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FIVE STICKS AND STONES

(MAY BREAK HER BONES)

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     THE CLOCK IS one minute and thirty-four seconds late, Holly has realised by this point in the term, having spent enough lessons comparing the clock in the Defence Against classroom to the watch around her wrist. All of the lessons have been a different experience to the Dark Arts lessons taught at her old school, but still, she's struggling to shake the feeling that every lesson with Moody is the same as being transported into the world of an Alice Cooper music video. Welcome to Holly's nightmare.

     Every second brings her swirling back into a cold classroom within an equally ghastly castle, where the novelty of breath transforming into that of a dragon's wore off months ago. There she is, in a classroom surrounded by children transfixed to the blackboard, worried that if they turn their heads, they'll be shouted at for being weak, for being incapable of such simple tasks. Resist Imperius. Cast Cruciatus. Stop the spider's suffering.

     Harlow managed to get the flu the day before, so he's sitting peacefully up in the hospital wing. If anything, Holly wishes Madam Pomfrey would let her visit him more, so she could pick up on some of the germs, and get out of the Defence lessons. At least, until they stop practising the Curses. Romanticising them. Making them seem beautiful. Isn't it amazing, how powerful they are? Not, isn't it horrific, how powerful they are? How powerful they make you? How much power they place in your hands, whispering for you to apply more, rev the engine until there's nothing but a crawled-up thing with tears of pained desperation wetting the stone ground.

     So Holly's snagged the empty desk next to Pansy and Millicent, who looked over the moon when she announced that she'd rather sit with them than the boys. It makes sense to Holly, because she knows that she mostly spends her time with Harlow. She wishes she could have a longer weekend or something, so she didn't have to worry about keeping up with homework and spending time with her new friends. She's still an outsider to all of them, isn't she? She still needs to make an effort, to get herself in.

     They've already realised, through Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil (she's learning names!) that it's impossible to talk in Moody's lessons. Which is a shame, because the rumours floating around the school are all connected to the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, and to be honest, Holly isn't going to complain if her friends are so fascinated by her old school. It's giving her brownie points, it's making them want to spend time with them. Now, if she just makes them fall in love with her personality, she'll be accepted, regardless of her old school. Durmstrang, shmurstrang.

     This means that Holly's stuck in her own head, with the addition of Susannah sometimes appearing, performing a beginner's gymnastics routine mid-air. Often her somersaulting include insults towards those that can't see — or hear — her, and wild cackles, that make you wonder if she doesn't have at least one drop of magical blood in her. But, they always provide some form of entertainment for Holly, who like many people, dislikes sitting alone in her head for too long. Often her mind wanders from how nice Hawaii looked on the television advert for a swimwear collection to do you remember Durmstrang? Which is pretty terrible, really. All she wants to do is fantasise about going somewhere sunny on holiday next summer. Not recollect that beast of a school. Come on.

     Holly's starting to develop a habit of drifting out of lessons and into her own little world, with Susannah's cackling somersaulting in the background. History of Magic is when the habit's at its worst, but then, if you've ever suffered through a History of Magic lesson at Hogwarts, you know that it's as dull as February weather in England.

     Back at Durmstrang she was always on her toes, you never knew when you were going to get picked on, or if the teacher would notice you were thinking about something other than the lesson. But Hogwarts isn't like that. Which is nice — really, she isn't complaining — but because some lessons are boring and there's no harm in zoning out for a little while, or because some lessons just make her think of her old school, she can't help but drift away and forget to listen to what the teacher's talking about.

     This the reason behind her dissolving out of the lesson and into her own little world: for a minute she thinks about how her dad's probably having takeaway pizza for his dinner tonight, because it's a Tuesday. God. She misses pizza. She would kill for a Dominoes pizza, honestly... Then she thinks about how she misses her dad, because she does, she always does when she's at school. She misses when she was a little girl and she was at primary school — entitled elementary school in her house thanks to her dad being too stubborn to admit the British name — and her dad would pick her up and they'd walk home, past the park, past the dogs being walked, back to their house painted white, with pretty yellow flowers next to the door.

     But then, she sees Susannah stop somersaulting, floating closer towards Moody, a frown on her face. Holly hears the word Imperius and she glances to her side, where Pansy and Millicent look worried.

