Chapter 6: The Sorting CeremonySummary:Hazel meets a very snarky old hat, and everyone else is caught off guard because no one figured her for a snake. But she'll show them all in the end, oh yes.
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextHazel worried about her stuff until a disembodied voice explained that it would be taken up to their dorms without them. Then she relaxed, until she realized she didn't have a dorm yet. Didn't they have to be sorted, first? So she worried all over again as she followed the press of students out of the train, unable to really take in her surroundings due to all of the older, taller students. That'd be her one day, she thought grimly.
"Firs' years, firs' years!" a vaguely familiar voice called over the scrum. "Firs' year over here, firs' years ter me!" It proved to be the enormous gamekeeper, Hagrid, and Hazel pressed toward him with the others. He seemed to be looking for someone, and he grinned when he caught sight of her. "Alrigh' there, 'Azel?" She waved nervously, and they all followed him down a path. It was awfully dark, so dark that even with her new glasses she could barely see the trees to either side. "Hogwarts'll be comin' up here in a mo'..."
They rounded a bend just as the clouds broke overhead, and all the students gasped. A huge old castle was visible across a vast black lake, and countless little rowboats were bobbing in the calm waters. Hundreds of windows glowed with torchlight, and she could see the outline of towers and battlements against the starry sky. "We've got to be in Scotland somewhere," she told Ron and Draco, "remember how long the train ride was?" They didn't reply, as Hagrid was now directing them into the boats. "No more than four kids each," she repeated to herself. She found herself with Ron and Draco, and the bushy-haired Granger girl too; she was prattling on about something she'd read in Hogwarts: A History, and Hazel tuned her out.
"Izzat ev'ryone?" Hagrid called, standing in a boat to himself at the head. "Right then! FORWARD!" On cue, every one of them rocked forward, and several students cried out as they clutched at the sides. Hazel's insides were roiling from excitement, so much so that she almost wished she hadn't eaten so much earlier. The lake was as smooth as glass, and the ripples of their approach faded quickly. A scream and a splash were heard, but Hagrid didn't stop; then everyone screamed as an enormous white tentacle appeared, Neville Longbottom in its grasp, and placed him gently back in his boat. "Alrigh' there?" Neville looked terrified, but it soon faded as they got closer and closer. "Ever'one duck!"
Hazel was ducking already; they were headed right for the cliff! But a mass of ivy hid a wide mouth, and they were right under the castle now. It was too dark to see the sides, and she wished she'd gotten the night-vision upgrade for her glasses. Torchlight flickered ahead very soon, though, and the boats bumped ashore. Everyone climbed out of the boats and followed Hagrid, Neville clutching his toad and shivering from wet and cold, until they came out on a smooth green lawn in sight of the towering front doors. Hagrid ascended the steps and knocked three times.
It swung open at once, and a tall, stern-looking witch in green robes surveyed them. Her black hair was pulled up in a severe bun, and Hazel was intimidated already; this was not a witch to cross lightly. "Th' firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid explained. "That'n fell in." He pointed to Neville, who cringed beneath the Professor's scrutiny.
"Thank you, Hagrid, I will take them from here. All of you, come along." They all trooped inside, and she waved her wand over Neville, who instantly dried out. He stammered his gratitude, but she waved it off and swept across the entrance hall. Hazel thought they were headed through the large doors, where a hum of chatter could be heard, but McGonagall led them into a smaller chamber off to the side. Everyone huddled together, nervous and excited. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she began, her gaze cutting across the chattering students. "The Sorting will begin shortly, and you will be sorted into your House, where you will remain for the duration of your time here. It is a very important ceremony, for your House will be your family; classes, meals, free time, will all be spent with your Housemates.
"The four Houses are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Each has its own noble history and long standing traditions, and you will be expected to uphold them all. Fail to do so and you will cost your House points, in addition to whatever individual punishment you may earn. Success in your studies and comportment, however, will earn points, and whichever House has the most at the end of the year wins the House Cup.
"The Ceremony begins shortly. I strongly suggest you smarten yourselves up as much as possible." Her gaze lingered on several students, especially Ron, who had a smudge of dirt on his nose, and Neville whose cloak was fastened improperly. Then she swept from the room, and there was a nervous hum of giggles and whispering.
"How d'you reckon we're Sorted, then? Some kind of test?" Hazel asked, wondering what was waiting for them.
"That's what Fred told me. He also said it hurts, but I hope he was joking," Ron replied, scrubbing madly at the tip of his nose with his hand.
"I asked Father before we left, but he didn't say," Draco said, giving Ron a cold look. Hazel took pity on Ron and grabbed a corner of his robe, reaching up to wipe the smudge away.
What kind of test was it? She hadn't practiced any spells yet. The Granger girl was muttering under her breath and making flicking motions with her fingers, and Hazel assumed she had tried a few over the break. A know-it-all like that would be perfect for Ravenclaw, she decided, remembering what Snape had said.
"Which House d'you reckon you'll be in?" Ron was asking. "I bet I'm Gryffindor, everyone in my family's been Gryffindor." He didn't seem too pleased by that, though.
"If I'm not put in Slytherin, Father will have a cow," Draco muttered darkly.
Hazel shrugged. "I dunno, I think Slytherin or Ravenclaw would be best," she replied uncertainly. "Imagine being in Hufflepuff, though!"
"Wait, really? Slytherin's put out more Dark wizards than any other House!" Ron countered. "There's no way- I mean, when you consider what-"
"Thank you, Weasley," she said sharply, cutting him off. Any retort he might have had was cut off by the arrival of about twenty ghostly figures, straight through the walls. Everyone screamed and ducked, and the figures looked down in bemusement.
"New students, eh?" a kindly ghost in a monk's habit beamed. "Waiting to be Sorted, then? Wonderful, wonderful!" He looked back to another ghost. "Look, why not give him a second chance? Forgive and forget, didn't you-"
"What, Peeves? My dear Friar, have you completely lost your mind again?" another ghost in a ruff and tights retorted. It felt like a tired and well-rehashed argument to Hazel, and she tuned them out, shifting foot to foot, wondering how much longer it would take.
"Move along, you lot," came McGonagall's voice as the door opened again, "the Ceremony's about to start." The ghosts all floated away once more, and she beckoned them into the hall. "Form a line now, and follow me." Hazel fell in behind a sandy haired boy as they all filed into the Great Hall, and nervously pulled her hair down over her scar as the hundreds of faces peered up at them.
It was an amazing sight. Thousands of candles floated in midair, and ghosts shimmered here and there across the four long tables. Golden plates and goblets were arranged across them all, glittering richly. A fifth table at the head of the hall held what she assumed were the teachers; she recognized Snape, and Quirrell, and Hagrid at the far end, but the rest were strange. An old man with long silver hair and beard sat in the center, purple robes glittering with what looked like stars, looking over them all with a twinkle in his eye. To avoid looking at them she looked up at the ceiling, and for a second thought she was staring right through to the sky; the pillars seemed to fade away into nothingness, and stars twinkled against a velvety black sky. She'd read about it in Hogwarts: A History, she remembered.
The first years were in a line before the staff table, and Professor McGonagall was placing a three-legged stool on the ground, atop which she further placed an extremely old, tattered, heavily-patched up wizard's hat. Hazel giggled at the thought of what her Aunt Petunia would think if the mangy old thing appeared in her kitchen. The Hall had gone silent, and everyone was staring at the hat, until finally a rip at the brim opened up and it began to sing:
Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!
Everyone else clapped, but Hazel frowned. That old thing was going to read their minds? Wasn't that a little invasive? How much would it see anyway? Her surface thoughts, her memories? Every last scrap of neural activity that had ever fired through her synapses?
McGonagall started calling them up, alphabetically from "Abbott, Hannah!" and Hazel consoled herself by saying most of the people in this hall probably had no idea what "synapses" or "neural activity" were. She knew where she belonged, just like Malfoy. The first one for Slytherin was a heavyset girl named Millicent Bulstrode, and then Vincent Crabbe was sent to Hufflepuff to Malfoy's displeasure; the bushy-haired Granger was assigned to Gryffindor after a few moments, to much clapping. Malfoy's second henchman Gregory Goyle also got sent to Hufflepuff, the House which she suspected took those who weren't good enough for the others. Neville Longbottom appeared to be arguing with the Hat, and she could swear she saw him mouthing 'Hufflepuff, please!' over and over, but the Hat declared him a Gryffindor despite his pleading. Malfoy, naturally, was sent straight to Slytherin; the Hat wasn't even on his head before it shouted the news.
McGonagall was calling out "Potter, Hazel!" far too soon for her liking, and she trembled as she crossed to the stool and sat down. Everyone was whispering to each other, she could feel their eyes on her head, and halfway there she lost her nerve. What if Weasley was right? What if Slytherin really was all Dark wizards? The green and silver-clad students suddenly seemed rather unpleasant and intimidating. Maybe Gryffindor wasn't so bad? That lot was a bit friendlier...
