SI VI AMARI, AMA
If you wish to be loved, love.
CHAPTER 1
Lana Potter felt herself drift into the abyss. There was nothing around her. She felt weightless, ageless, useless. She was aware and yet unaware at the same time. Above all else, she felt alone. Very alone.
'Where am I?'
Finally, she was able to open her eyes. She felt the familiar weight of her glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. Instinctively, she pushed them up. Her initial instinct was correct. She was indeed floating in an unknown space of nothingness. She craned her head slowly. In her dreamlike state, she was not able to perceive anything at all.
'Someone, please. Anyone. Hermione? Ron? Professor Dumbledore?'
Oh wait. They were dead. Everyone was dead.
Everything came running back to her in series of violent flashes flickering through her mind. She was 24 years old. She had been hunting Voldemort in Europe for years now. She found him somewhere, she thought? She couldn't remember. Yet he caused existence to explode, much like the magical equivalent of the Big Bang but everything seemed to happen in reverse.
As soon as the feeling of sorrow washed over her, she felt her soul and body shatter. Light splashed all over her vision and instantly she was dropped onto a hard surface. With a hard 'oof'. Groaning, she pushed herself up on her elbows. She opened her eyes more clearly this time and hoisted herself onto her knees. Luckily her glasses did not fall off.
Breathing heavily, she took in everything around her. Her lone form was enveloped in a dark 360-degree canvas, splattered by scattered stars and galaxies seemingly miles and miles away, yet at the same time, seemed to be within the grasp of the length of her arm. There was no light, yet she could make out space around her. She turned her head in search of, well, anything.
"Hello?" she called out uncertainly, voice shaky. Her heart was knocking against her chest like a magical creature trying to escape. Years of fighting darkness had both fortunately and unfortunately made her jumpy and paranoid and so her eyes searched the starry canvas desperately for answers. Carefully, she struggled to her feet and stepped forward on the hard platform. There was nowhere to go, really. It was impossible to determine distance around her.
"Ron? Hermione?" she called. If she was dead, surely, they would be here as well. Her parents perhaps? Her heart picked up at the thought of finally seeing them, being able to live in the afterlife with them. And Sirius! Remus! If everyone was dead, and she was as well, where on earth were they?
"Hi there," a voice behind her greeted her casually. She jerked around in fright, nearly stumbling off her feet. It was a young man, unfamiliar. Everything about him was white. His clothes, his hair, his eyes – even the light stubble of facial hair on his defined chin. Though he wasn't exactly what she'd call white-skinned, he was most certainly extraordinarily pale. His white coat was long, grazing the surface of the non-existent floor. His features were rather dashing, even if the situation was not appropriate to comment on that.
"Lana Potter, right?" he smiled kindly, a very handsome set of teeth peeking through his lips. Around his neck was a thick gold chain, with an old-fashioned clock hanging from it. It seemed too heavy for anyone's neck, yet he seemed to have no problem wearing it. The man appeared otherworldly, like something straight out of the Department of Mysteries. Come to think it, maybe that's where she was?
Lana hovered on her feet, suspicious. "Who are you? And where are we?" she asked, breathing heavily again. He smiled again, yet for some reason it did not unsettle her. He gestured around him with his arms.
"We are in the Cosmos," he answered simply, as if it were obvious. She wrinkled her eyebrows.
"And where is that exactly?" she asked, perhaps a tad impatiently. She wanted to see her parents.
He chuckled a bit. "What is the last thing you remember, Lana Potter?" he asked curiously, even if he seemed to know the answer himself.
She mentally quivered at the sudden memory. Everything was destroyed. Voldemort caused some sort of calamity. He had some type of weapon. Everything was gone. Why did she have such difficulty remembering? If it was indeed an event of pure cataclysm, should it not be seared into her memory?
"Your world was destroyed," he answered grimly, pocketing his hands as he lightly strode on the balls of his feet. His movements were light and graceful, as if he was disconnected from the ground. "Not the first apocalypse I've seen, mind you."
Lana looked at him hard.
He waved at her with his hand in dismissal. "No matter," he commented, again, very casually. "You're still here, that's all that matters."
Her chest heaved as she pushed back the tears. "My world was destroyed and that's all you can say? Who are you anyway?" She approached him furiously. Just as she was close within his range, he disappeared. She gasped. It was instant. There was no magical pop or crack or any sound. Did he apparate?
"Still here," she heard behind her and spun around to see him, standing nonchalantly, this time with his hands in his pockets.
He smiled. "I'm your guardian angel," he announced dramatically, readjusting his jacket on his shoulders.
"Really?" she asked, incredulously with a scoff. "Well, you're terrible at your job."
He laughed loudly. "I'm just kidding! You're funny, Lana. I like that."
Lana's eyes squinted at the clock on his chest. Carefully, she took a step back and surveyed his form carefully. "Are you God?"
He shook his head furiously. "No, no, no," he waved off, laughing still a bit. "I'm flattered though, thank you. No, see, I'm just here to give you second chance."
She hesitated. "What? Why?"
He blinked at her question, surprised. "Excuse me?"
Lana looked at him hard. "Why do I get a second chance? I just want to see my family and friends."
His face lit up. "And you can! Though I must say, you've caught me off guard. Most people don't question a second chance." He stopped, looked thoughtful for a second, and then started to pace around unconcernedly. "Have you ever pondered the universe, Lana? That there might be more than one?"
Lana blinked. No, she thought, though she was willing to bet Hermione would have a few good ideas on it, even if she could not research it.
"There is more than one, you know," he answered knowingly. "Dimensions, we call them."
"We?" she asked, but he ignored her. Instead, he continued his monologue.
