Book 1: Astoria Greengrass and the Muggle-Born Slytherin
Song rec: "Stormy Weather" by Etta James
Rhiannon only revealed more of the contents of her mysterious suitcase to her roommates upon their extensive pestering. Previously left unpacked, they turned out to be Muggle objects, a few of which Astoria had read about. Flora, Hestia, and Astoria, all having very little experience with Muggles, were fascinated with some of the things Rhiannon decided to bring along. There were ballpoint pens, batteries that served no purpose, and "cold medicine." Rhiannon said it would only work for one measly hour to relieve symptoms of the common cold, and you could only use it a few times a day.
"We just use Pepperup potion to cure a cold," said Hestia. "It doesn't have a good flavour."
"It makes steam come out of your ears for some hours after taking it, too," said Flora.
"Well, the flavour mine says is a lie," said Rhiannon. "Shit tastes awful. But I got it in case I'm not in a steamy mood and don't want everyone to look at me."
Rhiannon also brought a worn, five-subject "spiral" notebook. Some of the pages had spill marks on them, and Rhiannon must have written her name on the tattered cover at least fifteen times with different markers.
"What's in that?" asked Hestia, leaning closer to Rhiannon, who was holding the notebook protectively.
"Music," said Rhiannon.
"You write music?" asked Astoria.
"Yeah, I've always wanted to be in a band," said Rhiannon dreamily, letting free her grasp on the notebook. "You know what? You three can read this… or write your own songs in here. It gets the emotions out."
The other girls made a hobby of reading Rhiannon's songs and musical compositions when there was nothing else to do. Most of the lyrics were resentful and angry, and Flora and Hestia often formed theories about their meanings. Astoria thought their behaviour was in poor taste; they could have taken the time to ask Rhiannon. Then again, Astoria didn't ask either. She knew the pain would come back to Rhiannon's parents, and she didn't want to open a wound.
Rhiannon told them that she played the guitar, and that if she really liked the music she wrote, she would put lyrics with it. When the girls asked to hear some of the songs sometime, Rhiannon said that she couldn't perform since she played the Muggle electric guitar. Anything with electricity would not work in the castle. Plus, she noted that she did not have a bass guitar or drum to go with her guitar, and said the pieces would sound "empty and weird" without them. Rhiannon's words fascinated Astoria, whose concept of music was anything but free and artistic. It had always been a discipline for Astoria. But Rhiannon had no idea about classical Wizarding pieces and could only mention classical Muggle composers by name without a clear idea of who did what. It was all irrelevant to her.
Rhiannon sent and received letters periodically. For as obvious as she made the act, she would not let any of the girls see the letters and would not say who they were for. Not owning an owl, she would make trips to the owlery alone to use one of the school's. Astoria always wanted to go with her on the walk, partly out of curiosity and partly out of her wish to know more about Rhiannon than what was on the surface. Her bouts of brutal honesty about her home life often came without context, and without a common experience, Astoria felt like she couldn't offer the right kind of support.
With all of that being said, the strangest thing that occurred in that first month was that Draco had somehow determined that he was on "hello" terms with Astoria. His greetings at mealtimes and in the hall became a norm, and sometimes on certain occasions, Astoria caught herself in a real, albeit very short, conversation with him with no malice behind their words. Although, Draco seemed to think everything she said was hilarious for no reason at all, and Astoria felt as though she was ultimately being mocked.
October arrived, and on one windy morning, Astoria stood in a crowd of students who were all trying to see the sign posted in the Entrance Hall. Since the start of school, the fuss about the Triwizard Tournament had been increasing steadily. Eventually shoved toward where she could see the sign, Astoria read the announcement that students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be arriving at Hogwarts in a week for the Tournament. Astoria's mother had four siblings, so Astoria guessed that there would be many cousins coming from Beauxbatons and was eagerly waiting to see them again.
Finally, the day came for the other students to arrive at Hogwarts. It was nearing dusk, and the Hogwarts students were ushered outside, forming groups by year. Professor Dumbledore, who was standing behind all of the students, had to call out so they could hear him in the commotion. Something in his voice told the students that they should brace themselves. Sure enough, an enormous carriage that held the Beauxbatons students came flying round the entrance at top speed and landed close to the door. The Beauxbatons' headmistress of threatening stature, Madame Maxime, stepped out of the carriage and ordered her students into the castle. There were only about ten of them, much to Astoria's disappointment. After Madame Maxime had a few words with Professor Dumbledore, her students proceeded inside. Astoria craned her neck to see if she recognised any cousins there at all, but the Beauxbatons students were camouflaged, being that they had only had two styles of uniform robes — one for girls and one for boys. As the students in pale blue, silken robes scuttled into the castle, Astoria couldn't help but feel shabby in her cotton black robes.
"See any relatives?" asked Rhiannon, who, as predicted, had become very interested in "how French" Astoria was after she found out.
"I hope someone is there. I can't see," answered Astoria.
