Chapter 5
I slept in the next morning, and then, when I heard the boys actually pouring out tea downstairs, I got up and joined them in my pajamas. Ron was grumbling about Harry snoring. I had wondered who had been snoring.
Hermione came down dressed looking efficient and wide awake, and told Ron off for tilting his chair backwards. He took no notice of her, and I met Harry’s eyes and he rolled his. Still not talking apparently.
Hermione rather sniffily got out some eggs, at the sight of which Ron decided to mend his fences, and put all his chair legs on the ground, so by the time breakfast was over, everyone was talking, and Ron and Hermione were holding hands under the table.
I disappeared upstairs to do my cello practice, and then I met the others at a late lunch, still in my pajamas. I worked a lot on the Ravenclaw, as I had noticed some articulation in her performance that I wanted to be able to reproduce.
That afternoon I worked very hard on both my cello and the internet and books that by now carpeted, wall-papered and served as tables in our living room, to try to trace the viola de gamba that had once belonged to Rowena. By the time I needed to get ready to meet Ben, there had been so many owl deliveries, I am sure the neighbors thought we were illegally importing foreign birds, and there was really nowhere to walk properly.
I remembered that I was going to impress Ben with my legs, so I pulled out my box of concert tights and yelled down to Hermione that I was going to borrow her black skirt, since I didn’t actually own any short ones myself. I am a lot taller than Hermione, but I am also fairly skinny, so we wear the same size. Usually I mind being so skinny, as Hermione is a really lovely shape, with hips and breasts and a waist whereas I look like a Daddy Long Legs and move like one too. However, a rather loose aqua silk jumper concealed the lack of breasts (I hoped) and I did have good legs when the bruises were covered. I had a rose and aqua scarf that I tied around my neck (for some reason I feel naked if my neck isn’t covered).
I tried on my concert heels, and then remembered that we were going to be walking a fair distance, so I got out my flats. Besides, heels make me feel obscenely tall.
Then, since there was still time, I did up my hair. Only in a ponytail, but since I never do anything with it, I thought I looked quite different. I didn’t feel up to experimenting with makeup, and didn’t own any anyhow, but just the short skirt and ponytail made me feel daring. I know; I am so square.
I got halfway down the stairs, met Hermione coming up and she collared me and took me back up to her room, where she got out her makeup. The funny thing about Hermione is that she is such a studious sort of girl, you wouldn’t think she would know about makeup and things like that, but believe me there is not much she doesn’t know about. I looked like a model when she had finished with me. I couldn’t quite believe it was me. And my hair was twisted into a sort of complicated bun thing. She did that with her wand though, not her hairbrush. She assured me it wouldn’t fall out.
The reaction I got from Ron and Harry was very gratifying, and I posed for them and walked down a pretend catwalk until I tripped over a book and laddered my tights. However, if you are clumsy, having a witch as a friend is a huge asset. Hermione not only mended the ladder, she Vanished the blood that would have formed into yet another war wound, and made my tights ladder resistant. This is probably the most useful Magical trick that I had found so far. Any of us Muggles who could patent that would be a billionaire.
By this time, of course, I was late, so I had to rush. I was nearly twenty minutes late meeting poor Ben, and he was standing patiently by one of the chocolate machines munching some Bournville. The good thing about meeting people in inner London, is that there are so often tube delays, people don’t mind waiting that much, and there are always chocolate machines.
I got pretty much the same reaction from Ben as I had from Ron and Harry, as I always wore my long gipsy skirts when I went out with him. The going-out ones are nicer than the ones I wear every day, but they do look sort of the same. I started off our date feeling like Cinderella.
Then things got complicated again. We had found the hot chocolate shop that Alex and Katy had told me about, and were talking over large white mugs of really good chocolate about our families. Ben leaned back.
“I think my cousin knows your flat mate.”
“Really?” I was intrigued.
“Yes. They went to the same school. Didn’t you say her name was Hermione Granger?”
My mouth opened. I hadn’t said anything of the sort. But anyone who went to school with Hermione was bound to be a witch or wizard, surely? I floundered for a few seconds and then went for complete ignorance.
