A/N: HP and everything you recognise belong to Rowling, of course.
The Natural
Chapter 2.
(12y.o.)
From September 1990 to January, 1991.
Dear Aunt Rachel,
The first week was less awkward than I'd imagined it would be. It's just new. (Obviously.) It's not that bad, I suppose.
Caleb and Gavin are fine. If you've been wondering. They are devoted to their friends and their fun every evening unless our Head of House decides to pop in for a short visit. As I hear, this is a habit of his, although I've only seen him twice yet outside of class. I'm unsure if this habit is good or bad because most say he's a true killjoy. Honestly, I don't think so. Or I don't know, really.
He does have some annoying tendencies, as gran would say, but I think he likes being that way and gets his amusement out of it. He has a dry sense of humour which I only knew from reading before. You would think he's hilarious. He talks like he always had to recite Austen and moves as if Poe was watching his every move. Probably for inspiration. I swear half of the poems he would write about him would be about his looks only, and half of those about that ridiculous robe! He walks around like some avenging ghost of a previous lifetime to haunt down all the sinful living! I swear even some teachers are afraid of him! It's so funny to watch. I wish you could see it too!
I think you would object to a lot of things, but I'm tired and wanted to write. Like, I spend a lot of time with Flora Carrow, and she ruins me. You'd say she's a handful. And I guess her lips hurt when they are not moving. She's still better than her sister, though, because Hestia is just plain dull. She is not dull like me because she actually talks about things, but her things are dull.
Anyway. Everyone here adheres to all wizarding traditions meticulously (watch me putting in the effort, you knew I would!), and I find I'm better acquainted with my Muggle traditions lately, thanks to you. (I hope you can sense how high I held my chin just writing that down.) It sucks because I can't even hint at things I care about. It's too personal. And also, this place vibes as if the war was still on. I sometimes feel like a traitor for not coming out as a half-blood like Vaisey did (poor soul), but I don't want to be noticed, and believe me, no one would forget that!
Oh, and it's also in the dorm talk! I'm only with Flora and Hestia and a second-year girl who probably thinks she's too high above us to remember our names. (She's called Sophia Borgin, just to prove I know hers! By the way, she's our appointed tutor, but she's yet to do much.) I just had to listen through Hestia talking about a pureblood witch's duties the other night. "She is supposed to be moderately skilled, subdued, and submissive to her future husband." Whoever she is, I don't want to meet her! Turns out that before that wizard shows up, subdued is apparently enough. So I guess I have a chance to blend in.
Please don't feel betrayed! I love you So much! At least I never said I was a pure-blood, either. I didn't say a thing. Please don't tell mum!
Anyway. It's Sunday afternoon, and I am writing from the library, which is HUGE! I discovered it on Wednesday, and it feels like I haven't left ever since. Of course, we have some bothersome classes to kick me out for some hours, and they wouldn't let me sleep here (I am pretty sure about that, but I'm yet to try). There are students here only from years up from third. They say it's too early into the year. Whatever. Now it's Heaven!
I miss you, don't get mad about it!
Anne
P.S.: One thing is disturbing, though. Do you remember that line about being subdued and moderately skilled? Well, I am apparently the only firstie who finished the textbooks in the summer. Can you sense the conflict?
The Charms Professor (Flitwick) almost caught me doing all the work easily and wanted me to show off in front of the class! I was quick to adjust and messed up the spell-work. The old goblin apologized! (I didn't even know where to look!)
But the thing is, Snape (my Head of House) didn't buy it at all. I knew most answers in his class (okay, all), but it was still enjoyable. He asked in a different pattern than my brain likes to work, so I enjoyed it tremendously. I'm afraid he noticed because he kept calling me to answer, despite I never once volunteered until I intentionally gave him the wrong answer. After that, he never even looked at me again. Then we had to brew something basic, and I saw that no one could just do it right, so I added a bay leaf after I finished mine to spoil it, and he kept me after class.
It wasn't as if it was dangerous or something. I knew what I was doing, it couldn't do anything wrong, only change the colour! I was ready to explain this to him and that I was just not show-offy like Flora, but he didn't even ask a thing! He just stared into my eyes as if he wanted to read my mind (this is something like a habit of his, I think he aims for intimidation), then he told me I should never lie to him. I didn't even say a word!
Then he was off. He's so annoying!
Otherwise, I'm fine. And you?
*/*/*
Dear Father,
I am glad to report I've been sorted into Slytherin. My brothers kindly celebrated the occasion and gave me every help I needed to find my place in the House.
I'll try my best to do well, please be so kind as to tell mum I'm fine.
Your loving daughter,
Annabella E.
*/*/*
Dear Rachel,
Forgive me! I'm a horrible liar. I want to go back home to you and go on as a Muggle! Please! If anyone can convince father, it must be you! This castle is so big I can't find a thing, not even a classroom, after a whole week! Muggling is better and simpler. I wouldn't need to keep secrets, I wouldn't need to listen to Hestia or be a good little witch, and I hate that all her daydreams are about an ideal pureblood marriage! I doubt I would ever want to marry anyway. You never did and seem happy enough!
I only know the dungeons and the Great Hall from the castle, and if we have class as far up as the second floor, I'm already lost because the staircases are tricky! I kid you not; one stair even bit me!
Please let me go home!
Anne.
*/*/*
My Darling Anne,
I was glad to receive your letter even if the owl was a little frightening. For the second attempt, I feel we formed an understanding. Especially after I let him (her?) feed on your grandmother's scones and tea, which I will deny to my dying breath.
Hearing that your brothers are themselves is comforting, as always. It was also lovely to read about your hard work is paying off, even if you are preoccupied with your struggle to conceal what you have. Honestly, I believe it is more like a phase in your upbringing, but don't mistake my words; I would be the last to push you out of your hiding. I strongly suspect this Professor Snape you mentioned will try it sooner. (I vote for him, this Professor Flitwick you also wrote about doesn't seem up to the task.)
Of course, he was enraged by your spoiling your potion, and you need not be so self-assured because you lied indeed. Maybe not with words, but you attempted to convince him of falsehood. Considering everything else you told me about him, he would dislike this approach. If you don't like answering him, why don't you write down those thoughts? There must be some homework, even in a magical school. (No school is as magical as to forego that.) I wouldn't temper with my potion, either. That is your work, you in a phial or cauldron, or… do I understand anything correctly?
If you don't like Flora and Hestia, why are you trying to make friends with them? I'm sure there must be other girls. Tell me more about your class! You might not have a routine for building friendships, but I believe it is time to learn that too. Maybe not with a blabbermouth and a dull one… I seriously lack information to help you out here.
Although I have to admit that I am not enchanted by this Hestia girl's approach. At twelve, you don't need to lament your marital chances. This is not ancient Rome! In the 20th century, a woman should first and foremost learn to think and decide. Incredible women fought and died to achieve this, don't let it go unused. That's disrespectful.
According to the other issue you mentioned, No, I don't feel betrayed. You are my Anne; whatever you tell or omit, I'm sure you have your reasons, and I will not take away your right to choose. You will come and see me again, will you? Then I don't care who knows about me.
