fancy a trip to the kitchens tomorrow?†I ask Martha as we make our way to lunch.
–For the eggs?†She pulls her bag higher up on her shoulder.
–Yeah,†I say, shuffling through some people going the wrong way on the stairs. –And maybe some eclairs, y’know.â€
–Sure,†Martha replies. –Are you doing voluntary Herbology tomorrow?â€
I nod. –I still have to set up the poles for my Sopophorous Beans. But I’m free after.â€
None of the teams really believe in last minute practise anymore -- except maybe for Wood, the new Gryffindor captain. Our instructions will be the same as usual: have a calm day, healthy dinner, go to bed early. No big breakfast, but don’t skip either.
Considering that we haven’t won the Quidditch Cup in forever though, it might not really be the best advice after all.
After lunch, we have Transfiguration. I’m relieved to find that it’s a practical lesson, but that doesn’t turn out to be such a blessing in the end. We’re supposed to turn our tables into pigs and back again. The first step is fairly easy -- I manage soon enough, anyway. The room is soon filled with squealing tables and pigs on peg legs, and even the occasional pig with just a hint of wooden colouring left. Keeping them in one place long enough to turn them back again is sort of the actual problem. Pigs are some of the hardest animals to practise Transfiguration on. I don’t know if it’s because of their thick skin or because they’re fairly clever, or maybe they’re just really stubborn -- even if they used to be tables in the first place.
I’m half hanging on to my pig as it drags me through the room. I must look really stupid, but it’s not like anyone has enough time to notice. At least all this wrestling with pigs and throwing spells around gives me a chance to get close enough to Charlie for a quick chat. I don’t usually do that in Transfiguration, but McGonagall is too far away to notice right now, and I am really curious.
–Any news about Alex?†I ask as I throw an arm around my pig’s chest. It’s one of the more pig-like ones by the way.
Charlie’s pig is just sitting there, enjoying his calloused hand stroking over its neck. –Yeah.†For a moment, he just stares at his pig’s snout as he continues his rhythmic strokes. –She’s in the hospital wing,†he finally says, and there’s definitely some bitterness.
–Why?†I try to hold on to the middle of my pig with my leg and fall over. –What happened?â€
–Dunno,†he says. –Here, let me.†I don’t even know how he does it, but a moment later, my pig is sitting on the floor, sniffing at a chair and grunting happily. –They’re not letting anyone see her,†Charlie says as he returns to his own animal.
I frown. –That’s... weird. Do you know how long she’s been in there?â€
–Tuesday, maybe?â€
It really is weird. I can’t really think of a lot that would keep a person in the hospital wing for several days without them being transferred to St Mungo’s, and why wouldn’t they let anyone in to see her?
–Have you talked to McGonagall?†I ask.
–Mmmhm. She was the one who told me where Alex is,†Charlie says. –She was really brief about it though and made it clear that I wasn’t supposed to know any details.â€
Behind Charlie, there is a loud noise as a table squeals and then collapses on the floor, poorly supported by its short, stumpy pig legs.
–You could just try getting in anyway,†I suggest. –Madam Pomfrey might let you in with a sad enough story. Tell her she’s your girlfriend or something.â€
Charlie scowls at his pig some more.
–Oops -- she isn’t, is she?†I quickly add.
–Nah,†Charlie mumbles. –But I did try getting in to see her, and Pomfrey basically told me that I shouldn’t be back unless I had a set of broken bones to cure.â€
–Or else she’d give you some.†I stick out my tongue. –Bummer. But you’re not postponing?â€
–Don’t think so. Wood doesn’t seem to want to, anyway, and it’ll be good to give our alternates a chance to fly.â€
–Right, it’s not like this match matters much anyway,†I say. The Cup isn’t going to be either Gryffindor’s or Hufflepuff’s. We’re really just playing to have a good time. Were this a match against one of the other houses, the Gryffindor captain might have been more keen on playing with the core team.
–Don’t let McGonagall hear that,†Charlie whispers as the teacher walks dangerously close by.
–Weasley, Tonks,†she says when she sees us, –as much as I’m sure Professor Kettleburn appreciates your handling of these pigs, your task is to return them to their natural form.†She points towards the front of the room, where her desk-turned-pig-turned-desk stands as oaken and solid as ever.
