Chapter Text
James had no memory of walking to the Great Hall.
He went through his motions mechanically, half-dazed and laden with sleep, buttering a slice of toast until it was soggy. He thought of the upcoming game with difficulty, for it was hard to see past his tiredness; their team had been preparing for months, and he hoped to bring them to victory in his first game as Captain. Yawning, James recalled the dream he’d had the previous night: the whole Slytherin team had upgraded their brooms and were using Paul Dierden’s head as a Quaffle. He hoped it was not some kind of horrific premonition, but then, Divination had never been his strong suit.
It was Sarah who drew him from these thoughts, cuffing him on the side of the head with the hand that was not waving a jam-covered roll around like it was a battle-axe.
“Oi!” she huffed, clearly put-out that James had not been hanging on to every word of her robust, pre-Quidditch speech, “Are you ready for the match?”
Odd dreams forgotten, James snatched the roll, tearing a chunk off with his teeth and grinning at her with a mouthful of food. She made a vague noise of protest, trying to reclaim her breakfast, and James held it out of her reach, saying, “When am I not ready, Manning?”
“Last year,” said Sarah in a strained voice as she leaned over him to grasp the roll, “when your Comet started tailing left and you said you would buy a new one-”
“Alright,” he said weakly, shoving the half-eaten roll back into her hand in an effort to quieten her.
“-and you cost us the match to Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff, James!”
“Definitely one of his lower moments.” said a voice from behind them. James found himself shoved to the right as Sirius wedged himself in the small space between them, balancing a plate laden with food on his fingertips. A fried egg threatened to slide over the edge of the plate and onto James’s lap; he took the plate from Sirius before that could happen, allowing his best friend to settle on the bench.
“At least I’ve got the Nimbus now.” said James, claiming a slice of toast from Sirius’s plate.
“One match too late.” said Sarah solemnly with a dramatic, defeated hanging of her head. She righted herself at a sharp, accidental jab to her rib from Sirius’s elbow; she pushed him and James further down the bench and rubbed the sore spot. “Where’re Remus and Pete at?”
“They’ll be sleeping in until the match, the pillocks.” said Sirius, spearing a sausage on his fork and inspecting it carefully before laying it down and pushing the plate away.
James waved his slice of toast in Sirius’s face, saying, “Eat.” in a firm voice. Sirius made a whiny sort of noise, to which James said, “First match of the year. and I refuse to lose to Slytherin because you fell off your broom in a fit of famine.”
“Good morning!” greeted a pleasant, feminine voice far too chipper for an early Saturday. “How’re you all feeling?” Beth slid into the empty space opposite Sarah, a sullen-faced Lily right on her heels.
“We,” said Sirius, pointing to himself and Sarah, “are in excellent condition. It’s your brother we’re worried about.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially, leaning across the table to be closer to Beth but not at all concealing his voice from James: “It was totally his fault we lost last year.”
“It was not my fault!” protested James as Beth snickered behind her hand. “It was totally Davis’s, no one told him to go flying in front of the hoops-”
“What’s got her knickers in a knot?” interjected Sarah with a sweeping gesture at Lily, who propped her chin on her hands and glared at a spot on the table. Beth gave a noncommittal shrug, taking a long drink from her goblet.
“Mornings,” said Lily, words laced with contempt, “are not for being awake. I’ve spent my valuable sleeping time breathing owl dung-!” At this, James snorted audibly, and Lily’s tired scowl turned on him. He hastily stuffed a second slice of toast into his mouth, unaware of what exactly he was doing, and rose loudly from the table, sending his own empty goblet clattering to the wooden surface.
“C’mon,” he said around the toast, seizing Sirius and Sarah by their shoulders. “There are some plays I want to go over-”
The three left the Great Hall, Sarah buttering a second roll as she walked. James was all too aware of several eyes following them, mostly sneering Slytherins who would not soon forget their crushing defeat the previous year. He waved in their direction cheerfully.
