IX. THE EVIL TWIN
"You know, we have beds in our dormitories for a reason," Davis remarked as she sat down beside me on the green, leather button sofa in front of the fireplace-which I'd snagged and refused to give up, much to the annoyance of several older students who'd tried to intimidate me into moving.
I promptly threw my shoe at them, which is why my other flat is on the floor, and they smartly buggered off.
My numerology book was open on my lap.
"And good morning to you too," I greeted dryly.
Last night, Davis Parkinson Greengrass and Bulstrode and I stayed up talking until well past curfew and, by the time we eventually called it a night, I felt a lot better about the whole Ron thing-and my dorm mates in general, even if Greengrass could be a bit bitchy/indifferent and Parkinson was your classic 'mean girl' who likely was only being nice to me because I'm 'famous Jewel Potter' or whatever.
Well, except for Bulstrode,who outright doesn't seem to like me. I'm not sure if I did something-I usually do something-or if it was just one of those things where someone just doesn't like you.
It didn't really bother me; to be honest, with all the 'Girl Who Lived' BS, having someone so clearly dislike me was weirdly refreshing.
"I'd say good morning back if I was sure you actually slept," Davis said.
I'd already gone back upstairs to shower(at around, like, five or six in the morning, mind you)-and, to my dismay, the shower pressure was transcendent-and change into my Hogwarts uniform(my way, not Hermione's; with my tie 'accidentally' kicked under my bed and 'forgotten', the top two buttons of my untucked white button-down shirt undone, no sweater, and my skirt and robes-the green and silver snake embossed crest on the front, and emerald and black material, claiming me as a Slytherin). My untidy, dark red hair was down and strategically covering my neck, not that hiding my scar matters at this point-and I was, at this moment, only wearing one red ballet flat.
(you know, I might be a redhead, but Harry and I have the whole 'untameable hair' thing in common).
"I could hear the lake lapping against the windows-it was distracting," I half-lied(I did actually hear the lake lapping against the windows, but it didn't bother me; you can hear it in here when it's quiet, too). "And besides, it's weird sleeping in an unfamiliar room in the dungeons of a castle thousands of miles away from the Mor-from home. I caught some Z's out here," I added honestly, "don't worry."
Cliche excuse? Oh, completely-but it works, and it's plausible. Last night, I was too anxious and wiredto sleep-not because I was homesick, but because I couldn't get what stupid Malfoy said about Ron turning Harry against me because Slytherins are the enemy out of my head. So, I grabbed my numerology book and came down here to read for a bit. I ended up drifting off on the sofa for a good six hours or so, so I probably hopefully won't pass out in class, but that's about it.
Davis opened her mouth to reply but, catching sight of what I was reading, it just fell further open.
"New Theory of Numerology?" she read dumbly.
"I bought it at Flourish and Blotts in July," I informed her.
Glancing at the page I was on, Davis's eyebrows shot up.
"You can understand this?" she said in surprise as she grabbed my book, turning it sideways and squinting at the numbers and equations.
I snatched it back, face going pink.
"It took a few reads-and internet and dictionary searches-but, more or less, yeah. Some of it's still confusing but the more I read it the more I understand. That's what I like about it. It's like doing brain teasers-or solving the morning crossword."
Davis blinked at me with that all-too-familiar since when were you smart? look I was beginning to expect every time I do anything remotely intelligent.
"What? Am I not allowed to like this stuff?" I said defensively.
"No, it's just-" she stammered, thrown off guard.
"Yeah, I know, don't worry about it," I huffed dismissively, slightly pouting.
"Are you having a shower this morning?" Davis awkwardly checked after a beat, changing the subject. "Because if you are Pansy Daphne and Millicent are all up so, if you don't move fast, there won't be any hot water left."
"I had a shower ages ago-and, even if I hadn't, I don't think I'd care," I mused with a small yawn. "The cold would probably knock me awake."
"You did sleep last night, didn't you?"
"I already told you-I caught a few hours out here-" I shrugged.
"That doesn't sound very comfortable," she remarked with a slight frown.
"It actually was," I admitted. "The fireplace kept me warm, and I kinda-love it in here. You know," I added, frowning myself, "I feel like I shouldn't-love it in here, I mean-but I really do. It's like living in an elegant, Gothic underwater shipwreck. It's sort of amazing."
"Why shouldn't you love it in here?" Davis looked confused.
Hesitating, I bit my lower lip and messily ran my fingers through my hair.
"Even before the Sorting Ceremony," I confessed impulsively, "I was told several times over that Slytherin is where all the bad wizards and witches end up, and with that tosser Malfoy going on about how the Gryffindors see me as the enemy now because of this stupid rivalry-and Harry's a Gryffindor...I don't want this to come between us. I don't care if our houses are set against each other, Harry's my brother-that comes first. I mean, it does for me. I guess I'm just worried that they'll turn him against me, like I'm evil now or something, and he'll feel like he has to pick sides. Peer pressure sucks, but it's effective. What if, by the end of all this, he picks them?"
"He's your twin brother," Davis pointed out in disbelief, "why would he pick a bunch of strangers over you?"
Maybe because I'm virtually a stranger too?
"You're right-I'm being ridiculous," I said, forcing a smile. "I should probably-put on my shoe and go grab my bag from our dorm."
"Why is your other shoe-?"
"I threw it at a bunch of sixth year morons that tried to intimidate me away from the fireplace," I replied casually as if that was a completely normal statement.
"You threw your shoe at sixth years?"
"I wasn't gonna let them walk all over me just because I'm a first year," I snorted derisively.
Davis looked impressed.
"Jewel, do you, maybe-" she said nervously when I got up and, picking up my other red ballet flat, I pulled it on and looked at her curiously, "want to walk to breakfast together?"
"Sure," I agreed with a more genuine smile. "Just let me grab my crap and we can go."
"I'll just wait here," Davis said sounding relieved.
Honestly, getting some of the shit I was feeling off my chest felt really good-even if I couldn't talk about the worst of it without admitting that I've only known Harry about a month(not including when we were, you know, babies)and our relationship is actually still pretty fragile.
