The All American Rebel
Chapter Three: The First Potions
The Gryffindor common room rang with noisy chatter as Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat in a cozy corner, attempting to do their assignment. However, rather than working, they were busy discussing the first couple days of the term.
"That was... Interesting, wasn't it?" Hermione commented, referring to the most recent class they'd had: Potions. "That Hilary is really something..." She trailed off, a little ill at ease.
"She's downright crazy! I'm betting her other school was an insane asylum!" Ron responded, eyes glittering as though he deeply respected craziness.
"She went to that private academy in Salem, didn't she?" Harry interjected, sucking on the end of his quill, trying to recall Dumbledore's speech the previous day. It slowly came back to him, for he had not really paid attention.
"Welcome, students!" The white-haired wizard had yelled by way of welcome from the teachers' table, standing up, star-spangled robe shining in the Great Hall's light. "We have the..." He paused a little, unsure of what to say, it seemed. "Privilege of being host to a transfer student this year." He indicated Hilary, who acknowledged the rest of the school with a large, rather royal wave of her hand, smiling with a slight arrogance. Dumbledore continued, although dark mutters could be heard through the hall. It seemed that Hilary had already made some enemies. "She come to us from a private academy in Salem, and will only be staying this year, so I expect that you will show her what being at Hogwarts is all about!" There were some scattered cheers, particularly Dean's "Woop, woop!" Dumbledore smiled at his enthusiasm, then proceeded, "We also have a new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher this year, please welcome Professor Desafio!" The tan man stood up and took a regal bow, his blue eyes glued to Hilary all the while. She was glaring at him fiercely, her almost identical eyes sharp as daggers. He merely smiled, eyes twinkling. Dumbledore had then explained all the usual: Hogsmeade, the Forbidden Forest, Exams, etc. Hilary, Harry noticed, didn't listen and instead pulled out a CD player once more.
"Harry...? Are you awake?" Ron's voice broke through the sixteen-year-old's memory, sounding rather concerned.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking..." The red-haired boy accepted this, and continued probing Hermione for answers to their potions worksheet, as Harry thought about Snape's class, which was, surprisingly, less torturous than usual. He had actually been able to get his potion finished, with little to no interference. Snape had been too busy hovering over Hilary, trying, it seemed to Harry, to find something wrong with it. Unfortunately, he was unable to; the potion was perfect, better even than Hermione's, which was saying something. Another bonus to that class occurred when Snape had begun to tell Hilary off for listening to music in class, to which she responded with a rather rude hand gesture and,
"Fuck off, grease ball." She accompanied this statement with a mocking sneer, showing exactly how much respect she had for him and authority in general. Miraculously, the bell rang right afterward and she rushed out, dyed hair swishing from underneath her silver headphones, stopping shortly to whisper to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, whom she seemed to adopt as her friends, "Saved by the bell!" With a wink, she then left to her next class: the ever fun lunch.
This will be a very interesting year... Harry thought to himself as he settled down to do his homework, slightly peeved as Parvati began annoying him, with Lavender in tow.
The next day at breakfast, the prejudiced eyes of the Slytherin table followed a girl's robed, curvaceous figure as her tall, black-furred boots walked the distance between her own house and the Gryffindor table, stepping on both cobblestone and precedent. Her mouth was pulled into an energetic smile and she waved to her three 'friends' as she approached. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes, instead going back to her newspaper.
"What's up, my shiznet Gryffindor peeps? Fa shizzle mai nizzle." She said, as the surrounding students gave her the oddest looks they could muster.
"What?" Hermione said, also giving her an odd look.
"Don't tell me the all-powerful book-chick doesn't know American slang?" The American put her hand over her heart and, feigning like she was choking, fell the floor with a painful thud. "Ow..." She muttered, rubbing her head as she sat down once again. She glared at Harry, who was sitting to her left, staring at her oddly, confused by her just plain weirdness. "Yeah, that's right, fear me. I'll let it slid this time, punk, however, if you push me again, I will be forced to disembowel you with a spoon." She got up close to his face, so close that he could smell traces of strawberry shampoo in her red bangs, which she had delicately styled this morning, placing them in front of a rather sparkly headband which withheld the remainder of her hair. Her forehead held a very small niche in it, but it was sufficiently covered so that Harry could not see it. "A bent spoon at that." With a laugh and a wink, she then departed back to her own table, reveling in her 'humor.' Ron made a crazy sign with his finger, while Hermione just rolled her eyes.
"Well... At least she's... Unique?" Harry attempted in weak defense. His two friends looked at each other and shook their heads, smiling. Harry decided to change the subject. "We have Defense Against the Dark Arts today. I wonder what this Desafio will be like..." The others nodded, but didn't respond. Harry shrugged and, his thoughts elsewhere, began to eat his toast.