"Shouldn't we round up the others?" asked Sirius. "For the plays?"
James waited until they were in the corridor to answer. "That would be helpful," he said slowly; it was easier to pretend like he had forgotten about the rest of the team than to admit that he had gotten flustered by Lily and needed a quick escape. "Sarah, go back and get the team. We'll meet you on the pitch."
"Got it, Captain." said Sarah, saluting him mockingly.
"No more rolls!" called James as Sarah spun on her heel and returned to the Hall.
***
Beth was having a fine morning, despite Lily’s grumblings about how if Beth hadn’t insisted on them going to the Owlery before the Quidditch match, she might be in bed right now on one of the few days of relaxation they had left before the weather became unpleasantly chilly. Lily was usually not at her best any time before noon, but Beth hadn’t wanted to make the trek from Gryffindor Tower to the Owlery alone, and really, it was a perfect morning to be up early - the refreshing November breeze woke Beth up easily, but did nothing to wipe the sour expression off Lily’s face.
She knew what she wanted to write in the letter: that she couldn’t wait to see her parents for Christmas, and the N.E.W.T. level classes were really challenging, but she thought she was learning a lot, and that she did enjoy the solid gold set of Gobstones they had sent, even if she thought they were a bit much; she actually wrote the letter in the Owlery though. Lily stood over her shoulder and complained about how tired she was, to which Beth said that it would only take a few minutes to write the letter, while Lily suggested a few places that Beth could stick the letter.
Beth was in high spirits by the time they got to breakfast, seating herself across from James with Lily close behind. They didn’t have much time to talk — James excused himself rather loudly before Beth had even gotten done greeting her friends, practically dragging Sarah and Sirius behind him.
She swirled the contents of her goblet, side-eyeing Lily, who poked miserably at her breakfast. “You could at least try to be nice to him,” said Beth.
Lily seemed to take a minute to process this. “I didn’t do anything,” she said finally. “I hardly looked in his direction. Besides,” she gave Beth a wry smile, “we’re not exactly on the best terms, are we? And we have no reason to be.”
“It was last year,” pressed Beth. “Besides, he feels really bad about it.”
“How do you figure that?”
“He told me.”
“No,” said Lily in exaggerated disbelief, pressing a hand to her heart. “The Great and Swollen-Headed Potter-”
“Lily-”
“The Incredibly Thick-Skulled Potter-!”
“Lily!” said Beth again, though she was laughing now; pumpkin juice threatened to shoot out of her nose, but she would not have a repeat of third year.
“-Can admit that he has feelings? Feelings that aren’t about himself?” said Lily breathlessly. “It seems pigs have flown, and Professor McGonagall is in the running for the Wimbourne Wasps.”
“Oh, shut up.” said Beth from behind her hand where she stifled her giggles, hoping to keep her pumpkin juice down. “It’s been crazy over the summer, if you knew what he’d done back at home it would totally change your opinion-”
“Change my opinion?” said Lily. “How insulting of you to think that that’s possible. Are you done eating?”
Beth had pushed her plate away and risen from the bench, smoothing out her robes as she did. “The match’ll be starting soon,” she said. “I want to get good seats. Gryffindor’ll be doing their best to win - last year was just embarrassing.”
“You mean James will be doing his best to win,” corrected Lily. “And hiding under his duvet for a week when everyone else doesn’t do the same.”
“Of course.” said Beth with a smile, deciding not to comment on the fact that Lily hadn’t referred to him by his last name, or that the sulk had nearly dropped from her round face. As they headed to the doors, Beth felt a wet cough force its way through her lungs. Her hand flew up in time to stop her from spraying the floor with phlegm - no, blood. Her eyes widened briefly, but she wiped her hand on her robes before Lily could notice.
