"Sue!"
I'm drifting on the edge of consciousness, peacefully distant from the world.
"Susan Barnthorpe!"
My eyes snap open, and I am briefly aware of the branch digging into my back before I am swinging myself down the tree I have inadvertently fallen asleep in. "Coming, coming, coming!" It is no easy task- the Whomping Willow, which is murderously attempting to fling me from its branches, had been sedated using a nifty trick I learnt from observing James Potter when I climbed it, and so didn't notice me slumbering in its boughs. My movement down its branches has roused it, and it has certainly noticed me now. I outmanoeuvre it skilfully, however; I have had a good deal of practice.
"For the love of Pete, Sue, you need to stop that. You'll scare Abigail half to death if she sees you, not to mention any of the teachers would have you in detention for a week." Graham scolds me while simultaneously dusting me down, causing my knees to buckle.
"Where is Abi?" I ask, catching my footing and scowling at him ungratefully. "And who's Pete?"
"Off looking for you," he returns shortly. "Don't worry about it, it's a muggle thing. Come on, she'll know if she sees you here, and anyway, it's the end of lunch. That's why we were looking for you. Abi reckoned you were off snoozing somewhere, so she made me help her check the grounds. Where's your bookbag? Ah, there it is. Honestly, it's your own silly fault for falling asleep in the bloody Whomping Willow anyway if you ask me. I would have just left you to it, only Abi would go on, and Brandon Johnson mentioned he'd seen you up here again…" Graham chunters on as he tows me away, still scowling.
"It's not a bookbag, it's a satchel," I interrupt obstinately. "How old are you, fifty?"
"That is so not the point."
"You are so melodramatic." I mimic him childishly.
"You are so not old enough to be studying for NEWTs. Shorty."
I stick my tongue out at him, and he grins, peace restored. When he resumes his chuntering, this time about silly idiots who make him late to class, it is more good-natured. I refrain from pointing out that if he and Abi were not so busy thrusting their tongues down each other's throats (bad image, need better phrasing) they might have noticed I was asleep up a tree capable of killing a man before the end of lunch. Not that I would have said this anyway. Graham and Abigail are the closest things I have to friends- they certainly care about me, though Abi makes it more obvious than the blustering Graham- but they were together long before they took pity on me at the beginning of fifth year (unlike me, they are Hufflepuffs- far too nice for their own good) and far be it from my intentions to cramp their style. They know I'll come to them if I need it, but frankly I can do okay on my own. I did for four whole years.
"There you are! I thought you must have drowned, or been caught by wolves, or disturbed Potter and Weasley in a prank, or fallen down a rabbit hole-"
"Yeah, I spotted a white rabbit in a waistcoat," I offer, and Graham, who is muggleborn, snorts appreciatively. Abi takes no notice and continues her diatribe. "Or been knocked down by a broomstick, or carried off by centaurs, or–"
"Abi," says Graham affectionately, "shut up, there's a dear."
Abi tosses her long plait of mousy brown hair behind her and shrugs. "I get worried. GOODNESS GRACIOUS MERLIN IS THAT THE TIME? PROFESSOR VECTOR WILL MURDER US!"
And with that we are swept along in her wake, Graham protesting that Vector had never even slightly hinted at any murderous tendencies, and me pondering whether anybody else in the world was as well suited as Graham and Abigail.
At dinner that evening, the Potter-Weasleys are causing a ruckus; not a particularly uncommon occurrence. I muse over my mashed potatoes about how odd it is that a bunch of teenagers can be all at once like celebrities and normal people. Of course, the rest of the school is pretty used to their presence by now- it had been coming up six years since James Potter, the apparent leader of the clan, had entered Hogwarts. Though a few less conspicuous figures had passed through bearing the surname Weasley before him that was when things really started to liven up (or so I have gathered – being in the same year as Potter I have never known a Hogwarts without him.) I know Molly Weasley, two years older than me, is pretty nice. She helped me fish my broomstick out of a tree when I was in second year, and there was nothing remotely celebrity-ish about her. Just a nice, fairly quiet, bookish girl with a soft spot for kids younger than her.
