721TWENTY EIGHT - Pink in Motion
A soft breeze blew through the open window of Fleur's bedroom, rustling Harry's hair as he leaned against the windowsill brooding. He closed his eyes when he tasted the fresh Scottish highland air, mentally stroking the bark of trees and wet grass.
'High Inquisitor'
That was the position Umbridge had been appointed to. The bigoted woman and Fudge had dove deeply into the bylaws to find whatever loophole possible to equip her with more power. If only they were as tenacious in doing what actually needs to be done.
He sighed and turned his head to glance behind him at Hermione who was laying on the comfortable sofa and reading a book, under the warm orange light of the waning sun. Its glow made her caramel-brown hair appear fiery. It was a peaceful quiet, save for the turning of the occasional page in her book and Fleur's soft melodic hum coming from the en-suite bathroom through the gap of the door that stood ajar.
Hermione made an odd noise between a groan and a moan, something that espoused the onset of mild frustration. His curiosity piqued, Harry abandoned his contemplative mood and moved over to her where he carefully leaned down and peeked over her shoulder to see what exactly it was that troubled her.
"Ancient Runes," he said aloud, noting the symbols on the paper.
"Mhm," hummed Hermione, still with that troubled tone.
He kissed the top of her temple, smelling the scent of rosemary and mint. He wrapped an arm around her comfortingly and felt the tension leave her. She removed a hand from one side of the book and placed it on his arm, giving it a loving squeeze and smiled softly.
"You love ancient runes."
"I do," she agreed with a light huff to her exhale. "Still, I can't make heads or tails of this. There's no structure to it whatsoever."
"Explain it to me." Harry went around, and Hermione sat up to let him join her on the couch. He listened attentively, prodding her to elaborate at key points. It was a study method that worked wonders for them, essentially forcing them to step back and evaluate the problem as a whole.
It was several minutes later when the clink of a mug on a saucer had the both of them look up.
Fleurwas sitting across from them on the remaining single-seater couch in a bathrobe, with her bare legs tucked beneath her and a cup of hot cocoa in her hands.
"You're getting better at that," praised Harry, impressed, noting the trick she'd been taught by Flamel.
Fleur allowed a small smile to pull on the corners of her lips, she loved it when he spoke French. "I wish I discovered this sooner. But perhaps it is better so, it wouldn't be good to move through life invisible."
Hermione agreed silently, remembering how she had as a child in primary school been invisible to her classmates, as they had formed groups and rushed out for the playground.
Without so much as a glance her way… She had felt invisible then.
The memories tasted bitter and she shrank in on herself, unknowingly snuggling closer into Harry, stopping herself from falling down the rabbit hole of the past.
Fleur adjusted her seating and moved a hair out of her face. It was still damp since she never used charms to dry her hair, insisting that doing it naturally was far better.
"Your first lesson, how was it?" asked Harry, it was their first real opportunity to speak that day. Instead of the proud gleam he'd expected, her expression was more thoughtful.
"How did it go?" he pressed, the tone in his voice drew Hermione's attention.
"It was strange," said Fleur with a sip of her tea to wet her throat. She made herself more comfortable before recanting the events of her lesson with the first years.
…
"Professor Umbridge," greeted a surprised Professor Flitwick from behind his desk. Fleur stopped mid-sentence with a conjured hummingbird flying around her and joined the class in staring at their intruder quietly, with a few of them shrinking in on themselves when the woman looked their way.
"Filius," replied Umbridge with fake pleasantry. Her use of his first name highlighted her lack of respect for him.
She had a clipboard in her hands and without request took one of the open chairs and sat down primly.
"Please, continue. I am merely here to observe."
Fleur gave one glance to Professor Flitwick, who nodded, albeit with a stony expression. She turned to the class, trying to ignore the monstrosity in pink who stared hard at her while holding her clipboard and readying her quill.