“That sounded bad,” said Lily sympathetically, taking the lead through the corridor. Beth nodded, opting to ignore the cough in favor of the match. It wasn’t until they reached the entrance to the grounds and she was overcome by a fit of coughs, doubled over and dribbling blood onto the dark fabric of her robes, that she truly became concerned.
“Oi, watch it, girlie!” snapped a portrait in a tone that reminded her of Sarah as she leaned against it to regain her balance. Lily was by her side in an instant, helping her straighten up, brow furrowed.
“I’m fine,” said Beth before Lily could ask, wiping the corner of her mouth in case any blood had escaped. “Go on to the match, I’ll just pop into the Hospital Wing for a Pepperup.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?” asked Lily, concern clouding her green eyes. “I can walk you there-”
“Says the one who wouldn’t shut up about walking with me to the Owlery,” said Beth lightly with a flippant wave of her hand. “Go on, I’ll catch up.”
Lily looked unconvinced, but Beth raised her arms and cheered, “Gryffindor!” Lily smiled and said, “Well, if you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.” said Beth curtly. “I know you’d rather be out there watching Gryffindor play - well, some of Gryffindor-”
Lily looked at her oddly, but maybe decided to take pity on her bad cough, for she didn’t argue. Instead, she said, “I’ll let you know how the match goes if you don’t make it.”
“Gryffindor!” cheered Beth again, pumping her arms in the air. Lily whooped loudly and gave her a thumbs up before heading out of the entrance; several portraits grumbled about the noise. Beth watched her leave, waiting until she was out of sight, hidden by the large stone doors, before heading in the opposite direction.
***
“Team,” said James, swelling himself up importantly, “I know last year was difficult.”
“‘Difficult’ doesn’t begin to cover it.” said Gregor McGregor, a fifth year with a face like a hawk. “It was pathetic. Humiliating. Tragic-”
“Save it for your Divination exams,” snapped Sirius.
“Thank you.” said James. “But we can make a comeback this year! We’ve got a great team - and I really am glad you joined as Seeker, Imogen, that Davis was really just-”
“Mortifying? Shameful?” supplied Gregor.
“I was going to say ‘subpar.’” said James. “But yes, I suppose.”
“Oi, stop using poor Davis as a scapegoat for your blunder.” said Sarah, sweeping at James’s trainers with her broom. “It was you who threw the Quaffle at his face.”
“An honest mistake.” said James. “Can I finish?”
“No.” said Sarah.
“Alright,” said James, turning to the rest of the team. “We’ve got a good shot at it this year, I know we do! Dierden, stay concentrated to the right, their best Chaser is left-handed. Sirius, flank whoever has the Quaffle, McGregor, keep your eye on the other team. Imogen,” he stooped to make eye contact with the newest addition to their team, “catch the Snitch. Their Seeker is good, it’s no use denying,” he said over Sirius’s loud groans, “but you’re better. Right!” He straightened up and clapped his hands together loudly. “Just go out there and do your best - no pressure, but if we don’t win, I’ll bury myself alive under the field.”
The stands roared as they left the locker room, though the Gryffindor spectators were loudest of all. “The Gryffindor team is coming out! Just like Chaser James Potter in fifth year!” said commentator Felix Dawkins, voice projecting over the field. James felt heat creep up his neck but he threw an exaggerated wink toward the commentator's podium. He heard McGonagall make an odd screech into the mic as she threatened to sack Felix from his position.
Such was the popularity of the sport, it seemed the whole school had turned up to watch the match. The weather was excellent for playing in, dry with hardly a cloud in the sky. James’s eyes swept the stands to search for his other friends; Remus and Peter were waving enthusiastically from the front row, though Remus looked a bit peaky.
“Perhaps the cheering’ll help the team forget your shoddy speech.” said Sirius to his right.
“I have such high hopes for this team, not even your pessimism can bring it down.” said James loudly enough for the rest of his team to hear. Madam Hooch stood at the center of the field, whistle to her lips. James strode forward to shake hands with the Slytherin team’s captain, a tall girl with an expression that looked like it had been frozen over.
