Untitled Ravenclaw Story

(c)2005 by Josh Cohen. May not be reprinted except for personal use. JK Rowling owns the Potterverse; I\'m just here to play around.

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YEAR THREE, NOVEMBER AND DECEMBER

This chapter contains \"Lymon\"... not quite Lemon, not quite Lime. Some BDSM, though not terribly serious.

Over the course of the last month, Terry had become more and more inwardly-focused. Ever since the Fat Lady guarding Gryffindor Tower had been attacked, he had rededicated himself in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that being good in these subjects was useless without knowing the right magic to use at the right time. I was only who I am today because I happened to know the Shield Charm and I happened to deflect Lockhart’s Obliviate at the end of last year.

Besides, I was focused on my own goals. I had faith that we were safe here in Hogwarts, what with Dementors floating around – I wasn’t exactly sanguine about them, but at least I knew they would stop anyone from getting in who shouldn’t be getting in – and Professor Dumbledore in charge inside. I had spent most of November trying to figure out what wizarding academy had been attended by Professor Stein – I had trained myself not to refer to her as Aunt Natalie even in my own head, in case I accidentally let slip that we were related – and keeping a close eye on the late-night goings-on in the upper years of Ravenclaw’s girls’ dormitories. Added to new charms and new spells and new potions and new sleep-inducing lectures from Professor Binns, as well as the practical assignments we were doing in Professor Lupin’s class, I barely had any time to myself.

Finally, on the last Saturday of November, we all got a bit of relief. Hufflepuff, who had beaten the seemingly-unbeatable Gryffindor team at Quidditch a few weeks previously, were destroyed by our Quidditch team. Not only did the Ravenclaw Chasers manage to score the first hundred points in less than five minutes, but Cho Chang – in her second year as Ravenclaw seeker – snatched the Snitch right out from under Cedric Diggory’s nose. After their defeat of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff had been the favorites to win the Quidditch Cup this year, so when our house knocked them out so soundly, it was cause to celebrate.

So it was understandable when, as Padma and I nursed butterbeers, looking out of our alcove onto the rest of the common room, we heard Terry stumble his way up and hold out a hand to help Isabel Munglal up and in.

They were both quite clearly inebriated.

“Don’t mind us,” Terry said, half-slurring his words. “Just needed to get… away…”

Isabel, who in the past year or so had gone from gawky to pretty in a fragile, doe-eyed way, offered Padma and me a small smile as she dropped onto the couch with Terry.

I flicked my eyes toward the exit, but the two of them didn’t even wait for us to leave before starting to kiss – rather inexpertly, in my opinion – on the couch. Padma and I, out of respect for our friend, held our chuckles until we were out of the alcove.

“Of all people,” Padma said quietly. “I never would’ve thought.”

“Really. I half-expected Terry to make a play for Sally-Anne.”

“Sally-Anne? Why?”

I fought back a grin – Padma and I were close friends, but with what I was about to say, it would be safer if I wasn’t smiling. “Well, you’ve seen her sister, yes?”

“What does that mean?”

“Well…” I swallowed. “I guess I expected him to go for her, because if the genes are similar, she’ll be… um…”

“Is that really all you boys care about?” she snapped, downing the rest of her butterbeer and lazily Wingardium Leviosaing it over the railing and into a bin. “The size of a girl’s chest?”

I held up my hands in what I hoped was a jokingly-defensive fashion. “Hey, I’m not the one at fault here. All I did was make a statement of fact: genetics favors the fact that, within two years, Sally-Anne and Julie-Anne will have the same figure.”

Padma sniffed.

“Oh, come on, Padma, I didn’t say that’s what I was interested in!”

“But you can’t deny that genetics don’t favor me to turn out like them, can you?”

I flicked back mentally to the one time I’d met Padma’s mother. She was pretty enough, to be sure, but she was slender and long-limbed, rather like an older and more dignified (and darker-skinned) version of Isabel. “Padma, does it really matter?”

