Chapter Text
September
Another 1st September, another school year at Hogwarts. Her last one. Isabella Summers has reached her seventh year fairly unscathed, despite there being an actual war just the year before. Not that she'd been around for it – she'd been asked to leave the castle with the rest of Slytherin house, even though she didn't have any kind of affiliation with the dark side whatsoever.
This was the last sorting ceremony that she would have to be at, pushed further and further down the Slytherin table every year. Her mates had grown in height but she hadn't, and she had to lean back very uncomfortably to even get a glimpse of what was going on at the front of the Great Hall.
There had been about 30 new students joining their table; Slytherin always had the fewest students, which in Isabella's mind explained why they always worked twice as hard to be the best at everything. Tonight, they hadn't acquired anyone new since the letter M, and she really was getting quite bored.
She pretended to watch, but actually she was looking back on the last 6-and-a-bit years of her life, never quite able to shake off a sense that she didn't totally belong there. She wasn't the brightest student in her house, but she also hadn't gained admittance to Slytherin just due to her bloodline, like some of her more obtuse house-mates; in fact, her father had been a Ravenclaw and her mother had gone to a completely different school.
She wasn't the most competitive - she'd rather be caught dead than be seen on a Quidditch pitch. She didn't even bother going to matches, and spent those times in the library, working on her Arithmancy coursework. It was deliciously quiet then. Even know-it-alls like Hermione Granger, who otherwise lived in the library, would be watching Quidditch.
Despite all this, Isabella wasn't a boffin, and she didn't particularly cherish being alone. She had a couple of good friends and she even had a boyfriend who'd left school the year before (she would see him again for Christmas break) but somehow she still felt she didn't quite fit. In short, she just wanted to get out of there and start her adult life.
The list of first-years getting sorted was about to come to an end. They had finally reached the letter W, and the Slytherin table looked almost dejected that there weren't any new Weasleys to make fun of. In fact, the last Weasley to be sorted had been Ginny, who was in Isabella's year. In a year's time, there would be no Weasleys at all attending Hogwarts. Then again, after the events of last year, it didn't even feel right to make fun of them anymore. They'd suffered a bad loss, and if anyone knew the value of family, it was the Slytherins.
The last kid to get called up to sit in front of the whole room was Welch, Florence, a skinny little thing with her legs covered in cuts and bruises, who managed to trip up the steps – and caught herself just in time. No wonder her legs were in that state. She had matted brown hair and a fringe an inch too long, so when they put the hat on her head it looked like she didn't have eyes at all.
The sorting hat put her in Hufflepuff and that was it. Done. Isabella thanked the gods that the ceremony was finally over and she could have dinner.
=
Two weeks into their first year, students were asked to try and fly on a broom for the first time. The weather was still nice enough that they could be outside, with a bit of a breeze to help them soar, but not so violent to knock them off mid-flight.
Isabella was walking across the field, on her way to the lake, where she sometimes liked to sit in solitary with her secret sketchbook by her side. She watched the small clump of first-years, surveyed by a new teacher she didn't even know, and identified a couple of baby-snakes that she'd come to know in the last few days. The boys were ridiculously snobbish and obnoxious – they probably didn't get the memo that affiliation with the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters was no longer cool ; the girls were much nicer and excitable, and one of them actually managed to levitate the broom on her first go and gracefully, if a little unsteadily, climb on board.
The battered-looking Hufflepuff kid from the sorting ceremony hit herself on the forehead with the broomstick. She was in visible pain, but managed to hold back tears and pretend like nothing happened.
Before she could stop herself, Isabella cackled, but didn't break her stride.
The kid would get used to it. They all did.
November
The child was just standing there when Isa turned the corner. It actually gave her a fright as she was lost in thought. She kept changing her mind every other day about what subjects she would take for her NEWTs. Unfortunately, the only one she knew for sure she would have liked to take was forbidden to her: you could only take a Potions NEWTs with an OWL grade of Outstanding, and, surprise surprise, Isa had stopped just under that and been given an Exceeds Expectations.
