It was really something quite amazing how a few words could change someone's entire outlook.
When Clover had first come to Hogwarts, she came with a thousand expectations based on her sister and Blossom's accounts. Some expectations that fell short of reality were absolutely shattered, like the excitement of travelling through the ancient halls when her legs cried out in agony from all the stairs each night. Others were reaffirmed, like how breathtaking watching magic, actual magic, being cast before her eyes, was.
Clover had been full of thousands of expectations and overwhelming the eagerness to explore magic.
For her, the awe of the magical world would never truly go away. This was perhaps exasperated by the distance she had held from magic for so long. Yet, this awe, was superseded by utility when Clover had returned to Hogwarts after the break.
Lily was going to die.
It was this thought that consumed Clover.
Of course, she knew she Lily would die one day, they weren't immortal merely magical, but to think her sister would die so young was unfathomable to Clover. Part of her was already putting her all into her studies at the mere thought that there would be an upcoming war she knew she would be unable to turn her cheek to.
Lily and her husband… James, they will die, and their young son will be orphaned.
The thought alone told her one thing, her all wasn't enough; she needed to do more.
"File in," Slughorn's voice called echoing off the stone crevices of the low-ceilinged workspace they were cramping in for the day.
Due to unexpected incidents during the second-years class the day prior, the first-year students were forced to crowd into the unfamiliar classroom that was typically used for alchemy when the NEWT course is held.
"A bit of a change in scenery does one some good," Slughorn was attempting to quiet the mumbles of irritation filtering out from the group who found the heat of the small underground room increasingly arduous to bear.
Clover found herself towards the front of the room sitting on one of the pale wooden stools from she found underneath her workbench.
She didn't quite mind the different classroom as there was distinct energy in the air that Clover could only describe as the essence of vitality. Like when you wake up in the mornings, good mornings at least, and can feel the rush of being alive from within you. It was energizing to her, but she couldn't say as much for the rest of her classmates.
"Settle down everyone." Slughorn commanded the noisy classroom. " Now welcome back, I hope you all enjoyed your holidays. I know I quite enjoyed mine, there was this fantastic yule party I attended hosted by the high chancellor of the Wizengamot himself who served a wondrous array of exotic dishes-" the chatty man cut himself short at the blank stares he was receiving in response.
"Yes, well anyways," Slughorn cleared his throat, shifting a bit at the front of the class.
"As you all know there was an unfortunate incident of an explosion in the Potions lab yesterday during our second years lesson, that has deemed the usual classroom unusable for the next few weeks until we are able to remove the gruffhoove saliva from the floorboards."
The man raised one finger into the air, gesturing to the students, "Which as you all know from chapter seven, causes severe pustules to develop upon contact." There a several grimaces at the imaginations of the grotesque reaction of the toxic saliva.
"As such our lessons for the foreseeable future will be taking place in here. Due to this opportunity, I thought it would be best to reorganize you all based on your performance during our Cure for Boils practical as we've seemed to encounter issues in performance due to," the Professor paused a bit to search for the right word, "incompatible partners."
Murmurs broke out again through the class as students turned to look at their partners who'd they'd selected themselves at the beginning of the year before casting their glances around the room to assess who their Professor could possibly think to stick them with.
Aside from Clover that isClover lacked her classmates concerns, she'd been with some Hufflepuff boy she'd never caught the name of, and didn't particularly care either way who ended up as her new partner, especially if it was a matching based on skill.
"Please take a seat where I point out as I call your names," Slughorn announced conjuring a pale parchment scroll from seemingly nowhere and squinting a bit at the names he'd written down.
"Gwendolyn Appleby and Amy McLaren take your seats in the back right over there" he gestured to the final desk in the far-right corner. The two girls were seemingly delighted at the prospect of having each other as partners and were equally dreadful in the art of potions potion making despite all the advice Clover tried to pass along.
"Aegis Caprine and Arthur Mattick", he looked up at the Hufflepuff and Slytherin who seemed to be sizing each other up from opposite sides of the room.
"Go on take a seat," he urged, "right over there."
This went on for some time seeming to seat the worst students in the back and increasing in skill the farther front they were placed. Clover wasn't quite sure she saw the logic in keeping the struggling students in the back, but she reasoned she wasn't the teacher. Eventually, he'd made it to the front row where Clover hadn't bothered yet to rise from, her seat seeing as she knew she'd be somewhere along this row.
"Tammy Mamani and Ralph Stonier," Slughorn called and the two Hufflepuffs made their way to the front taking a seat at the bench to Clover's right.
