Chapter Text
Monday, 21st April
, 1998
Hogwarts Castle Inner Courtyard
Astoria knew something was wrong the moment the girl met her eyes across the courtyard.
She had been sitting outside, soaking in the last of the light as she bent over a Potions essay. War and plots would pass away, but homework was eternal.
The area was mostly empty, as people began to drift into the dining hall, and Astoria was just scratching the last few letters onto her parchment when the hair on the back of her neck stood straight up. Someone was staring at her.
Nonchalantly, she lifted her gaze to find a Ravenclaw girl making a beeline for Astoria’s bench. Arifa Shafiq. She was a Ravenclaw in Astoria’s year, a Pureblooded witch from a respectable family. From the outside, no one would think it odd to see them conversing--at least, so long as they were ignorant of the fact that Arifa was a newer member of the D.A.
Astoria hadn’t been into the Sanctum--no, the Room of Requirement, she corrected herself--all day. After the events of yesterday evening, she rather thought she deserved a break. But Arifa’s eyes were wide and held shades of deep concern; there was no question in Astoria’s mind that she was being summoned.
She reached into her satchel, pulled out her change purse, and peered inside. One galleon was glowing red and hot to the touch.
Damn.
Arifa reached the bench and sat down next to Astoria. Her breathing was heavier than it ought to have been from the walk, and her navy headscarf was slightly askew. She reached up to straighten it, clearing her throat loudly.
“Astoria. Hi. You’re good in Potions, right? Do you think you could look over my notes for me? I think I missed a few things in class, and I need to keep my average up, and I’d normally ask Rebecca, but she’s busy. And--”
The girl’s foot was tapping wildly. Astoria gave her a cool look, hoping that a frosty welcome would make the Ravenclaw’s discomfort seem more natural. “Fine. Show me what you’ve got.”
Arifa pulled a rolled up sheet of parchment from her bag and shoved it into Astoria’s hands. She was certain it was a message, and wasn’t terribly eager to unroll it out in the courtyard--there were far too many prying eyes about. But Arifa gave her a pleading look and, glancing around and noting that no one seemed to be near enough to read whatever damning thing the girl had written down, she unrolled the parchment with a sigh.
And was pleasantly surprised. It was Potions notes. Or, at least, it looked like them. Astoria cast a brief look of approval in the Ravenclaw girl’s direction before turning her attention to the parchment. Several words were underlined. It was a crude code, but far better than she’d expected. Her eyes flicked down the page, pulling out the underlined words as she lined them up mentally to decipher their meaning.
Homework Questions
How many spoonfuls of curdled jambelot jelly
will improve consistency of Wurpurple Draught?
add some asphodel powder
- Belladonna
- Howlet’s wing
- Flitterbloom
- Dandelion
- Butterscotch
- Alihotsy
- Shrivelfig
- Billywig Stings (3)
- Sneezewort
- Nightshade
- Goosegrass
- Vinegar (1 cup)
- Moondew--can be substituted with Valerian
- Eye of Rat
Can Bandyroot ever be used in large doses in healing potions despite its poisonous effects?
The words shifted before Astoria’s eyes, arranging themselves almost without her conscious thought. The first letter of every underlined word.
H.Q. A.S.A.P. D.A.N.G.E.R.
"It looks like you wrote down everything important," Astoria confirmed.
"Oh. Good. Are you headed to dinner, then?” Arifa asked. Astoria didn’t look up.
“I’ll be in shortly.”
“Right. Well, I was wondering--could I get your Potions notes from yesterday? I wanted to compare them with mine. I didn’t quite get everything he said about Sneezewort written down, and I’d hate to think I’d missed anything, especially with exams com--”
“Fine, fine. Here.” Astoria dug out a sheaf of Arithmancy papers from her satchel and shoved them into Arifa’s hands. It was a good thing the girl rambled on so. Anyone would think the tremor in Astoria’s voice was mere irritation, rather than the alarm that had dropped into her stomach like a stone, sending ripples of agitation through her words. The message, combined with the glowing coin now clutched in her hand, added up to an inauspicious portent.
