November 12, 2014 (Evangeline)

Eva woke up on Wednesday with a splitting headache. She wasn't sure if it was the stress of her first week at Hogwarts, catching up to a brand-new curriculum, figuring out her place in the school's social hierarchy, the constant puzzle of figuring out her Headmaster's motives, or all of the above. All she knew was that she felt overwhelmed and out of her depth.

"Tempus," she whispered, and shimmering lights above her head displayed the current time for her: 7:02 AM. Sunlight was already peeking through the nearest window, and it wasn't much use trying to sleep in now when she would have less than an hour before breakfast anyway. Part of her wanted to curl up under the covers and not come out for the next few weeks. But she summoned what she could of her newfound Gryffindor courage and forced herself out of bed to begin her day.

She once again had a full course load today, beginning with a double period of Defense Against the Dark Arts. It wasn't her worst subject by any means, but in her experience you had to be alert and present to learn the material properly. DADA professors had a tendency to lead by example, and Eva's proclivity for reading wouldn't help her understand the intricacies of the material.

"Anything I should know about our next teacher?" she asked Victoire as they made their way to class.

"Eh, not really," Victoire shrugged. "Some of the younger years are afraid of him, but I reckon he's harmless. Just intimidating is all. Potter vouches for him, and nobody's gotten badly injured in a couple years." Eva wondered what 'badly injured' meant and why it was cause for concern in the past, but she didn't ask. She also wasn't entirely soothed by the idea that Potter 'vouched' for him – not if Professor Blanchett was any indication.

Soon after, Eva was seated at the back of a dimly-lit classroom that smelled oddly like burnt hair. A number of cages lined the room, most concealed under a blanket; one rattled menacingly, while another harbored a low growling noise that made Eva's neck hairs stand on end.

At nine on the dot, the door swung open and their professor swept into the room, bringing instant quiet to the class. He was a tall, gruff man in his late thirties, with dark eyes and hair and a surly expression on his face. He stepped to the front of the classroom and scanned the room, eyes resting on Eva.

"I heard that we would 'ave a new student today," he said in a thick accent. "I am Professor Krum. Welcome to the Dark Arts." With a flourish of his wand, Professor Krum filled in his name at the top of the blackboard behind him, along with the course: DARK ARTS – YEAR FIVE.

Dark Arts? Eva thought something was not right about that. Wasn't this supposed to be Defense Against the Dark Arts? She rummaged through her bag for her schedule, examining it; sure enough, it too read 'Dark Arts' under the course heading. Did they really teach Dark magic to children at Hogwarts? With an increasing feeling of dread, she tuned back into Krum's monologue.

"...is a matter of intent," Krum was saying. "You vill not succeed at using Dark magic unless you mean someone harm. You could all point your vands at me and use the Killing Curse, and I vould not feel a thing."

"Can we try?" asked a Ravenclaw boy, eliciting a few chuckles from the room until Krum fixed his cold eyes upon the boy.

"It is not my job to teach you intent in zis class," Krum said. "We vill learn the theory only, so that you understand the sacrifices needed to harness such magic."

"But why?" Eva blurted out without thinking. All eyes turned towards her, including Krum who raised an eyebrow at her question. "Why would we need to learn how to use it? Shouldn't we focus on how to defend against it?"

Krum chuckled at this remark. "Albus Dumbledore popularized zat philosophy while he vas Headmaster here. But it is a flawed idea. You cannot defend against Dark magic vith only Light spells. Such methods will only delay your doom. If someone truly vishes to hurt you, the only true defense is a good offense."

"So we have to use Dark magic to defeat Dark magic?" Eva frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

"All spells can 'ave Dark intent, Miss Prewitt," said Krum. "The difference between Diffindo and Sectumsempra is much smaller than you vould imagine. Or, for that matter, Rictusempra and Crucio. And that small difference of intent can mean an exponential difference of power."

"But if that difference requires great sacrifice," Eva protested, "why teach it?"

"Because when your life depends on it, you vill thank me," Krum said sharply. "Your Headmaster would not be alive right now vithout the Dark Arts. Now if you vill kindly allow me to proceed with the lesson, perhaps you vill be further enlightened."

"Sorry, sir," Eva grumbled, although she had much more she wanted to say on the matter. What Krum was saying made sense in a twisted way, but it still didn't sit right with everything she'd been taught up to that point at Willoughby. All of her textbooks emphasized the terrible cost of using Dark magic and even refused to elaborate on certain concepts for fear of corrupting young students. To think that Potter was allowing such concepts to be explored freely by his students? It struck her as nearly as reckless as teaching invasive mind-reading to prepubescent children.

She spent much of Krum's lecture leafing through her assigned textbook: Secrets of the Darkest Art by Owle Bullock, an ancient leather-bound tome. She merely skimmed over some of the topics discussed, not slowing to soak in the details because even the descriptions and images twisted her stomach into knots. There were diagrams of blood rituals, instructions on animal sacrifice, and even how to create a Horcrux, which Eva recognized as one of Lord Voldemort's more disturbing tactics in pursuit of immortality.

