2022
The decision to leave the Ministry of Magic had not been a difficult one. To be honest, Hermione had grown tired of the endless intrigues, backstabbing and political games she'd been involved in the more years she'd worked there. Besides, no matter how much weight she had in society, her decisions were not always respected or overruled in favour of someone more powerful.
And that was assuming Hermione was the head of the Ministry, for Merlin's sake.
The Minister had a lot in hand, of course, but not everything, especially with the elites in their small wizarding society, which even the war hadn't defeated. They often tied her hands, changed directions, changed plans, and it all led to burnout, family quarrels (but okay, there were plenty of other reasons), and a decision that wasn't hard to make.
When Rose had found out, she had written several letters in a row to her mother, exhausting the poor owl - enthusiastic letters, to be fair. Rereading them now, Hermione ran her finger lovingly over the lines in a handwriting so similar to her own.
It had taken almost a year to prepare a successor.
Several changes had taken place at Hogwarts during that year: Minerva, losing her grip with age, no longer wished to combine teaching and being Headmistress, so she had stepped down from both positions to become Deputy Headmistress; the school had seen a few new faces: Charlie Weasley had been invited to teach Care of Magical Creatures because of his impressive experience, Penny Haywood had been invited to teach Potions, and the previous Potions teacher had been appointed Headmaster without much enthusiasm from the parallel position of Deputy Headmaster. All this happened as the summer approached, and the children came home with the obvious news: Hogwarts needed a Master of Transfiguration.
It wasn't that Hermione thought she was one, or that she had a degree in the subject, it was just that everything had worked out perfectly. It was as if Merlin himself had been involved: Minerva had sent a letter requesting a meeting, asking her to join the teaching staff as the Ministry wasn't working out; the children had been happy just to hear about it, and the new Headmaster hadn't really minded, considering he usually avoided her.
As for Hermione herself... Well, Rose had the OWLs coming up, and Hugo was still very attached to his mother, plus she was out of work, plus her relationship with Ron was coming to an end, plus she'd give a lot for the chance to live at the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry again, plus there were plenty of other 'pluses' to consider. In fact, the choice was obvious.
Crossing the threshold of the castle, surrounded by children before the start of the school year, she felt she was where she belonged - at home. All the chaos of the ministry after the first few days in her new role was a distant memory that she didn't want to get her hands dirty with.
And that's where magic began in its most magical sense.
In the ridiculous wand swings of the first years, in the transfigured glass with the remaining rat's tail that made the students sick to their stomachs. In the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, in the Quidditch pitch and the games she wouldn't have cared much about if it weren't for her family and her daughter, the captain of the school team. And even the little sanctuary that Charlie had created in the school grounds, where, in addition to all the creatures being studied, there were two newly hatched dragons: a Welsh Green and an Antipodean Opaleye.
How the new Headmaster had allowed such creatures near the school was a mystery, but Hermione guessed it was for several reasons: firstly, Charlie was a dragonologist with an impeccable reputation; secondly, these types of dragons had a calm temperament; thirdly, it was educational for the students; and fourthly, Minerva, that overgrown adventuress, must have had a hand in convincing the Headmaster.
Hermione looked back at the familiar corridors and smiled. Life was full of magic now and she was going to savour every moment of it.
Peace spread like honey in her chest. Winter was drawing to a close. For six months now, the woman had been free of political races and daily stress, spending much more time with Rose, Hugo and their cousins than she had before. Wonderful. Just... wonderful. Making a mental note to check on the dragon babies later, she turned to head back to her room before dinner when she suddenly bumped into someone.
"I beg your pardon... Oh, it's you, Hermione! Hi," she backed away hastily, fixing her hair and looking up. "Sorry, hadn't noticed.
She shrugged and smiled, "Neither did I. Hi, Charlie."
Still the same dazzling redhead, tall and statuesque like the eldest of his brothers, as if they'd both gotten the best of their parents and even more. With long hair pulled back in a messy bun (which the dragon babies used to tug at), a leather jacket instead of a robe, under which he usually wore a shirt, and a wide belt, loaded with all sorts of useful (she guessed) gadgets, from a bag of animal treats to a folding knife to metal tongs to a chain with large links - Merlin knows why he needed it all.
