Felt that I belonged , and now I feel that gone,
Where it all went wrong I traced it all along; back here again.
There was something calling me to negativity, dark covering me
Shrouding every scene I'm cast in.
Careful what you're feeling on the inside;
You should try to remember the good times and the high life.
Are you feeling alright?
- Good Times, Finger Eleven
"Potions is awesome – Slughorn loves me!"
"I can't seem to find my cat, has anyone seen her? She's brown, and spotted…"
"Stupid quill! Always running out of ink…"
"Do you have any spare parchment Rebecca? Mine burned because I set it too close to the fire and…"
"I hate history, why can't that bloody ghost talk like he actually is interested in the subject! It's outrageous!"
I'm sipping a glass of water – one of the only things that goes down my system these days – and sitting wordlessly on a green sofa in the Slytherin Common room. I've overheard the idiots round hear telling each other that I'm getting rather thin. I don't like to look in the mirror much, but no appetite has come for months, and even chocolate pudding doesn't entice me. So instead of getting pissed off I've decided to go mute.
The first couple days of class have begun, and all the new Slytherins plus the ones ones approaching their OWL's are atwitter.
Fifteen, by the way.
That is the total number of students from previous years. Pathetic, really.
The grand sum is 34 after the first years were sorted – and of course the talk about cutting out Slytherin sorting's earlier was obviously wrong. Hogwarts is about tradition, even if Salazar was an old bigoty git, he founded the school. Plus, all this talk of equality would ring painfully ironic if they made a decision like that.
Still, I find myself in the same situation I was in during 6th year, solitary. Ten months is too long, far too long.
My dismay grew, but to no surprise, when I found that even though it's a small number, my house-mates are annoying. I've been alone for so long, i'm not used to this.
My new classes are rather boring. School really is not the same without the crew of backup I used to have. Merlin forbid I make a comment or criticism about something anymore without people firing them right back. My witty quips no longer garner an audience to laugh at them. At least in sixth, I still had people to converse with, however much I ignored them all. Now I am utterly and completely defenseless.
Potter was okay at thinking of decent comebacks, and it got under my skin to say the least; now it must be ten time worse. I'm very good at working people up, often I know exactly what to say to create the intended reaction I want from them. After all, I've watched Lucius do it for years. But now that nobody cares anymore, it's like I've given up.
It has not occurred until recently that all the defeats I've been through after all these years I've never stopped trying. I insulted those who hurt my ego or worse right back, without crying or whining. Okay, well most of the time. Everytime I fell down, literally or figuratively, I was right back up again with a snarky comment ready in the arsenal of verbal abuse. I've been taught very well to conceal.
To fill my head with undeserved pride. Everytime Gryffindor beat us in Quidditch, I'd just continue to look down at them as if I was on top. The same goes with specific people, like Granger. I called her Mudblood as when she accused me of buying my way on the Quidditch team. That remark seriously hit a fuse, and ever since I wanted to make sure she'd always regret it. My twelve year old self couldn't stand to see her right. It's true, that's why they accepted me so young, but just because father had enough dough to dole out for my teammates, which I guess was more of a ploy to make me more popular than anything, doesn't mean shit about my flying.
Fuck, nearly seven years gone by and I still think about that moment. Ugh.
Without the security of knowing people are there to stand behind me, even in just the literal sense, I feel the most powerless I ever have. I'm depressed and hiding it, I can't eat, have a hard time sleeping, my nights are just as dismal as my days. The only thing getting me through is the fact that I have a schedule. I have copious amounts of work to bury myself under and try to make people forget about my miserable existence.
Everyone loves Potter, they always have. And now it's elevated even more, it seems. Nobody likes me, fact is they loathe me. Obviously I'm aware of why, but he always I've been jealous. Always. It wasn't until lately that I can admit to it, or even think it.
I liked to think that I was somewhat popular in Slytherin, but in reality, how deluded am I to even suggest it? Sure they snigger when a joke was made, but outside Pansy, who did I have?.
Anyways, it all leads to one conclusion; Potter always wins. Triumphant and 'right', he is, the worst of him my best. Simply because of what happened to the idiot and what he had 'overcome' when he was an infant, people get naturally drawn to him, people want to be his friend. And I can't understand it. There's something special about somebody like that, but it drives me crazy attempting to figure out what it is.
