My skin felt soft under the water, soaking into the moments as if each were a warm and fragrant bubble bath. Large rainbow spheres floating around my head, the warm air gave an unexpected levity to the bubbles in their wingless flight.
I'd been enjoying my first week — Star-gazing on Wednesday, spending the afternoons with Sprout, then practicing the art of turning toothpicks into needles, and then Magical History right before dinner, making us all feel sleepy - after waiting desperately for years to accepted, I couldn't contain my smile. Some children were too scared to even talk to them, becoming pale nevertheless, which made no sense. Flitwick was as cute as a button, Sprout had a heart the size of a pumpkin, McGonagall is stern but fair and Professor Binns was so old and senile that he had fallen asleep in front of the staffroom fire and was now a ghost. Still gets Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up, though.
Then there was Filch, the caretaker, and an old man with hair like straw. I guess I could understand why he was scary, having a voice of an out-of-tune violin, he'd scream across the hallways if you were caught sneaking about. Some were even terrified of Mrs. Norris - a scrawny, dust-coloured with bulging, lamp-like eyes and senior cat of Filch - whom patrolled the corridors as we walked past. Everyone seemed to be afraid of breaking any rules for her, despite that she's lost all of her teeth to old age and as a heavy addiction to cat-nip. There was only one teacher I considered scary and my class with him was today.
Brushing away the thought, I hear a familiar snicker, "Figura Lepus," and watch as the sudsy circles morph into rabbits. A simple charm, nothing like what McGonagall could do; hers would gallop circles around me, they preened their faces as they go. So cute!
My faces meet a funny ghost, with dark eyes and a wicked grin as he chucks a snake at me. Quick as a flash, my hands rummaged for the snake, revealing it to be made of rubber.
I smiled, "Ten years and still trying,"
Peeves cackled at the prank before rummaging through my bag, "Classes! Classes! Classes! No fun at all," I folded my arms, popping a rabbit or two, until I heard him whistle - Oh boy, "Oooh, Snivel's class, now that will be fun to watch," I slowly sunk into my bath, letting the water fill my ears until they popped, waiting for the misty man to disappear "—And you'll be with a celebrity."
Right, Potter. The smallest boy in school - ever since he arrived, people have been whispering his name throughout the corridors and common-rooms. Calling him by many names: Potter's Boy, The Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived. And while it made sneaking out of bed easier, I hated these secrets.
"Peeves, who is this Potter's boy, anyway?" I gasped, sucking in the water. My body shoot up from the water as I coughed horrendously — Peeves laughed. Still coughing, I continued, "I'm serious, who is this 'The Boy Who Lived'? What's so special about him?"
"Surprised you didn't know, after all that, with 'he who must not be name'?" He giggled.
I rubbed my chest, "You mean... Voldemort?" I struggled to breathe. Stream left my mouth, was it from the heat or the cold?
Peeves moved around me, creating a low fog floating above the water. The lanterns went dim as a hooded figure arose from the water, "Well, It is told on Halloween night..." waving his hands around.
"Really?" I asked.
"Shut your trap and listen!" Peeves said, ripping off his clock, "It is told on Halloween night, 'you know who' began gathering new followers, brought them over to the dark side. Viewed that muggles were weaklings among the races and anyone who stood up to him ended up dead. Many witches and wizards fought against him, but nobody lived peacefully afterwards. With the one curse, no one can survive. Nobody... not one... except—"
"The Boy who lived?"
"Shush!" Peeves growled, kicking his legs about.
"Well, that's just stupid," I huffed, as I stepped out of the bath, "Maybe the crook hit a mirror or maybe the parents placed a protection charm," My hand grabbed the towel and dried off my hair — the rabbits still hopping about, "There's no way anyone, let alone a baby, can be that powerful,"
He crossed his arms, "Says the kid who talks to ghosts,"
"That took years to do," My foot froze on the tile floor when I noticed the mist wrapping around my ankles. I grabbed a bar of soap and launched it, hitting the wall with a SPLAT! And he was gone... thankfully. The bloody chains chiming like a twisted bird song throughout the corridor.
Peeves was also gone, his voice shouting rude words to people down the stairs. Classy.
With a towel scrunched around my chest and leaving a trail of water footprints behind me, I slowly crept into the girl's dorm as all the other students had left for breakfast, before getting dress. I brushed my hair smooth, slipped into a white buttoned shirt, house tie and short plaid skirt. My bright green eyes framed by my black hair. It matches my uniform perfectly.
I gawked at the mirror, "Wow, I look so pretty!"
And just before I forgot, I down my morning medicine, the colour of a golden sunrise and the taste of honeydew - as the clock tower rung through the school.
BONG! BONG! BONG!
And I raced up the corridors, skipping my breakfast.
"There, look." Said a girl.
"Where?" shouted another.
A few more pointed, "Next to the tall kid with the red hair."
"Wearing the glasses?" They continued, "Did you see his face? Did you see his scar?"
