Year Two - Chapter Three

Charm lessons began with a very simple workload consisting of revisions. As I sat down scribbling the charms that I remembered from the first year, I pondered on the unfairness of being a muggleborn, or a half-blood without a wizard parent in the same house. Since the tracking worked in an area, and on a wand, it was reasonably inferred that if a spell was cast in a wizardry household, then it belonged to the adult wizard of the family. And if the spell was cast with the child's wand, then it clearly had been done under the supervision of an adult.

Still, revisions were actually useful. If anything else, they demonstrated the difference between ingrained skills, desire to practice and children who instead enjoyed their summer holidays doing absolutely nothing.

However, there was a noticeable difference.

Our Charms lessons were with the Slytherin.

The green-tie-wearing cardboard cookie-evil maniacs who got no more than three lines each and were thus clearly evil, bad guys who deserved to be shot on sight were, for the most part, absolutely normal students. There were a few sour apples in the bunch, but it wasn't that they laughed maniacally and swore revenge in the name of their most ancient and noble houses. No, it was more like they grumbled whenever a Ravenclaw answered perfectly, and childishly called us know-it-all.

Still, the Ravenclaw house earned more than twenty points from the revisions' tests, and while the Slytherin lamented us being unfairly prized, it also meant something else. The lessons wouldn't be like in the first year. They'd swap our houses' partners too. I dreadfully watched as my traumatic reality came to the fray, and my eyes loomed over my potions' partner for Snape's lessons.

For we had Gryffindors as partners for Potions and Transfigurations, Slytherins for Charms, Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Hufflepuffs, those gentle and caring souls, for everything else.

I looked at Professor Snape's smug expression, acknowledging the incredible feeling of schadenfreude the man was feeling at having personally picked the perfect potions' partner for a certain Neville Longbottom. I looked at the boy as I would a walking, natural disaster. Even though I was relatively sure he was a good boy, and would become a good man, it still didn't change the fact that he was a dangerous entity to hold near a bubbling cauldron.

"Professor," I said, bowing my head ever so slightly. "May I, at my judgment, swish my wand to guarantee my personal safety?"

Professor Snape sneered in my direction, and I glared back. Deep down, really deep down, I think Snape knew I wasn't challenging his authority as much as acknowledging that I couldn't and wouldn't refuse this, but I would fight back to safeguard myself. It was a white flag of sorts. I got the message, and he got mine.

"Mister Umbrus, it would be remiss of you not to," Professor Snape said with a light smirk, "I do expect you Ravenclaws to demonstrate your ability and shine even when faced with unfortunate and sub-par assistants."

I gave a long nod, more like a bow of the head, towards the Professor. He then wrote on the blackboard the name of the potion we had to brew -a forgetfulness potion, quite apt considering the circumstances of this being a revision- and then began to move around like a hawk.

"Through the gates of hell," I hummed, "As we make our way to heaven," I placed my wand by the side of my desk, before turning towards Longbottom. I checked the ingredients for the Potion, and then got to work.

First the water, then the lethe water, then heat, count to twenty, drop the valerian sprigs, stir thrice clockwise and-

"Uhm...sh-should I grind the mistletoe with the dried ingredients?"

I waved the wand, utterly ignoring his question until I was sure the cauldron would have to be left to cook. Then I flipped a hourglass for the hour mark, and finally I turned towards the Gryffindor in question.

"You do that," I said. "Two measures of dried herbs, four mistletoe berries. Crush into fine powder in the mortar."

Neville nodded, and quietly got to work. I looked at him measure the dried herbs, get them ready, and then place them in the mortar. The berries, he counted as if afraid he'd make a mistake between the number three and the number four.

Everything was fine up to that point. I reckoned it could be just an exaggeration, his inability to work with potions. Then, rather than add the ground herbs in pinches, he moved to get a tablespoon. "Ahem," I coughed, looking at him. "Pinches, not tablespoons."

His eyes crossed ever so briefly, as if suddenly realizing what he was about to do, and the incredible foolishness of it all. He then took two pinches, and made to add them to the cauldron. He tumbled, grabbed hold of the cauldron's edge, and then would have sent the cauldron flying on the ground, had my hands not grabbed hold of the cauldron's edge with both hands, much to my dismay at the heat.