"Do your cousins speak English?" asked Rhiannon.
"Yes, however brokenly. Some of the younger ones don't, but they wouldn't be here for the Tournament."
"You speak French?" asked Draco, who was standing behind them the whole time.
Astoria cringed. It was one thing for her best friend to think she was an exotic creature, but Draco would torment her forever. There was no point in lying, though. He had heard everything.
"Yes, my mother taught it to me," said Astoria. "She's from France."
"So if you say something in French, I'll have to take your word for it that you're not swearing at me," said Draco.
He cracked a smile. Astoria was baffled by his pleasant self-awareness.
"Exactly," she said.
The light chatter of the students ceased when they saw the Durmstrang students' entry. A large ship in poor condition emerged from the lake outside. The promenade of Durmstrang students earned cheers and thrilled shouts from the Hogwarts population. Apparently, Viktor Krum, a professional Quidditch player, attended Durmstrang. Rhiannon and Draco actually started gibbering excitedly to each other, apparently too star-struck to remember their enmity. They were both busy trying to get a glimpse of Viktor's face, who in all likelihood looked like anybody else. Astoria retained her placid manner; sports and celebrities were of no interest to her. Most others were shouting at their friends desperately for a quill, which none of them seemed to be carrying, to get an autograph from Viktor Krum.
The students moved to the Great Hall, and Astoria was disappointed to find that the Beauxbatons chose to sit with the Ravenclaws. The Durmstrangs did sit with the Slytherins; Viktor Krum himself was sitting not far from Astoria. Rhiannon was ecstatic. She leaned over her dinner plate, held out a torn piece of parchment and one of her trusty ballpoint pens to Viktor Krum, and asked him in an atypically polite tone for an autograph. This caused a bit of a scene. The students near Rhiannon who weren't begging her to borrow the pen were deriding her for carrying such a thing.
"That's that Mudblood!" scoffed Diane Carter, one of the worst in their year. "Don't use that pen, Victor! The Muggle ink's poison!"
"Really, she shouldn't even be here — I wouldn't sign her autograph," shouted Parkinson.
Up close, Astoria could see Rhiannon's face getting red and noticed her swallowing harder. Farther from her, no one saw that discomfort. Despite how much she was bullied, Rhiannon had a tough image unless exceedingly provoked. She continued to hold the pen and parchment. Viktor Krum stared at her for a moment, and with a small smile, he took her silly ballpoint pen and signed his autograph. Rhiannon yelled a hearty "thank you" over the uproar of infernal, pubescent Slytherin girls and sat back down in her seat.
"I can't believe he signed that," Draco hissed at her. "They don't even allow your type at his school."
Rhiannon, who was extraordinarily peaceable at the moment, replied, "If you shut your gob right now, Malfoy, I'll give you some parchment and this pen."
Draco minded her and was able to get an autograph of his own in the cheap Muggle ink. Surprisingly enough, Viktor and Draco got into a conversation thanks to her. By the look on Draco's face, he didn't know whether to be thankful or embarrassed.
"Why did you do that?" Astoria asked.
"Prove a point," Rhiannon shrugged. "Watch him think about it."
Astoria would not have conducted the same experiment, but then again, her interactions with others were limited compared to Rhiannon's, whether pleasant or unpleasant. As interesting as it was to see Draco's moral struggles, the Beauxbatons students were much more captivating. Unable to hold in the excitement, Astoria caught Rhiannon's attention again and mouthed, "I'll be over there."
Astoria stood in the space between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw table, looking out-of-place as she searched for a familiar face. The number of eyes on her made it feel like forever, but it was only a few moments before she spotted a Ravenclaw cousin, Sofronia Kippling, and inched closer. From that spot, she could see another one of her cousins, Zéphir Ciel, who was from Beauxbatons. He was fourteen years old and had chestnut-coloured hair and grey-blue eyes. He was already much taller than his fellow classmates and visibly proud to be infatuating the Ravenclaw girls.
"Zéphir! Comment ça va?" Astoria hollered to get his attention. Her cousin nearly jumped out of his seat to greet her. Astoria had not seen Zéphir since the previous Christmas. He made a spot for her to sit and introduced her to his fellow Beauxbatons students.
"This is my cousin, Astoria Greengrass," Zéphir said in French. "She still speaks French fluently for all of the English food she puts in her mouth."
Astoria was met with "enchanté's" and "enchantée's" from the shivering students dressed in lightweight uniforms. The girls' robes looked to be of pure silk and were loosely fitting, whilst the boys' uniforms had silk shirts and grey vests. Most waved or shook Astoria's hand, but a very welcome double-kiss, or faire la bise, was from Zéphir's good friend, Philippe Boisvert, who was seated next to him. He had ash-blond hair that hung well over his ears, striking blue eyes, and a very kind smile. He did not look to be as disoriented as the other guests.
