Chapter Sixteen: Fainty McPassOut
[Marty]
After the Ministry officials went home, grumpily (I don’t think they expected to find a large crowd of angry teenagers when they went out to do their job and probably didn’t think it was worth the hassle; a success all round, then), someone decided we should celebrate in the Three Broomsticks. Naturally, everyone else agreed.
So now we are all standing around in the pub, holding butterbeers and talking very loudly. Or, everyone else is. I’m sitting in the corner at a table, watching them. Every now and then, Lily or one of the Marauders comes and sits with me. Once, even Roxie came, which surprised me. She didn’t say much, of course, because she never does. But I appreciated the gesture.
I’m not being miserable. I’m really happy it went so brilliantly. No one could be more pleased than I am at how things went. I’m just not that very well. That’s all. In fact, it was Lily who did a lot of the organising and things earlier, since she was a large part of it while I was pretending to hate the Marauders. And she’s a girl so she does at least know HOW to organise things, unlike my male friends who “ if it was up to them “ would have stood around holding some signs for five minutes, then got bored and gone for a drink in the pub. Which they ended up doing anyway, but we held the signs for a lot longer than five minutes and had lots of inspirational chanting and things, thanks to Lily.
I even gave a speech, explaining why we couldn’t let the memory of Eugene Cardrac be besmirched, because of his tireless work on behalf of Werewolves, Goblins, Centaurs, Vampires and the Other Underdogs of Wizarding Society. I explained that, even though the Ministry still thinks of him a crazy old man who was laughed out of the Wizengamot for his unorthodox views, we had to show them that now, in this day and age, we realise that what he was saying was true, not just the demented ramblings of an old fool who had passed his time. I said that we should give Eugene Cardrac “ and the house where he was born and died “ some respect now we know he was right, since he certainly didn’t get any when he was alive.
I’m not sure if people really cared about the issue, or if they were just swept away in the excitement of a real live protest during their Hogsmeade weekend. But I like to think they were at least a little bit inspired. Although I have now lost my voice after all that chanting and speech giving. But it might be the bug of course. Apparently it’s hit the first years like a Hungarian Horntail, but trust me to be the only person over twelve to catch it. Mark my words, if I wasn’t feeling so ill, I would join in the celebrations. As it is, I’m concentrating on not throwing up or getting dizzy at the minute.
From where I am sitting, I can see James talking to Luanne about something passionately (he obviously found a way to get her out of school, even though she’s not technically old enough yet. Still, she does look older than she is, ever since James and his antics brought her out of her shell. I’m glad she’s one of the few first years to have escaped this darned bug). She has that look on her face, the one she “ and others “ gets when she is humouring him. Actually, that happens quite a lot when they’re together, but James will never admit he is anything more than a beacon of inspiration to her. At the bar, Sirius is leaning across as far as he can, his elbows propping up his head as he talks to Madam Rosmerta, probably trying to sweet talk her into giving him a free drink, or overlooking the age restrictions on some of her more potent stuff. Peter is talking to Roxie and Mary, although Mary seems to be more interested in watching James and is probably wondering who Luanne is and whether she is a threat (little does she know the truth). Lily is talking and laughing with Phyll over a couple of drinks. I look around for Remus, but I don’t see him straight away.
Where is he, anyway?
“Hey, Marty.”
I shriek at the sound of his voice and slop my drink down my front.
“Woah, careful,” he sits down next to me. I glare at him, in between drying my robes with my wand.
“Where did you come from?” I croak out, hating how pathetic my voice sounds. Illness doesn’t agree with me at all.
He shrugs and luckily seems to decide not to mention my voice, although I know he must have noticed it. “Nowhere. I didn’t mean to make you jump.”
Okay, now I’m just embarrassed. “No, it’s not your fault. I’m still not quite with it.”
He smiles sympathetically. “Are you feeling any better at all?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Not really. It’s better sitting down, though. I must have caught whatever has half of the first years in the Hospital Wing. I’ll be fine, honestly.”
He looks concerned. “Do you want me to take you back to see Madam Pomfrey? I’m sure she can find something to give you ...”
“No. It’s okay. You have fun.”
He looks suspicious. “Marty Price, are you being a martyr?”
“Of course not,” I scoff. “I want to stay here. I’m glad everyone’s celebrating. Hooray!”
