Chapter 7Chapter Text
That night I didn't go to sleep. I got into bed, and then simply remained awake, my eyes open to the dorm's darkness, and waited impatiently until all the other girls had finally fallen asleep, their breathing evening out.
Then, ever so silently, I got up and slipped out of our dorm and into the common room.
The large lobby-like room was deserted at night, and so I could explore it to my heart's content. I hadn't been able to spend much time in here —if at all— on account of either Selwyn or his followers always being here doing homework, or torturing puppies or whatever it was they did. The common room was hostile territory, to cross with my head down and at a quick pace.
But now it almost felt welcoming, the way it was softly lit in the warm light cast by the embers in the large fireplace —its magical fire never went out, it simply shifted intensities during the day. And I spent a few minutes walking around, sitting on one of the leather armchairs for a change, and examining the paintings of landscapes at night and old people sleeping.
A towering grandfather clock placed against the side wall told me I still had some time to wait until Harry's duel was supposed to happen, so I walked up to the grand windows and gazed at the blackness of the lake outside.
Of course, there was nothing to see. With no light at all coming in from outside, the windows' glass only showed me my own reflection. That of Sylvia, the angular face I was now wearing, the tangly black hair I was by now so accustomed to.
I rested my left hand against the glass; it was cold to the touch, the lake's chilliness seeping through.
I could imagine all the weight from the lake, all the immense pressure the unthinkable tons of water exerted over that fine pane of glass. And I couldn't help but feeling a sort of kinship to it, to this window, as weird as that sounded. I imagined I was myself another piece of glass; holding the pressure of the future. The weight of my knowledge, of all the things I could change, all the people I could save. And not only in the Wizarding World, but across the entire Earth. Could I stop wars and terrorist attacks? Could I warn of natural disasters?
And if I didn't, were all those deaths because of me? Were they my fault now, should I choose not do anything?
I knew the window could only hold the lake back because of its enchantments, because of the help of magic. I wasn't so sure about myself, though. Was there something else keeping me sane, some bulwark within me I hadn't noticed so far? Or would it be too much at some point? Would I someday collapse under this weight, simply crumble into myself like a piece of paper?
"Help," I muttered to the window.
The building, of course, didn't respond.
So I let out a sigh and stepped away from the lake, turning my gaze at the clock once more. It was time: plans to do, plots to enact.
I gathered my courage, double-checked my wand was in my pocket —and that was one thing I had now that was unarguably better than in my previous life: pockets!— and walked out of the Slytherin common room.
The dungeons at night were chilly. Which wasn't surprising, because Hogwarts itself was chilly at the best of times; but the dungeons were chilli-er, especially so in my pyjamas. But at least I'd had the foresight to wear my dressing gown on top of them —and also because, as much as I loved my fairies, they were not the best choice of attire for a covert mission. So I just wrapped myself in it and moved forwards as fast as I dared, making use of all those previous years' accumulated experience when I'd skulked at night while at my foster parents' or at the Residence.
And there was something I liked about the world at night. Something calming, peaceful. I liked how it all looked familiar and yet so different at the same time, without light and without people. How I could be a different kind of me, a freer one perhaps, not having to watch over what I said and what I did in front of everyone else. Not having to pretend as much.
There was less talking, more doing; a more visceral way of experiencing life. And as a bonus: it was easier to appreciate the details of Hogwarts' architecture —even if they were only illuminated by the soft glimmer of my wand, the lighting charm at its lowest intensity so as to not wake up the paintings. But the moving shadows put things into relief in a way that just didn't happen during the day, and that highlighted the decorated archways atop the corridors, the detailing on the statues and the little imperfections, the erosion on the banisters after literal centuries of use.
I ascended towards the ground floor of the castle, at some point having to wait behind a corner for a couple of prefects making their patrol to walk past —they were easy to anticipate, not trying to hide their presence in the slightest as they talked about their favourite Quidditch league team. Up here the corridors and hallways were wider, harder to hide in, so I tried to move as quickly as I dared.
And soon enough I reached my destination by the Entrance Hall. I leaned around the corner to check that it was empty and... jackpot! I rushed forwards towards the door.
You see, tonight was Harry's duel at midnight. I didn't know if he and Ron would be in the trophy room or not after my warning, but that changed nothing. Because I knew Draco would have told Filch regardless, so Filch would be there no matter the case.
And if Filch was stalking the trophy room, it meant he wasn't here; in his office.
Which I was about to raid.
"Alohomora," I muttered. I was rewarded by the click of the door's lock unlatching. I pushed the door open smoothly, checked to see the office was indeed empty, and let myself in.
Filch's office was a small room dominated by his desk. Or maybe it felt small because of how cramped it was: with large wooden cabinets covering three of its walls, an assortment of chains, manacles, and large iron keys hanging from the hooks in the wall. Any free space between or on top the cabinets was filled by crates stacked on top of each other.
"Okay... let's see... Lumos!" I held my lit wand in my mouth, holding it in place with my teeth as I used both my hands to open cabinet doors and drawers, looking for that one specific item. But I only found stupid stuff: loads of papers and stationery, tools —hammers and a shovel, and some others that looked positively medieval. One of the cabinets was filled to the brim with old clothes and rags.
Come on... where are you... where are you... There! One of the cabinets had a lettering that read: 'Confiscated and dangerous'.
"Alohomora." Shit, how many locks...? "Alohomora. Alohomora. Alohomora!"
I eyed the now open four locks with some bewilderment. I mean, it's not paranoia if they're really out to steal from you, right? Just... ineffective.
But now I was in. There were loads of interesting items inside the cabinet: fireworks, of course, a broomstick —which I didn't believe for a minute would be safe to use, if it was stored here— some sort of rope, a quill that was... writing on a piece of parchment? I edged to look at what the words said:
'—homora. Alohomora!' said the little thief. The criminal started going through the loot stored in the cabinet, her eyes glinting with greed. She read the parchment written by the Self-Writing Quill. 'What the...?' muttered the miscreant. 'Uhm. Testing? One, two, three,' she continued. 'Oh, you're coming with me!' she excl—
I placed the quill in one of my dressing gown's pockets —I figured it was like the one that reporter woman from The Daily Prophet carried– along with a few of the other items: a handful of stink pellets, some of the smaller fireworks, a small metal box with a label that said 'Sneezing Snuffbox', a shiny finger ring, plus some of the other various trinkets.
