MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS
Author: Catherine E. Grant
Disclaimer: All characters contained within belong to J.K. Rowling. If you didn't know that I have no idea what you're doing reading this.
I crouch silently on my stone perch and watch people milling around below me. The room is a jumble of activity; the passageways that lead off it are crowded and narrow.
They seem smaller; somehow emptier than when I was a student. Perhaps it's because I am no longer part of the cheerful masses that poor down the cluttered passages. And they come in droves, black student robes rustling against each other, heads tossed in conversation, rich laughter echoing around.
One girl drops a book and two boys bend down to help her pick it up. They bump into each other, and separate, giggling. At first sight they would be an unlikely group, yet they interact with the confidence of old friends. I smile wistfully, and watch them.
The girl has thick, bushy hair and a big grin. She is already juggling a large armload of textbooks, in contrast to her companions, who are without any. Her robes are immaculate; her books are shiny and spotless. The tall, gangly red haired boy on her right is the one who finally places the lost volume on top of her stack; she flashes him a quick smile and blushes. He smirks and exchanges glances with the young wizard in red Gryffindor quidditch robes who walks several paces behind. His black hair is mussed and it barely covers the strange, lightening scar on his forehead, though it falls continuously into his luminous green eyes. In one hand he holds a broomstick, the famous firebolt that has seen him win so many quidditch matches.
The trio disappears towards the Gryffindor common room; they reappear sometime later with the quidditch player in the lead, running down towards the pitch. He carries his broom aloft like a flag. The girl, though bereft now of books, has found something better; she has one arm around the shoulders of the red headed boy. Both are grinning like idiots.
"Stupid Potter." The hiss catches my attention and I see a blond boy slam his fist against the wall. He is slender, but the two puzzled apes that accompany him are not. "Wot, 'Arry?" One asks, and the other scratches his head in puzzlement. "No, Hermione!" The blond snarls, twisting his pale face into a grimace worthy of Filch. His companions stare at each other, then at him, and back at each other. The same one who spoke before begins tentatively, "I thought she wos a G-gra-ger-ah-"
"Granger."
"But Dra-co, that's the 'ouse, ain't it?"
"No, Goyle, that's Gryffindor. The girl's name is Granger." He is remarkably patient for someone in a temper.
Puzzlement.
"But dint you just say it wos Herm-o-nee?"
"Shut up! Goyle, Crabbe, just shut up!"
"But Dra-co, 'er name 'as ta be Hermi or Grange-er, it can't be both…"
"Well pick one and be done with it! Leave. Me. Alone. And while you're at it, take a bath. Both of you. I'm going to the library."
He stalks off, muttering angrily under his breath.
Vacant stare meets vacant stare. The one named Goyle chews his lip, while Crabbe sucks one fat meaty finger. Finally, Crabbe speaks. "Wots 'e talking bout, now? I 'ad a bath, coupla months 'go."
"Yeh, me too."
"Mebbe 'e needs a bath. Probly gonna 'ave one."
"Yeah."
"Wot 'e say 'er name wos agin?"
"Dunno. Potter, I think.
"Yeah, sounds right."
"Yeah, Potter. 'E doesn't like 'er, cos she's smart-er than 'im."
"Ugh. Thought that was the guy."
"The red 'ead? Probly."
They fall silent and look at each other for a while. No flickers of intelligence move in their eyes. Crabbe scratches under his arm. He pulls out something and brings it right up to his eyes, staring at it. Eventually he shrugs and puts it in his mouth. I shudder.
"Wot's that?"
"Flea."
"Ugh. Can I 'ave one?"
"'Ere. Y'think Dra-co wants one?"
"Probly. Where ya think 'e went?
"'Ave a bath."
"Ugh."
They clump off in unison towards the dungeon. Sometimes I wonder how such students were ever allowed into Hogwarts.
I guess they're safer here than anywhere else.
I draw into myself and press closer against the glass at my back. I am secure from notice here, on the window ledge above one of the many stone statues that scatter the castle.
Two other tall, befreckled redheads walk closely together, discussing something in low voices. They stop less than a metre away from me and I take a deep breath reflexively.
Nonsense. They won't look up.
"It's here, I tell you, I heard Filch arguing with Snape about it."
"What, here?"
"No, over here."
"Oh."
"Well, hurry up! I don't want to be here when Snape drinks the potion we put in his coffee!"
"Do you think it'll work?"
"We can only hope!"
One presses a panel in and part of the wall swings aside, close to the floor. Both get to their knees and climb into the passage revealed. The second boy pulls the wood back into place behind them. I hear scrapings and scratches as they try to make their way.
"Lumos!"
"Ugh, cobwebs! Fred, you idiot, it's left here, I'm sure of it."
" It says right on this, just look."
I imagine a map being pulled out. Faintly a rustle of paper confirms my suspicions.
Their conversation fades into the distance. A fly buzzes around my face and I knock it away. Stupid thing.
A toad bounces unsteadily across the flagstones, zigzagging drunkenly. A smallish young wizard crawls across the stone after it, with one hand outstretched. "C'mon, come to Neville, come on froggy, come to Neville, that's a good boy."
The toad doesn't want to be a good boy. It hops away and the boy climbs to his feet to dash after it. As he runs, he nearly knocks over a younger student, who stares up at him with big eyes. "Sorry, can't stop!" Neville gasps, and keeps on running. The other boy nods slowly, and pulls out a muggle camera. The photo he takes shows Neville triumphantly grabbing his pet and holding it aloft.