"That just leaves our most accomplished potioneers., Clover, my girl, you seemed to have already found your seat," he offered her a self-aggrandizing smile that Clover wasn't sure how to interpret, "Mr. Black you may take your seat beside Clover here."
Clover swallowed thickly. She wasn't so prejudiced as to make preconceived impressions of a boy she'd never spoken to, but neither was she so naive to assume that a boy raised in a family of pureblood mania, who in some version of himself had gone so far as to join the ranks of a genocidal overlord, should be particularly keen on being her partner.
Needless to say, she held her back straightsat with straightened posture as the silent Regulus Black swept past her and lowered down into his seat. Nnot once did her casting a glance at Clover and instead he keeping his eyes trained forward on their professor.
The lesson for the day was simple, just a lecture on the properties and uses of Murtlap Essence, which they would be using to prepare the base solution of most healing potions next class. Even with class drawing to a close some an hour or so later, Regulus' eyes had not shifted once onto his partner, even as he pivoted around to quickly exit the room.
Perhaps this partnership would be more efficient than she expected thought Clover., Aalthough based on his performance before the holidays, she clearly knew she'd still be the one doing all the work.
Yet, even with being quite welcome to change, Clover was thankful for the consistency of her other classes, picking up on lessons picking up right where they'd left off before the break.
Her first week after Christmas had hence taken off without a hitch. That is if you choose to ignore the fact that she had still come no closer to finding the cause of why she could not perform her any spellcasting properly.
She'd decided to reach out. Fat luck she'd had trying to find all the answers on her own and even with Professor Sprouts direction she found herself getting nowhere.
"Professor Flitwick," Clover had called after her final class that Friday. Due to unfortunate cloudy weather, the students would not be attending their typical Astronomy class later that night, so the remainder of Clover's day into the weekend had been freed.
"Oh, Ms. Evans, hello what can I do for you?" the small man piped from behind his desk at the head of the room.
Though Clover believed she was a few inches taller than the Charms Master on level ground, from his platformed position, he towered over her at this moment.
"As you know Professor, I struggle a great deal with the practical aspects of this class, and even with all the reading I've done at your recommendation, I haven't seen much progress. I guess I was just wondering if you would have any idea as to what I could do as I seem to be at a standstill here Professor," Clover unloaded desperately straining herself to maintain respectful eye contact despite everything in her wanting to downcast her eyes at her failure.
"You've spoken with Professor Sprout?" Flitwick asked pausing his writing for a moment and giving the young student his full attention.
"Yes Professor, near the beginning of the year."
"Did she tell you her theory on your magic?" he asked.
"Yes Professor, she said that its connected to my emotions. She called it being an empath, I've done some reading and I can admit that it fits in some ways I suppose, but no breakthroughs have come of it. I have pretty good control over my emotions, so I don't understand why I'd be experiencing such a block," Clover rambled, and the Professor let out a hum as he tapped the quill against his chin in thought.
"What was your accidental magic like when you were young?"
Clover drew her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down, trying to recall any accidental magic aside from her deliberate attempt with her sister's wand just over a year ago.
"I can't think of any accidental magic that I've done when I was younger Professor."
"None at all?" This seemed to interest Flitwick who raised an eyebrow at her curiously.
"No Professor," Clover said dejected. A hair seemed to have loosened from her braid and was irritatingly brushing along her cheekbone, so she roughly pushed it back behind her ear.
"How peculiar, I'm sorry to say I am not well read in students with magic like yours, I am a generator myself, but might I recommend going to see speaking with Professor Sprout again," He suggested unnecessarily. It was already in Clover's plans to do so sometime later next week.
"-or maybe Professor McGonagall I do know she has a bit more understanding on the theory of magical sources than I," Flitwick continued and Clover took a mental note to fit that in after class on Monday.
"-but Clover when we are able to overcome this little hurdle please feel free to stop in and I will be more than happy to catch you up. There is a lot of potential in you to do great in my class regardless of this little hiccup. Okay?"
Clover offered the kind master dueler a smile, a genuine smile, full of warmth that the Professor returned in kind.
"Thank you, Professor, I will be sure to do so, please have a nice rest of your evening."
She grabbed her bag and began to exit the room, the hard soles of her shoes echoing off the cathedral-like structure of the Charms class.
"You as well Ms Evans!" the Professor called out.
With her schedule free until Monday, Clover was not one to waste time. Back to the library for Clover, it was.