“It seems to.”

I shrugged. “You’ll be my friend whether your turn out like a Page Three or not.”

“Page Three?” Padma’s ire was damped down by unfamiliarity with the term. “What’s a Page Three?”

And for the next five minutes, I tried to explain to her the concept of muggles looking at a topless woman in a newspaper was a viable sales technique.

The party did eventually break up around midnight, when Professor Flitwick appeared and asked us if we would kindly disperse, as we were keeping him awake. His suite of rooms were located just off the common room, so I’m sure that if the spontaneous cheering and reenactments of the win weren’t enough, the music pouring out of Roger Davies’s wizarding wireless certainly got his attention.

It was as good a time as any to go to bed. Padma hadn’t taken too well to my explanation of Page Three, and she’d gone off to her dorm room with Lisa and Mandy, presumably to get some sleep or do whatever it was they did in there. I have to admit that I was curious.

Terry’s bed was still empty – he must have been up in the alcove with Isabel. They probably dozed off. I had stayed away from the liquor, even though Robert was less than judicious about “noticing” the younger students with it. Stephen was asleep, as was Anthony; I didn’t care where Kev was, but if form was being followed, he was on the fringes of the popular Ravenclaws, trying to break into their conversation.

I washed up and changed into my pajamas, and then drew the curtains around my bed before opening the pocketwatch and dialing through to seven.

I dropped the watch, completely shocked at what I’d seen. It took me a moment to reset the dial, and another moment to cast a Bubble-Head charm around myself and the timepiece – the book recommended by Hermione had been extremely helpful, although if she knew what I’d been getting up to with the charm, I seriously doubt she’d have been pleased.

A couple of the fifth-year Ravenclaw girls were sitting on one of the beds, holding a pair of arms in place. One was wearing a nightshirt, the other just underpants. Fiona of all people was standing at the foot of the bed, still in her school robes, her blue-and-red tie still tied at her throat. But it was what was bent over the foot of the bed that attracted my attention.

I’ve seen Page Three girls before, and I’ve seen the issue of Playboy that Roger had provided for me, and I’ve seen the older Ravenclaw girls getting up to all sorts of things in their dormitories. But I’d never seen any of them in such a precarious position: bent over the foot of the bed, apparently naked – or, at least, naked from the waist down – with her legs spread apart.

“I hear you’ve been getting into trouble,” Fiona said, her normally-soft voice now bearing the quiet snap of command that I’d bet Galleons she’d learned from Professor McGonagall.

“Yes, ma’am,” came the reply. The voice was quite clearly Penelope’s, and my heart very nearly stopped when I realized whose bottom and more I was staring at.

“Perhaps I should remind you that the Head Girl is held to a much higher standard?”

I dialed the minute hand closer, and was quite shocked to see that this leggy, attractive young woman who I’d known all my life didn’t have a bit of hair between her legs. Even the girls in the magazine didn’t do that.

“Yes, ma’am,” Pen said again. “I need to be reminded.”

The sheer pain of fighting my own arousal in my efforts to listen in was growing harder to cope with, but I kept fighting. I had to know what was going on. I wasn’t missing this.

“And how do we remind the Head Girl?” Fiona asked, reaching behind herself. One of the Ravenclaws on the bed passed her what appeared to be – I dialed in and yes, it was – a long, broad paddle. Fiona rested it against Penelope’s upturned bottom, and I found myself needing to swallow but unable to do so.

“She…” Pen’s voice faltered. “She gets paddled.”

“Yes,” Fiona said simply, “they she does.”

And I watched, incredulous, as Fiona swung the paddle against Pen’s rear. The sharp pop as wood met flesh was perfectly clear inside my Bubble-Head Charm.

So were the next nine slow, hard whacks.

So were Penelope’s whimpers and moans.

So were Fiona’s quiet, snapping reprimands that she applied with each strike.