Nodding farewell to Arifa, Astoria stuffed her papers into her bag, standing up and walking out of the courtyard at a calm, unhurried pace. She made as if she were heading to the Library, but turned, picking up her pace as she slipped through the empty corridors, toward the Room of Requirement.
She felt her heartbeat pounding in her throat, pounding wildly as she tried to keep her pace steady, tried to reign in her panic. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
*****
Hogwarts Castle,
The Room of Requirement
When she arrived in the Room of Requirement, most of the D.A. was still out--they must have called her specifically--but those who were present were milling about, all in a hubbub, and anxious whispers echoed through the chamber.
“What, you’re just getting here now?” Lavender Brown snapped the moment Astoria entered the room.
Astoria ignored her, turning to find Seamus sitting off to the left of the tables. “What’s going on?” Then she did a double take as he turned to face her. “Sweet Circe, what happened?!”
Astoria shoved Lavender out of the way and shot over to where Seamus was leaned back in an overstuffed armchair, Dean hovering over him worriedly.
“If you checked your bloody galleon, you’d already know, wouldn’t you?”
“Lavender, calm down,” Seamus interrupted. “It’s not Astoria’s fault. She--” He paused, hissing in pain and trying not to move his face, which was a patchwork of blue and purple. Astoria reached out automatically and gently straightened his chin.
“Keep still for a second, will you?”
She probed lightly along his brow bone and nose, checking for fractures. Seamus jerked away as she ran a finger along his eye socket, and Dean winced, looking deeply uncomfortable.
“What happened here?” she demanded. Seamus opened his mouth. “Not you,” she snapped. “You just keep your face still before you hurt yourself further.” She turned to Dean, who wouldn’t quite meet her eyes as he explained.
“It was detention tonight. They’d got everyone who was nearby when Alecto’s room exploded yesterday--it was mostly a crowd of ‘Puff First years coming up from the Library. Pretty much just them, and Seamus, and Neville. Well, apparently the Carrows got to going on about Neville’s grandmum. You didn’t hear it earlier, ‘cause you weren’t in here, but Potterwatch was reporting that she got away. Put some auror in hospital, too. Anyway, I guess they were sore about that, and they thought Neville probably blew up the Muggle Studies room, and they had all those First years in there. And--”
He paused for a long moment, which was worrying, but before he could complete the sentence, Lavender butted in.
“They wanted them to do the Cruciatus Curse. On the First years.”
Astoria gaped at her. “You can’t be serious.”
“What? You think your precious Purebloods aren’t capable of it? They are! It’s what happened!”
It wasn’t that Astoria didn’t think the Carrows capable of this and worse. It was just such a horrifying picture. She suddenly remembered what Seamus had told her mere days ago: that they were lucky when the Carrows had been making the Slytherins curse them, like in Dark Arts class; that one day they’d realise how much worse it would be to make them hurt each other.
“And did they--?”
Lavender scoffed. “Of course they didn’t. Unlike some people here, Seamus and Neville would never go around putting curses on innocent people."
“That’s how it happened,” Dean went on grimly. “I think they’d just really lost it by this point. Seamus and Neville refused, and I guess the Carrows had just got so angry, y’know? They had a go at Seamus, then they forgot him and started in on Neville. They knew he’d got past them, warning his grandmother. It was their own fault that he was able to warn her, I guess, and the Carrows didn’t like being made fools of. And they just were so busy having a go at him, they got distracted, and Neville motioned to Seamus to get the First years out, and he did.” There was a small kernel of pride in his voice as he relayed his best friend’s courage.
“I shouldn’t’a left him,” Seamus croaked. Astoria was at his side in a moment, tugging aside his collar to reveal bruises that wrapped around his throat.
