A/N: Revised - 4/04/2020.

AWF

It would seem that, over the Christmas holidays, Draco has learned how to do the Shield Charm. He's taken to bragging about his achievement to his minions and raising his voice just enough so that anyone in his general vicinity can hear about it. When Hem is around, he shoots her a smug smirk as if to say, 'You're not so great, after all.' But she doesn't know how he could've thought that she was great in the first place.

But then she remembers that Sally-Anne has been boasting about her, and it all makes sense. They have a peculiar dynamic, in Hem's opinion. It's come to her attention that most Slytherins actually prefer Sally-Anne over Draco; but one is a blood traitor and the other is the Malfoy heir, so they can't exactly make their preferences known at this point.

It must be hard to be so conscious of all the politics and controversial moves that one can do just from saying the wrong thing or associating with the wrong people. Draco is a brat, but he's a brat with power and just agreeing with someone dubbed a supposed blood traitor could get them into trouble.

"It's really not so hard," Draco gloats, self-importance so ingrained into even his tone of voice that it'd be strange to hear it differently. (It'd be curious to see him just act like a boy who doesn't have a desperate need to prove himself.) "I practically learned it in my sleep ̶ Ah!" He abruptly yelps ̶ (a high pitch that momentarily pierces her ears) ̶ and evacuates from his seat just as a flurry of quills embed themselves in the backrest. It draws the attention of the entire common room.

His expression is one of abject horror as he gapes at the loveseat before it's quickly wiped off by a thunderous scowl that's sent in the direction of Hem. He locks eyes with her ̶ (coin grey, she thinks) ̶ but that seems to be a mistake because he hastily looks to her left ̶ (what about her eyes bothers him? What do her eyes look like, again?) ̶ where Sally-Anne is regally seated by Hem's side, wand in hand and looking too innocent to be truly so.

She flutters her lashes and imparts a beatific smile before, "Well, would you look at that, Malfoy? Here I was expecting you to either already have one up or to immediately cast one nonverbally in response." Her eyes brighten with glee as she adds, "Cute yelp, though. Very dignified of the Malfoy scion." She winks at him, and Draco's cheeks tinge pink as scattered snickers flare up around them.

Weston offers Hem more crystallised pineapples ̶ (which she takes without thought) ̶ while he and his two friends ̶ (another pair of siblings? They look related) ̶ smirk at the exchange between the two First-Years. "One of you is going to have to fix the chair, I hope you understand," he informs them, voice raised to cut off whatever Draco's about to say. "Professor Snape won't be pleased to find it damaged and you all know what a great experience it is whenever our Head of House is displeased." He smiles pleasantly, looking even more like his younger sister with it in place. Although, it's already quite obvious that they're related since they both possess similar colouring and features.

"We're basically the cooler version of the Weasleys; blond hair, brown eyes and freckles," remarked Sally-Anne, who said it like a fact as they all walked to Flying Lessons ̶ (or was it Potions?) ̶ together.

Ron scrunched his nose in disagreement. "How is any of that cooler than red hair, blue eyes and also freckles? Bill says that it's the rarest combination of all natural hair and eye colours!"

The girl in question flipped one of her signature plaits over her shoulder and promptly replied, "Because they're characteristics belonging to the Perks and we're cooler than everyone, so, you know. Step down from your high horse and admit defeat, please."

Harry and Hermione laughed while Ron was, once again, gaping at his 'fellow blood traitor' like she was mad. She's eccentric, for sure.

Draco rapidly pales ̶ (it's impressive, actually, what with how pale he is already) ̶ his head whipping towards the loveseat before dramatically pointing at Sally-Anne. "She should do it! She's the one who sent the blasted things at me in the first place!" he exclaims, his lackeys ̶ (friends?) ̶ nodding and murmuring their agreement as they sneer obediently at the pariahs of Slytherin.

Sally-Anne raises her brows, unimpressed. "If you'd have just used the Shield Charm like I thought you would ̶ since you were bragging about it and all ̶ they wouldn't be there, now, would they? Besides," she tilts her head, "shouldn't it be easy for you?"

"My sister makes a compelling argument," Weston agrees with a nod, smirking towards the younger boy. Smirking is a common thing amongst Slytherins, it would appear. "Surely, you should know how to do the Mending Charm? It's first-year material, after all. If you can do the Shield Charm, then this will be no problem for you."

Draco glares at the Perks siblings, probably unwilling to submit despite likely knowing the Mending Charm simply because he doesn't want to agree or admit defeat. (She thinks she knows it. There was something she had to fix, right?)

