Chapter Three

Freak

Dear Harry,

How are you? Staying out of trouble, I hope. Ha, just kidding – could you imagine? You're a trouble magnet, and I love it. But don't worry, you'll be out of that hell-hole soon enough; trust me.

Again, I'm sorry for ditching you in the middle of that wolf's den. I'll visit as soon as winter break rolls by! Boarding school is a pain. I can't believe I have to bunk with a couple of strangers for the next seven years. At least none of them snore.

I really hope you get this letter. If you don't reply, I'll know you haven't, and I'm sure my parents would be more than happy as to drop by asking why. Tampering with another's mail is illegal, after all. Considering her job, Mum wouldn't be too pleased.

Write soon!

Alex

Sighing, Alex clicked her ballpoint pen shut. She ran a critical eye over her letter, scanning for any errors, before nodding to herself and folding it. It slid into the envelope roughly, and she sealed it shut with a common Sealing Charm. Hogwarts was in desperate need for the introduction of glue.

She sincerely worried for Harry. He was so small, and so vulnerable – even more so now that she was practically a whole world away from him. The only way she could really ensure he was okay was through letters, though that method itself was unreliable. She didn't send the owl directly to 4 Privet Drive, though; no doubt Dumbledore had the magical mail system tightly controlled around the domain. Instead, she sent Harry's letters—along with those to her parents—directly to her own home, wherein her mum would plop the letter into one of the local mailboxes. Dreadfully inconvenient, but it was the best she could do for now.

Another sigh escaped her. Well, there was no use worrying over it too much.

The trek to the owlery was torture. Not only was it located in one of the highest points of the castle, the constant draughts of cool air grew fiercer the closer she got to it. She tried to cast a Warming Charm on her cloak, but her magic seemed to be spazzing out, because it got hot so quickly she almost thought she had set herself on fire. Alex hastily cancelled the spell after that. Better to be slightly cold than roasted alive.

Her problems ended up cancelling each other out, though. By the time she reached the owlery, she was so winded and warm that even the chill from this height barely bothered her. Her small reprieve would wear off soon, however, so she quickly approached the nearest school owl, as indicated by the nameplate tacked onto its cubby.

"Hi, Al," she said soothingly, despite the grimace that threatened to ripple across her features. Which sick bastard named an owl 'Al'? She was willing to bet it was their illustrious headmaster. "I need you to send this letter to 18 Forrest Lane, please. Just pop it on the doormat, okay?"

Alex withdrew a smidgen of bacon from her pockets, unwrapping it before offering it to Al. The speckled owl gobbled it up greedily. It let out an appreciative squawk and offered its leg to her. She attached the letter to it swiftly, and jumped back as Al straightened and flew out of one of the open windows in the tower.

She waited until she could no longer see the owl before turning away. Two surprised faces gaped back at her.

"Wow," one of them whispered.

"You conquered the unconquerable," his twin added.

"You tamed Al the owl!"

Alex closed her eyes for a mere moment as a wave of memories slammed into her. Twins with red hair, mischievous eyes, and a penchant for talking as one? There were few who matched that profile, and fewer who were in Gryffindor.

"Tamed?" she echoed, confused. "It seemed pretty docile to me."

As if rehearsed, the Weasley twins shook their heads simultaneously. "Nuh-uh," said the one on the left.

"It always tries to nip at us whenever we get too close."

"Then again, it might be because we kept trying to Transfigure it, eh, George?"

George shook his head. "Honestly, Fred, I don't understand where you get these wild ideas from."

Alex shifted uncomfortably. Would they even notice if she up and left right now? "Um, yes," she mumbled, tugging on a lock of dark hair. "If you'd excuse me…"

Rather than moving out of the only exit in the goddamn room, Fred stood rooted, an incredulous expression on his face. "A polite Slytherin?"

George mirrored his brother's reaction. "I must be dreaming. Pinch me, Gred." When Fred actually obeyed, George yelped and whacked him on the arm.

Alex found her patience running short. "Maybe we'd be more polite if we didn't receive this reaction all the time," she said scathingly.

Naturally, this ruffled the twins. "You're joking, right?" sneered Fred.

"Maybe we wouldn't be so surprised if your lot weren't so snooty and condescending," added George, scowling.

A chill ran down her spine, her anger mounting. Honestly, she didn't need this right now. All Alex wanted to do was curl up in the library with a few books, finish her homework, and then run down to the kitchens for some food. Why were wizards so damn obstinate and pugnacious?

