soumisezita: So I think you misunderstood something here. Botchins did not do anything to Hazel's magic. All he did was put a mark on her that automatically opens the way to the Hufflepuff common room.

If you're talking about how he referred to her mind-reading, that isn't house-elf magic either. He was just making a comparison at how her mind-reading and their magic were both abilities they could use innately without learning how or even putting any effort into them.

Gadget boy: I completely understand your frustration, but I might have to burst your bubble here. Hazel has accomplished a lot, true, but the two major obstacles to the wizards acknowledging that are 1) they aren't all accomplishments they care about in the first place and 2) she didn't accomplish them in the right way. Wizard society cares about the how tasks were done as much or even more than what was done, and Hazel does things her own way rather than the way the wizards think stuff should be done.

Chapter 39
Realigning Priorities

The massive bell hidden somewhere in the many towers of the castle bonged loudly, and all the students around Hazel started packing up their parchment and quills and bottles of ink. The sound shook Hazel out of her distant thoughts, and with a grimace she looked at her own notebook. The first few lines were attempts at taking notes related to the class, but after that it devolved into idle thoughts about how to start coming up with her own counter-spell.

She had found the instructions for the spell in her Charms book, but to her absolute lack of surprise it only said how to use the incantation and the wand motions, not how the spell actually worked. And this was just the book for her first year at this blasted school! If that was how all the wand-waving textbooks were written – which, considering it was the same format used in both the Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts books, was more likely than not – she might as well not waste her ill-gotten funds on any more textbooks and just write down a list of spells for her to translate into her own style on her own time.

Which, she had to wonder, raised the question as to just what she was expected to get out of some of these classes she was attending. Transfiguration had been a wash from start to finish, but Defense Against the Dark Arts was little better. Professor Quirrell might not have immediately jumped into spellcasting, but he did not go into any kind of detail about how certain jinxes worked. Instead, like McGonagall, he exclusively focused on the instructions for how wizards were supposed to cast the spell through their wand. Having the classes back-to-back on Tuesdays helped to highlight just how similar the two and therefore her problems with them were.

She would be lying if she denied sometimes thinking about how differently she might see these classes if she had chosen a wand back in Mr. Ollivander's shop, but even when she indulged in her musings they were never with serious consideration. After all, she could not forget that even if she had a wand, she had been given no guarantee that she would be able to cast the spells without the ability to speak. That was something no one considered fixable with wizard magic, not even Madam Pomfrey during her introduction to the nurse the night before. She doubted being half a witch would be that much better than where she stood currently.

Watching the other students filter out to head down to the Great Hall for lunch, she bit her lip and glanced at the professor. What did she really have to lose? She had not thought before now about just asking one of her teachers if the class would be useless to her, but what was the worst that could happen if she did?

Well, maybe not in so many words, but that just meant she needed to phrase it differently.

Her footsteps pulled the man from his thoughts about his upcoming sixth-year class, and he adjusted the obnoxiously bright purple turban on his head as he looked up at her. "Y-yes, M-m-m-miss Potter? What can I d-d-do for you?"

'I had a small question.' He gave her a nod to continue. 'You've talked about several ways to defend yourself with magic, but what about if a wizard or witch loses their wand, or if it is broken? How would you defend yourself from another wizard or a magical creature or something then?'

"What kind of question is that? A—" A grimace swept across his face and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Apologies, Miss Potter." Adjusting the collar of his robe, he gave her a half-smile that did not reach his eyes. "You would be surprised how rarely wizards ask themselves that question. Optimally, a wizard would do everything in his power not to allow his wand to be broken in the first place. But what to do if you lose your wand," he flicked his eyes to the staff in her hand, "or if you do not have a wand in the first place? The answer is simple."

He crooked his finger for her to lean closer, and she noticed that while the half-smile had disappeared the corners of his mouth still twitched. Staring directly into her eyes, he whispered, "You run. You run far and you run fast and you hope whoever wants you dead doesn't catch you. Because if they do, you will not enjoy what happens next." Professor Quirrell quirked one eyebrow at her. "Do you understand, Miss Potter?"