“Try to keep the Quaffle in your hands this time.” she said out of the corner of her mouth as their gloved hands met.
"Is it hard to ride your broom when it’s stuck up your—?" James began, but was cut off by a shrill blast from Madam Hooch's whistle.
“Mount your brooms!” said Madam Hooch. James swung his leg over his broom as Felix said, “That’s what he said!” to which McGonagall tried to wrench the microphone out of his hands for the second time before the match had even really begun. Out of his peripheral vision, James saw the rest of his team mimic his movements, straddling their brooms. With one more blow of Hooch’s whistle, the teams kicked off into the air.
***
Meanwhile, in the Ravenclaw stands, Cosima was wildly gesticulating as she tried to explain Quodpot to Alison; Alison herself earned the stares and hisses of several Ravenclaws, her green-trimmed robes prominent in a sea of blue.
“I know how Quodpot works,” said Alison impatiently, brushing her bangs out of her eyes as she searched the field for Sarah. “I just think it’s… unnecessarily violent.”
Cosima threw her hands up. “That’s the entire point! It’s the most American of all the sports. Where’s your patriotism, Ali?”
“It disappeared as soon as I realized that Quidditch, which is pretty much Quodpot without the explosions, exists.”
“Boo!” said Cosima, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify the sound though they were sitting next to each other. “How boring is that? Am I right, Scott?” She nudged him with her shoulder.
Scott jumped a bit, having been more focused on the commentator’s podium than their conversation. He nodded absentmindedly, “Yeah, Cosima’s right. Don’t bother arguing, you’ll never win.”
A cheer erupted from the Gryffindor stands as Paul Dierden batted away Emma Vanity’s shot like it was no more than Peewee Quidditch.
“Dierden saves another goal, bringing Gryffindor one step closer to victory!” cried Felix into his mic. “I guess you could say … he’s a real Keeper.”
The whole school seemed to groan in unison. Cosima smacked her hand to her face, though she was snickering; Alison merely sighed in resignation to the awful joke. Gryffindor Chaser James Potter, who had the Quaffle tucked under his arm, paused mid-game to laugh at this. This only made the stands groan louder; some Gryffindors leaned out of their seats and threw their arms in the direction of the hoops, prompting James to continue the match.
Cosima and Alison followed the game intently, both cheering for Gryffindor; though Alison held a certain loyalty to her house, she held a closer loyalty to Sarah. James had been flanked by both of Slytherin’s Beaters, two burly, square-jawed boys who pressed in on his shooting range, and he had passed the Quaffle to Sarah; she aimed, launched-
“She scores!” said Felix, leaping out of his seat. “That’s my sister!” Alison and Cosima both laughed behind their hands; their laughter was cut off by the thwack of a Bludger hitting a bat with enough force for the sound to carry across the field. The two girls leaned forward to see what had happened.
“And that’s Black,” said Felix. He squinted over the field. “The Gryffindor Beater who’s just knocked Nott off his broom with a Bludger, that’s what you get for playing dirty, you rat - sorry, Professor, just telling it like it is! That was a well-aimed shot, what a player that boy is - I’ve been saying it for years, but he still won’t go out with me.”
The stands creaked with laughter; Alison tried to look disapproving, but her lips twitched noticeably as Cosima wolf-whistled. Even McGonagall was failing to stifle her own laughter behind her hand. Said Gryffindor Beater abandoned the second Bludger he was pursuing to soar past the commentator’s podium and blow Felix a hearty kiss. Felix pretended to swoon, gripping his mic and flinging his arm over his face.
“Hey,” said Scott, nudging Cosima in the ribs and pointing to the commentator’s podium, which he had been watching rather bitterly. “What’s Pomfrey doing up there?”
