Chapter Text
Vanessa Sterling shifted uncomfortably in her seat, staring at the wizard across from her. He was somehow even more commanding in person, though she’d heard much of his greatness, as all people in the Magical World had. At Ilvermorny, where she’d gone to school for the last five years, his name had appeared in nearly every class under a mind-boggling discovery, every other unimaginable feat, and as a force of powerful Light against the Dark Magic that creeped behind every corner. She’d studied his dueling styles throughout the ages and read eyewitness testimonies of his greatness. Merlin, she’d written her end-of-semester Defensive Magics essay two years ago on his duel against Gellert Grindelwald.
And now she was staring at him in the flesh in a room that was presumably his office as the portraits on the wall regarded her with half-disinterest and half-suspicion. Albus Dumbledore’s eyes were bright behind his half-moon glasses as he examined the parchment in front of her, hemming and hawing and thinking out loud. She’d expected him to be a bit more… serious.
“Very good… hm… interesting coursework… more military than I expected…” his bright blue eyes flickered up to her face, which was heating rapidly, and back to her grades. She got the distinct sense that he was enjoying her mild discomfort.
Eventually Dumbledore placed the parchment down on the table and regarded her. Under the might of his full attention, Essa fought to keep herself from shrinking back in her chair, forcing herself to remain still even as his gaze seemed to pierce through her.
"You were an excellent student at Ilvermorny,” said Dumbledore. “But your coursework does not directly translate to Hogwarts.”
“I also received three OWLs over the summer,” she forced herself to say, “in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Charms, and Transfigurations-”
One of his hands waved lazily in the air. Essa noticed, as she had during the earlier ceremony in the Great Hall, that he was wearing beautiful white gloves that seemed to glimmer in the light. Now that she was closer, she could see that there were distinct red rubies embedded at the ends. Distantly she wondered what magical properties they must have; had he been wearing them during his famous duel with Grindelwald…?
“Yes, yes… three Outstandings, I heard from the Ministry. It’s no easy feat, I imagine, considering the differences in curriculum,” said Dumbledore quietly, and then steepled his hands together on his desk. “I assume that you are, like most Ilvermony students, exercised in nonverbal spell-casting?”
She nodded wordlessly.
“Ah, yes. I sometimes think that we should implement that earlier at Hogwarts… but your country has a rich history of magic without wands, I should say… Hm. As you were previously Sorted in Wampus, the Warrior House, I suppose you might want to be an Auror of sorts? Is that what you were training to do at your previous institution?”
Essa straightened. “I want to fight against the Dark Arts, Headmaster, even though…” she trailed off and looked miserably down at her shoes.
“There are many powerful witches and wizards from Hufflepuff. In fact, just the previous year, a Hufflepuff student won the Triwizard Tournament! Take great pride in your house, Miss Sterling, and I’m sure that you will represent it with grace.”
Though Dumbledore’s voice was warm, it didn’t make her feel any better. Essa was thinking about the new friends she’d met -- okay, knowing her mother, been assigned to -- over the summer, and how they’d been tasked with making her think, talk, and feel like a Slytherin (a mission that had clearly failed). She could almost envision Draco’s disgusted sneer at her new house -- though she hadn’t been able to look at him in the Great Hall after the Sorting Hat had declared her new house. At least it hadn’t been Gryffindor; he would have really hated her then.
“A career fighting the Dark Arts,” continued Dumbledore, “is a worthy thing. It is a very worthy thing, indeed. But Aurors need at least five NEWTs, one of which being Potions, though I can see here you received an EAGLE but not an OWL…”
Essa swallowed. “I received from MACUSA an EAGLE (Excruciatingly Aggravating Graduate Level Exam, but of course you knew that, sir) in Potions. However, when I was studying the OWL requirements over the summer, I realized that the ingredients, methods, and practices of my training are very different, almost intuitive in nature. The curriculum here is almost completely distinct.”
“Well,” said Dumbledore, looking down at her from his position behind his desk, “That is easily rectified. You will receive private remedial Potions lessons from Professor Snape, and take the OWL before Christmas Break. Since you are already proficient in nonverbal spellcasting, I assume that much of the burden from your other classes will be eased. I also advise you to do the same for Ancient Runes, but you can join the group remedial lessons -- yes, I know that you haven’t taken it since your Second Year -- but it will be useful for your education as an Auror against the Dark Arts.”
Essa resisted the urge to kick herself. At Ilvermorny, Ancient Runes was mostly taken by Horned Serpents, the house where most students became academics and researchers. But if the great and mighty Dumbledore was telling her to take Ancient Runes -- no, remedial Ancient Runes, she would have to do it. Essa tried her best to school her features into neutrality, and nodded.
“Wonderful,” Dumbledore said. He leaned forward just a millimeter, and seemed to impart that what he said next would be of great importance. “I would also like you to receive some extra training from Professor Snape. He will teach you the art of Occlumency. I have asked him, and I am asking you, to keep this training secret. Do not tell anyone of this matter, as Professor Snape would surely be inundated with requests for lessons, and it may make you a target. But I believe you have great potential as a force of good against the Dark Arts, and so that is why you must begin now. And of course you’ll be in the Dueling Club. Do you have any questions?”
Essa had always known she would learn some basic Occlumency during her Auror training, but this secret and mysterious assignment was shocking. An assignment from Albus Dumbledore, no less! And lessons from Severus Snape, the Head of Slytherin? The one whom Draco had sung praises about all summer? She could hardly believe her luck. Perhaps Hogwarts wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Good. And one more thing: you will be trying out for Seeker, correct? Professor Sprout will surely want to confirm…”
Nearly skipping down the hall from the Headmaster’s office, new schedule in hand, she fumbled and wandered around the castle in search of the Hufflepuff common room. After the sorting, she’d sat with the students in her year and met them properly. One of them, Hannah Abbott, had given her a personal demonstration separate from the First Years of how to get into the common room. Hannah had long, blonde hair and eyes that were always darting around nervously, though she seemed nice and prone to smiling. She was also a Prefect like Draco.