When Madame Maxime entered the Great Hall, the Beauxbatons students rose out of respect. Astoria rose also, being surrounded by mostly Beauxbatons and not wanting to be the odd one out. She heard some fellow Slytherins laughing behind her but didn't give it much thought. She sat again only once Madame Maxime sat down and Dumbledore welcomed the guests. The plates on the table were filled with food right after; Astoria was happy to see some variety in the dishes for once. Philippe courteously passed her a bowl of bouillabaisse; it made her heart flutter when their fingers touched. Astoria saw Sofronia subtly cringing at the sight of the regular French dishes, but Sofronia was much less reluctant to try a variety of the petits fours for dessert. Indeed, the little treats were popular all round, for Professor Sinistra made sure to collect two handfuls of them before leaving the ceremony early with her loot.
After the plates were cleared, Professor Dumbledore introduced the wizards who had organised the Triwizard Tournament and who would be included on the panel of judges, Mr Bartemius Crouch and Mr Ludo Bagman. Astoria glanced up to see two new faces at the staff table. Mr Crouch was sitting next to Madame Maxime and had what was left of his grey hair glued to the top of his head. He looked so grouchy that he might have even been in physical pain. Mr Bagman was sitting next to Durmstrang Headmaster Professor Karkaroff; he was much larger than Mr Crouch and wore a well-proportioned smile to match. He waved kindly to the applauding students when his name was announced. He clearly liked being the centre of fanfare.
Mr Filch, the caretaker, then brought in the curious Goblet of Fire, which would be "choosing" a Champion to play in the Tournament from each school. Professor Dumbledore announced that any student of at least age seventeen who was wishing to compete should enter his or her name into the Goblet by Hallowe'en. A few of the eagerest students put their names in straight away. Then Hogwarts students headed back to their dormitories, the Durmstrangs returned to the ship, and the Beauxbatons headed to their carriage. Astoria watched Zéphir and Philippe leaving, and then saw Rhiannon's face just in front of hers and felt her deep brown eyes trying to stare right through her soul. Somehow that worked, because Rhiannon immediately knew Astoria was staring at Philippe with admiration.
"He's cute, huh?" Rhiannon exclaimed, looking back only to catch a very small glimpse of him.
"Isn't he?" laughed Astoria. "I'm starting to think I like blonds."
"Who's cute?" demanded Parkinson, who had walked up behind Rhiannon.
"What do you care?" asked Rhiannon in an equally demanding manner.
Parkinson had a murderous expression on her face.
"That Beauxbatons boy," Astoria huffed.
Parkinson looked to the Beauxbatons, but Philippe was out of sight.
"Oh," she said. She looked quite satisfied — maybe even happy, if that was possible. Then she said the strangest thing.
"Go for it, Greengrass."
She nudged Astoria's arm.
"Excuse me?" Astoria asked. The two were nowhere near arm-nudging terms.
But Parkinson hurried over to Millicent Bulstrode and walked to the dungeons before Astoria's group.
"What was that about?" Astoria wondered aloud.
"Sounds like she knows the French bloke," said Rhiannon.
"Philippe," said Astoria.
"Yeah. It sounds like Parkinson knows him or something and it's a trap to get you to like him so he can turn you down," Rhiannon theorised.
"No, that's silly. How would Parkinson know a student from another school? Her whole world is the dungeons downstairs," said Flora. "I bet she thinks it's funny that you like someone and she's ready to tell the entire school."
"I'm not sure about that," said Hestia.
The girls looked at her intently.
"I say she wants you to like the Fren–Philippe."
"Sure she does, because she always wishes good things to happen to people," said Flora.
"Really," said Hestia. "I can tell. She wants things to work out with him. Malfoy's paying too much attention to you for her taste."
Astoria grimaced.
"Are you joking? He only pays attention to me when he has some snarky comment. I only go easy on Draco because the less you argue with him, the sooner it ends."
"Yeah, but Hestia has a point," said Rhiannon. "All those times Malfoy talks to you, haven't you seen Parkinson?"
"I don't think of her as something I should try to see," said Astoria blatantly.
Rhiannon laughed, "Yeah, well, you oughta sometime. Her face is hilarious when it's all red and wrinkly."
"If it bothers her so much, I would rather her drag Draco away than merely make faces from afar. Then I wouldn't have to talk to him longer than necessary."
"Well, if she does that, she might annoy her beloved," said Hestia knowledgeably. "And that is the last thing she wants to do."
"Basically, you have Parkinson right where you want her. If I was you, I would talk to the Beauxbatons boy, but talk to Draco every once in a while to keep her in place. It makes her so angry, and she can't do anything!" Rhiannon said.
"You're wicked," Hestia hummed to Rhiannon.
"Yes, why would I go through all that effort?" Astoria confronted.
"You like blonds anyway," Rhiannon said, sticking her tongue out.
