#recruitstart

@mosternestmacmillan

Even in the chilly, bleak January weather, Greenhouse Three was warm and humid thanks to the many panes of charmed glass and heating spells. Padma knew that those carefully maintained magicks were kept there for the health of the plants rather than the comfort of the students, but she couldn’t help sighing with relief as the warmth as she settled back on her tall wooden stool and let the heat seep into her veins. The walk down from the school always left her feeling frigid, no matter how many layers she added to her heavy cloak and long black robes. Her mother liked to tease that it was genetic, that Patils simply weren’t adapted for the Scottish weather the way the Macmillans were -- and ordinarily Padma rolled her eyes at her mum and pulled on a thicker pair of woolly socks, but today she caught herself eyeing the distant cousin who shared her mother’s maiden name.

Ernie was bent dutifully over his assigned tray of plants. If he was still shaking off the cold from outside, he gave no sign of it, but then Hufflepuffs were known for being dedicated workers -- especially in Herbology. Padma glanced around, spotting Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot -- the other Ravenclaws in the D.A. -- crowded around a tray of their own. She wondered if any of them had managed to pass the word along to the Hufflepuffs in class yet; she wondered if any of them had thought to try. Maybe they’d already heard by now, Ernie and Hannah -- but maybe they hadn’t. If they didn’t know, someone had to tell them...and apparently, that someone would have to be Padma.

Stifling a sigh, she picked up her pruning shears and moved to join the tray of plants where Ernie was working. Padma waited until she was sure that Professor Sprout’s attention -- and that of the students on either side of them -- was elsewhere before she leaned over to Ernie and whispered, “Lightning has struck.”

She felt like an idiot, using a stupid code phrase like that -- but that’s what the D.A. had agreed on, back in an early meeting toward the beginning of last term, when they had discussed the likelihood of Harry Potter returning to Hogwarts. Padma had agreed at the time that it seemed more prudent than going around saying the name of Undesirable Number One aloud (easy way to attract unwelcome attention, that!) but now that she actually had to say the phrase they had agreed upon all those months ago, she couldn’t help dwelling on how dumb it sounded. Still, what was she supposed to do? Say nothing, and hope that Ernie had heard the news from someone else?

The corridors thrummed with new energy--thirst for blood perhaps, or maybe that slippery, spiteful thing called hope. Draco might have believed it was just a rumour started by Dumbledore’s Army were it not one of his own who identified him. Only Potter could make limbs appear out of thin air. That was his special trick. Draco knew as much. Potter had a knack for escaping danger, which was probably why he would win and Draco would... well, he’d already lost, hadn’t he?

Draco needed to find Pansy, to speak to her himself. This could be a trick, a ruse; fool the castle into thinking Potter has returned, lure out those rebellious worms, and quash them once and for all. It wouldn’t be the first time since Draco had taken the Mark that he’d been kept out of the loop, only given half the information. He sped up. The Slytherin Dungeon had never felt so far away. Why did he have to hear the news all the way on the other side of the castle? Never let them see you break a sweat, his father advised. Of course, sweat had been the least of Draco’s problems. Don’t let them see the cracks, he should have said. Don’t let them see you break. Cry. Scream. 

A familiar face appeared on the other end of the corridor, moving closer with every step. Ah yes, this was just who Draco needed to see--not Pansy, but better. Much better. He slowed to a stop, closing hands into fists; he couldn’t stand the feel of them trembling. Was it true? Was Potter back? Draco had to know. 

“Now why are you in such a hurry?” he said, stepping in front of the approaching figure. “If the Carrows see you blundering down the corridors, they might think you have somewhere important to be, but that can’t be true.” Draco lowered his voice into a threat. “You should take better care not to raise suspicions.”

Padma hesitated, drumming her fingers nervously on the back of the book she held pressed to her chest like a shield or a security blanket. She scanned the bustling Great Hall -- somehow the lack of Muggle-born students made the room feel the room so much emptier than the absence of such a comparatively few number of bodies should logically produce -- as her stomach turned over and over again, leaving a sour and sick feeling that clawed up the back of her throat.

She didn’t know why she was wasting her time; Padma already knew she wasn’t going to find who she was looking for here, not when there hadn’t been any sign of her in Ravenclaw Tower last night...

But when a flash of fiery red hair moved past her to the Gryffindor table, Padma couldn’t help following. She hesitated several times, almost turning back to the comfort and safety of her fellow Ravenclaws -- but something dragged her feet onward. Guilt? Curiosity? It was impossible to say but suddenly there she was, at the edge of the Gryffindor table, but several feet down from where her sister sat bent in hushed conversation with Lavender Brown. (Everyone seemed to speak in hushed conversations this year. Padma had never thought she would miss the annoyingly raucous cacophony that usually characterized breakfast in the Great Hall, but this sepulchral quiet weighted on her worse than the noise ever had...)

She stepped toward the bright red mane, cleared her throat and said, “Excuse me -- Ginny? I was just -- I was just wondering, have you...have you heard anything from Luna? Luna Lovegood, I mean?” Padma bit her lip, feeling her cheeks go hot with embarrassment; what other Luna could she mean? Even if there were another girl by that name here at Hogwarts -- which she doubted -- only Luna Lovegood held any shared connection between her and Ginevra Weasley. She would be lucky if Ginny didn’t laugh in her face, after that. “I was just wondering if she’s...all right, you know?”

He was running, running, running. Had been back in the castle for less than ten minutes and had already gotten caught. If only he hadn’t lost his temper. Or maybe it was just foolish to come here at all. To leave Ron and Hermione behind. If Hermione were with him, she’d be able to find a way to get where they need to go. Ron would be able to calm Harry down. They needed each other and, though Harry always knew that and couldn’t exactly say he regretted keeping them safe, he missed them. They’d done it all together and now he was running from the children of Death Eaters all alone.

He sprinted down the corridor, turning the path abruptly. Not really sure where to go next. The Gryffindor Tower? No, the Carrows would look their first, wouldn’t they? Perhaps the owlery, but it wasn’t as if he could easily send a message. He moved towards the Transfiguration classroom. Harry wasn’t really focused on getting to McGonagall, exactly, but she was the teacher he trusted most in this castle.

Not far from the classroom, however, he felt the cloak slip from his frame, the air hitting him coldly after the warmth of being underneath such a heavy thing. He looked down at his body, visible, and then turned to see how it had fallen from him. But it wasn’t simply on the ground - no, a suit of armor stood tall a few feet away from Harry, clutching at his invisibility cloak, which was wrapped in a ball in the metal fist. 

It was jinxed.