September 1991, 1st year
Hogwarts was confusing.
There were way too many staircases, some of them insisted on moving and some of them had vanishing steps. It wasn't much better with the doors or even the classrooms themselves – everything was moving around or pretending to be something it wasn't and not even the portraits could be trusted to tell you the right way. The ghosts proved to be helpful, sometimes – but only when it was Lynea who asked them, because for some reason they were always willing to help her, but seldomly inclined to listen to the others. With the exception of the poltergeist, who wasn't a real ghost, just a menace – same as the caretaker, who turned out to be a grumpy man with a scary-looking cat, both of which hated the students. The feeling was mutual.
On top of that, there were the whispers. It wasn't as bad for Lynea as it was for Harry and sometimes even funny to watch when those who feared her and those who admired him became all mixed up. People tried to get away from her and people tried to get a better look at Harry, they avoided looking in her direction and they stared at Harry. As Harry and Lynea were usually found walking the corridors together, this often resulted in clashes of interests within most of the other students.
The Slytherins, at least, were more reserved and dignified. They didn't stare or whisper behind their backs.
So their first week at Hogwarts was a mix between getting lost in the castle and getting lost in the lessons. Grand-aunt Naenia might have tried to teach Lynea the most basic things beforehand – she, herself, had entered Hogwarts already knowing everything from their first up to their seventh year – but Lynea hadn't been taught magic from the moment she had been able to speak.
Still, grand-aunt Naenia had been right about most things. It was very exhausting to attend Astronomy lessons at midnight and go to class the next morning. Professor Binns, the ghostly History of Magic teacher, was very, very boring, indeed. Herbology and Charms were fun. Transfiguration, too, once you had adjusted to Professor McGonagall's strictness.
Defence Against the Dark Arts, though, turned out to be a huge disappointment. Professor Quirrel was, as Harry had told them, afraid of everything. Literally everything. And his classroom always smelled of garlic.
At least they didn't share that class with one of the other houses. The Hufflepuffs were fine, most of the time, but there was one person among the Ravenclaws that made their shared classes rather tedious. Hermione Granger, the bushy haired girl from the train, was, in Draco's words, an insufferable know-it-all – although Lynea would never agree to that out loud.
"Can anyone tell me what this is?" Professor Sprout asked during their Herbology lesson, holding up an unremarkable little plant.
Lynea squinted at it, then raised her hand, as did Hermione and a few other Ravenclaws.
Professor Sprout nodded to Hermione.
"This appears to be Dittany," the girl said, "a magical plant that exhibits powerful healing properties and is often used in healing potions."
Had she stopped there and let their teacher do her actual job, it would have been fine. But Hermione Granger continued to launch into a detailed recital from their textbook One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. They had all read the damn thing, and they would most likely do it again for homework.
But that was fine, that wasn't the reason everyone kept sending her annoyed glances throughout the lesson. It was because she insisted on correcting each and everyone of them whenever they did or said something that was either slightly wrong or incomplete in her eyes and the girl absolutely had to tell them everything she had every read in any book. Loudly. Professor Sprout was too much of a nice person to berate her and instead awarded Ravenclaw points each time Hermione opened her mouth.
Well, Slytherins liked to be dramatic, so it wasn't actually that bad, it just grated on their nerves.
And then, there was potions.
They had to wait until Friday for their first potions lesson and they might have been spared from the know-it-all, but it would unfortunately be shared with the Gryffindors. Still, there was a general excitement among the first-year Slytherins that couldn't be dulled even by that fact.
They had the labyrinth in the dungeons mostly figured out by that point. It helped that they always travelled as a big group and managed to remember most of Gemma's tips if they put their heads together.
There was a letter for Harry on that very morning, which was unusual as he had been the only one among them who hadn't received one so far.
"It's from Hagrid," he told his curious housemates, still staring at the note in his hands. "He invited me over for tea this afternoon."
Draco wrinkled his nose, but stayed silent at Lynea's pointed glare.
Harry looked up. "Would one of you like to come with me?"
Which was his way of asking whether someone was willing to put up with Hagrid for Harry's sake. Neither of the Slytherin's had let it gone unnoticed how highly they thought of the groundskeeper, but Harry liked the man and they couldn't let him visit Hagrid on his own. Slytherins always travelled in packs.
"I wouldn't mind," Lynea said.
"Yeah," Draco said in a strained voice, "me neither."
Lynea whipped her head around to stare at him in disbelief.
Harry just beamed at the two of them.
o
Potions lessons took place in the dungeons. The Slytherins had no problem finding the right classroom, but the Gryffindors arrived nearly late.
Professor Snape started his first class by taking the register. Professor Flitwick had done that, too, and had given an excited squeak upon reaching Harry's name.