"For next week's lesson," Krum said to conclude the lesson, after drawing numerous complex diagrams on the blackboard, "I vant eighteen inches of parchment on the different effects of chicken, goat, and pig blood in the use of blood rituals. Class dismissed." Eva could not get out of the classroom quickly enough, shoving her book back into her bag and hustling out to the hall.

"What kind of horrible things are they teaching at this school?" she demanded as soon as Victoire and Chris had joined her on the way back to the Great Hall for lunch. "I mean, blood rituals? Torture? Horcruxes?"

"You'll never be expected to perform any Dark magic yourself," Chris reassured her. "They just want us to understand the theory behind it."

"But why?" Eva argued. "Why would teenagers ever need to know what kind of animal blood to use in a ritual?"

"Professor Krum says Dark magic gets a bad rap," said Victoire. "It makes some folks squeamish, but he says the only thing that separates it from 'normal' magic is the intent behind it."

"Yeah, I gathered as much," Eva muttered. "But I mean, really… Rictusempra and Crucio being related spells? Preposterous!"

"You haven't been on the receiving end of Weasley's Tickling Charm yet," Chris said grimly. "I'm convinced she puts a bit more malice into it than you're supposed to."

"They wouldn't call me The Tickle Monster if it didn't scare people a little bit," Victoire defended with an air of pride. "Tickling can be an excellent form of torture if you use it right."

"Exactly my point," said Chris. "Krum may be an odd fellow, but he really knows his stuff."

Eva of course knew who Viktor Krum was, having read all about his controversial contributions to the fight against Voldemort. Sure, maybe Potter felt he owed the man his life, but she still couldn't envision a scenario in which she would need to use a Dark spell. Surely he didn't believe today's generation of students would be forced to fight any Dark Lords in the near future? The war was long over. Was he simply being paranoid? Or did he actually have reason to fear a future conflict?

Whatever the case, she didn't have long to ponder this before it was time for Ancient Runes again. "See you in last period!" Victoire bade her farewell after lunch, heading up to the North Tower for Divination. Eva caught up with Candace on the way to Professor Babbling's classroom, and she noted the furtive looks her classmates gave her as they filed into the classroom. Word must have traveled fast about her controversial accomplishment in the last Runes lesson, and she knew she would be scrutinized now as a result.

Fortunately today was not a practical lesson, and Eva was able to hide away behind her notes as Babbling began a new unit on voice-activated runes. It was not a concept she was familiar with, and she relished in absorbing new information and committing it to memory via her notebook. It turned out that Babbling was an excellent teacher who explained the subject well – far better than her Willoughby instructor, who failed to convey the how and why of runes as much as the what. Eva thought maybe she could get the hang of this subject after all.

At the end of the lesson, she packed her bags and prepared to leave for her final course of the day, but Professor Babbling called after her: "Miss Prewitt! A word, please?"

Eva approached the teacher's desk apprehensively. "Yes, ma'am?" she said politely.

"I was very impressed with your rune work in our last lesson," said Babbling approvingly. "It may have been unconventional, but you proved capable of thinking outside the box and getting stronger results than any other student."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Eva. She considered explaining how it was just a fluke, that she wasn't actually the brilliant savant Babbling seemed to consider her, but she held her tongue.

"The Headmaster has asked me to encourage you to focus on the British curriculum in this course," Babbling continued. "This is your O.W.L. year, and you will be expected to understand the way we do things in order to pass and progress to the N.E.W.T. level."

"Understood," said Eva, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"I happen to disagree with the Headmaster, myself."

"Sorry?" said Eva, incredulous at this remark. Babbling was regarding her with an odd expression on her face.

"Ancient Runes is a deeply misunderstood field of magic," said Babbling. "It was once an area of innovation and experimentation, but it has stagnated in recent centuries. We lack pioneers who can advance the medium and explore newer and better ways of doing things."

Eva couldn't quite believe her ears. Was her teacher actually encouraging her to continue going off-book and inventing her own runes?

"Just be careful, dear," said Babbling with a wink. "Learn what you need to pass your tests, but never stop looking for better ways of doing things. Just be sure not to tread on the wrong toes while doing so. I look forward to seeing what you can accomplish with your own independent research – no matter how 'controversial' the source may be."

Eva considered this remark. She didn't think it was a mere compliment; the way Babbling looked at her told Eva she was being coy. Did she know where the fire repelling runesign had come from? Did she secretly approve of Hermione Granger's teachings, even if she would never admit it to her colleagues?

"I appreciate it, Professor," said Eva. She bowed politely and excused herself from the room, hurrying to make it to her next class on time. She still wasn't sure what to make of this exchange, but it did leave her with one parting thought: Perhaps Potter doesn't have all the professors under his wing.

