Disclaimer:See Ch 1. Lyrics used are The Chemicals Between Us by Bush


Chapter Three: Time Flies

I want you to surrender
All my feelings rose today
And I want you to remain
The power of children can amaze

Something was wrong.

She had no idea what. Just a feeling that there was something terribly, horribly off. A vacant, empty space where something out to be.

"Ceres! Ceres, come on. You have to wake up."

Oh Gods, the test! Gotta get up, grab the bag, clothes too, those usually help. And why the hell couldn't she move?!

Then it hit her. There was no alarm.

"S'ok," she muttered, rolling over to catch another half hour or so of rest. "No alarm yet, 'm a'right. But thanks for the concern," was her final reply. Whether or not they were coherent on any level, she knew not, nor cared any greater.

Light, bright and harsh, stung at her eyelids, seeing only red behind nye-translucent lids.

"The hell?!"

"Genavieve, its 5:45! You have got to go!"

Shit.

Letting out a slew of unindentifiable curses, the Gryffindor flung herself out of bed. In a flurry of swares and clothing, she was dressed in her now mandatory uniform. Bag in hand, stumbling only twice, Ceres Genavieve made it out of the House and into the halls outside. Hall being an 8 by 8 landing in a mob of staircases.

It took two flights of stairs for her brain to start functioning again. 36 steps for it to realize it had no worldly idea where the "DADA" room was. At all.

Swearing, again, she cupped her hands as if to catch drops of morning rain, and muttered a long since memorized summoning spell. A familiar warm glow filled them, the color of first dawn. As it subsided, a fleck of fire-fly green light rose from its stead.

"Hey again," the girl spoke, as if they were old friends, to the tiny fleck zipping back and forth before her. "I need to find the Defense Against the Dark Arts room. Can you take me there?"

It froze a moment, the speck, perfectly still in thought, before taking off back the way she came. Careful not to race too far ahead, the tiny fey took her through corridor after corridor. Time seemed to drag, minutes passing like infiniteable hours. Fortunately, it was all an illusion, this slow passing of time. The product of stress and the usual first-day anxiety. Relief like no other descended up on her when she stopped at the door reading Defense Against The Dark Arts.

Thanking the creature for its aid, she returned the thing to whatever realm it resided in. With a slightly regained composure, Ceres slipped inside the nye-vacant classroom.

"Late, Ms. Genavieve," the pug-faced woman spoke. Her voice was chirpy and obnoxious, much like the pepto-pink robes she whore. "Not a good start for a first impression."

"Sorry, I got lost," the student spoke, tone carefully neutral as she picked a seat.

"Well, do not expect for your test time to be extended." The professor advised, setting a scroll of parchment, as well as a quill and ink, on the desk in front of her.

"You have until 7:45 to complete the exam. Answer honestly and to the best of your knowledge. Anything less, and I will know.

The moments to follow flew by in a slew of questions; multiple choice, open response, even her personal favorite: true-false. And they were easy! Something she hadn't expected, in the least. She glanced at her watch only once. It was then she discovered the problem that led to the mornings chaos.

6:21 pm.

The battery of her Fossil watch had ticked its last. It was peculiar, the power source had been purchased just one week earlier.

Quickly, the Ceres shoved the inquisition out of mind. Her thoughts always did have a tendency to wander, and now of all times was not the place for a new curiosity to fuel it.

"Yes?" the toad woman asked, addressing the young woman who stood before her.

"I'm finished."

Round eyes squinted above oval reading glasses, forming a shrewd expression for a moment or two. Stubby fingers took the placement exam in hand, taping it with the tip of her wand.

"Well, lets see how you faired. Remember, you can always try again next-"

The sentence stopped abruptly, eyes growing wider than the wire frames surrounding them. She tried again, with a slight flourish of the wrist. This couldn't bode well.

"Ah, Professor, is something wrong?"

"No," she squeaked in painful pitch. "Nothing at all. I'll be just a moment."

The 'moment' dragged on for eternity. Had she failed the test? Surely not, unless they were all trick questions? That Headmaster, Dumbledore, did seem the type for it.

Finally, she heard voices from the hallway, accompanied by the whisper of robes and the echoes of authorative footsteps on stone.

"For what you're accusing my student of, you best be correct."

The Umbridge woman had returned with backup, her Head of House."

"Good morning Professor," the new Gryffindor answered brightly, hoping to have at least one of them on her side.

"Good morning Ms. Genavieve, first day going well?"

"I'm not sure,"

Another flourish of the wand, this time by the brilliant professor of Transfiguration, quickly resolved the issue. Ceres' inferred such from McGonagall's triumphant smile.

"There you have it, 5th year level. Congratulations Ms. Genavieve, I expected nothing less. If you will follow me, I have someone you should meet."

She did, glad to leave the accusative woman behind.

It took two corridors and one flight of stairs before the Professor spoke. Each word chosen with great care.

"I have heard rumors of your incident on the train"

Oh hell.

