Chapter 45: Grin and Bear It
Harry had to fight to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. It was about as easy as defeating a basilisk, but he managed to put a bland smile on his face as Slughorn guided him through the room. The boy did not feel like a guest of honour, more like a hostage locked in the man's surprisingly strong grip as he was pulled along and introduced again and again as the most promising Quidditch player Hogwarts had ever seen. Each time the praise got more elaborate until Harry barely got to say 'hullo' and brush his fingers against the new acquaintance's palm before he was dragged off to meet someone else.
With no time to even learn these people's names let alone what they had done to win placement in The Slug Club, he had little hope of finding out if they knew what the Split-Apart curse did. The entire evening was beginning to look like a waste of time and effort.
Another face was shoved before him, and Harry held out his hand yet again. A woman nearing forty with bulging eyes and greying hair, who Slughorn greeted as Margery, smiled broadly and offered a greeting to them both. The professor sucked in a deep breath, but before he could begin his long-winded boast about his new find a young man stepped in front of her and took hold of the offered hand.
Harry was slightly offended by the pushiness and how rude this man was, but Slughorn looked positively elated.
"Alfie, my boy," he cried with great enthusiasm. "Have you met Harry? Great Quidditch star…" As the man continued, Harry eyed Alfie. He certainly didn't look like someone who ought to have such a diminutive name. He was too tall, too handsome; his features were sharp, his irises so pale a blue they seemed to disappear into the whites of his eyes, his honey brown hair pomaded back in perfect waves. He looked like an old fashioned movie star, certainly not an Alfie. That was the sort of moniker that belonged to a sticky-fingered child, not this neat young man opposite.
Harry had no intention of paying the young man much attention; he looked like he was barely out of school, hardly old enough to be an expert in anything. His eye was already off Alfie and searching the room for an older witch or wizard he might approach, but when the young man tightened his grip on Harry's fingers, he had no choice but to notice him.
The near-translucent blue eyes fixed on Harry as if he were trying to transmit a secret signal. "We've met, Professor. At the Christmas party, sir."
"Ah, how foolish of me!" Slughorn laughed deeply.
The professor moved to take hold of Harry again and navigate him toward another guest, but he was too slow. Alfie had already wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders and pulled him free of Slughorn's tenacious grasp. He walked deftly through a thick cluster of guest, all the while talking as if he were taking up an on-going conversation. "Now, Harry, you were telling me all about that marvellous play you had made, dodging a wild Bludger or was it a Quaffle?"
Harry could barely breathe for the panic. He hadn't told anyone about Dobby's mad attempt to keep him 'safe' second year, not even Sirius. "I don't remember saying that."
Alfie laughed lightly, apparently unaware of the anxiety he was causing in his companion. "It sounded like the sort of story a Quidditch star would tell. I wasn't even at the Christmas party. Avoid these things at all cost when I can."
"Then why…?" Harry wasn't sure precisely what he was asking, whether he was questioning why this stranger had lied to Slughorn, why he had saved him from his grasp or why he was attending now. They all seemed appropriate questions, though most would have come across as rather rude given the favour the young man had just done him.
"I remember what it was like being Slug's new find," he said, letting his icy blue eyes roll. "I was made to attend a party just like this one. Four hours of my life I'm desperate to get back. My hand was so sore I wasn't able to practice spells for a week afterward, which is ironic when you consider that I'm supposed to be the 'most promising hex caster Hogwarts has ever seen'." His long fingers came up in sarcastic inverted commas and he rolled his eyes again as a smile pulled at his mouth.
"Well, thanks." Harry took a small step away, giving him space to leave and find someone else to talk to; his work was done, after all. He had saved Harry from any further attempts Slughorn might have made to parade him around the room.
Harry expected the young man to turn and walk away, but he continued to stand opposite as if he were waiting. After an awkwardly long silence, Harry realised that his rescuer wasn't going anywhere, that he really was waiting, waiting for him to speak. He had grown accustomed to just shaking hands and moving on, and wasn't sure where to begin. He replayed their brief conversation and his eyes grew wide with understanding and heart filled with a balloon of hope.
"Wait, did you say hex caster? What sort of hexes?"
"The usual, I suppose," Alfie replied with a languid shrug, as if his grand talent were nothing at all. "Although, I did invent a nice little hex just for Slughorn that makes the hexee cough up slugs for about an hour. He loved it."
"I've seen that one," Harry exclaimed, remembering when Ron had attempted to use it on Malfoy second year. "Didn't work out quite as planned. Broken wand. Shot the hex right back at him."
The young man cringed. "Bad luck."
"But that's amazing. I'd never thought of anyone making up their own hexes."
Again he shrugged. "They had to come from somewhere."
"Yeah, I suppose so." Harry paused, considering his new acquaintance and his forte. It would be too much to hope for that this young man opposite would be exactly who he needed. All his effort went into keeping a calm façade, not bouncing on his toes or leaping at the boy with the question on his lips he so desperately wanted to ask. He needed to keep the boy talking about things that interested him long enough to bring the Split-Apart up naturally in the course of conversation. He wished it was Hermione who had discovered him. The girl was a rubbish liar, but she would have been far more suited to talking about such things with this potential treasure-trove of information. Harry was none too eager to drag the conversation out or talk about other things that held no interest to him, but he thought there might be a way to keep Alfie's attention and perhaps gauge his depth of knowledge in hexes.