     "But—but you said it's illegal, Professor," says one of Harry Potter's friends. Her friends call her Granger? She makes a note to learn her first name, because Holly feels impolite not knowing someone's first name. "You said — to use it against another human was—"

     Holly glances over to the girl with the last name Granger, noticing how wary she looks at the sight of Moody clearing the middle of the room, to make space. It clicks in Holly's mind. Is he going to use Imperius on us?

     She'll be fine. She knows she'll be fine. She's spent enough times being shouted at by teachers for not being able to resist the curse, she can resist Imperius, she knows she can. But then, what happens afterwards? Her friends are going to ask how she was able to bat away the thoughts, refuse to move and obey someone else's commands. She doesn't want to talk about that part of Durmstrang, not just yet. She's yet to be at that point with her friends, where it's 3AM on a weekend and they're talking about God knows what, and sensitive topics slip in. She isn't ready yet.

     "Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," says Moody. "If you'd rather learn the hard way — when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely — fine by me. You're excused. Off you go."

     Of course the girl called Granger doesn't move, even when Moody points towards the classroom door. She mumbles something but Holly doesn't hear it, she supposes she's too far away, or the whispers of her friends are too loud for her to hear past them. But, the fact that the curse is illegal and inhumane to cast on children seems to have been brushed under the carpet, because Moody beckons one of the Gryffindor students to the middle of the classroom.

     Harry Potter then stands up for his turn. Holly pays attention more, compared to what she had been doing for the other three before him. All Gryffindor. Holly wonders if Moody's going to pick everyone in red and then everyone in green. She hopes so. She wants to buy some time. Just because she can resist it, if she puts her mind into it, doesn't mean she likes it.

     Moody snarls the curse, and for a few minutes Harry Potter is completely still. Then, he falls into one of the tables next to him, looking like he was trying to jump and not jump at the same time. Holly's eyebrows raise slightly. 

     "Now, that's more like it!" says Moody. Holly, a little confused, looks at Harry Potter, who still  seems to be a little out of it. "Look at that, you lot... Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention — watch his eyes, that's where you see it — very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you!"

     "He sounds like a hippie reject," she hears Susannah mutter, lying up in the big light in the classroom. Holly hears her cackle.

     Harry Potter is put through Imperius again. Holly doesn't see how looking into his eyes does anything, instead it just makes it very clear how green they are. So are hers. Cool.

     At the end, Holly watches him for a second as he sits back in his seat, limping slightly as he does so, before Pansy breathes in loudly, and Holly turns, realising that Moody's looking straight at her.

     "Lippincott, you next."

     Pansy and Millicent whisper variations of "you'll be fine," which Holly knows. She's done this before, this is child's play to her. She nods once and gets out of her chair, brushing her skirt down as she steps into the middle of the classroom. It's a nightmare, trying to ignore the amount of people staring at her. It's almost as if they're intrigued to see what'll happen. Like she'll be any different to the others that have already been up... Which she will, she knows how to stop it from working, but still. No one else knows that. She doesn't walk around with a light-up sign stating, A bitch can resist Imperius!

     Moody raises his wand, and says, "Imperio!"

     She thinks about how her old Dark Arts teacher explained how the curse works, and therefore, how to prevent falling under its spell. She remembers that they always talked about how you felt like you floating, like you were a ghost, a thing without thoughts, without emotions.

     Holly hears Moody's voice whisper do star-jumps. Immediately she thinks no. She hears the command again. Star-jumps, do star-jumps. And she thinks the same thing. No. No. No. No.

     Do star-jumps. Her brain switches back to her old school, to her old teacher hissing, Have you not got the stomach for this, Miss Lippincott? She will not be controlled. She will not allow Imperius. She will not stay floating, she will recognise her surroundings.

     She feels the fabric of her skirt, still touching her fingertips. She feels a strand of her hair, brushing against the side of her face. She feels the cold air of a castle nearing towards winter and she hears whispers, she hears people around her speak in hushed voices.

     STAR-JUMPS!

     Holly stays still. Her mind is shouting at her to do it, but she doesn't allow it. Like when she was a little kid and scared of the dark, how she'd wake up in the night and need the toilet, and her mind would battle over get out of bed, nothing's going to hurt you, and you never know, you never know, don't go, don't go.