"There are an infinite number of dimensions. With an infinite number of possibilities. For instance, there might be a dimension where you were never born. Where Tom Riddle was never born. Or where Hogwarts never existed. Or your parents divorced and your mother remarried. Or-"
"Alright, already," she interrupted, trying to block the image of her mother remarrying Severus Snape. She wondered vaguely what he would do in the afterlife to keep himself busy. Lana had a hard time picturing him stretched out on a utopian beach, applying sunscreen to his pale skin while donning large sunglasses and a hat.
The man smiled. His form seemed to glow. "My point is, I'd like to send you to one of those dimensions."
Her ears perked up. "Which one? The one where Tom Riddle was never born?"
"No, no, it's almost exactly like your world," he informed her, finally stopping his annoying pacing. "Except you already exist in this world. Oh, and you're a boy."
She gaped. "What?"
"Yes!" he laughed at her reaction. "A young boy still, not even at Hogwarts yet."
Her mind whirled. Not even at Hogwarts yet? Then Voldemort was still hiding somewhere. He had still to find Quirrell, he had yet to make his big return. The Chamber of Secrets had yet to be opened. Hermione and Ron were still alive. Dumbledore was still alive. Sirius was still in Azkaban. Peter Pettigrew was still a rat and pet to the Weasleys. Cedric Diggory was still alive. Everyone was still alive.
The horcruxes still existed. And so did the Deathly Hallows.
"My parents?" she asked, or the male-version-of-her's parents, she supposed.
He frowned. "Like I said, everything is almost exactly as your dimension, the only difference is-"
"My gender, yeah, got it. How does it work?" she asked, mind working furiously. She could save so many lives. She could save her friends. She could stop Voldemort and save her younger male self from so much pain and tragedy. He could have a normal life. She could help him. Lana was not quite sure how she was going to do it yet, but she would figure it out when she got there.
"The earliest I can send you is 1988," he answered. How this was a set rule, she was not sure, but she was done talking it over.
"How would I start a life there? I wouldn't have any money there. I don't even have my wand," she answered, already knowing the answer before she looked on herself.
He grinned. "You'll find your wand in your pocket when you get there. And yes, before you ask, it is identical to the one your male self will receive when the time comes. I've also done you the courtesy of having you registered with the Ministry of Magic, so you may traverse your new dimension as a legally registered witch. All that is left for you to do is to choose yourself a name."
"Can I keep my real name?"
"You may have any name you'd like."
"Will I still have a connection to Voldemort when I get there? Or will only my male self?" she asked, rubbing the scar on her head. She would have to find a way to conceal it when she got there. For now, her hair would have to do.
"Perhaps you should discover that on your own."
"But it's not the same Voldemort," she answered, confusing herself the more she thought about it.
"Curious, isn't it?" he answered. "Very curious. But it's time for you to go." He put his fingers together and the clock on his chest started to spin rapidly. "Adios."
Despite the fact that she had many more questions, his fingers snapped, and everything was gone.
X-X-X-X-SI VI AMARI, AMA-X-X-X-X
Severus Snape was starting his seventh year as the Potions Master at Hogwarts. Though by now he had thorough experience as a teacher at this stage of his career, as well as the Head of Slytherin, it did not optimise his experience teaching or looking after snot-nosed brats.
He still held pride in his House, though he would be the first to admit (albeit to himself than to anyone else), Slytherin was the most hostile now than it had been since the fall of the Dark Lord. The students were jittery, defensive, and caused skirmishes more than had themselves lured into. It was embarrassing, and he had his fair share of moments where he'd had to cover for a few senior boys in his House – students whose parents were Death Eaters alongside of him.
As he threw his favourite black robes over his shoulders, his hand ran over the faded Dark Mark on his arm. The hype regarding the war had certainly died down, but the pain of loved-ones lost still lingered very strongly. He pushed those thoughts away as the clock on his wall in his personal chambers struck the eighth hour in the morning. Later that day, the castle would be swarming with students again, so Dumbledore ordered a staff meeting for that morning at eight-thirty. Why they had to have a meeting suddenly, the morning before the students arrived, was beyond him but he had learnt it was less frustrating dealing with Dumbledore's ideas than questioning them – a sentiment that should prevent him from doing this, but in the end, did not really.
He pulled out his wand and flicked the tip, putting away things in his room as he did most mornings. Rarely he would run late, especially after late nights grading papers and potions, but more often than not, he followed a strict routine of keeping his quarters clean and orderly, just as he did his classroom.
As he still had thirty minutes to kill, he summoned a familiar House Elf from the kitchens and ordered some tea to be brought up. Ecstatic to receive orders, the elf disappeared and reappeared in some mere seconds, placing a tray with a steaming tea cup on Severus's table. As he dismissed the house elf, he took a seat at the table standing across from his quant kitchenette, grabbed the Daily Prophet he had ordered and quietly sat drinking his tea while skimming the news for titles of interest.
Even though it had been nearly 7 years since the Dark Lord's defeat, there were still traces of the war's aftermath on the wizarding community. Although the most dangerous Death Eaters had been rounded up, and the extremists caught and imprisoned, the divide amongst the British wizarding community could not be more evident. And it was even more prevalent amongst teenage hooligans. Thinking about the students' return to the school, he set down the paper, unable to read it any further.
Besides lessons and fights between Slytherins and Gryffindors that he had to keep at bay with Minerva, this year would also be the eighty-fourth Wizarding Schools Potions Championship, held here at Hogwarts. A bold move on Dumbledore's part, as the rest of the world was still weary in regard to the war that recently took place. But Dumbledore was a sucker for international relations and ties to other schools. He liked to find and make allies from other nations, as he was still paranoid about the Dark Lord's return. It's just as well, Dumbledore did not ask his opinion on the matter, as in proper Dumbledore style, it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.
