There was no funny business during the night, and in the morning we all fell into a silent rush as we changed into our robes and prepared for the day. We emerged into a common room bathed in the cold turquoise light coming through the windows. I could glimpse hints of algae and some fishes darting past the glass, but there was no time to recreate myself in the fascinating sights before Prefect Farley gathered us and set us in motion.
She guided us back towards the Great Hall, all the while giving us a primer on house unity which I guessed was motivated by my own presence. It essentially summed up to 'please keep all bullying of Sarramond confined to the common room' and 'don't make us look weak in front of the other houses'. On the one hand, I appreciated not having to spend the whole day looking over my shoulder —assuming the little snakes did as told, that is— but on the other hand she was pretty much giving them a green light to 'air their grievances' in the common room.
I guessed I'd just have to avoid spending any more time than strictly needed in the dungeons, then. The castle was large enough that it should be no problem: I could do all my homework and studying at the library, spend my free time exploring its secrets, and there was always the Room of Requirement if... well, if I required it.
The Great Hall welcomed us with a cloudy morning sky, a healthy breakfast, and a lot of excited chatter coming out of the Gryffindor table for whatever reason. Our own table felt more subdued, still only half awake as we silently grabbed bowls and food, toasts and eggs.
On the bright side, that also meant I only got a couple of scathing snorts during breakfast: one from Parkinson when I opted for the apple juice rather than the pumpkin one, and another one when I muttered "Charms first? How charming" under my breath upon receiving our schedules. But that last one was from Zabini, who had also snorted dismissively at something Malfoy had said about his family being on the Hogwarts' Board of Governors, so I guessed it didn't really count.
Our first class was with the Hufflepuffs, so we filed towards it together after breakfast, and that was my first experience with inter-house rivalry: because I saw Wayne Hopkins as we entered the classroom and waved at him, but he totally pretended not to see me and took refuge deeper into his group of housemates.
Oh well, his loss. Little wuss.
The Charms classroom was divided in two, with benches in each side facing each other across a central isle. We Slytherins claimed the left side of the room, opposing the Hufflepuffs to the right. I ended up seating next to Tracey Davis by the edge of our group —the hidden hierarchy manifesting itself once more— and we opened our books as Professor Flitwick reached his podium and commenced his roll call.
"Let's start, then!" he said after that, picking up his own wand. "Has any of you performed a spell before? Raise your hands."
About a quarter of the Hufflepuffs and more than half of the Slytherins rose hands. Instead of following their example, though, I took my wand, muttered "Lumos!", and rose it high above my head with its point shining bright; a perfect textbook example of the wand-lighting charm if there ever was one. Everyone turned to look at my display.
"Ah! Well done Miss... Sarramond, was it? Two points to Slytherin, thanks for demonstrating. Now, those of you who have cast a spell before will surely have noticed how..."
Oh.
I placed the wand back on the desk, its light turning off.
Oh... that felt good, earning points.
Hmm...
An idea started to take shape in my mind. A simple one: I didn't know how to prove I wasn't a Muggleborn —which I suspected I pretty much was anyway. But perhaps I could prove that I was a plus for Slytherin. If my housemates saw me as someone who wasn't dragging the house down, but that was a net gain to have around... well, that might get me some allies, at least. Some leeway.
And now I knew how to do that: earning points. Simple enough.
Yeah... that could help.
Professor Flitwick told us to go to a page in the book full with the diagrams depicting the basic wand movements, and that we would be practising some of those today: two kinds of swishes and a loop. We used our own wands, simply repeating Flitwick's motions as he went here and there correcting postures and sharing encouragement: "a little slower, MacMillan", "relax your arm, Nott", "that's great, now repeat it once more."
It felt oddly familiar, and as we approached the end of the class I realized why: this is what learning to play an instrument was like.
When my foster parents had enrolled me into those dreaded piano lessons, this is what they were like: playing scales, C major, correcting hand postures, then repeating those again and again until your hands learned the movements: committing them to muscle memory.
The wand, I figured out, was an instrument.
It all clicked then, with that very thought. If the wand was an instrument, each spell was a melody. Melodies you'd need to learn, to practice repeatedly before you could play smoothly. And magic, it was like music: something of an art, a craft, but also with rules of harmony and mathematics —or, arithmancy in this case— underlying it.
