Her parents are arguing. That's strange. Her parents usually don't argue much. Victoire takes the birthday present from uncle George. The extendable ear unfurls in her hand and she begins to steer it towards the kitchen.
"She's not going to the Hogwarts you know," her father says. "You only know it as a place full of monsters and Death Eaters around every corner. But that's not how it was in my time, and that's not how it's going to be for Victoire."
"Why can't she go to Beauxbatons instead? She speaks fluent French."
"All her friends are going to Hogwarts," says her father. "And her cousins will go there too. And Teddy is there. She won't know anyone at Beauxbatons."
"Hogwarts is dangerous. It took them a thousand years to find that chamber. How do they know there aren't any other monsters lurking in the depths of the castle?" her mother asks.
"Half the castle was blown apart in the battle. I personally went in there to deal with the residues of curses. We combed the entire building. And does Beauxbatons have no secrets, or did you just never bother to look for them?"
Her mother concedes his point, but doesn't give up so easily. "I'm concerned about the sorting. You know, what if she ends up in…"
"Slytherin?" Bill asks. "Then she will make it her home. You know, they're not all that bad, Slytherins. Andromeda was a Slytherin. And you couldn't wish for a better grandma for Teddy."
Then she hears her father turn around, a swish of his wand and she hears nothing more.
She's not going to Beauxbatons, Victoire is determined. She has grown up with tales of both places. Beauxbatons sounds beautiful but boring, like Aunt Audrey's and Uncle Percy's garden. Hogwarts sounds chaotic and exciting. And it can't be that dangerous if even Percy is planning to send his children there.
She opens her door and sneaks downstairs.
"Why aren't you even asking me?" she says.
Her parents stare at her with wide eyes. "George gave you another of these bloody ears, didn't he?" her father says.
"He did. And I'm going to Hogwarts."
"See, you've lost," her father tells her mother.
"Not so fast, we'll talk about this tomorrow. All three of us," her mother says.
The discussion next day settles the issue.
"If that's what you want, I'm not stopping you," her mother finally relents. "You're eleven now, old enough to make some of your own decisions. And since your dad agrees with you, I won't stand in your way."
Victoire tries wand after wand in Mr Ollivanders shop, swishing and waving, but nothing happens. Beech, Birch, Willow, Oak or Holly, nothing seems to fit. Phoenix feathers, unicorn hair and dragon heartstring fail to connect with her. It seems like an eternity, and Victoire is feeling increasingly stupid. She remembers Rebecca telling her how she found her wand within five minutes.
"Tricky customer," Ollivander says. "Don't worry, so far I've found a wand for everyone."
"I'm part-Veela if that helps," Victoire says. "Just a great-grandma, but maybe that's important."
"Don't worry," Ollivander says, trying to reassure her as he hands her another wand.
Half an hour later, she leaves his shop with a wand, eleven inches, Cypress and unicorn hair. It still doesn't feel right in her hand even though Ollivander assured her it's the right one.
Victoire spends her last afternoon before going to Hogwarts down at the beach building a sandcastle. She is joined by a muggle girl called Sophie who is on a vacation with her parents. Together they pile up a mountain of sand and shape it into walls, towers and halls.
"It's always falling apart," Sophie complains, trying to create a tall tower for their castle.
Victoire piles up the tower again, the sand transforming under her hands until the tower has four smooth walls.
"How did you do that," Sophie asks.
"Magic," Victoire says.
"I'm not a little girl," Sophie says. "Magic doesn't exist."
Victoire knows she is supposed to keep her powers secret from muggles, but her eagerness to impress her new friend gets the better of her.
"Want me to prove it?" she asks. She picks up a branch of driftwood. Under her touch she feels it come alive, and a single green leaf sprouts from its side.
"How did you do this?" Sophie asks.
"I told you, magic." Victoire says.
"I've once seen a wizard," replies Sophie. "He made magic tricks with mirrors. My little brother believed it. Can you show me your trick?"
"No trick," Victoire says. "It's just magic."
"But how do I do it?" Sophie asks.
"I can't tell you. I just… discovered I can do things," Victoire says.
"Can I do these things too?" Sophie asks.
"You'll never know if you don't try." She doesn't say anything about eleventh birthdays. Most likely it would end in disappointment for Sophie.
At last, the Hogwarts Express. Since she can remember, she has been looking forward to this moment, to board that famous red train.
