A/N:
Not me taking nine whole years to fully edit this. (I think I published this in 2012)
Edited as of January 11, 2021
~
"Harry! Wake up," Oliver Wood shook his teammate awake, practically tossing him over to the edge of the bed, "Get up and get dressed, Potter!"
Though Harry was fairly good with a Beater's Bat, he was never attracted to the role of a Beater until the moment came when his captain was waking him up at the crack of dawn. Perhaps in that instance, Harry wished he had a bat within arm's reach. "Why?" He asked, his face burrowing deeper into his pillow.
It was a grave mistake to turn his back against Oliver because in the split second his captain saw Harry pulling the blanket over his head, Oliver unstrapped one of his dragonhide knee pads and pelted it against the Seeker's backside. "Quidditch practice, go on and get your gear ready, Potter! And give me back my knee pad while you're at it."
Harry unwillingly pulled himself out from the comforts of his bed, picking up the kneepad from the edge of his bed and tossing it to his captain. "The sun's barely risen, Wood. Are you sure about – "
"It's the perfect time of day for practice!" Oliver enunciated word for word, his voice growing louder by each syllable. "Part of our new program, got that? Go get your broom ready or else I will wake every single person in the dorms – "
"Alright – alright!" Harry hurriedly said, wanting nothing more than to shut his captain up. He reached over for his bedside table and took his glasses, bringing them to his face before proceeding to suit up in his Quidditch gear and uncovering his Nimbus 2000 from under his bed. "At the field in 15 minutes, Harry!" Wood shouted from the Common room.
His body felt all too heavy and far too light all at the same time, and as Harry descended the stairs into the common room, his senses failed him once more by the scalding white light that flashed in his eyes. "Blimey – "
"G'morning, Harry!" Colin Creevey cheerfully greeted, lowering his camera when Harry passed him by. Although his voice pained him like no other, Harry bit down on his tongue to stop himself from saying something nasty. "I'm in a hurry, Colin – I've got Quidditch practice."
"Oh! I've never seen a Quidditch practice before, wait for me!"
The sound of little, excitable footsteps followed Harry every step of the way. "It's quite boring, so don't raise your hopes." To no avail, Colin stayed by him and continued to pelt Harry with questions.
"If you and Emily are twins, then how is it that you two don't look all that alike?"
"We're fraternal."
"Who's the older one?"
"I am."
"Siblings usually get sorted in the same house, why aren't you in Slytherin – or why isn't she in Gryffindor?"
"That's a long story." When they had passed through into the Quidditch field, Harry ran to the locker room, leaving Colin but not before spotting him going up to the stands to watch them train for the season. Harry stood by Fred and George whose eyes were glazed over during Oliver's lengthy discussion for their new gameplay. Their captain referred heavily to the blackboard behind him that was plied with arrows that pointed all over the field so much that it began to look like it was moving on its own.
"That's basically it in a nutshell," Oliver happily ended his discussion and beamed at his teammates, "Does anyone have any questions for me?" He then let out a high whistle when he noticed Harry, Fred, and George nearly standing asleep in front of him. George brought an elbow to his brother's stomach, effectively bringing him back to consciousness. Fred bounced on his feet, his eyes widening in surprise when he noticed how close Wood was standing. "Yeah – Why didn't you tell us all this rubbish yesterday when we were awake"
Oliver went on to ignore him completely and continue his pep talk. "This year, we'll train harder than ever!" He said confidently, sending off the board to self-clean before leading everyone to the field. Once Harry came out from the locker room, he spotted Hermione and Ron entering the field. He came up towards them and greeted them a good morning.
"How was practice?"
"We haven't even started yet," Harry replied, his voice easing out of his drowsiness.
"I can't believe it!" Wood roared, storming off to the edge of the field, heading straight for the approaching group that had just entered the pitch. Wordlessly, the Gryffindors congealed together behind Oliver like a pride of lions, marching as one towards the Slytherin team that was led by their captain, Marcus Flint.
"Easy, Wood, I have a note." Marcus coolly advised, handing him a smaller than average roll of parchment. Oliver cordially took the roll and unfurled it right then, "I, Professor Severus Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field in order to train their new Seeker and Beater." He hastily rolled the note back up and returned it to Flint, "You have a new Seeker and Beater? Who?" Wood asked, looking around their team.
