Welcome to my most random chapter so far. (This is probably not a good thing.)In any case, on with the story and thanks for the reviews!
The Disturbed and Hungry Ramblings of a Sick, Sick Mind
Eloise Midgeon's POV
"Why yes, Mandy! I had a positively delightful summer! But I'm still glad to be back at Hogwarts, you know how it is."
I was glad to be back at Hogwarts. And I highly doubted she knew how it was. I was, of course, regretting the loss of my leisure summer hours, when I could sit around and do absolutely nothing. All day. All week. All summer really.
Or so I had decided to try and fool myself into believing. They say memory is very subjective, so it wouldn't be too difficult to voluntarily tweak mine a bit. Right?
Breathe in… out… concentrate deeply…
Go deep within self to happy place….chocolate place…ice cream place….place of lemon merang pie, cheesecake, ginger cookies and doughnuts…
…am showing definite signs of hunger – too many food references…
I guess that's what you get for squashing your breakfast instead of eating it.
…seem to have gotten a little sidetracked...
Concentrate. Go back to square one. Repeat mantra: with enough will power, one can purposefully modify one's memory. Time to test the power of denial.
This summer, I did not spend many hours each day catching up on my Muggle education under the vigilant eye of my mother, and father, and grandmother. I didn't spend the rest of the time babysitting my younger siblings. And most importantly of all, I didn't spend the summer listening to my Muggle friends tear into each other, behind each other's backs, with a cruelty I had previously thought them incapable of. I did not sit there wriggling uncomfortably, wishing I was somewhere else. I did not pretend to agree with them while they disparaged each other's character. I did not give a disfigured cross between a nod and a shrug when a response was necessary. I did not reply to their rants with noncommittal noises: no grunts, no mmmhs, no uuuuhs. No meaningless phrases crossed my lips: no "I know," "Yah, well," "That's life". No desperate and none too subtle attempts to change the subject were made by me. The conversation did not inevitably turn to badmouthing a different friend. I did not eventually give up and resign myself to nodding wisely while muttering "Ahhh… I see…" I did not sit there all the while - bored, sullen, horrified, secretly wondering whether I was too inconsequential to be denigrated; wondering what had happened to the wonderful friendship that had united us for four years; wondering why they still bothered to pretend to be friends. Of course not.
It didn't happen.
What I seem to remember is solely the result of the imaginings of my sick, sick mind.
I had a very pleasant summer instead.
I caught up with old friends and had lots of fun.
A very, very large amount of fun. Enough fun to cover the whole of England in a five foot layer of chocolate fudge. Enough fun to fill the Pacific Ocean with orange juice.
…
Right.
…
Damn. Not working.
You'd think that a mind that is capable of forgetting five years' worth of star charts for the OWLs exam wouldn't have any trouble forgetting a few dozen small incidents that took up most of the summer.
Fine. I give up. Sick, sick mind - you win.
It all happened. It's not as if I look down on the practice in general. I doubt there has ever been a student in the whole of history who hasn't enjoyed disparaging at least some of their teachers. It's a widespread practice, we all do it. Belittling your rivals is a rather wicked pleasure commonly enjoyed. But it seems to me that you just don't do that to your friends unless you are particularly angry with them. Or is that my Puff loyalty shinning through? Dunno. Am pissed at all of them.
Yes, I was bloody glad to be back at Hogwarts.
And everyone back home could go screw themselves.
"Miss Midgeon, what is the answer to the question?"
Professor Vector's voice cracked through the air, dispelling a wonderfully vivid daydream in which I befriended Dean Thomas and co-founded a Hogwarts Football team, whose first practice lead to a ball crashing through the greenhouse windows, thus angering the plants that then turned upon Professor Sprout; we got to watch while eating deliciously large hot and juicy chicken teriyaki sandwiches.
Shaking the rather wistful smile from my face and whipping the drool from my chin, I realized with embarrassment that I had no idea what the question was and was therefore incapable of answering.
"Well, Miss Midgeon?" he prompted impatiently.
"I, uh, I…"
"Yes?" Vector ground out testily.
Shrinking into my desk, I hesitantly replied. "I don't know. But maybe if you would repeat the question?"