Her mother hugs her and kisses her on the cheek. "Look after yourself," she tells Victoire. "And don't forget to write."
"See you on Christmas," her father says. "And try not to wrestle any trolls in your first year."
She just assumes this is a remark to Uncle Harry's turbulent school years.
She passes Teddy on the train, his brown hair changed to turquoise as soon as his grandma is out of sight, but he's sitting with friends, so she searches on. She finds Rebecca sitting with another girl.
"Can I join you," she asks.
"Of course you can, Vic."
The other girl introduces herself as Nathalie.
"In which house do you want to be?" Rebecca asks. "I'd like to be in Gryffindor, but I'm not sure if I'm brave enough. Vic will be there, no doubt. All Weasleys go to Gryffindor."
"I actually don't know much about houses," Nathalie says.
"Are your parents muggles?" Rebecca asks."
"They can't do magic. But I still think muggle sounds quite rude," says Nathalie.
"Well, you have to call them something," Victoire says. "Not that there's anything wrong with being a muggle. Grandpa says they're really smart because they have to build complicated machines where we use magic. He likes to say magic makes lazy."
"But they know nothing of this," Nathalie says sadly. "Was a bit of a shock for them when they found out I'm a witch. Mum's a chemist. The idea alone drove her crazy. I'm going to buy her some books about alchemy. Dad took it a bit easier, but he's madly jealous that he can't do magic.
Anyway, what's so important about the house in which you end up?"
Rebecca explains the house system to her.
"Hufflepuff sounds so nice," Nathalie says. "But I think Ravenclaw is where I'll end up. Victoire?"
"I'm not sure," Victoire confesses. Everyone expects her to be in Gryffindor. But she has never felt especially brave. Her grandparent and parents and uncles and aunts had all done incredibly heroic things during the war and Victoire is even scared of the vicious Kneazle that Luna Scamander keeps around. Everyone agrees that she's smart though. Gifted, grandma Apolline calls her.
"Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, I think."
Rebecca pulls out a set of enchanted cars for a game of exploding snap. Victoire wins the first round and the second, but Nathalie is a quick learner and wins the third.
"You have to try the Chocolate Frogs," Victoire tells Nathalie when the trolley witch appears. "Oh, you have no magical money? Don't worry, you can have some of my frogs if I get some of your muggle sweets."
"Deal," Nathalie says. "Eek," she screams as the frog jumps at hear. Victoire and Rebecca giggle. Victoire scoops the frog up with her hand and returns the twitching chocolate animal back to Nathalie.
"Eat it before it melts," she tells her.
"Magic is weird," Nathalie says. "Weird but amazing." Rebecca looks for the card from the frog. Victoire groans. It's her grandma.
Molly Weasley – Vanquished the Dark Witch Bellatrix Lestrange in the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998
"What's up with you, Vic?" Nathalie asks.
"Well, that's my grandma," says Victoire.
"The little old woman at the station?" asks Nathalie. "She vanquished a Dark Witch?"
"Bellatrix Lestrange was second in command to You-Know-Who," Rebecca says.
"I don't know who…" Nathalie trails off in confusion.
"Voldemort," Victoire says, "His name was Voldemort. Are you afraid of him, you baby? He's dead and not coming back. I'm no more scared of him than of the warlock with the hairy heart."
Soon they are approaching the castle. They change into their school robes. Hagrid the half-giant is still there to welcome the first years. His hair and beard have turned grey, but he is just as huge and strong as her father remembers him from his own school days. Victoire knows Hagrid briefly from Uncle Harry's birthday parties.
"Is he a giant?" Nathalie asks.
"Half-giant," Victoire corrects her. "He teaches Care of Magical Creatures, but we can't take that until third year."
They get into a boat together, the three of them. They're joined by a tall black-haired girl.
"Hi, what's your name?"
"Medea," the girl answers.
"What a grim name," Nathalie observes. "I'm Nathalie."
"What about you two?" Medea asks, unperturbed by Nathalie's remark about her name.
"I'm Victoire Weasley," Victoire says, "and this is Rebecca Charrington."
"I thought all Weasleys have red hair," Medea says.
"Most do. But my mum is blonde like me. And Fred and Roxy have dark hair like their mum."
In the entrance hall they're greeted by Neville, no – here he is Professor Longbottom. Some of the children giggle at his name.
