The Mask and The Mirror

(Chapter 1): From Train to Bed

Cloudincia Portagate

***

Author's notes: I love these things, they're so useful.

This began as a second person fic. I've tried to change the grammar into third, but if I missed something, don't be cross. And she didn't come with a name, so I don't know what it is. She might sound a little odd but this is the way MY mind works, and mine is the only mind I know. Sorry. I can't be a telepath. HOWEVER, I have tried to make this not a Mary Jane or Sue, or whatever they're called, self insertion anyway. The character may think like me, but she isn't me, she's sufficiently different that if you don't know my mind, you might not recognise her as me. So she's not me. Thank you.

I know that Scorpius is probably out of character, but he doesn't ever get a character to be in, so he's essentially mine. He will be developed later. And if a paragraph ends in italics and the next one begins with them then Andrea is answering her own commentary.

This has a plot, kinda. If you want action, go read the original stories. This is a study of the mental state of a girl who's locked herself away for 11 years, and is now able to come out. It's the story of a girl who doesn't know the rules, and by the time she's learned them it's too late. It's supposed to be about character, not about wizard duels, and mischief. In fact I'm on chapter 5 right now and rather irritated by Andrea's lack of mischievousness. So don't expect it to go anywhere fast. If you want good stuff that's about the mind, read Ghormengast. If you want trash, read this.

If I get a lot of reviews saying it's the worst thing you've read since 'A Wizard of Oz,' which doesn't deserve the dignity of italics, then I'll take it down. If I continue past 1st year, which I'm currently not planning on, it shall become apparent why you are not in…the houses Andrea isn't in. (I have to maintain some suspense). However, please note that I'll only keep it up if people ask me to, only year one is planned right now. Addendum as of later this still applies even though I've written all of 1st and 2nd year, and a considerable chunk of 3rd.

DISCLAIMER-I do not own Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, V for Vendetta or the computer I'm typing this on. Thank you for not suing.

***

She'd never really been a fan of being anyone. And the best way of doing that was to be a good student, and do whatever anyone else told her. And if, in the process, she lost a little piece of herself, well, it only hurt for a while. So when, at 11, Andrea Ferntap was accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry she was shocked, honoured and worried. Actually she was 10, but school started only two days after her 11th birthday. Shocked because it meant that, contrary to 'common knowledge' magical things really happened, and it wasn't just her imagination. Honoured because, well, wizards went to her school; how many times had she wished she had magic? Worried because suddenly she had to try again. Had she gone to the 'muggle' secondary school she was on track for, everyone would have known her to be a brainy nobody. Now she had to try again, to re-establish a reputation as clever, and to blend in with a disparate group of children. She'd never been good with homogenous groups, how was she supposed to cope in Scotland, when everybody was from somewhere else. But she was comfortable, too, she was better now, at telling when the voices she heard were there and when they weren't, so, maybe, in this place, she could do it, maybe, in a world of magic, she could leave behind the ridiculous notion that she was crazy.

Somehow she managed to restrain utter panic until she was on the train. She plugged her i-pod into her ears, and pulled out her favourite text; Elementary Potion Making. It was exactly what she loved; no boring dry facts, like in Hogwarts: a History, which she, of course, tried (and failed) to read; but instead this book taught useful things; facts that she could drop into a conversation to prove her higher intelligence, before she drifted into anonymity again. She didn't look up from her book until she reached the end of a particularly obtusely worded potion. Needing to rest her eyes she looked out at the barren, twilit countryside outside. She was farther from home than she'd ever been. Not in the physical sense; after all trips to France and Germany ranged further afield, but now she was away from every rule she knew, every expectation, everyone she understood.

The thought scared her, and she looked around her compartment to distract herself. She hadn't even noticed, over the noise of her music, the three other students in the carriage. She bobbed her head to them, to indicate her apologies for not saying hello, and they all looked at her. The one next to her, blonde, almost Aryan, but for his icy eyes, which were so pale as to appear grey, instead of blue, held out his hand, and muttered something. She pulled her earbud out of her right ear, and apologised, adding 'I didn't catch that;' too many people had asked why she'd apologised.

'Scorpius Malfoy, you are?'

'Oh,' she held out her hand, and offered her name, then looked expectantly at the two sitting opposite you.

'Albus Potter,' the one with black hair offered, a gentle smile rounding his young face.

'Rose Weasley,' the redhead muttered, staring at the ground, and refusing all eye contact with Scorpio. She nodded her thanks to them, and promptly flipped the page in her potions book, trying to divert their attention. Unfortunately, from the point of distracting them was concerned, the door slid open at that point.

