PRECIOUS
dirt
STONE
road

III.

They arrived to the Charms classroom just in time. Filius Flitwick, the Charms Professor closed the door as soon as the three girls went in, and motioned everyone to settle down.

Emmeraud took a seat around the middle of the class, flanked by her two housemates. She looked around to familiarise herself with the rest of students, and spotted around fifteen other youngsters from the other houses, in groups of threes or fours. They didn't seem as detached from the group as the three of them were; apparently, there was a good feeling of friendship between the Houses, except the House of Slytherin. Emmeraud wondered for a moment why would that be, but she had to leave her ponderings for later as a squeaky sort of voice cut across the air. It was Flitwick, at the front, standing over a tower of great, thick books. He's a goddamned dwarf, she thought, disdainfully.

"Good morning, everyone, and welcome this year's first class!" he said, cheerfully. Emmeraud realised that he was the kind of person that didn't mistrust, or judge, anyone, and that it would be easy to warm up to him, provided she was good with her Charms job, which wasn't a huge difficulty for her.

"I've seen most of you before," Flitwick continued, "except one." He beamed towards Emmeraud, as the rest of the class turned around to look at the person he was referring. "Please, let's welcome our new transfer student with a round of applause!" he said, and clapped his hands.

The rest of students followed, some smiling, some with a disbelieving look. Emmeraud smiled widely, nodding and acknowledging their warm welcome. She was enjoying that bit of extra attention from a teacher.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Wilshire," Flitwick said, "I hope it lives up to your expectations, and likewise, I hope you live up to ours."

The girl nodded, taking in the meaning of the teacher's words. Not a fool, then, she thought, scratching that trait from her mental picture of him.

"Now, to work," he said, and motioned them to open their books. "Page twelve, please. You know the drill: a light reading of the theory, and then, to practice!"

That class had been quite easy. Theory wasn't that hard, and practice was even easier for Emmeraud, considering she had been doing Summoning Charms for ages. Flitwick had been impressed with her performance, and had asked her to do a Banishing Charm afterwards, which she had accomplished just as easily. It had had a downside, though: seeing that she had already managed to do all the work of at least one term, Flitwick had set her to practice doing both charms at the same time, which was something the girl hadn't done before, and was taking significant difficulty to manage.

She took the time to observe the rest of her year mates, instead. Both her female housemates were having difficulty with their work, repeating over and over the incantation to no avail; they didn't seem very good at concentrating, Emmeraud thought. The girl noticed something else: one of them, Emily, threw furtive looks toward one of the nearby desks from time to time. It was occupied by two Slytherin boys, whom Emmeraud hadn't noticed until then. They appeared to be practising, but after a few minutes of careful observation, it was clear that they were more concerned with smiling and winking at three Ravenclaw girls at the desk in front of them. Emily looked intently for a few seconds, and then returned to her work, suppressing a sigh.

Emmeraud smiled inwardly. Judging by the way she behaved, her housemate liked one of the boys. The girl didn't see any attractive feature in either of them: both were kids to her; immature, idiotic and dim-witted brats who didn't merit a second look. But as she didn't have a high opinion of Emily either, in the first place, it wasn't such a stretch to think the girl found something to like there.

"It's Alex," said Clara, half-whispering to Emmeraud. "She's liked him since First Year, but he's never even looked at her," she added.

"Really?" answered Emmeraud, not taking her eyes off the boy. Clara had made a small gesture, indicating which of them 'Alex' was. He was tall and looked quite haughty, with black hair falling around his pale face, and almost reaching his shoulders. His fine features made him look almost like a girl, but his thick eyebrows and lashes, encircling a pair of twinkling deep blue eyes, gave him a definite air of emerging masculinity. Emmeraud knew at once he was the spoiled kind, and was probably used to getting what he wanted every time.

"Yeah," answered Clara. "It's getting kind of sad, honestly," she added. Emily had been staring at the boy for a few minutes, before getting back to her own work, another sigh suppressed.

Emmeraud agreed. It was downright pathetic to be in such a state just because a boy didn't know you existed. When they don't look, you make them look, she thought, distractedly swinging a small pillow she was using to practice. With a casual move of her hand, she threw the pillow towards the boy, hitting him on the head. The pillow bounced on him and fell to the floor, while he looked around to locate the offender.

"Sorry!" Emmeraud said, feigning remorse, "Emily, could you please pass the pillow?" she said, nudging her friend towards the boy. "Sorry, again!" she added, smiling at the boy.

He smiled back. "No problem," he said, and picked the pillow. Emily was a deep shade of red when the boy left the item on her hands, and passed it back to Emmeraud. "Here," she said, with a very small voice.