Her final class of the day was History of Magic. Victoire had told her the night before that the class used to be taught by a ghost in her father's day, but now Ginny Weasley held the post, and she was far more perceptive than any spirit would have been. "Silence, please," she barked from the front of the class as students chatted idly among themselves. "Miss Clearwater, I hope that note bears nothing embarrassing you wouldn't want read in front of the class."

Candace froze; Ginny's magical eye was fixed on the girl's desk, under which Eva could barely see a slip of parchment clutched in her fist. "Sorry, Professor," she muttered, turning scarlet and pointedly avoiding eye contact with the Ravenclaw girl who had passed her the note.

"Today we are continuing our series on the Dark Lord Voldemort's rise to power," said Ginny, waving her wand to fill the blackboard with notes – probably from a previous lecture, Eva realized. "Can anyone tell me why Voldemort chose to recruit his followers here in Britain, rather than seek broader political support overseas?"

Eva raised her hand at once. "Because blood prejudice was stronger in Britain than in greater Europe," she said confidently. "He found it easier to curry favor with the old pure-blood houses here than in other countries where sentiment towards Muggles was more positive." She had obsessively read everything she could on Voldemort ever since she learned she was a witch, and had learned quite a bit about 20th century British politics in the process.

"That is partially correct," said Ginny. "Voldemort knew that it would be simpler to brainwash a small, dedicated number of followers than attempt to sway the opinions of the masses abroad. He knew that he could convince others that their blood was superior given enough time to manipulate them."

That didn't sound quite right to Eva. "Excuse me, Professor Weasley," she said cautiously. "But wasn't blood prejudice already present in Britain before Voldemort's rise? It's not like he was the one who planted the idea in their heads that Muggle-borns were—"

"Of course he did," Ginny interrupted impatiently. "Why do you think Muggle-borns were never rounded up and killed before he rose to power? He was the cause of such horrible events taking place by convincing others to do his bidding."

"He may have been a catalyst, but it was a symptom of a greater problem," Eva argued. "The old pure-blood houses always harbored such beliefs; he just used it as an opportune excuse to gain supporters against the Ministry."

"Are you suggesting, Miss Prewitt," said Ginny, with a dangerous tone in her voice, "that Voldemort was not prejudiced against Muggle-borns? I fought in the war; I saw it for myself. Believe me, there was perhaps no worse fate in modern history than to be a British Muggle-born at the turn of the century."

"Sure he was prejudiced," Eva agreed, "but it wasn't his primary objective! He craved power and immortality, and the easiest way to accomplish that was by emboldening a core group of radical supporters and using their zealotry to—"

"Voldemort believed himself above Muggle-borns and wanted to establish a hierarchy with himself at the top," said Ginny hotly. "All other motives were secondary to that central goal."

"That's not what Hermione Granger said in her autobiog—" Eva retorted.

"And why would it matter," Ginny snapped, rounding on Eva, "what Hermione Granger has to say? Her account clashes with that of most modern historians, who agree that Voldemort was an unstable, radical racist."

"But those historians are just taking Harry Potter at his word!" Eva protested.

"Are you calling Harry Potter a liar?" Ginny demanded.

Eva hesitated. To say yes would immediately land her in hot water; to say no would lose her the debate. But she knew her history well enough: Potter had been the one to set the narrative about Voldemort after his defeat, and everyone was eager to accept it at face-value. But there were deeper truths under the surface, truths that the old families of Britain didn't want to hear. And suddenly Potter was the one in need of powerful allies after the war ended…

"Ten points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn," said Ginny coldly. "I would remind you that if not for Potter's efforts to de-radicalize the country, the student sitting beside you would not be permitted in these halls. Remember that the next time you disagree with the facts."

In the seat to Eva's left, Amy Burton shrank uncomfortably at the reminder of her blood status. Eva was annoyed at the cheap tactic, not only because she herself was secretly a Muggle-born, but because it was beside the point entirely. She wasn't disputing what Britain had become, but rather what it once was. It was no utopia before the war; the sycophants were just a lot quieter back then. But she could see there was no winning this one, so she held her tongue for the rest of the lesson.

Eva flipped through her history book as Ginny continued her lecture. It was written very recently, in 2009, and covered mostly the post-Grindelwald era of British history. Of course there's no mention of other wizarding communities, Eva laughed internally. At Willoughby they had studied a much broader 20th century curriculum, covering the South American revolutions, the Asian purges, and the American magi-tech renaissance. It was little surprise that Britain misinterpreted their own history when they couldn't even be bothered to look outside their own borders at what was happening in the wider world around them…

"Does anyone else find it strange," she said aloud as the Gryffindors filed out of the classroom, "that Harry Potter chose to become Headmaster of Hogwarts after the war?"

"Why would that be strange?" asked Victoire. "His mentor, Albus Dumbledore, did the same thing after defeating Grindelwald."

"And who can blame him?" chimed in Candace. "Look at Hermione Granger: she's supposedly the most powerful figure in British politics, but everyone hates her. Why would Potter do that to himself?"

