Feeling nostalgic after reading her new letter, Bethany searched the attic
for her old photo albums. In the months before she'd started at Hogwart's,
her mother and grandmother had presented her with the old family photos,
journals, even ageing textbooks and scrolls of work. Her heritage. Over
that summer, and every summer since, the photos had been catalogued and put
neatly into decorative albums. Over the last fifteen years, Bethany had
successfully pieced together her family tree, using the pieces given to her
that summer. And every summer there were more photos to add, those of her
and her friends. Her holidays, her graduation, her training. but then
there was a long period of nothing. A gap in the pictorial history that
covered nearly three years. The thought of that time still made her
shudder, it was something she had no desire to repeat, not even something
she'd wish on her worst enemy. Well, maybe there was one exception ... but
only when she was having a particularly bad day.
Here were the photos of her in her first robes, with the Hogwart's shield on them, before getting on the train for the first time. There were photos she'd taken through her first terms at Hogwart's. The photos of her first Christmas as a Witch, mum had insisted on taking pictures of her in her robes. Her house robes. Her Slytherin robes. She still wondered whether the Hat had made a mistake. She didn't belong in Slytherin, but then when she was that age, she didn't really belong anywhere. Out of all the photos taken at Hogwart's, there were none of her, either alone or with friends. Friends were something she didn't really have. People tolerated her. She was clever, but Defence Against The Dark Arts was her speciality. Potions was clearly not her strongest subject, but she kept her head down and worked hard to pass. It was only because she was a Slytherin that Snape never really picked on her for her lack of aptitude at his precious subject. He had better targets. The Three: Harry, Ron, and Hermione. For she was in their year. But no-one ever noticed her. She never made Prefect, or Head-Girl. She never made the Quidditch team - mainly due to having such poor balance on a broom that the vicious Draco Malfoy joked that she made the accident-prone Neville Longbottom look like a star player. She just was. For seven years.
Seven years can be a long time when people don't know you exist. Most days she felt like she had on an invisibility cloak, but didn't know. People would bump into her without noticing. Shut doors in her face because they didn't see her. Whoever said that your schooldays were the happiest days of your life clearly hadn't been talking to her. He'd been talking to The Three. They made Bethany feel sick. Always having adventures, always the centre of attention, always there, and seen. When the Tri-Wizard Tournament happened in her fourth year, she wanted to enter. Just on the off-chance she'd be accepted, so people would finally have to notice her. But she was too young. But then so was Harry. But that was a different story. Things like that always happened to him. She didn't stay at Hogwart's that Christmas, even though it was the Yule Ball. Bethany really couldn't bear the idea of going to that alone. Or worse still, with Malfoy's stupid and ugly henchmen, Crabbe and Goyle. So she went home. But despite being continually ignored, Bethany never felt that quitting was an option. She enjoyed her lessons, and as she spent all of her free time either in the library or reading in her common room, she never fully felt alone. Especially as her mother bought her a cat in her first year at Hogwarts.
It was during the fourth year that something interesting started to happen to her. While retreating into her shell even more, she started to think. Not normal thoughts, but thoughts about the Dark Arts. By being in Slytherin she had the pleasure of hearing Malfoy, and the all the others like him, brag about their families involvements with the Dark Arts, with the evil Lord Voldemort, and how they escaped Azkaban prison. She spent months during that year building up the courage to talk to Malfoy, she wanted to learn what he knew about the Arts. But when she managed to ask him, he laughed. Loudly and cruelly, in front of the entire house.
"Did you all hear that? This MUDBLOOD wants ME to teach her the Dark Arts! This freak, this freak who doesn't even belong in this house. This thing from a disgraced family. The Hat clearly got you wrong. There's nothing in you that Slytherin would have looked for. You're an insult to his memory, if I were Snape."
Bethany didn't wait to hear what he would do, she ran from the room. She promptly burst into tears once past the portrait. How she got to Professor Moody's office she wasn't sure, but she was surprised when her Defence Against the Dark Arts professor opened the door and offered her a cup of tea. When she had calmed down enough to talk without crying, Moody asked what was wrong. She gave him the general gist of what Malfoy had said. She wasn't going to admit to him, the most famous Auror, that she'd wanted to learn the Dark Arts. 'Mad eye' Moody had made a reputation for himself by filling a large number of the cells in Azkaban with Dark Wizards. In the process he had lost a leg, become so riddled with scars that he looked like a poorly assembled jigsaw puzzle, and had also lost an eye. Instead of a plain glass eye, Moody wore a magical eye, which had the power to allow him to see through any solid matter in any direction, regardless of where his other eye was looking.