Her head of house had been caught up at her parent's home with a bad bout of food poisoning striking the Sprout family's Christmas feast due to the addition of pokeberries, which were kept on hand to feed the local wildlife, to the cheesecake instead of blueberries. Pokeberries though reasonably safe for animals were quite poisonous to humans, and her Herbology professor wasn't likely to be returning to Hogwarts for a few more days just to be safe.
Thus, Clover was on her own for the weekend, and if she knew one thing, she would not be wasting a moment of the time whilst she had access to this library. When summer falls, she'd be at a standstill for progress. She couldn't hope to find nearly as many books in such a variety that Hogwarts offered, and she hadn't the money to pay for them even if she could.
A flash of red darted in her peripheral- Lily. Her sister had not spoken to her since the incident on Christmas day, just as Clover had expected.
Even with this expectation in mind though, Clover was hurt that her sister was so willing to estrange herself from her over an issue she had merely been on the fringes on. Clover was all for being loyal to one's friends, but Clover thought for as much as they were sisters, they were friend's as well. Did she really mean so little? The thought burned bitterly in her mind.
Then again, they weren't even teenagers as Blossom had pointed out, she had made her choice to remain neutral on this one, and in due time this feud would blow over. Although, if there was one Evans trait that stood out above the rest, it was their ability to hold a grudge.
Clover left her bag at one of the library chairs before she entered the narrow pathway lined by towering shelves of books all sizes and colours.
As she had found out, there was really no rhyme or reason to how the books were ordered. At least not from the standpoint of one who was searching through them.
The books were stocked in the method that was most comfortable for the books as Madam Pince liked to put it. Many of the books contained traces of magic indued by the authors and sometimes unconsciously by those who read it and just like people some magic doesn't didn't mix all too well.
If one was to, per se, place Bubbling Grindeylows and the Depths Below beside The Hieroglyphical Account of Ra, the aggressive water magic of the Grindeylows when mixed with the ancient solar magic held within the hieroglyphics would likely result in a blazing fire setting alight the shelves while a swampy flood flowed down the aisles. In other words, utter chaos.
So, Clover without any particular goal in mind would idly walk the aisles until she found herself drawn to a spine and she would add it to the pile. She had long realized that the magical world is especially sensitive to being told what to do, and the best method tended to be to follow the path of least resistance.
Not always, such as it is poor form to follow a dark overlord even if it is the easiest option, but the magic itself reacts best to being guided as opposed to being commanded. It is an extension of one's being, like Blossom was to her, she supposed.
If only she could find her magic in the first place so she could, at the very least, know it was there.
Her arms were weighed at this point by the stacks of tomes as she reached for what she decided would be the last book she would pull before returning to the chair she had claimed earlier. Even on the tips of her toes, however, she was unable to do more than brush the bottom of its spine with her fingertips.
"Here, let me get that for you," a pleasant voice offered, long manicured fingers pulling the book down. Rather than placing it upon her stack, the hand grasped the top few novels from her pile and drew them to her chest. Raising her eyes to place a face to the voice, and hand, she was met with Philomena, her sisters Ravenclaw friend whom she'd not spoken to since the train all those months ago.
"Y'know I see you all the time in here and if I am frank, I still don't understand why you were placed in Hufflepuff. You lost me five galleons with that," the older girl said tilting back her head as if to say Clover should begin to walk.
"I don't know, I think it's a good fit for me," Clover meekly replied. She didn't quite know how to talk with this girl whose commanding presence made her feel like an ant at her side. Really all of Lily's friends had that about them, that residual power that leaked from their pores.
They were generators, as Clover had come to understand from her studies. Their magic was like electricity that began from this spark within themselves and crackled outward leaving a trail of almost static residue everywhere they go. Philomena's was a soft thrum, not quite as overpowering as Lily's often was, but still very apparent when she stood as close as she did.
"How so?" Philomena questioned, and Clover was beginning to get frustrated with all the questioning she was receiving lately. She wasn't a sharer, she was a listener, but she found herself doing more and more talking as the days went by.
"I don't think I would've stood a chance in Gryffindor; they are too competitive, and I would only find myself questioning my place there, especially if I felt I would have to live up to Lily's impressions," Philomena nodded seeming to agree, she didn't say anything waiting for Clover to continue.
"I wouldn't have made a great Slytherin because I'm not particularly skilled in interpersonal relationships, to survive in Slytherin you need to know how to form bonds. But even more so, you need to know when bonds ought to be severed else you'll find yourself in a state of ruin and, I just find myself incapable of giving up on people even when I should," Clover wasn't all too sure where the words she spoke were coming from, but she felt they were the truth and still Philomena didn't stop her, so she continued.
