Sorry it's just a reupload in an attempt to fix the formatting errors! This chapter covers Harry's first year but from a downstairs view. He is going to come into the story later but he's eleven and not that interesting right now.
When people ask me about my story the role of Harry Potter is always an inevitable question. They're usually disappointed. I'll admit, that yes like the rest of the Wizarding World Harry Potter has inevitably shaped my life but he's not in the top 5. They'll always ask me about what he was like when he came to Hogwarts expecting me to able to emphasise his greatness that simply shone out of this miraculous golden eleven-year-old. Honestly, he was basically like any other child at the time.
The summer of 1991 was a funny one. The newspapers were going mad speculating about this child who was finally coming out to be with his own kind. I think seven people were fined for casting spells in Muggle areas to find him. There had been some conversations about sprucing the place up and certainly we had to inspect the first year dorms with more scrutiny than in previous years. During the summer we did a deep clean of the whole place which was easier because the children weren't around to see us so we could easily work during the day. I wasn't really allowed out still because Dumbledore was adamant about the teachers still in the castle seeing me. I did spend a fair bit of time in the library with the high shelves cleaning as well as a lot of the disused rooms. The past few years had really seen a decrease in the Hogwarts population as these children were born 1978-1981 during the bloodiest years of the war. We'd had to close a few dorm rooms, and three classrooms. The assistants in Transfiguration, Herbology and Charms had been dismissed as well as tutors for more specialised classes. If a year only had 40 children, there wasn't the capacity for offering lots of classes. This decrease in children provided a convenient excuse for when Dumbledore unprecedently closed the school the last week in July in or closed off much of the third floor. The house elves knew something alive was up there but apart from being instructed to deliver a live cow once per week to the third floor we weren't told much. I did enjoy the summer as there was less stress, for a few weeks once we'd done the initial clean and it wasn't quite time to start our August clean. Pippy, one of the chattier elves was easily able to be persuaded to show me some of the most interesting rooms and the youngest and oldest elves always enjoyed my fashion show of the more outlandish outfits we found. I was permitted to take clothes from the lost property cupboard and that was the year we found a full make up kit abandoned which led to a summer of experimentation. I was fifteen now and was starting to realise what girls my age looked like.
However, I was honestly shattered by the time we'd got round to 1st September 1991. We'd been furiously cleaning all day as well as making the enormous feast. I'd been up on a very tall ladder until 3am trying to reach the lights in the Great Hall then I was up at 6am helping to make the 200+ beds as it only took me to change a duvet as opposed to three house elves. Then it was straight down to the kitchen to be on lifting duty which entailed trying to lift the enormous meat centrepieces in and out of the oven. It's a vile job but it was marginally safer for me as opposed to the elves to do this. Finally, I was instructed to be up the Astronomy tower to watch out for the carriages leaving Hogsmeade. We were technically supposed to be warned by Dumbledore, but he had forgotten 15 years ago leading to a 20 minute delay on the feast.
During the feast itself the luggage was delivered, returning pupils' suitcases were sent up and a house elf would be listening out for what house each new child would be in. Their luggage would be sent to the correct dorm room, and we'd have to make a cursory check for anything illegal or concerning as well as their uniform. Coincidentally I was based up in the Gryffindor boys' dorm as this was the one suspected to maybe need more beds. You may wonder how we knew how many beds each dorm would need. The answer is that it was an educated guess based on bigotry and family snobbery. One of the most unpleasant elves I've ever encountered was known as Quats and had worked at some upmarket hotel catering for the great and wealthy before closing down in the War. This had given him a strange sense of superiority as well as a near encyclopaedic knowledge of Pureblood families and their traditional houses. We were given a list of incoming students and he'd mark off the likely houses and who were Muggleborn. I think that year we got Slytherin and Ravenclaw absolutely correct but had to move a few beds into Hufflepuff and the Gryffindor dorms. My only memory of Harry Potter was noting Quats was correct about his potential house and the fact his trunk was about a third empty as opposed to the typical bursting trunk. He had his uniforms and school equipment but not a lot more. The usual photos, hidden away toys, evidence of a personality were missing. We maybe should have wondered more but it was so hectic. At the most there were two hours to distribute and unpack over 200 trunks.