The owls began to squawk, both in warning and in fright. The twins' eyes were wide as they alternated between staring at her, the distraught birds, and the tiny gale that seemed to invade the owlery. Alex's wand began to grow warm in her grip, and it was only then that she realised she was the cause of the disruption.

The moment she understood, her shoulders went slack. The wind died down, followed by the chirps of the owls. Her frustration receded, leaving her oddly drained. She ignored the gapes of the twins as she rushed down the stairs, blood rushing in her head as she wondered what the hell just happened?

A few minutes later, the panic abated somewhat. She slowed to a snail's pace, wandering aimlessly through the vast castle. She needed answers, desperately, but from whom? Normally, any issues students had were to be taken to their Head of House, but Snape scared the jeebies out of her – and this was coming from someone who had somehow duped Death. So, no, he was out of the question.

Her next option was Dumbledore, but… To be frank, she didn't trust him, not completely. He was powerful and intelligent, yes, but he was also confident to a fault. It was hubris, really, the way he acted as if he could control anyone and everyone around him. Besides, she wouldn't put it past him to abuse his powers and break into her mind for information.

McGonagall, maybe? She was the deputy, and firmly fair and unbiased (for the most part). But she was far too loyal to Dumbledore…

Alex was so lost in her thoughts that she paid no attention to her surroundings. As such, when she was doused with icy water, she yelped loudly in surprise.

Her head snapped up. There were no snickering students anywhere, just a frightened ghost who was staring at her like…like he had seen a ghost.

That explained the freezing sensation. Despite the fact that he was no longer touching her, Alex shivered violently. Walking through a ghost definitely wasn't on her top ten list of things to do.

"You," the ghost whispered. "You've been touched by Death! But how?"

Alex cringed. Crap. Her eyes darted to the side, but this part of the castle was devoid of people for now.

"What are you?" the ghost murmured.

A scowl twisted her brow. Alex glared at the ghost who, judging by the gruesome cut across his throat, was Nearly Headless Nick. Of course. Only Gryffindors could be so obtuse.

"I'm a person," she spat. The venom in her system disappeared as the words left her lips. She sighed tiredly. What a day. And it was only, what, five p.m.? "I'm just…me."

Sir Nicholas, for all his Gryffindorish ignorance, had the self-awareness to look ashamed. "Right," he said, nodding. Unfortunately, the action loosened his head from his neck, and Alex was able to see what exactly a (nearly) headless neck would look like. She thanked Merlin that ghosts were perpetually grayscale.

"Pardon me. I have yet to introduce myself. I am Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, but I prefer to go by Sir Nicholas." He gazed at her imploringly.

Subtlety, thy name is not Sir Nicholas. "Alexandra Fortescue," she replied coolly.

"If you don't mind me snooping, Miss Fortescue, may I ask why you seemed so distraught when you came through here?'

Alex weighed the pros and cons of answering. To her knowledge, ghosts typically remained uninvolved in wizarding affairs, and so they didn't strictly report to Dumbledore or any other professor about every little thing in the castle. But that didn't mean they wouldn't.

On the other hand, he was so willingly asking about her problem. He was centuries old, and so he must have picked up something in all those years.

"You have to swear not to tell anyone," she began, staring Sir Nicholas in the eye. When he agreed, albeit slightly reluctantly, she exhaled sharply, and told him what happened in the owlery.

Sir Nicholas thought for a moment once her story ended. "I don't think you have cause for worry," he admitted. "All young wizards and witches perform accidental magic whenever they're feeling extremely emotional."

"But…" Alex fiddled with her wand. "This thing rarely happens. And I wasn't even that upset."

"Nevertheless, it is quite common. There is no need to fuss, I assure you."

Alex shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "I suppose," she murmured. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure. Now," he continued, his voice growing sly, "do you mind answering a question for me in exchange?"

You little… Alex nodded, her lips pinched tight. "It's only fair," she grudgingly replied. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

Sir Nicholas frowned at the non-sequitur. "I've spent my entire afterlife contemplating what happens after death. I can't say I've come to a conclusion on that front. Unless…?"

She nodded. "Yes. I died, and then I was reborn."

"And you remember it," deduced Sir Nicholas, a look of horror flashing across his features.

"It wasn't so bad," she said softly. She shook her head to dismiss the cobwebs of memories. "Well, now you know. I'll see you around, Sir Nicholas."

Her first flying lesson was fast approaching, and all the first-years were abuzz with either excitement or trepidation. Most were seeking advice from more experienced students, or pouring over flying guides for assistance. Alex, however, was out by the lake, a pebble in one hand and her wand in the other.

