Madame Pomfrey finally lets me out of the Hospital Wing on Halloween, on the sole promise that I tell her if I ever drink anything weird tasting again. I was actually perfectly fine after a three hour kip, but she insisted on keeping me in two days – how unfair is that? Especially since Ginny wanted me to go to lessons the very next day. Even worse, the fact that I have been absent after it was revealed my father was a werewolf has only encouraged the rumours, or so I am told by Alfie and Jason.
They say that the school is split on whether I am a werewolf or not, and that things have actually got quite hostile. What is surprising that it is not one house against the other sort of thing – like Harry always says things were when he was at school. You know, all the Gryffindors would support him, and all the Slytherins would hate him and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw would sort of watch from the sidelines, unsure of what to do. But apparently I have some Slytherin supporters, and some Gryffindor haters, and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are getting stuck in there too.
I feel bad for saying it, but it actually makes me feel quite proud of myself – hey, the entire schools in an uproar because of me, isn’t that cool?
I had my meeting with Professor Obando, and I’m not sure whether I like him or not. He was sort of half-complimenting and flattering me, half-insulting me. He was a mixture of useless and patronizing, and a great help and completely blameless. Here’s how it went:
He walked in through the Hospital Wing door, and handed me a chocolate frog, smiling kindly.
“Hello, my dear boy, how are you feeling today?” he asked, sitting in a chair next to me.
“Okay. I’d feel better if Madame Pomfrey would let me out of the Hospital Wing, though,” I told him. “Thanks for the chocolate frog.”
“Not at all – always helps to have a bit of chocolate when you’re ill, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah… but I’m not ill. Someone spiked my pumpkin juice and Madame Pomfrey’s keeping me here just in case. Apparently because I was so worked up when the draught came into effect it might have complications.”
“Yes, yes, I understand completely. What with the full moon coming up and your father’s genes-”
“No, it’s got nothing to do with that. I’m not a werewolf.”
“Yes, I know that, dear boy. But I guess you do feel a bit peaky with the full moon, eh? After all, some of your father’s genes-”
“My Dad wasn’t born a werewolf. His lycanthropy was a basis of environment rather than inheritance, so therefore does not affect his DNA structure.”
He seemed rather impressed and a little thrown off with this articulate sentence and inside, I was cackling with mirth. I’d been thinking up that particular chestnut of a statement for ages – a combination of boredom, a pocket dictionary at the very bottom of my bag for some obscure reason, and a brilliant primary education by Hermione Weasley. She’s given me a vocabulary well beyond most of my friends…
“Yes, well… moving on. I want you to know that all the staff are behind you one-hundred-per-cent.”
“Dermot isn’t,” I pointed out, and he blushed. His hands grasped the collection of beads and charms around his neck, twisting them around his hands.
“Yes… well… he has been spoken to, and he understands completely now. It was simply a misunderstanding… he doesn’t know much about werewolves, you see.”
“Oh, yeah?” I snorted. It was blatantly obvious that he was lying, not only because of the ridiculousness of the statement itself, but also by the way he wouldn’t look me in the eyes, and squirmed in his seat. A misunderstanding… don’t make me laugh…
“I want you to know that no bullying or hurtful behaviour will be tolerated either.”
“Good,” I said, but I didn’t really believe it – what, was he going to punish half the school?
“You remain a much loved pupil at this school, Ted. Professor Gemmell in particular is adamant that you are treated with as much respect as any other pupil here, and I perfectly agree, despite the dark background you come from.”
“Err… thanks. But I don’t come from a dark background,” I said, a little insulted.
“I meant the war,” he said hurriedly. “You were faced with tragedy at an early age, and have been raised bouncing backwards and forwards between two homes, and three families – by which I mean your Grandmother, the Potters and the Weasleys.”
“Yeah… I s’pose. Well, thanks for visiting me, Professor.”
I hate that word – tragedy. I hate the way people look at me as a tragic little orphan boy. It makes me feel like I’ve come out of Oliver Twist. My life isn’t anywhere near as tragic as people make out when compared to Harry… or Oliver Twist. I mean, yeah, my family’s a little different to everyone else’s… but it doesn’t mean I’ve grown up with any less love than them, does it? I suppose I’ll never really know.
Anyways, he left soon after that, and now I’m out of the Hospital Wing, Alfie and Jason by my side, on my way to the Halloween Feast.
I walk into the Great Hall, and I’m immediately faced with everyone staring at me. It’s not like I’m the last one in or anything – about half the school still has to come – but all I can see is a great big, storm-ridden sea of angry, curious and apprehensive faces.
I do my very best to ignore them, and sit down at the Gryffindor table in between Jason, who looks embarrassed, and Alfie, who looks haughty and annoyed with everyone who’s staring at us… well, at me.
Everyone is talking as more students filter in, and I turn to Alfie and immediately start talking to him firmly about Quidditch. Jason tries to join in and pretend he’s interested, but he doesn’t really see the appeal of Quidditch, and he soon turns to magically unscrewing all the lids off the salt shakers.
Once everyone has come in, found a seat and had a good mutter or stare at me, Professor Obando stands up at the front, cracks a couple of corny jokes about Halloween, and announces that we may begin.
A glorious buffet appears before us, and we eagerly begin to eat. The people around me soon get tired of either sending me dirty looks and muttering behind their hands or sending me curious looks and muttering behind their hands, and just start talking to me like normal.
As it so happens, what with all the food and the happy atmosphere and missing out on three days worth of lessons, we all get a bit mad and hyper, and I’m soon taking requests for morphing.
I shouldn’t have started it, really. I stupidly made my nose grow really long, like Pinocchio (a muggle story Harry told me about. I don’t think Alfie really understands the joke, but it must look funny all the same), when Edith started talking about her obviously made-up encounter with a Chinese Fireball when she went on holiday to Italy.
“The clue’s in the name, Edith – a Chinese Fireball would be found in China, not in Italy,” says Alfie. Then he catches sight of Jason and me quietly laughing as I steadily grow my nose, and bursts out laughing. The people in the nearby area look round and saw what was happening, and soon I have people demanding to see more.
So, I begin my morphing favourites – usually saved for dinners with the Weasley’s and such. I make my ears abnormally large, and my chin very, very pointed, and I also make my hair into a giant, multi-coloured afro.
“Can you do animals?” shouts one fourth-year boy from a little way up the table. (I’ve attracted a pretty big audience by now.) I grin and make a pig snout, and, encouraged by everyone’s laughing, a monkey face.
“Yeah, great - can you do a werewolf?” asks Edith loudly, who had been sulking the whole time. Everyone falls silent and glances nervously at one another. The rest of the school carries on eating and talking and laughing, unaware.
“Yes,” I say calmly. “I can.” I then morph into a spitting image of my father, just to make a point. Some people scowl at me, and look away. Some people smile at me encouragingly, as if to say, “Good on you.” Mickey and Corrine start clapping and cheering really loudly and irritatingly. Jason and Alfie grin at me appreciatively.
But if the unpleasant, repulsed, tingling sensation on my skin and the fact that I just want to turn back into me again is anything to go by, I rather wish I hadn’t done it.
Teddy by dumbledorefluertwins
Chapter Endnotes: Yes, I know, I'm sorry. Teddy just decided to walk out my head, so I was left with awful writer's block.
Kevin: Can't . . . speak . . . starved of . . . reviews . . .
Evie: **looks up sadly** I'm such a terrible author . . .