I have returned. Hooray. Now, on to the chapter!
Enjoy!
*This is an edited version of Chapter Three. (Due to the fact that I have to edit everything at least five times, even though it's already posted.) Also, I've added a whole bunch of stuff to the end of the chapter. You might want to read it.
Chapter Three
"Remember tonight…for it is the beginning of always."
-Dante Alighieri
September 1996
Roth
I've really underestimated this job.
Sure, I knew that teaching was no easy feat, but I honestly hadn't expected for it to be this difficult this early on either.
Who knew choosing the right set of robes to wear to the Start of Term Feast would be so painfully hard? In theory, it shouldn't be. It wouldn't be. But when thoughts of representation and image throw themselves into the already complicated mix, it makes everything that much more confusing.
It also doesn't help that I have no recollection whatsoever of what my old professors would wear on the first day of school.
Frowning, I eye the contents of my wardrobe unhappily. I don't want to appear too strict or conservative…and definitely not to slutty, I think, pulling out several sets of dress robes, all too drab or proper. There is, however, some horrid frilly thing among the somber robes I'd like to think that I bought on a dare. The pile at my feet grows as I become increasingly impatient. There seems to be nothing at all in there that suits the occasion. I should've really thought ahead and ordered something…but it's too late now. I sigh and continue sifting through the pile of robes still hanging limply in my closet. There's got to be something at least half suitable for a school feast…
Finally, I tug a forgotten blue lump of fabric out of the depths of the wardrobe. It looks rather sad and limp, but once I shake it out, it's actually quite nice. Or as good as it gets, anyway. I clean it up a bit with a simple spell and make a few adjustments. Then I slip it on and step in front of a mirror for a quick evaluation before leaving for the Great Hall.
Not to be vain, but the set of robes I've found is great, much to my surprise. I was expecting something merely passable, but this actually works. The neckline is not constricting, but not revealing, either. The royal blue outfit itself isn't overly extravagant, but it's far from drab. It flows nicely over my body, and the sleeves thankfully hide the bandages wrapped around my knife wound.
A quick glance at the clock tells me that I'm close to being late. Cursing, I sprint towards the door, thinking that I might've been a lot quicker if I had only taken the time to organize my closet when I first arrived. Neatness. It's always been a problem.
As I rush down the corridor, though, I'm called back by none other by Severus Snape, who has been waiting patiently by the door.
"You could've come in, you know," I say.
He ignores me, though, and jumps right to the point. "Roth. You're late," he sighs, fondly exasperated. "As usual."
He starts to walk briskly down the hall and I follow, making sure to keep up with his long strides.
"I had no idea what to wear to the Feast," I protest.
"Do you mean that you couldn't find what to wear to the Feast?" Severus asks, smirking slightly.
"Kind of…" I admit grudgingly. "It was more of a time-management problem…and the fact that I have too many dress robes, each more unsuitable for the occasion than the last."
"Of course. You look fine, though."
"Thanks."
"So getting a real job didn't teach you any organizational skills?" He doesn't seem surprised, but asks anyways.
"Some things never change, Severus. Teaching for nearly two decades hasn't gotten you to be less critical, has it?"
"No, teaching has made me more critical. Do you honestly expect for me to teach a group of dunderheads who are constantly mucking something up and not notice when something is not being done correctly? And please, do not get me started on a rant about their cringe-worthy grammar. Especially—"
"Alright, I know!" I grin.
"Do you? Let just remind you that you begin teaching tomorrow…"
"Always the pessimist, are you?"
"Some things never change, Roth."
"Actually, I'd be surprised if you actually looked on the bright side of things for once," I retort hotly, but not unkindly. "You've been the glass-half-empty type of person since the day we met."
"Yes, I clearly recall worrying that the train would break down." Severus replies smoothly. "But I also remember a certain black-haired witch who'd forgotten to pack her school robes." He grins in satisfaction.
I open my mouth to make some witty comment when we're interrupted by a large silvery thing barreling down the corridor.
"A Patronus," mutters Severus.
A large, faintly glowing, grey wolf stops in front of us and Tonks' voice floats from it.
"Harry was injured on the train. He's now with me at the gates."
Severus raises his eyebrows, but says nothing.
"Harry…Potter?" I ask.
Severus nods. "Arrogant like his father…kind of."
"I hope not…should we go meet Tonks and Harry?"
"No, I'll go alone. You should get to the feast. It'll do you no good to be late on the first day."
"See you, then."
"Right…well, bye."
He turns towards the left and I waste no time rushing to the Great Hall, my shoes clicking loudly in the silence.
Unnerved by the quiet, I find my thoughts drifting towards Severus. Since my arrival and our reunion, we have fallen easily back into the same comfortableness of our seemingly damaged friendship. I hadn't expected it to be quite so easy, given the length of out separation, but am grateful that it was. There is still some awkwardness, which can be ignored for the most part, and, of course, some unmentionable subjects. But it's a small price to pay for something loads better. After all, I really don't think I could cope well with the tension.