The year really passed as normal. We noted the few children up at silly hours or not eating and passed that onto the teachers. Coincidentally Draco Malfoy was one of those. There were a few each year that took a while to settle. Hermione Granger was another of those and I don't think any teacher, or her eventual friends ever realised how upset she was and alone. She doesn't talk about it now, but I think those two months were very bleak.
I had my enthusiastic reunion with the Weasley boys who were certainly not overjoyed about Weasley number 6 joining them. They were however excited to note they were now taller than me. I think that year they were starting to get more curious about me, I tried to shut it down. I'd make some excuse, but I knew they didn't really believe it. I should have ended these meetings, but I could never really say no to a Weasley twin. They were in third year now and really in that awkward phase obsessed with Quidditch and particular young ladies playing said sport. Any awkward conversation could be derailed with an innocent observation about a certain Miss Bell. It was amusing to an extent.
I think it was that year I began to realise my current misery might have an end date. We were up the Astronomy tower on one of the last nice October evenings and the Weasley twins were making grandiose plans for "when we're seventeen".
"So, George, I think we'll begin with the Firewhiskey then buy the joke shop, oh we also need to plan the trip"
"The trip"
"Yeah, Elodie the trip. All those ones in seventh year are talking about where they'll go. Honestly this summer even bloody Cedric Diggory was going on about his trip and he's only in fourth year!"
"Sorry still don't get this. Where are you going on this trip and why is it a seventh year thing?"
They both looked aghast. "You know, the trip round the world when you're seventeen"
"Is that seriously only a British thing?"
"Wait what do you do when you come of age in France?"
"Yeah, what do they do?"
"Aah, not a lot. So, you are of age at seventeen and go on a trip?"
"Merlin's pants Elodie you've finally got it"
"You've gone quiet. Have we finally shocked you?"
I quickly made my excuses and left my head racing. I'd not really read a book in three years as I was never the biggest reader but this time I headed to the library. I didn't really know what I was looking for but finally found mention of seventeen. At seventeen I would be effectively free. I would have no guardian. I could leave. I could get out of this misery, the bed that was too short, the lack of sleep, the backbreaking work, the nearly interminable boredom and loneliness. I could have friends. I could get money. I could go to France and leave this horrific place in the dust.
It was my maintaining thought in my head. Seventeen. The aches and pains one shouldn't get at fifteen, the short nights alone, the repetitive strain. Seventeen. Seventeen. I would turn seventeen on 5th August 1993. I had only to wait. Looking back now I could cry at the naivety and false hope of my teenage self.
October quickly passed and we came to Halloween. Honestly, it wasn't for a few years I really understood what had happened that night. No one tells the servants anything. The feast had been served and we were in the kitchen prepping the final few deserts. The popping pumpkins were back again after being such a hit the previous year. We then heard screams and a quick note was sent to Mopsy, Head House Elf that all the food was to be sent to the Common Rooms. There was no time to ask questions as the kitchen erupted into a hive of activity. I was sent to the cupboard room to get disposable plates and napkins for the now picnic Halloween feast. Half an hour later, we got a directive to go straight to the girls' bathroom and really my Halloween ended with four hours scrubbing troll gore of a bathroom floor. Honestly, it's not the worst Halloween I've ever had.
The weather really turned after Halloween. Scotland's never particularly warm but it got bitter. The kitchens are either roasting or chilly and all the magical advances of the modern era seems to never extend to heating the whole castle consistently. Colds and flu ran rife around the school. Christmas came close round the corner which wasn't a particularly joyous event. The elven powers to be deemed Christmas the perfect opportunity for extra cleaning as well as the pressure of elaborate dinners for those little souls left behind. I heard Dumbledore eulogising the poor little students left behind to our head house elf emphasising the need for frequent treats over the holidays. I did wonder if he remembered the teenager left in his kitchen but honestly, I was glad we hadn't had any contact for the past three years. I was an unwelcome shadow. In the cleaning I did at one point see an uncanny image of myself and my mother in a picture but the pressure of three classrooms in 3 hours overcame any passing curiosity. When I realised recently it was actually a mirror, I was secretly glad for my fifteen year old self I hadn't realised the sentimental folly or pitfall. Quite honestly the euphoria of my discovery of the importance of seventeen had died down to simply wishing my life away. It wasn't quite depression, but it was close. The relentless drudgery of my days had developed to apathy and just a ground hog day feeling.