"I am sorry for your loss. I can get you those five galleons back if you like?" Clover's proposition made Philomena smile and shake her head, but she didn't say anything waiting for Clover to continue
"Ravenclaw wasn't for me because it would have blinded me to where I am weakest by reinforcing where I am strongest. I know things, I know a lot of things, and though Ravenclaw has the sharpest minds, not every question can be answered through thorough thought," Clover knew this to be true, if the answer to her troubles right now could be found in a textbook or through logical reasoning, she wouldn't be struggling in the slightest.
"So why do you think you belong in Hufflepuff?" Philomena asked, curious about how the typically quiet girl would reply. She hadn't heard all too much from her on the train, but this was not what she had been lead to believe of the brash albeit brilliant Lily Evans younger sister.
"Our late matron's intention was for us in her house to find our own reason for being here, her simple message was with effort there is hope," Clover recalled what said woman had proclaimed during her sorting and felt the similar motherly warmth fill her.
"She didn't give us answers to our problems, but only reminded us that there is some way to find them. I don't have the luxury of knowing how to be brave or cunning or creative, at least not naturally, but I can find it for myself in due time. That's why I belong in Hufflepuff," and Clover thought that perchance she was being a bit dramatic.
Philomena and Clover had finally emerged into the dimly lit sitting area of the library.
"That's beautiful," the girl paused, "you know I don't think I've ever met a Puff like you before," Philomena said as they made their way to Clover's chair.
"You must not have spoken to many Hufflepuffs, I'm not particularly special by any right." Replied Clover quickly.
"I wouldn't say tha-" Philomena began but Clover cut her off.
"I would," there was a clench to the younger girls jaw as she chastised herself for being so rude. However, there was no point in stopping now.
"I don't know where our impression came from," Probably the founders' bias, "but really the houses are so arbitrary I don't know why we give it so much sway in how we view each other. As if there can't exist a cowardly Gryffindor or an unstudious Ravenclaw, it's all a bit daft really when you think about it."
"Fair enough little Evans," she said with a laugh, but Clover wasn't sure what she'd said that the girl could've found funny.
"Y'know you can call me Clover," It seemed her mouth had it's own agenda today.
"It'll get a bit confusing if you ever talk with me and my sister and call us both Evans," Clover said, but quickly backtracked "Unless you don't want to, you're more than welcome to call me whatever you like."
"I'll see you around then Clover. It was nice talking to you, don't be a stranger,"
Philomena placed down the books having finally found Clover's seat in the library that was substantially less crowded than when she first arrived. The older Ravenclaw headed off, and Clover began to wonder what her purpose of coming to the library was in the first place.
It was likely nearing dinner, but Clover had already decided she would go about finding the kitchen that night instead of cutting her time short to make it to the great hall.
Regardless, the conversation faded from her mind soon enough as she pried open the book on the top, the one Philomena had gotten down for her, The Soul, Magic, and Sentience.
Where better a place to start for the night?
By eleven Clover was being escorted from the empty library by an irritable Madam Pince who was unhappy with how many books Clover had taken out. Clover though was careful to know that the Hogwarts's limit was exactly seven books at any time and she'd already returned all her outstanding literature that morning.
She'd dropped off her things in her dorm, careful to be as silent on her feet as possible considering the rest of her dormmates were fast asleep. Turns out aside from the first night they were all early to bed and early to rise. The return from the holidays made that quite apparent.
Slipping into her nightdress and a pair of particularly cushioned slippers to quiet her footsteps, Clover edged out of her bedroom and crept through the silent common room. It was strange to see the room entirely empty because at any given point in the day it wasn't unusual to find a smattering of students scattered about. Either sitting around and chatting, or playing gobstones in the centre, or caring for the plants.
Now, with the greatly dimmed artificial sunlight filtering in, like that at dusk, there was a whole new ambience to the humid room. The age of the room permeated through every crevice without the students filling it with their youthful magic; it was a weighty feeling with a pressure that slowly seeped itself into your being before crushing down upon you.
Clover had to hold her breath as she zipped across the room to the entrance, and it was only when she'd found herself on the other side of the doorway that she felt capable of releasing the air inside her lungs.
The kitchen should be somewhere to the right, at least that's what Diana's older brother had told them. She just needed to find the painting of fruit and to tickle the pear, easy enough.