She blinked a few times before nodding slowly. 'I understand. That is a much more direct answer than I expected considering how most wizards act. Or, no offense, how you've answered other students' questions over the last month.'

Professor Quirrell rolled his shoulders in an almost-shrug. "Wizards prefer their children coddled. It makes them easier to control. But Girls-Who-Lived can't afford to be coddled. It will blind you to the person standing next to you waiting to put a knife in your back."

'I see.' And she did. Professor Quirrell had very clearly answered her question about how worth it continuing to go to these classes would be, and honestly he had been far more explicit and matter-of-fact about it than she thought the vast majority of wizards would be. 'Thank you for your time.'

"It was my pleasure," he replied. Then with a flick of his eyes towards the door he silently ushered her out.

Closing the door behind her, she sighed and glanced at Morgan where the little bird was perched on her shoulder. Well, this leaves us with an interesting dilemma, doesn't it? How do you think we should handle it?

Back when she was attending primary school in Little Whinging, the very thought of skipping any of her classes never would have crossed her mind. But back then, school was a daily refuge from the worst of Dudley's bullying and a place where she could get away from the near-crushing weight of Petunia and Vernon's hatred for her. That was also when she had classes where she could actually do the tasks that were assigned to her, not stuck in this weird limbo of having the capability but not being shown an effective means of bringing that possibility into reality.

I'm already skipping History class, she thought to herself and her feathered friend, so would adding two more classes to that list be that bad? Herbology and Potions are interesting and useful, thankfully, and at least Professor Flitwick is trying to help me with Charms. I understand that he can't solely focus on my needs since he has an entire class to teach the wizard method, but talking about the 'how' of spells is appreciated. Not to mention that it's probably good for everyone else, too.

As for Astronomy… That one I'll have to think about. I know the stars and the moon have an influence on magic. Certain potions for sure, and I don't think its effect on werewolves is a one-time thing, either. Professor Sinistra might not teach about that influence, she might not even know, but having that information is better than being ignorant. And it is a class I can actually do, which is a big difference compared to Transfiguration.

Hazel walked over to the railing and looked down at the drop to the ground floor between the moving staircases. It was not quite as far as when she had been attacked outside the library, but still she almost subconsciously gripped her staff harder. Testing whether its ability to return to her side was a fluke or not was not in the cards just yet.

What would she do with the time, though, she wondered. Before yesterday, she would have assumed that she would see these newly freed blocks as more library time, but now she did not know. To think that the library, the very one McGonagall called one of the best in the world, would not have even a single solitary mention of druids was just… She did not know what to call it!

I swear, Morgan, I think we had more luck finding information about the druids back in Bristol, she thought testily. We know they exist because the were written about by the Romans. We know they were magical because we found that carving in Shervage Wood of them and wizards working together along with regular knights to take down a dragon. And yet the wizards don't have a single book about them? If I had known that, I would have stayed with the Moldus— Muggles. Whatever British wizards want to call… them…

Her thoughts trailed off as she repeated the words that had crossed her mind again and again. What the wizards called them. No normal, non-magical person would call themselves Muggles, nor Moldus. That was purely a wizard term for members of a group that was not themselves. She never would have thought of it until hearing wizards use it.

Muggles were not wizards, but then again neither were druids.

She leaned against the stone railing and scrubbed her face with her hands. Oh for Pete's sake. Morgan, do you think it could really be that simple? Wizards make up their own terms for other people. Do you think the reason I couldn't find druids listed in the card catalog is because they simply don't call druids 'druids'? They call them some other nonsense name?

If that were the case… She groaned within her mind. She had no idea what that other name could be. There was no way to guess it, and while she could look through the card catalog checking every term she did not know, she had no doubts that it would still take months. She might almost be better off continuing what she had already been doing, namely picking out history books basically at random and skimming through them.

