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Prologue
"Love is needing someone. Love is putting up with someone's bad qualities because they somehow complete you."
― Sarah Dessen, "The Lullaby"
Genevieve Vanessa MacDuff had never been on a train by herself. She'd never been on a train at all. And she'd certainly never traveled this far from home. She spent the first half of the ride ignoring the idle chatter of the other first years surrounding her and instead gazed in rapt attention out the window. She watched as the greenery flew by, her violet eyes swishing back and forth rapidly. Her mind whirred with endless questions. What would the school look like? It was supposed to be in a castle and most castles she had seen were very run down. And drafty, best not forget that. What exactly did magic look like? Were there really such things as the animals she'd read about in her Care of Magical Creatures textbook? Could one really fly on a broom? And if so, why did they ride a train to Hogwarts? And what about future careers? Was she really going to find a solid, well-paying job? A normal one anyway. Or were there normal ones? Did she even want a normal job? What if being a witch was as dangerous as her mother believed? Her mother had been highly against her coming to Hogwarts. She'd become practically hysterical once the reality of the situation set in. It was quite possible that encountering the goblins of Gringott's had not helped in the slightest. She'd blanched at the sight of them and clutched Genvieve by the shoulder so tightly it had almost bruised.
Even her father, who was quite lax when it came to asserting parental authority and the like, had seemed skeptical and ill at ease with the prospect of his only daughter being a witch. Her mother and father had written the school three times a week since she'd gotten her acceptance letter as they had been obsessed with finding out just how safe of a school Hogwarts really was. The tri-weekly correspondence had put her father's worries to rest and had managed to bring her mother down from hysterical to simply a "nervous wreck". Her mother had fidgeted all through her robe fitting at Madame Malkin's, twitched and even cringed while she acquired her wand at Ollivander's and scowled in passing at the owls that Genevieve had practically begged her father for. Her mother had spat a severe "no" as if that single solitary word had had a particularly sour taste to it. Genevieve had been the only one to enjoy the outing.
"I'm going to be sorted into Ravenclaw. My sister, Priscilla-she's a Hufflepuff-said that's where all the smartest students go." It took Genevieve a moment to realize the girl was talking to her and that she really had no qualms with the fact that Genevieve wasn't listening.
"What's a...Hufflepoof?"
The girl, who had strawberry blonde hair that was a bit too frizzy, a smattering of freckles along the bridge of her upturned nose and narrowed, green eyes gave her a rather pointed once over. Genevieve had never felt so judged in all her life. "Hufflepuff is one of four houses in Hogwarts." She let out a great sigh as if Genevieve was indeed a large imposition. "You must be a muggleborn."
At Genevieve's blank stare, she rolled her eyes. "Your parents are non-magical, am I correct?" Not waiting for Genevieve to answer, she snorted, "Or course I am. I suppose you haven't been listening at all to what anyone in the compartment has been saying; which is quite rude. There are four houses in Hogwarts, First years are sorted into the houses their first night in the castle and that is to be your house for the next seven years. Each house represents certain qualities that each student housed within them posses. The houses are Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor.
"Slytherin is where the purebloods whose parents are blood purity fanatics usually end up. You won't be sorted there as you're a muggleborn. They're cunning, backstabbing, little self-serving gits who think they're smarter than they actually are. And they're all filthy rich. Most of the children from the oldest magical families have been sorted there. They may act stupid, but don't be fooled. Next to Ravenclaw, they're the cleverest, most resourceful.
"Then you have Ravenclaw. The smartest witches and wizards are sorted there. It's really the only house any student should strive to be sorted into. Who doesn't want to be the best witch or wizard in their class. That's where I'm going to be sorted. There's not a witch or wizard from Ravenclaw who didn't end up doing something noteworthy.
"And Hufflepuff. That's where the...less talented witches and wizards go. They're friendly and reliable of course, but...well they just don't posses any qualities one would find useful. Nothing but a bunch of simpletons if you ask me."
"And then there's Gryffindor. If you don't get into Ravenclaw, you better pray to Merlin you get into Gryffindor. They're the only house that even comes close to Ravenclaw when it comes to cleverness. They're loyal, brave, and honestly the most popular even though Hufflepuff house members tend to be quite social butterflies themselves."
"I should like to do my best academically," Genevieve mused allowed and the girl nodded along with her. "I'm Rosamund Beckwith. Half-blood."
"Genevieve MacDuff. Muggle-born." They shook hands. Rosalie eyed her over again. "Since your parents are muggle-borns, where did you get your school supplies? Did you go to Diagon Alley? How did you find out about it?"
