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“Gather round new students,” Headmaster McGonagall began, “Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.
“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor.
“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.”
Voices buzzed in hushed voices when McGonagall turned back into a separate corridor. Yet there was one student who starred on with a stoicism that did not belong on a face as young as his.
Arnold couldn’t care less about what house he ended up in, all he knew was that he was finally free of his father’s mansion, yet not free of his rule. There was only one house that Arnold would never agree to enter here, and that was the house his father had once belonged to. The house of liars, betrayers, and snakes.
So when the headmistress returned Arnold stood in the back of the line of students following them into the entrance of a room filled with too many people and too many eyes. It was unnerving, but he had been trained to never show his discomfort no matter the situation. His father had seen it through personally. In front of him was a young girl with her hands clasped, bearing an equal poise. Arnold briefly entertained himself trying to pick out any flaws in her posture, then shook those thoughts out of his head.
Snake. Maybe he was fit for that house after all.
The line progressed at what felt like a glacial pace. One of the professors, who Arnold recognized as the strange man perusing a shelf of rather old texts in Obscurus Books, saw Arnold and briefly smiled. There was no greeting Arnold could give in return, so he didn’t bother.
“Weitzner, Rishe!”
The girl in front of him? Arnold took a closer look as she approached the stool and sat down. The pink hair wasn’t anything new, but the bright shade of her eyes was distinctive. Her family was minor, though apparently had produced several Parselmouths. Maybe the talent had passed onto the current generation.
The hat stayed on her head for two minutes, then five. Then eight. At that point, Arnold was rather impressed. When it was nearing ten minutes, the hat finally yelled out, “Gryffindor!”
There was applause, though clearly only as courtesy. Rishe stood—her shoulders stiff—, set the hat down, and vanished into the throng of her fellow housemates. Then McGonagall was lifting the parchment again, and calling out: “Hein, Arnold!”
It was comical, how swiftly the entire room hushed. Irritated, and not entirely certain why, Arnold strode towards the stool and picked up the ridiculous hat. Its voice did not speak to him through his ears, but echoed rather unpleasantly in his skull.
Hein, is it? Oho, you’ve certainly got an eclectic mix of traits. This year is an exciting one.
If you are referring to Rishe Weitzner, Arnold told it, do not do the same to me. I prefer not to be hassled.
It only took so long because she was arguing with me, the hat said, and it sounded rather petulant. She refused to go into Gryffindor. Put me in Slytherin or Ravenclaw, she kept insisting. Admittedly, both were a good fit…
I won’t argue, Arnold said. Any house except Slytherin. It doesn’t matter.
Any except Slytherin? Well, let’s see… intelligent, certainly, and plenty of wit, but you lack that thirst. You have courage, but I wouldn’t call it daring: too cautious. But… yes, that’s quite fitting… and I see that your anger certainly burns bright…
“Hufflepuff!”
There was a sprinkle of applause and a wave of hushed murmuring, but with how silent the hall was, it seemed sarcastic rather than a compliment. Even that died down rather fast. Arnold made his way to his house table and sat down between a timid-looking boy and a half-asleep fourth-year.
As Arnold thought about his new position, he couldn’t help the devious smirk that crept up his lips as he wondered how his father would react to the news.
The timid boy next to him inched away.
______________
Arnold didn’t believe that his skill and knowledge in the arts of potion making was anything to envy; yet, apparently, it was impressive enough for him to be placed in Potions Two in his first year.
Rumors spread quickly about him, or rather his father and possible threats that got him into the class. None of them were true of course, he doubted anyone could properly threaten the current Headmistress into submission, but he ignored them in turn. It wasn’t like he cared about any of the people here which meant their opinions of him mattered far less.
What was unexpected was to find out that Weitzner was placed in the same class as him. Whispers spread about her faster than about Arnold: whispers of her ancestors and questions about their loyalties. Word had it that her family’s talent had passed onto her.
What was annoying was when she decided that, despite his very obvious hints of him wanting to sit alone, it would be fine to ignore them all and sit beside him anyways. The only blessing was that she didn’t brew potions with him: they worked alone, and at most shared ingredients.
But then, as misfortune always seemed to befall him, one day they were forced to work together in pairs.
“We’ve sat next to each other for a month now, but I guess we never really introduced ourselves,” Rishe began, puffing out her chest to appear confident. “I’m Rishe Irmgard Weitzner!”