Cosima and Alison both turned to follow his gesture; indeed, Madam Pomfrey was crouched between Felix and Professor McGonagall, hand shielding her mouth as she whispered something to the latter. McGonagall’s own mouth dropped out of its thin smile almost instantly. She rose from her seat, somehow more stone-faced than usual, and disappeared from sight behind the heads of raucous Gryffindor students as she made her way through the stands.
“Is she coming this way?” asked Cosima, craning her neck to follow McGonagall.
“Why would she be?” said Alison. “We haven’t done anything wrong … as of late, that is. Well,” she gave Cosima a pointed look, “I haven’t.”
McGonagall was, in fact, marching her way to the front row of the Ravenclaw stands. Scott scooted backward awkwardly to allow her to pass. She bent rigidly until she was at eye-level with Cosima and Alison, then said, in a low voice, “I think you both had better come with me.”
***
“Foul! That was deliberate!” roared Lily, shaking her fist at the Slytherin Beater who had just knocked Gryffindor’s Keeper, Paul Dierden, off of his broom and onto the sand below with a dull thud. Mary Macdonald tugged at her other arm, hissing at Lily to sit down. Dierden seemed unhurt but winded, and lay on the ground for a full thirty seconds, his broom hovering above him, before pushing himself back onto his feet.
Lily, focused on the game as she was, did not realize that Mary was trying to pull her aside to let Professor McGonagall pass. Momentarily distracted, Lily sat back onto the bench and wondered what McGonagall had left the commentator’s podium for; it was the prime spot for watching matches as it rose higher above the field than the stands. Her eyes followed McGonagall as the Professor made her way to the Ravenclaw stands, paused before Cosima and Alison, whom Beth was well acquainted with, and motioned for them to follow her. Thinking this odd, but assuming that they had just broken the rules somehow, she refocused her attention to the game.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle. “Foul! No attacks on the Keeper unless the Quaffle is within range! Penalty shot to Gryffindor!”
James seized the Quaffle and flew to the central circle, perpendicular to the opposing goalposts. The rest of the players cleared out a wide area, so it was just him facing the Slytherin Keeper, a rather weedy-looking seventh year. Lily held her breath as James sped forward, gloved hand gripping the Quaffle and aiming, he was mere feet from the boundary line—
Madam Hooch’s whistle blew again, the sound ringing over the field. James halted mid-flight, the momentum nearly throwing him from his broom.
“Time out!” she cried. “Potter and Manning, get down here!” She waved her hands vigorously, imploring them to land. Both teams looked confused; James and Sarah exchanged a look that clearly said ‘what did you do to get us in trouble?’ before descending. Sirius followed them, though he was not asked to.
Lily watched, somewhat anxiously, as Madam Hooch lowered her voice to address James and Sarah. The two exchanged another look, this one of worry, before dropping their brooms and sprinting toward the exit. Sirius attempted to follow, but Madam Hooch raised a hand to stop him and directed him back toward the game.
“What do you think’s going on?” asked Mary. “It’s going to be very difficult for Gryffindor to play with just one Chaser.”
Lily, however, was not listening; with a sinking feeling, she realized what all four of the recalled students had in common. Without a word, she rose from her own seat and edged around the knees of students, making her way to the Ravenclaw stands.
She approached Scott Smith, whom she knew to be a friend of Cosima’s, and sat down beside him; no one had filled the empty seats in Cosima’s and Alison’s absences. He looked surprised to see her.
“Do you know where they’ve gone?” asked Lily by way of introduction. Scott shook his head, relaying to her McGonagall’s ominous command. Lily rose again, gripping Scott’s arm, and said, “Shit, boy, we have to go,” tugging him out of his seat and dragging him behind her as she raced down the steps to exit the stands.
“Where are we going?” asked Scott, as Lily had not relinquished her hold on him even as they trekked back to the castle. Lily threw a furtive look over her shoulder at him, silently urging him to keep up both physically and mentally.
