Chapter 3
It's 5.00 am, too early for anyone to be awake yet. Anyone but me that is. I barely slept all night, too excited about the next day. But it's not just the excitement that kept me awake… It's also fear. Whenever I feel strong emotions before I go to bed the dreams come and so it was last night. As soon as my eyes were closed and I'd drifted off to sleep they started. I think back on the last dream I remember.
In it this dream I'm at Hogwarts and I'm in the common room, but it's different. Instead of big comfortable armchairs there are high-backed chairs and the mantelpiece is elaborately carved. The light is different too, somehow less natural, but I don't dislike it. It's been my home for six years now. I am sitting on the thick velvet carpet, my head leaning against Draco's chest as he absentmindedly plays with my hair, a book in his other hand. I feel content here, surrounded by friends and enemies alike. It's always this way. Draco and I and a handful of others in this room are playing our roles splendidly. We have to, to survive. One false word about The Dark Lords, one tiny mistake and we end up in the camps. The camps reserved for traitors, for those who oppose the "proper view." I turn around and look up at Drace, watch his concentrated face completely engrossed in his book.
"Draco?"
He looks down at me and smiles, those gorgeous blue eyes lighting up.
"Hmm?"
"Can we get out of here?", I ask, a mischievous glint in my eyes that quickly finds its way into his.
"Well Lisha, it is after curfew and I am a prefect, so I do not think that I could condone this sort of behaviour", he says puffing up his chest in his best attempt to sound important.
"Hmm…is that so? And is there no ways that such an honourable prefect, such as yourself, could be persuaded?"
"Well.. perhaps a kiss?"
He makes a kissy face and leans down towards me, making exaggerated smooching noises. I back away laughing, my hands on his chest to keep him from getting to me.
"Get a room you two!", Miranda calls from one of the chairs and we both start laughing.
"We just might", Draco says as he gets up, holding out his hand to help be up."
We are both laughing as we exit the common room.
I can't always remember my dreams clearly and very often the faces are blurry afterwards, mere shadows of what they were, but this time I remember Draco's face clearly and that's what kept me up all night. The blonde boy from the train. The rude, arrogant prat that keeps calling me a ghost. He and the Draco from my dreams are the same person, but not… They can't be. The Draco in my dreams is… kind, gentle, cunning, brilliant. The blonde boy is a rude little brat! But I know, as I always do, that this dream holds some kind of meaning. I sigh and get out of bed. There is no point trying to go back to sleep now, everyone will be getting up soon anyways, and so I get dressed and head down to the common room. It is completely abandoned and I head to one of the big window alcoves to watch the sun rise.
Soon the rest of the Gryffindor's start to stir and it doesn't take long for Hermione to come and find me sitting by the window.
"Lisha! I was really worried when I woke up and you weren't there."
I try not to get annoyed at her tone of voice, because I now she means well. She's just so…bossy! But she seems to have decided that we are friends now and I don't really mind.
"Woke up early, so I came and watched the sunrise."
"Well we should head down for breakfast. We don't want to be late, now do we?"
"Shouldn't we wait for Neville?" I ask, but as soon as the question is out of my mouth he comes out of the boy's dormitory, his eyes still half shut. He walks right past us, obviously still half asleep and I get up to follow him.
"Good morning Neville", I say cheerfully and watch him jump.
"Goo..goo..good morning Alicia." He stutters. "Aa..and Hermione."
"Good morning Neville", Hermione says as she ushers us out the door.
Breakfast is delicious and I, who love food more than anything in the world except for my mother and sometimes sleep, fill up my plate as much as possible. Once I realize that the food just keeps coming I take it a little bit more slowly.
"You… eat a lot."
Hermione states, a disapproving expression on her face. I look up at her, half a piece of bacon hanging out of my mouth and nod. Then I return my full attention to my plate. I hear a chuckle to my left and turn around to see a redheaded boy with a plate just as full as mine.
"What?", I ask, feeling defensive.
"Nothing", he laughs. "Just that I've never seen a girl with such an appetite before. I like it."
He grins at me and I grin back. Then we both return to our plates.
The first class of the day is transfiguration, which is taught by Professor McGonagall, and I am really looking forward to it. I love the idea of being able to transform anything. Mainly because I hate the fact that I'm an albino. My mother always tells me to just love myself the way I am, but that's easy for someone as beautiful as her to say. She doesn't get compared to a ghost at every turn.
So I'm sitting straight in Transfiguration, trying to soak up as much knowledge as possible. The only student more attentive than me, if that's even possible, is Hermione.