But the one item I really wanted wasn't here.
"Revelio!" I tried, but to no avail.
So, no Marauder's Map.
Which sucked, because getting the map into my hands was half the reason I had planned this little outing, even though I'd had my doubts it would still be here. I knew the Weasley twins were supposed to have stolen it from Filch's office during the first year; I just couldn't remember if that was their first year or Harry's first year.
Theirs, apparently.
And this was a spanner in my works, because the map would've been a godsend. Something I could've exploited the hell out of for two entire years before I'd had to lend it to Harry —which would have also garnered me some favour in his eyes.
And it was wasted on the twins. Yeah, they were more effective pranksters thanks to it, but that was all they were using it for, wasn't it? I could do so much more with it, even if solely as an excuse for my information, if say... I chose to warn Dumbledore of the presence of one Peter Pettigrew.
Not that I planned to, at the moment; there was just too much risk and too little benefit for that one manoeuvre. It would upend the plot in unpredictable ways, and I didn't want to underestimate Pettigrew and have him escape ahead of time either. But it was a moot point, since without the map I had no solid way of justifying how I knew the random rat was actually the creepy animagus I knew it was.
Well, nothing to it, I guessed. At least I wouldn't leave empty handed, I thought as I rummaged through the depths of the cabinet. A good yield for a dishonest night's work.
The rope looked interesting, even though I had no idea what it would do. But it was simply too heavy and large to hide in a pocket if, say, I happened to run into a sleepless McGonagall or something on my way back. So regretfully I left it behind.
There was also one of those chattering teeth plastic toys. I absent-mindedly picked it up to examine it closer, since I remembered having had one back when I was a child in my previous life; but the moment my fingers brushed it, it leapt out of the cabinet, the teeth clacking as it darted across the office like a small panicked animal, all the while screaming in a shrill loud voice: "Aaaaah!! Heeeelp!! Don't hurt meeeee!!"
Its noise pierced the night's silence like an arrow.
"Shut up, you stupid thing! You'll wake up the entire castle!"
"Nooooo!! Pleeeeease!! Heeeeeeelp!!"
Yeah, time to leg it.
I rushed out of the office, not bothering with closing the door behind me —there was no hiding all that ruckus— and ran across the Entrance Hall and towards the stairs that would take me back to the dungeons.
"Noooooo!!"
I was halfway there when I saw the moving light coming from the nearby corridor. I hid behind one of the columns there and watched as Filch ran towards his office, carrying a lantern to light the way. He didn't seem to have seen me.
"She is here!" shouted the painting right above my head. It depicted an older gentleman wearing a top hat. "She is hiding right here!"
"You snitch!" I snapped back. But Filch was already turning back towards me, so I ran once more, this time towards the only available exit: one of the twisting staircases that lead up to the second floor. I ran up the stairs two steps at a time.
I raced past door after door and corridors I didn't know where they led to. All the while with the telltale light of Filch's lantern just on my heels. At some point, I realized this wasn't working, since he probably knew the castle in and out, shortcuts included. So I fished one of the items I'd just picked up from the cabinet. The little pouch had a label in what I guessed was the caretaker's handwriting that said 'Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder'. I emptied it across the corridor, causing a cloud of black fog to cover it competently.
There goes three Galleons, at least.
It did the trick, though. I managed to pull ahead, then turned and entered the Grand Staircase, finally out of Filch's sight. I started quickly descending back towards the dungeons when the flight of stairs I was standing on suddenly started rotating, repositioning itself so that it now led towards another flight that headed upwards.
Damn it. The dungeons are downstairs, not up!
I had no choice but to follow the stupid stairs up, though. Well, I could always try jumping to a lower level; but that wasn't just risky, it was potentially suicidal.
And soon enough I wished I'd taken that broom from the cabinet, dangerous or not. Because yeah, the Grand Staircase took me straight to the third floor. Because of course it did.
I shook my head and let out a tired sigh.
It was okay, though. Or at least that's what I told myself. The castle was large, and I wasn't that close to the forbidden corridor. Plus, if Filch had had time to return to his office, that meant the Gryffindors were probably well on their way towards their own common room by now.
If they didn't heed my warning, that is. Maybe they listened to me and stayed home tonight. And that would be me changing the plot, but I didn't mind it too much. Without Quirrell in the castle that side of the plot was pretty much out of whack anyway, and so I was willing to sacrifice what remained of it if that meant getting Harry to listen to my advice in the future. But it had also been a calculated risk, because I pretty much expected them to not have taken my words at face value, which meant it was likely they had been around these parts not too long ago.
I just had to move slowly and keep an eye out for more surprises, that's all. Forget about the Grand Staircase, I would instead make my way towards the Ravenclaw tower and then descend using the spiral stairway there; that one at least behaved like rational architecture.
A few minutes later I was finally starting to relax when I heard it. It sounded like a whimper, like sniffing, coming from the hallway to my left.
I paused, not sure of what to do. Like, the Ravenclaw tower was right there. Right there!
Of course, curiosity won out in the end, and so I slowly approached the source of the sounds, wand in hand. There was some moonlight coming through the windows along the wall, so at least I didn't need to cast a lighting charm.
Sod it. Why not, Sylvia? Stick your nose into the obvious complication. What could possibly go wrong?
I crept along the wall to discover... a house-elf? Well, it was a small creature dressed in rags and with comically large ears, so I guessed that's what it —he, she?— was. Whatever their gender they were sitting on the floor, crying. And... was that blood? What the hell?
It painted an odd picture, the little creature bathed in the eerie silvery moonlight, the blood in their ill-fitting tunic catching the eye. And, I guessed I must have made some movement, or perhaps those ears weren't just for show; because the house-elf turned to face me, quickly lifting themselves with a brisk jump.
"Master said no one was to see Squeeble!" he moaned. "Not teachers and not studentses, he said!"