“I think it’s Beth.” she said eventually; their footsteps shifted from muffled thuds on the dirt path leading out of the Quidditch field to the hard slap of patent shoes on cobblestone as they reached the entrance to the castle. “She was sick this morning, coughing badly, and she went to the Hospital Wing. And now her brother and her - well, you know - have all been taken back up to the castle. I think something’s wrong.”
Scott still looked confused, but jogged to keep pace with her. “Madam Pomfrey can fix up coughs no problem, though. What could have gone wrong?”
Lily frowned, biting her cheek in thought, before saying, “I don’t know! You’re the Ravenclaw, you tell me! Besides, I think Beth was lying to me this morning,” she said darkly. “She was … way too cheerful. Which, you know, she always is, but … there’s no reason to be that pleased about a cough, you know?”
The Hospital Wing was on the first floor, so it was fairly easy for them to get to. They arrived just in time to see Rachel Duncan and a girl with unruly bleached hair, whom Lily had never met before, disappear behind the doors, which slammed shut and clicked behind them. Lily and Scott rushed to follow; there was an obstacle awaiting them, however, in the shape of Professor McGonagall, who would not let them through.
“There are already six visitors, Miss Evans.” said Professor McGonagall testily, laying a hand on Lily’s shoulder. “Please return to the match, or to your common room if you wish. That goes for you as well, Smith.”
“Please, Professor,” pleaded Lily, trying in vain to peer over McGonagall’s shoulder through the crack in the door. “Can you just tell us what’s wrong? Is she alright?”
“Yeah,” said Scott, though he still looked confused as to why he was there, “Beth is our friend, Professor, we just want to make sure she’s okay.”
Professor McGonagall’s lined face softened slightly. “She is doing well,” she said in a wavering voice. “There is no need for you two to worry, she is in Madam Pomfrey’s capable hands.”
She peered over her spectacles at them in turn. “I will be returning to the match. I implore you both to do the same.”
With that, McGonagall turned and started down the hall. Lily hesitated for only a second after she turned the corner before seizing the knobs of the double doors that led into the Hospital Wing and shoving them with great effort.
“Locked.” she said defeatedly. Scott watched on nervously as she drew her wand from the folds of her robes and aimed the tip at the doorknobs.
“I really think we should just head back,” he said, glancing around. “Professor McGonagall said we shouldn’t go in, she said she’s okay.”
“I’d like to see for myself, thanks,” said Lily firmly. “Alohomora!”
The doors did not budge.
“Maybe you didn’t do it right.” suggested Scott.
“There must be some other charm on it.” she said, rapping her knuckles on the large oak doors. From inside, Madam Pomfrey’s muffled voice called, “No visitors, please!”
With a loud groan, Lily sank into a sitting position on the cold marble floor; the sound reverberated off the stone walls and bounced back to them. Scott slumped against the doors.
“I take it you’re not going to give up that easily?” he asked, resigning himself to not going back for the rest of the match. Lily shook her head firmly. Scott watched, feeling embarrassed though he was not the one doing it, as Lily pressed her face to the floor to peer underneath the space between the door and the tile.
“It’s no use,” she said eventually, straightening up. “I can only see everyone’s shoes, and I think Pomfrey’s drawn the curtain.”
Scott shifted from foot to foot, spreading his hands apart as though weighing the options. “There’s nothing else we can do, then,” he shrugged. “It does Beth no good to just stand out here.”
“No,” said Lily, jaw set, “but I would be an awful friend if I didn’t wait here. And Beth is your friend too, Scott.”
Scott sighed, nodding in agreement. “You’re right.” he said at last, after several long minutes of silence. “I guess we’ll just wait here in silent protest until Pomfrey has to let us in … or something.”
