Chapter 32: Drips and Brooms and Feelings of Doom
Mafalda lay on her bed, flat backed and legs splayed. Her mouth agape, snoring like a nasally bear. However, her perfect world of sleep was interrupted by the feeling of something hitting her forehead. Her nose twitched, and she grumbled, but simply ignored it groggily, trying to get back to the world of sleep. She felt something again hit her forehead and was dragged into enough conscious thought to finally recognize what was hitting her. It was wet. Something wet was hitting her forehead. Before she could further react, something larger and wetter hit her forehead, and her instincts kicked in. Her back lurched and her legs sprung forward, causing her to roll onto the hard stone floor.
"Girl down…" she groaned, putting her hands on the cold floor.
"Are you okay?!" a voice called out to her with concern.
Finally, Mafalda opened her eyes efore finally getting herself off the floor. She brushed her pajamas off before looking around. A crowd of other Slytherin girls had formed around her from the commotion. Her blankets and covers were splayed onto the floor in a heap from her rolling out of bed.
"I'm fine, everyone. Nothing to see here," she said nonchalantly, running her hands through her hair to help compose herself.
"Nice going, newbie. You woke us all up early for nothing," one of the girls in the crowd grouchily said.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, princess. I'll remember that for the next time I develop a habit of rolling out of bed," Mafalda snapped sarcastically. "Is there a drip in the ceiling or something?"
"It does that sometimes. You get used to it," another girl replied.
"Get used to getting my head dripped on? Merlin's beard, this House already sucks," Mafalda groaned, before heading over to her nightstand and began to grab her toiletries.
"Again… you get used to it…" One of the other girls sighed in frustration.
"What's wrong, Measley Weasley?! I thought your family liked holes in the ground?" An unusually short girl said, having to jump to say it over the shoulders of her peers.
"... What do you think we are? Gnomes? Actually, the gnomes' homes are better than this place…" Mafalda sassed back.
"Well, if this place is so bad, why don't you write to the headmaster about it? I'm sure he can get you transferred off to Gryffindor," a girl with a crooked nose snarled out, her lips curling as she nearly spat out the words.
"Now why would I do that when there are such lovely people in this House trying to make me feel at home?" Mafalda replied in a sickly-sweet voice.
"Girls, girls. Must you all cause a ruckus this early in the morning?" A voice called out, forcing everyone to turn and look.
Standing before them was a girl that stood a bit taller than the rest, clad in a Slytherin green night gown. Most of her features were remarkably unremarkable, save for her long blonde hair and crisp blue eyes. Her eyes furrowed in annoyance as her blue eyes scanned over everyone.
"Daphne? What are you doing up so early?" A girl next to Mafalda asked, brown eyes blinking rapidly and nervously.
The girl Daphne crossed her arms and raised one of her eyebrows at the question. "I'm up because of all the racket you're causing. Now what is going on!?" She asked firmly, looking around the crowd as she waited for an answer.
"Weasley girl woke everyone up. That's what!" A girl called out from the back of the crowd.
"You roll out of bed one time, and you're the villain of villains," Mafalda groaned, rolling her eyes in annoyance.
"All you've done, Measly Weasley, have been a nuisance!" The crooked nose girl said, poking Mafalda sternly in the chest.
Daphne put her face into one of her hands with a sigh. "Oh, don't make me do this…" she groaned before taking a deep breath.
"Do what?" some of the crowd said in unison, confusion gripping them.
"I don't know but… wait. What's going on?" Daphne said in mock surprise as she began to slowly walk away from them. "My feet, they're… they're moving on their own. It's almost like… I'm going to go tell the Head Girl."
"No… stop!!" The unusually short girl yelled, rushing to the front of the crowd.
"What's going on? And why is that a bad thing?" Mafalda asked, but no one gave her an answer.
"I'm gonna do it." Daphne said with a wry smile and a sing-song tone.
"No! Don't do it!" Most of the crowd of Slytherin girls pleaded.
"So, are you all gonna behave?" Daphne asked with a smirk.
"And what is the reason they need to start behaving, Daphne?" An older, sterner female voice asked from behind Daphne.
