A Changed Lestrange (1-2) (under editing)

8: A Hallowe'en Horror

While Hermione was making an extremely conscious effort to not discuss or even think about the three-headed dog and what it had been guarding, Ashton couldn't help but have an ounce of curiosity invade his mind. He noticed that Harry and Ron seemed to be jittering with excitement, no doubt deep into discussion about what happened last night.

Neville, meanwhile, only seemed to care about never going near that dog again.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but Ashton gathered that they didn't really like her anyway, so they probably viewed it as an added bonus. 

Malfoy, who had the intention of getting Harry and Ron expelled, probably couldn't believe his eyes when he saw them both sat at the breakfast table — tired, but perfectly cheerful. Ashton didn't particularly like Harry and Ron, but he would like anybody that managed to make Malfoy look a fool.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long thin package carried by six large screech owls. Ashton was just as interest as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel and was surprised to see the owls soar down and drop it right in front of Harry, knocking his plate of bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Ashton watched from a couple of seats away as Harry ripped the letter open first, and read it. He handed the note to Ron, and the two of them left the Hall quickly. He almost got up to follow them, but simply could not be bothered as he just eating his spoonfuls of porridge.

Once he was done, he thought then was the time he could go and check on wherever Hermione was, which was most likely involving herself in another argument with Harry and Ron.

And sure enough, there they were on the staircase after the Entrance Hall, as Ashton got there just in time to hear Hermione say, "So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking the rules?" she said angrily as she began stomping up the stairs.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.

"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron. "It's doing us so much good."

Hermione marched away with her nose in the air. Ashton thought about following her, but he also was very curious as to what was in the package Potter got at breakfast, so he followed them up the stairs.

"What's in the package, then?" he asked from behind them once they reached the top of the staircase. He could've been a little less blunt with the question, but he didn't really specialise in social interactions. 

"It's nothing to do with you," said Ron.

Ashton looked at Harry and motioned to his package with his head. "Broomstick?"

Harry nodded. "How'd you know that?" 

Ashton gestured to the packaging with his head, looking as Ron glared at him. "Pretty obvious. Just thought it'd be nice if you told me instead of me saying it. Oh, well. See you later."

***

Maybe it was because he was being pummeled with homework, but Ashton could hardly believe it when he realised he'd already been at Hogwarts for two months. The castle was somewhat a home to him, in more of a regard than the orphanage — at least he enjoyed being at this home, so to speak. The lessons, too, had at least become more interesting than before, as they had now mastered the basics.

On Hallowe'en morning, they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something that many of them had been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practise. Ashton's partner was Lavender Brown, a Gryffindor girl who seemed to not like him whatsoever — whether it was because of his surname or because he was yet to tell her that her hair looked nice, he wasn't sure. Regardless, as soon as he moved up to where she was sitting to sit next to her, he saw her shuffling away from him, as if he were a disease, in the least subtle way possible. Her chair was scraping against the floor.