'Anything off the trolley, dears?' a woman asked. At once Andrea's three companions, she had no better adjective for them, got up and Scorpio turned back to look at her.

'D'you not want anything?'

'Nah,' she muttered, 'I heard the first meal is something to be remembered, I'll wait.' An absolute lie; she had no idea what awaited them, but it seemed to please the boy. When they re-enter Rose sat next to her and at Andrea's questioning look said,

'Girls should stick together, don't you think?'

'Mmm' she said, noncommittally, but recognising as she did so, what she was doing; she was sinking into what Rose wants. Becoming an average nobody. Good; that's how she'd lived for the last 11 years. Andrea reminded herself that she had considered stopping, but she pushed that thought aside; she'd spent 11 years behind a mask, she couldn't be herself anymore, because, well, as they said in V for Vendetta, which she weren't supposed to see, but her friend's older brother has the DVD, and they had watched it anyway, "you wear a mask for so long you forget who you were beneath it". Oh, she knew the truth of that statement. At that moment Andrea felt that her mask probably covered nothing but a black hole where her personality should be.

Soon her companions were stuffed, and turned to trying to engage her in conversation, much to her disgruntlement. She did really want to try their food, but, well, she had said that she knew what was in store, and that she'd wait, so she couldn't. Needless to say with Rose still sitting, accidentally, on her i-pod earphone she was drawn into their conversation before she realised it. She gave up on her potions book, and on music, stuffing both book and i-pod into her rucksack. Then Scorpius, as she, after several attempts, remembered his name to be, offered her a chocolate frog. She took it, and felt it wiggle inside its packet. She stiffened and threw it away from her, not caring where it ended up, or what the poor creature inside felt at being thrown. Everyone laughed, and she bit her tongue. 'You're a mudblood, aren't you?' Scorpius asks. She looked at him, her nose crinkled in incomprehension; however Rose and Albus acted positively vitriolic about it.

'Don't you dare call someone that'

'How could you use such a vile name?'

'Don't you know what it means?'

'Where did you learn such language?'

'What's it mean?' Curiosity got the better of staying low; it was beginning to look like Wizards spoke an entirely different language than normal humans…'muggles'.

'It's the worst thing possible' Albus informed Andrea, on no uncertain terms.

'Sorry,' Scorpius muttered, 'my dad's friends use it, and I never thought about what it means,' he defended himself against the other two.

'I don't mind,' Andrea insisted, another lie; she did care that she'd just been insulted, but there were worse names, and she had no plans to be remembered by any of these people. 'I don't know what it means, other than that I have mud in my veins, so I don't care.' She was prattling, and shut up with a last, mumbled apology.

'My mother's muggle-born, so I care,' Rose informed Scorpius, 'so don't think of using it in front of me.'

'Sorry,' Scorpius insisted, 'I never thought about it.'

'Start,' Albus ordered. Andrea shook her head, and turned away from them. Her eyes pointed out of the window, but she didn't see the countryside. She saw her friends, the ones she'd spent the last few years with, the ones who'd probably shaped her the most, at least recently, on account of being with her all the time. She'd promised Chiara that she'd write, although she had been hazy on the details of exactly where she was going, and Molly wouldn't let her leave without making sure she had all her contact details, including the more outdated ones, like postal addresses, because 'you never know what arcane things they'll have you get used to'. Andrea smiled as she remembered pointing out that snail mail is archaic not arcane. Molly had only punched her on the shoulder for that, gently, of course. But a school will have internet and such, how else to they expect us to do research; from books?

'Andrea,' Albus called her name, 'you should probably change soon, we'll be at the school in half an hour, and my Dad say's there's always a rush in the last ten minutes.' She wondered what he was talking about and then noticed that they were all in the black robes that Rose was in initially. She had hoped they were only for certain occasions. Apparently not. She thanked Albus, and headed to the end of the train with her robes in hand, managing to only trip over her hem twice on the way back; mercifully no-one was looking. When she got back Scorpius yelped and guiltily put his hands behind his back, before grinning sheepishly and pulling out her i-pod. He handed it back, and asked, innocently, 'what is this?'

She stared at him. Who doesn't know what an i-pod is? Even if you can't afford one you should know what one is. Her look of befuddlement forced her to feel her way across Rose's shoulders to take her seat, staring all the time at Scorpius.