However, Severus would have to admit, if the Championship was held in Africa or Korea this year, the ministry would have a hard time letting him travel out of the country given his particular history. He would have had to stay back and his students would be forced to travel without him, something that would have annoyed him no doubt. He did not even know which students he would take with him. He could choose four, and Minerva had encouraged him to take one student from each house, as that what she thought fair. He inwardly snorted. He could count the most competent potion makers in the school on his one hand. And unfortunately for Minerva, none of them were in Gryffindor.
Severus pushed himself out of his seat. His tea was finished, and he still had fifteen minutes before the meeting, but he figured he would take off and be early. Perhaps he could finally meet the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. The superstition even held strong among the staff that the position was cursed, so they did not even bother getting close to the newly appointed teachers as the years went by.
As he exited his chambers and made his way to the Headmaster's office, he suddenly realised that there would be a new Ancient Runes teacher as well, as Professor Jakyll had retired the previous term. His lips pulled tightly at the thought of having new insufferable colleagues to get used to. The most he could tolerate, but there were a select few he had a hard time stomaching. Quirrell was definitely one of them – it did not help that he taught the most useless subject in the school, Muggle Studies. He even once joked he could shoot for the DADA post, not realising that Snape was standing right behind him at the breakfast table. Ever since then, he at least gave Snape a wide berth. Trelawny annoyed him, but there was no one she annoyed more than Aurora Sinistra and Minerva McGonagall. He could not stand Filch, and he had no idea why Dumbledore had not yet replaced Binns, an actual bloody ghost, with a new History professor.
As he went through his inner musings, he finally reached the gargoyles and recited the absurd password that was always some sort of candy. The office sprang open and as he entered, he already found a handful of his colleagues seated around a round table that Dumbledore cleared out for the staff meeting. Why they could not just hold meetings at the staff table in the Great Hall was beyond him, but perhaps Dumbledore got a kick out of the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black verbally complaining about every decision made at the meetings, albeit how small. Severus would be lying if he said he did not find them mildly amusing as well.
"Severus," Minerva greeted him kindly as he took a seat next to her. It was either her, or Quirrell. So, there was no question he would sit next to her instead. Quirrell was happily chatting away with Sinistra and Aurora, who seemed to shoot each other knowing looks across his shoulder when he was not looking. Perhaps even they picked up on how lily-livered he was.
"Minerva," he greeted her stiffly. Though he could not consider her a friend, they most certainly made good rivals. Granted, they still had their disagreements on many things, especially when it came to discipline regarding the Gryffindors and Slytherins.
"I presume you had a nice holiday?" she inquired, shooting him a sidelong glance, almost as if to annoy him with her unnecessary frivolities. He put his hands on the table, joined his fingers stiffly and responded without looking at her.
"Yes, it was …tolerable, thank you," he replied, not bothering to ask her about hers, as the lack of tact would no doubt drive her crazy.
The table filled up. Even Filch and Hagrid attended. Hagrid was enthusiastically chatting away with Grubbly-Plank while the Arithmancy teacher, Septima Vector listened in thoughtfully. Trelawney was recounting her terrible experiences with reciting people's future deaths in coffee shops while Madam Hooch nodded along without really listening. Binns, the bloody ghost, was floating in the corner, almost unseen as the rays of light streaming through the window. Madam Promfrey and Madam Pince sat in comfortable silence, politely waiting for the meeting's proceedings. Flitwick minded his own business, listening in to Hagrid and Grubbly-Plank's conversation.
When the familiars had been seated, Severus noticed the door open and two new faces enter the office, a woman's and a man's. Some of the chatter subsided with their entry as most of the staff curiously looked on.
The man was tall, stiff, built as rigid as a statue. He appeared to be a tad younger than Severus, if not the same age. His hair was a dull brown, somewhat curly and messy, and his eyes were dull. What stood out the most was his tanned skin. There were notable bags underneath his eyes. He wore a red and gold striped tie, a white button-up shirt and a long brown trench coat. To Severus, he looked akin to a homeless man, or a very depressed Muggle accountant.
The woman was significantly cleaner in her appearance, also young, easily in her early twenties, good-looking in the general sense of the word. What struck Severus first was the messy black head of wavy hair, untamed and seemingly holding a life of its own. Horrified, Severus realised the hair reminded him somewhat of Bellatrix Lestrange, who was thankfully currently held at Azkaban. However, this strange woman's hair appeared slightly thicker and better upkept. Her face was thoughtful, weary, and even more familiar, emphasised by her round spectacles. There was something determined in her features that struck something deep in Severus, something he had trouble bringing up to remember.
She was dressed in a black polo-neck sweater, a dark bootleg jean accompanied but black boots with a slight block-heel, and finally, a long, teal-coloured jacket with an exaggerated collar. He wondered why these two showed up in Muggle clothing. Then again, he was starting to notice that younger witches and wizards opted for a mixed look of muggle clothing and robes nowadays. He found it unprofessional quite frankly.
As the pair approached the table, the woman, notably a bit nervous, and the man, as dead as a pole, Severus noticed Minerva rise from her chair to greet them.
"My goodness! Alexander Moffat! How are you?" she enthused, obviously towards the man, who expressionlessly took her hand and shook it.
"Hullo professor," he greeted dully, his eyes barely blinking. "I did not think you would recognise me after all these years."
"Nonsense! I always remember my Transfiguration students! Particularly those who did as well as you!" Minerva's eyes lit up, as they always did when she spoke of her subject. She turned to the table, resting her arm on Alexander's stiff and broad shoulder. "Everyone, this is Alexander Moffat. He was a student here just a few years after you Severus. He was a particularly bright student, as well as a superb beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team in his time!" Minerva doted ecstatically. Moffat nodded to everyone at the table, not bothering to shake anyone's hand. Severus did not mind this particular detail.
The woman stood a little uneasily, shifting on her feet. Now that she was closer, Severus could finally examine her accurately. It took him a second, but he finally realised what shook him about her. She had green eyes, incredibly striking and very reminiscent of Lily. The face was a little different however, not entirely like hers, but the slight resemblance made his stomach wench painfully.
