Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hey everyone, this is my first fanfic and especially my first try at writing an original character. Please give me any CONSTRUCTIVE criticism you have for me. Don't worry, I can take it. I based Marja a little bit off myself, but this is in no way a self-insert cause I fear that would make me a bit uncomfortable at times.

I think reading and writing fanfics should be enjoyable for everyone so please let's keep this a safe space!

I originally posted chapters 1-4 in third person but after going through them recently I realized 1st person from Marja's perspective would work much better with the story as I dont think the narrator should be omniscient or reliable. I'm going through and editing now but I just wanted to let y'all know in case you noticed the sudden change!

Also, English is not my first language so maybe tat means this'll be a matserpiece... (just kidding I've known english for most of my life.)

My first language is Russian and I am also fluent in French so I will be incorporating those languages/cultures into Marja's character and some plots will come out of her heritage.

CAST
Marja Volant played by Alia Shawkat

Ron Weasley played by Rupert Grint

Victor Volant played by Pierce Brosnan

Hugo Volant played by Louis Hofmann

Katerina Volant played by Courtney Cox

Harry potter played by Daniel Radcliffe

Draco Malfoy played by Tom Felton

Blaise Zabini played by Louis Cordice

Hermione Granger played by Emma Watson

Michael Simmons played by Skylar Gisondo

Luna Lovegood played by Evana Lynch

The rest of the cast as cannon cast

I just want to let everyone know that there WILL be more mature content later on but if you are uncomfortable with that and want to keep reading, I will put a warning at the beginning of that chapter (but this won't be for a long time as the main characters start off as 13 years old).

Without further ado,

Dirt in the Snow.

- vampiredaydreams

p.s this can and probably will get dark at certain points, but I'll add warnings, of course!

Chapter Text

“Don’t slouch, it’s unbecoming,”

If I had a Knut for every time my father said his unwelcome catchphrase, I’d be wealthier than our entire bloodline. My body ached from the persistent strikes to my back from his ghastly bone-white cane passed down to him from his own father, suppressing an annoyed groan every time knowing I hadn’t been slouching in the least and he just argued for the sake of arguing. 

Sometimes, in my dreams, I’d imagine herself snapping that hideous emerald-set stick he carried everywhere and throwing the remains into the Seine. Amongst the many other things I dreamed of.

The train ride to London alone with father, long and thick with unspoken tension, was more unbearable than usual knowing I’d never be back at Beauxbatons, the only place in my life that ever felt like “mine”. All because of some business deal with the Rosiers which included a new estate and several new properties in the city to manage. It was a lucrative arrangement which the incomparable landlord Mr. Victor Volant of France could not very well refuse.

“This dress is disturbingly itchy,” I complained and pulled against the cerulean blue fabric entrapping me like the cage of father’s prized grey finches, trying, and miserably failing, to make the most amount of space between it and myself.

“Why couldn’t I have worn my usual dress robes? It’s not as if the Rosier’s haven’t seen me in them before, what's the point?” I groaned and reached over my shoulder to scratch my back.

The Volants and the Rosiers were two of the most prominent pureblood wizarding families in France so business between them was almost expected. Whatever business that was, I was sure my dignity and comfort did not need to be compromised. 

The dress was tightened at my chest and encrusted with sharp blue sapphires that I’d usually admire but not once they poked and scratched into my freckled arms with every movement adding to the prolonged torment.

“The point,” father picked up his own personal monogrammed ceramic teacup, took a prolonged sip, and slowly slid it back onto the train compartment’s table, something he often did to make himself seem worth listening to, “is that we will be making our first impressions in a long time with the Malfoy family who have kindly agreed to host us as we settle in… which I have told you about many times.”

I just glared at him from across the compartment, clenching my fists so hard my freshly manicured nails left little red crescent moons in my palms and silently vowing not to speak to him for the rest of the day. Anytime he spoke I could just hear the venomous tone in his voice making it hard to hear anything other than I wish you were never born. 

Father was an older man, much older than any of my friend’s fathers. He had been almost 50 while my mother had been 19 when I was born so a close-knit and loving familial dynamic was almost non-existent in my monotonous life. 

The train finally came to a halt shortly after dinnertime. As I stepped onto the platform, a wave of realization washed over me. I was actually home. For good. Well, technically I was home. London had never quite felt like it. Yes, I’d been born there, and spent most of my childhood within its sprawling magic-veiled streets, especially around the Ministry of Magic where father had worked, but in my mind, my real life had begun the day our family moved to Metz and I started attending Beauxbatons Academy.

“Ah Lucius,” father spoke up with an overly cheerful and booming voice that made me instinctively flinch away. The man approaching them with luscious platinum blond hair, appropriately named Lucius, nodded at father with a sly smile that only lifted at one corner of his mouth. He had piercing grey eyes that made me wish I was staring at the sun instead. 

The two men firmly shook hands before the tall blond nodded at me in acknowledgment forcing me to strain a smile onto my chubby face which had still not slimmed down along with the rest of my baby fat much to my chagrin.

“I do hope your journey was pleasant,” Lucius remarked. He was accompanied by a slim boy with gaunt features and the same platinum hair, though significantly shorter. “This is my son Draco. I'm sure you remember him.” 

“Ah yes,” father forced out a guttural chuckle that made my skin crawl and made me want to vomit and run away at the same time. “Marja, girl, where are your manners? Apologies Mr. Malfoy” The fat man strained each syllable and laced it with contempt for me, his only daughter.

Draco was the first between the two of us to speak, “No need to apologize, Mr. Volant,” the boy said with an arrogant suaveness that sounded too practiced. Draco pulled out a single white rose from the inside of his jacket and handed it to me. I inspected it carefully, failing to find a single blemish or thorn. It was too perfect. 

As our group walked to the nearest floo station, Draco spoke up again, “It’s enchanted to last forever. You can keep it when we arrive at Hogwarts, Merlin knows that dump of a castle needs something classy to help it look somewhat respectable,” he said with the same arrogance as before. Something told me that this wouldn’t be the first nor the last time he would be getting on my nerves. What could honestly be so bad about Hogwarts? Father had gone there…

After stepping out of the Floo network and into the grand entrance hall, what I had been told were the grounds of Malfoy Manor, I barely had time to take in my surroundings before I was pulled into a warm, unexpected hug, thin graceful arms suddenly wrapped around me.

“My goodness, Marja! You haven’t changed a bit. You look just like… hm.”

The voice was elegant and smooth, and when I pulled back slightly, I found herself looking up at a tall, striking woman. Her simple velvet-green robe, effortlessly draped over her frame, made even my carefully chosen dress look cheap in comparison.

“You must be Mrs. Malfoy,” I said with a small curtsy, reciting the line I had practiced in the train car. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Mrs. Malfoy’s smile deepened, her pale eyes soft but sharply observant, as if judging every move I made.

“Oh, darling, no need to be so formal. Narcissa, please.” She reached her hand up to my face and brushed a blonde curl behind my ear with the kind of motherly familiarity that felt surprising. It made my heart pound against my rib cage “You were just a little thing the last time I saw you. Look at you now, so poised.”

I felt herself flush slightly, unsure how to respond.

“Well,” Narcissa said with a graceful turn, already guiding me toward the corridor, “I’m sure the manor must feel overwhelming at first. Come, let’s get you settled before Draco finds a way to be less than charming.”

Butlers, maids, and house-elves ushered me and father into the manor, snapping their fingers to apparate our luggage into our designated rooms. It all seemed like silly choreography. None of it was real. 

The manor was simple, cold, and empty, a detailed reflection of its owners from what I had gathered so far. Green, black, and silver drapes and decor lined the otherwise empty hallways all the way up to the lounge room where the Rosiers, an older couple whose sons were heads of prominent departments in the French ministry, had already seemed to make themselves welcome on the plush forest green couches by the roaring fireplace that put the Volant’s to shame.

“Well Lucius, you have certainly spruced up the place since we were boys,” Victor commented while sliding down into another couch, black but still as plush as the others, pulling me down by the wrist with him.

“Yes,” Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy chuckled haughtily, the former continuing “Narcissa has had a recent flair for the dramatic as you can tell,” he gestured to the marble fireplace then eyed Draco who was listening so intently and clinging to each word his father spoke, I thought he’d fall out of his seat. 

“Draco, boy, why don’t you show Marja to her chambers? You two will need to be up bright and early if you want to beat the lines at Diagon Alley.”

And so, I was back in that big empty hallway leading up the grand staircase only this time there was an awkward air surrounding us. 

“Are you nervous?” Draco asked, not looking at me, only straight ahead as if on a mission he’d do anything not to fail.

“For?” I replied with my own question. Sure I was nervous but about what? I hadn’t really thought about anything involving my fresh start in England since father broke the news 3 weeks earlier.

“Starting at Hogwarts? Must be quite the change from your little Beauxbatons in France.” The blond boy smirked, casually flipping his hair out of his face like he was putting on a show for an audience.

I bristled. I didn’t appreciate his dismissive tone about the place I’d practically grown up in but before I could say anything, he followed up with another irritating question.

“Although… you don’t have much of an accent, do you?”

I suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

“I was born in London,” I said evenly. “We moved to Metz when I was nine.”

Simple. Direct. And hopefully, enough to shut him up.

After what felt like hours, we finally reached my guest room and Draco entered which felt unexpected and a bit like an invasion, but it was his house and I couldn’t exactly kick him out.

“What’s Hogwarts like anyway?” It was my turn to ask questions. I sat myself down on the queen sized-bed similar to my own back in France minus the elegant details of Greek tragedies carved into the bed posts and placed my gifted white rose into a white and silver vase on the otherwise sparse bedside commode. I threaded my stubby fingers into the cream coloured velour blanket when I felt Draco sink down next to me. 

