A/N: I'm kind of venturing into uncharted territory here since I haven't written a fic where a canon character has a canonically not established relation to another canon character. Guess you gotta try everything once. (Also, have I mentioned that I like not using the names of characters until the very last moment? You know, keep the guessing game on)

Huge thanks and virtual cookies to Frida (Kefalion) and Xanda (LittleMissXanda) for helping me with the story, and Frida for betaing. I don't know where I'd be without your help.

QLFC Round 13: Wasps/Chaser 3 – S2/R5: Choose a character from the list (I chose Charity Burbage) and write about their first day at Hogwarts.

Extra prompts:

· 1. (setting) Hogwarts Library

· 7. (word) invidious

· 8. (quote) "Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please."

Different

Word count: 1916 (according to MS Word)

She was suffocating. The cheerful and happy-go-lucky demeanour of her housemates already felt like asphyxiating to Charity. Maybe it wasn't a good thing that she'd accomplished getting sorted into Hufflepuff. With a shake of her head, however, she dismissed the line of thought. Doubting her choice on her very first day at Hogwarts wouldn't do her any good.

It didn't matter that she wasn't at all used to crowds or to people with such warm attitudes towards her; she still had to go through this.

It was for the greater good, Charity thought, and almost instantly was drowning in a sense of unsettling irony. After all, this was the very thought that, according to her mother, drove her father onwards.

She never knew him—her father, that is—but her mother, who had once been an acquaintance of his, had told her enough to know what kind of a person he was.

Still is, she thought. The Global Wizarding War is not over yet.

As such, it was at an early age that she had decided to become the polar opposite of who she knew her father to be; she had decided to distance herself from her father's invidious morals. She hated how she had the same hair colour, the same eye colour, and the same, refined but distinct facial features. The only difference was her surname, which she had inherited from her mother.

As she was only eleven, she had been spared of some details, but her mother had taught her to be observant; so she was aware that she wasn't given the full version of what had transpired between her parents. She had ultimately come to the decision that maybe she was better off not knowing, but in retrospect, it only helped her to carve her decision in stone.

For starters, she had decided she wanted to attend Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang, where her mother had wished to send Charity. 'She would receive better education,' her mother had said. 'She would learn how to be a proper pureblood,' her mother had also said. It confused Charity. She didn't really understand why that was important, but as stubborn as she was, she would not let go of her decision.

Earlier in the day, before the Opening Feast, she had been sorted. The Sorting Hat told her she would do great in Slytherin or Gryffindor, but she had insisted on becoming a Hufflepuff, as it was the only house she could not imagine her father in.

Charity considered herself lucky for the leniency of the Sorting Hat.

Now, however, she felt like this decision was more or less for naught. The Hufflepuff common room was too bright, too joyful for her liking. So, she swiftly slipped out of the room, and decided to wander around the castle aimlessly. It was a bummer that she had no idea where everything was, but it felt good to finally find peace in the silence that rang through the halls.

After only a couple of minutes, she somehow ended up in front of what she assumed to be the Hogwarts Library. It seemed like a calm and safe place to be, so even though Charity was sure it was already well after closing time, she crept inside in the blink of an eye.

The library was dark, the shadows on the floor dancing in the moonlight that seeped through the windows. The room itself was spacious; there was plenty of place for Charity to hide if she so desired. For now, though, she decided to search for a book at random. Soon enough, she picked up what seemed to be some kind of report about Transfiguration. It will do, she thought.

She didn't yet know the spell for artificially making light, so instead of sitting down in front of a desk, she ambled closer to the window, hoping that the moonlight would be enough for her to read by.

However, it wasn't long before a voice from behind her interrupted her getaway.

"I quite like to take walks in the castle late at night as well, Ms Burbage," came the voice from behind Charity. Crippling fear of the consequences of being caught breaking the rules on her first school day coursed through her veins. She jumped up from her seat, shutting the book she was reading in the process. "However, I am afraid that students like yourself are not allowed such actions," the man finished.

The professor Charity came to face looked familiar—after all, he must have been present at the Feast. If she remembered correctly, he was the Head of Gryffindor. She couldn't remember his name, though.

"No, Professor, I was just…" she began, but the words got caught up in her throat. She had no excuses she could use for being out so late. She had to improvise. "I just got lost. It is my first day, after all."

"Oh, I know that very well. I also happen to know that all Prefects are ordered to gather their first-years and escort them to their common rooms," the auburn-haired professor said.

"Well," Charity started, but couldn't finish her sentence. It wasn't like she had another excuse prepared, anyway.