"Well," Hermione continued, still smiling, "I'll see you at dinner."
"More like tomorrow. Me and some of our colleagues won't be at dinner.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise and couldn't resist asking:
"Why?"
She saw the smile slip from his face. Charlie hesitated, as if considering whether to tell her, and Hermione was about to regret poking her nose into something personal when the answer came:
"We're honouring the memory of an old friend of ours. She died this day, not long before the end of the war. Arrain, that was her name."
"Oh, Charlie, I knew her," Hermione said in surprise, squeezing the man's shoulder sympathetically. "I'm really sorry about that. We met once, she was visiting the teachers that day... I'd like to join you, if that's okay."
Because the children were busy, having dinner at a half-empty table next to a Headmaster who gritted his teeth at the mere sight of her wasn't inspiring, and the opportunity to learn something new was very much worth it.
"I think she'd love to see you."
And so, with Charlie's light hand, she'd signed her sentence and gotten herself into a story she wouldn't be able to get out of any time soon. Would Hermione have asked again if she'd known how it would end? Yes, a hundred times, yes. Because the young witch, still bored with the daily routine of the Ministry, wanted to make everyday life more interesting and give her curious brain more food for thought.
But from a small point of view, she just wanted to brighten up her evening.
"Would you like some lemon pie?" Charlie asked as soon as they stepped through the door of the Room of Requirement, but immediately corrected himself: "I mean, you'll have the pie and you'll have the firewhiskey with mulled mead. Sorry, but it's kind of a tradition."
"'Fine'," Hermione was beaming with a smile and a willingness to accept whatever was going on, so she agreed without a second thought. "Of course I will."
This time the room was a bright, spacious hall with a large table in the centre, on which there were drinks and a dozen pies, as well as several snacks. And there were a lot more people walking, standing and talking than she'd realised at first, including some very unexpected people. Hermione had thought only Arrain's closest friends would be here, but the first person she saw was Neville, chatting to someone. Did they know each other? Or had he also just found out about this evening by chance?
And if she was surprised to see Neville among these people, she was even more surprised to see Draco Malfoy talking to Professor Snyde. Come to think of it, they were from the same House, so they might have known each other.
And even though Hermione could find some explanation for him, she was even more shocked to see... Bill here.
Bill Weasley wasn't a frequent visitor, not just within the walls of Hogwarts, not even at the Burrow, where, according to an unspoken tradition, numerous children and grandchildren gathered every weekend. It was good to see him there at least once a year.
"Help yourself," she didn't notice, lost in thought, as Charlie placed a slice of pie with a subtle citrus flavour on her plate. "Mum made it. And actually, this pie..."
He was immediately approached by someone, interrupting the story that hadn't really started yet, so the man said, "Sorry, I'll be right back," and went off to deal with some organisational matters. Hermione was left alone and looked around again.
Bill was sitting away from the table with a glass of firewhiskey in his hand, not joining any of the groups of people huddled together in small clusters. Completely alone, he looked lost, deep in thought... "Pathetic," it flashed through her mind, but Hermione hastily waved away the inappropriate word. To be fair, she'd never seen him like this before. Bill stood out from the others with a peculiar gloom that had little to do with his usually rebellious and bright personality.
And now it looked as if he didn't quite understand why he was here, or was on the verge of some kind of... apathy?
"Charlie?" Hermione called out softly as there was a pause in his and Professor Snyde's conversation, nodding to the side. "Did you bring him here by force? Bill can't be dragged to school on business, let alone an event like this..."
Well, it was a bit of a fantasy. Minerva spent her evenings with a cup of tea (black, to which she always added a spoonful of Muggle brandy and the same amount of sugar), lamenting the fact that no matter how many times she offered or asked him to take over the DADA classes at Hogwarts, Bill would not agree and even refused to meet in person. Delicately, of course. And Minerva, like a cat, snorted angrily into her cup, kicking a few drops onto her desk or papers each time. As if in her old age she had set herself the goal of gathering as many of her lion-students around her as possible, she was like a mother lioness resenting a particularly stubborn one.
"I asked him to come," the man insisted, sighing unhappily. "Hermione, we meet every year. You've probably seen people here you didn't expect to see, and that's because we all got to know her. But Bill never once honoured her memory with us. After Era died, he hardly ever spoke of her. Sometimes it's as if she never existed.