By the by. How can your wizarding war have such a lingering effect on a school? I must tell you, as a historian, I don't like this. It would be nice to have you tell me more. As for the little information I already have… no matter how destructive, a war should sink back in history in ten years or so. If it didn't, if children are still influenced by its politics at a school… I don't want to frighten you, but I don't like this at all. Please take care and escape indoctrination for the sake of both our sanity!
To finish on a better tone: Yesterday, Tony came over and handed me my freshly printed volume of essays and studies. Even if all of London wants to buy my hair splitting tomorrow, I will put one aside for you. Whatever else would they want to read anyway?
You won't disappoint me until you buy into this subordinacy-rubbish your not-exactly-friend tells you.
Love,
Rachel
*/*/*
Anne,
I already had the impression that you're struggling. I meant it when I told you I had severe doubts about politics mixing into young teens' education, but I feel this is not the time I should expand upon that. This letter will be short because there's only one thing it needs to convey:
Annie dear, this is perfectly normal.
Now read again!
I mean it, girl, you never had a chance to learn how to relax with relatives like we are. I will not apologize for being who I am, but the facts remain. You lack the skill to lay back and give up your all-consuming wish for control. Consider if it's time to learn about that! (I'm not an expert, but I've been told the same.) Without being a hypocrite, I can only say that feeling lonely on your first week in a boarding school or lost in an enormous castle (with a staircase that bites, are you serious?) is perfectly reasonable and nothing to be ashamed of. I would try to find a niche I feel comfortable with and conquer the rest from there. Maybe also try to find friends that suit you! (And avoid that staircase if you can, or bite back!)
So you'll put your feet down and give it a real go, dear. You've given yourself time to adjust. Waiting for your next letter to hear about your progress, I have no doubts you'll have some and very soon.
Rooting for you, and love you,
Rachel
*/*/*
Dear Rachel,
I don't know about friends, but I think I found that niche. Actually, I feel I'm maybe even growing to like the castle. It has something to show every time I venture to the upper levels, and I admit I use most of my free time exploring. If I avoid the crowd it is kind of fun (?) I think.
My first discovery was a tapestry on the second floor that hid a corridor no one seemed to know about. It's a shortcut to the back of the library on the first floor, and I like taking that route after Charms classes. So I'm trying to find other shortcuts, and there are some hidden staircases and even some corridors with spider webs I doubt are in use that lead to higher or lower levels. There are sets of armour by some walls, and they can give directions whenever I feel lost. It's kind of cool…
There's not much else to discuss with the tinmen, but I found some chatty portraits. The drunken friar on the fourth floor is the funniest, with astonishing tales about the most hilarious things! And there are the Ladies at Picnic on the side corridor on the sixth floor, who can go on and on about romance and poetry for a lifetime or two! I'm unsure when I'd revisit them because a knight on that same floor keeps cursing his long-dead enemies and has no logic to back up his arguments… I suspect he's into the yellow-dressed Lady from the Picnic, but it doesn't seem mutual. Not at all! He's a little like Mr. Mulciber, whom Uncle Evan kept dragging along whenever they annoyed father with politics in the war… I don't remember much, but this portrait reminds me, and I don't like him.
My best discovery yet is the endless row of towers. I've read in 'Hogwarts. A History' there is supposed to be a hundred and three, and I know two of those are for students from other Houses, and there's the Astronomy tower which doesn't deserve mention (I think I don't like Astronomy at all). But I found some unused towers and they seem nice!
Please don't panic like I did. I think it's safe. Otherwise, we wouldn't be let roam around, now would we? And we are allowed to go everywhere so it's only some adventure. But I admit I screamed when I found what seemed to be an imp skeleton in one of the towers, and there was a side tower infected with doxies, so I ran away. It was still worth it because there are these old books behind the motion work in the Clock-tower I found, and when I thought I saw a hinkypunk in the North-eastern side tower, I had a good long research in the library which got me ahead of the class in Defence Against the Dark Arts. (This sounds serious, but it's more just reading about creatures that should be left alone.) So the funny thing is I found it couldn't be a hinkypunk because those only live in saps and not in buildings, and so when I returned, it turned out it was only dust! Can you imagine? I was frightened of just dust piled, for, I guess, centuries, with only the purpose of frightening me into further reading my textbooks ahead!
I'm writing now because I found a shortcut up to that side tower from the fourth-floor corridor, and it makes me happy. It starts from behind a tapestry and runs into a wooden staircase which lands in an oval foyer with tall windows to all four compass points. It's beautiful, you should see that! I can see the Forest and the gates from the West window, the castle grounds from the North window, the Lake from the East window and I bet I could peek towards Hogsmeade from the South window if only I could reach up that high, but I can't get there from the stairs. Two small rooms open from the foyer. They were very dusty and dirty, but I decided to clean them and make that place my own niche. So now I'm off to learn some housekeeping charms in the library because my Scourgify didn't do much for the place yet. I should also learn about Transfiguration theory because I know it's possible to conjure a blanket I could sit on. I just have no idea how.
See, I'm coming around nicely!
But write soon because I still miss you all,
Anne
*/*/*
My Dearest Anne,
Not disputing your efforts, but you still sound lonely. Have you even tried to get to know your peers at least half as much as you tried to familiarize yourself with the castle? My worries aside, I'm delighted you are feeling happy, and I find your daring escapades entertaining. Please share more about those!
I have no idea what a hinkypunk or a doxy might be. Just be careful, girl! Also, while learning ahead, I hope you still have time for your classwork and preparations. You've never mentioned homework. Do they give assignments, or is only my Muggle mind stuck at those?
What kind of books have you found hidden? They might be worth a fortune if they are as old as you suggest. Have you asked about them in the library? And I must admit that by suggesting a niche, I would have never imagined you would find a whole tower for yourself! Should I still call you Anne, or shall we all switch to Rapunzel? The Sleeping Beauty? Some obscure heroine from a lost fourteen-century epic you've also found? Perhaps your new friends from the Picnic could direct us…. As I said, I'm thoroughly entertained.
I found only one part of your letter disturbing, and I ask you, dear, to answer me honestly. We've laboured under the impression you were too young to remember your "wizarding war." I'll make no secret of this, Anne; your grandmother and I took great pains to make your parents discuss this. As much as your father doesn't like the subject, we've all agreed that you, children, must have been too young to be bothered by memories. I've always been unsure about your brothers, but they've never shown symptoms of being influenced. I need to know, Anne, how much do you recall?
It would also be nice to understand your lessons. So you're learning Defence Against the Dark Arts, which is about some creatures to avoid; Astronomy, which I hope is similar to what I may understand; Charms, whatever those are; Potions, which you seem to enjoy (do you?); this Transfiguration you last mentioned; and what else? Please give me a chance to imagine your days better, I may not constantly talk about it, but you should know I think about you every day.
The owl seems impatient for me to finish.
I love you, dear,
Rachel.
*/*/*
Dear Aunt Rachel,
Sorry that you had to wait for my reply, but I needed to find the time to sit to it if I was to answer all your questions.