She squirmed a bit when she met his eyes, almost as if it was a reflex. There was a moment where her eyes met his, and a surge of electricity struck through him. It was static, and he had to force himself to look away. Instead, he tried to focus on Minerva's incessant rambling about the Moffat oaf.
When Minerva had finally finished her dotings, she turned to the woman next to Moffat with a kind smile.
"I'm so sorry, my dear. I've forgotten my manners a bit. I don't seem to recognise you?" Minerva said apologetically, clasping her hands together.
The woman smiled at Minerva, almost familiarly. "Oh, I did not attend Hogwarts, professor. I was in Bauxbatons the first half of my schooling - my mother was French, you see – but my second half of schooling I finished independently here in Britain. Although I think I would have enjoyed it here at Hogwarts," the woman said smoothly, smiling at Minerva, seemingly almost happy to see her and talk to her.
'She's lying,' Severus thought promptly. He barely had to reach for his Leglimency skills to pick up on her farce. Instantaneously, he was suspicious of her. He was willing to bet his Christmas bonus that she was the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. And honestly, she attended Bauxbatons? She had no accent whatsoever. This woman must be moronic to think everyone was going to fall for that.
He could tell she had an air of paranoia around her, as she scanned the room without Minerva's notice. Her eyes fell on Quirrell, who had continued his musings to Sinistra and Aurora, and an instant hatred filled her eyes. Again, it was very subtle, something only picked up by a very keen and trained eye.
Severus scrutinised her even further and spotted an odd pattern of scarring on her hand. It appeared to be writing of some sort, but before he could examine it even further, she placed her hands in her pockets.
"And your name, my dear?" Minerva enquired.
The woman almost hesitated, shooting Severus a quick knowing glance, a notion that shook him once more. She then smiled at Minerva.
"My name is Nénuphar Evans," she answered, and Snape felt his heart skip a beat.
Evans? Like Lily? That could not be a coincidence. He felt even more apprehensive when he looked at her eyes again. Surely, there was a resemblance. He knew those eyes anywhere. Also, Nénuphar? Even Snape knew It was French for lily. He knew everything about Lily. How obvious did this girl think she wasn't being? Was this some sort of joke?
If Snape was infuriated by the woman's introduction, he did not show it. He had tricked more dangerous wizards and witches in the past with his stony façade. He wasn't about to let slip just because a green-eyed woman, whose name was literally Lily Evans, throw him off.
Nénuphar surveyed the room. "But you can all call me Nenu for short. All my friends do," she lied again, but only Snape could tell. He felt his body tense at this new woman's presence. Surely, Dumbledore would have to answer his qualms, or he would have to find out for himself.
"You must be fluent in French then. Also, your English accent is impeccable!" Minerva gushed, naturally drawn to the newcomer. Minerva had always gone out of her way to bond with female academia. Snape could tell the woman fidget slightly, though to her credit she hid it well from the average eye. However, Snape had no average eye.
"Oui m'dame," Nenu Evans said with a big albeit humble smile, but Snape could tell it was mostly to entertain Minerva. As far as accents go, her French one was …passable. Not that Snape was fluent himself, but he'd travelled enough, especially in his young Death Eater days, to pick up on most European accents.
This woman was peculiar, and he had a few questions for Dumbledore about her.
X-X-X-X-SI VI AMARI, AMA-X-X-X-X
In the year of 1988, Joyce Harper boarded the Hogwarts Express for her seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As she stepped on the train, she took a sense of unease with her, knowing she would have to graduate soon.
Every year had been planned and decided for her, as came the comfort with school. First year came first, followed by second and then third, and so on and so forth. The point was, however, that Joyce knew what to expect after finishing each year. She would simply move on to the next year and complete it. But there was no comfort in starting her final year at Hogwarts, simply because of the unpredictability that came with it, and she feared it immensely.
Joyce slumped her luggage with her through the compartments after waving to her dear mother through the window. The pride in her mother's eyes made her nerves twist, because no doubt her mother would expect her to return home over the holidays with a plan for her future.
As she moved through the compartments, she greeted fellow seven years and friends from lower years, Joyce finally made it to a compartment almost near the end of the train and found her best friend already sitting and waiting for her. Evie's hands occupied an advanced potions book – though she was not particularly the bookish type, her academic standards were well above average, and it just so happened that Potions was her biggest academic passion.
Joyce slid the door open loudly so Evie would hear. Without even looking up, Evie let a smile appear on her face. "Hey Harper."
"Hello Hughes. Not even going to give your friend a proper greeting?" Joyce said slyly, packing her luggage away, careful not to disturb Evie's brownish owl, Cat. Apparently, the owl had been named by Evie's little sister, now a second year, who upon wanting a cat for a pet and not an owl, actually named the bird Cat. Evie had then taken it upon herself to use the owl more herself and inadvertently adopted her. Though she had tried many times to change the name, the bird responded to nothing else except 'Cat', thus the name stuck.
"After seven years, I should think it not necessary," Evie huffed, her Welsh accent not as thick as it had been on the first day of school, but still thicker than usual when she returned from home every summer. She finally put down the textbook. "Can you believe it's our last year already? We got our work cut out for us."
Joyce sat down and made herself comfortable. She sighed deeply once Evie laid the heavy news and glanced in the window beside her. Her brown eyes looked back her severely. She noticed her dirty blonde hair was slightly messy and she gently tried to untangle the locks as best she could. Her mother had cut her hair insanely short before she started at Hogwarts as a first year, wanting her to appear neat as she had a tendency to get her tangled when she was young. The bullying that persisted at school was horrendous and Joyce swore she would never let her mother cut it again. As a result, it was fairly long. Joyce would only let Professor Sprout cut her hair slightly before going back home for the summer, so her mother would not fuss that she was not taking care of it. On the whole, Joyce thought her features were rather plain – she had a few light freckles dusting her cheeks and pale eyebrows and lashes.