When it was all over, I watched Fiona gather Pen up into her arms and hold the taller girl, rubbing her bare back, comforting her. Thin, glistening tear-tracks streaked Penelope’s cheeks as she looked into Fiona’s eyes and thanked her.

I was seriously hoping something else would happen between the two of them, but if it did, I wasn’t privy to it. Fiona helped Pen into a loose black robe and they moved out of frame. I heard the door open and close, and then the two girls who had been holding Pen’s arms in place moved together and started to touch each other.

I dialed through six and through five for a couple of minutes, but to no avail. If Fiona and Pen were up to anything, it was in Pen’s Prefect bedroom. In five, I saw the two girls who’d been holding Pen down going at it, but I didn’t feel the tingles of arousal I normally got from watching them.

I collapsed the charm and closed the watch. But then, as I moved to set it on my bedside, I felt something warm and damp. I slid the curtains open a fraction, enough to let in light from the hearth at the center of the room, and looked down.

“Hell,” I whispered.

At least it explained why I had stopped noticing my own condition after stroke number six or so.

At breakfast the next morning, it was very obvious that Penelope was fidgeting more than usual as she sat next to Percy at the Gryffindor table. It was so obvious that even Terry, his head in his hands, hung over, noticed. “What’s up with her?” His voice was quiet and raspy.

“Dunno,” I responded in kind. “Maybe she fell or something.”

“Maybe.” Terry moaned. I passed him a glass of water and a small vial of Hangover Potion I’d filched from the common room on the way out. He tossed the contents of the vial down his throat and chased it with the water. “Ugh. I am never drinking again.”

“If you say so.”

We ate our breakfast in relative silence, Padma passing me sections of the Sunday Prophet as she finished with them. I did notice Fiona arrive about half an hour later and lean over to talk to Penelope, her hands on her shoulders. I don’t know what it was she said, but Pen nodded and blushed. Fortunately for her, Percy was otherwise occupied, talking to Ginny about something.

Later in the afternoon, as I passed through the common room on my way to the library – Hermione and I were going to study for the upcoming Muggle Studies test, which would involve a basic essay on manual labor vs. magical charms – Fiona motioned me over to where she was lounging in an armchair, skimming her Potions text. “Goldman,” she said simply.

“Fiona.”

“Not a word.”

I nodded. “Never.”

“Good.”

She returned to her Potions, and I left the common room. I don’t know why she felt the urge to warn me; it’d been several weeks already since I’d gotten the pocketwatch and not a word had been said by me. Maybe someone else had said something. But I knew Fiona had her reasons for wanting to keep her activities quiet – she was a grandniece of Minister Fudge, and he was as restrictive about his relations doing anything to embarrass him as Mr. Filch was about the students creating messes or causing havoc in the corridors.

It was on the way to the library that I ran into Professor Stein, who looked to be in a bit of a snit. “Aunt Natalie?” I ventured, since there was no one in the corridor. “You all right?”

“What?” She turned and saw me. “Not aunt, just Natalie.”

“Fine. Natalie. You all right?”

“Oh, quite fine. Just had to have a chat with Madam Pince about something she’s got in her office.”

“Madam Pince? What could she possibly have?”

Professor Stein shook her head. “Never you mind. Go on doing what you’re doing. I need to send an owl.” She strode away, her cloak swirling around her shoulders, a shining sheet of dark-green fabric.

When I got to the library, Hermione wasn’t there yet; I was compulsively early to everything anyway, so it made sense. Madam Pince motioned me over. “David, I need you to remember what I said.”

“About the device?” I kept my voice low, mirroring hers. “I haven’t told anyone.”

“Please don’t.” She looked around to make sure no students could possibly hear. “Professor Stein found out about it, and if it gets out that I have one, I’m in quite a bit of trouble. Promise me you won’t say anything.”

“You can trust me, Madam Pince,” I said. Hermione stepped in through the library door. “I have to go.”

She nodded and retreated to her office, and I went to one of the tables. Hermione joined me, and we began comparing notes.