Between us, we manage to turn one pig back into a slightly hairy desk with a curly tail by the end of the lesson. Next week, McGonagall informs, we’re going to start with conjuring spells. I’m half making plans for a mysterious illness, to be honest. Conjuring spells have the most complicated theory, because you’re forcing tiny bits that apparently float through the air to cling together and make a new thing. I can’t wrap my head around it at all. While everyone else is packing up, McGonagall relieves the rest of the supposed desks of their sudden animate forms, and returns the tables to their places. I wonder sometimes if she’s disappointed by our level of progress.
I only have one free period before our Quidditch practice, so I dump my stuff in our dormitory and head straight back down to the pitch. I don’t want to be late again -- our captain, Anthony Rickett, gets so nervous before matches anyway. He’s a beater, like me, though he has much stronger arms than I do. My strength lies more in quick flying, and I’m really good at hitting Bludgers. Ed says it’s because I always get into accidents -- he thinks that Bludgers can sense that and that’s why they all fly towards me.
–All right then,†Anthony says when we all have assembled and changed. –I just heard that Gryffindor is a Chaser short, which means they have to bring in a reserve.â€
–Who, Alicia Spinnet?†Tamsin, one of our own Chasers, sits up on the bench. –But she’s only in second year.â€
For a fraction of a second, a smile flashes over Anthony’s lips. –That’s right. This means that two of the Gryffindor’s Chasers as well as their Beaters are second years. We already know that they are all strong flyers, no matter their experience. But this does give us a very clear advantage. We’ve been playing together for over a year, some of us for longer. They won’t have the same team dynamic.â€
–Shouldn’t we postpone the match?†Sola, our Seeker, asks. –It does seem a bit unfair, if they’re playing with more than half a team of second years.â€
–It’s their decision,†I say. –If they wanted to postpone, they could have done it. They know we wouldn’t have objected.â€
There’s some murmuring, but we seem to agree in general. Postponing the match isn’t our decision, and we’re still going to play fair.
–I see no reason why we shouldn’t make the best of an advantage if it’s handed to us like that,†Anthony says. –Does anyone oppose?†When no one disagrees with him, he goes on, –I know that we haven’t been playing for the cup. But even if we might not end up winning in the long run, it doesn’t mean that we can’t win one match. Personally, I think I’d like being a winner, even for just one day.â€
–Hear, hear!†I call, and the others join in clapping.
The great thing about this little speech is that during practice, everyone flies with a completely different sort of energy. Our Chasers in particular, Ed, Tamsin, and Malcolm, pull off some incredible moves, and they all seem to know what the others are planning to do before it happens. Though Herbert Fleet, our Keeper, is doing excellent work, even he can't catch all the Quaffles. Anthony and I hit every ball that the others throw our way, and Sola catches ten golf balls in one spectacular dive.
The really bad thing about this is that it is bloody exhausting. By the time we have showered and returned to the Den, all I can do is fall down on my bed and close my eyes. As I dig my fingers into my patchwork quilt, I can't help but smile. Yes, every bone in my body hurts and I can't move a muscle right now. But I also know that for the first time in a while, we have a real shot at winning a match. We could be heroes in Hufflepuff for a day.
Someone must have come in after me, because when I am jolted awake by my leg jerking, I’m tucked in under my blanket, and the curtains around my bed are pulled. I quickly throw the blanket off and sit up. My face is moist with sweat, and my pulse is racing. Images from the weird dream I just had keep flashing across my eyes; a withering tree, a tall man in ragged looking clothes, a dark lake... But I can't really remember anything, and the harder I try to make sense of it, the faster it slips away. I'm not actually sure that it was a nightmare - it was just really confusing. Pulling my curtains aside, I get up from my bed. The other girls, Jenna, Martha, and Helen, are all still in deep sleep, judging by the sounds of their breathing. I walk over to the small table by the wall and pour myself a glass of water. The earthy smell of the room and the soft gleam of the copper lamp by the door are as warming and relaxing as ever, and I find myself calming down easily. I look up out of the round window. It's half covered by grass and flower roots, but the bit of the sky I can see above the ground is slowly brightening. I stay for a bit as I drink my water, watching as a couple of flowers right in front of our window open up their petals. After a while, when the first birds start singing, I feel drowsy enough again to go back to sleep for another hour or two.
If I dream of gaunt figures or old trees again, I don't remember it in the morning.
Chapter Endnotes: Everybody loves reviews! Me especially.