"Stop gawking at yourself, Narcissus," Evie huffed again. "I'm kidding," she said quickly with a smile when Joyce pulled her lips tight at her friend whenever she tried to make obscure references. At least Joyce was used to it at this point, though she's had to look up a few Greek and Roman reference at some point. "Stop worrying. Seventh year will be fun!" Evie tried to enthuse.
Just as Evie wanted to continue her thought, footsteps passing the carriage caught both girls' attention. Four Slytherins passed the compartment, carrying with them a strict and pompous air. Joyce held her breath as they passed. The four boys did not notice the girls for the most part, except the one walking at the very back. He was the very tallest, strong and muscled. His brown hair was unruly, wild and unkept, something that would have driven Joyce's mother mad for sure. He shot the compartment a hard look, though Joyce was willing to bet this was just his default expression and nothing was meant by it. After all, the Slytherins liked no one, and no one liked the Slytherins. Joyce would be lying if she said this boy was anything but good-looking. His features were wild and wolfish, and there was something alluringly dangerous about him that set her curiosity on edge.
When the boys passed the carriage, Evie also let out a breath. "Sheesh," she breathed, crossing her legs. "Did you see the way Jasper Wolff looked at us?"
Joyce blinked. "Who?"
Evie looked at her friend incredulously. "Jasper Wolff? Come on, Harper! You were terrified of him in our first year, remember? You were convinced he was a werewolf because of the scars on his face and the fact that his name is actually Wolff?"
Joyce blinked blankly. Honestly, everything before third year was a huge blank void, save for a few memorable moments here and there. Like that time, they had destroyed Gryffindor at Quidditch, and the time Evie had accidentally set loose a mantis plague in the Common Room. Other than moments like those, Joyce did not remember much before the terrible experience that was puberty.
Frustrated, Evie wrinkled her forehead, probably convinced the blonde was playing stupid on purpose. "He tripped you that one time in fourth year!"
Joyce vaguely remembered now. She had spilled an ink pot all over her quills and parchments and recalled how annoyed her mother had been when she had to write home for new ones. When the memory returned more clearly, Joyce's jaw almost dropped.
"That was Wolff?! Wow, he's kind of cute now!" she spurted out innocently without thinking. Evie immediately pulled a face of disbelief.
"Harper, he's in Slytherin! It's funny, you barely remember him at all. He's had class with us for years now, especially Potions, and we play Quidditch against him too. He's also a beater, remember? And he has a reputation as a bully. Actually, I'm surprised he was walking around with that lot. Whenever I've seen him, he's mostly alone," Evie explained, still regarding Joyce with incredulity.
'He's a lone Wolff,' Joyce thought, inwardly congratulating herself on her clever pun.
Joyce shrugged at Evie, figuring he would have some type of quality that would make him unlikable anyway. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I wouldn't even try my chances with a Slytherin, unless I wanted to get hexed or something. I just think he's cute, is all," she tried to backpaddle a little, embarrassed by her outburst.
Evie grinned good-naturedly. "It's fine. I guess he's got that rough look about him. Not my type though."
Joyce raised her eyebrows. "Do you even have a type?" she asked with a chuckle. It was no secret that Evie honed a bit of a temper among her housemates. It probably a trait that made her such an excellent beater in Quidditch. And though Joyce had tried to convince Evie that she had attractive features herself, what with her small nose and deep blue eyes, boys tended to find her …abrasive.
"Sure. Men. Not boys. S'why my dad never liked me dating in school. Never thought a school-boy would be good enough for me," Evie explained matter-of-factly, seemingly complacent with her father's standards for her. Joyce had only met Evie's father a handful of times. He was a Dragonologist, and a tough man to boot, and he raised Evie the same way – almost like a dragon. Evie's mother was still in Wales, as far as Joyce knew, and they had occasional contact.
"But don't you still, you know, look around?" Joyce asked suggestively. Traditionally Joyce was not very focussed on dating or boys herself. She had one quick relationship in her fifth year that turned out disastrously and put her off dating for as long as she could help it. It was safe to say Evie herself did not indulge in romantic endeavours at school either. In fact, this was one of the few times she and Evie were discussing boys at all.
"Yeah, there are a few nice-looking guys in our year. Most of 'em are morons though," she relented unsympathetically, and picked up her book again for good measure. "I don't see myself dating anytime soon." As if to emphasise the finality of her thoughts on the matter, she opened up her book, and, rather rudely Joyce thought, continued to read her advanced copy.
"I once saw you gawking at Bill Weasley once," Joyce piped up, dangerously she knew, as Evie was rather sensitive when it came to the topic of the redhead - now Head Boy she heard – perhaps because of their bitter rivalry in Quidditch. But even Evie Hughes could not deny that Bill Weasley was good-looking and fairly likable. His brother Charlie was pretty charming as well.
"I don't fancy Bill Weasley if that is what you're suggesting," Evie snapped, her tiny nose snipped in the air.
"Don't be brattish, Hughes. It's not becoming of you," Joyce shot back with a playful smirk, and stuck out her tongue for good measure.
"Very mature. No wonder you lust after Slytherins," Evie sighed dramatically, irate, finally setting her book down again. "You won't let me read in peace, will you?"
"Well, I just think it's rather rude," Joyce said truthfully, shrugging. "I get that you are a Potions genius, but can't we just talk? You know I'm nervous about this year." Joyce felt bad the moment the words left her mouth.
"Ah, I'm sorry, Harper," Evie mumbled. "I know you're on edge about the last year. I could pick it up on your letters over the summer. I'm just trying to get ahead of the rest of the NEWTS …oh, and the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship is this year."
