Black Blood

010 - Light Bulb

Cassiopeia glanced about the classroom, secretly amazed and impressed by all the gadgets and gizmos she found atop countless shelf.

'I wonder what that one does,' she mused, fixating upon a metal contraption that had at least two dozen or more black buttons attached to its face and a piece of parchment being fed into its head.

She felt, more than saw, as the seat next to her lost vacancy, and while she didn't particularly care who had sat beside her or what their opinion was on her rogue uncle's escape from Azkaban, she still felt the tiniest bit uncomfortable at the idea that they may attempt an interrogation of sorts, something no individual at Hogwarts had any business performing upon the pureblooded girl.

"I never figured I'd see you, of all people, in this class," came a voice she knew all too well.

"Is there something you want, Granger?" Cassiopeia asked, turning on the muggleborn with the politest smile she could produce, displaying every shred of restraint and etiquette she'd learned in life.

"Just making an observation, Black," the girl said with a small smile of her own, glancing past the pureblood with a hint of eagerness shining within each of her brown orbs. "That's a typewriter, by the way."

"I beg your pardon?" Cassiopeia asked, her smile becoming a tad less polite.

"What...you were staring at earlier. It's...called a typewriter. People...muggles use them to...draw up important, official documents on, such as stories that can then be published," she stated, her eyes losing a bit of their luster as Cassiopeia's own burned in contempt.

'Did I ask?' she wanted to say, but instead, she chose to remain silent, as she knew it would be the muggleborn's win if she spoke where only thought should be, and Cassiopeia would never, ever again give her such satisfaction.

"How enlightening," she lightly yet coolly replied, watching as Granger's eyes grew dimmer still.

'That's right, muggleborn, leave me to mine and mind your own,' she irritably thought, never allowing her polite smile to slip.

"I thought...maybe we could even be friends..."

Through her pretty pink lips, and through her polite but very false smile, Cassiopeia gritted her perfectly straight teeth, wishing the bushy-haired girl would find a new spot to sit.

"We could never be friends, Granger..."

'Go away!' she silently screamed at the girl, turning back to her front so as to ignore the undoubtedly false look of hurt upon the muggleborn's face.

"Not ever."

The next two minutes were some of the most uncomfortable that Cassiopeia could ever recall, and it was with tremendous relief when she spotted their teacher waltz into the classroom with a great gait.

"Good morning, students!" she greeted, obvious excitement tinging her tone. "I'm Professor Burbage, and I'll be your guide into the wonderful world of Muggle Studies!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Granger perked up, apparently through whatever harebrained failure of an attempt she'd tried to force upon the pureblood, and Cassiopeia felt, not for the first time, that the muggleborn had been placed into the wrong house.

"In this class, you'll be studying, for the most part, technology, which is a degree of muggle study that delves into the subject matter pertaining to item invention and functionality!"

Truly, Granger hadn't been wrong in her assertion that Muggle Studies had been an unexpected class for Cassiopeia to willingly choose for herself, as even she, herself, couldn't quite believe she was latching onto each and every word spoken by Professor Burbage. Truly, even to her, it felt quite out of character, yet as soon as her sight had found the option within her third year letter, she'd felt drawn to what seemed so blatantly bizarre and utterly unknown to her purebred mind, and, alongside this strange sensation, she'd felt a certain craving to fill its hungry void.

'Perhaps Granger isn't the only one that ended up in the wrong house,' Cassiopeia mirthfully thought, immediately dismissing the idea as one of her more foolish.

"Now, for your very first lesson, we'll be going over muggle electricity, which will branch off, eventually, into all muggle technology that utilizes this amazing invention!"

Muggle electricity wasn't entirely unknown to her, as she'd seen it in action once at her great-uncle's cottage, who, despite being at constant odds with her 'dearly' departed grandmother, had somehow managed to become one of the most respected members of the Black family all the while he employed the occasional muggle tool, something that was discouraged and spat at for most relatives, but not he.

"And we'll start with a common yet mind-boggling item that uses all basic facets of said electricity, the muggle invention known as the lightbulb!" Professor Burbage excitedly said, and Cassiopeia, for one of only a few times she could ever recall, felt excitement likewise coursing through her own veins, as a muggle lightbulb was what she'd once seen in action. "Now, does anyone know what a...uh...yes, Ms. Granger?"

'Hear we go,' the girl spitefully thought, lowering her half-raised hand.

"Uh...a...actually, Professor, I think Black's hand was up...before mine," the girl stammered out, which caused Cassiopeia to whip around on her with wild, wide eyes and a racing heart.

"I...I beg your pardon?!" she asked, desperately wanting to confirm what she'd heard the muggleborn say, but the girl kept her gaze, seemingly on purpose, away from Cassiopeia's own, and no affirming answer spread forth from her tightly sealed lips.

"I...um...I suppose she did?" the Professor more asked than stated, turning onto Cassiopeia's suddenly-nervous form. "Ms. Black?"

"No, well...I saw one...once," she uneasily said, trying, and failing, to remember what she'd originally wanted to say. "They...they...uh...screw into...things and light up rooms. W...when the...the things they screw into are turned to on, I...I mean."

There'd been more before, yet now, when she'd been put onto the spot by the muggleborn to her left, Cassiopeia seemed to know nothing of the subject, and she felt, deep down, that she'd been terribly wronged.

'Why?!' she thought in despair, wishing she'd never attempted to raise her hand. 'Did she know?! Did she plan this awful, awful embarrassment for me before she'd sat down?!'

"That's...a good answer," the muggleborn whispered, and had Cassiopeia been born with lesser blood running through her veins, she would've turned and slapped the vile girl right across her taunt-filled mouth.

But she was better than that, and so she stayed her hand, never once thinking to raise it again for any reason. None whatsoever.