**Chapter 16: Out and back again**
Marlene watched the scene unfold with a blend of amusement and sympathy. Rick was caught in a paradox of affection and fury, being simultaneously scolded and smothered by Lily, who had wrapped him in a crushing hug. The redhead herself looked torn between throttling him for being so reckless and bursting into tears of relief now that he was safe. In the end, she settled for a jumbled mix of both, her tone sharp, but her grip desperate. Rick’s expression, equal parts confused and mortified, was nearly enough to make Marlene burst out laughing. She let Lily rant for a few minutes more before stepping in and gently prying her off, giving Rick a much-needed moment to breathe.
“You missed one hell of a party!” she said to the dirty blonde. “Everyone was chanting your name and toasting to you!”
“Aww! Not fair!” Rick said with a pout that even made Lily chuckle. “Next time-”
“Next time you won’t do a stupid feint like that!” the redhead interjected immediately, switching from amused to furious on the spot.
“I won’t! I did it because I had no other choice! Bulstrode would have kept on hitting my arm to win, I needed him out.”
“You had a choice! You could have chosen to lose!”
Both Marlene and Rick inhaled sharply, their eyes going wide in synchronized disbelief at Lily’s unexpected outburst. The weight of her words hung in the air like a misfired hex, freezing the conversation for a long, awkward beat. Realizing the enormity of what she had just blurted out, Lily's face flushed with instant regret. She fumbled for a correction, backpedaling faster than a Niffler caught in a vault.
“Or found another way! I meant that you had plenty of other options!”
“For a moment, Lils, I thought I had to take back your Gryffindor card.” Marlene commented and Rick nodded silently his agreement.
“And what? Send me to Ravenclaw? As if you would.” the redhead challenge with huff. All completely ignoring that it was impossible in the first place. “Now, what are you going to do with that?” she pointed at Rick’s hand still holding the snitch.
“Yeah, what about this? Are you going to hold it until you die?” Marlene added.
“Hm… That’s my very first snitch. Official one I mean…”
“Morgana’s ti-”
“MAR!”
“What I was going to say.” Marlene looked at Lily for reprimanding her about her language. “Was that for someone who doesn’t particularly like quidditch, you sure are into it.”
“I don’t but this is… kind of a trophy. Never had one before so I don’t feel like just tossing it away, you know?” he replied with a content smile on his face as he looked at the golden snitch flapping his wings in his hand.
Neither Marlene nor Lily could bring themselves to respond. Whatever teasing or lighthearted comment had been on the tip of their tongues evaporated the moment they saw the quiet, wistful expression on Rick’s face. It was rare for him to show that much emotion, let alone about something as simple as a trophy. But the way he cradled the snitch, as if it were something precious and irreplaceable, said more than any words could. They had never asked about his past, about the parents he didn’t have, and for the first time, both girls silently questioned whether they ever should. The atmosphere had grown heavy, uncertain, until Madam Pomfrey emerged from her quarters with her usual brisk authority. She checked Rick’s arm with a critical eye, satisfied herself with the progress, and dismissed them all with a firm scolding to avoid turning Quidditch into battlefield medicine.
When they stepped into the Gryffindor common room, the atmosphere exploded with cheers. Rick was met with thunderous applause, students rising to their feet in a spontaneous ovation. Slaps on the back, hearty congratulations, and wide grins followed him as he made his way through the crowd, basking in the overwhelming warmth of his housemates. It was the kind of welcome that would leave most first-years overwhelmed, but Rick wore it with quiet humility.
He turned to Marlene and Lily, informing them he needed a few minutes to shower and change out of his Quidditch gear. The moment he reached the bathroom, he stripped off everything without ceremony, armed only with a towel, soap, and shampoo. The grime from the pitch, sweat, mud, and crushed grass, washed off easily enough. His hair, however, was another battle entirely. After three rounds of intense scrubbing, he could only hope Hogwarts’ plumbing had magical self-cleaning charms, or else the castle was in for a surprise plumbing disaster.
Once clean, he lingered under the cascade of hot water, finally letting the soreness of the match drain from his limbs. The physical ache reminded him of every minute on the broom, every hit, every evasive dive. He felt pride, yes, for how he flew, how he strategized and survived. But there was a bitterness too, about the violence, the unsportsmanlike behavior, the realization that Quidditch wasn’t always about the joy of flying. A passing thought of Bulstrode flickered across his mind, but Rick shoved it aside like a gust of wind against his broom; he had more important things to think about than a bruised brute who played dirty.