Sometimes, though, I can feel the old guilt for ignoring him for so long gnawing at me…
Maybe we could've kept in touch…
I push the thought to the back of my head and continue on, now hearing other voices close by.
And then I'm there.
The Great Hall. Its grandeur wipes every other thought from my mind. It hasn't changed, but the thrill of seeing it after so long is exhilarating. I cannot help but stare at the star-speckled ceiling and gaze admiringly at the perfectly curved arches adorning the walls and holding the 'sky'. Its vastness is astounding as well. The room stretches from the Staff Table all the way to the Entrance Hall, somehow managing to fit four long House tables and still appear roomy.
Out of habit, I start towards the Slytherin table, but catch myself before anyone notices. Quickly, I turn, hurrying to the long staff table at the front of the room.
"Almost late, but not quite," Dumbledore chuckles from behind me.
I smile in greeting. "Albus."
"Lovely for you to join us." Ever the gentleman, he pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit down. "The Potions Master—excuse me, Mistress, usually occupies this seat."
"Thank you." I settle into my seat and Dumbledore walks away to his spot in the middle of the grand table.
The other teachers have already been seated and are talking among themselves, obviously at ease and comfortable at the front of the Hall. I, however, nervously look around, searching for a familiar face. I see Dumbledore two chairs down, leaning over an empty seat to chat with a frazzled, buggish woman covered with jewelry. I don't recognize her. Binns, the old ghost, hovers at the edge of the table, a book opened in front of him. Professor Vector, an apparently strict teacher I remember from my last year at Hogwarts, is stiffly seated and staring straight ahead, making eye contact with no one. All the others look unfamiliar, among them being a handsome centaur and a young blond woman. Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Severus are missing. If only Severus was here. I could have used someone to talk to.
Suddenly, the huge doors at the end of the Hall fly open, and a loud, eager stream of students pour in, excitedly making their way to their respective tables. I feel their judging eyes on me, and I clench my muscles so I won't squirm. I try to sit up straighter, to look more confident and less awkward. But I know I'm new and different, and I used to stare at my new teachers, too. Being in the newbie's shoes, though, is a whole other story.
Eventually, the students settle down and quiet themselves to a muted buzz, although I can still hear a few comments and questions about 'the new professor'. I continue to attract several not-so-subtle looks.
Thankfully, Professor McGonagall appears with the first years soon after, taking most of the attention off me. Instead, the school is now drawn to the pale, frightened line of fifty-odd children, who, I must say, cannot be much more scared than I am. Fortunately for them, they don't have to teach, patrol, and on top of that, grade papers. Their only job is to show up for classes and do homework. That sounded like a lot of work to me, too, but that was before realizing that for every one assignment I was given, my teacher had over twenty.
I can already feel a heavy red quill in my hand and the effects of sleep deprivation.
Damn, I'm getting old.
As soon as the eleven year olds are properly organized, Professor Flitwick brings the old, brown, and tattered Sorting Hat in. He sets it on a stool and quickly rushes into his seat to the left of Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall stays behind and looks sternly at the saggy hat. As if it could see the Deputy Headmistress's strict glare, the Hat bursts into song.
The song itself surprises me. It's eerily similar to the one I heard in my seventh year, a dark warning of danger, but also a message to promote togetherness. Either way, it scares me. I know what it means. War. Danger. Death.
"Connors, Venus," McGonagall announces upon the song's end.
A short, skinny, dark-haired boy steps up shakily to the Hat and stares at it. Then he slowly picks it up and jams it on his head. Both the Hat and the boy sit there silently for a minute or two. Then the Sorting Hat roars, "GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor Table bursts into applause and a wild chorus of hoots and shouts. Looking quite pleased with himself, Venus Connors walks steadily over to his new House table, where he is welcomed by his older housemates.
When the noise has died down, McGonagall calls the next name. "Davidson, Madelena!"
A confident looking ginger struts up to the stool and sits down, placing the Hat carefully on her neatly combed hair.
Almost immediately, the Hat shouts, "RAVENCLAW!"
The clapping and cheering starts up again and the girl happily hops off her seat.
Suddenly, instead of Madelena, I see Peter, six years from now, eagerly awaiting his own Sorting. What would he be like at eleven years old? Taller and stronger, obviously. But would he still be infatuated with Muggle fire trucks? Would he still like drawing? What House would best suit Pete?
With a horrible pang, I realize that Peter may not even have the chance to attend Hogwarts. Who knew what Voldemort could achieve in just six short years? In just over half a decade, he might be running the Ministry. There was a chance that the entire Order would be dead or in hiding, I among them. How long until Voldemort ruled the Wizarding World? If I died, who would be there for my son? Keep fighting, I tell myself. The war is far from over. No one has won yet. Still. There always is a possibility.
"Not hungry?"
Startled, I jump in my seat and whip my head around in search of the source of the question.
Professor McGonagall gives me a rare smile and gestures to the steaming food sitting on the table.
"Oh, um, actually, I'm starving, Professor." I say, pushing my lips into a halfhearted grin.
"Minerva. We're colleagues now." She looks at me for a moment. "Is something bothering you?"