"Oh yes, Headmaster Dumbledore sent along some instructions. It was quite nice of him." She frowned. "Only mother wouldn't let me get an owl or a cat. She's not very fond of animals, you see. Especially, not the owls it seemed. I'm not entirely sure what was wrong with the cats. They were quite lovely. Father and I have always wanted a dog. But the way Mum goes on about them-"
"How'd you like Gringott's? Aren't the goblins simply awful?"
"They are a bit rude, but-"
"Ugh, they act as though you're doing them personal injury every time you go in there. Nevermind you're trying to get your money out of your vault. Did your parents set you up with a vault yet or are they waiting until you're out of Hogwarts?"
"Well, that's the funny thing. You see I already-"
"My parents are waiting until I'm our of Hogwarts. They believe that my sister and I should be financially independent of them and-"
"Did you say you've already got one? A muggle-born already having a vault at Gringott's? That is peculiar!" Both girls whipped around to look at the boy sitting nearest the door on Rosamund's side of the compartment. He had warm brown eyes, an equally warm smile, and surprisingly well brushed hair. In fact, he was already in his dress-robes and there was not a speck on them, not a fold out of place. He seemed so pleasant; an enjoyable sort to be around. His eyes danced with curiosity as he stared at Genevieve and for a moment, he reminded her of hot chocolate. She'd always enjoyed hot chocolate. It was her favorite beverage in point of fact. He looked to be a couple of years older than them and it seemed possible he was even a fifth year.
"Yes, I found it quite odd as well. So did Mum. She seemed very bothered by it-"
"Well, then your parents are obviously not muggles. Just lia-" Began Rosamund when the boy shot her a reproving look and shot yet another dazzling smile at Genevieve. "I'm Oliver Wood. I'm a fourth year. Are you nervous? I suppose never hearing about Hogwarts or magic, you would be." Everyone in the compartment stared at her in anticipation. All except for Rosamund, whose mouth was pursed in a thin line with an unreadable expression on her face. Genevieve shifted uneasily as she stared at the floor. "I suppose I'm a bit of both? I mean, I get to live in a castle. That's fun. And magic. Who doesn't want that to be real? But I'm not sure what to expect or if I'll be any good at it. And I'm worried about being sorted into the wrong house."
Oliver stared at her for a long while, looking her over in an almost studious fashion, but she didn't feel even the smallest bit unworthy the way she had when Rosamund had done so. But she did feel embarrassed. Her cheeks flushed heavily to the point that even her scalp began to tingle hotly. She wasn't used to having so much attention focused on her by so many people at once. Oliver smiled suddenly. "I bet the hat'll sort you straight into Gryffindor. You've got the look of a Gryffindor, you do."
"Is that where you were sorted?"
"That's where everyone wants to be sorted," a blonde girl with large, round-framed glasses said, "Of course, Oliver was sorted there. If you're not sorted into Gryffindor you miss out on all the fun. Well, most of it. Besides, Oliver's the best Quidditch keeper at Hogwarts. Of course he'd be sorted into Gryffindor for that alone."
"Yeah, Ravenclaw's was my second choice, but Gryffindors have the smarts and the fun. Ravenclaws are nothing but a bunch of stuffy gits who think too highly of themselves. They may be better than Slytherins but they're every bit as full of themselves," Oliver added. He frowned for a moment, "My cousin Lawrence was in Ravenclaw. He's such an arrogant berk." Genevieve felt herself flush at such language. It suddenly occurred to her that she was now at boarding school and getting away with a few foul terms was no longer simply scandalous and brave. It was now common.
As Oliver continued to talk about the differences in the houses, Genevieve began to notice how the atmosphere in the compartment changed. It seemed charged, light. It seemed all the tension had leaked away and Genevieve wondered why that was. She was beginning to feel as if she belonged.
Rosamund didn't speak the rest of the way to Hogwarts. Not until they were standing in the great hall of Hogwarts itself did she say a single word. Whatever it had been that had struck her dumb seemed to have been of little importance by then as she never once told Genevieve what it was that had affected her so. And honestly, Genevieve wouldn't have paid her any mind. She was too consumed with the magnificence of Hogwarts. It was the most gloriously wonderful place she had ever been and the notion of living there for the next seven years seemed simply a dream.
For years there would be several moments that stood out in her mind from that first night at Hogwarts. The first was of course seeing the the ceiling in the great hall and having it finally sink in that there was real and true magic in the world and that she was a part of it.
Second would be watching the other students be sorted into their respective houses, studying the occupants of each table and understanding just why it was that some houses were so well-liked and why one was so disliked.
And the third was her sorting itself. Rosamund had long been sorted into Gryffindor and Genevieve couldn't help but notice that Rosamund didn't look so broken up about not being sorted into her chosen house. But she did look quite out of place at the Gryffindor table. She seemed set apart from everyone else as if she were adrift in the sea alone.