First, Anne will be fine, thank you very much. Sadly, the books I found were not poetry, nor even some diaries of a Byronic alumnus to further entertain us. I found Arithmancy textbooks. Isn't it sad? I followed your advice and took them to the library, and Madame Pince (the librarian) was right over the Moon! She still listed them yearly with the lost copies (and also her predecessors since 1761! I can hardly believe it!), and now we're great friends. This is more astonishing than you could ever guess because she probably hates everybody who ever touches her books! I kid you not, (heart) my dear and precious Aunt (heart with little flapping wings moving around the line), you bought me two instant friends with a single piece of advice because a fourth-year girl also came and sat by me just because Madame Pince was – kind! She says it's about the first time in fifty years, and her roommates believe that Hell had frozen over, but she is actually kind to me, and I admit I very much enjoy her attention. (Madam Pince's, not Miranda Fawley's. She is a bit dodgy, but it's better if she likes me. Never mind!)
About schoolwork. We have Potions and Flying class with the Gryffindors, Charms and Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, Defence against the Dark Arts and Astronomy with the Ravenclaws.
I've taken your advice there, too, but it didn't really work. Because I thought I'd make up for my mistake with Professor Snape, and in the following few assignments (Yes, we have a ton), I shared all my research and thoughts about the title, which way exceeded the requirements of the essays. I also wrote twice the length Professor Flitwick needed. But Snape just crossed out twenty-seven inches of my hard work with a single red line and only corrected the five inches of parchment he'd initially asked for (Barely my introduction! Now I have an A and a P instead of two O-s because I know everything about horned slugs and dried nettles, it's… you wouldn't want to hear that word!). Flitwick got all overexcited and kept pushing me in the next class to show off, which I refuse. (Oh, P is for Poor, A is Acceptable, E is Exceeding Expectations, and O is Outstanding. I hear there's a T for Troll, but I don't believe that.)
So I opened a notebook for all the assignments I wanted to research more thoroughly and only handed in the required homework. Too bad for them if they're so easy to please! I have three notebooks up until now, one for Potions, one for Defence, and one for History of Magic. And I'm contemplating opening one on Herbology because there's not much homework to write, but I have many questions. There's no possible way I would ever cut back on my Astronomy homework, though, because I have no idea about that at all, and I need all the help I can get, and Professor Sinistra said she takes the written assignments just as seriously as the practical work in class. I'm pants at the practicals, so here we are. They are also at 11 pm on Thursdays, and I'm dead on my feet by then. I'm okay with everything else, really.
But Transfiguration. Not okay with that one. It seemed fascinating back at home but turned out it was just way too confusing, and the wand moves are more complicated than in Charms, and I don't know how was I possibly supposed to focus on the steps chart in my head and an incantation, and intent, and that annoying warm thing I should recall in my wrist to make my wand work at all! I could scream sometimes! Aren't things should be what they are anyway? This whole subject feels like breaking some law or rule I cannot name. I have an awful feeling in that classroom, and it's not even because of Professor McGonagall. Although she is a horrible witch, strict like Snape, just without being funny! (I won't even write about Flying class because that's embarrassing. I never cared for flying, but I can't wait to Apparate! Why is everybody into sports anyway? Those are just flocking brooms!)
By the way, I did manage to clean up in (heart and blooming flower) my tower (blooming flower and heart), and I keep there your letters and some Droobles' Blowing Gums and owl snack. I also stole one of the blankets from my dorm (there are still enough) so I could comfortably sit down and forgive you for what you've said about Snape. Okay, I lied to him. I'm sorry. But I cannot tell him that (believe me, just can't, that's for sure!), so I thought about what Snape might want, and I think at the end of the day, he's simple enough. Most would never agree on this one because he's still annoying at his best, and will grumble and sneer, and will make you feel like a fool whatever you do….
But I also think there is enough good about him to make up for the worse. He likes discipline (but quiet is mostly enough), dramatics (if he displays them), and amusing himself (who doesn't?). He dislikes idiots, noise, and lies. That list works for me too. I think people just don't get his sense of humour. I mean, I understand it could poison a doxy (that's a pest with venomous teeth), but even if I can't laugh over my essays coming back with all those killing remarks, I still think they are very useful in making his point more memorable. Plus, when he does not write it on my essay, it's funny as hell! So since he doesn't try to make me speak up in classes, I don't try to ruin anything anymore. So I guess it's a tie. A tie is an achievement.
Here, I did what I could. Oh, and the war… please don't trouble yourself, I can hardly remember a thing. Just pictures hidden in a different "room in my head," and I won't open the door on them, don't worry!
Love,
Anne
*/*/*
Dear Father,
Let me thank you for the money you deposited in my account at the end of my first month at Hogwarts. I was unaware of this tradition, and I appreciate your gift!
I wish I could have written sooner, but the goblins of Gringotts received your order on the last Friday of September, so by the time their owl reached me, we were already into the new month. My late reply is only due to my being utterly oblivious to this kind habit of yours that my brothers were so ready to explain now. They also taught me I should expect similar kindness from you at every month's end as long as my education is going well in Hogwarts. I didn't know this and have to admit I am glad to receive your provision. It makes me happy that I don't need to bother you or my mother about my minor needs.
My brothers also suggested I use such generosity wisely but offered to make my purchases in Hogsmeade in the coming weekend. You can see, father, I am thoroughly looked after, and my dear Caleb and Gavin would never let me come to any harm. They are helping me to cope, and I am grateful for their attention.
Your loving daughter,
Annabella E.
*/*/*
Dear Mum,
Oh, I'm so glad to hear about your exhibition. I hope you'll put up your landscapes, not just the Dream Cycle! I love those, but you must understand psychedelic pictures are not the vibe at the moment and even if you disagree, please please please please please show off your landscapes just because I L*O*V*E them! Will you do that for me?
God, I wish I could see it! Are you sure it's only six weeks? From 10th October to the last week of November, then…. I can't possibly leave before Christmas, and by then, I'll have to make good with your stories and the catalogue!
Yeah, the boys are okay. Of course, we spend a lot of time together, and yes, I am taking care of them. They eat well and behave surprisingly well. We are also friends now because they showed me everything and introduced all their friends. You were indeed correct, everybody loves me, and it feels terrific! So you don't need to worry. I won't ever be that silent little mouse anymore. They are ruining me! You would love it!
School's easy, by the way.
Mum, are you smoking again? I don't mean to vex you. It's just the paper smelled a little funny… I love you no matter what, just please prepare me if I need to be ready for something, will you?
Loving you to pieces, and wish you had more time to write (but of course, I understand, and I'm happy you finally have time to busy yourself with your art, you deserve to be happy, mum!)
Anne
*/*/*
My Dear Anne,
So you have eight subjects, and you're struggling with three. Do I understand you correctly? I'm terribly sorry we couldn't help you more with the wizarding side of your education, but I hope we made up for that on the other side. I've contacted one of the "Muggle" schools in the district, and it seems they are open to receiving you as a private student. We can't let your hard work get wasted!