On Saturday morning, Astoria rose slowly, looked at the clock, and found that it was nearing ten-thirty. She was not met with the rituals of the morning; Hestia and Flora weren't fussing with make-up in the mirror, and Rhiannon wasn't falling all over the place as she changed her clothes half-asleep. In fact, the others were not even in the dorm, so Astoria had all the time and space she needed to fix her hair. She changed into a white poet blouse with loosely-tied bows round its wrists and a flowing black skirt. She adorned herself with a diamond necklace. And the more time she spent on her appearance, the more she realised her ultimate goal was to talk to Philippe. She left her dorm near eleven-thirty to find him, but the first person she saw was Draco. He was the only one sitting in the common room, propped upon one of the uncomfortable leather couches. He had his face in a book titled Moronic Muggles.
"You missed breakfast," he said, looking up from his book.
"What was for breakfast today?"
"The usual, and some sort of Norwegian fish."
"Oh, did you try the fish?"
"Not since it was looking at me."
Astoria smiled to herself.
"Would you happen to know where Rhiannon is?"
"No, why would I?"
"Bullies usually know where their victims are," Astoria shrugged. "I thought I'd use your powers for good."
Draco scrunched his face at her and shook his head mockingly.
"Well, I came back here since everyone was blabbering about the Tournament like a bunch of idiots. They're all after the money. People will die for money."
Astoria secretly agreed with this viewpoint, but by no means would she let him know it. Nodding a sort of a goodbye, Astoria walked toward the staircase.
"Why are you speed-walking?" Draco called as though it was his business.
"I'm going to find Rhiannon," Astoria huffed.
"Sure you are, all dressed up like that," he said smugly.
"I normally dress like this, you know."
"Right," he said. "You're going to find Rhiannon wearing all of those hair things and jewellery on a Saturday afternoon at school. I bet you're going to meet some of those Frenchies you saw last night."
Astoria ignored him and hurried along. In the Great Hall, students from all three schools watched and waited to see who put their name into the Goblet of Fire. It was nearly time for lunch, and Astoria noticed Curtis Evercreech, the token class dork, already sitting in his spot at the Slytherin table, staring down at his empty plate nearly ready to drool. Rhiannon, whom Astoria saw on the other side of the table, was also glaring her plate, but with much more impatience than hunger.
"Oi!" she called. "Are you sittin' here or with the Ravenclaws?"
"I don't know; it depends," Astoria answered.
But after a few Beauxbatons sat at the Slytherin table, Astoria guessed that there would be a chain reaction and took her normal seat. She did not have to wait long before she saw Zéphir and Philippe.
"Bonjour," Astoria said.
"Bonjour," they said politely.
"Ceci est mon ami, Rhiannon Clarke. Rhiannon, this is my cousin Zéphir Ciel, and this is Philippe Boisvert."
Rhiannon waved at them quickly, obviously to avoid Philippe's preference for cheek-kisses.
"Do you know what's for lunch?" Zéphir asked as he took his seat.
"No, we pretty much have to guess every day," Rhiannon replied. "Where do you live?"
"I live in Cavaillon. Do you know where that is?" Zéphir said.
"Not a clue," said Rhiannon.
"Vaucluse?" Zéphir provided.
"Yeah, no clue," Rhiannon misheard.
"It's in southeast France," said Astoria.
"That's neat," said Rhiannon. "I reside in the bad part of London, to put it simply."
With her eyes lowered, she saw the roast beef sandwiches and green beans appear on their plates and promptly stuffed her mouth full of food.
"Where are you from, Philippe?" Astoria asked.
"Do you know Meuse?"
"Yes."
"I live in Ribeaucourt. It's very remote; I think we are the only Wizarding family."
"I live just outside of Penhurst. I basically live in the middle of nowhere, too. Plus, I used to be home-schooled," Astoria said.
He made a face and then laughed. "Sounds very lonely."
I am very lonely, Astoria silently lamented.
"So, are you two staying here for the whole Tournament?" Rhiannon asked.
"Yes," said Philippe. "I would have put my name in if I was older."
Astoria was very glad that he was not of age. She kept hearing how dangerous the Tournament was, and if the age limit was lower and Philippe was picked, she'd be terribly worried throughout the whole thing.
Draco had finished his lunch and was paying very close attention to what they were saying. This was suddenly more worrying than the Triwizard Tournament and all of its life-or-death advertising.
"There we have it, then," Draco said. "You were dressing up for a roast beef lunch, all right! Hey, Phillip, guess what?"
Philippe looked over. Astoria had a small panic attack.
"Malfoy, I swear…"
He sniggered and whispered something to Greg Goyle. Astoria excused herself from her group and sat right across from Draco.
"If you say one thing to him, Malfoy, I'm warning you…" she threatened, holding tightly to her wand in her skirt pocket and not considering that detention would ensue if she tried to jinx him.
"Why would I say anything? You're having a grand old time with Pierre over there; am I the kind of person to ruin that?"
"Yes," she hissed. "Why don't you go and bother your stupid girlfriend instead? I'm sure she'd enjoy the company. And I'm sure my sister is getting tired of hers."
