I realized that I had left out about 16 characters from the sorting ceremony and that they way I had the class schedules formatted didn't make sense when you considered that there is only one teacher for each subject at Hogwarts. So I went back and fixed that and re uploaded those chapters.
Not Potter and the Stupid Stone
Chapter Eight
Laura
I wake up the next day, shocked to find myself alone in the common room. When Noel and Hermione had finally made in back to the common room at around 1:30 in the morning, they had looked exhausted. Although, I suppose they were both quite schedule driven people; couldn't be me. I forced myself out of bed with the promise that, since it was Saturday, I would save my homework for tomorrow. I opened the lid of my trunk and stared into its depths, before promptly closing it again. I looked down at my pajama's which consisted of a pair of grey flannel pajama pants and a Super Sentai t-shirt - good enough. I didn't really care what other people thought of me, as my sole mission of this morning consisted of doing no more than trudging downstairs in my slippers, grabbing a slice of toast, and coming right back to my dorm.
When I stepped into the Great Hall, expecting the day to go as usual, I was, for the second time this morning, shocked. This time, to see a large crowd of students, mostly Gryffindors, huddling around our end of the table. As I approached, the clamoring of the large flock became more apparent, and I began to try and piece together some of what they were saying.
"Woah!" Ron exclaimed, "is that a Nimbus Two Thousand?!"
"You're gonna be in it this time, Potter." Draco hissed, picking the broom up. "First years can't have their own brooms."
"It ain't just any broom, Malfoy." Ron said, taking it back. "What'd you say you have? Some Comet?"
"Better than you, I suppose. You Weasleys must be saving every twig from the brooms you have."
When I met the table group, one teacher, Professor Flitwick, approached as well. He interrupted whatever conversation had been happening, before it soured further.
"You two aren't arguing now," he practically squeaked. "Right, boys?"
Draco quickly changed his tone, becoming as innocent as possible, in an attempt to call out Harry. "Potter here's been sent a broom."
"Ah, I heard. Professor McGonagall told me about his special circumstance." He smiled at Harry, which caused Draco to turn livid. "What model does it happen to be?"
"It's a Nimbus Two Thousand, professor." Harry smirked, "and it's mostly thanks to Malfoy, here, that I've got it."
Draco stormed off, as Harry and Ron began to laugh. Noel I came further through the group, and finally sat at their table spots, as the crowd slowly dissipated.
"Goodness," Neville complained from where he sat next to Ron. "I just wanted to eat breakfast." It appeared that somewhere in the ruckus of the broom arriving, his oatmeal had been upturned into his lap.
"Same here." I continued, still desperate to find that piece of toast. "Congrats on your new broom, though, Harry! Best model out there, at the moment!"
From aside us, Hermione brushed by, rising from her seat, seemingly angry. She swiftly muttered under her breath. I sighed.
"Hope you're proud of your reward, for breaking the rules." She quickly scolded, briskly walking away.
"She's still annoyed from last night," Harry explained. "If you were wondering."
"Assumed so." I said, rolling my eyes.
"So," Ron butted in, changing the conversation, "when do you have your first practice?"
Though trying to add in on the small talk, my eyes scoured for a singular slice of warm toast. The softened butter tray sat in front of me, with no toast in sight. I could taste it on the tip of my tongue, the crispy and delectable texture along with the satisfying taste it held. I almost began to find myself revolted by all other foods, while scanning the table a second time. Only delectable toast could curb my hunger.
"Tonight, it says." Harry replied, reading the note that came with his broom. "Around seven, with Oliver Wood."
"How exciting!' Neville cheered, as he scooped oatmeal out of the folds of his robe, "good luck, then!"
"Harry, you're gonna be great!" Ron said, patting him on the back.
There it was. Directly in front of Ron, the whole time. He sat there, mindlessly, eating from the mount that was toast on the platter in front of him. I leaped forward, reaching out at the mass of finely cooked bread. Finally, I gained the piece I was so desperate for. After taking a butter-less bite, I slyly began to pull the tray towards my end of the table.
"Laura," Ron began, confused.
I stared, fixated on the mission of gaining my toast, not really paying him any mind.
"I-if you wanted some toast, you could've just asked."
Ignoring his retort, I glared at him, picking up the tray. I started to walk away, carrying it towards my dorm, before forgetting the butter. I turned around briskly, snatching the butter, and continued my march away. I could feel the stares questioning me, but that didn't matter. My mission was complete: I got the toast.
