This popped into my head and I wanted to write it down. As for my other
story, I have yet to know what is to come of it. Hopefully it will live on.
Disclaimer: once again I only own my character "Dawn"
* * *
Out of Sight Out of Mind
1. Another Clichéd Potions Lesson
* * *
My name is Dawn Gray.
I am a 7th year Ravenclaw.
Few have heard me speak; yet even fewer acknowledge my existence.
* * *
Breakfast was in full force. Students were chatting away. Plates clattering and knives and forks were clinking. A couple of frantic students years could be seen scribbling away at a piece of parchment desperately trying to finish some forgotten homework.
Dawn sat in the middle of all this staring intently at the scene surrounding her. She listened to the conversations of her classmates who were fretting over the impeding N.E.W.Ts or gossiping over that one kid who supposedly cheated on an exam (these were Ravenclaw students after all).
A hand reached in front of her, grabbing a couple slices of toast. No one asked for assistance or even mumbled an apology for their rudeness for this had become the norm.
Dawn had come to Hogwarts alone. She was a muggleborn and had come from a family with three other sisters. They were the embodiment of perfect. Dawn on the other hand had faced some difficulties.
In primary school she had tried her best to be the top of the class and failed. She had been no better at sports. As time passed, dawn had begun to grow distant from her friends. They began to mature and discovered the joys of shopping and makeup. The more they grew up, the less Dawn joined in on their giggling conversations about boys and such. The less she spoke, the less they remembered to invite her anywhere. On and on it had gone until she was forgotten.
At one point while rummaging under her disheveled bed, Dawn came across an empty sketchbook. Like her it had been forgotten, and it soon became a replacement for her so-called friends. A replacement that let her view life differently; to search for specific details and look beyond outer appearances on a face to see the true emotion held within.
At such a young age, Dawn discovered a hidden talent that was waiting to be unleashed. Her parents had been proud at first, but they became disappointed when Dawn had announced that she wished to devote her life to art. An artist wasn't a suitable career to them. Her older sisters had gone on to study more respectable subjects, and she was expected to follow in their footsteps. One had moved on to law school in hopes of becoming an attorney, another became a teacher, while the eldest had become a respectable doctor. Though like all parents, they warily thought of her art as "just a phase".
Then the rift between Dawn and her parents grew deeper. Her acceptance letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came by owl. Something that hadn't quite shocked her as it did her parents, for Dawn had always regarded her sketches as magical. Sometimes wondering if the trees really seemed to move as if caught in a wind, or checking a drawing over again to make sure it really hadn't winked.
Ravenclaw had been no different than her parents though. Her classmates didn't seem to understand why she had been placed there. Her skills weren't the greatest, and to them art was a waste of time that could very well be spent on studying. It did not help that Dawn had lost a sense of conversation, and never knew what to say around people. So once again she was forgotten.
But Dawn did have a love of learning. She read countless books, though their subjects were art, Dawn couldn't get enough of the techniques, the theory behind the greatest pieces of time, and the way magical paintings were able to capture the essence of the subject.
She had returned one summer after her 4th year at Hogwarts, and spent the time thinking about her name. "Dawn" had made her think of the warm yellowish orange rays of a sunrise. Even more so of a California native who had long flowing blond hair, and spent an unhealthy amount of time tanning in those ridiculously skimpy bikinis.
Well after careful consideration, she had decided that a) she didn't think she could lie around in the sun doing nothing while b) her body wasn't worth the effort to attempt to wear a skimpy bikini and c) there was no way in hell she would be caught in one. So she decided to work on her hair with hopes of a lighter base color with sun-kissed highlights.
In return, she received orangey hair. Apparently the bleaching product did not work to its full potential on particularly dark brown hair. She returned thinking that no one would notice. No one ever had bothered to notice, except a certain group of Slytherins.