"Oh yeah, I read that in your letters. You must be awfully excited about it, hey Hughes?" Joyce enthused about potions with her best friend for a few minutes. Although she still got stellar marks in Potions, her affinity was for Charms and Herbology. She had gotten an O for outstanding for all three in her OWLs, and Es and As for the rest. Her mother had been quite proud, and bought her a dragonhide jacket as a prize, something she had always wanted. Herbology and Charms came naturally to her but having one of the top Potions students in the school as one's best friend had its perks.
They discussed the possibilities for the competition for the remainder of the trip, gradually changing into their uniforms as the sun set during their conversation. They lamented whether the event would be held at Hogwarts itself, or perhaps Japan or Africa, or even if Professor Snape would let them both compete.
The conversation soon changed to Quidditch, as both girls would be playing their last year for their house. Though Evie made for an exceptional and competitive beater, Joyce boasted the position of a Chaser. Her mother had been a fairly good Chaser in her day as well, and encouraged Quidditch from a young age, obviously still assuming her daughter would have been sorted into Gryffindor. They would be three seven-years in the team, which means once they left, the team would lose nearly half of their teammates. With it being their last year, Joyce hoped for an exceptional performance from her House.
After all, people never expected exceptionality from the House of Hufflepuff.
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As Joyce and Evie took their usual seats at the Hufflepuff table, Joyce once again lamented inwardly about being a final year student at Hogwarts. Evie chirped happily to another Hufflepuff, a fifth year named Gabriel Truman, while Joyce thought back on the night she was sorted into Hufflepuff. Her mother had been proud, but Joyce could tell she had hoped for Gryffindor, just as her mother had been herself. Nonetheless, her mother was happy as long as it was not Slytherin, she supposed.
The Sorting Hat had taken quite a few minutes to sort her. She still remembered the voice of the Hat in her head, even after all these years, even if she could barely remember anything before third year.
'Ah, now let's see. There is some courage, I see. Maybe Gryffindor? No, not quite. I see some insecurity …and a strong desire to help people. Lots of kindness and perseverance. Gentle and empathetic. Better make it HUFFLEPUFF!'
The memory brought a small smile to her face as she sat across Evie at the table, who was still chatting animatedly to Gabriel, who was proudly showing her the new prefect badge on his chest. Joyce privately sniggered to herself. It took a lot to impress Evie. Prefect badges were not one of them. The girl's father tamed dragons, for Merlin's sake.
Joyce sat at the table and scanned the Hufflepuffs lazily while her thoughts dwindled. She spotted the bright coloured hair of Nymphadora Tonks instantly, an enigmatic fourth year that was on the Quidditch team with Joyce and Evie. She was their Seeker and was rather vocal about not liking the position. Tonks insisted that she was a Chaser and probably hoped to fill the position once the seven-years graduated from school.
Joyce scanned the rest of the Great Hall as the students filled in. The seventh years excitedly droned on about their aspirations for after graduation. Many had plans to further their studies, travel abroad or work for their families. She tuned them out. She knew one thing, and that was she had no aspiration to take over her mother's fabric shop one day. Although, she'd be lying if she didn't enjoy a handknitted sweater every holiday, a family tradition she seemed to share with the Weasley boys, as their mother was one of Mrs. Harper's most loyal customers. Of course, it helped that Mrs. Harper had a soft spot for other Gryffindors and probably gave Mrs. Weasley discounts and whatnot. Her mother was like that.
As she continued to scan the hall, her eyes fell on the Slytherin table. They were remarkably subtle in the way they interacted, not loud and boisterous as the Gryffindor table. They exchanged haughty looks and glances, plenty of smirks and glares, with the occasional sneer to go along with it. Ever since that Harry Potter child defeated the Dark Lord as an infant, the Slytherins had humbly yet proudly kept their pureblood tendencies up. In fact, the tension was still as thick as when You-Know-Who was in power. It definitely showed in the discipline between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. Ever since Joyce started at Hogwarts, she could not count a year where there was not a colossal and disastrous incident, whether it was a Gryffindor boy that had been cursed in the bathrooms, or a Slytherin girl who's clothing had been squarely charmed off her body in the middle of supper in the Great Hall, the two houses' infamous rivalry continued on.
Jasper Wolff suddenly came into her sight. The longer she stared at him in the setting of the Great Hall, the clearer she could remember him. Yes, she remembered in her first year how she had built up – a rather strong – conspiracy that he was a werewolf, a rumour she wondered ever reached his ears. She wondered how he would react if he knew she started the conspiracy. That in mind, she wondered if he knew she existed at all.
Her brown eyes fell on the two long scars on the left side of his face, nearly concealed by his unruly body of hair. He was sitting next to two Slytherin seven-years, Marcius Prentice and Damon Oak. Joyce thought their names were rather funny but would never claim it to their faces – she liked being alive.
As her eyes lingered on Wolff, his eyes suddenly looked up and connected with hers. She felt the blood drain from her face and her heart do a backflip at the same time. As quick as their gazes connected, they broke when Joyce looked down at the table, cursing herself for not acting more natural so he would not suspect her of anything. After all, if there was anything everyone could agree on, it was not to unnecessarily irk the Slytherins – of course, Gryffindors would disagree.
She pretended to scan the Ravenclaw table. She continued to think about the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. And then one had the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff houses on the side, who usually were caught in between these tussles. Their own rivalry was rather friendly, albeit Joyce would admit that Ravenclaws could just be snobbish and entitled like Slytherin's at times. The difference is that Ravenclaws possessed a trait that was highly respected in the wizarding world – intelligence. Joyce felt the generalisation was rather uncalled for, as Hufflepuff had academically strong students as well. It was the question of proving oneself. In the aftermath of the war, the houses felt more divided than ever, and Joyce wondered if it would improve, even after she had graduated.
