Class and Friends

She's surprisingly fast, is my only thought as she jumps into a seat across from me and snatches a plate. "Morning."

What the f u c k is with that nonchalant tone Miss speed? I nod back in response as she fills her plate.

'Why aren't you sitting with your house?' I ask as she pours sugar on her eggs.

"Is it a rule? I don't see the harm in sitting with you." Is it? I mean it might be social suicide but she's a Hufflepuff so it might not be so bad? Although it's me she's sitting with. I struggle to articulate my thoughts only to end up giving her a thumbs up.

The silence begins poking my anxiety as Anne shovels food into her mouth. Am I supposed to continue the conversation? What should I say? She's eating so should I say anything at all? My worry flows out of my head and into my hands as I begin to softly scratch at my arm.

"Want to compare schedules?" She questions, mouth barely empty, answers my soundless plea as I vigorously nod. Reaching over the table, she snatches my timetable and takes out her own.

"Looks like we both have Defence Against the Dark Arts first hour, what's that class?" Her confusion shocks me as I take my timetable back from her. At my raised eyebrow she opens her mouth and slowly throws it back.

"I'm an idiot aren't I?" Saving me from answering that question, a mass of hoots and flapping wings fill the hall, almost pushing me back into the ocean.

I'm so glad I grabbed a blood pack, if I didn't it might have succeeded. Recollecting myself, I join the hall in their search for parcels belonging to them; or in my case, making sure an owl doesn't drop something on me.

"How could I forget about DADA? My mom's an Auror for pet's sake!" A whimsical smile meets my raised eyebrows as she seems to puff out her chest a little. "From what she's told me, the Ministry jumped at the chance to have her. America has way less strict regulation on wands due to the right to bear magic so American Auror's having a tougher job. She jokes that she's a wizard cowboy. In fact-"

I cut her rambling off with a hand movement as I tap my wrist. Her brow furrows as she looks down at her wrists. Facepalming, remember who I'm talking two, and take out my notepad, 'We should probably get to class. I don't know about you but I don't want to be late on our first day.'

You could physically see the war raging between her stomach and head. "Yeah we should probably get going," Cooler heads prevailing, we head out of the Great hall. As the massive doors close, semi-locking the crowd's sound behind it, my mind kicks me.

"Cedric said it was-" I grab her wrist before she starts her way to the classroom. Turning back, she gives me an inquisitive look.

'We don't have our books.'

"Your right. I'll meet back up with you in the classroom." With a nod, we head our separate ways.

***

Why did I have to point that out? I couldn't leave well enough alone could I? Why don't the timetables have the classroom written on them? Better yet they should have a map or at least the Prefects could show us how to get to our classes.

My frustrated rant to myself goes unanswered as I continue my aimless walk through the halls. At least I insisted we leave early. If I didn't I would be late to class by now.

Turning another corner, My habit of looking down bites me in the butt as I run into a Ravenclaw Prefect. I stand there unaffected as the girl two, maybe three, heads taller than me flies to the ground. Looking up, I recognize the girl as Penelope Clearwater as she sits on the floor rubbing her head. Blushing a little, I extend my hand to her. The instinctual look of surprise and fear quickly replaced with a warm smile.

Tacking my hand, I heave her up as she begins smoothing her skirt, "Thanks."

My embarrassment turns to suspicion as I remember where I am, 'What are you doing on the third floor?'

"Relax, I was assigned to monitor the halls and help any first years who got lost on their first day," her warm smile doesn't comfort me as my eyes narrow.

'Wouldn't that be Mr. Filch's job?' My skeptical comment is only met with a chuckle.

An eyebrow raises as Penelope wipes a tear out of her eye, "Sorry. Just, just hearing Filch be referred to as 'Mr' cracks me up," She bailey retains composure as the words come out of her mouth. "If Filch was assigned this, kids would be even later than they would be without his help. Now, let's get going. What class are you supposed to be in?"

Her humor slightly calms my nerves as I hand her my timetable.

"You're really lost if you're supposed to be in 3C. Wait, did Dick- I mean Richard explain to you guys the basic passageways?" Connecting Dick, I don't give a flying f about his real name, to the other Ravenclaw Prefect, I shake my head. Teeth clenched, her hand forms a claw as it shakes from tension. Stepping back a little, the fire in her eyes diminishes as her muscles relax and she pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Sorry, it's just- nevermind. Let's get you to class," Her kind smile returned, I mentally do cartwheels at showing Dick up as I follow Penelope down the hall.

***

Whispers about me fill the halls whenever we pass by a group of people. You know, sometimes I like how unnoticeable my curse makes me when I'm alone.

'I think I can make it the rest of the way myself,' I write, trying to give her a way out.

"Are you sure?" The kindness radiating off her starts to annoy me.

'Yes, I'll be fine. I have a photographic memory,' Not letting her have a chance to say no, I quickly wave her off as I speed walk the rest of my way into class.

