Chapter 1: Kora Maver
I sank down into one of the chairs, but the sense of homeliness and relaxation that normally accompanied the movement was gone. Although you could put that down to the over-crowded state of the common room, and more specifically, the arrival of wide eyed, confused first years – those who knew me better would realize that it had to do with the entrance of Lily Evans, flanked by her giggling girlfriends, Piraveena and Fransisca.
"I mean – it was an honour to be picked for Deputy Head Girl, of course! But, with James Potter?" she was simpering, her long red hair flicking about. "It couldn't be a worse match. By this time, even her entourage was losing interest – it had become clear that Lily was gaining a crush. However, she was far too proud to let old prejudices fall, and it was clear that her intentions would be to hold this one up for the year, until she could find a valid "reason" to change her mind. Typical Lily behaviour.
I flicked a piece of hair between her fingers, and looked into the fire, the light too precarious to see by, hence the fact that the lamps were still lit. The other Seventh year girls began strutting around the place, talking to first years in patronizing "meant-to-be-welcoming" tones. I scowled after them.
The common room appeared light hearted and fresh, although the events at the feast had tainted it with, if not a scared then a mildly confused and intrigued one.
"The houses four we must unite
Or watch them crash and burn
Our enemies are outside not in
This as houses we must learn."
The Sorting Hat's song had veered wildly off its usual ramblings…to tell us that we would have to unite. I had no issues with uniting as houses, but it was within my house that I didn't gel. The girls tended to be fluttery and giggly, with the occasional exception of Fransisca "Sisca" Fletcher. The boys, "Marauder's" as they now referred to themselves, were more interesting, and I had long wanted to join them, but they were incredibly anti letting a girl in.
Aforesaid "Marauder's" traipsed in, standing on the edge of the portrait hole for far longer than necessary, before jumping and making what must have originally been planned as a "Grand Entrance". I rolled my eyes, as did Lily; although her apparent indignation was marred by the fact that she immediately turned and disappeared in a flurry of laughter…James saw this, and raised his eyebrows – but still seemed mildly gratified.
Sirius, Pettigrew, James and Remus. All carried a smirk on their face, as they sauntered into the room. They expected something to happen, evidently by their expressions, perhaps a hushed silence or an appreciative series of nods, but the common room forte continued in much the same fashion as before.
There were four seats by the fire I was at, one of which I was currently in. The Marauding idiots waltzed around the circlet, looking for a place to stay by, of which by now – after all the time they had spent engineering their dramatic entrance – there were none left. Typically, they refused to accept this.
"Hey midget?" my head snapped up, to see James leaning over the chair. "Could you move?"
I grimaced, and cocked my head to one side, pretending to consider. "No."
"Uh, yes. I think you will." He wasn't taken aback, merely annoyed. He knew better than anyone, that I could be very stubborn and certainly not the type to bow down to the Marauding fools.
My voice grew thick with sarcasm. "Oh yes, and while I'm at it, I'll join the fan club of the Marauders and do whatever the hell they say…No."
James sighed overly loudly and dramatically. "Shame." Peter, Remus and Sirius flopped into the remaining seats.
"Leave it, James. Look!" Sirius gestured to where Andrew Mclaggen had got up and left the adjacent seat free.
James' eyes barely flickered. "No." And with one swift motion, he jolted the seat forward; involuntarily I was almost instantaneously sprawled on the floor.
I looked up at him, glaring as he sat down; springing to my feet. I barely reached James's shoulder, when he was standing, and I could barely "tower over him" as he sat.
"God, short stuff. How much did you grow over the summer? Exactly…er…none?"
I curled my lips. "I know – I hate being short…you know why? Whenever I have to look at you, I can see right up your nose." I kicked him in the shin, although I would have preferred to have reached a more sensitive area, as I walked off.
The Marauders were all dicks, and I had just firmly pitted myself against them as an enemy. Joy, was I looking forward to what awaited me this term…
Chapter 1: Verity Blishwick
"Don't look; it's worthless - don't even try; If you can perceive us, you've reason to cry." The cool voice of our Eagle Knocker was unmistakable, despite being muffled by the closed door.
"That'd be Thestrals," I turned at the sound of Clodagh's uppy voice. She (hereafter to be referred to as 'General of the Bitch Brigade', undeterred by the fact that the aforementioned 'Bitch Brigade' was nothing but a figment of her imagination, since nobody really liked her) flounced into the common room and perched herself on the arm on Charlotte's chair, earning a reproachful glare, and looked round expectantly at us. 'Sorry, I'm late; I had some important business to attend to.'