Astoria noticed Parkinson looking her way, and Daphne's head slipped down onto the table in theatrical exasperation.
"Wait… Pansy? We're friends," Draco said.
"Of course you are. So go disturb your 'friend.'"
"You think I'm lying?"
"You lie quite a bit."
"Huh. She likes me, I'll admit that. It's sort of hard not to," he said, beaming.
Astoria rolled her eyes so hard that it kind of hurt.
"Go sit with Pierre; I promise I won't say anything," Draco said shrewdly.
"I don't trust you at all."
"Then sit with me," he shrugged.
"Oh, please," she grumbled.
She returned to her original seat, and continued to talk with Philippe and the others, glancing over at Draco every now and then to make sure he hadn't shouted something embarrassing. Unfortunately, he found her glances more funny than intimidating.
It was storming ridiculously violently that evening, and the Slytherin common room must have looked the bleakest and felt the coldest that it ever had. Several of the lamps in the room were flickering emotively along with the commotion far above in the sky, and Rhiannon watched them with deep concern.
"You know, lights are only s'posed to flicker that way if they're electric," she said.
Many of the students who had not been thinking much of it were now watching the lights as well. Astoria had some experience with magical lights faltering and tried to comfort Rhiannon.
"It could be that a new spell needs cast. It just happens to be storming at the same time."
"That ain't it."
"Well," Astoria said, "Some very strong storms can shake the walls in old buildings."
"But not the basement, unless it's an earthquake. And we wouldn't get an earthquake."
The students who were watching the lights along with Rhiannon were now making comments about her, ranging from "she's right" to "stupid Mudblood."
Rhiannon ignored them and drew Astoria closer.
"The storm's magic. I can feel it. Storms haven't never done this to the lights before in all the time we had storms. We don't hear the storms like this down here. I imagine the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors are hiding under their beds about now."
Astoria politely acknowledged Rhiannon's unease, but she had too much homework to get too curious about it. She soon found herself at a desk in the corner of the room, trying to work on the Arithmancy assignments that she was unable to finish in class. Flora and Hestia were on the couch, squabbling over Muggle Studies homework but too ashamed to ask Rhiannon, who had left for the dormitory to work on a "secret" project. The storm screamed and cried for hours longer, to the point that Astoria had difficulty concentrating. Why hadn't Professor Sinistra used an Atmospheric Charm to calm the storm, even a little bit? Astoria could only imagine the deafening noise in the Astronomy Tower. Maybe it was too dangerous a storm to try to cast one on it. Or maybe she was already asleep and had earplugs in. As Astoria was trying to remember the number four's properties in classical philosophy, Daphne approached her and pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the tiny desk.
"How have you been?" asked Daphne.
"You wouldn't care to know," said Astoria.
"Come, Astoria. I finally get a chance to talk to you and you act like this?"
"You have had many chances to talk to me. You choose not to so you won't be guilty-by-association with your own sister," Astoria sneered.
Daphne didn't reply to that. Instead, she leaned over the table to look at Astoria's homework.
"Arithmancy, is it? I like that class, but it gets pretty difficult later, I hear. The seventh years have to create architectural blueprints and incorporate things like moving staircases."
"I won't take it in my seventh year, then."
"What do you think you'd choose if you had to take another elective?" her sister asked.
"Definitely not Muggle Studies," Astoria said, looking over at Flora and Hestia fussing over their impossible homework and muttering about "telemarketers."
"You could try Divination instead," Daphne suggested.
"No thanks, I don't need to know how I might die."
"I don't See things like that! And without Divination, the only thing left is Care of Magical Creatures."
"I don't think so, Daphne. Those things in Professor Hagrid's lawn will either chew my arm off or pee on me."
"That's very true," said Daphne.
"So, are you excited about the Tournament?" Daphne spoke again, obviously desperate for conversation.
"I think it's ridiculous," Astoria said. "It's too dangerous, and the Champions will be behind on schoolwork."
"Magic is more than good marks, Astoria," her sister remarked.
Daphne had thought all along that Astoria made up for her average magical ability with her test-taking skills. It bothered Astoria to no end. Testing into her third year had proven to make more work for her, not put her where she belonged. It wasn't anything for Daphne to comment on.
"I don't appreciate you talking about my marks, Daphne. I'm really trying."
"Astoria, I can't even talk to you without you becoming defensive! You're the one who set that standard at home, and now your whole personality's gone away in favour of impressing Maman and Daddy!"
"I have a right to be defensive; I worked a lot harder than you did to get here! And what do I get when I come to school? A best friend whom everyone bullies, Malfoy and his girlfriend, and a sister who suddenly pretends I don't exist!"
"Astoria—"
"I see you all the time, yet you've hardly talked to me in two months! If you're going to only be my sister some of the time, I don't want a sister at all."