“No, sorry, you must be mistaken. My flat mate is Hermia. It is probably the Shakespearian reference that confused you. But where did you come up with Granger? Her surname is Stephens.” I widened my eyes at him in an expression that I hoped looked innocent.
Ben shrugged. “Oh well, Hermia, Hermione. I couldn’t remember which one it was.”
I looked at him uncertainly. Did he know something? Was he a wizard? Was he playing a cat and mouse game with me? Nonchalantly I asked, “Was this the same cousin who got you tattooed?”
There was definitely a flicker in his eye. “The same.”
I licked cream off my spoon, thinking furiously. “Where does he go to school anyway? Or is he another musician?”
Ben snorted. “Not a musician. He went to school up north.”
I’d hoped for a clue, but hadn’t really got one. Hogwarts was ‘up north’ but then half the country was, from London. “So if he isn’t a musician, what does he do?” I asked still trying for an innocent tone. “Art?”
Ben shrugged. “Oh, just the usual. He hasn’t started his apprenticeship yet. He is taking a year off.” I wondered what ‘the usual’ was, but the word “apprenticeship” was ringing alarm bells. How many Muggles were apprenticed nowadays? I searched around for questions that wouldn’t sound nosy.
“So are any of your family musicians?” I asked.
“My father. He studied Medieval music at the Royal College “ what - ?”
I had just spilled my hot chocolate over Hermione’s black skirt. Also, I now had a nice dark chocolate stain down my favourite sweater. Blast. I made matters worse with a napkin. Now I had a huge chocolate stain over nearly all my sweater.
We had to finish up quickly and I dashed over to the nearest little shop that sold clothes and bought an enormous men’s silk shirt in green, as that was the cheapest they had in the store. We went to the nearest pub for me to put it on.
I looked at myself in the small mirror in the pub loos. I looked better than usual I supposed but still, what an idiot!
I tried to shove my sweater into my bag, but of course I was only carrying a little one. With deep regret I binned it instead, and went back out to meet Ben.
We trotted down to Trafalgar Square, and got into the Opera with loads of time. With standing passes, you wait at the back, and then if there are any seats, you can go and grab them. So Ben and I agreed on which seats we were going to beat the other standing students for, and waited until the lights went out. There were actually quite a few seats left: Wozzeck is not everybody’s cup of tea. “The moon is bloo-dy” sort of sums the whole thing up really. I do like opera, but I prefer it to be upbeat. However, it was interesting to see the stage setting and hear the orchestra and pick it to pieces during the interval and afterwards. I teased Ben by telling him I couldn’t hear violas and that it was obviously the cellos that had the themes he was talking about. He believed that I meant it for a while too, and was getting quite wound up until I started to giggle too hard.
We were walking back to the tube when I asked him about his father, in what I hoped was a casual manner. “So. Just before I dumped my hot chocolate down my front, you were telling me about your father. I didn’t realize he was a musician, I thought you said he was an executive. What instrument does he play?”
He looked down at me, and smiled a little. “Oh, he is an executive now, but he pretty much plays every medieval instrument to a fair standard. He has a viola de gamba that you would like.”
He was tall enough to be walking with his arm around my shoulders and I had mine around his waist. I know he felt me stiffen to attention.
“I would like to see it,” I answered honestly. “Do you think he would show it to me one day?”
“He would like nothing better.” Was there a double meaning in Ben’s words? I looked up at him, a little troubled. He looked rather somber, but when he saw me looking, the lines of his face softened.
“I’ll see if they will offer a meal to two starving students and you can meet my parents. You should like it, seeing as you have a fanatical interest in old instruments,” (I thought guiltily of all those musical museum trips). “The house looks like a museum, and my father acts like the curator.”
We had reached Oxford Circus and we both caught the tube together, and put the people across from us off their meals for the next week, before Ben had to get off at Notting Hill. I suppose, seeing as I suspected him of being a Death Eater I should have been able to resist him, but it wasn’t happening. He had a very addictive mouth.
