Chapter Twenty-Five

Blurry Lines

Depending on who you asked, Gryffindors were either brave or foolhardy. They didn't think things through, instead relying on their heart rather than their brain. One the other side of the spectrum, Slytherins were the direct opposites: they were pragmatic and sly, weighing the pros and cons of situations before jumping in and dealing with them.

Alex, though? She was a coward through and through.

Her first day of term was all kinds of awkward. She had basically ruined her friendship with Grant, offended Hermione, and worst of all, her roommates wanted to cosy up to her. Alex wasn't particularly interested in insulting her Housemates by sitting with the Hufflepuffs, so she decided to arrive at the Great Hall whilst fashionably late.

She timed it so that, upon her entrance, the post had already been delivered but the timetables had not. Her calculations were correct; the Great Hall was an explosion of noise when she stepped foot inside.

"This is nuts!" she overheard from the Ravenclaw table en route to the other Slytherins. "The whole justice system's gotta be reformed now!"

She hoped so. The government really shouldn't be enlisting dementors' help in any shape or form.

Alex forced herself to steady her breathing. It was morning, still bright and early, and she was surrounded by people. The dementors had been called off after that night, and if nothing went wrong, she'd never have to face them again.

A first-year glanced up from their copy of the Prophet to shoot Alex a look as she sat beside him. Honestly, he would've done the same in his position; it was weirdfor a fourth-year to associate with someone so much younger than them.

"What's with the face, Fortescue?" called Draco Malfoy from further down the table. He seemed as interested in this morning's breaking news as he did in being a decent human being. "You look like you've seen a corpse."

"More like her reflection," quipped Pansy, snickering.

Alex turned to face them, confusion knitting her brow. She knew she and Malfoy had their beef, but this seemed unprovoked. Alex wracked her brain for anything she could've done to him between this morning and last night.

Nope. She was drawing a blank.

Shrugging it off, Alex poured herself a cup of tea. As she blew on it, she darted a glance at the teachers' table. Dumbledore was there at its centre, occupied with his lone boiled egg than the newspapers crowding the rest of the table.

To his right, Professor McGonagall was avidly pouring over her copy of the Daily Prophet. She occasionally pressed her fingers to her lips, a shocked expression imprinted on her features.

Beside her, Snape was basically burning a hole into his paper with his glare alone. His only reprieve was when he turned to direct his glare at Lupin, who was on Dumbledore's left.

Lupin was too busy consoling a Hagrid to even pick up the paper. Unlike Filch, Hagrid opted to join the rest of the staff in dining at the head table of the Great Hall. Also unlike Filch, he had enough tears to fill a small lake.

"Ugh," scoffed the kid next to her. "That blubbering oaf is a professor? What a dump this place is."

Alex smiled down at him. "The exit is over there," she said helpfully.

Eyes wide, the first year hid his steadily reddening face behind his newspaper.

Cute, mused Alex as she buttered her toast. I hope he doesn't become a Death Eater.

It wasn't until she attended her first class of the day did Alex register the boy's words. He had called Hagrid a professor, and she had presumed it was a misjudgement on his part. But then she traipsed down to the pumpkin patch by Hagrid's home and saw the error of her ways.

She felt her spirits lift. Hagrid was their Care of Magical Creatures professor. Kettleburn must've retired—he had so few fingers left—and had left Hogwarts' resident magizoologist in charge of his legacy.

Alex wanted to celebrate the good news with someone – but she had no friends in this class. Aside from her, the only other Slytherins who were enrolled in CoMC were Katherine, Jacob Blishwick and Zubair Shafiq. The rest of the class was composed of Gryffindors; she barely knew their faces, let alone their names.

Well, she wasn't totally friendless. Professors counted, right?

"Good mornin', class," greeted Hagrid as stepped out of his pumpkin patch. His eyes and nose were notably red, and there was a slight hitch to his watery voice. "We were gonna do somethin' a little more excitin' today, but what with the news this mornin'…" He sniffled.