I stared at his features examining him properly. He was handsome but Draco’s upturned nose and cocky smile made it seem like he was always looking down at me. I could tell he was the type of boy that didn't give girls he didn't find attractive the time of day unless he was forced to.

“Well,” he started, huffing while rolling his perpetually squinty eyes, “the classes are a joke. Father’s been trying to sack half of the incompetent staff so don't expect to learn anything useful.” 

Merlin did this guy ever have anything positive to say? “Except Professor Snape, although you’d better hope to have an affinity for potions.” 

I didn’t. I barely passed with the basic knowledge any self respected witch should know and that was with the help of a governess and dozens of helpless tutors who couldn't deal with my “attitude” as father puts it. Something told me this Professor Snape would not be taking a liking to me.

Draco explained the house system at Hogwarts which was similar enough to Beauxbaton’s that I thankfully didn’t need to ask many questions. I didn’t want to give the already arrogant boy a higher ego than he already had. I wasn’t the smartest when it came to potions but figuring out social systems and policies of different groups was one of my fortés. Even at Beauxbatons I had managed to rise socially within the first few weeks of my first year, becoming more popular and respected than most upperclassmen.

“I’m in Slytherin,” Draco beamed, flashing me a disingenuous smile while getting up and walking towards the door. “I think you’ll fit in quite nicely with us,” he said with the most confidence I had ever heard in a 13 year old. Draco seemed positive I would be placed in Slytherin, not allowing any room for discussion.

“What’s it like?” I asked, silently cringing and scolding myself for giving him the satisfaction of mansplaining my own family’s house. My father and mother had been in Slytherin for Godric’s sake!

“I mean, most of it is tolerable. Salazar Slytherin valued pureblood morals more than the other founders, so there’s rarely any mudbloods with us, thank Merlin…” Draco spat the slur while leaning lazily against my doorframe, arms crossed, his tone casual. 

For the first time that day, I allowed myself a small, private smile.

There was comfort in the familiar, even if it was twisted. Being surrounded by others of "our kind," as father would put it, gave me a strange sense of belonging in such a foreign place. At Beauxbatons, blood status had barely mattered. They welcomed anyone with magical ability. But I had always quietly set myself apart, not out of hatred exactly, but out of something more inherited: pride.

I didn’t agree with most of father’s beliefs. He was a man obsessed with control, who saw higher education as unnecessary for a young witch, especially his own daughter. He spoke often of tradition, of purity, of keeping magic “unsullied,” but it was always more about fear than philosophy. Still, some of those values had stuck to me like dust on an old book. Even if I had spent years brushing them off, certain ideas lingered.

The notion that purebloods deserved a higher place in the wizarding world, that they were, by lineage alone, more capable, was a belief I hadn’t fully discarded. Perhaps because it was what I was raised on. Perhaps because it was the one thing father and I had ever agreed on. Or maybe, deeper down, it was my way of trying to prove something, that I could live up to the impossible standards he set, even if I resented him for setting them.

“Father wanted to send me to Durmstrang, says the mudbloods and Dumbledore brought Hogwarts to filth,” Draco continued, “But I think he’s wrong,” I looked up into his eyes noticing a subtle hateful glint I had seen in his father’s eyes earlier.

“What do you mean?” I picked at the sapphires still digging into my rosy flesh, distracting herself from his overbearing stare. 

Draco leaned in and my blood pressure spiked, "there's only one thing worse than a mudblood.” 

“...what?” I whispered back.

“A blood traitor.”

Chapter Text

I woke up earlier than usual, a surreal and uncomfortable feeling of dread settled in my stomach as I took in my surroundings. Same blinding white room as yesterday, same bed, same vase, same perfect white rose. Instead of dwelling on my own sadistic thoughts plaguing me with the notion that I was really still in England, I got dressed for the day. 

I slipped into a casual chic cream knitted sweater with gold sequins sewn into it and a jean skirt paired with a denim purse to hold my wand and quartz crystals enchanted with a protection spell that were gifted to me by my aunt for my 10th birthday. I then drenched my messy brown curls that I've always hated and could never tame with an entire bottle of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. ‘Two drops tames even the most bothersome barnet’ my arse, I read the slogan on the glass vial and rolled my eyes as I tossed the now empty bottle into a nearby bin.

I checked my reflection and combed my now straightened hair, slipping a gold ribbon into it and tying it into a bow. I quietly walked down the grand staircase, praying I wouldn’t wake father. Instead, I made my way past the library, noticing that the door was ever so slightly ajar. Peeking into the scarily tall and wide room, I caught a glimpse of the now recognizable platinum blond that famously belonged to the Malfoys.

“Father,” I listened to Draco whine like a toddler, “you cannot really expect me to introduce that troglodyte to my friends, my reputation will be tarnished.” I then heard a familiar thwack of a cane and a girlish cry emitted from Draco.

“Listen to me here, boy. You will keep tabs on the Volant girl, you will make sure she is placed in Slytherin, and you will make sure she does not end up cohorting with the wrong sort. Do you hear me? If we want our arrangements with the Volant family to succeed, we must keep the girl on our side.” 

My eyes widened slightly. Did everyone really think of me as so weak-willed that I’d just chum it up with anyone? Especially a muggleborn for Merlin’s sake. And why would they need to keep me on their side? It was father’s decision in the end to uphold any arrangements, not mine (even if they did involve me).

“Well if she wasn’t so hard to look at, it would probably be easier to keep an eye on her…”

“Now, do I make myself clear, Draco?” Lucius gritted out through his teeth, dismissing Draco’s juvenile jabs at me, but receiving no answer until another thwack and another girlish screech was heard. 

“Yes, father. Crystal.”

I quietly slipped away to the lounge before either Malfoy could catch me eavesdropping on their tense, and rather hurtful, conversation. I took up a spot near the fireplace, practicing my wand movements with casual precision, trying to appear as if I’d been there all along. When Draco finally entered, he barely gave me a second glance.

I had always dreamed of becoming a great witch. To perfect every wand stroke, to master every incantation, to brew the exact potion a moment demanded. I wanted to be noticed and recognized for a natural talent within me. But that dream had never quite aligned with my reality… or abilities.

Divination though, that was different. That, I felt in my bones, my soul.

My mother and aunt were rumored to be Seers, gifted with sight beyond the veil of the present. But Victor, cold, controlling Victor, had forbidden me from studying anything he deemed "unreliable." No tea leaves, no crystal balls. Instead, he insisted I devote myself to charms, arithmacy, and transfiguration. Subjects with "value," he’d said.

I had tried. I really had. But I had never felt the connection my subconscious so desperately yearned for, to my mother.

“Are you all set to go?” he asked and I stood up in acknowledgment, not even sparing him a smile out of politeness. This blond rat really had the audacity to call me a troglodyte and take jabs at my looks and think there would be no repercussions? 

I had never been the prettiest girl at Beauxbatons, hell, I had never been the prettiest girl in the room. But I knew that, I didn’t need to be reminded of it by some skinny pubescent mummy’s boy. My mother had always said I’d grow into my looks to comfort me but it had been 5 years and there was no growing to be noticed. Instead of my futile attempts at improving my looks, I had successfully improved my street smarts, rising the social food chain and earning my popularity instead of being handed it like Draco so clearly had been.

As soon as we used their floo to apparate to Diagon alley, a rush of nostalgia hit me like a tidal wave. Even Draco who was so far up his own arse noticed my amazed expression and slightly chuckled. I blushed out of embarrassment and quickly looked away.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” I said, mostly to myself but also to Draco as a way to cover up my shameful expression. 

“You should’ve been here last year. Crabbe and Goyle—my friends,” he said in a way that made it seem like he had assumed I wouldn’t even be able to fathom the notion of having friends. “We spent like 300 galleons on supplies from Zonko’s…” Draco continued explaining but I had already zoned out, stepping into a store with a sign that read ‘Madam Malkin’s.’

⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰

I stood stiffly on the fitting stool, towering over the sea of wide-eyed eleven-year-olds waiting for their first Hogwarts robes. I couldn’t have stood out more if I tried. Dozens of curious eyes darted up at me, their silent questions hanging heavy in the air. 

If there was one word to capture how I felt in that moment, it was exposed.

“Make sure to get multiple sweaters,” Draco muttered from beside me, giving a small boy a death glare. “I hear watching quidditch matches during the winter months is a deadly cold affair,” he said smugly. 

“Do you not watch the matches?” I asked, grabbing my purse from the front desk and handing Madam Malkin a handful of galleons father had given me for school supplies.

Draco crossed his arms and somehow even more smugly said, “Oh, I’ll be playing. Seeker. I won't be hard to miss, sweetheart.” I fought the urge to gag in public. “Although if you want an autograph you won’t be getting any special treatment.” 

“Trust me, I’ll be fine.” I rolled my eyes and quickly walked out of the store, leaving Draco to relish in his own ego by himself.

I was too busy scanning the bustling street for Flourish and Blotts to watch where I was going, so much so that I walked straight into what felt like a solid brick wall. Except it wasn’t a wall at all. It was a tall, lanky boy with a shock of bright red hair and a look of surprise frozen on his freckled face. Even from the ground, I could notice his soft blue eyes and faint blush across his cheeks.

“H-Hey, are you alright?” The boy held out his hand to me which I begrudgingly took into my own and used to help myself get up. I quickly dusted myself off before looking up at the ginger.

“I think so, does my hair look okay?” I asked, not sure why a stranger would care enough to comment on my perfectly fine hair. The boy just shrugged and scratched the back of his neck nervously, obviously trying to avoid my eyes. I had assumed he was too scared to look at me after their embarrassing display in the middle of the road.