But her conversation with the sorting hat was possibly one of the most important conversations she would ever have at Hogwarts and it was the single most memorable moment at Hogwarts to date. For even as the sorting hat bellowed out "GRYFFINDOR!" as loudly as he could, his previous words were still echoing through her mind. And, her mind was having such a difficult time trying to process just what had been said to her and just how significant the information he had imparted to her was. It didn't even seem odd to her that the most significant thing anyone could say to her would not come from her parents, nor a friend, nor a professor,-nor a being that was human at all-but from an object that should have been completely inanimate under normal circumstances.
It was her first day of potions that things seemed out of sort for Genevieve, as if she fit a bit too well into the wizarding world for a muggle-born girl. It was their first day of class and the Professor-an unpleasant looking man named Professor Severus Snape-was droning on about just what exactly she could expect from the course. He was using several different plants and what potions they were most commonly used in when her hand practically shot up on its own.
"Yes, Miss..." he trailed off, his penetrating gaze becoming even more mocking. Genevieve resisted the urge to shrink in embarrassment. "MacDuff, Professor. Pardon my forwardness, but wouldn't Acromantula venom be a much more powerful ingredient in a sleeping draught? So much though that it could be used in facilities such as St. Mungo's for serious or even critical injuries that are both exceptionally painful and extensive. Acromantula venom is a paralytic and it is also said that the victims of an Acromantula bite-especially those who have been bitten by hatchlings-experience an inability to feel pain and do not respond to painful stimuli."
The entire room fell into silence and Professor Snape rounded his desk in slow, deliberate strides that were both intimidating and a fair bit terrifying. But Genevieve barely noticed. Instead, all she could focus on was how she had known such things. She had never heard of an Acromantula, let alone been aware of the symptoms of an Acromantula bite. She blinked back to awareness when she noticed Professor Snape standing in front of her desk. Her eyes widened as he slowly bent forward, studying her. They stared at one each other in the most oppressive silence Genevieve had ever felt. "See me after class, Miss MacDuff."
This request, which was more of a command, was accompanied by a cacophony of excited whispering and she shrank down into her chair. Her housemates all tried to smile at her sympathetically, but Genevieve didn't miss the way all of Slytherin house stared down their noses at her with the most contemptuously smug smiles she had ever seen. She sat hunched in her chair for the duration of class, too petrified to speak up again, though she felt herself involuntarily tense every time Professor Snape spoke about something she desperately wanted to question him on. She was sure that this did not go unnoticed by the seemingly omniscient Professor. The minutes ticked on painstakingly slow until finally they were dismissed and Genevieve meekly approached the front, trembling.
She had promised herself she would strive to do her best at Hogwarts and prove to her parents that they weren't daft for allowing her to attend school instead of a muggle school. She wanted to prove to them that she belonged in both worlds-with them and with magic. And here she was getting in trouble on her first day. It was shameful.
She kept her mouth firmly shut and flinched visibly when Professor Snape finally turned his attention to her. "Tell me, Miss MacDuff, your parents. Who are they?"
"They're muggles, Professor," she stammered. Professor Snape stared at her for a long while, his face a perfect mask of indifference. "Then how is it that you are so well acquainted with the subject of Acromantulas?"
She hung her head and shrugged. "I dunno, Sir. I just...I just knew."
Silence. Unending silence and then. "Miss MacDuff, you show an uncanny knack for the art of Potion-making. I'm quite sure you may in fact be more advanced than your other classmates. As such, I would appreciate it if, in the next few years, your aptitude continue to impress, you come to me if you no longer feel challenged by your course material. I would hate for a gift such as yours to be squandered."
"Yes, Professor," she let out breathlessly. This had not been the discussion she had been expecting. He turned back to the parchment strewn about his desk and she rightfully assumed that she was dismissed. Just as she reached the door, Professor Snape called to her. "And, Miss MacDuff? Ten points to Gryffindor."
It was the first time Genevieve won points for her house and she was ecstatic. Beside her, Rosamund had seemed less than thrilled about their house winning point. She'd had the remnants of a pout on her face as she stared forward at their dour professor. Genevieve decided not to try and talk to her. It seemed as though her new friend was content with marinating in her own anger.
Potions fast became her favorite class. It reminded her so much of helping her mother cook at home. Whether it be cookies, stew, or whipping up a relaxation draught, it was all the same for her. She spent the entire class taking notes as if she were writing down new recipes; she couldn't wait until Professor Snape would tell them to take out their cauldrons and begin to brew a new one. If only all her classes were that enthralling. History of Magic was an absolute bore. She would not be taking that again.