They had teased her unmercifully. Somehow she found comfort in their acknowledgement; that someone went out of their way for her however negative it maybe. She enjoyed being noticed for once. Yet she had no voice to complain and never let the comments get the best of her. Then like everyone else, the Slytherins gave up. That had actually hurt her. Dawn continued bleaching her hair, giving it that orange tint in hopes that someone would notice again. It never came, and over the period of time she had grown quite fond of the color. It shimmered in the sun and looked as though it had a bronze undertone, so she kept it like that.
Her mind drifting back into the present, Dawn looked down at the sketchbook in front of her and realized her hand had been drawing subconsciously. She chuckled softly to herself. She was now staring at the headmaster. A light outline was now overpowered by the shaded in half-moon spectacles and the twinkling blue eyes that hid beneath. Dawn had lost count of how many times she had drawn those eyes, but every time they seemed to change.
She sighed as she heard the commotion around her. She hated leaving sketches unfinished. Breakfast was ending quickly and her first class was double Potions; now the class was not required and few stayed with it. The houses were combined, a few Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, mostly Slytherins, but no Hufflepuffs had survived the 7 years. Dawn shrunk her sketchbook and pocketed it, then scampered down to the dungeons all the while being bumped into by ignorant students.
Her grades were average in this class, nothing to boast, but strangely enough it had become favorite class of hers. There were so many emotions present in the atmosphere. Usually she would finish adding the ingredients quickly, leaving the rest of the period for the potion to simmer and her free to draw the endless expressions on the students faces. The reason she continued taking this class
Determination, their full concentration on the task at hand, and frustration when something didn't go as planned which would soon turn into fear once the Potions Master swooped down on them. Even at times she would concentrate on the Potions Master himself. His face held a guarded expression to many; yet, she saw beyond the "greasy git" as the school so eloquently referred to him.
She could see the disappoint flash across the dark callous eyes when a potion failed, the faint look of surprise when a student actually did something right, or the loathing that always seemed to be sent in the direction of Harry Potter, he too, now a fellow 7th year. Dawn drew his hands. His fingers were long and elegant; perfect. Their movements held so much grace and liveliness either when stirring a potion, chopping the ingredients, or even when all he did was hold a quill. And she drew his stature. The Potions master was a proud man; he always stood up straight and walked with a menacing prowl. The man had much dignity.
Today's class was a bit different though. They were to begin work on the Dissimulo* Serum, an option other than the Glamourie Charm. The potion was slightly more advanced than anything they had encountered so far. Dawn could hear Neville Longbottom give a slight whimper when Professor Snape had announced this. Somehow Neville had made it this far. With some help, the poor boy was able to recognize the similarities between this class and Herbology. His skills had increased dramatically; yet, his confidence lacked considerably.
As if on cue Snape had warned the head girl, Miss Hermione Granger, that he was not in the mood to start another day off melting yet another cauldron. A hint that yelled, "You are responsible for anything this idiot boy might do."
Those words held a foreboding presence.
The first half of the lesson went quite well. The students' concentration was devoted to preparing the ingredients for the next few stages, and making sure that all other conditions were suitable. Once that was completed, matters began to head downhill.
It seemed as though another clichéd scene began to play out before the class in slow motion. Neville *was* adding the correct ingredient, but a ridiculous amount of it and at the wrong time. Hermione was trying to hastily correcting him before he made the mistake until Professor Snape came over to see what the fuss was about. Neville froze, his hand was still outstretched over the cauldron, and Snape began shout about how foolish his mistake could've been if he had-
The rest of the yelling subsided, Neville HAD added the ingredient. The potion was boiling ferociously and it was rising at an unprecedented speed. Dawn turned around just in time to see the livid Potions master and to receive the full blast of the potion's fury.
The blast knocked her to the floor while madness ensued around her. Some students screamed, all ran out without noticing she was hit, and Professor Snape was yelling at them, taking off an awful amount of points from Gryffindor. No detentions though, Snape was in no mood to deal with Longbottom any more today.
Once the class was gone, he cursed to himself realizing how much damage had actually been done. He surveyed the classroom: two broken chair, a melted cauldron, a foul-smelling mess on the floor, and an injured student.