Hannah was sitting with some other Sixth Year girls in their dorm, playing Exploding Snaps. Upon seeing Essa, she smiled again and waved, ignoring the puff of smoke that suddenly emitted from the cards in her hand. “Come join us! Have you played Snaps?”
“I’m pretty terrible,” Essa confessed while the other girls made room. “I only learned this summer.”
“Is that when you moved here?” A thin, dark-haired girl who’d introduced herself earlier as Miriam McKinnon asked, voice pleasant though she kept her eyes glued to the pile of cards in the middle. SNAP. She grinned and collected her spoils as another girl who'd introduced herself earlier as Susan Bones, groaned.
“Here,” said Susan, shuffling her cards. “You can have some of mine, Essa. I’m absolute rubbish, Miriam’s beaten me loads of times. I’ve only won against her once, when we were six.”
“Only because my big brother set fire to my hair!”
As the two giggled, Hannah raised her voice, placing a card down. “So I heard your mum’s Margaret Sterling, is that true?”
Essa placed a card down and nodded. SNAP. Miriam took the pile again like a seasoned professional.
“My dad grew up with your mum,” said Hannah. “But he hasn’t seen her in years.”
“Why’d you take her surname?”
“Miriam!” Susan elbowed her, looking apologetically toward Essa.
Hannah gave a nervous laugh. “Sorry. We call her Mouthy Miriam, because she doesn’t think before she speaks-”
“I was just asking,” said Miriam grumpily, taking advantage of the situation to take up some more cards. SNAP. “I never said she had to answer.”
“It’s alright. My dad died when I was little, so I started going by my mom’s surname.” Essa placed a card down, avoiding their eyes. There was an awkward silence, but it seemed that even Mouthy Miriam wasn’t sure what to say after that. “And she told me that hers had lots of meaning here,” she added.
At this, the three other girls went even quieter. Hannah seemed to go stiff all over, and Miriam had a delayed reaction to the next explosion of cards. Essa got the sense that she had somehow misspoken; it was obvious that the three other girls had grown up together and she was not doing a good job of fitting in.
“What, because it’s a Pureblood name?” Miriam finally said, and she no longer seemed very friendly. Actually, she seemed absolutely furious. SNAP. She snatched the cards viciously out of the middle, but didn’t play the next card. “Hufflepuff’s the wrong house to be talking like that, so maybe the Sorting Hat made a mistake with you. I don’t care what bloody list you and your mum are on, or that you clearly came back to learn the Dark Arts. We’re all half-bloods, just so you know. In fact,” continued Miriam, clenching her jaw and ignoring Hannah’s flinch, “Ernie Macmillan’s on that Pureblood list too and he’s got worse marks than any of us!”
Hannah and Susan weren’t looking at Essa anymore, but they seemed to be in agreement. Hannah was bending the corner of one of her cards so hard that it looked like it was about to snap off.
A hot flush rose from Essa’s chest into her cheeks. “I don’t believe in that kind of stuff,” she said. “I like No-Majs- Muggles, I mean. I’ve lived with them before; my best friend from home has them for parents. I only said that bit about my mom’s last name because she said people knew her family here, and nobody at Ilvermorny had even heard of them.” During this, a few cards slipped out of her hand, and they began sending smoke from the floor. SNAP. SNAP. SNAP. It was very loud, but the other girls didn’t even look at the explosions; instead, they were staring at her, eyes wide. “And I only came to Hogwarts because my mom made me!”
There was a moment of silence. “But-”
“And I hate the Dark Arts!” Essa added, for good measure.
“But you’re friends with those terrible Slytherins,” said Mouthy Miriam, though she was more subdued now. Her dark eyes were narrowed. “Ernie told us you were talking to Malfoy all night at this one party, and he saw you and Nott at Diagon Alley once… ouch, Hannah, stop it- it’s not mouthy if it’s true-”
“Malfoy? You mean Draco?” asked Essa as an unpleasant realization began to dawn on her.
Susan winced, though she seemed to finally relax enough to look at her. “Yeah, Draco Malfoy. He’s the worst out of all of them, isn’t he?”
“Them?”
“The Slytherins,” said Hannah, playing with a piece of her hair. “They’re terrible, always lying and cheating and picking on the First Years…”
“They need to be stopped,” agreed Susan. “They say the worst things about Muggles and Muggleborns!”
“Was your mum forcing you to spend time with them? Because my dad was forced to play with Malfoy’s dad when they were little…” Hannah sniffed, twirling a lock of hair around her wand until she was pointing the tip of it at her scalp, the way that the professors at Ilvermorny had never allowed them to do. “The whole family’s terrible.”
“At first I thought he was horrible,” Essa said weakly, “but…” It was true; she’d met Draco when he had stalked up to her, challenged her Quidditch skills, and proceeded to pick an argument with everything she dared to say. She could still remember trying to temper her growing annoyance as she avoided looking at him, tall and lean and pale, with glinting silver eyes that wouldn’t leave her face. She’d really disliked him. But then she’d stared back and challenged him, and he’d been -- amused? Excited? Entertained?
She couldn’t figure it out, and especially not when Hannah, Miriam, and Susan were staring at her with odd looks on their faces.
“He doesn’t really mean it,” Essa tried to say, even though the words were coming out all wrong. She couldn’t explain him. “He’s trying to be funny… you know, like a puppy that bites too hard because he wants to play.”
“Really,” said Miriam dryly, “Draco Malfoy is a puppy?” She said this like Essa had just told her she’d sprouted wings on her back.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say anything nice,” Susan said firmly, looking equally dubious.
“Nobody says anything nice to him either,” said Essa, grasping for words to explain the dynamic she’d experienced with him and Theo and Daphne all summer. “That’s how they joke, they’re mean to each other. It would be strange to be nice, I think. Definitely not normal.”
Miriam was still looking mind-boggled at what she’d said earlier. “Malfoy, a puppy? Malfoy, who almost killed a Gryffindor last year on the Quidditch pitch because he wouldn’t let go of his broom? Malfoy, who tries to get Professor Grubbly-Plank fired every other week?”