"As I was saying, zhe colour changing charm, as well as zhe charms for growing and shrinking an object are—"
*Umbridge scribbled furiously*
"—examples," Fleur raised her voice, "of charms which cross zhe line into transfiguration."
A student raised their hand, the blue Ravenclaw tie lifted into her face as she did, causing her to splutter and quickly correct herself. Red with embarrassment, she held up her hand.
"Oui, miss…" Fleur still struggled with all of their names.
"Benson, Sarah Benson, Ma— Miss Delacour," she quickly corrected herself.
Umbridge looked at the young girl derisively from her spot, likely because of the muggle surname.
Fleur smiled kindly at the girl. "Oui, Miss Benson. You 'ave a question?"
"Oui—yes," the girl blushed again. Fleur's linguistic habits were rubbing off on them. "Do all charms which affect the physical properties of an item also fall under transfiguration?"
Professor Flitwick was visibly impressed by her question but left it to Fleur to answer.
"Non," Fleur shook her head, flicking her wand to summon an ink pot from a nearby cabinet. She held it flat on her hand and with a bit of elegant swishing, cast two spells on the small glass container. The first visibly increased its size, and the second showed no clear change.
"Dange—s use of mag— Teaching classes— French…" mumbled Umbridge, scribbling away.
Fleur tried to ignore her but couldn't and fixed her attention on the student who'd asked the question and dropped the ink pot. The class startled slightly, bracing for the sound of shattered glass that never came. Instead, it hit the ground hard and bounced three excruciating times before it lay still, not gaining so much as a scratch.
While the students looked on in bewilderment at the inkpot, incessant scratching of Umbridge's ill-tempered quill continued without pause.
"I see you all 'ave already begun trying to decipher what happened. I want 'alf a parchment answering Miss Benson's question. My demonstration is your hint." It was an easy assignment, but they were first years.
Professor Flitwick perked up. "And bonus points for any examples," he added.
…
"And that's how zhe rest of the lesson went," explained Fleur moving over to squeeze with them on the big couch, grabbing a biscuit midway. "Every few minutes, zhat cochon would whisper somezhing, and then add more to 'er notes."
Hermione adjusted herself and laid down with her head on Fleur's lap, glancing up to look between them. "You don't think her 'evaluation' will come to anything?" She asked Fleur. "It isn't as if you could be fired, you're not really a member of the staff, after all."
It was Harry who answered her. "Firing Fleur isn't her goal. She wants Dumbledore discredited, and if she can't target his reputation directly, she'll nitpick her way through his staff. It doesn't matter if Fleur's official or not, she's in the castle, and she's teaching students. It's enough to lay the blame."
He paused and furrowed his brow as he stared into the fireplace, brooding once anew. With winter approaching, it was getting colder, so Fleur had a small fire going. "I reckon she'll go after the other staff members as well. I'm surprised that she's left me well enough alone."
The next day, Harry discovered he'd spoken too soon.
As the clock struck twelve, the class ended. In the bustle of students packing their books into their bags and sliding chairs, a bright ball of pink in between the departing black robes approached Harry.
"Please join me in my office, Mr. Potter," Umbridge said in her sickly sweet voice. She was suspiciously respectful in the way she addressed him.
What's worse, she'd caught him off guard and with a free period next, he couldn't refuse her invitation, not without good reason. Umbridge was still an authority figure, and he was a student. The rest of the students had just filed out, except for Hermione who remained at his side and Ron who had paused at the door, one step out already.
"It won't be long," assured the new High Inquisitor. Her tone was polite and proper. She glanced at Ron and Hermione, keeping her demeanour from changing.
Hermione hesitated with the desire to stay with him but he patted her arm and let her know it was alright.
She nodded, albeit reluctantly. "I'll wait outside, then."
Stone-faced, Umbridge watched the exchange without care and gestured for him to follow her into her office once Hermione stepped outside and closed the door behind her.
"Tea," she offered sweetly as soon as he'd crossed the threshold.
