TEACHER: Explain Newton's First Law of Motion in your own words.
CALVIN: Yakka foob mog. Grug pubbawup zink wattoom gazork. Chumble spuzz. -Bill Waterson
Chapter 3
Murphy's Law—anything that can go wrong, will. It was a doctrine that had defined her life since that fateful day in June—and apparently, it wasn't about to leave her alone.
The day had begun in its usual manner; consisting of waking with a killer headache, the lingering terror of her nightmares, and of course, her constant friend—the darkness. Her situation was hard enough to deal with on a regular day, let alone on the first day she would be using magic since June. And of course, oversleeping and missing breakfast was just an added bonus.
Eaven had fumbled her way through the usual routine of dressing and tending to hygiene, but that was where the familiarity ended. While she had made sure to walk to each of her class rooms over the weekend, in order to gain a small measure of direction, it had been a slow, easy pace. Now the additional pressure of arriving to classes on time made the trip as different from the first time as possible.
Hogwarts itself helped as much as possible; moving staircases to the correct floors for her, giving friendly directions via the suits of armour, and lessening the direct flow of magic in specific corridors to guide her—but even with the extra help, she barely made it to Potions on time. Of course, the mad rush of students on the second floor i had /i hindered her some, especially when a slight brawl between Gryffindors and Ravenclaws broke out. She frowned, scratching a slight itch on her neck—she suspected one of the spells had skimmed her neck—as she approached the classroom door.
Eaven trembled involuntarily as she stepped through the doorway and into the Potions classroom. She was put at ease however, by the feel of the potions supplies themselves. The positively glowed with magic; some more than others, and with varying colours, shades, and depths. In the back of her mind, the American witch realized that Hogwarts had once more aided her—lowering the wardings and concentration of magic in the classroom, and making it easier to sense the magical properties of the ingredients.
"Miss Farraday! If you'll just take a seat next to Mr. Cuffe, we can get started. Now then, cauldrons out, potion kits out, and open your Advanced Potions for the Sixth-year Student to page 14."
Eaven carefully made her way to the table, searching semi-frantically for Cuffe's magical signature to guide her to her seat. No such luck. The raven-haired American stood stiffly next to the table—hand brushing the surface—as her cheeks became increasingly warmer from embarrassment.
An intake of breath from her right, then a large hand clamped around her forearm and gently guided her to a chair. "Sorry about that," the warm, masculine voice continued, "Professor Slughorn can be rather, well, absentminded at times. I'm sure he meant no offence," he hastily assured her.
Fighting her initial annoyance—she would have found the chair on her own, eventually—Eaven cast a polite smile in the general direction of the voice. "Thanks." She muttered, still slightly miffed.
"No need for thanks—we Hufflepuffs watch out for our own." Hufflepuffs? Since when was she a Hufflepuff?
"Er—"
"Theodore Cuffe, pleasure to meet you." So the nut had a name—what was he thinking, anyways; her, a Hufflepuff? She certainly didn't act like one, did she?
"Eaven Farraday. Nice meeting you." Vague amusement filtered through her voice. Hufflepuff—imagine that.
A long pause followed—punctuated by Professor Slughorn's welcoming speech. Eaven found her focus slipping as her attention was caught up in the feel of the potions supplies. It was incredible, really—each ingredient had its own personality and feel. On the third shelf to the left, a liquid—it had a much more fluid aura—pulsed with heat and energy, and a sort of wild joy, all mixed together in an incredibly concentrated state: Dragon blood. The cabinet above the Professor's desk contained what could only be Powdered Essence of Pixie, judging from the soft lavender glow and the "images" emitting from it.
"Right, this one should be rather easy. We covered it at the end of last year. If you get the ingredients, I'll ready the cauldron and utensils." Theodore spoke quietly and earnestly—quite a change from the earlier chattering. A rather i nice /i change at that.
Wait—ingredients. Eaven cursed herself for not paying attention earlier. She straightened once more, standing up rather stiffly as she turned towards Theodore. Whatever reputation she could have had as a diligent student—one that actually paid attention in class—was about to fly out the high, dungeon windows.
"Which ingredients am I getting?" she hated herself for the squeak in her voice, the flush that graced her cheeks.