Clover kept one shoulder pressed against the wall as if that would provide her with any refuge if a Professor or Prefect were to catch her out in the halls at this time a night.
Find the picture of the fruit. Tickle the pear.
Clover kept repeating the thoughts like a mantra in her head to calm her spiking anxiety as she realized she really had no idea where this kitchen was, and every moment she is out in the open is another moment she could get caught.
She whipped around thinking she'd heard footsteps but saw nothing, so she took a moment to steady her racing heart and continued forward.
Another sound, she turned her head trying to find its source, but still nothing. She could've sworn she heard voices, but there was no one in sight.
Eventually she just conceded that her anxiety was producing auditory hallucinations and just decided to pay them no mind.
With a hand against her beating heart, Clover came to stop before a floor to ceiling painting of a bowl of fruit hanging on the wall. With nimble fingers she swept up and down against the pear and heard a faint, but distinct giggle erupt before a doorknob appeared.
She peeled open the door, happy that its hinges were well oiled as it didn't make a sound when she slipped inside.
It was as if she'd stepped into a furnace; however, as a wave of heat overwhelmed her. She almost turned around but resolved she had already come all this way.
The inferno of a corridor didn't immediately open to the overflowing magical kitchen as she was expecting, but instead continued on for a long stretch before forking off into two directions, both of which had a small bit of light filtering through.
She approached the fork in the path, but realized the light was slipping from beneath two unlabeled oak doors, she wasn't quite sure what was beyond the other, but she hoped one was to the kitchen. Her inclinations pushed her left, and as she was coming to understand her instincts were typically right.
Now one is never quite prepared to meet a house elf. There is something innately endearing, and yet entirely upsetting about their entire existence which would have been enough to devastate Clover. Yet, their magic was truly something else.
It wasn't like a witch or wizards, which with all the different textures hold the same base of will, or intent within their magic. It may not sound like a feeling, but even with one's words you can feel intent. If someone were to say criticize the Hogwarts security measures that would invoke one feeling, but if one were to say those same words with the intent of challenging Albus Dumbledore, well that would very well manifest itself differently.
The elvish magic wasn't like that of the goblins either. Goblin magic had a distinct leaning towards elemental magic, particularly fire and earth, and would leave the smell of soil and charred wood behind after casting. It also would radiate a slight heat for a short while where it had been cast.
The elvish magic was something else entirely, it didn't tingle, or flow, or bubble. It brushed like a slight breeze, it held a muted fragrance, not one that was universal, but Clover would assume was specific to each elf. Clover didn't doubt that the elvish magic could hasten to a hazardous hurricane with gusts tearing through everything in their path, but that was not what she experienced in this moment.
None of the house elves looked up from what they had been doing, and that was reasonable, they were all fairly busy. Some were cracking eggs, five at a time into large bowls, while others were using their collective magic to stir a large rod through the butter churner. Still there were others clearing and cleaning each surface before someone else would rush to fill that space preparing some ingredient or another.
Suddenly, Clover felt ungrateful for not enjoying the food they worked so hard to prepare in the dining hall. Part of her thought she should just wait until morning and not bother them now.
She was about to turn on her heel when "Merlin, I've never been so hungry in my life!"
The elves ears perked up like that of an animal when they'd hear danger approach. Clover slipped towards a small alcove in hopes of avoiding whatever would make the poor creatures react in such a way.
"I can second that one mate, y'think they've got any pork sausage cooking?" A second voice.
"Probably, breakfast is in a few hours."
"I just want some of that leftover sticky toffee pudding, they still have some of that right?"
"They'll just fight over who will make it for you if they don't Pete," Clover's brows furrowed, as if the elves didn't have enough work on their hands.
Eventually the door swung open to reveal four young boys, who each strolled into the room as if they were the owners, or more accurately the owner's entitled son.
"What can we's do for yous masters?" a more feminine presenting elf with her little flour bag puff sleeved dress held up by a twine bow asked.
"Three pork sausages, a goblet of pumpkin juice," the first boy with dark mahogany curls that just brushed the tips of his ears, Sirius, demanded.
"Two éclairs!", another with almost black hair in a complete state of disarray, James, called out, cutting the first boy off.
Resuming his order, Sirius continued, "All the stiffy toffee pudding you've got left, Pete here's been beggin for more all night," he slapped the scrawny boy to his right, Peter, harshly on the shoulder and Clover could see him bite back a wince.
"Is that all the masters would like?" the elf asked as they avoided eye contact with the boys who couldn't be more than their second year. Which Clover knew to be correct as she could recognize this set of second-year Gryffindors anywhere.