Navigating around the black and green sofas and armchairs, I headed towards the girl's stairs-
Only to stop short when I caught sight of Malfoy leaning against a nearby armchair.
"It is sort of amazing in here, isn't it?" he taunted with a smug smirk.
Realising how much he'd overheard, my face went bright pink.
"You were eavesdropping on us? Seriously?" I flung back, scowling to cover my mortification. "What, get bored of kicking puppies and terrorizing the townspeople?"
"At least I'm not whining pathetically in the common room to my dorm mates," he sneered, "'oh, what if Harry thinks I'm evil now?'" he put on a purposefully insulting and girly imitation of my voice and I fought the urge to snap that I don't sound like that, "'what if the other Gryffindors turn him against me?' News flash," he stated, voice going back to normal, "they probably have."
"You-" struggling to find a strong enough curse word to describe the blonde, I just spat, "oh, piss off, Malfoy," and stormed off.
The knobhead's mocking laughter followed me all the way back to my dormitory.
Stuck-up jerk.
I grabbed my bag and, after catching up with Greengrass Parkinson and Bulstrode, they surprisingly ended up joining me and Davis on our way to breakfast.
Parkinson and Bulstrode were talking about some quiz they took in 'Witch Weekly'-a conversation that Davis and Greengrass jumped in on while I struggled to not look bored and confused.
"You can borrow my copy later if you want, Jewel," Parkinson offered, surprising me. "I can help you with a prescription, too."
"Thanks, Pansy-I'm not really a magazine person," I said, "but I guess it could be interesting to see what sort of stuff goes on in witch magazines, and to find out more about magical pop culture-and I like the quizzes."
"You're not really a magazine person?" Parkinson echoed blankly.
"I found her reading this huge nerdy numerology textbook in the common room this morning," Davis informed her, smirking at me.
Parkinson Greengrass and Bulstrode looked at me like I was another species.
Rolling my eyes, I ran my fingers through my hair and ruffled it.
"Two words; magic textbooks," I stated defensively. "I grew up around Muggles-everything magic fascinates me. And besides, if it holds my interest, I'll read just about anything."
"That doesn't really explain why you were reading about numerology," Davis pointed out.
"I like numbers," I admitted with an embarrassed shrug.
Greengrass nudged me.
"I hope you realize you're doing all our homework from now on," she joked.
At least, I think she was joking.
I snorted loudly.
"Mate, I don't even do my own homework."
When I felt my scar faintly tingle and looked up to find Harry standing by the Great Hall doors waiting for me, I stopped dead.
He straightened up quickly, raising a hand with a weak smile.
"I'll...I'll catch up-save me a seat?" I said waveringly.
"You can sit by me," Parkinson was quick to inform me.
"Sure, sounds great," I mumbled distractedly.
Greengrass and Davis glanced at me questioningly but, when I didn't look away from Harry, shrugged and followed Parkinson and Bulstrode into the Great Hall.
I don't know why but, as I stared at him, I felt my anxiety melt.
It was like, in a flash, I knew he was anxious too-and that he'd noticed how upset I'd gotten last night and, when I didn't stop by to say goodnight, he was kind of hurt and it also made him worry that I was upset with him. He was just so shocked that I was in Slytherin, when he was so close to and so against being Sorted there himself, that he didn't even smile at me or wave or do anything to show me that it was alright. Then Ron was a jerk, and he was worried I thought he felt the same way-
A blue rubber band snapped.
"Morning, Harry," I said softly, smiling genuinely as I approached him.
I have no idea how or why just seeing him made the bulk of my insecurities go away, how I just knew he wasn't 'turned against me' with a single look, but I wasn't going to complain-and, to be honest, I was too relieved to really think too much about it.
"Goodmorning, Jewel," Harry stammered, surprised by how I went from looking wary and unsure to smiling at him like nothing was wrong. "Are you okay?" he added, "I mean-last night-"
My fingers made another trip through my hair, ruffling it carelessly.
"Are you okay? With, you know, this?" I countered, gesturing at my Slytherin robes. "I mean, Voldemort was a Slytherin, and after what Hagrid said in Diagon Alley-and Ron-"
"We're solid, remember?" he said simply, using my words from yesterday. "It's just a stupid school house."
Unable to help myself, I abruptly threw my arms around his neck.
At first, Harry was really still but, after a shocked pause, he hugged me back tightly.
It wasn't until then that it occurred to me that this was our first proper hug in almost ten years.
"You wouldn't care if I was-" he swallowed, "in Slytherin, so I don't either," Harry added earnestly.
Pulling back, I swiped a hand over my eyes, slightly embarrassed by how stupidly emotional I suddenly felt but incredibly relieved either way.
"I have an idea-" I said impulsively, holding up my pinkie finger, "let's make a pact."
"A pact?" Harry questioned.
"To not let this stupid rivalry thing come between us," I explained. "Slytherin, Gryffindor, who gives a crap. Our relationship comes first."
My pinkie fell slightly when he just stared at me.
"Okay, so I know it probably sounds kind of stupid, and childish, but-"
He linked his pinkie with mine, a wide smile on his face.
"Deal," he said sincerely.
We shared a grin, my tongue poking out between my teeth.
"So, do you want to come and sit with me and-?" he began hopefully.
"Maybe not the best idea," I mumbled, my grin faltering and almost completely fading away as I caught sight of Ron frowning at us over Harry's shoulder.
Realising what, or who, I was staring at Harry moved more firmly in front of me, blocking Ron.
"Ron's just feeling weird-because you're a Slytherin and he doesn't know you like I do," he said. "If you hang out some more, he'll get over it."
"I should probably sit at my own table-" I wavered but, seeing his face fall in disappointment, quickly added, "but I'll swing by at lunch-and we can track down the Owlery together this afternoon and send Dakota and Alistair a letter about our first days."
Harry brightened.
"Sure, yeah, definitely."
"You know," I mused, smirking, "this whole Slytherin thing just cements my reputation as the evil twin."
"You aren't evil," he frowned.
"Don't take this away from me," I joked dramatically, poking his shoulder, "it's all I have."
