Harry Potter 1. Hogwarts Express

"It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew - and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents - that there was all the difference in the world." ~ Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 23

* * *

Enna was watching the people. There were a lot of them, all dressed in strange, bright clothes - robes, gowns, dresses and puffy sleeves and deep majestic hues of color and pointy hats and pointy noses. Talking, shouting, laughing—their loud, exuberant voices rose up into the air, meshing together, mingling with the sounds of trains click-clacking and whistles whooshing and station masters yelling. There were mothers crying and fathers coughing as they embraced their squirming children, and Enna noticed one large family of redheads all huddled together and the mum was yelling something and shaking a tall, freckly boy by the shoulders while two others—probably his brothers—laughed and snickered. Some of the people were wearing average, run-of-the-mill streetwear, staring at the hustle and bustle with eyes as wide as her own. Theirs, however, were full of confusion. Those were the Muggle parents, no doubt about it; the ones that looked so awestruck and terrified. They stuck out like rabbits in a pack of dogs, but their children were bright and unafraid, because they were in on the secret, if only partway. They feared no magic, though they knew little as of yet.

Inhaling deeply, Enna soaked up her newfound freedom, the ebb and flow of humans connecting and the ground meeting the sky like she'd never dreamed it could. Every little detail was hers, down to the simple breeze teasing gently at her hair and the slight feeling of chill in her bones. Even the smoke clouds billowing out from the trainstacks seemed to surrender to her rush of power, slithering away in gusts when she reached out to touch them with a finger. Was she doing magic? She didn't know. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the sun.

Suddenly, out of the middle of nowhere, Enna saw a boy barreling straight towards her, and the sight snapped her out of her dazed, stupefied reverie. She realized that he saw her too but he was going so fast and tripping over his feet with a look of impending doom in his eyes because he couldn't stop and in that split-second she knew that he'd crash into her. And he did—she felt a whoosh of air going straight out of her lungs as his body slammed right on top of hers. Whatever he was holding flew all over the place with shatters and clatters that made people's heads snap in their direction. She was falling hard to the ground, made limp by the impact, suitcase following close behind. The force of the collision caused the boy to roll off of her backwards and land with a hard-sounding thud and she skidded backwards too, but she couldn't think about it because her vision was hazy and she couldn't breathe either 'cause there was no breath in her lungs to breathe. And then there were footsteps pounding towards them and people surrounding the scene, leaning over her, speaking with rushed concern though she couldn't reply back. She heard the boy struggling to his feet as he whimpered, "I'm sorry, so very sorry, but have you seen my toad Trevor, I was only trying to catch him..." and someone reached a hand out towards her and she took it weakly. She was still trying to get her breath back, because the boy who bumped into her was built stout and sturdy, stronger than her, bigger than her, and even though he wasn't that big he'd still knocked the wind out of her.

"Are you all right?" A frizzy-haired girl asked. Enna couldn't even get a word out of her mouth, nor did she want to—embarrassed and irritated beyond words. The girl creased her forehead, taking the silence for temporary lung failure. "Is that your suitcase?" she inquired, pointing to Enna's lumpy brown luggage. "If you have anything breakable in it, it's probably broken, you know. It hit the ground rather hard. Are you sure you're all right? I mean, you probably flew back about two or three feet or so." She was speaking so fast that Enna could hardly process the words, so she just nodded. Frustrated with a lack of response, the girl sighed and walked away, shooting Enna one last worried frown before she went.

An elderly lady was pushing through the small mob surrounding them, shouting. "Neville! Neville! Where have you wandered off to this time?" She spotted the boy who knocked Enna over—Neville, apparently—and her expression immediately hardened. "Where's Trevor? Don't tell me you lost him again, Neville Longbottom!"

"I was looking for him," Neville said quietly, shuffling his feet, "but then I accidentally bumped into her..." he glanced over to Enna, and the lady's head swiveled around like a bird of prey, eyeing up the mussed clothing and upturned suitcase.

"Oh, my dear," she gasped, "I'm very sorry. My grandson is so clumsy, he doesn't mean any harm, he's just a disaster waiting to happen! Are you hurt, dearie? I hope he didn't injure you too badly, you're such a scrawny thing!" She tittered on, and Enna stole a glance at Neville. His ears were red with shame, and she couldn't help but feel a little less aggravated.

"Neville!" his grandmother barked, noticing the shared glance with her hawk eyes. "Where are your manners? Apologize to the little girl!"

They both cringed at the old lady's use of the term "little girl" - one mortified, one simmering. "I-It was my fault, please don't worry about it!" Neville stammered, apologizing for his grandmother just as much as himself. "I... I'm really very sorry. I'm terribly clumsy, you know..."

Enna said nothing. She was hardly paying attention to Neville's stuttering; instead, her gaze was roving over his pudgy cheeks and dark hair, the spattering of freckles across his nose, eyes narrowing in introspection as she studied him. Where had she heard this boy's name before? He smacked of familiarity, though his face was as foreign to her as anyone else's. Did she really know him, or was she just fooling herself?

Slicing through Enna's exasperation like a knife, Neville's grandmother grabbed his hand and piped up: "Well, I'm sorry for all the commotion, we should really be going now. Come on, Neville." Neville shot her one last look of utter apology before his grandmother dragged him off towards the train, saying "I thought I saw Trevor hop this way... really Neville, I can't understand how you persuaded me to buy you that animal, I'll never get you another pet until you become less of a wreck..."

Thankfully nobody seemed to be taking notice of her anymore, but Enna still felt her cheeks burning and her heart racing. Who was that stupid kid?