If a Flying class is anything like our PE used to be, there cannot be a reason why practice wouldn't help, and I remember Gavin mentioning you're not supposed to Apparate before receiving some licence. Anne, you're an intelligent girl; I trust you will not risk it!
Similarly, in Astronomy, I believe time will help you. Speaking of time… can't you somehow get some rest, maybe before class? That schedule seems unhealthy for a girl your age, but I'm sure there's a reason. Maybe adding some naps to your routine would help your focus?
I'm solely relying on my fantasy when attempting to even imagine whatever Transfiguration may genuinely mean. However, the few words you added about your struggles reminded me of works on philosophy. Are we to rely on the constant objects and facts of our existence, or should we seek ways of change? Or, in the first place, are those we perceive as permanent and abiding, indeed what we think they are? Even Heraclitus believed that we cannot step twice into the same river, for we and the river change between the attempts. Then there's the matter of the observer, who sees the world abiding; however, can one be sure that observations are not distorted by point of view? I don't flatter myself with thinking these thoughts could help you in any way, but you made me think. A pity if you find your Professor so thoroughly repulsive. She might be able to broaden your horizon.
However, I also admit that your Head of House is growing in my appreciation with every mention. He must be a unique man indeed! I don't mean to pry, but if those are not too private, I would appreciate a peek into his barbs and notes as he rounds up your homework.
Your mother spent some days in London and showed me your correspondence. After seeing her so relieved, I did not bring up my doubts about your budding friendships, but I would be happy if you elaborated on those. Am I to congratulate you on making new friends, dear?
While I'll wait for your next missive, I'll get back to work. Turns out Tony arranged a second volume I could add to the first one, and I'm missing my favourite research assistant!
Love,
Rachel
*/*/*
Dear Rachel,
Please don't think ill about me. I just want mum to be happy and at ease! And I did put in the effort to find friends, and it's just not as simple as one might believe.
I sat out to observe these people in our year, and there are only the three Slytherin girls I share a dorm with, and the older girls already have their circle. The others look uniform in four categories: the Popular, the Know-it-all, the Sports fan and the Clown. With little exception, I could sort all our years again following the criteria.
The Popular is out of the question. I could not possibly make friends with a girl like Cho Chang or Katie Bell. They are both beautiful and popular like no other. Always in the spotlight, like McLaggen and Jack Sloper from Gryffindor. That House seems to love the spotlight anyway. And sports. All their most popular students are crazy about Quidditch (like loud football fans, just here people fly, and there are more balls. It doesn't matter). They are like Arthur Cadwaller from Hufflepuff. Merlin! That boy could go on, and on about teams and matches he saw with his dad and uncle! I tried to listen once, which was enough for these seven years already!
The Know-it-alls, like the Hufflepuff Craig Dunn, who can give an entire speech about reforming the Gobstone Club, or Gillian Osset, who could play Wizarding Chess in her head, or the Ravenclaw Eddie Carmichael, who's usually taking all the points in every class but I hear not in Potions, because Snape for some reason hates to watch his waving hand (and I heard he preferred to give points to Marcus Belby instead, which is good for us Slytherins). They look decent and interesting, if not fun. The problem is they don't talk to anyone who doesn't chat through the lessons like they do, and I hate to wave my hand and smile when giving an answer.
I got to know Trisha Buttermere and Irene Danholm from Hufflepuff. I could even talk to them, just like Anna Mirfield from Gryffindor, but they are literary clowns and sometimes scare me. Like, why would you throw a bomb out of the second-floor window that makes everything smell like dung in a three-floor radius? They should have waited until going to class on a higher floor, or just not throw it? I mean, really, why?
So the last choice remains the Losers like Eloise Midgeon from Gryffindor, who probably began early puberty because she's a year younger than me and already struggles with her skin. I hope I won't have acne like she has! And there's Marietta Edgecombe, but she is glued to Cho Chang, which is a loud NO. And there's a girl called Amelia Fittleworth in Hufflepuff who basically lives in the Owlery because she can't get over her homesickness. It's sad, really, but I would want a friend to not be so sad, so…
I would love to be there and help you with whatever I can! And would love to see mum's exhibition, or just go home for a while! This was not complaining. I'm trying to talk to my dorm mates, and we get by. And also, it's almost Samhain, and people expect a lot of fun. That's finally something I'm looking forward to.
Napping works, it seems. And I haven't found much about Muggle philosophy in the library yet.
Love,
Anne
*/*/*
After sending her last letter, Anne returned to her dorm and listened through Flora's beauty ideas and Hestia's romance novels. It was high time if she didn't wish to spend Samhain alone.
In the Common Room, the mood was festive all week, and by October's last day, the bragging and arguing became louder and louder. The top story was the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Shordy's previous class with the fourth years, where she docked points for "too creative spell-work," meaning the fourth years used hexes in the practical part of the lesson she disapproved of.
"Rakepick wouldn't have minded it," – Caleb comforted a fourth-year boy in his particular way. "She would have shown you a better one or wanted you to do it non-verbally. Rakepick was cool, not like Shordy."
"Snape hated her, though," – Merula reminded.
Several seventh years were nodding to that. "And with good reason this time, as it turned out," – one of them added.
"Snape hates everybody." – Montague, a second-year, chimed in. – "She still was a number!"
"You must know, little boy," – Ismelda Murk laughed from the depth of an armchair.
"I've got eyes!" – Montague insisted.
"Yeah, she had different problems," – Gavin lifted a finger to the side of his head - "but on that front, she was more than okay, Ismelda. Just ask your boyfriend!"
Many older boys snickered, and Ismelda huffed with annoyance, then stuck out her tongue and promptly rushed into a speech about murderous hyenas and Gryffindor Defence teachers, assuring everyone that she shared Snape's hatred for both kinds. Anne couldn't follow her when Caleb leaned over and whispered:
"You see how very mature she is?"
"Still, the whole Defence class is hogwash, and my uncle says it just shows the Headmaster's incompetence. If Durmstrang wasn't so far…" - Merula Snyde joined Ismelda.
"Oh, I know! Then you're still stuck here. You couldn't possibly go to Durmstrang unless your mum broke out of –" Gemma Farley began but couldn't finish from a wand pointing at her throat.
"Girls, c'mon, Snapey will have a fit if you go on" – Barnaby Lee tried to step in, but Merula shook her head.
"Not today, Barney. It's Halloween, remember?" - Ismelda chuckled just like most seventh- and sixth years. "Go, Merula, let us see!"
"Wait, what's the time?" – Someone asked anxiously.
"We haven't even eaten! Put those wands down. It's way too early," – Barnaby pushed on, and miraculously the girls listened.
While Gemma acknowledged the Headmaster's incompetence and partially apologized for whatever she tried to say, Anne leaned closer to her brother.
"What's this with the time? What does he mean it's early? I thought we mustn't fight each other."
Caleb smirked but kept eying the seventh years. "That's Snape's rule, sis, and he will make it apply – as long as he is… erm… up to the task," – he finished mysteriously.