She nearly tripped on a step, and almost fell onto the stool as McGonagall waited. The Hat came down, and it fell right over her eyes; clearly it had been made for an adult originally.
Well, well, where to put YOU? a soft and sly voice came, whispering from everywhere around her. Hm, no lack of courage, I see, and brains, oh yes, quite the smart cookie I have here! Ambitious, yes, very eager to prove yourself indeed!
Her resolve came back in a rush, and she gripped the edge of the stool. Get it over with, Hat, put me in Slytherin already, she thought back.
Slytherin, really? Even with all this chivalry I see in here? You're not the type to stand by while someone else is being bullied, quite the sense of justice I sense in you... no? You're sure? Very well, we'll put you in-"SLYTHERIN!"
This last had been shouted for the whole Hall to hear, and the Hat was lifted from her head. At first she could barely stand, her relief had her trembling so hard, and it was only when McGonagall put a hand out to help her up that she noticed no one was clapping or cheering. They all stared, and when she turned to look at the teachers they too were silent. The silver-haired old man peered back curiously, though Snape was inscrutable as ever.
"Move along, Potter," someone said, and she realized she still hadn't moved. She muttered an apology and set off for Slytherin, and someone over there started a half-hearted clap. But then she was seated next to Draco, and a girl named Daphne Greengrass, and the Sorting moved forward.
"When do we eat?" she muttered as Dean Thomas was sent to Gryffindor. Ron Weasley went there too, though he seemed to argue with the Hat as well, and finally Blaise Zabini joined the Slytherins. Everyone clapped and cheered at the end of the Sorting, and she joined them half-heartedly, quite glad to only put up with it once in her life. The cheering kept going as McGonagall rolled up her scroll of names and took the Sorting Hat away, and then the silver-haired old man was standing up. As he did so, she realized he seemed familiar, and dug into her pocket for one of those Chocolate Frog cards.
Sure enough, there he was, smiling serenely up at her beneath the name Albus Dumbledore. The man himself was clearing his throat. "Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before the banquet I wish to say a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Dig in!"
He sat down again to more clapping and cheering, and Hazel was left confused. "Bit mad, isn't he?"
"Oh, he sure is," an older girl across from her laughed, "but don't be fooled, he's absolutely brilliant! Dig in!"
All of a sudden there was food everywhere, so much that she knew everyone was meant to eat their fill. The snacks on the train seemed a lifetime ago; her stomach was growling loudly, and there were no Dursleys around to grit their teeth over a few leftover morsels. It was all she could do to keep her table manners in mind as she put together a massive roast beef sandwich, then another, and a third, with every kind of side dish they had. The goblet had some kind of juice, and it was a bit too sweet for her. "Isn't there any milk?" she asked, and no sooner were the words out of her mouth than an ice-cold jug of the stuff appeared at her elbow. "Brilliant!"
A mournful looking ghost covered in chains and spectral bloodstains hovered a few seats down, staring at the middle distance. "Who's that?" she asked between scarfing bites of food.
"That's the Bloody Baron," the same older girl answered, "our House ghost. He doesn't really talk much, but he's the only one who can keep Peeves in line." Hazel noticed a silver and green badge with an elaborate P on it, and the girl grinned. "I'm Gemma Farley, by the way, one of the prefects for Slytherin. Just made this year!" She nodded politely, not wanting to stop eating. "That's Jake Weeks, the other new prefect," and she pointed out a dark-haired older boy, who nodded back gravely; he had dark blue eyes and seemed rather distant.
Next to her, Draco was glaring across at the Hufflepuff table. "Damn them both, I guess they were too stupid for Slytherin after all," he muttered, and she guessed he was mad at Crabbe and Goyle for not ending up over here. "Well, whatever! Slytherin doesn't tolerate foolishness!"
"How'd YOU know? You just got here, like the rest of us!" Hazel interjected, knocking him on the shoulder. "Anyway, you don't need minions, you can be mine instead." She grinned at the look on his face, and kept eating. When they all ate their fill, the leftovers faded away, and just as much of a dessert course appeared. She helped herself to ice cream and warm fudge, mopping it all up with jelly doughnuts and coffee eclairs and fresh strawberries.
"What's the matter, Potter, didn't the Muggles ever let you eat?" Greengrass asked, trying not to laugh.
"Nope," she replied without hesitation. "They were awful, truly, the worst sort of Muggles." She wasn't surprised it had gotten around she'd been raised by Muggles; she knew she was going to be a subject of gossip and speculation for weeks, if not months. She'd just have to rise above it all, she told herself as she washed her latest spoonful down with some juice.
"Bet you're glad to be rid of them, then," Malfoy said smugly. "Muggles, really, who could imagine it?"
"Hey, my dad's a Muggle, he's alright," Tracy Davis insisted, glowering at him.
"I'm a half-blood too, ya prat, stuff it," Bulstrode declared, and maybe half the table rumbled in agreement. "Really, what's so special about being pure-blood anyway? There's, what, only 26 pureblood families left in Great Britain anyway? Not much choice, is there?"
"Okay, okay, sorry," Draco mumbled, looking away from Hazel's 'I told you so' smirk.
Feeling at home for once, warm and sleepy and ready for bed, she looked up at the teachers' table again. Dumbledore and McGonagall were deep in conversation, Hagrid was drinking deeply of an oversized goblet. Snape and Quirrell were also speaking to each other, though Snape caught her gaze and arched an eyebrow in return. Quirrell turned to see who he was looking at, and when his eyes met hers, a sharp pain shot through her scar, causing her to gasp and duck away, clapping a hand to her forehead.
"Too much ice cream?" Malfoy drawled, looking around. "Take some hot chocolate, Potter." He hadn't noticed what happened, and Hazel sipped the hot drink, furtively looking up at the table, but Quirrell did not look her way again.
Farley had noticed, though, and frowned. "Something up with Quirrell, Potter?" she asked, concern in her voice. "He taught Muggle Studies for years, then left for a year and now he's our Defense teacher. No one knows where he went, though."
"Oh, uh, I was just... too much ice cream, that's all. Funny turban he has, isn't it?" She doubted it was a good idea to let on too soon that the new teacher made her Dark Magic scar hurt, she figured.
In time the desserts went away, and Dumbledore stood up once more. "Now that we're all fed and watered, I've a few more things to say. First years should be aware that the Forbidden Forest is, in fact, forbidden, and our older students could do with a reminder as well." He seemed to smirk over at the Gryffindor table, and Hazel saw the Weasley twins laughing silently. "Our caretaker Mr Filch would remind you all that magic between classes is not generally encouraged, and would further invite you all to study the list of banned objects in his office. Quidditch trials start in two weeks; if you are old enough, contact Madam Hooch at your leisure.
"And finally," and he let a beat go by to get everyone's attention, "finally, I must tell you all that the third-floor right-hand corridor is quite firmly out of bounds this year." His gaze, no longer twinkling but grave and serious, swept across the Hall. "Nothing but a very painful death awaits any who dares step foot in there, so don't even consider it."
Sporadic laughter met this announcement, but it quickly died away. "Is he serious?" Hazel muttered, wondering why on earth an entire corridor would be sealed off.
Gemma Farley looked troubled. "Must be. Usually there's a reason, at least, the Forbidden Forest is full of all kinds of things, centaurs and giant spiders and such. You'd think the prefects would be warned, at least, hm?"
After that, Dumbledore had everyone sing the school song, waving his wand and causing golden ribbons to shoot out and form the words in midair. It was a stupid silly song, but Hazel sang anyway, wanting a laugh after that grim business just before. Nobody sang the same tune, and everyone ended at different times, until just the Weasley twins were left, singing to what had to be some kind of funeral dirge. Everyone clapped when it was finally over, Dumbledore most of all. "Ah, music, a magic beyond anything we could ever teach! And now, bedtime!" Everyone rose up at once, and Hazel made to follow Farley and Weeks out of the Hall and to the dorms. She was quite ready for bed, after all.
"Hazel! Hazel!" came a voice in the scrum of first-years at the door. It was Ron Weasley, and he seemed out of breath. "Blimey, I... I didn't think you'd really be put in Slytherin!" he gasped.
"What, because they're all Dark wizards?" she scoffed back. "You're as bad as they are if you really think that, Ron."
"N-No, that... I mean..." There was something else he was wrestling with, and they didn't have time for it.
"Ron, take it easy, we can still be friends," Hazel said gently, guessing in the dark at what was bothering him. The relieved smile told her she was right, and she was glad boys were so shallow. "Now run along, your brother's waiting." Indeed, Percy Weasley was standing at the head of the queue, calling the Gryffindor first-years to order and glaring at Ron. Eventually the prefects brought order, and everyone was led off; the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws up different stairs, Hufflepuffs through another door. The Slytherins, though, went down, into what she became certain were the dungeons.