He didn't respond to her offer, too caught off guard by the choice of decor. His eyes travelled along the walls of the office, overwhelmed by the sheer number of china with images of kittens printed on them. They were magical, moving and silently meowing. He never thought he'd ever consider anyone more prone to kitsch than Petunia. Umbridge had her beat.
The rest of the room was filled with pink frills and more ghastly porcelain china amongst other pointless knickknacks in the cabinets and on the shelves. It felt like Madam Puddifoots, only far more garish.
"Would you like some tea?" repeated Umbridge, taking a seat at her desk.
His gaze drew away from her choice of interior design and quickly declined her offer with a shake of his head, "I'm alright, thank you." A levitating teapot was already pouring two cups, one of which floated over and placed itself in front of him despite his refusal. He ignored it, and waited as Umbridge dropped one, two, three… five cubes of sugar into her cup.
Once again he couldn't help himself and raise a mental image of Aunt Petunia who would be outraged at anyone destroying a cup of tea with that much sugar.
"So, Harry— you don't mind that I call you Harry? Do you?" began Umbridge, taking a sip and placing her teacup down with a clink.
"I don't mind, Professor." He kept his tone even and respectful.
"How are you finding my class? I trust you're coping. Bright young man as yourself."
"I'll admit the lack of practical work has been disappointing, but I've certainly raised my impression on our Ministry's— our aurors' capabilities," he clarified. "I'd never expected them to be as efficient and ready to respond."
"Cornelius has always kept the safety of the public at the forefront of policy." She had a proud smile, one that was used to soaking up brown-nosing.
'Bollocks,' thought Harry. He was aware of the continued budget cuts the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has undertaken throughout Fudge's term. It was a miracle it functioned at all as understaffed, under-equipped, and underfunded as it was.
"I certainly feel safer," he lied with a straight face.
Umbridge took another sip of her tea, which only served to draw attention to Harry's untouched cup. Soft wisps of steam floated up from it. A moment of silence passed before the woman broached the real reason for their meeting.
"Are you interested in doing your part in protecting that safety?"
Harry leaned back in his chair but kept his eyes on Umbridge's own. She reminded him of Marge. Vernon's sister, the dog breeder, never missed a moment to capitalise on any weakness shown. He wasn't that little boy who was afraid of her dogs anymore.
"Myself? I'm only a student," he replied confused, playing the role of an innocent, naive lamb perfectly.
Umbridge took another sip. "I am sure you are aware of the rather dangerous claims made in recent months by Albus Dumbledore?"
"Voldemort."
Umbridge flinched and for a brief moment, he thought he saw fury in her eyes.
"The Dark Lord's name—" she pursed her lips and shook her head as a shiver ran through her.
"The ministry would like for you to clarify the events at the end of the third task."
They meant, lie. The idea wasn't illogical, in fact it was sensible. If he changed his story, at least some of the veracity of Professor Dumbledore's statements would be pulled into question. At the very least, it would be seen as him distancing himself from Dumbledore. Some might even see it as a rift.
"I don't know," said Harry, feigning caution. "I've already spoken to the aurors…"
"Oh—" she suddenly caught herself, "let me rephrase it, you won't have to speak publicly or do an interview of any sort." She slid open a wooden drawer, its hinge scraping noisily.
"All you need to do is sign this." She placed a sheet of parchment between them, along with a quill, one Harry narrowed his eyes at. He recognized a blood quill for what it was.
Harry picked up the parchment and understood. It was a statement, one prepared for the press in advance. 'Clever,' he thought. Any reference to rituals or Voldemort had been removed, or simply rephrased to make it seem as if his captors were nothing more than deranged madmen.
At the bottom, he read a familiar name. In red script, which Harry knew to be blood.
Cedric Diggory
Umbridge tracked his gaze to the name. "Mr. Diggory understands the importance of a strong, stable Ministry. The Diggorys have always been fine, upstanding members of society."
'Not mentioning his father's employment at the ministry being of any consequence, surely,' thought Harry sarcastically.