As I settled on my bed and began devouring the platter, ignoring the stares and whispers being directed at me by Lavender and Pavarti and the stifled giggles coming from Savannah, something seemed to bother the back of my mind, worrying my thoughts. I had not seen Noel once this morning. Not when I woke up, not in the common room, and certainly not at breakfast. Where could she be? I looked down at my plate of toast and then around at the now, thankfully, empty dorm, and decided that any Noel hunting could wait till after lunch.
Noel
I slumped down against a tree towards the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. The particular spot in which I had chosen to spend my mourning at was right on the edge of the property line, behind the quidditch pitch. It was an area that most people didn't go to, preferring to spend their time by the rippling lake or in the stadium itself. That's why I had chosen this spot, the privacy. I made careful to stay away from the fence marking the boundaries of Hogwarts, fearing any enchantments that might be placed on it to keep students in.
As I settled myself against the tree, I reached into my bag and carefully pulled out the books I had gotten at the library. I needed to know, once and for all, who was right because I was starting to doubt everything my parents had ever taught me. All the things about muggle borns and blood traitors having less potent magic were begging to seem more and more absurd. I had taken the time to observe my classmates and could notice no difference in the potency of magic between Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, or any other student for that matter. But my parent couldn't lie to me. Could they? Would they? I shook my head quickly to clear these thoughts. I really need to read these books.
I decided to start with, What Makes a Being Magic: A Look at Magical Peoples. I cracked open the spine and quickly flipped to the table of contents. I scanned down the chapter titles until I came to the one I was looking for, Chapter 25: Magic in Humans; the making of a Witch or Wizard: page 439. I quickly flipped to the correct page and began reading the introductory paragraph.
"For the final study in our book, that of us ourselves, we look towards the unique differences between ourselves and our more animalistic magical friends. Indeed, it can be said that Wizards, as a whole, are a most curious form of magical species. One of the key differences between us and other magic folk if the glaring blight of muggles. In no other magic race can it be seen a population of magical absence. Not only that, but in humans it is an overwhelming majority that lack whatever it is, in fact, that creates a magical core in us. One hypothesis towards explaining this anomaly is that wizards are not supposed to be wizards at all. That somewhere in our past there was some great natural disturbance that mutated what was supposed to be a species of muggles into magical beings. Is that why magic can seem to run out in the case of squibs and suddenly appear in the case of muggle borns? Is it, perhaps, only by a twist of fate that any of us inherit magic at all?"
I slammed the book shut. It was idiotic. To think that Wizards might not be intended to exist, and that magic is seemingly random. It could be disproved by I simple look towards fact, Magic was genetic. How else could you explain generations of wizarding families stretching back all the way through recorded mystery. If magic truly were, say, a fifty-fifty chance, there would almost never be one family made completely of wizards nor one completely of muggles. It would be impossible to keep magic a secret because it would constantly be popping up everywhere. No, this book could be discounted as not making an ounce of sense. It simply couldn't be true.
Having come to this conclusion, I swiftly put the book down and replaced it with the next one, Magic: A Journey into Our Cores. This book was exclusively on the magic of wizards, so I simply opened to the first page and began reading.
"It has been seen, through the numerus magical studies done, that it is complete scientific theory that Wizards have a magical core no matter their parentage. From muggle born to the purest of blood, it would be impossible to perform magic without one. In this essay I hope to reveal to you, in complete detail, all the studies that lead us to this understanding and how this knowledge can be applied to give us a better understanding of our world. This will include how things like birth defects can damage a magical core, causing a loss in magic, I.E., squibs, and the probability of two parents with broken magical cores resulting in one fully magical child."
I quickly flipped back to read the table of contents; it was quite a lofty "essay". This book sounded like it might actually have answers. I quickly moved to put away, Protégé or Peasant: Where Does Our Magical Strength Come From, the third book I had checked out. I could look at it later if I still had questions, for now I was going to keep looking at, Magic: A Journey into Our Cores, it seemed to use actual scientific reasoning to back up its points and even had chapters dedicated to different reputable magical scientists and their studies. Much better than that first book.
The only thing that I didn't like the book was the fact that it seemed to be solidifying in my head. Magic is magic, no matter where it comes from. If this was true, then it would mean that my family was wrong, horrible even. Completely racist towards people who were, in essence, identical to themselves. It was completely hypocritic. And I had believed all of it.