“Ron, there you are! Your mother’s been asking for– oh, hello!”

A bushy-haired girl with tan skin and striking brown eyes hurried up behind the freckled boy (Ron, I assumed), placing a firm hand on his shoulder. With her other hand, she extended a polite greeting toward me and I hesitated, opting not to shake it. The girl faltered, withdrawing her hand with an awkward smile.

“I’m Hermione Granger. You’re new at Hogwarts this year, aren’t you?”

How in the world had she figured that out?

“Uh, yes, how did you…?”

Without answering, Hermione simply pointed to the heap of robes bundled in my arms.

Realization dawned and heat rushed to my cheeks, turning my face nearly the same shade as Ron’s hair.

“Ah.”

Ron and I stared at each other in a tense and awkward silence. He was looking at me as if I was the sun and he had never seen a sunrise. A boy had never looked at me that way before. Hermione, still between us, was rambling on about how much I would love Hogwarts and that it was “one of, if not the most spectacular magical landmarks in Europe.”

“Well we’d better—” Ron began, finally figuring out how to speak apparently before being cut off by an all too familiar voice. 

“Marja, I’d suggest you step away from this…” Draco scrunched up his nose, looking down (or rather up) at Ron then turning his attention to Hermione, “filth,” he spat.

Hermione kept her head low and I only understood why when Draco had seized me by the arm and started pulling me away.

“Mudbloods, always where they’re least wanted.” He grumbled to himself, dragging me along with him.

“Oh yeah, Malfoy? I see you’ve held back on the gel this year, maybe something other than a slurry of hate speech will finally get through to your brain!” The ginger called out, a huge tonal shift from the bumbling boy I had met moments ago.

Malfoy stopped and turned back to glare at Ron who had caught up to the both of us. He turned his gaze towards me while I shifted my attention to Hermione. I sneered thoughtlessly. It was almost an instinct.

“Oh perfect,” Weasley started, rolling his eyes, “another privileged pureblood arsehole. Really needed another one of those.”

“Ron, just drop it,” Hermione tried tugging Ron away but he persisted, shrugging her hand off. 

“Here's a perfect example for you Marja, I’m sure you never had to deal with blood traitor scum like Weaselbee back in France now did you?” Draco’s lips quirked up into an ugly smirk.

As much as I disliked Draco, I couldn’t help but mirror his smirk, finally feeling like I held the upper hand. After being pushed down all summer by my father, I was finally the one with power.

Spending the summer locked in father’s manor, surrounded by tutors who looked like they’d been dragged out of the Stone Age, all of them as bitter and bigoted as he was, had changed me. Their sharp words, their constant corrections, the daily pressure to be perfect or be punished, it carved the softness out of me. I had entered the summer as a tough but kind girl. I left it a colder, more calculated version of myself. And I liked it.

“Thank Merlin, no,” I said, answering Draco’s question. My eyes flicked up to Ron, jaw clenched, teeth grinding, and my own smirk widened, “or at least they knew their place.” I enjoyed the way his ears turned red. It would have been cute if it was any other situation.

But when I looked back down at Hermione, something shifted. A brief pang bloomed in my chest, unwanted and unfamiliar. Hermione’s face was flushed, but her eyes were steady, unafraid. I hated how it made me hesitate.

Only for a second.

“Walk away,” Ron snapped, stepping forward, protecting his bushy haired friend with his lanky body. 

Draco’s voice was low, mocking. “Oh, we’re terrified.” He pulled me along with him to a nearby pub with an exterior that looked dingier than any place Draco had probably ever stepped in.

“Better run before I beat the dye job out of your hair, Malfoy.” Weasley called out behind them, making me turn my head to him to continue arguing before Draco tugged me along harder.

“Come on,” he muttered, “father will be expecting us back at the manor before supper.” 

Draco and I stepped into the pub, trying to avoid the drunks and failed wizards of our society toppling over us. Before I could step into the designated floo fireplace, Draco held my arm again and muttered.

“It’s real, by the way” he pouted like a hurt kid and softly tugged on his own hair with a weird amount of care.

Before I could laugh in his face, I apparated back to Malfoy Manor.

Chapter Text

King’s Cross station seemed overwhelmingly busier than the first time I had been here. Children running underfoot, parents crying their bittersweet goodbyes, and students clamoring onto the train. Although our relationship was a little unorthodox, Father and I were no different.

“Remember to stay by Draco.” The old wizard lectured me, holding onto my shoulders and staring directly into my eyes.

I curtly nodded as father continued, 

“Don’t go around consorting with Merlin-know’s-who, got it? Marja?”

“Hm? Oh, yes father, I understand.” I murmured, looking over his head, spotting a group who all had the same distinct fiery red hair. Geez, they’re all giants. What the hell are they feeding those kids…

Shockingly (and extremely uncharacteristically), father pulled me into a tight hug, kissing the top of my head then pulling away.

“You look lovely,” I heard from behind my father. Draco and his parents had finally arrived meaning we could board the Hogwarts express at any moment now.

I flushed with slight embarrassment. I never really knew how to accept a compliment, especially in front of my father. I looked down at my clothes which were a simple bootcut style pair of jeans paired with a crisp white collared shirt and a thin black top layered over it. I wore my old scuffed up pair of ‘All Stars’. Blue, my favourite colour.

“Thanks,” I mustered up, tucking a loose strand of my straightened hair behind my ear, “it took me hours last night to figure out what to wear for my first day.” I still didn’t like Draco in the slightest, but after our little encounter in Diagon Alley I had at least started to respect him more. 

“I think you’d look good in anything,” he lied through his ratlike smile.

Draco linked his arm with mine, picking up one of my trunks and lugging it over his shoulder. I could just feel father’s bright smile admiring the boy for his “valour”.

The train wasn’t as quiet as I had hoped. Excited first years scurried around trying to find an empty compartment while Draco just pushed his way through as if he owned the place. If I was going to follow father’s wishes and stick with Draco it would be a long year.

Draco slid open a compartment at the end of the third year train car and gestured for me to enter. Inside, I was met with two ugly looking boys, a pale girl with a horribly blunt bob, and a handsome boy with an unfortunate buzzcut.

“Marja, this is Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and Zabini,” Draco nodded his head towards each person in the compartment as he named them. “Everyone, this is Marja. She’ll be in Slytherin with us.”

The two ugly boys, Crabbe and Goyle, gave me equally ugly grins while the girl, Pansy, crossed her arms over her chest and blankly stared at me. Zabini just offered a sympathetic and honestly friendly smile.

I sat next to the window forcing Draco to squish between Pansy and I on the bench. While the four boys eagerly discussed their summer breaks, where they’d been with their families and such, Pansy would not stop eyeing me.

“Um, so you’re Pansy?” I asked, leaning over Draco who was engrossed in his stimulating conversation with Goyle about the intricacies of “how they’re able to get the bogey flavour into Bertie Bott’s beans.”

Pansy gave me a sour smile that scrunched her cute pug nose. “I’m sure we’ll be great friends. You’ll be in my room if you get into Slytherin.”

“I am going to be in Slytherin.” 

“Yeah. We’ll see.” Pansy slouched back into her seat, pulling out some clear nail polish.

“God, Pansy, do you have to do that here?” Draco scrunched his nose as the chemical smell filled the small compartment. He was flipping through the British ministry’s newspaper I had seen her father reading before, ‘The Daily Prophet’ in bold letters on the front. Right below was a moving photograph of a raggedy man with long dark hair screaming at nothing in particular. The screaming paired with his prison uniform made him look mad as a hatter.

“Sirius Black?” I read, “Who’s he?” I asked the group with furrowed brows.

Pansy let out a high pitch giggle and scoffed, laughing to herself.

“Black,” Crabbe started, spitting crumbs from the biscuits he had swallowed down, “he’s a mass murderer.”

“Or so people say-” Goyle continued but Draco cut him off sternly.“So people say.” He diverted his attention back to me. “I wouldn’t concern myself with it. The authorities will re-capture him soon and-”

Just then, the train car jostled and the screeching of the train coming to a halt was heard throughout. 

I looked up at Zabini but he just shrugged and looked out the window to see if he could figure something out. 

“It’s freezing…” Pansy shuddered, huddling closer to Draco.

The lights flickered off and I decided to look outside as well. To my dismay, the window had frosted itself over and we wouldn’t be able to see anything outside. Even then, we could still see the shadows slowly moving outside. we just didn’t want to acknowledge them.

“Is this normal?” I whispered and Zabini just shook his head.

I looked outside the compartment through the glass door, but as soon as I did, a bright whitish-blue light blinded me for a moment and I gasped, rubbing her big brown eyes.

“What was that?” Crabbe whimpered pathetically, holding onto Goyle like his life depended on it.

Nobody replied until the lights suddenly turned back on and the train jostled back into motion. We didn’t speak of what had occurred for the rest of the journey to Hogwarts.

⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰

I had changed into my plain black school robes for the sorting ceremony, something I was less than thrilled to be participating in. Thankfully, I wouldn’t be the only third year being sorted that night. 

While waiting for Professor McGonagall to let us and the first years enter the great hall, I had met a boy named Michael Simmons whose family had just moved to England from the United States of America. It was safe to say, I was awestruck.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t wanna live there,” Michael chuckled after I had told him I'd do anything to visit his home country.

“Oh but it seems so interesting, I mean you can drive cars around any city, you have huge shopping centres, and, and–”

Our conversation was cut short when McGonagall had started ushering the group into the great hall which was even grander than I had expected.

I stared up at the enchanted ceiling, admiring how the candles floated around them dreamily and the night sky shone brightly instead of a roof. I was so engrossed I almost missed the judgmental ugly stare Ron was throwing my way. Almost.