Wait. He did a double take, and indeed there was a student sitting on the ground rubbing their eyes. He yanked her hands away, noticing that she had been on the receiving end of the explosion. The girl blinked up at him, her eyes were tearing and bloodshot, and she sniffed.
"How badly were you injured," he growls at her, clearly not pleased he still has to deal with another student.
"My eyes..." she croaked, "they burn and my...my vision is really blurry." Snape sighed; it seemed as if she would not be able to escort herself to the hospital wing he explained to her with as much disdain as possible. He caught the whispered "Sorry sir" and was slightly taken aback. Dawn got up, and felt a prod at the back of her shoulder, which she guessed meant to go forward. It was a bit odd though; it felt like he used the tip of his wand to guide her along the way, not wanting any physical contact.
She did fairly well avoiding walls and such; luckily students were still in class so no one was able to witness the peculiar site of Professor Snape guiding a nearly blind student with the poke of his wand. They finally reached their destination and Snape called out for Madame Pomfrey, who came rushing out from her office.
"Poppy! This a student injured and requires your attention." Dawn snorted at this statement; it was rather ironic. Snape glanced down at the 7th year, who was still rubbing her eyes and some tears rolled down her cheeks.
"I see no student Severus" She seemed puzzled, but this only annoyed Snape a great deal more.
"She is *standing* right besides me" Snape explained with as much unpleasantness as he could muster, but Madame Pomfrey only shook her head.
"Really Severus! I am tired of all your childish antics!" Professor Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for this, not now. "Severus, are you sure you're feeling alright?"
"POPPY! I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS! THERE IS STUDENT HERE IN NEED OF MEDICAL CARE..." He growled, but this was going nowhere fast. He turned, and began to usher Dawn back down the corridor this time with a prod a bit sharper then he might have intended.
'Poor man...must be overworked, needs a calming potion that one. Better yet a vacation.' Madame Pomfrey mused as she turned to return to her office.
All she saw was Professor sharply prod his wand in the thin-air.
* * *
*to conceal, disguise, keep secret
Hope that wasn't too bad. Considerably longer than most of my other chapters, now the only pressing matter is: will I continue? *raises eyebrow* tell me what u think...
Disclaimer: once again I only own my character "Dawn"
* * *
Out of Sight Out of Mind
1. Another Clichéd Potions Lesson
* * *
My name is Dawn Gray.
I am a 7th year Ravenclaw.
Few have heard me speak; yet even fewer acknowledge my existence.
* * *
Breakfast was in full force. Students were chatting away. Plates clattering and knives and forks were clinking. A couple of frantic students years could be seen scribbling away at a piece of parchment desperately trying to finish some forgotten homework.
Dawn sat in the middle of all this staring intently at the scene surrounding her. She listened to the conversations of her classmates who were fretting over the impeding N.E.W.Ts or gossiping over that one kid who supposedly cheated on an exam (these were Ravenclaw students after all).
A hand reached in front of her, grabbing a couple slices of toast. No one asked for assistance or even mumbled an apology for their rudeness for this had become the norm.
Dawn had come to Hogwarts alone. She was a muggleborn and had come from a family with three other sisters. They were the embodiment of perfect. Dawn on the other hand had faced some difficulties.
In primary school she had tried her best to be the top of the class and failed. She had been no better at sports. As time passed, dawn had begun to grow distant from her friends. They began to mature and discovered the joys of shopping and makeup. The more they grew up, the less Dawn joined in on their giggling conversations about boys and such. The less she spoke, the less they remembered to invite her anywhere. On and on it had gone until she was forgotten.
At one point while rummaging under her disheveled bed, Dawn came across an empty sketchbook. Like her it had been forgotten, and it soon became a replacement for her so-called friends. A replacement that let her view life differently; to search for specific details and look beyond outer appearances on a face to see the true emotion held within.
At such a young age, Dawn discovered a hidden talent that was waiting to be unleashed. Her parents had been proud at first, but they became disappointed when Dawn had announced that she wished to devote her life to art. An artist wasn't a suitable career to them. Her older sisters had gone on to study more respectable subjects, and she was expected to follow in their footsteps. One had moved on to law school in hopes of becoming an attorney, another became a teacher, while the eldest had become a respectable doctor. Though like all parents, they warily thought of her art as "just a phase".