"He'll feed you to the venomous Tentacula if you don't stop," Victoire warns two boys standing next to her. Of course, Neville would never do such a thing.
And then it is time for the sorting. The hat sings its song, but Victoire barely listens. The students are getting sorted. Abigail Barnard becomes a Hufflepuff, Jason Chapman a Gryffindor.
"Rebecca Charrington!" Neville calls.
Rebecca puts the talking hat on her head. Victoire wonders how strange all this must appear to Nathalie. An ancient ragged hat is reading their minds and puts them into houses.
"Gryffindor!" the hat declares. Rebecca got her wish.
More students are sorted. Victoire curses her surname for starting with the letter "W". Not Slytherin, she thinks. She doesn't care what her father thinks. Victoire doesn't want to spend the next seven years sleeping in a damp dark dungeon.
"Medea Lestrange." A murmur goes through the hall. All Lestranges were Death Eaters, everyone knows this. Hundreds of eyes are staring at Medea as if she's some terrifying monster.
Grim name indeed, Victoire thinks. No wonder she didn't bother telling them her surname earlier.
That the hat declares her a Slytherin before even touching her head doesn't help poor Medea. She had not appeared too bad on the boat.
Nathalie goes to Ravenclaw as expected. Finally only a handful of students are left. Alfyn Urquhart becomes a Slytherin. William Warrington surprisingly is sorted into Huffleputt. Victoire is the second to last student. She isn't worried any more. In Gryffindor she'd have Rebecca, in Ravenclaw Nathalie and in Hufflepuff there's always Teddy.
"Victoire Weasley," Professor Longbottom says.
She strides forward, attempting to keep a composed look. Neville lets the hat fall over her forehead.
"Hmm, what do we have here? A Weasley? I haven't had one for quite a few years."
Victoire somehow finds the idea of a magical object looking into her head irritating. Oh sod off, she thinks, trying futilely to lock the hat out of her mind.
"That's not a polite thing to think," the hat chastised her. "You definitely have wit and curiosity. I think you'd do well in Ravenclaw."
Not too bad. Gifted, they call her. Time to prove it.
"But there's more. I sense ambition, a certain tendency to overstep borders and a desire to shield yourself. Better be SLYTHERIN!"
Slytherin. Her world has ended, shattered to pieces by hat's voice booming across the hall. Victoire stands there frozen. Slytherin, the house of Death Eaters, the house Lord Voldemort himself had been in. Slytherin, the scheming dungeon-dwellers. Slytherin, the house of Victoire Weasley.
"Miss Weasley," Neville calls. "Victoire. Please go to your table."
Victoire gives Nathalie and apologetic look and heads off for the Slytherin table. She finds the only familiar face and sits down next to Medea. She doesn't know what to say. Hello, nice to meet you, my grandma killed your aunt? That would be awkward.
She settles for an awkward "Well, here I am."
Headmaster McGonagall is holding a speech. The feast begins. Victoire barely eats anything. A third year girl sits across from her. "You don't need to starve yourself to death. It's not that bad here. It was quite a shock for me too but now I can't imagine being anywhere else. I'm Melissa Brooks by the way. Now, do you want that piece of roast duck or can I have it?"
Victoire stabs her fork into the duck and pretends it is Ravenclaw's eagle. Slytherin, so be it. The hat must have seen something in her that it sent her here. Or it was just retribution for her clumsy attempt to keep it out of her mind.
One of the fifth year prefects, a girl called Mairi, leads them down to the common room. As they descend down the stairs into the dungeons, Victoire realizes she'll never experience the famed cosy chaos of the Gryffindor common room, and neither the lofty tower of Ravenclaw. Instead, she's walking down to some dark damp dungeon. They come to a halt in front of a dungeon wall. The Slytherin common room has a password, just like the Gryffindor one. "Merlin's pants," Mairi curses.
"Is that the password," asks a fourth-year boy.
"Obviously not, you muppet," Mairi snaps at him. "Arjun forgot to tell me. That boy cares about nothing that's closer to us than the moon. What was Sinistra thinking, making him a prefect?"
Arjun finally arrives. "Aurora Borealis," he says, and the door opens. The room is surprisingly comfy, in its own way. A fire is burning in the fireplace, heavy dark bookshelves line the walls, green sofas and armchairs embroidered with silver runes are all over the room. Through the ceiling and window, the water of the lake can be seen.