"What do you m–"
"You're too young to understand, and I hope you won't see it. Come, you may eat with us; it's almost time to go to the Feast," – Caleb proposed and already stood to lead his siblings to the Great Hall.
The Slytherins were the first to arrive at the Feast as if they wanted to hurry time. Anne sat with her brothers instead of the other firsties as she was used to, which made up for the simmering discord bugging her in the Common Room. The celebrations were nice, just like at the beginning of the year, but not overly unique for those who grew up in a wealthy family and a magical household. The jack-o-lanterns were bigger, though, than any other Anne had ever seen. She sometimes peeked toward her Head of the House to find out what Caleb could have meant until Gavin kicked her ankle.
"You're too obvious. Let him drink!"
Anne stared at her brother until she realized this was the first time she'd ever seen the dark wizard indulging. There was a goblet for wine in his hand; he didn't seem to put it down at all throughout dinner. And he rarely gazed down at them from the Head Table this evening. Also quite unusual.
When they returned to the Common Room a few hours later, hell was unleashed. Ismelda and Merula must have made peace with Gemma, and now they summoned a house-elf to play. They made him jump with well-aimed hexes while the poor elf tried to cater to the students' wishes and needs. Instead of attempting to stop them, Barnaby produced a bottle of Ogden's, which slowly went around the older boys' hands, and Anne noticed it wasn't the only one. At the same time, the lower-year students turned the room upside down with Exploding Snap and various charms and hexes that made the ceiling sparkle, or the study tables blare like elephants without supervision.
When someone even wound up an old gramophone which played the distorted versions of wizarding songs and chansons, Caleb – laughing at his sister's bewilderment at the obscene lyrics – gave Anne her first butterbeer. She hid behind a pile of books at a secluded table close to the entrance to have an occasional lungful of fresh air when a sixth year presented a box of cigars to his mates to try.
Time passed and it was after midnight, but however tired she felt, she couldn't go up to the dorms because of a bunch of drunken sixth years playing duel under the stairs. It was fun to watch before one of them got hit with a spell that made him turn into something like an octopus, and, unfortunately, he still grabbed his wand and cursed two kids around. One lost a bone in his leg and harrowed like a banshee.
The prefects were preoccupied, to say the least, with Barnaby vomiting in a corner and Gemma now wrestling with Merula for her wand. Small flames escaped from Lee's throat as he hiccupped and burped up the fire whiskey, and they caught the draperies before anyone had the presence of mind to extinguish them. Anne screamed when she saw the helpless shock on her Prefect's face, then the boy fainted under the burning wall.
That was when the portrait door flapped open, and their Head of House swooped in like a hurricane.
However, this hurricane was strangely stubborn in endeavouring to always stand spread-legged and close to some furniture. His usually melodic voice was now reduced to barking, and his words came out rough with omitting the ends of his words. Somehow the posh 'u'-s now turned into 'oo'-s, and the 'y'-s into 'eh'-s while several consonants just couldn't find a way to spring from his lips. Anne tried not to stare when the usually fearsome wizard suddenly turned into just a guy from the Midlands. Although he didn't prove to be any less rough than the more sophisticated version, his sarcasm and biting remarks now came with hot rage and short instructions. The strangest of all still wasn't his ire or apparent drunkenness.
After a swish of his wand sent a splash of water dousing the fire, and half of the older students got to the Infirmary within minutes (even losing points for the House!), Snape dispersed detentions for the last ones standing. Anne winced behind her pile of books and gently hid her empty bottle under a thick tome. She couldn't imagine surviving detention with that foul caretaker, not for an hour, and Gavin got a week! And that still wasn't the greatest shock. That only came when Snape turned to leave.
For a second, before he realized a first-year's presence, they were facing each other, and Anne couldn't turn her eyes. Snape's pale face had rosy spots on the sides, his lips were white, and his eyes were hollow. Anne saw something deep inside those bottomless holes: Pain. Insane, unbearable pain. It was raw and unmistakable, and Anne gaped at the wizard, paralyzed. Then the second was over, and his features reordered into an infernal snarl, conveying such hatred, the little witch recoiled. Then the wizard walked away a jot less fluidly than he usually would.
Repercussions were the least – and Anne hadn't even expected otherwise. The next lesson was a session in hell, with her embarrassment as intense as if she had seen her Head of House naked and his anger as if she had indeed.
She ran up to her side tower and hid for all of her lunch break composing a letter to Rachel. She couldn't phrase her experience in any way that sounded even remotely normal. After three alternative versions of "I didn't mean to" and "I'm sure he would never forgive me," Anne finally felt calmer and ripped all pieces of the parchments to scraps. This wasn't anything she imagined she could tell Rachel in a letter. Not the havoc, not the trouble, and especially not her strange premonitions about Snape's visceral pain. Her aunt would say she imagined things, and although Anne wished that was the case, she was sure she wasn't that lucky.
Snape was livid. But he could only fault himself, even if Anne doubted he would be rational about that second anyway. The whole House felt his discontent. Gavin complained about Filch and his infernal cat, Barnaby became a notch less intimidating in the Common Room, and the older girls made peace with each other to present a united front against the storm. Their Head of House calmed down within a little more than a week, but his gaze sought Anne's for longer, always trying to look into her soul – as it felt – always stopped by her, only seeing her reflection in his dark "window-on-the-night" eyes. She didn't dare to try peeking through those windows anymore.
Rachel's reply arrived in time, but Anne had nothing to share this time. In November, all her thoughts circled around that second, and she sometimes wondered if their Professor felt vexed by her lack of thoughts and feelings whenever his eyes narrowed on her. The problem was, she couldn't fathom what else he expected to see. Whatever that was, her inner thoughts and feelings recoiled from his scrutiny. Still, sometimes she could clearly sense an irritation when he looked at her, an annoyance, which strangely didn't seem as if they were her own. Rachel couldn't help with that.
*/*/*
Dear Anne,
You must be very busy. I hope your silence marks a happy occasion, like finding a new friend or getting on with your more challenging classes. Did you get my last letter? I didn't mean to hurt when I said that making friends can be a tricky business, especially if one is as picky as you are. Being selective is not a fault, and I hope you understand. I only wish you well, dear.
Your Mother has been here and left an owl for me to tell you that you cannot spend your holidays with us this year. Your father needs all three of you to attend to him and his guests. Please notify your brothers! I doubt Sara had the good sense to write to them. As I gather, your father had received a great honour in your world, and he was promoted from consulting to an official member of the Wizengamot. He wishes to commemorate the fact through excessive celebrations which your wizarding side of the family and your father's friends and colleagues are to attend.
We will miss you, girl, but we are happy to receive you after your Christmas. I hear we are to have three days to have our fill of your company. Please come!
Take heart, Anne, and send those wretched owls,
Love,
Rachel
*/*/*
Dear Aunt,
I'm so so sorry! It was the world's injustice to neglect you like this, especially after I was hanging on your letters like onto dear life… I have no excuse!
Well, I have. But I don't want to tell it. Can I maybe tell you about it later? Something happened (nothing of the sort to worry about, no one's hurt or anything!), and I just don't know what to think but would like to figure it out on my own.