"He's taking a rather active role in our educations," Eva remarked. "And half the staff is made up of his old war buddies. He's quite invested in controlling what we learn."

"Maybe he's trying to make the world a better place," shrugged Chris. "Stamp out all that prejudice Britain was known for. So what if he bent a few facts if it's for a noble cause?"

Something still didn't sit quite right with Eva. Everything about Hogwarts curriculum had struck her as odd: the focus on combat, the strict adherence to tradition, the rejection of new ideas. Was Potter hiding something? Or was he just a paranoid old war veteran, still seeing imagined enemies on the horizon? He seemed sane enough, but he was also an extremely powerful – and dangerous – wizard. If Eva had learned anything about the wizard once known as Tom Riddle, it's that he was very good at persuading people that his way was the right way.

But Eva kept these observations to herself, and she spent the rest of the week observing and listening carefully. She was eager for her next Legilimency lesson on Thursday, to analyze Potter's teaching methods more closely, but he was five minutes late to class and appeared ragged and unkempt. "Apologies," he muttered to the class. "I'm feeling unwell this morning. Please complete your reading of chapters eleven and twelve and prepare a twelve-inch summary for class on Monday." Then he sat behind his desk, kicked his feet up, and promptly dozed off.

The disappointed students all pulled out their copies of The Basics of Mental Warfare. Eva did the same, but secretly she concealed The Language of Magic within the heavier tome and set about studying its translation tables. The night before, she had attempted to cast a non-verbal Incendio by thinking of the semi-circle symbol, with no success. She still had no idea how to use the information contained within these complex tables for her own studies. She knew some of it was possible thanks to her Runes mishap earlier in the week, but was there broader application in other subjects?

Eva was grateful when Friday came around after an exhausting week, and she could sense the excitement of the rest of the student body in the Great Hall during breakfast. "Tough schedule today?" asked Victoire as the Gryffindors chatted animatedly around them.

"Just Charms and Potions this morning," said Eva. "Got the afternoon off."

"Lucky you!" Chris chimed in. "Say, if you're feeling up to it after last period, we've got Quidditch practice scheduled. Maybe we can get some flying in afterwards!"

"Oh, I don't think so," Eva said nervously. The thought of getting on a broomstick made her stomach turn.

"Ah, c'mon, where's that Gryffindor courage?" Chris said teasingly. "I still think you're holding out on us, Prewitt. There's a talented athlete hidden somewhere beneath that tough bookworm exterior!"

"I'll come with you if you want," Victoire chimed in. "The team is quite fun to watch. You don't have to fly if you don't feel like it."

"Yeah, okay maybe," Eva agreed readily, jumping at any excuse not to have to fly. Chris looked a bit put out, but he offered an easy smile as he got up to leave.

"Got early Divination today," he said as he made his way out of the Hall. "I'd better see both of you in the stands tonight!"

"It'll be fun," Victoire reassured Eva as they watched Chris exit. "Plus, you've got to see the new Beater they just recruited...he's an absolute dream!"

Two nearby fourth-year girls giggled at this. "You mean Bolger?" asked one of them, leaning in with a devious smile on her face. "I heard he's single, you know...just dumped that Quigley girl last week."

"See? We'll have to try and get you two acquainted!" Victoire said, throwing a playful arm over Eva's shoulders. Eva laughed nervously, face burning red; she wasn't in the market for a relationship at the moment, but an excursion to the Quidditch pitch did sound refreshing, so she agreed to the plan.

Her morning Charms lesson flew by, as Fred Weasley lectured the class on Animation Charms. It was a topic that had always fascinated Eva – assigning sentient tasks to inanimate objects – and one that she had mastered the year before at Willoughby. She earned ten points for Gryffindor after demonstrating her mastery of the spell by animating the eraser and instructing it to clear the blackboard of Fred's notes. Her read on the man was correct, and he was not offended by the cheeky gesture; in fact, it put him in such a good mood that he announced no homework for the weekend.

She expected Potions to be another mundane brewing session, after Professor Slughorn assigned them to brew a cure for hiccups. But to her surprise, Slughorn was far more appraising of her work today, stopping by her station multiple times to assess her progress. "Very good, very -hic- good," he said as the potion took on a light orange hue after Eva's fifth counter-clockwise stir. "Keep up the good -hic- work."

Eva was confused why he was more invested in her progress today. She was still only following the instructions from the book to a tee, after all. Stranger still, she received her grade of "Acceptable" back shortly after for her salamander antidote in the previous lesson. Why was Slughorn taking a greater interest in her now? She got her answer after class, when Slughorn asked her to stay behind.

"I've been hearing a great deal of gossip about you, Miss Prewitt," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "You've captured the imagination of many students here, who seem to believe you're our newest resident genius."

"Oh," said Eva nervously; she knew some kids were gossiping about her incidents in Legilimency and Ancient Runes that week, but was embarrassed to hear that the teachers were in on the gossip too.

"It seems I've misjudged you," said Slughorn with a wry grin. "You may be well on your way to greatness...under the correct tutelage, of course. Are you familiar with the Slug Club?"

