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My first class was Herbology. To my surprise, I saw Neville heading the same way after breakfast as I was. "Neville!" I called, and swiftly caught up to him.
He smiled at me. "Morning, Susan."
"Why are you headed for the greenhouses?"
"Sprout's not got enough students at the N.E.W.T. level to split us up anymore. So sixth- and seventh-years are together this term."
I let out a rush of air. "I have to admit, I'm relieved to know someone!"
"Yeah, you don't get many Gryffindors in Herbology," he said. "We're much more for Defense and Transfiguration."
I could tell from his tone of voice he took neither. "I love Herbology," I said, to deflect his small bout of self-pity. "It's one of my favorite subjects."
He brightened instantly. "Is it? It's my favorite. I'm doing independent study with Sprout as well. I'd like to be an Herbologist, though it's quite a competitive field."
I tried to think what the Neville of my time did, but drew a blank. Mum never really talked about him, and I doubt he had ever spoken more than a sentence or two to me. "Well, if Sprout thinks highly enough of you to take you on as an independent study, I'm sure you're brilliant at it."
He ducked his head in embarrassment.
At Greenhouse Two, I surveyed the class. There were only a dozen and a half students there -- did they, along with me and Neville, represent the entirety of the N.E.W.T.-level students in Herbology?
I tried to wrap my mind around this, then realized that Neville's cohort had been born when Voldemort was still in power -- as had my peers in the year below. In my own time, the ranks of the school had swelled enormously as I went through; my year was the first to be born after Voldemort's vanquishing, and the average class size after my year climbed and climbed with each sucessive class. Wizards and witches were far less leery of bringing children into a world without Voldemort.
Before class, I went to explain my situation to Professor Sprout. She didn't look any different than I'd known her, which put me at ease. "Professor Sprout," I began.
She turned to me and looked taken aback. "Ginny Weasley, what ARE you doing here? You didn't elect this N.E.W.T."
I swallowed hard. No one had actually mistaken me for Ginny yet. "I'm not Ginny Weasley, ma'am," I said.
She squinted, then got a little closer. "Silly me," she said. "Ginny doesn't have pretty green eyes like that, does she? You must be a relation."
"Yes, ma'am," I said, relieved. "I'm her cousin. I've transferred to Hogwarts this term."
"Excellent," she said briskly. "I hope you enjoy Hogwarts. Keen on Herbology?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good, go take a station."
I escaped from her shrewd gaze and took a spot between Hermione and Neville. Ron and Harry were standing on Hermione's other side. "This term," Sprout announced, "we are going to look at wandmaking from an Herbology standpoint. You will notice that this greenhouse is full of wand trees -- the cherry is to my right, birch to my left, and behind me are several others: rowan, willow, oak, ash, beech. Trees must be grown and maintained extremely carefully to become the sheaths for the magical substances found in wand cores. Japanese wizards and witches use a technique called bonsai, and as this is becoming more and more accepted in the Western Wizarding world, it's the technique we'll be using this term.
"You'll be working in pairs on trees. This will last at least till Christmastime. If you could all choose a partner now . . . ?"
I was stricken. I wanted to pair with one of the seventh-years, but I didn't want to separate them from each other. I saw Ron and Harry give Hermione a look, and she nodded. The two boys wandered off together to choose a tree.
Now the only logical thing was for Neville and Hermione to work together, but that left me with a stranger. Hermione sensed my distress. "It's all right!" she whispered. "I know Susan Bones from -- well, I know her, anyway, and she'll be stuck by herself when Justin and Ernie pair off, now that Hannah's left."
I had no idea what she was talking about, but sure enough, she approached a pretty girl wearing a Hufflepuff Alice band, and the two of them started chatting about which tree they wanted. I turned to Neville. "That was sweet of her," I remarked.
"Yes," he agreed. "Which tree would you like?"
"I've not got a preference, really."
"My wand's cherry wood."
"Mine's rosewood, and that's not here," I said. "I think you can't grow it in Britain."
Before we could claim the cherry for our own, though, another pair had taken it. "Come on, let's get the rowan," Neville said, and staked it out before anyone else could.
"Why the rowan?" I asked.
He looked at me for a moment, then laid a hand against the tiny tree. "It's protection against evil."
I declined to comment, but also put a hand on the tree. It was warm and felt surprisingly solid for something so small.
Class that day was a lecture on wand trees, though we were encouraged to "bond" with our tree. "The more interaction with magic a tree has while it's growing, the better wand wood you can get from the tree," Sprout told us, so I, trying not to feel silly, patted one of my tree's boughs.
My other class that day was Divination. In my time, the professor was a witch by the name of Professor Krauss; she was a Seer who had correctly predicted the winner of the Quidditch World Cup for seven years running. (She was now banned from making any bets on any Wizarding sporting events.) She described herself as a "small-time Seer," saying that she hoped that one of us could do her one better by actually "Seeing things that matter."