     But this isn't like that. It isn't her brain on both sides of the fight. It's someone else arguing with her, arguing against what she wants to do, how she wants to move. If she wants to move or not.

     And she's not fucking going to.

     "That's it!" growls Moody. She feels herself slip back into the classroom. Next to her she can see her friends grinning, proud of her, look at her go! Holly smiles back at them, pleased with herself. She's got the stomach for this. Forget those that think otherwise. "Another one! I hope you were all paying close attention — Lippincott resisted completely! Good work! You and Potter are ones to look out for!"

      Holly sits back down, thankful that she isn't being told to do it again. As he speaks, Pansy grins at her, putting her hand on Holly's arm and squeezing, like she'd hug her if they weren't in a classroom. Holly smiles back at her, and she glances over at the other side of the classroom, where Harry Potter is. He's strange.

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     YOU KNOW WHAT else is strange? The amount of students amazed that Viktor Krum's been picked by Karkaroff. Holly knows that only a select few can tell the tale of the headteacher's habit of plucking the best students, but really, if one of the most famous Quidditch players attends your school, you're going to show him off, aren't you? Even Holly can't blame Karkaroff for that.

     But, on the Friday following Moody's statement of you and Potter are ones to look out for — believe her, her friends have been taking the piss ever since — no one seemed to think that maybe Durmstrang would bring their one famous student. Holly supposes it's odd, but, she supposes it isn't the biggest issue in the world.

     The crowds that watched the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang elite arrive are now shuffling into the Great Hall, trying their best to talk to either Viktor Krum, or one of the pretty French students. Holly was watching it with her friends, who nudged her when Durmstrang arrived. She walks alongside Harlow as they get to their table in the hall, and she quickly says, "I'll be back in a second, you'll love me, just wait."

     Holly slips through the crowd, grateful that her shortness has resorted in the ability to move through crowds quickly. She makes her way towards her old friend from her old school, smiling brightly as she says, "You should have told me you were coming!"

     Viktor Krum looks up at her, finishing writing his name on someone's napkin, and he smiles back at her. "Holly!" he says. "How are you? Do you like Hogwarts?"

     "It's different to Durmstrang," says Holly, aware that her old headteacher is close, and who knows? She's friends with Viktor from being on the same Quidditch team, and she would say she trusts him, but still. You can't trust anyone when it comes to Karkaroff. You just never know. But, Holly glances over at her friends, who look hopeful, and she smiles at the group of Durmstrang students. "Do you want to sit with me and my friends? They're all really nice, I know you'll like them...?"

     "I would love to," says Viktor, and the others murmur some sort of agreement. Holly grins at him, and she leads them to the part of the Slytherin table where she and her friends are sitting, as she explains how glad she is that they arrived on a Friday, since she missed the last half-hour of Potions. (He laughs at this. Everyone can relate to missing part of Potions, can't they? It's a frightful subject.)

     Holly sits down next to her friends, a massive smile on her face. "I'm hoping it's fine if they can sit with us?"

     Viktor starts, "I do not want to intrude—"

     "You're not! You're completely welcome!" says Draco, springing into action. It brings about a rare occasion, where Draco and Holly share a smile. Because, shit, who would've thought she knew a famous Quidditch player? "We're all big fans — and it's a good thing you know Holly, too..."

     She knows her cousin's going off on some tangent, probably bashing Gryffindor, but Pansy leans closer to Holly, a huge smile on her face. "You get even better by the day!" she exclaims. Holly pulls a face back at her, but Pansy still looks over the moon, as do the rest of her friends.

     The rest of the Durmstrang students are all sitting around them. Harlow keeps on looking at one of them with great interest, and Holly taps his leg under the table, raising an eyebrow, a little smirk on her face. He gives her a look. She smiles.

     One of the boys she remembers from a year above her — how would she know the name of someone she doesn't know, or someone not in her year? — picks up one of the golden plates with widened eyes. He looks up, and Holly nods. "I know."

     "And the ceiling!" says one of the girls, maybe two years above Holly, her face looking upwards in wonder. "How does that work? This is brilliant!"

