Disclaimer: We all know who owns Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Albus Dumbledore. Let me have my little Cara-Lena and Professor Fast.
Chapter Two: Morning and Such
Cara-Lena woke the next morning feeling as though she'd been stroked with cubes of ice.
"Ah," you're awake," cackled a voice . . . somewhere in her mind, she placed it to Peeves'. "Now, tell me why I am solid and not merely floating through you."
Cara-Lena yanked her covers up to her chin, pushed Peeves away, and looked at the clock.
"Six-twenty!" she gasped, turning to Peeves. "Look, let's just say its NONE of your business," Cara made a move as if to bring her hands up to her face, and Peeves zoomed away. I've got to put a ghost catcher over that door, she thought as she reached in her trunk for clean underwear and socks.
"Oh, you're up, are you?" asked a sleepy voice from one of the hanging-covered beds. "Well "
Patil, Parvati.
"you and Hermione went to be so quickly last night; and you two were like logs. Tell me," Parvati's head finally poked out of the coverings, "why do you have two trunks?"
"I've got some extra potion ingredients and some notebooks and some extra schoolbooks and such," Cara-Lena told her. Shuddering, she thought, Oh, and I hate having to drink that awful potion. Stupid allergies . . .
"Why?" Parvati's voice was persistent
"Parents are creepy you-can-succeed! people," Cara said grumpily.
"The worst kind," Parvati conceded.
"You can't imagine," Cara-Lena informed her, thinking of all of the extra things that she had studied when she had been attending La Escuela. Just because my parents said it was okay doesn't mean I said it was okay. I didn't ask to be made the way I was, I didn't ask to be a successful experiment. I didn't ask to attend that horrible school where they focused so much . . . Cara-Lena was jerked out of thoughts by a long suffering voice.
"Why," came the voice, still heavy with sleep, "am I up at six-thirty?"
"Sorrrryyy, Lavender," Cara called out. "Hey, when is breakfast?"
"Anytime before classes," Parvati told her.
"Coolio," Cara-Lena bounded off her bed, fully dressed. "Hey, Hermione, wanna . . . dude, she's already gone . . ."
"Oh, Hermione always rises early. She likes to get to the library ," Lavender giggled.
"Ditto. I love to read. I think I'll grab some toast and check out my copy of Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them , or, actually, I'll read my Quod, A Game of Explosion ," Cara-Lena dug around in her trunk, looking for the book.
"Quod?" Lavender press, as Cara-Lena threw things about.
"Yeah, the sport. I'm guessing this means you guys don't have dorm team?" Cara-Lena tossed her head out of her trunk with a disappointed air.
"No . . . but we do play Quidditch," Parvati said slowly.
"Oh, yeah, I've played that. I was a keeper the times I played. Quod is actually a variation of Quidditch only, the Quaffle blows up and there isn't a Snitch. It's like Hot Potato and tremendous fun," Cara-Lena added.
"Americans have weird ideas on games," Lavender teased.
"Blah," Cara stuck her tongue out at Lavender. "I'm going to eat. Maybe I'll check Quidditch Through the Ages from the library. Haven't read that one in ages."
"Later," Parvati and Lavender said.
"Bye," Cara-Lena called back as she left the room, skipping down the steps toward the common room.
A sandy-haired boy was talking to a black boy near the portrait hole. The sandy-haired boy smiled at Cara-Lena, who returned it with a good-natured grin.
"Hi, I'm Seamus Finnigan and this is Dean Thomas," the sandy-haired boy said.
"Hey Seamus, Dean. I'm Cara-Lena," she reached up and pushed a fly-away hair behind her ear.
"Yeah, we know that," Dean said, tossing a few pebbles in the air.
Cara-Lena's eyes followed the path of the pebbles. Before she had a real chance to think, she lifted her right hand, palm toward the pebbles, and flicked her index finger down. Quickly, she adjusted some more of her hair, watching the pebbles fly and hit the portrait hole.
"How'd I do that?" said Dean in a bewildered voice, looking at the pebbles lying on the floor.
"Dunno," Cara-Lena replied, pushing open the portrait hole. "Bye."
She walked briskly toward the Great Hall, taking a good look at all the oil paintings she had been too tired to notice the night before. Stopping in front of a redheaded girl in laced titled Miranda, Cara-Lena took a good look at the aforementioned Miranda.
"Hi," the painting said shyly, looking up from under a huge hat.
"Hey yourself. I'm new," Cara-Lena told her.
"Me too," Miranda said sadly.
"Well," Cara-Lena said, feeling rather conspicuous, "I'm going to go eat."
"Good-bye," half-whispered Miranda.
"Umm, yeah, well, bye now," Cara-Lena said, backing away. Weird, thought Cara-Lena. I've never met such a depressing painting.
When Cara sat down at the Gryffindor table, she glanced curiously down the almost empty table. Two redheaded boys ( . . . with lots of freckles, like Ron, thought Cara) were just sitting down. They looked maybe a couple of years older than her, and they were twins. Cara-Lena decided she liked their stocky looks and their dancing eyes.
"Hi," Cara-Lena offered a smile, which the boys returned with two sets of crooked teeth.