'It's an i-pod,' she told him, still not unsure whether or not he was joking. All three of them looked at her for further enlightenment. Maybe Molly was right to give me all her details. Andrea launched into a technical explanation of the i-pod, as a 'portable, personal music player'. This gets more and more complicated, until Andrea, well read as she was, started to feel out of her depth. She was rather relieved when the train began to pass station lights and stopped. Her explanation was forgotten as all of them looked out of the window in awe. Actually there wasn't much to be awed at, just a new town somewhere in Scotland. She'd never been in the country, but it's not that different, surely. It's still Britain, after all.

They piled out onto the station with the other first years and Rose grabbed her hand. She pulled Andrea over to one side, and whispered in her ear 'I heard we take a trip across the lake; do you want to try to throw the boys in?' The bustle and noise of the station unnerved her, and she hugged her rucksack, and tried not to get in anyone's way.

'Mmm' Andrea replied, more confused than attempting to fit in, but hoping that the non-committal response would keep her happy. It did.

'Wicked!' she yelps, and pulled Andrea towards a woman calling out 'First years, follow me.'

They did as instructed, and broke away from the larger student body, into the night. Professor Grubby-Plank, as Andrea caught her name to be, led the first years to the boats at the edge of a black lake, by the side of a rather ominous swath of heavily forested land. 'Four to a boat,' she instructed, and Rose sniffled her nose as the boys joined the two girls. 'Climb in, and push off.'

It seemed to Andrea that she was the only one in her boat with any idea how to act on the water, seeing as how she used to sail on the reservoir, at her father's insistence that it was a pleasurable way to spend an afternoon. She made him happy enough in complying. If she didn't exert herself then no one would remember that she was mad.

Scorpius looked a little sick at the thought of crossing water, but Andrea patted him on the knee and assured him that he'd be fine. Albus seemed up for the adventure, but Rose admitted afterwards that she didn't think she would have been up to knocking them in. Andrea shrugged, noncommittal again, and hoped that Rose would soon forget. It's not that she didn't want friends; it's that she wanted to be known as 'that girl who always studies.' It was a rather revered position, she'd discovered, and people asked for help, but nothing more. No one here knows I hear voices, and they don't need to. I can control myself now, I'll know when there's no one there, hopefully. Professor Grubby-Plank led the first years up a hill to the main building, where they were met by a tiny man, who looked about half the size and well over four times the age of the fifty-odd students. He introduced himself as Professor Flitwick, and led them into a room. Through a nearby doorway they heard the voice of a school; a jumble of voices all speaking at once. In the ante-chamber though, it was quiet. Andrea looked at Scorpius, Albus and Rose for help, and they said, unhelpfully 'the sorting,' in various volumes. Before she could question them further Professor Flitwick came along to sort them all into a queue of students by surname. Andrea looked for her…they're not my friends. Rose was near the back, Scorpius and Albus, although separated, were in the clump of students she assumed represented L-M-N-O-P in the middle of the alphabet. People, she reminded herself, didn't want her to hang out with them; didn't they make that perfectly clear in year 2? Yes, they did. These three all come from wizarding families, they'll be much better than you, and they don't want, and certainly don't need, you as a friend. Always tagging along, asking questions to make up for your stupidity.

A stupidity I didn't want.

Andrea watched the mess get sorted, and all too soon they were on the move again. Into the hall they heard earlier. Good; it was easier to loose herself. She had to wear more masks the fewer people she was with; in a large group she just wore the plainest one possible. The students, Andrea noticed were separated into four tables, presumably four houses, and four coloured banners hung on the wall above the teachers table, at the head of the room, on a raised section of floor. Andrea had mixed feelings about the practical upshot of raising the floor like that; did it give the teachers control, or does it put them on a stage, to be laughed at?

A new voice sang a song, not a very professional one, but recognisably a song. There was thunderous applause from the audience, but Andrea failed to see why anyone would bother to take the point of view of a hat in a song. Flitwick began to read off names, and people went up, one by one to be 'sorted'. She heard the new voice calling out one of four words before each name, and assumed these to be the houses of the last person to be called. Griff-in-door and Hufful-puff didn't sound like real words, and she automatically decided to try to get out of them. Raven Claw sounded like an association of assassins, but she was sure that Chiara could write a book about it if she said she was in that house. And Slither In sounded like a bunch of dubious dropouts who dealt drugs on street corners. It looks like the only one that will do anything for anyone is Raven Claw. You'll just have to wait and see.