Essa was getting a sinking feeling in her stomach; Draco had encouraged her to sneak glances at his cards whenever they played Exploding Snap, and he always cheated when they practiced looking for the Snitch, and he had offered to bribe a Ministry official about her OWLs, and he had many, many textbooks in his massive library that he lifted bits from for his summer essays… the list went on and on.
“He became nicer as I got to know him. And he helped me study for my OWLs, him and Theo and Daphne.”
Hannah tilted her head, looking incredulous. “Theodore Nott? The nasty Slytherin who’s always lurking around by himself?” she asked, just as Susan said, “Daphne Greengrass?”
“And I thought everyone at Hogwarts believed the Pureblood stuff,” Essa admitted, feeling ashamed. “I’m glad it’s not true. I never heard-- well, we don’t say those kinds of things at home. And maybe Draco’s a cheater, and he likes to make fun, but besides that, they were all very kind to me.”
Essa didn’t say anything as the other girls exchanged looks. “Hmph,” Miriam said finally, inspecting her closely, though she was starting to look less like she hated Essa’s guts and more like she pitied her instead. “I guess you haven’t met anyone normal to spend time with so you didn’t realize how horrible they are. And I suppose they might be nicer to you. You’re Pureblood, aren’t you? Malfoy was probably trying to get you to make blonde little Pureblooded babies with him…”
“Miriam,” said Susan, covering her face with her hands. “Can you not say things like that? It makes me nauseous…”
“...always strutting around with those two gargoyles, Crabbe and Goyle…did you have to see them too?”
“Oh, I only met them on the train platform since they were both on holiday all summer,” Essa said uncomfortably. Draco had introduced them to her with a thump on each of their shoulders; they’d looked her up and down in a way that’d made her stomach hurt. “They seemed… strong.”
At this, Miriam smirked. “Is that what we're calling it now? Yes, they're too strong for Ravenclaw!”
As Hannah and Sarah laughed, Essa stared at the half-blown cards on the ground, feeling very confused. Her mind was reeling. All summer long, Draco had told her about the horrible Gryffindors who were brutes and bullies and favored by all the Professors. It seemed that he had gotten some things all backwards.
Fortunately, the three girls seemed to forgive Essa for whatever perceived faults she had revealed. They spent the rest of the morning before her first class telling her of every terrible thing that Draco and his two “best” friends, Crabbe and Goyle, had done since First Year: sneaking hexes during class, calling Muggleborn students all sorts of names, making fun of everyone, especially Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs…
Essa could scarcely believe that this was the same Draco she’d spent the summer with. Sure, he could be rude, and a bit full of himself, but he was also funny, and also seemed to always be joking -- with her, at least. She didn’t say much more after a while, instead listening to the endless stories of Draco’s excursions and feeling a bit miserable. Had she really been so stupid to completely miss what seemed like common knowledge to everyone else -- that Draco was an actual, real asshole?
The first class on her schedule was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Luckily, Hannah and Miriam were also taking NEWT-level DADA; in the common room, they met the two other Hufflepuffs enrolled: Justin Finch-Fletchley and the other Hufflepuff prefect, Ernie Macmillan, a boy she’d spoken briefly with at her first Pureblood Banquet and who had apparently told “Mouthy Miriam” all about her summertime activities. He and Justin both seemed a bit suspicious of her as the five of them walked to the Defense classroom, though she could hardly blame them now.
There was a gaggle of other Sixth Years waiting outside the classroom door, which was firmly closed; as she approached the small crowd, two faces stood out in the sea of strangers: Theo and Daphne, standing in a small group of students slightly apart from the rest. All of them were wearing green ties. Theo looked over, glanced at the other Hufflepuffs, and hesitantly nodded to her like they hadn’t finished a whole bottle of Firewhiskey together last week; Daphne grimaced and gave a little wave. Miriam’s eyes darted back and forth.
“Good friends of yours, eh?” Justin Finch-Fletchley looked as though he didn’t like standing next to her as they moved through the crowd. Essa didn’t respond; her eyes were looking through the rest of the faces. She caught a glimpse of Pansy Parkinson, whose mom was both friends with and also hated Essa’s mom.
And next to her was Draco.
He was watching her already, one eyebrow tilted up. He was lounging against the wall and looking bored, he saw the stillness in his body and the way his eyes tracked her every movement. Essa felt a small burst of comfort at his familiar expression, but it fizzled away as she again remembered all the things she’d learned in the last hour. Forcing a small smile, she tried to follow Hannah past him.
Quick as a snitch, his hand flew out and caught her sleeve, bringing her to a stop. “Well, well,” said Draco, voice unreadable, “look what we have here…”
Essa turned slowly to face him. His eyes were glittering, and next to him, Pansy Parkinson smirked. The sight of Pansy’s condescension and pleasure surely derived from her being sorted into Hufflepuff filled Essa with an unbearable annoyance. She tried to pull away, but Draco’s fingers were still clutched around her sleeve.
He gave her a little smirk, though his eyes were watching her seriously and carefully. “Cheer up, Sterling. Not everyone’s got the brains to make it into Slytherin.”
“Get on with it then,” Essa said dryly, pulling her arm away. “Deduct points from me because the weird singing hat didn’t put me in your house, I’m sure that’ll change its mind right away.”
Draco’s eyes didn’t flicker, but the right corner of his mouth flicked up. Essa had seen that look before, and she could tell that he was thinking of what annoying terrible thing to say next, something that would make her roll her eyes and huff exaggeratedly, and he would laugh softly in response…
But before Draco could open his mouth, Pansy crossed her arms and sneered. “The Sorting Hat could tell that you were raised improperly, couldn’t it? A real Sterling would be in Slytherin but a bastard bitch can only get into Hufflepuff-”
“Shut up, Pansy,” Draco snapped just as another voice shouted, “Leave her alone, Parkinson!” A dark-haired boy with round glasses materialized from the crowd, wand in hand. He looked as if a particularly strong gust of wind had just blown past him; his hair was pointing in strange directions, and his robes, though perfectly sized, seemed a bit disheveled.
