Aren was running after Professor Snape, trying very hard to not be distanced while still making note of where she was and where they were going. She had woken up early to make sure that she would not leave the professor waiting, and had almost been late anyway because Duister had seemed very intent on following her everywhere. She had given up, thinking that if there was a problem with it, the professor would tell her. This was why they were now walking, or running in Aren and Ster's case, to the Great Hall, which she would see for the first time.
She'd spent the previous day reading up on the classed she had missed so far. Thankfully, there was no text to read on flying, and those classes had not even started yet. Neither had astrology, since the days were still too long to successfully manage in the middle of the week. History of magic would not be before Thursday, as were herbology and defense against the dark arts. Monday would start with Potions, three hours, then lunch, then two hours of transfiguration, then one of charms, and so she had mostly focussed on these subjects. It was fascinating, and she was curious to see how it could fit in with her vision of sciences, as she was convinced the notions of magic and science were not mutually exclusive.
They reached a large double door, held open, behind which stood the weirdest room Aren had ever seen. Immense, with four tables aligned along the length of the room, candles floating everywhere, and the ceiling . It looked like the sky, a real sky — she was relatively convinced it was not real considering the hall was pleasantly warm — and was tinted in the orange and pink hues of the rising sun. It was, after all, only half past six.
Professor Snape guided her to the left-most table where other students with green-lined robes were eating. Their table was the fullest; the other houses apparently favoured a later breakfast. She sat down near another girl, who looked like she was among the youngest, and the professor nodded before going to the table that sat perpendicular to the house tables, overseeing everything. It was obviously the staff's table.
The girl she was next to turned to her, and offered her hand in greetings.
"Hello, I'm Astoria Greengrass. Welcome to Slytherin, and to Hogwarts, I suppose." Aren squinted at her hand, but seeing no valid reason to refuse, shook it in a sort of agreement.
"I'm Aren. Dumbledore."
"Are you really the headmaster's relative? You have the same white hair and blue eyes. The other Slytherins spent the day speculating, yesterday."
"No, no. I've been made his ward, the day Professor Snape introduced me. I took his name, but I'm just his responsibility."
"Oh. That's weird? Usually, wards keep their original name upon registration as ward."
"Didn't have a name." She took what looked like hash browns, a small portion. It all seemed very good, and the smell was a torture, but she knew if she ate too much she'd make herself sick. She'd made the mistake the day before already. "I needed one for administrative purposes, so they just gave me Albu— the headmaster's."
"No name? Why? Were you scratched off your family tree?"
"What? No. I just don't know my name. Never have. Aren's probably not even my birth name."
Greengrass was watching her with eyes round like tea cups. " You don't know your family? " It wasn't really a screech, but it was loud enough to be heard by most of the table and some from the one nearby. They wore yellow-lined robes, although she wasn't sure what that made them. After Greengrass' outburst, she slapped her hand on her mouth, and looked around her. The table was silent for a couple seconds, then everyone started talking with everyone, resulting in a loud cacophony of voices. Aren covered her ears with her hands; she'd never tolerated loud noises very well.
"Shhhhh please. Too loud. No I don't. Is that a problem?" She knew she sounded mullish now, but she haded being looked down upon or pitied, and this sounded like it would come to that quickly if she did not put a stop to it immediately. Greengrass looked around them, but the students were too busy talking to each other about Aren to notice much anymore.
"Not for me, no, but most Slytherins put a lot of stock in 'good breeding'. If you were a pureblood, you'd have nothing to fear, but if you don't know, then you'll be worth as much as a mudblood to the, meaning exactly nothing. Zilch. Nada."
"Mudblood?"
"It's a slur for muggleborn wizards. Pureblood families can be traced back a lot of generations. The Greengrass family, for example, is one of the sacred twenty-eight, meaning our line can be traced back almost to Merlin's time, with no muggles in the direct line at all. The sacred twenty-eight also include the Blacks, the Malfoys, the Abbotts, the Parkinsons, the Notts…"
"That sounds like a very good way to create issues with in-breeding."
Another girl, with a pointy nose and slanted eyes, dark hair, and her chin pointed up in an obviously disdainful way, heard her. "And what would you know about that? You've obviously not been raised in our world if you need to have that explained to you!"
"Basic genetics, but it appears that's beyond your abilities." A fleeting look of confusions on the girl's face was quickly replaced with an expression of anger and disgust.
"I can't even understand how a girl like you can be accepted into Hogwarts, much less in the excellent house of Slytherin. Draco will no doubt tell his father that Dumbledore admitted a five years old, and you'll be expulsed within a week."