Harry rolled his eyes in amusement.
"I'll see you at lunch, Jewel."
"See you-and if anyone messes with you," I called loudly as he headed for Gryffindor table, "let me know and I'll kick their asses! Nobody upsets my Harrykins!"
Several people laughed and turned to look at us-then did double-takes when they realised we were the famous Potter twins, and Harry spun around.
His face went red.
"Jewel!"
With another one of my tongue-in-teeth grins, I winked at him playfully before strolling over to Slytherin table.
"Harrykins?" Parkinson repeated in disbelief.
"It's what our aunt calls our cousin Dudley-I couldn't resist," I chortled.
Davis Greengrass and Parkinson looked at me questioningly.
"He's her Diddykins," I added mockingly. "Otherwise known as Duddykins, Dudders, Dinky Diddydums, and Popkin."
Yeah, after the whole 'Diddykins' thing, Harry gave me the whole list.
As if 'Dudley' on its own isn't bad enough.
They cracked up and I smirked.
"Does your aunt hate her son?" Greengrass wondered seriously.
"One can only assume," I mused mirthfully.
I was about to sit down, dumping my denim bag on the empty space beside Parkinson(and ignoring Bulstrode's surly look from her other side), when I spotted the hook-nosed professor from last night and paused.
Seeing him handing out the Slytherin students' class schedules, and the other Heads of House doing the same for their students, I realised he was Severus Snape.
I still couldn't get a read on him, even now that we were closer and the air wasn't as charged as it was last night, and that made me feel suddenly wary.
There's closed-off, and then there's-whatever this guy was.
Even Dumbledore was easier to get a read on.
When he caught sight of me observing him, he surprisingly stopped for a moment, something unreadable flashing in his dark eyes, before continuing on. When he reached us, he handed each of us our schedules and passed me without a word.
"What's his story? Snape?" I asked, watching him make his way down the table.
"I heard he's really horrible and strict," Parkinson informed me in a gossipy voice as I slowly sat down, my class schedule in my hands, "but don't worry-he favours us Slytherins."
꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ
"There, look."
"Where?"
"Next to the chick with the black hair."
"The redhead?"
"Did you see her face?"
"Did you see her scar?"
My first week at Hogwarts was...interesting.
People went so far as to line up outside of our classes to get a look at me and Harry.
They doubled back in corridors, gawked and whispered when we passed, and a group of second year Hufflepuffs even came up to me while I was leaving the West Tower/Owlery with Davis one afternoon to ask to see my scar(Davis had to mail something so I tagged along to visit Hedwig, seeing as Illyius is off delivering mine and Harry's letters to Dakota and Alistair-to my dormmates' reliefs; that first morning, when all of the owls flooded the Great Hall with the day's mail, Illyius thought it would be fun to pay me a visit-and, while he was at it, teach my dormmates a lesson about keeping their fingers to themselves, something Parkinson learnt the hard way when she tried to pat him). After that, I decided to wear my hair up in a messy bun for the rest of the week-that way, everyone could gawk at my stupid scar all they like from a distance until it's old newsand I wouldn't have a bunch of random strangers coming up asking to see it.
It was a surreal experience.
It's like one moment I was this foster kid from nowhere with nothing and-and now I have a twin brother, and asshole relatives, and a vault filled with money, and everyone wants to shake my hand and know me...I don't know how to feel about it-and a part of me wishes I could just go back to being that foster kid. No one expected anything of her. No one cared what she did, or said-and she didn't need people to like her. She never had to try as hard as I have been with Harry. She never let anyone in. It was so easy. Caring, opening up...that's a lot harder, and I'm struggling, I guess?
If I could read myself, I know for a fact I'd be even more closed off than Malfoy(who, I've noticed, has a natural talent for compartmentalization which might explain it)-and, the funny thing is, nobody would even know it because I'm so good at acting like I'm not.
As a Slytherin, I also found that I have an edgier reputation than Harry, which I'm all for.
Without the anxiety the Sorting Ceremony, Malfoy, basically everything Hagrid's said about my house, Ron, and finding out about Slytherin and Gryffindors' centuries-old rivalry gave me(and thinking that Ron and the rest of the Gryffindors were going to turn Harry against me), I was actually pretty happy with the Sorting Hat's decision-even with the Voldemort stuff. I figure the whole Slytherin thing, and my fiery and sarcastic nature, helps balance out my weird, messy, dramatic personality.
And, on the upside, Ron seems to be slowly coming around.
Slytherin or not, I'm bloody lovable as hell, dammit!
Fred and George even came over while I was at Gryffindor table(having a super uncomfortable lunch, which made Harry happy; I, on the other hand, felt like, well, a snake in a lion's den-and the only reason they left me alone is because I'm 'the Jewel Potter', which was greaaat)to tell me that, even though I'm a 'snake', we're still cool. They even joked that I 'broke our nonverbal contract' by being placed in Slytherin and scolded me for it. It was hilarious and, with how bad I've been feeling lately, I adored them for it. When I said hi to Neville during one of my Gryffindor table escapades he was kinda jumpy, which sucked, but at least he seemed okay after, and I haven't really talked to Hermione since the Sorting(that's more because she's off doing 'Hermione stuff?', though-and because we only share one class together and we haven't even had it yet)-but, other than that, and Ron being a git, things actually got better as the week went on.
I even think I might've accidentally befriended my dormmates-mainly, Greengrass and Davis. Parkinson has a strong personality that makes it hard to get along with her-but, with my fame, she plays extra nice around me because that way she gets to brag that she hangs out with 'The Girl Who Lived'. Besides, even a week in, she knows better than to try to boss me around like she does the others-and she's usually with Bulstrode, anyway, who still does not like me, but whatever.
She's kind of scary, anyway-and super aggressive and mean-spirited.
Plus, her cat is an unholy terror.
I didn't even bother to learn her name, I just call her 'Chernabog'.
We pretty much just pretend the other doesn't exist and stay out of one another's ways(which is a bit hard with Parkinson and all).