Pansy snarled at him, but what was stranger was the way Draco’s face changed into something much less relaxed. His careful arrangement of faux boredom melted into an expression of real anger -- Essa had the mental image of a large snake uncoiling, preparing to strike -- and he stood up straight.
“Welcome back, Potter,” Draco spat. The boy’s name sounded like venom in his mouth. “You have a gift for being unwanted.” The students around them shifted in… excitement? Fear?
Potter stepped in between him and Essa as though she needed protection. He was a bit taller than her, though not as tall as Draco, and very lanky, giving the impression that his limbs had grown much faster than the rest of his body. He was nearly vibrating with energy and had on a red tie for Gryffindor. “Picking on Hufflepuffs again? What, run out of First Years to torment?”
“He was just-” Essa tried, but it was as if she didn’t exist anymore.
“Are you and Weasley still sharing a brain? It must be his turn with it because you don’t seem to understand that you’re not wanted here.” Draco’s eyes seemed to fill with hatred, but he was still smiling; Essa began to feel disturbed at the way it transformed his face into a sharper, more frightening thing.
Potter didn’t seem perturbed at all; calmly, in two exaggerated movements, he looked left, then right. “No Crabbe, no Goyle. I’d be talking smarter if I were you, otherwise you might actually have to defend yourself-”
Draco snarled. “Where’s your little Mudblood pet? I’ll give you something to defend-”
At this, it became very loud. Potter and another very tall redheaded boy surged forward, yelling. Red lights sparked through the air, and Essa felt the group of students tighten in as half of them struggled to separate the boys, and others, looking angry, headed straight for Draco. She felt herself being tugged back from the mess and looked back to see Miriam.
“Still think he’s a puppy?” Miriam shouted in her ear, dragging her to where Hannah was standing, far from the action with her eyes wide-
Suddenly the door to the classroom slammed open and a force of energy froze the students brawling. A man with deep scars on his face was pointing his wand steadily; he must have Petrified everyone involved at once.
“Professor Lupin,” a Gryffindor girl with curly dark hair called frantically, running up to the man, “Don’t blame Harry and Ron, Malfoy called me a Mu- he called me that word again-”
Professor Lupin inclined his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Granger,” he said quietly. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll take this into consideration.”
“It’s not Ron’s or Harry’s fault-”
“Please sit down inside,” Professor Lupin said, and the girl bowed her head and entered the classroom. Slowly, he tapped each student on the shoulder and directed them each inside until he reached the middle, where Draco, Potter, and the tall redheaded boy were still Petrified. Draco’s mouth was frozen in an angry-looking shout, the redheaded boy had a fist pulled back, and Potter had his wand raised to the sky in a vicious stance. Directly above Potter, the ceiling had a dark hole that was smoking slightly.
Professor Lupin sighed, extinguished the flame, and tapped the boy named Potter first, who immediately jumped into an impassioned explanation. “Remus, listen! Malfoy and Parkinson were picking on the new girl, and he called Hermione-”
“Really, Harry, there must be a way to resolve it without an Incendio,” Professor Lupin said tiredly, “and on the first day of class? Detentions for all three of you -- yes, even you, Mr Weasley, I’ve quite literally caught you winding up a punch -- just one for the both of you, and ten nights of detention for Mr Malfoy, due to that offensive term, which we will talk about… again. Class hasn’t even started and I’ve already caught two Prefects in a fight…”
Professor Lupin tapped the redheaded boy -- he must have been Ron Weasley -- who unfroze and slowly lowered his fist as he looked at Draco murderously. “No Crabbe or Goyle,” Essa heard him muttering, “should’ve been a bit quicker-”
The other boy -- who must have been Harry Potter -- snickered as Lupin rubbed his eyes. “Go inside, both of you,” Lupin said, then seemed to turn and see Essa, Miriam, and Hannah, who were standing on the other side of the classroom door. Ron and Harry stalked past them, and though Ron’s gaze was focused inside, Harry glanced at her quickly before he and his friend disappeared through the doorway into the room inside.
“Miss McKinnon, Miss Abbott, Miss Sterling,” Lupin said calmly, “please go inside and seat yourselves. Class will begin shortly after I deal with Mr Malfoy.”
Hannah didn’t have to be told twice; she nearly ran inside the classroom. Essa began to follow, but her eyes caught on Draco, who was still Petrified and looking very angry.
“He wasn’t picking on me, Professor,” said Essa, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Miriam stop and smack her forehead with a palm.
Lupin raised an eyebrow.
“It was Pansy Parkinson, she called me a ‘bastard bitch’, that’s a direct quote. Draco called the other girl…that word, but he didn’t do anything to me. And I think Pansy was the one who started it all.”
“Alright,” Lupin said slowly. “I’ll give a detention to Miss Parkinson but I’ll not decrease Mr Malfoy’s punishment. Anything to add, Miss McKinnon? No? Now please go inside, and I’ll have a short chat with Mr Malfoy about his choice in language.”
Essa nodded and walked through the door, which clicked shut behind her.
“...can’t be serious,” Miriam was saying under her breath, though she’d waited for Essa instead of walking down the aisle toward an empty desk, “defending him after he used that word-”
“It’s terrible,” Essa snapped, grateful for the noise in the classroom and feeling very unhappy. “And he’s terrible, you were right, are you happy now?”
Miriam didn’t look convinced.
“He wasn’t like that to me, I didn’t know. I guess I was an idiot all summer. But I’m not letting him take the blame for Parkinson, do you understand? It’s not fair.”
“I heard the way he spoke to you, he said you didn’t have enough brains for Slytherin, whatever that means, the evil git-”
Essa huffed. “He was just making fun.”
“Right,” said Miriam sharply, “well, this brainless Hufflepuff is done.” And she walked to the empty seat next to Hannah, seeming to have decided that she did not want to talk to Essa ever again.
