As ever, standard disclaimers apply.
Octavius blended into the crowd that was converging on the Transfiguration classroom. They were as new as he was and so were relatively unaware that he'd missed their first class. He hoped they'd think he simply didn't have that class. Or Something he wasn't sure what. Anyway the door was open and he filed in along with everyone else, finding a seat as far in the back as possible.
"Good morning, children. I am Professor Weasley-Potter and this is Transfigurations. So if that's not what you were expecting, I fear you are in the wrong classroom." She smiled warmly and everyone (almost everyone) relaxed, Octavius wasn't ready to relax, he had no idea what to expect. She held a roll of parchment in her hands and started calling off names. Each time she did, another student would call out to signify that they were the person being addressed. At his own name he simply gave the same salutation as the girl before him had done, a simple 'Here, Ma'am,' which thankfully seemed to be enough. The ginger-red haired woman smiled at them and moved to the other side of her desk, pulling her wand from her robes as she did. He cringed automatically, unaware that he was the only one to do so. Equally unaware that more than one of his classmates had noticed and were filing the information away for future use.
It was a long class. At least it seemed so. Mostly the tall professor lectured at them about the history and theory of what they would be learning and not until the last few minutes did she allow them to even touch their wands! Not that Octavius minded that too much. After all, it always seemed that the wand his father had given him did not even like him! But how could a measly piece of dead wood lined with something from some magical creature have any brains at all much less have any sort of feelings about anything. But still. It seemed like it hated him.
Or perhaps, as his father ofttimes suggested, he simply wasn't capable enough to have such a thing. Perhaps he was only a step away from being a Squib. He had only a few short years to prove himself adequate (to his father's standards anyway) lest he meet the same fate as all his earlier siblings. Being accepted to Hogwarts was, it seemed insufficient proof. At least he'd lived long enough to get that far.
Young Octavius' thoughts had settled on the musings of what had actually happened to the seven who had preceded him and so had stopped listening to the lilting voice of the professor. Until it was nearly shouting in his ear. "Octavius! Your wand, boy! Where is it?"
"Erm..." He started. The teacher was towering over him, annoyance in her face and posture. "What?"
The class as a whole snickered. "Your wand, Mr Lestrange. Get it out we are going to practice some motions. Are you unwell?" suddenly her expression changed to one of concern. "Perhaps you need to return to the Hospital Wing?"
He shook his head and riffled through his robes to extrude the requested object. "I have it Ma'am, I'm sorry."
Now she was regarding him with a terrible look of uncertainty. "It's not uncommon for some students to be a bit disoriented their first day," her tone was quite a bit more gentle. "If you're sure."
"Yes ma'am." Sure about what? Not needing to return to Madame Pomfrey's care? Having his hated wand? Being sorry he'd been inattentive? Did it even matter?
"Very well then." She returned to her place at the front of the classroom, dark blue robes swirling about her ankles like pooled water in a very mesmerizing sort of way.
Octavius shook his head and held his wand exactly the way his father had told him. It was very much similar to the way the professor and most of the students were holding theirs. They all made and repeated the necessary motions several times. He'd had little practice in this form. It really wasn't something his father cared much about, though. Still, he could turn simple things into other equally simple things -- when his wand felt like co-operating. The professor was passing out some tiny sticks of wood, one to a student, she told them. They were to turn them into needles. Wood to metal. How hard was that?
Apparently hard enough. Most of the students were not having any luck. Octavius' wand decided not to cooperate and so he was having as much trouble as most of the rest of the students. Finally he growled at it and the tiny toothpick (for that is what it was even though the boy had never heard of such a thing) suddenly burst into flame.
The girl next to him screamed. Octavius jumped at the shriek in his ear and spun toward her in response, holding the wand much like some sort of defensive weapon. There was shouting and then a gentle tug brought his vision back and he saw a worried professor standing in front of him, one hand wrapped around his wrist while the other gently tugged at the wand. Her lips were moving. he blinked and the universe steadied.
"Octavius? Child, let go. It's all right..." Her voice filtered to his brain at last. He let go of the accursed stick.
"It hates me," he mumbled softly, dropping his head to hide the tears that threatened to burst from his eyes.
"You just need more practice, dear," she murmured soothingly, giving him a small hug. She turned back to the class, all now muttering and curious and unsure. "I think we've had enough for one day, though." Your assignment is to read the first two chapters from your text and write an essay, one foot, please, on the importance of viewing in your mind what you want the object you are transfiguring to become. Dismissed."
Octavius, being thoroughly undone by her impromptu embrace took a big step away from her and held out his hand. "May I have it back, please?" He asked when she showed no sign of returning the wand.
She looked from him to the thing in her hand and frowned. It felt wrong. "You said it hates you. Do you really think so? I should not have thought Mr Ollivander would give someone a wand that did not agree with them."
"Who? My father gave me the wand."
"Ah, it's second hand then?"
Octavius shrugged not understanding the term but not wanting to appear any more stupid than he already did.