     Holly nods in agreement, because she still agrees. Sometimes she isn't sure if she's amazed about some of Hogwarts' features because of Durmstrang's ghastly manner, or because, really, she's a muggleborn with a magical mother. Everything is new and wonderful to her.

     Pansy grins at Holly again, delighted at the Durmstrang students sitting with them. At the front of the hall, Dumbledore stands, and the chatter quickly dies down.

     "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts—" Susannah lets out a whoop. Obviously Dumbledore continues. He can't see her. "And — most particularly — guests. I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

     "The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

     Harlow scoffs. "Don't mind if I do, Brian," he says, and he reaches one of the chicken legs in the centre of the table. Both Holly and Pansy laugh.

     The hall erupts again into talking and laughing, the clinking of cutlery and food being scooped onto people's plates. Holly's already happily eating one of the roast potatoes as Millicent tells one of the Durmstrang students — perhaps a little smitten with her? — the different parts of school, most of which being things from that Hogwarts book Holly promised her dad she'd read before September first, but got side-tracked and read something by Truman Capote instead.

     Holly notices the expressions the Durmstrang students make, when they're asked about the place. How can they respond? It's always cold, it's a terrible place where the best position to be is at the top of every subject, but then, it's horrific, trying to climb up there. Because she knows these are the students that were in the same place as she was — accepting the offer to help at detentions, to have extra lessons with teachers to improve on certain curses. The crawl to the top is bloody and that's the reason why Holly never told her dad, until the day she couldn't hold it in anymore.

     "The moment has come," says Dumbledore, after forever seemed to have passed, and most people were getting sleepy from the amount of food they inhaled. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year."

     Harlow and Holly exchange a frown.

     "But, first, let me introduce, for thos who do not know them, Mr Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

     The applause for Ludo Bagman far outweighs that for Bartemius Crouch. Holly also can't help but think about how strange their names are, but, then again, she isn't used to the extravagant names that wizards often use. Again. She's used to basic English names, and then, names of Eastern European descent. Bartemius is a strange name to her.

     "Mr Bagman and Mr Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts... The casket, then, if you please, Mr Filch."

     Dumbledore continues to talk about the requirements of becoming one of the three champions, and she notes the smiles the Durmstrang students are targeting at Viktor, who's obviously a favourite amongst them to get sorted, which makes absolute sense. Holly doesn't particularly listen to what Dumbledore says, because as much as she wishes she was a little older, so she could try and enter, what's the use in listening, if she can't compete? There's no use in moping over something she can't have, and there's no use in listening intently, when it doesn't affect her, whether or not the champions should be daring and able to cope with danger. All of it just makes her think, I could do that, but she can't, she's too young.

     Finally, the casket is opened, and a goblet is taken out of it. She hears Dumbledore say that the aspiring champions have twenty-four hours to put their names forward, and that the champions will be revealed tomorrow, on Halloween.

     And the next twenty-four hours go past in a blur. The conversations are almost all related to the goblet with dancing blue flames — Holly remembers Halloween morning, when she sighs and says she wonders who will be picked, and wishes she could have a go at entering, see if she could do it. She could, surely? She's good at magic. She could stand a chance at being picked — and could you imagine, the joy that would bring her house? The idea that it'll probably go to someone brave makes her a little upset. She wishes, like most of those in her house, that the Slytherins could be glorious, just once.

     Everything keeps on running past. Bitching with her friends on Halloween morning. Getting a letter from her dad, describing his thoughts on Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray, which his boyfriend got for him for his birthday, and he's only just gotten around to it. Going to Hogsmeade and splurging on sweets and chocolate. Accidentally eating a sandwich at lunch too close after eating chocolate, and feeling incredibly disgusted. Reading a book — In Cold Blood by Truman Capote — in the afternoon whilst her friends finish off homework they didn't do in the week, and pretending that the book wasn't written by a muggle. (Because really, there is a sense of magic in storytelling, so she isn't truly lying.)

     And then everything stops.

     The Great Hall is silent. The goblet had turned red again, a fourth time, once more than expected. Holly sees Dumbledore staring at the pieces of parchment that were hacked up by the wooden goblet, creating a large pause, in which everyone around her exchanged frowns.

     "Harry Potter—"

     OK, well, that isn't a shocker, if it was going to be anyway, it would—

    "— and Holliday Lippincott."

     —n't be her?

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