Second year, half way through first term, Professor Snape asked her to remain after class. She approached his desk, only a bit worried she was in trouble. She was never in trouble in this class. She was never late, always turned in her assignments on time, and always raised her hand in class.
"How are you enjoying class so far, this year Miss MacDuff?" It was hard to tel if Professor Snape was truly interested to know her opinion or if he was just making polite small talk. She couldn't imagine such a serious individual enjoyed making small talk. He didn't seem the type. "I enjoy it very much, Sir. In fact, I was wondering if there might be any advice you might be willing to give me on what career choices I might find once out of Hogwarts. Being muggle-born, I'm afraid I don't know much about the wizarding world and I'm afraid I'll be quite lost once I leave Hogwarts for good at the end of my seventh year and I don't relish the idea of working as a mere clerk in a wizarding shop."
Professor Snape stared at her for a long moment. So long, that by the time her hand a chance to answer, someone else had entered the dungeon class room.
"Mister Malfoy, excellent timing," Professor Snape droned, his eyes shifting to the new arrival. Genevieve followed his line of sight to a first year standing beside her. He was standing a few feet to her right and he seemed to be doing his best to ignore her completely. She had seen him several times in the hallways; his platinum blond hair stood out in the crowd of black garbed students. By his cool demeanor, she was able to deduce that he was completely arrogant.
"You wanted to see me, Sir," the boy said in a calm voice. He continued to ignore her. Genevieve gripped her potions book tighter. Professor Snape nodded. "Your father and mother asked that I make sure that your grades remain at a level consistent with their expectations. While you have done well thus far, I had decided it would behoove you to improve in any way you can."
"Of course, Sir."
The potions master nodded in her direction. "This is Miss MacDuff. She is a second year. She is the best in her class in all subjects."
"A Ravenclaw," the boy called Malfoy assumed, studying her for the first time. She shook her head. "Gryffindor." His eyes narrowed. He did not look pleased.
"Mister Malfoy is a member of Slytherin house," Professor Snape said, "and his parents have taken an enthusiastic interest in his studies here at Hogwarts. I would like for you to help him increase his grade in my class, Miss MacDuff. Should he need help in any of his other courses, I would appreciate it if you would be the one to tutor him in those as well. I will be willing to any recommendations you need in your seventh year in exchange for your helping Mister Malfoy."
"certainly, Professor. I would be honored." Professor Snape nodded. "Good, I have already informed your Professors that you will be absent for your next classes so that you may work out an acceptable timetable for your tutoring sessions. Does this arrangement sound acceptable to you, Mister Malfoy."
The first year Slytherin did not seemed pleased at all. "Yes, Professor."
"Good, you are both excused to the library. Good day."
With that, Professor Snape stalked out of the class room. Genevieve turned to look at the boy and smiled in as friendly manner as she could manage. It was clear to her that the boy despised her for some unknown reason. "I'm Genevieve," she said, holding her hand out to him."
"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," he said back, ignoring her outstretched hand. He stalked from the classroom. She let out a long-suffering sigh and followed him, skipping a couple steps to keep up with him. "So, are you a muggle-born?"
"Of course not," he exclaimed, looking disgusting. "But I suppose you are. Can't believe Snape picked you to be my tutor."
She pursed her lips. "What's wrong with being muggle-born?"
"Everything," he snapped at her. She stared down at the stone floor. "Well, I suppose then that you're a pure-blood?"
"Yes, I am. I'm from one of the most respected families in the wizarding world."
"Really? What does your father do for a living," she asked, interestedly, "does he work for the ministry? My father works for a law firm. It's not exactly a thrilling occupation, but some times he works on the most bizarre cases-"
"Don't you ever shut up," he snapped again, "it's none of your business what my family does. All you need to know is that they're better than yours."
She stumbled behind him, blinking in disappointment. "Oh." Draco watched her, eyes narrowed before he asked, "What does your mother do?"
"Oh, she was a photojournalist. She stopped once she had me though. Didn't want to travel so much anymore, I guess. What about your mother? What does she do?"
"She shops," he replied absently. Genevieve snorted out a laugh. Draco shot her a look that said he didn't know whether to be offended on his mother's behalf or that he should laugh along with her. "How much money does your family have?"
She shrugged. "Enough that my mother doesn't need to work. She take care of all the household work and manages the finance. I know before I went to school, we had a maid who came by once a day to clean, so I suppose we're doing quite well."
"Where are you from?"
"Surrey. Are you an only child?"
"Yes."
"Me, too!"
"How fascinating and coincidental. We shall be friends forever," he deadpanned. She let out another snort of laughter and was sure that she saw the corners of Draco's mouth turn up just the barest bit.