He looks unsure, probably not at all convinced by my forced cheerfulness.. “Okay. Well, do you want me to get you anything?”
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”
So he stands and goes to join Sirius over at the bar, who has apparently been rejected “ once again “ by Madam Rosmerta.
Okay. I didn’t exactly tell Remus the entire truth. And it’s not just the first year bug, either. The truth is, this impromptu party celebration thing reminds me of others I’ve been to in the past when Causes have gone particularly well. Only at those ones, it wasn’t me who organised it all and gave the inspirational speeches. It was my mother.
I’ve tried not to dwell on all that. I have. And consequently, I haven’t. Dwelled, that is. Not much. Only she would have loved today! She would have been so proud! If she’d have been alive, she and Aunt Tabby would have turned up, their similarly Cause driven friends in tow, to give me support. She’d be over the moon that we managed to stop those officials, even if they probably will come back when there are no obstructing and opinionated youths in the way. She would, right now, be telling every person in the room “ quite loudly and excitedly, I’m guessing “ that it was her daughter behind it all. I can almost see her beaming over at me. Only she’s not.
This, coupled with my growing feelings of illness, is hardly leaving me in the most celebratory of moods, no matter how happy I am that we won this round in our battle for justice.
Actually, the more that I think about my mother ...
The more I think I’m going to be sick.
[Remus]
“Yes, Padfoot,” I say firmly. “I do think it’s perfectly fine the way it is.”
“But don’t you feel left out? Cheated, even. Think of all the fun we could be having, you and I, if only society wasn’t so prejudiced against people like us.”
“I’m sorry to have to hurt you this way, Sirius, but I seriously think they have made the right decision in this case. Besides, a little thing like that isn’t going to stop you, is it? Not the Sirius Black I know, that’s for sure.”
“It’s just so hard,” Sirius moaned, not without some passion. “All these months of waiting this way ...”
“Two months, Sirius, two.”
“Two eternal months. Stretching on into nothingness. Will I ever be free from this torment? Probably not.”
“You shouldn’t even be drinking Firewhisky anyway, age limit or not. You know what happens when you drink too much. Need I remind you of the incident with the goats? And the scarf? And the cottage cheese?”
“Moony, how could you bring that up now? All four of us promised never to speak of it again.”
“Only to stop you whining.”
As Sirius mutters about the nightmares that still haunt him, I look up at some sudden movement in the corner of my eye to see Marty flee the pub, her hand over her mouth.
“Hang on,” I say, grabbing my coat. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
When I get outside, she is leaning on the wall by the door.
“I was sick,” she says.
“Yeah, I thought you might have been,” I reply, pulling a handkerchief out of my pocket and handing it to her. She wipes her mouth, then scrunches it up in her hand and holds on to it. I know it’s kind of old fashioned of me to carry around a handkerchief and if my friends knew, they would probably add it to the list of things to make fun of me about (I don’t mind though. Because, after all, I have just as much ammo to throw back at them, such as the goat story). But it comes in handy in situations like this, doesn’t it?
“Sorry,” Marty mutters. “You can go back in. I’m okay.”
If she wasn’t so pathetic looking standing there, I would roll my eyes, but I think this requires a little more sensitivity.
“Marty,” I say sternly. “You’re very clearly not. Are you sure there’s nothing else wrong?”
And somehow, without any warning, it all comes out. Mostly things about her Mum, of course, but other little things as well. I know I carry a lot of weight around with me, one of the many downsides to my condition. But it still amazes me how girls can even have all this stuff on their minds and not go completely mad. Seriously. How do they manage to keep going with their everyday lives if they feel all this stuff? No guy I know thinks as deeply as girls seem to. And that includes me and my tragically broody lycanthropy.
“Maybe,” I say when she’s done, “you should let me take you to Madam Pomfrey now?”
“Maybe,” she replies, “that would be a good idea.” She steps forwards and promptly collapses. It’s a good job I have such quick reactions and am able to catch her in my arms before she hits the ground.
Maybe it’s the overly dramatic circumstances, what with the sadness confession and the frailty of the way she was leaning on the wall and fainting and all. But as she opens her eyes, I feel the weirdest urge to swoop down and kiss her.
