Back to the Kitchen

CHAPTER TWELVE

Back to the Kitchen

My ears seemed to be turning around on hinges and the drums were taut with pain. The swishing noise in my head was drowning out the sound of Professor Umbitch telling us to turn to chapter thirty-one without talking. I dared not look at Sophie, whose hands were pressed to the sides of her head.

Just when the battering against my eardrums was unbearable, when Hannah was almost squeaking with pain, there was a deafening POP! that the whole Defence class must have heard, and warm pus gushed out of both my ears.

It was bright purple and it splashed onto Slinkhard's boring textbook, leaving fluorescent stains. It kept on pouring out like purple soup, gill after gill of it, until I felt guilty for the mess I was making of the Hogwarts desk.

"Professor Umbridge!" Megan's hand had shot into the air, so that purple pus was pouring from her ear to her sleeve. "Professor, I feel sick! I need to leave at once!"

Hannah and Sophie jumped to their feet without awaiting permission. "We're making a mess, Professor! We need to go!"

Umbitch frowned and pointed her tiny wand at us. "I am not allowing this! You will resume your seats!"

"Sorry, Professor!" said Susan, clapping a handkerchief to her own purple ears. "Let's go!"

I followed Susan to the door, while Umbitch shrieked, "Detention, all five of you! You're in detention!"

Once we were out in the corridor, Megan handed out the Anti-Pastilles, although we could hardly swallow them for giggling. The swimming moisture in my ears abruptly dried, and my head felt normal again.

"Tergeo," I said, to clear up the mess. "Do we have to attend that detention?"

"Of course not," said Sophie. "She can't make us."

"Besides, she won't even remember our little prank," said Megan. "My sister's class has a more exciting plan for this afternoon – a plan that involves Cornish Pixies."

We ran downstairs, on the way narrowly escaping a shower of brass clankers thrown by Peeves.

"Megan, 'oo gave yer them Pus-Pouring Pastilles?" asked Sophie.

"My brother gave me a new Skiving Snackbox. He works in Diagon Alley so he can visit Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes at any time."

"What shall we do to Umbitch tomorrow?" I asked. It felt wonderful to be doing something about that ghastly woman.

Hannah and Susan exchanged a glance.

"What?" I demanded.

Hannah and Susan had returned to us as mysteriously as they had left; once again, the five of us were always together. It annoyed me to see any sign that the two of them still shared some kind of secret that excluded the rest of us.

"Yes, what?" echoed Megan.

"I expect we can think of a new trick," said Susan. "But that isn't really the point, is it?"

"What inn't?" asked Sophie. "Surely yer want to get rid of Umbitch!"

"Of course we want her to go," said Hannah. There she went again, speaking for the two of them! "But she's – well – small fry, isn't she?"

"Small fry?" I exclaimed in dismay. "After what she did to Dumbledore? To Trelawney? To the students in her appalling detentions? To all of us, in the way she destroys the Hogwarts culture?"

"It's all bad, and we want her to go," said Susan calmly. "But she'll definitely go, since Defence teachers never last long around here. After she's gone, though, we'll still have to deal with You-Know-Who."

"Oh," said Megan. "So do you think – do you really think – that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?"

"Of course he is," said Hannah. "You don't think Harry's gone mad, do you?"

"That's what Terry Boot told me," I remembered. "That homework club of Ron Weasley's... Did that have something to do with You-Know-Who?"

"Yes," said Susan. "Although it was actually more Harry's club than Ron's. We all decided that it made no sense at all to have You-Know-Who back among us and not be ready for him!"

So Hannah and Susan were members of this mysterious club, and that was their secret! "What do you do at this club?" I asked.

"Nothing," said Susan glumly. "Umbitch found out about it, so we don't meet any more."

"Oh." I opened my Herbology textbook. Something seemed to shimmer in my brain, but I pushed it away; it was probably just the remains of the Pus-Pouring Pastille. "Let's revise chapter eight."

