"Today, class, you will be creating an antidote to Acromantula venom. It is an extremely complex potion that requires exceptional skill to pull off successfully... skill which I know some of you do not possess, Greenhalgh in particular, is only capable of disaster." Professor Lambert smirked and glared at a young girl whose surname belonged to her.
Althea Greenhalgh was sitting in the corner of the room, lost in a mix of shadow and daydream. She remained indifferent to the words of her professor, almost as if they were expected. Unperturbed by the knowledge that every eye in the classroom seemed to turn towards her in curiosity, she eventually met this eyes and stared fiercely back at him, matching the loathing that was tucked away behind his eyes.
Students began to smirk and whisper to their partners, eyeing the girl Lambert seemed to loathe. After several moments of awkward unease, he turned away, content with the impact he had made amongst the class. He continued to talk in a low drawl that was renown for sending people to sleep through boredom. With a wave of his hand, words appeared on the old blackboard in cursive, collecting the instructions of todays potion and etching them upon the green before sitting behind his desk, observing the students at work. This year, Professor Lambert was teaching Defence against the Dark Arts and today, potions were required.
Everybody scurried to the storeroom to collect their required ingredients and equipment, which resulted in the noise levels dramatically increasing. Chairs scraped across the wooden floors and chattering echoed around the room as people discussed the recent summer holidays. Althea stayed in her seat until the hustle had died down a little, deeming it wise to do so. There were so many people hurrying to the tiny store cupboard that it seemed idiotic to even attempt finding what she needed, but apparently this wasn't a thought to be shared.
"Miss Greenhalgh, may I ask why you aren't collecting your things?" Lambert sneered, jumping at the opportunity to scold her for something that really wasn't necessary.
"No, you may not." She replied almost instantly, without looking his way.
Only one or two students sitting nearby Althea had heard what she said. One of those students was in her year, Alex, who rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation, anticipating the loss of precious house points at her hands.
The other, was Sirius Black.
Black was sitting at the table next to hers and he seemed to be struggling to hold back a bark of laughter, entirely amused at the nerve she possessed. Usually, it was either himself or James that argued with the teacher for being idiotic, not Althea. She was usually immersed in her works.
She wasn't a nerd, perse, but she did love to learn. And being in Ravenclaw house, most people automatically categorised her as such. Each Hogwarts house had its stereotypes, which she loathed almost as much as Lambert himself. Most people thought that to be in Ravenclaw, you must be either a nerd or exceptionally book smart. Althea didn't think she was either. While she was certainly intelligent and wise beyond her age, academic intelligence didn't come naturally to her – it was something she had to work extra hard to acquire. The hat had struggled to place her, so much so that it felt like a lifetime she sat under it. As it happens, Althea's sorting was one of the longest hat-stalls in a hundred years.
"Ah, so bright… so rare… what a peculiar place this is – no wonder you spend so much time stuck inside here… daydreams really are a magnificent place to be, particularly in a brain as rich as this. Curiouser and curiouser... you have the gentle nature of the sweetest Hufflepuff… the heart of a Gryffindor… the mind of a Slytherin…" it spoke, slowly, as if savouring every moment until it finally shouted, "but the soul of a RAVENCLAW."
Althea had knowledge and wisdom that cannot be learned through books. Something so often undervalued but its significance could not be overstated. It was the kind of knowledge that came alongside always trying to see the goodness in people, even in those who didn't particularly deserve it. She knew that even the moon had her darker side. That trait would be her greatest strength; or her deadliest weakness.
Another weakness, so it seemed, was the inability to hold back sarcastic comments when her patience was waning thin. The comment was out of her mouth quicker than her brain could tell her to not to say it, and she half hoped he hadn't heard her nerve making a brief appearance. Where was it now, she wondered, as she couldn't bare to look into his eyes.
But like Sirius, Lambert heard her perfectly well.
"Twenty points from Ravenclaw for your cheek. Any more remarks from you and it will mean a lot more trouble for you, Miss Greenhalgh. If I were you, I'd hurry up and not make any more noise until end of class."
Without looking at him, completely passive, she heaved herself out of her seat, making way to the store cupboard – which, as she predicted, was too busy with people that she couldn't find anything for a good five minutes.
The rest of the lesson was rather boring, she thought. She had already made the potion several times before in Slughorn's Potions Club and even helped others with it. But it wasn't good enough for Lambert. He seemed to have it in for Althea today… more than usual, anyway. He had decided to hover over her for most of it, making harsh remarks about anything and everything she did, picking her apart slowly. He seemed to enjoy watching her slowly lose her temper, resulting in more punishment. Though so far, she had held her cool.
