The Gray's Secret: Scene 8 (Patreon)

Hogwarts, Scotland: Three days before the Wizengamot Weekend.

“And that’s Montrose,” Daphne said, putting a little tick beside the location marked for the east-coast sea-side town on the large map of Scotland pinned up in the empty classroom Hermione had been using for the Founders Club meetings. It was lunchtime and the second-year girls were grabbing a moment to plot before Herbology. “Add that to Wigtown, Banchory, and Portree and we’ve now got direct influence in every major Scottish magical settlement North of Edinburgh.”

“Except for Hogsmeade,” Hermione pointed out.

“Except for Hogsmeade,” Daphne agreed. She pursed her lips. “And that is not a small deal. Hogsmeade is by far the most influential town in the region. It might as well be Scotland’s unofficial magical capital. We’re going to have to think hard about how we’re going to bring it under the Gray’s sway.”

“Don’t they also need investment?” Hermione asked.

“Not nearly to the same extent,” Daphne replied. “Many influential lords make Hogsmeade their home. They’re happy to ensure the town gets the infrastructure it needs. No, if we’re going to win over that town, we’re going to have to appeal to something other than money. At least, directly.”

Looking between Hermione and Daphne, Pansy Parkinson watched with wide eyes. Next to her Milicent Bullstrode was doing much the same — new to the plot, but now in a somewhat similar boat. Her parents had ordered her to join the nascent group to ‘avoid isolation,’ and Slytherin’s ice princess had not objected.

“Any ideas?” Daphne asked and it took Pansy a second to realise that the question had been directed at her.

She stuttered. “Umm— I mean, that is...” Pansy stopped. She’d been raised for this. Ever since she’d been old enough to hold a toy wand, her mother had told her that one day she was going to be stepping into the wizarding world of politics and it would be her job to advise her husband on matters that men often found it difficult to think straight on.

She’d assumed that wasn’t going to be for ages, though.

Oh, sure, she knew the behaviours. Knew the rituals. She knew how to hold her teacup, which forks and knives to use, how to address whom based on their rank and station, and even played a mean game of magical poker, watching her opponents' faces for tell-tale hints of bluff or counter-bluff, all while shielding her mind from occlumency probes, or, when setting up a cunning counter-bluff of her own, letting them in.

She’d known all this, but she was quickly coming to realise that she hadn’t actually been ready. And hadn’t expected to need to be for a long time.

Marriage, even for a noble witch in magical Britain, was something that was going to happen ‘out there in the future’.

She hadn’t really expected to be sitting in on a high-level strategy session for a major political faction when she wasn’t even old enough to visit the very wizarding village whose political conquest was being discussed — not without a signed note from her mother or father.

Pansy bit her lip. “Does Lord Slytherin really listen to you? I mean, if you went to him and said, ‘I think we should do this?’ Would he actually take you seriously? My father always sends me away whenever there’s important stuff to talk about with his friends. ‘Not old enough’ he says.”

In response to her question, Daphne Greengrass smirked. “Of course, my lord listens to me. I’m his future first wife. Why wouldn’t he?”

Hermione chose that moment to have a coughing fit so ladened with meaning that it might as well have been a philosophical treaty.

Greengrass glared at the muggle-born with her piercing blue eyes. “And listening to me is not the same as slavishly doing as I say. Of course our lord will make his own judgment after listening to my council.”

Another round of meaningful coughs, this time combined with a look that said, “Really?”.

Greengrass rolled her eyes. “If you want to be pedantic, fine! He will listen to all our council. Mine and Hermione’s. Luna’s too. Alexandra Black’s, sometimes. As well as any advisors he has among the other lords of the Gray. And anyone else he happens to respect. Happy now?”

Finally, Hermione nodded, looking satisfied and more than a little smug.

Suddenly, the entire room shook, once. The floor vibrated, the glass rattled in the windows, and a poorly balanced book at the end of a bookshelf line of books fell over.

Then the impact came a second time.

From outside the window, down on the Hogwarts grounds, several teenage girls screamed — a skirt-wetting cry of utter terror that just seemed to go on and on.

Several more impacts shook the room before the sun was blocked out and a gigantic eye appeared in a window — a third-floor window.

Pansy felt a wave of primal fear sweep over her as the eye’s pupil contracted, staring right at her. She knew what it was, of course, but that didn’t help.

A moment later, the giant form shifted and a first-year girl with dirty blonde hair and radish earrings was hanging onto the ledge outside the window by her fingertips.

After a quickdraw wand contest between Hermione and Daphne, which Hermione won, but not by much, the window opened and the girl was climbing inside.

“LUNA PANDORA LOVEGOOD!” screeched the voice of Professor McGonagall from down on the grounds.

The window snapped shut, muffling all sounds from outside again.

“Luna,” began Hermione in an admonishing voice. “What did our lord say about frivolously using your animagus form before the Wizengamot emergency magic hearing?”

Luna finished patting down her school robes before looking thoughtful. “That I should think very carefully before doing it?”

“And?”

Luna smiled brightly. “And I did!”

Hermione groaned.

Daphne snorted.

Pansy did a double-take at that. The ice princess of Slytherin did not snort.

Daphne quickly adopted a more serious expression. “Luna, do you also remember that we’ve been given special permission to leave Hogwarts on the weekend to attend the Special Wizengamot Session and that Professor McGonagall could theoretically still take away our permission?”

Luna adopted the ‘looking thoughtful’ expression again. “I suppose she could try. But she would likely fail. Now that Virgo has fled, our lord has less incentive to pretend that his control of the wards may be anything other than almost permanent. Lockhart is in our pocket. The bloody baron would not say no.”

“And she could take that failure as a personal insult,” Daphne pressed. “McGonagall isn’t just a teacher, she’s an influential witch in her own right. Setting her up as an enemy could backfire.”

Just then, the door to the classroom burst open and in came Professors Potter and Snape. The first stormed. The second swept.

“Just what do you think you’re playing at?” Lily hissed. “Three Ravenclaw girls are in the infirmary, being treated by Madam Pompey with calming solutions and one Gryffindor sixth-year boy fainted! I don’t think they’ve ever been more frightened!”

“Oh, dear,” Luna said, and the dreamy delivery meant that Pansy had no idea if the girl was being genuine or just really really sarcastic. “Do you think Boggarts can turn into T-Rexs? You might have to get a larger DADA classroom.”

And Pansy still had no idea!

At that last statement, Snape swept forward and towered over the petite blonde. “I know you believe that your betrothal with Lord Slytherin means that the rules don’t apply to you, Miss Lovegood,” he said in a low, dangerous voice, “But I assure you, they do. 100 points from Slytherin and detention for a week!

“Oooo, extracurricular activities!” Luna clapped her hands. “Are we going into the forest?”

The edge of Snape’s lip curled. “No, I think not. I think we can find something more appropriate.”

Luna looked up with a curious expression as if to say, ‘What?’

Snape smiled. Worse than any expression thus far. “I think some inter-house team building would be appropriate. Something to build bridges and ease tensions. As such, you will report to Gryffindor Tower every evening until the weekend. I think John Potter could use some help answering all his fan mail.”

Pansy had seen many things she didn’t think she would over the last few months, but one thing she had yet to see was Luna looking anything other than dreamy, joyous, or pouty.

Luna’s expression fell. Under her breath, she quietly muttered, “Oh, Poo.”

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