"Erm... hello?" I tried, approaching him slowly and with my hands visible, like you would a panicking child.
"Squeeble is seen! Squeeble is seen!"
"Well... you know... technically, I didn't see you. I heard you first."
He let out another crying fit, grasping and tugging at his tunic with both hands. "Master is right! Squeeble is a poor excuse of an elf!"
"Shh... don't be so loud. Who is your—"
But he simply disapparated away with a 'pop' before I could even finish the sentence. Rude.
I was about to walk away when I saw a glint out the corner of my eye. I walked up to the spot where the elf —Squeeble, apparently— had been sitting not a minute ago and examined it. There was a metal key on the floor. What, had he left it behind?
I picked it up, turning it under the moonlight. There were no marks nor any symbols or words engraved on its milky white surface.
Oh well.
I pocketed it, and went back towards the dungeons. This was enough excitement for one night.
At least the Ravenclaw staircase was empty of people, Gryffindors, prefects, caretakers and house-elves alike. And so I had no more tense encounters as I descended and crossed back the ground level to finally return to the Slytherin common room. I entered our dorm in complete silence, stored haphazardly my dressing gown —with all of tonight's loot— in my trunk, and climbed back into bed.
"Sylvia?" whispered Tracey Davis from the bed next to mine. "You were gone."
"I had to pee."
"You were gone for more than an hour."
"I had a lot of pee. Go back to sleep, Tracey."
She gave me an annoyed harrumph, but turned in her bed without any more comments, and soon enough her breathing betrayed her to be asleep once more.
I placed my wand back under my pillow, and ran my fingers once more across the smooth surface of the odd little key the elf had dropped. I felt asleep wondering what it could open, although I already had some ideas of what it might be.
The next morning, after all that stress and excitement from the previous day I wanted nothing but to eat my toast in peace and silence. We had History of Magic first hour, something which I deeply approved of, seeing as it would be my chance to recover some of my lost sleep.
The universe seemed determined to ignore my —pretty reasonable— desires, though. Call it Karma if you will.
First it was Malfoy, who spent the breakfast making annoying noises about Ron and Harry still being at Hogwarts despite his warnings to Filch. He then went on and on about his father being in the Board of Governors, and how he was going to make sure the two Gryffindors would never set foot in the castle again. The only bright point of all that was that —looking at the mix of tiredness and excitement in Harry's face— I heavily suspected they had pretty much ignored my warning. Which served me well, since by now they would know for sure I had been telling them the truth the day before. So one point in my favour.
This bright point didn't last long, though, as the owls arrived soon after that, one of them carrying the replies for me from both St. Mungo's and the French Ministry. They were two very polite letters telling me that they had no idea of what in the world I was talking about, and that no, that weird surname of mine wasn't in any of their records. The lady from St. Mungo's even gave me the oh-so-very-helpful suggestion of asking the Ministry of Magic.
I must have been a bit too careless in my discouragement, because at some point Bulstrode of all people put hands in my letter from St. Mungo's and gave it to Parkinson, who said with false commiseration: "Oh, no... Are you having trouble finding if your family was magical, Sarramond? Perhaps... perhaps that is because they weren't? Do you think that could be the reason?..."
And because I was feeling more annoyed than witty that morning, I replied by accidentally knocking her pumpkin juice all over her cereal, and saying: "Oops."
"You filthy mudblood!" she started. "You are going to—"
"Really? Are we going to do this here in public, after what Prefect Farley said? Do you need reminding?"
That took the wind out of her sails, but she said in an ominous tone: "Farley isn't going to save you come winter break... if you even make it that far."
"If I make... is that a threat, Pansy? You threatening me?"
She had the audacity of looking surprised: "Threat—? Oh, why would you think that? You are now in polite society, you see; not in a... a Muggle orphanage! There is no need to act like—"
"Yeah, right. Perhaps you should give her the etiquette lessons instead," I said, pointing at Bulstrode next to her, whose nose sported a stain of blueberry jam.
I pretty much ignored the two girls after that point. I wasn't really worried about them: Bulstrode lacked initiative and Parkinson lacked courage to do anything more than needling me. As long as I kept it to spoken barbs and insults, and avoided escalating the fight, I should be safe from them.
Of course, it didn't escape me that knocking her drink down pretty much qualified as escalating. But what could I say: I'd never been that good at toeing lines.
And then there was Tracey.
I had hoped she'd have forgotten about my little escapade the previous night, but then one of our second year housemates mentioned: "You should avoid Filch today. I heard someone ransacked his office last night and he is proper miffed."
After that, the girl's face transformed into a scowl.
But what did she expect? We weren't really friends, we just had an agreement, with very defined bounds. So why would she expect me to involve her in any of my other plans and ventures?
Because she was bloody eleven, of course. Because there's only so much pretending she could do before she started catching feelings.
And because she was alone, other than for me.
I guess in a different world she could've ended up getting along with Sally-Anne Perks, falling into Greengrass' orbit like the other girl had, becoming her glorified handmaid. But instead she had visibly aligned herself with me, just by virtue of sitting by my side at class. And because I was toxic, the rest of our house also shunned her by extension. She should have anticipated that, of course; but again: she was eleven.
She at least was mature enough to know that I didn't owe her any explanations, but not enough to prevent her own feelings from showing through. So for the rest of the morning I had my very personal grey cloud of rain following me whenever I went: to History of Magic, to Transfiguration...
Tracey was also my only ally, because I was failing at finding new in-roads with the other Slytherins in my year. My little homework-sharing scheme had been successful enough to buy me some acceptance from my first year peers, but it hadn't evolved into anything other than strictly academical. They tolerated me well enough, but didn't really include me in their activities or conversations, nor they considered me one of their own. It didn't help that I didn't have the option of socializing with them in the common room.
The better path to advance in that front was through Greengrass, but she was too neutral for that, and I had the feeling she wouldn't show any open support towards me while Selwyn had me in his cross-sights. Perks I could attempt to steal from Greengrass' side —and I suspected she would probably enjoy being with me and Tracey much more than being subservient to Daphne's wishes— but that would for sure turn the little princess against me, so better not to do that. And as for Zabini... he seemed to like me well enough, but I doubted he would ever lift a finger to help anyone other than himself.