Althea had finished her potion. It was purple, smoking in circular spirals and had the perfect scent of lavender and camomile. It was a flawless concoction that any professor would be thrilled with. She couldn't see how Lambert would be anything less than pleased with it. Was this pride, she felt? A rare emotion she had scarcely experienced before, but she kind of liked it.
Althea finished her potion more than half an hour earlier than everyone else, which doubled her smugness. She cleared her mess and stowed her equipment back into the store room before carrying her potion to the front of the classroom, intending to put the vials onto Professor Lambert's desk. All was going well, until a boy with the name of Pettigrew tripped, crashing right into Althea and sent all of the vials clattering to the floor with a mighty crash.
Her hopes fell with it and anger rose in its stead. Her effort, time, and skill was wasted because of his recklessness. Her body stung from hitting the floor with such a hard thud, but nothing stung quite the words she spat at Pettigrew.
There was a moment of silence before she roared, "What the fuck are you playing at you stupid cu-"
"Greenhalgh!"
"-nt! Do you realise how much time I spent doing that? No, because you couldn't produce a successful potion if your life depended on it, you fucking imbecile."
"Miss Greenhalgh!"
"Oh, fuck off."
Again, like before, the words were out of her mouth before she had time to contemplate them, or even figure out who it was that spoke. Anger fizzed inside her like a deadly viper ready to pounce and in the moment, she didn't care who she pounced on. She wanted to smack Pettigrew around his ugly round face and maybe that would knock some bloody sense into him.
But then, the silence overwhelmed her. A pin could be dropped and heard from across the classroom, and a buzzing in her ears brought shame to mix with her anger. Clenched fists loosening, breathing deep and heavy… to her horror, tears welled in her eyes. Shame. It was shame she felt most of all, for her outburst that seemed to be controlled by something beyond her.
Control your emotions, Sev had always told her, control your emotions so they cannot control you… but most importantly, so others cannot control you through your emotions. Severus Snape was one of her longest and dearest friends, and she had always found comfort and friendship and most of all, acceptance, while in his presence. It was something he had always told her, and mostly, it worked. He was right, but sometimes she couldn't help but explode at the idiotic behaviour of humans.
She looked around, ignoring the heat of every eye that burned into her skin and met the eyes of her Professor, who looked angrier than she had ever seen him before. She felt ashamed, but also a little scared. In her fear she took an instinctive step back and stumbled into the lap of Sirius Black, who was sitting in the chair behind her.
Her face burned a deep scarlet, embarrassment added to the concoction of humiliation. She jumped up at once and uttered a feeble, "Shit, I'm sorry," before being pulled roughly from the classroom by a vexed Professor Lambert.
He paused and turned to the class, bellowing in his low voice, "Get back to work, the lot of you – I need to deal with this brat. If I hear one more noise from anybody, there will be serious retribution."
He dragged her from the classroom, his grip firm on her arm. She winced from the pain, noticing as she did so that every eye was watching her. The door slammed behind them and she hissed, "Get off me!"
They were in the hallway now and pushed her into the stone wall, until her back hit firmly against it. He glowered at her and pointed his big fat fingers into her face threateningly.
"You dare?! You dare speak to me in such a way?"
It wasn't a question, really, but more of a threat. Or, at least, that's what it felt like. She could sense the danger in his tone; it was low, calm, collected… deadly. Nothing nor no answer could possibly dig her out of the hole she had dug for herself; nothing would lessen his anger, so she stayed silent in anxious anticipation.
Lambert had never seemed so tall, so mightly, and so menacing. He was everywhere; dominating every part of her vision. There wasn't a place she could advert her eyes where he wasn't there, towering over her, radiating with an anger that came in brutal waves. All she could do was shrink so far away that she hoped to disappear, and that's exactly what she did.
She disappeared into a memory that felt so much like this one. It clouded her mind until she vanished in the fog.
She was no longer in the corridor of Hogwarts school, but in the safety of her home… only, safe wasn't ever the word she'd use to describe her home.
It was misty, and it felt like she was watching the events through a cloud. She watched from above herself, detached but still there.
A younger Althea stood there, in her bedroom, cowering before a menacing man who meant her nothing but malice. It was her father; Professor Lamberts brother. They looked so alike. And he too, looked mightily scary when he was angry. Even more so than the Hogwarts Professor.
She no longer saw her father standing there, but the monster that lived behind his eyes whom she knew so well. His facial features were slightly contorted with rage, showing the malice that was always reserved just for her. Her face was burning from the recent blow, parts of her hair still clung to his fingers, though he had released her moments ago.