Unlike their Charms professor, Professor Snape paused. "Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new … celebrity."
He then continued calling out everyone's names and proceeded to give them an impressive, but overly dramatic speech about the glory of potions brewing. Lynea loved it.
Right up to the point where Snape suddenly said, "Potter!" in a way that, unlike his earlier comment, left no doubt about his opinion of the Boy Who Lived. Apparently, Harry had been right – Professor Snape didn't seem to like him very much.
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry glanced at Lynea, who was sitting beside him, looking desperate. Lynea blinked. That was N.E.W.T. level knowledge.
"I don't know, sir," Harry said.
Lynea slowly raised her hand.
Professor Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything. Miss Fawley?"
"Asphodel and wormwood are basic ingredients for one of the most powerful sleeping potions, the Draught of Living Death."
"Correct," Professor Snape said. "One point to Slytherin. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Okay, that one was common knowledge.
Although maybe not for eleven-year-olds raised by Muggles, because Harry said, again, "I don't know, sir."
Lynea could tell how uncomfortable the poor boy was at this point. To his credit, he tried very hard not to let it show on his face as he looked their potions professor straight in the eyes. Lynea raised her hand again.
"Bezoars are made of indigestible matter that has accumulated in the digestive system. In potions we use bezoars from the stomachs of goats that can be used as antidotes for most poisons."
"Correct again, Miss Fawley. One last try, then. What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"There is none," Lynea said, before Harry even had the chance to open his mouth and answer that 'he didn't know, sir'.
"Miss Fawley," the Professor said in a low voice. "In my class you will raise your hand and wait for me to call you before talking."
"I'm sorry, Professor," Lynea said politely. "But this was just getting outright ridiculous. You started off with a question about a potion that will not be taught until sixth year, which I am sure no one else in this class could have answered. And a trick question about a plant that has at least nine different names can hardly be called fair, don't you think?"
Professor Snape raised one of his eyebrows. Then his eyes flickered to the white streak in her hair.
"Yes," he said, his voice still low, "I can see why you would know, despite it being N.E.W.T. level knowledge, Miss Fawley."
And another one added to the list. Great.
Professor Snape straightened up and turned to his blackboard.
"Two more points to Slytherin," he said loudly. "For not being a complete bunch dunderheads."
He then began writing instructions on the blackboard and paired off them to brew a Cure for Boils.
It soon became clear that their professor seemed to really enjoy criticising students. He was especially hard on the Gryffindors, but didn't spare the Slytherins, either. Draco and Theodore got away, because Professor Snape actually liked his godchild, and Lynea got away, because she was actually good at potions brewing. Harry might have been her partner, but Professor Snape still found things to criticise – from the way weighed the dried nettles to the fact that he didn't carve out the venom canals of his snake fangs before crushing them – which wasn't even part of the instructions and not really necessary for this simple potion anyway.
Lynea was having conflicted feelings about their professor. On one hand, he was being rather mean to Harry (and the Gryffindors). On the other hand, he treated her like any other student (not from Gryffindor) and didn't let her heritage affect that in anyway, despite what Lynea had assumed from their earlier conversation.
The class was interrupted by Neville, who managed to melt his partner's cauldron. There were clouds of acid green smoke filling the classroom and the ruined potion seeped across the floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Poor Neville had been drenched in the potion and was now covered in what looked like really painful, angry red boils.
"Idiot boy!" Professor Snape snarled and cleared the potion away with a nonverbal spell.
Lynea looked on in dismay as he berated poor, clumsy Neville for his mistakes and then, for some reason, nearly rounded on Harry, before his eyes fell on Lynea. So he wasn't entirely unbiased towards her, after all – not that she minded, in that very moment.
Neville was brought to the Hospital Wing while the rest of the class ducked their heads and made extra sure to doublecheck the instructions on the blackboard. An hour later, they cleared away their potions and ingredients and filed out of the classroom to head for lunch.
Blaise whistled. "Wow, what a lesson. Seems like you were right, Potter – Snape absolutely loathes you."
"You didn't do anything to warrant that kind of reaction, did you?" Draco frowned. "Uncle Severus is a bit of a bitter person and he's always strict with his students, but he has never been outright hostile. At least not that I know of."
Harry shrugged helplessly. "I didn't do anything. I've never even met the man."
Draco shook his head. "That's really odd."
The rest of their lessons went by without any incidents and soon it was time for Harry to leave the castle. Together with Lynea and Draco, he made his way across the grounds to a small hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Draco scowled at the house in mild disgust, but didn't comment on it. Lynea still wondered why had wanted to come with them.