The curse of being Hufflepuff was usually being cast of to the side, being an afterthought, being perceived as dull and unworried with results and achievements. Joyce strongly felt this was untrue and hoped her house could rake in the win for the House Cup this year, hopefully even the Quidditch House Cup, as Gryffindor had not been too strong of a contender for a while now. That meant only Slytherin and Ravenclaw were in the way.
A familiar face took a seat next to her, coincidently, their Quidditch captain, a tall and good-looking boy named Lance Walker. She nearly jumped in her seat, still spooked from her eye contact with Jasper Wolff.
"Merlin, Lance! Warn me next time, will you?" she breathed out, smacking him on the shoulder. He laughed good-naturedly, a very kind and loyal young man. A true Hufflepuff. Professor Sprout had a soft spot for him.
"Sorry Harper! Didn't mean to scare you," he grinned a toothy grin, resting his elbow on the table. "I just wanted to come and hear how your and Hughes' summer was. Also, I wanted to make sure there weren't any hard feelings about being made Quidditch captain," he quickly added, throwing his arms in front of him defensively. He had been at the receiving end of one of Evie's nose-splitting bludgers, and Joyce was certain he still held a trickle of fear for her. Especially after he sent her a rather embarrassing valentine's gift in their fifth year.
Hearing his words, even over the ruckus of the Great Hall, Evie leaned over Joyce's shoulder. "Calm your knickers, Walker. We all knew you would get it, being Sprout's favourite and all." A few Hufflepuffs at the table laughed out of good nature, and Walker was used to Evie's quips at this stage since all of them had been good friends for years.
"Yes, well, I've already drawn up a training program. You know, ever since we started here at Hogwarts, we haven't won the Cup once! That's why it's so important to get the team ready this year, especially since it's our last one. Hopefully we can find a new Seeker this year because if I have to listen to Tonks' whining for another season, I'm going to politely ask you to hit another bludger at me, Hughes."
The two girls laughed. Evie leaned on Joyce's shoulder comfortably. "I'll be a kind Hufflepuff and do it without asking, Captain."
Lance was about to retort out of slight annoyance, until the Headmaster stood from his seat. He merely had to clap his hands together for the Hall to settle down. After the Hall had collectively quieted down, McGonagall bustled in with tiny first years hurrying to keep up behind her.
Joyce felt old watching these small students enter the hall. She found it hard to believe she was that small in her first year, though she remembered thinking how big and scary the seniors looked when she scanned the Hall upon her first entering.
The Sorting Hat sang its yearly song and McGonagall read the names as the Sorting continued. There were quite a few Gryffindors and Slytherins. Two particularly burly-looking boys were sorted into Slytherin and Joyce felt they belonged there with their hardened stances and aggressive expressions.
Finally, when the first Hufflepuff was sorted, a small girl named Catherine Jones, Joyce could cheer along the rest of her House. A few more first years were sorted into Hufflepuff and the other houses, and soon the Sorting was finished. Dumbledore rose from his seat and silenced the Hall once again with a mere gesture of his hands.
The moment he started speech-ing, Joyce lost focus, having already sat through these six times. Usually Dumbledore kept it short, so hopefully they could get to the feast quickly.
She let her eyes wander as the Headmaster listed off a few rules (which mostly applied to the Gryffindors and Slytherins), and once again felt compelled to look over to the Slytherin table. Again, her eyes were drawn to Jasper Wolff. He leaned on the table with his elbows, inherently bored as he stared down as the table and picked at the surface with his nail. He did not seem to pick up on her stare this time, so she allowed her eyes to linger a while longer.
As his elbows rested on the tabled, his strong arms flexed. There was no denying he was well-built. Joyce wondered if he exercised or simply did strenuous activity over the summer, for she was sure she would have noticed if he was eye-catching the previous year, or any other year for that matter. Joyce supposed he was not traditionally handsome in the sense, however, she was drawn to him for some reason. She supposed she had never taken particular notice of him because he rarely spoke.
There were two types of Slytherins, after all: the vocal ones who fought with words, and the physical ones who attacked with brute strength. She assumed he may have fit into the latter. Her gaze traced his strong jaw-line and lingered on the two long scars running down his face, nearly missing his eye. She wondered what happened to him. Could it have been some type of creature? Was it a spell that went wrong? Maybe his mother was cutting pie one day and the pie cutter accidentally gashed him when she wasn't looking. She smiled to herself as she thought this, thinking it would be funny for such an intimidating Slytherin to own a scar with such a silly backstory. If she were him, she would just lie and say it was a werewolf.
At that moment, Wolff looked up and caught her staring at him again. Instead this time, he caught her smiling like a dork. She quickly wiped the smile from her face, again, mortified. She wanted the earth to swallow her whole. Considering she was fair skinned, she imagined he could catch the flush of her cheeks quite clearly from across the hall. She looked down at her lap. The last things she wanted to do in her last year was provoke any conflict of any kind, especially with a Slytherin. She was too proud to admit it to Evie, but the Slytherin's scared her slightly. Her mother warned to be careful of them, and she had chalked it up to Gryffindor paranoia. However, this group of Slytherins was rather …aggressive. There were probably a few still loyal to the Dark Lord, ensnared by their parents' propaganda.
Dumbledore's voice broke her train of thought. "And now, two new introductions to the staff. Your new Ancient Ruins teacher this term will be Professor Alexander Moffat, who has agreed to fill the position after Professor Jakyll's retirement." A long, stocky and huge man stood up from his seat. His face conveyed complete daggers to the hall, so for good measure, barely anyone applauded. "Professor Moffat himself, was in Gryffindor. I hope you all make him feel welcome!" The Gryffindor table responded kindly with cheery applause. Moffat still stared daggers and took his seat.