And just like with music, every time you performed the same song the result would always be slightly different. It explained why wizards sometimes did things ineffectively, or why they'd pay someone like... say, Madam Malkin to tailor their clothes rather than doing it all themselves. It was more convenient that going through the pain of learning a bunch of spells that you wouldn't use that frequently anyway. And if you only cast those spells —played those melodies— once a year or so, you'd be at risk of forgetting the motions or mangling the exact invocations by the next time you needed them. Easier, then, to pay someone who used those spells every single day, who had mastered them thoroughly.
It also explained why some wizards were better than others. Just like some musicians were merely competent while others were virtuosos, even after going through the same training process. Hogwarts, I guessed, would train us up to a common standard: learn to play this music competently enough, learn the most common spells to heart, and at least gain some familiarity with a few of the less used ones.
But your individual focus, your drive, would determine the end results. Just like in piano lessons, you had the kids like me who would do the bare minimum to pass the class, and the annoying music nerds who liked playing different instruments and kept practising even when on their own time; the ones who might end up composing their own songs and becoming professional musicians.
And then you had the true geniuses: your Mozart, your Wagner.
Your Dumbledore, your Tom Riddle.
So part of it was talent, part of it was drive. One of those, I could control. I focused on my movements, then, trying to perfect them, trying to grab the wand just so, to move my wrist and elbow just like Flitwick was explaining.
It helped, seeing it as another instrument, a weird sort of piano lesson. Because I knew what to expect from those, the mental state they demanded. And yeah, I hadn't liked playing the piano before, but then again, a piano could not rewrite the laws of reality. So I was a teeny bit more motivated now.
"Very good, Sarramond! Now try the reverse loop. Yes, just like that, one more point to Slytherin!"
And... I was better at it than most, too. Maybe because all those piano lessons had granted me a more precise control over my hands' finer movements. But also, because it was magic. And while I had never been too musically inclined —always had trouble telling notes apart— magic felt... more natural; easier. I could feel it underlying the motions, a sense of intensity that I could intuit and regulate. I knew how the mix of wand movements and incantations made my magic tremble and stretch. I hadn't tried it yet, but I guessed that was how non-verbal spells worked: you just replicated that feel, that twist of the spell on your magic.
Perhaps it was my unusual circumstances playing a part here, too, making it easier for me. I remembered having been a Muggle, lacking this particular sense. So now it was simple enough to spot the difference, to put my focus on that weird new sensation that I'd never had on my past life.
An unfair advantage, I thought as I noticed Tracey Davis looking at me out of the corner of her eye; she was one of the few Slytherins that hadn't raised her hand before; and even I could tell her own wandwork needed more work: the loops too sloppy and lopsided.
No... earning points wouldn't be enough, I realized. That would only get me resentfulness, like it got —would get?— Hermione. If I wanted allies it wasn't enough to be known as a bright precocious witch at best, a know-it-all at worst. I also had to make sure whoever associated with me would benefit personally. And I was starting from a bad position already, because of the stupid blood thing.
Hmm...
"Say, Davis," I whispered, turning halfway to the girl next to me. "Want me to teach you the wand-lighting charm?"
She frowned and looked at me, then at my wand, then back at me. I could almost see the internal battle: I was toxic, in terms of in-house reputation; but she was barely one step above me and so far none of the pure-bloods in our house had deigned to address her. So like it or not, I was her natural ally. It was me or nothing.
Well, me or figuring out the spells on her own. But if that was an option, she would have raised her hand before, right?
"What do you want?" she said at least, narrowing her eyes at me.
"Not much. Just help me out in some other class, yeah? When there's something you know that I don't. You can sit next to me in the other classes too."
I almost said 'act like we're friends', but I bit my tongue. It would have sounded too desperate at this stage.
She considered for a few moments longer, then gave me a quick nod: "Fine. I'll sit next to you, but only today. Then we can meet after dinner."
"Yeah, wait for me in that empty classroom in the dungeons, the creepy one next to the bathrooms."
"Why not in the common room?" she asked.
I paused and gave her a look.
She shrugged. "The creepy room's fine too. I'll be there."
Yeah, Charms class went swimmingly.
The same wasn't true of Potions.