“Hush you,” she said sternly. She turned back to Dean. “Where are the others? How bad are they?”
Dean nodded to a group of First years huddled up in a far corner. They looked so small. “They’re fine, physically. Not a scratch on ‘em. What they saw, though...” He shook his head.
“They’re too young for that; for any of this,” Lavender said solemnly.
We all are, thought Astoria, but still. It was the first point upon which she and the Gryffindor witch had ever agreed.
“And Neville?”
Dean looked up from where he had hunched over beside her, eyeing Seamus’ wounds. “It’s bad.”
“E’s the one you ought to be lookin’ at. Not me.”
“Shut up,” all three of them--Dean, Seamus, and Lavender--said in unison.
Astoria pointed her wand at him. “Episkey.” Abruptly, some of the darkness seemed to leach out of the bruises covering Seamus’ face. The place where his nose appeared a bit crooked straightened out. He sneezed.
“Oof. What was that?” Seamus demanded, rubbing his chin and pursing his lips.
“Minor healing spell. It won’t get rid of everything, but it’ll help out. Little things, like broken toes, split knuckles.” She glanced at Dean. “Could you drum up some ice?”
Dean shrugged sheepishly and reached behind him, holding up a dripping muslin cloth stained with pink, that appeared to be wrapped around a cold hunk of steak. “I’ve got this,” he offered.
Astoria eyed the dripping cut of meat dubiously. “I suppose...”
“I am not puttin’ that on me face.”
“Mate, come on,” Dean pleaded. “I can barely look at you. Please?”
“Fine,” Seamus grumbled, accepting the raw steak and pressing it gingerly to his face before heaving himself out of his chair. He wobbled for a moment on his feet before Dean caught him and looped an arm around his waist, holding him steady.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Like I said, it’s not me you need to worry about.” Seamus jerked his chin, indicating a table towards the back of the room.
“It’s Neville. He was tryin’ to distract Alecto, an’ I guess he did too good a job. She just went at him. I dunno the curses she used, but it’s somethin’ ugly. He’s a right mess.”
Astoria moved through the room at a brisk clip, a group of Hufflepuffs practically diving out of her way, Dean, Seamus, and Lavender following along behind her.
“I’m going to need you to be more specific than ‘a right mess,’ Seamus,” she retorted as she approached the long wooden tables.
“No,” another voice broke in weakly, but with a snort of dark amusement. “I expect ‘a right mess’ about covers it.”
Neville lifted his head to meet her eyes. He was seated on the bench seat of one of the tables, bent over. His face was all shades of blue and black, his lip cut, but that was nothing. His shirt was ripped, and through it she could see bruises blooming along his sides, and three nasty slashes across his chest had turned his white shirt half crimson. Beside him was a bedraggled towel, partially soaked-through with blood.
Astoria drew up short, swallowed. Her hands balled into fists.
She thought she’d seen the worst the Carrows could do, with Amara. How foolish of her. That had sickened her, had infuriated her, and she hadn’t even known the girl. But she knew Neville. She had promised she would try to help him, to protect him. He was her responsibility. Astoria felt the rage bubble up, threatening to overflow, but she took a deep breath and forced it down.
“Well,” she said, her voice coming out aggressive in her attempts to keep it steady. She clenched her jaw and forced it to smooth. “You seem to have got yourself into another situation.”
Neville laughed a bit, but cut off sharply with a gasp. “Looks like it.”
“Where’s Luna?”
“She’s out feeding Hagrid’s creatures--she’s the only one who takes care of them, now that he’s gone. Don’t send anyone to get her. I mean it. I don’t want her finding out about this a minute before she has to.”
Astoria sniffed, eyeing the way his arm was hanging slightly wrong. “It’s your funeral.”
“If the injuries don’ get you, it’s yer girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Terrible things, relationships,” Seamus jested. Lavender eyed him darkly.
A flush burned its way up Neville’s neck. “She’s not my...I mean, we’re not...”