"Absolute tosh is what it is," grumbled Jacob. "Bloody Ministry can't do anything right."

Zubair smirked. "Your parents work for the Ministry," he reminded him.

"Exactly."

Hagrid gestured for them to approach the table he had set up by his cabin. Atop it was a box that rustled occasionally. Before they could peer into it, he asked, "Does anyone know what a puffskein is?"

"Sounds dirty," muttered the Gryffindor girl behind Alex.

Her friend raised a hand. "It's a fluffy, spherical creature that likes to be cuddled."

"And thrown around," added a Gryffindor boy. He had a slimy smile tacked onto his affected expression.

"They don' dislike either of those things," acknowledged Hagrid, "but they aren't particularly fond of it. Anythin' else?" He peered at Slytherin side of the class.

Alex raised a hand halfway. "Is it true they, uh, eat people's bogeys?"

Katherine made a noise of disgust.

Hagrid's onyx eyes sparkled. "Did the reading, did yeh? And yes, they eat bogeys in addition ter gnomes an' spiders — which is what makes them popular pets. Five points each ter Gryffindor an' Slytherin."

Alex managed a small smile for Hagrid. At this point, did anyone outside of Gryffindor even care about the House Cup? Everyone knew they were going to win it regardless.

Jacob was voicing similar sentiments as Hagrid gestured for them to approach the box of puffskeins.

"Don't be such a defeatist," chided Zubair. "You never know — there might be another villain threatening the school, and then Fortescue will snag us some points in the meanwhile."

"Ah," murmured Jacob, and even though her back was to them, Alex just knew three pairs of eyes had darted towards her. "Slytherin's own hero of Hogwarts."

"We could always plot to destroy the school ourselves?" Katherine suggested lightly.

"Nah," dismissed Zubair. "Too much effort."

Alex rolled her eyes at the exchange as she made her way to the puffskeins. They were huddled together for warmth like living, breathing, dozing cotton balls.

"Line up and I'll give yeh one each," instructed Hagrid. "Then work in groups of four an' take down observational notes."

There was a bit of confusion as the horde of fourth years around the table struggled to sort themselves out into a single file line. More than one person bumped into each other, and someone yelped as their shoe was stepped on.

Alex felt a hand deliberately settle on her waist. "Excuse me," breathed the Gryffindor boy who had answered Hagrid earlier. He used his hand to lightly push her out of his way so he could extract himself from the crowd.

Gross. Alex seethed internally, her own hand hovering over her waist.

The only form of physical contact she enjoyed was a brief hug, and that opportunity was limited to a select few. Accidental grazes were forgettable, but for someone to purposely touch her like that? It left her stomach churning.

And yet what could she to do? Kick up a fuss over what could be passed off as an innocent collision? Besides, she wasn't going to ruin Hagrid's first lesson, especially not when he was already emotionally wrung out.

So Alex swallowed back her disgust and positioned herself at the end of the queue where no one could pull a fast one over her. On the bright side, she now had time to chat with Hagrid.

"Congrats, professor," she said, smiling.

Hagrid smiled bashfully. "Thank yeh, Alex," he chuckled, handing her a puffskein. It was so soft. "Watch out for yer bogeys."

Alex covered her nose, grimacing as her puffskein poked out its tongue. According to the textbook they had been assigned, a puffskein's tongue was so long it could wrap itself with it twice over.

"You said you had something else planned today?" she recalled, stroking the puffskein. "What was it?"

Hagrid cleared his throat. "Later," he assured her. "Yer group is waitin'."

Group? Alex turned. Oh, her Housemates. She supposed, as the only Slytherins in the class, they were automatically groupmates. They had never encountered this predicament before, as Kettleburn preferred individual work over collaboration.