Turning off the shower, Rick wrapped himself in his towel, steam still rising around him like mist on the Quidditch pitch at dawn. He dried off quickly and padded out of the bathroom, the tiles cool beneath his feet. Once back in his dorm, he moved with brisk efficiency, stuffing away his gear, tugging on fresh robes, and slinging his school bag over his shoulder. His muscles still ached slightly, but there was a lightness in his step now, a sense of renewal. Taking the stairs three at a time with the energy of someone who’d just shaken off battle fatigue, he emerged into the common room, scanning the familiar, cozy chaos. Spotting Marlene and Lily seated around the coffee table in front of the fire, he smiled faintly and made his way over to them through the comforting buzz of Gryffindor camaraderie.
“What took you so long?” Marlene asked as he sat on the opposite side of the girl, facing the fire.
“Hm?” was the confused noise Rick let out.
“You’ve been away for half an hour.” Lily explained.
“Oh! Well… I supposed it took a while to remove everything from my hair and the hot water made my body ache less. I guess I just lost track of time with how relieved I felt, sorry about that.”
Lily waved off his apology with a distracted gesture and resumed her conversation with Marlene, though neither was fully invested. The lull in their discussion ended abruptly when Marlene’s eyes caught movement; Rick, with the same single-minded intensity he used on a broom, was pulling a thick potion book from his bag, followed by parchment, a quill, and an ink pot. Her jaw dropped slightly as she realized what he was about to do, and disbelief flashed across her face like a lightning bolt; surely he wasn’t about to start studying right after everything that had happened.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” she shouted at Rick. He was so surprised that he froze on the spot, his hand in mid-air and his eyes so wide that he looked like a deer caught by highlights. “You’re not studying! Nu-huh! Not after your victory yesterday and your sojourn at the infirmary!”
“But-”
“There is no but! Lily, back me up!”
“She’s right, Rick. You should take some rest. What is it even? Last time I checked, you’re done with the homework for every class.”
“It’s not homework, I swear!” He quickly defended himself.
“Oh, yeah? Then why is your potion book open?”
“I swear, Mar! It’s not for homework! I’m just making calculations of the concentration needed for each ingredient in each potion so I could brew them in a way that would make them more effective!”
Marlene gawked at him like he’d suddenly grown antlers, blinking twice to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Without missing a beat, she launched herself over the coffee table with all the grace of a caffeinated cat, aiming straight for the potion book. Rick, anticipating the ambush, reacted with equal speed, and what followed was a chaotic, ridiculous tug-of-war over the textbook, half a duel, half a wrestling match, with parchment fluttering like confetti and both of them growling like siblings fighting over the last chocolate frog.
“Let go, you brainy!”
“No!”
“You’re not working today! I forbid it!”
“It’s not work! It’s a hobby! Lily, what are you doing?!”
Even Lily, queen of academic diligence, found Rick’s behavior absurd. While the two bickered like enchanted toddlers over a book, she calmly swooped in like a librarian on a mission, snatching the parchment, quill, and his school bag and depositing them far from Rick’s flailing reach. He tried to stretch out a hand to stop her, which only gave Marlene the perfect opening to yank the potion book from his weakened grip. Just as Rick drew a breath to begin what was sure to be an impassioned protest, Frank and Eva Johnson appeared behind him like comedic enforcers, each placing a firm hand on his shoulders with mischievous smiles that screamed, “Not today, brainiac.”
“What’s this I hear?” the quidditch captain said.
“Working on a Sunday? That won’t do.”
“Eva’s right, that won’t do. Especially after the hell of a win you secured yesterday! Nope. What you’re going to do is catch up on celebrating!”
“Wha-”
Eva locked Rick’s arms behind him with practiced ease, holding him in place like a surprisingly strong Quidditch chaser pinning down a rogue bludger. Frank, grinning like the world’s most chaotic bartender, popped open a bottle of butterbeer and promptly jammed it into Rick’s mouth. With no choice, Rick gulped it all down. A second later, his face flushed a brilliant crimson and steam whistled from his ears like a teapot on the verge of explosion. Eva, startled, recoiled with a yelp and let go as Rick began to sway like a sapling in a hurricane.
“Oh, shit! That was firewhisky!” she exclaimed after Rick fell forward, his head hitting the coffee table with a loud *thud* sound.