It started the moment we entered the classroom —gloomy and smelling of all sorts of strange pungent ingredients— and we took our seats. Because we were supposed to sit in pairs, except that we were an odd number of Slytherins.
It only took a moment before I realized that —of course— I was the only one left standing. It might have been my own fault, because I had ambled up to the bookshelves by the side to look for a particular Potions textbook —annotated by a particular Half-Blood Prince— which I retrieved and quickly placed into one of the pockets in my robes. But by that time Tracey Davis was already with Sally-Anne Perks, and Blaise Zabini was with Daphne Greengrass, and Theodore Nott was with Goyle, and the rest of them were a no-go.
So yeah, flashbacks to primary school right there, when Elliot and Miles had managed to taint my reputation so much that nobody wanted to partner with me at class. My own generally acting like a freak sure hadn't helped, truth be told, but I still blamed them. They were the ones who spun that tale about the worms, after all.
So because of that, and because the rest of the class were all Gryffindors, I was sitting on my own when Severus Snape burst dramatically into the classroom, wrapped in his dark fluttering robes and stepping on the flagstones as if they owed him money. I was expecting that; as I was expecting his famous little speech on the virtues of potion-making over wand-waving —not that I agreed, of course, wand-waving was brilliant! But what I wasn't expecting was him suddenly stopping by my side and looking down at me like I was something Filch's cat had dragged in.
His voice was a cold, angry whisper: "You. Why are you sitting on your own? Weren't the class' instructions on the schedule not clear enough for you?"
"But..." I started, confused. I could hear Parkinson's sniggering noises. "We are an odd number of Slytherins this year. Uhm... sir."
"Then sit with one of them!" he said, aiming at the Gryffindors. At one very particular Gryffindor, in fact: Hermione, also sitting very alone, looking like she wished the Earth would swallow her.
Wait, what? Why is she alone? Was she always alone in Potions in the original story? Was that... supposed to happen?
"But... but she is a—" a main character, I couldn't say. So I bit my tongue.
Snape wasn't having it, though: "A what? Speak aloud."
"A... a Gryffindor!"
Which made the entire Slytherin wing burst into laughter, and all the Gryffindors in the room stare daggers at me, Hermione the most. And shit, was Draco nodding at me? Ugh.
"Silence!" commanded the human-sized bat, but his voice had a faint trace of amusement. "More the reason, then, to have someone watch over her and make sure her cauldron doesn't meet an... explosive end."
He pointed his finger at me, then at Hermione's desk with an air of finality. So I gathered my books and other stuff and sat next to the frizzy haired girl with a sigh, as Snape drawled his way through the roll call.
"Ah, yes," he said when he reached Potter's name. "Our new... celebrity."
And we were back on the rails. I guessed. Pretty much? The girl next to me and trying to burn a hole through the side of my head with her gaze begged to differ. I guessed she could have very well been sitting on her own in the original story, which meant I might have stepped onto any number of butterflies just by virtue of existing here, of providing a partner for her that shouldn't exist in the first place.
Or maybe I was thinking too hard about it, because I wasn't sure of what the original Hermione seating arrangement in Potions had been like. Who could remember that? And wasn't the pairing a movie thing, and not in the books? I couldn't remember. Perhaps this was another of those strange changes, like the missing Quirrell.
And hadn't I decided to dive into the thick of it myself, anyway? I had even tried to convince the hat to sort me into Gryffindor, after all. So why was I worrying so much about this?
Because it was scary, maybe, and also unexpected. Because the more the world veered away from the events that I knew, the more vulnerable I felt. That had been the true reason I wanted into Gryffindor, hadn't it? Not to change the plot into something different, or better; but to make sure the events happened as they should. To nudge things back into place. To make my world more predictable.
This, this what the opposite of that.
I tried to put all those thoughts behind me and focus back on Snape's little speech "...shimmering flumes, liquids creeping through veins..." but Hermione's silent fury on top of everything else about this situation was making me too nervous, so I finally turned to face her.
"I'm a what?" she snapped at me the moment I turned, her voice a whisper laced with venom.
"What?"
"You were about to say something else, didn't you? So what was it, then? What am I? I bet I've heard it before: a know-it-all? A smart-arse? A swot?... Or were you about to call me a Muggleborn? Or something... worse?"
"A Muggle—? Granger, I told you I was raised by Muggles myself!"