When we made eye-contact a fire burst deep inside me. I clenched my fists, marking my signature little red crescents into my pale palms while I tore her attention away from him and onto McGonagall who had started calling up students to be sorted.

“Simmons, Michael?” The older witch called from the riser where the other professors were sitting.

Michael nervously walked up to the stool set in the center of the riser, trying not to fumble over his feet as he listened to the whispers and giggles emitted from the audience of students.

Almost 3 seconds after what was explained to be the sorting hat, an ancient artefact to determine the Hogwarts house of the individual on whom it was placed, was set onto Michael’s head, it boomed,

“HUFFLEPUFF!” 

The yellow and black decorated table erupted in cheers and I watched Michael walk to it, a sad smile on my face.

“Ahem,” McGonagall continued, “Volant, Marja.”

I sucked in a deep breath and walked up to the rickety stool. 

Slytherin. Slytherin. Slytherin. Slytherin.

“Slytherin, eh?” the old hat asked rhetorically as I clenched my eyes shut, praying I wouldn’t end up a disappointment to my father that night.

The hat sighed, thought for another few moments, and suddenly bellowed out, “Alright then, Volant… SLYTHERIN!”

I smiled proudly and let out a long sigh of relief as U rushed over to the emerald green table where the older students were chanting and cheering.

I settled myself between Blaise Zabini and Draco, offering the former a shy smile and the latter a proud smirk. A small ‘I told you so’.

The first years were all sorted, Slytherin gaining a good amount, and finally, the feast I had been waiting all night for had begun.

“So I guess we’ll be roommates after all.” Pansy smiled sardonically, digging into the roasted chicken on her plate.

“Mm,-” I chewed obnoxiously, “yeah, that’s great, Merlin this is good.”

Pansy grimaced and went back to chatting with Astoria Greengrass.

“Potter,” Draco turned to the Gryffindor table, obviously trying to attract as much attention to himself as possible, “Potter!”

Harry Potter, the boy who lived, I recognized him from the old newspapers that had even reached the wizarding community in Metz, along with Ron Weasley had turned around to hear what Draco had to say.

Ron and I locked eyes but quickly turned away, scowling at each other and myself.

“Is it true you fainted?” Draco laughed mockingly and Adrien Pucey, another one of Draco’s detestable friends, recreated a dramatic fall. “I mean, you actually fainted?” 

I sighed and rolled my eyes at his childish antics.

Weasley forcefully pulled his friend back around, glaring at Draco and groaning exasperatedly, “shove off, Malfoy.”

“Jeez, what's got Weasel’s knickers in a knot?” Pucey joked to the table, earning a boisterous laugh from the ringleader.

“Weasel? Yeah, I quite like that.” Draco nodded while chuckling to himself, silently plotting.

“God, Draco do you ever shut up?” My fork clattered onto the porcelain plate as I stared up at Draco. “I mean, I’m not defending him but do you always need to say something?”

“Marja, you better stop before you make a scene.” Draco picked up his own fork and quietly went back to eating his meal like nothing had happened.

I always hated when people treated me like this. Like a child who didn’t know when to behave. Especially people as obnoxious as Draco Malfoy. Maybe it stemmed from the fact that father never gave me a chance to be a child, ultimately forcing me to act as an adult my whole life. Being treated like one now just made me angry, made me feel like the part of her life I missed was being mocked.

I stood up abruptly, “I’m going to bed now. Before I make a scene.” I said gruffly and stormed out of the great hall, forgetting I didn’t even know where my dorm was meant to be.

Tears pricked the corners of my doe-like eyes but I forbade them from spilling. Instead, I trudged down hallways aimlessly, huffing and groaning at every dead end. 

After the 8th try, I gave up and slid her back down the cold stone wall. I buried my head into my hands as I realized everyone would be going to their own dorms soon, people who would probably notice my depressing presence in the corner of the hall.

“Need some help?”

“Blaise,” I quickly stood up, fiddling with the sleeve of my robe, trying to nonchalantly play off my struggle

“I get it, Draco can be a bit of an arse sometimes,” the Slytherin sympathized, linking arms with mine as we started to walk down the hallway.

“You can say that again,” I laughed unhumourously. I thought back to yesterday, when Draco and his father were arguing and he had mentioned me. Maybe I was uglier than I realized. My hair wasn’t straight like Pansy’s, my freckles looked like dirt splattered on my face. Who wouldn’t find me atrocious. “It’s not like I want him to like me, I just want to be…”

“Tolerated?” Blaise asked as we reached a tall black door that was only revealed when a Slytherin passed by, activating a silver snake that rose from the ground, coiling around said door.

“Yeah,” I muttered as he led me inside. “Woah.”

“I know, right?” Blaise grinned ear-to-ear, admiring the common room.

“This is… I mean the common rooms at Beauxbatons were spectacular but this… this is something else.” I looked around in awe. “I mean, is that the lake!?” I gasped and rushed to the tall glass window at the side of the room.
Blaise nodded and made his way to me, “yeah, there’s this myth about merpeople in the Black lake, maybe if you stare long enough…” he shrugged.

I stared out the window for a while longer, taking in the view before the rest of the Slytherins would inevitably fill the space.

Blaise was walking up to his dorm but before that, he called out, “Hey, Marja?”

I lifted my head to the top of the stairs, tilting my head curiously.

“I tolerate you.” Blaise smiled and made his way to his room.

I just softly giggled to myself and shook my head. When I finally arrived in my own room, I slipped Draco’s white rose into my mother’s old vase.

Chapter Text

I sat leaning over my table in awe at the back of the divination classroom, not even bothering to fix the loosening tie of my uniform which I never learned how to properly tie. I sat with Draco since he didn’t want to sit with Goyle but we didn’t speak. It was like he didn’t exist when Professor Trelawney spoke. Most of the other students thought she was mad and was impossibly hard to understand, but when she spoke it was like our own undiscovered language. Draco’s eyes shifted from Trelawney to me with a sneer plastered on his perfect unblemished face and his nose wrinkled but I never took her eyes off the professor.

The class was instructed to read our partner’s tea cups and compare what shapes we saw within the tea leaves to their significance in our books. I had already memorized every meaning by age 10 so I passed over my divination book to Draco who had forgotten his and started reading his tea leaves.

I stared into the hand-painted cup our professor had probably sculpted earlier, suggested by its jagged and rough but charming homemade shape. I ran my plump fingers along the edge of the cup, shifting it in different angles to find Draco’s symbols. The first I noticed was a dagger which usually meant betrayal in some form, as well as disaster. My eyes flickered up to the blonde boy in front of me who was getting increasingly more frustrated as he flipped through the text book to figure out my own tea leaves. Who’s betraying this guy? He’s not pleasant but Draco’s not a monster.

I looked back down into his cup, after a while noticing a sharp spider-like shape. Spiders usually signified growth and recognition. I never liked that one, it was too vague. Growth could mean Draco would suddenly shoot up to 6 feet tall over night. The last time I had seen a spider in anyone’s tea leaves was when I was 9 practicing on my father. He had ended up with a higher position at the french ministry a couple years later and I was certain the tea leaves were right.

“This is so stupid,” Draco huffed, slamming down the cup onto the red and blue sun and moon patterned blanket covering their little circular table.

“It’s only stupid because you don’t understand,” I snickered in with a snarky tone, hitting the divination book with the back of my hand as Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s very easy once you know what you're doing. Here,” I gestured for him to pass me the cup and he sighed, reluctantly handing it to me.

I glanced into my own cup, instantly noticing a clear snake. I snorted and smiled to myself. How fitting. 

Snakes had never been a comforting symbol to me. They usually meant that danger was nearby, an enemy lurking in the background. But they also implied something else: that the person who encountered them was clever enough to recognize the threat, wise enough to uncover the truth. I wasn’t sure that really described me. Smart and wise were hardly the first words I’d use to describe myself, reactive maybe. Guarded. Angry, when I didn’t mean to be. But wise? That felt like a stretch.

“So… what do your freaky leaves say about you?” Draco smirked and leaned back in his seat watching Professor Trelawney make a small fool of herself walking around class and gasping at people’s predictions. 

I quickly sucked in a breath and swiped the snake away with my thumb, innocently smiling up at Draco, hoping he hadn’t noticed. If there was an enemy close to me, I wouldn’t be letting up that information that easily. “Yeah, no it didn’t work…” 

“Told you it was all made up,” his smile fell with annoyance and he sighed.

There was a loud dramatic gasp at the bottom of the class and Draco and I snapped our heads towards it. Professor Trelawney was staggering backwards, staring at Harry Potter with wide eyes. 

“Oh, my dear boy… my dear…” She stuttered out and the whole class sat stewing in their anticipation to find out what she had to say about The Boy Who Lived’s tea leaves. “You have… the Grim.”

There were scattered gasps around the room, including mine who sort of felt bad for the Gryffindor. 

“What? What’s the Grim?” Draco whispered to me harshly, trying to figure out if his enemy was meant to die a horrible death or something.

Draco’s question was quickly answered by Bem, a short plump Gryffindor boy who read from his divination book, “taking form of a giant spectral dog,” he spoke darkly and I could already see Draco smirking triumphantly from the corner of my eye. “It’s among the darkest omens in our world. It’s an omen… of death.”

⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰

“Bloody hell, she’s a nutcase,” muttered a certain ginger boy as he and his two friends scurried down the hill, quick to put distance between themselves and the brewing storm behind them.

I barely had time to register the comment before a broad shoulder slammed into me, knocking me off balance as I descended the outdoor staircase toward the Care of Magical Creatures class near Hagrid’s hut.