“Who the hell put firewhisky in a bottle of butterbeer?” shouted Frank in panic.
““Rick!””
Both Marlene and Lily leaned across the table, their faces etched with alarm as they peered down at Rick’s still form. The sheer amount of firewhisky he’d just consumed in a single breath was staggering, something that would’ve laid out even an adult wizard, let alone a second-year. A chilling sense of disbelief settled over them; the fact he was even breathing seemed like a small miracle.
“Frank, if you killed our star seeker I swear I will shove the entirety of your broom up your ass!”
“Whoa! Hold your horses, Eva! I’m sure he’s going to be fine! Right, Rick?”
Longbottom began to prod Rick with increasing urgency, each poke more frantic than the last. As panic started to take hold, he reached out with both hands, about to give the unconscious boy a rough shake. But before he could make contact, Rick jolted upright like a marionette yanked by invisible strings, his eyes snapping open and a wide grin stretching across his face. The sudden movement made half the room yelp and stumble back, several students shrieking in alarm as if a ghost had risen from the grave.
“Thank Merlin he’s alive!”
“*Hic*”
“And he has the hiccups. If that’s all there is that’s-”
Eva suddenly found herself airborne, legs flailing as she rose several feet off the ground. Rick, still giggling uncontrollably with hiccup-laced laughter, had cast Levioso on her mid-chuckle.
"What the—Whoooa!" she cried, arms windmilling as she spun slowly in place like a magically powered amusement ride gone rogue. The room burst into a fresh wave of chaos as students ducked, pointed, and gawked at the levitating Chaser, now circling the ceiling like a Quidditch bludger with no sense of direction.
Frank soon joined her in orbit, quite literally, as Rick, now fully committed to chaos, stood up cackling like a mad genius and flicked his wand with theatrical flair. Two quick Expelliarmus spells sent both upperclassmen’s wands sailing across the room, leaving them stunned and suddenly unarmed. That, unfortunately, was only the beginning.
What followed was a full-blown magical blitzkrieg: hair-dyeing charms that turned heads neon pink and lime green, levitation spells that had students hovering inches from the ceiling, hexes that made shoes dance off feet, and jinxes that made wands slip from fingers as though greased. Nothing life-threatening, Rick, even drunk, had some sense, but it was mayhem nonetheless.
The common room devolved into total anarchy. Students screamed and scrambled for cover behind couches and armchairs, shrieking with a mix of terror and laughter. Anyone who tried to flee through the portrait hole or up the stairs found themselves halted by floating mid-air and turned Slytherin-green and silver, their wands yeeted into oblivion. A few brave souls fought back from behind cover, but Rick’s reflexes were unnaturally sharp. He banished furniture to expose them or redirected their spells off reflective surfaces, mirrors, polished goblets, even a metal gobstone cup, like some lunatic duelist in a magical funhouse.
The older students, quick on the uptake, had thrown up shield charms and hunkered down, creating shimmering domes of protection around themselves. While it kept them safe from Rick’s magical rampage, it also locked them into defensive stances; they couldn’t attack without lowering their defenses, and none were reckless enough to try. Meanwhile, Rick, with the agility of a stunt-flying daredevil and the judgment of a drunk Niffler, launched himself into the air with a perfectly timed Ascencio. He caught hold of the chandelier like a circus acrobat, using his momentum to spin wildly and unleash a flurry of spells from above. From his elevated perch, he reigned chaos like a pint-sized magical war god, cackling with manic glee as bolts of color blasted across the room in every direction.
The arrival of Professor McGonagall was akin to divine intervention, an awe-striking, pants-wetting moment of sheer authority manifesting in tartan robes. To the beleaguered students, it was as if Hogwarts itself had summoned judgment incarnate. The Deputy Headmistress stopped dead in the doorway, aghast at the pandemonium unraveling before her eyes. The Gryffindor common room looked less like a cozy sanctuary and more like the aftermath of a magical riot: furniture overturned and students crouched in defensive clusters behind couches. And at the eye of this magical maelstrom? Rick Wald, her supposed golden cub, gleefully unleashing spellfire with the reckless abandon of a drunken leprechaun at a Quidditch World Cup, flinging chaos like enchanted gold coins into the wind.
