Chapter One: Of Love, Loss, and Sudden Noteriety

"I always wanted to be someone, but I should have been more specific."
-Lily Tomlin

Genevieve was still not well known by third year and that suited her just fine really. Harry Potter, the second year, the "boy who lived" was known by everyone in the wizarding world and that seemed absolutely exhausting. The only people who knew her well enough was Rosamund. Some of the students she tutored in the library also seemed to like her well enough.

Genevieve watched absentmindedly as the second year she was currently tutoring, Draco Malfoy, scowled down at the parchment before him. She couldn't help the small smile that crept onto her face. The kid was so sweet and adorable when they were alone. She was so glad Professor Snape had arranged for her to tutor him. If he hadn't, she never would have known what a nice boy he could be. All she knew of him was how much he and Harry Potter despised one another and how he seemed to have quite a problem with muggle-borns, yet he'd never called her a "mudblood". No once. In fact, he seemed quite fascinated with by her non-magical upbringing. He was always asking her questions.

"Genevieve, you marked it here that I have the ingredients wrong but it clearly says on page ninety-one that we use five crushed mandrake roots instead of the six that you marked down," he sighed, holding up the essay to point at the offending sentence she had marked through before gesturing to the book. Genevieve didn't even bother to turn her violet eyes from the essay and continued to smile lazily. "Trust me, it's six."

"How do you know," Draco asked after a long bout of dazed staring. Her smile widened. "I've had potions for the past two years. I've never once gotten any grade lower than an 'O' on a single essay or potion I've brewed. When have I ever steered you wrong?"

Draco let out a sigh and gave her an apologetic grin, "Right, G-gen, I'm sorry. I always get an 'O' because of you. I don't know what I'll do once you're gone my Seventh year."

She shrugged, shooting him a mischievous grin. "You could always owl me."

He shook his head and his grin faltered drastically. "I don't really think my Mum or Dad would be okay with me owling a muggle-born."

"Right." They frowned at each other for awhile. As Draco picked at the library table and Genevieve tried to find the right words. "Draco," she said slowly, turning over the words in her head before letting them out, "you're a good person. And a good friend. I wish...I wish we could be friends longer than our years in Hogwarts."

The blond boy refused to look at her, but nodded. "I like you, Gen. You're...different. You're different from everyone. You don't-I don't know how to describe it. You're just different."

Genvieve felt as if she were almost glowing. "I think that is quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, Draco."

He smiled shyly and then cleared his throat. "We better get going. It's almost dinner."

"Oh, you're right! I want to drop my things off in my dorm, too!" They both gathered their things quickly. Draco managed to get his books together more quickly and asked over his shoulder as he left, "So, I'll see you tomorrow after lunch to finish my essay?"

"Of course, Draco, have a lovely night," she assured him. His chest puffed out and he strode away. "Goodnight, Genevieve. Enjoy your evening."

Genevieve heaved her book bag over her shoulder and started out of the library, giving Madam Pince a smile in passing. The corridors were empty of fellow students and Genevieve reveled in the silence. Even with all the students being terrified about the petrifications of fellow students, she wasn't afraid. She was a bit sad over Filch's cat though. That seemed a bit much for whoever was responsible. Genevieve was more concerned with whether her parents would make her leave Hogwarts because of it. Her mother still hadn't accepted her daughter's enthusiasm for magic. In fact, at times, she seemed threatened by it. Her father seemed curious, but wary. They had never really gotten used to having an owl deliver their daughter's mail.

The Gryffindor common room was empty, indicating that dinner was already underway and Genevieve hurried up to her room and tossed her book bag on her bed, patting Rosamund's cat, Casper, as she went. She hurriedly changed out of her robes and into more comfortable attire then darted back out of the room, flying down the stairs and out the portrait hole.

She ran most of the way to the great hall; if you took too long, all the best dishes were usually gone. She skidded to a halt in the doorway and slowed her pace, surveying the room with mild interest. Harry Potter was of course sitting with his two best mates, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Draco was sitting with his two absolutely repugnant friends, Crabbe and Goyle, over at the Slytherin table. Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnett, and Angelina Johnson were sitting with the bulk of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Rosamund was sitting as close to the Quidditch team as possible and if she was honest with herself, she had no desire to sit close enough to hear nothing but Quidditch play after Quidditch play which she barely understood. She seated herself not far from Harry, Hermione, and Ron. She'd come to realize that the trio often had very odd yet enthralling conversations that made no sense, but usually revolved around someone trying to harm the students of Hogwarts. They reminded her of soap operas. She sat down near enough to eavesdrop, yet far enough away to remain inconspicuous.