The professor sighed then handed the thing back to him. "Often second hand wands do not suit. In truth it's best if one has a wand that fits, but it's often not practical."
"Yes ma'am." He tucked the wand away.
"Best get to lunch then, Mr Lestrange."
"Thank you Ma'am." He hurried off.
Lunch turned out to be a terrifying ordeal of closely packed bodies and too much noise. It was all the youngster could do to keep himself from running off to hide. He was so desperate to get away that as soon as he saw an older student walking towards the giant doors, he leapt from his seat and hurried along the same path. He'd not eaten a bite, had not even managed to get any food on his plate and he was hungry.
He looked at the schedule of classes that had somehow made it to his hand. Care of Magical Creatures was written there. Hagrid's Cottage. Where was that? Obviously not in the castle. Just as obviously somewhere on the grounds. He walked outside and looked around. A slightly overcast sky kept the sun from being over bright and that made it easier to look around. The grounds were quite lovely, even an eleven year old boy of little experience could sense that. He finally caught sight of a path and saw a delicate trail of smoke rising up from behind a knoll. He moved off in that direction.
Shortly he did find himself at the front of an a large outbuilding. It's chimney was spewing a delicate plume indicating that the place was in use. Moreover, there was a garden with lots of well tended (he supposed) plants. His stomach gurgled mercilessly loudly and the huge front door opened.
Something big and dark and hairy loomed there. Octavius gave a small shriek and backed away, pulling his wand out with a shaking hand. But then he remembered the half giant from the boat ride and he stood still, looking up and trying not to be afraid.
"Well there! Yer a mite early fer class there, lad!" The deep voice rumbled cheerfully. "Come on in, sounds like ye didn't have lunch."
"Erm... It was too noisy, sir. I-I thought I'd go to class." He hadn't moved.
"Right yeh are. Come on in. Little feller like yerself needs his meals, lad." He stepped back to make room for the child, waving his huge hand in a welcoming gesture.
Octavius returned his wand to its hiding place and cautiously stepped inside. A rather large and drooling creature picked its head up and gave him the once over. He stared at the massive creature. "That's Fang. As sweet as an infant, 'e is. Getting on a bit so he don' move from the hearth much. Yeh can go over and gi' him a pat if yeh like."
"N-no thank you sir. I... I don't think I am very good with animals."
"No? Well, we'll have t'see about tha'. Reckon yeh'll have t' work a bit in my class then, aye?"
"I expect so, sir."
The half giant made a sort of thoughtful sound. Then changed his focus to a steaming kettle. "Well, set yerself down and have some tea, then. I've a bit o' stew left from the night b'fore last. Still good. Got th' recipe from a Hungarian lady. Paprikash I think it's called. Ever try any?"
"No sir." The boy climbed up onto one of the overlarge chairs and sat on his knees so he could reach the table more comfortably.
A mug of tea and a bowl of some savory scented dish was set before him. He leaned close and sniffed deeply. The stew smelled wonderful. Hagrid set a fork down and the boy quickly tucked into the delicious meal.
It didn't take him long to finish and Hagrid was rewarded by seeing the somber boy smile appreciatively as he came to the bottom of the bowl. The little belch was yet another indication that the boy had gobbled up the meal with great gusto. Hagrid laughed and gently laid his hand on the small shoulder. "Ah, now tha' tells me yeh like m' cookin'!" he grinned, especially to make the blushing child feel unfettered by the expectations of posh table manners. After they finished the tea and they strolled outside together to await the arrival of the rest of the class.
--
Harry let the moving stairs carry him up the Headmistress' office, a roll of parchment under one arm and an accordion folder full of Muggle psychiatric studies under the other. He rapped shortly on her door which opened immediately.
"Good afternoon, Harry."
"Minerva. Did you notice Octavius leave the hall without eating?"
"Nae I did not. I'm afraid my attention was in too many places. Tis why your position was created. Too many children were... lost in earlier times. I wish no more tragedies such as was even possible in your time as a student."
"No more children lost to the Dark Arts because there is no one to help them survive their unknown pain," it came out as a wistful murmur.
"Aye. But this child will hold it in and without his word we are limited in what we can do."
"Unfortunately even with his word it would be difficult."
"His father is Rodolphus Lestrange!" More than mere displeasure, there was pure loathing in the older witches' voice. "The man should nae have been released from Azkaban--"
"And yet he was. Odd isn't it? The family is gone except for the old man and Octavius. There is still a fortune but you'd never know it from the impoverished attire the boy showed up here with. Not just attire. Nothing he brought is new as far as I can tell. Was Rodolphus always such a stingy bugger?"
Minerva shook her head. "As a student he was always keen on his appearance. But what are we going to do about the boy? It's clear he's been tortured."
"Minerva, I'm afraid for him. If we bring any of this out into the open he's the one who will suffer. Lestrange clearly has connections. And even if he didn't, the boy is emotionally vulnerable. Any teasing and he will fold up."
"Then what? What can we do?"