I must be missing something though…. It can't just be Potter's past that affects people so. Having despised Potter since the first day of school, I can't see the forest for the trees. All the money in the world, all the connections will never amount to what Mr. Saviour has.
Damn, why am I contemplating this at all? I shake my head clear, all these thoughts of the stupid Chosen One are not only ego-bruising but tiresome.
"ATTENTION!"
A couple students gasp at the loud noise; I flick up my gaze at the interruption.
A letter has flown into the common room, an announcement no doubt, but I've never seen one delivered in this manner before. It looks quite similar to a Howler, with the creases of the envelope forming lips. Only it is neither red nor angry. It's a pale cream and the mouth, a soft nude.
McGonagall's voice sounds on through it, I realize, as it begins talking. I almost tune it out until a few words pique my interest;
"…you are interested in this new course at Hogwarts; The Fundamentals and Composition of Music, please report to the great Hall this evening at 8 PM, promptly after dinner service is over. All years welcome, skill levels will not be based on age, but you will be divided into Beginner to Advanced class status within your classes. Thank you." Upon finishing the final sentence, the parchment flies out of its constraints and posts itself to the news bulletin board.
Music?
Never thought I'd see the day this sad institution praised the high arts over sports. Surely if I make it into the class, I'll ace top marks.
The one thing I can speak well about myself, truthfully, is that I'm naturally intelligent. And yes, it sounds pretentious and conceited, but it's true. I understand things well upon hearing them, my memory is 'photographic' according what Snape told me a few years ago. Which is why I slack off most of the time. I always pay attention, but I don't particularly have the patience to jot down every note. I got NEWT levels from studying for about an hour a day, if that. Maybe this is why I hate Granger so much during class. Seems to me that all she does was read and memorize. Everything can't be infinitely useful, can it? But she knows tiny details about everything known to mankind, so she must be amazing. Obviously she is gifted at using spells and making potions, but she's such a know-it-all that my blood boils when Sprout or Flitwick fawn all over her for her textbook ready-made wit.
You know what, this time I'll show her up, won't I? I'll show up everyone. I know in concrete fact that I excel above anyone in music. Weird Sisters? Easy garbage. Bullshit.
In my grandmother's house there sat an organ I was very fond of before she died. One of my earliest recalled memories are of myself bashing at the keys on her lap at age 3. She never played that old thing, but if her precocious grandson wanted to play, then of course he should be allowed, yeah?
I've been practicing piano properly since age 5, despite my parents' wishes (You see, there are little known Wizard composers, so music is an illegitimate passtime for the aristocratic folk). But I played parents the melody to "God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs" eagerly to my parents; they could not deny me my 'gift', and decided I was simply perfecting Muggle works rather than copying them. Which is stupid. Lucius just said that so he could feel more at ease when I played 'Eine Klein nachtmusik', like I could ever upstage Mozart.
I am enticed by this prospect, I really am, to be able to play my piano in school would be nothing short of a godsend. I can't even care that I'd be in dim-witted people's company. I need some kind of getaway from the constant scrutiny.
I'm going to be better than them, I will get top marks in the advanced class and practice my arse off if have to; not like there's anything else to do.
I'm going to succeed.
"Ahem." Professor McGonagall clears her throat as students from all years gather curiously in the Great Hall.
The crowd buzzes excitedly, and I am very glad that I managed to persuade the boys and Ginny to come earlier with me to get a proper place. Now we're in the third row, so at least I may hear a little of what McGonagall is saying.
There are about 250 or so students here. Out of roughly 500 students at Hogwarts, this is a great turn out.
"Hermione, why are we here again?" Ron whispers to me. He's really very good at asking stupid questions.
"Because, Ron, I want to enrol into this class!" I reply, rolling my eyes. "It'd be nice to have some company."
"Yeah, but, me and Harry don't play anything!"
"Well why did you agree to come with me then? Surely, you can bash around on a timpani can't you?"
"A tim-what?"
"A large drum!" I sigh.
"Yeah that's great but what about Harry? He never got the chance to even touch anything because he was stuck with his aunt and uncle for 11 years, and then had to defeat an evil bastard for 7 years. Remember?" I chuckle a bit, always impressed by his constant lack of tact.
I nod towards Ginny and Harry, oblivious to the rest of the world, lost in each other's eyes, indicating he should ask Harry for his opinion.