Clearing his throat delicately, he asked, "Did you ever look into resurrecting old hexes nobody bothers with anymore?"
His face offered few clues to his thoughts save a raised eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"
"My sister, Hermione," he gestured vaguely to the crowd of guests, knowing she was there somewhere, "she reads a lot, and she sometimes finds hexes and spells nobody's ever heard of. She said she found one called Vecturo."
"The Transport Charm. Nobody bothers with it since they invented Apparition and Portkeys. How old was that book if it talked about Vecturo?" He took an hors d'oeurve from a passing tray and popped it into his mouth as he waited for Harry to answer.
It took every ounce of self-control the Seeker possessed not to leap into the air and shout for joy. Alfie appeared to be just the person he had been searching for, the sole purpose for suffering through the previous one hundred and fifty excruciating minutes. Moreover, it seemed that the young man was settling in for a long conversation, that he actually wanted to stay with Harry and not seek out someone more elegant or advanced to speak with; he couldn't imagine what a sixth year Quidditch player would have to offer a professional spell creator or whatever this young man did for a living, but he wasn't about to argue.
"Old," Harry said, trying to keep his tone even, as if this were not the most vital conversation he would ever have. "She's got a list of spells that no one else has ever heard of. I'm not sure what she's planning to do with it, but I suspect she's trying to use them to make up new charms or something." He let his voice sound sceptical, as if he didn't believe such a thing were possible. Until a moment ago, he truly didn't believe it was, but clearly if someone could invent a new hex, then an old one could be modified for a new purpose.
"Well, she's going about it the right way. It's near-impossible to make a spell from scratch without training. You're as likely to blow yourself up as anything else. It's best to start with one people have tried before." His companion nodded his head, a smooth, slow motion, barely quicker than the previous nod; something about his casual, can't-be-bothered gestures reminded him of Sirius, which made him considerably easier to talk to.
Harry paused. "Why hexes?"
"Why not hexes?" he said with a devious smile. "Everybody uses one at some point, the more potent the better. Like swear words, the stronger they are the more you mean it."
He couldn't help smiling before his curiosity had him asking, "So what do you do?"
"I study."
"You study hexes? That's a real job?"
He laughed. "No, I study here. I'm still a student."
"Really? I've never seen you," Harry said, narrowing his eyes as he gave the young man a more thorough examination. No, he had definitely never seen him before.
"Hard to look past Sirius Black, I know," he said with something of a smile. "But I'm a seventh year. You wouldn't see me much. I've seen you, though. You spend a quite a bit of time in the Restricted Section. Is that where your sister found her obscure spells?"
Harry nodded, a little put-off by the boy's observations. How had he not noticed this young man watching him? He seemed the sort anyone would notice.
"I'd love to see what you've found."
Despite his desire to play it safe and take his time getting to know this boy, who he knew nothing about and didn't even know if he could trust, Harry found himself very willing to share the list right then and there. "I've go—"
"Harry!"
The boy cringed as Tildy barrelled into him, nearly knocking him into the bowl of punch that was floating nearby.
"Harry, save me! I've been stuck talking potions with Snape and some funny-looking little Ravenclaw for the past twenty minutes. Did I mention how much I hate potions?" She gripped his arm painfully and shook it with all her might.
The boy could only sigh. "Tildy, Alfie. Alfie, Tildy."
"I'm his date," Tildy offered with a toothy grin.
"It's not a date," Harry said for what had to have been the fiftieth time since he invited her.
Alfie laughed and patted him consolingly on the back. "I'll see you around."
Harry was so keen on getting his information that he nearly chased the older boy through the crush of guests. Thankfully, Tildy kept him from embarrassing himself as she took his arm in her vicelike grip and pulled him further from Alfie.
"So, I met Joshua Churlish," she said as she led him through the room. "He's got rubbish taste in music but works at the Ministry. Knows loads about hexes." She offered a smile and wave to a round little man with a shock of white-blond hair and a large, black mole on his chin. After a swift introduction, Tildy had them talking as if they were old friends. Unfortunately, they were not discussing hexes.
"What are you talking about?" the girl demanded. "The Rezillos are the greatest band ever to come out of Scotland!"
"The Clutha—"
Tildy scoffed, interrupting the man's attempt to defend his opinion. "Yeah, let's all wear kilts and dance like Brigadoon! I'm talking about real, modern music, here, Joshua. What do you think, Harry?"
"Uh, I like the Buzzcocks," he offered weakly, not really sure what they were on about but knowing that he had to contribute something. It must have been the right thing to say because Tildy was practically crushing his ribcage as she hugged him. The odd little Joshua Churlish was laughing hysterically, but Harry could not bring himself to smile. It all reminded him too much of the painful summer when Tonks hugged him fiercely as she begged for his dead Godfather's records.
"Harry?" Tildy asked, realising he was the only one not laughing.
"I'm not feeling that great. I think I'm going to head back before Slughorn finds me again," he said, adding in a low whisper. "Get him talking about hexes."
She nodded, her face uncharacteristically sombre. As he walked away he heard her change the subject as abruptly as Tonks did her hair colour: "So, Josh, what do you know about hexes?"
He had to smile at her absolute lack of subtlety.