Several of the older members parted, setting themselves aside so that the opposing team could see the new ones that had joined their ranks. From the center showed Draco Malfoy and Emily Potter standing side by side, appearing almost older from their actual age now that they wore emerald green and silver uniforms. So, this is why Snape called for those two the other day, Harry thought to himself, mustering a grin for his sister to show his support even though it stung him to realize that Emily had no intention of letting him know beforehand.
The corner of Oliver's mouth dipped considerably, unable to hide the fact that he was impressed that Emily joined. "Good job being Seeker, Em. I trust you'd do well." He said with a courteous smile accompanied with an outstretched hand for her to shake.
Emily blinked rapidly and appeared flustered, but she shook his hand, nonetheless. "Thanks, but I'm one of the new Beaters, actually." She corrected, showing in her other hand a heavy wooden bat with a hammered iron band across the barrel of the bat. With that, Oliver's smile grew dim, and his eyes panned to look at Draco, who was already staring back at him with a smug smirk on his face. "Right, well – best of luck to both of you."
An audible gasp was heard from Harry's right. "Is that a Nimbus 2001?" Ron asked, looking at the Slytherin team's brooms. They were sleek, to say the least. The brooms' handles appeared to have been made from a beautiful dark wood that only accentuated the beauty and sophistication that the shining silver embellishments had already brought.
"Ah, they're gifts," Marcus told the Gryffindors with a daunting look. "From Draco's father. Been waiting to be put to good use all summer, it seems."
Emily watched Draco leave her side and walk up towards Ron at a pace that just screamed obnoxiousness. "My father can afford the best and won't settle for less than that – Though I can't say if your father could do the same, Weasley." He mocked, sneering at Ron like the mere presence of him disgusted him beyond reason.
"Draco, quit it," Emily warned, her temper rising when she saw that he had deliberated ignored her.
Hermione stepped away from the back and stood by Ron's side, "At least no one in the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," She retorted, proudly looking over her housemates and then back at Malfoy. "They got in with pure talent, though I can't say if you could say the same for yourself, Malfoy."
Well executed, Granger. Emily crossed her arms over her front, amused with Hermione's quickness.
The grey in Draco's eyes darkened to the likeness of a storm cloud, his mouth twisted into a foul scowl. "No one bloody asked for your opinion, you filthy Mudblood." He bitterly spat, glaring daggers at the Gryffindor who had been rendered speechless with pain evident in her equally darkened brown eyes.
A terrible instinct took over Emily's actions, and it led her to drop her broom and her bat, unfastening one of her gloves before letting her fingers slide over the top of Draco's head, her grasp tightly pulling as much hair as she could from his head. "What the devil did you say?" Her voice had grown a tad deeper, her fury tainting her tone. Harry had first thought that his sister was holding Malfoy by his hair, but as the second passed, she only grabbed his hair forcefully, dragged him back to render him off balance, and then released him to fall on his arse in front of everyone.
"How dare you! Eat slugs, Malfoy!" Ron cursed, pulling out his lopsided wand. Before Harry could extend himself from where he stood and stop his best friend from making a grave mistake, Ron had already swished his wand at the fallen Slytherin, making everyone cover their eyes from the harsh flash of light from his curse. Emily blinked a couple of times to get rid of the hundreds and thousands of white spots that temporarily diminished her eyesight, immediately gasping when she saw greeted by the sight of Ron cowering over to the grass, pale in the face with the corners of his mouth glossed with opalescent green slime.
Confused, Emily, Hermione, and Harry reached down to hold Ron up to his feet, but he had toppled over once more just in time for a plump green slug to plop out from his mouth and onto Draco's boot. "The teachers can't know about this," Emily felt the weight of her badge tug on her conscience. "Bring him to Hagrid's hut, he ought to know what to do, right?"
Hermione looked back at her and considered her suggestion to be the best course of action. Wordlessly, she and Harry assisted Ron out of the pitch and across the grounds towards the hut by the strawberry field.
With the commotion flattening to a grand silence, Emily looked up from the slug on the ground and then at the remaining Gryffindors in front of her, her skin crawling with embarrassment from her friend's outburst. Oliver and the Weasley twins nodded at her as a small gesture of goodwill just as they filed out of the Quidditch grounds, sadly enough, she didn't feel worthy of it. Not one bit.