So I had hit a glass ceiling in Slytherin, so to speak. At least for the time being. If I wanted to grow my circle of influence, I needed to look elsewhere.
Which was why that particular afternoon found me entrenched in the library —behind a Jenga tower of books that rose about a foot or so over my head— even when I didn't have any actual homework to work on, and it wasn't one of the two days that Tracey Davis had to spend with me. It also gave me some relief from her scowl, so yeah.
Not that I was idling my time away. I was reading 'A Comprehensive History of British Magical Families: Genealogy and Achievements', and pretty much scanning page after page in search of any surname that started with an 'S' and sounded even vaguely like mine.
"Solomon Sweetingwater... no. Sherwood Swindonhurst... no. Sophronia of Snowdonia... no, and wow did your parents hate you..."
Because it wasn't enough to try to learn magic while preventing a war from starting early, no, of course not. I also had to deal with the sword of a psychopathic Damocles hanging over my head. And to be fair, the letters I got that morning had rekindled the fire on me to find a way to solve this thing already.
I'd need to ask about for a way to send a letter to the Muggle world. I'd considered asking Snape, on account of him being technically my head of house, but I'd rather try first finding the information on my own —asking other students, that is— before bothering him. And that was also a problem, because there were no Muggleborns in Slytherin, so I'd need to ask people of the other houses. And I guessed a random Slytherin approaching people to ask if they happened to be Muggleborns could end up raising some alarms.
Hermione would know, though. Probably. There had to be a way for her to keep in contact with her parents, right?
And as if on cue...
"Oh! Of course it is you!"
I rose my eyes to meet the young girl standing in front of me, her arms crossed over a bag, her whole body posture radiating annoyance.
"Hello Granger! Anything I can help you with?"
"Don't you pretend to– ugh! Did you seriously take out every single copy of 'Extreme Incantations' in the entire library?"
My gaze followed hers to land on the towering pile of books on my table. I shrugged.
"Oh. I did, didn't I? How silly of me."
"And you have five– no, six copies of 'Intermediate Transfiguration' here! I was looking for that one too."
I waved magnanimously at the free chair across from me. "Be my guest."
"Why?!" she asked me in a scathing tone, that turned into an angry whisper when she remembered where we were. "Why are you doing this? It must have taken quite some time. Does irritating people amuse you so much?"
"Well, yes? But that's not why I did it. I'm actually starting a club. Congrats by the way, you're the first member! After me, that is."
"A... club?"
"Yes. You know how at university they have all those student clubs and such? Well, I thought I could start one here. More of a study group, though. But only for the brightest students in our year. I don't know about you, but sometimes it's hard to find people in my house who also like reading ahead..."
Yeah, I was shamelessly tugging at her heartstrings. But it seemed to work well enough, because even though she was still annoyed, I could tell she also didn't want to be excluded from a club literally for the smartest people at Hogwarts. She glared at me, but in the end she placed her bag down on the table, extracted the two books from the pile —not with little difficulty— and sat down in a huff.
Victory!
"The books are the bait," I explained, because I was just dying to share my totally genius plan with someone. "Like, if you want to catch flies, you use honey. So if you want to catch brainy students, you use..."
"Books," she grumbled.
"Ah, but not just any books! These are the ones who aren't needed for homework, but that the professors mentioned for those of us who wanted to read in advance, or learn more than what will be covered in–"
"Yes, very clever. But now that I've finally found a copy of 'Extreme Incantations' I'd like to read it in silence."
I nodded in acquiescence and closed my mouth. I had to be careful now. The trap had worked, but I didn't want to annoy her to the point she would simply walk away with the tomes in her bag. And I wasn't sure if the club thing would actually work, in fact. After all, Hermione was always pictured as the nerdiest of all the students, so perhaps she'd turn out to be the only one going after these particular books.
My fears were allayed not too long after, when two Ravenclaw students approached the table. "Hi," said the taller one. "Can I borrow one of those?"
I guess my expression was one of extreme smugness, because Hermione rolled her eyes as I turned to the Ravenclaws saying: "Be my guest..."
But I could tell she liked my idea, because soon enough she stopped reading in silence to introduce herself to the other two, who had taken seats around our table. And just like that a lively conversation started, to the point that we had to ask forgiveness to Madam Pince after she threatened us with detention. It was probably a welcomed relief for Hermione, a respite from the isolation she must've been going through at Gryffindor.
Also a respite for me, from my own isolation at Slytherin, if I was being honest here.
We ended up with five people in the group, me included: Hermione, the two Ravenclaws —Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner— and Susan Bones from Hufflepuff.
We did receive one last unexpected visit, not long before we had to leave for dinner: that of Blaise Zabini.
He approached and looked at me, then at the now diminished tower of books, then at the group of four siting around the table. I could almost see the gears turning inside his head, and the moment they snapped into place a second later, a fox-like grin blooming across his face.
"Oh... what webs we weave?"
"Piss off Zabini, a beehive can only have one queen," I said.
He tutted, grabbed a book from the pile, did a lazy mock reverence to me, and sauntered away.
I shrugged off the others' curious stares. "Believe me, it's better this way."
We hashed out some basic rules for our little group: we would meet here once a week to study together, or discuss book recommendations. Bones insisted we invited more people, but the Ravenclaws and I were reluctant. In the end we agreed other people could join as long as they were vetted by the rest.
It was a good catch, Susan Bones, and well worth the compromise. I didn't remember the exact details, but I knew someone from her family was some sort of high ranking official at the Ministry, which was always a useful connection to have.
And now I have become Slughorn, the snatcher of talent.
Chapter 8Chapter Text
Tracey Davis waited two weeks and until we were both at sixty feet above the ground before she decided to confront me, which I figured pretty much vindicated the Sorting Hat putting her into Slytherin in the first place.
The two of us were alone, perched on our respective brooms and flying lazily under a foreboding dark and cloudy sky that threatened rain, a chilly wind tugging at my robes, trying to get at my eyes —protected behind my sunglasses— and freezing my hands to the point I had almost lost all feeling in my fingers. Or maybe that was because I couldn't help but grip the broom as if my life depended on it —which it pretty much did!— Something that no amount of gently coaching by Tracey seemed able to change.