I've mostly been sticking with my own little group of people, or wandering around on my own doing basically whatever I feel like, but I partnered with Theodore Nott, a weedy-looking boy in my house, in Herbology and, while he's a loner and didn't seem interested in being BFF's, we got on pretty well(probably because I identify with the whole 'lone wolf' thing...a lot)-and a tall, dark-skinned first year Slytherin boy with high cheekbones and slanting eyes named Blaise Zabini told me, after introducing himself and looking me up and down appraisingly, that I was "pretty enough to be seen with him".
Zabini is...vain, definitely, aloof, highly arrogant(to the point of being more or less indifferent or dismissive of basically everyone he meets), and he looked at the people around him with varying levels of disdain(but, unlike Malfoy and his lot, he didn't go out of his way to express those opinions and was rarely confrontational)-so him saying I was pretty, and worth his time, was his way of being flattering, I think.
You know, being the Slytherin Potter might've actually boosted the attention I was getting-even if a lot of it was people wondering if I really am 'the evil twin'.
Malfoy's been completely insufferable about it.
He keeps making snide comments about everyone falling all over themselves to get a look at me and, in between classes, he mockingly asks me to sign stuff.
Suffice to say, Malfoy's still...Malfoy.
It's far from rare to find us at each other's throats, especially in the common room-which I can see becoming the new normal for everybody involved.
On top of the famous Jewel Potter BS I had to deal with, I was struggling to not get lost in the Labyrinth I now found myself living in-which I'd mind navigating a lot less if David Bowie showed up singing 'Underground' in his Jareth costume, just sayin'. There are a hundred and forty-two staircases(none, I was disappointed to see, were on the ceiling); several of which lead to completely different places on Fridays and, as if you aren't already struggling to remember where they go in the first place, some have vanishing steps you have to consciously remember to jump over.
There are even doors that refuse to open unless you ask them nicely, or tickle them just right, and walls that get their kicks pretending to be doors.
-How is that a thing?!
And, just when you think you have all of that down, there are the landmarks like paintings-which move around(and, Harry swears, so do the suits of armour). The people and animals in them like to go about the castle visiting other paintings, to hell with the students that rely on them to know where they are.
And the ghosts are no help because they walk through walls and have no proper sense of direction-and no business giving anyone tangible directions to anything.
Then there's Peeves-a poltergeist who haunts the castle and has a habit, and a flair, for messing with anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. The only person he listens to is the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron(each house has a ghost assigned to it, like a mascot; Ravenclaw has the mysterious Grey Lady, Hufflepuff the Fat Friar, and Gryffindor the Shakespeare reject that was arguing with the Fat Friar about Peeves before the Sorting, a ghost named Sir Nicholas De Mimsy-Porpington; everyone calls him 'Nearly Headless Nick'-a nickname he very much disapproves of, not that anyone seems to care-because he was the victim of a botched beheading and his head is only hanging on by a bit of skin and can swing off and on at will). Out of all the house ghosts, the Bloody Baron is the best, hands down-there's no competition, like at all.
He scares the shit out of everyone, floats around with dead eyes and covered in chains and blood, and he sat next to Malfoy at the Welcoming Feast and freaked him out-which makes him my favourite ghost ever.
Harry, Ron and I even managed to get lost together on our first morning-and smack dab on the crotchety sadistic caretaker Argus Filch's bad side.
Harry and Ron had me helping them accidentally try to break into the third-floor corridor(I ran into them, and they were lost too, and we were just sort of trying to force the door open a smidge)-where Filch caught us because sure, why not?
Filch is a rheumatic old man with a hunchback, long hair with a very visible bald spot on top, a pasty face, bulging pale eyes, and sunken veined cheeks.
He's bitter, cruel, and, for someone who works in a school, he really hates children-almost as much as he hates Peeves, who he seems to have an ongoing vendetta against. The only thing, alive or inanimate, that he seems to care about is his cat; a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with lamp-like eyes and a nose for sniffing out troublemakers named Mrs Norris(who, despite popular belief, he isn't married to...I think...). The cat has this freaky sixth sense for finding you just when you're doing the wrong thing and leading Filch right to you(usually by way of jumping out of secret passageways to scare the everloving crap out of you; I actually found a secret passage that leads to the Charms corridor from the trophy room that'll be dead useful for when I'm late-and there's another one in the fifth-floor corridor of the east wing, behind a statue of some bloke named 'Gregory the Smarmy', that leads out of the school that I found while I was exploring).
It really isn't surprising that most of the student body would love to give the feline a good kick.
Filch threatened to lock us in the dungeons, and was giving off mad serial killer vibes, when Quirrell, of all people, swooped in and saved us.
Quirrell doesn't seem to like me.
I may have mouthed off a teensy-weensy bit in his class.
Or a lot.
(if it wasn't for Greengrass getting me to shut up, I would've been sent out thrice over just in the first half of our first lesson alone-).
I wasn't too jazzed about him, either.
There's just something...wrong about him.
Something between now and Diagon Alley changed.
All I know is, when I look at him, I get a wicked headache and bad vibes.
It doesn't help that his class is a joke.
Everyone was looking forwards to Defence Against the Dark Arts-Harry sure was, and Ron(after meeting the teacher, I didn't have high hopes-but, somehow, I seemed to be the only one). Surprise, surprise, I was right on the money(literally-I made bets and raked in a handful of Sickles from several grudging first year Slytherins). His classroom, much like his turban, smells like garlic(to 'ward off the vampires'), he really is terrified of his own subject and it showed, and he stutters so every sentence out of his mouth was like pulling teeth(I had a speech impediment between the ages of three and six, which is a special kind of hell when you're always the new kid and get rehomed every other month,so I'd usually be more sympathetic, but, Quirrell). It doesn't help that his very presence makes my head hurt so it was impossible for me to focus.
My other classes were a lot better.
