"Don't roll your eyes at me," an old woman said sharply. "You're not too old to get your butt whooped, Miss Sixteen-" As if on cue, her crisp blue eyes shimmered with on-coming tears. She sighed, and quite literally brushed the sentimental droplets away. "I cannot believe you're finally becoming a woman!"
Despite the previous warning, Amelia Polaskii rolled her eyes again. This was the third year her grandma had cried this out, as some official from school came to transport her to the train station in London. And each year it became less and less sincere. In reality, the exclaimation was show for the official, who was usually a teacher or friend of the Headmaster. Sure, her grandmother was caring in her own little ways, but sobbing emotionally wasn't one of them.
This year, the Headmaster had sent the Professor Snape, the Potions master to pick her up. He was quiet as Amelia's grandmother chattered away about gratitude towards the Professor Dumbledore for considering her granddaughter, who was a straight-A student in elementary school you know, and was quite the gifted artist and musician, and wouldn't he agree? He was also silent during her emotional outburst, looking grieved for coming at all. Amelia gave him the, "I'm-so-fucking-sorrry-you-have-to-see-this" look as her grandma clung to her shirt and cried, but he didn't react.
"Well, time to go!" she said brightly, and tugged away. The lanky teenager lifted her suitcase, and swung her duffel bag over a shoulder. Professor Snape simply nodded, and walked out the front door.
Awfully polite of you to offer help with my things! Thank you, professor! She had planned to decline if he had offered, but still... Amelia said a hurried goodbye to her caretaker, and rushed out to follow.
Snape was lingering in the yard, staring at the tomcats that sunbathed on top of the cars. She curiously watched as he just stood ever-so-still, staring so intently. As if he envied them, she thought bemusedly. The Potions master looked at her for what seemed like the first time since he'd arrived at the quaint eastern coast neighborhood. "Shall we go now, Miss Polaskii, or shall you persist in wasting more of my time?" he asked in a low voice.
"Whatever you'd like, professor," she replied sweetly, silently digging her foot into the dirt so deep, you'd swore her toe hit a pipe.
He said nothing, and pointed a lazy finger at the ground near her digging foot. She glanced down, and sized up the portkey. A beer can. How charming. I suppose it had to be something ordinarily seen in the yard. "Well, let's go then." She patiently waited a few seconds for Snape to stride over to the can before quickly swiping down at it. He joined in a milisecond beforehand, and they were off.
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Well, the portkey experience hadn't gotten any more pleasant, she thought as she rubbed her backside.
They'd landed in The Leaky Cauldron, as if she could expect any less. Her suitcase fell onto her ass, her duffel bag onto her feet. The place was nearly empty, for some reason or other, so there were no ears to hear her cry out a string of expletives rarely heard in public, much less from her mouth. The professor was standing, brushing off his torso.
"Do shut up," he said conversationally.
Amelia collected her things as quickly as possible, and ignored the throbbing pain in her pelvis. Best not to be late, on this of all days.
They strolled out of the pub, and continued down the sidewalk. People passed, occasionally giving her a glance, and losing interest before she could stare back. Ah well, English stiffies. Amelia'd forgotten how lively the streets of the good ol' UK were...not. Children were much more open-minded when it came to thelength of your hair, or the size of your feet.
Snape practically glided down the sidewalk, the graceful bastard. She broke a sweat just trying to keep up at his fast pace. "Hey...hufff..." she panted. "Wait uuup..." He looked back at her, and scowled. That greasy black hair never changed, and she hated it. It could be lovely if he'd comb it once in a while...
"Miss Polaskii, if you don't want to be punctual, just say so." She gaped at him, losing her composure for once. Goddamn that grease monkey! As if this were her own fault!
"What the hell!"
"Pardon me?" he said in that low tone again. Miraculously, the man didn't slow down as he had his slimey head jerked around. Amelia furrowed her brow, and trotted beside him.
"You force me to tote my own things, and you expect me to walk at about 5 miles per hour with you?"
"5 points from Hufflepuff."