"The...Slug Club, professor?" said Eva, confused.

"It's just a monthly get-together I've thrown together," Slughorn said casually, though his excited tone told Eva that he put a great deal of stock into the club. "Networking opportunities for some of my more gifted students, you understand. I think you could benefit greatly from joining us for our next session."

"Oh," said Eva. "Um...thank you, Professor, that's very kind." She felt a bit out of her depth being labeled as a secret genius so soon into her Hogwarts tenure, but definitely wouldn't turn down a chance to meet other students – especially those who might be well-connected and powerful after graduation.

"Wonderful!" Slughorn beamed, clapping his hands together. "Now, will you do me a quick favor and run down to the greenhouses after lunch? Tell our Herbology professor that we need to plant more silverweed for next term; I'm afraid my stores are running low."

"Yes sir," said Eva. She had never been to the Hogwarts greenhouses and was eager to get a look for herself. Willoughby had no Herbology department due to the poor geography and had to special-order all of its potions ingredients; she had read about Hogwarts' innovative greenhouses and self-sustaining plant ecosystem. She hurried down to the grounds after a quick lunch to get a good look for herself.

The greenhouses were even more magnificent than she's read about. Hundreds of species of plants lined the flower beds, many wriggling and writhing happily within their confines. Eva carefully side-stepped a lattice stuffed with Venemous Tentacula as she made her way towards the back, where she could see a witch rummaging through a box of supplies. "Erm...excuse me?" she said timidly.

The young witch looked up at Eva with bleary eyes. "Who're you?" she sniffed, running her nose across her sleeve.

"I'm Evangeline Prewitt," Eva said hastily. "Professor Slughorn sent me. He requested that more silverweed is planted for next term."

"I see," said the witch. "Is that all?"

"Yes," said Eva, sensing that her presence was not wanted at this moment. She quickly backed away and exited the greenhouse, wondering what on Earth that was all about. She retreated to the library for the afternoon, resolving to ask Victoire about it after her classes finished.

"Oh, don't worry about her," Victoire reassured her hours later as she and Eva walked down to the Quidditch pitch to watch practice. "Professor Abbott has always been a bit of a head-case. Little things set her off easily. We think she had something traumatic happen to her during the war, but nobody's brave enough to ask."

"Did she fight alongside Potter and Granger?" Eva asked, already suspecting she knew the answer.

"Probably," Victoire shrugged. "She doesn't like to talk about the war. But she clearly wound up on the right side of history, or she wouldn't be here."

Eva figured as much. That added another to the tally of thirty-something war veterans populating the staff of Hogwarts. Her suspicions about Harry Potter were mounting by the day, but his motives still eluded her. Still, it was only her first week, so she didn't want to draw suspicion by asking too many questions. So she pushed Professor Abbott from her mind and focused on the present moment: enjoying a sporty excursion with her new friends.

Eva and Victoire headed up to the spectators box high above the Quidditch pitch. Several other Gryffindor girls were already seated there, giggling amongst themselves; Eva recognized the two fourth-years that had been gushing about Bolger earlier that day. In fact, Eva thought she recognized a couple of Hufflepuff girls from her Ancient Runes class...were they also here to get a glimpse of this boy in action? She rolled her eyes and settled into her seat for the practice to begin.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team took to the air soon after. Eva hadn't attended a Quidditch match at Willoughby since her third year, but even she could tell that this team looked uncoordinated. One of the Chasers, a seventh-year boy that Eva remembered was named Greg Darby, carried a whistle and was attempting to yell instructions to his two fellow position-mates. One of them was a boy who looked no older than a third-year, and he was about as coordinated as a newborn calf, struggling just to keep his broom on a straight path. The third Chaser, another upperclassman, fared a bit better, though she fumbled some easy exchanges of the Quaffle and didn't seem to have a ton of confidence in passing it.

It wasn't a total disaster, however. Chris Wood was holding his own on goal, saving most attempts that came his way. The two Beaters also seemed to know what they were doing; one of them was a tall and muscular older boy that she assumed must be Bolger. He wasn't the most graceful flier, but he hit the Bludgers with impressive force, and with each crack of his Beater bat the other girls in the stands shouted their appreciation. "Marry me, Mark!" Eva was sure she heard one of them bellow, before another bout of giggles overcame the group.

But Eva's eyes were drawn towards the second Beater, who was wearing heavy goggles and a thick cap despite the sunny conditions. He flew with speed and reckless abandon, outstripping even the Chasers as he zoomed around the pitch after the Bludgers. Unlike Bolger, who gripped the broom tightly with both hands with his bat pinned between palm and wood, the second Beater kept only one hand on their broom at all times, even casually releasing his broom hand at times to put more power into his swings. It was enthralling to watch, and Eva couldn't quite put her finger on why.

"That's Morrison," said Victoire, following Eva's eyeline. "Absolute lunatic on a broom. Brilliant player, no doubt, but sure to get somebody hurt one day."