I turned a corner and saw children lining up outside classrooms, staring through behind windows to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again. Harry's cheeks were red from the whispers as he just stood there, waiting - begging - for class to start. It was honestly shuddering to watch these overgrown and pimply teenagers hover around him. I waited inside as he and the rest of the class went down there to the dungeons. Potions lessons took place in the coldest part of the castle and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. Chains hanging from the ceilings, as the sounds of Peeves and screaming children echoed through the corridors.
As we sat, Snivels—I mean, Snape started the class by taking the roll call, barely glanced down the page. His black cloak enveloped him like ink as his hollow cheek glowed white against the lanterns.
"Ganger?" Snape huffed.
Hermione chirped, "HERE!" and he pressed his finger against his lips, silencing her. She was completely under his spell.
I tapped her shoulder, "You're a muggle-born, right?" I waved, "I didn't recognise your name before."
Hermione sighed, not even looking at me, "Yes, my parents are muggles,"
I cracked a smile, "Have you seen Beetlejuice?"
"What?" she said, furrowing her brows — still facing the front, I might add.
"Beetlejuice, it's the best movie I've seen," I answered, feeling my leg bounce up and down, "Well, it's the only movie I've seen,"
She pulled a strange face and shrugged, "I haven't seen it, I don't like cinemas,"
I felt my voice crack, "Funny."
"What?" she growled, her stare drilling into my skin.
I repeated, chills down my spine, "I said... find that funny,"
She frowned, turned around, shrugging to the girl beside her, "What's her deal?"
"I know, right," the girl said.
I sighed and turned back to the front. So much for socialising...
Draco, Crabbe and Goyle smirked as Snape finished calling out their names, chests puffed with pride. His eyes remained hollow and void, and they reminded you of dark caves. The rest watched Snape strut around the room before he paused at Harry's name.
"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new... celebrity."
"Of course," I muttered, head in my hands. Snape's made his target.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," He began as he did every year — barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word — enticed, almost hypnotised, "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
More silence followed this little speech. Many students exchanged strange looks with raised eyebrows. I sat still in my seat.
"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was. I saw the two potions in my head swirling around into a deep purple inside a cauldron - a sleeping potion; the Draught of the Living Dead. Hermione, also knowing the answer, shot her hand into the air.
"I don't know, sir," Harry said.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything." He ignored Hermione's hand. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Goat's stomach, but we won't learn that till the second year. I shook my head — don't fall for it, don't fall for it. But Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as Harry tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.
"I don't know, sir."
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"
I shuddered at the sound of his voice — he was not going easy this year. Or any other year, for that matter.
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling. I stared at her, they're the same plant, what on earth was she thinking they were?
"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"
Snape went red, "Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite... Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
The students suddenly rummaged for quills and parchment. But over the noise, Snape said, "And that will be five points taken from Gryffindor House for your celebrities cheek."
Rolling my eyes, I opened my book, already filled with notes, tables, and pictures. I slid it to Crabbe and Goyle, who were flustering at the sudden rush of information.
"And while we're all here, I will not anyone copy other students' work," Snape sneered, "Regardless of how dumb they maybe,"
I nodded, closing my book. The boy's faces went sour — Oh yes, like that was my fault.
Things didn't improve as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put everyone all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. And I was set up with Malfoy, whom had brought his own cauldron and spoon.
"Don't touch that!" He hissed, "You couldn't afford it,"
"At least I won't get sprayed with whatever you're making," I sighed and weighed dried nettles as he crushed snake fangs. No matter how I helped, he didn't let me near the pot, despite almost burning his hand.
After a while, Snape was just telling everyone at how Malfoy had stewed horned slugs perfectly as clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing interrupted him. Neville and his partner had melted the cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was trickling down on the stone floor, burning everything in sight. Everyone squealed and began balancing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.
"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilt potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"
Neville whimpered as boils popped up all over his nose, his clothes dripping wet with puss.
"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat, I kept my head down, continuing to write in my book.
"You — Potter — That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor." I overheard Snape say. I stopped myself from looking his way, knowing full-well I'd be next. Malfoy laughed and continued to stir before some oil splashed on his hand — I bit my lip to hide my laughter, finishing the last of parts of the potion. After what felt like hours of stirring, bubbling brew — that we didn't even get to try out, mind you — everyone had become a husk of a person, pale and gloomy. Even Malfoy was exhausted.
'Groooooooowl!' I padded my stomach. Having nothing since morning, would kill for a sandwich. Heck, even if was stale or rotten, I'd take a bite.
"Thea..." I heard, almost sulking at the name.
"Yes," I muttered.
"Come back here," Professor Snape said, pointing towards my desk. His black eyes burrowing into my head as I sat quietly back down, "How is the potion?"
I shrugged, "Works like a charm,"
"Don't be smart with me, we are still in the testing stages,"
"Are you doubting your own abilities?"
His face coloured, and I swear I could see steam on the top of his head, "Get.... out."
I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest, running away, and without wasting another second, I scurried out of the room. The sound of my hurried footsteps echoed through the hallway as I navigated through the maze-like corridors to the next lesson.