Vectors crinkled old eyes sought me out, questioningly. The evidence of my guilt was undoubtedly displayed on my face for all to see for he gave me a knowing look before quirking his lips nastily. I steeled myself for what I knew was coming.
"Attention everyone!" he proclaimed, gaining the undivided attention of the class. "Miss Midgeon has been kind enough to demonstrate the necessity of continuing to study during the summer. Before you, rests the consequences of an uninterrupted summer of sloth."
A few giggles erupted and I hung my head in shame. It wasn't fair! I was bloody good at this class, and I could have answered the question if he would just repeat it! Unfortunately, Professor Vector was keenly aware of this fact and had decided to punish my lack of attention
"Miss Midgeon has forgotten last year's material, material essential to passing the OWLs. This is a NEWT level class, you have all gotten this far because you merit it. This essential truth will not change, only those worthy will remain in this class. I will not tolerate anyone, even one of our previous star pupils, resting on their laurels. Is this clear?"
A murmur of agreement swept the class. Vector turned towards Hermione with a smile, she has been straining her hand in the air for quite some time.
"Miss Granger. Would you care to explain the answer to the question?"
As Hermione gleefully recited the answer, I clenched my fists until my nails dung into my palms and breathed deeply in an effort to dispel my anger. Mandy gently poked my arm from the seat beside me and sent me a sympathetic look, mouthing out "Bloody bastard". I liked Professor Vector and would go so far as to say I was usually rather a favorite of his, but he was unremittingly cruel to anyone who did not see fit to listen in his class. He was kind to those who put in a lot of effort and did not achieve results. But his sharp intelligence and dry wit would not spare you if he though you had talent and could do more.
I was sitting in Arithmancy class, surrounded by Zacharias and our Ravenclaw friends Mandy, Terry and Lisa. Rebecca had long ago decided to take Muggle Studies instead as she claimed to be no good with numbers, which I readily believed as math was not considered worthy of study by most purebloods. Sure, most could add, subtract, divide and multiply (daily commercial transactions would be rendered unfeasible if they could not), but most wizards were oblivious to the most elementary algebra. The class, not being very popular, consisted mainly of all the Ravenclaws, Ernie, Zacharias and I, and a smattering of Griffindors and Slytherins. (Namely - Granger, Nott and Zabini)
It was only the first class of the afternoon of the first day and I had already managed to wake up in strawberry jam, get snubbed by Malfoy, be disappointed by my inability to sneer, drop all of my Ancient Runes books all over the grand staircase of the entrance hall and get covered in boils when Rebecca finally managed a nonverbal spell in the final minutes of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I had, of course, given up on her being able to produce a non verbal spell by then, and was busy laughing at her face screwed in concentration - which may or may not have affected the choice of her spell. Unfortunately, it was a rather wonky jinx so when I tried to fix if with Finite Incantatem, the boils sprouted feeler like growths, thus occasioning my first visit of the year to Madam Pomefrey; which lead to my quickly grabbing an unsatisfying something for lunch and stuffing my face on my way to Arithmancy, dribbling sauce down the front of my robes.
"…For homework, read chapters three through seven inclusively and write a five foot long essay on the structural relevance of the number twenty-one," Vector finished.
Packing up, I turned to Mandy. "Want to come down to the kitchens before attacking our Ancient Runes Homework?" I asked tiredly.
"Sure. I could use a bloody snack," she yawned.
"Well I'm sure the house elves can be persuaded to scare up a few blood dripping carcasses for our resident vampire, if you're in the mood," I snorted before scurrying off.
"Shut the bloody hell up you bloody scoundrel!" Mandy yelled happily before running to catch up.
I hated Professor Slughorn.
This was a statement of fact.
As soon as the fat man opened the door and smiled demonically at Potter, I knew that this was going to be a very long double period. He stood guard at the entrance and forced us to file past him, one by one, undoubtedly in order to look us over and make sure he hadn't accidentally missed someone influential. He slobbered enthusiastically over Potter and Zabini, making an utter fool of himself in his false humility and friendliness. He could not have made it more obvious that he was sucking up to them for all he was worth, if he had pleaded permission to let him lick the bottom of their shoes clean and provided a corpulent carpet for them to tred upon.