When I arrived back home, the house was free of books, and Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting around the table eating left-over Chinese food (it was lasting a long time, and I can tell you spells work better than a refrigerator) with a super sized bottle of Coca Cola, which Hermione must have found under my bed, where I had hidden it from her. She tends to look at it sideways because she thinks I would be better off with spring water, but I notice she is far more indulgent with Ron and Harry!
I joined them, and reported on my latest conversation with Ben.
All three were adamant. I was not going to go and look at the viola de gamba on my own with Ben. The fact that he obviously knew Hermione’s name was very suspect. I had never mentioned her to Katy or Alex, and they were the people I talked to mostly at college, so he had not got the name from them.
Ron summed it up brilliantly. “Either he is a wizard, or his cousin is. He either suspects you might be a wizard, or knows you are a Muggle. A tough one. His name is Ben “ Ben what?”
“Stranger,” I supplied.
Ron carried on, “We don’t know anyone at college of that name. Hang on “‘m thinking.” He grinned and said “Funny “ isn’t Stranger a bit like Lestranger?”
Hermione sat up suddenly. “Rabastan. Didn’t Rodolphus Lestrange have a brother named Rabastan? Was he married? You’re right, Ron. Do you think he could be a Lestrange? After all, I have been looking up wizarding colleges of music, and there aren’t any. Most wizard musicians are apprenticed, but perhaps to get a more comprehensive education they have to attend Muggle colleges.”
I had heard of the Lestranges. They were the ones who tortured somebody’s parents into insanity. Suddenly I didn’t feel like eating any more, and I put down my prawn crackers.
“Not Ben’s father. He may be a wizard, but I am sure Ben is not a Death Eater, and I don’t think his family can be either. He knows far too much about Muggles, and he is really nice!” I thought of the way we had snuggled on the way back on the tube. “He can’t be a Death Eater. He really likes me.”
“Maybe he is acting,” suggested Ron, and looked aggrieved when Hermione elbowed him. “What? What did I say? She has to have thought of that.”
I shrugged. Of course I had. But I didn’t believe it. Or was it that I didn’t want to believe it?
“Would a Death Eater snog a Muggle?” I asked.
All three of them looked at me. “You’ve been snogging?” Ron asked. Hermione rolled her eyes.
“It was a reasonable question,” Ron said, the aggrieved note back in his voice. “After all, she was wondering if he was a Death Eater. I might think twice about snogging you if I thought you were a Death Eater.” He thought a minute and said reluctantly, “Actually, no, I probably wouldn’t.”
“Yes you would,” said Hermione immediately, obvioulsy miffed. “It took you long enough to make up your mind to kiss me in the first place. If I had been a Death Eater as well, you probably would still be making up your mind.”
Ron sat up. “I did not! You just made it plain that you preferred older Quidditch players. So I cut my losses.”
Hermione reddened, and said primly, “If you are talking about why you started dating Lavender, I hadn’t seen Victor for ages, and I hadn’t even been out to visit him! And even after you broke up with Lavender and I had made it perfectly plain that I wasn’t even writing to Victor any more, it took you almost a year to notice me.”
“I noticed you much sooner, only you developed that habit of running out of the room and galloping after Harry if you were so much as left alone with me for a second. I wasn’t about to grab you out from behind Harry’s back…”
”I was shy!”
Ron gaped at her. “That’s about the silliest thing I have ever heard Hermione Granger say. How could you be shy? I’d only known you for…”
I threw a pillow at him, which stopped him talking mid sentence.
“Can you and Hermione stop arguing? It might be quite scintillating foreplay for you, but Harry and I are bored to tears.”
Harry gave a shout of laughter at the look on Ron’s face, and my best friend was blushing so hard it was amazing she didn’t set fire to her hair. But at least they were reined in. If they had an unlimited amount of time, I am sure Hermione and Ron would be able to argue for that long. I think it is their way of trying to keep love at a manageable level, so that they don’t rush off and get married and start having babies straight away. When they argue, Harry usually morphs into a sort of trancelike state where he goes cross-eyed, gazes vaguely at the ceiling and thinks his own thoughts. Sometimes he blows up at them, but he knows I get annoyed more quickly, so when I’m there he just waits for me to stop them. It makes his life easier.
“I was asking if Ben would go so far as to kiss a Muggle in the course of Death Eater duty?” I reiterated.
