I spent my first week looking over my shoulder, prepared to defend myself from jinxes and curses in the hallways. A tad paranoid, perhaps, but I couldn't help it.
It turns out, Carnac Le Fay left a few memories after his eviction from this body; worried memories about how the British would treat a Le Fay. A half-breed. Someone descended from the fairies.
I felt the paranoia was appropriate. The ROB may not have been as unsporting as I first thought, but he was apparently in it for the long con. I had enough fragmented memories to cover all my bases, but that came with the caveat of being a descendant of Pouques and Arragouset, while stuck in the same building as the children of Death Eaters.
To make matters worse, I don't remember faeries being mentioned in canon. Another sign that I was stuck in some knockoff fanon world.
Needless to say, I had a very nerve-wracking first week of school.
Sunday the second was spent trailing behind prefects with the other first years as we were shown where our classes were. Interesting, sure, but at the same time, I was unnerved by the normalcy of it. I shouldn't have been this used to talking portraits and moving armour and magic!
Personally, I blamed Carnac and his Puck-damned memories bleeding over into my mind.
That's how the first week went; gyrating between the feeling of normality and shock of realising I'd slipped into it so easily.
The classes didn't help.
On that first Monday, our two lessons were Transfiguration and Herbology. An easy start to our time here according to some of the more talkative upper years, but I still felt anxious.
Professor McGonagall seemed strict, yet fair and she did a good job of exciting us all with her demonstrations of magic, but as soon as she handed out the matchsticks we were meant to change into needles, I ran into roadblocks.
Apparently, Carnac's familiarity with magic couldn't stop me from overthinking the process, and I was stuck staring at the matchstick, contemplating how a wooden match, composed of carbon and phosphorus, could possibly be changed to metal. 'Magic,' sure, but if magic was energy, then wouldn't that just ignite the matchstick? I spent that entire class fruitlessly casting conmutocus and trying to get past the blatant violations of physics.
At least I wasn't the only one to have no success, and at the end of the class, Professor McGonagall stood before us for a final lecture.
"You will learn more about the methods behind incantations and wand movement from Professor Flitwick tomorrow," she said as class wrapped up, "but for Transfiguration to work you must exercise focus. That's what separates this class from the magic you'll learn in charms. Will is essential; you must not think of the spell as a suggestion or even a command, you must have the mindset that your match will transform into a needle. Leave no room for doubt and you will succeed."
Well, that's just great, I thought to myself as we all filed out. She drops that on us right at the end! And none of the textbooks I'd rummaged through even mention the state of mind or emotion behind magic besides a few vague references.
At least I had something to blame for my inability to complete the spell.
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After lunch was Herbology, and that was when I decided to swear off gardening. I don't know why, but it seemed like every plant, from the Tartary Lamb bushes to the Devils Snare cuttings seemed to want a piece of me.
"They like you," Professor Sprout mentioned as the tender green fronds of the dog-eating vines in the rafters tugged at my hair for the umpteenth time. "Normally they keep away from people they don't know."
"Great!" I muttered, swatting a probing sprout away before it could explore my ear. "If tearing my robes is a sign of affection, I don't want to see them when they're grumpy."
"I'll get one of your housemates to teach you reparo. Until then, trade places with Brian… I don't think the goose barnacle tree will be able to do as much damage. Also, I'd advise you to keep away from the whomping willow. She's a big fan of tough love."
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Our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was one I didn't recognise at all.
Professor Trocar was a gaunt, pale man who shared Snape's sense of fashion, and somehow managed to pull off being both professional and downright creepy. His classroom was in the dungeons, in an old cell with rust marks on the walls from long-gone shackles and he started the class with a cold air of experience.
"Over the course of this year," he told us, stalking back and forth at the front of the room, "I shall be teaching you how to properly defend yourself against the dark arts." He paused, becoming unnaturally still, and stared at each and every one of us before continuing.
"The dark arts is a wide field of magic, and as such, has many definitions, but the most succinct one I've found is this; 'magic cast with intent to harm.' Would someone care to elaborate?"
No one, not even the Ravenclaws that had constantly been asking questions in previous classes, moved.
"A pity. Kate Wilson, please take a stab in the dark at what I mean by 'magic cast with intent to harm.'"
"Um…" Kate was one of the more curious Ravenclaws, but you wouldn't know it if you looked at her now. "Intent to harm… so it's like how if you attempt to murder something it's attempted murder. So if you attempt to harm someone with magic, it's dark magic?"
"An admirable attempt my dear," Trocar said smoothly, "But not quite. Sampson Mars? Would you like to try elaborating?"
Next to me, Sampson stiffened. He was one of my dorm mates and seemed quite smart, although a bit quiet. He looked around before facing Professor Trocar with a pale face.
"Professor McGonagall said that magic needs… emotion and intent," Samson stuttered. "So, dark magic… is it magic that needs dark emotions?"
"Exactly, Mr. Mars," Trocar said, giving him a toothy grin. "Five points to Hufflepuff. Yes, dark magic, the sort I will teach you to both detect and defend against, is magic that requires negative emotions to cast. Greed, anger, hatred, manipulation, and spite can all fuel dark magic. For example, the killing curse requires an adamant desire for the target to die. The Cruciatus curse requires the need for the target to feel pain. Even the Imperius curse requires a sickly desire to control. In magic, the intent is everything, and that is what makes dark magic so dangerous, not only for the victim but also the caster. But I've gone on long enough. Who can tell me what separates dark creatures from most magical beasts?"
The class concluded with homework to research basic jinx-detection spells and a promise that we'd be getting a bit more practical work next lesson.
