The Most Important Meal of the Day

"So, what did I miss?" asked Oleandra, lounging against the dungeons' damp stone wall across from the Potions classroom door, as Tracey and Daphne filed out, their robes looking vaguely singed. "Nothing too tedious, I trust?"

"Why don't you ask Professor Slughorn himself?" snapped Tracey, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the classroom. "He's been looking for you."

Unfortunately, Oleandra had been too busy with her alchemical experiment to attend Potions class with everyone, but not all was lost. Even though some Flobberworm slime had got mixed in with her Lethifold tissue sample, Oleandra's experiment with Hagrid's Life Alchemy had been a resounding success— she'd actually managed to create a living Lethifold egg, which now sat quietly in the darkness of a damp shoebox under her bed.

When the Lethifold hatched in one lunar cycle, she'd simply have to bind it with Dusk-Elf magic— though, admittedly, Oleandra had no idea how to do that just yet. But that, she reasoned, was a problem for future Oleandra to deal with. After all, what's the worst that could happen by letting an XXXXX-Danger Rating magical creature roam Hogwarts's halls freely?

"Did he, now?" said Oleandra apprehensively. "I hope—"

"Oleandra, just the girl I've been hoping to see! Class just isn't the same with you, m'dear," exclaimed Professor Slughorn, squeezing his ponderous mass through the tight doorway. "You might've missed class, but you're still on for our little supper tonight, aren't you?"

Oleandra and Tracey had attended three Slug Club meetings so far, and while the guests Slughorn invited were often entertaining and well connected, Oleandra was growing increasingly weary of explaining how she had routed Voldemort for the hundredth time.

"I dunno," said Oleandra, shifting uncomfortably. "I've been busy lately, and…"

"I've invited an old friend of mine this time," continued Professor Slughorn, acting as if he hadn't heard anything. "Professor Emeritus of Magical Theory and History of Magical Development at the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France, I'm sure you'll find his theories singularly fascinating, though I daresay his accent might be slightly difficult to understand."

That… sounded incredibly boring to Oleandra.

"Is Emeritous his name, or…?" asked Oleandra tentatively.

"It's a shame my sister has no interest in history," said Daphne sardonically. "She prefers making her own, you see."

Oleandra began looking furtively for escape routes. At this rate, she was going to end up trapped at another one of Professor Slughorn's interminable, time-wasting suppers... though, to be fair, the food was at least more interesting than the usual fare served in the Great Hall.

"Ah, but that's where you're mistaken, m'dear!" said Professor Slughorn dramatically. "Professor Mirobolant does not teach History of Magic, like our Professor Binns, but the magic of history!"

"May he rest in peace," said Oleandra solemnly, causing Tracey to let out a giggle.

Whenever Oleandra did something that displeased Tracey— like going missing or keeping secrets— Tracey would sulk and pout, but it would never take much effort on Oleandra's part to make her girlfriend's façade of irritation crumble to dust with an easy laugh.

"Oh, very well," Oleandra relented, grabbing Tracey's hand. "We'll attend as usual."

If Tracey wanted an excuse to spend some time with her, then the Slug Club was the perfect occasion.

"Marvellous!" said Professor Slughorn, beaming. "I'll see you at eight o'clock, then— make sure not fill up on bread at dinner, I've imported some delicacies from the Guangdong region of China!"

And with that, he shuffled back into his office, whistling a jaunty tune that sounded suspiciously like one of Celestina Warbeck's latest hit songs.

"So, he managed to get you to come," said Harry, who'd been waiting not too far away with his two friends. "Couldn't think of an excuse, then?"

"Professor Slughorn's suppers aren't that bad," said Hermione lightly. "He's always got these interesting guest speakers."

Ron harrumphed.

"I always schedule Quidditch practice on the days Slug Club reunions are held," said Harry conspiratorially. "But this time, I didn't have to— personal lesson with Professor Dumbledore this evening— our second yet."

This time around, Dumbledore had expressly forbidden him from telling the Greengrass sisters— or anyone other than Ron and Hermione, for that matter— anything about their little lessons. Still, he couldn't help but brag in front of Oleandra.

"Oh really?" said Daphne, suddenly sounding very interested. "What is he teaching you?"

"He can't say," said Hermione hastily. "Isn't that right, Harry?" she added, narrowing her eyes.

And with that, the conversation pretty much fizzled out, so the two groups went their separate ways to avoid having to talk to each other on the way to the Great Hall for dinner— which consisted of fish and chips with mysterious gravy, with radioactive-looking green peas on the side.

"You're in an awfully good mood," Oleandra told Daphne, before taking a dainty bite of a chip. "Something good happen?"

"Something like that," said Daphne, gazing at the staff table in the distance.

Daphne's aura remained stable, indicating to Oleandra's Mystic Eyes that her sister hadn't lied. She followed Daphne's gaze towards the teachers, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Oleandra kept watching them for a few more seconds, half-expecting one to suddenly clutch their throat and keel over—but nothing of the sort happened for the rest of the dinner.

Completely perplexed by her sister's behaviour, Oleandra excused herself from the table at seven— an hour before Professor Slughorn's supper— and headed to the library to kill time with a bit of research.

…

Following Wanderer's capture in the past, Oleandra had cast her runestones to predict his fate, but for some reason, the results had been rather inconclusive. His apparent lifespan oscillated between a month and eternity, which was strange to say the least. Oleandra had attributed this to her unstable status within the timeline, but since there was simply no way to be certain, she had given up thinking about it.

At any rate, she was fairly sure he wouldn't die before the month was out. Probably. As such, seeing as she had all the time in the world, rushing in like a headless boar to Wanderer's rescue had seemed rather ill-advised to her, so she'd decided to take a step back, for the time being.

Strangely enough, every time she approached the city where her companion had been imprisoned, she would start tripping over seemingly nothing— knotted grass, flagstones, rabbit burrows, etc. And whenever she did manage to get near, extremely well-built men would immediately rush her down, no matter how she was disguised and where she was hidden, forcing her to flee.

Suffice to say, Oleandra was spooked, and all further rescue attempts would have to await until she learned more about Druid's magic.