A low chuckle surprised her—perhaps her time with the Hufflepuff would not be as bad as she'd assumed. "Can't expect you to pay attention the first class in Hogwarts, I suppose. Right, we'll trade—I'll get the ingredients, you prepare the rest."
And just like that, Eaven decided she might like Potions after all. Just she could sense the magical properties of the potion supplies, she could also sense when the potion needed a little more tweaking—whether it be that extra stir counterclockwise, or an additional sprinkling of minced betony—making her even better at potions now than she had been in the years before June.
Yes, Potions might not be that bad at all.
After double Potions with Hufflepuff, Eaven began to make her way to Transfiguration. She was absolutely dreading this class. Her success with Potions would most likely be the only pleasant aspect about today, and the young American was not all that eager to begin what would most likely turn out to be a disaster of epic proportions.
At least it was with the Gryffindors, not Hufflepuff again. Theodore Cuffe might not be as bad as she had originally thought, but her tolerance level had dropped rather severely when he grabbed her arm to "guide her" to a chair, and she had no desire to let her temper loose.
Funny; when she found her schedule with the map earlier this morning, she had assumed class with the Gryffindors would be the most enjoyable. Perhaps she had been mistaken—the noise level alone was sure to cause a splitting headache. Someone had already shouted at her, saying that second period Transfiguration was for Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, not Hufflepuffs. What was it with Hufflepuff today, anyways?
"This year there will be assigned seating. Burke—Melstrome, Roberts—Pettigrew, Mertens—Zimsky, Black—Evans, Lupin—Kingsley, Marshall—Whiteman, Zacharias—Hedgworth, and Farraday—Potter.
Last mentioned meant last desk before the door. She would have to thank the Professor after class. She found her chair with little difficulty and gratefully slumped into it.
"You're not really a Hufflepuff, are you Farraday?" Eaven sighed—not him too.
"No, Potter. I'm a Ravenclaw—see the badge?" A chuckle met her words.
"Yes, I see the badge, but it says you're Hufflepuff."
"Oh." Did someone spell her badge?
"Nice bit of charm work, really." Potter commented, "Better next time if the sleeve lining were changed to yellow, though—Hufflepuff colours, you see."
"You aren't suggesting I charmed my own badge, are you?"
A pointed silence followed.
"I didn't." she said flatly.
"Right."
"Why would I change my badge to Hufflepuff?" Eaven hissed, her voice a menacing whisper, "For that matter, what kind of idiot would even bother to change their badge at all? Gods, are all Brits like this?"
Potter snorted with amusement before answering; "Right, well if you'll hold still, you'll be a Ravenclaw again in a tiff."
A tingle of a spell, "Thanks." Both students turned their attention back to the Professor, one radiating amusement, the other still feeling rather miffed.
"Today we will be reviewing a transfiguration from last year. Mr. Marshall, Ms. Whiteman—if you would please hand each student a fork and a sparrow. You will transfigure your fork into an inkwell, and the sparrow into a goblet."
Eaven felt despair rising. She couldn't sense the fork—which meant she would have to guess what it looked like, and the general direction it was in.
One thing was for sure: Transfiguration just got a lot harder.
Eaven knew she would not have gotten through Transfiguration if it hadn't been for Potter. He was incredulous at first, when he saw she had done absolutely nothing to change the fork (the sparrow had been easy—it was alive, therefore it had a signature), but once he realized her unique situation he had gone out of his way to help her, even going so far as to place a simple colour charm on the fork to give it a magical aura.
Rather nice of him, really.
Following Transfiguration was lunch, during which the ravenous students of Hogwarts devoured enough food to feed a small country. Or at least they i sounded /i that way. What she wouldn't give for the quiet, auspicious lunches served at the Farraday residence in America.
As Eaven had no more classes after lunch, the rest of the day was spent outside reading, and later just thinking. Hogwarts was quite a lot to absorb in just a few days, not to mention the individual classes.
By the time supper ended, Eaven was tired enough to head straight to the dormitories—and so she did. Without even bothering to undress, the blind girl went straight to her bed. Slipping under the covers, she instantly fell asleep.