“Whatever you say, mate.”
Lavender huffed and propped her hands on her hips. “Are you done joking around? Seamus, I don’t know why you wanted to bring her in. I don’t see why she’d be any help. That little spell of hers isn’t going to fix something like--
Without turning, Astoria flicked her wand, raising up a bright green barrier around them. She heard an “Oof,” as Lavender was shoved outside its parameters. Seamus and Dean, she allowed to remain.
She drew closer to Neville and cocked her head, assessing.
“Alright. We’re going to have to get your shirt off.”
Neville reached for the hem but stopped short with a grimace. “I...er, I think I’ll need a bit of help.”
Astoria marched over and sat down beside him. The shirt was already half in tatters. She rent it down one side with a rrrrrrippp! and shoved it aside, shifting so that she could ease it off his other shoulder.
“Well,” Seamus broke in. “This got steamier than I’d’ve expected.”
Astoria glanced over her shoulder at the other Gryffindor, who was leaning against the barrier, his eyes tight with worry, but a ridiculous grin pasted across his face.
“Seamus, perhaps I should remind you that I don’t need magic to kill you and make it look like an accident.”
“What? I mean, after all, ‘e doesn’t have a girlfriend.” Seamus waggled his eyebrows.
She turned back to Neville, whose ears were turning red.
“Well, it’s nice to know that you’re not in too much pain to be embarrassed,” she informed him, reaching over to run a hand along his side, applying gentle pressure with her fingers. Neville hissed in pain, his self-consciousness forgotten.
“Tsk.” Astoria’s anger had faded, replaced by a clinical sort of clarity as she examined Neville’s wounds. Gingerly, she prodded at the three long cuts that ran from his left shoulder to the bottom of his ribcage on his opposite side. The edges were blackened, but the skin wasn’t burned.
“Neville,” she asked sharply, rousing him. His head was slumped to the side, but he eased it up slightly. “Neville, how long has this discolouration been present, along the edges of the wound?”
“I dunno. From the start, I reckon. It hurts like hell.”
“Has the bleeding gotten better? Or has it gotten worse?”
Neville only grunted, his eyes clenching shut.
“Worse?”
He managed a nod.
“Wonderful,” she muttered, pushing herself back to her feet. Seamus stepped forward to meet her and she pulled him a few steps away.
“So? What’re you thinkin’?”
Astoria’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “It’s bad. He’s got at least one cracked rib, and I can handle that, but whatever curse made those cuts,” she shook her head. “They’re deep. Too close to too many organs. And that black crust around the edges...I don’t like it. This isn’t an injury you just toy around with. We’re lucky the bleeding isn’t worse than it is.”
“Madame Pomfrey can’t heal ‘im. Alecto ordered her, specifically. That’s why we set 'im up here.”
Astoria mumbled an Aguamenti charm, rinsing the blood off her hands. Dean gallantly offered her a handkerchief, which she used to dry them, and then stepped away, apparently looking for a fresh towel on the other side of the table.
“And why did you call for me?”
Seamus looked at her, his expression full of something she felt she hadn’t seen in ages. Trust.
“You always know what to do.”
She closed her eyes.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Seamus, but I’m not sure that I do.”
“You seem to have some idea. Where’d ya learn that ‘pixie’ thing? The spell you did on me?” He touched his nose to demonstrate and yowled.
“As you can see, it has its limitations,” Astoria answered drily. She shook her head. “I learned it for...” She hesitated, not sure she wanted to admit it. Everyone here already thought so poorly of Purebloods...
Seamus laid a hand on her arm, his expression so earnest. “Whatever it is, you know you c’n tell me.”
She shrugged his hand off and bit her lip. “I’ve always been close to our House Elf. Filly. You know, it’s not really necessary to punish a House Elf at all? They do it themselves, if they cannot fulfil an order. Sometimes, they get a bit carried away. And sometimes...” She took a breath. “Sometimes people punish them anyway, because they want to. Filly has friends--cousins, Elves she’d meet doing the shopping for us. If they were hurt, sometimes they’d stop by our kitchen. She’d show me how to patch them up. It was our secret.”