Her Housemates fell silent in a way that signalled they had been talking about her prior to her approach. Alex shrugged it off and sat down, closing off their circle. Her puffskein hopped onto the grass to play with its friends as she withdrew her self-inking quill and notebook.

"Buttering up the new professor? Smart," commented Zubair. He turned to his mate. "Think I can get away with it?"

"Yeah, as long you're mates with Potter," Jacob replied without looking up from the puffskeins.

"Is that my identifier?" she asked wryly.

"What would you rather it be?" inquired Katherine.

"The ice cream man's daughter."

That was enough distract Jacob from his work. "You're a strange one, Fortescue," he told her over Zubair's snickers.

For some reason, it felt like a compliment.

After Care of Magical Creatures was Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws. Alex kept pace with Katherine and the others on the way, and she slowly found herself relaxing around them. Her guard returned full-force, though, when they entered the classroom.

Duncan and Grant were seated in the row of the left column, as usual. The desks could comfortably fit two people, three if everyone sacrificed their elbow room. The past three years, they had contentedly given up their ease of access in favour of ensuring none of them felt left out. Today was a different story.

Alex didn't have time to dwell on that; she was preoccupied with keeping up with her Housemates. How things could change so drastically in the span of a few hours. After spending some time actually getting to know her Housemates, Alex had to admit she was doing them an injustice by labelling them all as Death Eaters and calling it a day — after all, she was only half right.

Jacob was a half-blood, and while that didn't mean anything concrete, his behaviour over the years suggested he wasn't a bigot. Zubair, although a pureblood, also seemed like a grounded, down-to-earth person.

They were seated in front of Bhagat and Parkinson, who commanded the back table on the right of the room while the twins sat all the way at the front. Those four were definitely upholders of pureblood supremacy, though Alex wasn't sure how deeply entrenched they were. Was their bigotry a product of indoctrination due to their parents, or did they genuinely believe muggles and their ilk were scum? Perhaps it was both.

The back table on the left was mostly free, save for the seat staked out by Agatha. She…was more difficult to decipher. Honestly, whenever Alex so much as glanced at her, all she could think about was their messy acquaintance on that first train ride to Hogwarts several years ago. And yet, Agatha didn't display any antagonistic qualities. The fickle girl could barely work on animals for Transfiguration, not to mention how queasy she got whenever they had to use animal parts for Potions. She never seemed to snub non-purebloods, even if her undue pride in her blood status was an inherent indicator of her supremacy. For now, Alex was just going to have to wait and see.

Agatha waved Katherine over, who eyed Alex inquisitively. She answered her most favourable roommate's silent question by following her lead.

Agatha nodded at them in greeting. "How was Magical Creatures?" she asked Katherine, who was seated between them.

"Awfully cute. Puffskeins," she clarified.

Agatha's nose scrunched up in distaste. "The bogey-eaters?"

"The one and the same."

Katherine was funny in a subversive sort of way. The manner in which she spoke actually reminded Alex of how cider tasted, sharp and crisp and refreshing. Katherine was kind, though, if distantly so. Of all the Slytherin fourth-years, she seemed the most snobbish; she held herself upright, never deigning to meet anyone's gaze as she glided past them. But her smiles were sweet, and if you watched carefully, you could see the way her black eyes sparkled like gems whenever she spoke. Alex just hoped she was a good person as well.

Professor McGonagall strode past the open doors and magicked it closed with a wave of her hand. "Apologies for my tardiness," she said crisply, headed straight for her desk. "More than one first year has found themselves adrift this morning. To ensure things go smoothly for everyone, I implore you to assist any disoriented students you may encounter."

Alex rolled her eyes as she dug out her materials. They really needed to make information pamphlets for this place.

As Professor McGonagall began attending to the chalkboard, Duncan swivelled in his seat. His eyes scanned the room before spotting her, then whom she was sitting next to. His lips formed an 'o' of surprise, which he then wrestled into a smile. As she smiled back at him, some of the rigidity in her shoulders dissipated.