Others are far more intimidating. Dominique Weasley (who is currently shrieking loudly at some comment made by a member of her large family, her voice filling the hall) is a year below me, and Merlin, she scares me. You know those people who are so fantastically glamorous that they seem almost other-worldly? Yeah, that's what she is. She always has a faint look of discontent about her, as though the world is not quite living up to her expectations.
It might seem odd to spend my dinner mulling over a bunch of kids I barely know, but really, that's all part of the Hogwarts experience. Big old castle, giant squid in the lake, Hagrid in his hut, and celebrity kids in the dinner hall, dominating the Gryffindor table. The majority of the school knows…well, most, if not all, of the Potter-Weasleys by name, but I doubt if they know between them more than a dozen names outside their own house, and that's including the few of their family that slipped through the net. They are just so wrapped up in their little world of their own family- the sort that look out for each other, and defend their ranks from the rest of the world with a kind of fierce resilience that's taught others not to mess with them. They know things, too- about Hogwarts, about magic, things that others don't seem to. It was by observing James Potter and Fred Weasley from a distance that I discovered the shooting-a-twig-at-the-right-knothole (with a depulso) trick to sedate the Whomping Willow. I have spotted various members of the family disappearing into previously unsuspected secret passageways, and using spells I certainly don't recognise, and can't find in any book. No, it is not creepy how much I notice them. Most people do, although perhaps I watch them more that some.
Truth be told, they fascinate me.
I suppose most schools have their group of "populars"- my mother certainly told me that when she was at Beaubatons there was always the tightly knit "cool" group, whom most (most of those not in the group, of course) regarded with a certain amount of suspicion. But there's something different about the Potter-Weasleys. Every house has its own little friendship group of Populars- I am unfortunate enough to share a dorm with some of those in my house- but the Potter-Weasleys are above that. They're real people, right enough, and aren't afraid to show it, but there's a kind of… guardedness about them. They're polite enough to those around them, and they certainly have friends outside of their own family, but it seems definitely to be a family first kind of scenario.
Perhaps that's the reason they catch my attention so much. Their sense of belonging must be so strong, they never feel alone.
That night, I attempt to write a diary again. I have never had much success with the "Dear Diary, today I realised I fancy such and such, I ate cheese on toast and had a fight with my best friend, she is such a bitch" way of doing it. Each diary entry I try is different (and invariably several months apart) as I am always searching for some way to make myself actually stick to it. This time I try lists of things that are important to me.
People
Mother
Abigail
Graham
The brevity of this list depresses me into hastily starting a new one.
Food
Jacket potatoes with cheese
Lemon tart
Spaghetti bolognaise but with the twirly pasta instead of spaghetti
Tomato and basil soup
Seafood risotto, with no green pepper and extra prawns
Chocolate brownie with icecream
Fizzing Whizbees
Iced Butterbeer
Shepherd's Pie
Battered fish
Battered sausage
Chips
Burgers
Crisps
I am interrupted before I have got properly started however, by the entrance of the four other girls in my dorm. The Slytherin girls' dorms are never nice places to be if you are a social outcast, and I whip my diary away under my pillow in case it is noticed. However, the four of them are far too engaged in their own conversation to notice me.
"You have got to be kidding. Fred Weasley? I thought he, like, never dated seriously. He's always been a love-em-and-leave-em type, right?" That is Alyson Parkinson, blonde haired with a constant expression of slight distaste at the world around her.
"Well, you would know, Ally. Didn't you hook up with him last year?" short, slightly rounded Brenda Stayman inquires.
"No, two years ago. It was fourth year. I wanted James Potter, but he just doesn't date at all, so I settled for his cousin."
"Anyway," Zoë Krinoshey impatiently brings the discussion back to what was evidently the point. "Fred Weasley is in a committed relationship with Sadie Langton? Are we absolutely sure on this point?"
"I had it from her sister's best friend," confirms Dahlia Nott. "Together for a month now."
At this point I tune out. Their gossip is just excessive.