It would only hurt Susan's feelings if I told her that she had just confirmed my own thoughts. However much I hated the news that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back, what on earth could a group of teenagers do to fight him? It sounded as if Harry's friends hadn't even managed to stand up to a "small fry" enemy like Professor Umbitch.

On the first day of June, a white owl dropped a message on my breakfast plate.

Dear Sally-Anne,

Xavier coaxed this cute avian out of us in Diagon Alley last week. Her name is Snowflake and we're all quite in love with her!

Well, we need your help. Don't worry; it isn't too serious. But Xavier's string of illnesses has finally turned into full-blown spattergroit, and he is feeling miserable. Cressida is frantic, as work doesn't really allow her to take time off. Her shop has only just got going, and if she leaves it at this stage, everything we've worked for will collapse.

We're wondering if you could come home for a couple of weeks. We really need someone to keep house and nurse Xavier, but of course we can't ask Ursula or Cecilia so close to their exams...

Go to Dad's house! And apparently at Cressida's request!

I knew what Mum would say. "But Sally-Anne's O.W.L.s are at the same time as Cecilia's. She can't possibly leave Hogwarts during her revision period – I'd rather come and nurse Xavier myself!"

I decided at once not to tell Mum. I would fit my revision in somehow, but I couldn't afford to lose this chance: I had to go to Dad's house and become a member of his family again.

Professor Sprout was displeased too, but teachers rarely refused a request from parents. "I just hope your parents do give you some revision time," she said as she signed my leave of absence permit.

"They will!" I promised untruthfully. "They want me to do well in the O.W.L.s."

What Cressida actually said when I arrived in her grate was, "There you are at last! You can start by making up this prescription from Bobbin's and while you're at it, you can bring back the groceries from Diagon Alley."

Dad hugged me and seemed on the point of saying he was glad I was there. But Cressida interrupted.

"Xavier is not to be left alone in the house, so you'll need to run all the errands while Flavian or I is home. Then you can make a start on the cooking, but don't forget to leave yourself time for the laundry. Xavier will need a lavender-oil sponge-bath at six o' clock."

Xavier was lying fretfully in bed. He complained that he was too hot, but he accepted the sponge-bath without trying to be rude to me.

"It's boring being sick," he grumbled. "Mummy and Daddy are always busy now they have this shop. Will you take me to Knockturn Alley to visit their shop, Sally-Anne?"

Knockturn Alley? I stifled my gasp of horror. "Of course not. You can't go anywhere until you're well again."

"Oh. Are you going to look after me?"

"I'll read you a story." I picked up The Treasure-Seekers, which Molly-Rose had left behind years ago and which no one had opened since. "This is about Muggle children. You need to listen out for the joke, because the boy telling the story isn't as clever as he thinks he is."

"Everyone knows that Muggles are berks." Xavier shifted on his pillows without saying that he didn't want the story, so I began to read.

By the end of the chapter, Xavier had forgotten to feel sorry for himself, although he remembered again when I closed the book. He was annoyed that I had to serve dinner, but he didn't criticise me. In fact, without Ursula and Cecilia around to remind him how bossy and selfish I was, he seemed quite glad of my company.

I knew this because Xavier demanded a great deal of my company. It took us only two days to finish The Treasure-Seekers, by which time we had also worn out the charms on a pack of Exploding Snap cards and exhausted five of the craft kits left over from Cecilia's childhood collection. I was rather surprised that Xavier wanted to make paper fairies and glass jewellery, but he was very proud of his handiwork.

"Costume is important," he told me firmly. "When I grow up, I want to be an actor like Daddy. Let's make the papier mâché insects next time."

Fortunately Xavier spent long tracts of the day sleeping off his illness, so there was still time to manage the housework. It wasn't too hard to fit the cooking and laundry around Xavier's sleep. What drained away my spare time was the cleaning.