"Transfiguration", McGonagall begins, "is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."
Then she changes her desk into a pig and back again and I gape at her. Now I'm her fan for life, and I can tell, by looking around, that I'm not the only one. Soon though it becomes clear that we are still a far way off from turning our own tables into pigs. The first class is spent mainly by us taking complicated notes and then we're each given a match and told to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson only Hermione and I have accomplished anything at all. Her match is all silver and pointy and mine, although still made of wood, has taken on the shape of a needle. Professor McGonagall gives both of us a small smile, which I somehow know to be a rare thing.
The next class, and the one I worried about the most, is Defense Against the Dark Arts, but I quickly realize that I worried for nothing. Professor Quirrell, a talk, scrawny and very odd guy with a turban, seems to be a bit of a joke. I wrinkle my nose at the strong smell of garlic that fill his classroom. I like garlic, I really do, it improves a lot of food, but that doesn't mean that I necessarily want to smell like it myself. I try to give the stuttering man a chance, but when Seamus Finnigan, a fellow Gryffindor, asks him how Quirell fought off the Zombie for which the ugly turban was supposed to be payment, he turns pink and starts talking about the weather.
The rest of the week is equally uneventful and I'm starting to feel disappointed. A lot of the things we looked at this week are things I've already gone over with my mother or my tutors at home and I'm starting to feel like the whole first year may be a waste of my time. On the upside the reoccurring feeling that something is not as it should be is starting to fade and by Friday I've forgotten all about it.
Friday morning, sitting at the table I look at my schedule. We have Double Potions with the Slytherins and I feel my chest tighten. I've been avoiding Draco Malfoy all week, ever since I had that dream, which is easy to do since we're in different houses and Gryffindor and Slytherin don't interact much, but now I'll be in a classroom with him. I am still very confused when it comes to Draco. There is the part of me who thinks he's an annoying brat and wants nothing to do with him. Then there's the part of me that wants to know if there is something to that dream I had. I felt so… happy in that dream. Happy and in love. I know it's weird but… well I feel like this is not something I can ignore. But I don't know how. Draco seems to be intent on making fun of me as much as he can and I don't see how this rude arrogant boy could turn into that kind young man of my dream.
"Lisha! Are you even listening?"
I look up at Hermione.
"Huh?"
She sighs and looks over at Neville who just shrugs and gives me a small smile. Neville it seems does not like conflict.
"I asked", she says pointedly giving me a stern look "if you've already done your homework for Monday and, if not as I assume is the case, you would like to go over it tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow's Saturday."
"So?"
I look at her with confusion. What does she mean by so?
"I don't do work on Saturdays."
"Well with that attitude you're not going to get very far now are you."
I stare at her in disbelief. I don't care that she loves to study, good for her, but why does that mean that I have to be like that too? I'm about to snap at her when Neville interrupts in a moment of brief bravery.
"Www ..we should go to class", and despite the fact that it's a bit too early I nod and pack my bag, trying to swallow my annoyance with Hermione. She means well, I tell myself, but somehow the mantra isn't working this time. She's been getting on my case about homework all week and more than once I almost told her that if I wanted my mother to look over my shoulder I would have brought her along. But I hold my tongue.
Potions lessons take place in one of the dungeons and it's quite cold down here. The pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls give the classroom a rather creepy feel and I wonder what the teacher must be like. I've seen him before, of course, Professor Snape, sitting at the teachers table but I haven't really paid attention to him before now. However, as he enters the room, I am suddenly overtaken by an overwhelming feeling of dislike. No, more than dislike. I hate this man, and I don't know why. I have never hated anyone before, but this man, the man standing in front of the class room taking roll call, makes me want to gauge his eyes out. Then, just as sudden as the sensation came it is gone and I feel nothing at all for the potions professor. The experience is so disturbing that I barely register him calling my name.
"Alicia Morgan."
Why did I feel that way? Where did that come from`?
"Alicia Morgan."
Hermione elbows me and I look up startled.
"Here, sir."
He gives me a cold look out of black eyes and I feel that anger bubbling up inside of me again. I quickly shove it down, trying to replace it with rational feelings such as nervousness at being here. Professor Snape frowns, just the tiniest little bit, as if confused, and continues with his list.
"Ah, yes," he says softly, "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity."