Ginny can play the cello, as she once told me a few summers ago. Maybe she wasn't the best, I never have heard her play, but she has an old one of Bill's. I wonder if he'd want to build on that particular hobby to impress her. But he is in a different year… she wouldn't be in our class.
"Harry!" Ron yells.
"Uh-what?" Harry replies, not taking his gaze away from Ginny.
"Do you hear this woman? Wants us to join a class and probably embarrass ourselves with 0 ability to play an instrument just so we can keep her company."
"Hmm, so?" Ginny giggles, causing Harry to smile extra-wide and whisper some sweet nothing in her ear.
"SO? Well what the – pay attention!" he hollers at him. Harry slowly turns his head at him, surveying his best friend with an amused air.
"I said, what the bloody hell are we going to play?"
After a second of 'thinking', Harry merely shrugs.
"I dunno, I'll sing or something, we can do that right?" He returns to Ginny, unaffected by the burning question, who smiles at his 'cuteness'.
"Mate, you're hopeless," Ron exhales. "Well, I hope this is worth it for you, you know I'd only do a favour like this for someone as special as you, Hermione," he finishes, attempting to get on my good side, it seems. But I don't want him to do this just for me, although the possibility is fantastic. He, Harry and I playing together would be so fun!
When I give no reaction, he slumps back in his seat, feeling extremely ignored.
I'm too busy absentmindedly paying attention to the banter surrounding me, filling me with anticipation, my legs shaking. This is my new competition. Music is a talent, it's something that is not paralleled in any other school subject, like sports. You are good at it or really good at it, and often the difference in results is staggering.
Almost everyone in my year, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, are present. It makes sense considering it will be our last chance to try something new. The rest are mostly from older grades. The younger witches and wizards haven't had much musical education or are too scared to try a new class this early.
Another theory would be that the fifth years plus figure it would be such an easy class compared to the workload they faced, and the prospect of dropping something like History would be great. The first to third years are still in that phase of not having a million hours of work and reading. But as for me, I hope that my spare period I planned for study will be taken up by this class so I don't need to replace anything.
"AHEM." McGonagall repeats louder after minutes of patient silence, more authoritative.
The students still, though conversations still go on in whispers. McGonagall is flipping through pages of parchment, perhaps the curriculum.
In the quiet, I hear loud, slow footsteps, and turn to see who is so rudely late.
An am horrified to see that it's Malfoy.
Honestly, I`ve had enough of him for a good month what with the emotional outburst on the way to Hogwarts.
But he looks apprehensive as he saunters to a lone seat across from her me, on the edge of the row. Some murmurs grow loud as he grabs attention from girls nearby, who point at him when his chair creaks, his shoes squeaking noisily.
The new Headmaster however, pretends that no interruption has happened and begins talking.
"As you all are aware, this year Hogwarts has decided to expand its arts-related programs and will be offering musical studies as an elective." She paused for effect. "If you are seeking for an 'easy way out' as it were, you are sadly mistaken. For not only will there be tests and quizzes on the terminology and history of music, there will be group projects and performances. Auditions are required for this course to determine your skill level, and thus what composition book you will be given." There is a collective inward groan that rebounds off the ceiling and back down again.
About thirty hands shoot up straight away, and McGonagall shakes her head, obviously prepared for the onslaught.
"Yes, Mr. Corner."
Michael puts his hand down and asks: "Professor, I mean, Headmaster, are we going to be graded on skill?"
There is a general commotion at his question and I can hear people's fear in their voices:
"Oh but I just started playing the flute, I am bollocks at it!"
"Oh my god, imagine having to play in front of the class as a beginner? Awful!"
"Professor is fine Michael, and very good question," McGonagall enunciates loudly so people will shut up again. "No, you will be graded on your improvement, not how skilled you are to start with. That would be unfair. As for the theory aspect of the course, you will be marked on your knowledge of the subject, considering you need a solid familiarity of all the terms concerning composition and the history behind the changes of musical framework."
"How will I be able to get my instrument!" yells an obnoxious 5th year Slytherin, one of the few besides Malfoy. Graham Pritchard, I think.
Everyone's heads shoot to him, a few titter at the outburst.
"Please contain yourself until spoken to Mr. Pritchard." She scolds, exasperated. "You will have a week and a half to obtain and tune your instrument, the auditions begin on March 1st. If you do not have it by then, we have spares available until you can obtain them. But please give notice to us if you need it."