Time was fuzzy, now. Everything was fuzzy. She wasn't sure what had caused her father to lash out or target her this time, but like many times before, she had given up the need for understanding. She surrendered to the fate of the cards in moments like this, and focussed all her energy on getting through them.
What she could remember, though, was the pain. The pain and fear ran deeper than even the most ancient rivers, and washed over her so frequently. She carried the weight of it with her everywhere she went, like the inevitable darkness that so frequently lured her into the abyss. Some days she teetered on the edge of despair, but then light came to her in forms of friendship and passion.
Though the shadows were always there, lingering, trying to darken her brightest days. The vicious words he spoke loitered too, whispering into her ear when she was alone and nothing could drown that noise out. She knew he was wrong, but she couldn't help believe his words as truth. She was a failure. She was bad. She was not good enough. She must be defective, why else would a parent lie and hurt their child? Only one of their children, because father wanted her to be more like her brother, and less like the little cunt she was.
She pushed these thoughts down deep and jumped on them, until they threatened to overthrow her only in moments of conflict. She was there, shrinking, yet again. Shame washed over her, why couldn't she defend herself? She wanted to, more than anything, but what could she do? He was her father, after all. And nobody believed her. That much was concrete. Her voice was silenced under the guise of the perfect family, she soon realised that nobody was coming to save her. She had to be her own saviour.
Father slapped her face, hard, and her head fell back, hitting the wall. Then, quick as a viper, he grabbed her neck. Air became restricted, lights faintly popped in her vision, and everything started to cloud.
He was going to kill her, she thought.
She was going to die, she knew.
She could see it in his face, the anger taking over and extinguishing rational thought. Panic clung to her almost as tightly as his hands around her neck. She tried desperately to breathe, to yell 'stop', but he didn't. She couldn't. All she could do was mouth the words as they didn't even make their way out of her mouth.
So, this is how I'm going to die, she remembered thinking, unable to tell this man just how much I fucking hate him.
Tears started to drown her face and she panicked even more as she gasped for life. Her wand was nowhere to be seen, she couldn't reach for anything. No matter how much hitting or kicking she did, nothing worked.
Eyes – go for the eyes, she thought.
She reached herself up tall and pushed her thumbs deep into his eyes, hard. But it didn't work. He pushed her backwards until he head hit the wall firmly again, harder this time than last.
Just when she thought her time was up, he released her and she fell, tumbling to the floor in a heap. He had left the room while she writhed on the floor, gasping for breath, and she didn't move for what felt like hours. She lay there, on the floor, rocking herself into despair, yearning for a sanctuary that didn't come.
And then she was back in Hogwarts, standing in front of Professor Lambert, crumbling at the memories triggered by his harshness. She was shaking and gently rocking herself while crying silently, looking slightly dazed, as though she wasn't really there at all. She was hiding, unravelling at her seams.
Lambert stood there, a little taken aback at what he saw in her eyes. It didn't take a skilled Legillimens to see what secrets she was holding, but he didn't soften much. Deciding to allow her some space, he stepped back, but stood firm until she stopped her tears. He wasn't aware of how hard she had it at home, perhaps he wouldn't have been so hard on her today if he had known. Summertime was sadness for her, he knew that much.
Eventually, he spoke in a much quieter voice.
"Althea, I am not my brother. I daresay I have a tad more control. I would never…" he trailed off into nothingness. After a pause, he straightened his robes and spoke in a much harsher, usual-Lambert tone, "But your behaviour is unacceptable. You disgraced yourself, your house, and your name. Under no circumstances do you speak to me like that, or anyone else for that matter."
He seemed to bubble with anger. Nobody knew that he was related to Greenhalgh, she would take that secret to the grave, she thought… but he seemed to take her behaviour as a personal attack and besmirch on his name.
"Fifty points will be taken from your house…"
She didn't respond.
"…and you will be in detention every evening for two weeks…"
She didn't even look at him.
"…oh, and the cane."
The sound of the last word made her eyes shoot up at once, immediately dragging her from her trance. At first, she couldn't do anything but widen her eyes in horror. Then, her mouth fell open to form a small circle. The cane? she thought in horror and pondered what exactly that meant.
Eventually, she found her tongue.
"The… the…" stuttered Althea, fear preventing her from forming a sentence. "…the… cane?"
He stared at her openly. After he didn't say anything, she continued with her ranting.
"But you can't!"
His gaze turned into a glower, was that a challenge? He thought. Children didn't behave like this in his day, he often wondered what happened along the way.