I stumbled, a sharp gasp catching in my throat. But before I could go tumbling down the steep slope, two sets of hands caught me, steadying me on either side. Blaise on one arm, and instinctively, Pansy on the other.

Ron Weasley spun around abruptly, half-expecting he’d accidentally maimed someone with his usual clumsy momentum. “Merlin! I’m so sor—” he began, stumbling over the apology.

Then he saw me.

I stood at the base of the steps, arms crossed, a smug sneer curling at my lips. Whatever hint of guilt Weasley had evaporated instantly

“I heard about your Grim, Potter,” I said coolly, turning my attention to the boy with the lightning scar. “You’d better hope you figure it out soon.”

Potter gave me a tight-lipped, awkward smile, more polite than sincere, and nodded before turning away, clearly uninterested in a confrontation. But Weasley had other ideas.

His jaw clenched as he stepped forward, squaring up to me with a stubbornness that burned behind his eyes. He moved toward me like one of those furious bulls I had seen during my recent trip to Spain, head lowered, pace steady, all raw impulse and temper.

Granger tried pulling Weasley and Potter away from the Slytherins but the former stood his ground firmly. 

“Why don’t you go find Malfoy?” Weasley snapped, eyes locked on me. “I’m sure he’s missing his dog, the way you follow him around everywhere.”

Hermione groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead, shaking her head. Brilliant, she thought. Just brilliant. I might’ve been new, but siding with Malfoy gave me influence and Granger must’ve known better than to underestimate that. I had power now, or at least access to it, and if I wanted to make Weasley’s life miserable... I absolutely could.

I was fuming. “You little— I have half a mind to hex you into the dirt right now!” I snapped, stepping in so close their chests nearly touched.

Our eyes locked, sparks practically crackling in the space between us. I had to crane my neck to meet his gaze, and the effort made me shift uncomfortably beneath the weight of his piercing stare. He didn’t flinch. Neither did I, at least not on the outside.

My heart rate picked up quickly and I tried calming herself down by squeezing my fists tightly. No matter what I did, my stomach wouldn’t stop churning as I looked up into Weasley’s ocean blue eyes that I couldn’t seem to get out of my mind ever since our encounter in Diagon Alley.

Blaise sighed and mirrored Hermione’s facepalm, “Marja let’s go, we’re going to be late.” 

But neither I nor Weasley moved away from each other.

“You know, we’ve only spoken a couple times but already I can tell how much of a pain in the arse you must be,” I raised her voice, simmering in anger

“You really don’t know when to back off. You Slytherins are all the same, selfish, only thinking about yourselves, huh?” He taunted. “Just because you have friends,” he said mockingly, “doesn’t mean they actually care about you.”

“Yeah? And I’m sure your friends just tolerate you because they needed a pureblood in the group to balance out your dodgy little trio.” I pointed at Potter and Granger who were silently cringing behind Weasley. 

“Alright, Ronald, let’s go…” Granger finally pushed Weasley and I away and I scoffed and laughed.

“Can’t even stand up for yourself? Got your little mud– um…” I started cockily then stumbled over my words, mentally facepalming myself for giving them the upper hand. “Just don’t come near me. Got it?”

Weasley scoffed and walked away with Granger as Potter awkwardly nodded and followed suit.

I was staring daggers at the back of Weasley’s head as Draco caught up with me, Pansy, and Blaise.

“Oi, so what did my tea leaves say?” he asked with a grin before smiling down and winking at Pansy who giggled and twirled her short black bob with her fingers.

I was still staring at the golden trio when I lied, “Hm? Oh, yeah, you’re gonna be… real tall,” I muttered softly but still audibly.

“Nice!”

⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰

We all followed Hagrid, the half giant professor in charge of care for magical creatures, through part of the forbidden forest. I wondered how forbidden this forest really was if a professor was leading a group of 13 year old students to their lesson in it. Hopefully the rules weren’t too strict and I could wander off to study in the quiet solemn calmness of the nature surrounding me.

Draco, Pansy, and Blaise were laughing about something while reminiscing on how much better the last two school years were without inept professors like Trelawney or Hagrid so I straggled behind them. I was walking contently by myself, trying to figure out how to open my textbook when I felt a light tap on her shoulder.

“Oh, hey Michael,” I smiled at the grinning Hufflepuff who I’d randomly developed a soft-spot for. I thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was the only other kid my age at Hogwarts who knew how hard it was being the new kid.

“Hey, I wanted to ask how everything’s been going. Kinda bummed you’re not in Hufflepuff.” Michael nudged me as Draco glanced back at us, giving me a squinted side-eye.

“Really? Do you think I could've been a Hufflepuff?” I scoffed and shook my head humorously but Michael furrowed his brows, shrugging and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I dunno,” he said in a curious tone, pulling up his hands and framing them around my face as if he was taking a photo. “You’ve got the look. You don’t seem like a tough and evil snake,” he joked as I rolled my eyes and playfully slapped his hands away. 

“Maybe not, but my father would send someone to murder me if I was anything but his perfect pureblood girl.” I explained and the class finally reached the destination Hagrid promised they would love.

I glanced over at Michael, then at Blaise, my thoughts drifting. Why had I been so cruel to Weasley, Potter, and Hermione and it had only been 3 days? Was it really necessary to treat everyone like the world revolved around my father’s predetermined plans for me? Maybe that armor, my sharp words and calculated attacks, wasn't strength, but a shield I no longer needed at Hogwarts. Maybe that’s why, for the first time in a long time, I was starting to make real friends. The thought unsettled me, but also… softened me for a second.

My reflection was cut short when I felt eyes on me. I turned slightly and met the gaze of the tall redhead. He wasn’t glaring, not with anger, at least. There was something else in his expression. Curiosity? Confusion? Before I could decipher it, his face shifted into a grimace and he quickly turned away, focusing on Hagrid, who had just begun the lesson.

“Right you lot, less chattering!” The half giant gathered the attention of the group as he stepped over a small stone wall that looked like it had belonged to some kind of holdfast back in its heyday. Perhaps an enchanted tower or a study, but now all that remained was a small clearing filled with little daffodils and yellow grass.

I went down to pluck a daffodil as Hagrid instructed us to open our textbooks to page 49. 

“Exactly how do we do that?” Draco chimed in arrogantly, obviously not giving the large man a chance to prove himself as professor. 

“Well, just stroke the spine of course, goodness me.” Hagrid said with exasperation as if stroking the spine of an anthropomorphic monster textbook was common knowledge.

I finally coaxed my book into submission, its leathery cover no longer snapping or growling as it flopped open to the assigned page. I allowed myself a small, satisfied smirk.

Just then, a yelp from a few feet away caught my attention. One of my classmates had clearly ignored Hagrid’s very specific instructions, and was now wrestling frantically with a particularly aggressive copy of The Monster Book of Monsters.

I couldn’t help it. I let out a low, amused laugh, shaking my head as the poor student flailed under a flurry of flapping pages and gnashing corners.

“Some people just don’t listen,” I muttered under my breath, eyes gleaming.

“And some people just don’t know when to keep to themselves,” Weasley muttered in an obvious attempt to rile me up as he walked past me but I just groaned and brushed him off.

I made my way back to Draco, who was lounging against a tall tree at the edge of the clearing, his arms crossed and eyes locked onto the Golden Trio. He watched them like a predator waiting for the perfect opening, taunting them not just for sport, but like it was something he needed to breathe.

“I think they’re funny,” Granger remarked to her friends about our textbooks.

“Oh, yeah. Terribly funny.” Draco pushed himself off the tree, causing me to follow.

Merlin what was happening to me? I was acting like one of Draco’s dumb lackeys already. Sure without him I would probably be a social reject but I wasn’t going to start blindingly following him around like a dog, right? Just like what Weasley had said earlier…

Draco began stalking towards the trio, most of his attention put on Potter.

“God, this place has gone to the dogs!” the blonde twat continued, “wait until my father hears that Dumbledore’s got this oaf teaching classes.” Crabbe and Goyle chuckled while Blaise just gave me a tight lipped smile. Why had he put up with Draco for so long, I wondered.

Potter took the bait and started moving in against Draco, “shut up, Malfoy.”

The Slytherins, including me who couldn’t hold back, threw some immature ‘oohs’, mocking Potter’s “tough guy” attitude and Draco handed his bag over to Crabbe. He moved even closer to Potter, sizing him up like a piece of meat.

“Jeez, if I didn’t know any better, this could look like flirting,” I whispered to Blaise who suppressed a chuckle.

Just then, Draco stumbled backwards, looking behind Potter and I squinted to see what he was looking at.

“D-Dementor, dementor!” Draco shouted, pointing behind Potter at something that wasn’t really there, causing the scarred boy to sharply turn around.

Draco laughed hysterically alongside Crabbe and Goyle but Blaise refused to participate in their antics, holding his head in his hand like a disappointed mother.

The three, as well as Adrien Pucey, pulled up their hoods and did a poor impression of a dementor, alluding to Potter’s encounter on the train.

Hagrid cleared his throat, the deep sound cutting through the chatter and drawing the students’ attention back to him. With a grin, he mimicked a drumroll, then turned dramatically toward something behind him, something large and hidden just out of sight, and clearly a little reluctant to step forward.

My eyes widened as the majestic creature walked out in front of the students. It was unlike anything I had ever encountered before. The whole class stood there, speechless, whether out of fear or awe.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Hagrid tossed the creature a piece of meat, “say hello to Buckbeak!” My smile widened and I tried to push away any thoughts of running up to the bird-horse hybrid that came up in my mind at that moment.

“Hagrid,” Weasley spoke up which pulled me out of my trance, remembering that I wasn’t in the presence of people I’d feel comfortable being vulnerable around. “Exactly what is that?”