"I'll have a cuppa and a custard tart, thanks" the boy towards the back, Remus, spoke.
"Hows about yous Miss?" and like a scene out of a horror movie the four boys all turned around, fairly impressively in sync, to stare down at Clover.
Biting back a stutter she summoned all the courage within her, "I missed dinner tonight, I was hoping if you had any leftovers, I could have some please, or I could fix something up myself if that's fine by you, no need to make more work for yourself."
She was rambling and she couldn't stop "Your bow looks incredibly cute by the way, did you do it yourself?"
The elf's face flashed through a series of emotions from patient intrigue, to shock, to appalment, to pleasantly abashed.
"No needs to cook miss, Nipsy will make yous a plate with the young masters', just take a seat," they gestured over to the long wooden tables, near replicas of those found in the great hall, with a faint pink flush to their cheeks.
"Thank you, Nipsy," Clover made her way to the Hufflepuff table and steeled her mind for the absolute torture she was about to endure as she waited in the room with the 'Marauders' who were unfortunately aware of her presence.
"Isn't that the Puff who we coated in the ghost sludge at the beginning of the year?"
"Quiet Sirius she can hear you, and its ectoplasm," presumably Remus, based on the voice, tried to silence the shameless boy.
"Whatever, she was dumb enough to walk into it on her own, and she's a Puff isn't like she's going to say anything."
Clover bit down on her tongue so hard she thought she was going to bite through.
"Isn't that Evans' little sister?" a new voice added to the mix, Peter, if Clover was correct from the distinct squeak.
"Snivellous' friend? The know-it-all who always has something to say in class?" Not quite the reaction Clover was expecting from her future brother-in-law.
"Yeah that one," Remus said, absolutely eclipsing Clover's hopes that any of twelve-year-old boys were close to tolerable as they were now. She truly just wanted to bash her head into a wall until she couldn't comprehend their words anymore, but she just looked down at her hands as they spoke.
"Here you goes, three pork sausages and pumpkin juice for Master Black, two eclairs for Master Potter, stiffy toffee pudding for Master Pettigrew" the house elf heaved an entire tray of the sweet dish onto the table, "and a custard tart and cup of tea for Master Lupin."
Thankfully, Nipsy had placed them down on the table far across the room, the Gryffindor table, and made their way to Clover with another dish floating behind her.
"For Miss…" Nipsy trailed off, and Clover took it they were asking for her name.
"You can call me Clover, my name is Clover Blossom Evans,"
"How pretty! For Miss Clover, Shepard's pie with a side of butternut squash and pumpkin juice, is that alright for Miss?"
"This is more than alright Nipsy, thank you very much for all your help," and Nipsy let out a little squeak.
"Anytime Miss, if you ever needs any help just ask for Nipsy!" and Clover smiled at the house-elf finding their reaction to her politeness incredibly charming and at the same time quite unsettling because it only served to remind how awful everyone else seemed to treat them.
"I'll be sure to do so, thank you again," with Clover's reassurance Nipsy nipped off to somewhere out of sight and Clover sunk her fork into the doughy crust of the savory dish.
She was enjoying her first bite when the clattering of a dish being placed down in front of her drew her attention.
"Little Evans, right?" Potter's hazel eyes bore down into her and every fiber of herself was set aflame with her fight or flight instincts at the predatory nature of his gaze. Not the type that an unsavory man might set upon a woman as she walks down the street, but the type that precludes his next prank victim. Mischievous some might argue, but there was something about it that just screamed a predator who'd caught sight of its prey to Clover.
She was hungry though, and she had gotten here first, so she wasn't going to leave, so instead she nodded.
"Your sister is Lily Evans?" Peter added as if James hadn't basically just asked her that same question. Regardless another nod.
"Are you mute?" Sirius asked bluntly.
Clover took in one deep breath and contemplated if it would be better to just pretend, she was, "No I'm just hungry."
"'Course a Puff can't talk and eat at the same time would take too much thinking," Sirius remarked none too quietly. None of the boys said anything in opposition.
"Why'd you miss dinner little Evans?" Potter asked, and Clover was beginning to really regret ever coming down to the kitchens, she should've just slept on an empty stomach.
"I was in the library, didn't want to waste any time," Clover shoveled another bite of squash into her mouth and cursed all the etiquette lessons Petunia had made her endure as she found her pace of eating far too slow, but she didn't want to make Nipsy's food go to waste.