Well, the evening brightened successfully and she had food for thought right from the start.
Hermione frowned, putting the pieces together in her head. No doubt it was a bit... rude? To forget someone you knew, but at the same time, what was the point of forcing him to be here?
"Bill was two years older than you, and besides, as far as I know, Arrain was a Slytherin, and..."
"Wait, you thought I was just... And he wasn't..." Charlie raised his eyebrows in surprise, then hummed. A moment later he laughed softly and shook his head. "It's my fault if you took it that way, I should have told you more before I brought you here."
"Tell me about what?" she asked impatiently, boiling inside because it was so difficult to get a few extra words out of Charlie, and what always caused an extra degree of irritation - he spoke as if the person he was talking to knew everything in advance.
"About the state of things," he waved his hand vaguely and poured more firewhisky into his glass. "Our years at school had passed without any overt clashes between Gryffindor and Slytherin. I mean, there was competition between the Houses, of course, but it was all so... blurred - not much to remember. Or maybe it just didn't affect our group, which had enough representatives from each House, so... Era was our friend. A close one."
"Oh..."
"We did a lot of things together," Charlie grinned, shaking the amber liquid in his glass. "After she died, I took the dragon she'd helped raise to the Romanian reserve. Then, when I came back, I got her... well, the dragoness back, too. Also an Antipodean Opaleye, like the baby here. Mum and Dad invited her - Era, not the dragoness - to spend the holidays in the Burrow in our fourth year, because Bill and I had talked about her too much. They loved her...
Charlie laughed softly and shook his head, and Hermione gasped in surprise:
"Oh! But they never talked about..."
"Neither did Bill," the man interrupted, nodding at his brother. "Actually, because of Bill... He usually hides from everyone somewhere on this day. I've always respected his condition, but it's been over twenty years, and to keep acting like he's the one who lost her..."
"Wait," Hermione shook her head, not realising what was going on. Yes, Charlie always had a different way of talking and he didn't do it on purpose, but she hated misunderstandings so much! "I don't understand, Charlie, how are they connected? The fact that you three were friends is fine, but..."
"Oh, um... Bill and Era had a... um... special bond?"
The woman's eyebrows went up and she didn't even know what to say.
"You mean..."
"Maybe," Charlie looked away and tugged at his shoulder, grinning awkwardly. "Maybe not. It's a big story, Hermione... Big and complicated, and it's not for me to tell. Still, no matter what happened, she ran to him for advice or help, even when there were those around who could help. Dumbledore allowed Bill to teach DADA as an optional course after his graduation, because the teacher that year was completely worthless. So he often spent evenings here after work."
Ah, so that's it. And isn't that why Minerva tried so hard to get him the job? That is to say, Bill had actually taught before - obviously he was one of the best candidates.
"He came to school from time to time, for no reason, until we graduated. He and Era would often spend their time at the 'Three Broomsticks' or wandering around Hogsmeade. Or Hogwarts. Then they would work together after school. In general, they literally spent many years side by side, and for him this is..."
"Personal tragedy?"
Charlie nodded.
"You have no idea how big it is. Neither can I. I mean, I loved her too, and who didn't? Look at them," Weasley waved his hand around the room and Hermione looked around for the umpteenth time, examining those who had come, "they come year after year, telling stories... Everyone has their own story with her. But this is not the same. She and Bill are something... something beyond my understanding, and how he lost her..."
"How?"
Charlie didn't answer right away. At first, Hermione thought the long silence meant he was putting an end to the spontaneous, slightly chaotic conversation, but a few minutes later his voice sounded again - thoughtful, covered with a veil of memories:
"Era was Legilimens... by birth, or something like that, and possessed Occlumency, so when the Death Eaters were still gaining strength, Dumbledore ordered her to join them. Judge for yourself: a Slytherin, fifth generation half-blood - think pureblood, ambitious. Strong. Such people were welcomed into their ranks... We didn't know that, of course. At the time, we knew nothing of their activities.