The way he says it leaves little doubt that he is not overly fond of celebrities. Or Harry Potter for that matter. Draco and his troll snigger and I turn around to glare at them, but they ignore me. The professor finishes calling names and looks up at the class. His black eyes are cold and empty and make me think of dark tunnels.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking", he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, but we catch every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as bit a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
His words make me shudder. Not because he called us dunderheads, although I do think that that's kinda rude, but because of the implications those potions have. There is silence in the class room and I glance over at Hermione, on the edge of her seat. She's probably desperate to prove that she's not a dunderhead, I think.
"Potter!" the professor says suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry's expression states very clearly that he has no clue what half of those words mean and I feel bad for him. Not that I know much more. I've gone over some basic potions with my tutor of course, but this sounds fairly advance. Which makes me wonder why the professor would be asking any of us such a difficult question. No one would know. Well… no one besides Hermione, whose hand hit the air as soon as the words had stopped coming out of the professor's mouth.
"I don't know, sir," Harry replies.
The potion professor's lips curl into a sneer and that strange rage starts again, somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar."
This one I know as well, but, seeing how Snape was bent on ignoring Hermione's outstretched hand, refrain from raising my own. Malfoy and the trolls, which would make an excellent band name in my opinion, snigger again and I can tell Harry's starting to feel really uncomfortable. I on the other hand am, once again, battling with the anger inside.
"I don't know, sir."
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snape says, still ignoring Hermione's hand. I nudge her, trying to get her to take it down, but she ignores me in return.
What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"I don't know sir", Harry starts but before he or Snape can say more I suddenly hear myself speaking, driving by the irrational anger clawing at my chest.
"Why don't you ask Hermione, Professor? She seems to know."
Both Harry and Snape look at me, Harry with surprise and relief, Snape with…something else. I feel myself blush in shame. I don't do these things. I don't interrupt teachers and I'm never rude, but there is a part of me that is glad that I said those words.
"Do not interrupt again Miss Morgan, five points from Gryffindor. And you" he snapped at Hermione, "Sit down. For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
There is a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment as we start writing it all down. Over the hnoise, snape says, "And Miss Morgan, come to me after class."
I feel my hands go cold at those words but simply nod. Things don't improve after that. Snape puts us all into pairs and tells us to mix up a simple potions to cure boils. I've done this potion before, but I'm still distracted by the conflicting emotions running through me. I don't have a reason to hate my potions professor, although he does seem to be rather biased when it comes to Harry Potter, but that has nothing to do with me. So why do I? It's the same thing that I've been experiencing ever since I've come to Hogwarts. I feel things for people I don't know and know things about the castle I shouldn't know. Even when every single first year student got lost at least once on their way to class, I don't. I know exactly where to go, but I shouldn't. I have never been here before. Or have I. My mind isn't even remotely concentrating on the potion in front of me and I barely hear Snape criticizing it as he passes by or as he tells us all to look at the perfect way Draco has stewed his horned slugs.
By the end of the class mine and Hermione's potion isn't the worst though, only thanks to her, I'm sure, as Neville seems to have managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, with their potion seeping across the stone floor, burning a hole in my shoe. This snaps me out of my thoughts and I jump on the nearest stool while Neville, who's drenched in the potion moans in pain as angry boils spring up all over his arms and legs.
"Idiot boy!", Snape snarls, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his hand. "Take him to the hospital wing", he snaps at Seamus then he rounds on Harry and accuses him of having had something to do with it, taking a point from Gryffindor.
Harry opens his mouth to argue, but Ron kicks him behind the cauldron and he stops. Again I feel anger boil inside me and I dig my nails into my arm to keep a clear head and myself from saying something else I'd regret. Snape dismisses the class and soon it's just the two of us in the dungeon. He walks over to his desk and sits down.
"Come here Miss Morgan", he says and I'm surprised at how different his voice is. It's still cold, but it sounds a lot less hostile than it did during the lesson. I step up to the desk.
"Professor…I wanted to apologize. I don't usually interrupt…"
"Stop rambling. I have taken points from you and that's the end of that, although I appreciate your apology. I do not tolerate disrespect in my classes Miss Morgan."
I nod, not knowing what else to do.
"Do not simply nod at me. Make full sentences."
"Yes, sir."
"How is your mother?"
The question takes me by surprise. Why would he want to know how my mother was?
"She is well, thank you", I say, wondering where he going with this.
"Give her my regards", he says and dismisses me.
I walk out of that dungeon more confused than ever. I half-expected Hermione to be waiting outside, but the hallways is empty. I ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment and decide to go to the hospital wing to see how Neville is doing.