Flying was one of those wizarding things she was better at than me —vertigo was very common with Muggleborns, she had said, not unkindly; so this time it was her tutoring me. I had argued at first against the need to be so high up, but she countered that this way nobody on the ground would see our faces and know we were first years. With the Quidditch season just around the corner they'd simply assume we were players ourselves doing some sort of training exercise in our own free time.
Of course, that was if they didn't notice my own wobbly and erratic flying and wonder just which of the houses would have a player who liked making pretty accurate impressions of a bumblebee's flight. But hey, maybe they'd just think I'd had one too many firewhiskeys.
Privately I suspected the true reason she wanted us all the way up here was because Madam Hooch never allowed us to be any higher than the second row of windows on the Bell Tower. So this was Tracey's little rebellion of sorts, then. One that afforded us an unparalleled view of the lake, the ominous Forbidden Forest to our left, the little town of Hogsmeade, and the expansive lush valley that surrounded the grounds of the castle, fading into the foggy distance.
Besides, it's not like what we were doing was strictly forbidden. It was more a case of a legal grey area: they simply assumed as first years we just wouldn't have any access to brooms outside of Flying class so there was no need for an explicit prohibition. But Tracey knew where Hooch liked to store the school brooms, and I knew the unlocking charm; so here we were.
"I just don't get it," I was saying. "Why do this when you can just Apparate instead. That's a much better way of travel."
"Not everyone can Apparate, and brooms are considered safer than Apparition."
"That's rubbish! You can't fall to your death when Apparating."
"You can splinch yourself to death. But it will be years before we can Apparate, anyway. How are you going to travel in the meantime if you don't learn to ride a broomstick?"
"There's the Floo network," I replied, wisely.
"Do you have a Floo at that Muggle orphanage? Try leaning a bit more to your right."
"Not an orphanage, and we don't even have a fireplace, so no. What about portkeys?"
"Can you make one?"
"No. But how hard can it be?"
"My mother says it's harder than Apparating. Now sit up to slow down again."
"A car, then. A Muggle car, enchanted to fly and turn invisible."
She turned to look at me with an odd expression. "Where are you going to find something like that?"
"I'm resourceful. I bet I can find one in the wild, sometime in the future."
"The Ministry would confiscate it if you did. There's a department for misuse of Muggle objects, you know."
"Well, then I will just take the bloody Knight Bus!"
"You better not let anyone in Slytherin hear that's how you get around, if you do."
I shrugged, as much as I could with my stiff muscles. "One of the advantages of not having any reputation worth a damn in our house. I don't need to protect it."
She laughed. "Are there any other advantages?"
"Oh, yes; I get invited to all the Gryffindor parties!"
"Parties at night? Or with that group you have in the Library?"
And there it was.
She had asked it nonchalantly, but I still noticed the tension beneath her words, a mix of jealously and annoyance. As if I was leaving her behind.
Which I was entitled to do. After all, she did spend time in our common room doing who knows what, a place that was pretty much still verbotten to me.
I leaned forward, my broom gaining some speed, the cold wind hitting my face and ruffling my hair.
I could've argued about that, about how if anybody here should be jealous, that should be me. Jealous of how she would always be a step above me in the Slytherin totem pole no matter how good my grades got or how much I excelled with a wand in my hand, simply by virtue of her birth; jealous of how she could slip past the junior death eaters' notice, taking only a lazy jab here and there; jealous of how she'd had a toy broom when she was an infant and so now she didn't have any vertigo when flying.
Or jealous of how she still had a fucking family waiting for her at home.
But I didn't want to ruin our relationship, so I decided to put it in different terms instead:
"I didn't think you wanted me to include you. It wasn't in our deal. Besides, the more time you spend with me, the more the others will–"
"I know that!" she snapped back, easily overtaking me and then arresting the forward motion of her broom as she turned to face me, forcing me to stop. Nice manoeuvrer, by the by. "You think I don't know that?"
"Do you, really?" I couldn't help my voice becoming harsher. "Because it can get bloody lonely, you know."
"It's already lonely," she admitted. "They all ignore me anyway, so what's the difference?"
"The difference is Selwyn."
That at least seemed to give her pause, and we did a full loop of the Training Grounds wrapped in a meditative silence.
"How is that going? The Muggleborn stuff?" she asked at last.
The 'Muggleborn Stuff' had become our codeword for that little quest of mine of figuring out what my origins were. Or more accurately, of coming up with an excuse Selwyn would find good enough not to murderize me on the spot come winter break.
"No records of my surname in the Wizarding World," I summarized my findings. "And not much luck from the Muggle side of things either: I managed to get a letter to my Residence thanks to Michael Corner, who told me about the postbox near Filch's office. Turns out there is a police incident file with–"
"Police?"
"Muggle Aurors. Someone called them because there was some man walking across a golf course in Epping with baby me in arms. They said he was in a daze or something, and repeating my surname again and again. But of course, he disappeared before the police could identify him or interrogate him. Apparently 'Sylvia' isn't even my real first name! It was the police officer who came up with it, I guess because they had to write something down into the form."
"Disappeared or disapparated? Because that sounds–"
"Suspicious as all hell? Yeah I know, but that's the thing: there's no more thread to pull. The Muggles don't know who this was, there isn't even a physical description; and it's been so long they aren't looking anymore. So unless he decides to do me a favour and come out of the woodwork, I'm stuck."
She remained in silence for a beat, then said: "They could've been obliviated."
"The Muggle police? Yeah, I thought of that. But that doesn't change anything; whatever they knew about this bloke is lost anyway."
Although, now that I thought of that... wouldn't the Ministry keep records? If those were Aurors who did it, there would exist some paper trail, wouldn't it?
Food for thought. In the meantime I asked something that had been on my mind for a while: "Do you think I could simply... ask for the Ministry to test my blood or something?"
She shook her head. "No. That's... the Ministry doesn't test for blood status, I don't think. That's just not done."
"Hmm... what about Gringotts?"