Pomona Sprout, the Hufflepuff Head of House, teaches us about insane magic plants during Herbology(I've read my Herbology textbook and I can't wait to move on to practical work and the more dangerous plants-namely, the Venomous Tentacula; apparently, if you get caught by one in class, you're allowed to swear loudly as it attempts to strangle you to death! Fun, right?), we head to the Astronomy Tower at midnight once a week with Aurora Sinistra to look at constellations through our telescopes(I prefer numerology, personally, but I liked the stargazing; I mostly just joked around with Greengrass Davis and Parkinson, quoted and explained Star Trek-"Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before", and bickered with Malfoy and his dumb as a brick bodyguards), and the Ravenclaw Head of House, a tiny little wizard I recognised from the High Table named Filius Flitwick, teaches Charms-which is one of the classes I really was excited for.
And, unlike Defence Against the Dark Arts, I wasn't disappointed.
It also helped that, when he read my name on the roll, he had a total freak out, squeaked, and fell off the pile of books he has to stand on to see over his desk.
Soon, we'll be able to levitate things.
The other class I was looking forwards to was Transfigurations-taught by Minerva McGonagall who, on top of being the deputy headmistress and a teacher, is also the Gryffindor Head of House. The moment we sat down, she set off in a speech about how dangerous and complex Transfigurations is and how we'd be thrown out if we muck up(which did not bode well for me; to my delight, several people looked right at me hearing that-how cool is that? I already have a reputation!).
Then she transfigured her desk into a pig.
I named him Dudley.
Then she turned him back.
It was a fairly traumatising experience.
I distinctly remember throwing out my hand and crying out, "Oh no, Dudley!"
McGonagall wasn't impressed-especially when I told her that the only responsible thing to do here was to ditch class to throw the desk-turned-pig-turned-back-to-desk a funeral.
Davis physically facepalmed, Parkinson stared at me incredulously, and Greengrass headbutted her desk.
When I told Harry, he choked on his pumpkin juice and almost died.
After that, McGonagall gave us each a match and showed us how to Transfigure them into needles. People groaned, having expected to do something cooler after what she did to her desk, but I wasn't bothered. I mean, what did they think, she'd let us turn each other into toads on the first day? I wasn't really paying much attention, anyway, instead spending my time bugging Greengrass and Davis(and talking to Parkinson when they kept telling me to shut it before I got the lot of us thrown out)-which is why, near the end of the lesson, McGonagall singled me out for misbehaving, took five points from Slytherin house, and pointedly suggested I perform the spell in front of the entire class seeing as I'm so confident that I decided to not pay attention and barely try.
Malfoy Crabbe and Goyle sniggered-which just made me determined to shut them up.
To McGonagall's astonishment, and everybody else's, I got the spell on my first try.
Placing the pointy needle on my desk, I put my hands behind my head and grinned cockily at the professor who looked torn between a strange nostalgia, shock, and exasperation.
Deep down, McGonagall loves me, I can tell-she just has to act like I'm not totally her favourite student so she doesn't get in trouble for favouritism.
My dormmates think I'm crazy, but so do a lot of people, so I took that with a grain of salt.
The last class, my second least favourite next to De-no, I like Defence-next to Quirrell, was History of Magic. I thought it would be fascinating. It was all about wizard history, like witch trials and goblin revolts. Instead, it was a dead boring snooze fest of a class taught by a dead guy. Cuthbert Binns is an ancient-looking ghost with a dry, reedy, droning voice that Muggles and wizards alike would pay to use as a natural sleep aid. According to the twins, people say that Binns fell asleep in a chair in the staff room years ago-and hopped up to teach without realizing he'd left his body behind.
The reason Dumbledore can't fire him, I figure.
Thanks to my neurotic reading(I kind of retreated into books after I went back to the Morrissey's after Diagon Alley; I had a lot to process and reading has always helped me escape mentally and emotionally, so...), I coasted.
Harry? Not so much. But I think, despite his worries and insecurities, he was doing fine-as I reassured him several times over.
Considering how easily I was picking all of this up, I don't think I helped.
And, as I pointed out after I realised hearing "you're doing fine-don't worry about it" from me wasn't helping, at least he didn't lose twenty house points in the first week. It was a lot more collectively but, somehow, I managed to earn points here and there-completely by accident, I can assure you.
Finally, it was Friday.
Even better, I had my first Potions class today-the only class I share with Harry.
"What do you think Potions'll be like?" I asked Davis curiously as we sat down to breakfast, trading a wave across the hall with Harry.
Davis buttered herself a crumpet, frowning thoughtfully.
"I've seen my mum brew potions loads of times and it looks really complicated-a lot of measuring and stuff-and if you get just one thing wrong-BAM!"
She smacked a hand on the table.
My green eyes sparkled.
"Brilliant," I said.
"That isn't a sane person's reaction to hearing they could be blown up, you know," Davis stated, gesturing at my face.
I nodded quickly, my grin turning decidedly goofy.
Resigned, Davis just laughed.
"That's a dangerous smile," Greengrass commented dryly as she sat down on Davis's other side, glancing at me with a hint of amusement in her dark eyes.
Before either of us could reply, hundreds of owls flooded the hall, dropping packages in their owner's laps and delivering letters.
Owl mail.
The first time I saw it, I just pointed dumbly at the ceiling and stared at Parkinson with wide eyes.
To my surprise, Illyius swooped down and landed in front of me.
While I perked up, Greengrass and Davis leant way back.
"Calm down, he doesn't bite-"
They shot me matching deadpan looks.
"Okay, so he bites a tiny bit, but it's not like Pansy lost a finger," I defended.
"Oh my god," Greengrass mumbled, covering her eyes with her hand.
Rolling my eyes, I took the letters out of Illyius's beak-Greengrass and Davis winced-and dropped them on the table by my cereal.
"Hey, Illy," I cooed, gently running two fingers down his head and to his neck.
Illyius shook out his feathers and hooted at me.
I gave him some bacon bits and, leaving him to relax, picked up my letters.
One was clearly from my adoptive parents, which I tucked away in my bag to open with Harry in private, while the other didn't say who it was from-so, interest peaked, I ripped it open.
Davis eyed Illyius like he was a firebreathing werebird.
"You just had to get the one biter in the store, didn't you?"
I shot her a mischievous smirk.
"The second he bit Harry, he was mine."
Davis and Greengrass looked incredulous.