"What did you expect? Snakes and skulls?" Melissa asks Victoire.
"Not this," is all she can answer.
"Despite what you might think, we're not all Death Eaters."
But their families were. And how much of that did they pass on to their children? She has entered a parallel world. The rules she knew don't apply any longer. She knows nothing. Victoire feels lost. Her parents never thought to prepare her for this.
She writes a letter. She wants her parents to know it from herself, not from Neville or Teddy.
Dear mum, dear dad,
I'm in Slytherin, thought you want to know.
Love, Victoire
That's all she writes. She almost pities Athena for having to fly all the way to deliver so little letter.
She shares her dormitory with four other girls. Apart from Medea, there are Diana Fawley, Lucy Caithness and Freya Andersson. Diana is exactly the pureblood princess you'd expect to be in Slytherin, daughter of an ancient family who amassed even more wealth by remaining neutral in the wars. Lucy is a resident of Hogsmeade who has grown up in the shadow of the castle. Her parents run a little boutique there, which makes her bond with Diana easily, who cares a lot more about pretty dresses than anyone in their right mind would. Freya turns out to be an oddball who prefers to spend time with books rather than people.
Their first lesson is Herbology, together with Gryffindor. Professor Longbottom asks them to divide into pairs. Victoire instinctively tries to pair up with Rebecca, but she has already joined some Gryffindor boy. It feels like a punch to the gut. Has the Sorting Hat ended their friendship too? Medea is still alone too, so Victoire joins her.
"Herbology may sound a lot like gardening to you," Professor Longbottom says. "Not the most exciting sounding subject, but many students come to like it. In the next seven years, I am going to show you just how many magical plants exist in this world, and how to deal with them. You will soon see that magical plants are a lot trickier to deal with than mundane ones. For today, I want to start with some harmless fun. Each group of two will get a potted Dancing Daisy and you will observe how they react to light or darkness, water, or heat and cold.
It was a fun first lesson, walking around the greenhouse and watching the plant react. How it would jump to life in conditions it liked and wince and withdraw if the environment became too extreme.
Soon people were talking to each other all over the greenhouse and Professor Longbottom wasn't doing anything to stop them. Victoire tried to keep her conversation with Medea innocent, chattering about chocolate frogs and Teddy Lupin's hair and how she would have liked to add some colour to the black school robes.
"You don't think I'm a monster," Medea says. "Even Diana and Lucy seem to fear me."
"My aunt Hermione has a scar on her arm. Bellatrix Lestrange did that to her. Professor Longbottom's parents are in St. Mungo's with incurable spell damage, the work of the Lestranges. He has no memories of them before."
Medea just nods, and silently they spend the rest of their lesson.
"I'm sorry," Victoire says. "You're not your family."
After Herbology, Charms is a disaster. Flitwick tries to teach them a simple spell to emit sparks from the wand. Her cypress wand still feels alien in her hand. No matter how hard she tries to focus, nothing happens. Malcolm Selwyn and Nathan Dabrowski, two boys in her house, are already fighting a mock duel, green and red sparks shooting from their wands. Medea quickly masters the spell too and even Diana produced short flashes of light. Only Victoire's wand remains a stubborn stick.
Transfiguration is no better. The subject is taught by Professor Bones, another of Uncle Ron's former classmates. Professor Bones, head of House Hufflepuff, is kinder than her name suggests, but her sympathetic smile is harder to bear than a scolding as Victoire unsuccessfully tries to turn her matchstick into a needle well into the second week of the term. Patiently she helps Victoire to adjust her wand movements.
"Don't worry. Few students manage to transfigure anything in their first lesson," she says. But Lucy at least turns her matchstick to a silver colour.
"That's looking good, but your movement needs to be sharper, just like a needle is sharp," Professor Bones tells Lucy. "Three points to Slytherin, by the way."
When Professor Bones moves on to the Hufflepuffs, Victoire puts away her wand and stares blankly at the blackboard. She recalls the day at the beach, when she made the sandcastle and made the piece of driftwood come alive. Magic had come to her naturally back then, far more advanced magic than turning a stupid matchstick into a needle.
She twirls the matchstick between her fingers. This feels right, no wand between her and the object of her magic. She feels the matchstick grow slimmer, sharper, colder. And before she completely realizes it, she is twirling a needle between her fingers, almost pricking her thumb.