The people ahead of Andrea began to look nervous as their names approached, but she still couldn't really see what was going on; all those around her had the fortune to be considerably taller. Then the boy two in front left, and, as they shuffled forwards, she noticed that he was sitting under a pointy hat, like all the teachers were wearing, and which Andrea had "forgotten" out of embarrassment. Flitwick stood at the side with a long roll of…is that really parchment? And a quill? Have you stepped back into the Dark Ages or what? Andrea felt the urge to check her rucksack, to make sure she still had her i-pod, but she had left it with the others' in the little ante-chamber. Hyperventilating slightly the girl ahead of Andrea went up, and she watched with interest. The girl put on the hat, and sat on a stool. Suddenly her hands gripped the wooden seat tightly, and, a moment later, she relaxed. A rip opened in the brim of the hat, and it shouted, 'HUFFLEPUFF'. Well that explains why anyone would impersonate a hat.

'Ferntap, Andrea,' Flitwick called and she went up. She sat down and dropped the hat over her head, pulling her feet up onto the bottom rung of the stool. 'Hmmm, muggle-born, eh? Well, you've coped admirably with a strange situation, that could be enough for Gryffindor, but then there's your devotion to the books, a certain placement in Ravenclaw, and then your desire for anonymity, Hufflepuff might suit you, but…wait. What's this? A desire to manipulate?' There was no need for Andrea to wonder why there's a new voice in her head, she'd had a lot of voices in her head, and at least this one wasn't a sign to wear another mask. She did wonder why it sounded like the hat, but as the wretched thing had just given her quite a shock she dismissed even this query. 'Hiding behind the scenes, and always waiting for people to come to you. Always being above them, using your knowledge for power.' OK, this she'd never felt before; she'd never had anyone hint that she might be a manipulative little bi…except once, but he was being mean. Besides, it's not like I meant to control them, I just didn't think they'd actually listen to me. 'Slytherin will definitely help you, then. You'll be able to decide if you want power. Listen though, if you want it, and take it as expected, you will be in the spotlight, but you will be normal. If you don't want it, and take it to be normal, you will be miserable. If you don't want it, and don't take it, you will be the most extraordinary of all, and the least seen.' Huh? Well, it's a voice in your head, you'll figure out what it wants later. 'Shall we tell them your placement, then, in SLYTHERIN.' She heard the hat above her scream the last word, and wondered if it really was the hat speaking. But that's impossible.

The table to the left is cheering, and she went over to them, assuming them to be Slytherin. When did you learn how to spell it as one word? And with a 'y'? She bit her tongue, and watched the rest of the sorting, feeling a little sad when Rose and Albus went to Gryffindor, but cheering up when Scorpius sat next to her; at least that was one fewer name to remember. She couldn't help but feel in the wrong place. The hat…the voice that sounded like the hat, just latched on to the wrong memory, that was all. She leant over to ask Scorpius about it, but a teacher stood up. Her voice was sharp and clipped, her grey hair pulled back sternly, and her body, although resting slightly on a cane, still powerful.

'Welcome all, to another year at Hogwarts, or to your first year at Hogwarts. You are part of a story far greater than you know; a story stretching back to the founders, and stretching forward until Hogwarts suffers a blow which closes it forever, something which has not happened for over a millennium, and is not likely to happen in the immediate future. I trust you all to feel the responsibility this places on your shoulders, and to act in a manner that befits members of this school. Further announcements shall be made following dinner, and a lack of attention is no grounds for rule breaking. Enjoy the feast.'

'Scary' Andrea muttered to Scorpius.

'Professor McGonagall, head of school, and Transfiguration mistress.' He whispered back,

'She looks like she eats first years for breakfast.' He laughed, and she ducked her head.

'So, a Malfoy?' a boy opposite the pair asks, and soon Scorpius was drawn into a conversation regarding wizarding family ties. Andrea tried to follow, but got lost in the Weasley family while wondering how Rose was connected to them. Instead she turned her attention to the food, and the boy seated beside her. He was going on about something called Quiddich, and she heard enough, soon enough, to realise that it's a sport before he dragged her into the conversation.

'Who's your favourite team?' he asked as a preliminary,

Andrea was forced to admit she'd never really followed sports, and made up a story about her dad refusing to watch the world cup because it was biased. This was not entirely untrue, as he did one year boycott it, but that was only once. Seeing his disappointment she casually dropped in that she'd always wanted to learn how to be a Chaser, one of the words she'd picked up that she knew was a position, not a ball. He and the boy next to him, obviously not first years, launched into an explanation; fully expecting her to understand the rules of flying already. She followed as much as she could, and made polite noises of interest at what she didn't. Finally dinner ended, and she rested, stuffed to the brim with treacle tart, a new favourite.