Part of her thought this was just punishment from Professor Snape because she just wasn't Slytherin enough. He was dead now, but she still felt no sympathy. He had effectively stunted her career choices. Her future would be different because of him.
The kid's tie knot was starting to come undone and Isabella resisted the urge to fix it - that was perhaps a telltale sign of her house allegiance (fuck you, Snape). She wouldn't accept less than perfect looks for anyone, including herself. The scrawny Hufflepuff was looking left and right and clearly couldn't find her bearings, so Isa thought she would offer a hand.
“You lost?” she asked, as she came to a halt in front of her.
“I have Astronomy class,” the kid explained by way of a reply, “but I can't find my way around.”
“Honey, Astronomy class is up on a tower. You're currently underground, and the Slytherin dorms are at the end of this corridor. Did you not realise there's no windows here?”
“I've had Astronomy before, you know.” The child frowned, slightly offended. “It's just... the staircase moved while I was on it, and before I knew it it was going down and not up, and, ah, I don't know...” she trailed off.
It was endearing, Isa thought, and also extremely dangerous, for an eleven year old girl from Hufflepuff of all houses, to be standing outside the Slytherin common room, alone. Isa's protective instincts kicked in immediately, and she extended her hand and introduced herself hastily.
“I'm Isabella Summers. Nice to meet you. Now follow me and let's get you to class on time.”
“I'm Florence Welch,” said the kid, scuttling after her in a hurry. Two older Slytherins came down the stairs just then, and gave Florence a harsh stare as they passed her.
=
It didn't take Florence very long to catch up to Isa since they were about the same height. She wasn't even watching where she was going, which meant that if she ever got lost again, she still wouldn't have found her way back up.
“My best friend's in Slytherin!” she spoke suddenly, almost with pride. “Sophie Hart-Walsh, do you know her?”
Isa actually did. Sophie came from generations and generations of Slytherins, and with only two months of school under her belt, she was already acting more entitled than Isa had ever had in nearly seven years. She was very skilled with a broom, and had already declared she'd try out for Quidditch next year.
“Yes, yes. I know Sophie.” Isa mumbled, taking a quick turn to the right.
“She wanted me to be in Slytherin as well, but -” Florence's voice took a grave tone then, “I didn't think I could ever make it. My mum's a Muggle, you know.”
Isabella felt she had to explain that, at least to her, that didn't mean much. “It's not like you can only make friends with people from the same house as you, hun. I'm sure you guys can stay friends, plus you'll make some new ones in Hufflepuff.”
Shit, when had she become so... mature?
“We haven't really talked much, though, since the sorting. It's like she's forgotten me.”
Isa stopped in front of the classroom door, and cut the conversation short.
“So, this is your stop, missy. Although, let me just come in and explain to Professor Sinistra why you're late.”
She'd already done her good deed for the day. Listening to an eleven year old ramble about her best-friend-forever was positively not about to be added to the list.
=
News travelled fast, so fast. And Isabella's legs were too short to run away. By the time she got back to her common room, the two fifth-years who had passed her and Florence on the stairs had already managed to turn half of Slytherin house against her.
“Fraternising with a Hufflepuff!? And a first-year at that?”
Isa's close friends were sitting on a sofa in the distance, shaking their heads and silently inviting her to just shrug the teasing off. But to get to them, Isa had to cross a whole sea of people (if the house with the smallest head count in the school could be called a “sea”). Unfortunately, even though their reputation had suffered greatly when more than half of their alumni had turned out to be Death Eaters, some Slytherins still acted like they had a right to be elitist and feel better than everybody else.
Among those students was Sophie Hart-Walsh. When she noticed her laughing with the older students, Isabella's heart broke a little for Florence.
December
Isa's last Christmas break at Hogwarts was by far the worst. She had chosen to stay in school, because her boyfriend was supposed to come visit, but he decided to go on a trip with his colleagues at the last minute. This adult world that still escaped Isabella had things like work, and colleagues, Muggle-born colleagues whose parents owned boat houses in countries where it was currently summer. And despite being of legal wizarding age, she hadn't been invited to join them.