Eva didn't doubt this assessment. Even the Chasers seemed wary of Morrison's style of play; normally they would use Beaters as shields during offensive strikes, but they seemed to shy away whenever he drew too close. A couple of times Morrison seemed sure to cause a head-on collision but always managed to twist out of it, including a couple of impressive flips and barrel rolls to avoid contact. Eva wasn't sure how she would feel with him as a teammate, but couldn't deny the effortless talent on display.

A streak of movement caught her eye at the other end of the pitch, and Eva watched as the team's Seeker dove from the sky. The Golden Snitch was hovering near the ground, and it took off as the Seeker flattened herself against her broom in pursuit. She dodged a well-placed Bludger from Morrison and reached out towards the tiny golden ball just inches away from her fingertips. She lunged at it but missed badly, her broom jerking forward and forcing her to pull up hard, avoiding a crash but losing the Snitch in the process.

Darby blew his whistle, and Eva could hear his frustrated remarks as the team converged near the center of the pitch. Eva was no master strategist, but she could see that the team had real issues that needed addressing. "How long d'you wanna stay?" she murmured to Victoire. "Should we go grab dinner before it's gone?"

"Oh, c'mon, practice isn't even halfway through yet!" Victoire protested. "And I wanna introduce you to a certain Beater once they finish." She had that familiar devious look in her eye at this, and Eva rolled her eyes.

"Will you quit trying to play matchmaker already?" Eva laughed. "It's my first week. And why don't you ask him out yourself?"

"Nah, he's out of my league," said Victoire. "I think my mum's Veela heritage must have skipped a generation, because I couldn't get a boy to notice me if I threw myself into his arms."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Eva laughed. Victoire was quite pretty for her age, and Eva suspected her difficulties with men might have less to do with her looks and more with her abrasive personality.

Down on the pitch, an odd sight caught Eva's attention. Darby was still chewing out the young third-year kid, but Chris had peeled off from the group and was flying directly towards the stands. He pulled up short in front of Eva and Victoire, looking grim.

"Darby wants to call practice early," he told them. "I convinced him to go a bit longer to try out a new prospect. Prewitt, you interested?"

Eva's stomach turned over at the idea. "Thanks, but I'm good right here on solid ground," she said.

"Please? Just ten minutes?" Chris begged. "I really need to get more reps in; I'm rusty today."

Chris and Victoire looked eagerly at Eva, who felt betrayed by the latter. Victoire had assured her she wouldn't join in the peer pressure, but she too appeared curious at what Eva might accomplish on a broom. "Oh, alright," she huffed. Chris looked thrilled, but Eva regretted her decision with every step down the stairs. Ten minutes was plenty of time for her to fall and break her spine in three places…

Chris was waiting for her on the pitch with a spare broom, which Eva took tentatively. She hadn't flown since flying lessons in her first year at Willoughby, when she'd kicked off too hard and shot about a hundred feet into the air. Her instructor had praised her for maintaining her stance throughout her brief flight, but she had resolved to never leave the ground again after landing. Eva kicked off tentatively from the grass, hovering momentarily to ensure her broom wasn't about to buck her off, before speeding up to join Chris and the rest of the team at center field.

"You're interested in trying out, then?" said Darby, giving Eva a critical look up and down. "What position?"

"Seeker," Chris announced proudly before Eva could say anything. "Great reflexes on this one; trust me."

"Hmph," said Darby. "Alright, you and Macmillan can compete for the Snitch. We'll see how good your instincts really are."

Eva nodded nervously, glancing towards Macmillan, a stocky sixth-year girl who was a head taller than her. The girl was clearly more athletic and a better flier than her...Eva was certain this was a mistake.

Soon after, Darby blew the whistle, and the Chasers and Beaters took off in a simulated scrimmage on goal. Eva didn't even bother looking for the Snitch for the first few minutes, instead practicing her aerial maneuvers. She found that if she Occluded her fears of being dozens of feet off the ground, she could handle a broomstick decently well. She practiced accelerating and braking; turning and diving. She saw some of the other players performing loops and rolls, but she didn't trust herself nearly enough to attempt anything more advanced.

She was suddenly knocked askance by Macmillan, who bumped shoulders with her as she flew by. "Whoops," the older girl said sarcastically as she resumed her own search of the Snitch. Eva's blood boiled at the intimidation tactic – she may be new to the air, but she didn't want to be bullied around either. Her competitive instincts were coming out, instincts she hadn't gotten to exercise in a while. She'd taken comfort in being top of every class for too long, not having to out-work anybody who threatened her position of dominance. Now here was something she had to prove herself at, and she no longer feared falling. She wanted to prove she belonged.

Eva sped up to keep Macmillan in sight, trailing close behind her as she began scanning the pitch below. Macmillan sensed her presence and looked over her left shoulder to see Eva lurking there. "Find your own spot!" Macmillan snapped; she swerved to cut off Eva's approach, but Eva instinctively flicked her broom handle upwards and effortlessly sailed over Macmillan's torso to avoid the collision. She remained focused on spotting the little golden ball.