Pursing his lips, Charlie sighed heavily, paused for a moment and soon resumed:
"The day before she died, she asked me, Bill and Merula to meet her - I think she knew she would not survive the next day. For whatever reason, they did not, and the next morning the owl brought me a letter from her. "My time is up. "I knew from the beginning how it would end." She said she believed in us. That although victory was near, she regretted that there was nothing more she could do to bring it closer. There was much more, but... A few minutes later, a letter arrived from Kingsley confirming her death. There was no body, not even a wand. All that was left of her was a handful of ashes, and that was all.
Silence hung between them, despite the buzz of voices around them. Hermione seemed to be disconnected from the background noise, listening to every word.
"Do you know what's most disgusting about all this? Era died early in the morning on her birthday, this very day, and no-one..." his voice dropped to the edge of audibility, "no-one bothered to see her a few hours earlier. I can't blame them, they didn't know and all that... But if only Bill... if only he... ah, to hell with it! He would have realised what she was trying to do and he would have stopped her, I'm telling you! He wouldn't have suffered all these years and tortured himself away from everyone, as if we couldn't see... And I can't be of any help to anyone, Hermione. Not to anyone.
The bitterness in his voice made Hermione swallow and she pressed her hand to her aching heart. She had no idea, all these years. Not being particularly close to the eldest of the brothers, she now began to understand his detachment a little better, her imagination filling in the missing details of Charlie's story, occasionally conjuring up vivid images of Bill's youth with a girl she had only seen once. So long ago that it seemed to have happened in another life.
She looked at him again. Oh, he was drunk. His gaze - distracted, empty - wandered from the bottle of firewhisky to the glass in his hand.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat.
This man was grieving for someone very close to him, and was still grieving to this day, despite the number of years that had passed - obviously. Now his appearance had become obvious as well.
And it all looked so wrong.
She forced herself to turn away and stop burning holes in him with her eyes. It was necessary to occupy her mind with someone else.
Neville was too far away, still talking to some unknown man. Malfoy? Of course not! Then Charlie? Charlie seemed to be telling her everything he was willing to share at the moment, and seeing his pain, she did not dare ask for more. Dear Penny, like a mother, asked her several times if she needed anything, fluttered from one company to another with the same question, and she was not a suitable option either: Hermione simply didn't know her well enough. Professor Snyde?
"Hey, is everyone here?"
Hermione even jumped when she heard her voice right behind her.
"Everyone who could," Charlie nodded, standing next to Hermione's other shoulder as Professor Snyde continued:
"Then take the pies apart and pour out the bloody infernal swill."
And she was the first to fill less than half a glass with more mulled mead and less whisky, grimacing. Following her words, everyone present soon gathered around the table and repeated the same actions. Hermione continued to soak up every moment she spent here, her eyes darting back and forth between Bill, who was still sitting on the sidelines, Malfoy, who was lost to unknown fates on a far from secular evening, and Merula Snyde. She was burning her glass with her eyes, not looking up, it seemed, completely focused on his incineration.
"I think I've found another person who doesn't like what's happening."
"She was one of those who organised the permanence of this evening, so it's hardly possible. It's just that Merula doesn't drink anything stronger than butterbeer," Charlie grinned. "And she was the one who strengthened the tradition of drinking firewhisky with mulled mead and eating lemon pie after Era's death... well, get ready Hermione, the evening is going to be long. Who will start?"
The question was asked loudly, drawing all attention to them, and as if to confirm Charlie's words, Professor Snyde raised her glass first. The 'as usual' and 'who would doubt it' that rang out, accompanied by smiles and eye rolls, said the same thing.
"She defeated Jacob in a duel when he refused to take her to a meeting with Rakepick because he feared for his little sister's life. Or did he allow himself to be defeated? Hmm, wait, I've never thought about that..."
Did Arrain have a brother? Or is he still around?
Following the scattered giggles, all the guests raised their glasses and drank in one gulp, immediately refilling their glasses and taking a bite of the pie. Well, she thought, that's what Charlie had warned about: tradition. Not wanting to stand out, Hermione repeated after them, wincing at the bitterness of the whisky.
"She saved my sister so many times like she was her own, I swear! Beatrice didn't get a chance to come here, sorry, Era. But she promised that next year, work will not be able to stop her."