"Last year we focused on turning inanimate objects into animals and vice versa."

Alex winced at the reminder. She had created some truly abominable mutations in her third year. Weirdly enough, the Draconifors Spell was the one that came to her most easily.

"This year's curriculum will follow that vein, although more precisely," declared Professor McGonagall, her watchful eyes examining the classroom. "But first: the theory. Open up your textbooks to chapter one."

Most of the lesson was spent on breaking down the early chapters of the textbook. They read a paragraph each, with Professor McGonagall occasionally interjecting with a sprinkle of information. She rounded off the class with a demonstrative spell wherein she transformed her desk into what she claimed was a Chimaera – the Greek one, with the capital 'c' and everything.

She smiled primly at them as the creature reverted to its original form as a statuette. "I expect you all to achieve this level of ability by the end of the year."

Translation: that was in their final exam.

Alex buried her head in her hands. She couldn't wait to drop this subject.

The bell could not have rung any sooner. Most of the class hastened to the Great Hall for lunch, but Professor McGonagall stopped her. "A word, Miss Fortescue?" she said before Alex could take even a step towards the door.

A thousand thoughts swam through her mind in the five seconds it took for her to approach the professor's desk. She wasn't going to be recommended additional tutelage, was she? The thought of having to do more Transfiguration work was pure nightmare material.

Professor McGonagall peered at her over the top of her glasses. "I hear you had an interesting night yesterday."

Wow. Never thought I'd hear that from her. Alex tamped down on her wayward musings as she struggled to keep her face straight. "Yes," she admitted, reluctantly recalling the events that had transpired yesterday. "I suppose I did."

Professor McGonagall's expression turned wry for a split second. "Madam Pomfrey didn't see to you afterwards, did she? Did anyone?"

"I received some chocolate?" She shrugged helplessly at the affronted demeanour the professor adopted. "I went to bed right afterwards."

Professor McGonagall sighed softly. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked, frowning. "I know a thing or two about dementors, and no one your age should have had to face something like that virtually on your own."

An awkward chuckle fell past her lips. "It was nothing. I'm okay – really. Professor Lupin came to our rescue, so…" She shrugged. "It's fine."

"Hm." Professor McGonagall watched her a beat longer, apparently displeased with the results of her inquiry. Still, she had reached a stalemate, and so conceded her defeat. "If you have any doubts, feel free to see Madam Pomfrey or any of the other professors," she told her.

Alex couldn't help the twitch of her lips as she asked, "Like Professor Snape?"

Now Professor McGonagall officially seemed amused. "Maybe as a last resort."

Chuckling, Alex excused herself from the room. She couldn't wait to grab some lunch – the house-elves had revealed to her the menu for the day when she popped in last night, and she was dying to try their fish and chips.

There was a brief pause in her steps when she took notice of the figure waiting for her down the hall. Her face broke into a bright smile as she headed straight for Cedric.

"Hey, stranger," she said teasingly. "I almost forgot what your face looked like."

"It's been a month," he reminded her with a laugh. "Besides, you still have a copy of that photo of us."

She did indeed; it was taped onto her vanity at home. "Real friends visit their family's ice cream parlour fortnightly, if not weekly," she scolded him sternly.

He rolled his eyes amicably. "Not everyone has a massive sweet tooth like you do."

"How pitiful," she sighed mournfully. She dropped the act as realisation struck her. "What are you doing here, by the way?"

"I was trying to locate a lost student." He pointed at the lapel of his robes. Pinned to it was a shiny yellow badge bordered in bronze, symbolising his position as a prefect.

Alex gasped in delight. "Prefect? Congrats, Cedric!"

He beamed. "Thanks. Now, come on – lunch will end at this rate."

She shook her head in wonder. "I can't believe you managed to keep this from me," she confessed. "What's it like? Being prefect?"