Professor McGonagall stood again and addressed the school. She reminded (or informed) all of them of the rules, which were remarkably like the ones at Andrea's old school, with the exception of 'no magic in the corridors' and things of that nature. Then Professor Flitwick stood, and proclaimed that they were now about to sing the school song. Andrea glanced helplessly at Scorpius, who caught her look, and shrugged. 'Everyone choose their favourite tune, and let's all sing' a ribbon flew out of the end of his wand, and twisted into words. Andrea read them, trying not to laugh as she did so.

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy, warty Hogwarts

Teach us something, please.

Whether we be old and bald,

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff

For now their bare, and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff.

So teach us things worth knowing

Bring back what we've forgot

Just do your best, we'll do the rest

And learn until our brains all rot.

Once everyone had finished, someone at the Gryffindor table having picked a remarkably slow tune for such a happy event, McGonagall stood, and sent them all off to bed. Andrea was halfway, or partway, to her dormitory when she remembered her rucksack, and hastily tried to turn around and get it. Scorpius grabbed her arm, and pulled her forward. 'It's OK, it's a dungeon, but it's not scary, apparently'

'No, I forgot my rucksack' she clarified.

'Oh, it's OK, they'll have brought it down for you, and if they didn't we can always ask Slughorn about it later.' He spoke like the boys did at dinner, and she realised that most people around her had no idea what it was to be raised in a 'muggle' home.

'Who's Slughorn?' she asked him, quietly, so as not to have anyone else insult her.

'He's the head of Slytherin, has been ever since Snape died in the last war. Snape was headmaster, too.' Scorpius looked around, and then said, 'they say he collects students in this thing called the Slug Club. It's supposed to be for the well connected, and the really smart.' Then he seemed to remember that they were 11 years old and opposite genders, and he quickly stepped away and walked in front of her.

'First years this way,' called a voice, and the two looked to see one of Slytherin's two prefects with her hand in the air. When she had their attention she looked at them very sternly and said, 'now, the password for the week is Honestas* if you forget it, you'll have to do your best. Please take a moment to notice where we are; this is the only place you can enter the dormitory, is that clear. No matter how many nooks or crannies you may find, this is the only place. We shall enter, and I shall show you to your rooms; you're all in two rooms, no questions, boys and girls will, of course, be separated. Girls may enter the boys dormitories, but keep in mind,' at this point she was talking tour-guide style, and walking backwards down a short flight of stairs into a common room with a fire, and several couches, all decked out rather Christmassy in shades of Green and Silver. '…that visiting is not permitted between the hours of 10pm and 6 am, curfew is enforced, and all students must be in the common room or dormitories by 10 and in bed by 11. You may go whenever you wish after 5 am. If you're up at 5 am, then you shouldn't tell me, because I will think you're mentally unstable. This is the common room; boys' dormitories are on my left, girls' on my right. Your timetables are identical, and you may pick up copies on that table. Remember to unpack all your belongings tonight, and to store them in a safe place, because tomorrow you do begin classes. Enjoy your evening.'

She's been trying too hard, Andrea realised. She, like Andrea, was probably a prefect in her primary school, and it has been her goal, since then, to become one again. But, unlike Andrea, she tried for prefect-hood, whereas Andrea just got it. Andrea was given it, because of your ability to control the other students.

Because of your ability to teach the other students, and help them. She went into a dormitory, following a girl a good head taller than her, but proportionally wider, too, and was rather surprised when she is not in the room. Andrea could only reason that she and the girl are to be in different rooms. Instead she found herself in a room with a tall thin blonde girl whom she would have put on the net-ball team, had they not played Quiddich here, which she still didn't understand. She was sorting through her belongings and crying slightly, every now and then. Just a tear, or a sniffle, but it was enough.

Andrea put a hand on her back and smiled when she looked up, 'you can always write, you know,' Andrea reassured her.

'I've known all my life I was coming to Hogwarts, and I never wanted to,' she said, 'and now I'm here it's just a cold ugly mess, and I hate it.'

'Maybe it'll be better in the light,' Andrea offered, not entirely sure what the girl wanted. It turned out not to be the right thing.

'The only thing I want to do with this place in the light, or dark, is leave!' she shouted, suddenly furious, 'and if you want to stay, then you can stay out of my way!'