He picked up the blood quill and inspected it, before making a show of looking at the desk. "You haven't given me any ink," he observed, feigning ignorance.
"You won't need any," she said, a touch pressingly.
"Hmph," he hummed curiously and shrugged, placing the parchment on the desk and leaning over it with the quill in his hand. He pretended to read through it again and could feel Umbridge silently urging him to hurry up and sign it.
A slight wisp of vapour blew off his untouched cup of tea. It was still hot, likely a result of enchantments on the tea cups. It gave him an idea.
He touched the blood quill to the parchment and began a stroke when he made an exaggerated wince and knocked over the cup of tea, spilling the piping hot liquid all over the parchment. He stood quickly as if he was burned, skidding his chair and banging against the desk. He did that on purpose, to knock over Umbridge's cup as well, which was still more than half full.
The cup tipped over towards her, and spilled the tea into her lap. She yelped and stood up, patting at her skirt frantically.
"Shit—" he cursed, in the sudden chaos, and grabbed the soaked parchment. "I'll fix it!" he flicked his hand, drawing his wand into his hand from his holster in one smooth, practised movement.
"No!" Umbridge yelled in horror.
All the writing on the parchment vanished along with the tea stains. Harry had overpowered the cleaning charm and cleaned the ink and blood as well.
"You harebrained fool!" she screamed at him furiously.
"I'm sor—" he held his hands up. One of which still held his wand, and the other the ruined parchment. Despite appearances, he was ready in case she tried anything.
She didn't, she just grabbed the parchment from him and fumed as she confirmed that it was indeed blank, worthless.
"Out," she snapped coldly.
"Professor—"
"Out! Get out!"
Harry didn't need her to tell him again. He left her office and grinned once the heavy lock on her door had clicked shut.
Hermione was waiting outside the classroom, hugging her book-bag to her chest and clearly worried. She let out a huge breath of relief when he exited the class. He kissed her to relax her and she fell in beside him as they walked.
"Would you believe she wanted me to sign a statement regarding the night of the third task?" he asked, with terse outrage.
After a pause, Hermione answered. "It makes sense, really. It's the simplest way to discredit Professor Dumbledore, and it would give the public the impression that you're siding with the Ministry. It shows how she underestimates you. Honestly," she scoffed. "As if you'd sign something like that…"
Harry remained quiet and pretended to appear distracted by their surroundings and the numerous paintings lining the halls. It gave off a suspicious aura.
"Wait," Hermione stopped in her tracks, eyes wide in shock. "You wouldn't, right?"
He pretended he didn't hear her, suppressing a grin.
"Tell me, you didn't!" She stepped into his personal space, her face a breath away from his own as she looked up into his eyes.
"I didn't," he chuckled and lifted her chin to kiss her. She returned the kiss reflexively but quickly pulled back.
"Then what gives? Why are you acting so suspicious?" she pressed.
He grinned mirthfully. "I may or may not have ruined the parchment."
"—What?" She gaped, and he recounted the events in Umbridge's office. When he reached the part wherein he wiped the entire parchment clean, Hermione couldn't help herself. She laughed.
"The Sorting Hat really should have put you in Slytherin," she replied, exasperated. "You know she'll have him sign it again?"
"I do, but on top of the inconvenience, she'll come across as incompetent."
Hours later when they'd joined Fleur, their girlfriend had found his actions just as amusing as Hermione had.
Harry ducked under a bolt of orange light, his wand already in motion to shield the follow-up stinging hex. It crashed against it with enough force that his arm rebounded uncomfortably at the impact before it dissipated. Harry paled, that much power in a stinging hex would have left him looking like he'd kicked a beehive.
Fleur smirked and he thanked his continuous efforts to improve himself because her next spell shattered his shield entirely, silver sparks flying in all directions sending him hurtling backwards and into the wall. It was a good thing they'd had the presence of mind to layer cushioning charms on the walls and floors. Still, the impact had hurt.
