Chapter Four: Lessons Begin
The next morning, Hecate woke, as usual, with the sun, and decided that she should unpack. Opening the trunk that was laid at the end of the bed, she pulled out a long, thin slat of wood. She laid by the wall beside her bed and muttered an incantation. The wood stretched upwards and divided. This was a present that her uncle had given her - a magical flat-pack bookcase - and he had made sure that she could make it pack and unpack effortlessly before they left. Once the shelving was of adequate size, she began to lift out all her books. On the centre shelf, which she could most easily reach, she set her school books, Early Nordic History and several of her most-used rune books, including the well-loved dictionary that her father had given her. She had, in fact, inherited all of his rune books, but it was too painful for her to claim them now. On the other shelves, she placed all her other books, and at the very top she had a wooden box (the one Loki had received his axe in) in which she kept her most precious possessions: The Subtle magic of the Runes and Loki's copy of Lord of the Rings. This box was opened by pressing the correct pattern of the runes that were inscribed on the lid.
Once all her books were displayed correctly, she removed some clothes from the trunk and went to the bathrooms to wash and dress, putting on also the thin leather wrist-sheath for her wand (a gift that her father had bought at the beginning of the summer so that she and Loki could keep their wands - once they got them - safe) and covering it with her sleeve. It was still early when she returned, and she doubted that she could find her way to the Great Hall alone, so she settled on her bed and continued reading Nordic History. By eight o'clock, Millicent and Pansy had each woken, stared at Hecate and padded off to dress. When they returned, Hecate replaced her book and made to leave with them. "I'm Pansy, are you Hecate?" said a slight girl with blonde hair. She responded with a nod. Pansy leant closer and whispered "what were you saying last night. it didn't sound like English." "What's it to you?" snarled Hecate. Pansy looked scared. "Nothing, I just wondered because it wasn't English." Hecate didn't respond.
Once in the Great Hall, Hecate was passed a piece of parchment containing a timetable. She noticed impassively that Wednesday morning was Double Transfiguration*. She returned with the other first years to Slytherin dungeons, ignoring the excited chattering around her. She noticed the white- haired boy from the day before was in her house, and she assumed (from his conversation) that he was called Draco. He was followed closely by two thuggish looking boys whose names were not referenced. Back in her room, she packed the books she needed for the day into her bag (Standard Book of Spells, Magical Theory, Beginner's Transfiguration and One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi) along with a quill, ink and several parchment rolls. She also included a muggle exercise book, which she used as a general notebook. Then, noticing a tiny bit of space left, she also packed her Nordic History. Grunting under the weight as she lifted the bag to her shoulder, she made her way to Transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall was not a witch to cross. She began the lesson with a lecture on how "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts." Before giving them all a matchstick to transfigure into a needle. After about half and hour, Hecate's matchstick was a shade of grey, but otherwise no different. She began doodling in her exercise book. As McGonagall came towards her, she shut the book and returned to the match. "Try again, Miss Aiwe." Pointing her wand once more at the grey matchstick, she concentrated hard and was certain she heard a *pop*. Opening her eyes, she saw that the stick had become shinier, slightly thinner and the end came together into a point. It was still, unmistakably, wooden, but she was only one of two to make a difference to her match (the other one being Draco, but his was just thinner and pink) and she was rewarded with a smile from her professor. As the bell went and everyone packed their books away, she muttered "Loki would have done it." before leaving with the crowd.
Her second class was Charms. Hecate thought that the tiny Professor Flitwick was far too excitable, and, after he had demonstrated simple levitation with Pansy's hairbrush (vain child), he set them copious amounts of theory and said that if they worked hard, they might actually get to start levitation before Halloween. Looking at the blackboard, a piece of chalk moved, apparently of its own accord, and wrote in a curling hand 'Read chapters one and two of Magical Theory and make notes. Hand in to me at the end of the lesson.' Hecate groaned - she knew the theory. How else could she have filled all those lonely hours at the end of the summer if not through reading - it was the only way to keep her mind off them, to keep her mind busy. So she had read her schoolbooks. Then she read them again. Then a third time, and again until she had committed their contents to memory in less than a week. Her Uncle Derrick had not let her have her wand until she was on the train, so she hadn't tried any of the spells yet. But she knew the theory of how. Ignoring the instructions, she instead pulled out her copy of Nordic History and continued where she had left off that morning. Nobody noticed the girl in the back row whose long, dark hair fell forward and over the sides of the book she was reading. It was only towards the end of the lesson, when she still hadn't picked up a quill, that Flitwick approached her. "Miss Aiwe?" She looked up. "Yes, Professor." "Have you finished the set chapters?" "Yes, Professor." The tiny professor then noticed the book she was reading was definitely not Magical Theory. "What are you reading?" "An Early Nordic History, sir." "Where is your textbook?" "In my bag, sir." Professor Flitwick looked exasperatedly at her. "Why are you not making notes?" "I already did, sir. Over the summer." Hecate then produced her copy of the book. At irregular intervals, which presumably marked the end of each chapter, several parchment sheets were added to the book. She pulled out the first two sheets and handed them to her teacher. With a rather startled expression, he replied: "Thank you, Miss Aiwe." The bell went, and the pupils prepared to leave. "Homework!" called the professor in a shrill voice, *universal groan*, "Is to make sure that you know and understand what you have done today." Hecate made to leave. "Miss Aiwe?" "Yes, professor?" "I would like very much if you would write me an essay on levitation charms. Use just the knowledge the you acquired over the summer." She smiled. "Thank you, professor." There was one more piece of work to keep her busy.