With a huff, Professor Lupin marched back into the classroom, Draco slinking in behind him and sliding into the open seat next to Pansy.
“Welcome to NEWT-level Defense,” the man declared, leaning on his desk. On the board, a piece of chalk wrote: Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Remus Lupin. Remus Lupin did not seem like a professor at all; he had deep scars on his face and neck, and looked like he needed a good night’s worth of sleep. His robes were well-fitted but he did not seem comfortable in them, as he fidgeted constantly with the sleeves. Even though he did not appear older than forty, there were silver streaks going through his brown hair.
“This year, we will be learning how to repel more varieties of the Dark Arts, and we will also practice dueling against Dark spells. Is everyone here already enrolled in the Dueling Club?” Lupin peered through the classroom. “Good. We will be exercising practical magic here, but the bulk of your practice time should be in the club.”
The girl next to Essa raised her hand, and Lupin nodded at her. “Professor Lupin, are we going to be casting non-verbal spells?”
Lupin smiled. “Yes, Miss Granger. Clearly someone has done the summer reading. Now, what can you tell us about non-verbal spells?”
“Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform which gives you a split-second advantage.” Granger didn’t even have to stop and think; the words seemed to arise from the top of her head. Her quill was loaded completely with ink and her parchment had no wrinkles in it; next to her, Essa fumbled quickly to open her own parchment on the desk.
“Very good, Miss Granger. This means that each of you will have to spend a large amount of time outside of class, strengthening your concentration and mental magical abilities. Now, I want you to think of your time before Hogwarts, before you had a wand. I’m sure that there were instances of nonverbal magic; remember that the magic is inside of you, and that saying the word is only a matter of honing your power in one place. You must find another place in your mind to focus your magic, and you may find that in the beginning, thinking of an emotional memory may help you find the power necessary to cast the spell. Now, partner with the person next to you. The one on the right will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other can repel the jinx in whichever form necessary, though please make nonverbal attempts. This room should be completely silent otherwise. You will switch roles every few minutes.”
Essa slowly stood from her chair and stood in front of the table, facing Granger. The Gryffindor had her eyes narrowed; she had been sitting on the right and was thus supposed to be the jinxer.
“I’m Hermione Granger,” she said, using the same tone of voice that had answered Lupin’s question earlier. Essa shook her outstretched hand, glancing down at the Prefect badge on her robes. Was every freaking student in this school a Prefect?
“Essa Sterling,” said Essa, readying her wand.
“I know, I saw your Sorting last night. Look, I’ve been practicing nonverbal spells ever since we were on the train, so please feel free to defend yourself verbally. I’ll be starting with a Jelly-Legs Jinx, if that helps.” Hermione sniffed, though she didn’t seem like she was trying to brag, and pointed her wand as she crouched in a fighting stance. “Aren’t you going to get in position?”
“Quiet, please!” Lupin had begun to stride throughout the room, which was filled with whispering.
Essa hurriedly mimicked the way Hermione was standing. She was beginning to see why Draco hadn’t much liked Gryffindors; if the rest of the house was like this girl, maybe he hadn’t been so off the mark.
Hermione scrunched her eyebrows together. She was staring at the tip of her wand with an intensity that should have set the room on fire, but even after nearly five long minutes, nothing had happened, not even a puff of smoke. Her cheeks were turning red. Around them, many people had begun muttering spells, but Hermione stood steadily with her lips pressed together, unwilling to risk even the slightest subconscious whisper. Lupin was walking around the room, stopping at each pair to give a few low words of advice. While the other students stopped to listen to him, Hermione didn’t even budge.
With almost anyone else, Essa probably would have tried to help, but she got the distinct sense that Hermione would not have liked it. So they stood silently as Hermione glared at her wand, tense and unmoving and turning redder and looking more concentrated by the minute. Lupin began to walk past them, then paused to watch; he too knew not to interrupt. Another long stretch of time ticked by. Neither Essa, Lupin, nor Hermione moved, not even when a flash of red light from another Gryffindor boy’s wand whizzed by Hermione’s ear. A bead of sweat trickled down the girl’s freckled face.
Finally, just when Essa had been about to relax, a quick beam of red light left Hermione’s wand. With a flick of her wrist, Essa repelled it into the table, which wobbled precariously.
“Very good,” said Lupin from the front of the room, fixing their table and sounding pleased. In the quietness, the class had looked over and watched as he said, “Twenty points to Gryffindor for Miss Granger’s nonverbal jinx, and twenty points to Hufflepuff for Miss Sterling’s nonverbal defense. You may now switch roles.”
As Essa cracked her neck and flexed her wrist, sore from holding her wand so still, Hermione glanced over and said, “you responded quickly.”
“I’ve practiced a lot too,” said Essa. She stood steadily. “Ready?”
Hermione nodded, couching again and looking determined, but didn’t quite manage to repel the Limb-Binding Jinx that Essa shot to her as soon as Lupin looked away (though she pushed it into her shoulder when it was heading toward her stomach). Looking shocked, she seemed speechless as Essa tapped her right shoulder to wordlessly undo the jinx.
Now she was staring at Essa with a quizzical expression, and instead of crouching into the stiff dueling pose that she’d been in earlier, she copied Essa’s relaxed stance instead. “Again,” said Hermione, looking determined.
Essa glanced around, then fired off an Impediment Jinx. This time Hermione repelled it into the table fully, though the light was slow and the table didn’t quite seem to feel an impression from the spell.
“Nice,” said Essa anyway, begrudgingly impressed. Hermione hadn’t been lying when she said she’d been practicing.
Hermione grinned, then tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Again.”
The two girls practiced for the rest of the hour, and Hermione improved steadily. At the end of class, Lupin clapped and said a few words about concentration and mental abilities, and assigned an essay and some reading. Essa began to pack up her belongings with a swish of her wand.
“Well,” said Hermione awkwardly, once the table behind them had cleared out, “I should have known you must have done nonverbal spells before.”
Essa nodded. “I was at Ilvermorny, an American school.”