Nevertheless, due to my slight Weasley-Potter obsession (and the fact that I share Arithmancy classes with both of them) the next day I do happen to notice something of a tenderness between the two in question. Professor Vector is ill, and for some unfathomable reason they have got Professor Trelawney to fill in our NEWT class- she claims that it's better than the randomer the kids lower down the school are getting, since she took Arithmancy NEWT level, but I have my doubts. I took Divination for 5 years at OWLs- never again. Needless to say, by the time 40 minutes of the hour long lesson has elapsed, I have given up all hope of paying attention to her wittering voice (it is last lesson of the day, after all) and am observing Fred and Sadie detachedly over the top of my textbook, simply for lack of anything better to do. It's not as though Anna Parker, the tagalong in a Ravenclaw trio (all trios have two best friends and a tagalong, from my observation) who only ended up sitting next to me at the paired desks because Fiona Williams and Dianne Boot took the pair in front together, is going to want to play noughts and crosses or anything.
Fred seems a decent enough sort, but I wouldn't have expected him to go for Sadie, somehow. She's a bit too… nice, in an irritating kind of way. Damn. I realise that I barely know the girl, and I'm passing her off as irritating just like that. I wonder gloomily if I am just as bitchy as Alyson Parkinson on the inside, I just don't have anyone to let it out to, outside of my own consciousness.
A quarter through the year resolution, be less judgemental.
Maybe everyone is actually this judgemental in their heads, and the important part is not to say it out loud? This thought cheers me somewhat. Until I glance sideways at Abi and Graham sharing the double desks adjacent to mine, and my heart sinks. Abi, the picture of concentration and the personification of goodness, has surely never had an unkind thought in her life.
Yeah, I'm basically just a shit person.
My mood plops down between my toes, and I contemplate how not-worth-living life is.
At the end of class, Abi comes over to me, looking concerned. "You doing okay there, Sue? You look pretty black."
I shrug away from her, packing up my things very slowly to avoid eye contact. I don't want to inflict my low mood on the two of them. "You go ahead. I'll catch up."
When she lingers, I grind my teeth and deliberately spill my ink all over the desk. "Blast it," I mutter unconvincingly. "No, I'll stay and clean it up. I'll see you later."
I don't, of course. I skip dinner- not hungry- and I'm still feeling too down to bother anyone with my depressing presence when curfew rolls around. I lie awake a long time after the chattering of my dorm-mates has turned to snoring.
The next day starts as badly as the previous one had ended. I've just finished getting ready for the day when Zoë oh-so-sweetly offers me her hairbrush and inquires as to whether I have lost mine. My hair is short and coarse, difficult to manage, and looks even worse in contrast to my too-thin face. I turn her kind offer down without starting a fight, for Brenda and Dahlia are hovering nearby looking hopeful, and tie it back roughly.
I avoid Graham and Abi all day, not having the energy to pretend. I skive off Herbology to keep out of Abi's way, and fortunately I don't have Ancient Runes today so Graham is easy to avoid, and I skip breakfast and lunch by clearing out my entire sweet stash and hiding in my dorm to eat them- mercifully empty since the other girls are out and about. It's not until Arithmancy, once again the last lesson of the day, that I see either of them.
I slip in at the last minute and sit on the other side of the classroom to normal, hoping to go unnoticed, for I am no less low and miserable than I was in the morning. Abi waves at me to try and get my attention, but Vector, now apparently recovered, tells her to sit down and get out her textbook.
At the end of class, however, Abi marches over and takes my arm. "I know that face," she tells me warningly. "No, you may not slip off to sulk in a corner. Whatever is wrong (and you can tell me, but only if you want to) we are taking you to the Hufflepuff table and you are eating with us at dinner and we are going to cheer you up." Abi has somehow at some point achieved speaking in brackets; I'm sure most people only do that in their thoughts.
I open my mouth to protest, and she adds, "So there." and marches me off, shepherding Graham before her.
Despite my protests that the other Hufflepuffs are bound to object to a Slytherin being brought into their ranks, my perfectly valid point appear to fall on deaf ears. "It's not like you've never come into the common room before, and you've eaten with us at the Puff table," points out Graham helpfully.
"Yes, but that was for special occasions, like at in the Christmas holidays when the common room and table are basically empty anyway!" I growl.