“I’m aware. I don’t doubt that you already know my name.”
Rishe blinked, tilting her head, and then accepted his non-introduction with naught more than an even brighter smile. “Yes. I apologize for being redundant. I believed a formal greeting would be the most polite way to begin today with our current project.”
Arnold opened his mouth to reply, then closed it when she wordlessly cleared her desk and stood up. If she was fetching ingredients, he supposed he would have to prepare the brewing stand and pick out the tools.
It was rather comical, seeing a crowd of second-year students shuffle away from such a small girl. He secured the cauldron into the stand, and went to find the rest of the equipment.
“Half a liter of water,” Rishe was murmuring, when Arnold returned. The floating basin of water tipped over and poured perfectly. “Then I need to grind up the roots of… oh!” She picked up the mortar and pestle he had brought, dropped in two handfuls of white roots, and determinedly began to mash everything into a paste. Sparks flew, and she leaned back to avoid them. It left Arnold to follow the next step, which was boiling the Dittany leaves.
Rishe was an adequate work-partner. The only stumble in their temporary partnership was when she nearly set her own sleeve on fire, and even then she was quick to pull away on her own. Their potion turned out perfect, in consistency, color, and every other metric. “Great work today!” Rishe cheered, holding out her open palm to Arnold.
Arnold stared at the appendage in confusion. There was nothing wrong with the hand: a little bit small, nails cut short, the fading pink of a cut stretching down her index. Is she trying to hit me? Is she asking me to hit her? Whatever it is, it’s a rather polite way to do such a thing. Didn’t she want to go to Slytherin?
Rishe’s brow furrowed slightly, her cheeks taking on a warm tint as she slowly lowered her hand, eyes glancing off to the side. She didn’t do anything but start washing the cauldron after that, sleeves rolled back.
Once they had finished cleaning their collective stations there were still five minutes left in class. “You know, we make a pretty good team! We should work together like this from now on,” Rishe offered with a small, excited grin.
“I’ll pass.”
“But think of it! Two of the youngest prodigies in the whole school working together. We’d be unstoppable!”
“Don’t get me mixed up in your Gryffindor fantasies.”
Rishe only laughed. “Aren’t Hufflepuffs supposed to be nice?”
“That’s what’s called a stereotype.”
“And I’m hardly fantasizing, either,” Rishe said, nothing about her smile waning. Nevertheless, she took a step back, and picked up her bag. “I have plans to be the greatest student in all of Hogwarts history. Even greater than the legend of Hermione Granger! ”
Wanted to be in Slytherin or Ravenclaw, Arnold recalled. He studied her: slight but with perfect posture, opaque green eyes, a fading bruise on her exposed elbow. “Did your family have a hand in this?”
Rishe smiled sharply, showing both of her canines. “If you ever see my parents,” she said, “do at least pretend to remember who I am.” Something terribly cold glinted beneath the surface of her irises. “There’s only so much a flower can do without the praise of others seen as greater than them, as I’m sure you know. After all, we come from similar branches.”
Arnold watched her join the other second-years, plait swinging, and wondered why the hat hadn’t simply tossed her in with the other snakes.
______________
Rishe hadn’t shown up for class today. It was strange: even when she was running a high fever in the middle of the winter, she had shown up for class. Though they rarely spoke—not after the day they were first partnered together—he had grown accustomed to sharing supplies and tools with her. Credit where it was due: Rishe didn’t bring up teamwork or their families any longer, and she never bothered him outside of class. It was Mid-January now and midterms were steadily approaching, so why wasn’t she here?
Throughout the school year, though he found her personality loud and tedious, he had found a strange sort of camaraderie with the strange girl. She had done plenty of ingredient preparation for him when his wrist was broken when he returned from Winter Break, and didn’t comment on where she surely knew the injury came from, and so that shared silence was enough for Arnold to begrudgingly appreciate her presence at his side.
Rumors spread quickly throughout the school, and apparently Rishe was in the medical wing and was forced on bed rest. There were a hundred different variations of what had led her to her current predicament, ranging from slightly believable to completely deranged. But they all had one thing in common: Rishe had entered into the Forbidden Forest.
Part of him wanted to ignore it and not care about anything having to do with his seatmate. But the other—stronger—part of him demanded he at least pay her a visit, if only to drop off her homework, as he knew she would have done for him if the roles were reversed.