Astoria's heart was racing. Daphne sat in complete silence. She then got up and rushed to her dorm. Astoria didn't want to throw a tantrum and tried to convince herself that she hadn't. She scanned the room, making sure that the fight between her and her sister didn't make much of a scene. The only person who gave it much attention was Parkinson. Astoria wiped her eyes quickly.
"Hey, scumsucker, what are you crying for?" Parkinson said, drawing so close that she was looming.
"Don't call me that," Astoria said softly.
"Sounds like you and Daph had a fight, huh? Your sister doesn't want to be with a blood-traitor like you? I feel sorry for her."
"This is between my sister and me."
"You look ugly when you cry, I hope you know that," Parkinson spat.
And that was it. Astoria, after only crying more, grabbed her books and scooted out of her seat. If Parkinson wouldn't go away, Astoria would have to. She ran to her dormitory, purposely bumping into Parkinson on her way. If Rhiannon had a problem with Astoria being in the room, that was too bad.
"Hey! I said you can't — whoa, what's wrong with you?" Rhiannon started.
"I can't stand these people," Astoria sobbed. "This school is weird."
"I know, I know. Here, have a tissue."
Astoria was thankful that she could look ugly in peace. Rhiannon was a very kind friend to let her cry into a tissue for four or five minutes when she was trying to work on something Astoria shouldn't know of. Astoria then flipped over on the bed and stared at the ceiling, letting the remaining tears run down the side of her face and onto the pillow. She took her breaths deeply and tried to think of something else.
"You want to know something funny?" Rhiannon said.
"What?"
"Today's Parkinson's birthday, and no one remembered except Millicent Bulstrode."
"You're joking," said Astoria, rolling on her side to see her.
"No, I'm not. Ask anyone. She was so angry at breakfast she spilt four people's pumpkin juice in a row. Then she had detention with Snape until a little before lunch and has unexcused absences galore. It was the best thing that happened all month."
And it was the best thing Astoria could hear at the moment.
"Will you tell me what you're working on, please?" Astoria asked.
"You'll find out tomorrow. Or you'll find out part of it tomorrow, anyway. That don't mean it'll work, though…" Rhiannon replied. "I think you should go to sleep early. You look exhausted."
"I only look that way from crying," Astoria argued, but after changing into pyjamas for the night, she ended up drifting off to sleep anyway.
"Up! Up!" Rhiannon's voice became less and less hazy. "Get up, Astoria! We have music class in twenty minutes! You never set the alarm!"
That was definitely not enough time for Astoria to orient herself to the new day. She let out a small shriek as she jumped out of bed and hurried to get changed. Flora and Hestia were most likely at breakfast, but Astoria would be missing breakfast yet again. She choked down some of the marshmallows from a bag that Rhiannon had sitting on her bedside table. Astoria chose to ignore the look of agony Rhiannon wore on her face as five of her precious (but nearly unpalatable) marshmallows were eaten. Astoria wrinkled her uniform putting it on so hurriedly and headed straight for the mirror.
"OH NO YOU DON'T!" Rhiannon shouted. "Hair tie — NOW! I don't know if you realise this, but we are seven floors under the music room!"
Astoria did not budge from the mirror, so Rhiannon had to take her by the shoulders and push her out of the dormitory. Since they each skipped every other step, apart from the times they had to mind the vanishing steps, they were able to make it to the music room only three or so minutes late. Rhiannon complained that her back was nearly broken from hauling her guitar case up the stairs along with the extra carrier for the useless electric wires and pedals that went along with her guitar. When Astoria asked why Rhiannon did not simply use a Levitating Charm to move her things, Rhiannon said that she could not have kept focus on it well enough whilst trying to hurry. That, at least, Astoria could relate to.
In Music class, there were about fifteen other students who all stared at the two girls when they entered; most of them were Ravenclaws like Professor Flitwick had been.
"Late, Miss Clarke, Miss Greengrass?" the professor said.
"Sorry, sir. You know, class is kinda far away from our dorm," Rhiannon said.
"You should have more responsibility, girls. Five points from Slytherin."
Astoria heard Rhiannon swear under her breath and was happy that the professor did not.
"Professor Flitwick, erm, I think I've fixed that problem I've been having with my guitar," Rhiannon said uneasily.
"How did you manage that, Miss Clarke?" asked the professor, holding no grudge against Rhiannon's lateness. Elective courses tended to be more laid-back, and Professor Flitwick himself was a very kind teacher.
"I was er, practising those charms for a while and I think I've got it," said Rhiannon. "The Hobgoblins always used it, and I thought I'd give it a go with all my usual equipment."
"See, Rhiannon? It's just like Charms class. Practice does make perfect! So, be my guest," said the professor, indicating where she should set up.
Rhiannon opened one of the cases she was carrying and pulled out a complex Muggle pedalboard.
"That's the Muggle-born Slytherin," said a Ravenclaw boy.
"I thought that was her in our class! She's brought in wires…?" said another.
"Shut it over there. I gotta concentrate," Rhiannon said to the group of chattering students.