Her forehead clunked against the stone. I guess it's a good thing I have something else to distract myself with, even if it is wizard classes. She raised her head enough to meet Morgan's eyes. Do you reckon we could find the right evidence out on the open road, or enough that we don't have to spend several more months stuck in this stone box?

Morgan gave her a consoling chirp, and she dropped her head back down. Yeah, neither do I.

This sucks.

Two days later, Hazel found herself much more excited about the end of class as the great hidden bell rang. It helped that this time it was not a class she found entirely useless.

Mostly useless, yes, but that was not Professor Flitwick's fault.

Thankfully, the short professor noticed that she had not moved from her desk, and he tilted his head as the last student left the room. "Did you have a question, Miss Potter? I can't think of any other reason she would still be sitting here, and she more than any other student here should be asking questions."

She gave him a nod and finally left her seat. Her legs were relieved at the chance to move; she had noticed that they and her back were starting to ache when she spent basically all day sitting in rigid desks. Her body was used to moving a lot more than she had been over the past month spent in this school. Even when she had gone on research binges in the past, it was a couple of weeks at a time, and she still had to move around a lot to get to her hiding places to sleep, eat, or steal more food.

'I did, Professor. It's about something other than the color-changing charm you talked about, though. Not that it wasn't interesting, but...' She trailed off for a moment as she tried to think of a less insulting way to phrase what she really thought about the spell in question. 'It isn't like it's useful, really.'

"I suppose it wouldn't sound all that useful to someone her age," he thought with a mental chuckle. "It might not be useful to you now, but once you live on your own and are tired of the same bile-green walls all around you, you might find a new appreciation for it. Merlin, I hated that flat, and Jaime for talking me into moving in with him."

'That is what paint is for, Professor. The human race has been using it for millennia to change the color of things.'

Her comment earned a soft laugh from him. "Fair point, I suppose. If you wish to be boring about it. But if you did not stay to discuss the finer points of interior decorating, what can I help you with?"

She sighed because to ask her question also meant explaining just why she wanted to know it so urgently. 'A few nights ago, some students jinxed me on my way back from the library. Mister Filch escorted me to Madam Pomfrey,' she added before he could say anything, 'but she mentioned that there was a countercharm that would have gotten rid of the jinx entirely. The DADA book says how to cast it with a wand, but...'

"But just like all the other instructions, that is useless to you because you can't use a wand." She nodded, and he sighed. "How am I going to explain this to her? I don't think that particular spell is going to be a quick thing for you to learn.

"Throughout most of wizarding history, spells were not designed so much as created through experimentation. It was, and still is, an extremely dangerous process. But it also means that there are a large number of spells that we know work but don't exactly know how they work. Developments in the field of Arithmancy have calculated the mechanics of a number of spells, but some still defy explanation."

'And the Finite countercharm falls in that category,' she guessed, already knowing where this was headed.

"Precisely," he said, and the grimace made it obvious that he disliked that admission almost as much as she did. Not that he was forced to make it, but that this was the situation at all. "I've had to brush up quite a lot on my arithmantic knowledge since learning the details of your issues – and don't misunderstand me, I appreciate the incentive to expand my understanding of the field – and I've already run into spells that do not have adequate analysis for us to understand their inner workings. Some because spell researchers simply haven't bent their attentions to them, and others because our current tools just don't work.

"Finite is famously one of the latter. From my discussions with Professor Vector, whom you'll meet if you decide to take Arithmancy as an elective in your third year, there are currently three major theories as to how it might work and many smaller ones. Unfortunately, all of the theories state that Finite should not work on spells that it demonstrably can counter, which means none of them can be accurate."

Hazel frowned because that certainly was a problem. 'How frustrating.' Professor Flitwick nodded, and she asked, 'If so many spells are made by blind trial and error, are there any notes about just how this spell was created?'

"I wish that was the case. Spell creators rarely publish their notes. Partly it is because there might be aspects to their research that they plan to use to create further spells that they don't want to reveal to any competitors." He noticed her quizzical expression and elaborated, "The Ministry has a Spell Patent Office that is dedicated to protecting the rights of spell creators. If someone's spell creation is published in a book, all the sales numbers have to be reported to the Ministry so an appropriate percentage of the proceeds can be redirected to the spell creator so long as they still live. So there is a financial reason for their secrecy.