The bell rings, and Professor Bones collects their matchsticks, most of them useless pieces of silvery wood somewhere in between. Lucy has at least managed to turn hers to metal.
"What have you got," Professor Bones asks Victoire. Victoire considers to let the needle disappear into her robes, to pretend she has lost it, but then lets it drop from her fist onto the table.
Professor Bones asks the same question as Sophie the muggle girl. "How did you do that?"
"Not with my wand," Victoire confesses. "I just put it in my hand and, I can't describe it, felt the magic happening."
"I see," Professor Bones says. "You have to understand, few children reach this level of wandless magic. Most have just smaller or larger outbursts. Few of them can control it like you do. But you have to know you can't keep going this way."
"Why not?" asks Victoire. "Holding my wand just doesn't feel right. I'm just clumsily prodding things with a stick. When I do magic the other way it feels so natural and… right."
"It can't be controlled. It feels to you like that now because you have an extraordinary degree of control over magic without a wand and the magic we do in first year is simple. You could keep going like this until Christmas, maybe Easter or even the end of the year. But eventually you'll start struggling and it might even become dangerous."
"But I don't feel like my wand is doing anything at all."
"That's because you see it as a barrier you have to punch through. That's not what a wand is meant to be. It is meant to channel, to focus, to direct. It's not a magic hammer."
Victoire has to laugh at the allegory.
"But what if I really can't use a wand?"
"Miss Weasley, it's your second week at this school. You will learn to master a wand. I'll offer you extra lessons if needed. I went to school with your uncle Ronald. Trust me, I've seen much worse."
Victoire continues to thrive in Herbology and Potions. Astronomy and, thanks to the droning ghost finally enjoying a well-deserved and much belated retirement, History of Magic proved to be interesting as well, but paled compared to the others due to the lack of practical magic.
Wand magic remains a chore. Victoire tried to follow Professor Bones' advice, but she couldn't help but feel clumsy trying to use the wand for spells she could easily perform wandless. By the time she masters the sparkle spell, the class has moved on to levitating objects.
In Defence they start practicing smaller hexes meant to distract an opponent. Victoire feels like a squib, especially as she is usually paired with Medea, who is able to conjure some vicious hexes.
Medea and Victoire grow ever closer to each other. They sit together at meals, do their homework together and work together in most classes. They have become something like friends, but Medea's family still stands between them as a shadow. Victoire doesn't ask, and Medea doesn't tell.
"Wingardium Leviosa," Victoire says, trying to lift the stubborn feather from her desk. She has finally learnt how to use her wand without driving herself to mental exhaustion. She lets the magic flow into the wand instead of directly at the target of her spell, and then channels it towards her goal. It is slow and still doesn't feel right, but it works. At least she manages to keep up with classes now.
The others hate Herbology. Digging in the earth and dealing with fanged plants is quite the shock for little pureblood princess Diana, but Victoire finds it relaxing. No struggling with her wand in this class, just looking after the plants.
"Would you mind joining me on a walk," Neville asks her after one lesson.
"I have half an hour, then I have to be in Charms," Victoire says. They set off towards a part of the grounds she hasn't been to before.
"How are you doing Victoire?" Neville asks. "Was quite a shock for you, wasn't it?"
"It's not as bad as I thought," Victoire says. "Diana is a spoilt princess. And Freya is a loner. But Lucy is nice enough and Medea…" she trails off as Neville's face seems to harden.
"Miss Lestrange, yes. You seem to have befriended her."
"I have," Victoire says. "I know what her relatives did to your parents, but…"
Neville cut her off.
"That has nothing to do with Medea. I know. But too many people don't see that. I'm glad that you do."
"Thank you, Professor Longbottom," Victoire says.
"Don't walk too close to that tree," Neville tells her as she approaches a large willow. "It beat up your uncle Ron quite badly once."
"Why would you plant a punching tree on school grounds?"
"Long story," Neville says. "Has something to do with Teddy's dad."
Victoire tells him about her trouble with her wand. "Ah yes, Susan told me about it. I used my dad's old wand for my first five years," he says. "Never felt quite right in my hand. Took me five years to master the bloody thing. And can you imagine what happened then? Some bloody Death Eater steps on it and breaks it so I have to get a new one. They have their own character, wands, just like the trees they were made of, and the creatures that gave their hair or feathers. They aren't just an extension of your arm."