Eventually, when they had to be below the lake, Farley led them to what was apparently a blank stretch of wall. "Look there, firsties," and she pointed out a flagstone at the base of the wall that was engraved with a serpent. "This is the entrance to our common room. The password changes every two weeks, there'll be a list. You are strictly forbidden to allow students from other Houses in here, is that understood?" She waited for everyone to nod in agreement, and turned to the wall. "Barony!"
A moment later the wall melted away, and an intricately carved door took its place. It was covered in snakes and vines, and Farley opened it proudly, waving them inside. "Welcome home, new snakes. For the next seven years anyway."
'Welcome home'. Hazel had never heard those words before, and she felt a strange ache in her chest as she walked through the fancy door. The common room was long and the ceiling was higher than she'd thought it would be, no doubt to make room for all the elaborate chandeliers and their countless flickering candles. A massive hearth took up most of one wall, and an equally massive bonfire crackled away, warming the room against any chill. Thick windows nearly the full length of another wall, but there was no view of the sky; it took a few moments before she realized it was actually the lake, and there'd be more to see in the daytime.
"Now, firsties, a few more things before bed," Farley called, gesturing them before the fire. "As some of you may already know, Slytherin has... an undeserved reputation. They say we produce more Dark wizards than any other House, that we only accept pureblood students. I assure you this is complete rubbish, as our half-blood and Muggle-born students already know." Some of them smirked at each other, Hazel among them. "Slytherins have to stick together against this prejudice, even as they accuse us of being the prejudicial ones! You'll know what I mean soon enough, if you don't already."
Jake Weeks cleared his throat. "Professor Snape encourages you to deal with your problems yourselves, and especially not to let any discord show outside this room. We prefects are here to help, of course, and we'd prefer it if you came to us before letting something get out of hand. If a situation is truly dire, you can seek out Professor Snape, though if it's after curfew it had best be a true emergency. Is that understood?" They all nodded gravely. Hazel thought he sounded like someone who didn't speak in front of people too often. "Good. In the morning you'll learn where his offices and classroom are."
Farley spoke again. "Curfew for first and second years is at nine PM sharp. Being caught out after is a serious breach of the rules, and will be dealt with accordingly. Everyone must be in bed by midnight, barring late classes or emergencies. You will be caught, so don't even try it without a damn good reason." More solemn nods. Hazel had no intention of getting in trouble or drawing attention to herself at all, especially this early in the year. "Snape will hand you your schedules over breakfast in the morning. Again, welcome to Slytherin, I'm sure you'll make us proud."
She was a bit too nice to make the 'or else' work, but Weeks' dark gaze made sure they felt it anyway. With that out of the way, she gestured for the girls to follow her, while the boys fell in line behind Weeks. She led them down a smaller hallway off to one side, past a few tall doors until they found one with FIRST YEARSwritten in silver, which she held open for them. "Here you are, ladies. That door there leads to the bathroom, it's not much but you'll have privacy. House elves come through every day to clean up, but please don't make their job harder than it has to be." Five large four-poster beds were arrayed along the wall, each with a bed stand and curtains. Hazel picked the one nearest the door, and the other girls, Millicent, Pansy, Daphne and Tracey, all picked a bed out; no sooner were they all situated than their trunks appeared at the foot of their beds. Hazel pulled her pajamas out and changed into them, barely keeping her eyes open by now. "If you had an owl, it's been taken to the Owlery Tower already. Breakfast is at six-thirty, classes start at eight. Sleep well."
Gemma closed the door, and Hazel pulled her glasses off and fell into bed, falling asleep almost immediately. Two hours later she had to get up again to use the bathroom, not surprising after all she ate, and wondered if she'd have time to take some bacon rinds up to Hedwig before classes in the morning. She washed off and stumbled back to bed, where she had weird dreams about turbans and purple hallways and high, cold laughter. Then they faded, and she slept until morning.
Notes:Now things are kicking off, I hope. Going forward I hope to update a chapter for every one that I finish on the next year, for that buffer I mentioned before. Thanks for keeping up!
Chapter 7: Who's Who at HogwartsSummary:Hazel meets her professors and enjoys a newfound sense of freedom away from her relatives.
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextHazel got up before the other girls, briefly in a panic over what Aunt Petunia would do to her for sleeping in. Then she realized Aunt Petunia was far away, and she fumbled for her glasses. There was no light at all in the windows, so it was probably still early, but she got up anyway, dug clean robes from her trunk and headed to the bathroom to check out the showers. They were much nicer than the one she'd been allowed with the Dursleys, larger and better appointed, and the hot water came much sooner as well; she had to mess with the knobs to get it just right, in fact. She stripped down and stepped in, deciding to take her time for once now that she didn't have her relatives waiting on her.
She'd forgotten any toiletries, so was lucky that there was already soap and shampoo here for general use. It was a tingling pleasure to lather herself up as much as she wanted, to get her hair clean and sleek and shiny, and she laughed out loud that something like this could finally drive home that she was free of the Dursleys until next summer. Just to rub it in she washed herself twice, using as much soap as she liked. There weren't any towels, though, just a funny-looking tube with a lever to one side and a grate in the floor; it seemed high enough to stand under? So she did, and pulled the lever, and gasped as a torrent of warm air blasted upward from the grate, wicking away all the water in seconds and even leaving her hair perfectly dry!
Still laughing at the newfound sense of freedom, she went to the sink and eyed herself in the mirror, stepping back to examine her whole body. She was still skinny, but if the meals were anything like last night that would change pretty quickly; maybe her chest would start growing? Her hair was longer and wilder than ever, nearly reaching the middle of her shoulder blades, and she reached up to tie it back in a sloppy knot so it was out of her face at least. "This is it, Hazel Jade Potter," she murmured, staring intently at her own reflection. "Go kick some ass, or I'm gonna kick your ass! Understood?" Feeling moderately less anxious she got dressed (unsure of the skirt even if it went to above her knees, she pulled some shorts on underneath) and went out into the common room, where to her surprise she found one of the boys already seated before the fire.
He heard her coming out and turned, and she saw it was Blaise Zabini, the tall black boy who had been Sorted last. "Hello," he said politely, standing and offering his hand. "I'm Blaise, Blaise Zabini."
"Hazel Potter," she replied, shaking his hand. His hand was warm and he had a firm grip, she noticed.
His eyes flicked to her forehead, but he showed no reaction otherwise. "Ready for classes then, Potter?"
"Yes, I think so." She was glad he didn't fall over himself, and hoped everyone would be as cool as him. "I've been reading my books at least. I got a few extra while I was in Diagon Alley too, I never knew anything about the Wizarding world until I was almost eleven!"
Blaise scoffed. "Imagine that, trying to keep a witch like you away from all this." He settled back down, and she sat in the next chair. "My mother's Italian, you know, I almost didn't come up here, but she wanted me to learn from the best, and everyone says Dumbledore's the best, so..."
"He seems a bit mental to me," she commented with a smirk. "Everyone seems to think he's brilliant, though?"
"Gods, yes, if half the things they've written about him are true," and he rolled his eyes. There was a clock above the fireplace, and as it chimed softly she looked up at it: 6:15am. He followed her gaze as well, and nodded. "Best get ready. See you at breakfast?"
"Yeah, see you." She went back to the dorm, where the other girls were getting up, and dug her new bag out; unsure what she'd need, she decided to just take everything, all her school books and a few quills and some tightly stoppered ink. And her wand, of course. Her school robes seemed to have an easy access pocket just for it, though she marveled at the friendly warmth that suffused her arm as she held it. The doubts over its connection to Voldemort were a distant shadow, as she put it away, shouldered her bag and walked out with the others to breakfast.
As she'd feared, whispers and furtive stares followed her the whole way, even though she was up early. She held her head high and ignored them all, and when she sat down an impressive array of breakfast foods was already waiting; to her delight, jars of cold milk waited there too, and she eagerly chugged most of one all by herself while piling her plate with eggs, bacon, hash browns and biscuits. Would she ever get enough food? Hopefully not, she thought with a delighted shiver and a mouth full of gravy.
