Sarika: You're doing better.

Memories: (cries) I'm dying of overwork! I hate chemistry and geometry and A.P.!

Sarika: Well, who's the idiot who signed up for them, hmm? Do the disclaimer, Memories. Don't make me get Poe.

Memories: I own a ton of raggedy books that have been through every hell and back. Oh, and let's not forget Michele. If you try to steal them, I'll sic Sarika on you.

Sarika: What am I? Some sort of dog?

"Spell."

"Speech."

/Parseltounge. /

'Thoughts.'

(Author Notes)

"Another language"

'Writings'

:::

"How could you not tell me, Philomel?! We've been friends for awhile now, and I almost figured it out." shrilled Hermione. Philomel winces.

"Come on in. And can you put up a silencing charm? You know how horrible I am at charms." Hermione clambers onto Philomel's bed and waves her wand saying the spell. "I kind of was hoping you wouldn't find out, Hermione. Everything that tipped you off was true. I'm sorry, it's just, I didn't know how people would react. Did you know that the wizarding world was once a matriarchal society? Until Merlin came and made it reflect the patriarchal non-adept society. That's what Morgan le Fay was really fighting against; Merlin's policies."

Hermione smiles. "Do you always babble about history when you're nervous?"

Philomel bites her lip then immediately let's go of it. "No. Sometimes it's other things. But usually not out loud." Philomel slides a hand under her pillow and takes out her 'Dune' book and nervously pets it.

Hermione gasps in recognition, "I remember you buying that book! Is that your favorite book?"

Philomel blushes and nods. "I feel safer when I'm reading it. Like the characters are going to protect me from life's ills."

Hermione nods sympathetically. "I used to pretend I was in the book and all my favorite characters were my friends. It was better than having no friends at all."

Philomel hugs the book to her chest insecurely. "You mean you don't anymore?"

It's Hermione's turn to blush now. "Well, sometimes, yes. But now I have friends like you and Michele. Ever since Professor McGonagall gave him that detention, he's much easier to be around."

Philomel just stares, one thought running through her mind, 'We're friends? I have friends?'

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

The next morning, Philomel gets up early and sneaks into the bathroom to perform the charms on her hair again. As soon as she is through, the raven necklace returns to her neck and the letter to Gringotts goes into her robe's pocket.

Philomel trots down the stairs and whispers the new password, "Alighieri." The, by now, familiar, swirling of dust and magic dumps Philomel into classroom. She leaves the room, the dust-guardian's eyes staring after her.

Philomel travels up the stairway to the Owlery, intent on delivering her letter. Once there, she remembers her own nightingale. Looking around, Philomel finds the ordinary looking bird quickly. Sirrush looks at it sleepily. The bird looks back and trills.

/Missstresss, it sssaysss it'sss name isss Ssselah. And that it'sss yoursss now, becaussse the other onesss don't want it. /

Selah hops onto Philomel's outstretched hand and gives it a little nip. Philomel pets her gently on the head. "Hello, Selah. Can you carry a letter for me?"

The bird sings her consent with the beauty her species is known for. Philomel ties the letter around one of Selah's legs and tells her, "To Gringotts Manager, please. Wait for a reply."

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

The week passes without incident, until Saturday. That morning, at breakfast, Selah dropped off a package for Philomel and flew off for the Owlery. Philomel put it into her robes to open after the Ravenclaws have flying lessons for the first time with the Gryffindors.

Once outside, everybody chooses their brooms. Philomel chooses one of the oldest brooms there, but it is still in good condition; obviously not one of the more popular ones. Hermione sets up next to Philomel. Oddly enough, Ron Weasley goes to the other side of Philomel and begins talking to her.

"Hi Harry, remember me? We met on the train."

Philomel looks at him apathetically. "I remember you, Mr. Weasley."

Ron smiles and says, "You've probably had enough time to realize that Malfoy is bad news, so I've come to offer my friendship again."

Hermione, who'd been listening, snaps at him, "Draco Malfoy has been nothing but polite to us. Harry has told me the conditions of your conversation on the train and, right now, Malfoy seems the better choice."

Ron frowns at her and returns, "Keep out of Harry's conversations with his friends, Know-it-all."

Hermione gasps in outrage but Philomel just looks on into the horizon. "If you are going to insult my friends, Mr. Weasley, when I told you how I feel about that before; I suggest that you and I do not renew what connections we had." Ron has no time to react before Madame Hooch begins the lesson.

"Alright, everyone's chosen a broom, good. Now, everyone stand next to their brooms with their wand hand stretched over it. Now, everyone say 'Up' with feeling." Of the chorus of "Up!"s, Philomel's broom was the only one to do so on the first try. Albeit, it was slow and stately rising, but Philomel thought she preferred that to the way Hermione's broom slapped into her hand on the second try.

Madame Hooch was staring at Philomel oddly and almost failed to notice it when everyone's broom was in their hands. Clearing her throat embarrassedly, Madame Hooch instructs, "Grip your broom with both hands and swing your leg over the handle."