"Thanks," Emmeraud said, and resumed her work. But when it was too obvious that Emily was glaring at her, she looked up and faced her. "Yes?"

"You did that on purpose," she said, sternly.

"Of course I did." Emmeraud answered. "You've been wanting him to look back at us since we walked in the classroom, and I just made him do so."

"I…" Emily started. She expected Emmeraud to deny it, so she could argue with her, but as the girl had admitted her true intentions that easily, she had not known what else to say. Behind her, Clara grinned widely, forgetting to pretend she was working on her charm.

"Look," Emmeraud added, before the girl could recover, "it isn't that hard to get a boy to notice you, especially the likes of him. He's obviously a sucker for pretty faces, because that's all there is to see around here," the girl made a derisive gesture to their robes, "but if he gets to see more than that," she winked, "he'll be enthused in a jiff."

Emily blushed, as she got Emmeraud's meaning – more than what, exactly? Emmeraud smiled, and gave a look at Emily's body, which made the girl blush even more. "It shouldn't be too hard to make him look, if you really want him to," she added, picking a strand of her hair and inspecting it closely, "so, do you?"

"Do I… what?" she asked, but it was obvious she knew what Emmeraud meant. The girl rolled her eyes, exasperated. Clara picked that moment to speak. "Of course you want him to," she told Emily, "but you don't know how, and clearly, Emmeraud does," she said, matter-of-factly, "right?"

"Right," Emmeraud replied. "So, it's settled, then," she added, going back to swinging around her pillow. "You need a complete make-over, if you're to enter his mind the way we need you to, and that's my area of expertise, so, leave it to me."

Emily was stunned into silence. She opened her mouth to answer a couple of times, but it looked more as if she was gasping for air. At the end, she settled for a whispered 'thanks', which Emmeraud acknowledged with a nod, and went back to her work.

It will be fun, Emmeraud thought, thinking ahead all the work she'll have to do with the girl. It was a challenge, and she loved them, especially when they involved doing fun things regarding fashion, and people's minds. Besides, she knew that, earning the girls' trust and, seemingly, helping them with their troubles, will make them absolutely loyal to her, and as she would surely need to cash out on that loyalty sooner or later, it was all to her own benefit.

Transfiguration wasn't as fun as she had expected, though. Soon after their arrival, she had realised that the Transfiguration teacher, McGonagall, belonged to a very different breed than Flitwick. She had, as well, welcomed her to Hogwarts, and upon setting a task for them – transfiguring bunnies into balls of yarn – she had specifically requested that Emmeraud use her wand. "You do have a wand, right?" she had asked, with a slightly hard voice.

'Course I do, fuckwit, Emmeraud thought, nodding and fumbling into her backpack. She took out the wand she had purchased earlier that month, knowing that, sooner or later, she would be forced to use it.

"Good. Get to work, then," McGonagall added, and left to her desk.

Emmeraud looked at the wooden stick she held on her hand, and groaned. She hated the feel of it; it was heavy and uncomfortable to use, and too large. She had tried to familiarise with it before, but had given up after a few attempts. It didn't make her any less powerful, but it was a very weird feeling: she felt her power was channelled and grew stronger, and yet, she felt as if she had been put a restraint. It was like being a racing horse and wanting to go for a run, and instead, being forced by the rider to go on a calm trot. It annoyed her to no end.

Emmeraud set to work on her bunny. She had transfigured things before, though not as complex as a mammal. Quite frankly, she didn't really like the subject, considering all the studying behind it. She aimed the wand to the rabbit, and repeated the incantation. A jet of red light flew off her wand, and hit the poor animal, sending it to jump around the table in pain.

"Fuck!" the girl said, and waved a hand to bring back the animal.

"Miss Wilshire, I thought I told you to use only your wand," McGonagall's voice came across the room, graver than before. "Also, we do not endorse that kind of language here, so, please, control yourself."

"Sorry," said the girl, annoyed. She set the rabbit on the table, and aimed the wand at it, more like threatening it than attempting to transfigurate it. She said the incantation, and the bunny hopped up, burnt again.

"Shit!" she dropped the wand angrily, and waved to the rabbit once more. McGonagall came across the room, her face twisted with irritation.

"Miss Wilshire! Stop that behaviour at once, or I'll give you detention!"

Emmeraud looked at the teacher, her gaze burning with hatred. She kneeled down to pick her wand, breathing heavily and trying not to break into a stream of profanities.