"Another part, however, was unknown to me until my conversations with Professor Vector. Arithmancy has a number of uses, spell analysis being only one of them. In fact, it originally existed as just one more form of divination until someone discovered that it could be used to for purposes other than calculating the probability of future events. However, most uses of arithmancy require analysis of someone's own nature to determine how it relates to the phenomenon at hand. As such, publishing the full details of any analysis would also provide specific information about the analyst that they might not want to be public knowledge. And that is probably all I should say in front of a child. She doesn't need to know that at least one arithmancer has been murdered by sympathetic curses aimed at copies of their work."

Sympathetic curses? She had read a little bit about the concept of sympathy as it related to magic during her travels – the principle that a spell cast upon a small part of something would affect the greater whole, even at a distance – but that was all in normal, mundane literature mostly about Neo-Paganism. Not the kind of magic practiced by modern wizards.

It was nice, sometimes, to be reminded that just because the wizards pretended something was false or refused to mention it did not mean that it did not exist.

"I think, then, that you can see the difficulties with trying to teach yourself the Finite spell," Professor Flitwick continued, oblivious to her internal surprise. "I fully agree with you that it would be an extremely useful spell for you to learn, but I just don't know how best to help you with it. We are firmly outside of my expertise."

Teaching how to cast charms did not necessarily mean one had mastered a wide enough variety of magic to create their own, she supposed. 'I understand. Thank you for trying nonetheless, Professor. I guess it will be a case of trial and error once again.'

"No! Did she not hear what I said about spell creation being dangerous?!" He opened his mouth no doubt to tell her just that, but before any words could come out it closed. "Then again, she is using wandless magic at a level most, maybe all, wizards could only dream of. She can't have had a teacher because no one is good enough to teach her. Which raises the question of how she learned the magic she does know, and there is only one obvious answer. I recognize that you are an old hand at spell creation," he said out loud instead, "but I nevertheless urge caution. Creating entirely new spells is fraught with hidden peril, many of which you will not know are a problem until they blow up in their face. It only takes one mistake to reap dire consequences."

He stared into her eyes for several seconds before continuing. "I do not say this to scare you, merely to impress upon you the gravity of the situation. People have died experimenting with unfinished spells. Not just novices, either; fully trained wizards and witches with years of practice in doing just that have killed themselves because of minor mistakes. You have so much potential, Miss Potter, potential that is just beginning to make itself known, but potential will only carry you so far. You have to be very careful in looking before you leap into the unknown."

'I appreciate your concern, Professor. Really.' She underlined the last word several times. 'But I think you know that I don't really have any alternative. It is either experimentation or I go nowhere. I'm always careful, though, and I'll make sure that continues.'

She felt a twinge of guilt at the lie, but this was not really for her. It was for him. She had never been cautious when it came to creating her spells, or at least not in the way he meant the word. That said, the worst that had ever happened to her was a spell not working when she tried it out, not it somehow exploding in her face. Maybe it was a wizard versus druid difference, how the wand did not match her will?

Or, she had to acknowledge, maybe she had simply been lucky the last few years. Maybe she was at just as much risk as a wand-waver when she created a new spell. She did not have a reason not to be a little more careful when planning out her next spell, and some extra caution had never hurt anyone.

Which would make her little white lie not a lie at all, and that buoyed her spirits a little.

Two weeks after deciding how she wanted to handle her classes, Hazel found herself standing before a heavy wooden door. Chrissy the seventh-year prefect gave it two sharp knocks before turning to her with a commiserating expression. "You'd better go in. Professor Sprout doesn't like to be kept waiting when she's angry, and whatever you did has put her on a right tear. Good luck."