"Fred," said one, with unbrushed hair, "and George Weasley. Ron's brothers. We saw you talking to him last night."
"Oh, I figured you guys were at least cousins or something," Cara-Lena laughed.
"Yeah," said George Weasley, with a knowing tug of his red hair, "we get that a lot."
At that moment, Harry and Ron came in the Great Hall and sat down on either side of Cara. Fred and George passed them their schedules.
"Hey! D'you guys know where Hermione went? I want to compare schedules," Cara-Lena pulled out a notebook from her bag and read off the list. "Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, lunch, Potions, Defense Against Dark Arts."
"Oh, we've got Divination when you've got Arithmancy . . . lemme see your schedule, I bet ours are nearly the same. Hermione's always are like Harry and mine . . . " Ron grabbed the parchment. "Hey, I don't believe it. Every time we're in Divination, she's either in Runes or Arithmancy. Everything else is exactly the same."
"Dumbledore's like that. Betcha Hermione's schedule is a duplicate of Cara's," Harry said carelessly, looking up at the swooping owls that were now starting to arrive. "Ron, look! Hedwig! She'll have us back an answer!""
Cara looked curiously at Harry as he grabbed the letter off Hedwig, his large snowy female. Harry had turned his shoulder in front of Cara-Lena's face, blocking her view.
"It's obvious you don't' want me to see the contents of your letter. Why don't you say so?" Cara asked, playfully stroking Hedwig. "I'll bang Hedwig some bacon, and Ron can take a gander at whatever is so secretive, 'kay?" Cara-Lena moved aside, smiling, trying to show that she understood that boys had their secrets and girls had theirs.
Harry looked uncomfortable and Cara decided it was time to leave.
"Look, I'll just take a quick run on over to the library. Bye," Cara got up.
"Yeah, okay. Thanks for understanding," Ron said.
Cara-Lena walked out and went to find the library. Checking her watch, Cara saw it was about seven-fifteen. People were obviously waking up, as there were a lot of students wandering to and from the Great Hall.
Oh, there's the library, Cara-Lena thought as she saw the door opening and closing on a room filled with books.
"Hermione," Cara exclaimed in her best library voice, "I thought you'd be here. can I take a lookee at your schedule?"'
"Sure," Hermione left her book a rune dictionary and grabbed some parchment out of her bag. "Here you go."
"Ohhh," squealed Cara, earning a warning look from the librarian, (Madame Pince, Cara recalled.) "We have the exact same classes!"
"We do?" asked Hermione, peeking over Cara's shoulder. "Wow, I guess we do."
"It's good for me, 'cuz now I wont get lost on my way to classes," Cara-Lena declared.
Hermione laughed. "You, I guess not. I'm your lifeline."
Cara read the neat handwriting on her schedule. "Classes start sharp at nine, so please do not be tardy. Oh, I hate that word. Makes me feel as if I'm some sort of fish. Tardy. Yeck. I guess I'll just read my book until classes. Oh, yeah, I was gonna do the Quidditch book. D'you know when tryouts are, by the by?"
"Late this month," Hermione said, her head back in the book.
"'Kay, thanks," Cara-Lena wandered off, looking for Quidditch Through the Ages and muttering absentmindedly about Kennilworth Whiplash. "Ah ha!" she whispered when she finally saw it.
By the end of the hour, at eight-thirty, she had gotten to international teams more specifically, the book's short paragraph on Quod.
Hmm, these British wizards are not hot on my favorite game. Oh well, I bet I'm Keeper or Chaser on their Quidditch team, if I get chosen.
"Hermione," she asked the brown head bent over the book, "d'you play Quod or Quidditch at all?"
"No, I'm not much of a flyer if the broom goes to fast. Don't like to think I'm falling," Hermione volunteered.
"Oh, I love Quod. I was team captain on my dormitory team . . . and I was in my second year as keeper on the city Quidditch team. Hope I'm on the team here."
"Oh, you like sports, do you?" Hermione's head bobbed back up.
"Course I do. It's a way to use up energy," Cara-Lena told her.
"Oh, I've never really thought of it in that way," Hermione told Cara with a looked of concentration on her face. "You're right, too."
Cara took a look at Hermione, "You strike me as as the kind of person with the perfect amount of energy; never too much, never too little."
Hermione thought on it for a minute. "Maybe I am," she said finally.
Cara-Lena laughed quietly. "Oh, thank you, Doctor, for another amazing diagnosis," she said, with a fling of her arm.
Hermione laughed, then stood up. "We'd better be getting to classes, or else we'll be late for Arithmancy."
"Professor Vector teaches that, right?" Cara-Lena asked curiously.
"Yeah," Hermione confirmed. "Let's go."
Cara-Lena and Hermione walked together to class, each carrying a large backpack. They settled themselves into seats near the front, waiting for their teacher.
An hour later, Cara and Hermione emerged from the room, talking happily about the lesson.
"You weren't behind at all in class!" Hermione exclaimed as they walked around a Ravenclaw seventh year who had dropped her bag in the middle of the corridor.
