School

~~~~~

Mercifully I am allowed to stay in my own room.

Rising early on my first day of school I dress alone in my new-old school shirt, tie, jeans, boots and Slytherin robe. An incomplete uniform, but the best McGonagall could find.

Snape is my head of house, not McGonagall. Joy.

The elves were here last night. For a moment I find it strange that they did not talk to me, but then I recall that I am a student now. Does this mean I will not see them again?

I gather the sheaf of parchments, the quills, the jar of ink, and my books. My timetable lies atop the pile.

I looks at it blankly, trying to make sense of the columns and words. Today is . . . Monday. I have div - divinat - divination! first lesson. Putting my things in a plain green satchel, I sigh. How can I make it through a day of fifth year schooling with not even a first year reading level?

Curses. I'm already late for breakfast. Come along shadow, we know some hidden elf-routes don't we?

~~~~~

Draco is not in my class. I seem to remember that he doesn't learn Divination, but it doesn't make me feel any better. The other Slytherins won't even admit that I'm here, and I don't suppose I can hope for any better from the Gryffindors. I move to the back of the classroom, and sit at a small desk in the corner.

The girl with the thick brown hair is not with Harry, instead a boy with red hair sits next to him. He's glaring at me. I look back at him flatly across the stuffy room, as if I'm counting every one of his freckles. He fidgets and turns his back.

A wafting scent of thick incense distracts me. "Ahh, a new student," whispers a voice close behind me.

I turn quickly. A tall woman peers down at me through thick glasses, frowning. Professor Trelawney.

"Dear me, child," she raises thin fingers to her throat. "I see darkness surrounding you, much darkness. Like a cloud, like - "

"Like a shadow?" I ask. Her eyes widen.

"Yes, very much like a shadow. Do you see it yourself child?"

"It's hardly surprising I'm in shadow, seeing as you are blocking the light from the window."

The class titters, even some of the Slytherins. I catch Harry grinning. The teacher frowns, moving away from me.

As she begins to talk to the class about scrying in mirrors, I open one of my books. I have been given my own work to get through. I manage to read a few pages about different scrying methods, only half listening to Professor Trelawney.

Why did I choose this subject shadow? It's useless. Not even all wizards can preform this 'magic'. And I feel no tingle in this room.

~~~~~

On the way out, Harry comes up to me. "Don't worry about what she says," he smiles, "she predicts my death almost every lesson."

I smile back. "I'm not worried Harry. That wasn't magic in there."

The red haired boy looks confused a moment. Harry introduces us; "This is my friend Ron."

"Hello Ron."

"Malfoy." Ron doesn't smile.

Harry looks annoyed for a moment, but I excuse myself quickly, and leave for my next class.

~~~~~

Later in the day I hurry into Transfiguration. I have arrived early, purely by accident. The hidden corridor I took somehow made the trip shorter than I had expected.

McGonagall is already in the room, drawing diagrams on the blackboard.

"Professor."

"Ah, Leila," she turns around with a smile. "I saw you sitting alone at lunch. How have your housemates been to you?"

I walk up the aisle and put down my bag at a desk near her. "They haven't been particularly friendly, but they're not bad."

"Your brother is in this class. Have you spoken to him much?"

"Not at all today," I shrug. Since when have I become so like other teenagers?

There is a hint of a frown in her eyes. "I hoped he would help you out a little. A least show you around the school."

I don't reply. My brother cannot afford to lose face by consorting with the Squib where other Slytherins can see. He's lost enough simply because I am his sister.

"Today we'll be discussing some dangers of Transfiguration, we won't be doing much practical work. I hope you will participate in the discussion," her expression does not allow me the option of refusing.

"Yes Professor."

"And don't you dare hide at the back of the room. Professor Snape wasn't happy about your seating preferences last lesson."

Before lunch I'd had double Potions. Trying to avoid showing allegiance to either my brother or Harry, I'd sat at the rear of the dungeon. I hid so well Snape did not realise I was there until I asked a question toward the end of the class.

"Yes Professor."

She smiles and returns to the blackboard. I sit down, taking out my things. As she illustrates the correct wand grip for a certain spell, McGonagall says, "You will have noticed you have a free period next, correct?"

"Yes," I glance at my timetable to confirm. "Does everyone have a free lesson?"

"No, you are to spend that time with Madam Hooch."

"Madam Hooch, Professor?"