Still, I'm very sorry! I love you. And I appreciate you actually listening. It's not about anything important I just –
Sometimes it feels as if Hogwarts wasn't about making friends and having fun like Caleb and Gavin think. It may be for them, and perhaps for many people, but I guess not for me. I don't even believe I want the same as they have anymore. It feels like I was about to make a huge discovery or something, but I don't even know what sort. And it feels different to study too.
I go to the library every day because Madame Pince keeps quiet, which is relieving after the dorm and the Common Room, and sometimes she even lets me stay after hours to help her. She was impressed with my knowledge of different catalogues and sorting systems and taught me some quirks about this. We have books even since the school was founded in the 10th century!
I think Madame Pince is wonderful. Maybe a little short. Alright, very short tempered and way too stubborn for her own good, in my opinion, but she's VERY smart! She's also fantastic with charms and knows a lot about everything! I think even about the Dark Arts because when I told her what I thought they were, she called me green in a way I believed, and I felt there was much more she didn't say. Can you admire someone for what she doesn't tell you? It feels so real when I look at her, and I don't even know what it is.
And also, she's a curse breaker because she must be. (That's about the coolest one can get in this world.) She keeps the Restricted Section in order too. (Don't worry, she wouldn't let me touch even the catalogue with a ten feet pole.) I really like her. And she never asks about my moods like mum and gran and never tells me to liven up a little like the girls in the dorm. It's also true she never talks about any third person, gossip, or such. She's very much like those exceptional witches who know how to behave like a lady should in Hestia's dumb paperbacks, just stronger and much! much more skilled! I sometimes wish her a Pirate Prince, like in those books. It's funny just to imagine her being happier, but I like her like this too.
Sorry I cannot see you before the end of the holidays. Father also owled for all the three of us. Since the Halloween disaster, we sometimes talk so we discussed it. Caleb thinks we're into something completely new. And he doesn't seem happy about it.
Please forgive me. I can't wait to have our three days together. Give my love to gran too,
Anne
*/*/*
Darling Anne,
Are you sure you're not coming down with something? We always touched you for fever whenever you slipped in such a 'contemplative mood' as a small child.
Don't worry, dear; I'm not upset with you in the least. This is your first time away from everything you knew, and I'm glad you've found someone you can relate to. I suspect this Madame Pince makes you feel secure, and I'm grateful to her. It also seems you've found a way to engage with your dorm mates. As much as I'm not enamoured with how you'd described them, the stories you make up and your writing style wear at least one of their touch.
Has it ever occurred to you that maybe your Lady Pince has already had her Pirate Prince? He might also be one of the third persons she wouldn't mention in their absence…. Some secrets are not for revealing, child; I can tell you this with all certainty. They are better left buried because some treasures lose their value when someone finds them. Maybe you're too young to understand this.
You have the right to keep your secrets just like Madame Pince does. Whenever you'd wish to discuss them if at all, you'd know where to find me.
Love,
Rachel.
*/*/*
Dear Rachel,
We've arrived home without mishap. Sorry we had no time to visit you. Father made us a portkey and whisked us home from the station. The poor elf we borrowed works overtime. She's an opinionated little bugger if I've ever seen one! (Sorry, but it is what it is!)
The last days were a rush, I had no time to write, and even now, I have to cut it short because mum may need me at any moment. The guests (a thousand people) will come sometime tomorrow and stay for days!
You'll be happy to know we have a ton of homework. Especially Potions. I don't think Snape has a clue what holidays mean! The man is a menace, and I wish you'd forgot everything even remotely nice I've ever said about him! I asked Caleb to buy Madame Pince chocolate for Christmas, then it turned out she doesn't even like sweets! Have you ever heard about anyone like that? At least we had a whole box from Honeydukes for the train ride. People are strange,
sorry, I have to go. I will finish later!
Dear Rachel,
I'm writing under the bedcovers. Sorry for the mess! But I must! It's horrible. I don't even know how to tell you! The sun exploded, and we were all swallowed into black doom forever!
Father's aunts, cousins, and uncles (the worst of all sorts) stayed after the Christmas party, and now they are bugging him with all kinds of things. Father is drinking his Ogden's like there was no tomorrow, and mum went to sleep early, I think to not to hear them, and we stayed. They all were talking like father was just a boy who didn't even know how to feed us, and Caleb kept nodding and smiling, and we were just staring at each other with Gavin! I thought he also had no clue what was going on, just like I, but then he began smiling and nodding to all rubbish too, and I ran out of the room.
But just now (it's past midnight already), I heard their cackling and shushing from father's study, and they all think no one's still up but them, and I heard them all talking about politics and what father should do. And he doesn't want to do it! He even told them, but they hushed him!
And then they said the Dark Lord would return in a boy next year! Do you remember Harry Potter? The baby who defeated the Dark Lord back when I was little? He's coming to Hogwarts in September, and they say he must be an even darker wizard to be so powerful to have defeated the DL, so Caleb and Gavin should make friends with him!
I don't want my brothers to be friends with the next Dark Lord! I don't want a next DL. Mum's a Muggle! Have they all forgotten?! They say they should make friends because Mr. Malfoy will have his son befriend him. Father should make me marry the Malfoy heir so the Rosiers would prove we're not less than the Malfoys and that the Malfoys are powerful enough to be in the first row when the new DL would emerge, and so should be father and Caleb and Gavin!
I don't want a pureblood prat! I would sooner run to the hills, and I don't want a Dark Lord, and I don't want my brothers to smile and nod to rubbish!
Mum's a Muggle! And father didn't even say he hated their guts for talking against her! I hate them! I hate everybody and politics and the Malfoys with their brat! And I don't dare to ask Caleb because he was nodding, and Gavin's a traitor, and you must help!
Mum's too fragile and artsy for this whole mess! Can you take her away from here? She must go where it's safe! Please help!
Anne
PS. I'm not making up stories. I swear it's all true, and I'm devastated!
*/*/*
Anne,
If this letter doesn't find you alone, I want you to excuse yourself and go to your room now.
Are you alone?
Now, we don't need anyone to witness the way you overreact. Take a deep breath and stop the histrionics! What I am to tell you might first come across as heartless, but its roots in my and your grandmother's most profound respect for the freedom of will. I don't expect anything less from you.
Child, your mother knew what she bargained for. Your father never lied to her about his world or his relatives. Your grandmother had her thoughts on the matter, and she hid none of them. It's all water under the bridge and has been since before you were born.
I understand you are disturbed. That said, your parents are adults and have the right to lead their lives and bring you up the way they see fit. Your brothers are not traitors, they are polite, and you could do well to behave with the same politeness.
Whatever frightened you, even Monty Rosier is not such a dumb fool to sell his own daughter. You must have misunderstood, and besides, he couldn't even if he wanted. Anne, you are twelve years old, and this country still has laws. No matter what rubbish your dorm mates made you read!
I cannot imagine how a "dark wizard" could come to power, even less as a mere boy, or what kind of mythology your other folks live in. But I do remember your "wizarding war," and I do remember our war – the two are not even comparable, I can tell you that! When you were but a toddler, your parents made us live with them for a while, as they had said, for our security.