"You sure you're not a Claw? Never heard of a Hufflepuff spending their whole night in the library," James started, but Sirius quickly answered his friend, "She's a Puff, probably took her the whole night to read a chapter."
Her appetite was gone, but she kept bringing forkful after forkful to her mouth.
These were the future men she was getting all torn up about saving? She might as well just tell Lily to never marry the oaf and they wait out the war in safety, to hell with the so-called Marauders!
Clover couldn't stop herself "What is your problem with Hufflepuffs?"
Sirius' eyes were nothing like his brother's. Regulus had dull grey eyes that never cast a shadow of emotion, so much so that Clover reckoned he was either the most well-guarded boy she'd ever met, or he truly could not feel.
Sirius on the other hand, his eyes showed everything, so much so that Clover felt as if a rod of ice was pierced through her spine as he stared down at her. His eyes were cold and filled with nothing but distaste, as if Clover herself was the scum on the underside of Filtch's filthy shackles he hung from his belt to intimidate the younger students.
"Nothing wrong with a Hufflepuff," Potter cut in, "at least nothing like being a Slytherin. No need to get defensive little Evans."
Clover tried her best to keep breathing, she didn't know what it was about the Black family that gave them the capability to absolutely paralyze her.
"I'm finished eating, have a great rest of your night," Clover dismissed them as she rose from her seat plate and cutlery in hand.
"Nipsy where can I put my dishes?" she called out, she didn't receive a response, but another elf came padding over and with a snap the plate whipped from her hands and into a wash basin, "thank you."
She left, paying little mind to what the boys were saying behind her back.
They were quite obviously the subject of discussion between Blossom and herself that night. Blossom tried her best to defend their behavior, but Clover really couldn't care less for excuses. Twelve years old or not, they irritated the living daylights out of her, and she would be taking every opportunity she could to avoid them.
Two days of sleeping in and an early Monday morning rolled around.
McGonagall's class was as disheartening as ever as she watched her fellow classmates with envy, transfigure a compass into a pocket watch.
Meanwhile, she merely sat aside reading into the theory on why the transfiguration of one tool into another is inherently easier than the transfiguration of say a rock into a pocket watch. The text claimed it was due to the similar properties of intent of use within the subject being transfigured. The purpose of abetting the witch or wizard as tools is maintained. This being the basis of the witch or wizard's perception of the object, creates a far more straight forward transfiguration process.
Transfiguration is heavily rooted in the concept of perception. In fact, in reality, Transfiguration is the temporary transformation of how an object is perceived.
By some grounds it is true that the object is being physically changed from its original form, but physicality is rooted in perception. Properties beyond our basic senses to guide tangibility cannot be thus altered by this art. Thus, as Gamp's law had stated, life, or nutritious food cannot actually be created through transfiguration, as perception can only hope to imitate these complex concepts.
It's all a bit confusing really, but the gist is Transfiguration takes the phrase 'fake it 'till you make it' to a new level.
"You're dismissed," Professor McGonagall had announced as class had drawn to a close. Progress was slowing down for the Transfiguration class as only about an eighth of her students were successful in their transformations and the Scottish Professor didn't seem all too pleased with in this development.
"Excuse me, Professor," Clover approached the desk feeling all too similar to when she had approached Flitwick, but far more nervous as Professor McGonagall was definitively far from the excitable little wizard.
"Yes Ms. Evans?" McGonagall was flicking her wand, and Clover watched as all the compasses soared into the top drawer of her desk.
"I've spoken with Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick a bit, and it was recommended that I speak with you about what you might now about my magical block. Or at least what you know about how being an empath could affect my magic," the words tumbled out as she didn't stop for a moment trying to make sure she did not stumble over her thoughts.
"I've been reading up on it and I have to say I really don't understand in the slightest why this would be affecting me so much," fists clenched at her sides. "Most of the books say that being an empath has the exact opposite effect! Just that when they are in a bad environment or bad mood they might expect a block, but I've had none of that so-"
"Did you come here to ask me a question or give me your thesis Ms. Evans" the older witch cut her off sharply taking a seat as she gestured for Clover to do the same.
Clover bit her lip; she figured the question was rhetorical, so she didn't bother to respond.
"It is true that empath magic doesn't typically react in the way yours does, but it is very clear Ms. Evans that you are experiencing a block. I understand that this is all very confusing to you, but might I suggest that you look elsewhere than a book to find answers to why you are unable to properly spell cast in my class."
The advice was good, but Clover never wanted to hang her head in shame more in her life. Then again, that was how McGonagall generally often made her feel.