He just misses seeing the animal break free and continue its escapade.
I shake my head, and stretch a little. The sun is at a good angle for resting. It warms me, and I close my eyes a moment. The sounds of hurried activity reach me even then.
I swallow hastily. I could sit here and watch for all my free hours; not that it would do any good. I don't want to watch. I want to be a part of it, not just someone that lurks on the edges of every conversation or perches above it all, only watching.
Some days the loneliness hurts more than others.
"Watch where you're going, Miss Browne!" The sharp order makes me reopen my eyes. I see a frightened girl in black student robes picking herself up off the floor, apologising profusely. Above her, a sallow faced man stands impatiently, tapping his foot. His eyes are narrow and beady, his nose hooked and beak like. The black greasy hair that frames his face is much longer than it usually is.
Chalk up another point for student pranks.
"Miss Browne, are you or are you not aware that running in the corridors is forbidden? Ten points from Gryffindor." He turns to walk away. The girl raises horrified eyes. "But, Professor-"
"Lose another ten points. And next time, watch where you're going."
He snarls. I am sure I can make out the words "Stupid Gryffindor trash" somewhere in the venom.
He should get along very well with Draco.
The Browne girl brushes down her robes, trying desperately to get the dirt off the hem. She winces, places a protective hand over her elbow. A friend races up to her. "C'mon Lavender, we have to go see Professor Trelawney, it's really important! Has your prediction come true, mine has!"
Lavender nods. "She said I wouldn't run into any friends today, and well I just knocked over Professor Snape and he took twenty points from Gryffindor!"
"Oh, she was right! She's always right, I don't know why so many people make fun of Divination…"
"Me neither. D'ya think we could grab something to eat on the way? I'm starving."
"Sure, let's go."
They leave quickly, nearly running but heeding Snape's warning.
Why does everyone around here move so quickly? Is it a student thing?
A red headed girl bursts into the room, stops, spins around, arms outstretched. "Harry Potter smiled at me!" She yells, laughing, a happy grin brightening her features. "Oh, calm down Ginny!" It is Neville, carrying the disobedient toad firmly in both hands. It seems to be sleeping.
Ginny barely heeds him. "He smiled at me, he smiled at me! I can't believe it! HARRY smiled at me!" Neville smiles at her, but Ginny are still oblivious. He walks away wistfully. She doesn't notice.
Maybe next year.
When you're young, there's always next year.
I stare at Ginny, but my eyes see another red haired Gryffindor girl dancing in a circle. "Sirius Black smiled at me!" she laughs, cries triumphantly. James Potter nods pats her on the shoulder says "Good on ya Lily" and walks off. I see the tears in his eyes, hear him whisper "one day," and leave. Remus Lupin grabs me by the hand and pulls me along after him, yelling out something to Lily about quidditch. We talk, and fly, and when James comes back to smile at Lily his eyes are no longer rimmed with red.
His "one day" came, eventually. I danced at their wedding.
And I cried at their funeral.
I blink, and it is Ginny I see again. Neville has left, taking his toad with him, and the youngest Weasley is helping her brothers out of their secret passageway. "It was a dead end," explains one of them; I can't tell which one. Fred or George? Or Gred and Forge, as they teasingly name themselves.
Hermione, Harry and Ron run past. Now Ron is carrying the Firebolt and Hermione's arms are full of books again. Harry wears black and his quidditch robes hang over his arm. Ginny draws a breath and forgets to let it out until Ron punches her on the arm. She blushes, and trails in the threesome's wake. The twins wink at each other and make kissing sounds; they troop cheerfully down the corridor towards their common room as far away I hear the disgusted voice of Draco Malfoy "No, Goyle, I do NOT want one of your fleas!"
"But Dra-co…" comes the expected whine, and a door slams shut loudly. "And just what do you think you're doing!?" yells Snape, but lowers his voice when he sees who it is: "Oh, it's you Mr Malfoy, Mr Crabbe, Mr Goyle. Just the people I was looking for."
They go, and others take their place. First years, wide-eyed, balancing large armloads of books. Young lovers, sneaking a quick kiss in a darkened corner; prefects clustered together laughing.
I see them, yet in my mind I see other students, laughing, talking, and having fun. When I look at Harry, I see his father. In Ginny with her sweet smile and brilliant red hair, I see Lily. Ron is Sirius, Neville is Remus. Colin Creevey resembles Peter Pettigrew if only because he doesn't seem to fit in.
In Hermione, I see myself.
I know every one of them; know their daily business, what tricks they get up to, who their friends are, what their grades are like, what their histories are. I know these students, far better than they would ever think I do. I want to know them, want to learn everything about them, because that is the only way I can imagine to reclaim that innocent happiness of theirs. If only, I say to myself. And when they see me, they think they know me but they'd never understand.
Can't they tell? Don't they see?
They look at me and see only the coldness I use to avoid being hurt.
Again.
Only one group of students ever saw past the mask I choose to wear; I let them past and I let myself be hurt. Now, students look at me and don't ever imagine that I'd give everything to be one of them. Even just for a day.
Then a hand touches my paw, and I turn in surprise. My eyes meet the smiling ones of my employer, Albus Dumbledore, and I sigh. No mere cat could hide from his gaze. I leap down and change back. He shakes his head.
"Spying on the students again, Minerva?"
"No, sir. Might-have-beens."
He'd never understand.