"The flying instructor."

I stop breathing for a moment, then calmly resume sharpening a pencil. "Why should I spend a lesson with her?"

"You are a squib Leila, but you're not a muggle. You can still fly a broomstick if you choose."

I stare at her, at the dark hair twisted into a bun at the back of her neck. She turns.

"That's if you wish to. Professor Dumbledore was under the impression you had an interest in Quidditch."

"Uh. Yes. That is, I would like to learn how to fly. I just didn't think I could."

Footsteps. A boy enters the room, followed by a group of chattering students. I look down at my blank parchment, and McGonagall puts away her chalk.

Somebody dumps his or her satchel on the desk next to me. Another Slytherin. I glance at the silver initials printed on the black quill box. DLM.

I look up at my brother. He quirks an eyebrow, as if challenging me to react. I smile, and look back to the front. McGonagall is watching us, an unreadable expression in her eyes. But she seems satisfied that Draco has sat here. I wonder at how we must look, two blonde heads side by side, two faces so similar (his with more angles than mine) and two pairs of eyes that are perfectly identical. Twins.

Draco sets his wand neatly atop his textbook. I brandish my quill, ready to take notes. I hope he doesn't notice my handwriting or spelling, or lack thereof.

"Can anybody tell me," McGonagall begins, "if it is possible to transfigure oneself?"

There is a pause. Students glance at each other. Draco nods, almost to himself. McGonagall sees him.

"Mister Malfoy, as you believe it is possible, why then is it never done?"

He doesn't answer.

"Can anyone else tell me?"

I know the answer. It's one of those answers that are painfully obvious but no one wants to say, because it seems too obvious to be correct. But I know I'm right.

The professor's eyes rest on me a moment. I raise my hand to the level of my shoulder.

"Miss Malfoy."

"Because if you transfigured yourself you may not be able to transfigure yourself back again."

"Exactly."

My brother gives me a look that says 'Teacher's pet', but he's got a little smile of chagrin lurking around his mouth.

"However, there are ways of getting out of such a situation. They are difficult and must be preformed without a wand, just in case you've been turned into an object without hands. Once we've gone through them, I'll be turning each of you into cats, and you'll have to try transfigure yourselves back to normal . . . "

As McGonagall began to list spells on the board, I copy them down. Draco bends his head and follows suit.

"Brown noser," he whispers with a grin.

"Envy is a deadly sin Draco," I murmur back. And I try hard not to laugh out loud at the wonderful feeling I have right now.

~~~~~

Madam Hooch is short and wiry with spiky grey hair. I recognise her as the Quidditch umpire. We're standing on a flat space of lawn between the lawn and Hagrid's hut, with a broom lying on the ground beside me.

"Alright Malfoy, you're right handed?"

I nod, nervous.

"Stand here, hold out your arm out over the broom," she moves me into the correct position. "Open your hand, good, now say 'up'."

"Up."

Wood slams into my palm. The rush of magic almost burns me. I stare.

"How - ?"

The witch smiles a little. "You still have wizarding blood, although you lack all magical power of your own. A muggle couldn't make a broom do that, but you can."

"Oh."

"Now, swing your right leg over the broom," I do so. "Hold your hands near the end, that's it," she adjusts my grip, and steps back. "When I say, I want you to kick off. You crouch a little then spring, but at the same time you'll have to tilt the broom up with your hands. When you want to come down you tilt the front end down. Alright? Okay then; Now."

I jump. And keep going. Suddenly I'm ten feet off the ground, sitting on a battered old broomstick. My legs dangle uselessly.

"What do I do with my feet?" I ask, looking down.

"Fold them under the broom, crossed at the ankle. Go a little higher if you want."

This should be uncomfortable, but I feel like I'm sitting on a cushion placed where the twigs are tied to the stick. I fold my feet under me and tilt the broom up. For a second I close my eyes.

And I'm flying. Not very fast, not very well, but I'm flying.

This is one of the best days of my life.

~~~~~

I've worked out an odd sort of reasoning for the flying thing. Argus Filch is a squib, but he isn't vulnerable to things that affect muggles, remember all the anti-muggle charms on Hogwart's castle? He's a squib but he can see the castle, not a ruin like a muggle would see.

So, Leila's the same. She doesn't have magic in her, but she's still wizard-born. I guess that's enough for a broom to respond to. I think the magic of flying is in the broom, not the wizard.