Then the rift between Dawn and her parents grew deeper. Her acceptance letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came by owl. Something that hadn't quite shocked her as it did her parents, for Dawn had always regarded her sketches as magical. Sometimes wondering if the trees really seemed to move as if caught in a wind, or checking a drawing over again to make sure it really hadn't winked.
Ravenclaw had been no different than her parents though. Her classmates didn't seem to understand why she had been placed there. Her skills weren't the greatest, and to them art was a waste of time that could very well be spent on studying. It did not help that Dawn had lost a sense of conversation, and never knew what to say around people. So once again she was forgotten.
But Dawn did have a love of learning. She read countless books, though their subjects were art, Dawn couldn't get enough of the techniques, the theory behind the greatest pieces of time, and the way magical paintings were able to capture the essence of the subject.
She had returned one summer after her 4th year at Hogwarts, and spent the time thinking about her name. "Dawn" had made her think of the warm yellowish orange rays of a sunrise. Even more so of a California native who had long flowing blond hair, and spent an unhealthy amount of time tanning in those ridiculously skimpy bikinis.
Well after careful consideration, she had decided that a) she didn't think she could lie around in the sun doing nothing while b) her body wasn't worth the effort to attempt to wear a skimpy bikini and c) there was no way in hell she would be caught in one. So she decided to work on her hair with hopes of a lighter base color with sun-kissed highlights.
In return, she received orangey hair. Apparently the bleaching product did not work to its full potential on particularly dark brown hair. She returned thinking that no one would notice. No one ever had bothered to notice, except a certain group of Slytherins.
They had teased her unmercifully. Somehow she found comfort in their acknowledgement; that someone went out of their way for her however negative it maybe. She enjoyed being noticed for once. Yet she had no voice to complain and never let the comments get the best of her. Then like everyone else, the Slytherins gave up. That had actually hurt her. Dawn continued bleaching her hair, giving it that orange tint in hopes that someone would notice again. It never came, and over the period of time she had grown quite fond of the color. It shimmered in the sun and looked as though it had a bronze undertone, so she kept it like that.
Her mind drifting back into the present, Dawn looked down at the sketchbook in front of her and realized her hand had been drawing subconsciously. She chuckled softly to herself. She was now staring at the headmaster. A light outline was now overpowered by the shaded in half-moon spectacles and the twinkling blue eyes that hid beneath. Dawn had lost count of how many times she had drawn those eyes, but every time they seemed to change.
She sighed as she heard the commotion around her. She hated leaving sketches unfinished. Breakfast was ending quickly and her first class was double Potions; now the class was not required and few stayed with it. The houses were combined, a few Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, mostly Slytherins, but no Hufflepuffs had survived the 7 years. Dawn shrunk her sketchbook and pocketed it, then scampered down to the dungeons all the while being bumped into by ignorant students.
Her grades were average in this class, nothing to boast, but strangely enough it had become favorite class of hers. There were so many emotions present in the atmosphere. Usually she would finish adding the ingredients quickly, leaving the rest of the period for the potion to simmer and her free to draw the endless expressions on the students faces. The reason she continued taking this class
Determination, their full concentration on the task at hand, and frustration when something didn't go as planned which would soon turn into fear once the Potions Master swooped down on them. Even at times she would concentrate on the Potions Master himself. His face held a guarded expression to many; yet, she saw beyond the "greasy git" as the school so eloquently referred to him.
She could see the disappoint flash across the dark callous eyes when a potion failed, the faint look of surprise when a student actually did something right, or the loathing that always seemed to be sent in the direction of Harry Potter, he too, now a fellow 7th year. Dawn drew his hands. His fingers were long and elegant; perfect. Their movements held so much grace and liveliness either when stirring a potion, chopping the ingredients, or even when all he did was hold a quill. And she drew his stature. The Potions master was a proud man; he always stood up straight and walked with a menacing prowl. The man had much dignity.