McGonagall stood in front of her, arms folded across her chest. "I know you come from another country, and might have been taught things in a very different way, but this is not your old school," she said in a harsh and firm voice. "You will adhere to Hogwarts' rules while you're at Hogwarts, which means you will use a wand to perform magic, and refrain from using such language in class, you understand?"

"Yes, professor," Emmeraud said, through gritted teeth. She realised McGonagall was a skilled witch, and someone she didn't want to cross, but it was all she could do to avoid hitting the aged woman with all the painful hexes she was thinking of at the moment.

Emmeraud feigned to work during the remaining of the class hour. She knew she'd cause the rabbit to go around in bouncy circles if she tried again, especially while being so angry with herself and the teacher, so she contented herself with aiming the wand at it and shooting small rays of harmless magic, missing on purpose. Her housemates didn't say anything to her, maybe by fear of it resulting in a painful hex being aimed at them, or because they didn't know what to say. They had no idea what it was to be subjected to that treatment, having used wands their entire student lives, and even though it wasn't any easier for them to manage the class work, they knew Emmeraud was in a very different situation.

At long last, the class was over. Emmeraud packed up her things, relieved about finally leaving that torture chamber, and walked towards the door, without looking back to see if Clara and Emily were following.

"Remember to study the theory," said McGonagall, as the students filed out, "especially you, Miss Wilshire."

A fresh bout of anger rose in Emmeraud's chest, and she hurried out of that blasted classroom. She felt taunted, diminished, and all because of a simple spell she couldn't perform. She walked at a brisk pace and pushed open the first door she saw, disappearing behind it. It was a girls' bathroom, and as she reached one of the sinks, her hands clumping into fists, she gave a frustrated cry, hitting the mirror in front of her as hard as she could.

"That miserable bitch, that—" the words died in her throat, as she shook with ravenous fury. Her housemates had caught up with her, and were behind, looking worriedly as she punch-broke the mirror and panted heavily, leaning on the sink while her tears fell down, mixing with the blood falling from her hands. "I'm gonna kill her, the fucking—" she muttered, taking in the cold of the icy jet pouring down the tap, in an attempt to calm down. She scooped some water and splashed her face, trying not to wet her hair. Finally, she realised she was not alone, and turned around to look at her classmates.

"A-are you…?" Clara ventured, pointing at her hands.

"It's nothing," replied Emmeraud, and stretched out her hands. The cuts slowly regenerated and the swelling of the knuckles lessened in front of their eyes.

The girls were amazed at this. Emmeraud chuckled, dejectedly. "A little trick for small cuts," she said, shrugging. "I bet no one in this school knows how to do it, and all because of your beloved wands," she added, laying the last word with scorn.

"Save Madam Pomfrey, maybe…" said Emily, shyly.

Emmeraud shut her up with a glance. "Never mind," she said, turning around and inspecting her hair in the mirror. She had difficulty doing this, seeing as she had just broken it, so she moved to the whole mirror aside. "Not a word of this, either of you," she said, fixing her hair with a hand wave.

"Of course not," Clara replied, and the three of them left the bathroom.

I'm not thinking clearly, Emmeraud told herself, as they made their way to the Great Hall for lunch. She knew she had failed because she hadn't taken the task seriously, and hadn't concentrated enough. She would have to learn to use the wand to avoid getting on McGonagall's bad side, which was something she didn't need. It seemed to her the old teacher had taken an immediate dislike of her, and was set to make her life impossible. The girl would have loved to teach the old hag a few lessons, but knew it wasn't smart to do anything against her. Instead, she would have to work harder at getting liked by the other teachers, seeing as how she had fallen in disgrace with one of them so easily. It didn't suit her, and it had to be remedied at all costs.

"… trailing behind like a lap dog."

Emmeraud had been ignoring the other girl's chattering, but as she entered the Great Hall, and caught the last of Clara's words, she turned to see what the girl was pointing at.

It was the shrill Slytherin prefect of the previous night, walking behind Silenius, and trying to make the boy listen to her. He had the distinct look of someone bored of arguing about the same thing over and over, and was clearly ignoring her, as the two of them made their way to the Slytherin table.

Emmeraud motioned her friends to follow. "Come," she said, and walked briskly towards the boy.

"… and you're not supposed to—"

"Hi," Emmeraud interrupted the girl, smiling at the boy, "I was wondering if you could help me with something."

The boy nodded fervently, smiling, "of course, Em," he said, passing an arm around the girl's shoulders, and giving a quick, helpless look to the brown-haired girl, "see you later, Cass," he added, and led Emmeraud to a vacant seat at the table.

Emmeraud smiled inwardly. At least, there was something she was still good, if not excellent, at.