Of late, she'd noticed a growing animosity between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, which she found rather disconcerting as both boys were quite lovely. However, if she had to choose, she would always choose Draco. The boy was just so nice. She'd never understand why he and Harry found each other so vile.

Right now, Harry, Hermione and Ron were absolutely convinced that Hagrid had something to do with it all. Genevieve resisted the urge to snort into her roast beef. Perhaps it was their age that prompted them to jump to such rash conclusions, but she was only a year older and even she felt that they were acting like a set of complete dolts. Hagrid wouldn't hurt a fruit fly let alone a student.

"Um, Genevieve?" She perked up at the sound of her name and looked up to see all three second years staring at her intently. Harry adjusted his glasses and swallowed. Hermione glanced at him in encouragement, but Ron looked just as uncomfortable as Harry. She felt her brow furrow in confusion.

"Why is Malfoy staring at you?" Genevieve blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected that. She turned her gaze to the Slytherin table and, found that Draco's silvery eyes were indeed focused on her quite intently. He blinked in shock and flushed with embarrassment at being caught, hurriedly turning his gaze to Pansy Parkinson, who was sitting next to him, batting her eyelashes in a way that only a second year could believe was even remotely seductive. Draco stared at her as if she were unhinged and Genevieve stifled a laugh as she turned away. "I honestly have no idea."

"Maybe it's Malfoy and not Hagrid," Ron mumbled, causing Hermione to elbow him roughly. The redhead glared at her as he rubbed the surely bruising area. Genevieve rolled her eyes and flipped open her potions book. "I don't know what you three are thinking, but I can say for certain that neither Hagrid nor Draco Malfoy are intent on harming anyone."

"And how would you know that," Ron asked, in a tone that was only a bit accusatory. She raised an eyebrow of him. "In what way would one paralyze a witch or wizard without using a petrifying spell? It's obviously not a spell since the petrification is permanent. They were obviously not bitten by anything or Madame Pomfrey would have found an mark and they would also be exhibiting other symptoms. Thirdly, Hagrid's specialty is magical creatures and only magical creatures. While he is an excellent groundskeeper, he's nowhere near being an authority on potions, spells, or any other subject that might aid him in such a dark task. And fourth, Draco Malfoy is a second year. Do any of you know a way to petrify someone?"

The three stared at her openly and she shook her head in exasperation. "I didn't think so."

"We're second years," Ron exclaimed defensively. Genevieve raised a condescending eyebrow at him. "Fine then. Do you know of any way to permanently paralyze someone?"

Ron shook his head, giving her a sheepish look. Genevieve sighed. "You're going about this all wrong. You're looking for suspects before you've collected all the evidence. You're not even concerned with determining a motive, which is something you should be doing first and foremost." She noticed how Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "What would either Hagrid or Malfoy gain from petrifying students?"

"Malfoy hates muggle-borns," Harry said and Genevieve felt herself sigh. "Yes, but wouldn't he want to harm them instead or petrify them? What does he stand to gain from this?" When nobody spoke, she continued, "There is nothing connecting Hagrid to this. You're grasping at straws."

The three shifted uneasily and she narrowed her violet eyes. "You're withholding information, aren't you?" They sulked guiltily and she groaned. "Honestly, you three. Do you really think Dumbledore wouldn't have already considered each and every professor and employee of Hogwarts carefully. Dumbledore trusts Hagrid. You three should, too."

Genevieve turned her attention away from them and back to her textbook, leaving them to their hushed whispering. Suddenly, their conversation was far less interesting than it had been mere minutes ago. As far as she was concerned, their behavior was far more suspicious than that of any other single person at Hogwarts and she decided she wanted no part in it.

