Chapter Twelve: Combustion
December came in a flurry of snow and excitement. However, it started out quite poorly for me.
As I sat next to the fireplace in the common room, working on my Transfiguration homework, the stone door opened to admit Professor Snape. His pallid face was set in a troubled expression. "Odd," I thought, "for Snape to look like that..."
Two spotted owls were perched on his arm; one held a bright red envelope in its beak, and the other had a large letter tied to its foot. Everyone turned in surprise to face the Potions Master, wondering, no doubt, why he had come.
"Miss Zænidh," he said loudly, looking around the room. I jumped up quickly. Half of the Slytherins looked worried for me, while the other half looked glad that it didn't involve them.
"Yes, sir?" I asked, extremely nervously. Was it something I had done?
"I found these in the hall. I believe they were looking for you." He held out the owls. I stepped forward quickly and took them from him.
"Thank you, sir. Sorry to trouble you. I'll take care of sending them back out. Sir."
Professor Snape frowned slightly. "Don't apologize. The trouble is all yours. Open the red one right now, or you will regret it. That is all." He turned on his heel and swept out of the common room. As soon as the door had shut, everyone started talking at once.
"Have you ever gotten a Howler before?"
"O, you're in for it, Andromeda!"
"Take it to your room. That way, we don't have to hear it."
"Who sent it? I bet it's a Gryffindor."
"Can you think of anyone who hates you?"
I had to raise my voice to answer. "No, I've never gotten a Howler before. I don't know who sent it, as I haven't opened it yet. And I'm sure someone hates me. Now, if you'll excuse me..." I retreated to the first year girl's dormitory, followed by Carol, who looked very sympathetic. Draco scowled, and continued working on homework.
I flopped dejectedly onto my bed, tossing the large letter onto a side table, while Carol closed the door. "No point in that," I said. "Everyone will still be able to hear this bloody thing, screaming to raise all--"
"You'd be surprised how much a closed door can muffle its sound," Carol interrupted. "Now, open it, quickly! It'll only get worse."
Stretching my hands as far away from my face as possible, I closed my eyes and broke the wax seal. Immediately, an enraged voice filled the room. It was Father!
"MY OWN DAUGHTER, A SLYTHERIN!! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME? I THOUGHT YOU WERE IN GRYFFINDOR, LIKE YOUR SISTERS! WHATEVER POSSESSED YOU TO ASK THE HAT TO PUT YOU IN SLYTHERIN?? NOW THE FAMILY IS DISGRACED, AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!! BRADLEY AND BRYAN SAY YOU'RE NOT A TRUE ZÆNIDH, AND YOUR GRANDMUM IS ACCUSING MY LIZAVETA* OF...OF...EVERYTHING!!! YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS, YOUNG LADY, AND THAT IS FINAL!!!!"
In one final burst of spite, the envelope exploded in a swirl of flame. I was in tears by now. I hadn't asked the hat to put me in Slytherin! Just because I'd forgotten to mention it in the few owls I had sent...well, not like it would have mattered if I had told him. It wouldn't have changed anything. Besides, I was a Zænidh! I had Mother's eyes and Father's nose...everyone told me so...including Uncle Bradley, Uncle Bryan, and Grandmum! As for everything being Mother's fault...well, that was just ridiculous. I was so mad, so confused, so...so...
Through teary eyes, I noticed the expression on Carol's face. It was a mixture of shock, horror, and pity. "I...I had no idea, Andromeda..." she said softly. "I thought it was just...someone decided to play a nasty prank. That's what it always is for me. I'm so sorry."
"I didn't ask for Slytherin!" I sobbed.
"What's wrong with being a Slytherin? Your dad seemed kind of...bent out of shape?"
Between sobs, I recounted, once again, the story of the Zænidh Rift. Carol listened intently.
"So, basically, since your sisters were in Gryffindor, you can't be in Slytherin?" I nodded weakly. "And, so, everyone thinks you're a freak? But...that's dumb! There was nothing you could do about it."
"If I had thought of it, I could have asked the hat nicely," I mumbled.
Carol started. "Asked the hat nicely? How? 'What ho, hat, would you mind not putting me in Slytherin?' Sure. Whatever you say."