Life continued pretty much as usual for the next few weeks. Snow came in over the last Hogsmeade weekend, which was nice because we were able to spend the day playing in it – those of us who didn’t feel like walking through the snow and cold to town, that is – but when Professor Flitwick called a house-wide meeting that night, the night before the Hogwarts Express was set to take us back to London for the Christmas Break, we were all concerned.

“He never calls us all together like this,” Terry said softly as the rest of the house filed in. Along with Terry, Padma and I were up in our alcove, waiting for the Professor’s announcement. “I wonder what happened.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” I said quickly, and Terry chuckled.

Padma, though, was serious. “What if it’s something bad? What if it has something to do with Black?”

Terry’s face went stony. “It isn’t. I’d know.”

But then Flitwick raised his wand and fired a soft shower of blue-and-red sparks into the air, a signal for us all to settle down.

“I have some good news, as well as some bad news,” he said. “During the Hogsmeade trip, one of our students learned he would not be returning to Hogwarts after the break.” A murmur ran through the common room as many of us looked around, trying to figure out what it was.

Flitwick didn’t let us stew in silence. “It’s nothing serious,” he assured us, “but Brian Lynch, the seventh-year Chaser on our Quidditch team, has been offered a position with the Dublin Divebombers.”

Brian stood up – he was sitting against one of the walls – and all of us applauded him.

“As you know,” Flitwick went on, “Brian’s brother, Aidan, plays for the Ireland National Quidditch Team, who have a real shot at making the World Cup this year. However, with this news, we also learn that Brian will no longer be able to Chase for Ravenclaw in our upcoming games against Slytherin and Gryffindor.”

A moan went around the room. Brian had made twenty of the thirty goals Ravenclaw had scored during the crushing defeat of Hufflepuff.

“I realize this is short notice, especially with our game against Slytherin only two weeks after the next term begins, but I would like those of you with broom-riding skill to consider trying out for the team when we return for the new year. Tryouts will be on Monday the second, and by Wednesday the fifth, if you have made the team, you will be notified.

“Now, I believe we all have an excellent dinner set for us in the Great Hall to celebrate the end of term, so why don’t we all go down there now.”

People began filing out of the common room. Terry punched me gently in the shoulder as we walked to the Great Hall. “Why don’t you try out, David?” he asked me. “I’ve seen you on a broom; you don’t even look like you’re trying, you’re so good!”

Luna, who had been walking a few steps behind, said, “Quidditch isn’t his game. Golf is his game.”

“Golf?” Terry looked incredulous. “Come on, David! If you’re half as good with a ball as you are with Potions, we’ll have nothing to worry about!”

Roger Davies must have heard Terry’s pronouncement, because as we rode the Express back to London the next day, Terry and me sharing a compartment with Ginny Weasley and Luna, he poked his head in. “So, Goldman, what’s this about you being good on a broom? Why haven’t you tried out for the team?”

Luna opened her mouth as if to say I liked golf, but I waved her down. “I’m not that good, Roger. I’m really not.”

“Nonsense!” This from Terry. “I’ve seen him ride. He’s as good as anyone on the team already!”

“Don’t lie to me, Goldman,” Roger said, a warning note in his voice. “I don’t have a lot of time, if you know what I mean.”

I knew exactly what he meant. “Fine. I’ll try out when we get back.”

“You do that.”

He slid the door shut. Ginny looked over at me. “What did he mean, a lot of time?”

“I don’t know. Probably that he wants someone good on the team and he doesn’t have a lot of time to spend on training.”

Ginny accepted that explanation, but there was something in Luna’s eyes that I wasn’t quite as sanguine about. I had a strong feeling that she knew more than she was telling.

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I don\'t have a lot of Author\'s Notes to add to this chapter. The next chapter -- and possibly the next two -- will have Quidditch in. So, you know, if you\'re interested in that, keep reading.

Reviews are, as always, appreciated.