"Truthfully? A bit daunting." They went down a set of stairs instead of continuing towards the Great Hall. "In addition to this, quidditch practice, and studying for O.W.L.s, I won't have as much free time this year."

The admission sobered her up as effectively as a detoxification potion. "Oh," she murmured, gripping the strap of her book bag. "At least the perks are worth it, right?"

Cedric nodded. "The bath is amazing. Alex, you need to become prefect next year."

"Yeah, no," she snorted. "You didn't do a great job of selling the position."

"Trust me," he said, tickling the pear. "Being prefect will open up a lot of doors. Who knows? You might even become head girl."

She grimaced. That sounded less appealing than Cedric assumed it did.

The door inched open, and a flash of cognizance had Alex snatching its edge before Cedric could get a proper view of the kitchen's interior. A swift sweep of the place confirmed its lack of ex-cons, though, and Alex tried to appear indifferent as she nudged the door open the rest of the way and waved Cedric in.

"Are you okay?" he asked slowly as he entered the kitchen. "You've been acting weird lately."

"Lately?" she echoed with false amusement. "We just met up."

Cedric wasn't buying it. "You weren't at the Sorting Feast, and you always attend that. If you hadn't finally shown up for breakfast this morning, I would've assumed you hadn't boarded the Express at all."

She put off answering his barrage of questions by putting in her order to the house-elves. The same one from last night made her way over to her; Alex recognised her by the floral tea towel she was wearing like a dress.

"I'm been under the weather this week," she finally explained. Her facial expression carefully rearranged itself so that it offered a visage of distress. "So I've been resting when I can."

Cedric deflated slightly in his seat. "Oh," he said, a note of relief audible in his monosyllabic reply. "You don't need the infirmary, do you?"

His sincere concern was touching, if a little vexing. "I'm fine," she said. "Really."

Ron leaned forward to peer over her shoulder. "What d'you think Dumbledore wants with Harry?"

Irritated, Hermione used the feathery end of her quill to indirectly remove Ron's face from her personal bubble. "I'm not sure," she hissed, having been interrupted twice in the five minutes since they had sat down in the common room.

Dinner had just ended, and instead of joining them in the common room, Harry had gone to Dumbledore's office as per the letter he had received this morning. It arrived at the same time as today's edition of the Daily Prophet had; Hermione suspected Dumbledore's request and this morning's breaking news were somehow linked.

Ron managed to remain quiet for a solid fifteen minutes before pestering her with another inquiry. "Why're you doing Muggle Studies, anyway? If you're gonna drop Divination, you might as well drop that too."

Hermione heaved a sigh. "Ron, how do wizards and witches in general perceive muggle life?" she asked, pausing in her note-taking. Her Muggle Studies textbook wasn't going to annotate itself.

"Uh, poorly?" offered Ron, sitting up slightly. He abandoned the comic book he had been leafing through. "Can't say we're experts in that area."

"Exactly. I wanted to find out how ignorant the magical community is so that I can figure out how to solve the issue."

"And you think Muggle Studies will help?"

"It won't hurt," she reasoned.

"It might," countered Ron. His eyes drifted to her bulging bookbag.

Hermione dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. "Lightening charms."

It was a testament to their friendship that Ron didn't even appear surprised. "We're not meant to learn that until later this year," he reminded her.

"It was tricky," she admitted, moving onto the next chapter. "But I received some helpful tips."

"From who?"

"Alex."

The mood abruptly plummeted. Hermione bit her lower lip; Ron's shoulders became all bunched up. It was a sore topic for both of them, one they had wordlessly agreed to avoid for the time being.

Hermione had thought long and hard about that conversation in the car. She had discussed it with Ginny, who witnessed everything even as she tried hard not to eavesdrop. Hermione had been dismayed to discover that Ginny sided with Alex, claiming she saw the logic in her argument. In Ginny's eyes, it was an act of self-preservation, not spite.