Aren did not even grace that with an answer, partly because she knew she was right and didn't want to lose her temper already, and partly because part of her did fear being expulsed. This was probably her best shot at a safe place and an education, and she didn't want it to get ruined because she was unable to keep her head down. Like you did with Phil— No.
Her appetite was gone, and she turned to Greengrass to see that she was finished, so she followed the girl out.
"You know," her housemate started, "I don't have much of a problem with it myself, but you might want to tone down your words near the other Slytherins. They really can make your life hell, at Hogwarts and after."
"I have a slight filter problem. And I've been told I have a temper too. I'll try to watch it, but I wouldn't hold by breath if I were you." She stopped in her following Greengrass, "Wait, are we even in the same year?"
"Yes, I'm a first year. You start with potions, right? We're paired with the Gryffindor. That'll be a trial alright."
"Yes. Good, I don't have any idea where I'm supposed to go." Greengrass smiled at her.
"Is it alright if I call you Aren? Calling you Dumbledore is really disturbing."
"Just fine with me. As I said, i didn't have a last name until two days ago, so people called me Aren anyway."
"How is that by the way? You didn't say."
"Grew up in an orphanage," Aren shrugged, "and then in the streets. A name was the last of my concerns."
"Oh…"
An awkward silence replaced the steady talking while they made their way to wherever potions would happen.
Potions was the book she'd most focussed on, reading the first chapters three or four times, simply because she'd known she would have lunch break to read the rest over. She found herself grateful for that foresight, because it turned out that Professor Snape was particularly exacting. That day, they were supposed to brew a cure for boils, which she could remember clearly enough from her readings the day before.
They started by crushing 6 snake fangs into a fine powder using a mortar and pestle. Once the powder was fine enough, she added four measures of it to the boiling water in the cauldron. It immediately became an opaque white, then after being exposed to the heat, at 250°C for ten seconds, a light green. They then had to wave the tip of their wand over the cauldron in a sort of three-branch star-shaped movement above the mixture while stirring with a rod. They then left the potion to brew For precisely thirty-nine minutes, during which the professor explained to them the importance of dried nettles in potion-brewing. They returned to brewing after that time, adding four whole horned slugs of medium size, which turned the potion more fluid and a surprising shade of turquoise; once everyone had added theirs, they took their cauldrons off the fire, then added two porcupine quills between twelve and sixteen centimetres long. This did not change the aspect of the potion, but stirring clockwise five times did: the potion turned slightly more thick and a brilliant red.
Considering the words of the teacher earlier, Aren decided to add — carefully, she didn't want to have a reaction — three leaves of dried nettle to the potion, before repeating the wand-waving from earlier for twenty-seven seconds. Her potion was now a pale red, almost pink, and distinctly gel-like.
The professor was going through the ranks, considering the potions of everyone. As there were seven Slytherins and about a dozen Gryffindors, Aren expected that to take a while, but he was breezing through the ranks, only stopping to grunt at particularly well done potions or to verbally annihilate those who had visibly failed.
When he reached her, he did stop for a couple seconds, then took her stirring rod and gave a stir to the almost paste-like potion. He lifted some of it on the rod to his (rather impressive) nose to smell it, then placed the rod back in, and turned to her and asked in a slow, smooth and deep voice that, given the circumstances, could only pass as ominous:
"Miss Dumbledore, can you tell me why this potion is so light and thick? I believe the book said 'red liquid, slightly sirupy'."
"I added three leaves of dried nettles, sir."
"And why is that?"
"Because as you said earlier, it helps clean contaminated bodies, infections, if boosts the efficiency of snake-based potions, and increases the thickness of the potion, which would be helpful for potions that have to be applied topically, such as the boil cure potion."
"That is correct. And why three leaves?"
"Because two leaves would have made too little of a difference; however, more than three would have caused a nefarious reaction with the horned slugs' skin, most probably… explosively so."
Professor Snape looked reluctantly impressed. He turned wordlessly, and it took him a minute to finish his inspection of the class' potions. He then went back to the front of the classroom.
"Miss Vane, Miss Dumbledore, please bring me a sample of your work. We will test them on these two toads."
They both complied, bottling a small amount of the potions in glass flasks the size of their fists. This was a considerably more complex process for Aren, as her potion was so thick that it refused to flow. They labelled them and brought them forward, and the professor started by showing them the first toad, before applying Vane's potion to its back then massaging it into the back of the animal. He then proceeded the same way with Aren's on the other toad. He set them to wait for a full minute, before showing the students the difference between the two toads.