“MISTER WA-”
She didn’t even make it through the first syllable of Rick’s name before a rogue dye spell struck her square in the face, instantly transforming her skin into a regal, unmistakable shade of royal blue. The room fell into a stunned, horrified silence. Not a breath was drawn. Rick, meanwhile, was still giggling like a lunatic, hurling spells at random, including, incredibly, at their Head of House. McGonagall, to her credit, didn’t even flinch. With the air of someone swatting away flies at a summer picnic, she casually deflected hex after jinx after color-changing charm, her wand flicking like the metronome of controlled fury. But the blue? That stuck, for now.
“Oh! Professor Kitty!” Rick slurred with the unfiltered boldness only possessed by drunks and lunatics as he let go of the chandelier, landing with a wobble and an unhinged grin. With reckless glee, he resumed his magical barrage against the still-blue-faced McGonagall. The room collectively stopped breathing. Every Gryffindor present had the same horrified thought at once: Rick Wald had just signed his own death certificate in glittering ink and firewhisky fumes.
“ENOUGH!”
Minerva sprang into action, her wand slicing the air with practiced precision as she cast a flurry of restraining spells, each meant to put a swift end to Rick’s spectacular meltdown. But Rick, nimble as a niffler in a jewelry shop and twice as erratic, was already in full dodge mode, leaping over couches, bouncing off tables, and ducking behind furniture with infuriating ease. He returned fire with a chaotic but impressive display of counterspells and jinxes, giggling maniacally all the while. Though drunk and thoroughly unhinged, his movements were sharp and his magic, if not refined, alarmingly effective.
“WILL YOU STOP MOVING AROUND?!”
“Nooooooooo! I’m going to lose *hic* if I do!”
Everyone silently agreed; Rick had to be completely out of his mind if he thought he stood a chance in a duel against their Head of House. Minerva McGonagall was a legendary witch, a master of Transfiguration, and had probably fought off dark wizards before breakfast. But to their collective shock, Rick was still holding his own after five minutes, weaving through her spells with nimble deflections and absurd agility.
Of course, Minerva could have ended the duel at any moment; her restraint was the only reason Rick was still upright, but she refused to harm her student, no matter how manic and magically unhinged he was. Finally, after a dramatic dodge roll across an overturned armchair, Rick spotted Marlene and Lily by the fireplace. Without hesitation, his priorities shifted completely. With a delighted cry, he launched himself toward them and tackled both girls in a drunken, flailing hug that toppled them backward in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
“I want hugs. *hic*”
Landing squarely between the two girls, Rick threw an arm around each of them with giddy enthusiasm, still grinning like a fool. But Marlene and Lily wasted no time.They snatched his wand and wrestled him to the floor like a pair of seasoned aurors subduing a rogue spell-slinger, pinning him down with an ease that spoke volumes of practice, and exasperation.
“We got him, Professor!” Lily advertised.
“And his wand!”
With her wand still firmly raised, Minerva swept across the common room with the purposeful stride of a seasoned duelist, weaving around the wreckage like it wasn’t even there. As she reached the fireplace, her cold eyes landed on Rick, pinned down by two determined girls and, to her astonishment, fast asleep mid-chaos. A brief flicker of disbelief crossed her face as Marlene handed over Rick’s wand. Minerva took it with grace, her lips thinning into a line of quiet incredulity as she surveyed the ridiculous conclusion to what had clearly been a magically-fueled disaster.
“What in Merlin’s name pushed Mister Wald to act like… Like… a savage?” she said with a hard tone but quite disbelieving.
“We made him drink a butterbeer, Professor.”
Raising her head up, she saw Eva Johnson and Frank Longbottom floating in the air.
“Are you saying he was drunk from a butterbeer, miss Johnson?!”
“No ma'am, someone filled the bottle with firewhisky.”
“We didn’t know until after Wald drank the whole bottle.” Frank quickly added.
“Rick had smoke going out from his ears and crashed down on the coffee table.” Marlene added.
“We thought he passed out, then suddenly, he straightened up, began to laugh and…”
To illustrate her point, Lily made a sweeping gesture toward the state of the common room, the overturned furniture, the scorch marks, the glittering remnants of chaos still hanging in the air. Minerva’s eyes tracked the motion, and her brows arched so high in response that they threatened to vanish entirely into her hairline, her expression caught between disbelief and restrained fury.
“Are you saying that Mister Wald is the one and only one responsible for… for… this?!”
““““Yes.”””” / ““““Yes, ma’am.”””” / ““““Yes, Professor.””””