"Oh, and am I supposed to believe you? You might have been lying. You were sorted into Slytherin, weren't you? There must be a reason for that."
"I'm resourceful and morally flexible, apparently. Look, can't we just—?"
"Be quiet, I'm trying to pay attention to class."
"Be quiet?! It was you who—!"
"Shhh!"
"Ugh!"
I opened my Potions book a little harder than strictly necessary, while Snape commenced his interrogation-slash-humiliation of The Boy Who Didn't Know The Answers to the amusement of Draco Malfoy and his gang:
"Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"I don't know, sir."
Hermione did know, as evidenced by her stretching her hand as far as her arm allowed while keeping her buttocks on the seat. I considered telling her not to interfere, that Snape wasn't really looking for the answer, but instead I shook my head and focused on my book and notes. The way this was going, she'd think I was trying to stop her from earning points or something. And we still had the entire class ahead of us.
Joy.
Snape, no surprises there, didn't call on Hermione to answer his questions, and pretty soon we were deep into the brewing of the boil cure potion. I had known we would be making a potion, of course, but hadn't remembered which specific one so I hadn't read ahead. Also, I'd rather read on charms or defence, to be completely honest. Potions reminded me too much of both cooking and chemistry, neither of which I had liked in my before memories.
We worked out a simple system —or Hermione did, and I followed along— where I prepared the ingredients and she did the boiling in the cauldron, stirring it clockwise and counter-clockwise according to the instructions. It didn't go unnoticed to me that she had assigned me the dumbest part of the work —'just use the pestle to crush the snake fangs, you can do that, can't you?'— but that was fine. I trusted her not to mess up the brewing, and I was hoping letting her take the leading role would assuage any bruised egos, let her blow off some of her steam.
Speaking of which, we were adding the porcupine quills when we heard a loud hiss across the class followed by a scream of terror.
"Idiot boy!" erupted Snape, rushing towards Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan.
Oh, that was today?!
I could see how causing this whole ruckus on his first day at Hogwarts would help to cement Longbottom's reputation. In front of the Slytherins, no less, who were already mocking him relentlessly as we all stood atop our stools and watched Snape clean the mess next to the whimpering boy.
I had to admit, it was sort of funny, the big brooding bat scolding him, apparently blind to how Neville's face sprung ever more fiery red pimples with every passing second. Not that I allowed even a ghost of a smile to appear on my face, for fear of invoking Hermione's wrath once more. I was pretty certain she was observing me out of the corner of her eye, in fact.
Our own potion we completed without incident, and it more or less acquired the colour it was supposed to —a bit smokey, though, which made Hermione harrumph about me adding too many nettles. Whatever. At that point I was practically bouncing in my seat to get out of the bloody classroom, which I did the moment we poured the potion into the vials labelled with our names and she walked up to Snape's desk to hand them over.
I joined my housemates as they left the dungeon and we moved together towards the last class of the day: Defence Against the Dark Arts. Malfoy spent the entire walk there recalling Neville's incident:
"—and did you see Potter's face when Snape turned on him?!" he laughed, imitating the sullen frown.
"Snape is such a sensible Professor," commented Parkinson as I passed by her side, her voice full of false, twisted sweet honey. "He makes sure to put all the smelly trash together, away from the better students. Don't you think, Draco?"
He gave a chuckle. "That's very true. I say... Sarramond! Did you make a new friend? One better suited to your own status?"
I turned to face the two of them and shrugged. "Can't say that I did. But it looks like you made an enemy, no? What's going on between you and Potter? Lovers' spat? Did he steal one of your plushies or something?"
That got a laugh out of Goyle, of all people. It was short lived, though, stopping abruptly the moment Malfoy gave him a narrow look.
"I'm not the one going to bed wrapped in faeries, Sarramond," he replied, to general merriment. Then he turned to speak to the rest of the group as if I wasn't the one who had just asked: "I tried to be his friend, you see. I invited him to join proper wizarding society, as my father taught me, and what does he do? He spits in my hand and chooses the likes of Weasley! Why, he thinks he's better than me!..."
He went on like that until we reached the Defence classroom, and then some. It was easy, not getting in Malfoy's sights: just mention Potter. He was like a moth drawn by a flame. Zabini's knowing grin and slow nod told me he had noticed my manoeuvrer. I returned the sentiment with a wink.