Vane's toad had one or two fewer boils, and the others were a bit less prominent, but the differences were minimal. Aren's toad, however, had a completely smooth back, and only darker-coloured patches could be seen on the skin where boils had been before. She supposed she still had messed up something in her potion, but it was markedly better than Vane's.
"This", Professor Snape snapped at them, showing them Aren's toad "is what I expect of you all in this class. I do not care how well you can follow instructions, you pack of degenerated dunderhead, but how well you can use your brain. None of you considered why I decided to present this particular ingredient to you at this particular time?"
Some of the Gryffindor were already glaring at Aren, but most of the students were just shaking their heads at the professor.
"All of you will have to write two feet and a half on the properties, use, and effects of nettle, dried and fresh, for next class." He turned to Aren, "Miss Dumbledore, as you are exempt from handing in this homework, as you obviously listened and retained information during the lecture." Then, to the rest of the class, he snapped, in the typical smooth but ominous tones the students associated with him: "Dismissed! I've seen enough of you for the week, regardless of the fact that I'll have to see you all again in three days."
The class scampered off. She had barely passed the door when she heard one of the other student, a Gryffindor most probably, mutter a venomous "Old Snape's already playing favourites, and this time it's with a baby snake". They received a death glare from several of the other first year Slytherins; but when Aren turned towards the direction the voice had come from, she saw Vane surrounded by a circle of Gryffindors mumbling in agreement. She was surprised to see Greengrass, who she'd pegged as the awkward, timid type, glaring at the Gryffindors with her fists balled at her sides.
Aren grabbed her by the elbow, and once she had the girl's attention, she slowly shook her head. If she'd learned anything in the street, it was to avoid unnecessary fights. "It's not worth it," she whispered to Greengrass. The girl looked at her, her eyebrows arched in a decidedly plaintive manner, screaming the "but…" that she didn't say. She looked at Aren for a bit more, then back at the Gryffindors walking in the opposite direction in a pack, before capitulating. "I suppose you're right…"
When they turned back to where they were supposed to go next, they saw that the Slytherins had already left for lunch, leaving the two of them and a tall but sickly looking boy alone in the hallway. When Aren cocked her head at him to see his face — she was almost twice as tall as her —, she was met with a look of disdain so strong she almost flinched. I suppose offering to go to the great hall with him is moot then. She didn't show her discomfort, out of pure habit, but looked to Greengrass who, two weeks after the beginning of term, probably knew where to find the Great Hall.
Greengrass was glaring back at the gangly boy, and Aren was surprised to see the girl so vehement, even without words. She tugged at her elbow once more.
"C'mon Greengrass, if we're late for lunch we'll have to choose between eating and being on time for transfiguration. I don't know Professor McGonagall yet, but she doesn't seem the type to like tardy students nor growly stomachs during her lecture."
"... Right. Let's go." She started swiftly walking, leaving the boy behind. Turning back for a minute, she could see that the boy was still at the door, actually going back into the classroom. "And please, call me Astoria, or whatever nickname as long as it's not demeaning. Greengrass is my big sister — she's a third year Slytherin — and being called that feels reaaaally weird."
"Alright… Tori? Would that be alright with you? Sorry of the lack of decorum but I'd risk butchering your name otherwise."
She was greeted by a blinding grin.
"Yes!"
They resumed their trek to the Great Hall, almost falling off the moving staircases twice.
Transfiguration was f***ing awesome . Apparently, she'd already missed the 'turning matchstick into needles', which she had been looking forward too. She thought such a difficult subject would require more than two weeks of preliminary theory, but it seemed Professor McGonagall preferred a hand-on approach, mixing practical exercise with theory for a wholesome comprehension of the subject. Aren wasn't going to complain about that; she did tend to progress much faster when she did , be it theory or practical work, than when she heard of something.
That still meant she had two weeks of lag to catch up, and that when the rest of the class successfully turned a full box of matchsticks into needles, she could only transfigure three or four of them. McGonagall still looked distantly impressed with her work, which Aren took as a compliment considering how stern and strict the woman appeared.
Charms, on the other hand, had been nothing short of a disaster. She had managed to make her pencil circle on her desk alright, but it seemed to keep trying to point at one of the Ravenclaws then shooting off. The swift professor stopped it every time, but it began to get tedious after two or three times. Professor Flitwick had even kept her for a bit after class to see with her if she'd had any trouble with the student in question. Aren denied it, of course; she didn't even know them. The only faces she knew to tell apart from the crowd right now were that of Gree— Tori, the girl with a pointed nose and slanted eyes from breakfast, Vane in Gryffindor, and the boy after potions.
