A/N I know I have to update Moments In Time, and I promise that I will...but this plot bunny was nagging me, so I had to write it.
I settle myself down on the seat by the window, drawing my knees up to my chest and leaning my head back against my seat. I'm so glad to be going back, so glad to be escaping back to the world in which I belong. I pick at the ragged edges of the holes in my jeans, unravelling the threads further and exposing more of my pale, if somewhat dirty, skin.
The door hisses open, and I look up. A boy leans against the edge of the compartment door, a half-smile adorning his face. Cedric Diggory – smart, handsome, Quidditch captain. An all-round golden boy and heartthrob. Every girl in our year fancies him – every girl including me. That's why I feel a blush come up to colour my cheeks as he sits down opposite me. "Hi, Saoirse. How was your summer?" his grey eyes fix on my face as if he's actually interested in my answer.
"Uh…"I stammer. "Good, thanks." As an afterthought, I make myself tack on, "Yours?"
"Great, thank you," he says easily, resting his head against the headrest. Catching my puzzled expression – I'm wondering why he's here – he seems to read my thoughts as he says, "I saw you sitting all on your own, and thought you looked lonely," he shrugs one shoulder.
I force a shy smile, and say, "Did you go to the Quidditch World Cup?"
"Yeah," he says. "It was great – your country won – though it was bloody terrifying with the Dark Mark and all. Luckily I wasn't on the campsite with all the trouble."
"That's lucky," I say quietly.
Just then, the door hisses open, revealing my so-called best friend, who dances into the compartment in a cloud of bright blonde hair and designer perfume. "Hey, Cedric!" she says with fake (well, I think it sounds quite fake) enthusiasm. "I didn't know you were here!"
"Hi Chelsea. I've actually got to go," Cedric stands up – probably eager to avoid her. "Brett and Xav will be wondering where I've got to."
She pouts, disappointed. "Well – we'll see you when we get to school, won't we?"
"Yeah," he says over his shoulder as he leaves. "See you around, Saoirse."
Chelsea turns an envious green-eyed look onto me – I cower slightly into the train seat. "Why the hell was Cedric-fricking-Diggory talking to you?"
I swallow. "He saw me all alone, and popped in to say hi."
She harrumphs, and settles herself down in the seat that Cedric recently vacated. "And that's so true. Oh well – you would not believe what happened to me!" She launches into an explanation of how she met this 'sex god' on holiday in the Bahamas, and fooled around on the beach with him. And he kissed her – apparently – lots of times. And she wished they had done a whole lot more, but of course, she couldn't, because she's underage, and her parents were there.
I tune out after a while, automatically replying with 'really?' or 'Oh my gosh' when it seems appropriate. Chelsea has such a one-track mind – it's either boys, or fashion, or celebrities – none of which I'm really interested in. To be completely honest, I have no idea how she managed to pass her end-of-year exams last year. Wait, actually, I do. She made me help her revise.
"You're not really listening," she suddenly says, sounding upset.
"Sorry," I say quietly. "I'm just so tired, Chelsea."
"Well…you should still listen. You're my best friend," she huffs, standing up. "I'm going to see the boys."
By the boys, she means the big group in the year above, that Cedric hangs out with. Even if he doesn't like Chelsea very much, some of the others do. My opinion is they only like her because she's a bouncy, bubbly blonde with big boobs and long legs. The complete opposite of me. I'm totally eclipsed by Chelsea, character wise and look wise. Whilst she has the most amazing cascade of golden locks, my hair is boringly light brown and spirals out in a mass of crazy curls. Her eyes are big and clear blue, framed by long, lush lashes. Mine are a muddy green-brown colour. Her skin is always tanned and flawless – mine is pale and freckly. She's tall and curvy, I'm short and skinny. No wonder I always feel inadequate beside her.
Once she's gone, I relax slightly, fishing out my old MP3 player and battered headphones from my tatty bag-for-life. These were a Christmas present from my Da three years ago – before he disappeared off the face of the earth. Now, I treasure them as they're the only way I can escape my world. I slip the headphones over my ears, turning up the amazing sounds of Carrie Underwood and Tim McGraw.
Chelsea says that the music I like isn't proper music – that my favourite singers aren't real celebrities – not compared to the likes of Rihanna, Katy Perry and Justin Bieber. That hurt when she said that – but I've learned to take everything Chelsea says with a pinch of salt. At least my favourite style of music is not about sex, sex and endless sex, like almost all chart music seems to be about nowadays.