When Penny had finished speaking, the same actions followed this time, except that Hermione broke off a piece of lemon pie with a fork because her stomach was burning unpleasantly. Now she understood why there were a dozen of them on the table, and several pieces on each plate, not counting the salty snacks. She noticed that, unlike Professor Snyde, the guests had added just a little bit of mulled mead - more for the smell. Perhaps they should add some more?
Then the bronze-skinned woman raised her hand with a glass in the air - like most, Hermione had never seen her before. Charlie nodded to her with a smile:
"Come on, Alanza."
"This has been a terrible year for all of you," the woman exchanged glances with the other guests. "And despite the fact that you lost your best, first friend, you looked after me and became my first friend at this school, Arrain. After Brazil, the sun never seemed to shine here. But I was warmer with you.
One more serving and Hermione is forced to stick to the edge of the table. Only a little, but she was already wobbly. The mulled mead softened the taste, but it had a degree of its own - Hermione ate another piece of pie and a couple of slices of cheese, trying to figure out who was going to speak next, and a voice sounded very close.
"She put the dragon to sleep when it was about to devour the three of us. It was my fault," Charlie scratched his head awkwardly. "And barely survived herself. I swear we would have worked well together in Romania if she had come with me. But Era chose a different path... didn't she, Bill?"
As if on cue, everyone suddenly turned their heads towards a lonely table in the corner of the room. Of course, Hermione was no exception and did the same.
"After all, you had so many shared tasks back then. It wasn't without its stories, was it?"
"She was... a good person," the eldest of the Weasley children struggled to get the words out and rose from his chair and headed for the exit of the room, swaying, to the indignant: "Seriously?! And that's all she deserved?!" from the mouth of one of their friends - Hermione couldn't remember the man's name, although someone had introduced him earlier.
And she didn't even hesitate for a split second before she stumbled away from the table, picking up a bottle of firewhisky and slipping out after...
"Bill?"
He didn't have time to go far and probably didn't want to, leaning against the wall just around the corner. Why she was following him - well, there was no rational answer. It was just that both the pie and the mixture of drinks in a glass flatly refused to climb inside her, and the heat that coloured her cheeks gave way to the coolness of the castle corridors. Inhaling the clean, unpolluted air seemed like a magic potion.
And for some reason, she couldn't let Bill go into the unknown in that condition. And she could hardly help. What do people say in situations like this?
"'Hey. I'm sorry, I know you're in a bad mood, but... Charlie said you knew Arrain better than anyone. I've been wanting to know more about her for a long time," which was almost an outright lie because Hermione remembered her for the first time since her wanderings with Harry and Ron in '97, "will you tell me?"
"You'd better ask someone else."
"Please, Bill."
It wasn't that she was planning anything, she just wanted to get him to talk, so that Bill could take a deep breath, so that he could say what lay like a stone on his soul, because it was unusual to meet him like this, until it itched under his skin. And let it be that their conversations could be counted on the fingers of a lifetime - not even doubt crept into a drunken head. The woman just waved away the thought "Is it any of my business?" - it doesn't matter. She can at least try.
"Let's just talk over a drink, shall we? You knew her, I didn't. Talk to me, Bill."
"Hermione..."
The image of him still stood before her, distant, pitilessly alone in a room full of people.
It all sounded bleak.
Watching Bill, Hermione saw him slowly lower his eyes and sigh wearily, and there was so much weight in that sigh that she felt it on her own shoulders. So she slid down the stone wall and made herself comfortable next to him.
"It's been a damn long time," he whispered reluctantly, running his fingers through his long hair, combing it back. But Hermione could hear the capitulation in his voice. "Era was..."
Bill stopped in mid-sentence, grinning bitterly and rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. He was silent for a long time - Hermione counted one hundred and ninety-three seconds before she heard the continuation:
"She was so... small when I saw her. Not naive at all, but with burning eyes, ready for heroics. She wanted to know more than the lessons gave, and I taught her. Everything I knew. She had goals, one bigger than the other, and I was just... having fun, I guess.
"So did you start to get closer?"
"I don't have a clue. I don't remember that moment. She was a new celebrity from Slytherin, one I had had a glimpse of from the rumours - at first. And then, before I could blink, she turned out to be someone... not a friend, no," Bill smiled wryly. "I have no definition for her. She was... close to me."