Philomel tries it, and wrinkles her nose at the position. She maneuvers into a sidesaddle position adapted to a broom and sighs in relief. Madame Hooch's eyes nearly bug out when she lays eyes on Philomel, but she does not go over there to correct her; though the other students are staring at Philomel, dumbfounded.

"On my count of three, I want you to push off from the ground, just a light tap will do. One—two—" A boy Philomel remembers getting hostile looks every day at breakfast pushes off too hard and early. He shoots up into the air, extremely out of control. Philomel weighs the risks against the possible rewards, then kicks off and goes after him; ignoring Madame Hooch's yells.

Once Philomel is up in the air, she feels as if nothing bad can happen to her. Philomel guides her broom next to the boy, lying almost completely down on it. "Mr. Longbottom! Control your fear! Don't move."

When the Neville has calmed down and stopped moving around on the broom in a panic, the broom itself settles down. Philomel talks Neville back down to the ground, with no harm come to either. Madame Hooch fusses over the both of them then dismisses the class, "That's enough excitement today, go back to your weekends."

Once everyone is gone, Neville thanks Philomel in a stammering voice and flees. Madame Hooch pulls Philomel to the side.

"I won't have you expelled for what you did, it was really quite brave, but, you do realize that your seating technique on a broom is archaic and normally used for women; correct?"

Philomel bites her lip. "I did not realize, Madame Hooch. I just did not feel comfortable the other way. I'll try again next time."

Madame Hooch shakes her head vigorously. "No, if you don't feel comfortable, then you're likely to fall off. I don't think that you will need another flying lesson; you must have inherited flying skills from your father along with your looks. If you weren't in first year, I'd recommend you for the Seeking position on the Ravenclaw House team. I suggest you think about trying out next year."

Philomel nods like she actually knows what Madame Hooch is talking about and the flying instructor lets her leave.

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

In the History of Magic classroom, Professor Binns was grading essays he'd assigned on various non-adepts attempts at magic throughout the medieval and Renaissance period of British history and found half of them to be on the Goblin Revolution, written by older students. Most of the remaining half had little to do with non-adepts attempts at magic.

Professor Binns made the floating quill draw large, red 'F's on the Goblin Revolution essays, and a large 'D's on the remaining ones; except for one.

"Ah, yes, Miss Potter. I see she still insists on using a males name for herself. But this is excellent. Best essay I've seen since that infernal fire. And a perfect topic, too. Let's see: 'Non-adepts trying to use alchemy since the ancient times; tried to produce a Philosopher's Stone; eventually gave up and changed alchemy to chemistry.' Then she goes into detail about the Philosopher's Stone and the modern-day products of chemistry that could improve magical life like the Stone has. Yes, excellent. A very good thing she does not know what Dumbledore is hiding in this school. It could be very bad for her."

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

"Kestrel, I'm sure I don't know what you are on about. Harry is most certainly a boy."

Madame Hooch rolls her amber eyes and paces, running a calloused hand through spiky, short, grey hair. "Albus, everything about the way Mr. Potter handled his broom screamed female; and a prim and proper one at that. That just does not happen to boys. No matter if they are special, no matter if they are homosexual. With this sort of thing, magic has an extreme gender bias!"

Dumbledore looks gravely over his glasses at the teacher. "Kestrel, I'm sure magic has no such thing as gender biases."

Madame Hooch lets out a rattling laugh and sends a piercing gaze at Dumbledore, "Then you have not studied magic in depth. There is a reason why I was the Magical Roots Theories Professor at the European Magical University before it was disbanded. Just from watching a person handle a broom for the first time, you can gauge power levels, suitable professions, personality, gender, and, most importantly, magical type. You know all of this, Albus; by the Gods, I've said it enough times."

Albus lets out a short chuckle. "Yes, so you have. But I'm afraid that the information you have stumbled upon is highly classified. You'll have to forget it right away, my dear Kestrel. Obliviate! Now, Kestrel, I do believe you were just leaving?"

Madame Hooch nods dumbly, eyes hooded. As soon as she is out of the office and well on her way to the teacher's quarters, Madame Hooch slumps against the wall and whispers, while rubbing a platinum wedding band, "Thank you, Astor. You're always good at guessing what I need, before I need it."

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

Winter break could not come fast enough for Philomel and her friends. When it did come, few of the Ravenclaws were staying at Hogwarts for what promised to be an absolutely freezing winter. In fact, out of all of them, only Philomel, Hermione, Michele, and five upperclassmen preparing for their OWLs and NEWTs. Of Slytherin, even fewer. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor had a total of thirty-five together.

Philomel had decided long before to venture into the mysterious hallway during winter break, but sensed that it was not the right time yet. So, on Christmas morning, not expecting any gifts, Philomel sat in bed with her necklace off and Sirrush warming up in the small of Philomel's back rereading her bank report. Halfway through the listing of her properties as they should be and as they are, 'highly irregular discrepancies, will be rectified right away', Hermione throws open the curtains.