I've read your so-called newspapers, so I understand your politics and the series of attacks. It's called terrorism, Anne. Not some mythical evil monster. Those people were terrorists seeking political power. Not unlike their counterparts in the "Muggle world," and I assure you, there's nothing magical about that! They called their leader Lord Voldemort, as I recall. The lord of what, I ask?! This is ridiculous.
There were wounded, I remember. Some ended up in your house, and your mother tended to them with potions your father had brewed. I know because I helped her. You'd mentioned you remembered that your uncle Evan and Mr. Mulciber were among those wounded. They knew very well that we were "Muggles" and never used this against us. Your uncle was even friendly with you. I thought you used to like him. These are the people you wish to hate and you believe are against us. I believe you should check any pictures stuck in your head with your father when you catch him alone. Your understanding must have evolved since you'd been but two, at least, I hope.
Let us discuss the rest of your worries in person! Your father needs all your support and most likely deserves it too. You don't get promoted for nothing in any kind of 'world.' He also probably thinks about your brothers, who will need jobs in two short years. How would he provide that? Your "wizarding world" is too small to keep enemies.
I wish you find your better sense and focus on your homework. Maybe also cut back on the paperbacks I'm sure your dorm mates let you borrow for the holidays.
Rachel
*/*/*/
Anne sat back on her bed and tried to fight through her disappointment. A queasy feeling crept on her that Rachel didn't understand the controversy: her father strove to be a wizard with authority, such as his father used to be, while the world awaited a dark lord to re-establish order that was against him, his children, and his wife. One couldn't go to the "light side" with the name Rosier, but the Dark Arts mixed with politics of blood purity, threatening the family.
And distasteful – Anne had to add – thinking of her Muggle studies and Rachel.
Escaping indoctrination began to seem more complicated than she expected. Good thing her year as a Muggle taught her enough to think for herself. The Dark Arts had never had a nasty ringing in the Rosier family, or in Slytherin. Blood purity was the disruptive question on the wizarding side of the family, endangering her father's status, who never believed in the doctrine. But did his beliefs matter with his experiments and use of the Dark Arts and his name?
Caleb and Gavin would need respectable jobs within two years. That was true. But can a dark wizard partake in politics without sinking into an ideology? Anne saw his father try but also her mother's utter disbelief. At age twelve, she felt her limits strongly, struggling to understand what she heard, not to solve any of it!
She hugged her cat tightly and remembered her only good memory about Uncle Evan. She knew he was a Death Eater before she knew what it meant. However, she did like him. Uncle Evan always seemed to smile in a strange way when he looked at her. That smile was not similar to any other adult in her experience.
Anne remembered his smile and guessed she liked him for that. But no… it was a little unsettling; she never knew why. There was it! Once he'd come close and smiled, he'd produced a puppy from the pocket of his cloak! It'd been so small and so cute! Her heart warmed just by the memory.
Uncle Evan had said they were similar because they both liked cute little things. Then father had come out of the house, shouted, and took the puppy away. She'd never seen it again. And Uncle Evan never came close to her again. She forced herself to remember what her father had been shouting. It was a word she didn't know then, but it sounded curious, something with an "m"… like… mongrel?
The memory seemed important now, although she couldn't tell why.
And Mr. Mulciber was one whose name she'd learnt watching a man writhing in spasms on the floor by the entrance. She could recall the pattern of the stone even if they'd changed the tiles since. No adult was supposed to clamber on a stone floor or spasm in pain and shout bad words. How could Rachel refer to those as just wounds?
She imagined putting all her fears and memories into a box and closing the lid on them. The room suddenly seemed brighter. It didn't help much with her visit to her Muggle relatives, and Rachel didn't seem to have put all discord away. She must have felt irritated by her 'histrionics' and only talked about the Muggle school she wished Anne to take her exams in the summer.
"You shouldn't waste your 'normal studies,'" – she'd told her.
Anne couldn't shake off the feeling she didn't even have a chance to prepare for Muggle subjects while at Hogwarts until she sat in the compartment of the Hogwarts Express with her brothers and their annoying friend, Phil Goozey, the next day. But they proved more interesting than she would have dared to hope.
"Not that bad a Holiday, eh?" – Phil Goozey asked as soon as they sat. "I swear my parents lost it this year completely. Seven new dress robes and an interview in the Ministry! Merlin's pants, I thought this shit only comes after the OWLs!"
"Yeah, dad had it the same, but he seemed to have invited the whole bloody Ministry over instead. One would think they all expect the dark lord to return tomorrow!"
"Gavin!" – Caleb elbowed his brother, and he quickly stopped the snickering.
"I didn't mean that!"
"Of course, you didn't," – Caleb instantly confirmed. "You're just an idiot and talk nonsense."
Goozey laughed.
"Don't bother; I know what he meant. Harry Potter, eh? The Boy-who-lived, but no one knows why. I bet you are supposed to befriend him as soon as he sets foot on the grounds."
"Nah, the oldies are just curious, you know-"– Caleb shrugged, and stepped on his brother's foot so he wouldn't mention the Malfoys.
"Yeah. Bloody curious. And it doesn't help that it's an OWL year, and I hate the whole beeswax! As if it mattered!" – Phil grimaced.
"Why has your interview played out so well?"
"Hmmm, dunno, Gavin, is an internship for the summer with only four OWLs count good enough?" – Goozey examined his fingernails, playing nonchalant and giving airs like a prized berk in Anne's opinion, but her brothers were more than impressed.
"And are you scraping those four OWLs?" – she softly asked.
The mood changed so swiftly as if a cloud swam before the Sun.
"You have no idea, sis. This is not like anything you tried," – Caleb frowned – "you'll have your exams at the end of term, but that's nothing the same. The practicals are one thing, but all those freaking theories in Charms and Potions and the Transfiguration charts… I wonder how anyone passed the writing part before!"
"It can't be that bad," – she tried to cheer him up – "Do you remember those Muggle cartoons I once showed you?"
"What about them?"
"Well, I thought about the charts as if they played like that. You know, Phil, it's a way Muggles make pictures move, and they put a lot of pictures one after another so quickly they seem to move."
"I don't do Muggle studies!" – Goozey lifted his hands.
"You don't need those to understand. I just thought if I put Transfiguration charts roll one after another, it's like Muggle cinema. You wanna see?" – she dared to ask because Gavin smiled at her and nodded all the time she spoke.
Goozey shrugged, and Caleb fished out his Transfiguration book from his trunk, which she quickly duplicated with a Geminio, cut out the charts for turning a cat into a cauldron and a mouse into a goblet with a Diffindo, then vanished the rest of the mauled tome with some concentration and a newly learnt Evanesco, sent the charts flying with a simple Vingardium Leviosa, and cast Voluto to spin the pictures sequentially. As Voluto took root, the sequence turned quicker and quicker until the transformation seemed fluid on the papers hovering in the air.
She found this method in her tower one frustrating afternoon when she tried to use her talent in Charms to simplify her Transfiguration homework.