"Then, your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher will be Professor Nénuphar Evans. We all wish you good luck, professor!" The hall applauded politely, especially some of the male student body. Joyce herself would even admit the professor was very cute, and very young. She felt sorry for her, hoping the boys would not give her too much of a hard time. Also, she hoped Professor Evans would survive the year, but somehow she doubted it. No DADA teacher ever did.
Dumbledore finally ended his speech, clapped his hands together and the food appeared. Along with her fellow Hufflepuffs, Joyce dug into the succulent feast the house-elves had prepared for them as always. Still swallowing her embarrassment, Joyce helped herself to some cottage pie. Evie elbowed her in the side moderately hard, nearly causing her to drop her plate.
"Wolff is looking at you," she whispered to her friend cautiously. While both their head were still bent down, they snuck a glance at Wolff, and found that he was indeed staring at Joyce rather curiously. It was a careful look, not a gawk or a glare of any kind. On the contrary, Joyce found herself captivated by his vigilant look. His handsome features were accentuated as he turned to the side to whisper something to Prentice. Both sniggered and resumed their eating.
Finally, Joyce could breathe again, and Evie looked at her curiously as she helped herself to some pudding. "What was that all about?" her best friend asked unconcernedly, seemingly unaffected by Wolff's intense gaze.
"He caught me staring at him a few times," Joyce mumbled, uncomfortable. She sunk into her chair a bit, hoping it would hide her form, but it was too late now she supposed.
"Oh, I wonder why you were staring at him," Evie chuckled teasingly, bumping Joyce against the shoulder with her own.
"Oh, stuff it," Joyce said curtly, but Evie could pick up in the humour in her voice. Both smiled at each other knowingly before continuing their eating and talking about Quidditch and the summer happenings in-between. However, Joyce kept itching to look over to the Slytherin table, almost hoping Wolff would catch her again and they would lock eyes once more.
When her plate was empty, and Evie was still prattling on about Potions, Joyce took a deep breath and looked over again. Disappointed, she found he was not occupying his seat anymore, and was leaving the Great Hall with his friends.
"Come on, Harper. Let's go to bed. I'm sure you'll be dreaming about Wolff tonight," Evie remarked nonchalantly, pushing herself out of her seat.
"Evie, shhhh!" she urged her friend as she followed her out of the Great Hall and to the Hufflepuff Common Room. Evie took the front, quickly moving past the annoying First Years who seemed lost and scared. They reach the door and she tapped 'Helga Hufflepuff' on the barrel. The barrel swung open and they entered the warmth and comfort of their Common Room.
"I'm beat," Evie said as she stretched out her back. Joyce heard a few satisfying cracks escape her joints. "I don't know about you, but I want to pass out. The train always tires me out."
"Let's get to bed then, hey?" Joyce smiled to her friend and allowed her to take the front again before entering their dorms.
When Joyce climbed into bed, Evie was already breathing deeply. She had a tendency to mumble in her sleep, but tonight she seemed too deep in her slumber to do such a thing.
It took her longer to fall asleep then she cared to admit. Usually she had no problem falling asleep, lest there was a Quidditch match the next day. Though she had played quite a few numbers of years, she was still a bundle of nerves before any match. Evie did not have this problem. She revelled at any challenge. Certain times, Joyce wondered whether her friend would have been better off in Gryffindor, but it probably would have been harder for her to perform in Potions, as Snape was unforgiving when it came to the Red and Gold House.
Wolff span around in her mind. The bulge of his fit physique and scruffy brunette hair hypnotised her body. The scars that ran down his face entranced her eyes every time she caught sight of him tonight. There was no denying she was incredibly attracted to him tonight, she had the decency to be honest with herself. She vaguely wondered if she would feel this attraction again tomorrow? There was no doubt she would run into him again. They had class together. They played Quidditch against each other, and surely, they would write their exams together as well.
She almost laughed at the thought of his reaction to this unimportant, mundane-looking dirty-blonde from Hufflepuff having an attraction to him. He probably would not be as offended as he would be had she been in Gryffindor, nevertheless, she doubted he would impressed on any level. There were far more beautiful girls in Slytherin, purebloods he could pick from and had already probably snogged and whatnot.
It was no secret what happened in the Common Rooms of the houses. By the time everyone reached third and fourth year, it was fraught with hormones and tension. Teenagers were like animals sometimes, she noted. Her own first kiss was in front of the Hufflepuff fire in the Common Room, though that relationship ended horridly, and she'd rather not think about it anymore.
She could just think about Wolff again. She could feel her abdomen twist and turn in a way that was, admittedly, not too unpleasant. Joyce let her thoughts wonder …what did he smell like? What did his hands feel like? Probably rough and coarse, she was willing to bet, as it would suit him. Her imagination wandered, and she thought about how he got his scars, who was his family – were they followers of You-Know-Who?
Would he prefer a Pureblood girl then? She was not from a prestigious or famous family like most Slytherins, but she was fairly certain she was a pureblood witch. The subject had never even bothered her before, but now she wondered if her father had any blood impurities in his line? She didn't even know, and she was sure as hell not going to ask her mother about it. She never dared ask about her father.
A few seconds later after contemplating the subject a little more, she shook her head, disappointed in herself. She had never considered anyone above anyone else just because of blood. Joyce felt everyone should be held to the same standard, blood status notwithstanding. No guy should consider her eligible to date just because of the blood that ran through her veins. The moment she decided on this she felt an overwhelming mixture of pride and disappointment within her.
The reality of the situation was that she and Jasper Wolff did not come from the same world. And they did not own the same mindsets, she was also willing to bet. One did not spend seven years in Slytherin only to turn out very tolerant of everyone, after all. It was best she just left it. Maybe he was a jerk. Evie said he was a bully.
'That should make him easy to hate,' she hoped, as she finally sank into a heavy sleep, images of her uncertain future replaced by a rugged young man with devilishly handsome looks.
X-X-X-X-SI VI AMARI, AMA-X-X-X-X