[Marty]
I didn’t mean to tell him all that about my Mum. But he gave me that handkerchief and the fact that he even had something as old-fashioned and practical as a handkerchief (despite what his friends would say) just made me want to tell him everything.
I feel pretty stupid, however, that I actually fainted, even if it was only for a second or two. After all ... how embarrassing! I know I’m not very well and everything, but really. That doesn’t give me an excuse to go around fainting into the arms of sensitive, handkerchief carrying boys. It’s so tacky. It’s just not like me. Did my mother faint when she was holding that march for the rights of merpeople? Did she faint when she was arrested for demonstrating her opinions on the enslavement of magical creatures? Did she faint when she had Death Eaters blasting the door off her beloved café?
No. So I am, really, completely disgusted with myself when I open my eyes and see Remus’s staring down into mine and a whole lot of sky above him as I am being held upwards.
Still. It does feel rather safe down here. At least, it does until Remus tentatively leans in a little closer.
I stand up quickly, almost lose my balance and have to put my hand on the wall to steady myself.
“Let’s go,” I say. “I think I need a really long sleep.”
“Right,” Remus says, looking flustered. “Of course. Yeah. Absolutely. Let’s go. Oh and here,” he passes his cloak, “put this on. For warmth.”
“I’m not an invalid, Remus,” I insist, but I take the cloak anyway. Even if it is horribly clichéd. But not because I’ve fallen in love with him and I want his cloak to feel close to him and to have something that has his scent on it to keep after he’s gone or anything. That would be far too ridiculous and romantic of me. That’s just not the kind of thing I do, or have ever done, or ever will do. I just take it because it’s cold.
And linking arms with him as we walk out of Hogsmeade, into the grounds and up to the school? I only do that because otherwise I might lose my balance again, which I don’t want to do. All right, maybe for a while there, I thought he had tricked me onto coming on a date with him. In fact, I worried about it ever since I first realised and it was horribly awkward being alone with him at times. But it doesn’t matter. If the handkerchief proved anything, it was that Remus just isn’t that kind of guy. He’s just not the type to trick girls into going on dates with him.
When we eventually reach the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey does not look surprised to see us.
“Another one?” she asks, seemingly without expecting an answer. “I can’t say I’m surprised. If we’re not careful, I’ll have the whole school in here with this bug ... oh, hello, Remus and how are you?”
“I’m fine,” Remus says and I wonder how they know each other so well that she doesn’t call him ‘Lupin’. Then I remember the werewolf thing. “I’m here for Marty. She fainted just now and she’s not been well for over a day, but she had ... uh. Commitments today.”
“That conference in Hogsmeade, or rally, or whatever it was?” she asks.
“Protest,” I say. “Against the destruction of “”
“Yes, dear, that’s lovely. Just leave her with me, Remus. If I keep her overnight with all the others, she should be right as rain in time for lessons on Monday.”
“Lucky you,” Remus says to me, smiling. “Now, feel better soon, okay? I’ll come and visit you later, to check you’re okay.”
“Tomorrow would be more suitable,” Madam Pomfrey says briskly. Remus continues to smile. How is he not terrified of that woman?
“Or maybe tomorrow,” he says. “And I’ll let everyone know you’re okay.”
Does that mean ... people can’t know I fainted! That would be horrible! I’d never hear the end of it! People would snicker in the halls and laugh at me behind my back. Which they do anyway, but that’s because of my beliefs, not because I’m such a loser I fainted when I got ill. Or, it used to be. There hasn’t been as much snickering in the halls lately, I’ve noticed, for which I can only be grateful. But that’s just even more of a reason not to let them find out about this whole fainting debacle! “Marty Price?” They’ll say if someone asks them if they know me. “Oh, yes, that’s the girl who fainted on Remus Lupin when she caught a slight cold. We call her Fainty McPassOut, it’s a jolly good laugh.”
I refuse to let people call me Fainty McPassOut. Refuse. At least when I was laughed at for believing in The Cause I was proud of the reason for my unpopularity.
“But I won’t tell them you fainted if you don’t want me to,” Remus adds kindly.
Okay. That was slightly scary. How did he realise what I was thinking that way?
And why do I feel so lonely when he leaves?
[Remus]
“Oh, look who it is!” Sirius says loudly when he enters the Common Room. “‘I’ll be back in a minute’ my ...” he glances at Luanne, who is with them, along with some of her first year friends. “... Brass.”