Lily nodded in affirmation; the two sat on the floor, leaning against the heavy doors; the time passed in silence, the only things keeping them entertained were the gossipings of the portraits and the ticking of Scott’s watch. Lily learned, that day, that Countessa Julietta the Whimsical - though she should have, in Lily’s opinion, been called Countessa Julietta the Whingy - had taken a liking to the painting of the thirteenth century earl on the third floor corridor. She was too nervous to speak to him, though Lily encouraged her to; what did she have to lose, anyway? She was a painting.
Scott did not seem as interested by the portraits or their problems as Lily; at some point during their stake-out, he went to sleep, head lolling on his shoulder, emanating quiet snores as his shoulders rose and fell. Lily was still encompassed by a feeling of dread, but ignored it more easily as the minutes ticked on slowly; it was uncomfortable, she realized, sitting in one position on stone and wood; her back and pelvis ached and one of her legs felt as though it were being prodded by pins and needles. She was relieved, then, for the distraction of the students flooding back inside the castle as the match ended.
Several students broke from the crowd and jogged to the Hospital Wing: Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Felix. They skidded to a stop upon seeing Lily and the unconscious Scott. Perhaps they seemed to sense the tension within Lily, or perhaps she was exuding it through her very being, for the former three exchanged quick looks before speaking.
“The match went well,” said Sirius eventually, trying to lighten the mood.
“It didn’t.” said Remus flatly.
“As well as a game can go when one of the teams only has one Chaser.” said Peter.
“Gryffindor lost,” Remus informed her. “I won’t go into details, but it was awful.”
“At least I got to hit a few Slytherins,” said Sirius, miming swinging his bat. Peter, who had been standing in the way, got the full force of Sirius’s badly coordinated performance, and ended up being knocked on his face.
“Yes, the match was awful, Slytherin are a bunch of snakes,” said Felix impatiently. “What’s going on? Why’ve they got my sister in there?”
Lily rose to speak to him, bones aching from her extended wait; she resisted the urge to stretch and instead shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “We’ve been waiting here for ages, they won’t let us in because there are only six visitors allowed at once.”
“Ah, that dumb rule,” said Sirius.
Remus frowned at him. “You think every rule is a dumb rule.”
“It’s Beth,” said Lily, ignoring the tangent. “She got - er, sick this morning, but I didn’t think it was anything serious. And McGonagall said she’s okay, but I want to see for myself, you know? Otherwise why would they pull everyone off the field?”
“Well I, for one, am going to wait here to see what all this is about,” said Felix, crossing his arms over his chest as though he dared anyone to tell him to leave. Lily merely nodded, gesturing between herself and Scott, who had not moved from his spot.
“That’s what we’ve been doing.” she said. “But I’m starting to get really worried now, it’s been so long and no one’s come out yet…”
The initial crowd had thinned as students returned to their common rooms to discuss the match or complete homework, the Slytherins whooping about a party. One, however, made his way to the group congregated outside of the doors, a Head Boy badge pinned to the front of his Gryffindor robes.
“But we haven’t even done anything wrong this time!” Felix whined.
“What are you all doing, hanging around here like this?” he asked, looking at each of them slowly. “Looks pretty suspicious, you know.”
“Hello, Articus Bell,” said Sirius, giving the Head Boy a winning smile.
Art fixed him with an even stare. “Don’t call me that. What’s going on?”
Lily sighed as the others looked to her to explain the situation. “It’s Beth,” she said. “She was sick this morning, and-”
Art looked at her with rapt attention, striding closer. “Beth’s sick? Is she okay?”
“We don’t know,” admitted Lily; his face fell. “That’s why we’re all waiting - Pomfrey won’t let anyone in.”
Art glanced over his shoulder; the corridor was clear of life other than their group and the occasional cat. He paused for a second before saying, “I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on the first years so they don’t get lost but… Beth is more important. I’ll leave that up to a prefect.”
He glanced briefly at Remus, who looked confused before remembering his own badge. “Right,” said Remus. “I’ll go … take care of that. Let me know if something happens.”