"Let go," I snarled, and Longbottom stumbled slightly back.

"I'm sorry!" he blurted out as I removed both of my hands from the edge, glancing at the angry red marks on my palms. "I tripped-"

"Being sorry does not excuse your inability to walk on your own two legs," I hissed, closing and opening my hands as I took deep breaths. Eventually the wizard regeneration would start to work its miracle, but I'd see Madam Pomfrey, just to be sure. "Or your unnatural nervousness, for what matters, do you think I'll rip your head off if you make a wrong move?" I grumbled as I proceeded to add the pinches myself, "Just stay put." I glared at him. "I'd rather not head to the infirmary so soon in the school year."

Thankfully, him staying perfectly still made the rest of the potion-making experience less of a danger. "Mister Longbottom, for endangering a fellow student and refusing to aid him in his potions, that will be twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape said, swooping in from the side with a remarking glee. I simply rolled my eyes at the act, and nonchalantly bottled up my own potion. Extending my left hand towards my wand, I called it forth in order to holster it.

It sailed through the air, landing in the palm of my hand. With a bright grin, I delivered the potion to a brow-furrowed Snape. "No silly wand-waving, professor," I said amiably. "I do still remember our first year's lessons."

"Very well, Mister Umbrus," professor Snape said curtly, accepting the potion. "Someone has apparently studied throughout the summer rather than dilly-dally." He smirked, venomously. "That will be five points to Ravenclaw."

I nodded, and started to walk out of the classroom together with my fellow Ravenclaws.

"Hey mate, wait a minute," Ron Weasley said, lifting a hand in my direction. I stopped, and briefly turned to look at the trio of Gryffindors. Well, rather than three, there was Neville being slightly consoled by Hermione, whom I supposed had been his previous potions' partner. "There's no need for the cold shoulder, is it?"

I raised an eyebrow, and then made a bitter smile. "Why have a cold shoulder when you can have burning hands?" I drawled, waving very slowly my hand in front of them. "I'm heading to the infirmary on the double. For next time, ensure your friend practices his potion-making skills." I then quickly resumed my walking, because the hands were hurting me something fierce. I didn't have the protection brought from draining countless pots of hot water into the sink while making pasta, or the clutching of pans and pots with metallic handles because yes, heat is a thing we Italians do not really care about in the kitchen.

However, I would wear gloves starting the next lesson. I would do all that I could to avoid getting killed by Neville's inability to work properly with potions.

At lunch, my eyes naturally glanced towards the first years. There still didn't seem to be any bullying involved. Then again, it would probably begin once enough time had passed. The wizardry world was vast and filled with wonders, so even if someone claimed something foolish, it wouldn't be discounted out of hand. It would just take a professor saying that Nargles and Crumpled Hornstacks or whatever didn't exist for that to change, but until then, it appeared that Luna Lovegood was getting accepted by the people around her just fine.

We were the house of oddities after all, so some odd members were acceptable.

"You were about to curse that poor Gryffindor to kingdom come weren't you, Shade?" a voice caught my attention, and I turned to look at the face of the Ravenclaw boy that spoke. It was Anthony Goldstein who had spoken, one of my roommates.

"No," I sighed, shaking my head. "It's not like he can help it. Snape's a bit biased with the Gryffindors, isn't he?"

There was a chuckle from Anthony, "That's an understatement, still, it means we get points and they lose them. This year, maybe we'll win the cup for our house."

I hummed at that. "And what if the mysterious Philosopher Thief steals again and gets the Headmaster to give points to everyone again?"

Anthony rolled his eyes. "That had to be a seventh year. Going through a gauntlet like that to steal the philosopher's stone? Only someone that smart could have done it. Those Gryffindors managed because of Harry Potter, mark my word."

Terry Boot nodded from the sides. "Yeah, I heard from an older year that someone boasted it was a Ravenclaw that graduated with top marks and got into the ministry."

"My dad always told me government officials were thieves," Michael Corner acquiesced from the side.

I chuckled at that.

Ah, delicious Hogwarts' grapevine...

...what sweet wine you press out.