Cressida had been a reasonably efficient housewife back in the days when she had wanted to impress her own mother and her gaggle of pure-blood friends and when she had been at home two or three days a week. Now that she spent sixty hours a week in her mysterious shop, she did nothing around the house. Dad spent perhaps thirty hours helping in the shop, but he did very little at home, because it wasn't a husband's job to do housework. So I was presented with a house that had spiders in the bath, mud-stains on the carpets and mould in the froster-box. There were clothes and parchments all over the place, exactly as Jeremy had described the Buftons' house; dirty cooking pots always overflowed in the kitchen sink; and no one ever cleaned up after Snowflake.

I bought all Mum's favourite household cleaners in Diagon Alley and I used all her best household charms (because who would know that no adults were home?). By the end of the third day, the house was clean. This gave Cressida plenty of new complaints.

"Sally-Anne, where did you put the apothecary's bill?"

"I paid it yesterday, Cressida."

"Then why in Salazar's name didn't you file the receipt in the second left-hand drawer? Oh, where is my black silk petticoat?"

"I've dry-cleaned it, Cressida. It's in your bedroom chest."

"You had no business to put it in the chest when it belongs in the wardrobe! Sally-Anne, what's that smell? There – all over the occasional tables and mantelpiece."

"It's beeswax polish, Cressida."

"You've used what? I never waste my Sickles on that trash! We use linseed polish in this house – you should have asked if you weren't sure. Put that book away; you don't have time for reading."

I grabbed the book, but not before Cressida had seen the title: Intermediate Transfiguration.

"You don't have time for book-learning," she repeated. "Your priority is nursing your sick brother while your parents earn the money to feed you."

Dad had just walked in so I was brave enough to remind them both, "It's only a few days until my O.W.L.s, so I need to fit in some revision."

"Liar!" hissed Cressida. "You do not have O.W.L.s this month. Don't you remember, Flavian? Professor Sprout reported that Sally-Anne's work was only fourteen Sickles to the Galleon and she would have to delay her exams."

That was rubbish! No one had suggested that Cecilia delay her exams, even though she admitted that she only expected to pass three of them.

"Oh. That's right." Dad chanced a glance at Cressida, as if he was not quite certain which of us was telling the truth. "I expect Sally-Anne does have some homework, though. Since Xavier's asleep, why don't we test her on Transfiguration?"

"Because homework is not her priority right now!" Cressida snapped. "If there is one thing that I've tried to impress on all our children, Flavian, it's family values. Family must come first. I'm amazed that Sally-Anne still questions that!"

So I knew that Cressida did not want me to sit my O.W.L.s. As she was determined not to let me do better than Cecilia, she would keep me in her house until the exams were over. It had nothing to do with Xavier's illness.

Two days later, Dad sat down at the kitchen table while I was laundering the curtains.

"Let's have a cup of tea," he said. "Listen, Sally-Anne. I'm sorry Cressida got mixed up about your exams. She did have a chat with Professor Sprout about your progress last Easter and she really did come away with the impression that your O.W.L.s had been postponed."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I just rubbed at a stain with Bundimun secretion.

"I've checked it up with your mother, and Julia told me that was – er – a mistake. So we'll try to get you back to Hogwarts if we can." He poured the tea.

"Dad, how long do you think Xavier will be ill? His spots look worse, not better."

"That's the way it is with spattergroit. The Healer has predicted another three weeks in bed but no long-term damage."

"Dad, I don't have three weeks. The exams start in just ten days! Are you sure I'll be back at Hogwarts by then?"

Dad stirred in the sugar and didn't look at me. "Nearly sure. But just say we can't spare you by that time... Well, it's no big deal, is it? You can re-sit your O.W.L.s next year. And many a pretty witch has survived with no O.W.L.s at all."

"Dad!" I could feel the colour draining from my face. Not every successful wizard was fully qualified; those with "alternative" talents often managed quite well without N.E.W.T.s. But it was impossible to succeed in a real career without a single O.W.L. I had a good chance of passing all nine exams if only I could finish my revision; and I didn't want to spend another year at Hogwarts when Mum needed me to be at home with her now.

"It's true," he repeated. "The right wizard won't care whether you're qualified to be his wife; he'll love you for yourself. And you still play the piano, don't you? I'd say you could make a career out of that. I could take you round the Muggle pubs to accompany my singing."