With puppy-dog eyes, she stared bravely back at him and whispered, "Please, sir. I'm so very sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper and say those terrible things, I'm just…. not… feeling myself. I would never usually – but with everything… I-I-I- just-" Althea trailed off.
"Do you want to make it more?"
She fell silent instantly, eyes falling to the floor in horror at the situation she had landed herself in, but also the terror of what the cane could mean. The cane was a form of punishment in most schools, magical or otherwise, though it didn't rarely make an appearance. It was a long stick made of birch wood usually… thin, but painful. There had been many stories floating around school, though she had never witnessed it being used up close. It was used sparsely, which explains why she had reached seventh year without ever seeing it used in person. She sometimes saw the marks left on other students from it, or people waiting in the corridors to be called into their detentions and the look on their faces was frightening enough.
"No, sir... I'm sorry."
"I'm quite sure you are." Whatever softness that made an appearance before, disappeared as fast as it came. "Enough of your feeble excuses, they are of no value here. Little girls like you should be seen and not heard. I do not, ever, want to witness a spectacle like that in my classroom again. Do you hear me?"
She nodded sorrowfully.
"You will attend detention this evening at precisely six o'clock, without tardiness."
"Yes, sir."
"And every evening after."
"Yes, sir."
"And I am sure you know that I must inform your parents about this, Althea."
This hit her harder than anything else he could have said and he knew it. Her eyes immediately widened, shot upwards to stare at him.
"No – I'll be good, I swear!" she was pleading now – no, she was begging. "Please, sir… please… don't tell them. They can't know. I'll do anything. You can't tell them, you wouldn't be so cruel, you know what they can do–"
"Silence!" his nostrils flared, bellowing mightily.
She did. And she felt sick again. Struggling to stay present now, she wrapped her arms around her tightly and started to bounce gently on her tiptoes, staring horror struck into mid-air. Could this day possibly get any worse? Tears threatened to make an appearance again and for a split second, Lambert felt pity for the child.
In a lower and almost soothing voice, he spoke quite calmly, "I am sure he won't take it as badly as you think."
"You will go back into class, clean the mess you have made and apologise to Pettigrew for your behaviour."
"Y-yes, s-sir."
"Then, you will stand at the front of the classroom until the lesson is over."
He turned and pushed the door open, holding it open for her. She wiped her tears quickly, deflated a little and obliged him. She went inside and was instantly hit with the air that was thick with tension. Several students turned in their seats at the sound of them re-entering the room, grinning at their neighbours.
As she cleaned the spilled potion and apologised to Peter, it sounded as though every student in the class was giggling and talking about her as her back was turned. This alone should have been horrifying, but at this point she felt nothing. It was almost as though she was on autopilot, watching her life but not paying attention to what was happening anymore.
As she turned, she noticed Sirius sitting in the corner of her eye. She was expecting him to be amongst those poking fun at her, but it was quite the opposite. He seemed troubled. It was an odd look to be seen on a face usually so engrossed in laughter and silliness, seriousness was not Sirius's usual stance. It seemed like he knew something more than what the others did, had he seen something?
They made eye contact and simply stared, with a searching look into the soul. He seemed sad, but anxious. He was looking at her with… sympathy? Or was it pity? But before she could make up her mind, Lambert shouted her name and made her jump from her ponderings.
"Greenhalgh! Up here, now."
She turned and hurried towards him, not daring to peek at his face.
"Stand there." He said, pointing to a place next to the chalkboard.
She stood, back to the class. He laughed slyly.
"No, turn around. You can face your shame today." He sneered at her, but she wouldn't move. She stood defiantly, a look of hatred on her face. She wasn't going to let him play with her for everyone to see. No, not today.
"I said, turn." He shouted, slapping her leg with a ruler that was brandished from mid-air.
She hissed as the wood made contact with her skin and recoiled from him. With a grimace, she quickly turned to face the class. Familiar tears filled her eyes and she chewed on the lump that rose in her throat. Her pride was replaced with humiliation and shame, but she faced the class with the courage that would make a Gryffindor proud. She kept her eyes on a spot just above the doorframe, counting the books along the shelf.
In the corner of her eyes, she saw several students smirking and laughing behind their books, revelling in her discomfort. She didn't dare look at anyone, she couldn't. She thought she'd break down entirely if she made eye contact with someone ever again.
"Hold out your hands." Lambert said determinately.
She did.
He hit her with a thin piece of wood. She closed her eyes tight and winced, expecting what was to come. He hit her six times in total, though admittedly he wasn't being as hard on her as he could have been. He didn't enjoy using the cane, but it was mandatory for correction of certain behaviours.