Hearing the unanimous answer from all her lions, Minerva’s jaw went slack. For a moment the thought of having a bad dream, from the abuse of firewhisky herself, crossed her mind until she was distracted by Rick’s soft snoring.
“A 100 points from Gryffindor for bringing alcoholic beverages into the school.”
Everyone groaned at that, making Minerva double down on the punishment.
“If by the time I come back from the infirmary, after bringing Mister Wald there, the common room is not all clean up, that will be a 100 points more.”
Just as she said that, the chandelier that Rick had used for vantage point crashed onto the ground.
“Make that 200 for extra motivation.”
“Ma’am! We’re going to be in the negative!” a Gryffindor protested.
“Well, you better hurry up then! Maybe whoever thought it was a good idea to bring firewhisky into the castle will now think twice about doing it again!”
The Gryffindor head of house raised her wand and cast a levitation charm on Rick, intending to float him out of the chaos with some dignity. But Rick, still clinging to Marlene and Lily like a sleep-drunk koala refusing to let go of its eucalyptus, took both girls with him. All three ascended together in an awkward, tangled bundle of limbs and robes, prompting a few bewildered gasps and stifled laughs from the onlookers. It was less a 'rescue mission' and more 'enchanted group lift-off gone wrong.'
“What the…Nevermind. Miss McKinnon, Miss Evans, you're going with him too. I neither have the time nor the inclination to separate the three of you.”
With haste, she guided her floating students outside the common room without wasting any time leaving behind a dead silent area.
“If I catch the jerk who brought the firewhisky, I’m strapping him on a broom to the moon.” Frank said loudly and many agreed.
“I guess now we need to watch out for Wald drinking ‘cause I don’t know about you but I don’t want a repeat. He scared the shit out of me.” said a sixth year girl who stood up from behind a fallen shelf.
“Or we could throw him drunk into the Slytherin common room.”
“Now that’s cruel, Gideon.” Frank commented.
By the time McGonagall came back, her skin color was back to normal and the common room was spotless. As if nothing had happened.
“You’ll be happy to know that Madam Pomfrey had to purge the alcohol out of Mister Wald’s system. For his height and weight, the amount of firewhisky in his body would have permanently injured him had we waited ten minutes more and killed him after an hour.”
The news shocked the students and many gasps were heard.
“Let me be clear. If I found one of you in possession of something stronger than a butterbeer in Gryffindor tower, I will make sure that you will spend the rest of your days at Hogwarts in detention every day. Your stupidity nearly killed one of our own. Had that happened, I would have stopped at nothing to find the culprit and deliver him or her to the DMLE after expelling them from the school and his or her wand snapped. I expect a situation like this one to never happen again.”
The tone in which she delivered her speech could have frozen hellfire; it was the coldest anyone in the common room had ever heard from her, and the finality in her words left no room for doubt. With her usual sweeping grace, she turned and exited once more, leaving her lions stewing in collective shame and shock.
Back in the infirmary, Marlene and Lily sat quietly at Rick’s bedside, their faces etched with anxiety. He was asleep, his features slack with exhaustion, looking far too small for someone who’d just raised a magical riot. McGonagall's heart twinged with guilt. Barely an hour had passed since he'd been discharged from this very room after a long night under Madam Pomfrey’s care, and now he was right back in it, as if fate had pressed rewind on his recovery.
“Professor…”
“Yes?” Minerva answered politely, turning her head to look at Lily.
“Rick is not going to-”
“I will not punish Mister Wald for his behavior, I assure you. It is clear he wasn’t in full capacity of himself and not by his own fault. I can hardly give him detention for that.”
Both girls sighed in relief after hearing her words. The hell that Rick had brought up had been very messy and that was without counting the fact that he attacked a Professor.
Looking at her favorite lion, Minerva found herself replaying the chaotic duel in vivid detail. She had to admit, begrudgingly, that Rick was impressive, alarmingly so. His movements had been fast, and strategically sound, not just with his wand but with his entire body. Even accounting for the fact that she'd held back, Minerva knew a naturally gifted duelist when she saw one. There was elegance in his improvisation, and a clarity of instinct that belied his age. She smiled faintly at the thought of recounting the event to Filius over tea, no doubt making him green with envy that such talent had landed in Gryffindor instead of among his precious eagles.
‘Maybe I can ask Albus to lend me his pensive for a bit?’