"Gringotts? Why would they? They're goblins, they don't care about that."
I... had my own doubts about it, but opted not to challenge her on that point. I hadn't even been inside the bank, after all.
Tracey continued: "But... perhaps Nott..."
"Not what?"
"Nott. Theodore Nott."
"What about him?"
Her look was that of a self-satisfied cat. "I'll tell you... if you tell me what you stole from Filch."
I sighed. "You don't need to make it into a deal, Tracey. If you are sure you want in, I will just tell you."
"I want in."
"Okay. Well... fireworks, some cards, stink pellets, and other stuff I'm not sure what it is. I can show you later. I planned to sell most of it to the Weasley twins; if there's something you like you can keep it if you help me with that. So... what's it about Nott?"
"Just that it was some relative of his who wrote that book about the sacred bloodlines. The one all those pure-blood families have? And they are a very old family themselves, very obsessed with this. So you know... maybe they'll have some sort of secret source on magical lineages? Or a test of some sort?"
"Oh, that book," I said. I had forgotten about that particular detail. "That's... that's brilliant, Tracey."
"Great! Now let's go back to see your loot," she turned her broom on the spot and shot herself downwards, all the way shouting: "Race you to the ground!"
"Race–? Hey, not fair! Wait!"
We met the Weasley twins at the Transfiguration Courtyard the day after, protected from the soft rain under the arches that covered its walkways. We were deep into Autumn by now and the courtyard's ground was carpeted in shed leaves, all yellows and browns. I could feel how it was already getting colder by the day, and I definitely wasn't looking forward to spending the winter months in the Scottish Highlands.
The twins stopped their chattering among themselves the moment they saw us approaching. Tracey had intercepted one of them during lunch at the Great Hall earlier to tell them to be here, and that we had some stuff to offer them. They now looked at us —but mostly at the bulky bag Tracey carried with her— with curious, if not hungry interest. One they tried to hide behind easy smiles and relaxed postures.
"It seems like I owe you five Sickles, Fred," said one of them. "It's not a Slytherin trap after all."
"It's not everyday that you find two snakes with honest intentions," the other commented, observing the two of us.
"But they can't be so honest, can they? If that bag has what we think it has."
"Only the best quality in forbidden items," I said, joining their game of verbal sparring. "Now in offer for the discerning buyer."
They flashed me identical smiles; but I had mixed thoughts about the twins. It was one thing to read about their pranks in a book or see their exploits in a movie; it was another thing entirely to see them in real life, without the safety net afforded by being on the right side of the TV screen. Especially because Slytherin students tended to be their favourite target for their pranks, which had garnered them quite the negative reputation in my house. I hadn't seen them crossing the line into bullying yet, but sometimes they liked to walk right up to it.
I didn't mind it so much when they went after someone like Flint —who pretty much was a colossal arsehole in desperate need of some sweet karmic justice. But they had also pranked Adrian Pucey —which I judged to be a pretty decent human being, for a Slytherin— with some sort of jinx that had him leaking sweat for an entire morning. Which wouldn't have been so bad, except that apparently all that perspiration came out of his body for realsies, because he ended up spending the night in the Hospital Wing due to dehydration.
And besides, they were third years, which meant they were a full head taller than me or Tracey, and with much more magical expertise. So it was with a little trepidation that I approached them and signalled her to show them the contents of our bag. At least, I reminded myself, I hadn't seen them go after any first years before.
Which didn't mean it hadn't happened, of course. Just that I hadn't seen it.
The bag contained the entirely of my loot, except for the Self-Writing Quill —which I was keeping for myself— and a few of what Tracey had told me were Hiccough Sweets from Zonko's, which we had opted to keep and share because apparently they also worked in reverse —stopping a hiccough fit if you already had one.
The rest was presented in full to the two brothers, who looked like Christmas had come early this year.
"–and that's an Ever-Bouncing Boggle Ball!"
"Look, George! Isn't that our Chameleon Ring? The one Filch confiscated?"
"A Chameleon Ring?" asked Tracey, suddenly interested. "What's that?"
"Yeah," I added, eyeing the ring that I hadn't tried myself —I knew better than to put on unknown magical rings; I liked my fingers too much for that. "Does it turn you invisible? Because if it does, then it's not for sale."
"No, look." Fred took the ring before I could stop him and put it on one of his fingers. I didn't see any visible changes, but then his tongue shot out —all four feet of it— grabbed one of the dungbombs resting on the ground between us, and rolled back to drop it in his hands.
"Eww... it's definitely for sale," said Tracey. I nodded in agreement.
"For sale? But it was our ring," said George. "It was just temporarily lost."
I shrugged. "Consider it a finder's fee, then."
"And where did you find all this?" teased Fred with a knowing look in his eyes.
"Oh, just an old cabinet," I said, distractedly.
"One with four locks?"
"And many boxes piled on top?" added George.
"Inside a certain office?"
I shrugged: "I admit nothing."
"Fred, I dare say we found Filch's mysterious thieves. And they are first years! Who does that remind you of?"
"It looks like someone is following on our footsteps, dear brother!"
Not really. I wasn't interested in their pranks gimmick at all. This was all just a means to an end for me: selling this stuff and getting some Galleons. And if I could also get me one or two versatile magical items in the process, well, I wasn't opposed to that.
Of course, I stayed silent. Let them believe what they wished, as long as it helped at getting them to see me in a positive light, beyond the green trimmings on my robes.
"Very well," said Fred at last. "We are interested. We can trade you some of our own not-so-legal stuff."
I paused. That, that was an opportunity I hadn't considered before. Could I simply trade all of this for the Marauder's Map? That would be brilliant, if so. Of course, I couldn't simply mention it myself, or they'd wonder how exactly it was that I knew about it.
"Do you have anything interesting?" I asked instead.
"Oh, not just anything. We have everything!"
"We have Mimic Mints, a Whopie Cushion, Giggling Gums..."
"...a Sneakoscope, Frog Spawning Soap, Glow-worm Lollipops..."
"...Squeaking Shoes, a Petrifying Pillow, a Hovering Hat..."