Hazel pushed the door open and stepped into the room. She was not sure what she was expecting – maybe a jungle of potted plants, or an illusion of a verdant vista from overseas laid on one wall – but Professor's Sprout's office was instead a basic, boring office. There were a few moving photographs along one wall and a single fern tucked away in a corner next to a bookcase full of gardening magazines and professional journals, but other than those touches of personality it was very plain. A filing cabinet, a large desk holding stacks of paper, and three cushioned wooden chairs; nothing more.

It was such a difference from the attitude and presentation of the woman during class times that it caught Hazel off-guard.

Professor Sprout glanced up from the pile of parchments she was marking and gave Hazel a tight smile. "This will teach me to be careful what I wish for, I suppose. I wanted a distraction from grading, and a distraction is one word for this. Miss Potter, good afternoon. Thank you for coming. Please, take a seat so we can get started. Merlin, I hate having meetings like this."

'It was hard not to come when a prefect hunts me down,' Hazel pointed out as she sat in one of the chairs. Morgan, ever the opportunist, hopped off her shoulder and settled himself on the upholstered arm of the other.

"Yes, well, maybe I wouldn't need to send them if you didn't disappear so often," Professor Sprout said with a faint clearing of her throat. "One of your teachers raised a complaint about you, and I wanted to help straighten things out. Specifically, Professor McGonagall says you haven't been present in your last few Transfiguration classes. Would you like to tell me why that is?"

'That's simple. I didn't go. I have better ways to spend my time than going to a useless class.'

"Useless?!" Professor Sprout stared at her as if she had written something incomprehensible. "None of the magic you will learn in this school is useless, nor is it a student's place to decide what should or should not be taught. Just because you do not see the usefulness only means you need to learn about the subject even more."

The witch's irritation washed over her, but Hazel pushed through it as if it were just a wave breaking around her. Possibly it was not the best wording she could have chosen, but just because it was taken badly did not mean she was wrong. Besides…

'And that might be true for wizards who can wave their wands and say a bunch of nonsense words and have magic happen. But not for me. I have tried working it out without speech or a wand, and so far I haven't been successful. When I asked McGonagall for more information to get around that, she refused to believe that I could not use a wand even after our trip to Diagon Alley.'

"Professor McGonagall, Miss Potter," chided Professor Sprout, although her thoughts were less on her scolding and more on the information Hazel had just revealed. "All your professors deserve your respect."

'She knows what she did.' Which was true in more than one respect, now that Hazel considered it. She had lost any burgeoning respect when she learned McGonagall was involved in putting her with the Dursleys, but her statement could also include convincing her to come to Hogwarts under what felt more and more like false pretenses. The 'greatest library in Britain' so far was leaving something to be desired.

"That is not a normal expression for an eleven-year-old," Professor Sprout thought, her eyes widening somewhat. "And I'm not sure I even want to know what she is talking about. Regardless," she added after clearing her throat, "Professor McGonagall has assigned you multiple detentions for this, although she says she has been unable to find you to inform you."

Hazel did not roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. She was well aware that McGonagall wanted to give her detention. She had only crossed paths with the woman a few times since she stopped attending class, and each time she had slipped into her ignore-me smoke to avoid the confrontation. It had actually made her wonder if she should just spend all day within her smoke, but sadly after several hours of trying that out she had started developing a very familiar pounding headache behind her eyes. It was the same headache she had developed when she pushed too far with her jumping; a sign she was placing demands on her mind and magic that it just could not keep up with. 'I don't see why. Neither Professor Quirrell nor Binns had any issue with me dropping their classes.'

"Dropping— What?!" Professor Sprout shook her head quickly. "She cannot be saying what I think she's saying. Miss Potter, you are skipping three classes?!"

'That is what I said,' she wrote out with an unimpressed expression aimed at her head of house. 'Defense Against the Dark Arts for the same reason as Transfiguration: none of the spells taught in the class are useable without a wand. Professor Quirrell even told me that himself.

'And History of Magic? Don't make me laugh. A better name, or more accurate name at least, would be "History of Wizards Being Horrible to Everybody Else for No Reason". I've read the textbook cover to cover, and the only thing it talks about is wars wizards waged against goblins and giants and even other wizards. That or praising the Ministry of Magic for being so great and advanced without giving reasons for that praise.'