Her last class, Herbology, was not so good. They shared the class with the Ravenclaws, and although Hecate could answer Professor Sprout's questions, the Greenhouse made her remember Artie - the gardener of the family - and she had struggled to hide her emotions. At one point, Draco Malfoy (for that was the white-haired boy's name) noticed a sheen of tears in her eyes as she looked at one of the plants that Artie so loved, and persisted in making the rest of the lesson hellish for her. "Awww, poor wittle baby scared of the nasty plants?" Hecate gave him a scathing glare. "Back off, Malfoy!" A voice spoke from behind her. It was one of the Ravenclaw boys. Malfoy looked surprised, and was about to reply when Professor Sprout walked past. "I'm Terry. You're Hecate, aren't you?" She nodded, turning from Malfoy and taking a place beside Terry on the other side of the greenhouse. The look on her face made him refrain from mentioning her family.
After lessons, Hecate made her own way to the dungeons. She claimed a small area by the wall, closed off on two sides where the wall jutted in, which fitted a single, green leather chair and low table. Setting her books out on the table, she quickly finished the work set by McGonagall and Sprout, before starting the essay that Flitwick had asked her to do. By dinnertime, she had analysed levitation charms from every angle that the theory of the first five chapters of Magical Theory allowed her and it already filled over four feet of parchment. She had eight more chapters of theory to cover after she had eaten. Work on her essay was interrupted at just gone eight when Malfoy and his gang decided to taunt her. "What's this?" He asked disdainfully, indicating the essay, which was now pooling on the floor. She was within a foot from the end of the scroll, and so had begun the conclusion without fully dissecting the final chapter of the book. If she started another scroll, she would want to fill it. "An essay." "Oh really," he sneered. "But we didn't get any essays." "Flitwick asked me to do it." "Oooh! Right little teacher's pet, aren't we?" She glared at him. "I, unlike some, take pride in my work." "But you still cry at the nasty plants." Hecate glowered. "Not so big now, are we? No tough Ravenclaws to protect their little birdie." Anger bubbled up, and she locked eyes with the boy. Her expression was so fierce that she saw fear in the other's eyes. She began to speak in a low voice, the words rolling and threatening. The boy paled, stuttering to his friends "what's she doing?" Hecate's voice rose, as she called Malfoy every foul name she could think of in Old Norse and watched as he lost his cool, eventually running full speed from the common room. With a smirk, the young witch sat and resumed her essay, thinking it was a pity that she hadn't learnt enough to use some actual curses. She had to settle with calling him, among other (nastier) things, a 'dirty son of a whore worth less than a donkey's excrement'.
With her essay finished, rolled and safe in her bag, she settled down with her Nordic History, distancing herself from the rest of her house and into the world her father had introduced to her. She stayed until her roommates had been in bed an hour before retiring.
The next morning, she noticed that the first year Slytherins were avoiding her like the plague. She sat alone, at the back of her DADA class, and took copious notes - filling the gaps in her stuttering teacher's information with details picked up in various books she had read. Charms was much the same as the day before, but it was a double period. Professor Flitwick's eyes had almost popped out of his head when he saw the length of the essay. Instead of letting her spend the time as she wished, he asked her to write an essay of her choice using the theory in her book. (He explained that he couldn't let her start the practical work, as he didn't want her too far ahead of the class - this way she could enforce her knowledge of the theory in a way that challenged her more.) At the end of the lesson, she handed him another six feet on tickling charms (he let out a little laugh) and then copied the homework from the board to do with the rest of the class. After lunch, double HoM was exceedingly dull, but she dutifully took notes, word for word, from the dull ghost. If she was writing about the rebellions then her mind couldn't wander to her hatred of the Goblins, and why she hated them. She finished all her homework before dinner, and was not disturbed once by the Malfoy. Or anyone else for that matter.