“Does he know you are a Muggle for certain though?” asked Hermione. “If he is a wizard, and if he is a Death Eater. We aren’t sure, you know - at this point it is pure speculation. All we know for certain is that he has a connection to the wizarding world. Which might just be his cousin. Lots of wizards have Muggle relations.”
“He’s a man,” Ron added fairly. “And you aren’t that bad looking, I suppose.”
I didn’t know whether to be annoyed (since I thought I looked pretty darn good right now) or laugh, and Hermione pretended to bash her head on the table.
“What?” Ron asked again and looked over to Harry for some male support. Harry hid determinedly behind a book, and refused to look up.
Hermione looked at me. “I apologize for Ron,” she said. “You look stunning; don’t listen to him.”
Ron opened his mouth, but I think Harry kicked him under the table, because he shut it again and looked a bit sulky. A far wiser course of action in my opinion. Whatever he said he would probably get him into trouble with either Hermione or me.
Harry leapt into the breach before Ron and Hermione could start up again.
“The bottom line is we suspect that Ben might be a Lestrange. We need to do some research. Ron, you owl Ginny, and see if she can talk to McGonagall tomorrow morning. She’ll probably know. If she doesn’t, we have to proceed on the assumption that he is a Death Eater, whatever anybody’s private opinion. It simply wouldn’t be safe for you to go there on your own, Lauren. Even if you were a witch it could be desperately dangerous.
“On the other hand, I think you will have to go. I doubt I would be able to identify one particular old instrument from another if there are loads lying around. Ben said the place was like a museum, right?
“So. We need to get into the house and get the whatzit thingy by ourselves, and we need to do it before you are invited around. We need his parent’s address, but you mustn’t ask for it. I think you have given enough away already…”
He saw my face, and hastened to add, “Not that it is your fault. I think he may have seen us when we came to that last concert of yours. Not that I want to appear big headed or anything, but my scar is quite well known in the Wizarding world.”
“That’s right!” Ron broke in. “He didn’t ask you out until the concert afterwards, did he?”
I tried not to let my feelings show on my face, but wasn’t successful. Ron said, “I’m sorry,” before Hermione had even opened her mouth.
Harry closed the book he was still holding sympathetically. “I’m sorry too Lauren, but you are important, and we have to think of everything.”
Why was I important? I wondered. Probably because I had read that stupid book, and everyone was convinced I was right, and I was going to have to steal that priceless viola de gamba from Ben’s father and play the stupid piece, because none of the others would be able to. And I would have been wrong. It would have been the wrong viola de gamba, and the wrong piece, and why I hadn’t left well alone, I would never know. I had never stolen anything before in my whole life. Except the library book, and I fully intended to return that one day. It wasn't breaking into someone's house and stealing a precious instrument.
I stared down at my hands. I didn’t really believe that I was wrong. However much I wanted not to believe it, I couldn’t help myself. I knew I was right. We had to get that viola de gamba and play the piece so that the Horcrux inside it could be destroyed. It seemed strange that Voldemort would have entrusted his secret to even one of his most ardent admirers, but then I knew all about Obliviation and things like that. Magicians can erase memories, which must be useful. I was willing to bet that Ben’s father had played the Ravenclaw on the instrument and that Voldemort had used that for the Horcrux.
Which worked in our favour. The Lestrange family (if that is who they were) wouldn't know about the Horcrux.
I found my voice. “Well, they should have address records in the Registrar’s office at college.” I said flatly. “One of you will need to deal with that, as the door is always kept locked. It had better be you Hermione. At least you know how to act around Muggles. But we’ll straighten your hair and I’ll plait it in two braids, and you can wear glasses and carry an instrument of some kind. Nobody should recognize you.” I stood up.
“I’m going to bed now. See you all tomorrow.”
I walked upstairs drearily, trailing my fingers along the wall.
My first boyfriend. The most wonderful man I had ever met, or wanted to meet. The boy I had developed a crush on years ago, and still dreamed about every night.
Mechanically I showered and washed the gunk off my face. Brushed my teeth and got into bed. I turned to face the wall.
