A/N: PLEASE READ! Hola! There's not much to say about this one. I just hope you all enjoy it! And I just wanted to say THANK YOU! I've been updating frequently because I want to get as much in as possible before school starts. It's so close! D: Anyway, enjoy! And again, sorry if I missed any errors. I'll try and fix them all later.
Disclaimer: I only own my original characters. Anything that you've read in the Harry Potter series doesn't belong to me, but to the genius J.K. Rowling!
Ciao! Lovelies! :)
Blood, Brains and Stomachs
She should have been worried about potions. Should have been very worried, but for some odd reason; she wasn't. She just felt absolutely sick to her stomach. 'Well, what do I have to be worried about? Slughorn doesn't know me...yet.' She thought.
Sabrina asked Guinevere and Marius to walk her to the potions classroom. She already knew the way of course, but it wouldn't do to waltz into the potions classroom as if she'd been going to school there for the past six years—which she had, but you know what she means.
"You must be really smart to be in N.E.W.T level potions." Marius said.
Sabrina merely nodded her head nervously, wondering what on earth possessed Dumbledore to put her in a N.E.W.T level potions class. She was fucking HORRIBLE at potions. And she HATED potions. When she took the entrance exam, the concoction she had made bubbled lethally, and singed the trimmings of Dumbledore's robes. She would simply have to speak to him when she had transfiguration next.
"Sabrina, are you ok? You're looking a bit green." Guin asked her, concern was etched into her freckled face.
'No, I'm not ok. I am going to fucking die—'
"Yeah, I'm fine. I think I might've gotten the flu. You know? The flu people like me get, when they're around inbreeds too long."
Guinevere chortled in a very (as they would label it in this era) 'unladylike' fashion and threw her head of wild red hair back.
"You're crazy." She hiccupped, smiling. "We'll see you at divination."
Sabrina waved goodbye to Marius and Guin. She slowly, very slowly stepped into the potions classroom. A majority of the class was already present. She had been the last to arrive.
As soon as she went inside the room, everyone stared at her with mild interest. A few people crinkling their noses in distaste (most of them Slytherins) and most pointing (not very discreetly) and whispering.
"Ah, hello my dear. The new American student. What might your name be?" a very familiar, sickeningly jovial voice said.
Sabrina turned and faced a much younger Horace Slughorn. He looked very similar to his older counterpart, with his fluffy eyebrows, dry mustache and beady gooseberry eyes. The only difference was the straw-blonde hair on the top of his head and the fact that he still possessed a very, very, VERY, small neck—back in her time, he had no neck.
"Sabrina Sloane, sir." She said politely. Maybe if she was polite and sweet now, he would take it a bit easier on her when he sees what a terrible failure she is.
"Oh! Marvelous! Albus has told me lots about you! Says that you passed the exam with flying colors!" Slughorn chirped happily.
He took a sweaty, fat hand and shook her slim, now-wet hand.
Sabrina's polite smile faltered slightly, her tan cheeks glowing a light shade of red.
That's it. Albus Dumbledore was going to die early.
Slughorn mistook it as a sign of great modesty. "Now, don't be so modest Ms. Sloane. Come now, pick any seat."
Her dark eyes scanned the dingy room, searching for an empty seat. She mentally groaned when she saw that the only available seat was next to the snooty blonde girl and bighead boy. As if on cue, Riddle looked right her, staring straight into her eyes. She raised a hand to touch her cheek. There was that feeling again. That odd burning sensation.
Sabrina flipped the birdie on him and desperately searched the room for another open seat. Tom glowered at her, burning a hole into her skin. She really didn't want to sit there. It was already bad enough she had to take potions.
And then she saw it! An opening! A heavenly beacon of light next to a cute Gryffindor boy, with carrot-colored hair and fair skin.
She practically ran over to the vacant seat, as if her life depended on it. She reached the table with a small 'THUD', as she dumped all of her belongings onto the table and jumped into the stool.
"That seat is taken." the boy said.
This time, Sabrina groaned out loud and openly frowned.
"Dammit." She began grudgingly cramming her things into her school bag.
And then the boy grinned at her, his honey brown eyes glimmering jokingly.
"Only joking. Ignatius Prewett." He told her.
'Ignatius. Ignatius Prewett. Why! He was related to the war hero Ronald Weasley!'
"Ok! Now that everyone is settled, please take out your textbooks and turn to page 12. You will not be brewing any potions today, but you will be reviewing the eight uses of dragon's blood…"
'Eight uses? There's twelve!' she absently thought.
Sabrina sighed in relief and shook his hand with a firm grip.
"Sabrina Sloane." She said, for the one-billionth time that day. "And thanks, bro."
"No problem. I wouldn't want to sit with that lot either."
Ignatius grimaced. And then: "Wait, aren't you in the same house as that lot?"
He motioned to her green and silver uniform.