Hermione remembered faintly why she had started this conversation, running through every emotion as something she had experienced herself. She listened to Bill with such attention, as if every word he said was a small key that opened the door to the past. Interesting. Certainly interesting and unfamiliar to her, and Hermione desperately hated not knowing something.
"Charlie said you adored each other."
"Charlie... You can't get a word out of him, but he talks a lot when it comes to those years," Hermione agreed completely. "What else did he say?"
"Nothing special in general."
Which is untrue, Miss-almost-again-Granger.
The alcohol hit her temples, Hermione winced at the painful throbbing. She'd had too much to drink and hadn't noticed it.
Another question was on the tip of her tongue. She tried to tell herself to calm the impulses of sudden rudeness and inappropriate curiosity - girlish, teenage gossip - but the firewhisky was taking its toll. In a normal state of mind, she would never have asked such a personal question - that was how Hermione justified herself in her eyes - but her state of mind was hardly normal.
"Did you love her?"
The question hung in the silence of the corridor. Bill sat next to her, staring at the opposite wall, his face unchanged.
"Everyone loved her."
"You know what I mean."
From the look that darted sharply in her direction, and the furrowed eyebrows, she realised there would be no answer - it was not allowed to cross the line, and Hermione retreated, shivering. Obviously, he hadn't drunk enough for such revelations, and she hadn't drunk enough for any further offense. But it was clear enough, wasn't it? Or was her drunken brain just hearing what it wanted to hear?
Bill, as if lost somewhere out there in time, was looking into the distance again, but that look of his still caused a nasty feeling, as if she had picked at a long-standing wound with a wooden stick, leaving a hundred splinters in reminder. Not even the look itself, but what stood behind it like a high wall: sick, old, but for some reason still carefully kept behind seven locks from curious onlookers like herself.
Would she change the subject, for the sake of propriety? Maybe it really was worth it.
"How are the children? How is... Fleur?"
"Good enough, considering the divorce and their eventual move to France. Fleur has the patience of an angel," Hermione snorted to herself as she heard this; no matter how many years had passed, Bill still did not understand that his ex-wife was obedient and sweet only when she was with him. "I owe her a lot, but the children were grown and..."
"And there was no point in going on. I understand," Bill turned back to her and met her eyes. "Ron and I are getting a divorce."
And after all, she hadn't told anyone about it yet - except Harry, of course, he didn't count - but what are they having here, isn't it an evening of revelations?
"What has my brother done?"
If Bill was surprised, he didn't show it, but how else should a good older brother react? In front of Molly and Arthur, they'll have to explain themselves like guilty children, but Bill…
Hermione smiled and shook her head:
"Nothing, it's just... we didn't really work out as a pair. We were much better at being friends than family, so we decided it would be right to take a few steps back. The kids understood.
"Not much will change for them."
"That's right."
In the end, they parted peacefully. Rose and Hugo still have the same large, noisy, hyperactive family. Now, thanks to school, they spent most of the year with their mother, and the holidays could belong to their father, grandparents, godparents, aunts and uncles - nothing had really changed for them. Hermione praised herself and Ron for being able to get everything across to the children in the right way. Besides, neither she nor Ron were going to give up on each other and stop communicating, definitely not, everything just became... easier.
The love for one of the best friends ended long ago, but the value of the years spent together remained.
Hermione doesn't have many personal losses. And close ones, just reach out your hand - they will hold tight and not let go.
And it even makes her uncomfortable now.
"I'm so sorry, Bill," Hermione frowned, realising that he probably needed those words the least and that there was nothing else to offer. "The war took many. The best ones... I don't know much about Arrain, but she was an interesting person, wasn't she? If I had the chance to get to know her better then, I would have done so."
A smile touched his lips and his eyes closed.
1984
Bill squinted and blocked out the sun with the palm of his hand. It was still blinding, reflecting off surfaces with light and heat that burned his lungs.
His third year was just beginning.
It was barely the third week of September when Hogwarts was hit by two events: the abnormal heat, which even the cooling charms did little to help, and the appearance of a new loud personality within its walls, though there were enough of them in any new year. Everyone stood out in some way, from the particularly talented singers in the frog choir to the fashion designers who redesigned the students' robes, prompting Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall to announce a hunt for them. There were enough stars in the school.