In my parents' time, though, I knew I had to either face Professor Trelawney, the slightly insane, mostly fraudelent excuse for a Professor, or Firenze, who didn't much care for human forms of Divination. While I was mostly rubbish at Divination, and therefore didn't care for it, I knew it wasn't a waste of time. I also knew Firenze and Trelawney would make terrible professors.
For this class, I was only with sixth-years; Divination had enough of a following that we were split up. (I suspected this was because it was fairly easy to fake one's way through the O.W.L.) I didn't know anyone in the class, so I sat off by myself. My year had Trelawney, at least for now.
The subject for this term, she told us in tones so breathy I could barely hear her, was the Tarot. Well, I thought, that was better than having to squint into the crystal ball for hours without seeing anything. The Tarot was all about context and clues.
We had to pair up again, and I found myself with the other odd witch out: a moon-faced girl with long blonde hair who seemed, quite frankly, to be out to lunch. "I'm Susan Hopkins," I said.
She focused on my face for the first time. "You look rather like Ginny Weasley," was her response.
"She's my cousin," I said.
"Mmm," was her only response.
There was a moment of silence. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," I said.
"I haven't said it yet. But it's Luna Lovegood."
My breath caught in my throat. Oh. Luna. I'd forgotten about her. "I'm -- uh -- I'm pleased to meet you."
"You don't look it," she said thoughtfully. "That's all right."
"We should start the assignment," I suggested.
"Yes, I'll spread and you can read," she said. She began making a simplified, six-card Celtic Cross with her cards, the first and most basic spread we'd be learning. I consulted my textbook to help read it.
"Well, the first card is -- oh. The Devil. Well, that's clearly He Who Must Not Be Named," I said. "That's supposed to be the heart of your concerns."
Luna's eyes open even wider. "That's true!"
"The second card is the Knight of Wands. The book says . . . a passionate, adventurous young man; associated with fire. It's supposed to be a 'contrary influence' to the first card." We looked at each other.
"Well, that's obvious," Luna said matter-of-factly.
I nodded and moved on. "The third card is the thing that underlies your whole life. You've got the Queen of Cups."
Luna stared down at the card and traced one finger over it. "That's my mother."
I didn't ask. "The fourth card is your past. You've got the Five of Cups, which is . . . ." I flipped frantically through my book. "Let's see. Um, 'bereavement, loss.'" I looked up at her. "Is it . . . was it your mother?"
She nodded, still staring at her cross.
I was growing more and more uncomfortable. I didn't having a Divining bone in my body, but apparently Luna did; the cards had responded to her, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. "The fifth card is your convictions. You have the Ace of Swords. That's, er, that's intelligence and reason."
"The Sorting Hat is quite clever," she remarked. I inferred that she was a Ravenclaw.
"The last card is the future." I stopped. The Hanged Man stared back at both of us. I broke the quiet. "This is silly," I said. "It's just a card."
"Go one, read what the book says," Luna said quietly.
I cleared my throat. "'Ultimate sacrifice,'" I read.
We were both quiet for a while. Other students were laughing over the absurdity of their cards; I couldn't even muster a smile.
Finally Luna looked up at me. "You believe in this."
It wasn't what I'd been expecting her to say. Agreeing with her was easier than explaining how I knew the cards were right. "Yes."
She thought for a minute. "I don't know if I do. I believe in some fairly unbelievable things. I have to think about this one." Then she scooped up the cards, Hanged Man and all, and shuffled the Tarot deck. "You next?"
Predictably, my cards told me nothing. Luna tried to puzzle over the secondary or even tertiary meanings of them to suss out what they could mean. I didn't bother. I'd barely scraped an "A" on my Divination O.W.L.; it was only because Professor Krauss knew that I needed to at least make it to my sixth year that she allowed me continue. Five N.E.W.T.s was plenty; I would drop this ruddy subject as soon as I got back to my time. If I managed to get back to my time.
At dinner that night, Neville was chattering excitedly to me about the tree project; I was scarcely listening. In a way, being at Hogwarts in this time was like living amongst ghosts: some of the children around me -- too many -- would die before the year was up. It was my misfortune that I knew who, and how, and when.
Even the ones who lived would be completely changed by the year. Ron as I knew him in this time was constantly laughing and making fun of whomever and whatever he could. Though my Uncle Ron was a funny man, his good humor was tempered with much more gravitas when I knew him. He burned with a passionate intensity when it came to the just causes he and Hermione stood up for, but the crazy energy he'd once held seemed to have been quenched -- or perhaps it lay dormant in the absence of Harry's influence.
Better that than . . . I looked across the hall at Luna's table, where she sat reading a magazine. I thought of the image of the Hanged Man and shuddered.