Lavender raises her hand and swings it so fast and eagerly, saying "Ooh! Ooh!" McGonagall gives her an uninspired look, picking her, probably to make her stop.
"Yes Miss Brown?"
"What if you have a piano or something large that can't be fit into the common room dorms?" She smiles to Parvati beside her, who mumbles something inaudible back. I'm hopeful that Parvati plays the piano and her friend was merely brave enough to ask a question for her.
In my peripheral vision, I also notice Malfoy's head whipping round to stare at the pair, eyes slightly questioning.
He must play it too. Strange…I thought it would've been less delicate and more loud and attention-grabbing, like the drums or something.
"There will be a designated practice room for each of the houses or perhaps years, we haven't decided as of yet. Practice will be avoided in the dorms as it will be very disruptive towards the other students. We will make sure your instruments are watched, andcan all fit."
Other dull, yet necessary inquiries fly by ('When is the class?' [Every day of course], 'Where will it be?' [Astronomy Tower, top floor] 'Can we sing rather than play?' [Yes]) when suddenly a burning thought forms in my mind. I raise my hand in my normal fashion; swiftly and high up.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" McGonagall says warily. Poor her, she hasn't gotten past the first sentence and the bombardment still hasn't ceased.
"Who is the teacher, Professor?"
Another uproar occurs, some hands go down, obviously a popular thought amongst the rets of them. Is it someone new? Someone old? Worst of all, someone boring?
"Me," she replies simply, grinning tightly.
I feel a smile touch my lips, while seemingly everyone else who isn't in Gryffindor sighs. McGonagall is a hard marker, but I like her because she enables you to try to do your best while not being callous like Snape had been.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Malfoy with his arm lazily elevated. I sincerely hope he wouldn't dare criticize her, and ask if someone 'better' can teach the class instead. He has the tendency of being extremely blunt and uncouth, even to his superiors.
"Mr. Malfoy?"
He shocks us all when he opens his mouth.
"Yes," he starts, lowering his pale arm. "What material will the curriculum cover? Are we simply learning the terminology, or are we studying genres too? If its historical, are we advancing all the way up to modern day?"
Ron's jaw drops at the question. Harry raises his eyebrows. And I know I probably appear as flabbergasted as our Headmaster.
When has Malfoy ever been interested in school, not to mention ask an intelligent, legitimate and non-sarcastic thing? Makes no sense.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy," she says, composing her momentary stunnedness. "We will be studying genres. We will be focusing in depth on the Medieval era all the way to the Classic era, and the terms we learn will correspond with the era and genres.
As well," she announces now more to the general public, "for performances you will be able to pick anything you wish to play, but you have to have it approved by me first. This includes not only classical music, but popular music as well. For those who are Muggle-born, you are welcome to incorporate popular Muggle bands as well because wizard composers are limited. Most of the famous people we will study are Muggles, in fact," she notes more to herself.
Everyone is chattering delighted again. 'Anything we want' is quite the statement, and now I can not wait to practice as soon as I get my violin delivered!
I wonder who else plays the same instrument as me?
"Anymore questions?"
Everyone seems too distracted to think about the logistics anymore, and after about 10 seconds, McGonagall is more than glad to be rid of her restless pupils.
"Well go on then, back to your houses! On the notice I will be sending there will be audition times for each year, and more details. Attendance to watch your peers is not mandatory, but feel free to come view their abilities!"
At the dismissal, everyone gets up to leave, talking about how they were definitely going to sing or learn how to play 'Do the Hippogriff' by the Weird Sisters.
"So, what do you think then?' Ron questions me as we walked out into the entrance hall. "I dunno if I reall-"
"Oh, I am so excited!" I beam, cutting his negativity off. "It's going to be great!"
"Oh, y-yeah, that's what I was gonna say." Ron quickly covers up. I can hear him grumble under his breath, "guess I'm gonna have to beg Mum to send some money for a triangle or something cheap…"
I ignore the sour puss, happy he hasn't changed his mind (well, not yet at least).
"Harry?" I touch his arm to grab his attention.
"Yeah, it sounds kind of cool, I guess. I dunno what I'm going to play though if I decide to go on with it. Maybe I'll just get something easy like the cymbals and pretend I have a huge affinity towards them so she can't say I am not trying." He glances at Ron, and they both burst out laughing. Ginny catches my eyes and rolls them, but we smile despite ourselves.
This is going to be amazing!