Althea counted them in her head. One, two, three, four, five, six… she didn't release her grimace, expecting more. But no more sharp hits came, only the weight of something heavy being placed into her hands.
She opened her eyes to see a stack of three, large, old books piled onto each other. Frowning, she looked at him questioningly. Really? She thought.
"Really." He said.
Shit. He can read every thought. Trying desperately to clear her mind, she looked away again, maybe her mind wasn't the sanctuary she once thought it was.
"You will hold these until the end of class. Do not drop them, do not lower them, do not move… or you will regret it." He said in a sternly voice, and then continued to the rest of the class, "Miss Greenhalgh is demonstrating what happens when you step out of line in this classroom. She is a disgrace and extremely lucky I don't hex her tongue so she can't speak for a month, but believe me when I say I am still considering it." He glared at Althea with a menacing grin, thoroughly enjoying the discomfort he was causing her before addressing the rest of the class.
"All of you will continue with your potions and ignore Greenhalgh's existence entirely. I expect them to be labelled and placed on my desk in precisely forty-five minutes, then complete your theory until the bell rings. In silence."
The rest of the lesson passed slower than a turtle stuck in mud. The first few minutes were more boring than anything else, combined with the feeling of stupidity, wondering why the hell she was told to hold these sodding books.
But then the burn came. Starting on the back of her arms and taking over, until she could no longer feel her arms at all. Pain and fire slowly crept through the minutes and intensified with each second. Pain tugged on the back of her arms, pulling them down, and down, and down… until a slap hit her on the legs again, jolting herself back upright.
She chanced a glance at her Professor, who was laughing slightly despite her frustration. Althea fought to keep her arms straight, but over time they began to wobble and shake uncontrollably. She was surprised the books didn't tumble from her arms with the extent of the shaking. Gravity felt stronger now than ever before, she didn't know how much longer she could take.
Just one more minute.
Just one more minute.
Just one more minute.
The only way she got through it was to focus on simply getting through one minute at a time, scrunching her face and closing her eyes tight. She could hear the harsh whispers and giggles of the students in the room mocking her, despite their Professors warning – he didn't seem to care much. This was part and parcel of the punishment, she wagered. She didn't know what hurt more, the physical pain or the mental torture.
Either one was hell.
Regardless of how much she willed herself not to cry, not to let them see her this way, tears started to roll down her cheeks just as the sound of the bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson. Relief, sweet and joyous relief, at last. She began to lower her arms with a sigh, but was slapped on the back of the legs again, harder this time. It burned like bitter hell.
She scowled at him.
"I haven't dismissed you yet." He smiled. "The bell is for me, not for you. Stay there." He sneered, and continued to talk to the rest of the class. Eventually, or what seemed like forever, he dismissed them all. He stood watching Althea as every student left his classroom, almost daring him to follow them. She didn't, she knew better.
"Good," he said softly, "learning at last, are we? Better late than never, I suppose."
After stretching out the moment for as long as he could, he finally turned to her and lifted the books from her arms. The weight was gone, but the burn lingered fiercely… and the burn was accompanied with a deep ache in her arms that she had never felt before.
She couldn't move her arms and for several long moments, she just stood there. She felt like the tin man from Wizard of Oz without his oil, a character in an old muggle story, who could only move when his metal body had been oiled. She felt stuck; painful; seized. Eventually, her arms fell to her sides and she felt deflated shame. She felt like she could collapse, from either the pain or mental exhaustion, she didn't know. Maybe both. It was the most draining hour of her life. She didn't think she would be able to move for a week.
"You may leave, I will see you at six."
She took her leave without hesitation, speeding for the door, when he called her name for a last time.
"Greenhalgh." He shouted.
She turned and her bag landed into her arms, pulling further onto her pain and forcing her to squeal in agony. He had thrown her bag at her with some power and he smiled pleasantly. Her bag was heavy, full of books, and he knew it would hurt her more.
She loathed him. Every fucking inch of him. In the look she gave him she thought that maybe he knew it. But she didn't care, not now. And with that, she bolted from the room, tears still rolling down her face like the mess she felt she was. All she cared about was getting as far away from that classroom as possible, she didn't think she'd be able to ever return to it – and didn't know how she would be able to face him again in just several hours.
The door slammed behind her. In her hurry, she hadn't noticed the person she had ran headfirst into and who now embraced her. They were tall, all she could see in her vision was their chest and their shabbily presented school uniform. Althea could instantly smell leather. It was a musky scent, earthy, and a little honey. She liked it. But there was something else… overshadowed by the slight aroma of dark chocolate.
It was Sirius Black.
