"Will someone kindly explain to me what is going on here?"
Professor Snape's impatient voice broke the silence in the hall. Everyone stood frozen while he studied us one by one.
He towered over us in his black robes, his wand gripped tightly in his fingers. His eye was twitching. I suspected that Harry caused his foul mood. He always told me he didn't understand how I could talk to Harry without rolling my eyes at least once.
"Professor," Riddle dared. Malfoy suddenly gave his full attention to a very interesting floor, and Lestrange stared closely at her nails. "We were just talking," Riddle continued, waving a hand carelessly toward me. "But someone here doesn't know how to take a joke. She got upset when we claimed her little friend Potter is a fraud and should be obviously expelled."
He smoothly hid my book under his Slytherin robes. His interpretation of the situation seemed ridiculous to me. Mostly because Riddle didn't know how to be funny. Snape looked at him suspiciously but didn't ask further. His gaze shifted to me. I imagined what I must look like. Rumpled Gryffindor robes, messy dark hair pulled into a bun.
"Miss Black," he began with a perfectly calm voice, "Professor McGonagall wishes to speak with you."
My eyes drifted to the back secret room where all the champions had gone after the drawing, and from which my Head of House was just emerging. Harry followed her with a sourer expression than I was used to seeing. I'd say he hadn't had a pleasant conversation either. The Chosen One looked around the room, probably counting how many students were left. Finally, his gaze stopped on our somewhat hectic group.
Meanwhile Snape took charge of his students, explaining quite loudly that rules, surprisingly, applied to them as well. Despite this, none of the Slytherin trio showed the slightest hint of modesty. They looked as unmoved as if someone were monotonically reading the school rules to them. Although it was generally known that Slytherins held their Head of House in the highest respect, it didn't mean they actually listened to him.
I reached up, my fingers trembling as I touched the top of my head. I prayed I wouldn't feel any blood; that would be hard to explain. "Professor, I just accidentally tripped over my own feet and hit my head against the wall. And none of those three, who would use any moment to humiliate me, were responsible at all. Imagine, they even helped me."
I had to stop myself from snorting. Those idiots wouldn't cover for me anyway.
Wait.
My eyes widened as the realization hit me. I looked up at Riddle. He, of all people, was covering for me with that book. His expression remained perfectly indifferent, as if he weren't currently saving me from a disaster. This isn't good. Not good at all.
What have I gotten myself into again? The more positive part of me hoped he just wanted me to cover for him throwing me against the wall. But that book under his robes spoke of something else entirely. It was a teacher's copy—a book that should have been in my bag, and yet here it was, hidden against his ribs. If Snape found out I'd lost it, or worse, that Riddle had it... I was dead. Oh, bloody hell, seriously.
"All three of you," Snape pointed at the devilish trio, shaking with rage. It was clear he arrived angry and Riddle's gang of idiots just set him off. So you see, it's their fault. As always. Another of the million reasons why all other houses are better than Slytherin. Maybe I'm being dramatic—it's true that in Slytherin, you at least had a clear view of your future... as a Death Eater. "Get out of my sight. Get to your common room; you are grounded until tomorrow morning. Is that clear, or should I write an official letter to your guardians and have them come pick you up?"
The self-proclaimed Slytherin royalty just muttered an answer, but no one dared to protest. On his way out, Riddle stopped dangerously close. I felt his breath on my neck; my hair stood on end. Did he really have to stand that close? He tilted his head. And so that no one but me could hear, he hissed threateningly: "Say one word against us, Black, and your book ends up in the fireplace, got it?" He shoved his shoulder into me as he passed and joined his cronies. I watched him as he left. The nerve. Who raised him?
Oh, right. No one.
What a jerk.
Suddenly, someone flicked me on the head. "Seriously, Elyse, I tell you to stay low, and not even a month into the school year, you decide to start a fight. With Riddle." Snape closed his eyes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. I knew this pose all too well.
It came from years of being lectured about thinking before I speak or—his personal favorite—attempting to keep a low profile.
"He started it, though," I tried to defend myself, but Snape interrupted me. "Please, Riddle has a hot head, but you," he moved closer, index finger pointing at me, "you can't keep your mouth shut."
"But it's not fair, I tried."
Sort of.
Despite my weak attempts to justify myself, Snape wasn't buying it. He quickly looked behind him to make sure McGonagall and Harry were still out of earshot.
"Next time, at least finish him; I think he'd look good with a broken nose." He smirked.
"BUT don't put yourself in danger. And that applies to your mischief too—next time I catch you, you both have a month of detention. Together." And with a final threatening look, he moved away, letting McGonagall and Harry into the space.
I didn't even have time to catch my breath and I was pulled into another conversation, this time with the Gryffindor professor.
"Ah, Miss Black, what a surprise. I assumed you were supposed to be in your common room already." The professor wondered. I would appreciate it.
Next to McGonagall stood Harry, swinging from one foot to the other. He looked terrified. His hands were shaking, and he kept his gaze stubbornly on the ground.