"Professor Sprout will be returning this Friday," she regaled shifting a few papers on her desk together into an orderly pile.
"We've already discussed some methods of trying to clear this block, and Professor Sprout seems to be of the belief that what you need is meditation," her lips thinned only in the slightest, but she gave no other indication of her opinion on this matter.
"If this still does not work," her voice raised a bit at the end as if to grab Clover's attention which she'd never lost.
"-we will move on to other methods, but might I recommend take a break from all these ceaseless hours in the library Ms. Evans," she gave Clover a stern glance and the small Hufflepuff gave her a squeak of affirmation.
"Very well, I will see you on Monday, I wish you the best of luck Ms. Evans," and Clover was sent on her way with her mind in shambles.
She'd meditated before. It was how she was first able to meet Blossom. Now she can enter a meditative state as easy as she could breathe. There was no possible way that this was going to work.
Friday evening came soon enough, she'd be leaving for Astronomy in a few hours, but her head of house said she'd had dinner prepared for the two of them to get comfortable before they begin on their 'spiritual journey'.
With each passing moment, Clover was becoming surer; this was an awful joke the professors were playing on her.
The roast beef and boiled potatoes she shared with the professor were quite delicious, though.
"Now Clover dear, come with me," the motherly woman called pushing open a door in the back of her office.
She followed through without a wordlessly. It was a dimly lit, but homely sitting room with brown furniture and moss green carpeting. The walls were paneled in a plain beige. Visually, there was nothing really that stood out about the room.
"Take a seat, get yourself comfortable," Sprout encouraged, fluffing the pillow of an armchair before sinking in herself.
The door shut behind Clover as she allowed herself to melt into the formfitting cushions of the plush seat. She had to admit, there was something it was very relaxing about this room
There was something soft about the air, but even as she took in a deep full breath, she couldn't place it.
"That's good Clover, deep breaths dear," Clover followed the instruction. Silently questioning the peculiar scent in the air and the drowsiness it seemed to cause. What was that smell? What was this feeling?
Soon, she began to drift, her view of the room fading, her mind blurring.
"Clover," she heard a quiet voice, it sounded far off in the distance. Clover considered opening in her eyes, but couldn't and decided she didn't really want to.
"Clover," it was closer this time, but not close enough for Clover to care.
"Clover!" the voice shouted, and it was like the person was right beside her ears, which she was, Blossom that is.
"For god's sake Clover, acknowledge someone when their calling for you, you scared the shit out of me," Blossom swore glaring at the child without any real heat behind it.
"Sorry, I was a little out of it," Clover admitted she rubbed her eyes with her hands to try to press away the lingering dizziness she felt.
"I'll bet, I'll admit I was a little bit skeptical, but it looks like they were on to something," Blossom rubbed at her in soothing circles.
"What do you mean?" Clover had to remove her hands to glance at the girl in questioning.
"Look around you ditz," and Clover did. They were in some sort of cobbled room with no exits. There was just a short table with a small pewter box and a line of torches hanging on the walls that burned with purple fire.
"Where are we?" Clover asked.
"Hell if I know," and Clover knew at once something was amiss. Blossom knew everything, well maybe not everything as she had admitted herself, but everything in their mindscape at least.
"I don't know anything about our magic," Blossom claimed, "maybe this is a good thing."
Clover pushed back from where she was seated against the wall and approached the box in the center of the room. It was pulsing the closer she came, and it felt as if there was a tether that began somewhere in her feet and travelled through her veins and up and out her brain.
She felt strong. She felt powerful.
"Do you think this is it?" Clover asked, but she didn't really care for a reply, she knew what this was, her magic.
"What else could it be," Blossom offered anyways, trailing only a step behind.
Clover reached out to touch the top of the box the pulsations growing ever stronger.
Her fingers were mere centimeters away when "Clover!" the voice of Professor Sprout rips her away and back to reality.
"I'm sorry dear, maybe we'll have better luck next time, you've got your Astronomy class in a few minutes," Clover bit back a scream.
Better luck next time.
A/N Hello everyone, so I found myself a beta reader so this will be the last unedited chapter that you will have to endure. I was originally going to have her edit this one, but since we are in the process of doing all of our set up work to make this system possible, I didn't want to have you all waiting during that period.
Sorry for the Puff commentary again, but I feel like Puff bashing was so prevalent in the original series that it is bound to come up a lot. The magic will finally be going somewhere come chapter ten, so I hope I didn't drag this out too much for you all. Thanks for reading and as always please feel free to review!