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CHAPTER THIRTY
the boy and the poltergeist
FOR THE FIRST time in a great long while, there wasn't a horrible headline on the Daily Prophet's that cascaded down on students in the mornings. News of a band of aurors being appointed to a another task squad, but no deaths. There was life that day, meaning that the after class chatter in the Great Hall was vivacious. There was still snow outside, but it wasn't the bitter kind—rather it was soft as it kissed cheeks and made them bloom bright red. It made teeth chattering that was curable by hot chocolate. Betty was giddily chatting with her friends as Aisling had received an issue of Teen Beat in her morning post and she couldn't stop talking about how gorgeous Andy Gibb was in his cover shoot.
"I'm telling you! No one would give a shit about the Bee Gees if he hadn't joined!" Aisling screeched.
Philippa snorted as she ate her beans on toast. "Other than the fact that they make great music? Disco is the future."
"Yeah yeah," Aisling waved her hand and blew a piece of hair, "but you have to admit that he's totally fit."
"He's not really my type," Philippa contained her giggles as she watched Aisling's face strike with offense, "but I understand where you're coming from."
"Cece?"
"Don't like guys." Cece was staring at a small crystal ball that Sybil Trelawney, a Ravenclaw in the year below them and a fellow divination enthusiast, with rapt attention. "Don't really see the point in them."
"Well that's because you have Mary," Aisling teased, making Cece roll her eyes.
"They probably don't even like me."
"Oh they like you, Cece," Betty snorted as she looked up from the paper. "It's clear as day!"
"Oh shut it."
Aisling tried to hold back her smile as her and Philippa exchanged a look. Betty absent-mindedly passed the strawberry jam to Philippa before she could even reach for it as her eyes scanned the page, making her eyebrows furrow. Her hair was in a ponytail—a result of temporarily messing up her shower schedule. Her hair curled and her curtain bangs, that proved to be too short for the elastic, framed her face—the pieces that were long enough were tucked behind her ears.
"What's wrong?" Philippa asked as she carefully spread the jam over her toast. "There were no deaths—"
"No, no," Betty interrupted softly, "that's not it. It's just . . ." She looked at the picture of the new aurors, some beaming proudly, others deadly serious as the flash of the camera made the rims of her eyes light up ever so often. "They're so young. These new aurors, I mean."