She heard a heavy crack of a Beater's bat nearby, and she instinctively ducked just in time as a Bludger whizzed overhead. She turned to see Bolger grinning at her before returning his attention to the Chasers nearby. Eva shook her head to forget the incident and turned back towards Macmillan – only to realize that she was no longer by her side. With horror, Eva realized that Macmillan was diving towards the pitch. She'd spotted the Snitch during Eva's momentary distraction, and was racing towards victory.

Eva swore and launched herself into a dive. The Snitch was dancing away across the pitch, and Macmillan shakily righted herself to pull level with it. Eva took a shallower approach and managed to catch up with Macmillan, returning the favor with a shoulder bump of her own as she pulled level with her. They raced side by side about ten feet off the ground, the Snitch darting to and fro just outside their reach.

Slam. Macmillan rammed into Eva hard, sending her careening off-course; Eva barely maintained her grip on the broom. She raced back to Macmillan's side and body-checked her right back, though she did far less damage with her smaller frame, and the older witch recovered easily. Eva eyed the Snitch warily ahead of her, seconds away from being within their grasp. She took one hand off her broom, extending it out ahead of her. Laying the trap…

Macmillan took the bait. She swerved hard to ram Eva again, but Eva was prepared this time. With a mighty wrench of her handle, she neatly looped over Macmillan's incoming frame and righted herself on the other side. Macmillan wasn't prepared for the excess momentum and lost control of her broom, jerking to a halt in midair to avoid falling off. Now Eva was alone, the Snitch in her sights, her opponent defeated…

Crack. She heard the Bludger coming before she saw it in her peripherals. She was so close to catching the Snitch; could she reach it before the Bludger reached her? She tried to do the math in her head, but both balls were approaching too quickly. She would have to make a snap decision—

Then she saw a streak of red fly past her, heard a sickening crunch of broken bone, and watched as a body fell out of the sky right in front of her.

Eva pulled up sharply, horrified at what she'd just seen and heard. She spun around and looked down to the ground, where she saw Morrison collapsed in a heap on the pitch, cradling his arm. She rapidly descended to the ground and jumped off, approaching the injured player cautiously.

"My god, are you okay?" she asked Morrison. "You didn't need to do that."

Morrison groaned and rolled over onto his back. He reached up with his free hand and removed his goggles and cap, letting a thick tangle of raven-black hair cascade down to the shoulders. It was then that Eva realized that Morrison was not a he at all, but a she, looking up at Eva with a crooked grin.

"My Seeker's safety is more important," Morrison winked. "Don't worry about it."

"But your arm…!" Eva protested kneeling down to assess the damage. Her right arm was bent at an odd angle and slowly starting to turn purple. "It's broken!"

"Eh, Pomfrey can patch it up in no time," Morrison shrugged. "Nice catch, by the way."

Eva looked down at her own right hand. The Golden Snitch was clutched firmly in her fist; she hadn't even realized she caught it. She released it, allowing it to flutter back into the air and buzz around her head.

The rest of the team landed seconds later, Darby at the forefront. But he did not look concerned; in fact, he looked furious. "Dammit, Roxanne!" he groaned at the sight of her broken arm. "Do you really have to be that reckless in practice?"

"You'd rather that Bludger caved our new Seeker's face in?" Roxanne Morrison challenged, forcing herself to her feet. "I blocked it, didn't I?"

"I'd rather you use your bat like a sane person," Darby sighed. "Bolger, take her up to the Hospital Wing, will you?"

"I can take myself," Roxanne glared. And to Eva's amazement, she mounted her broomstick and lifted off into the air again. "See you next week." And she took off, soaring over the pitch walls and up towards the castle. Eva watched her go, incredulous but immensely grateful at the gesture all the same.

"Well, that was certainly something," Darby muttered once she had disappeared from sight. "Nice catch, Prewitt. Any interest in joining the team as reserve Seeker?"

Eva was too shaken from the incident to remember that she was technically auditioning for the team. "Oh, I'm flattered, but I don't think so," she said at once. "I don't want to steal anyone's position—"

But to her surprise, the team's starting Seeker, Macmillan, interrupted her. "C'mon, Darby, move me back to Chaser already!" she huffed. "You know it's my more natural position. Move Davis to reserve, and Prewitt can play Seeker."

The entire team fell silent at this suggestion. Eva stared at Macmillan in awe – the older girl did not appear bitter about the result, and instead regarded Eva with a look of begrudging respect.

Darby looked from Macmillan, to Eva, to the third-year boy that she deduced must be Davis. "Aw, c'mon, that's not fair!" Davis protested, eyes widening at the idea. "Why do I have to lose my spot to a Seeker?"

"Because you've been sloppy all year," said Darby sternly. "You have good instincts, kid, but your body has some growing to do to handle a Quaffle in a full-speed match. We'll keep you on reserve in case of injury, but you should focus on training to re-join the team next year."