But this girl...
Bill noticed her at the Sorting Ceremony. Her head barely peeked out of the crowd, and he only saw her because of his seat - he was sitting very close, but her gaze seemed to add to her height. This made her look a little older than the other first years, as she carefully examined every corner of the hall and did not seem particularly interested in the sorting of her schoolmates.
There was a flash of interest in his mind, but then, in response to her last name, the girl went to Slytherin, and the tables suddenly exploded with whispers, interrupted by the stern gaze of Minerva McGonagall. The girl turned out to be the sister of that guy... Jacob, it seemed, who had been expelled from Hogwarts for breaking the rules and looking for something... some kind of dungeon? Bill couldn't remember exactly.
"Look who's here! And how did that bloody little snake get into the school?" a guy from Slytherin, who had entered the school with him that same year, after dinner, without even leaving the Great Hall, caught this girl at the exit. The insult was hilarious, given their shared House. "Your brother has flown the hell out of here, taking the reputation of our house with him, and you dare to show your face here?"
It hissed like the very symbol of their House, whose reputation had been tarnished. Bill even snorted as he passed - reputation? Of Slytherin? Slytherin, slippery, unscrupulous, poisoning the existence of others - that reputation? Then he should thank Jacob.
"A person is not defined by the actions of others," came a voice from behind Bill as he passed. He even turned to see who was standing up for her: another newbie, bespectacled, fragile girl, who did not look brave at all. "Arrain will be an excellent student! Unlike someone who bullies first years!"
Bill swallowed a chuckle, shook his head and continued on his way to Gryffindor Tower. The voices were still ringing in his ears as he rounded the corner:
"I'm sorry, I remember you asking me not to pay attention, but..."
"It's all right, Rowan. Thank you for standing up, but my brother will be remembered more than once, so... don't pay attention, really. Instead of that, have you looked at the schedule for tomorrow?" It was the first time Bill had heard her voice. From a distance, softly, but enough to isolate her cool calm from the hubbub of the others.
Arrain, that was her name. Bill repeated it several times in his mind - unusual to hear. He let the repeated burst of curiosity simmer in the back of his mind. Nevertheless, she was in another House, and it seemed unlikely that he would be able to get to know this new Slytherin better, and not that he really wanted to.
Besides, he was not in the habit of concentrating on a few stars that had been raised from nothing and were really not worth a knut. Bill had just entered the third year, magic was bubbling in him, his studies were fascinating, and the same younger brother, a first year (as if Bill had not enough responsibilities at home), was already in need of supervision at school. In Charlie's favour, however, he was the oldest of the younger ones, and the least problematic, except when dragons were mentioned.
And so, a few weeks later, when things had more or less calmed down, Bill was watching the commotion in the Clock Tower Courtyard. A Slytherin girl was grabbing a Gryffindor boy and sticking a wand under his chin. Being a person who would not tolerate such blatant injustice, Bill naturally picked up the pace to sort things out.
But by the time he reached the Courtyard, the situation had changed. Firstly, the boy was crawling away. Secondly, another Slytherin was standing in front of him, wand at the ready. Thirdly, the attacker was laughed so hard by the Rictusempra, and the other one knocked her wand out with an Expelliarmus. The second Slytherin turned out to be a well-known Arrain, whom he had successfully managed to forget. The boy was a first year Gryffindor... Ben, he thought?
Bill considered that her possession of charms was very good - harmless spells, but they worked flawlessly, and their abuser was now blushing with anger and shame, looking around for a wand. However, there was no point in continuing the conflict: the professors were already rushing into the Courtyard, and whoever the instigator was, the two of them were going to have a hard time. Bill sighed. The fun is over, having just started.
And Arrain made her presence felt again.
Then Ben Copper, who was telling the Prefect everything in the Gryffindor Common Room, let Bill know about her. After that, Charlie, who loved Quidditch, didn't let him forget her because she was great with a broom in class.
The school was abuzz with the news that Arrain had defeated the main first year bully in a duel in front of everyone, and some saw in her their hope for a peaceful school year.
But Bill just wanted to concentrate on his studies.
And quite a lot again - to get to know this girl better.