The image came unbidden, completely out of the blue. One moment I was looking at the two red-headed boys playfully boasting about their many pranking tools, the next it simply... hit me.
It was an image from the movie: Fred Weasley's dead body resting on Hogwart's flagstone floors, broken pieces of masonry laying around. Her mother, Molly, kneeling and crying next to him. Devastated, broken herself. Except that in the image I saw, the face was not that of the original actor; it was the face of the boy in front of me.
Older perhaps, his cheeks harsher, less full. But also grey, expressionless. His eyes open and void. Without any of the life of this Fred, without any of the laughter. Without the easy smile.
And it was my fault.
"... a jar of Bubble Bees, Screaming Yo-yos... hey, are you good?"
I rose my hands to my head, maybe to try and stem the sudden tide of emotion, maybe to try and cover my eyes. Because suddenly I just couldn't look at Fred's face.
"Sylvia?" Tracey's voice seemed to come from behind some far away wall.
"N–no..." I replied, my voice weak. What I was replying to I didn't know. "I, I have to–"
I rose up and rushed towards the open ground, suddenly in a desperate need for more air, fresher air. A despairing need to not be there any longer, to not remain in front of him. The cold rain hit my face, but it just wasn't enough. It wasn't strong enough to cleanse that image out of my mind. Nothing was. An image I pretty much didn't want in me. I wanted it out. Out. OUT! GET OUT!
I bent down and quickly lost my lunch.
I was left gasping and dry heaving, my body feeling very weak out of a sudden, my robes heavy and soaking wet with the rainwater, as if weighting me down.
"Is she okay?"
"I don't know? She ate all that pudding after lunch..."
I shook my head. This was stupid.
Stupid.
Was this what I was going to do starting now? Break down anytime I saw someone I knew would die if I didn't do anything to stop it? There were just too many people for that: Fred would die, sure. But so would Cedric Diggory. Snape would die too. Dumbledore would die. Shit, even bloody Crabbe —or was it Goyle?— would die.
People died. If I couldn't deal with that, I might as well do as Selwyn wished and go back to the Residence right now, because it certainly wouldn't get any better.
And besides, who knew what could happen if I tried to intervene now, so early in the story? Maybe I would save Fred, yes, but cause George to die in some sort of freak accident that should never have happened. What if trying to prevent Voldemort's return totally backfired on me and I caused a never-ending reign of magical terror across Britain?
Yeah, now that would suck.
I didn't need to torture myself, though. Most of the deaths I cared about happened by the end of the books. So I had time. Fred had time. I would warn him ahead of the Battle of Hogwarts, if we both made it that far. It's the least I could do.
And as much as anyone could ask of me, really. Because what right did anybody have to demand any more than that? To demand I be a hero? To sacrifice myself, to risk it all for them?
Nobody had that right.
Nobody.
I paced back towards the little group. I first tried to keep my focus to only George, but his face was so similar to Fred's that it didn't help much, so I resorted to keeping my gaze down and on the items we were bartering away. "Sorry," I said, giving up on the Marauder's Map. It hadn't been on their list so far, and it was simply too naive to believe they'd trade away a unique marvel like that. "Can we finish up here? I'm feeling a bit under the weather. We'll just take Galleons for all this."
"What about the Sneakoscope?" said Tracey. "It spins to warn you of threats, could be useful."
We were Slytherins living in the Slytherin dorms next to Parkinson and Bulstrode, with Selwyn and his little group always in the neighbourhood. It was probably going to spin itself into smithereens. But you know what? Okay, fine. I didn't feel like discussing anything at the moment.
"The Sneakoscope then, the rest in Galleons."
We completed the transaction —which netted me a total of eight Galleons and five Sickles; I allowed Tracey to keep the Sneakoscope— when she took a look at my still trembling hands and all but dragged me towards the Hospital Wing, ignoring my feeble protests that I was feeling perfectly fine and didn't want to be late for Potions.
"You are going to ruin your ingredients and do a Longbottom if you go like this," she said, which was probably accurate. Not that I'd ever admit it.
It would have been endearing, how intensely she was taking this whole 'being friends' thing, if it didn't mean losing one of my rare opportunities to spend some quality time with Hermione and slowly convince her I wasn't a devil incarnate. The two weeks of the Read-Ahead Club –as Michael Corner had nicknamed it, I much preferred 'The Order of the Hydra' but I'd been outvoted— had helped in that front, with her finally being able to relax around me enough to throw herself deep into the whispered discussions about which of all the advanced Charms were more interesting to study on your own, and which were better to wait for next year.
And yeah, she might have some know-it-all tendencies, and perhaps liked a bit too much to dominate the discussions, but so did the rest of the little group I'd gathered; so no one really faulted her for it, focusing mostly on countering her arguments rather than getting on her case for being too overbearing. I figured it would be a welcome reprieve from her treatment at her own house.
It was one for me, too, if I was being honest. I liked to act like none of the put-downs I received daily from my own housemates affected me, like I was a statue made of the strongest marble and nothing ever stained me, the taunts simply slipping off my impregnable skin; and in a sense it might've been true. I knew that had I been just the eleven year old I appeared to be, it would have crushed my spirits, but my fore-memories afforded me a wider picture, a more mature outlook that helped me put the childish abuse into context.
However, I was discovering quantity had a quality of its own, and being disparaged daily for the littlest of transgressions to proper Wizarding etiquette was starting to get bothersome. As were the cultural references that eluded me. No, I didn't know what Maledictus meant, where Upper Flagley was or why it was so evident that the Tutshill Tornados were the better team in the British Quidditch League. In fact, Tracey had tried explaining me the Quidditch rules two times by now, and I was still baffled by them.
At least with the Library group I was free to ask for clarification without losing status —and if I didn't want to ask, I could count on Hermione's curiosity and subtly put on her path whatever it was I had doubts about, so that she would ask in my stead. The others were specially fond of explaining us the more obscure points of Wizarding society, too, as if we were doing them a favour by way of being uncultured in their customs.
So by now Hermione didn't actively hate me, and was merely neutral towards me. I guessed it also helped that I hadn't visibly gone after any other Gryffindors, and she hadn't witnessed me doing anything she considered dishonest. But I was at a merely acquaintance level with her, and so still a long way to go until she started to actually trust me beyond the basics of homework tips and collaborative Potion-brewing.