The, not so quiet, chatter of students fills the air as I approach the classroom. The door stood slightly ajar, giving me the option to slide into the room without turning the knob. My quest to silently enter the room immediately fails as I bump the door, causing it to creak.

The chatter that once permeated the room gets swiftly cut down by creak, causing the room to ring out in silence. Like a pack sensing an intruder, at once their heads swivel around to stare directly at me. Taking a big, "audible", gulp, I bring down my mask as I stride between the desks to the back of the room.

Like a cartoon character in a live-action movie, Anne's eccentric golden hair beams at me. Walking through the two-person desks, that stand in rows of three, lining down the strangely decorated room. Keeping my head up high, almost silent opinions blume into the light of a spring day.

"Great. We're with the freak."

"Who's the you-know-who looking girl?"

"I thought she would've been kicked out by now."

"Are we getting a live demonstration on the first day?"

A quiet chuckle radiates through from the audible, by human standards, joke. Taking one more deadpan of the students, I take the seat next to the out of place Anne. My brow starts to sweat at the idea of the joke becoming true.

Massive wooden collar beams between equally big windows supported the ceiling. Along the windowed wall sits tables holding pictures of all kinds in frames of all sizes. Normal right? Well, it would be if there wasn't a tower-like bit with an alcove and its own spiraling staircase sitting behind the teacher's desk along with other oddities I can't even begin to decipher.

"G-G-Good morning, st-students," Lady luck strikes again as a cowardly meek voice announces from the front of the room, silencing the crowd.

As the voice wafts through the room, so does the pungent smell of garlic. Fear forces my gaze to the figure standing behind the teacher's desk.

Professor Quirrell seemed like the complete opposite of someone who would be a teacher of the Defence of the Dark Arts. Although the black robe over his brown suit and brown plaid tie gave him a very scholarly look, the purple turban with the end looping around his front like a scarf ruined it.

Fear ran up my spine; not directly from him though. His slouch, squirrely eyes, and constant hand fidgeting couldn't scare anyone. No, the smell of garlic is coming from his turban. It's not like garlic can hurt me, only newly turned vampires who can't completely control their senses are overwhelmed by garlic. It's the fact that one of the professors, let alone the DADA professor, would go through that much trouble to create a defense against me.

Wait there's something else. Weird energy follows Professor Quirrell. It doesn't feel like it's directly from him, it's like a phantom, just a few seconds lagging behind him. It's not like the same energy as Dumbledore, less pure, less… potent. Like a shriveled-up husk of what once was powerful.

***

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. He almost fell over when calling my name in a roll call but I'm pretty sure being a vampire is more like a joke or something to tease me with for the students. Other than that, it went fine.

My constant worrying dies down as the entrance to the library draws near. The Common room has so many books already, I wonder if the library has more. Crossing through the arched opening, it disappoints me a little. Don't get me wrong, it's grand and filled with books; it just looks like another section of the Ravenclaw Common room. I'll have to ask Clearwater if it connects in some way.

looking down at my copy of Animal Farm, the absence of a bookmark prompts me to browse the shelves. Dangers of Quidditch, no. The Dangers of House Elves Obtaining Freedom, f u c k you. The Therapeutic Properties of Boggarts, interesting… but no. My search of the shelves goes unanswered until a book on the fifth shelf catches my eye. The Lost Art of Potion Making and Why. Interesting.

Standing on my tippy toes, I stretch to reach the book only for another hand to snatch it first. Looking to my left, I find the hand belonging to Hermione Granger.

Turning to move to the desks, her eyes dart down in recognition as a blush spreads across her face. "Oh, I didn't see you there. You can have it if you want."

Shaking my head, we stand there in silence, a wall built between us. Struggling between running away and confronting her, my pen moves swiftly across my notepad.

'It's fine. I can grab it after you're done with it,' Trying out my exit strategy, I slowly take a step back only for my social retreat to be cut off with more wand fire.

"I'm surprised to see a wizard use a pen. Do you have a muggle mom or something?" Her question flashes me back, to the flashing lights, to the unending nights, back to the pain. Sweat peppers my forehead as I struggle for air. My legs start to give out on me as darkness rapped its meaty claw around my throat. As the ground starts getting closer and closer, a force I can't comprehend through the fog stops it.

"In and out, in and out. Close your eyes and think of a feather, can you do that? Focus on keeping it up, every breath keeps it up. Try to keep in the same place."

Following her sweet almost sing-songy voice. Slowly but surely the chest pain goes away and my throat unclogs. Retaining my composure, I narrow my eyes at her.

"My parents thought my magic outbursts were like panic attacks, so they would always repeat that to me. Sorry for being so rude during my wand fitting, I shouldn't have asked you about that stuff." Guilt eats at my gut, I've been judging her as like everyone else when I do the same thing when magic is involved.

'Thank you. Want to sit and read together?' a nod from Hermione curves my mouth as I grab The Therapeutic Properties of Boggarts.