Her own parents had decided to go away since she wouldn’t be going to see them in Aldeburgh, so her choice was to go home to an empty house or stay in school. Hardly any Slytherins stayed over at Christmas break; they all had huge families that placed a lot of importance on commitment. She was just with some orphaned students whose parents had been Death Eaters. Maybe they weren't all orphans: Isa was pretty sure some of the parents were in jail, but the students were so ashamed to admit it they just acted like they were dead.
There was a big celebration for everyone, before most of the Hogwarts population made their way back to the train station to go home for Christmas. The school choir would sing hymns to start off the evening, then, after a sumptuous dinner, the room would be turned into a dance hall and the curfew be pushed forward by not one, but two hours.
It appeared that Florence Welch had joined the Hogwarts choir; not just that, but she'd been given a solo. That was unheard of for a first-year. And when she opened her mouth, somehow the room went still. Granted, she was only just a child, but unlike most obnoxious choir kids, she wasn't trying to smile and look angelic all throughout the song; on the contrary, she kept her eyes pointed to the heavens and sang from her gut. There were about a thousand people in the Great Hall, and every last one of them was holding their breath. Isabella was slightly surprised, but then again, she thought, everybody had to be good at something.
March
Isa had begun the new year boyfriend-less, and a little surer that she'd made the right choices for her NEWTs: Transfiguration was the obvious choice, as it was her favourite subject, with Potions out of the equation. She would take Charms, as it was strictly connected to Transfiguration anyway, and Arithmancy.
This last one was tricky: there were only 5 students in the whole school who were taking it. They had decided to prep together, as it only made sense to work as a group. The only problem was that they were headed by Hermione Granger. Hermione had skipped school the year before and had come back just to take exams; the fact she was the oldest, coupled with her being a little bit bossy but also very competent, made her the natural choice for leader of their study group.
Isabella would never admit this to her housemates, but she thought Hermione was actually quite nice once you got to know her. Or maybe she was just grateful to her for teaching her the most amazing charm: it made a small container, like a bag, expand on the inside so you could just go on filling it and no one would be able to tell how much stuff was in there.
When she wasn't studying for her NEWTs, Isabella would return to her favourite hobby, and stalk off with her sketchbook to her favourite place by the lake. No one ever seemed to gather around there, unless the weather got really warm, which worked out just fine for Isa. She would hide around the body of a tower, so she was just out of sight of the Slytherin dorms, and she was fairly sure she couldn't be seen from any windows, either.
One day, as she sat on the grass in her usual spot, she looked up and noticed a pair of legs, dangling around the branch of a tree. She shifted her gaze up and saw who the legs belonged to: none other than Florence Welch, who, still in her school uniform minus her robes, had somehow climbed up the mulberry, and was now reading a book in the perfect hiding place.
Impressed and amused, Isabella thought that would be an interesting scene to draw. She flipped to a new page in her sketchbook and started drafting up the outline of the tree and the small, slight body perched up on the branch. Florence had long, wavy hair that grew quite wild, and her expression was completely rapt as she leafed through the pages of her book. Isa found herself wondering how often she climbed up that tree and if she'd been there other times, without Isa ever noticing.
When she was almost done with the finer details such as the exact shape of Florence's eyes and mouth, a girl's voice broke the peaceful silence.
“Florence! Flossy! Where are you?”
Florence's head shot up and in doing so, she met Isabella's eyes staring back at her. She gave her a quick wave and a grin.
“Florence! Hagrid said he'd take us boating on the lake this weekend if we look after his dog this afternoon!”
The voice sounded very excited at the prospect. Isabella could hear steps, someone running. But it sounded like the other girl was quite far away, and Isa was pretty sure she wasn't thinking of looking anywhere other than her own eye level.
“I'M COMING!” Florence shouted back; she shut her book and deftly rolled off the branch, hanging by her hands, then she let herself fall knees-first into the grass. She quickly brushed her legs, and took off running.
Isabella never saw her again that school year. She thought Florence might sing again at the graduation feast, but she didn't even stay for it. With her three NEWTs in hand, Isa headed straight back to London, where she was going to make her own life, at last.