Ecdysis

PART VI - Repeat

It was an unwritten rule that first years sit at the tail-end of the Slytherin table and stay out of everyone's way. They were chirpy and bright-eyed and in awe of every attention-starved ghost that swept by them. Constantly botching juvenile spells, causing ruckus and smoke, laughing loudly for the attention.

Next to me, Daphne looked over my shoulder, hawk-eyed, monitoring her sister. "Tori!" she exclaimed. "Don't have any of the omelette. It has mushrooms."

"I can see that. I have eyes, you know," Astoria replied, sounding irate but smiling to show she wasn't actually angry.

Astoria was a scrawny little thing, smaller even than I was at her age. So pale her skin was almost translucent, the veins under the skin of her arms and eyes visible like rivers on a map. She had mousy brown hair the colour of coffee with milk, and like Daphne, big blue eyes, a cute button nose and a delicate heart-shaped face.

I'd heard Pansy say to her once, "Can't believe you made Slytherin, Tori G. Thought for sure you'd be a little Hufflepuff." While brushing a hand through her hair playfully.

Astoria had turned bright red and shrugged innocently as her classmates tittered, listening keenly. Daphne snorted and led Pansy to our section of the table, and Astoria smiled as they left. I caught it for a second before she flipped her hair over her shoulder to cover her face.

I couldn't help but compare her first year experience to mine. Having an older sister and her best friend looking out for her like that, already being cool because the third-years knew who she was. Nobody would dare pick on her with Daphne around. She was lucky.

Flo Nightingowl swooped into the Great Hall, dropping a heavy bundle on my lap, knocking over my cereal spoon and splattering sugary milk on my blouse. I cast Tergeo, the nifty spell I'd learned from Draco last year, not finding it in me to be angry with her. Without our own owl, the Hogwarts birds visited our home once a week in case my parents wanted to send me a letter. But at Diagon Alley this summer, we adopted Flo to have a direct line of communication with one another. Dad even set up a birdbath with treats for her in the backyard.

My stomach dropped the instant I spotted the paper. I'd been so sure Mum would forget our conversation in my room, given I never subscribed to the Daily Prophet. But no, The Times was here in all its inanimate glory. Blasting last week's headlines about a golf player named Wilander in the US Open, and some racehorse called King William, who'd avoided sporting tragedy after nearly cutting himself.

"What's that?" shouted Draco from across the table, his eyes pinned on me. I never got mail, so I suppose it was only natural to notice when I did—that was if someone was paying attention to me, and I came to learn that Draco was always paying attention, especially after the Buckbeak incident.

"Let's see!" In a flash of movement, Pansy stretched over Daphne and ripped the paper from my grip. "UK children rescued from religious cult," she read out loud, snorting. "Muggles are freaky."

"Outright evil," agreed Draco, taking the paper from her and holding the cover over his face. "Kidnap and sex abuse claims? Are you proud of yourselves?"

"Are you proud of all the Dark Wizards your father associates with?" I snapped back, swishing and flicking my wand so that the paper levitated out of his reach, then I plucked it out of the air and stashed it at the very bottom of my bag, curtaining my face with my hair so they wouldn't see how red I'd become.

I could finally enjoy meals in peace without everyone being irritated that I was at the table. I did not need The Times to revert all the progress I'd made by bleakly reminding them of my utter Muggle-ness.

"At least my people aren't disgusting," he retorted. "Muggles and their filthy news. Ugh, look! It turned my fingers black."

"Nobody asked you to touch it," I replied. "You're the one harbouring an obsession with people you claim to hate."