Once she was finished eating she looked over at Rosamund, who was busy batting her eyelashes at Oliver Wood in a way that Genevieve found she was not at all comfortable with. She looked far less ridiculous than Pansy, but still, it was embarrassing the display she was putting on. Oliver didn't seem to notice. He was too busy glaring at Angelina Johnson and the two seemed to be arguing heatedly. She shook her head. Perhaps today was just one of those days where everyone was a bit too agitated for their own good.

She shut her book and stood letting out a small sigh. "Goodnight," she breathed to no one in particular before she sauntered out of the great hall. It occurred to her as she traipsed down the corridors towards the Gryffindor dormitories that she much preferred textbooks, homework, and studying to the company of other students. She could only take social interaction in small doses. It made her wonder if muggle schools were less dramatic than witchcraft and wizardry schools. There seemed to be no end to it at Hogwarts. There was always some new and juicy bit of gossip on who was snogging who, who broke with who and she found it utterly exhausting to keep up with.

She reached the moving staircases and continued on her analysis of her social life, scowling. It was getting so that the only two people she could stomach on a daily basis was Rosamund and Draco. Draco she tolerated better than Rosamund at times even and Rosamund was supposed to be her closest friend. They both could get so snippy, but sometimes, Rosamund was just unbearable.

Once she reached her dormitory, she changed into her night clothes and climbed into bed. Casper roused from his place on Rosamund's bed and stretched lazily before stalking up to her bed and jumping up, settling beside her. Casper preferred to sleep in her bed as opposed to his owner's. She suspected it had to do with Rosamund's tendency to kick and thrash in her sleep. She waved her wand to draw the curtains surrounding her bed and scratched behind the drowsy feline's ears before falling back against her pillow with a yawn. She was asleep before she knew it.

"You know, Oliver Wood is quite brilliant. The Quidditch plays he comes up with are phenomenal," Rosamund bragged as she flipped her long hair over shoulder and picked up another scone. Genevieve just nodded. It had become exceedingly obvious that Rosamund had developed quite a crush on the Quidditch captain and was quite convinced that she and Oliver were simply meant to be, which Genevieve found absurd considering the girl knew absolutely next to nothing about Quidditch. What on earth could they possibly talk about? Any time she'd been around Oliver Wood, nine times out of ten, the conversation was about Quidditch. She didn't see that changing just because the boy decided to start snogging some girl.

"He's going to play for Puddlemere United, you know," Rosamund confided, practically preening. "He'll be their star keeper."

Another well placed nod and Rosamund continued. "Do you know how much professional Quidditch players make? Of course you don't. I keep forgetting you're a muggle-born. They make quite a fortune, I can tell you. And the most well known are always featured in Witch Weekly. I'm sure Oliver will be in there quite often. He's such a charming, good-looking bloke. Personally, I think he's the best looking bloke in school."

"Isn't he a bit old for you," Genevieve ventured as she slathered some butter on a piece of toast. Rosamund scowled at her. "Genevieve, I'm much more mature than most other third years." Genevieve couldn't help the disbelieving look that overtook her face. Just last week, her blonde friend had refused to step foot out of their dormitory because the Weasley Twins had fed her some candy that made pustules form all over her milky white skin. She'd even refused to be escorted to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had been forced to come to their dormitory to treat her. Rosamund had wailed and cried all day, sobbing about how she would never be able to face the whole of Hogwarts again. It had been quite the show. "Right."

"If you ever bothered to pull your head out of a book, you would notice," her friend chastised in a way that was less than friendly. Genevieve simply smiled and finished her breakfast before setting off for her first class of the day, Charms. It was best if you just ignored Rosamund's passive aggressive insults. She tended to take extreme offense if you stuck up for yourself.

Charms was always uneventful. She spent most of the class going over her notes and lazily performing whatever task Professor Flitwick set for her and her fellow students, barely even looking up. Genevieve had already begun practicing nonverbal spell work in her free time. It only seemed logical that "the sooner the better" applied in these situations. While she hadn't had as much success as she had expected, she'd managed to perfect quite a few first year spells non-verbally and that was better than perfecting none.

After Charms came transfiguration, which was the only class in which she felt truly challenged. She'd been toying with the idea of becoming an animagus for months, though she didn't relish the idea of having to obtain a license. She didn't really relish the idea of becoming one illegally either, but it was a tempting idea. It bothered her just how closely the ministry of magic seemed to monitor people. Genevieve thought it might be best to keep a low profile.