She glanced at the book in her lap before gazing determinedly at the pebble. She threw it straight up into the air. As it began its quick descent to the ground, she pointed her wand at the grass and called, "Pillify!"

The familiar sensation of magic soared through her arm toward her wand. She could feel the magic rush to the spot she had in mind, just as the pebble reached the ground. Instead of falling straight into the blades of grass, however, it hovered over it. She did it! The Cushioning Carm works!

Before she could even smile, the spell cancelled itself, its conjurer no longer focusing on it. The pebble was reunited with the ground once more. Alex clicked her tongue and went to look for a larger target. Where's Spitfire when you need him? she wondered to herself.

Casting a charm at her leisure was one thing, but it was another thing entirely when one was in the air with nothing supporting her besides a cleaning utensil. Sure, Madam Hooch was there, but if she hadn't helped Neville Longbottom, then it was quite unlikely that she would help her.

With that in mind, Alex began to climb one of the nearby trees. She shed her bothersome cloak and shimmied up the tree slowly, half-wishing she had worn trousers today. There was a large fork in the middle of the tree, created by two thick boughs, and she settled into it with a grunt.

She glanced around for any surprise bowtruckles. "I hope Hogwarts, A History was right," she muttered. "There better not be any magical creatures outside of the Forbidden Forest."

Alex swallowed nervously as she peered down below her. Though the drop was no more than two metres, it was still mildly unnerving. The height from a broom was much worse, though, so she had to suck it up in order to build her tolerance and confidence. She dropped her Charms book, the incantation for the Cushioning Charm on the tip of her tongue.

When she succeeded three times in a row, she climbed further up the tree, and accio'dthe book. (The Summoning Charm probably wasn't suited for anyone below the level of third years, but Alex was technically much more developed than her peers.) The process was repeated. She got to the point where there were no longer any branches safe enough to place her weight on, which meant it was time for the final test: cushioning herself.

The key to charm-casting was fairly simple. All a capable magician had to do was remain (mostly) calm and collected, and have the resolve to will the spell into existence. Alex was sure that not wanting to hurt herself was enough to fuel her determination and successfully cushion herself.

With that thought in mind, she leapt off of the tree…and landed safely amongst invisible cushions.

She grinned. The lesson was going to go off without a hitch.

Well, she turned out to be mostly right.

The flying lesson took place during first period, probably because it was best to get it out of the way so the thought of it wouldn't distract the students during their other classes. The first year Slytherins were sharing the class with the Ravenclaws. Interestingly enough, the snakes shared most of their classes with the eagles and badgers, and hardly ever with the lions. She could see why it was organised like so—to minimise fighting between Houses—but the core issue wasn't being handled, merely avoided. Maybe she'd talk to someone about creating activities to promote Inter-House Unity or whatever. Heaven knew there were already enough meaningless prejudices in the wizarding world without petty schoolyard rivalries added to the fray.

The sky was bright and clear, strangely enough. Did Madam Hooch predict the weather and schedule the class accordingly, or was a wide-scale spell used to ensure only the perfect conditions for today's lesson? Alex was betting on the former, but one never knew the extent wizards and witches went for the sake of flying and quidditch…

"Everyone beside a broom?" barked Madam Hooch.

Some of the students—mainly Ravenclaws—nodded in affirmation. Alex herself merely watched from the top of the Slytherin line. Like in her other life, she was left-handed. Due to her premature awareness, she had trained herself to be ambidextrous (it was awfully useful) but her dominant hand was still ol' lefty.

Madam Hooch's sharp, yellow eyes scanned them much like a hawk would. "Good. Now, when I blow this whistle, hover your hand over the handle and say a firm, 'Up!' It won't work otherwise. Ready?" Without another warning, she whistled sharply.

The students jolted into action. A chorus of 'up!'s followed, with varying degrees of success. Alex imagined a dog in the stead of the broom, and called a stern, "Up." She almost didn't notice the tingle in her hand that came before the broom shot straight up into her open palm.

Huh, so one had to channel magic into their actions in order for it to work smoothly. But why hadn't Madam Hooch mentioned it? Or did she herself not realise it? The thought troubled Alex.

Most of the shouts had died down, allowing Alex to take notice of the Ravenclaw boy across from her, who was desperately whispering to his broom. His furious yet hushed murmurs were ignored by most, including a preoccupied Madam Hooch and his broom itself. And no wonder – he wasn't nearly firm enough.

Alex cleared her throat. "You have to be stricter," she said lowly, her eyes flitting towards the other students. No one was paying them any mind – not obviously, at any rate. "Act like you're trying to command a pet."