Now it was my turn to be surprised. "You mean the Sorting Hat didn't talk to you? Debate about what House to put you in?"
"Uh, no. I can definitely say, it did not. It just sat there for a second, and then yelled 'Slytherin!'"
I sniffled. "Maybe I am a freak."
Carol grinned ruefully. "Look at it this way: at least you're not Chloe Simmons! Or Harry Potter," she added. "That would be the worst! Everyone would ask to hear some Parseltongue, or see your scar, or get your autograph. And, You-Know-Who would probably want to kill you. I mean, we've got the good life, being in Slytherin. No one expects us to be all heroic and good."
"Well," I said, "I guess you're right about that. But that doesn't help my family situation. Father is never going to forgive me!"
"O, it can't last forever."
I grimaced. "You don't know my father."
* * *
Christmas slowly trudged closer. Ravenclaw won its Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, which came as no real surprise to anyone. McGonagall continued to be exceedingly critical of my poor job of Transfigurations, a subject which had never been my forte.
The other Slytherins felt very sorry for me, mostly because of the Howler, and some even invited me to spend the holiday break with their families; I politely declined, thinking that it would be too awkward of a situation. Thankfully, Draco offered to stay at Hogwarts with me. Of course, I couldn't argue. Almost everyone else was going to go home for the break, which would leave Hogwarts as empty as a robbed linen closet.
One day, while sulking in my dorm after class, I remembered that there had been two owls, not just the Howler. Rummaging about on my desk, which had become cluttered, I found the large letter. It was written on fine paper and sealed with a blob of yellow wax. I realized, with happiness, that the wax was imprinted with an eight-pointed star: the symbol on my sister Libra's signet ring!
I tore open the letter and read:
Dear Andromeda,
We heard the news. It came as quite a shock, finding that you're now a Slytherin! But whatever Father or anyone else says, you are still our sister, and nothing can change that. Yes, we heard the rumors, and no, we're not angry with you. If we were in England right now, we would give those other Zænidhs a piece of our minds; how dare they try to disown you!
On a lighter note...how's school going for you? Is Binns still teaching there, or has he died?--Just kidding! What kind of a person is Harry Potter? Say hi to all the teachers for us. (Except for Trelawney; she was awful!) Anyway, work hard, have fun, and above all, don't let anyone make you feel inferior!!
Your sisters forever,
Libra and Gemini
P.S. (from Gemini) Guess what! I decided to become an Animagus! Guess what animal...a falcon! Wish me luck; I've heard that the training and studying is a grueling ordeal.
Despite it all, I found myself grinning. "Well," I thought, "if Gem and Lib don't care about the Zænidh Rift, neither should I."
I took out a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of purple ink, and started writing a letter back to my sisters.
Dear Libra and Gemini,
As you say, Gemini: good luck on becoming an Animagus! Yes, Binns is still at Hogwarts. Trelawney is still awful, which I found out through a bad experience with incense smoke. Harry Potter is the disagreeable sort; and what's worse, he made the Gryffindor House team! Go on, laugh it up, Gryffindors! But it really doesn't seem fair, as he is only a first year. Someone bought him a Nimbus 2000, for Pete's sake, when he's not even supposed to have a broom at all! Rumor has it, it was McGonagall.
On a darker note...I'm afraid Father might try something rash, to get me out of Slytherin House, though I'm sure he knows it's not possible. He even sent me a Howler, at the same time you sent a letter. It bothers me. I haven't owled him back...I don't know what I would say. "Sorry?" That hardly seems appropriate. How does Mother feel about all this? If she stood up for me, Father wouldn't argue with her.
Sincerely,
Andromeda
Letting the last of the ink dry, I searched my desk for a stick of wax. I quickly warmed it over a candle, smeared it across the folded parchment, and waited for it to cool. Father had promised a signet ring for my eleventh birthday, which was in May, but at the moment it didn't seem likely that he would follow through with it. I sighed, thinking, "Why me?"