But I didn't want to spend the rest of my life tinkling on pub pianos. I wanted a proper job, one that provided a necessary service to the community, and I wanted proper qualifications on a real O.W.L. certificate. Dad must see how important that was.

Before I could put any of this into words, a wail from upstairs called, "Sally-Anne!"

We both raced upstairs to find out what Xavier wanted.

To his credit, Dad did try to sneak around Cressida. She was not home very much (although there were two further occasions when she snapped at me to put a textbook away), and whenever Dad was home without her, he shared caring for Xavier. Since the house was now tidy, I did manage to study for three or four hours a day, which pleased Dad; but I could imagine that Ernie and Susan, safe at Hogwarts, were managing double that amount!

My real problem was not whether I could pass the exams, but whether I would have a chance to sit them at all. The fireplace was blocked whenever Cressida was out, so "running away" was not an option, even if I could be cruel enough to abandon Xavier. Xavier was neither better nor worse, so I wondered if Cressida's mother would be willing to come and nurse him.

"I doubt it," said Dad absently. "Madam Honeysmooch has a full-time job, you know. The truth is, Sally-Anne, that Cressida's heart is set on you. She knows you're the best nurse and housekeeper in the whole family and she really appreciates your talents."

I wondered what Cressida had really said. But pleading that Xavier was better, or that someone else could nurse him, would not help my case in the slightest.

I would have to sneak out under Cressida's nose – somehow.

On Sunday evening, I packed my trunk with my school books neatly stacked at the top, said goodbye to a drowsy Xavier and crept downstairs. I placed a note to Dad on the kitchen table and reached for the Floo jar.

Empty!

But it had been full this morning, so Cressida must have interfered. I shook at the jar, hoping there was enough around the edges to make the trip to Hogsmeade.

"Don't bother." Cressida was suddenly looming in the kitchen door. "The Floo is staying blocked. Flavian knows you might try to avoid your responsibilities, so we're prepared."

I turned around, although there was no point. My stepmother had a glittering triumph in her eyes. Even if she never saw me again, she would always know she had won this final, sweet victory, for she could destroy my future and still make Dad believe she had done it all for my own good.

"Say something!" she snapped.

"Yes, Cressida."

For some reason, that was enough.

After she had flounced out, I dropped down at the kitchen table, more defeated than I had felt on the night of the Yule Ball. I did not try to suppress the tears that welled up in my eyes. I thought of Mum, who couldn't do anything now that she had annoyed Professor Umbitch. I thought wildly of Terry and prayed desperately to his God. I thought of Aunt Odette, who was now on tour in Germany and would certainly not bail me out this time. I thought of Dad and tried to believe that he still intended to be a good father.

I thought of Xavier and wondered what it really meant to put family first.

Early next morning, a Ministry owl swooped through the kitchen window and dropped a scroll into Cressida's breakfast plate. She broke the seal, scanned the message and turned deathly pale.

"Flavian, he says he's coming here. Today!"

Dad glanced lazily at the scroll. "If it upsets you, then don't be home. Sally-Anne can give your excuses."

"No!" Cressida's gasp was half-strangled. "I'm not having her poking her grubby fingers into... Sally-Anne!"

I looked up from the teapot, hardly daring to breathe.

"Sally-Anne, I want you out of this house before the clock strikes nine!"

Dad looked worried. "Love, are you sure that Xavier...?"

"Claptrap! Xavier will be fine! Sally-Anne, organise Xavier and bring him through the Floo to my parents' house. Oh... Accio." The spare packet of Floo powder sailed down from wherever she had hidden it, and she pointed her wand at the fireplace. "Licentio Sarae et Zaviero. Then make yourself scarce." Cressida flung her letter onto the floor and Disapparated.

I could not imagine which mysterious person was having such a powerful effect on my stepmother, but the situation evidently made sense to Dad. He shrugged, picked up the letter, smiled at me apologetically and Disapparated after her.