Bethany told him everything, how Malfoy insulted her, all the things that he'd been boasting about over the last couple of years. All that the others had been boasting about. Every last piece of information she'd ever heard in that cursed common room. Once she started talking, the words simply fell from her mouth in a ceaseless stream. While Bethany talked, Moody listened. When she finally finished he stared at her. With both eyes. Bethany, meanwhile, couldn't keep her eyes off the missing chunk of his nose. Finally,
"Now this is a strange situation."
"Professor?"
"I've already noticed two who would make good Aurors in your year. It looks like I've just found a third. Have you given it any thought as a career?" The magical eye moved away from Bethany and began looking around wildly again.
Bethany looked stunned. "But I'm in Slytherin. Doesn't that mean that I'm destined to join the Dark Side? How can I be an Auror?"
Moody's face contorted into what Bethany assumed was a smile. "Salazar Slytherin was a strange one, but he didn't tell that Hat to look for evil. He told the Hat to look for characteristics. And I've seen strong evidence of one of them tonight. You're a very bright child, you will have a strong future in front of you. Now if you don't mind, I do believe Professor Snape is outside the door wanting to talk to you."
Sure enough, Moody had been right. Snape wanted to know what she had done to Malfoy. It turned out that the little toad had got Crabbe and Goyle to jinx him, so that they could blame her. the disgraced mudblood. Snape gave her detention, cleaning the cauldrons in the Potions lab. That she took quietly. What made her blood boil was Malfoy. The way he sneered at her, laughed at her. It was better when no-one knew who she was. She wanted him to be thrown in Azkaban, with his family and slimy creeps of friends. And she wanted to be the one to put him there.
Part of her wish came true the following year, when Malfoy's father was caught with the parents of many of the others in her house. The Dark Lord had risen again and there was a confrontation with the Death Eaters, Voldemort's followers, and that blasted Potter boy and friends. Bethany was torn between contempt at Harry and elation that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle's parents were all going to Azkaban. Malfoy had left her alone that year, having appeared to forget about his campaign of misery from the year before. By the end of the year, she was intent on keeping out of his way in case he remembered about her and started again.
The clock in the hall chimed three o'clock making Bethany jump. She had things to do. People she needed to contact, supplies to buy. Throwing the photo albums back in their trunk, she climbed back out of the attic. As she put on her robes and applied her make-up, she thought about what Moody had said to her all those years ago. Even though it wasn't the real Moody, merely an impostor in his place, he had been right about her. The Hat looked for characteristics, and she definitely had one of them. Smiling, she took a handful of Floo Powder and stepped into the fire.
Here were the photos of her in her first robes, with the Hogwart's shield on them, before getting on the train for the first time. There were photos she'd taken through her first terms at Hogwart's. The photos of her first Christmas as a Witch, mum had insisted on taking pictures of her in her robes. Her house robes. Her Slytherin robes. She still wondered whether the Hat had made a mistake. She didn't belong in Slytherin, but then when she was that age, she didn't really belong anywhere. Out of all the photos taken at Hogwart's, there were none of her, either alone or with friends. Friends were something she didn't really have. People tolerated her. She was clever, but Defence Against The Dark Arts was her speciality. Potions was clearly not her strongest subject, but she kept her head down and worked hard to pass. It was only because she was a Slytherin that Snape never really picked on her for her lack of aptitude at his precious subject. He had better targets. The Three: Harry, Ron, and Hermione. For she was in their year. But no-one ever noticed her. She never made Prefect, or Head-Girl. She never made the Quidditch team - mainly due to having such poor balance on a broom that the vicious Draco Malfoy joked that she made the accident-prone Neville Longbottom look like a star player. She just was. For seven years.
Seven years can be a long time when people don't know you exist. Most days she felt like she had on an invisibility cloak, but didn't know. People would bump into her without noticing. Shut doors in her face because they didn't see her. Whoever said that your schooldays were the happiest days of your life clearly hadn't been talking to her. He'd been talking to The Three. They made Bethany feel sick. Always having adventures, always the centre of attention, always there, and seen. When the Tri-Wizard Tournament happened in her fourth year, she wanted to enter. Just on the off-chance she'd be accepted, so people would finally have to notice her. But she was too young. But then so was Harry. But that was a different story. Things like that always happened to him. She didn't stay at Hogwart's that Christmas, even though it was the Yule Ball. Bethany really couldn't bear the idea of going to that alone. Or worse still, with Malfoy's stupid and ugly henchmen, Crabbe and Goyle. So she went home. But despite being continually ignored, Bethany never felt that quitting was an option. She enjoyed her lessons, and as she spent all of her free time either in the library or reading in her common room, she never fully felt alone. Especially as her mother bought her a cat in her first year at Hogwarts.