They were busy learning to transfigure small mammals into common everyday objects. Class was a madhouse, but she managed to keep from getting too distracted by all the half-formed rabbits racing around the room. They'd been asked to transfigure their rabbits into a daisy. Most had ended up with either a multicolored daisy for a tail or a collar of petals around their necks, but there were a couple who had leaves for ears. The irony of practicing magic on rabbits was not lost on Genevieve. It took a lot of effort not to spend the entire time laughing.

Genevieve had promised to meet Draco to help him finish his essay the next day. She and Draco always met in the back of the library where no students ever dared to venture. It was much too dark and much too dusty. It scared most of the first and second years and Madam Pince kept a close eye on this section for fear of finding older students in "compromising" positions. Draco had been more than a tad bit apprehensive during their first session. So much so that, he'd neglected to maintain his aggressive and puritanical facade. He'd only managed to make a handful of snide remarks and it was clear they hadn't been quite as witty as one would expect.

Draco was already at their usual table. She threw her book bag down and huffed. "Sorry, I had to help Professor Sprout re-pot a particularly feisty young mandrake that a first year managed to knock over."

Both of Draco's eyebrows raised. "They didn't die did they? I heard they can kill you."

She shook her head. "No, it wasn't mature enough yet. I think the poor boy did faint though."

He rolled his eyes. "First years." He handed over his essay and she was quite impressed to see that another foot and a half had been added on. She slowly scanned over it, nodding every once in a while to show that yes, Draco had done well. She slowly handed it back. "I don't know why you needed me. It's an excellent essay."

"Yes, but will it earn me and 'O'?"

She nodded. "Of course it will. Your essays have always been one of your strongest points. Do you need help with anything else?"

Draco shook his head and then looked as if he wanted to ask something. She waited patiently for him to say something.

"Why are you friends with Beckwith," Draco finally managed, "I'm mean, I know you're housemates, but she's a dreadful sort."

She raised an eyebrow, willing him to continue and he shifted around in his seat and leaned over the table toward her. She leaned into him, sensing that whatever he was about to say, he didn't want overheard. "Beckwith's family runs in the same circles as mine. Her family's not as old as mine, but it's a very powerful family. Her parents nearly had a Hippogriff when her older sister was sorted into Hufflepuff. But that's nothing compared to-" his gaze darted around the room before he lowered his voice even further. "Her mother is a squib and her father has a sister who's only a half-blood. An affair with a muggle her grandfather met in London while there on official ministry business."

Genevieve was aware that her mouth was hanging agape, but it couldn't be helped. Knowing Rosamund, if anything Draco had just told her was to become common knowledge, she would be devastated. "Oh, she'd go absolutely mental if anyone found out any of this."

Draco nodded. "Haven't you ever wondered why none of the Slytherins want anything to do with her? Being pureblood trumps being in Gryffindor. But nobody in our house wants her around. And now she's so hung up on Wood. Merlin, she's so obvious. Even a half-blood git like Wood knows better than to mess with a stuck up bird like her."

"So that's why she's so..."

"Look, I don't know much about muggleborns," Draco said finally, "but I do know that Rosamund hates them. She's a closet pureblood fanatic. It's the way she was brought up. It's the way all of us are brought up." He swallowed thickly and Genevieve realized how hard it was for him to say what he was saying. "All our families have a lot of money and a lot of power and this sort of...hatred that we have for muggle-borns is centuries upon centuries old. It's something that can never quite be wiped out."

"Has anybody ever, broken away from tradition?"

The blond boy looked uneasy, unsure of whether he wanted to speak. "There's only ever been one person I can think of to break away from Slytherin and their family, but I don't think it was done out of some supposed noble intention of theirs. He turned out to be a follower of You-Know-Who. He's been in Azkaban for over a decade now."

"Do you really think You-Know-Who is gone," she asked, "do you really think someone so dark and powerful could really be killed by a child?"

"Dad and Mum say he'll return," Draco admitted, "they say once he's back, no muggle, no half-blood, no muggle-born, or blood-traitor will be safe."