“I’ve read about it,” Hermione said as she nodded, again not giving the impression that she was trying to brag but just couldn't help herself. “You must have been a Wampus, I saw that they learn nonverbal dueling spells as early as First Year. Just the basics, of course. What other classes are you taking?”
“Um,” Essa said, caught off guard, “This one, Charms, and Transfiguration. I’m also taking remedial Potions and remedial Ancient Runes until I receive those OWLs over Christmas Break.”
“Remedial Potions?” Hermione asked, looking alarmed. “You mean, with Crabbe and Goyle and-”
“I’m taking group remedials for Ancient Runes, but private remedials for Potions,” Essa explained, though her heart began to sink when she considered that Crabbe and Goyle might share group remedials. “Apparently the curriculum-”
“Yes, I’ve read that the Potions-making tradition is quite different there, but you’re sure you have to take private lessons with Professor Snape?” Hermione squeaked, sounding like she had just had her foot stepped on.
The classroom was mostly empty now. All the Hufflepuffs were gone, but a quick glance told her that a few Ravenclaws were gathered around a desk laughing and talking quietly, and Draco seemed to be busy rummaging through his bag in the back of the classroom. Either way, Essa felt her ears get a bit warmer; she didn’t need everyone knowing that she apparently required extra remedials with her subjects.
“I guess,” said Essa noncommittally, sweeping up her things, but Hermione grabbed her arm.
“I didn’t mean… look,” she said, looking nervous, “I need practice repelling nonverbal spells, I can tell I’m hopeless and you’re loads better.” Essa started in surprise; she would not have described Hermione as hopeless, since she was the only other student in their whole class who'd been able to do anything nonverbal at all. “And I can help you with Potions! I got an ‘Outstanding’ last year, and trust me, with Professor Snape…” she trailed off and fidgeted with the strap of her bag. “You won’t like him. I’d want some extra help if I were alone with him,” she finished.
Essa considered the offer, but it didn’t seem to be made in poor will. She was still surprised that Hermione didn’t seem to be as stuck-up as she came across originally. “Alright,” she said.
Hermione smiled. “Great. Let’s meet at the Library tonight after dinner, does that sound good? An hour before Dueling Club? Do you know how to get there? What class do you have next? Let me see your schedule… Remedial Potions, already? Are you sure?...” Despite her best efforts, Essa couldn’t help but smile.
As they walked out together, they passed by Draco, who finished sorting through his bag just as they were about to pass him. Hermione stiffened, and Essa remembered the scene from the beginning of class. She glanced over her shoulder; Lupin was still behind his desk, watching silently.
“Hey Draco,” greeted Essa, slowing down slightly although Hermione looked as if she wanted to rush out the door. “Now that you're no longer violent, how'd you do with the nonverbals?”
Draco stared down at her, then looked sideways at Hermione, who was inching away. “Obviously fine,” he said (though he hadn't been able to cast one when they'd practiced over the summer). He swallowed, and she could see his expression harden slightly, though he sounded more warning than angry when he spoke. “You should watch who you’re hanging out with, Sterling. It reflects badly on all of us.”
“Does ‘us’ mean Slytherins?” asked Essa flippantly. “If so, I'm glad I'm not one of you. You must’ve set a record for most points lost on the first day.”
“I think your cousin Garrick had me beat, actually. Set our common room on fire last year…” Draco smirked, tilting his head slightly but not looking away from her.
“Look, about what your friend Pansy called me before class-”
“Take a joke,” interrupted Draco, looking slightly amused for a moment and incensing her further. “We usually don’t like Hufflepuffs, especially the ones that seem like blood traitors.” He cast a meaningful look at Hermione, who had begun to scowl and tightened her grip on her wand.
“Don’t say that,” Essa said suddenly, and added, “Hermione’s excellent at nonverbal spells. She's probably best in class.”
She saw the surprise flicker across Draco’s face, but he finally, blissfully, remained silent, seeming like he didn’t know what to say for once, and she grabbed Hermione’s elbow and stormed out of class.
“You know Malfoy?” Hermione hissed as soon as they were outside, ears a little pink. Essa paused, but Hermione continued dragging her down the hall and through another corridor. “Oh my God, and you’re related to Garrick Sterling? And Gretchen?”
“Yeah,” said Essa finally, waiting for her to cringe away in disgust.
Hermione just stared. “I’ve never seen Malfoy shut up like that before. Did you use a nonverbal Silencing Charm- no, I would have seen it. Unless you did it without a wand too?”
“I don’t think so,” said Essa uncomfortably, starting to feel a bit guilty when she imagined the look on his face despite everything. “We spent time together over the summer.”
“Oh, that’s terrible,” said Hermione. She scrunched up her face.
That word again. “It wasn’t so bad,” Essa said finally. “Our families know each other.”
“Because you’re a Pureblood?”
Essa looked at Hermione, who was steadily meeting her eyes and trying to look blank. “It doesn’t mean anything to me,” she said.
Hermione sniffed and began walking away, though not before linking her elbow through Essa’s. “Good,” she said. “We better get to the dungeons before you’re late for Potions.”
Hermione was right; Essa did not like Snape.
The Gryffindor left her at the front of his office with a grimace that only succeeded in building the dread that had begun to mount inside her chest. At exactly four in the afternoon, when they were scheduled to meet, the door flung open. Snape’s office was dark, and the walls were lined with books, different bubbling jars of various colors, and piles of ingredients that smoked and simmered and gave an occasional spark or pop. In the corner was a cupboard that was tightly shut. A cauldron sat on his desk.
“Hello,” Essa said weakly, sticking her head in and finding the man inside. He was sitting on one side of his desk and peering at her; she had seen him at the Banquet in the morning, but had not tried to look at him for long because his presence unnerved her. He was wearing long black robes that blended with the ends of his hair, and he was staring at her like he dreaded this session as much as she did.