As we were ushered out into the corridor, I listened to multiple whispered conversations about Trocar. About how he must be a Dementor, or Vampire, or Strigoi, and I could almost believe it. After all, every time he looked out over the class, some primordial part of my brain screamed to run away.
Hopefully, Dumbledore isn't that incompetent.
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Charms with Professor Flitwick was fun, and his enthusiasm had everyone in class excited to learn more.
Heck, he managed to make Lumos, the spell that could be replaced by a flashlight, interesting.
"Wands out," he'd said at the beginning of the lesson. "I know you are all dying to use them, but just hold on a moment… That means you, Mr. Davidson… Now, today we'll be going over Lumos."
The reaction was instant. All the muggle-borns were staring with apt attention and whispering excitedly to their neighbours, while the pure-bloods and half-bloods all groaned and rolled their eyes and muttered about learning Lumos when they were five.
"I know, I know," Professor Flitwick said with exuberance. "It's a simple spell, but it's essential we all go over the wand movement and enunciation. Magic has an unfortunate tendency to backfire, as I'm sure you all know from Professor McGonagall, and Lumos is one of the spells that won't wreck tremendous harm if you pronounce it wrong."
Everyone was attentive now. The muggle-borns had stopped whispering and the wizarding children no longer looked bored.
"Now," the professor continued, wordlessly animating a piece of chalk to begin scrawling on the blackboard. "The spell, as I said, is Lumos. Loo-mos. Got that? The wand movement is simple, just do a small loop like so."
As he demonstrated, the tip of his wand began to shine and he held it up for all to see.
"As you can see, a simple spell, but there is something that needs to be covered yet… Does anyone have a clue as to what it may be?"
One of the Slytherin girls raised her hand and Professor Flitwick gestured at them excitedly.
"Go on Miss Maeve. Tell us what it is!"
"You still have to tell us how to turn it off Professor," Maeve said softly.
"Yes! Quite right! Well done Miss Maeve, and take five points for Slytherin. Now, one must never cast a spell without knowing how to end it! If there is one thing that you take away from this lesson, it is that! To end Lumos, the charm is Nox, and the wand movement is a tiny wave shape."
The light vanished and Professor Flitwick grinned at us.
"Now… it's your turn to give it a go!"
Staring at my wand, I tried to concentrate. This would be my first spell. My first bit of magic…
"Lumos."
Grinning, I held up my wand, staring at the soft halo of light. Experimentally, I poked the tip of my wand, expecting it to feel warm, but there wasn't any heat. It did seem to be emitting a slight humming sound, though.
Weird.
I concentrated on the spell, imagining that magic was being pushed into my wand and the spell grew brighter, the humming louder.
Very cool. And now…
"Nox."
The light flickered out.
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Regrettably, Charms was the last truly enjoyable class for the week.
The boredom of Binn's history, the terror of Hooch's flying lessons, and the exhaustion of Astronomy all wore me down, and I could tell it was starting to get to some of my classmates. By Friday, all I wanted to do was sleep.
Unfortunately, Friday was the day we had potions.
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Potions was the class I'd been dreading all week. The way Snape was described in the books was horrible and the fact that he was a mind reader extraordinaire just made the whole thing even more nerve-wracking.
I sat as far back in the class as I could, and even if that put me up against the supply closet and hoped to Merlin that Snape didn't notice me.
After the roll call had concluded, Snape turned to us with barely veiled contempt.
"You are here to learn the subtle art of potion-making," he stated in a cold, clear voice. "As there is little wand waving to hold your attention here, many of you may not believe this is magic."
He paused. A true drama king, although I'm pretty sure he said that exact same thing in Harry's first year as well.
"I don't expect you to understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron," he said, with quiet passion. "The hidden power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitch the body and ensnare the mind... I can teach you how to brew fortune, bottle dreams, and even stopper death."
His speech finished in a whisper. The class was completely silent.
"We will start off with seeing who bothered to open their textbooks," he stated after a quiet moment. "Who can tell me what flower is used in both the soothing and rage potion?"
Several Ravenclaw students raised their hands, but Snape ignored them entirely.
"Davidson!" he stated. "What is the answer?"
Jeremy Davidson was a roommate from Hufflepuff. He hadn't raised his hand.
"I…. I don't know sir," Davidson stammered.
"Do I look like a sir to you, Davidson?" Snape sneered.
"No Professor," Davidson said softly. He looked like he was going to cry.
Snape slowly turned away, scrutinising the rest of us.
"Even an idiot should know that dried petunia petals are essential in those two potions. Let us try again. Le Fay. What is the main ingredient of the befuddlement potion?"
I jolted. He was going after the people who weren't raising their hands.
Shit!
Before I could say 'I don't know' out of instinct, I felt the now-familiar fuzzy sensation of one of Carnac's memories bleeding through.
"Jimsonweed? Professor," I half asked, half stated.
Snape watched me closely.
"Since you seem so unsure, I'll ask another question," he said with cruel delight. "What might one use a bezoar for?"
Easy.
"Poison, Professor. It can be used as a remedy for poison."
Snape stared at me for a good ten seconds, giving me plenty of time to doubt my answer. Then he gave me a thin smile.
"It seems someone has read their potions textbook. One point for Hufflepuff."
Next to me, Sampson gave me a small smile, but I was too focused on the blackboard to care. I'm pretty sure I looked into Snape's eyes… not good.
The rest of the lesson passed agonisingly slowly and I swear I felt Snape's eyes boring into me, analysing my every move. I was so jittery, I nearly made several mistakes in brewing the boil-cure potion, and even then I probably ruined it anyway by contaminating it with sweat.
At the end of the class, I felt nervous, and could not wait to finish the final lesson of Charms so the week would finally be over.
Then I'd just have to contend with the homework.
