Yo! Sorry about the slow update. School camp happened during the middle of writing this chapter, so it took me a while to get started again. But, here it is!
Disclaimer: Hogwarts, the Weasley family and anything else Harry Potter related belongs to J.K. Rowling
Reviews would be much appreciated!! :)
BTW the Scent of Blood may be updated in the Summer holidays (so december/january-ish)
The First Day
I ask myself "aren't you lost?"
-From Alumina by Nightmare
I was late to my first class and it was Potions. It's almost impossible to get from the top of the Astronomy Tower to the dungeons in less than ten minutes and it took twenty minutes of profuse running down the steep and moving staircases for me to realise that. The first room I ran into was empty and as my stomach suddenly filled with butterflies, I realised that I had just entered room 201 and not room 210.
After running down the slightly damp corridor, I paused just for a second to recover my breath before opening the wooden door and was instantly bombarded by smells. The black haired teacher said "late," in a quiet, business-like tone of voice that warned of impending doom. He looked up from the book he was reading from behind his desk and first noted my Slytherin robes. I was allowed to walk a little further into the room, getting away with only saying, "Sorry sir, I got lost". He then noticed my locks of flaming red hair and the various freckles that littered my face. Suddenly, behind his obsidian eyes confusion dwelled until something within his mind clicked. He opened his mouth as if to say some sneering remark, but then he changed his mind.
"Tristan Weasley."
"Yes, sir" I hoped my voice wasn't wavering and showing what my shaking hands were.
"The instructions for the potion are on the board; please complete it before the end of class."
To others that might have been reasonable, but I quickly realised that it was a 40 minute potion and because I was 10 minutes late to class, I had only 35 minutes left; and counting.
"Sir, it's a 40 minute potion, I couldn't possibly…" The black-clad teacher held up his hand and motioned for me to stop talking. An inkling of surprise was evident on his face. He had obviously thought that I was just going to bulldoze my way straight through the lesson in a rush to finish it before the bell. Well, after reading about the consequences of such actions, I was most certainly was not going to attempt it.
"Do not argue with me Weasley, finish before the end of class or you will be getting detention on your first day." He turned and with a slight flourish of his robes went to reclaim his seat behind the teacher's desk.
My brother Percy and his little gang of friends were in pairs, sniggering at me and I felt my face flush. Pairs. Everyone was in neat little pairs and I was the odd one out. Again.
"Weasley, do you think you can finish your potion in the remaining 30 minutes? Or would you like to continue staring at your brother and serve detention with me?" His cold, callous voice cut me out of my haze of embarrassment and allowed me to occupy the last bench and back and begin to pull out my various textbooks and notebooks, the lure of words instantly pulling me in.
Forgetting was a naturally easy thing to do. Creating a Forgetfulness potion was too, if you had 40+ minutes and a partner. It was impossible, virtually impossible to finish such a concoction and have it by some miracle actually work. There were quite a few ingredients although the steps weren't that complex, as it was a First Year's potion, but I needed time. My head began to hurt. The incessant chatter of my classmates began to sound like a high-powered drill, driving itself further and further into my head.
I felt the teacher's black eyes staring at my head and the eyes of my brother, full with mirth. The stress of the situation was getting to me and making me forget how to momentarily read. Hang on. The stress was making me forget. Perfect. The first half of the potion was all about creating a chemical that would allow the brain to be in a state for things to be forgotten. That part in its entirety would take me 30 minutes, which was practically all the time I had left. However, as the cogs in my brain began furiously churning and commanding my motor muscles to move, I realised that I could substitute that section of the potion with a simple Stress potion, which would only take me 15 minutes.
After slicing my hand a couple of times with the silver knife, the Stress potion was ready. It was a pearly white solution with a hint of red; my blood. Hoping that my blood wouldn't have an affect on the potion, because at current, there was no possible way to filter it out, I quickly proceeded to work on the next half of the potion.
I had fallen into a methodical trance, slicing in a rhythmic fashion and then placing the ingredients into the cauldron. I stirred when the instructions dictated it right to do so and only briefly glanced at my potion that was turning a pleasant, although some what light, shade of purple.
"Time's up!" That cold, callous voice cut through the furiously working room and caused panic that spread throughout like wildfire. I had just enough time to add a few herbs to improve the taste when the Professor swooped down with his vile and suspiciously examined a portion of my potion. Taste was important. Why else would anyone even bother to drink it? Taste is the difference between deciding to use a potion and finding/creating a spell. And as an avid supporter of potions, or rather cooking, my mother made sure that message was imprinted clearly in my head.
I was packed up by the bell and ran out of the classroom with a little more speed than dignity demanded.
The rest of the day passed for me like an incoherent blur, much like Sorting night. My memory was hazy and had large patches where I couldn't remember anything. It was so irritating. It was so confusing. My mind then, out of the need to fill in the voids left by the memory loss, fabricated some.
I remember having a pleasant chat with Charlie, who was in Fourth Year, while walking towards the Great Hall for lunch. I remember pleasant laughing and a pleasant encounter with Bill, the Prefect. But now I was walking along in an empty corridor heading towards what I thought was the Slytherin common room and something didn't feel right. Something felt false and misplaced. That 'something' weighed heavily and brought about the sense of wrongness and filled my stomach with anxious butterflies.
I glimpsed Charlie's stocky build and blaring red hair and decided to confide in him. In the past, I had often done that. He was nice to talk to. He understood when I didn't want to talk and would instead fill the silence with mystifying dragon facts. He also understood when I did want to expel the thoughts in my head and he would always patiently listen and gently cock his head to the side to contemplate my troubles and produce a useful resolve.
Yes. Charlie was the one I wanted to talk to right now. Charlie would know what was happening.
And Charlie would know what to do.
I quickened my pace and ended up running to catch up with his much longer strides. When I was a step behind him, I reached out an arm that was quivering, for reasons I did not know and grabbed on to the sleeve's material.
"Charlie."
He stopped abruptly when he heard my voice and recognised it. Then, he heard his raucous Gryffindor friends coming from around the corner, cheering and yelling Charlie's name like they had something important to say. It couldn't have been more important than what I had to say. Family comes first. That was important. Most important. The family motto engraved into generations of teachings and one that my father had passed onto me.
"Charlie, I-"
My voice stopped functioning when Charlie with out turning around to look at me, pushed me away to join his friends, a smile plastered on his face and laughter lines beginning to wrinkle.
HE PUSHED ME AWAY.
Pushed me away.
Pushed me away.
It was my first, glorious day at Hogwarts. The day when excited, anxious little children begin their brilliant new adventure. It was my first day.
Only my first day.
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