She walks up to Charms with the new knowledge that Neville has given her. She begins to understand why she has all this trouble, but she doesn't know how to fix it. It's driving her up the wall. It's just so wrong that the others can intuitively do it and she can't. Is this how the muggle girl had felt, the day they built the castle? Without a twitch of her wand, the white feather erupts in flame and burns to a cinder.
Flitwick patiently hands her a new feather. She waves again and mumbles the incantation, but her focus is gone. The feather doesn't twitch for the rest of the lesson.
She storms back to the Slytherin common room, past the enchanted wall and back to her dormitory, pulling the green velvet curtains around her bed and sobs into her pillow. This is where Freya finds her.
"Victoire," she says.
"Leave me alone," Victoire snaps. How strange that she has to tell that to Freya of all people. Despite sharing a dormitory with her for two months now, she has never spoken to her more than exchanging a polite "good morning."
"Advanced flying lessons are today, and while I have no intentions to risk exposing my brain to bludgers, you've been looking forward to this, so stop crying and go down to the Quidditch pitch."
Half an hour later, she marches down to the Quidditch pitch dressed in green flying robes. She picks one of the school brooms, a worn-out black Nimbus 2001 and marches towards Madam Hooch, who has just finished explaining the rules of Quidditch to the muggle-borns unfamiliar with the game.
"Before we start with Quidditch, please warm up by flying a few laps around the pitch," Hooch's voice booms.
Victoire kicks off the ground. The broom just bolts upwards. She has only known childrens' brooms before. This is a once world-class racing broom. The air in her face feels like a storm as she circles over the pitch. The Nimbus reacts to every gentle steering move immediately and with extreme precision. Her first attempt to corner results in a sudden jinking move and she almost rolls the broom in mid-air, but with every corner she gains confidence. She forgets for a moment that she's hopeless with a wand, that Medea is still her only friend and that she hasn't written her parents since the single short letter on her second day. She just cares about the sense of speed, about feeling the wind in her hair and about the weightlessness whenever she dives towards the ground.
Soon they begin chaser practice. Madam Hooch launches several quaffles into the air and they start passing the large red balls to each other.
They end the day's lesson with seeker practice. Madam Hooch releases three golden snitches into the air. Victoire decides to fly high, circling over the pitch like a bird of prey. She sees something glitter near the goalposts and goes into a dive, but Gryffindor boy Jason Chapman. But two more are left, so Victoire resumed her search. She only realizes the second one getting caught when Lynn Dobbs from Hufflepuff begins celebrating. Then she sees Rebecca starting to chase after something. She immediately starts to catch up to her. The Nimbus is extraordinarily fast for a school broom, but Rebecca is far ahead of her. The snitch makes two rapid corners that allow Victoire to catch up. They race head to head, so close together that Rebecca's brown hair and Victoire's blonde brush against each other. Victoire stretches out her arm, the winged golden ball almost within her grasp. Rebecca slams her elbows into Victoire's side and her fingers close around thin air, while Rebecca celebrates.
And thus, even the lesson she loved the most since starting at Hogwarts ends in disappointment.
"That wasn't fair," she complains to Rebecca.
"I didn't expect you to play fair," Rebecca replies. "I'm sorry. But this is how the game works. You got really close though."
"You flew well," she hears the voice of an older boy. She turns around, and finds herself looking at Anthony Hawthorn, captain of the Slytherin team. "Just be a bit more ruthless next time. See you at the tryouts next year? Yaxley and Cooper are leaving in summer."
Gone is the disappointment and Victoire feels genuinely proud. Hawthorn isn't generous with praise, as every member of the Slytherin Quidditch team can attest.
Halloween at Hogwarts is an overwhelming experience. Victoire is surprised that the place can become even more magical. Hagrid's enormous pumpkins are floating in the Great Hall, illuminated by glowing orbs conjured up by Flitwick, and life bats are flapping around them.
For Victoire, this is her first proper Hogwarts feast. During the opening feast she was too much under shock to enjoy herself. How strangely far away this seems now. It has been just two months, but Slytherin, which appeared to her a dark dreadful place to be avoided at all cost, begins to feel like home. She sits together with Medea, devouring pumpkin pies and roast beef.