She'd finished the day exhausted, though, both physically and mentally. It was the first time she was actually getting to class, and concentrating on all the information while still reflexively jumping at and keeping track of everything was extremely taxing. Her magic however, as she assumed the thing had been her magic all along, seemed perfectly fine. Not the slightest trace of exhaustion. She supposed it was good, in a way; that would have been one more type of exhaustion to stack on the rest, and she was already tired enough, thank you. Still, it seemed much calmer than before, and she didn't have to actually fight to keep it in. That hadn't happened since it had awoken in the back street. With the hag and the wall—No. Don't go there.
She skipped dinner altogether, and went back down to her common room to start on her reading for the next day. They had two more hours of transfiguration, then a free period, and history of magic for two hours the next day, which meant that she had to practice her transfiguration spell and theory some more this evening, and read ahead on the history book. Nevermind that Greengra— Tori had told her that Professor Binns just kept going on about the Goblin Wars and never gave any care to the actual curriculum. And also that the professor was a ghost in the first place and probably couldn't harm her even if she failed.
She practiced her transfiguration for an hour, before finally going to her bed and starting on her reading. Apparently, wizards had existed well before muggles appeared, or rather, muggles existed at the same time as the squib children of wizarding families. But back then, the survival rate for such children was extremely low. It was only with the sedentarisation of man and the development of tools and support structures in a group that they started surviving. Where wizarding families only had two or three children surviving before, they now had six or seven children, half of which were squibs.
At some point, the divide in opinion grew so much than squibs and wizards went separate ways, and squibs forgot little by little where they came from; as their numbers grew exponentially, they forgot the tales of their ancestors. And since the wizards ended up being so few; even the occasional squib arriving in a village did not bring back the lore to their memory.
Seeing this, the Wizarding world retreated further into the shadows, and factions appeared within their community. Strangely enough, it happened almost simultaneously over the whole world, with at most 50 years of difference depending on the region of the planet, and by Aren's estimations, dated back to the decline of Rome. Two main faction were formed: the blood purists, who considered that intermixing with squibs would weaken them little by little by 'diluting their magical blood' and cause the extinction of the 'wizarding race'; and the pro-diversity, who considered that by only marrying wizards and witches, they were condemning themselves by poisoning of the blood and of their wizarding cores.
The two faction cohabitated for roughly three centuries, but the peace was disrupted by an epidemy of magical core leprosy; it affected mostly children, but their failing cores led to a definitive loss of magic. Some survived as squibs, but most of them died, their bodies unable to sustain themselves without their inherent magic. Since their population was severely decreased, they were in a position of weakness, and the blood purist faction took the chance to promote distancing themselves further from the muggle world. They pointed out — without any proof whatsoever — that the disease was probably brought back from the muggle world, where the children were unaffected because naturally magic-less, but probably hosts to the sickness in the first place.
The leader of both factions came to an agreement that took the name of Statute of Secrecy: wizards would stay away from muggles as much as possible, and to keep Muggles from seeking them out, they were to keep their nature an absolute secret. Only in the case of matrimony, and when it produced children of a magical nature, was the wizard of the family allowed to reveal their nature to their close ones.
At that point, Aren had been too tired and had fallen asleep with her book open in her lap, and she never heard her roommates coming back into the room.
By the end of her first month at Hogwarts, most of Slytherin was wondering why Aren had been sorted into Slytherin at all.
She was never seen without a book; to be perfectly accurate, she was never seen not reading a book outside of class. Additionally, she had no consideration for the rules their head of house had laid out for them. She had already punched a Slytherin twice in front of witnesses, once in front of two Hufflepuffs, once in front of two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw. Within the house, she had no close friend; even Greengrass, to whom she'd been friendly at first, seemed to be barely more than an acquaintance. Aren cared little for their considerations. She was interested in two things only: survival, and learning.
She'd realised early enough that training with her magic was what kept it under control, and that was why that week-end, she was going to see Albus to see if he had a place where she could go full-power without risking the safety of the other children. She also secretly hoped it would let her take her frustration out on something that wasn't as fragile as another student, because Parkinson — the girl with a sharp nose and slanted eyes — kept pestering her and demeaning her and everything she could to make Aren feel inferior. Most of the school's first years had taken to calling her "baby snake", and Parkinson had thought that so funny that, in the privacy of their house, she'd gotten most of the second to sixth years to call her that too. One of the seventh year prefects had tried to call her that, too, but as a term of endearment. She'd been shut down faster than Aren could slip her hand in a passer-by's pocket: she had her dignity, thank you very much.