*********************************End of Chapter Four************************* * I am making the 1st September a Tuesday, since JK makes no ref.(
The next morning, Hecate woke, as usual, with the sun, and decided that she should unpack. Opening the trunk that was laid at the end of the bed, she pulled out a long, thin slat of wood. She laid by the wall beside her bed and muttered an incantation. The wood stretched upwards and divided. This was a present that her uncle had given her - a magical flat-pack bookcase - and he had made sure that she could make it pack and unpack effortlessly before they left. Once the shelving was of adequate size, she began to lift out all her books. On the centre shelf, which she could most easily reach, she set her school books, Early Nordic History and several of her most-used rune books, including the well-loved dictionary that her father had given her. She had, in fact, inherited all of his rune books, but it was too painful for her to claim them now. On the other shelves, she placed all her other books, and at the very top she had a wooden box (the one Loki had received his axe in) in which she kept her most precious possessions: The Subtle magic of the Runes and Loki's copy of Lord of the Rings. This box was opened by pressing the correct pattern of the runes that were inscribed on the lid.
Once all her books were displayed correctly, she removed some clothes from the trunk and went to the bathrooms to wash and dress, putting on also the thin leather wrist-sheath for her wand (a gift that her father had bought at the beginning of the summer so that she and Loki could keep their wands - once they got them - safe) and covering it with her sleeve. It was still early when she returned, and she doubted that she could find her way to the Great Hall alone, so she settled on her bed and continued reading Nordic History. By eight o'clock, Millicent and Pansy had each woken, stared at Hecate and padded off to dress. When they returned, Hecate replaced her book and made to leave with them. "I'm Pansy, are you Hecate?" said a slight girl with blonde hair. She responded with a nod. Pansy leant closer and whispered "what were you saying last night. it didn't sound like English." "What's it to you?" snarled Hecate. Pansy looked scared. "Nothing, I just wondered because it wasn't English." Hecate didn't respond.
Once in the Great Hall, Hecate was passed a piece of parchment containing a timetable. She noticed impassively that Wednesday morning was Double Transfiguration*. She returned with the other first years to Slytherin dungeons, ignoring the excited chattering around her. She noticed the white- haired boy from the day before was in her house, and she assumed (from his conversation) that he was called Draco. He was followed closely by two thuggish looking boys whose names were not referenced. Back in her room, she packed the books she needed for the day into her bag (Standard Book of Spells, Magical Theory, Beginner's Transfiguration and One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi) along with a quill, ink and several parchment rolls. She also included a muggle exercise book, which she used as a general notebook. Then, noticing a tiny bit of space left, she also packed her Nordic History. Grunting under the weight as she lifted the bag to her shoulder, she made her way to Transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall was not a witch to cross. She began the lesson with a lecture on how "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts." Before giving them all a matchstick to transfigure into a needle. After about half and hour, Hecate's matchstick was a shade of grey, but otherwise no different. She began doodling in her exercise book. As McGonagall came towards her, she shut the book and returned to the match. "Try again, Miss Aiwe." Pointing her wand once more at the grey matchstick, she concentrated hard and was certain she heard a *pop*. Opening her eyes, she saw that the stick had become shinier, slightly thinner and the end came together into a point. It was still, unmistakably, wooden, but she was only one of two to make a difference to her match (the other one being Draco, but his was just thinner and pink) and she was rewarded with a smile from her professor. As the bell went and everyone packed their books away, she muttered "Loki would have done it." before leaving with the crowd.
Her second class was Charms. Hecate thought that the tiny Professor Flitwick was far too excitable, and, after he had demonstrated simple levitation with Pansy's hairbrush (vain child), he set them copious amounts of theory and said that if they worked hard, they might actually get to start levitation before Halloween. Looking at the blackboard, a piece of chalk moved, apparently of its own accord, and wrote in a curling hand 'Read chapters one and two of Magical Theory and make notes. Hand in to me at the end of the lesson.' Hecate groaned - she knew the theory. How else could she have filled all those lonely hours at the end of the summer if not through reading - it was the only way to keep her mind off them, to keep her mind busy. So she had read her schoolbooks. Then she read them again. Then a third time, and again until she had committed their contents to memory in less than a week. Her Uncle Derrick had not let her have her wand until she was on the train, so she hadn't tried any of the spells yet. But she knew the theory of how. Ignoring the instructions, she instead pulled out her copy of Nordic History and continued where she had left off that morning. Nobody noticed the girl in the back row whose long, dark hair fell forward and over the sides of the book she was reading. It was only towards the end of the lesson, when she still hadn't picked up a quill, that Flitwick approached her. "Miss Aiwe?" She looked up. "Yes, Professor." "Have you finished the set chapters?" "Yes, Professor." The tiny professor then noticed the book she was reading was definitely not Magical Theory. "What are you reading?" "An Early Nordic History, sir." "Where is your textbook?" "In my bag, sir." Professor Flitwick looked exasperatedly at her. "Why are you not making notes?" "I already did, sir. Over the summer." Hecate then produced her copy of the book. At irregular intervals, which presumably marked the end of each chapter, several parchment sheets were added to the book. She pulled out the first two sheets and handed them to her teacher. With a rather startled expression, he replied: "Thank you, Miss Aiwe." The bell went, and the pupils prepared to leave. "Homework!" called the professor in a shrill voice, *universal groan*, "Is to make sure that you know and understand what you have done today." Hecate made to leave. "Miss Aiwe?" "Yes, professor?" "I would like very much if you would write me an essay on levitation charms. Use just the knowledge the you acquired over the summer." She smiled. "Thank you, professor." There was one more piece of work to keep her busy.