In spite of the pain, he landed on his feet with his wand gripped tightly and barely avoided an incoming disarming charm by the skin of his teeth. He met Fleur's eyes, matching the challenge in them with his own as he raised his wand in front of his mouth and breathed in quickly and deeply, the words of one of Dumbledore's spells held in his mind.
'Ventus Spirare!'
And he blew.
Fleur barely managed to duck low and raise her shield against the gale enveloping her, noticing with each second that she could not hold on for very long before she'd be blown off her feet. Yet, she held on, willing herself to hold on longer, voicing her determination with shouts. He couldn't use such a powerful spell for long and therefore, this standoff was bound to end sooner rather than later. It was a battle of wills and vigour. She was sure she would not be the one to give in first.
The wind indeed began to die down, and Fleur quickly adjusted her posture to act first. It was all about who recovered the quickest and she knew she couldn't give Harry a chance to catch his breath. Barely able to stand up, exhausted to the point of seeing stars, Fleur went for it.
"Stupefy!"
The spell barely missed him. She expected as much, when she saw how he rolled his body and avoided the spell crashing into a dummy behind him. Her hand adjusted for a second spell aiming at where he'd come to a stop but when she waited for the best moment to cast her spell, she found his body continuing to roll. Too late to account for his next move, if one could even call it a move, really.
Harry had cleverly used his body roll to lure her into a mistake, using his body's momentum to continue his defensive move from a roll into a fall. No matter how skilled and fit Fleur was at that moment, her wand arm would not be quick enough to adjust to this. She felt her legs pulled out from beneath her, flipping the world on its head as she found herself dangling in midair.
His trick worked but he didn't stop there, she was too good for him to assume being upside down would incapacitate her.
"Expelliarmus!" He vocalised his spell for the first time in their duel. Her wand was flung out of her hand, leaving her fingers tingling.
"Merde…" she cursed with a huff and a squirm.
"Quite", he agreed, huffing heavily, bending down to lean on his thighs.
When he felt he'd recovered enough energy, he walked over to where it may have landed, collected her wand and returned to her, exhausted but not incapable of an amused smirk.
"Alright there, Harry?" Ron called out. He was right to do so, Fleur had gotten in a few pretty nasty hits. He had a sprained ankle and shoulder that was no doubt already bruised over. In contrast, Fleur had managed to come out relatively unscathed from this bout.
"Nothing I can't handle!" He yelled back, sipping from a bottle of water and letting out a breath of refreshment.
"You'd best hope so!" Hermione laughed. "Madam Pomfrey will have your hide otherwise! What did she say the last time?"
"You're supposed to mendin' people, not sitting here in need of mending!"
Hermione giggled, recalling how the hospital wing matron had torn into Harry.
Throughout their exchange, Fleur had remained suspended upside down. With her arms crossed and a single index finger tapping on her arm impatiently, she glared at Harry when he reached her.
"Let me down."
He leaned in until he was close enough that his breath ghosted over her lips. "What do we say?" He kissed her.
Fleur was surprised for a moment before she kissed him back, and let out a seductive moan when he deepened it, slipping his tongue in her mouth. It was a novel experience, kissing someone upside down.
"Fils de put," she giggled.
"Ah-ah, try again." He kissed her again.
"Get a room!" Ron yelled.
They laughed softly and separated. Harry's lips curled in a mischievous grin, one that Fleur knew meant trouble. She caught on a second too late and her eyes widened when he gave an elaborate swish of his wand.
She yelped and hit the ground, unharmed on account of their cushioning charm. Unless a bruised ego and dishevelled hair counted as harm.
Sometimes, Fleur was too competitive for her own good. She blew a strand of hair out of her mouth and raised her—empty hand…
Harry snickered and held up her wand which he still had. He casually glanced away at Hermione as Fleur's suppressed scream of frustration came to his ears. It was the sweet sound of victory.
"Are we done for to—" His question to Hermione was cut off by something hitting his chest. It didn't hurt but surprised him more. He looked down and blinked at a... shoe?