It wasn't long before the rest of the tables filled up, and the Heads of House began handing out schedules. McGonagall, she noticed, was at the Gryffindor table, while a stout woman in mud-stained robes attended the Hufflepuffs and a cheerful, though quite short man was helping the Ravenclaws. Her table, of course, had Snape, who resembled a bat as he went from student to student. Finally, it was her turn. "Potter, Potter... here you are. Don't make a fool of yourself on the first day." She nodded and accepted the slip, and noted there were seven classes, spread out over the week. Tuesday her morning class was blank, which sounded nice until she saw that Monday night was Astronomy, which ran very late. Otherwise it was Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and History of Magic. Each class except Astronomy was staggered so she had them once or twice a week, which meant that some days a class went double; for example, on Friday she had double Potions with the Gryffindors. Bemused, she noticed both her Potions classes were with the lions. She despaired of finding time to see Hedwig, but the arrival of scores of owls distracted her. Many students had letters or packages from home, though of course she had no one to write to her. Hedwig flew down to her anyway, and she spent a few happy minutes petting her and feeding her bacon rinds and toast before she flew back to the Owlery Tower.
At first it seemed like half an hour between classes was a lot, but once classes actually started she learned it was barely enough. The castle was huge! Staircases and doors everywhere, some of which she swore changed places regularly. Many of the stairs seemed about to crash down under the weight of their footsteps, or had a trick step that just hid a void beneath; it was quite humiliating the first time she fell through such a step, and she was intensely grateful she'd thought to wear shorts under her skirt as everyone below her had a lovely view until Millicent pulled her out. Her face was red all day after that.
Peeves made it all worse, somehow. The poltergeist had free run of the entire school, and loved to make a nuisance of himself by swooping around, blowing in peoples' ears, dropping chalk on everyone's heads and flipping girls' skirts up. She tried to kick him when he zoomed her way, but he only cackled madly and dodged aside, blowing a raspberry and farting in her face before dashing off to pester some Ravenclaws. "Why do they put up with him?!" she demanded angrily, waving the smell from her face. She had to find a loo to wash it off, and was the last student to arrive for Transfiguration. She was puzzled to find no teacher, just a beautiful gray tabby cat flicking its tail on the desk; glad that McGonagall wasn't there to scold her she looked around, noticing the only empty seat left was next to Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. "Great," she muttered, marching up the row of tables, trying to ignore the snickering.
Before she reached the seat the cat leaped into the air, and there was Professor McGonagall, giving her a stern look. "Cutting it rather close, Potter?" she asked, a barest note of sarcasm in her voice as the rest of class gasped in awe; some of them started clapping, but were quickly silenced.
"S-Sorry, Professor... Peeves, he-"
"No matter, take your seat." She stood aside and Hazel flounced into the chair, nodding to Neville and Hermione. "Transfiguration is one of the most dangerous branches of magic, and its complexity demands a full seven years of study. Messing around will not be tolerated, consider this your first and only warning." She proceeded to change her desk into a large black boar, with what seemed to be a simple wave of her wand, and changed it back just as easily.
Again, everyone gasped in awe, and this time they didn't stop clapping. McGonagall acknowledged it with a wave, and Hazel thought she saw a slight smirk. "Professor?" she said, putting her hand into the air. "Will we learn to transfigure people, too?"
"Not until your sixth year, Miss Potter," she answered readily. "Now, take notes, all of you." The notes were long and complicated, and by the end of the class only Hazel and Hermione had made any progress changing their matches into needles. Hazel's was still a match, but at least it was pointy and narrow. McGonagall gave them each ten points for their Houses, and assigned everyone homework to practice the spell.
Why it was still called "homework" when none of them were at home was beyond her, but there was no time to ask.
Charms and Herbology were less stressful, as their Professors, Flitwick and Sprout (the Heads of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectively, Hazel noted) were more easy going than McGonagall or Snape. Professor Sprout was short and somewhat stout, but cheerful enough about handing out points when a student gave the right answers. As usual it was Hermione who had her hand in the air the most, though Neville and herself weren't far behind. And when it came to Charms it was flatly impossible to take it seriously at all, with everyone waving their wands and chanting the spells aloud; Professor Flitwick had a sense of humor about it all, making things seem easy, and he laughed along with his students if an errant spell happened to send him flying instead of their beanbags. Houses didn't seem to matter here for seating, as everything was jumbled and confused within twenty minutes anyway. He was especially happy to see Hazel, for some reason, and gave her twenty points for reasons she wasn't quite clear on.
History of Magic was mind-numbingly dull, the only class taught by a ghost. Professor Binns didn't even take roll, he just floated above the desk and droned on about ancient wizards and witches, and whether the class took notes or not didn't seem to make a whit of difference to him. Hazel stayed awake as best she could and wrote everything down, and later learned that Binns had fallen asleep before his fire one day, and simply left his body behind upon waking up later. She decided to find out if Muggle sodas could be found somehow; a good caffeine hit would do wonders for this class, she was sure. Astronomy took place very late at night, and could be canceled when the skies were not clear. Professor Sinistra had them locating and identifying the various planets of their solar system, and Hazel got ten points for Slytherin when she asked about planets and stars visible from other parts of the world.
Potions, as she had suspected, was a strict and dour class. Down in the dungeons, lit by flickering torches and quite chilly despite the late summer outside, Snape stood at the head of the class and waited for them all to be seated. This time she was with Draco, though the number of students still left them with Hermione Granger. "Silence," Snape murmured when the last student was seated, though it was unnecessary. He took roll, and hardly paused when he called her name out; she was glad she'd met him over the summer, or else this probably would have gone much worse.
"Potion-making," he began after roll. "It is a subtle and exact science, with very little foolish wand-waving." He spoke in barely a whisper, yet he commanded the room as easily as McGonagall did, keeping the students hanging off his every word without effort. "Most of you may doubt this is even magic; certainly you will fail to understand the beauty of the shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids ensnaring the body, bewitching your senses, your mind... your very soul. Here you will learn to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't one of the useless dunderheads I usually teach."
His black gaze encompassed them all, and Hazel promised herself she wouldn't be a dunderhead. "Now, who can tell me what I would get by adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" She knew this! Her hand shot up, along with Hermione's of course, yet Snape ignored her. "Yes, Potter?"
"Those are the ingredients for the Draught of Living Death, sir," she replied, glad she had read her Potions book.
"Very good, Potter, five points to Slytherin. Now, can anyone tell me where you can find a bezoar?" Again, Hazel and Hermione were the only ones to raise their hands, and again, Snape called on Hazel.
"In a goat's stomach, sir," she answered, "and a bezoar is a sort of universal antidote."
"Indeed, another five points. And can any of you explain the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
This time, though she knew the answer (there wasn't a difference, they were two names for a plant named aconite), she kept her hand down, figuring Hermione would explode if she didn't get called on. Snape scanned the room, and finally called on her with apparent reluctance.
Hermione didn't notice, or didn't care, as she plowed right on with her answer. "There isn't one, sir! Those are different names for aconite!" she explained in a rush, like she'd been holding her breath this whole time.
"Correct. Well? Start writing, all of you." Hazel thought it unfair that he hadn't given points for Gryffindor, though as the class proceeded forward she soon learned Snape favored his own House somewhat unfairly. At least he didn't dock them for minor things, which really would have been unfair, though she wondered what she'd be able to do about it.
Their first potion was exceptionally simple, a cure for boils, and with Draco at her side Hazel quickly got to work weighing nettles and crushing snake fangs. Neville, she noticed, was having trouble in spite of Ron's attempts to help him, though she thought that was just the pressure from Snape being unfair to the Gryffindors. In the end only Hazel, Draco and Hermione had gotten the potion anywhere near correct, and Snape reluctantly gave all three of them ten points each. Hermione's points were wiped out almost immediately when Neville exploded his cauldron and had to be sent to the hospital wing to treat the huge boils erupting all over his face and arms. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for making such a mess!" he snarled after him and Ron, sounding almost triumphant.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was universally considered a waste of time, as Professor Quirrell seemed scared of his own shadow. The whole class reeked of garlic, which was supposed to ward off vampires; he had stammered through a story about confronting one particular vampire in Romania, though she wondered why it was still alive to pursue him. His turban was a gift from an African prince for getting rid of a zombie, and when he failed to explain exactly howhe had accomplished this, instead stammering something about the weather, Hazel rather thought it was flatly made up. Not to mention the awful smell of the turban itself, which gave her a pounding headache the longer she had to sit there. She regretted sitting up front, and tried covering her nose to limited success.
Friday at breakfast she finally got a letter, and it turned out to be a scrawling invitation from Hagrid to join him at his hut that afternoon. With no late classes she had no reason not to go, and bullied Draco into coming along too. And so, after lunch that day the two of them ambled down, Hazel breathing in the late summer air with a smile. Hagrid lived in a hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, which had a paddock to one side and a large open garden that was almost a farmer's field. A crossbow and a pair of rubber boots rested by the front door, each of which she was sure weighed as much as herself; was everything about Hagrid oversized? Her knock was met by thunderous booming barks, and Hagrid telling Fang to get back as he went to the door. "Alrigh', 'Azel?" he said with a wide grin, finally getting Fang by the collar and pulling the door. "C'mon in, c'mon- DOWN, Fang!"