“Close the door behind you,” Snape said, and she obeyed, feeling frightened. When she met his cold dark eyes, she had to suppress a shudder. “Miss Sterling, the headmaster has requested that I give you private Remedial lessons so that you may catch up on the curriculum needed and somehow join my NEWT-level class after Christmas break. To do this, you will have to work very hard, harder than you will in any other class, and perhaps harder than the rest of your classes combined. I am told that you have Potions training, but that you are unadapted to the OWL curriculum.”
Essa nodded silently, refusing to look away from his gaze.
“I am a professor,” continued Snape silkily, his voice thin and piercing, “and you will address me as such, or as ‘sir’, at all times.”
“Yes, sir,” Essa said quietly, wishing she could jump into one of the bubbling jars in the room and melt away.
“And I will also be teaching you Occlumency, a task that you will not mention to anyone else. Over the course of the next three months, I expect progress from you, as that is the only way that this time I am spending on you will not be wasted.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, I will assess your existing abilities. It is time for you to attempt the Draught of Living Death. Open your textbook and start now; we will have our Occlumency lesson afterward.”
“Yes, sir,” Essa said weakly, and found the page immediately. She remembered skimming the method over the summer when she’d considered taking the Potions OWL, but there had been no reason for her to ever learn how to make something like it -- except now, of course, when two black eyes were staring dismissively at her.
Carefully she reread the method, ignoring Snape’s sniffs. He seemed to be a strict observant, and would almost definitely not be a source of aid if she made any mistakes. Essa walked quickly to the cupboard to collect all her ingredients, inspecting each one closely to make sure that they seemed to fit with what the potion would want.
The first few steps seemed simple enough, though she didn’t like to consider how still and silent the bat-like man on the other side of the desk was being. Essa quickly followed the method, trying to ignore his presence as she chopped and diced and measured. Much to her relief, she had used some of the ingredients before, and for the first time felt that she might be able to do the task that the man across the table seemed to want her to fail.
The next ingredient, however, was a sopophorus bean, which she wouldn’t have been able to identify if it weren’t for the picture in the textbook. Squinting at the instructions through the bluish steam that filled the room, Essa wiped away a bead of sweat with the back of her hand and considered how she was supposed to extract the juices from a couple of shriveled, pea-sized beads. Trying to cut them, as the book instructed, proved nearly impossible, as they rolled and ran away from the blade of her knife. Snape’s sniff at this moment sounded particularly aggressive. She didn’t dare to ask for help.
Suddenly she remembered what this sopophorus bean reminded her of: the mescal bean, which was poisonous unless one brewed its juices with the tears of a Sasquatch. And how did one do that?
Fortunately, Essa had learned just a year ago in her Indigenous Magics class. She placed a sopophorus bean in her palm and held it over the steam emitting from her cauldron until her hand burned and the bean softened slightly, exactly how a mescal bean would. Holding her breath, Essa held the plump bean with her thumb and index fingers and gave it a gentle squeeze; immediately the juices, warmed by the heat of the cauldron, spurted out into the potion. Encouraged, she heated the rest of the sopophorus beans and repeated the procedure, sighing in relief when the potion changed to the lilac color described in the book.
One final step: stir the potion counterclockwise until it turned transparent. The sweat poured off Essa’s face as she stirred the hot potion, and though it lightened paler and paler, it wouldn’t change completely…
“Five minutes,” Snape drawled nasally, and she kept her eyes on the potion as she stirred hurriedly. Maybe she needed to calm down and stir slower? Or maybe she didn’t add enough juice? Or she had diced the roots incorrectly? Nothing she could do now, Essa thought resignedly as the potion remained light, but purple. Nothing to do now except…
“One minute,” said Snape, and Essa gritted her teeth and stirred once clockwise. To her surprise, the potion lightened immediately, and she turned it again clockwise. It was bright pink now, and Essa hurried to stir counterclockwise again as it had in the book until the potion again became lighter. Right, balance out the stirring… her arm about to fall off, Essa stirred and stirred, changing direction and readjusting ever so often, and whenever she heard Snape sniff particularly hard.
Snape stood suddenly in one quick movement, and she stepped back from the table. “Time’s up,” he said, and peered into the cauldron, then up at her. His dark eyes moved beadily across the table, through the scraps and remnants of the ingredients, and finally back at Essa.
“I’ll clean up, sir,” she managed, reaching for her wand, but he stopped her, raising his and clearing the table, leaving only a part of her potion bubbling quietly in a flagon.
“Your Draught was not quite clear. Your roots were unequal sizes, you waited too long to add the sloth brain, your powdered root was added when the heat was too high…” Snape looked very displeased. “...but your end result was… merely mediocre, Miss Sterling. Please provide thirty inches of parchment on the derivation of the Wolfsbane potion, and the history and uses of every ingredient that you just touched. And at least five inches on sloth brains, as you used them improperly as well. I will also expect that you arrive at our next lesson on Thursday having read chapters two through twelve of Standard Potions and Methods.”
Essa was furiously writing down his instructions on a spare piece of parchment which she had to enchant longer with every sentence he assigned her. She was suddenly grateful for Hermione’s offer of help, for she was certain that she would not be able to finish all of this before the next lesson.
“Yes, Professor,” Essa said finally when he seemed to be satisfied with the amount of work he had assigned her, and began to pack her belongings.
“Did you forget about the Occlumency lesson that the headmaster ordered?”
Essa froze and sat back down in the chair across his desk, swallowing. Snape’s eyes glinted.
“Now, Occlumency. This branch of magic seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence. I am completely unsure why the headmaster believes you will be able to achieve the skill required to do so, much less why he believes someone might consider your mind important enough to enter. You are an irrelevant Sixth Year who cannot brew a proper Draught of Living Death with three OWLs to her name, born to a girl who could not bother to keep her legs closed…”
Snape’s words, though harsh and nearly unbelievable in their casual cruelty, felt like nothing to Essa. If anything, she was grateful for his evilness that masqueraded as strength, for she could see now why Draco admired him, perhaps even thought him powerful. Fidgeting under Snape’s intense stare, she tried to push away any other thoughts of Draco, which all seemed to cluster together in a massive tangled ball of confusion and disappointment.