Someone older than all of them finally sighs in exasperation, "Just do it, Malfoy. You're causing a scene and some of us have exams to prepare for and assignments to finish."

The Perks smile together, quite pleased with themselves as their defeated opponent groans but does as instructed.

. . .

. . .

The tall, reasonably handsome man stares down at her ̶ (his eyes are gunmetal blue) ̶ with the intensity of someone who can immediately unravel another's inner workings with unconscious effort. Her head tilts ̶ (at least, she thinks so; it can be hard to tell, sometimes) ̶ up so she can maintain eye contact. A part of her wonders who he is and why she's been called to meet him.

He flips his long, luscious hair of ebony ̶ (it's so shiny, her retinas are reeling) ̶ over his shoulder as he turns to bestow a saccharine smile ̶ (Sally-Anne would marvel at such a sight) ̶ upon the elderly man seated behind the grand-looking desk. "You should've called me sooner, Albus," chides the unknown man ̶ (unless she's forgotten him, which isn't implausible) ̶ his tone both pleasant and vaguely threatening. "Look at her." He waves a hand in her direction, eyes narrowing in on her wrists and neck for a moment. "She's clearly disturbed."

Accurate, but if Hermione or another Gryffindor was present, they'd be righteously offended on her behalf. Sally-Anne would probably nod in agreement and then proceed to list all the fun facts she knows about her mute friend.

"My apologies, Kenelm," Albus says in apology, although he doesn't sound very sorry as he grabs a sherbet lemon. He offers some to her by tilting the bowl for better access. (Despite all his apparent reservations about her, he does seem to approve of her willingness to accept the sweets when offered.) Hem takes a few and places them in her lap while she absently opens one. "Seeing as we were both quite busy with our own schedules, I'm afraid it was a touch difficult to ensure your swift arrival. But," he lifts his arms to gesture at the other man, "here you are, now."

The man apparently known as Kenelm just about rolls his eyes before he shifts his attention back onto Hem. The coattails of his tailcoat jacket ̶ (ebony, like the hair) ̶ flutters dramatically as he kneels beside her for further examination. (She presumes.) With more gentleness than his demeanour would imply, he lifts her hair out of the way so as to get a better look at her neck. It's probably a right mess, but Hem refuses to look into a mirror to find out.

(She never recognises who's looking back. "That's you," says a voice. But it's not her. Who is she?)

"It would appear that she frequently causes self-injury as a subconscious attempt to cope with stress upon her person," he murmurs, eyes cooling as he makes eye contact with her, one immaculate brow raised in question. "And no one's figured out an effective way to reduce such a tendency?"

Hem sucks on the sherbet lemon in her mouth and doesn't reply. His gaze is penetrating, demanding an answer that she can't give.

Dumbledore ̶ (Albus?) ̶ answers for her. "Her parents have tried various methods to little success. They have previously attempted to put salves on her injuries but it seems that the symptoms only worsen when they do so. I have a file of information you can go through, if it would please you."

(He has a file on her. In his desk? Does he have a file on everyone?)

Kenelm finally breaks eye contact with a sigh that sounds more like a hiss before removing his hand and returning to his full height. "Well, I just hope you and/or Severus haven't made any attempts to rifle through her head. That'd be most displeasing," he adjusts his jacket, "and regardless of how tiring it gets; I will lecture you on the importance of not tampering with fragile mindscapes."

There's a weird twinkle in the headmaster's eyes as he replies, "Oh, neither I nor Severus would be so willing to risk your wrath, I assure you."

"That sounds like a blatant lie," responds Kenelm as he grabs the file and begins to skim through it. "No matter. I'll stay. But do be aware that I'll disappear sporadically to attend to other patients." A dark, unpleasant smile appears on his face, then. "It's astounding how idiotic those Ministry bastards operate. Do you know that there is a muggle study in place as they attempt to understand why large amounts of people around the world are suddenly experiencing black spots in their memories with no significant cause as to why? And that more than half of them eventually suffer from mental disorders such as anxiety and depression because the lack of certain memories erodes their ability to function properly in their daily lives? All this is because of shoddy Obliviations where the ones responsible don't even seem to see muggles as human."

From the vehement tone alone, it's obvious that he truly cares about the topic.