"Lucy says there's going to be a party in the common room tonight," Medea says. "Her older sister is a fourth year and claims she managed to smuggle some firewhisky in."
Liquorice bats and sugar skulls are served for dessert. Nathan manages to scare Malcolm by making the jaw of his sugar skull rattle with a spell they've learnt in Charms class.
"Malcolm you baby," Lucy says, eating a twitching chocolate spider whole.
Malcolm flings a bowl of blood-red jelly into her face. All of the Slytherin first years erupt in laughter, including Lucy. All except Freya, who remains serious as always and just rolls her eyes at the others.
"Stop acting so serious and have some fun," Nathan tells her.
"Is your idea of fun flinging bowls of jelly at each other? How childish can you be?"
"Yes," says Nathan and throws some at Freya.
"Enough," Mairi says, and with a flick of her wand cleans Freya's and Lucy's faces. "You've had your fun, but I'd rather not have this get out of control."
Still laughing, they leave the Slytherin table and march to their common room. The password has changed according to the holiday ("Headless Hippogriffs"). The common room has been redecorated while the feast was underway, probably by some overeager house-elves. Now it looks like Victoire had imagined the Slytherin common room at the start of the year, with jack-o-lanterns, stone skulls and green garlands that coiled like real snakes.
Mairi puts her prefect badge away and starts hitting the firewhisky. The younger students pass around a drink coloured a shocking blue that makes them all giggly. Medea and Victoire battle Nathan and Malcolm in a ferocious match of exploding snap. After the third match the cards have enough and incinerate themselves.
"I shouldn't have bought the cheap ones from Zonko's," says Malcolm and drinks the butterbeer he somehow got his hands on.
As the party goes on, the common room slowly empties. Mairi disappears in a broom cupboard with a sixth year boy, Diana and Lucy head for the dormitory, Malcolm and Nathan decide to sneak out to try and intrude on Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party.
Medea and Victoire withdraw into a quiet corner of the room for a game of Wizard Chess. The chess board and pieces were a birthday present from her Uncle Ron. Victoire wins the first two rounds but loses the third. It's almost midnight when they witness a group of girls stumble back into the common room. One of them is clutching a bandage to her face.
"I can't go to Abbott with that!" she exclaims.
"Wait here, I'll fetch Fabienne," says the other.
She reappears a bit later with the seventh year girl called Fabienne.
"How did you- oh well, I don't think I want to know," Fabienne says.
"One of those blasted Skrewts," the injured one says.
The three of them disappear.
"What in Merlin's name was that?" asks Medea.
"Nothing we were supposed to see," says Victoire. "And what the heck is a Skrewt?"
At breakfast the next day, the school was talking about an altogether different topic.
"Did you hear about poor Olivia Carpenter?"
"Idiot girl, what was she thinking?"
Olivia, a third-year Hufflepuff, it turned out, had attempted a blood magic ritual she found in a muggle book and ended up in St. Mungo's.
"And that's why old Salazar didn't want them in Hogwarts," Diana says. "They're not the brightest, are they?"
"That's just Olivia being a Hufflepuff," Lucy disagrees.
"Hey, Teddy is a Hufflepuff and he's not an idiot," Victoire says.
"Each of us would have known that this is a stupid idea and we've only been here for two months," says Medea. "But then again we've lived in this world for eleven years and Olivia just for three."
"Be careful what you say," Malcolm says. "You can't say anything against the precious muggle-borns or Granger will get you."
"Shut up Selwyn," Victoire snaps, making sure to use his tainted surname. "When you cut your finger during Potions last week your blood didn't look very special."
She is seriously disappointed in her housemates. She probably shouldn't be surprised. The old scars run deeper than she was aware.
"Victoire is right," says Freya. "There's no pure or impure blood. There's only magic and those who have the power to wield it."
"Oh look," Malcolm comments. "The freak is sticking up for the half-breed."
"Enough!" Medea says.
"I thought you were on my side?" Malcolm says.
"No, I'm not. You could be good friends with my dad though. Maybe I can arrange a visit for you. Come Victoire, let's go."
They arrive to Herbology early, Victoire in an especially foul mood. Was Slytherin after all the Death Eater house she feared it to be?
Medea was calling Malcolm some very rude names as they walked down to the greenhouses, Victoire's favourite being "filthy Flobberworm". But that can't distract Victoire from the fact that Medea had happily taken part in mocking muggle-borns.