It wasn’t just that either, although that would have been enough. Here I was, eighteen. The only boy that had ever shown an interest had done so because he wanted something from me. Was I so hideous?
When I got up the next morning, I looked as unlike the fantastic model of last night as it was possible to look. My eyes were swollen, my nose red and my hair was flat again. I could see the beginnings of a spot coming up just underneath my lip. Damn Hermione and her predictions about people who ate chocolate biscuits for breakfast, I thought sourly. I did my best with bathing and cold water, but in the end I gave up and walked downstairs.
Ron and Harry were asleep, and I gave out my breath in a little huff. I had been worried about them the other night: I had forgotten they were wizards. Both of them lay in comfortable looking beds in our living room. From the chinzy look of the thick quilts I could tell the beds had been transformed from our living room sofa and chair.
I stomped into the kitchen, and banged about putting the kettle on. I didn’t feel like being quiet and considerate. I got out a packet of fig rolls, and remembered Hermione’s advice and my spot, and flung them back into the cupboard. Thinking about yogurt only made my mood worse. I wondered if vanilla ice cream would do. After all, ice cream and yogurt were both just solid milk.
Ron entered the kitchen a moment later, stretching and yawning, clad in boxers and T-shirt, followed by Harry. Ron shambled over to the kitchen table and sat down, but Harry, ever the cautious one, looked over at me a little like I was a bomb he thought might go off any minute, and edged nervously back into the living room. “I’ll, er… Just put everything back to normal in here…”
Hermione came into the kitchen, dressed and lovely as always, with her clouds of curls bouncing around her shoulders, and Ron looked up appreciatively.
“Hello darling, I thought I heard you in the shower. Lauren just made coffee, and I was thinking of cooking today. Harry and I shopped yesterday, so I can do bacon and eggs. Tomatoes, mushrooms “ black pudding if you want it.” He patted his knee, and Hermione sat down on it, looking over at me in a worried kind of way. She probably thought I was going to pour coffee over his head. Unless I was cheerful myself, I resented cheerful people in the morning. Especially cheerful people in love.
With great restraint I poured the coffee into four mugs instead. After all, I might be heartbroken, but I was still hungry, and according to Harry and Hermione, Ron cooked like his mother, who was legendary. And then I wouldn’t have to forage for the yogurt I had supposed I would have to eat.
Besides, I had quickly developed a soft spot for Ron. He might be dense about peoples’ feelings, but at least you didn’t have to tread on eggshells around him. And I liked the way he treated Hermione. They were friends first and foremost, but you could see he loved her by the way his eyes rested on her, and the way he teased and argued with her.
However, it did not mean that I was happy about him rubbing his nose along her arm and making kissing noises first thing in the morning.
I sat down at the table, thumping my coffee so much it splashed over the side. “If you are making breakfast, Hermione should probably get off your lap,” I pointed out snippily.
Ron tipped Hermione off his lap and got up gracefully. He was pretty ordinary looking, but he did move with an athletic grace, and had a very good body. Sometimes I could see what Hermione was so keen on, although I was still surprised she didn’t fancy Harry. He was far better looking, and far more sensitive. But I am not a big red hair fan, and she has always had a thing about red hair.
The breakfast was superb, and I gradually started to feel human again, despite the broken heart and early morning. Ron was definitely a good choice on Hermione’s part, and very passably good looking. And there was a chance I was completely wrong, that Ben had a naked lady on his arm, and that we would be in love forever.
After breakfast, I did Hermione’s hair, pulling it straight and parting it down the middle. With two plaits and an old pair of Harry’s glasses, she did indeed look very different. She transfigured a book into something that looked like a clarinet case, and we were ready to set out for the Academy together.
Ron thought Hermione looked hysterical with the straight plaits and glasses, and she got a bit huffy with him. I thought she looked a bit odd myself, but I wasn’t stupid enough to laugh about it. Harry felt the same way as I did. Whenever Hermione faced him, he looked as sober as a judge.
At the last minute Harry dashed upstairs for his invisibility cloak, just in case Hermione got disturbed during her burglary, and we stuffed it into the phony clarinet case, which I was interested to see had words all over the inside.