It had been a massive disappointment when she finished the book. She of course had been looking for any hint at all of magical techniques beyond those the wizards used, hoping against hope that there would be a single mention of a group she could look up in the library just in case that was the wizards' name for druids, but to her complete lack of surprise there had been nothing worthwhile within the pages. More shocking than that was the complete absence of criticism for anything the wizards had ever done. If the history 'textbook' was to be believed, wizardkind held the moral high ground in every single interaction they had with any other species or other group of humans.

They were always the ones who were attacked by terrible monsters trying to take what they had, and yet they also always had the strength to defeat or even totally crush their opposition. Yet somehow that was not enough to dissuade the next group from striking out with no explainable motivation? It made no sense, and honestly it made her doubt the accuracy of what topics the book did cover.

"What you think about the quality or lack thereof of your classes is quite frankly irrelevant." Professor Sprout shook her head. "Attending your classes is mandatory. One reason is that there are things you need to learn to be a fully functional witch, and while I understand your frustration with the requirement to use a wand and your inability to do so, it does not change the fact you still need to learn what the classes have to teach. The other reason is simpler, which is that you have to pass your classes in order to progress to second year. I'm sure your professors will take your inability to perform the practical portions of the class into consideration, which sounds like something I will need to remind Minerva about, but if you do not attend and hand in your assignments and pass the theory portions, your… What is an inoffensive term for being a witch and yet not being capable of wielding a wand?… disability will not win you much sympathy or accommodations.

"And to think I wanted a distraction from grading," thought Professor Sprout with a regretful look towards the stack of papers on her desk. She returned her gaze to Hazel. "You have several detentions to serve with Professor McGonagall. You can ask her when they will be and what they will entail after your next class with her. And you will apologize for skipping the sessions you missed." A grimace flickered across her face. "And for the love of Merlin, do not tell her you think her class is useless. She would not take it well, and it would just dig the hole you are in even deeper."

Hazel stared at the woman for several seconds in incomprehension. Had… Had Professor Sprout not read a single word she had written? She had already explained the situation, and yet the actual crux of the issue – namely that she could not cast these types of wizard spells – was being ignored because that was not how 'things were done'? It was the kind of attitude she had seen expressed on many occasions by Vernon and Petunia, and for all their hatred of 'freaks' it was sad how similar they all were.

The urge to push back against the nonsensical rules and expectations came to her, but she was able to ignore it with the ease of long practice. It had never worked with the Dursleys, and she could tell from the thread of Professor Sprout's thoughts that the witch would similarly be unmoved. If she had not paid attention the first time, she was unlikely to do so with repetition.

Hazel rose from the chair and walked out the door without a single additional word written in the air. The grip on her staff was tight enough it made her knuckles turn white, and she could feel her teeth grinding. Once she had closed the door behind her, she took several deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. No matter how familiar the situation, she needed to remember she was not the same little girl who had been stuck with the Dursleys with nowhere else to go and no options to make her life a smidgeon better.

She was a new girl now, one who could not be forced to answer to anyone. A druid with the whole world before her instead of a weak and abused child.

With her thoughts now moving in that direction, a smile graced her face, albeit one with no humor within it. Let the wand-wavers give her detention. One, two, ten; it did not matter, did it? It was not as if the teachers could make her do any of them. If they tried, she could just make herself unseen the instant they took their eyes off her. And in the worst case scenario? She now had a landmark outside the school's anti-teleportation spells where she could sneak in and out as she pleased. She could not, would not, be trapped. Never again.

Still, even with these self-reassurances she could not help but feel angry and disappointed. Picking up on her mood, Morgan chirped reassuringly at her, and she reached up to stroke his soft feathers. I'm fine, she thought towards him. It's just… When we first came here, McGonagall said our house would be like our family. I'm starting to see the resemblance.

The Dursleys never cared much about my needs and opinions, either.

Silently Watches out.