It was a quarter to nine. If I hurried with Xavier, it was still just possible that I could arrive at Hogwarts in time for today's Charms exam. I washed the dishes (using magic because this was an emergency) and flew upstairs to rouse Xavier.

He was cross and spotty. "I don't want to go to Granny's house! The Mediwitch said I was to stay in bed!"

"You can go back to bed at Granny's, but we can't leave you all alone in the house. Here, put on your dressing-gown. I'm taking you through the Floo... Oh, who's banging on the door at this time?"

"Perhaps it's the Muggle postman." Xavier's face brightened. "Do you think he has a present for me, Sally-Anne?"

"Never mind, your mother said I was to bring you quickly." I grabbed Xavier's arm as he swayed down the stairs, but he shook me off impatiently and, at a second thundering rap at the front door, he acted on instinct and raced forward to answer it.

He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the tall, muscular wizard with black, curly hair who was frowning from the front porch.

"It's Mr Runcorn! Sally-Anne, it's Ursula and Cecilia's Dad!"

I hardly needed to be told because the grim-faced visitor looked so much like Ursula. So the person who was so terrifying Cressida was her ex-husband!

"Where's Cressida?" the stranger demanded.

"Gone out, Mr Runcorn. Can I help?"

"Let me in." He shoved past us in the narrow hall. "You're that half-blood brat, aren't you? You can make yourself useful – go and fetch my daughters' possessions."

Xavier jumped back, clinging to my hand and communicating so much terror that I most absurdly found myself sympathising with Cressida. She had told me not to involve myself with this situation. But when I considered the possibility of defying Mr Runcorn, I felt my feet welding to the floor while cold tingles ran down my spine.

He impatiently rustled a cream-coloured parchment under my nose. "Look! I have a Wizengamot custody ruling! Cressida's disgusting little shop makes her an unfit guardian, and my daughters are moving in with me. So you can pack the young ladies' trunks and bring them downstairs."

This was ridiculous. Ursula was already eighteen, so there couldn't possibly be a Wizengamot custody ruling about her. "We can't help you today, Mr Runcorn," I said, "for we are just about to go out. Perhaps you – "

"Zip it!" He pointed his wand at me, and something silver sparked out of it. Although it was not a real spell, Xavier shrieked. "Miss Perks, do you understand who I am? I am a very important employee at the Ministry of Magic and I speak to Minister Fudge every day. Whereas your father is a no-mark and your mother is an outright Muggle. Since you've been using under-age magic in this house, you would be very well advised to do exactly as I instruct you."

I didn't know whether he was deliberately lying about Mum or whether it was Cressida who had lied to him. How many more lies were being packed into his story? Xavier whimpered as my hand tightened around his, and I edged around the stairs towards the kitchen. It seemed outrageous to leave a man like Runcorn to rampage through Dad's house, but I knew I had to get Xavier away from him.

"Your name is Perks, isn't it?" sneered Mr Runcorn. "That isn't a name that Fudge will recognise. If I say you're a Muggle-born, that is how the Ministry will perceive you. So read the signs of the times, Miss Perks. Read the newspapers. When I tell a Mudblood – "

This was too much! An image of Terry exploded in my mind as I pushed Xavier behind me and declared, "We're leaving!"

"Ha!" Mr Runcorn pointed his wand at the stairs and ordered, "Reducto!"

The six lowest steps crumbled into dust. Xavier whimpered, and I pushed him backwards another couple of steps.

"That is what I do to Mudbloods – or equivalent – who disobey their betters. Now are you going to show me where Ursula and Cecilia keep their possessions?"

"Upstairs," I admitted.

Mr Runcorn stared at me for a second. Then he turned back to the stairs to repair them.

In that split second, I pushed Xavier beyond the stairs, through the kitchen door and into the fireplace. Then I grabbed a handful of Floo powder, jumped in beside him, and cried, "Lothario Honeysmooch's house!"

The last thing we saw through the emerald flames was the furious face of Albert Runcorn at the kitchen door.