Everyone stopped and soon looked past Daphne, and even Daphne was forced to turn around to look at the source of the voice. Mafalda's eyes widened as the girl behind her cut a vastly different figure. Standing a full head and shoulders taller than any of the other girls, her face had far softer and more pleasant features to it, only to have that ruined by the stern look she was giving them all. Her blue eyes pierced like icy daggers into them as shoulder length blonde hair fluttered in a small draft heading into the room. Her left arm wrapped itself gently around a small, round, yellow-haired fluffy creature with a panting innocent face.
"Um… there was a commotion because one of the girls rolled out of bed this morning, Head Girl Rhys." Daphne explained after a nervous gulp, sweat beginning to form on her body.
Rhys raised one of her eyebrows at hearing that. "All of this, because of one of you rolling out of bed? Well, congratulations girls. You woke the whole girls dormitory,"
"With how loud they were, they probably woke up Scotland," Mafalda commented.
The Head Girl's eyebrow raised itself even higher at the comment, before looking down at the fluffy animal in her arms. "What do you think I should do, Floofy?" She asked in a sweet tone, only to get a soft panting and a blank stare from the small creature.
"No. Please, Rhys. Anything, but Floofy." Daphne pleaded, waving her hands frantically.
"What's going on right now?" Mafalda whispered confusedly.
"Floofy usually is where the Head Girl gets her punishments from." A black-haired girl behind her explained.
"Oh great. Our Head Girl is a nutter, and we're about to be punished by a walking doormat." Mafalda groaned, slumping back in frustration.
"To be fair, you just woke up, so you're probably fine," Daphne said.
"Red head! Are you okay?!" Rhys called out.
"Yeah. I'm fine. I was just a bit startled." Mafalda said with a shrug.
"Good. Daphne, show her to the showers," the Head Girl ordered, putting her hand on Daphne's shoulder.
"Yes, Head Girl. Right this way Mafalda." Daphne replied with a nod, before waving to Mafalda to follow her.
With a small smirk, Mafalda followed "Honestly, it's not even my fault. The beds are just too narrow. I'm used to full beds, not twins." She explained.
"Well at least you're not hurt. The Head Girl would have my head if you were." Daphne replied with a small sigh.
"So that Rhys person. She seems nice. Weird that someone like Snape would make her Head Girl. Did he lose a bet with her or something?" Mafalda asked.
"It's pretty simple. Professor Snape likes to keep a balance. One of the Head Students is harsh on the rest of the Houses to keep them off our backs, and the other is harsh on our own House to keep people in line. Something about preventing internal House implosions from previous years. I kind of zoned out the last time she explained it." Daphne explained with a sigh, scratching the back of her head.
"In other words, he wants to make sure that he isn't remembered as the worst Head of Slytherin before he dies. So, he is pretending to be fair and balanced," Mafalda said, adopting a faux sage-like tone.
"You really aren't like the rest of your family, are you?" Daphne asked, turning to look at her and looking over her.
"And what do you mean by that?" Mafalda inquired.
"You're the first Weasley ever to not be in Gryffindor. You're constantly picking fights. And you're close to a bunch of people outside the House, including some Muggle-born in Ravenclaw. Who even is that little weirdo, anyways?" the blonde girl explained, her cheek scrunching up a bit in annoyance at her.
"I didn't want to have to deal with the overprotective act from the twins and Ron. As for the fight-picking, well, we Weasleys don't like bullies. And that kid? Apparently, his name is Damien Dursley. He is, as Harry put it, 'the good cousin' or something," Mafalda answered as best she could.
Daphne let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose at hearing that. "Of course it has to be related to Potter." She groaned.
"Hey, now. My friend is a he not, an it," Mafalda chimed, hands on her hips.
"What? No, not him. Potter. Nearly everything around here last year that went wrong is connected to him in some way." Daphne corrected
"Huh… I wonder why?" Mafalda asked, scratching her cheek a bit.
"Not sure. But… I do have to give you some credit. Most Slytherins don't stand up for each other, let alone someone in another House. It's… admirable." the blonde girl replied, a small smile forming on her lips.
"I would have back in class, but he handled it pretty well. I could have sworn I saw Snape turn a shade of red I had never seen," Mafalda responded.
"Well, let's hope he keeps up that good luck," Daphne replied, her voice turning sour with pessimism.
Later that day: Flying Class
"Attention, everyone! Welcome to your first flying lesson! I'm Madam Hooch and I will be your teacher!" Madam Hooch announced as the first-year students all lined up before her.
"I have a question!" Ginny cried out, raising her hand as far as it would go.