“That, Ron, is a hippogriff," The professor began, “the first thing you want to know about hippogriffs is that they’re very proud creatures.”

“Sounds like Draco,” I joked to no one in particular but Weasley heard and chuckled before causing him and I to look at each other. He cleared his throat awkwardly and we both turned away.

“Very easily offended, you do not want to insult a hippogriff,” Hagrid continued his lesson. “It may be the last thing you ever do…” he said ominously, making me slightly rethink my thoughts on running up and petting the large creature. 

“Now, who’d like to come and say hello?” Hagrid said cheerfully, looking around at the third years. 

The entire class took a collective step back, everyone except Potter, of course. Because naturally, he just had to be different. No one else seemed eager to get anywhere near the creature Hagrid had just finished explaining was in fact dangerous.

The half-giant turned around, noticing Potter standing there by himself, “well done, Harry, well done!” He gestured for the boy to come closer. Weasley had even shoved his friend slightly forward and I rolled my eyes. 

It seemed like everything the ginger did pissed me off for no apparent reason.

Hagrid guided Potter carefully, coaching him through each step as he approached the hippogriff. The boy moved with visible hesitation, hand slowly outstretched, nerves practically written across his face. I felt her heart climb into my throat as she watched him stumble forward. 

Potter bowed slowly, making eye contact with Buckbeak as he squawked, flapping his enormous wings.

“Back off, Harry! Back off!” Hagrid barked, urgency cutting through his usually gruff tone.

Granger gasped, instinctively clutching Michael’s arm. He stiffened, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red but he kept his eyes fixed forward, pretending not to notice.

I caught the entire exchange and rolled my eyes. Hopefully, I thought with no small amount of disdain, he was only blushing because someone so clearly beneath them had touched him.

Buckbeak suddenly bowed in turn, giving Potter the sign that he could approach. Draco pushed through a group of Ravenclaws who scoffed and scattered, trying to get a better look at Potter before he would probably die or get his eyes pecked out.

I yelped and jumped back as the massive bird squawked and lunged again, feathers whipping the air like blades. Panic surged through me, and I stumbled over my own feet, eyes squeezing shut as I braced for the impact of the fall.

But it never came.

Instead, I felt two unsteady hands grab me around the waist—firm but trembling. I froze, breath caught in my throat.

Before I could even glance back, the hands shoved me upright, and I scrambled to my feet, whirling around.

“Watch it– God…” Weasley muttered, eyes fixed anywhere but on me. His ears were already turning red as his hair as he shuffled away quickly, clearly hoping to disappear into the crowd.

I stared at the back of his head, speechless, trying to figure out how such a coward could’ve been put in the house meant for the “bravest” students. I was so busy in my thoughts I almost didn’t notice Potter getting pulled up onto the hippogriff by Hagrid. 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!” The boy shrieked repeatedly and me and the rest of the Slytherins muffled a loud laugh. 

“Is he seriously gonna make Potter fly that thing?” Michael asked me with wide eyes but I didn’t reply. I was instead focused on how Weasley was staring at his best friend with so much admiration it made my stomach churn… probably thinking about how unpopular he would be if the chosen one suddenly died and wasn’t his best friend anymore.

Buckbeak ran across the clearing, the scattered students running after him as he took off with Potter screaming on his back.

I started running towards the rest of the students but Draco pulled me back by the arm and gave me a disapproving look.

⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰

Potter landed after about 5 minutes, the whole class, except of course Draco, clapping and cheering for him. Instead, the blonde rudely pushed past me and charged up to the beast.

“Oh, please!” Draco scoffed angrily, pushing past even more students.

Blaise and I both sighed loudly, “Draco… not now…”

“You’re not dangerous at all, are you?” the Malfoy heir spat at Buckbeak, “you great, ugly brute.”

My face fell and I almost started running to stop him from doing something stupid but just as Draco did before, Blaise grabbed my arm and pulled me back, shaking his head.

Buckbeak reared up onto his hind legs, wings flaring wide as he let out a piercing screech. He towered over Draco, casting a long shadow across the clearing.

Students shrieked in unison, scattering like startled birds. Some diving behind the nearest boulder, others ducking behind one another in blind panic. I squeezed her eyes shut, wincing. I couldn’t bear to watch Draco make a complete fool of himself in front of half their year.

One of Buckbeak’s front legs came down onto Draco’s arm, causing him to fall straight on his back. The class finally looked up and I cringed, watching Draco squirm and whimper on the ground. 

Hagrid panicked and quickly calmed his hippogriff down but Draco continued to snivel pathetically, making me laugh. 

“Oh, it’s killed me!” He cried out, “it’s killed me!” 

“Bloody hell, someone needs to humble him,” Weasley muttered to Granger and I shot him a defensive glare.“He has to be taken to a hospital!” Granger shouted at Hagrid. She always seemed to stand up for someone in need, even when it happened to be the boy who made her life hell. I admired that, especially since she was only a muggleborn.

Hagrid agreed and picked up Draco who sniffled and whined in his arms. Blaise and I side-eyed each other as Pansy fussed over him while he lay limp.

“Oh,” Malfoy exclaimed, “you’re gonna regret this.” 

“Class dismissed!”

“You and y-your bloody chicken!”

Chapter Text

It had been a couple of days since Draco’s “accident” and I was starting to acclimate to the average Hogwarts student’s life.

Draco had finally come back from the infirmary with an obnoxiously huge cast plastered to his arm. The night before, when he had sauntered into the common room, Pansy had made a whole scene, squealing and crying over Draco as if he had been stabbed in the chest. Her shrill voice didn’t seem to bother anyone as much as it did Blaise and I. We would give each other subtle glances and burst out laughing whenever the short black haired girl called our friend “Dracy-Poo.”

The weekend had been mostly uneventful. Some of the Slytherins including Blaise had formed a small study group with a couple of Ravenclaws (which seemed to be the only other house they tolerated) and had met in the library that Saturday. I was invited to join but decided to get a head start on my potions work if I wanted to impress professor Snape during our first potions lesson. It wasn’t until I was hunched over my brand new potions book for hours on end, stuck in the massive library, picking at my white collared shit underneath a chic pink sweater, that I began to regret my decision.

“How have you already started writing essays, ‘Mione?” I heard a familiar (and grating) voice approaching from a distance. Weasley was lugging a heavy looking bag filled with books slung over his shoulder and Granger seemed to be hovering somewhere nearby. I caught a glimpse of her tossing more and more books into the bag she must’ve made him carry.

I snorted softly to myself. He was calling me a dog, running after Draco, when he’s the one trained.

“If I want to be named prefect and have all outstandings in every lesson I must get ahead now, Ronald.” The bushy haired girl explained and huffed, searching through the shelf right by me.

“Owls aren’t until year 5, even Percy isn’t that obsessed and he’s taking his Newts this year.” Weasley groaned. 

Percy, I wondered, that must be one of the other tall gingers from the platform. He seemed to have a lot of siblings. I think I recall Draco ranting about how all of Ron’s clothes must be hand me downs since his fashion sense seemed to have been from the last century.

It was silly, but ever since the day of Draco’s accident with Buckbeak, I’d been comparing myself to Weasley nonstop. Not just in the obvious ways, either. Sure, I had a brother too, but he was older, out of school, and we hadn't really had a relationship in years. We used to be close when I was little, but things changed. He grew up, grew distant, and I stayed behind. Ron, on the other hand, seemed practically surrounded by siblings. At least three brothers at Hogwarts with him (plus a younger sister), and who knows how many more at home. I had a family, yes, but it often felt like a household of individuals, each absorbed in their own concerns. Not that I was complaining.

And then there was the matter of money. My family had more galleons than we could ever need. Ron’s robes were frayed at the edges, and his books looked like they had been handed down more than once. But he always had people. He had Potter. He had Granger. He had a dinner table that was always too loud, too crowded, but still, better than the silence us Slytherins subjected ourselves to.

I wasn’t lonely exactly, but I was... separate. Like I was watching Hogwarts through a pane of glass. Ron was right in the middle of things, even when he was embarrassed or angry or ridiculous. And I was still on the outside, wondering if I was too late to push my way in.

The only other person who could possibly understand what I felt was…

“Merlin, she looks perfect…” Michael muttered from beside me. 

Right, he had asked me to help him with his astronomy homework. And then there was the matter of his girl problems.

“Michael, maybe you should just drop it,” I sigh, shutting my book and glancing at Granger who’s nose was stuffed in a book while Weasley sat on a windowsill, balancing a quill between his nose and pursed lips. My stomach churned and I snorted. “You’re a thousand times better than her, and besides, I think she’s with Weasley anyway.”

Michael just smiled dreamily, “she passed me her quill in ancient runes,” he laid his head on the table, giving me big puppy dog eyes. “Oh, please Marja. You’d know what a girl wants.”

I shook my head and pulled out my astronomy essay for him but my mind wandered. If Granger had been in divination with me, how could she have possibly attended ancient runes with Michael? I brushed it off for the moment but I would absolutely need to look back on it later…

“Oh, bloody hell,” Weasley mutters to his friend, his voice low but unmistakably irritated. He juts his chin in my direction like I’m some sort of infestation and glares with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. Granger looks up from her book and furrows her brows as if trying to make sense of the social math playing out.

From beside me, Michael draws in a sharp breath and lets out a soft, pathetic whimper as he stares at the witch. Honestly, you'd think he’d just spotted a Dementor. I jab him lightly in the chest with my elbow, sharp enough to jolt him out of whatever spiral about Granger’s ‘beauty’ he’s about to tumble into.

“Are we bothering you?” I call out, voice cutting across the space in a harsh whisper that still manages to carry. It’s not loud, but it's pointed directly at the ginger.