They fell silent, closed-minded, watching her. She set her guitar against the wall, opened the music room's closet, and pulled out a heavy-looking Muggle guitar amplifier that had her name written on pieces of whitish tape on the sides.
"Thanks for lettin' me keep these here, Professor."
"No trouble," said the professor, who had been watching her just as curiously as the other students. "Be careful with those, though. Are you sure there are no electrical parts to that anymore?"
"Positive, sir," Rhiannon said. "I worked on these forever. Didn't want them getting ruined."
Rhiannon connected her guitar with her pedals and amplifier. After she adjusted a few knobs on her pedals, she lifted her guitar over her shoulders, took out her wand, and looked over at the other students with a grin. She looked extraordinary standing there with all of her interconnected wires, trying her best to combine two worlds to fit her taste.
"If this doesn't work, I'm jumping out that window," she said.
Astoria noticed that many wires hung loose, since there was nothing in the castle Rhiannon could connect them to. Rhiannon aimed her wand at the amplifier and said "Sonorus." The unplugged amplifier emitted a scratchy noise and a faint blue glow. Aiming her wand at the pedalboard, she said "Administro distortione," and it momentarily glowed blue as well. She then tapped her wand against her guitar and said "Administro pulso." Rhiannon took a deep breath of anticipation, and plucked a few stings on her guitar, stepping on one of the pedals. A fuzzy tune was emitted through the amplifier. Rhiannon's face lit up, and she jumped up and down, playing a catchy guitar instrumental.
"It works! It works! The pedals and everything!" she shouted over her own loud music. "I made it work!"
"That's amazing!" Astoria yelled so Rhiannon could hear her. The students who weren't breathing through their mouths offered a small applause for her efforts. Rhiannon had just played an electric guitar with no electricity! That must have been what she was tirelessly working on the previous day to finish before that Sunday's class. Rhiannon flicked a few switches on the amp and set her guitar back against the wall. She ran over to Astoria, grabbing her hands and still jumping.
"I can't believe it worked!"
"Congratulations!" said Professor Flitwick.
"Thank you! Thank you!" she exclaimed.
She packed up her equipment and pushed the amps back into the closet. She set her guitar back in its case and took her seat amongst the still-gaping students.
"What kind of guitar is that?" asked Astoria.
"A Jaguar," Rhiannon said. "I got it really cheap because I bought it from a guy who bought it from a guy who stole it from a used guitar shop."
"Well, what were all those wires for, and how did they work without electricity?"
Rhiannon breathlessly explained, "I been tearing apart my guitar cables. I was so worried that I'd never be able to use them again. They needed to conduct magic instead of electricity, so I had to rig 'em up. Sonorus basically turned the amp on. Electric — er, this type of guitar can hardly make a sound on its own. It's not hollow like an acoustic, so the vibrations from the strings being plucked don't echo. It needs the amp to sound like it's s'posed to.
"I stole the other charms from the Hobgoblins. Administro distortione conducts magic through the pedals. It makes sure all the pedals make the sound that they would if run by electricity. I was totally lost on this charm for about a year. All the pedals distort the sound originally made by the guitar before going to the amp. My favourite pedal is the fuzzbox — I was gonna lose it if it didn't work.
"The third one, Administro pulso, basically makes my guitar a magical counterpart of the electric guitar. All it does is allow magic to make the sound vibrations the guitar needs. Like I said, I didn't make none of these charms. Stubby Boardman made the last two. See, bands had to use these charms before the magic equivalent of electric guitars was made about ten years ago. I couldn't ever dream of getting a magical guitar at the price I got this one. I'm stuck with the old-fashioned way, but it's tried and true. I like its sound more, to be honest."
Astoria was not sure if she understood the whole process, but she was very impressed that Rhiannon learnt it. Everything Muggles did seemed roundabout without magic, but even when Muggle-borns entered the magical community, they had to innovate to preserve what they had grown up with. It was sad. It was amazing.
"I award twenty points to Slytherin for Miss Clarke's persistence in her endeavours and advancement in Music," declared Professor Flitwick. "For those of you who don't know, she's been working on this for two years."
Rhiannon made a joyful noise.
"So you've earned your House fifteen, since you were late and lost five earlier," he chuckled.
Rhiannon smiled at Astoria. It was obvious she cared more about the acknowledgement of a job well done than the points.
After class, the girls made their long journey back down to the dungeons. They passed a group of Hufflepuffs once in the basement, all talking about their fellow student, Cedric, entering the Triwizard Tournament.
"Oh, that's right. The Champions are announced tomorrow," said Rhiannon.
"It's about time they start it so I don't have to listen to rumours anymore. All I've been hearing this month is gossip about this Tournament," Astoria ranted.
"Calm down, Astoria, it ain't the end of the world."