"We're not in school. You don't own me yet."
"Then 5 points when we arrive," he barked. "Now, hand me your possessions that seem to be preventing you from walking at the average speed."
She snorted, and passed him the suitcase. Average speed my ass. Her hip hurt, her shoulder felt like it'd been rubbed raw from her duffel bag's strap, and she needed to change her tampon. He needn't try proper etiquette now; she was ready to bite heads off.
"You're not too fond of me, are you Professor?"
"Can't say I am."
"Oh. You're talkative though." He grunted. "I mean, this is the most we've spoken since my first year."
"Thank goodness for small mercies."
Amelia agreed silently, not wanting to bring up the embarassing memory of that period in her life. "I hate walking," she commented with a grimace.
"I can't imagine why."
"Ehheh, screw you."
"That's another five points from Hufflepuff. Watch your language," the professor snarled as they crossed the street to enter the King's Cross Station.
The train station had always left Amelia feeling extremely insignificant by its sheer size. She'd never seen so many trains in her life, before age 11. The smell of gasoline and exhaust fumes was bliss, as she snorted in the poluted air with a smile. "Ahhh," she sighed contentedly. "I love London. I love trains. I love Platform 9 3/4. I love caaaaaandy!"
"...Here," Snape left her suitcase on the ground and just walked away, black cape billowing as always. Damn, that man had a black complex. Amelia made a mental note to buy him something green some day. That would match his Hogwarts House AND his complexion. Hot dog!
She passed through the pillar into the platform where the quaint Hogwarts Express awaited her. It was about 15 minutes until take-off time, so the sixth year Hufflepuff dropped her junk in her usual car (shared with the reputedly batty second year Ravenclaw, Luna Lovegood) and wandered around the other cars of the train. Amelia came across kids making out, kids waving farewell to their parents and/or younger/older siblings, kids trading Chocolate Frogs, kids like her with nothing better to do than observe the cars... Why, in the last car she even found a sleeping hobo-esque person all alone!
His clothes were to be described...shabby at best. A very long patchy overcoat was acting as a blanket for him, but under she could spot a mess of brown-with-grey-specks hair. A lone briefcase lay over his head in the luggage compartment, with a stamp in the corner (which was peeling terribly, she noted) that read, "Professor R. J. Lupin."
"...'Ey! Hey mister," Amelia sat down beside the slumbering stranger and shook his shoulder. Of course, she already suspected his reasons for riding a train heading for a school whilst going by a title such as "professor," but the girl was curious to hear his story. "WAKEY WAKEY, EGGS AND BAKEY!"
With a start, the man's eyes jerked open as if she'd pried the lids apart and he gasped. She scooted away slightly, and smiled brightly. "Oh good, you're awake! Hi! My name is Amelia Polaskii and I'm a 6th year Hufflepuff student. And you are?"
Pale blue eyes gazed at her contemptuously before flickering away to the window, carefully watching the fields pass by. "Remus Lupin," he turned back to her and offered a hand to shake. She obliged. "Your new professor." His voice was steady and perpetually charming, Amelia noted.
"Teachin' Defense Against the Dark Arts, eh?" she grinned at him. "Our last teacher lost his memory, you know. And the one before that died. Professor Quirrel was twitchy anyway... Never did enjoy his lessons. And Lockhart was a true twat, if you'll excuse my language. Do you like-"
Her long dialogue was interrupted by several students sliding the door a foot and peeking in. Amelia recognized a head of messy black as the famous Boy-Who-Lived and blinked. His groupies (Weasley and Granger) were with him. "Oh, excuse us," blurted Granger as they were shutting the door once more.
Amelia stood up and took the handle from their grip to leave. "Nah, was just goin'. My car's a few ahead. Later prof," she called as she stumbled through the doorway, past the Gryffindors.
As she joined Luna again, the 2nd year looked up from one of those paper fortune tellers and placidly said, "Hullo Amie. Care to have your future told? I'm faintly curious to find out if the recently-released Smarmies will snuff you..." Her big blue eyes stared unblinkingly.