"'To keep the wizarding world a secret,' they say." He elicits a derisive scoff. "Please. Perhaps I should Obliviate some of them and show them how mindlessly they crush others' mental wellbeing. Like a giant trampling all over Occamy eggs; that's how they go about it. What do they care for the lives of muggles?"

And as he continues to bemoan the incompetence of the Ministry, its workers, and just about everything related to it, Hem somehow thinks that he and Professor Snape ̶ (who?) ̶ would probably get along smashingly.

. . .

. . .

They are friends, as it turns out. (Is that supposed to be surprising? Why is that surprising?) It's a fact that seems to have thrown just about the entire student body into a confused, terrified frenzy as they try to process the possibility of their Potions professor having friends.

"I swear I saw the git smile at dinner yesterday," Ron gossips from his and Harry's spot across the table. Harry is practically inhaling his food and barely listening to the conversation. Sally-Anne and Hermione, who're on either side of Hem, look a touch concerned. Ron continues, "It was horrifying! Percy and the twins swear that they've never seen him so… So…" He struggles to find a word before he eventually shrugs and goes with, "Well, you know… Not like he wants to hex everything and anything that breathes within his line of vision."

Harry adjusts his glasses before leaning forward to take another bite of his breakfast while Hermione responds, "I know! It's very disconcerting. But… Well…" She fidgets, glancing down at the table in uncertainty. "Do you think he'll maybe be a little less unbearable during Potions if he has someone to confide in? That'd be ideal, wouldn't it?"

Sally-Anne snickers ̶ (something about Kenelm seems to make her do that) ̶ as Hem chews on some scrambled eggs. "Not likely, Hermione. Kenelm Cheshire's known for being belligerent ̶ even though he's actually quite successful ̶ in the wizarding community. Mum tells me he's very serious about the preservation of the mind and that he'll never fail to tell you just why the Ministry is shite at their jobs." She dainty sip of her apple juice before adding, "I'm fairly sure their friendship consists of the both of them bitching to each other about their respective woes in life. Which is honestly great, in my opinion, but I doubt that it'll make our dear Potions professor any less of an arse."

The two boys wrinkle their noses while Hermione sighs in reluctant agreement. The bespectacled one says, "He doesn't sound very pleasant. And he's meant to be looking after Hem?" His glance to Hem is one of clear concern.

With a wave of dismissal, Sally-Anne reveals, "He's actually nicer than Professor Snape, or so I hear. I don't know if he's interested in terrorising children as much as his greasy-haired friend, but I suppose we'll just have to see, don't we?" She then gives Hem a gentle pat on the back. "But I doubt Hem will have much trouble dealing with him, either. Mum says that he's known to work on muggles and wizards alike with fantastic results, so he must not give much of a damn about blood purity and all that rot if that's the case."

"Well," Hermione starts, her shoulders loosening with relief. No doubt, she'll be the first to rise up if she thinks her little sister is in danger. "That's good, then. I was worried that he'd treat Hem unfairly like Professor Snape does."

"Wait!" Ron suddenly gasps, his mouth full of toast as his eyes widen with growing panic. "Do you think that he'll try to get Sir Cheshire to help him steal the Philosopher's Stone?"

Sally-Anne groans dramatically as the other two Gryffindors look at Ron with similar expressions of horror. "Oh, again? Honestly." Exasperated, she turns to Hem while the other three rapidly talk among each other. "It's got to be Quirrell, if anyone, but whatever. I warned them. Is it a Gryffindor trait to be a stubborn arse? I mean, does no one else see how creepy he is when he's switching his attention between you and Harry in DADA? Or whenever he's passing by?"

Hem blinks at her while she gnaws on a bit of bacon. Apparently, Sally-Anne has a whole vocabulary dedicated to the language of blinking, for she seems to take this one as, 'No, what do you mean?'

She leans in closer. "He's getting a little sickly, isn't he? And sometimes, he just stares listlessly at nothing when we're supposed to be writing; then you; then Harry; and then back to nothing, again and again. Sometimes he's legitimately nervous, but then the next moment, he's furious! But that disappears right quick. Merlin, isn't it ever so odd? Then when you look at Snape, he's the same cantankerous bat that he's always been."

With an idle curiousness, Hem wonders how long Sally-Anne's been watching the turban man. Then the thought disappears as the eccentric girl begins to recount her Christmas brawls with her brothers from Durmstrang.

"It's a family tradition, you see. I don't know how it began, but it's quite fun! I once broke my hand on Harper's face and it was the best day of my life for three years. I was four and very easy to please, mind you."

AWF

A/N: Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.