Fang was a massive black boarhound, who seemed to want nothing more than to lick at Draco's face and ears despite his protests. Inside the hut it was as rustic as the outside, and of course everything was several sizes larger than normal. Thankfully the chairs were designed with spokes like ladders, so they could climb up and have a seat, though it wasn't high enough to get away from Fang. He settled with drooling all over Draco's fancy robes instead, and the boy awkwardly scratched behind his ears as the dog gazed adoringly up at him.
"Aw, Fang likes yeh," Hagrid said approvingly, putting tea and cakes down. The tea was decent coming from the rough wooden mugs, but the cakes nearly broke Hazel's front teeth off when she tried biting into one so she soaked it in the tea for a bit instead. "Yer a Malfoy, then?"
"Yes sir, Draco Malfoy," the boy replied politely, manners overriding disgust as he sipped the tea. "You probably knew my father, Lucius?"
"Er, yeh, y' migh' say tha'," Hagrid mumbled uncomfortably. "Yer father 'n me don' quite git along, lad, sorry t' say. Tried a' have me thrown out, he did."
"What, why?" Hazel demanded, trying the now-softened cake and finding she liked it. Draco saw and did the same thing. "Did you two go to school together?"
"Naw, he was af'er me time," the giant man replied airily. "S' just... eh, I hate speakin' ill o' yer father in front o' ye, lad..."
"I don't mind," Draco said quickly, "we don't get along exactly, anyway." Hazel shot him a look, wondering what the lie was for; Draco worshiped his father, as far as she knew.
Hagrid accepted it at face value, though. "Ar, smart o' ye," he replied with a kindly smile. "Lucius Malfoy's bad blood, lad, fell in wi' some right nasty folks in school. Death Eater types," he clarified, "servants o' You-Know-Who."
Hazel wondered if Lucius himself had been a Death Eater, and even though she'd met him for a few seconds once, she decided she wouldn't be surprised at all if it was true. But now wasn't the time to ask, not with Draco sitting there.
They talked about their week at school, Draco mentioning the caretaker, a Mr Filch. He smirked when Hagrid went off on him as "that old git," and nearly laughed out loud while Hagrid ranted on about what he'd do to Mrs Norris, Filch's cat. That shocked her a bit, as he seemed to love animals in general; Mrs Norris must really be an awful creature if Hagrid didn't like her, she decided.
During a lull in the conversation, she noticed a cutting from a newspaper on the table. Pulling it out, she found it was an article about a break-in at Gringotts. It had been the day of her own visit! "Hagrid," she said, "this break-in at the bank... it happened the day Snape and I met you, right? It says here, the vault that was broken into had been emptied that same day..." She looked up at him. "It was the same vault you were after, wasn't it?"
Hagrid looked shifty and awkward, and a moment later abruptly said it was probably time for them to get back to the castle. She and Draco finished their tea and left the hut, and no sooner was the door shut than Draco turned to her. "What happened at Gringotts, then? A break-in?"
"Yeah, it was in that newspaper cutting!" she exclaimed as they set off back to the castle. "It was on July 30th, the same day Snape and I were there withdrawing some money for me! Hagrid was there too, getting something for Dumbledore!"
Draco looked impressed, then thoughtful. "You don't think it's got to do with that sealed off corridor, do you?"
"It might, yeah..." Hazel fell silent, feeling awkward about the next question she had. "Draco... why did you lie about your father?"
He was silent for a long time, they were practically back to the doors when he answered. "Well... I've been thinking, you know, about... about the things you've been saying..." Another awkward silence. "You're a halfblood, and you're brilliant. That Granger's a Muggle-born and she's even more brilliant. And... and what you said, about that German man and the War, and there's hardly any pureblood students this year, Millicent was right about that..."
"And the ones we do have are a bit pants, aren't they? Look at Weasley and Longbottom," she replied with a giggle.
"Right?" He laughed a bit too as they went inside, though it sounded forced. "And Father, he's all about that stuff. Pureblood this, pureblood that... always pushing money around to make sure things stay the same... Well, maybe it should change!"
"Maybe it should, Draco," and she patted him on the shoulder. "Now come on, we've got a pile of homework to do and a whole weekend to do it!"
Notes:Still mostly following the book, but I think it starts going off the rails later on.
Chapter 8: "I Believe I Can Fly..."Summary:In which Hazel Potter, who STILL hasn't died yet, learns she can fly. Also there was something about a duel? idk lol
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextOn Monday there was a new sign in the common room; flying lessons were to begin on Thursday, sending everyone into a tizzy. "Bet we'll only get those nasty school brooms," Draco muttered, though he couldn't keep the excitement off his face. "Father said if I make the team next year he'll buy everyone Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones!"
"You're sure that wouldn't count as a bribe?" Hazel countered drolly, but Draco was too excited to notice. "Look, we're going in with the Gryffindors. Bet Longbottom falls on his face." Everyone laughed at that, as Neville's clumsiness was already legendary though Hazel did her best to ensure the ribbing was kept light-hearted. At least when Neville himself was around.
At breakfast it was nice to not be talked about by everyone, since they were discussing Quidditch instead. Hazel had gathered by then that it was played in teams of seven; three Chasers, two Beaters, a Keeper and a Seeker. The Chasers tossed a red Quaffle between them, and their job was to overwhelm the Keeper and score in one of three hoops at one end of a pitch for ten points a ringer. She figured it sounded like basketball, which she'd been rather good at, though few of her classmates understood the reference. There were two Bludgers, heavy black balls enchanted to try and knock the players off their brooms, and it was the Beaters' job to intercept them and keep their teammates safe while putting the other team at risk.
Finally, the Seeker, usually the smallest and fastest on the team, and their only job was to fly all around the pitch in search of the golden Snitch. Catching it earned 150 points in one swoop and signaled the end of the game. "Sounds like the Seeker is the most important player, then," she had said at the time, frowning over their Charms essay.
"Right, and they're always targeted by the enemy Beaters too. Take the Seeker out and you may as well forfeit!" Draco had replied.
Classes went by slowly and quickly, as usual. Hazel and Hermione continued trying to outdo one another, though while Hazel was glad to have someone to measure herself against, she rather thought Hermione was starting to take it personally. She was glad they weren't in the same House. Muggle soda wasn't so easy to get, but she found out that coffee was served to the older students at breakfast, and by sneaking some into a little flask she had asked Gemma Farley to summon for her, and enchant to keep its contents fresh and hot, she was certain she could keep up in History of Magic. Well, once she watered it down so she could tolerate the taste, of course.
Potions that week, watching Snape bully the Gryffindors (especially Neville, it seemed to her) over minor issues with their brews, Hazel surprised herself and everyone else by speaking up. "Neville, why don't you come sit with Draco and I?" she called across the room, "we'll show you how it's done." Snape only sneered but didn't object, and Neville and Hermione swapped seats, Neville joining the Slytherins and Hermione sitting down with Ron and Seamus Finnigan. From here Hazel could stare coolly back at Snape whenever he swept by to make Neville miserable, as well as help him out as best she could. She considered it a success when, at the end of class, Snape merely glared down at the concoction and sniffed, but didn't dock any points before sweeping onto the next table.
"Oh gosh, thanks so much Potter, that was the best Potions class I've done yet," Neville stammered as they walked out the door and headed for lunch. "I-I don't know what it is, but-"
"It's just nerves, Longbottom, take it easy," Hazel said bracingly, clapping him on the back. "You do fine when you can focus!"
"It's this wand too," he went on, holding it sadly. "Ash, you know, and unicorn hair. Ollivander said an ash wand stays loyal to its first owner, it's rubbish for me." He sighed and put it away. "But Gran says I should honor my father, follow in his footsteps. It was... it was his wand..."
Sensing a deeply agonizing story behind those words, Hazel waved it all aside. "It wouldn't do to wait until you go back to her with failing grades in every class to get a new one. Here, why don't I help you study?" Again she was surprised at her own words, and suspected that was the Gryffindor in her the Sorting Hat had sensed. No true lion would tolerate injustice, she thought ruefully. Neville looked surprised and a bit suspicious, and she hurried on. "Only because I'd rather you didn't make a huge mess of Potions and Transfiguration every week, got it? You just need confidence, Longbottom, you're aces at Herbology, right?"
"Oh, a study group?" Hermione had appeared from behind them, and she looked pleased at the thought. "Brilliant, Potter, why didn't I think of that? Oh, this'll be great!" and she prattled on about schedules and homework and all sorts of boring things. Hazel, who'd only meant for it to be herself and Longbottom and maybe Draco, rolled her eyes when she wasn't looking, and Neville looked pleased but sheepish.