"Right," Emily summoned her broom and bat back to her hands and rallied everyone into a tight group as if nothing had happened. "Are we going to practice or not?"
~
Meanwhile in Hagrid's Hut,
The trio watched as Hagrid softly settled a larger than average wooden bucket on Ron's lap, his large hand patting his back all the while he vomited slugs into the bucket. Harry and Hermione paced around the hut relentlessly; Harry replayed the scene in his mind, struggling to add context to what was said and done while Hermione was distracting herself with possible solutions for Ron's magical backfire.
"Malfoy said something – I actually don't know what it means," Harry finally confessed. "It seemed... disturbing. And knowing Malfoy, it felt like he was being fouler than normal."
Hermione was the first to stop pacing, she looked up from her black leather school shoes and glanced at Harry and Hagrid who were immediately saddened by the tears in her glossy brown eyes. "He called me a mudblood." She confessed; the word bitterly spat out from her mouth. Hagrid gasped, his hand covering his mouth that had gaped open, "He did not!"
"What is that, exactly?" Harry asked.
Hermione turned to her shoes again as she rummaged what strength she had left in her, "It's what they call the witches and wizards born to non-magical parents." She muttered, finally looking up again at Harry. "What they label to someone who's a foul Muggleborn – someone like me."
"It was disgusting," Ron wretched in between drops of slugs, "It's rotten language made by even more rotten people like Malfoy."
It saddened Harry even more to understand the entire situation. He thought heavily about how magic had brought him to this secret world, a world he could call home with newfound friends turned family – and despite the beauty, there was still ugliness in the world. It was not all different from the Muggle world.
"Nonsense!" Hagrid angrily bellowed, his large hands slamming on his kitchen table. "Yer the brightest witch Hogwarts has ever seen – They haven't invented a spell that our Hermione can't do! I'd like to see Malfoy cast a simple spell without yer sister's help, 'Arry." Hagrid said proudly, a smile poking through his thick beard. At his kind, heartfelt words, Hermione smile through her tears and wiped them away with the sleeve of her robes. "Thank you, Hagrid."
"Don't mention it – in fact, it's absurd that I do have to say it." He shook his head in disappointment at the world circulating around the school. "Now that I mentioned it... Ron, 'Arry, your sisters took a little walk around my hut earlier today. Seemed like Emily was giving little Ginny a tour of the grounds."
Pleasantly surprised, Harry and Ron exchanged glances but was cut short with three slugs slipping from his lips. "They visited you. That's nice, Hagrid." Harry said, though when he caught the glimmer of concern from the school gamekeeper, he began to think of all the wrong things that could have happened.
Hagrid breathed deeply as he remembered the encounter. "They seemed surprised to see me lookin' out the window. Like they were sneaking, but what do I know? Bah, they just said they were goin' for a long walk, so I just let them be, you know. They did seem pretty excited to see the roosters, but I don't blame them, those birds grew up beautifully over the summer."
Harry turned to Hermione just in time to see her mouth the word roosters? In undiluted wonder. We never really pegged Emily to be interested in livestock. Hermione's eyes panned throughout the room and then to the window where she caught the view of the afternoon sun, "We better get going now, Harry. You and Ron have detention to carry out."
"Detention? Detention for what, you've only been in school for a coupla' days." Hagrid asked.
Ron hurled two more slugs before slumping into the backrest of his chair. "It's – it's for driving through the Whomping Willow. So, technically, we got in trouble even before the term officially began." Hermione shot daggers at the boys and sighed heavily like a disappointed mother. Harry went ahead and helped Ron put down the hefty bucket of slugs to the floor, but the act of bending down at an angle deemed too dangerous for Ronald Weasley.
His knees buckled and collapsed to the floor, his arms catching the brim of the bucket where he leaned into, belching handfuls of slugs until the bucket was half-full. Hagrid grimaced, patting Ron's back again. "Better out than in, that's what I say."
~
Detention with Gilderoy.
Professor Minerva McGonagall guided the three students towards a chamber door that led to the office of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. With each step, Emily's brain screamed at her about the number of things that she could be doing instead with the time that detention took from her.
I could be re-writing my notes right now.
Proof-reading my four-page history of magic essay.
Disguising dung bombs as bonbons for an unsuspecting Filch.