“Watch it,” James says, glaring at him for almost using a bad word in front of his adopted daughter.
“So where did you go?” Peter asks. I put down my quill and push away the Arithmancy essay I had been working on. Or not working on, technically, because I kept thinking about ... something else.
“Yeah,” Sirius says. “I noticed Marty wasn’t around, either. Interesting, eh? Moony, you’ve shocked me. Kidnapping innocent girls and taking them to your lair is much more my thing than yours. And after all the warnings we gave you about controlling your cannibalistic urges. I’m disgusted, really.”
“You were with Marty?” James asks. “You’re right, Padfoot, that is interesting. All that chanting get you in the mood for some lovin’, did it? I suppose some people find that kind of thing quite “”
“I had to take Marty to the Hospital Wing,” I say quickly, to avoid ever having to hear what comes next. “And why is it okay for you to make innuendos like that, but it’s not okay for Sirius to say the word ‘a“”
“Shush, Moony, where are your manners? I expected more of you. So what happened with Marty?”
I shrug. “Well, she’s been feeling ill for a while now and “”
“We know that,” James interrupts me for the second time. “But what changed her mind?”
I think about how relieved Marty was when I told her I wouldn’t mention the fainting. I don’t know why it would bother her, but I guess she’s too proud or something. She is a Gryffindor.
“Nothing. I just offered to walk her back.”
Sirius looks sceptical. “Yeah, so did we all, but she insisted there was nothing even wrong anyway, which was clearly a blatant lie. What makes you so special?”
“Maybe it’s because she thinks he’s special,” Peter suggests, lightly, but he is grinning too maliciously for me to believe that he’s not winding me up.
“Get lost, Wormtail.”
“No, no, Wormtail’s on to something!” Sirius declares. “Maybe she does think you’re special, Moony. After all, a big strong, manly man like yourself ...”
I nearly gag. “I don’t ever want you to use the phrase ‘manly man’ in my presence ever again!” I splutter at him.
“It’s okay,” James says. “I’ve heard about this. He’s trying to put himself down to avoid heartbreak in the future, because if he never expects to love, he won’t be disappointed. Kind of like how if you aim low, you’ll only ever be pleased with your result, but if you aim high, then you might end up not achieving your goals. By not owning up to his manliness, Moony here is actually merely trying to suppress a fiery and all consuming need to be loved.”
“How tragic!” Sirius exclaims, sitting on the arm of my chair and throwing his own arm around my shoulders. I glare at him. “Don’t worry, Moony sweetums, any girl would have to be blind not to find you attractive. I, myself, have often “”
“OKAY,” I say, standing up. “I think I’m going to the Library on my own now, to catch up with some work. Are you guys coming with me to visit her tomorrow?”
Sirius looks disappointed that he didn’t get to finish whatever heinous thing he had been about to say, but he nods anyway. “Yeah, of course. That is, unless you want to be alone with her ...”
“Goodbye,” I say firmly. “And I’ll see you later.”
But once I am away from them, I can’t help but smile at their remarks, which I’ll admit (though never to their faces) were actually quite humorous. And maybe a little truer than they realised. Maybe James had only been joking during his highly scientific analysis of my character, but in a way he was also right.
Not about the fiery and all consuming need to be loved “ that was just James being his usually over-dramatic self. But about aiming low so that I don’t get hurt. Because that’s what I’ve always done. I presume no one will ever love me because of my curse and in that way, I don’t get upset when they don’t. Lonely, occasionally, but who isn’t? Never disappointed.
Trust Marty to come along and accidentally shake up my nicely ordered life without even realising it, until I’m questioning everything about myself and my psychology. Trust her to do all this without even noticing. Not that I’m falling for her or anything. I mean, it would never work. I’m too dangerous. And she’s just crazy. Plus, she has that weird thing about the pumpkin juice. My thinking I was going to kiss her was just a reaction to her looking so helpless, that’s all, causing me to want to protect her or something. I’m quite happy never to have to think about it again. Satisfied with this thought, I am able to continue my evening in quiet solitude and not panic too much about falling in love with Marty. After all, it’s ridiculous.