"It is quite alright, Ms Burbage. I suppose such things can be overlooked as this is your first day at Hogwarts," the professor said. "Oh, and may I suggest you read Of Teacups and Mice, since you seem to be engrossed in this current piece you're reading?" He nodded in the direction of the book Charity was holding. "It is one of my favourite works by Amanda Brookbanks."

Charity nodded, hesitating. "Uh, sure. Thank you, professor."

"You're welcome." The professor nodded back. "Ah, I must say you remind me of your father with your disregard for rules."

If Charity had been drinking some kind of liquid, she surely would have spat it out in that moment. With a flabbergasted face and raised eyebrows, she talked.

"How does the Professor know about my father? He didn't even go to Hogwarts!" she said, a feeling of unease filling her at the thought that she had been compared to him. Was she failing her goal already?

"That is a long story, and one that started a long time ago," the professor said, a half-smile playing on his lips, which made Charity both confused and intrigued. Her mother had never told her about this part of her father's life, but at the same time, she was wary of hearing something she might not like. Yet, she wanted to hear more of the man she never once met. 'Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please,' she would tell herself. Since she never had a father to begin with, by some twisted motion of nature, it felt as if she was getting closer to him every single time somebody told her a story about him.

A story that she could use as an example not to follow, that is.

It was no more than a futile attempt at pretending she had had a relatively normal life, however. More often than not, these stories would not give Charity closure; quite the contrary, they would only fuel her inherent dislike for him, and her stubbornness about being different.

"You could say we were friends, once upon a time," the professor continued, making Charity drop the book she had been holding.

"Friends?" Charity said.

"Indeed," the professor mused. "However, as I said, it has been a long time since. We were young and ambitious, dreaming of changing the future, changing the world in the name of Greater Good. Sometimes, I wish I could have done things differently, but even I cannot undo the past."

"You helped him?!" Charity was almost seething. She knew that shouting at a professor was impolite, but she couldn't help it. Her father was somebody her mind had always been fixated on, and like a trigger, whenever it was brought up in a conversation, it was as if her switch of stubbornness had been flicked on. "Why?"

"People do a number of dauntless things in their youth, Ms Burbage," came the answer. It seemed that the man was completely unfazed by Charity's attitude. "However, they change with time as well. I hope you will come to realise that one day."

"But he hasn't changed, has he?" Charity asked in a bitter tone. "That's why I don't want to be like him."

"Ms Burbage, while I understand your point, it is essential you see the full picture. I believe that even your father has his own qualities. Do not be afraid of being similar to him; there are plenty of things you can only learn if you do so," the professor said.

"No!" Charity half-shouted, then stuck her hands in front of her mouth, as if she had said something inappropriate. Then, with a slightly lower-pitched voice, she continued, "I don't want to be like him. He's a bad person, and… and, are Muggles really that bad? Are they? Because I don't know anymore."

"No, I suppose they aren't," the professor answered. "Although, I have to admit that Muggle Studies is not my forte, so you will have to ask Professor Hawthorn about the specifics. However, I like to think that there is no bad or good, Ms Burbage. Everything can be changed, after all, even things you deem invidious at first."

"What if that's not true?" Charity pressed on. "What if there are things that are destined to be one way or another?" She only received another of those half-smiles as a reply.

She supposed, if she was a Hufflepuff for anything, it was for her loyalty to her morals.

"This is another thing I hope you will learn about one day," the professor said. "My, it is getting late, is it not?" Charity couldn't help but notice the sudden change of topic, which made her even more confused. "I say we shall both retreat into our respective dorms."

Charity, still somewhat suspicious, couldn't help but nod hesitantly.

"Well then. Have a good night, Ms Burbage," the professor—who Charity realised she still didn't know the name of—waved, and turned to leave the library.

For long moments to follow, she couldn't help but stare ahead of herself. This night had been… upsetting, which, Charity thought, was not exactly an ideal start of her seven years at the school.

What she also realised that she was tired, and was in the need of sleep. As such, after a long, long time, she reached down for the book she had dropped, placed it back at its rightful place, and left the library. By some miracle of sorts, it didn't take her long to find the way back to her common room, and after entering the circular room, she immediately headed for the dorms.

She decided that thinking about it could be postponed to the next day. Maybe then, she would have a clearer head and could look at things more objectively.

Little did she know, in a completely different part of the castle, Albus Dumbledore was sitting on a chair perched in front of his desk at the Teacher's Wing. Next to him was a baby Phoenix, chirping merrily, but his eyes weren't fixated on the creature. Instead, they were merely looking into the distance, as if he was thinking deeply about something.

Finally, before standing up from his place, he muttered one sentence aloud.

"What have you done again, Gellert?"