"Are you any better?" says Victoire.
"How can you say this?" asks Medea. "I'd never call you a- you know what."
"But you made fun of Olivia with the others," Victoire says.
"You have to admit those muggle-borns can be a little obtuse sometimes. Seriously, she's fortunate that it wasn't an actual ritual. People like her haven't learnt to respect magic. And they always try to bring their annoying little gadgets here. Fortunately the magic usually destroys those after a few days."
"You'd be just as lost in their world," Victoire says, remembering an embarrassing visit to Aunt Audrey which had ended in her running from a very scary robotic vacuum cleaner.
"Maybe you're right. But don't ever believe I support Death Eaters," Medea says.
"What does the word Malcolm called me mean? Half-breed?"
"It's a nasty word for people who have non-human ancestors. Like you with your Veela mum. Some people like Malcolm are scared of that. I'd rather have a Veela mum than a Death Eater mum."
It's the first time Medea has talked about her parents.
"So your parents are…"
"Yes, they're Death Eaters. But I live with my grandma."
That's all she says, and Victoire doesn't press the issue further. Her grumpiness has an impact on her performance in Herbology, and Professor Longbottom takes five points from Slytherin for her mistreating the plants. At least she resists the urge of smashing her shovel across the back of Malcolm's head, which would doubtlessly have landed her in detention.
Malcolm apparently regards her disagreement with his positions a declaration of war. He decides to make it his mission to make her time at Hogwarts into her personal hell.
"Don't upset her or she'll turn into a bird monster and fling fireballs at you," he tells Diana at dinner. Diana sniggers. He sneaks up on her from behind statues and suits of armour, shooting jinxes at her before belittling her feeble spellwork. He puts frogspawn in her bags, throws stink pellets at her, and always taunts her about her Veela ancestor.
"I don't think they should take half-breeds at Hogwarts," he tells her after another disastrous Transfiguration lesson. "You'd be better off working in the forest together with that half-giant oaf."
"You're making a fool out of yourself, Selwyn," Freya tells him. "Her mother was a Triwizard Champion."
Victoire still isn't sure what to make of Freya. While she sometimes sticks up for her, Freya remains as distant as always.
"Thank you for defending me," Victoire tells Freya.
"I just can't stand stupidity," replies Freya, her shell as unyielding as always.
Christmas approaches and life at Hogwarts doesn't get any better. Malcolm's taunts make her more anxious than ever about her ability to perform magic, and she hardly ever gets anything right in Charms and Transfiguration.
When the red-haired girl begins following her around, Victoire begins to suspect she's cracking up. She sits a few desks away from her when doing homework in the library, she watches her from a corner of the common room when she sits in front of the fireplace together with Medea. Even during flying lessons, Victoire can see her red hair down in the stands.
But the girl never talks to her, and quickly vanishes when Victoire tries to talk to her. Is she even real at all? She looks a bit too solid to be a ghost. Is she a figment of her imagination?
Victoire is counting the days until she can finally return to Shell Cottage for the holidays. She contemplates complaining to Professor Sinistra because of Malcolm. But she doesn't want to trouble her with first-year nonsense. She knows he's too much of a coward to attempt anything serious. And running to a teacher would appear weak. Nothing is worse in Slytherin than appearing weak. She decides to try and ignore him, hoping he'd get bored of taunting her eventually.
"Why do you let the Selwyn boy kick you around like this?" the mysterious girl asks her one day when she is sitting alone in the library, working on an essay for History of Magic.
She is sitting cross-legged across from her, a book on her lap, her red hair tied in a ponytail.
"He's stronger than me," Victoire says. "He can cast more and stronger hexes. And he has more friends. Better to ignore him and hope he loses interest."
"Do you really believe he's stronger?" the girl says. "It's not him I've been watching."
"Why are you watching me then?"
"Because we think you're special."
"Special? Is that a polite expression for dumb?" Victoire asks.
"No, we are not interested in dumb people. But you're not, Victoire. Quite the contrary, I think your problem is that you sometimes think too much."
"And who are you?" Victoire asks.
"My name is Lydia. Fourth year, and very real, thank you very much."
Victoire isn't sure if she wants this mind-reading girl who appears to be part of a secret society to be real after all. Because that's more trouble than she can handle.