They watched him leave; Art turned back to the group and pointed at Scott.
“What’s up with him?”
“We’ve been here ages,” explained Lily, poking Scott in the leg with the toe of her shoe to wake him up. He groaned a little, cracking one eye open slowly and then scrambling to sit up straight as he realized Art was there.
“Is Beth out yet?” asked Scott around a yawn that he smothered behind his hand. Lily shook her head.
The minutes felt more like years; students filed past them on their way to dinner, chattering loudly, unaware of the creature of worry that had worked its way into Lily’s chest and settled there; it tightened her innards and stifled the rapid beating of her heart, which threatened to break through her ribcage as every silent second ticked on. No one said much of anything; like Lily had earlier, before she was consumed by unease, Sirius and Peter struck up conversations with the portraits; they proved to be more helpful to Countessa Julietta, reassuring her that she was, in fact, a lovely oil portrait and any earl would be lucky to mix paint with her. Art simply leaned against the wall, occasionally throwing a glance toward the doors to the Hospital Wing, which remained stubbornly shut. Lily felt hunger gnawing its way through her system alongside the creature of worry, but she could not bring herself to go to dinner on the off-chance that something significant would happen in her absence.
As if on cue, Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, hurried toward their group, long robes swishing against the marble floor. Lily prepared herself to be scolded for loitering, but the teachers hardly paid them a glance; the doors swung open as soon as Professor Dumbledore had approached them; Lily whipped around to try to catch a glimpse inside, but the heavy doors slammed shut almost as soon as Professor McGonagall had slid through them.
“That can’t be good,” said Felix.
“No, it can’t,” agreed Art.
Lily did not say anything; she was afraid that opening her mouth would only result in vomit, nervous as she felt. The expression on McGonagall’s face, one of horror, of disbelief, one she had never seen on the most stoic teacher at Hogwarts, was telling enough: something was definitely wrong.
She did not have much time to worry about the specific scenarios the new information of a worried McGonagall brought; the steady, progressive silence was broken by the sound of trainers on marble sprinting toward their group.
Paul Dierden was looking much better than he had during the match, which wasn’t difficult considering he had fallen off his broom. He shouldered past Lily and Scott to try to tug the doors open; as everyone expected, they did not budge. He spun around to face them.
Lily, knowing what was coming, snapped, “We don’t know what’s going on, alright? We’ve been waiting here for hours.”
“Beth is my - my friend!” said Paul, clenching his jaw. “I have a right to know-”
“You and the rest of us,” said Felix testily. Art made a disparaging noise, eyebrows narrowing as he and Paul made eye contact. Before Paul could retaliate with a snarl, a strange, choked noise from inside the Hospital Wing drew their attention; seven heads swung in the direction of the sound, fully alert.
“What was that?” asked Peter uncertainly, hopping nervously from foot to foot.
“Shut up,” hissed Sirius; he had his ear pressed to the door, as did Lily, Art, and Felix. The others simply looked on, not wanting to be caught hearing something they were not supposed to.
The four leapt back as the doors opened at last, more slowly than before, creaking with effort. Lily gasped as she saw McGonagall’s face: if the worried expression had thrown her off earlier, it was nothing compared to how she felt at seeing McGonagall looking tearful, dabbing under her spectacles with a handkerchief.
“Professor McGonagall, what happened?” asked Art, sounding as though he did not really want the answer. Lily peeked over McGonagall’s shoulder, trying to form her own conclusion before the fact was indisputable; if Art dreaded something, then she was downright terrified of it.
Professor McGonagall sounded strangely heavy, voice laden with layers of sadness, disbelief, and the thickness that accompanied lumps in the throat. She turned her red-rimmed eyes on each of them slowly, stalling the news not out of cruelty, but out of a desire to protect them from sorrows that should not be experienced so early in life. In a low voice, with a bowed head, she finally delivered the blow.
“Beth is dead.”