The boy glanced at her, surprised, before nodding. "Up!" he yelled, much more loudly and confidently than before. The battered broom didn't shoot up into his hand, but it rose up to him all the same. Grinning, he closed his hand around the handle.

Alex smiled slightly at his obvious glee, but it was wiped clear off her face when he turned his grin to her. "Thank you," he said brightly.

Wow. When was the last time someone besides her parents had directed such unrestrained joy to her? Not even little Harry, bless his cuteness, was capable of showing such happiness towards her. His life was far from pleasant, after all.

Madam Hooch began speaking again, snapping Alex out of her stupor. She nodded faintly at the chipper boy before swinging her leg over the broom, trying to keep her mind from wandering into the gutter.

"Grip the broom firmly—yes, good job, Miss Wrint—and remember, when you're riding it, it's all in the hips."

Madam Hooch's commentary only made things worse. She prowled around the students, adjusting a grip or position here and there. Once satisfied, she said, "Again, I will blow my whistle. This time, kick off the ground and hover for a few moments, but don't go any higher than my head. Ready?"

The class moved at her whistle, with a few apprehensive students following a beat after. Fortunately, no one pulled a Neville, even if some floated too high for Madam Hooch's liking. Judging by the cocky smirks said students were wearing, it seemed intentional. Alex rolled her eyes. Braggarts.

Riding a broomstick was odd. It wasn't as uncomfortable as one would assume, since all the school brooms—if not every broom in the Wizarding World—were charmed so that it felt like a stiff sofa. Not too comfy, but not painful either.

Madam Hooch ordered the students to pair up to fly together. Alex waited, only faintly saddened, as everyone sought out their friends. She quickly did the math and knew she wouldn't be left out like in other classes, but it was a small comfort.

"Hullo," chirped the Ravenclaw boy. He was still positioned across her, even if they were several feet from the ground. "Mind pairing up with me?"

Her grip on her broom almost slipped in her surprise. "Oh, um, sure," she said, rather breathlessly – and not because she had almost fallen.

The boy smiled sunnily, his white teeth almost glowing in comparison to his dark skin. "Great! I'm Duncan Inglebee."

She nodded in acknowledgement. "Alex Fortescue."

"Is this your first time flying, Alex?" he asked, leaning forward on his broom slightly and drifting closer to her.

Huh. The first one at Hogwarts who used her first name. "Yep," she replied, eying him curiously. "You?"

He shook his head, though kept watch of the pairs of students as they flew to the end of the pitch before returning to the group. "No, I've flown loads of times at home. I've even played a little bit of quidditch!"

Alex tried to disguise her distaste at the mention of the brutal sport. Honestly, how barbaric was it that a myriad of wizards—children, as well—played a sport that ended in serious injuries and even death so cavalierly? Not to mention the attitude with which it was regarded. The spectators were like bloodthirsty animals, crying and cheering as they watched others try to avoid getting maimed in the name of entertainment.

"I see," she said simply. "What position did you play?"

"Beater!" he exclaimed excitedly. "But we only ever had a full team during the holidays, when the family all got together, so I didn't play as much as I wanted."

Alex had to chuckle at how visibly and dramatically disappointed he was. "Well, you'll only have to wait one more year before you get to play in a real team, huh?"

Duncan stared at her for a moment, an oddly calculative look in his eyes.

A Ravenclaw indeed, she mused to herself.

"You really think I can?" he asked, with a sudden quietness that didn't suit him whatsoever.

Alex shrugged. "I haven't seen you play, or even fly yet, so I can't say for sure," she admitted. She softened her features. "But you have heart, and that's something just as valuable as raw talent."

Duncan blinked away the brief vulnerability. His eyes sparkled as he regarded her in a new light and, were this a cartoon, she was sure there would be stars in his brown eyes.

They were up next. True to his word, Duncan was a skilled flyer. He shot off at first, perhaps wanting to prove his prowess. When he caught sight of her as he began to double back, though, he matched her pace. She was nowhere near Duncan's level, possessing neither the experience and perhaps talent he did, but she wasn't slow enough to be considered dead weight. Her pace was acceptable, thank you very much.

Honestly? Flying was…exhilarating. Frightening, yes, but once she ignored how far she was from the ground, and focused on the unlimited expanse before her, pure excitement followed.

Now certain that no one was entirely incompetent, Madam Hooch had them flying laps around the pitch. She watched them keenly from her perch on her own sleek broomstick, making sure no one bothered anyone else, or overshot themselves and took a nose-drive to the ground.

The more Alex flew, the lighter she felt. She was practically giddy by the end of the lesson. And not once was she forced to use the Cushioning Charm.