The next morning, we all sleep in a little later than maybe we should, because it’s Sunday after all and by the time we make it to the Great Hall they have stopped serving breakfast altogether and moved onto an early lunch. So we don’t actually manage to visit Marty until just gone noon, where we find her sitting up in her bed, chatting to the first years in the beds opposite her about Ghost Rights.
I wasn’t aware that ghosts had, or wanted, any rights, but none of us decide to question this, for fear that she is delusional with fever, or perhaps suffering from a bad side effect to whatever healing potion she has been given. Madam Pomfrey had, after all, warned us that she might come across a little light-headed.
“My friends!” she cries when she sees us. We are already a little worried, but then she continues. “How lovely for you to come and meet me! Did you know that ghosts do not have the right to vote in political issues, despite the fact that, through their age and experience, they have seen much more governmental history than many of us mortals have and are therefore far more qualified to have a say in important parliament decisions?”
“How is that relevant?” asks Sirius but I glare at him.
“No, Marty,” I say loudly over the top of him. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
She takes this as a sign to continue. “Because, if you asked a normal person whether it was a good idea to give decisions of council laws to, say, fairies and you asked a ghost who had seen the chaos this caused when trying to find the thin line between beasts and beings, which one would be more likely to tell you that fairies were not capable of making important decisions, because they’re too worried about being pretty and ornamental? Because I’m willing to bet it would be the ghost. So why aren’t they allowed more of a say in current issues where their first hand experience of the past could help predict possible outcomes of the future? And why has no one realised this complete injustice until now?”
“But Marty,” Peter says, sounding confused. “The ghosts don’t want to have anything to do with “”
I stamp on his foot. “You know what, Marty, you’re right. This is terrible. We should really do something about it when you’re feeling better.” I make sure I emphasise the last point, about the timing of our actions, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Au contraire, mon frère,” she says. “I have already spoken at length about this to one Nearly Headless Nick of Gryffindor House.”
“Oh Merlin,” Sirius mutters.
“Moony isn’t your brother,” James points out.
“No, he’s something else entirely,” Peter says and snickers, but luckily Marty either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care.
“That’s great!” I say to her, glaring at them all. Can’t they see she’s in a delicate state without all their negativity? Don’t they know it’s best to just agree with whatever ill people say and then deny it later when they’re better and put it down to the medication? Sometimes I wonder how they ever got this far blundering through life without any knowledge of the delicate and intricate rules of behaviour towards sick people. Or any kind of behaviour at all.
“It’s so nice of you guys to visit me,” she continues happily as though she was never interrupted. “No one else has. Except Lily. And the other girls from the dorm. Who have been a lot nicer to me recently. Oh and Luanne came at one point. And some first years I found who signed the Cardrac Petition. That was nice of them. Oh and Professor McGonagall came to check I was okay. But apart from those, not one single person other than you four has visited me. It’s because you four are so gentlemanly and civil and honourable and chivalrous.”
I exchange looks with the other three.
“It’s the medication,” James whispers sombrely. “Making her say crazy things.” He pats her hand, tentatively. “Maybe I’ll go and speak to Madam Pomfrey about increasing your dosage.”
“It’s not the medication!” she insists. “I mean it! You’re all so lovely ... not everyone would accept me the way you four did ... I love you all so much ... you’re my best friends ... so lovely ...” She has become inexplicably close to tears.
“Thank you, Marty,” I say, smiling to try and diffuse the situation before she starts uncontrollably sobbing and signing over her worldly possessions to us. “That’s very nice of you to say. About those ghosts ...”
“Ah, yes, the ghosts, I forgot,” she says, sitting up a little, suddenly businesslike again. I think it really is the potions she’s taken that are causing her slightly odd behaviour. But then ... it is Marty. She could be 100% aware of everything she’s saying and we’d never know it. “Yes, Sir Nick was fascinating in his beliefs and opinions ... the whole interview really opened my eyes to the truth ...”
We are able to sit with her for fifteen more minutes before Madam Pomfrey shoos us out again and I leave in an extremely good mood, looking forward to the next visit “ and the next, until she can be properly discharged in a day or two.
Something about Marty on flu potion made her even more likable than usual.
AN: Heh heh heh. Whether it was Marty being Marty, or slight side effects of her potion making her a little odd is a good question ... the answer is probably both. Please review!