His ears almost immediately redden, predictable. I smiled to myself before returning to a scowl.

“You are, in fact,” the ginger slams Granger’s book shut, eliciting a small gasp from her as he stalks towards Michael and I, the bucktooth girl following behind. 

Michael quickly ducks behind me, gripping my arm but I shrug him off.

“You’re new, so I don’t blame you for not knowing everything about the social policies here but I’d like to think that wherever it is you come from, people don’t enjoy being stared at,” Weasley grits out.

I blink, slightly taken aback. Was this arse serious?

“Since when were we staring at you?” I quip back

“Ron, what are you doing? She wasn’t even looking at us.” Granger pleaded. It seemed like she was the caregiver of their group, always making sure the boys weren’t getting into trouble.

Weasley stared down at me as I stayed perched atop the library desk, legs crossed like I had all the time in the world. He wasn’t saying anything, just standing there, his arms crossed over his chest like some red-haired gargoyle.

I scanned his features, starting with his straight and narrow nose, which had a slight bump at the bridge, probably from some injury. His mouth was tight, as if holding back sharp words and his freckles stood out more when he was angry, which, apparently, he was for some pretentious reason. 

“What?” I asked flatly, as if I couldn’t feel the heat of his stare crawling up my neck. “Do you just need the desk, or are you just here to practice your looming? Pick a fight for no good reason?”

His jaw twitched. 

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” he finally muttered.

“And you’ve got legs. Walk away.”

Michael shifted beside me, awkward and silent. He was definitely regretting coming to study with me today.

Weasley blinked like he hadn’t expected that. Then he snorted, shaking his head with a muttered “mental,” before returning back to his and Granger’s previous table. But he didn’t sit down right away. He glanced back once, just briefly like he couldn’t help it.

“Well, that was intense,” Michael chuckled and opened his book back up.

I thought back to why Weasley could've possibly thought I was staring at him. I wasn’t, was I? My cheeks burned at the thought.

⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰

It was finally dinner, one of my favourite parts of the day. There was no stress or competition. The only part I didn’t enjoy was watching Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter shovel heaps of food into their mouths.

Pansy and Daphne Greengrass were back to fawning over Draco’s arm which was barely sprained. His cast was gone but he left the stringy bandage splint on for effect. He was busy spewing some nonsense about getting Hagrid sacked for letting him get hurt during a lesson. 

“Shouldn’t’ve bothered the chicken, huh?” I mutter, sticking my fork into a dollop of mashed potatoes and prodding it around.

Draco and his friends stopped talking and raised their brows at me while Pansy gave me a dirty look and went back to stroking Draco’s arm. God, the boy was just loving this.

“Does it hurt terribly, Draco?” The black haired girl squealed.

“It comes and it goes,” the boy sighed in return.

I rolled my eyes, knowing damn well the healing potion Madame Pomfrey had given him had already completed its effect. Draco was the one bragging to me that morning that his wrist was back to normal. Maybe he only wanted the pretty girls to swoon for him.

“Still, I consider myself lucky. Another minute or two and I, uh, could’ve lost my arm,” the blond continued suavely as Crabbe leaned in, basically swooning as well. “I couldn’t possibly do homework for weeks.”

“Were you even before that?” I joke and chuckle but nobody else finds it funny. I slipped out a small groan and went back to silently eating my food. Like always.

“Could I…” Parkinson reached out to touch Draco’s arm again as he hissed and withdrew before she could even touch it.

“Please! Don’t touch it.” He whined and Blaise and I chortled.

Our laughter was abruptly cut short when Seamus Finnigan, short and wide-eyed, burst into the Great Hall, waving a copy of the Evening Prophet above his head like it was on fire.

“He’s been sighted! He’s been sighted!” he shouted, his voice bouncing off the stone walls.

Chairs scraped and cutlery clattered to a halt. Blaise and I shot up instantly, weaving through the crowd that had already begun forming around the Gryffindor table. Draco rolled his eyes behind us, muttering something smug under his breath as he and the rest of the Slytherins reluctantly reached for their own copies of the paper, trying to look disinterested.

“Who?” someone asked, breathless, as Blaise and I pushed into the thickening knot of students. I was jostled between two Gryffindor fourth-years, elbows pressed tight to my sides.

“Sirius Black!” Seamus yelled, voice shaking with a mix of excitement and fear.

At the name, the room dropped several decibels. My eyes flew wide, and a hush settled over the crowd, as if everyone had suddenly remembered how close danger could feel.

“Dufftown?” I read aloud, leaning over the paper, my eyes narrowing at the name of the village scrawled beneath the blurry moving photograph of a gaunt man with wild eyes.

A few first-years gave me nervous looks, and I could practically feel the ripple of unease spreading down the table.

“That’s not far from here…” someone muttered, voice low and uncertain.

“You… you don’t think he’d come to Hogwarts?” Longbottom asked, his tone squeaky with dread, eyes flicking from face to face like he expected Black to leap out from the page.

I was about to snap at him for being dramatic when I realized how tightly packed we all were, how my shoulder was pressed up against someone solid. I glanced down and froze. Ron Weasley’s arm had curved instinctively around me, braced on the table as we both leaned in to read. It wasn't intentional, at least I didn’t think it was, but the crook of his elbow was grazing my back, warm even through layers of fabric.

My breath hitched, just slightly.

He didn’t seem to notice, too absorbed in the article, lips moving silently as he read. Still, heat crept up my neck.

I shifted quickly, easing out from under his arm as casually as I could manage, slipping back behind Blaise before anyone had a chance to notice.

“With dementors at every entrance?” someone replied to Longbottom with exasperation. 

“Dementors!” Finnigan exclaimed and I jumped back slightly. “He’s already slipped past them once, hasn’t he? Who’s to say he won’t do it again?” 

I slipped back down into one of the benches, my hands folding neatly in my lap as I quietly observed the group around me. The Gryffindors were buzzing with nervous energy, but underneath that, there was something softer, something I couldn’t quite name.

Their whole dynamic felt oddly... homely. Familiar in a way I’d never personally experienced. Everyone had their place, their voice. They interrupted each other, tossed jabs and quips like a tennis match, but there was no edge to it. Even when they argued, it was with zero malice. A kind of affection sat in the air between them, invisible but thick.

I wasn’t sure if I liked it.

But I didn’t exactly hate it either.

It was just… different.

Bem, who I’d come to understand was the unofficial Gryffindor town crier, leaned forward over the table, his face lit with the thrill of dramatic delivery. “That’s right,” he said, lowering his voice for effect. “Black could be anywhere.”

A beat of silence. Just long enough for that familiar sense of dread to return.

I found myself leaning in, as did everyone else nearby. For a second, I felt like I blended in. Not as an outsider peeking into someone else’s world, but as a part of it.

“It’s like trying to catch smoke,” he continued ominously, “like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands…”

“Bloody hell.”

⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰

We were all gathered quietly around a large and unnerving brown and silver cabinet that unnaturally jostled back and forth as if entrapping something that desperately wanted to find a way out. Much like I had been feeling in the disgustingly itchy uniform Hogwarts had been subjecting me to.

“Intriguing isn’t it?” I snapped my head towards our professor, professor Lupin, a strange man in his mid 40s with grey streaks flowing through his hair, scars littering his face and neck, and casual robes that hung onto him like ornaments. I looked back towards the cabinet curiously as Draco huffed.

“Would anyone like to venture a guess as to what is inside?” professor Lupin continued, clapping his hands together and looking at each of us expectantly. I slowly shrunk back into the crowd, trying my best not to get picked. 

“That’s a boggart, that is,” Dean Thomas, a bright Gryffindor piped up first. Funny, I would think Granger would fight for attention in every class. Being a muggleborn surely was a disadvantage so I didn’t quite blame her for wanting to be the best. 

Where was she anyway? Defense against the dark arts was a mandatory class, and a joint class with Slytherins and Gryffindors meant she should've been here.

“Very good Mr. Thomas,” professor Lupin smiled and nodded warmly at the boy before continuing, “now, can anyone tell me what a boggart looks like?”

I watched Weasley squirm uncomfortably from the other side of the room while I snorted.

“What’s so funny?” Draco sneered and looked down at me. I had half a mind to punch his “broken” arm right then but I knew I’d receive a strongly worded howler from father if I did.

“Nothing, just… nothing.”

“No one knows,” Granger answered matter-of-factly and my brows shot up.

Since when was she here!?

“When’d she get here!?” Weasley exclaimed as if reading my mind. I rolled my eyes.

“Boggarts are shape-shifters,” Granger announced from the front of the room. “They take the shape of whatever a particular person fears the most.”

I leaned forward and started taking notes, letting the motion distract me from how stiff the room felt. Professor Lupin paced slowly in front of the wardrobe where the Boggart was supposedly hiding.

Pansy’s voice slithered in beside me like a cold draft.

“Boy Volant, wouldn’t you wish you were a shape-shifter?” she whispered with that smug little curl in her voice that made every syllable sound like an insult.

I furrowed my brows, pen stilling mid-word.

“And why would I wish for that?” I muttered, not bothering to meet her eye. My arms dropped to my sides, the note-taking forgotten. I already knew where this was going.

I could practically feel the smirk stretching across her stupid, pug-like face.

“To spare your mirror from your face, for starters.” She jabbed her index finger toward me in a lazy little circle, like she was tracing a hex in the air around my head. Then she chortled, cruel and satisfied, and a few Slytherins, including Draco, snickered nearby.

My face burned red-hot, crawling with shame and fury. I turned away quickly, hoping no one else had noticed.

But of course, someone had.

Ron Weasley was watching. His face wore that same conflicted expression I’d seen once or twice before, halfway between pity and discomfort, like he didn’t want to feel sorry for me but couldn’t quite help himself.