Before I could answer, Snape jumped in. "I had to detain Miss Black because of her extra Potions work." Snape said it like a simple matter.
He didn't mention his students or the shouting. Thank Merlin.
"Well, I'm glad to hear, Professor, that you are willing to give students from other houses chances for extra assignments." The sarcasm was hard to miss. "Anyway, Miss Black, I need a favor from you." My Head of House turned to me.
"As you know, Mr. Potter mysteriously entered the Triwizard Tournament, and because the rules don't allow participants to withdraw, he will have to participate in the most dangerous tournament in the wizarding world." She looked me straight in the eyes. Was I imagining it, or did she see into my soul?
"Under normal circumstances, we wouldn't even think of asking you. But this requires a radical solution." Her eyes flickered between me and Harry. "Mr. Potter will need all the help that can be provided. And the rules clearly forbid an older deliverer. Therefore, we cannot ask anyone from the upper years. And honestly, we wouldn't even want to. We are well aware of your abilities with spells. That's why we'd like to ask you to train Mr. Potter in defensive magic."
"Excuse me?" flew out of me automatically. "Why me? I mean, I wouldn't mind, but it doesn't seem like the best match, with all due respect, Professor."
I liked Harry, really, but I had no interest in spending more time with him. Mostly because I didn't have much free time.
Am I supposed to say goodbye to my book collection or what?
"Miss Black, I realize it's a lot, but we would welcome it if you decided to cooperate." She thought for a moment and then added, "You don't have to decide right away; just let me know by tomorrow evening." McGonagall waited for my approval. "Of course, thank you very much. I'll think about it." I hoped it wasn't visible how questions were racing through my head. Why me? I wasn't supposed to draw attention, and suddenly I'm supposed to tutor the Chosen One? In what universe did this count as being low profile?
Despite not confirming anything, the professor smiled, and the tension in her shoulders dropped faintly. Even Snape looked relieved, but probably for a different reason than McGonagall. Since first year, he wanted me to keep my head down and not stand out much. Which so far—let's be honest—I'd failed at miserably. Being friends with the Boy Who Lived is a magnet for trouble, and combined with my family name and the surprise of being the second Gryffindor in a sea of Slytherins ... well, I didn't succeed much in staying incognito.
I'll try again next year.
After that, Professor McGonagall sent us to the common room.
The walk to the tower was quiet; neither of us felt the need to speak. We both enjoyed a moment of peace. I wondered what I should say tomorrow. Even though my head screamed that it was dangerous, the other part of me saw Harry as a friend I could help, not an enemy.
And I felt that Harry needed a friend right now.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He looked lost in his thoughts, his brown wavy hair falling into his eyes. He kept his gaze on the floor tiles.
What was I supposed to do? Help a friend OR leave the hard decision for tomorrow after I finally get some sleep.
Sleep definitely
Before entering the common room, he stopped me. "Elyse." "Hm?" I turned to him with a questioning look.
"What were you really discussing with Snape?" His question startled me.
He must have seen the confusion in my eyes because he quickly added: "I know you; you'd never voluntarily take an extra task even if you were threatened with a bad grade, which isn't a threat for you."
"How can you know that?"
"Ehm, maybe because it's the start of the school year and you always solve everything at the last minute."
"Good point."
"So, what did he want?"
"Before you came, I got into a bit of a scuffle with Riddle." Harry opened his mouth but then closed it again.
"Maybe I said something that made him mad, and maybe he then sent me to the other side of the room."
"What? And why didn't Snape mention it to McGonagall? He could have hurt you, and..."
I interrupted him.
"Snape doesn't know. And it must stay that way."
"Why, for God's sake?"
I thought for a moment about telling him the whole truth, but it was too risky.
"Because he has a textbook that I maybe stole from Snape, and if he found out, I'm dead."
"You did what??"
Harry shouted. I had to cover his mouth with my hands. "Shush, I don't need the whole school to know."
„Sorry,"
he looked at me in disbelief. "So he's blackmailing you now?"
I nodded.
"But that still doesn't explain what you were discussing with Snape."
Quick, think of a lie.
"Ehm, he caught us glaring at each other and then just lectured me that the rules apply to me too and being your friend won't get me out of it."
I shrugged.
Harry patted my shoulder.
"Next time you could punch Riddle instead of just insulting him." I chuckled.
"If I weren't threatened with execution for it, I would have gone for it long ago."
We entered the common room together.
Fortunately, only a few first-years were left, playing games by the windows or reading near the fireplace.
At the corridor to the rooms, we said our goodnights. I was already walking to my dorm when Harry stopped me.
"Elyse, I know it's up to you and I'll respect your decision. But I wouldn't mind if you tutored me. Maybe then I could find out if McGonagall is overstating about your skill—„
Before he could even finish, he caught a blow to the shoulder from me.
"My skills are a hundred percent better than yours, let's be honest," I countered.
"Ouch. That hurt," he grumbled, rubbing his arm. "I can believe that. I just wanted to tell you... I'd want you to tutor me."
And with that, he left.