He traced it to its source and found Fleur feigning innocence, pretending to be enamoured by the ceiling as she sat there, with one shoe short, exposing her pink, definitely a gift from Gabrielle because no chance would she buy these polka dots with cupid socks.
"Harry wins again," said Hermione, flicking her wand at a chalkboard. A piece of chalk levitated and drew a line under his name.
"Harry's leading by one win" commented Ron, rubbing his arm where Hermione had accidentally dislocated it when they'd duelled.
"I don't get it," said Fay, "how's he this good?"
"Harry's always been great at this sort of thing," shrugged Ron. "It's quite scary, really."
"You're all shcary," mumbled Neville from the floor between them all. He'd been hit with a numbing hex that took its sweet time to wear off.
Fay looked past Ron at Hermione. "Thanks again for inviting me, I appreciate it. Defence has never been my strongest suit."
"You're very welcome."
Ron looked at the clock hanging on the wall and was about to call Harry and Fleur but it was unneeded. The pair were already approaching, Fleur with both shoes on once more and a smug expression while Harry had been subjected to a makeover with ginger, curly hair.
Hermione coughed into her hand to cover a laugh.
Ron openly snickered, "Classy, Harry."
"I think it suits him," teased Fay. "Very Weasley-esque."
"Percy's moved out, reckon I could take his room," joked Harry, accepting his robes from Hermione.
His comment was met with amusement. "I bet Mum would gift it to you."
Hermione took out her wand and tried to fix his hair. Her attempt did nothing, which surprised her, as well as Fay who watched.
"Zhat reminds me," cut in Fleur, splitting her attention from Hermione's attempts to dispel her charmwork. "Is it true zhat your home 'as un goule?"
"Ghoul?" Ron translated.
"Oui," Fleur confirmed while flicking her wand at Harry's hair, restoring it to its usual messy black. "I'll show you later," she said to Hermione whose mouth was already half open and ready to ask.
Fay answered instead of Ron. "There is a ghoul, I could have sworn it was singing when I visited."
"Singing?" blinked Harry. "Are you sure? It only ever groaned and banged things around when I stayed at the Burrow."
Ron shrugged. "Could have been Percy. Sound's about the same."
"Why not get rid of it?" asked Fleur, curiously.
"Get rid of Percy? Trust me, we've tried. Fred and George once planned to turn him into a rabbit and sell him to one of them muggle stores."
"Non," deadpanned Fleur, though her lips were curled upwards. "The ghoul."
"Don't know, really. It's been there as long as I can remember— doesn't really bother much besides the occasional racket. It's the gnomes that are the real menace."
"Hm," Fleur hummed in agreement. "Ma mère hates zhem."
Hermione bit her lip in thought. "Is there really no way to keep them out— wards, perhaps?"
Ron shook his head."They always find a way inside. Drove Bill mental, it did."
"He tried to ward the property?" asked Hermione, standing as Fleur finished tidying herself.
"Was proud of himself too," grinned Ron, amusing himself at the memory. "Told Mum it was all sorted. She'd have a gnome-free garden but then the next morning when she opened the door for a bit of fresh air, there were a bunch of the little blighters waddlin' around the porch."
Harry chuckled at the mental image before nudging the prone boy on the floor. "Alright down there, Nev?"
"Been bether," he lisped, the numbness still affecting his tongue. He picked himself up from the floor, only slightly wobbly. "We dthone for thodthay?"
Harry looked to Fleur and Hermione, the latter holding up Dumbledore's book. "There's still one more spell that I want to try."
"You do that," said Ron, stretching. "I'm hungry."
Fay nodded in agreement with Ron. "We'll head down for dinner."
…
It was a good hour later before Harry, Fleur and Hermione were finished. It was a bit late, but if they hurried, they could still get down to the great hall for a quick bite to eat.
As he always did before leaving the Room of Requirement, Harry checked the Marauders Map to make sure the coast was clear.