As Aren was walking towards the exit to go see Albus, her reflexion was interrupted by Parkinson's voice. It sounded strident even at low volume, and she cringed.
"Hey, baby snake, where are you going?"
"I have to discuss something with my guardian. Administrative matters. Now if you'll excuse me…"
"That's it, run to Dumbles! I'm sure that he'll listen to your immature weeping and grant your request. Afterall, he's already allowed a baby into Hogwarts so it's not like refusing you anything at this point is likely, right?"
Aren twisted around on her feet, her face a mask of cold fury.
"If you'd taken the time to fill your brain with anything but cosmetics and how-best-to-get-into-Malfoy's-pants to secure a bonding between your families, you'd know that I'm by far not the first example of a student being accepted into Hogwarts early for safety reasons; it is customary that children that exhibit violent bouts of uncontrolled magic between the ages of eight and eleven are taken in immediately. Furthermore, it's not like I've been lagging behind in classes, be it in theory or in practice; your assumption that I do not have my place here is as misguided as thinking that Mr Hagrid will suddenly naturally sprout wings and start flying." She'd gotten closer to the older girl, and venomously added, "Besides, considering how spoiled rotten you are by your parents, I'd say 'Hi pot, I'm kettle'. You have no room to slander my character, or my guardian's."
She turned again, and walked out without exactly stomping her feet, as her posture was much too dignified for that, but her steps made a snapping 'tap' on the stone that almost resembled the sound of a whip to all those who had witnessed her little diatribe. As she was passing the Dour Man, she heard behind her:
"You know Pansy, I think you should stop confronting her up front like that. Be Slytherin about it. She's Dumbledore's ward, and if she gets him really on her side, you'll be in trouble. He's not just headmas—" and the the statue turned behind her, cutting off the voice of the boy who had been talking to Parkinson. Sound advice this one gave.
She slowly made her way to Albus' office, having long memorised the way between the common room and there. She told the gargoyle her personal password, Pistache , and went up the stairs to her guardian. She knocked on the large wooden door, and heard the muffled 'Enter' from the other side. She stepped in, settled in her customary seat, and immediately Fawkes went to settle in her lap, softly trilling. Aren visibly relaxed, to Albus' satisfaction. The bird had taken an intense liking to the little girl, to the old man's stupefaction.
Calmed by the bird's presence, and her magic relatively under control, she went into the topic she wanted to discuss bluntly.
"Albus, is there any place in the castle where I might go all out for a couple hours? I think regular practice helps with keeping the outbursts from happening, but I still feel it just below the surface, and I think it could help with that. Plus, it'd be nice to know my limits."
"I don't see a problem with that? I'll see with the teachers if they can think of an appropriate place. We'll ward it for more safety. Sadly, I have been extremely busy as of late. Minister Fudge — you remember him, I'm sure?" She nodded. "He has been insisting that we let the dementors closer to the school. That is out of the question, of course, but it required quite the fine bit of negotiation, and that means I have to do a lot of back and forth between here and the Ministry."
"How will this work then, sir?"
"Well, assuming your head of house would agree to watch over you, and I don't see why he wouldn't, then he would be the one. Does that pose a problem?"
"Not at all, sir. I'm more worried for him than for myself. The last time something happened—" she shut down brutally. She wasn't ready to recount that. Not yet.
"Very noble of you, my girl. Now, would it be alright if I asked you to deliver a message to the four head of houses? That will let me work in the meantime, and our problem will be solved all the faster."
"Of course!" She was beaming at him.
Five minutes later, she was patting goodbye a Fawkes reluctant to let her go, then went to deliver her missive to the teachers. Professor Snape had been particularly hard to find, until she had remembered the back door that was warded to let the man know someone was there. She had to look for a while to find her way back there, and once she'd found the office, she delivered the note to a cranky-looking professor. Done with her task, she stopped by the kitchens — she'd discovered them by the end of september, or rather she'd spotted a pair of Gryffindor red-haired twins sneaking in there — and got herself a loaf of cheese-bread and a little bottle of pumpkin juice, then went back to the tower.
There, she scampered to her bed, closed the curtains, and settled to nibble on her bed while reading. Ster climbed the bed to snuggle in her lap, and she extended her legs to let the small cat snuggle in but the feline had other ideas. She started heabutting Aren in the chin, and the later just gave up on reading for that night, instead snuggling with her face in the fur of her familiar, her simple meal forgotten to the side.
Snuggling with Ster, who definitely smelled better than whatever place they'd found to sleep in the streets, and never left her, was probably the best thing she'd gotten out of this whole schooling thing.