In the end I had to admit defeat and let Tracey have her way, because I wasn't feeling like fighting her on this and risk losing her brand new friendship; and it wasn't like I was really looking forward to spend my afternoon under Snape's overbearing nose, all the while wrapped in my now cold robes, dripping water.
It wasn't enough for Tracey that I agreed to go, though. I guess by now she knew me too well, because she essentially escorted me to the Hospital Wing's doors and only left after Madam Pomfrey had me under her own wing and I'd told her some lies about my stomach being upset ever since lunch.
Madam Pomfrey was kind enough to dry my robes and hair with some charm I definitely needed to learn, guided me to one of the many empty beds and then went back to her office to rummage through her collection of potions.
I sat on the bed —with one leg folded under my body, the other hanging off— and examined the large ward with distaste: it was almost empty —only one other student, an older Gryffindor with a bandaged leg that was reading a book and pretty much ignoring me. But the Hospital Wing reminded me too much of the Intensive Care Unit I'd visited in my previous life, when my father had his accident. Madam Pomfrey's little kingdom within Hogwarts was similarly laid out: rows of beds separated by privacy curtains, and there was a similar attention to cleanliness and orderliness that contrasted with the rest of the castle. Only here there were none of those beeping machines, and the different smells that drifted in the air weren't chemical in nature.
I grouchily had to admit that the tall windows letting in the afternoon light were also a nice touch; one I'd have appreciated way more had today not have been a cold, rainy misery of a day, the only light coming through casting the room in a grey gloom.
"I told you my stomach was upset," I protested when the matron returned with my potion, some sort of dark mystery liquid contained in a small cylindrical bottle. "Now you want me to drink something that smells of cat piss?"
Pomfrey's face was unamused: "Stop whining and drink it, it will make you feel better."
"You know what? It must be working already, because all of a sudden I don't feel that bad anymore."
"Your hands are still trembling, and you still look like you just saw a Boggart. Now, don't make me take out my wand. Just drink it all and then you can rest on the bed for a while."
I had a moment of impulsive, suicidal curiosity about what exactly Pomfrey would do if I forced her to 'take out her wand'. Would she jinx me? Paralyse me while she poured the little bottle's horrid contents down my throat? Did she herself even know? Her no-nonsense attitude and commanding tone was probably enough for most students, so I doubted she'd ever had to actually take out her wand on anyone before.
Sure, I was pretty much procrastinating, my shaky hands holding the concoction as I wondered about the sort of ingredients Snape had us students use: beetle wings and larvae, hair, slugs and all kinds of disgusting secretions. I'd never made the quite obvious connection that the unholy stuff we made our class potions out of, was actually the same unholy stuff that also went into real world potions.
Real world potions... as if that wasn't a crazy thought in and of itself.
"Ahem," said Pomfrey, still very much next to me, her arms crossed as she waited.
"Don't hurry me. You know, this is actually the first potion I ever drink. I want to... ah, savour the moment."
That seemed to soften her marginally. "It's easier if you don't hesitate. Just drink it all in a single gulp."
"Like a shot of Tequila?"
"Excuse me?"
"... Nevermind."
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I do have other patients to attend to, you see. So will you girl please drink your potion already?"
I turned my gaze to the Gryffindor in the other bed, who still seemed perfectly happy reading his book and definitely not in any sort of pain or medical emergency. Then, I let out a sigh. Because I guessed at some point I'd have to drink one of these abominations, living in the Wizarding World and what not. This was as good a time to start as any, really.
I closed my eyes, put the mouth of the little glass bottle against my lips, and tilted it all the way up, its contents running across my tongue and down my throat. The taste was vile —as I expected— and I had to resist the urge of throwing up once more; but at least it was short-lived, and soon enough the magic of the potion started taking effect, calming both my stomach and my trembling limbs.
"See? It wasn't that hard", Pomfrey gloated. "Now, lie down on–"
"But–"
"Lie down, I say; you will rest here for the remainder of the hour. I'm not above using the full body-bind spell, so I don't want to hear any complains!"
"I know the counter-spell," I muttered under my breath. But I still followed her orders, since I wasn't that sure I'd be able to perform it with my wand in my pocket. Besides, I didn't exactly oppose the opportunity of laying down for a quick nap until the next class —Transfiguration, which was always demanding, specially now that we were starting with the practical exercises in depth. It was just being ordered to do so that ruffled my feathers.
Apparently satisfied, Madam Pomfrey returned to her office, and I let my eyes wander aimlessly across the room, my mind still somewhat reeling from... whatever it was that had happened before. Had it been a panic attack? Or maybe a guilt attack? I decided I didn't want to know. There was a large, musty carpet in the attic of my mind that I pretty much did not want to look under. It was easier to pretend it had never happened.
So much easier.
In the end I must have fallen asleep for a spell, because the room was a little darker when I opened my eyes again and the Gryffindor was talking to a visitor I hadn't seen enter, some girl he was obviously preening for. Ugh, just kiss already!
It was still a few minutes before the turn of the hour, but I was already feeling well-rested enough that I was starting to get bored, and Pomfrey wasn't looking; so to no one's surprise I simply slunk away and left the Hospital Wing.
I didn't descend the stairs to meet with the Slytherins —they would be finishing with the Potions class in the dungeons about now— rushing instead towards the Greenhouses where I knew the Hufflepuffs just had Herbology. When I got there they were already leaving, and the little badgers eyed me with open wariness.
I ignored the stares, heading straight for my target with a genial smile as the herd reconfigured itself around me: "Hey Susan! Bones! Susan Bones!"
The girl with the long braid gave me a surprised nod and proceeded to walk up to me, which seemed to calm down the others. We moved a bit away.
"Sarramond? Why are you here?" she asked. "We don't have a meeting today, do we?"
"Oh, no. Just to ask you for a personal favour, actually. You said you had family in the Ministry, no?"
"My aunt Amelia, yes."
"Right... and does she by any chance happen to work at or near the Obliviator Headquarter?..."