The older girl sat down beside the younger and flipped her long brown hair back. "Sure! Only if you promise not to mention icey chimaeras again... 'Bout pissed myself last time it was story hour."
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The train ride had ended a bit frightening, after a few Dementors had stopped the locomotor and all the lights had gone out unceremoniously. After a little cowering and clinging to younger students (AKA Lovegood), they'd continued on their way.
The Sorting of the first year students went slowly, as per usual. Gryffindor had the most new recruits this year, as it varied each time. Amelia had a vague sense of disappointment that there was not as much fresh meat as the year before, some new kids to toughen up and shape into the perfect successor... After all, what else could she leave behind in this school she'd attended once she graduated? Ah well, maybe next year...
The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, stood up and cleared his throat to quiet the Great Hall. Immediately, all chit-chat and laughter ceased as everyone was silent to listen to what the old wizard had to say. Each speech (as long as she'd been there, anyways) had always included some time of jovialilty that brought most to cheering or applause. Recently, (ever since Potter joined up, she noted) there'd been a warning of some sort. This year was similar.
"Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to say to you all..." Amelia tuned out, and began to rap her knuckles on the table in an upbeat Latin rhythym, pausing only to cough. Only when Dumbledore finally said, "Let the feast begin!" did she quit fidgeting to dig in.
She'd never been much of an eater...only filling her stomach when she absolutely had to and then carrying on with daily activities until it growled at her for sustenance. The feasts weren't a particular event, and she wasn't much of a socialite. Amelia simply enjoyed sitting amongst the happiness of others. Luna, who sat beside her at every meal, was a quiet addition to the table who mostly read or stared dreamily into metaphorical space.
"Last year was so scary!" squealed a fourth year nearby that she knew merely by sight. "I can't believe that Weasley girl was behind all of the vandalism!"
Amelia snorted into her goblet of juice. "We know what to expect from their lot," agreed the fourth year's friend, who promptly threw a look at the Gryffindor table.
Oh, this is bullcrap. She looked off to the teacher's table, refusing to listen to the ickle kids' lame accusatory tones. Dumbledore and McGonagall were chatting it up, while Snapey (ICK!) sat to himself. He was quite morose, compared to that morning. She saw that there was no love lost between them, as he caught her gazing and scowled. He then glared at Lupin, who sat a few seats down next to Hagrid. Amelia was pleased to hear that the big ol' gamekeeper (whatever the flying fup THAT was) had managed to get the Care Of Magical Creatures job. Professor Kettleburn had always been her least favorite teacher, what with his lack of certain fingers and all. Deformed people sort of turned her off, for some obscure reason. Anyways, Hagrid was sure to do a bang-up job...
As her carribean blue eyes were scanning the table, superbly dark ones caught them. They stared into eachother and had a brief connection: she was a teenage boy practicing his incantations under his breath at the Slytherin table during dinner; a young man hastily giving up his virginity to a flat-chested woman in a room at The Hogs Head; he was proudly holding up his first ever Quidditch Trophy; his black hair was getting longer and more oily; the despicable Potter and his cronies were hanging him upside down, magically washing his mouth with soap...God, he couldn't breathe through the suds, he had to get his wand...
Amelia blinked and looked away. Luna was watching her with mild interest, as she lifted a forkful of chocolate pudding into her mouth. There was a loud clatter and murmuringcorrupted the Great Hall, interrupting happy chattering and consumption. Amelia looked back at the teacher's table, apprehensive as her eyes looked for him again.
Severus Snape had stood so suddenly from his chair that it'd been knocked over. He was absolutely livid and paler than ever in the face, nostrils flaring horribly as he marched down from the raised platform that the teachers always ate upon. The Potions master left the hall in a huff, and the Hufflepuff momentarily considered following suit.
Dumbledore looked ever-so-calm as he watched his disciple abandon his seat and leave the Great Hall. Amelia suspected he knew something, with that damn twinkle in his blue orbs. He winked at her, and continued to speak to Professor McGonagall as if nothing had occurred.