"Thank goodness for that," Cara-Lena skirted around several short first years and the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris. "I was worried that I'd be yard behind. La Escuela didn't deem it necessary to teach me certain academics."
"You know, I haven't heard of Escuela ever before you came here," Hermione said thoughtfully.
"It was a very elite private school for youngsters of certain standings. You had to meet many requirements to go there. You had to be born of parents who had participated in such and such a program, they had to have such and such a view on wizarding and warlock politics, they had to sign off on your medical liabilities, tons of stuff," Cara told Hermione absently.
"My God," Hermione said, "that sounds extremely strange!"
"You had to be born of three generations at the very least in wizarding blood; most of us were seven or eight generations in. I, myself, was eleven generations tracing on my father's side and nine on my mother's. We had to be of the Mejorar, tons of stuff . . . it was annoying. The school was very anti-Muggle, actually. I loved some aspects, but I hated others. It was a school full of blue-noses, you know?"
"What is one of the Mejorar?" Hermione asked Cara-Lena.
"Oh," Cara said . . . Sometimes I talk too much. I wonder if I've said too much . . . no, I've just told her that it was a very difficult school to get in and it was very political . . . nothing except that slip of the tongue. . . "I don't know how to say it in English; its just an old expression we used at school to mean like extra or changed. You had to be smart; one of the Mekora," Cara-Lena purposely mispronounced the word.
"So . . . " Hermione began slowly. "Did you know I'm a Muggle born?"
Cara-Lena shrugged. "It was my parents, not me, who were the huge political freaks. I can't help what I have in my genes."
"I didn't want you to get angry at me for keeping it from you," Hermione said.
Cara grinned. "You aren't my first Muggle born friend. I'm an outgoing person; do you think that anyone can not be my friend?"
Hermione grinned. "No," she admitted.
"C'mon. We have Charms next, with the boys," Cara-Lena told Hermione.
"That really didn't sound right, Cara," Hermione said.
"Yeah, whatever," Cara-Lena opened the door to the Charms classroom. "Hi, Professor Flitwick," Cara said, smiling broadly across the nearly empty room.
"Hi there, Ron, Harry," Hermione sat down next to Harry and Ron, who had a desk between them, obviously saved for her.
Cara leaned and pulled a desk from the row above and put it near Harry. It was a bit cramped, being as she was against the wall, but it certified that no one would be sitting near her. She laughed as the round faced boy next to Ron squirmed quite a bit.
Harry leaned over his desk and pinched Cara-Lena's arm.
"Are you for real?" he asked. "Hermione tells us you're great at Arithmancy, you're rude to teachers, if the stories the first years are telling are true, plus you've got to be the wildest when it comes to behaving."
Cara smiled a large grin that took up her entire face, then said, "Ah, gee, thanks for the compliments."
"Harry's speaking the truth," Ron said, his nose visible just beyond Harry's profile.
"I'm wired, is all," Cara-Lena said easily, lapsing into Hechiceria
slang. "Not nothin' special 'bout me."
Classes flew by that day. After a
hearty dinner, Cara-Lena went outside with the others to watch the
giant squid.
"Sure is cold," Cara said, pulling her cloak closer.
"Your slang 'sure is odd,'" Harry said, grinning. Cara took it to mean they were okay with the way she spoke.
"You speakin' dirt 'bout my talk?" Cara said, laughing.
"No," Hermione picked up a stone and skipped it across the water. "You're too scary to make mad."
"Lucky me, I keep you on your toes," Cara-Lena leaned over and held out her arm. "Give me an Indian Burn," she ordered Ron. Shrugging, Ron took her arm between his hands and then turned them in opposite directions. Cara yawned very obviously. "Weak," she cried. "Hermione, your turn."
One by one, the three children tried to make Cara flinch with various pinches and rubs. Cara laughed and teased through each and every one of them.
"You're as weak as the High Lord Voldemort's worst supporter!" Cara-Lena cried. Hermione, Ron, and Harry all gasped. Idiot, they aren't used to Hechiceria slang! Why did you use that?
"Why do you call him High Lord?" asked Harry.
"Don't say that name!" cried Ron.
Surveying the group, Cara-Lena said softly, "'Merica doesn't say Dark Lord. Wizards from the Old World came in contact with American Indians, who taught them basic Wiccan beliefs."
"I didn't know that American Indians were Wiccan," Hermione said.
"Not all of them, but a few," Cara-Lena explained. "Wicca says that black is all colors; white is pure, so black is pure too. You can't represent evil with something that is pure. Black represents pink, which is love . . . there are all those colors . . . America doesn't see it that way."
"Your old school was hugely political . . . your country doesn't see things the way we do . . . you play different sports . . . " Hermione stated slowly. "You're so very much more different from us."
Cara-Lena shrugged. "Well, I'm here now . . ." Suddenly, she raced forward and slapped Ron's arm. "You're it!" Cara cried.
Well, that's the end of the second chapter. I love you guys too. :). Let's see . . . Eliza Rocks, Dark Angel Rocks, Everybody Rocks. How's that? I'm good, how're you? I have a quest for you all; tell me how many Knutz there are to a Galleon. I know the answer how many of you do!