"Of course you do, Gin Tin." Mafalda quipped, rolling her eyes in annoyance, receiving a quick but stern glance from her cousin.
"Yes, dear. What is it?" Mrs. Hooch asked, her frazzled gray hair shaking like leaves as she turned to look at her.
"What if we already know how to fly?" The red head asked curiously, putting her hand down after Mafalda grabbed her arm to lower it.
Madam Hooch smiled wryly at the question. "Then it appears that we'll have at least one volunteer to show the others how it's done." she told the redheaded young witch.
"Yes, ma'am!" Ginny chipperly replied, rushing over to Madam Hooch's side.
"I also have a question: Why is everyone staring at me?" Damien asked.
"It's quite simple, Mr. Dursley. Your cousin Mr. Potter, despite it being his first time on a broom, showed enough prowess with flying to be made the new Seeker of the Gryffindor House Quidditch team in his first year. I would imagine that many of them are hoping that you'll surprise them with some talent of our own on a broomstick." Madam Hooch explained.
" Ah, I see. Well, I aim to do what I can. Nothing more, nothing less," Damien replied with a casual shrug, his hair briefly darkening.
Albert did his best to raise his hand so it could be seen. "Any advice for the vertically challenged?" He asked sheepishly, twitching as he felt like he was being watched.
"I'm glad you asked, Mr. Hoggerton. I would recommend starting with a slow ascent after mounting your broom. But don't be afraid of flying. The brooms can sense fear." Madam Hooch explained with a smirk.
"What about those who know how to fly but have trouble with the initial takeoff?" Luna asked, raising her hand.
"That is something we can work on as we go. Now then, everyone! Pick a broom and stand next to it!" Madam Hooch replied before beginning to bark orders.
With the orders given, the students all walked over to the lines of brooms laid out for them. As instructed, they stood next to their broomsticks and awaited further instructions. Seeing that everyone was ready, Madam Hooch cleared her throat.
"Now then. First: how to summon your broom to your hand. Simply hold your open, dominant hand over the broom and, speaking clearly, say 'up!' Is everyone ready?" Madam Hooch questioned.
"Got it, teach," Damien said, giving a salute to the teacher.
"Whatever you say, Hooch," Mafalda replied.
"Yes, Madam Hooch," a young eager blonde boy by the name of Collin Creevey said eagerly.
Luna simply nodded with a smile while Albert had a look of determination as many other students did each getting in perpetuation by getting in the proper instructed position to begin the lesson proper.
"Up!" The students called out in near unison, some brooms nearly launching up into the hands of their students, some brooms wiggling and flopping around like a freshly caught fish dropped on land, others had no reaction at all much to those students' frustration.
"Now then for those of you who have your broom in hand I want you to mount your broom make sure you grip it tight, so you don't fall off then I want you to kick off the ground when I blow my whistle hover for a few moments then gently lower yourself back to the ground," the flying teacher instructed.
At the sound of the whistle a small number of students lifted off the ground; other students started stomping stubbornly, and a small few resorted to jumping up and down, making fools of themselves.
Ginny lifted off like she belonged in the sky, rising with effortless grace; her movements smooth and controlled as though she had done this a thousand times before. Mafalda wobbled at first, her broom dipping uncertainly beneath her, but after a tense moment, she steadied herself and held her position.
Damien kicked off, the ground dropping away beneath him. For a brief, heart-stopping second, panic flared in his chest, but then something shifted. His balance steadied. The broom leveled beneath him, responding instead of resisting. The air rushed past his face, cool and alive, threading through his hair and tugging at his robes. He hovered, low and careful, but steady, and a slow grin spread across his face.
I'm doing this.
For a moment, everything clicked into place. The nerves faded, replaced by something lighter, something freeing.
Then
"MISS LOVEGOOD!"
Madam Hooch's voice cracked through the air like a whip. Damien turned instinctively, and the world seemed to tilt.
Luna floated several feet above the ground, completely upside down; her legs loosely hooked over her broom while her body hung freely beneath it. Her long pale blonde hair cascaded downward in a soft, drifting curtain, swaying gently in the breeze. She did not look unstable. She did not look like she was about to fall. She looked… at ease, peaceful, even, as if gravity had simply chosen not to apply to her.
She blinked slowly, dreamily, her expression distant yet content. Like she was quietly observing something far more interesting than the lesson itself. "Oh." She said in her soft, airy voice. "This is much more comfortable."