"If you're Minerva, then I'm Roth." I insist. "And nothing's wrong. Just…you know, nervous about teaching and all that. I mean, I have to live up to your standards!" I know I'm lying, but I just can't tell the truth.
"It's fine, Roth. I'm sure you'll be an excellent teacher."
"I don't know. Classes haven't even started yet, Prof—uh, Minerva."
"You've always been excited to learn. It's the eager learners who make good teachers."
"Thanks."
"Just remember to assert that you're in charge. Some of the less…studious students will try to take advantage of you. Seeing that you're a new teacher and all."
"Alright, I'll keep that in mind. Just…were you nervous, too? You know, when you started teaching here?"
She laughs lightly. "Of course. Who wouldn't be? It's a big responsibility, but it's also very rewarding."
I nod. "I'm really excited."
"You should eat. The food is getting cold."
"Right." I pile food onto my plate.
"Good luck." Minerva nods once, already turning towards Dumbledore.
"Thanks."
I pick at my dinner, neither hungry nor full. Would everything be better if I lived somewhere else, sometime other than now? Or would it be the same, war-torn and confusing? But then again, I wouldn't really want to live a life that wasn't my own. I'd miss my friends, Hogwarts, and Peter. You can't miss what you never had, but you can sure as hell know what's been taken away if it's something you treasure. My meal is finished in silent contemplation.
Just as the main course melts from the table and the dessert appears, Severus slides into the seat beside me.
"Took you long enough," I grin.
"Yeah, long walk." He mutters. "Dammit, the potatoes are gone."
"At least there's still dessert." I happily grab a treacle tart.
"You know that I hate dessert."
"True." I shrug.
Severus grudgingly takes a jiggling block of red jelly.
"So, Roth, have you gotten to talk to anyone yet?"
"Yep. Profes—um, Minerva. She was just giving me a few tips."
"You should socialize more. There's some erm, interesting people."
I drop my voice. "They can't be that bad. I'm sure you're exaggerating."
"You'll see." He smirks.
"Sure." I say dryly. "Sure."
I reach for another sweet, but the food disappears. Groaning, I slouch back into my seat.
"Ha." Severus crosses his arms, triumphant.
"Just because you hate sugar doesn't mean everyone—"
"It's just funny."
"Suurreee." I draw out the word as sarcastically as possible. "Incredibly. Ha. Ha. Ha."
"You know what? I've missed arguing with you, Roth."
"You call it arguing?" I laugh. "I call it picking a fight!"
"Whatever it is, I'm happy to be doing it again." He opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted by the sound of Dumbledore's chair scraping the ground as he stands up. The white-haired man spreads his arms wide in a gesture of welcome, revealing a thin, pale hand and a twisted, black one. The students immediately gasp and start whispering among themselves. It takes a few moments for them to quiet down again, the last of the murmuring fading away like a slow summer wind. However, the Headmaster continued as if nothing at all had happened, dismissing the mumbles and the stares, still smiling placidly. But when I looked, I saw that the man had shaken his sleeve over his hand.
Dumbledore easily goes through the typical start-of-term greetings and the expected list of prohibited items, as determined by Filch. I tune in and out of his ramblings, only to snap to attention when he begins announcing the staffing changes.
"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year—Professor Wilder—"
I raise one hand and give a small half-smile.
"Professor Wilder has worked with me closely many times over the years and is more than happy to take the post of Potions Mistress."
The students start chattering again, filling the room with an annoying buzzing that only increases in volume.
"Potions? Potions?" The kids echo, wondering if their ears had deceived them. "No, it can't be…"
This time, Dumbledore doesn't wait. "Meanwhile, Professor Snape will be taking the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts." He shouts.
The pupils get even louder. The Slytherins start whooping and clapping while the rest of the school is clearly confused and want answers.
"I don't think we're very popular," I whisper to Severus, sweeping my eyes over the angry student body. "Do they have something—"
"No, Roth. I think that it's just me who's rather infamous. I don't think they approve of the changes."
"Duh."
"Don't worry. They won't hate you." Severus pats my shoulder, just like old times. And if his hand lingered, I doubt he noticed.
The hall eventually is silent again, and Dumbledore suddenly stops smiling.
"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength."
Most of the students flinch or shift uneasily in their seats, casting their eyes toward the dirty ground beneath them.
"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that you teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."
To the old man's credit, he interrupts them with a renewed twinkle in his electric eyes and a fresh grin. "But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"
In a swirl of sound, everyone gets up and starts moving toward their respective dorms. I start to stand, but Severus holds me back.
"Wait. Remember?" He looks at me, eyes shining with hidden emotion.
I do remember. As students, we'd always been the very last ones out of the Hall, preferring to wait until the corridors were completely empty until slowly ambling back toward the dungeons. The last time, we hadn't gone back at all. Things were…simpler then. Not better, but life had been easier. More carefree. I wonder if I could ever achieve that again.
"Of course." I stare back at him, taking in the harsh new lines of his face and those ageless eyes.
"We'll be okay," he mutters.
"Yeah," I whisper back, blowing the word as if it were a delicate cloud. "I think we will."
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