Smuggling hair dye and bacon grease into Draco's shampoo bottle.
"Weasley," The professor called for Ron, inciting fear in her student's heart. "You'll be polishing each and every trophy and award in the trophy room, you'll find a bundle of rags waiting for you there." She told him before turning to the twins. "Harry, you will be helping Professor Lockhart in answering his fan mail." She grimaced at the end of her sentence, making Emily hold back a laugh. McGonagall glanced at her with the same heavy look she had for Ron and Harry, "Emily, you will be polishing all of the framed portraits in his office. Here are two rags since I assume it's all you need; I have a feeling he polishes them himself every two days." The professor dropped the said rags to Emily's hands.
She stared at the grey rags blankly, unable to process the baffling detention sentence. Harry met her gaze and, unintentionally, mirrored her in looking back at Professor McGonagall. "Can't we just go help Ron?" The twins said in frightening unison that they even surprised themselves.
"No," She bluntly answers. "I'm afraid Professor Lockhart was quite thorough with his – erm, requests. It's better you lot carry on now and pray that the night rolls over quickly." With that, the professor left with Ron since the trophy room was farther away on a different floor within the castle, leaving the Potters alone in the hall.
Emily stared at the chamber door, her fight or flight response kicking in and switching instinctively to fight. "Go on and knock."
"You do it." Harry retorted, stepping away from the door. She stared back at him blank in the face while she took two steps back from the door, "No, you."
The sound of rusty door hinges croaked before them, golden light seeping from the now open doorway. Professor Gilderoy Lockhart stepped out and greeted the twins with a toothachingly sweet smile, he gallantly extended his arm, making his lavender robes dramatically waver around his body. "Ah, welcome – welcome, Potters. I thought I heard you two out here, no need to be bashful now. Come on in."
Harry and Emily looked at each other in defeat before giving in to their punishment for the night. Lockhart led them inside his office and closed the door behind him. "I heard from the grapevine that you two play Quidditch – I was quite the athlete myself, you know – played Seeker like you, Harry, so don't hesitate in asking questions or tips." He went around his desk and procured multiple bound stacks of letters, pushing them over to the other side of the desk where a chair was waiting for Harry to sit in.
Not wanting to be under the same circumstances as her brother, Emily quickly advanced to the other side of the room where a ladder was already prepared under a large portrait of a sword-wielding Lockhart clad in deep scarlet and bronze robes. If he donated parts of his self-esteem to people who practically hate themselves, Lockhart would still have enough to fuel his big head.
An hour was yet to pass, and already the twins felt groggy with disinterest. They let the professor talk and talk about his own tall tales to which Emily and Harry took turns answering with applicably bland responses such as:
"Okay."
"Yeah."
"Mmhmm."
"Right."
Now that she had done nearly half of the portraits, Emily moved onto the medium-sized gold-framed landscape where Lockhart donned olive-green robes while tending to a garden of roses. She stepped back onto the ladder and began to polish the edges. Emily briefly looked over her shoulder to check on her brother's progress, pleasantly surprised to see that he had finished a stack of letters already. Those poor women, writing to a grown man but receiving a letter written by a twelve-year-old.
She returned to her duties and buffed the stretch of gold until it gleamed and shone.
Come to me.
Emily frowned, she immediately looked over to Lockhart's desk and still found him mindlessly yammering about himself while Harry was rotting his brain with thinking of replies to the fan mail. She turned back to the frame and scrubbed it harder.
Kill.... Let me kill you –
"What?" Emily angrily outburst, crumpling the rag in her hand. Harry met her eyes and was glad to see the same fear and confusion he had held in, "You heard it, too?"
Lockhart giggled to himself and put down his peacock feathered quill. "Exactly! I truly am unbelievable, aren't I?"
"What? No – That voice," She said, her eyes frantically searching the room while she stepped down from the ladder. "It sounded like it was whispering to me – but then again Harry heard it as well. Do any of these portraits talk?"
For once that night, Gilderoy Lockhart's smile faltered to a concerned frown. "Erm, no. They don't." He stood up from his desk and regained his flamboyant charm again to control the situation. "Voice? What voice must that be? I reckon both of you are getting drowsy from all your hard work – and no wonder!" He tapped the face of his watch and then opened his office door, "Great Scott, four hours have passed now! Time truly flies when you're having fun. Go on now and have your rests."