I always hated that look.

“What?” I snapped, the word sharp and low.

He rolled his eyes and turned back toward his desk, saying nothing. Just like always. Too Gryffindor to be cruel, too proud to be kind.

The heat in my cheeks refused to fade, and I dropped my eyes back to the parchment. My notes blurred together, unreadable now.

“Luckily, a very simple charm exists to repel a Boggart,” Professor Lupin continued, gesturing toward the rattling wardrobe. It thudded again.

“Let’s practice it now.”

I reached instinctively into my robes, fingers brushing the familiar curve of my wand, but before I could draw it, Lupin’s hand shot out in my direction.

“Uh, without wands, please,” he said, politely but firmly.

Laughter bubbled up around me. Not cruel exactly, but enough to make my face go hot. I tucked my wand away as casually as I could manage, trying to ignore the smirks. I didn’t look at Pansy, though I could feel her satisfaction radiating off her.

“After me, Riddikulus,” Lupin called out, smiling that calm, patient smile he always sported.

“Riddikulus,” we echoed dutifully.

“Very good! A little louder, now, very clear, listen: Riddikulus!”

“Riddikulus!” We responded again, louder this time, with a few students sounding oddly enthusiastic, as if trying to impress Lupin.

“This class is ridiculous,” Draco muttered from where he leaned against a tall stone pillar near the back, arms crossed as if he disapproved of everything.

Of course he wasn’t participating.

I glanced at him, then back to Lupin, who was now explaining the wand movement we’d eventually pair with the spell. I waited a moment, then slipped away from the main group and shuffled over toward Draco.

“What’s up with you today?” I muttered, keeping my voice low so it wouldn't disrupt the class.

He didn’t look at me at first. Just tightened his jaw and continued watching the wardrobe like it had personally offended him. Then, he turned his head slightly and gave me that look, the one that made it clear he was seconds from snapping.

“What’s wrong with me?” he spat under his breath. “What’s wrong with you two?” His eyes flicked toward Blaise, who was in the middle of practicing the proper wrist flick.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to keep my tone steady, though I already felt myself bracing for the usual Draco-brand drama.

“You’re just—” he cut himself off, nostrils flaring slightly. “Never mind.”

“No, say it.”

He gave a quiet, bitter laugh. “You’re both acting like you’re suddenly Gryffindors or something. Standing around with them. Whispering with Longbottom like you’re best mates. And ever since you got here Blaise has been doing the same.”

I stared at him, caught off guard by the venom behind his words.

“You’re mad because I’m… not brooding in the corner with you?”

“I’m not brooding—” he started, but the lie was barely worth finishing. He exhaled sharply and looked away. “Just... don’t forget who your friends are.”

I blinked at him, unsure what made me laugh more, his jealousy, or the fact that he might actually believe I tolerated those imbeciles.

Before I could respond, Lupin’s voice rang out again and it was at that moment I realized, “Neville!”

The whole class turns to face the boy and I feel a small pang of pity for him for just a second.

“Will you join me, please?” Lupin asks with a wide grin. “Come on. Don’t be shy, come on.”

Neville looked around at each of us, hoping someone would save him. When no one did, he silently and slowly made his way up to the front of the class.

“Neville, what frightens you most of all?”

Longbottom just stuttered pathetically and I could hear Draco’s chest rumbling with laughter beside me.

“Sorry?” Lupin reiterated.

“P-Professor Snape.”

Merlin, people seriously hated that guy, but to the extent of having him as your worst fear? That was just insane to me.

The class, including Lupin, laughed.

“Professor Snape? Yes, frightens all,” the professor joked, “and I believe you live with your grandmother?”

“Y-yes, but I don't w-want that boggart to turn into her either,” Longbottom stammered.

I found that a bit funny and laughed along with the Gryffindors before rolling my eyes and reminding myself not to lower Draco’s ego any more, otherwise I’d never hear the end of it.

“No,” Lupin breathed out cheerfully as the wardrobe thudded again, “It won’t. I want you to picture her clothes– only her clothes, very clearly in your mind.”

“This is going to end terribly,” I sigh and shake my head.

“Well, at least if something does happen, we can blame Neville and not you,” Weasley joked and I let out a small chuckle despite myself.

“Now when I open that wardrobe, here’s what I want you to do,”  Professor Lupin instructed Longbottom. “Excuse me.”

As the professor leaned in to whisper into Longbottom’s ear, I craned my neck but couldn’t hear a word, instead opting to see how things would play out. Despite being desperately curious.

“Wand at the ready,” Lupin pulled out his wand as Lonbottom followed suit, the whole class on the edge of our metaphorical seats as we watched the scene unfold. “One… two… three,” the professor flicked his wand at the wardrobe which opened with a swing of the door with a creak.

From out of the wardrobe stepped out a tall man with a crooked hooked nose and the greasiest unwashed jet-black hair I had ever seen. His whole demeanor made me shiver. How could I have not noticed this menacing presence during the sorting ceremony?

“Think, Neville! Think!” Lupin instructed from behind the trembling Gryffindor as the boggart of Professor Snape stalked towards him.

“Ridikulus!” Lonbottom yelled and pointed his wand out at his greatest fear. Snape was knocked back slightly and his clothing changed into a dress so tacky, even her ancient aunt Carlotta, who was famous for her terrible but bold fashion, would never wear it.

I broke out into laughter along with the rest of the class, even Draco. 

“Wonderful, Neville! Wonderful,” Lupin ushered him away and turned to the rest of us who were coming off of our laughter. “Everyone, form a line!”

We all shuffled around and Blaise grabbed my hand, pulling me in front of him near the start of the newly formed line as I watched Draco push over a kid with his broken arm.

Weasley was right in front of me and Lupin waved him over as he put the needle on a nearby record player which was now playing some muggle swing music. “Next! Ron!”

I watched Weasley approach the boggart with the most pathetically afraid look on his face. He must’ve begged to be put in Gryffindor with how much of a coward he’s been proving to be.

“Concentrate…” Lupin muttered clearly. “Face your fear. Be brave!”

As Weasley stepped closer, the boggart shifted into a large and terrifying spider. He whimpered and stood stiffly in place. I put a hand to my mouth to stop myself from giggling and Lupin gave me a small, disapproving glance, causing me to immediately compose myself.

“Come on, wand at the ready, Ron… wand at the ready!” the professor instructed as the spider trudged closer, snapping its humongous pincers. 

“Riddikulus!” Weasley waved his wand at the spider, little roller skates appearing on each of its eight legs as it slipped and skidded around clumsily like a toddler learning to walk.

The spider had turned into me.Not a direct reflection of me, but me with nothing. Me who was nothing.

My mouth went dry.

The figure standing in front of me wore my face, but it was blank, expressionless, hollow, like a sketch someone had started but never finished. There were no defining features. No sound. Just… absence. A ghost of a girl that never mattered.

She didn’t move. She didn’t even breathe. She just stood there. Empty.

A cold rush of air swept over me, or maybe that was just inside my chest. I heard a distant sound, like water muffled behind glass, a voice.

“You’ll never be enough.”

It was my father’s voice. Cool. Controlled. Disappointed. Like always.

“Mediocrity isn’t an option, Marja.”

His words echoed in my mind, just as sharp and clinical as the first time he’d said them. Maybe I was eleven. Maybe younger. Always too small for the expectations he stacked on me.

The boggart started surging towards me, ready to… attack? I wasn’t quite sure what would happen if it reached me.

I felt the panic rising, quick and hot in my throat. I took a step back.

“Riddikulus!”

Lupin’s voice rang clear this time, firm.

In an instant, the body of the girl in front of me contorted and twisted, shrinking into a bumbling figure in pinstriped robes and a British Ministry badge so oversized it dragged along the floor.

The figure let out a surprised squeak as three rubber balls appeared in her hands and then, absurdly, she began to juggle. Poorly. One hit her in the face. Another bounced off her knee. She tried to bow and tripped over her own feet, landing flat on her back with a squeaky honk like a circus clown.

The class burst into laughter, and even I let out a stunned, breathy laugh through my nose. Just enough to ground me as I unclenched my fists.

I stood still for a second longer than I should’ve.

“Very well done, Marja,” Lupin said gently, giving me the smallest, most reassuring and undeserved nod. 

I nodded back, not trusting my voice. My palms were still shaking.

As I turned to walk back to my place, I caught Weasley staring at me, not smug this time, but a little confused. Like he wasn’t sure what he’d just seen.

I didn’t look at anyone else. I didn’t need to.

After a few other students came up to the boggart, each successfully using the charm to transfigure it, Harry Potter was next.

The boggart had shifted into an an incredibly realistic depiction of a dementor, as if one of the ones guarding the grounds had suddenly broken into our classroom.

Potter's face fell as he stumbled slightly backwards, and the class turned silent as they previously did with me. 

Professor Lupin immediately jumped between Potter and the dementor, screaming incoherently as I slightly flinched. The dementor was sucked into a dark mist and transformed into a full moon surrounded by dark clouds and I noticed Draco shift nearby, focusing all his newfound attention on the professor..

“Ridikulus!” Lupin shouted and transfigured the moon into a balloon, using his wand to cast it back into the wardrobe, subsequently locking it. 

“Right, well, sorry about that!” the defense professor mustered out as he turned to the class. “Uh, that’s enough for today. If you’d all like to collect your books from the back of the class, that’s the end of the lesson, thank you.” He said quickly with a small bow as the rest of the students who didn’t get a turn with the boggart groaned.

I grabbed my leather purse from a table near the back and turned to the door, trying not to show Ron Weasley that I could see him glaring at me suspiciously from behind.