“Arnold?” Rishe asked when he entered the infirmary. “What are you doing here?”
Arnold scowled at her, eyes dark with annoyance.
From the rumors he had expected to see her in a far worse position, but it appeared as if the injuries were fairly moderate, though her leg was in a raised tourniquet.
“Homework.” Arnold grumbled, setting the papers on the nearby nightstand.
“Oh, thank you!”
Arnold wanted to just turn away and leave; he had done his job and now he should go. But he stood there, staring down the young girl, frustration bubbling in his chest. “What were you thinking?! There’s a reason it’s called the Forbidden Forest.”
Rishe glared. He could imagine her puffing up like a werewolf if she wasn’t confined to the bed. “It’s not that bad! The venom didn’t spread far and my other injuries are superficial.” Visibly irritated, she picked up an assignment.
Pushing through a pulse of dull pain at the word venom, Arnold said, “Why would you go into that place? There’s nothing in that forest worth getting bitten for.”
“That’s not true! Elsie accidentally ran in there after Cecilia made fun of her for being muggleborn! I had to bring her back before she got hurt!”
Arnold stared at Rishe with wide eyes. From all the stories, none of them had ever mentioned another girl.
“Why not tell a teacher then?”
“There wasn’t time! If she had gotten hurt in there while I could have done something to prevent it, I would have never been able to forgive myself.”
“You realize you could have died in there.”
“Yes. But Elsie would have lived.”
“There’s no way to be sure of that,” Arnold pressed. The tourniquet was now glaringly obvious, knowing what was beneath all that white. “Who knows if she would have gotten out on her own.”
At that, Rishe glared at him again. “I called for a professor when I found her! I’m not an idiot.” Her mouth flattened into something resembling dread, and she muttered under her breath, “My parents will probably…”
Whatever it was, Arnold didn’t want it to happen. It wasn’t for any grand reason, he told himself. Maybe Rishe was stupid sometimes, but stupidity didn’t mean she deserved to get bitten by who knew what. The strong fought because the weak shouldn’t be hurt. That was all.
“It wasn’t an Acromantula, was it?” Arnold huffed, raising a single brow.
“No—” Rishe let out a long, suffering sigh—“it was an Elsejaf.”
“Why do you sound disappointed?” Arnold demanded.
“It sounds stupid,” Rishe pouted. “How could something so small cause so much damage?! It’s not fair.”
“You are rather short, and I estimate less than 36 kilograms soaking wet.”
“Rude. I’ll have you know that I’m tall for my age! And my parents say that I’ve finally reached the perfect weight.”
“I assume that that’s less than 30 kilograms soaking wet, then.”
Even to his ears, the statement sounded rude. Rishe pressed her lips into a thin line, staring up at the ceiling and said nothing.
A sudden, stifling silence hung in the air between them. Arnold shifted slightly, feeling only a little guilt for his statement, though he didn’t apologize. “When did Madam Pomfrey say you could return to classes?” He asked instead, turning his gaze to the side to appear nonchalant.
“In a week.”
“Then I’ll return with your work again.”
Rishe turned her head to the side and stared at him, a question in her gaze. “Why? I thought you disliked me.”
“Don’t think too much into it. You’re simply the only tolerable person in that class. Consider it an exchange for the help you provided me last month.”
Rishe gave him a bright smile holding out her hand in an offered handshake. “Deal.”
Arnold stared at her hand. There were freshly healing scrapes on the back, and one of her nails was chipped. The last time she held her hand out to him, it had taken six seconds for her to lower it again. At five, Arnold gave her one swift shake before quickly retreating; restraining himself from wiping his hand against his robes.
“Until tomorrow then.” Arnold turned on his heel and strode out of the room without another word, cloak billowing behind him.
As he walked through the halls to his common room Arnold couldn’t help but think back to her words. Everything about her in class made him think of her as a Slytherin in the wrong house. Yet she had gone out of her way, potentially ruining her chances at success, to save her friend. He wondered, briefly, if she had been afraid.
She was stupid for even daring to enter those woods alone, yet those were the two things that set Gryffindors apart from the rest: daring if you were charitable, stupidity if you were reasonable, and frequently a strong mix of both.
Maybe she wasn’t nearly as bad as whispers made her out to be, if she was willing to go to such lengths for her friends. Maybe she wasn’t a complete snake after all.