So Hermione had prepared an apology. She had written it out, practised it, and planned to recite it to Alex after dinner. As someone who prided herself in being organised planner, Hermione had resolved to execute her plan to the letter – except for the uncomfortable surprise she had been greeted with at dinner.

Alex had been sitting with her Housemates. Moreover, she was mingling, and seemed visibly entertained by their company.

Ron had his own opinions on the matter, of course.

"I still can't believe she said that," he exclaimed in disgust. "Did you see how friendly she was with the other snakes? Unbelievable!"

"Not really," mumbled Hermione. She rolled her eyes at Ron's hysteria. "It's only natural for her to get along with her Housemates."

The rational part of Hermione was glad Alex was finally befriending her fellow Slytherins—she imagined it wasn't fun, purposely alienating yourself from your roommates for the entirety of your school life—but that didn't stop the insecurity from throwing a wrench in her works.

She still intended on carrying through with her apology – just not today. Perhaps tomorrow? Or the day after. Time was no issue for her, after all.

"Yeah, well," groused Ron, "you can't deny she's getting more and more snakelike. She's the reason Scabbers is gone!"

"Are you still going on about that?" asked one of the Weasley twins. Hermione was certain it was Fred, based on the incredulity he was radiating. "Give it a rest, Ronald."

Eyes narrowed, Ron demonstrated what he thought of his brother's idea with the help of a single finger.

Seven minutes later, they were in the hospital wing so Madam Pomfrey could tend to the pimples that slowly but surely continued to sprout on Ron's face.

"And who, pray tell, did this?" she asked archly as she slathered some foul-smelling lotion onto the affected areas. It looked like pond scum, really.

Hermione cleared her throat emphatically when Ron remained silent.

"I can't say," he grumbled, his gaze glued to the bed he was sitting on.

Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue in disapproval even as she finished up. "Whoever it was, they did quite a number on you. Fortunately, they were kind enough to control the hex so it only harmed your face." The last line was uttered with more than a hit of dryness.

Hermione smiled gratefully. "Thank you," she said, always mindful of her manners.

"Yeah," sighed Ron, settling into the bed. "Thank you."

Nodding, Madam Pomfrey capped the tub of lotion. "Wash it off in another ten minutes or so – keep it on for no longer than fifteen." Once she was certain they were taking her warning seriously, the mediwitch returned to her office.

"I wonder what happens if you leave it on for a while," mused Hermione as she settled in the seat by Ron's head.

"Maybe it'll dye your skin for good," he suggested. "Hey, 'Mione, do you know any good hexes? Out of curiosity."

Hermione's crossed her arms. "I'm not helping you get revenge on your brother."

Ron sighed. "It's a shame I took a vow to never speak to her again. She would know a few hexes."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," chided Hermione. "Alex's name isn't cursed." She wasn't a Dark Lord. Or was it Dark Lady?

"You never know," he claimed. "Your cat might be eaten next. Then Harry's owl – then all the pets."

Hermione was beginning to understand why the green salve shouldn't remain on for long.

Afterwards, when Ron's face recovered, they returned to Gryffindor tower. To their palpable surprise, Harry was there, but he appeared to be on his way out again.

"Hi," he said breathlessly. His cheeks were flushed with exertion, and the way he was panting indicated he had ran here. "Was wondering where you two were. I gotta go back to Dumbledore's, though."

"With your cloak?" Ron asked incredulously. True to his words, the end of Harry's invisibility cloak was dangling out of his bag. The shimmery material was hard to spot in the firelight.

Harry nodded. "I'll explain later," he promised them, taking off.

They watched him run out of the common room, a bit miffed. "Think it's another adventure?" wondered Ron.

"I'm sure it's nothing," said Hermione. She couldn't help but speculate, though. Why did Professor Dumbledore want the invisibility cloak back? It wasn't like he wasn't powerful enough to produce a Disillusionment Charm capable of rendering himself invisible.

So if the headmaster didn't need it, who did?