* * *
On the last day of school, the only thing that went right was Potions class. Professor Snape didn't even look twice at my cauldron, although the potion was three shades lighter and half as bubbly as it should have been. Normally, he would have told me he expected better work from me (a wonderful compliment, in his eyes, meaning that I was capable of better work), but that Friday, he seemed rather distracted. He glared darkly at Simmons, who was chatting with Granger about Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
"But seriously, though, I don't understand why everyone has to make fun of Professor Quirrel. He's so nice, it's really not fair…," Simmons was saying.
"What is not fair," Snape growled at her, "is that a student would waste time in my class talking about trivial matters. I see that you haven't added all of your ingredients yet. Get back to work!"
With a thinly disguised sneer, Simmons started tossing pinches of powdered goat hoof into her cauldron. "Careful!" cautioned Granger. "You have to stir it constantly, or it'll react badly with the wormwood!"
Beside me, Draco grinned maliciously. "This is the part when they ruin their potion, it explodes, and we laugh," he murmured. "I think I'll...help them." Out of a robe pocket, he procured a small, red vial. "Just a simple flick of the wrist, when Snape isn't looking..."
"What!?" I whispered hoarsely. "Do you have any idea what would happen to us if Professor Snape caught us? It would be a disast--"
"No, no, no," Draco said. "You'd never get in trouble. You're his favorite, remember?" He changed his voice to a cold snarl, like Snape's. "'Longbottom, that potion is worse than bad, it's terrible. Patil, can't you use a knife? And you four, you know what? I hate you! Oh, good work, Miss Zænidh, very nice job. Ten points to Slytherin.' You know he wouldn't even give you a detention."
I chuckled in spite of myself. "I suppose. It's all your risk."
"All right then," he said. "Watch this." He checked to see that Snape was otherwise occupied, then tossed the vial towards the girls' cauldron. It hit the far rim, bounced, and landed with a plop in Finnigan's cauldron! We both winced...that had not been the plan. Immediately, the cauldron erupted in a bright red flash of fire and smoke. Most of the class screamed and tried to hide under their desks as hot ash fell from the air.
When the ash had settled, the only person left standing was Professor Snape. The air around him shimmered with a Protection Charm. "Who," he rumbled menacingly, "is responsible for that?" He cast a cold glare around the room. "Simmons? Weasley? Potter?" They all shook their heads in fright. "Brown, Longbottom, Patil, Granger? Ah-h-h. Mr. Finnigan...you seem to have the most charred face. It wouldn't have happened to be your cauldron that nearly killed twenty students, now would it?"
Finnigan quivered in absolute terror. "N-no, sir, I mean, I don't think so, I wasn't even, it must have exploded on its own." I actually felt sorry for him...but not sorry enough to stand up with the truth.
"Then can you explain," the Potions Master barked, "how--"
"It was me," said Simmons. Draco caught himself staring, and quickly became interested in the hem of his sleeve. I shut my gaping mouth and tried to look disgusted. Snape turned to her, scowling. "Yes, it was my fault," she continued. "I was asking Seamus if he'd lend me his scales, 'cause mine are out of whack, and it distracted him from stirring."
Snape raised one eyebrow. "See?" Chloe said, smacking her scales repeatedly. "They don't balance."
"Not anymore," Troy whispered loudly.
"Your story is suspicious, Miss Simmons...but I will accept it. Twenty points from Gryffindor and detention for you. I expect you to clean this all up." With that, Professor Snape dismissed the class. "O, and detention for Mr. Finnigan, for letting himself be distracted."
Draco and I hid our grins until we were safely back in the common room. "That went rather nicely, I'd say," my blonde friend drawled, propping his feet on a table. "Just think: a whole two weeks off of school...and none of the Foul Four around to spoil it."
"Well," I said, grinning sarcastically, "it could be worse."
To Be Continued...
* Lizaveta is a Russian name, short for Elizaveta, which is sort of like Elizabeth. But, Mrs. Zænidh goes by Elizabeth most of the time. It is only because Andromeda's dad is so angry that he uses this term of endearment for his wife.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, cuz, well, I am not Rowling. I also don't own the movies (no duh). And if anything in this story is in the books or movies, or any other book or movie that is not HP, I obviously don't own it. I freely admit to NOT OWNING IT!! O, and if you haven't heard yet, WildMage42's story is back up...Year of the Parselmouth. Go read it! Please?