"You bought him after he bit someone?" Davis blurted.
"Of course you did," Greengrass sighed, shaking her head.
I pulled out the letter.
"Why 'Illyius'?" Davis wondered warily as she stared at my owl, catching my attention. "Is that the name of someone, or something, that bites?"
If an owl could have a resting bitch face, Illyius did.
"I was flipping through this Charms book I bought from Flourish and Blotts," I explained, a hint of a smirk on my face, "and it had this story about a wizard named Illyius that saved his entire village from these freaky creatures called 'Dementors' using a Patronus Charm-its this really advanced spell that even most adult wizards and witches can't do. Illyius's Patronus took the form-because they take animal forms, you know-of a mouse. And people were jerks about it-riiight up until his tiny little Patronus saved their sorry asses. It was inspiring as hell. And, you have to admit, Illyuis suits him."
Greengrass snorted.
"'Demon Bird' or 'Caution, He Bites' would've worked just as well."
I poked my tongue out at her.
"If anything," I retorted, "I'd name him 'Friendly' or 'Pat Me'-where's the fun in giving people prior warning?"
"You might be a sociopath, you know that?" Davis said faintly.
"Might be?" I joked.
Giving up for their own sanity, Davis and Greengrass shared a look and went back to eating.
Scratch whatever I said at the Sorting-we're going to be great friends.
Looking down at the letter, and seeing it was signed Hagrid, I stiffened.
Dear Jewel,
I know you and Harry get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?
I've already owled Harry and I'd like to hear about your first weeks. Send us an answer back with Illyius,
Hagrid.
I haven't talked to Hagrid since the Sorting. I mean, I wanted to, I've tried to-I even wandered by the forest and found his hut yesterday afternoon(I tried to approach it, but I just ended up leaving), I just...what if he hates me?
The way he talked about Slytherin house...
But he invited me to have tea with him and Harry-if he hated me, wouldn't he of just left me out or something?
Instead, he owled me personally, just to make sure I got his note.
After a couple of minutes of serious thought, my lips set in a grim line as I stared hard at the note, I pulled out a bit of spare parchment and my quill and colour-changing ink.
Hey Hagrid,
I can't make three-I promised my friend Tracey I'd help her with something important-but can I come down tomorrow morning after breakfast?
If that's not okay, just owl me back tomorrow morning. If it is, I'll see you for tea tomorrow.
Jewel
If I was going to stop being a scaredy-cat and go see Hagrid, I figured, I'd prefer to not have an audience. It's Hagrid-he's a big, hairy teddy bear. I doubt he sent me this because he hates me and wants to tell me that to my face-or go on about how disappointed he was in me...but, still.
"If anyone asks, you asked me to help you with super-secret girl stuff at three," I informed Davis as I folded the letter and handed it back to Illyius.
"Um-okay?" she said, blinking rapidly. "Why-?"
"Don't worry about it," I replied casually, giving Illyius a last pat. "Take that back to Hagrid then go relax in the Owlery, okay Illy?"
Illyius nipped my fingers playfully, looking almost amused when Greengrass and Davis jumped, before taking off into the air once again.
꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ
By now, I was used to the coolness and the dampness of the dungeons.
I decided to walk with Harry-because I was excited for our first class together and I was slightly worried he'd get lost-and Ron tagged along.
It was sort of awkward, but it was the sort of awkward Harry and I went through when we first started talking over the phone a month ago-the sort of awkward I was at least semi-confident would go away after a week or two.
Ron just needed to get used to the idea of my Slytherin-ness. And, if he never really does, that's his hang-up, not mine.
It hurt, and his reaction to my thumbs-up at the Sorting Ceremony definitely screwed with my head, but I've known the guy a week-if we never click like we did on the train again because he can't get over himself, I think I'll survive.
Harry Ron and I sat at the same table, with Harry safely between us.
The potions classroom is on the chilly side, which would definitely suck in winter(I don't even want to think about how freezing my common room's going to be-I swear to god the founders were trying to freeze us out), and judging by the pickled animals in glass jars floating all around the walls Snape was definitely going for-an aesthetic.
It was very mad scientist chic.
There's a basin in the corner of the room where the water comes out of a gargoyle's mouth, a student supply cupboard in the other, and a blackboard at the front of the room near Snape's desk.
Greengrass and Davis sat by Parkinson and Bulstrode.
I wasn't really sure if they were relieved that Harry was stuck putting up with my crazy BS this lesson, or annoyed that I ditched them. I don't think they like it when I run off with Harry and Ron-but, fairly sure that that was just because they're Gryffindors, I'm trying not to put too much stock in it.
Hermione took the seat in front of us and, to my surprise, smiled at me as she did so.
"Hi, Jewel," she whispered brightly.
"Hey, Hermione," I replied awkwardly, half-smiling.
Harry looked nervous-more nervous than he likely was for any of his other classes.
Apparently, while he favours us Slytherins, Snape is well-known to be harsher on Gryffindor students-and, on top of that, when our scars stung(Harry was shocked to find out it happened to mine at literally the same time), he was looking at Snape.
He doesn't think Snape likes him.
Something he somehow picked up from across the Great Hall during the feast after he looked at him for two seconds.
I just figure he's being paranoid and overthinking it.
The classroom was dead silent as Snape read the roll, no one daring to so much as whisper.
To my taken aback(especially after I brushed off Harry saying that Snape 'didn't like him, he didn't think'), Snape paused over mine and Harry's names-and not in a nice way.
"Ah, Yes. Harry and Jewel Potter. Our new-celebrities."
Hearing Malfoy and his lot sniggering a few seats back, I glared at the blonde over my shoulder.
He smirked at me mockingly.
Finishing the roll, Snape looked up at the class.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began, not bothering to speak loudly in the deathly silence of the room. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death-if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually teach."
Damn, that was a good speech.
Harry and Ron rose their eyebrows at each other.
Like Hermione, I was on the edge of my seat.
"Potter!"
I jumped, startled, only to find the professor staring Harry down.
Is it bad that I thought 'thank god' to that? Shit, I really am the evil twin.
-Somehow, completely fine with that.