Davis looked deflated at this. He looked to his teammates for support, but they were all clearly thinking what Darby was saying. "Alright, fine," he huffed, and he stormed off the field towards the locker room. Eva felt a little guilty watching him go, but Darby was quick to squash that feeling.

"He'll be fine," said Darby. "He's a good kid; he'll come back stronger next year. So how about it, Prewitt? Wanna be our new Seeker?"

All eyes looked at her expectantly now. Eva was still ambivalent about this new development, but she couldn't exactly say no now that Davis had been sent off and the team was relying on her. "Alright, I suppose," she sighed.

The team whooped their support and came over to congratulate Eva. "Told ya you'd be a natural!" said Chris, embracing her in a hug. "Welcome aboard."

"Good flying today," said Mark Bolger, coming over to shake Eva's hand. "Look forward to playing with you."

"Likewise," Eva nodded. She could practically feel the envy radiating off of her back from the girls still watching in the stands. She couldn't care less about them. She instead gave an appreciative nod to Macmillan, who nodded cordially back. One competitor recognizing another.

As the team began to file back towards the locker room, Victoire came running across the pitch towards them. "Well?" she asked Eva. "How'd it go?"

"You're looking at the new Gryffindor starting Seeker," Chris announced, throwing a proud arm across Eva's shoulders. Victoire shrieked with delight and threw her own arms around Eva, who awkwardly accepted the embrace.

"I knew you could do it!" Victoire laughed.

"Impressive stuff, Prewitt," remarked Chris as they began the long trek back up to the castle. "You're a natural in the air. Did your parents play?"

"No," said Eva. "My parents were—" She almost let slip that she was Muggle-born before catching herself. But Victoire and Chris were still watching her intently, so she sighed and said, "My parents actually died a few weeks ago."

Victoire gasped so loudly that the nearby gaggle of Gryffindor girls whipped their heads around towards them. "What?!" she wailed. "You didn't tell me that!"

"Yeah," Eva frowned. "I didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

Victoire threw her arms around Eva dramatically, chest heaving with emotion. "But of course it's a big deal!" she said. "I'm so sorry, Eva. What happened?"

"Potions accident," Eva said, remembering to use her cover story. "Some kind of experiment gone wrong."

"Blimey, Prewitt...sorry to hear it," said Chris as Victoire sniffled into Eva's shoulder. "Were you close with them?"

"Kinda," Eva shrugged. "They were always more invested in their experiments than in their only daughter. But of course I'll miss them." She actually found it easier to detach her emotions from the event while using the Headmaster's concocted story. It was like she was describing someone else's life, like it hadn't actually happened to her. And truthfully, the more she reflected on her relationship with her parents, it was more strained than she'd ever realized in life. It hurt to know they would never be able to mend things, but it oddly softened the blow in the moment. She felt guilty thinking this way, but it was better than letting the grief of reality hit her all at once.

"Wait...that's why you transferred here, isn't it?" Victoire realized, pulling back to search Eva's face with her now-puffy red eyes. "The housing program?"

"Yes," said Eva. "I had nowhere else to go, so Professor Potter kindly offered me a place at Hogwarts."

"Such a good man," Victoire sighed dramatically. "Well, Prewitt, if we weren't cousins before, we certainly are now. My family is your family. You don't have to worry about being alone ever again."

"I appreciate that, Vic," said Eva, and she meant it – mostly. Victoire Weasley may be a lot to handle at times, and Eva didn't need to feel smothered with affection 24/7, but she wouldn't say no to such a caring friend right now. Chris was less able to convey his feelings so openly, but he gave Eva a consoling pat on the back, which was more than enough for her.

"Okay, enough tears," said Eva, clapping her hands together. "We should be celebrating the weekend. What's on the agenda?"

"Ooh, Chris, d'you think your roommates could smuggle in some more Butterbeer?" asked Victoire.

"Doubt it," Chris said forlornly. "Last time we got caught with it, the secret passage to the Three Broomsticks was mysteriously blocked. Ethan Fischer reckons Professor Fred had something to do with it."

"Uncle Fred and his twin always bragged about knowing all the castle's secrets," Victoire remarked. "That checks out. Well regardless, we'll have to plan some kind of party to introduce Gryffindor Tower to their new star player!"

"Oh, please no," Eva stammered at once. "I hate being the center of attention." That was doubly true when there was every likelihood she would let down her entire House in the next Quidditch match.

"We'll figure something else out then," Victoire shrugged. "But hey, I saw you and Bolger talking on the pitch. Get any positive vibes from him?"

"I dunno; he seems nice," Eva said noncommittally. She tuned Victoire out for the remainder of the walk to the castle as the redhead prattled on about how she and Mark Bolger would make such a great pair. She couldn't care less about the strapping sixth-year that had seemingly enchanted every girl in the castle. Her thoughts were elsewhere, in the Hospital Wing, with an entirely different Beater who had certainly earned her full attention…