Professor Xenia Duskhaven was already there and waiting for us, standing ramrod straight, her hair black with grey stripes. She was wearing a velvety green cloak and held her wand horizontal to the ground, grasping each end with a hand. She looked like a statue. One I eyed with curious fascination, as she was the wildcard, the odd new thing that wasn't supposed to be here.
Like me, I supposed.
The desks and chairs had been pushed all the way to the sides of the classroom making a space in the middle, so we simply gathered around and stood in place in front of her. Her voice sounded like steel, unyielding and cold: "I am Professor Duskhaven," she said the moment we all had entered. "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Today's lesson will be on identification, which is the first step..."
She went on explaining, and we all started to relax. That is, until two minutes later she said out of the blue: "Tell us, Mr. MacDougal, what are the Dark Arts?"
One of the Ravenclaws across the room went very pale, stammering something that only halfway resembled a word.
"No?" she continued, without even looking his way. "Does anyone know the answer?"
Her open question was met with silence, obviously. And I almost groaned at the realization that she was one of those teachers, the ones who are always asking random students, forcing you to pay attention to every single word unless you wanted to be turned into an example, ridiculed in front of the class.
"Mr. Nott? Perhaps you'll be able to give us a definition."
Theodore tensed, but spoke in a clipped tone: "It's magic that's used to cause harm."
"Correct, and yet incomplete. During your schooling, in this class you will learn how to protect yourselves from both dark curses and creatures; you will learn how to escape a grindylow or distract a rougarou. But neither of those are the most dangerous threat this class is meant to prepare you against. Neither is that threat a dark wizard or witch, as terrible as those can be. No, the real threat is in the class's very name: Defense Against the Dark Arts. That is the greatest danger you will face in your future: The Dark Arts themselves."
She paused to look at the gathered crowd, fixating in our eyes, her hands and whole body still.
"The Dark Arts are a living force in and of itself," she continued, relentless, "an evil presence in our world, intelligent and always evolving. Dark creatures and spells are but manifestations of its nature. The American Magical Congress did a study on the effects of the Dark Arts across the magical population, and I'm of the opinion you all should know its results: in a group of young wizards and witches such as is gathered here, at least one —possibly up to three— of you will be gravely hurt if not killed by some sort of dark curse or creature during the course of your lives."
There was a tense gulp from somewhere in the group. But Duskhaven hadn't finished; she examined the Slytherin side of the crowd and said: "And at least one of you will be corrupted, becoming a dark witch or wizard yourselves. If you are lucky, you will be sent to Azkaban. If not, the Dark Arts will consume you until only a husk of your former self remains."
The silence was so deafening you could almost heart everyone's heartbeats.
"This class will teach you how to resist the external threats, those posed by creatures and hexes, but resisting the corrupting influence of the Dark Arts is more difficult, and often not explained at all. But remember this: as with all magic, intention is key. A perfectly common spell such as the severing charm can be considered dark magic, if you were to use it to cut someone's jugular vein and cause them to die. Yes, Miss Sarramond?"
"Uh... does that work the other way around too? Say if I use the Imperius Curse to force someone evil to do something good?"
The woman fixed her eyes on me for a long beat.
"That, Miss Sarramond, is the fastest way to become corrupted by the Dark Arts there is."
I blinked. "Uh... but the intention—"
She tilted her head marginally. "—is not always clear enough, specially when regarding Unforgivables. Would you be using the Imperius Curse because it's the best choice, or because it's merely the easiest? How could you be sure you're not lying to yourself?"
She lowered her voice, the steel in it becoming marginally less intense: "The Dark Arts are corrupting by nature, and you wouldn't be the first witch to fall into their abyss by accident. First you find a dark spell in an old tome, abandoned in some tomb; you keep it somewhere locked, but at hand, just in case; and then someday you use it during a crisis, for a noble reason. Maybe that's true the first, even the second time. But the more you use it the easier it will be to keep using it, and the blurrier the line will get. The dark intent within the spell also influences us, alters our own nature, our perception of what is fair. Soon enough you go looking for something more powerful, more effective.