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Wait...I know that-isn't it a kind of sleeping draught or something?
Harry looked stumped.
He glanced at Ron, who had the same dumb look on his face.
When he looked at me, I was too distracted trying to remember the name of the potion to notice.
Hermione's hand shot up.
A light bulb lit up in my head.
"I don't know, sir."
Snape curled his lip in a sneer.
"Tut, tut-fame clearly isn't everyth-"
"Oh! Dakota snores!" I suddenly exclaimed.
Snape, and the whole class, jerked about to stare at me.
"Excuse me?"
"It's a sleeping draught-" I told him quickly, clicking my fingers and pointing at the taken aback Potions master, "powdered root of asphodel, added to an infusion of wormwood, makes the Draught of Living Death-which, no matter how much someone snores, you probably shouldn't give to anyone. It's crazy powerful-and it sends the drinker into a 'deathlike slumber in which they may never wake from'."
As her hand fell, Hermione looked half disappointed that she didn't get to answer the question, half impressed that I did, and overall shocked that, you know, I did.
Harry and Ron gaped at me.
"I don't believe that question was directed at you, Miss Potter," Snape said in a dangerously soft voice.
I went faintly pink.
"Oh-right. I just-I knew that one-" I rubbed my neck sheepishly.
"As you seem to know so much, tell me...where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" he challenged.
"The stomach of a goat," I said almost instantly. "I remember thinking bezoar was a funny word," I added.
"What is Moly?"
"An illegal drug Alistair sells?" I quipped.
Once again, Snape looked taken aback-and not in a good way.
Harry hastily covered a laugh.
"That-that was a joke," I coughed. "I know you meant the plant-it's, um-shit, I remember this...isn't it a kind of flower that can be eaten to counteract enchantments?"
"And the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
I scrunched up my face in confusion and Snape smirked.
"Aren't they literally the same thing?" I asked slowly. "They're just two different names for the same plant. Ooh, that's sneaky. It's also called aconite, devil's helmet, queen of poisons, blue rocket, mousebane, and leopard's bane."
Snape's smirk fell.
"It's super toxic," I added, admittedly sounding and feeling nerdy as hell as I gestured my hands excitedly, green eyes brightening. "It's most noted as a heart poison, but it's also a potent nerve poison-which, I figure, is why it's so dangerous in potions that are incorrectly concocted. Despite its toxicity, it's been used in herbal remedies for centuries. In homœopathy-which is a medical system based on the belief that the body can cure itself, aconite is used to cure intense sudden anxiety, panic, and fear-the initial stages of croup, which is like asthma's annoying cousin-scarlet fever, which is, like, this huge red rash that caused a literal pandemic in the 1800s but is pretty easily treatable these days-otitis media, which is anumbrella term encompassing all types of inflammation and infection of the middle ear-and the flu-among other conditions. There was a whole section on it in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi."
Everybody stared at me with matching 'wtf' expressions.
Harry and Ron shared a wide-eyed look, silently asking the other if they knew I knew all of that.
Malfoy looked stupefied.
It was super satisfying.
Snape pursed his lips, looking at me consideringly.
Something behind his dark eyes softened.
"Hm. It appears at least one of you has come to class prepared..." he said silkily, "but, tell me, Mr Potter, what is dittany?"
Harry looked taken off guard at having Snape's attention abruptly refocused back on him.
I perked up, opening my mouth-
"Not you, Miss Potter," Snape said sharply without looking away from Harry.
Harry looked at me hopelessly, and I grimaced apologetically.
"I don't know, sir," he admitted.
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"
Harry just stared at him.
Seeing me semi-effectively muzzled, Hermione's hand leapt back into the air again.
"Let's try again. Mr Potter, how many uses does dragon's blood have?"
"I don't know, sir."
Hermione's hand started to shake.
I'm not even entirely sure she was in her seat anymore.
"Why is it that Wiggentree bark is used as a potions ingredient?"
"I don't know. I think Hermione does, though," Harry said quietly, "why don't you try her?"
I snorted into my hand, sniggering.
Several students laughed.
"Sit down," Snape snapped at Hermione, unimpressed. "For your information, Potter, dittany is a powerful healing herb and restorative. There are twelve separate uses of dragon's blood. Physical contact with Wiggentree bark provides magical protection from being harmed by Dark creatures, which is why it is used as a potion ingredient-particularly in the Wiggenweld Potion, which has the power to heal most injuries. It is also the antidote to the Sleeping Draught and the Draught of Living Death.
"Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
Suddenly, the entire class was hastily rummaging for their quills and parchment.
Over the noise, Snape added, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter."
To my surprise, his dark eyes moved to me.
It was unnerving for me, how unreadable the look in them was. I'm so used to being able to read stuff like that, or at least pick up a vague impression of what a person's thinking or feeling, so just getting nothing made me uneasy(at least with Dumbledore, I got some sense around the blankness when I focused).
If Dumbledore was a blank wall, Snape was a black hole.
"And a point will be awarded to Slytherin house-but, Miss Potter," he said wryly, "I would advise you to not answer questions for your brother, or call out in my class, in the future. The aftermath will not be nearly as favourable to you as this one."
"Yes, sir," I said with an equally wry salute.
The rest of the lesson didn't exactly go what I would call well for the Gryffindors.
Snape put us all into pairs to brew a simple cure for boils.
(I ended up with Hermione who, after my quick and overtly nerdy answers to Snape's questions, was eager to work with me).
Then, as we weighed ingredients, he swept about like an oversized, nitpicky and hard-to-please gloomy bat, scrutinizing and criticizing almost everyone and everything unfortunate enough to come into his line of sight(you know that freaky sensation you get when you walk home alone at night and suddenly every shadow looks like a serial murderer poised to jump at you with a knife? That's how Snape's skulking made me feel; when focused, I'm near impossible to surprise, but the Potions master succeeded in sneaking up on me, if accidentally, when he walked behind us to critique Harry and Ron's potions, quite brutally, and almost gave me a heart attack; I didn't realise how constantly aware I was of everyone around me, even people I have trouble reading like Dumbledore and Malfoy and that bitchy cashier at Henrik's that's hair seems to defy gravity with the amount of hairspray packed into it, before now; it was like being in a room of TV's but one is unplugged and, no matter how many switches you flick and buttons you press, it won't turn on and the suspense just builds, heightens your awareness, and puts you on edge-).