Today's class was a bit different though. They were to begin work on the Dissimulo* Serum, an option other than the Glamourie Charm. The potion was slightly more advanced than anything they had encountered so far. Dawn could hear Neville Longbottom give a slight whimper when Professor Snape had announced this. Somehow Neville had made it this far. With some help, the poor boy was able to recognize the similarities between this class and Herbology. His skills had increased dramatically; yet, his confidence lacked considerably.
As if on cue Snape had warned the head girl, Miss Hermione Granger, that he was not in the mood to start another day off melting yet another cauldron. A hint that yelled, "You are responsible for anything this idiot boy might do."
Those words held a foreboding presence.
The first half of the lesson went quite well. The students' concentration was devoted to preparing the ingredients for the next few stages, and making sure that all other conditions were suitable. Once that was completed, matters began to head downhill.
It seemed as though another clichéd scene began to play out before the class in slow motion. Neville *was* adding the correct ingredient, but a ridiculous amount of it and at the wrong time. Hermione was trying to hastily correcting him before he made the mistake until Professor Snape came over to see what the fuss was about. Neville froze, his hand was still outstretched over the cauldron, and Snape began shout about how foolish his mistake could've been if he had-
The rest of the yelling subsided, Neville HAD added the ingredient. The potion was boiling ferociously and it was rising at an unprecedented speed. Dawn turned around just in time to see the livid Potions master and to receive the full blast of the potion's fury.
The blast knocked her to the floor while madness ensued around her. Some students screamed, all ran out without noticing she was hit, and Professor Snape was yelling at them, taking off an awful amount of points from Gryffindor. No detentions though, Snape was in no mood to deal with Longbottom any more today.
Once the class was gone, he cursed to himself realizing how much damage had actually been done. He surveyed the classroom: two broken chair, a melted cauldron, a foul-smelling mess on the floor, and an injured student.
Wait. He did a double take, and indeed there was a student sitting on the ground rubbing their eyes. He yanked her hands away, noticing that she had been on the receiving end of the explosion. The girl blinked up at him, her eyes were tearing and bloodshot, and she sniffed.
"How badly were you injured," he growls at her, clearly not pleased he still has to deal with another student.
"My eyes..." she croaked, "they burn and my...my vision is really blurry." Snape sighed; it seemed as if she would not be able to escort herself to the hospital wing he explained to her with as much disdain as possible. He caught the whispered "Sorry sir" and was slightly taken aback. Dawn got up, and felt a prod at the back of her shoulder, which she guessed meant to go forward. It was a bit odd though; it felt like he used the tip of his wand to guide her along the way, not wanting any physical contact.
She did fairly well avoiding walls and such; luckily students were still in class so no one was able to witness the peculiar site of Professor Snape guiding a nearly blind student with the poke of his wand. They finally reached their destination and Snape called out for Madame Pomfrey, who came rushing out from her office.
"Poppy! This a student injured and requires your attention." Dawn snorted at this statement; it was rather ironic. Snape glanced down at the 7th year, who was still rubbing her eyes and some tears rolled down her cheeks.
"I see no student Severus" She seemed puzzled, but this only annoyed Snape a great deal more.
"She is *standing* right besides me" Snape explained with as much unpleasantness as he could muster, but Madame Pomfrey only shook her head.
"Really Severus! I am tired of all your childish antics!" Professor Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for this, not now. "Severus, are you sure you're feeling alright?"
"POPPY! I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS! THERE IS STUDENT HERE IN NEED OF MEDICAL CARE..." He growled, but this was going nowhere fast. He turned, and began to usher Dawn back down the corridor this time with a prod a bit sharper then he might have intended.
'Poor man...must be overworked, needs a calming potion that one. Better yet a vacation.' Madame Pomfrey mused as she turned to return to her office.
All she saw was Professor sharply prod his wand in the thin-air.
* * *
*to conceal, disguise, keep secret
Hope that wasn't too bad. Considerably longer than most of my other chapters, now the only pressing matter is: will I continue? *raises eyebrow* tell me what u think...