Harry grinned his most evil, conniving smile. "We find ways and reasons to keep him here."
"Over Summer holiday as well? I'd like to see how you manage that!"
"So would I, but we have to try."
The Headmistress nodded in full accord.
--
Care of Magical Creatures turned out to be scary and exciting and the hippogriff to which they were formally introduced was the high point of the lesson. Not that Octavius didn't think Hagrid was awfully amazing as well. As he trudged back to the castle for his last class (Divination) his mind fell into fancies of flight and freedom. He paid no heed to the other first years racing towards the castle about him. But then, they paid no heed to him either. he might as well have been invisible.
But he preferred that so he never even noticed.
He was one of the last to find his way into the Divinations classroom and there were only a few empty spots left. He found one not too far from the door and settled into place.
The murmuring shush of the children's voices dulled to silence as the spindly, bangle bedecked witch made her entrance. Scarves and crystals, silver and gold draped her lean form and sparkled with her every motion. The effect, however, was completely ruined by the thick spectacles she wore, and the wavering sing song voice that issued from her throat in her greeting. Someone snickered and she spun toward the sound which, naturally, broke off suddenly. The teacher placed an annoyed frown on her face and slowly meandered about the classroom, speaking not another word until she stood before her flickering hearth. She let her gaze wander over her students just a little longer.
"Most of you will learn theory only, for the Sight is given not acquired. Still, everyone has some insight even if just enough to know when to keep silent." Her moving gaze settled on a ginger haired boy who blushed with sudden ferocity causing his nearest neighbors to titter against their own wills.
"I am Professor Trelawney, for those of you who do not know. We shall begin today with the recitation of a dream which we shall all attempt to interpret. I would remind you, however, that not all dreams are anything more than the subconscious mind's attempt to clear away the cobwebs of the mundane. You will learn to differentiate these from true Dreams."
Her gaze roamed the room once more before settling once again on the ginger haired boy. "Sirius John Potter, we shall start with you."
The boy groaned in answer but as the witch did not seem inclined to make a new choice, he could only clear his throat and begin. "Erm... well... I dreamed of... erm... Quidditch."
Professor Trelawney made a disdainful face. "Not very surprising," she grumbled softly.
"Erm... I was playing Seeker, like my Dad and I caught the snitch. And then we had some cake and Arthur fell in the Lake--" he was embellishing, even Trelawney could sense that.
"Enough Mr Potter. You could have just said that you don't remember any dream."
"Would you have believed me?" His eyes gleamed with unhidden mischief
"Probably not," the witch admitted with a sigh. "I did teach your father and mother and your unless after all..."
Octavius raised his hand shyly.
"Yes Mr Lestrange?" She looked at the boy and tried to hide the shiver of fear that his name caused within her.
"I had a dream last night."
The witch looked surprised. Most students were not so eager to share their dreams on the first day. "Well then, tell it to us, won't you?"
"It's about a little boy. Not me, littler. He cries a lot."
"And?"
Octavius shrugged. "I think his father doesn't like him."
"I see. Well... I don't think that is a dream that can be interpreted my dear. You see what we actually interpret are the symbols that appear in the dream."
"Professor, maybe the boy in his dream is a symbol." A tall redheaded girl looked at the boy for some sort of confirmation. But he'd already lowered his head to hide the blush of his shame, wondering the whole while whatever had possessed him to bring it up at all!
"It could be. But it is one far too complex to be discussed in this class."
"Maybe it was him but when he was younger and he doesn't remember." someone else offered. "I know most of us were little kids once."
"I think perhaps another dream would suit us much better... Yes, Miss Thompson, let's have one from you."
Octavius stopped listening as he thought about the little boy in his dream. It wasn't him. His hair had never been that dark or that straight, and they certainly never had a table that looked anything like the one the boy was huddled beneath. And besides, he'd been in the dream with the boy.
A brother? One of the seven children who'd gone before him? He shuddered. He knew none had survived past the age of nine. But he'd also no idea what any of them looked like. The image of the dark child rose in his minds eye and he studied it, completely unaware of the class moving on around him. The boy was very small. His eyes as black as India ink within a pale face and his long nose was quite his most prominent feature next to the darkness of his eyes. Octavius' nose, though broken more than once, was rather more delicate and because his high cheekbones were wide, his nose fit his own face much more than this boy's fit his.
The boy turned away from him and began to move away. Not walking, just becoming farther away. After a while he turned back and Octavius saw a much older boy. Maybe a boy who was already a fifth year or older. He thought to move closer, but couldn't. Then the boy turned and moved off again. Then turned back and Octavius barely made out the tall slender figure of a man. The man lurched suddenly, nearly collapsing as if in sudden pain. Octavius couldn't move. He wanted to. But he wasn't sure if he wanted to move forward or run away!
Before he could do anything, however, he felt himself being roughly shaken. He heard a terrified voice ordering someone to fetch Madame Pomfrey and another voice asking about a fit. He considered, for a moment, opening his eyes. But there wasn't time before he passed out.