With me and Hermione working together, it was a cakewalk.
"We're like a power couple-or a dream team," I joked as I handed Hermione our crushed snake fangs, shooting her a tongue-in-teeth smile despite my uneasiness.
('cause of the, you know, stabby vibes I'm getting off our potions teacher-not because of his demeanour, which is about as sunny and pleasant as a dark acerbic storm cloud, but because of the unnerving nothingness his entire presence gave off).
Hermione beamed at me.
Snape didn't even have anything bad to say when he observed our potion, to his dissatisfaction.
The second he turned around I fist-bumped Hermione who looked greatly pleased.
The only person Snape really complimented, to my annoyance, was Malfoy.
He was just telling everyone to stop and look at how perfectly he'd stewed his horned slugs-Hermione quickly pulling my hand away from my mouth when I mimed gagging-when, before Snape could feed Malfoy's ego even more-or tear down someone else's, a low hissing sound filled the room. I looked up quickly, my eyes widening as I went up onto my tippy toes to see Neville had somehow managed to melt his partner Seamus Finnegan's cauldron into a blob(Seamus-and Neville and Ron, for that matter, as well as an easy-going, and easy on the eyes, tall dark-skinned boy named Dean Thomas-is one of Harry's dorm mates; a messy boy with sandy hair and an Irish accent)...and their demon potion was moving rapidly across the floor and burning holes into people's shoes.
"Get on your stool if you want to live!" I exclaimed dramatically as I hastily climbed onto my stool.
Hermione, and most of the class, scrambled to follow my lead.
I was so busy watching the potion's progression across the classroom that I didn't notice Neville at first but, the second I saw the angry boils springing up all over his body, I cringed in disgust and sympathy.
"Is he okay?" I called over to Seamus who shrugged helplessly.
Neville began to moan painfully.
Moaning in pain is a type of okay, right?
-At least he's conscious?
...Or is that actually worse?...
"Idiot boy!" Snape snapped as he wove his wand.
The potion cleared away, and we all breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" our teacher continued to snarl, looking thoroughly annoyed and unimpressed, as people began to climb back down off their stools.
In response, Neville whimpered.
Several boils popped up on his nose making me reflexively wrinkle my own.
"Take him to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus before, to my taken aback and indignation, rounding on Harry. "You-Potter-why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."
Harry opened his mouth to argue but Ron kicked him just out of sight.
"Don't push it," I heard him mutter, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."
As I semi-glared at the Potions master with pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows, still up on my stool and ignoring the weird looks and the this isn't going to end well, is it?/oh no, she's still on her stool-why is she still on her stool? looks Greengrass Davis and Parkinson traded when they noticed, I found I didn't much care.
"How could Harry of seen what Neville was doing," I challenged sassily, once again to the astonishment of the rest of the class, "when he was all the way over here working on his own potion? What, does he have superpowers he's conveniently forgotten to mention before now? I mean, the kid doesn't even know what the hell dittany is, and you expect him to run around saving everyone's potions and correcting their mistakes? I mean, isn't that kinda your job?"
You could hear a pin drop.
Hermione looked absolutely horrified.
Ron and Harry jerked around to gawk at me.
I just stared hard at Snape, standing on my stool with my hands on my hips.
The professor's lips thinned.
"You, Miss Potter," he said coldly, "suffer from the unattractive habit of butting into things that do not concern you."
"Harry's my twin-" I scoffed, "everything he does concerns me. It's my job to stick up for him when nobody else has the balls to, and I take that job very seriously-which says a lot considering I usually can't be stuffed taking anything seriously. It's the first class and we were raised by Muggles, there's no way Harry would've known about the stupid porcupine quills-not to mention the fact that he can't even see Seamus's bloody cauldron from over here and, even if he could, believe it or not, it's actually not his bloomin' responsibility. You didn't get on Malfoy's case because the chick sitting diagonally from him added too much Flobberworm Mucus-sorry to say, mate, but your potion's slightly off-colour. Not trying to be a know-it-all, just making a point. Look, I don't care if you give back the bloody point-because it's one stupid point-but-"
"If you don't care about the point loss then what, exactly, is the purpose of this, Potter?" he almost spat my surname, "Are you trying to waste everyone's time, or are you just trying my patience and courting detention just for the hell of it?"
"First of all, I'm always courting detention-it's a hobby of mine-" I quipped, "and, secondly, all I'm doing is refusing to let how completely unfair that was go by unacknowledged. Harry's my brother, and I won't just sit back and let someone be a jerk to him without saying something about it-teacher or not. Shit, I'd fight the Queen of bloomin' England if she upset Harry. Bring on the royal guard. I literally don't even care."
Snape looked like he was about to snap, and the entire room held its breath-
But, as I stared him down fiercely, something changed.
I don't know what it was, which is definitely an unfamiliar feeling, but something about what I said, or my expression, or something stopped him in his tracks.
Almost jerkily, after staring at me with a blank look on his face for a good minute, he turned around without a word-much to everybody's taken aback.
"Well?" he snapped. "Everyone back to work."
I couldn't help but get the sense(not like I could suddenly read him like I can everyone else, but more general intuition based off his actions and the strange look on his face)that he wanted to end the conversation, and get away from me, as fast as possible-why? I have no idea, and I don't think I like it.
Harry Ron and I looked at each other in shock and confusion.
"Well, she's a Slytherin-of course he'd let her off," Ron offered quietly.
To my surprise, instead of coming across as mean, the redhead sounded slightly awed.
"Jewel..." Harry looked at me speechlessly, unable to find the words.
It suddenly struck me that this was probably the first time anyone had really stuck up for him.
I smiled at him softly.
"Don't mention it, Scotch tape."
And then, from beside me, almost tearing up out of stress-
"Jewel," Hermione begged, "can you please get off your stool now?"