Everyone was looking forward to flying lessons, and when they went out to a smooth green lawn in the shadow of the Quidditch pitch, Hazel thought the weather couldn't be nicer; just enough clouds to keep the sun's glare away, but still clear and not too cool. Madam Hooch was waiting, and twenty old brooms were spread out across the grass; she was an older woman with short gray hair and yellow, hawk-like eyes. "Everyone stand next to a broom, chop chop," she barked, briskly clapping her hands. The students all spread out to find a broom; Hazel's had twigs poking out of line, and was definitely older than she was. "Now, hold your hand out, and firmly say UP!"
Twenty voices yelled the command, but only four brooms leaped immediately to their hands. Hazel grinned at the easy success, and looked up to see a similar smirk on Draco's pale face. Ron Weasley and Millicent Bulstrode had likewise brought their brooms up. From there Hooch was showing them how to mount the brooms. The rough length of wood felt natural between her legs, and she gripped the end in both hands, a trembling eagerness overtaking her body (it somewhat reminded her of the sensation she'd felt upon gripping her wand for the first time, and grinned all the harder). She had to laugh as Hooch remonstrated the pureblood students for doing it wrong, especially Draco.
"Everybody ready?" Hooch called, raising her whistle. "On my signal, kick hard off the ground, rise a few feet up, and then come back down by leaning forward. One... two..."
Neville, unfortunately, jumped the gun and kicked off too early, shooting straight up into the air far too fast. Hooch shouted for him to come back down, but Hazel saw him look down, his face turn white...
Before she knew it she was kicking off herself, she was at his side in less than a second, hand on his elbow. "Steady, Longbottom, steady," she murmured, giving him a shake. "Come on, lean ahead, let's get back down there..." Pale and trembling, he did as she told him, and she gently brought him back to earth. "There you go, see, not so bad..."
"Never getting on a broom again!" he swore as soon as his feet touched the ground, dropping the broom and hugging himself. "Sorry, Madam Hooch..."
"No matter, Longbottom, it could have been worse." She was looking at Hazel with speculative eyes. "First time on a broom then, Potter?"
"Yes ma'am," she replied, looking down. "I-I'm sorry ma'am, I saw he was gonna fall, and..."
"No no, you did fine. Excellent control, I'd say you're a real natural." She clapped Hazel on the back and grinned. "You're a shoo-in for the team next year, I'll speak to Snape myself about it." Hazel looked back up, grinning tentatively, and Hooch strode away again. "Longbottom, you may as well head back, flying isn't for everyone. The rest of you, mount back up, let's go!"
The rest of the lesson was disappointingly tame by comparison, though they were allowed to circle the lawn a bit. Hazel had never felt such a rush as when she was on a broom, and wondered what a real flight would feel like. Draco, Millicent and Weasley did well too.
"That was an amazing save, Potter, no telling what would've happened if Neville had fallen," Ron was saying as they walked back to the castle. "Too bad you weren't a Gryffindor, eh?"
"Not this again," and she rolled her eyes with a laugh.
Later that day, she and some of the others were in the library for their first study session when Snape and an older Slytherin boy approached them. "A word, Potter, if you would," he told her, ignoring the others. "You too, Malfoy, Bulstrode." They looked at each other, shrugged and reached for their things. "No need, this won't take long." He led them out of the library and to the deserted corridor. "This is Marcus Flint, the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team." Flint was a brutish looking boy with very bad teeth, and Hazel thought he looked like an orc. "Madam Hooch told me you three performed well at your flying lessons today?"
They all nodded. "Potter was the best, sir," Draco said.
"Mm." His black eyes flicked to her, and she couldn't tell what he thought of that. "Well, I'm not willing to bend the rules so far as to allow first years on the team, however I will allow you three to attend team practices, so that when the term starts next year you'll all be up to snuff."
"We'll let you lot fly, but the regular team comes first," Flint said in a hoarse voice. They all nodded, and he nodded back. "Good. Be at the pitch this Saturday so I can see you do some real flying, you'll know when regular practices start." Snape dismissed them with a wave, and they went back into the library while Flint returned to whatever class he'd been in.
"What was that all about?" Weasley asked curiously. "Something to do with Quidditch, wasn't it?"
"They're letting us practice for next year," Hazel explained as she sat down and pulled her parchment back.
"Not like you'll need it much," Longbottom replied with a shrug. Hermione made a tutting sound from behind her book, but they ignored her; she had barely done better than Neville, after all.
Saturday after lunch they went down to the pitch, and Flint was waiting for them, a twitching box and a chalkboard beside him. "You all know the rules?" and they nodded. "Good, let's not waste time. Grab a broom and let's get started." He pointed to three brooms, which looked slightly newer than the ones they'd had before. Hazel called one to her and mounted it quickly, and Flint nodded. "We'll start with Quaffles, now, watch carefully..." He tapped at the board and lines appeared, demonstrating Chaser formations. Then he had them fly up and threw the Quaffle after them, zooming over to take up the Keeper spot.
After ten tries, they got three scores past him, mostly due to Hazel and Draco. Millicent couldn't quite keep up, and kicked the ground when she landed. "Never mind, Bulstrode, you'd make a better Beater anyway. Think fast, you two." He handed her a thick wooden bat, and untied one of the heaving black Bludgers; instantly it shot into the air and made for his face, and Millicent barely swatted it back. "Up in the air, quick!"
Hazel and Draco panicked trying to get away from that Bludger, and Millicent laughed aloud, smacking the Bludger after them. Beaters didn't have to be fast, it turned out; they just had to be able to aim with their bats and swing hard enough to beat it where they wanted it to go. They dashed around the pitch, Millicent sending the Bludger after them as hard as she could; Draco took two hits in the back and the shoulder, and Hazel barely dodged, pulling off evasive maneuvers she didn't think were possible.
"Alright, come back down," Flint called, waving his wand and recalling the Bludger. "You're a natural at that, Bulstrode, good work." She grinned happily. "Alright, you two... I'd rather not let the Snitch loose, but I've got some Muggle golf balls here that should work about the same." He pulled a bag of the pitted white balls out, and soared into the air. "Try and catch as many as you can!"
Hazel and Draco took off, and Hazel almost forgot what she was supposed to do again in the sheer rush of flying. But Flint called her back and she zoomed after, controlling her broom almost preternaturally. Draco could barely keep up; out of almost fifty balls Flint threw, he only caught fifteen, and Hazel the rest.
"Potter, I swear you're gonna outfly Higgs at practice," Flint said when he called a halt. "I've never seen anyone fly so well! I'm gonna talk to Snape about that first-year rule, get you a proper broom too..." Hazel grinned and flushed, thinking fondly of the euphoria of flickering back and forth across the sky. "Great work, let's do some more drills and call it a day..."
Later that evening, as she was heading back from another heavy dinner (when WOULD she get tired of eating herself sluggish at every meal?), Snape intercepted her. "Flint couldn't stop raving about your flying abilities, Potter," he told her, and this time she was sure there was a smirk on his lips. "I'm afraid I still can't let you on the team early, however I spoke to the Headmaster and he agreed you could get yourself a broom." He handed her two things, a catalog full of brooms and a form to fill out, which had already been signed on two spaces. "Pick the one you like from the catalog, and this form will authorize a withdrawal from your ancestral vaults to cover the expense. I have already signed it myself."
"Thanks, Professor!" she gushed, almost snatching the paper and catalog and running off to the Slytherin common room. "Duodecim!" she panted as she skidded to a halt before the serpent flagstone. Once inside she threw herself on the best seat by the fire and flipped through the catalog, eagerly absorbing all the names and numbers. Nimbus, Silver Arrow, Cleansweep... She didn't know a thing about brooms, though, so decided to wait for Malfoy or someone to ask them.
Flint came through the door with a gaggle of other older students, and she waved him over. "Hey Flint, Snape gave me this and said I should pick one out for next year, any suggestions?"
He took the catalog and flipped through it. "Eh... the Nimbus 2001 is coming out next spring, Potter, I'd wait until then." He shrugged and tapped the edge against his palm. "If it weren't for that I'd say get the 2000 in a heartbeat, but Malfoy's always on about how his dad's gonna buy us all new brooms next year..." He tipped her a wink. "Probably trying to buy his way onto the team, but he's got some real talent so we'll let him keep thinking that, hm?" She giggled at the thought, and he handed the catalog back. "If you can wheedle it out of Snape I'd say get the new Silver Arrow, at least for now. Not exactly a top tier broom, but you won't be on the team until next year anyway, so..."
"Yeah, that's a good idea, Flint, thanks." He wandered off, and she filled out an order form and signed the Gringotts sheet, then took them to Snape's office. It was getting rather late, but she was too excited to let it wait until tomorrow.
Unfortunately she ran into Peeves again, who cackled and swooped her way. "Ickle firsties out late! What's Peeves to dooo?" he chanted, throwing chalk at her.