Her last class, Herbology, was not so good. They shared the class with the Ravenclaws, and although Hecate could answer Professor Sprout's questions, the Greenhouse made her remember Artie - the gardener of the family - and she had struggled to hide her emotions. At one point, Draco Malfoy (for that was the white-haired boy's name) noticed a sheen of tears in her eyes as she looked at one of the plants that Artie so loved, and persisted in making the rest of the lesson hellish for her. "Awww, poor wittle baby scared of the nasty plants?" Hecate gave him a scathing glare. "Back off, Malfoy!" A voice spoke from behind her. It was one of the Ravenclaw boys. Malfoy looked surprised, and was about to reply when Professor Sprout walked past. "I'm Terry. You're Hecate, aren't you?" She nodded, turning from Malfoy and taking a place beside Terry on the other side of the greenhouse. The look on her face made him refrain from mentioning her family.
After lessons, Hecate made her own way to the dungeons. She claimed a small area by the wall, closed off on two sides where the wall jutted in, which fitted a single, green leather chair and low table. Setting her books out on the table, she quickly finished the work set by McGonagall and Sprout, before starting the essay that Flitwick had asked her to do. By dinnertime, she had analysed levitation charms from every angle that the theory of the first five chapters of Magical Theory allowed her and it already filled over four feet of parchment. She had eight more chapters of theory to cover after she had eaten. Work on her essay was interrupted at just gone eight when Malfoy and his gang decided to taunt her. "What's this?" He asked disdainfully, indicating the essay, which was now pooling on the floor. She was within a foot from the end of the scroll, and so had begun the conclusion without fully dissecting the final chapter of the book. If she started another scroll, she would want to fill it. "An essay." "Oh really," he sneered. "But we didn't get any essays." "Flitwick asked me to do it." "Oooh! Right little teacher's pet, aren't we?" She glared at him. "I, unlike some, take pride in my work." "But you still cry at the nasty plants." Hecate glowered. "Not so big now, are we? No tough Ravenclaws to protect their little birdie." Anger bubbled up, and she locked eyes with the boy. Her expression was so fierce that she saw fear in the other's eyes. She began to speak in a low voice, the words rolling and threatening. The boy paled, stuttering to his friends "what's she doing?" Hecate's voice rose, as she called Malfoy every foul name she could think of in Old Norse and watched as he lost his cool, eventually running full speed from the common room. With a smirk, the young witch sat and resumed her essay, thinking it was a pity that she hadn't learnt enough to use some actual curses. She had to settle with calling him, among other (nastier) things, a 'dirty son of a whore worth less than a donkey's excrement'.
With her essay finished, rolled and safe in her bag, she settled down with her Nordic History, distancing herself from the rest of her house and into the world her father had introduced to her. She stayed until her roommates had been in bed an hour before retiring.
The next morning, she noticed that the first year Slytherins were avoiding her like the plague. She sat alone, at the back of her DADA class, and took copious notes - filling the gaps in her stuttering teacher's information with details picked up in various books she had read. Charms was much the same as the day before, but it was a double period. Professor Flitwick's eyes had almost popped out of his head when he saw the length of the essay. Instead of letting her spend the time as she wished, he asked her to write an essay of her choice using the theory in her book. (He explained that he couldn't let her start the practical work, as he didn't want her too far ahead of the class - this way she could enforce her knowledge of the theory in a way that challenged her more.) At the end of the lesson, she handed him another six feet on tickling charms (he let out a little laugh) and then copied the homework from the board to do with the rest of the class. After lunch, double HoM was exceedingly dull, but she dutifully took notes, word for word, from the dull ghost. If she was writing about the rebellions then her mind couldn't wander to her hatred of the Goblins, and why she hated them. She finished all her homework before dinner, and was not disturbed once by the Malfoy. Or anyone else for that matter.
*********************************End of Chapter Four************************* * I am making the 1st September a Tuesday, since JK makes no ref.(