"Yes, unfortunately. I have to share a dorm with the Slytherin harlot and the spawn of Satan." She said, nudging in the direction of the snooty blonde and Riddle. The two were getting very cozy.
Ignatius smiled a crooked smile. "I'm guessing you don't like your housemates."
"Not all of them. A few are decent. But most are rather dimwitted. I think it's the many generations of inbreeding that has caused them to lack enough brain cells."
"Are you saying I'm dimwitted? I happen to be a product of so called 'inbreeding'." Ignatius asked her in a grave tone, though he was grinning.
"Yes and no. Yes because, you let me take the seat and no because I think you're decent, you haven't judged me based on my blood."
"Why is it a dimwitted move to let a bird like you take the seat?" He winked at her as he said this. 'Goodness, what is it with forties boys. They're so flirty.'
"Because now your health is at risk. I am not responsible for the many burns and injuries you may be inflicted with, while you're my potions buddy."
She told him all this as she wrote it down on a piece of parchment. Sabrina decided that she liked Ignatius, he reminded her of home. And of Emmett. She missed Emmett.
"Now sign here."
Ignatius smiled and obliged to her wishes.
She survived potions and thankfully didn't blow up the classroom…yet. All they had done was answer some questions in the textbook. She found it to be really easy, since she had already studied most of the questions. Transfiguration was really fun. Dumbledore was an excellent teacher and the best part about it was that Ignatius was with her. Oh, how he reminded her of Emmett. She missed Emmett. And Adelaide and her parents…
"I have to speak with Dumbledore. I'll catch you later." She told Ignatius.
He nodded and saluted her, throwing in a wink, which caused Sabrina to roll her eyes.
"Professor, can I talk to you?"
Dumbledore smiled at her, blue eyes twinkling mischievously. When the last student left the room, he closed the door with a swift motion of his wand.
"Yes of course, my dear. What is it that you need help with?"
Sabrina swallowed and said, very carefully, "Why did you put me in a N.E.W.T level potions class? I'm ruddy HORRIBLE and stupid at potions. I nearly blew up your office!"
Dumbledore's smile only seemed to grow bigger; his bright blue eyes twinkled with more intensity.
"Ms. Sloane, you are cleverer than you seem to think you are. You have the potential to be an exceptional potions brewer, if you put your mind to it."
Sabrina raised a dark brow at him, a perplexed frown marring her face. 'He's definitely mad.'
"Well, you ought to go off to your next class. Good day Ms. Sloane."
And with that, Dumbledore waltzed away to attend to the arriving students.
"My lo—"
"Don't call me that, you fool! Not here. Someone might hear you." Tom hissed. They were in the middle of the hallway for Merlin's sake! He could feel another headache forming. It seems that he's been getting a lot of migraines lately.
"Sorry, m—Riddle. I have what you've asked for." Carlisle Goyle whispered.
Tom sighed, exasperatedly. Goyle was such an idiot. He would've asked Malfoy to do it, but Malfoy had no stomach. Goyle had a stomach. A big one at that. But unfortunately his surplus of stomach left him with a low supply of brains.
The two of them stood facing each other for a good five minutes. Tom, looking at Goyle expectantly and Goyle, staring back at his master wondering why he was looking at him in such a way. 'Have I done something to displease him?' Carlisle didn't want to be on the receiving end of one of his master's infamous cruciatus curses. Watching Malfoy writhe and scream with no sound, on the floor was not a pretty sight.
"Well?" Tom snapped, he hated waiting.
"Oh, right. Uh…What were we talking about?" Carlisle scratched at his head dumbly (bless his poor, unfortunate soul).
Tom breathed out through his teeth, trying to keep his temper in check. He was tempted to crucio the oaf. But if he did, he might make him even duller than he was in the first place. And if the oaf became any duller, then he would never get what he want—no needed. And if he didn't get what he asked Goyle to retrieve, then he would have to go and get it himself. 'Just like I always have to.' He thought bitterly.
"The blood. Do you have it?" he ground out, his patience wearing thin.
"Oh, yeah! Right!" Carlisle reached into the pocket of his robes, feeling around for the vile of unicorn blood.
"It was really difficult trying to make it keep—"
"I don't need the details, Goyle. Just give it to me."
Carlisle put his hand into his other pocket and fished out a slim test tube, filled with silver liquid all the way to the top.
"Here." He said, handing Tom the vile. "What are you going to do with it?"
"It's none of your concern. You will be rewarded for your services." Tom said, smugly. He held onto the vile almost shaking with mirth. His dark azure eyes glimmering greedily.
Goyle could almost swear he saw a flash of red in his dark eyes. But he just dismissed it as a trick of the light. He smiled, proudly. He had pleased his master and he would be spared of the cruciatus curse.
"Now get out of my sight."
Goyle shuffled away from Tom and made his way towards Crabbe. Still smiling proudly.
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