Damien forgot to breathe. The sounds of the field seemed to fade into nothing. The wind, the voices, even Madam Hooch's presence all slipped away until there was only Luna, suspended in the sky like she belonged to it, like she had always belonged to it.
How is she doing that…? Why does it look so easy? Why does she look more natural up there than anyone else?
He stared, not out of confusion. Not even curiosity, but something quieter, deeper: complete captivation. Time stretched, slow and unsteady. One second. Two. Too long.
His broom wobbled beneath him. He did not notice. His grip loosened slightly. He did not notice. His balance shifted still staring until the broom jerked sharply beneath him, and reality snapped back all at once.
"Oh…"
Too late.
He lurched sideways, panic flooding in as control slipped from his hands. The sky tilted violently, the ground spinning out of place as the stone wall rushed toward him with terrifying speed. "WAIT!" He shouted, but it ended in a crash as he slammed into the wall and dropped to the grass in a tangled heap of limbs and robes.
Silence followed, then a few scattered gasps. Ginny winced midair; Mafalda brought a hand to her mouth, and Colin forgot his broom entirely. Madam Hooch pinched the bridge of her nose, looking as though she had just lost several years of her life.
"…Mr. Dursley," she said tightly, "Perhaps facing forward would improve your flying."
Above them, Luna drifted slightly, still upside down, as though none of the situation had anything to do with her. Her voice floated lightly down.
"You looked like a comet."
Damien groaned into the grass, face burning as he pushed himself up slightly.
"…I was watching a star."
Later that evening: Great Hall
The Great Hall shimmered with evening light; candles floating overhead like a quiet constellation while the long house tables filled with noise, clatter, and overlapping conversation. It was the end of the week, and the castle felt like it. Relief, gossip, laughter, complaints about homework, all blending into one steady hum.
At the Slytherin table, a cluster of students sat with their usual air of quiet superiority. A few leaned in, murmuring behind half-raised goblets, eyes flicking toward the other houses with thinly veiled disdain. Not all of them joined in. A handful kept to themselves, eating in silence, uninterested in the performance.
Hufflepuff's table was warmer, softer. Groups leaned close together, talking in low, easy voices. A few students had shifted slightly toward the Ravenclaw side, conversations spilling between the two houses as if the gap between tables did not exist.
At Ravenclaw, Damien sat stiffly. A sling wrapped around his arm, the fabric a constant reminder of his less-than-graceful encounter with a stone wall. His expression suggested he would very much like to duel something. Preferably someone.
"… Honestly, she's completely mad," one student nearby whispered.
"Did you see her? Upside down like that."
Damien's grip tightened around his fork.
"She's going to get herself expelled… or worse…"
He turned slightly, eyes narrowing, the spark of a hex already forming in his mind.
Then…
"Loony,"
That was enough. Damien straightened, tension sharpening through him, ready to snap back, wand or no wand. Across the hall, Gryffindor was far louder.
Laughter. Half-shouted stories. Someone nearly dropped a goblet. The usual chaos.
At the center of it, Harry had his head resting flat on the table; one cheek pressed against the wood as if he had simply run out of energy mid-conversation.
"…Harry?" Hermione leaned closer, concern clear in her voice. "You've been like this all week."
Ron frowned, nudging Harry lightly. "You sure you're all right, mate? You look like you haven't slept in days."
Harry did not lift his head. "I'm fine…" He muttered.
Fred and George exchanged identical looks; the kind that meant trouble was being considered but not yet deployed. Ginny, quieter than usual, watched Harry for a moment, her expression thoughtful.
Hermione folded her arms. "You're not fine."
Ron leaned back slightly, glancing at them before his attention shifted. "Speaking of not fine… Ginny." He said, lowering his voice just a bit. "Have you gotten a Howler yet?"
Ginny blinked. "No."
Ron frowned. "That's… weird. Neither have I."
Fred leaned in just enough to be heard. "Disturbingly quiet, really."
George nodded. "Almost like Mum's planning something worse."
That did not help.
Back at Ravenclaw, Damien was still half-turned, jaw tight, clearly debating whether starting a magical incident during dinner was worth it. Across the hall, Luna sat as she always did, calm, distant, seemingly untouched by the whispers drifting around her. Damien glanced at her.
Then back at the students speaking. The decision lingered in the air, sharp as a drawn wand.