She looked up to find Seamus smiling at her, his eyes bright. It must have hurt him, with all the bruising on his face, but his smile didn’t dim as he reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it. He shook his head, looking out toward the rest of the room, where the other D.A. members milled about worriedly.
“They have no idea who you are, Cap’n. None at all.”
She shrugged. “Don’t make more of it than it is.”
“I’m not. I’m just...really proud to know you, Astoria Greengrass.”
Astoria felt a wetness gathering in the corner of her eyes and blinked slowly, looking up at the light. She had the strangest urge to hug him, but she clamped her arms to her sides, shaking her head.
“The point is, what I know...it’s really basic, Seamus; it won’t work on the kind of injuries Neville has. I know some potions that could help, but we don’t have time to brew them. I’m not a Healer--”
She stopped.
“I’m not a Healer,” she mumbled, her the gears in her brain grinding to life.
“Well, yeah, I know that. No one’s expectin’ a miracle out o’ you, but Astoria...” He paused, staring at her, then his face, despite all the bruises, brightened. “Ye’ve got an idea, haven’t you?”
She tapped her foot against the stone floor. “I might have.” She turned abruptly and started toward the entrance. She stopped when she heard Seamus stumbling along behind her.
“Oh no. You’re staying here,” she commanded.
“You can’t go out there alone--”
“I can and I will. Or do you intend to tell me that Gryffindors always follow the rules?”
“Astoria--”
“Dean!” she snapped, and turning to where the taller boy stood, just steps away from them.
“Yes ma’a--I mean, er, yeah?”
“Keep him here. Right here. Do not let him leave this room. I don’t care if you have to tie him to you.” She thought she detected a faint flush beneath Dean’s dark complexion and rolled her eyes.
“Try to staunch the bleeding as much as you can,” she called over her shoulder before spinning on her heel and walking out of the Room.
This was turning out to be a hell of a night.
*****
Hogwarts Castle Infirmary
Five minutes later, Astoria strode through the door of the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey was handing a bottle to a girl who was sitting hunched over--probably a ginger-fennel mixture for cramps.
“Miss Greengrass. What are you doing here?”
“I have a stomach ache,” Astoria answered calmly, eyeing the nurse meaningfully as her hand drifted to trace along the curving lines of her scar.
“Ah. Of course. Just follow me then.” The matron turned to the young Slytherin girl sitting on the cot. “That’s all you’ll be needing, Miss Willowsly. I suggest you return to your dormitory for an early night.”
The girl, who looked to be perhaps thirteen, looked vaguely offended, but she obeyed the nurse’s directive and was soon out the door. Nodding to Astoria, Madam Pomfrey headed to the far back corner, where the small nurse’s office resided. Entering, she walked to a cabinet much like the one in Astoria’s office, clucking her tongue as she lifted her spectacles to read the labels on a row of different potions.
“Your scar should have healed considerably by now, Miss Greengrass. Does it still pain you often?”
“Not so very often.” Astoria glanced around the room. The walls of the infirmary had ears, she knew from her dealings with Draco. Her presence here would be recorded. She had little doubt that Madam Pomfrey would want to help her. If the Carrows had already forbidden her to heal Neville’s injury, that meant she knew about it, and Madam Pomfrey did not seem like the type to take that sort of order lying down. Still, she had to avoid asking anything outright. There had to be a way...
Just then, Astoria noticed something on the matron’s desk. Atop a stack of medical records, a paperback book sat, as though it had just been set down. A buxom witch was draped across the cover, clinging to a man with a tan, well-muscled chest. The name Fifi LaFolle was written in large, looping pink letters across the spine.