"Philomel, what are doing reviewing that when you should be downstairs, opening your gifts!"

Philomel sighs. "Hermione, close that before one of the upperclassmen comes in and sees me." she says, not looking up.

Hermione snorts. "You're almost as bad as them! They just told Michele to take care of us because they finished unwrapping their presents and were going to go study in the library! They won't notice and they've all pulled so many all-nighters that if they do, they'll think it's from lack of sleep. Irresponsible! I, myself, would never do that over Christmas; of all holidays!"

Philomel clears her throat. "Hermione, did you come up here to rant at me?"

Hermione snaps back to reality mid-rant. "No. You're coming down with me to open your presents with me and Michele. And you will not come back up here until it's time to go to bed." Before Philomel can protest, Hermione pulls her out of the bed and down the stairs.

In the common room, one haggard-looking prefect is talking to Michele and looks up when Hermione comes barreling down the stairs, Philomel in tow. As soon as the prefect sees Philomel, she rubs her eyes and mutters, "I really need to get some sleep. I'm going insane…" Then she goes up her stairs, probably to get some sleep.

Michele smiles at the two girls. "Ah, snow and two beautiful girls to cuddle with me by the roaring fire. It could be no more perfect."

Philomel blushes. Hermione deadpans, "Pervert. We're too young to be thinking of things like that."

Michele does not stop smiling. "And yet, we are. Amazing, is it not?"

Now Hermione blushes. "Let's just open the presents, shall we?"

The three separate their presents and each choose a present to open first, Hermione's and Michele's was from Philomel, and Philomel's was from Hermione.

Hermione opened hers first and nearly deafened them with her squeal of pleasure. "'A Parallel Between the Muggle Parliamentarian Democracy and the Ministry of Magic'! I've wanted to read this ever since I finished 'The Muggleborn's Guide to the Ministry of Magic'."

Then Michele opened his 'Foreign Words in English and How to Make People Think You Can Speak the Language.' and smiled evilly.

Philomel opened hers slowly, savoring her first gift. "Oh, wow, 'The Self-Updating Guide to Potions' as well as, 'The Self-Updating Guide to Transfiguration'. Both published by their respective guilds. How did you know?"

The rest of Philomel's gifts were rather mundane, made special by the fact that they were her first: a sandworm plushy from Michele, a set of silver stress balls from Severus for his goddaughter, a specialty self-inking black quill from Draco, a fifty pence piece from the Dursleys, and a box of sugar quills from the Romanis. Except for one that they nearly missed.

"Philomel, you missed one." sang Hermione, reading one of her new books. Philomel pulls out the luridly coloured package, wondering vaguely how she could have missed something so bright.

"Are you not going to open it, or will you stare at it until it opens itself, Philomel?" asked Michele, sucking on a chocolate frog.

Philomel scowls at him and opens it. A river of velvety grey alternating with invisibility elicits a gasp from all three.

"An Invisibility Cloak. Incredibly rare." Michele breaths.

"Put it on, Philomel!"

Philomel swings it around her shoulder and disappears. Sirrush immediately begins flicking her tongue out to find her.

/Missstresss, where did you go? Don't leave me! /

Philomel gives a little hissing laugh, /I have not left, you just can't see me. /

Michele and Hermione start a little at the Parseltounge, but Michele teases, "A morning of rarities all tied to one lovely lady who masquerades as a boy. Surely my heart cannot stand another shock!"

Hermione picks up a scrap of paper that fell on the floor when Philomel swung the Cloak.

"Philomel, read this note. It came with the Cloak."

"'Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you.' That was certainly helpful, now we know exactly who gave it to me." She rolled her eyes.

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

That night, at the Christmas dinner, was a feast without equal in Philomel's eyes. Her favorite part was most undoubtedly the succulent roasts and delectable roasted potatoes. She even partook of the customary Yule Log, despite her distaste for overtly sweet things that were not pure sugar.

At the end, when all of the food was gone and people were just pulling the wizard crackers and enjoying the company of others, an owl swooped in and landed next to Dumbledore. The headmaster read the letter it brought and frowned. He waved the owl away and stood.

"My dear friends, it seems that I am needed at the Ministry of Magic. I trust that the festivities can continue on without me? I shall no doubt be back by tomorrow's dinner." Dumbledore sweeps out of the Hall to the grand applause of the rather drunken Hagrid.

Philomel's eyes widen. 'Now, now is our chance. And, if I'm right, Quirrel will also go after whatever is down there.'

:::

This chapter I tried something new. Philomel's Lullaby is going by faster now, and slipping slowly into the world of AU. I may, key word there is may, go into more about magical roots. If anyone really wants to know what Philomel's meant, just review and I will give you a brief oversight. Next chappie: Philomel goes after the Stone. People, review, please, or flame! It's freezing down here, at least it is for a Florida girl born and bred.