I stare out of the window as I listen, singing along softly under my breath. My Ma always said I had a lovely voice, that I should consider going for something like the X-Factor. But, really, I'm far too shy to make it as an artist. I like singing for enjoyment – not singing for other people to criticise me. That's fair, isn't it?
An hour or so later, Chelsea reappears. She walks in, giggling, and shakes my shoulder. "Oi, come out of la-la land!"
I comply, sliding off my headphones and stashing them in my bag. Her face creases up. "You weren't listening to that god-awful country music again were you?"
I don't reply, standing up and stretching. "We'd better get changed into our school robes," I find mine in the bottom of the bag, and slide them on, wincing at how threadbare they look. I force my hair into a braid, and pat my neck to make sure my Ma's locket is still hidden safely in the folds of my clothes. Chelsea elegantly slides on her brand new robes as I fumble around in my old trunk for my wand, cursing quietly in Gaelic as I manage to stab myself in the finger with the corner of a book.
"Bloody hell; stop talking that Irish mumble-jumble!" Chelsea turns to me fiddling with her perfect hair. She hates it when I speak Gaelic, because she doesn't know what I'm saying. That seems to scare her slightly, which, inside, I find quite funny.
"Sorry," I mutter, sitting down again.
"You should be," she huffs.
"Can I sit here?" Cedric hovers at my shoulder.
"Sure!" Chelsea executes a perfect hair flick. Cedric ignores her, and looks towards me. I nod, and smile hesitantly. He slides onto the bench next to me, and immediately, Chelsea makes a grab for his attention. Luckily, Cedric's friend Xavier chooses this exact moment to make an appearance, sitting down next to Chelsea and starting to talk to her.
Cedric leans in to whisper in my ear, "Thank God for Xav."
"He has good timing," I look down at the table. Uncomfortable with his attention on me, I say, "What N.E.W.T.'s are you doing?"
He grins. "Don't know yet. I'd like to do Transfiguration, Herbology and Potions, but I don't know about any others yet. I'll talk to Professor Sprout tomorrow at breakfast."
"That's cool," I say as Professor McGonagall appears in the doorway, leading a gaggle of frightened-looking first years. Nostalgia hits me – I remember going through that myself. I thought the fifth years were horrifically scary, and now I am a fifth year.
The Sorting is as usual – we clap as we receive about twenty new Hufflepuffs. One of them sits on the other side of me – a little girl with dead-straight black hair.
"Hi, what's your name?" I ask gently.
"Rebekah Whiteman," she says, looking around at all of us fifth-and-sixth years.
"I'm Saoirse O'Reilly," I say.
"I love your accent," she blurts out, and I smile. I like being with little children – because I'm not shy around them. "Is it Irish?"
"Yes," I say at the same time that Cedric leans around me, saying.
"She's our own little Irish national – swears in Gaelic and everything. I'm Cedric Diggory, by the way."
"You remember that?" I ask quietly, my cheeks turning red at his use of 'our'.
"Of course I do," he gives me a cheeky wink.
Little Rebekah speaks up. "What happened?"
Cedric answers for me. "She slipped over last year and broke her ankle."
I grow slightly in confidence as I say, "I had every right to swear."
"But no-one could understand her," he grins, and Rebekah giggles cutely behind her little hand. "I carried her up to the hospital wing, and I had no idea what she was saying to me."
I blush, fiercer this time, as I remember his arms tightly around me and his soothing voice talking to me, trying to distract me from the pain in my ankle. It was the closest I'd ever been to a boy before, and it was the most unnerving and beautiful thing that's ever happened to me. Needless to say, Chelsea was so jealous, and didn't talk to me for three days – well, until I lied and said I didn't like him.
"Wow!" Rebekah's little squeal snaps me out of the memory – she's staring wide-eyed at the plates that have magically filled with food.
"Cool, isn't it?" Cedric asks her as he loads his plate. I put a few potatoes and a couple of slices of meat on mine, before drenching the stuff in gravy and starting to eat. Chelsea turns away from Xavier for a second, and sees us eating together and talking. She glares at me for a second, before turning back to Xavier and continuing with her conversation.
"Tell us about Irish food," Cedric elbows me in the ribs, causing me to jump, and blush, yet again.
"Uh…well…basically…it's potatoes…" I get out. "And beer."
Cedric laughs – the sound is warm and filled with life, makes a smile tug at the corners of my own mouth. Rebekah grins at me, showing off a mouthful of roast chicken. I feel bold enough to add, "I was brought up eating potatoes and pork."
"My Mum's a very…" Cedric pauses. "Experimental cook. Lots of her meals aren't exactly edible…it's funny, really."
"My grandmother grew up in Italy," Rebekah offers. "So she cooks lots of Italian food."