Astoria knew it wasn't the end of the world, but she felt like there was no one to talk to without having to talk about things she didn't care about. It was almost November, and Astoria could count her friends on one hand. Daphne was very popular. Actually, everybody in her family was popular except for her. But her Slytherin cousins, Erez and Ansel, were too old to hang out with, and it would be silly to force herself into her Ravenclaw cousins' group of friends. At first she had thought it was simply homesickness, but she now felt like she wasn't cut out for the social life of a Greengrass at all.
It didn't help that all eyes were on Astoria when she entered the common room. News of the fight between Daphne and her had evidently circulated. Astoria and Rhiannon walked down the steps into the sitting area, and then hurried to the other side to go up the stairs to their dorm. But after Rhiannon put her guitar and gear away, she started back to the common room.
"Aren't you coming?" Rhiannon asked, holding open the door for Astoria.
"No, I think I'll stay here."
"I don't think Parkinson's in there, if that's what you're worried about. Running away from your problems won't do no good, Astoria."
"My problems follow me," Astoria said.
Rhiannon gave her a blank look.
"Why don't you fix your hair like you like it and come down in a bit, okay?" she suggested and closed the door. It was a little patronising.
Astoria didn't obey and lay down on her bed. Utter boredom, though, was not so great either. So Astoria stumbled over to the closet in which Rhiannon had put her guitar and took out the case. It was faux leather — someone like Astoria would be absolutely sure of that at first glance. She flipped the snaps open and carefully lifted the guitar out of its case. To Astoria, holding the instrument in her arms felt like not being able to hold her baby cousins. It was a foreign piece to her; she had never even held an acoustic guitar before. There were scratch marks and nicks all over the body of the guitar, and Astoria could see spots where stickers had been ripped off and the adhesive remained.
In a kneeling pose, she was beginning to think that the dorms needed thicker and softer carpeting. Holding the guitar on the floor was uncomfortable, but Astoria felt it would be much more gauche standing up. Hugging the guitar clumsily, Astoria mustered the courage to pluck the strings. She did not see where Rhiannon kept her guitar picks — Astoria's fingers would later feel tingly as a result. She knew that no one would hear her play a dumb tune, but sometimes she embarrassed herself all alone.
A quiet noise kept her company when she strummed the guitar. The soft, random tune she played was accompanied with the occasional brief squeaking noise, as though the guitar was asking for an amplifier. Astoria thought it would be in her best interest to put it back instead of ruin it. It would remain in its case until Rhiannon played another half-finished song. Astoria stood up on numb legs and reached for Rhiannon's five-subject notebook. She closed her eyes and opened the book up to a random page, the only way it didn't feel so nosey. The page she opened up to was blank. Chuckling to herself, she tried again and found a song with no title. Rhiannon's words had dotless i's. Astoria read the words shyly.
I guess they found a way to find me
I find they've searched for ways to hate me
Good thing they never break me
They're afraid to watch me bleed
Rhiannon would probably write fuzzy-sounding music for something like this, even though she preferred to write the words after the music. Like many of the other entries in the notebook, Rhiannon made a statement about being a Muggle-born. Rhiannon was surrounded by people who treated her subhuman for no good reason at all, and this was her outlet.
After reading a few other entries of music, Astoria put the notebook back on the small desk in the room. She wondered what her roommates were doing and thought it would be safe to go to the common room, but due to her increasing feeling of apathy, she decided against it. She lay back down on her bed and stared at her ceiling. Most of her celestial maps were drawn in black and white. Astoria thought that they should look more like the night sky than just a basic drawing, and she wondered what charm Professor Sinistra used to make the maps light up. Her thoughts were subsequently interrupted by frantic knocking at the door.
"Astoria! Astoria, are you awake in there?" came either Flora or Hestia's voice. (Astoria could never differentiate the highness of Hestia's voice that Rhiannon claimed to detect).
"Yes, yes," said Astoria, crawling off the bed and reaching for the doorknob. One of the twins walked in. Astoria really wished she could tell them apart.
"Sorry, I forgot my key in the room!"
Which meant it was Hestia, since Flora never forgot anything.
"No trouble," said Astoria.
Hestia plopped on her bed. "What've you been doing?"
"Reading," said Astoria.
"Reading what? Homework?"
"Yikes, no. Rhiannon's notebook."
"Oooh! What did you see?"
"Well, I know she wants us to look at her stuff and add our own things in here, but it feels so personal sometimes… She had a poem, or maybe the beginning of a song… There's no music, which is odd for her."
"Oh, yeah, that short one. I kind of had an idea for some music and more lyrics for this song, but I didn't really want to say anything to Rhiannon," said Hestia.
"You write music, too?"
"Yep. Self-taught on guitar," said Hestia grinning. "Magical ones, of course. I don't know how to work the kind Rhiannon uses. I wish I could."
"I swear I'm the only one who can't play a cool instrument," said Astoria, dispirited.
"Er, the organ's cool," said Hestia.
"You said that like you were talking about Professor Binns."
Hestia averted her eyes guiltily. The two whittled away the time drawing Draco as a ferret in Rhiannon's notebook.