Lysandra 'Loner' Kemery shot me her 'I-told-you-it-wouldn't-take-her-five-minutes-you-so-owe-me-those-billywig-stings' smirk over the rim of her book and I replied with my 'She-hasn't-said-it-so-you-haven't-won-yet' eye roll.
Lysandra, withholding a snigger, ducked her head towards Charlotte, who wore a look somewhat between bemusement at mine and Lysandra's noiseless exchange and a withering stare directed at the newly-made Head Girl.
Clodagh, obviously disconcerted by Charlotte's gaze, slid off her perch and thrust her chest out at the gaggle of first years accommodating her usual spot, so the shined badge pinned to her robes flashed under the lamp light. It took one look from her to send the first years running, their quivering tails between their legs.
House loyalty was scarce in Ravenclaw house—when one friend would stab another in the back for an extra mark over them, rivalry was often mistaken for intimacy. Alliances would be formed, never friendships. No exception was made for newcomers; you got smart or you got out.
Clodagh shot a smug smile of victory up the stairs after them before sitting down and turning back to us; her nonchalant demeanour failed to cover a slight, crazed grin. "I was in Professor Dumbledore's office."
"Really?" said Charlotte in faux interest, dully flicking a page of her book.
"Mmm… I've been made Head Girl, did you know?"
"Absolutely fascinating."
Clodagh carried on, oblivious to the sarcasm that was strewn across our perpetually bored faces, "Dumbledore wanted to talk to me about my duties, and of course the head boy had to introduced to me—"
"Head boy?" That was a question—who was Head Boy? Not Russell obviously; he made a good prefect (as he was the only Ravenclaw boy to have his head out of a book long enough in order to keep the third years in check), but he could barely organise his homework schedule, let alone the entire school.
Clodagh looked round at me, surprised by my sudden interest. "Uh, some Gryffindor called Ronnie Lupus or something… but get this; I get to organise Hogsm—"
"Remus Lupin?" I pressed.
"Yes, Remus." She sat up straighter and more decorously, drumming her fingers impatiently against her leg. "But really, it is quite riveting," she huffed; Clodagh was often told by professors that she was a brilliant student, and didn't understand why her peers never felt the same way.
"I'm sure it quite is." Said Lysandra, slamming her book shut and placing it on the coffee table (not that it ever bore coffee anyway; it tended to frequent tea.) "If you would excuse me, I am going up to bed." She stood and strode to the spiralling staircase. Unlike Clodagh, who walked with a rigid back and a chin thrust upwards, Lysandra carried herself with a more natural lope; her cloak following her with a graceful swish.
"Er… Same." Leaving my own book on the table, I hurried after her, not wanting to be left with Clodagh 'Kiss-Arse' Kelsh, her memoirs of patrol schedules and Charlotte Golding. While Charlotte had no ill-feelings for me, she certainly didn't hold me in a favourable light.
I rose in tight, dizzying circles; I had long since left my horrific motion sickness in first year, having outgrown it within the first month.
The dorm rooms were significantly less airy than the common room. The ceiling was lower and without the sweeping arches, instead riddled with awkward crevices and crannies, in which one might curl of with a beanbag and a book. The walls were lined with an array of mismatched bookcases and desks, already littered with scrolls and quills. It wasn't even the second day, yet work had already begun. The beds were pushed up against the far wall, out of the way, each with a trunk sat uniformly at the foot.
Lysandra lay in her pink pyjamas, sprawled on her covers, partially obscured by the blue trim hangings. I wandered over to my own trunk; it was unlike the rest of my roommates'. Instead of the regular blue stripes rimming the corners mine had vivid green. My parents had hastily and prematurely painted them there, making the rash assumption I would be in Slytherin, such as the rest of my pureblood-manic family. Lysandra had come up with the idea of adding flowers—she had added a darker rendering to the lines so they became tendrils, snaking their way round the lid and small blue flowers that bloomed out of the stalk.
"Verity."
I turned to look at Lysandra, snapping out of my reminiscent ramblings. "Yeah?"
"Can you get them bottled rather than boxed?" She wrinkled her nose. "I always find that the cardboard dries out the Billywig Stings."
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