"There have been many dark lords and ladies in the world's history, but they always end up falling, their rules ending. Their dependence on dark magic is their weakness: they allow it to twist them into monsters, creatures of chaos that aren't truly human anymore. Always remember this: dark magic works on us; it pollutes our intentions."
I... wasn't sure I agreed. And it wasn't just because of Snape's Potions book —with its Sectumsempra curse— weighting my pocket and conscience. No. It was because it sounded like a magical version on the Just Say No campaign against drugs. Too all or nothing, black or white for my liking. My fore-memories told me the actual world was full of grey. And I liked grey, it felt more comfortable that way. Plus, I remembered some of the good characters in the Harry Potter books using dark magic at some points, without any of them becoming twisted or addicted to it.
I didn't discuss it further, though, and soon enough Duskhaven instructed us to spread across the classroom.
"Many at your Ministry of Magic consider the Revelio charm to be too taxing on a first year. Nonsense! I have been teaching it successfully to students your age at Ilvermorny for five years now, as having the proper information on the threats around you should always be your first priority when in danger. The hand movement follows an inverse raido runic pattern, like this, and the incantation is: 'Revelio!' Try it now."
We spent the rest of the class trying it out, to mixed results. None of us managed to perform it to Professor Duskhaven's standards, but after half an hour or repeated attempts I got a glimpse of something half-hidden in the ceiling. I turned to look at it, but it was already gone and I didn't manage to see it again. It didn't help that it was the last class of the day and my mind was starting to lose focus out of sheer exhaustion. I was eleven, after all.
But still, I had to grit my teeth and keep going, because I had to meet with Tracey Davis after dinner. I managed to slip unseen into the shadows of the dark, empty classroom —more of a dusty storage room where they kept unused furniture, with old chairs and desks lining the walls, topped one over each other— and looked around for her.
No one was here.
Odd. She had left ahead of me, I was sure of that.
For a moment, I tensed, anticipating a betrayal. That would be an easy and quick way for Davis to gain some clout with Parkinson and her ilk: just tell her I would be here. At night. Alone.
Shit.
Shit!
I raised my wand and shouted "Lumos!", illuminating the classroom, but the abandoned furniture projected dark eerie shadows on the walls, and most of the room remained hidden from view as I scanned my surroundings for the trap I had surely missed.
Then I remembered our recent lesson: "Revelio!"
A silhouette, perched on a desk, a wand in its own hand. But it was too late: the shadow was already moving, climbing off the desk. Shitshitshit.
"Took you long enough," said Tracey Davis. "I thought you had changed your mind."
Oh, it was her, the silhouette. I relaxed a bit, but still kept my eyes open. "You alone?" I asked.
She looked at me surprised. "Yes? I mean, it's not that... but I don't want them... you know. Don't want people to know I got help from you? Sorry."
I stared at her, my heart calming down. Yeah, we were alone.
"So, can we get started?" she raised her wand and performed the motions of the lighting charm, but it only gave out a soft glimmer.
"Yeah, right. Right. But you know, this isn't free."
She crossed her arms. "I told you I'd help you and sit with you. It's not my fault there was no sitting in Defence."
"I'm talking about Potions. You left me alone with Granger. Granger! She hates my guts!"
"That doesn't count. You took too long."
I shrugged "You never put a time limit. So now I want more: you sit with me in class everyday, and the Great Hall too, and we walk together in the hallways."
Yeah, I was thinking of using her as some sort of anti-bullying protection, so to speak. Not as a human shield, mind you, but simply because the two of us together would make a harder target than if it was just me on my own.
"What?! I won't follow you around the castle like I'm your bloody house-elf!"
"Only if we're going to the same place, then. Like between classes."
She mumbled something under her breath. Then said: "Fine! But then I want more too: you help me with all other charms, not just the wand-lighting one. And with the homework too."
"Okay, but you also need to come to the library with me."
"What? No!"
"Not always, but at least twice a week. We'll do the homework there, and the practice here."
"Hmph! All right. But you also have to help me with Potions' homework."
"Perks not up to the task?"
She frowned at that and started walking towards the door. "If you don't want to–"
"Wait, wait! Just joking. I will help you, but I won't do your homework for you. That fair?"
She nodded and put her hand forward.
I grinned as I took it. "Brilliant! We have a deal, then! So, let's get started on that charm...!"
Making friends, the Slytherin way.