"Am I …being punished?"

The anxious feeling upsetting her stomach quickly resided as those oddly colored Caribbean eyes took notice of a slim smile.

"As you were not yet sorted, nor on school grounds, I believe you fell into a rather neutral area.

"But, in the future, it would be wise to limit such transgressions."

"Of course," she nodded, noticing then they had stopped before a door. Same as every other, save for one sign. A silver plaque, reading "Staff Only Beyond This Door."

"Go on Genavieve. I assure you, you will receive no punishment upon entering. There is a Professor inside waiting to meet you."

"Alright, that's good to know. See you later Professor," and without further hesitance, stepped inside.

The room, sparsely decorated in a manner much akin to a muggle teacher's lounge, was almost entirely empty. Save for one man. But a Professor? Surely not! Perhaps he was running late, and this was his assistant here to apologize for his employer's tardiness. Not to insult the wizard before her, he was just, far too young! No more than 4 years older than her, 5 at maximum.

"Good morning Ms. Genavieve. I'm Professor Wood, please, have a seat and a bite to eat. You must be starved."

Looking at the delicious array of food in front of her, she was. Hunger flared up as if reminding Ceres of its presence at the sight of toast, bacon, and orange juice. Gods be praised!

And it seemed to jog her memory as well. For, at the first bite of bread, she recognized his name.

"Oliver Wood?! You're supposed to be psychotic! And playing professional Quidditch. How'd you land this gig? What happened to Hooch?"

The young man stared in silence, for a moment or two. Obviously not the response he had expected. A troll could see that.

Yes, it was a bit brash, she admitted, but he was only a flying instructor. The girl knew that much now. Besides, how was she supposed to take him seriously with those curls?

"She retired. Simply couldn't take another year of teaching first years and dodging bludgers. And at 67, no one can blame her. Who said I was psychotic?"

"Maybe the word they were search for was 'driven'," Ceres suggested, gulping down the citrus drink to wash down her meal.

"Yea, driven mad."

Hunger gone, the American began to regain her awareness. The man was slim, athletic, build like that of a soccer player. Those curls were milk chocolate in color, just long enough to hide his ears, and avoiding his eyes by some unseen force. That hazel gaze watched her curiously. No surprise. The American 5th year transfer with a knack for summoning outside magic? Bound to the subject of much 'water-cauldron' talk.

"So, Professor," more out of reminding herself than paying respects "what'd you need to see me for?"

"Flying lessons. Who knows, maybe you'll join the ranks of Gryffindor's Quidditch team."

"How would we…I don't have to be in the first year class do I?"

Wood handed the transfer a slip of parchment. It was her schedule, sans flying class.

"You don't seem to have a free period, so I thought we could do lessons in the evening after dinner. Say, 8oclock?"

"Sure, that'll work. I've just got one question."

"Yes?"

"How the heck do you people tell time here without electronics?"

The man in question took the American outbust completely in stride, merely chuckling. He reached into the pocket of his robe for something.

"We have our ways,"

His way turned out to be a fine gold pocket watch, modeled after something that looked quite akin to a golf ball with wings.

"You can hang onto it until you get one of your own."

"Thank you, sir," and again, the addression was more of a reminder to herself, rather than a courtesy.

"You're quite welcome Ms. Genavieve."

The face inside read 8:15, she was already late. And the first class didn't look promising.

"Professor Wood, sir, do you, ah, would you mind walking me to my next class? Its just that I'm already late, as is, and I don't want to get into any trouble on the first day."

"Well, you'll find most Professors here are pretty understanding. Where are you headed?"

"Potions."

"Oh. Well, right this way then."

Apparently this man, too, knew of his…reputation. He looked young enough, perhaps he experience it firsthand. It seemed a good possibility.

"Snape harasses anyone who isn't wearing green, just so you know," he began, rounding yet another staircase down. "Its nothing personal, he just…"

"Hates everyone. Don't worry, I come well informed."

"Ah, by who?"

"Your old seeker."

"Friends with Harry already. Hate to say it, but may not be in your best interest."

"And why would you say that?"

"He's a great kid, but…he's trouble."

"How do you know I'm not trouble?"

Oliver laughed.

"I never said that."

She froze.

He was too young to be a Professor. Of any kind. This much she knew for a fact.

Not to mention I have his watch.

"Here's your stop. Get a seat next to Granger, might get you in a spat with Severus, but she's an ace at anything magical."

"Thank you, Professor."

He smiled, a charming flash of white.

"Anytime Ms. Genavieve. See you at 8."

Far, far too young.


A/N~ Yea, this took forever to update. A funny thing called life fell in and out place, college at my soul, spat me back out, and thus I am back and better than ever (least writing wise). I'll be updating more regularly now. Hopefully. Life is unpredicatable, so I make no promises, but its pretty certain. R&R!!! I'll update regardless of my current status if feedback demands it to be so. And yes, you can demand. So go comment!