It was during the fourth year that something interesting started to happen to her. While retreating into her shell even more, she started to think. Not normal thoughts, but thoughts about the Dark Arts. By being in Slytherin she had the pleasure of hearing Malfoy, and the all the others like him, brag about their families involvements with the Dark Arts, with the evil Lord Voldemort, and how they escaped Azkaban prison. She spent months during that year building up the courage to talk to Malfoy, she wanted to learn what he knew about the Arts. But when she managed to ask him, he laughed. Loudly and cruelly, in front of the entire house.
"Did you all hear that? This MUDBLOOD wants ME to teach her the Dark Arts! This freak, this freak who doesn't even belong in this house. This thing from a disgraced family. The Hat clearly got you wrong. There's nothing in you that Slytherin would have looked for. You're an insult to his memory, if I were Snape."
Bethany didn't wait to hear what he would do, she ran from the room. She promptly burst into tears once past the portrait. How she got to Professor Moody's office she wasn't sure, but she was surprised when her Defence Against the Dark Arts professor opened the door and offered her a cup of tea. When she had calmed down enough to talk without crying, Moody asked what was wrong. She gave him the general gist of what Malfoy had said. She wasn't going to admit to him, the most famous Auror, that she'd wanted to learn the Dark Arts. 'Mad eye' Moody had made a reputation for himself by filling a large number of the cells in Azkaban with Dark Wizards. In the process he had lost a leg, become so riddled with scars that he looked like a poorly assembled jigsaw puzzle, and had also lost an eye. Instead of a plain glass eye, Moody wore a magical eye, which had the power to allow him to see through any solid matter in any direction, regardless of where his other eye was looking.
Bethany told him everything, how Malfoy insulted her, all the things that he'd been boasting about over the last couple of years. All that the others had been boasting about. Every last piece of information she'd ever heard in that cursed common room. Once she started talking, the words simply fell from her mouth in a ceaseless stream. While Bethany talked, Moody listened. When she finally finished he stared at her. With both eyes. Bethany, meanwhile, couldn't keep her eyes off the missing chunk of his nose. Finally,
"Now this is a strange situation."
"Professor?"
"I've already noticed two who would make good Aurors in your year. It looks like I've just found a third. Have you given it any thought as a career?" The magical eye moved away from Bethany and began looking around wildly again.
Bethany looked stunned. "But I'm in Slytherin. Doesn't that mean that I'm destined to join the Dark Side? How can I be an Auror?"
Moody's face contorted into what Bethany assumed was a smile. "Salazar Slytherin was a strange one, but he didn't tell that Hat to look for evil. He told the Hat to look for characteristics. And I've seen strong evidence of one of them tonight. You're a very bright child, you will have a strong future in front of you. Now if you don't mind, I do believe Professor Snape is outside the door wanting to talk to you."
Sure enough, Moody had been right. Snape wanted to know what she had done to Malfoy. It turned out that the little toad had got Crabbe and Goyle to jinx him, so that they could blame her. the disgraced mudblood. Snape gave her detention, cleaning the cauldrons in the Potions lab. That she took quietly. What made her blood boil was Malfoy. The way he sneered at her, laughed at her. It was better when no-one knew who she was. She wanted him to be thrown in Azkaban, with his family and slimy creeps of friends. And she wanted to be the one to put him there.
Part of her wish came true the following year, when Malfoy's father was caught with the parents of many of the others in her house. The Dark Lord had risen again and there was a confrontation with the Death Eaters, Voldemort's followers, and that blasted Potter boy and friends. Bethany was torn between contempt at Harry and elation that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle's parents were all going to Azkaban. Malfoy had left her alone that year, having appeared to forget about his campaign of misery from the year before. By the end of the year, she was intent on keeping out of his way in case he remembered about her and started again.
The clock in the hall chimed three o'clock making Bethany jump. She had things to do. People she needed to contact, supplies to buy. Throwing the photo albums back in their trunk, she climbed back out of the attic. As she put on her robes and applied her make-up, she thought about what Moody had said to her all those years ago. Even though it wasn't the real Moody, merely an impostor in his place, he had been right about her. The Hat looked for characteristics, and she definitely had one of them. Smiling, she took a handful of Floo Powder and stepped into the fire.