"What the—?"
In a broom closet on the third floor, was Abigail Clemons, pacing back and forth while a group of Slytherin students walked away. Malfoy and his usual entourage among others. Despite them leaving, Abigail was still not coming out of the broom closet.
"What is it, Harry?" asked Hermione.
"Nothing good," he answered, moving for the staircase and showing them the map. They kept pace with him, confusedly at first until they saw what he had seen.
Thankfully they weren't too far away, and by using shortcuts, they were able to reach their destination quickly. Harry almost wished they crossed paths with Draco's group, but knew Abigail came first
Harry tried the handle of the broom closet. Locked. He should have figured as much.
"Alohamora," cast Hermione, not waiting for him to get his wand out.
As soon as the door opened, light filled the dark broom closet. A tear-stricken Abigail Clemons could be seen sitting against the back wall with her arms around her legs. She had a busted lip which was swollen and bleeding, but otherwise appeared unharmed.
"I was afraid nobody would find me," she choked out in a voice filled with relief as Fleur led her out, fussing over her in the process.
"Qu'est-ce qu'ils ont fait ?" asked Fleur, realising her language mistake afterwards.
Hermione translated before she could correct herself. "What happened?"
Harry drew his wand and crouched down.
"It's alright," he reassured Abigail. "I'm just going to fix this."
She relaxed and let him inspect the cut on her lip. He could tell that it wasn't anything serious, but what bothered him was that it appeared physically inflicted, and not the result of a jinx or curse. They waited patiently for Harry to heal it before pressing Abigail for details.
Since it wasn't a curse wound, it was simple to treat. One whispered Episkey and the small cut sealed itself without a single mark.
"Good as new," said Harry, kindly.
Fleur was about to use her sleeve to wipe the bit of blood still left on her chin, but was stopped by Hermione, who conjured a cloth and wet it for her.
"Merci, mon ange," she thanked warmly, feeling silly for not conjuring one herself.
That's when Hermione noticed that Abigail was holding onto something that looked like a piece of wood.
"—Is that?"
Abigail's face became one of barely constrained grief as she was reminded. She opened her hand and showed them her wand. Snapped in two. "It broke when he pushed me."
"When who pushed you?" Harry asked firmly, wanting to know which of the Slytherin's had done it.
He had the same tone in his voice as a parent often did at times like these. It was a way of asking questions that was both a demand and a reassurance. Abigail could feel his anger on her behalf and felt comforted by it.
"Goyle," answered Abigail. "I overheard them talking about you know who, they were happy—"Abigail's lip quivered out of both heartache and anger. She was trying to keep her emotions bottled up, and failing.
Fleur pulled the young girl into her arms and held her tightly as her tears flowed anew. "Dumbled—ore told me. You know who wanted something from my mum and killed her! They were h—appy…"
"He killed her," she repeated softly. "I yelled at them. It was stupid, but I— I was so angry. They just laughed— said my mum was just a— a filthy halfblood. I wanted to curse them, but I was too slow. Goyle grabbed my arm, and then pushed me in there."
Harry was furious, Abigail had suffered the kind of loss nobody should, especially at her age, and to think that someone might be bullying her on top of it. He was seeing red.
"I felt my wand br—break when I hit the ground."
"We should let Professor McGonagall know, they won't get away with this," said Hermione with cold promise.
"What's going to happen with my wand?" Abigail held the two pieces gently. A wand was more than just a stick for waving around. There was a connection, losing it left a witch or wizard feeling vulnerable and lost.
Harry closed her hand around the pieces. "I'm sure Professor McGonagall won't mind a trip to Diagon Alley for a replacement. She might not let us go—" he pointed at himself and Hermione, "—But Fleur's allowed to leave the castle."
Abigail looked hopefully at Fleur.
"Oui, first zhing tomorrow morning. For now we must speak wizh Madame McGonagall."
END CHAPTER 28
29, 30 available at / Office_Sloth If you want to read ahead. Thank you!