He slammed the door behind them the moment he successfully ushered them out. Flabbergasted at how the sequence of events unfolded, Harry and Emily walked out of the hall and into the corridor leading to the stairs. "I think we scared him," Emily commented, looking back into how Lockhart reacted, laughing at his shaking curls. "That was kind of fun."
"Was he lying, though?" Harry asked. "Didn't he hear anything?"
Emily did not have to trudge deep into the professor's mind to figure out that he was being frank. Somehow, she wished that he was lying to them. "He was telling the truth."
Suddenly frantic footsteps echoed through the halls and sped towards them, the sight of Ron and Hermione coming into view brought the twins some comfort. "Harry! Emily!" Hermione called out for them, urging for them to meet halfway in the hall.
"Did you hear it?" Harry hurriedly questioned.
Ron frowned. "Hear what?"
"A voice," Emily answered. "We heard a voice earlier, but Lockhart didn't seem to catch on. He basically kicked us out of his office, not that I'm complaining."
"Voice, what voice?" Hermione asked, looking spooked. "What did it say?"
The Potter twins awkwardly looked at each other and wanted to dismiss what the voice claimed to say. "It was hard to ignore, Em and I couldn't exactly pinpoint where it came from – but it felt like it was whispering to us," Harry explained, not wanting to scare his friends any further. Emily began to shift on her feet, desperate to forget the voice that invaded her mind. "Right, well – I think I should head back to my house. I'll see you lot at breakfast."
"I'll walk you back," Harry offered. He saw the muted fear in her eyes, and although he was frightened just as much, he figured they could be that together. "In fact, we could all walk you back to Slytherin."
She smiled at the suggestion but something within her disapproved of the notion, her chest tightened horridly. "Thanks. But I'll be alright. It's getting late anyway, you three go on." Emily then patted her brother's arm before she left for the straights en route to the dungeons, but not before catching Hermione's voice that echoed in the stairwell.
"A voice that only you two could hear. That's a bit odd, even for you and Emily."
~
Emily, Slytherin Common Room.
There was something in the cool ivy tones and dreamy greys and silvers that calmed my nerves whenever I enter my house. Especially after a day such as this one. I strode inside and was mildly taken aback by the shadow that rose out from the back of the common room.
"Took you long enough," Draco said, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his aloofness rather excruciating to deal with now. "You seem tired."
Perhaps it was the brain-draining detention with Lockhart, maybe even the scare in his office – either way, it has left me devoid of all care for the rest of the night. I had no energy to remain cross with Draco Malfoy.
"You have no idea," I said, hanging my head back when I sank into the plush armchair, lazily shoving off my shoes one foot at a time. He sat by the edge of the couch, his eyes peering at me curiously. "How was detention?"
Where do I bloody begin with that mental case? I feel myself slowly relax in my chair, my feet tucking in under my body. "Unimaginably dull. I love a good story just like the next, but Lockhart just sucked the fun out of an adventure. He's Narcissus incarnate but saying that, I feel, would be insulting to Narcissus – I think I'd enjoy talking to him more even if he just stares at his own reflection."
We share a laugh, though it did not last as long as I had hoped. My throat went dry, my chest tightening with dread as I thought more about the voice that disrupted my peace. "Oi," Draco snapped his fingers in the hopes of getting my attention, "Something on your mind?"
"Yeah – A voice, actually. No one heard it but me and Harry." I gave in and went against my anxiety. "Thoughts?"
Draco shrugged, unfazed by my claim. "Did it say anything?"
I looked down at my hands and saw that I was pulling at the loose thread on the chair's stuffed arm, seeing the seam nearing to open and expose the cotton. "I'll tell you another day. I should go ahead and sleep it off now." I unfolded my legs and took off from the chair, gathering my shoes in one hand before racing to the tower.
"Emily?"
With my feet firmly planted on the first step up, I turned and saw Draco still sitting on the couch with his back facing me, his focus trained on the dying embers from the fireplace. "Yeah?"
He turned his head slightly to me, the silhouette of his face lit up from the orange flames. "The Halloween Ball is coming up soon, I wonder if you'd like to go with me again this year." Draco then looked up at me, his eyes hopeful.
I turned away and looked down at the floorboards, reluctant of his offer, "Let me think about it."