"Bugger off, Peeves, it's not curfew yet!" she yelled, flicking her wand and sending the chalk right back at him. He only cackled louder and zoomed away, and she turned to keeping going. Instead she slammed into someone else! "Oof! D-Draco?"
"Ah... hey, Hazel..." He looked awkward. "I was, um..."
"What's the matter?"
"Er... oh fine, that prat Weasley talked shit about Mother earlier, and I fired back about his mother, and now we're gonna have a duel tonight." He looked determined. "Where were you going?"
"I had some things to give to Snape," she explained, showing him the broom catalog. "He said I could get a new broom to practice with. I know what your father said about brooms for the whole team next year, so Flint suggested a Silver Arrow for now."
"Ah, yeah. Say, Nott chickened out on being my second, you wanna do it instead?" At her curious look, he elaborated: "Usually a second is there to take over if you get killed, but we're just kids, I doubt we could even give each other nosebleeds. It's the pride of the thing, though, you know."
A duel sounded fun, so she agreed to go, and he followed her to Snape's office, where he waited outside while she went in and explained her decision. He accepted the paperwork and she walked back out, then followed Draco to what seemed to be an old trophy room; Ron was waiting, with a very nervous-looking Hermione by his side. "Granger?" She couldn't believe the stuck up witch would dare break the rules so flagrantly, risking curfew for an illicit duel.
"Ron is being a prat and I have to make sure he doesn't get hurt!" she blurted out in a rush. "Really, Potter, what are YOU doing here?"
"I was bored." Draco and Weasley said nothing, merely glared daggers at each other. Still silent, they went to the center of the room and raised their wands, while the girls stood to one side, nervous but curious all the same.
Before either could sling a spell, though, the door creaked open and a dusty old cat with lamp-like eyes peered in. It meowed loudly and whisked away, and both boys looked alarmed. "That was Filch's cat!" Weasley whispered in a panic. "Quick, we gotta hide!"
"Students out and about, so close to curfew too," came a wheezing voice, followed by shuffling steps drawing closer. "In here, are they, Mrs Norris?" There was another door leading into the next room of trophies, and they all dashed towards it; Hazel was last, and she held it ajar, peering through for any sign of Filch. "Damn kids, always making a mess..."
"He's gonna know someone was there, our footprints are in the dust!" Draco hissed. They kept going, out into the hall and away from the trophy rooms as fast as they could. They didn't stop until they reached a long hall with suits of armor every couple yards. "We... we must have lost him by now..."
But a shuffle and a meow said otherwise, and they tore off again, one corridor after another until they were thoroughly lost, at least until Hazel recognized the corridor with their Charms class. Unfortunately, Peeves was there too. "Firsties out late! Firsties breaking curfew!" he shrieked, hovering just out of their reach. "Gonna tell Filchy on youuu!"
Was it already that late? Hazel swiped her wand at the poltergeist, who easily swooped away from the spell and cackled even louder. "Naughty naughty! FIRSTIES BREAKING CURFEW! FIRSTIES IN THE CHARMS HALLWAY!"
"Damn you!" Draco swore, sending another curse at Peeves as they all sprinted away again. They could hear Filch's ungainly steps; how had he gotten here so fast? They ran and ran, crashing against a locked door at the far end. "It won't open!"
"Alohomora!" Hermione cried as she aimed her wand at the knob; the lock clicked and they dashed inside, slamming the door shut once more.
Moments later they could hear Filch arguing with Peeves outside; somehow he hadn't seen them dash in here. Peeves, contrary as always, refused to say anything, and eventually Filch shuffled angrily away, soon followed by Peeves. "Thank goodness," Hazel muttered, leaning against the wall to catch her breath.
A low growl caught her off guard again, and she turned to see a huge, three-headed dog looming above them. Six eyes, three snuffling noses, three drooling mouths filled with far too many teeth. They looked at each other in fright; this was the Forbidden Corridor! The dog had been caught off guard, maybe awoken, or they'd be dead by now! "Dumbledore wasn't lying!" Hazel cried, yanking the door open again. "RUN! It's detention or death!" They all ran off yet again, the door slamming shut behind them and relocking itself as the dog's thunderous barks followed them down the Charms hall.
They split up, heading for their respective common rooms, and Hazel and Draco nearly collapsed at the serpent flagstone. "Duodecim," she panted, and they fell through the door to safety. "What the hell was thatthing doing there?"
"Don't ask me!" Draco gasped, holding his side. "Dammit, I'm an idiot! Sorry for dragging you into this..."
"It's fine, don't worry about it..." They were lucky the common room was empty, she decided as she looked around. "We should get to bed..." Draco agreed, and they separated at the dorm halls. Quidditch practice, and all the running, had left her sweaty and exhausted; she showered quickly, let the air vent dry her off, and dropped her old clothes in the hamper after pulling her pajamas on. Then she fell into bed and was asleep in seconds.
Notes:I hope I'm keeping your attention so far, the kudos and bookmarks still make me feel all warm and tingly. Update schedule still hasn't changed~
Chapter 9: HalloweenSummary:Hazel deals with the yearly depression of the season, and comes closer to dying than ever. Surely her friends will step in... if they don't make things worse!
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextThe next morning Hazel learned Hermione had noticed a trap door beneath the three-headed dog, and Hazel told her and Ron about their visit to Hagrid's hut. Between them they guessed that whatever Hagrid had taken was now beneath that dog, but what it could be, they hadn't a clue.
Not that she had time to think about it. What with Quidditch practice, classes, homework and the study group (which inexplicably seemed to expand every time they met up, and not everyone was a first year), Hazel really didn't have much spare time. The little she did have was spent in more studying, or telling off her fellow Slytherins for being prats, or wondering about her parents.
One day later in September, after Transfiguration, she had approached McGonagall about them. "Um, Professor?" she asked, and when her teacher looked up with an inquisitive hum she kept going. "You, uh, you knew my parents, right?"
"I did indeed, Potter, as they were in my House," McGonagall replied solemnly, putting her parchments aside. "They were both brilliant students, you know, Head Boy and Girl in their time. Lily was quite exceptional, could do anything she put her mind to..." Her mouth hinted at a smile. "You do look so much like her, Potter, except..."
"...except for my hair, right." No amount of brushing or trimming ever did the slightest bit of good, the thick black mop did as it pleased. "My father, though... Professor Snape said he was a troublemaker?"
McGonagall sighed. "You must understand, Potter, your father and Snape detested each other from the moment their eyes met. James was smart, gifted, an exceptional athlete... and yes, prone to acting out when he felt unchallenged." She stood up and paced behind her desk. "He and his friends did not treat their enemies lightly, Potter, but he did grow up in time. We don't allow layabouts to be Head Boy."
"I see." Nothing she hadn't really heard before, but still something to think about. "I should get going, Professor, thank you for your time. Can I come back and ask about them some more later?"
"Of course, Potter." This time she really did smile. "Slytherin or not, my door is always open."
Hazel smiled back, and left for her next class.
The seasons were changing, trees shifting to their fall plumage in a beautiful sea of orange, red and yellow. It brought colder weather, and of course, Quidditch. Practice became the highlight of Hazel's life, as she took her broom and dashed all over the pitch in search of the Snitch. As Flint predicted she did indeed outfly Terence Higgs, quite handily in fact, so he put her on Chaser now and then, where she held her own but didn't quite have the mass yet to pull off the more physical moves that were needed.
Classes were growing more challenging, and the academic feud between Hazel and Hermione was becoming a real rivalry; it was practically a race to see which girl could get the next new spell down, or master the next potion, or prune their magical plants the fastest. It was truly exhausting, especially for Hazel since she still had Quidditch practices, but she thrived on the challenge and pushed herself ever harder. Their study groups were getting bigger by the day, to the point that the vulture-like librarian, Madam Pince, made more noise hissing at them to be silent than they were making anyway; eventually she asked Snape if they could use an empty classroom somewhere, hopefully near the library so they could still get at the books.
Out of all of them, Neville had improved the most, especially at Potions. He regularly sat with Hazel now, who could protect him from the worst of Snape's nepotism, and his potions were to the point that even Snape had to bestow a grudging five points or so. "You won't be so fortunate come exams, Mr Longbottom," he threatened silkily, dismissing them from his class for the day.
"Oh bravo, ladies, bravo!" Flitwick squeaked the week before Halloween, as Hazel and Hermione made their beanbags race each other around the ceiling with their new spells, Wingardium Leviosa. "Look, all of you, they've got it down perfectly! Twenty-five points each!"