The Slug (as I have henceforth determined to call him), greeted Weasley and Granger respectfully, as Potter's entourage, they were evidently worthy of mild consideration. The rest of us were treated indifferently. I didn't mind. I just wished the sight of him was less sickening.
Taking out my books, I sent Zabini a disgusted look. He merely smirked before pretending to half-ignore the professor that was fussing around him, like a fly over a pile of shit. Blaise obviously found the whole thing hilarious and the more the professor fussed, the more he ignored him - and the more he ignored him, the more the professor fussed, trying pathetically to make himself endearing. The whole thing was rather fascinating, in a morbid sort of way.
Eventually, even the Slug realized that he couldn't spend the whole class fawning over Zabini, so he strode back to the front of the room, where the Griffindors and Ernie were wearing doped-up expressions. Potter's lack of books allowed the Slug to show off his virtuous good nature and generosity (feel the sarcasm). At last, the class actually began.
As he brought our attention to each cauldron, even I had to admit he was at least a competent potion master. So maybe he liked showing off a little. Maybe he had started hovering over Hermione when he realized she held Potter's admiration and possessed admirable reflexes that allowed her to spring consistently from her seat and answer questions, like mechanical clockwork. Despite his faults, he might still be a descent teacher. Probably not as good as Snape, but there wasn't any sense crying over spilt milk. With renewed determination, I decided to take full advantage of whatever knowledge he might have to offer.
Like the rest of the class, I coveted the Felix Felicis and was determined to acquire it. As I prepared my ingredients, I realized that I stood no chance if I followed the exact instructions of the textbook; Hermione Granger would beat me every time. The Draught of Living Death was not one I had ever attempted to make, not finding it particularly useful. I quickly sat and jolted down a few improvements, only quickly balancing them out to make sure the class wouldn't explode. The Draught of Living Death was complex and I was already on a tight schedule, the rest of the class having already started. Forcefully calming my shaking hands, I began to brew.
The intense concentration I always fall into when making potions allowed me to place my jitters aside and concentrate on the task at hand. Shred the leaves…add them in… stir clockwise once…twice…thrice…sprinkle in the chopped root…stir clockwise once again…opps, went a bit too far…half a turn anticlockwise to balance it out…
Damn.
That purple bubble was not supposed to happen.
Suddenly, reality kicked in, I was back in class, most everyone was looking at everybody else's progress. A clockwise turn that went a bit too far was just what was needed to counteract the slightly contaminated leaves, my counter-clockwise half turn at such a critical stage had upset the whole process and just ruined my chances of winning the prize. I should have learnt to listen to my instincts; they were generally right when it came to potions. I dejectedly looked over at Granger's potion and discovered, to my delight, that it was not going as well as usual. My potion had lost the possibility of perfection, but I might make it just good enough to surpass Hermione's if she screwed up just a bit more. I still had a chance.
I worked frenetically until Slughorn asked us to stop stirring. Finally catching my breath, I observed that my potion and Granger's were close, though her's was still better. I slumped my shoulders in disappointment and watched the Professor walk through the class. He smiled pleasantly at Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, looking rather unimpressed at Nott's fuming concoction. He gave Malfoy the cold shoulder, probably trying to distance himself from his father's Death Eater status - had the Slug arrived at the school last year, I think he would have been singing a rather different tune.
Slughorn then proceeded to our table, he nodded at my Ravenclaw friends and spotting my potion, began to form a smile. His approving gaze changed to displeasure when he saw my Hufflepuff crest and changed to scorn when he noticed my gravy stained robes. He looked at me as at a bug - worse than a bug, as a blood sucking parasite that he wanted nothing more than to squish before it could contaminate him.
In that moment, he secured my hatred.
The Slug had nothing against potentially influential muggleborns. Oh, no. He simply thought Hufflepuffs were not worth dung. No ambition. They never achieved anything. A bunch of untalented lazy slobs. Not worth his attention or consideration. Somehow, the gravy stains had confirmed all of his prejudice against my house. I was sick of the discrimitation. I was sick of my house being dismissed. I was sick of being taken for a fool. I would not be insulted in such a way.
Hufflepuff would have it's revenge.
Does anyone else think I have waaay too many characters? Because I do! Its utterly impossible to develop them all properly. How do I cut any of them out without throwing them left and right to ridiculous deaths? I don't know!
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