Before recently, I hadn't realised how much I blanked this period of my life out. I suppose when no one really cares and you don't have memorable experiences it blends into one. I still met up with Fred and George. I did my work. I smiled at the little elves' antics, but it felt like I was watching another version of myself. I've got no meaningful connections to the entire period December-July 1991.
I'd also developed a little addiction to Pepper up potions. It all started on some freezing evening where I'd been repeatedly soaked when trying to clean one of the dodgy deteriorating bathrooms. I was cold but had promised to meet Fred and George. I worried if I didn't turn up, they'd go to the kitchen and start asking awkward questions. I was shattered, fighting a cold that just wouldn't budge and honestly just looked frightfully ill.
I turned up to our designated spot first and honestly just curled up in a ball trying to regain some heat. The boys finally turned up and was in the middle of some explanation of the injustice of Snape before I think really noticing how much I wasn't really listening. I then developed some sort of coughing fit and must have looked utterly ghastly for a pair of thirteen year old boys to realise I wasn't in fighting spirit.
George tried to insist I went to the Hospital wing but absolute refusal. They then tried to take me back to my quarters but to no avail again. Finally, Fred ran off to come back with some Pepper up which apparently they'd pilfered from Madame Pomphrey for some experiment or such like. I reluctantly took it back with me when it was clear I wasn't going to be my usual conversationalist.
Sweet Merlin. That first swig was beautiful. The liquid goes down you like a stream of hot honey softening and warming you from the inside. You feel like a little toasty radiator for around two minutes. Then the fire starts. Almost like popping candy the embers of the fire start popping and filling you up. There's exhilaration, an adrenaline rush, and a wave of hot deep energy rushes through you, pulling out the cobwebs and virus and is expelled through the ears. You're left then with the excess adrenaline and that toasty feeling that remains for a good hour so you can fall asleep almost like you've got an internal hot water bottle.
After years of being left to battle any illness on my own, this was transformative as well as bloody addictive. This led to what I like to refer to as my baby rebel months. It wasn't quite breaking the law which has become a little too frequent these past few years. However, I'd spent years of my youth toiling away for the dark damp castle walls but now I had a higher goal. The pursuit of this high of Pepper Up. Like any addict my focus was on getting my next high and tried to steal away at any opportunity. The corridor outside the Hospital Wing never looked so shiny. Bless her, I'm not sure how Madame Pomphrey felt with this Pepper Up going missing constantly. The eventual charms she put on her shelves didn't quite stop house elf magic. As the months passed, I wasn't saving it up for the night but taking it during the day which led to some exhilaration including a few times testing my voice out. Disclaimer, I'm a shit singer so it was blamed on the yowling of Mrs Norris or some musically hopeful portraits.
However, all good things must come to an end. The year ended. I vaguely heard about the whole points thing. We spent a good week restoring the third floor but honestly minor events in my life. Madame Pomphrey shut up the Hospital Wing to go to Cumbria for the summer. As she was packing up, I managed to steal the last two bottles and decided to end my insalubrious descent on a literal high. I drunk them all by the lake, and in my mania threw myself into the lake. I woke up 48 hours later in the trees, wearing one shoe, my knickers and a fish in my hair. It was depressingly glorious. The next week was horrific as I was now detoxing but the past seven months had taught me many a strategy in evading Mopsy.
From the benefit of hindsight, I slightly regret my descent into addiction but any sixteen year old is going to be stupid. I just had my episode a little more independent and illegal than others. If that doesn't sum up my whole bloody life, then what does.