Halloween was on them before she knew it, and for once she slept in, a dark pit of grief roiling in her guts like always. This was the day, ten years ago, that her parents were murdered. Thankfully the professors understood and left her alone when her usual aptitude seemed to flag, though her classmates weren't so considerate. "What's got into you, Potter?" Ron Weasley demanded bluntly during Transfiguration, when she only sighed and waved her wand erratically. "Did your dog die or something?"
"Shut it, Weasley," Draco snarled from the next table, "we can't all be at our best all the time."
'Just get it over with' , she thought sternly. "Weasley, my parents were murdered on Halloween, ten years ago," she muttered harshly, stabbing the table with the tip of her wand and causing a sheet of ice to cover the whole thing. "So piss off, will you?" Ron looked properly aghast, and McGonagall docked fifteen points from Gryffindor after banishing the ice with a flick of her wand.
There was supposed to be a feast that evening, but as the day went on she felt worse and worse, until finally she couldn't stand it anymore and walked out of History of Magic, running to the loo and hiding inside one of the stalls to have a good long cry. Faceless shapes appeared in her mind's eye, black haired and red haired, one with vague green shapes where eyes should be. Then a burst of high, cold laughter and a flash of green light; the same nightmare she'd had ever since she was very young. "Mom... Dad..." she sobbed, feeling too weak to even sit up straight, let alone stand.
She had no idea how much time had gone by when the door slammed, and another girl ran in sobbing, to lock herself into the next stall. Hazel sat there in silence, having no wish to intrude on someone else's dismay. At least until the other girl blubbered something like words: "That... awful... prat...!" she heard through the sobs. "I hate you, Ron Weasley, I HATE you!"
"...Granger?" Hazel called hesitantly, finally finding the strength to stand. "Granger, is that you?"
The sobbing stopped immediately, of course. "Uh, y-yes... Potter?" She got up too and they stepped out of their stalls, regarding each others' bloodshot eyes and wet faces.
"Weasley got you too, did he?" Hazel murmured, sympathy washing over her.
"He c-called me a nightmare!" Granger sobbed, about to break down again. "Said no one could st-tand me!"
"That's not true at all." She put an arm around her shoulder and led her to the sink. "Look, he had the nerve to ask what was the matter with me, remember in Transfiguration? When today is the day my p-parents were murdered..." Now she was about to break down again, too. "Boys are stupid, right?"
"R-Right..." Hesitantly she reached up and slid an arm over Hazel's shoulder too, and they leaned against the wall like that, united in grief and dismay. "We're the best students in the year, aren't we?"
"Too right we are." Hazel tried a smile, and when it didn't feel false she let it stay. "They should move us up a year, seriously."
That brought a wet sort of giggle. "How do you keep up, anyway? You're just as good as I am, but you've got Quidditch and things..."
"Well... honestly, Granger, it's because of you. I mean, you're there too, always getting the right answers, so I push myself to keep up with you."
Granger giggled again. "Funny... I thought I was trying to keep up with YOU..."
Hazel felt her smile widening, and she stepped back to offer her hand. "Call me Hazel, then."
"Hermione," she replied with another giggle, shaking it in hers.
From the hall outside came a loud thump and a low, grunting breath, followed by another and another. They were getting louder, and closer. "Oh shit!" They both froze, still gripping hands in the middle of the girls' loo. They both thought of the three-headed dog. "Hide! Hide!"
They dashed into the same stall just as the door was pushed open, and the most awful smell flooded the bathroom. "It smells like my uncle's socks!" Hazel whispered, covering her mouth and nose with her sleeve.
"Like a boys' bathroom, rather," Hermione whispered back, likewise covered up. That brought an unfortunate giggle, and the noise outside shifted their way. "Oh no! Sorry, I'm so sorry!" Slowly the stall door swung open, and the smell became overwhelming; standing there stupidly glaring at them was a twelve-foot tall creature with skin like cement, a bald head like a coconut atop a body shaped like a boulder, short legs like tree trunks and arms so long that the massive club it held dragged along the floor. It was the club that held their attention the most, and as it muscled into the stall, giggling maliciously, Hermione screamed at the top of her lungs. "HELP! HEEEEELP!"
The sudden racket made the thing stumble back, and Hazel seized her hand and yanked her out, hoping to get around it for the door. But it was standing in the way, and now it was angry. It roared at them and raised its club; Hazel shoved Hermione back into the stall and dived aside, missing being crushed by inches. "Hermione, don't move!" she shouted, Quidditch reflexes surging to the fore as she did her best to evade the club, trying desperately to get around it. If she could get to the door, lure it to follow her...
She hardly registered the door opening, not until sparks of light came from that direction. To her great surprise she saw Draco and Ron Weasley. "Draco! Ron!" she cried out, caught off guard; the club finally caught her and she was flung to the wall, groaning from pain.
"BACK OFF!" Ron shouted, grabbing a broken tap and heaving it at the creature. It bounced off its head and it turned to see who was throwing things at it; Draco grabbed a piece of pipe, and as the creature was turning he threw it as hard as he could. It struck the thing right in its eye; it roared in pain and dropped the club so it could swipe at its face, and Ron ducked by to seize Hermione by the wrist and drag her out of the stall, toward the door.
Finally getting her senses back, Hazel yanked her wand out and focused on the massive club. "Wingardium Leviosa!" she called, dragging the club off the ground. The creature started turning back around, and Ron leaped for its back, wrapping his arms around its thick neck; that didn't do anything, but he was clutching his wand at the same time, and it got shoved up the creature's nose. It roared in pain again and flailed, and Hazel focused on the club, bringing it higher, higher... "Ron, jump!" The second he was away she let it fall, right on the thing's head, and it toppled to the floor with a crash. The club crashed down a split second later, rolled to the side and lay still.
"Is it... is it dead?" Hermione whispered, shaking with fright.
"Stunned, I think," Ron replied in a shaky voice, creeping up on the thing and reaching for his wand. It came out covered in glue-like snot, and he wretched. "Aw, dammit... my brother's old wand..."
"Hazel, are you okay?" Draco asked, but before she could answer the door slammed open again, and Professors McGonagall and Snape barged in, followed by Professor Quirrell. "Professor! I... we..."
"What happened here?" McGonagall demanded, glancing angrily from student to student as Quirrell fainted in the background. "You were all specifically ordered to your common rooms after the troll was reported!"
"Wh- troll? That thing's a TROLL?!" Hazel demanded, staring at the concussed gray thing.
"Yes, Potter, a troll," she replied tersely. "Now, I ask you again-"
"Peace, Minerva," Snape replied instead, kneeling to examine the creature. "Potter and Granger were not at the feast, if you recall." He straightened and regarded Draco and Ron. "These two, I suspect, either got lost or were trying to find their classmates and warn them of the danger. Correct, Mr Malfoy?"
Draco nodded frantically, and Ron spoke up: "We didn't have time to get help, Professors, honest. Hermione was pinned in the stall and Potter, she was..." His voice caught, and he could only gesture at the dropped club.
"Why were the two of you down here in the first place?" McGonagall repeated, looking somewhat mollified.
Hazel cleared her throat. "I... I had to get away from everyone, Professor... because of what day it is, and all that..."
"Your parents, of course," McGonagall breathed. "And after Mr Weasley's poor display in my classroom, no less."
"He insulted me t-too," Hermione muttered, though she didn't have the strength to glare at Ron. "Called me a, a..."
"Never mind." Snape straightened and looked down at them all. "Weasley's appalling manners aside, this was a very serious incident." He looked from Hazel to Draco, expression unreadable as always. "Minerva, we must accept that the students did not have time to seek the proper aid, correct?"
"Quite right, Severus, quite right." She was regaining some of her usual briskness now that the calamity had passed. "Weasley, I shall deduct another ten points for your behavior in my class, as it seems to have precipitated these events. However, for Miss Granger I shall award twenty points for bravery in the face of danger."
"And ten points each to Slytherin for Miss Potter's and Mr Malfoy's actions, as well." He looked at the insensate form of Quirrell and sneered. "Now, I shall escort the two of you back to our common room, where the remainder of the feast has been sent." He gestured for the two of them to leave the bathroom, and McGonagall did the same for Ron and Hermione.
They left the bathroom and went down the hall in silence, but before they split up Hermione turned to Hazel and Draco. "Um... thank you, both of you," she mumbled, not quite meeting any of their eyes. "All of you, rather," she added to Ron. They all mumbled something indistinct in reply before their teachers prodded them on, but inexplicably, Hazel felt much better. One could not face down a bull mountain troll, she reflected, and not become friends with whomever you faced it with. She looked at Draco and suspected, from the awkward look in his eye, that he felt the same way.
When they reached their common room, her usual appetite was back in full force, and she applied herself to the grand meal with great gusto, indeed.
Notes:Kind of a shorter chapter than usual, oh well. If you're still with me, I thank you most sincerely for your attention. We're about halfway through at this point, and there's lots more still to come!