Andrea backed off; hands raised in calm surrender, and turned back to her own unpacking. She groaned when she realised she'd forgotten her pyjamas. Maybe you should have let your mum double check everything. But she didn't want to be without her precious. Yes! The Lord of the Rings; her favourite book ever since her father bought her The Hobbit on cassette. Ah cassette! How the times had moved on, even Andrea's father barely remembered cassettes. But he's an accountant, he has to save money and buy antiquated things at lower costs. But at least you have your book. Andrea frowned when she finished unpacking and turned to her nightstand only to find it too small for everything. She opened the small cupboard under the shelf, and stowed all her toiletries and spare underwear in there, and then placed her i-pod, and Lord of the Rings on the second shelf, topping it off with a journal, her quill and ink, bought at Patty, her Muggle liaison officer's insistence, three biros, and a notebook. She selected her least favourite T-shirt and shorts to serve as pyjamas until she could find better ones, and looked for a place to hang her clothes. One wasn't immediately available, but, being the tactician and grand-daughter of an engineer that she was, she always carried a piece of string; and with string anything is possible. Almost. You can't pick a lock. Regardless, she pulled the string out of her pocket and began to test the sturdiness of her four-poster.

It turned out that her impromptu wardrobe was a better idea than she thought; it blocked the tall girl, whose name was Georgina, and impressed all the other girls; Lynn, Carlotta, Sarah and May, leading them to believe that she must be really smart. She wasn't sure what was so smart about hanging clothes on a piece of string tied around a four-poster, but decided it was nice of them to think so.

She began to get to know the girls, except Georgina, who remained behind the closed curtains of her bed. As she suspected, all of them came from wizarding families, though not all 'pure-bloods'. Carlotta was from a European pure-blood family, until her mother married the grandson of a muggle born, and had to move to England to get away from her relatives. Andrea was beginning to see a certain pattern; all the girls had a strange amount of pride in being from magical families. She felt uncomfortable when the conversation turned to her, but she did her best to give them what they want. 'My mum raised me, and she's a witch, she works in town in a muggle job though, she doesn't want to commute to London with only her and me. My dad was a wizard, but,' her story started to unravel as she remembered she told the boys that her father's views on the world cup were he reason she didn't know Quiddich. They won't talk to each other, she realised, and pressed on, masking her pause in the story, 'sorry, he died when I was young, He…my mum says he always used to want to work in international relations. Maybe he could have helped you out, Carlotta.' She looked at her and brought a sad smile to her face. It came surprisingly easily.

'But you were raised a witch?'

'As much as possible; there were a lot of muggle kids around, though, so I got two raisings.' Not exactly a lie; the boys used to call you a witch, and you have a different face for everyone, that counts as two childhoods, doesn't it? They looked at her suspiciously, and she rolled over on her bed, onto her still-full stomach. 'I'm going to read in the common room,' she announced, and, once more picking up her potions book, headed out the door. In the common room Scorpius sat alone by the fire on the stone floor of the dungeon. The older boys had all claimed the chairs further back, but he refused to talk to them. As the fire provided both heat and light Andrea headed over there, too. It's not because you want him to be your friend, she reminded herself, it's just that he has what you need. She lay down next to him, and opened her book to where she had shut it in frustration on the train. Then she remembered her question.

'Scorpius?' he grunted into his knees, which were bent up near his face, and she continued, 'does the hat, the one that sorts the students into houses; does it talk?'

He looked at her, and stood, glancing at his watch, 'don't talk like that here,' his voice was low, and fast, 'I'll tell you tomorrow,' and with that he disappeared. Andrea turned back to her potions book, running down her memorised list of the properties of Nettle from Herbology to figure out what it was used for this time.

It was the prefect who woke her from the ridiculously comfortable place on the stones and sent her to bed, yawning prodigiously. Andrea barely listened to her as she cracked a joke about in bed and not asleep is not substitutable for asleep and not in bed. Her wand was still lying on her bed, whence she forgot to move it this afternoon…evening. She cursed it under her breath for being in the way, and placed it on her nightstand. She let out another almighty yawn and rubbed over her teeth with a finger and water until they squeaked; she didn't want to be pegged as a rule breaker for being out of bed after curfew. That done, she patted Lord of the Rings in a comforting manner, telling it silently that it would settle down soon enough, and climbed into bed. Surprisingly the bed was warm, and Andrea found herself asleep before she could even muse on the day.

***

Bleugh! It's over.

*Honestas means honour in Latin, but it's a kind of rich, snobby honour, not a robust, manly honour, which is why I chose it.