It is not as bad as I expect; none of the Hufflepuffs seem to give a toss whether I sit with them or eat with them. Admittedly Graham and Abi sit on either side of me at dinner, so if any of their housemates aim to fastidiously avoid sitting next to me I wouldn't notice, but nevertheless the badger territory seems a good deal more laid back that the Slytherin Common room, which I avoid at all costs. They succeed in lifting my low mood for several hours, laughing and teasing each other and me, and by the time I slip away to bed, just before curfew, it actually feels like things might be going to be all okay in the end.
When I wake up in the morning, it is 5:30am and the low, sunken feeling has taken hold of me again, and I am aware that if I don't get up and start moving I may start to cry. I still haven't got the hang of that muffliato charm I paid Lily Potter to try and teach me- worst three sickles I ever spent- so the last thing I want is for Alyson, Brenda, Zoe or Dahlia to wake up and overhear my snuffling. I dress as quietly as I can, and grab my Lightening 650. I am creeping out of the dorm room within 15 minutes.
Thanking my stars that my common room is only five minutes from the viaduct entrance, I reach the large wooden doors. They are partially open, a precaution I discovered in Hogwarts: A History which is considered necessary for evacuation in case of magical catastrophe. The viaduct, a large stone bridge, stretches away in front of me, but I don't bother to cross it. Instead, I kick off on my broom, and within seconds I am floating amongst the rooftops.
This is what life is really about. I start off with a few simple flips, focussing on the points of contact, or rather, what would be contact if I were doing a cartwheel on the ground rather than a flip on a broom in the air: nose down, brush up and over, brush down, and bounce. I then allow myself to become a little more adventurous, gripping the broom with only one hand and one ankle hooked around it, and using the other two limbs to create enough momentum to swing myself right around underneath the broom and back up again, so I finish sitting astride it. These tricks are easy- I had them mastered by the time I was 14 years old- and the almost effortless success gives me the rush I need to work up the courage to do what I have been meaning to do for a while.
I manage to manoeuvre myself, with slightly shaking legs, into a standing position on the broom. My balance is fair, but the broomstick is narrow and rounded, so it is hard to stay upright. Nevertheless, I manage to straighten my legs, spread my arms wide, and jump.
Air rushes past me as I plummets downwards, blinding me, crushing me, possessing me. Somewhere I hear a strangled cry, although I don't remember opening my mouth. Then, with a sudden oof the wind is knocked out of me as the Lightening 650 catches me, swaying downwards under the force of me, but sturdy and dependable. I clutch at it, relieved.
The Lightening 650 is not only the top broom for reacting to magically extended willpower (something easily achieved if one only follows the instructions in the accompanying manual) as well as simple touch; it also has an entirely new safety feature. It senses body heat and magical resonance which is emitted from every witch and wizard- a relatively new discovery- and is programmed to follow it and sense whether or not the body which mounted it is still riding it. The upshot of all this is, it can tell if you've fallen of, works out where you are, and follows you faster that you can fall to slip underneath you and catch you before you have fallen more than a few feet. Something to do with the shape of the magical resonance means it can work out exactly the right position to slip into so it lands between your legs (snigger snigger) and you are able to grab onto it.
This is all very nice, and useful for quidditch games which you anticipate becoming a little rough, but my interest in it lies in the way this feature can be manipulated to perform a rather impressive stunt. Personally, I call it "The Suicide."
Winded and breathless, but triumphant, I guide my faithful Lightening towards the roofs, now slightly above me as a result of my intentional tumble. I need somewhere to sit down, and despite the cushioning charm on my broom, my bum cheeks are starting to ache.
I aim for a favourite spot of mine, a wide windowsill of a boarded up window, hooded by a sort of extra bit of roof- it is somewhat like a gable, but the window is set back inside it, leaving something similar to a mini porch. I store apples and a blanket in one corner, and often sit in it when I need a rest after a vigorous session of broom stunts. Quite possibly climbing on the school roof is banned- I have certainly never seen anyone else do it- but I have never bothered to find out.
This bold claim, that I have never seen anyone else climbing the Hogwarts roofs, is shattered some thirty seconds later when I arrive at my little hideout, and find it already occupied.