“Oh, I love that book!” Astoria lied, walking over to pick it up. She had never read such a thing and couldn’t imagine looking the cashier at Flourish and Blotts in the eye, should she want to purchase it.
“You read Fifi LaFolle novels?” Madam Pomfrey asked, turning around to raise her wiry grey eyebrows in Astoria’s direction.
“Sometimes. In fact, I was reading something of hers over the holiday, and it left me with a medical question.”
“Heavens,” Madam Pomfrey replied, “I shudder to think what you could be curious about, there. Some of the, let’s say, descriptions she uses aren’t what what I’d call particularly likely, anatomically speaking. I always told Professor Dumbledore we ought to include a health class, or at least a seminar. Teenagers, after all--”
“Er...not that type of medical question,” Astoria broke in hurriedly. “But I was reading this novel wherein the hero gets attacked by...a crazed hippogriff. With cursed talons.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Three very nasty gashes across his torso, say from here to here,” she explained, touching her shoulder and stomach. “And the heroine treated him with a simple episkey, but I’m certain that wouldn’t have worked.”
“Ah. What book did you say this was?”
“The...Sorcerer’s Seductress,” she invented on the spot.
“Oh, I’ve read that one. I had thought the heroine suffered head trauma from a carriage accident after inheriting the family fortune.” Astoria was certain she detected a dry tone to Madam Pomfrey’s voice. The matron knew she was lying. Well, so much the better.
“Well, perhaps I’ve got the title confused. They do run together. It was definitely a man. Three slashes across the chest. Some sort of curse that made the edges of the wound blacken. How would one treat it?”
“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Astoria.”
“Dangerous? Now, Madame Pomfrey, don’t tell me you subscribe to those ridiculous ideas about ‘unsuitable literature’ for young ladies.”
She caught the edges of a smile peeking out at the corners of Madam Pomfrey’s mouth.
“Well, since you ask from a purely literary interest,” the older woman said wryly, reaching for an enormous book from a shelf of the cabinet. She plopped it on the desk and began to flip through the thick vellum sheets, stopping and running a finger down a page about halfway through the volume.
“There,” she tapped the page authoritatively. “For the young hero’s wounds in, er, your book. This would be the Potion you’d want. It’s a very particular version of the Restorative Draught. Very complex. It would take a number of skilled witches and wizards to manage it.”
Astoria skimmed the page, trying to memorise as much information as possible. Madame Pomfrey reached across the desk, plucked a mint leaf off a plant residing in its corner, and put it in to mark the place before slamming the book shut. She turned back to the cabinet, puttering about for a minute before removing a jar of salve from a shelf and handing it to Astoria.
“For your scar, Miss Greengrass.”
Astoria found she had nearly forgotten the actual premise of her visit.
“Oh. Thank you very much.” She lifted the flap of her leather satchel to tuck it into her pocket, repeating the list of ingredients she had glimpsed on the page. She remembered most of the items, but not their measurements or cooking temperatures, which would have to be precise. If only she’d had more time!
But still, she couldn’t linger. It would look suspicious, and the last thing she wanted was to bring down suspicion on Madam Pomfrey. She turned to leave the office.
“Oh,” the nurse added nonchalantly over her shoulder. “And if you’re looking for something to read, you may borrow my copy of A Healer’s Compendium, she said, waving vaguely towards the dark green tome. “It has my annotations, and might be useful to you...in passing your time. I suspect it may suit you better than The Sorcerer’s Seductress.”
Astoria did not wait to be told twice. The book was hefted from the desk and into her bag before Madame Pomfrey had time to turn around again, and she was out the door, her hand clutched around the strap of her satchel.
“Be careful not to be linger in the corridors, Miss Greengrass!” Madam Pomfrey called after her. “It’s nearly curfew, and you wouldn’t want to be caught out of bed.”
Astoria kept walking, waving to the older witch in acknowledgement without turning her head. Madam Pomfrey was right; she certainly couldn’t afford to be caught.
She was running out of time.