Harry knocked and they heard some clattering and the bark of a large dog and Hagrid saying "Back, Fang – back."
The three children looked at each other, Draco with undisguised apprehension, Harry and Lynea somewhat nonplussed.
Hagrid eventually let them in, trying to keep his large hound in check by holding him by the collar. Draco made sure to stay as far away from the dog as the small space allowed while Lynea looked around and took in the shabby interior. There was only one room, with an open fire, a table and chairs, and a large bed.
"Make yerselves at home," Hagrid said, letting go of his dog.
Lynea immediately regretted not following Draco's lead, because the dog bounded straight to her and started licking her face. Disgusting.
"This is Draco and Lynea," Harry introduced them.
Hagrid raised his gaze from the teapot he was filling and looked at them. His eyes narrowed.
"Yeh're a Malfoy, aren' yeh? An' yeh –" He squinted at Lynea. "Yeh're a Lémure."
"Fawley," Lynea said tersely. "My name is Lynea Fawley."
Hagrid leaned back. "That so?"
"They're my friends," Harry said and the other two looked at him in surprise.
They had barely known each other for a week or so. Among the purebloods that never counted as enough time to become friends.
Hagrid still eyed them warily. "If yeh say so. So how's yer firs' week bin, Harry?"
Harry immediately began telling Hagrid everything that had happened so far – which was more than Lynea remembered from that week – while she and Draco politely sipped their tea and doubtfully eyed the rock cakes on the table.
And then Harry came to their disastrous potions lesson.
"It was quite obvious that he hates Harry," Lynea said. "We could all see it."
"Rubbish!" Hagrid said. "Why should he?"
"We've been wondering that as well." Lynea looked to Draco, who still hadn't said a single word.
He just shrugged.
"Have yeh, now?" Hagrid eyed them warily.
Lynea raised an eyebrow. "He is our Head of House, after all."
"Righ'," he said. "How's that bin fer yeh, Harry? Can' imagine Slytherin ter be very friendly."
Lynea narrowed her eyes. Draco looked like he had bitten into something sour. But neither said a word. Three pairs of eyes turned to Harry. Harry didn't answer. He was staring at a piece of paper that looked like a cutting from the Daily Prophet.
"Harry?"
"There's been a break-in at Gringotts," he said slowly.
Lynea had heard about that.
Harry looked up at Hagrid. "Hagrid, it happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"
Three curious children looked at the groundskeeper, who tried very hard not to meet their eyes and offered them some more rock cakes. They didn't get any more useful information out of him and both Lynea and Draco left the hut no fonder of Hagrid than they had been before, while Harry was deeply lost in thought.
"What was that all about?" Draco asked.
"What?" Harry said distracted.
Draco took a breath – and then stopped. The others followed suit and looked at him expectantly.
"Did you listen to what prefect Farley said on our very first day?" Draco asked Harry.
Harry furrowed his brows. "Uh, yes?"
"We Slytherins are the elite. We do not show weakness in front of others and you, Harry, are wearing your heart on your sleeves." He sneered. "Like a Hufflepuff."
"Or a Gryffindor," Lynea added and Draco nodded at her.
Harry gave them a confused look. "What's wrong with that?"
Lynea sighed. "You never know who is watching, Harry. People are just waiting to exploit any of your weaknesses that they can find."
"You, my friend," Draco said, "are in dire need of a crash course in all things Slytherin. But first, you're going to answer my question."
"What question?" Harry asked and Draco groaned.
"Gringotts?" Lynea asked. "The way you and Hagrid reacted to that article was very telling."
"Ah," Harry said and didn't elaborate.
"You know what?" Lynea said and started walking towards the castle again. "I'm going to the library."
"On a Friday afternoon?" Draco called after her and Lynea just waved and left them standing there.
She found Theodore surrounded by a stack of books that had nothing to do with their schoolwork and settled next to him, laying her homework assignments out in front of her. Theodore acknowledged her with a curt nod and went back to his book.
There weren't many people around. The older students still had classes to attend and the younger ones didn't want to spend their first Friday afternoon in the library. The only students Lynea could see were a few Ravenclaws scattered about and a group of first-years that included Isobel MacDougal, a pureblood, and Hermione Granger, the know-it-all.
Just as her eyes landed on the group, Lynea saw Hermione huff loudly and throw her arms in the air. Then she gathered her things and left the library. Lynea's impression of the girl so far hadn't been a very good one, but she didn't know her well enough and reserved judgement for now. Although she still wondered what that had been about.
She shrugged, mentally, and returned to her work, already thinking about what kinds of books she could go looking for to read over the weekend.
AN
Writing Hagrid's accent is weird… Oh, well.
Next chapter will dive deeper into Slytherin dynamics.