Snape summoned a large Pensieve onto the table, then touched his forehead with the tip of his wand. He extracted a silvery thick strand of memory that glittered in the dim lighting of the room, and placed it gently into the swirling liquid of the Pensieve. With another swish of his hand, the Pensieve flew gently to one of the shelves behind him.
“Stand up and take out your wand,” said Snape, as if he had done nothing important at all.
Essa rose quickly and faced him with her wand as he stood as well behind the desk. She tried to steel herself from what he might do, sharpening her focus onto the dark, thin figure that he cast across the shadows.
“You may attempt to defend yourself…you will find it important to close your mind, to maintain control of your emotions…now, Legilimens!”
And then Essa was lost in the swirl of images that filled her mind.
She was being led to a room that had six beds, and the other children were staring silently at her as a woman directed her inside the covers… it was the first day of school at Ilvermorny, and she was filled with startling, extreme surprise, then relief, when the Wampus carving roared and she was chosen… and then shortly afterward the same day she was meeting Charlotte, who sat down next to her in class and she was so hopeful to have a friend she nearly cried… She was thirteen and had made the Quidditch team, and her broom was soaring through the air as she nearly burst with joy at the cheering from her house… It was summer, and she was sitting with her mother, trying to make conversation the way she’d seen Charlotte talk with hers but the conversation was all stilted and wrong and her heart was sinking into her stomach… She was sitting in Draco’s room as he showed her how to cast a Charm that she’d never heard of and he was teasing her but smiling and looking very gentle as Theo and Daphne chased each other through the hall…
Shame and horror struck. BANG. Suddenly she could see Snape’s dark cavernous office again; a shelf full of jars behind him had collapsed and broken all over the floor.
“Was it your intention to knock them down?” asked Snape, waving his wand and repairing the damage she must have made.
Breathing quickly, she shook her head, ignoring the dull ache that emanated from her skull. “No, sir,” Essa managed, wanting to die. She knew suddenly that he too must have seen all the horrible, private memories that she’d just relived.
“You are too emotional,” Snape said coldly, looking at her like she was gunk that had stuck to his shoe. “Clear your mind… close your eyes and focus, it will allow you to break the connection… let your emotions pass through and disappear…”
Essa took a deep breath and tried to manage her embarrassment. The last thing she wanted was for Snape to see all the stupid, idiot thoughts and feelings she’d ever had. Essa tried to imagine the headspace she often entered into when she dueled, the mental box in which nothing else mattered and she was the most capable person in the world, but the more she tried to will away her thoughts of Draco, the more his face rushed through her mind.
Snape sniffed loudly, and the sound seemed to crack the careful container she had constructed to put all her memories in. “Legilimens!”
Draco was flying through the air next to her, laughing and gasping as she flipped joyously around him on her broom… Daphne was giggling as they played wizard’s chess under the pale morning sun… her cousin Garrick was staring incredulously, saying, “her?”... she was drinking Firewhiskey with Draco; he was flushed and grinning up at her from where his head was in her lap. The fireplace crackled and she laid the back of her hand against his heart-shaped face and he reached up to caress her wrist… Draco, lying on a picnic blanket and hungrily reading her copy of Romeo and Juliet… Draco again, eyes wide and asking her why she hadn’t told him the author was a Muggle, making her promise that she would never tell anyone he’d read it… and then, a memory from just that morning: She was begging the Sorting Hat, “not Gryffindor, as long as I’m not in Gryffindor!”...
Essa was suddenly aware of her fingers tightening around her wand. The feeling grounded her and her vision focused again, and she saw that Snape was healing a massive welt on his chin. “Lost control again,” he said contemptuously, eyes flashing. She got the sense that he was deeply amused by her, like she was a monkey that had done a funny trick. “Did you even attempt to clear your mind? Instead you seem to be lost in your fantasies of Mr Malfoy… of turning him into a blood traitor…”
A deep, traitorous flush filled her face. So Snape was seeing everything she was seeing, and probably feeling everything she felt. There was nothing left for her to say, but she became aware of a deep resentment towards him and this room and these classes. At that moment, the thought of having to continue these lessons for the remainder of the semester nearly made her scream; she hated her mother for forcing her to come to Hogwarts.
The hatred felt cold, and Essa grasped it eagerly. A small voice inside of her said, yes, good, this is all beneath us. The coldness seemed to descend down from her head to the rest of her body like a certain numbness. She didn’t care anymore; Snape had seen too much already… he was nothing to her…
“Control your mind… discipline yourself… Legilimens!”
Suddenly there was nothing but darkness, and then Snape’s office swam back into her vision. She was no longer standing; she was sitting in the chair, but most alarmingly, her wand was lying on his desk. Snape looked unnerved.
“What,” he said slowly, as if each syllable pained him, “was that?”
Essa looked at him, victorious. She had successfully repelled him in her first lesson-
"Tell me what you saw, Miss Sterling.” Snape was looking down at her carefully, and though his voice was even, his eyes were a bit wild around the edges.
“I don't know, sir,” said Essa.
Snape stared. “You had a… disturbing vision and collapsed, Miss Sterling. I had to move you into the chair.” He blinked and twisted away, staring for a long moment at the wall. “It is possible that the memory was so distressing that you didn’t remember it.”
All the satisfaction in Essa drained away; now she really didn’t want to know what Snape had seen in her head, especially since he wasn’t laughing at her anymore. Her head was pounding and there was a sharp, painful ache in the depths of her spine. She realized that she was exhausted.
Snape waited a long moment before speaking again. He seemed to be melting into the shadows. “I will see you again at our next lesson.”
“Yes, sir,” Essa said obediently, though her hand was already grasping the strap of her bag and she could hardly wait to leave the office. She never wanted to see Snape again.
“Every morning and every evening, you are to clear your mind completely, make it completely empty. I expect you to take this very seriously…”
“Yes sir,” she repeated, waiting and waiting-
“You are dismissed.”
She leapt up and raced through the door, trying to shove the memories of their lessons as far away as possible, and attempting to not think too hard about what he possibly could have seen.