"That's nice," I say.
Chelsea calls across the table in a sugary tone, "What are you guys talking about, because I swear I've never seen Saoirse talk that much before!" I flush, feeling slightly angry and embarrassed that she had to butt in.
"Food," Cedric says. "Saoirse was telling me and Rebekah about Irish cuisine."
Chelsea rolls her eyes. "Food? Are you kidding me?"
"Nope," Cedric grins at her and she smiles back, flirting with all she has. Xavier has turned to the first-years next to him, I realise, and that's why she's giving us her full attention. Damn.
"It's really boring, Irish food. The only thing they seem to be good at is Quidditch," she flicks her hair away from her face.
"Chelsea, I'm sure the Irish are good at lots of other things too," Cedric says.
Too shy to say it out loud, I mutter under my breath, "Like swearing."
"What did you say?" Chelsea demands.
That tone of voice causes me to lose my temper at her, and snap, "Feis ort!"
Her mouth falls open in shock. "What did you say to me?"
"I said," I say in my sweetest tone, using all the confidence I possess, "F*** off."
"How dare you, you bitch!" she snaps, getting up. "How bloody well dare you?" and she storms off to sit at the other end of the table.
Cedric bursts into laughter once she's gone, putting his head down on the table and laughing till there are tears in his eyes. "That was priceless!" he gets out. "The look on her face!"
Even Xavier is chuckling and I know he likes Chelsea more than I do, more than Cedric seems to like her. Little Rebekah is also giggling, with a mouthful of food which is very pleasant, not. Way to go, girl, I say to myself. First dinner back at Hogwarts and you've already lost your best friend.
After all the food (including the yummy puddings) has been cleared away, the Headmaster, Dumbledore stands up, spreading his hands wide. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention while I give out a few notices." He pauses slightly to look around the hall. "Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."
His mouth twitches in a smile as he continues. "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch cup will not take place this year."
Cedric's mouth drops open, and he looks to me, then to Xavier, who's also on our house's team. "What?" he says, echoing the other voices in the hall. I grimace and shrug, before looking down at the table again.
"This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy – but I'm sure you will enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place here, at Hogwarts. But bear this in mind, it is only open to sixth-and-seventh-years; no one below the age of seventeen may enter, for the tasks have been deemed to dangerous to younger students."
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and will remain with us for most of the year to compete in the Tournament – I know you will be courteous and polite to them and will give your whole-hearted support to our Hogwarts champion, whoever he or she might be. Now, you all must be refreshed for lessons tomorrow, so I'll finish there. Bedtime. Chop Chop!"
Rebekah slides her hand into mine as we push back the benches, standing up. "Where do we go?" she asks nervously.
"The prefects are taking all the first years," I say. "Or you can come with me."
"I'll come with you," she decides as we all walk out into the Entrance Hall, laughing and chattering. Cedric's disappeared with Xavier somewhere – I'm kind of disappointed, and kind of pleased that I don't have to blush and stammer all the time.
Rebekah looks around in wide-eyed amazement as I lead her down some steps on the left hand side of the hall, towards the cellar next to the kitchens. We bump into a huge crowd of Hufflepuffs as we stream into the common room, which has been opened by one of the people in front. "This is our common room," I tell my little friend. "You get in by tapping the middle barrel in the second row to the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff'
"That's so cool!" she enthuses, staring around her at our comfy common room, the younger years disappearing through holes in the walls to their dormitories and the older years lounging in chairs near the fireplace. Chelsea is nowhere to be seen – neither is Cedric. I point Rebekah down the right path, and then settle myself in my favourite armchair, right in the darkest corner of the room. I'm so pleased to be back here, so pleased. I have no idea what I'd do if I weren't a witch.
You see, my life was good, up until the riots. We weren't rich, well, we were kind of the opposite, living on whatever Da's wages could buy us. But we were happy. I went to the local primary school, and I was comfortable there. I had a couple of close friends; I got on with my teachers. Then, when I was ten years old, my life imploded. My Da got involved in the riots, got killed by the police. My Ma was inconsolable – she would lie in her bed, shutting out the world, weeping. She couldn't do anything. At ten years old, I was suddenly the main provider of the house. I had to work, to drop my schooling to keep us in our flat, to keep us alive. After my accident, and all, I was so glad to get my letter for Hogwarts, so glad that I could escape for most of the year…
"Saoirse!" I snap out of my thought train, blinking up at Cedric, who's standing there like a lemon in front of me. "I was just going to say goodnight," he says.
"Oh…okay…Goodnight," I say slowly.
"See you in the morning," he grins.