"Easy, see?" – she beamed at her brothers, but her cheer was short-lived when she saw their faces. "What?"
"This was some spell-work, Annabella; where did you learn that?"
"I-" – Anne stared at Caleb wide-eyed and ashamed of something she couldn't even name – "I didn't mean to–"
"Those are all first and second-year charms," – Goozey chimed in, obviously intrigued but playing it all down with a wave of his hand. "It only looked cool because she twirls her wand so quickly. But it's usable. What was the last spell again?"
"Voluto," – she whispered shyly.
"Never heard about it," – Gavin admitted.
"It's not in your textbooks. They re-edited the Charms textbooks fifteen years ago, and Flitwick once said it was one of his greatest achievements. I grew curious and looked up the old version in the library. In the seventies, they learned different spells, and there were more. And less theory until the sixth year. I guess it became too much to teach it only for the NEWTs." – Anne drawled breathlessly in the centre of attention.
"Merlin, your sis's an odd one!" – Goozey cried out, – "You should send her to sit your writing exams. Pity you can't Polyjuice her twice! But you know what? She could also do my practicals with a frisky wand like that!"
Anne felt a blush heating her from her ears to the chin and didn't dare to look up at him.
"Hey, Annabella, don't fret. Phil's just joking," – Caleb leaned closer and lamely put a hand on her arm to calm her somehow. "It was cool, and I might even use it."
Anne stared up at his face bright-eyed.
"Would you?"
"Hmm" – her brother nodded.
The boys turned the conversation around Quidditch so swiftly she hardly registered their words before all talked about the World Cup, and she was content to keep to herself until Caleb held her back by her elbow in Hogsmeade.
"What?" – Gavin scoffed back at them in the crowd, but he quickly returned to wait for the last carriage with his siblings on Caleb's signal with an eyebrow.
"What moves the carriage?" – Anne nearly squeaked when something soft began to chew on her robe's sleeve.
"I see you're not that ahead in CMC," – Caleb laughed. "Big black horses with giant wings like bats… whoooo…" – he imitated a bat flying around his skirling sister, grabbing into her hair until Professor Vector, who came down from the castle to oversee the students' arrival, threatened him with a point deduction.
Then they jumped into a carriage; Gavin pushed aside a third-year Huff and his friend and closed the carriage door to get it moving before anyone else could join them.
"So what?" – he asked his brother again.
Caleb eyed Anne with more interest than she could ever recall. It was disconcerting.
"We need to talk," – Caleb finally said. "What were you up to the last term, little sis? I want the whole story; I'm not like dad."
Anne could only stare, and the one thing that helped in her intimidation was the surprised look on Gavin's face.
"I- I haven't-… I don't know what you mean…."
Caleb took a long breath and plastered a smile on his face.
"Annabella, I don't care about school, but I'm not daft either. These were not first-year spells. Where did you learn them? When? Who knows about this?"
"I-" – Anne's voice was so soft the boys had to lean closer to hear her. "I stole into your rooms last year to see your books. I'd already read most of them by the time you'd returned from school last summer. I made some notes… I'm sorry, I-"
"But-" – Gavin seemed amazed. "You had no wand!"
"I know. I enjoyed Potions best because you don't need one until the third year."
"A-bee, you're sick!" – Gavin cried out, but Caleb held his arm.
"This was no Potions."
"No."
"Annabella, you have to tell me. What have you done?"
"Nothing, I just did some reading. I'm sorry I stole into your rooms!"
"Annabella!"
"I don't have to tell you anything! You never cared!" – she cursed herself for being so close to crying. But if she cried, the boys might turn away from her again. It was fun to be friends with her brothers, but maybe it wasn't worth the effort if they were like this.
"I never thought you wanted us to care!" – Caleb's voice betrayed his shock. "You never came out to play, you never asked, you never cared!"
"I? I did! I still know all your silly letters by heart, but you never let me in on games, and you always go loud and rough!" – Now she was crying and hated it. "You never needed me. I doubt you ever wanted me!"
"Well, I didn't, but I was glad when you got born anyway…" – Gavin spoke up, and strangely, his honesty eased her into a watery smile.
"Were you?"
Gavin nodded.
"Of course, he was. He drew you some birds and a rainbow to give you as soon as he saw you, and I had to beat him to go on," – Caleb confirmed.
"You beat him for being nice to me?"
"No, silly,"- Caleb scolded – "I beat him because I couldn't draw."
The silence in the carriage was somehow warmer than Christmas at home in the old manor. Anne dried her tears and smiled while the invisible horses pulled the carriage through the gates.
"So do you mean to tell me," – Caleb pushed on, this time cautiously – "that you learned Charms theory in advance from our books - for fun?"
Anne shrugged gracelessly. "Yeah. That, and Transfiguration and a little from everything. But I liked Charms best. And Potions, of course."
"Of course," – Gavin repeated with a chuckle. "Are you some bloody genius or just a swot or what?"
"I don't know."
"She's no swot, we would have heard of that," – Caleb deemed. "Listen, Annabella, we have to make a lot of OWLs if dad wants us to lick boots for life. Do you have other things like those charmed charts? Things to teach us the theory? I'd make you worth it, girl."
Anne was hesitant. "Maybe. It just takes time. I read on after I got here, but I'm much lamer with my wand. And I'm only about the middle of fourth year's theory in Charms, a little behind in transfiguration and… okay, I'm quite ahead with Potions, but he hates my ideas anyway."
Caleb gaped at her now, just like Gavin.
"D'you mean Snapey knows this?! Bloody Hell! And what did he have to say?"
"It's not like that," – Anne didn't even try to conceal her disappointment. "Yes, I'm afraid he suspects I read ahead, and he didn't say much… just crossed my essays with a long red line until I nicely followed the directions." She felt so put out she could have shot her tongue. "I'm sure he hates me anyway."
"Snape hates everyone by default. You don't need to let it get to you," – Gavin seemed happy to finally see something ordinary in her. "So you know more theory than we both together, and you have issues with your wand," – he assessed.
"Not overly pressing issues if we remember your little performance before Phil," – Caleb interjected. "Do you like him?"
"What? Phil? Eww… No, thank you."
"Good girl! So what do you want for training us for the OWLs?"
"WHAT?"
The carriage stopped, and its door opened right across the oak door spread wide to greet the students, and Anne's thoughtless squeal filled the Entrance Hall before she could slap both hands on her mouth. Her brothers laughed at her, and she blushed with embarrassment all the way up the stairs. Not a step further.
"Miss Rosier, one point for impersonating a banshee. Whatever you are allowed at home, here you will abide by rules and display socially acceptable behaviour in good taste."
"Yes, Professor Snape."
Her eyes were closed in shame even when Gavin maneuvered her into the Great Hall by an elbow.
"I've lost a house point!" – She couldn't stop mumbling. Strangely, her brothers still silently snickered.
A/N: Reviews feed the Muse Seriously, I need your feedback, please help!
Updates will be regular, I try to schedule them biweekly. The whole story is outlined and most of it is written already, so don't worry, I will not abandon the story.
Lia