"Firs' years, firs' years over here!" A loud, gruff voice called out. Some giant man with a giant beard was towering over the cluster of tiny people gathering around the train's doors, beckoning children towards him. Realizing that it was time to board, she grabbed her luggage and shoved her way through the surrounding witches and wizards. As she drew nearer to the train, she was suddenly swallowed up by a sea of kids, shouting and bumping from all sides. Swathes of black flashed under her nose, above her head, silver clasps glinting and voices ringing from all sides in an outpour of joy.

Following Hagrid's call, everyone made their way onto the train, through the doors, and down the narrow hall full of glass-windowed booths, swelling with excitement. Enna wished she could stand there forever and bury her feet into the luxurious carpet, but there was no time to stand at wait. Kids were pairing off, filling up the little compartments quickly, and she wanted to find an empty one before they were all occupied. With brisk steps, she paced down the train, face falling ever-so-slightly when she saw that not a single empty space had been left. She searched all around for a near-vacant booth, finally settling down in one containing a single girl with straggly white-blonde hair.

The girl had her face buried in an upside-down newspaper. When she heard Enna shut the door, she flipped a page and inquired without glancing upwards, "And who might you be?"

When Enna didn't reply, the girl frowned, vaguely displeased at being ignored. She put her newpaper down and declared, "My name is Luna. Luna Lovegood, that is."

This Luna Lovegood was wearing huge pink glasses that looked downright ridiculous on her thin face. They obscured her buggy eyes almost completely, but Enna could still see them protruding from their sockets in curiosity. Her absent gaze wandered over Enna's cramp-legged form, assimilating, seeing without actually focusing.

Enna glanced out the window of the train, watching the world hurry past as she left it behind. Every small bump, every tedious clack - each one was the sound of freedom and fresh breath, and possibly the sound of a miracle. Maybe she felt a slight rush of happiness at the thought of going to Hogwarts, just maybe. It was a strange sensation.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Luna spoke up, smiling. "D'you know, we're going to Scotland? I hear there's lots of selkies there, even Hogwarts has some in the lake - they're really fantastic creatures! I used to be friends with one when I was a little girl, I think she'd swam too far south and gotten lost when she tried to go back home, which was very sad. She taught me lots of Mermish, even though I had to stick my head underwater whenever she wanted to tell me something, 'cause merpeople can't speak very well when they're not submerged. It's a really easy language to learn, once you get the idea of it."

Enna let Luna talk as she half-listened, staring out the window in a daze. Everything was a blur, including Luna's emphatic tales of magical creatures and crazy encounters with nonhuman beings. Her voice would lilt soft and slow if she was talking about something sad, and drop to a low pitch when she was relating a tale of bloodthirsty beasts, but she never talked too loudly or too quickly. Enna found herself dozing off to the sound of Luna's storytelling, her intonations and exaggerations weaving in and out of Enna's head, soothing her into sleep.

* * *

Fingers grasped her shoulders lightly, causing her to start and panic. "Get off!" Enna shouted at whoever was shaking her, hand diving sloppily into the wand pocket of her robe.

"I'm sorry," Luna's voice spoke, startled and apologetic. The fingers leapt away from Enna like they'd just brushed against a sizzling cauldron. "It's only me, Luna. Were you having a nightmare?"

Enna's eyes opened, awareness dawning on her groggy face. She must have been sleeping. Somehow, she'd closed her lids and never opened them.

"We're close to Hogwarts," she explained. "They just announced it; we're a half-hour away."

"A half-hour?"

"Well, I'm not sure now. It's probably been about two minutes since I heard the announcement, so perhaps twenty-eight."

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," Enna mumbled to no one in particular, her gaze wandering back over to the window again. The train was now racing over a pristine lake, water stretching out from all sides into the blue, tree-lined horizon. Even though common sense told Enna that they were currently on a track, speeding towards the safety of dry land, when she looked down it was as if there was nothing below but the perilous deep, and nothing beyond but mystery.

"Quite all right," Luna said civilly. "It's good that I was here to wake you up. You were in a funk."

"A funk," Enna repeated, confused.

"A funk," she confirmed, with no further explanation. Enna gave her a sidelong stare. Luna quirked her lips in reply. It was almost like one of her earlier smiles, but a little bit more self-aware and sardonic. "All right, I've waited long enough," she declared. "Go on, tell me. What's your name?"

It took Enna a few moments to remember. The one she'd given at St. Mungo's, with only a faint remembrance of its original form. The one she'd given to Hagrid on the day of her release. "It's... Enna, I think," she muttered, racking her brain as she answered.

"You think?" Luna asked curiously.

"Enna, it's_ Enna_," she asserted, more confident now in her accuracy. Her memory still wasn't fully-functional, and even things at St. Mungo's were a little vague and fuzzy in retrospect.

"Well, nice to meet you, Enna," Luna said, tilting her head slightly to the right. "Say, have you ever heard of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack?"


	2. Sorting and Puking

The Sorting Hat was perched on a stool imperiously, ready for the first excitable new student to begin his or her judgement walk. Enna couldn't help but feel a few small butterflies flitting around in her belly - would she even show up on the list if she didn't have the Trace, like they'd said at the hospital? What if Dumbledore had forgotten to write her down manually?

So many what-ifs were circling about in her head that she didn't even notice that they had already reached the L names until McGonagall shouted out, "Luna Lovegood!"

And then she straightened up from her spot next to Enna, straggly hair and all, half-gliding in some weirdly etheral way up to the stool, placing the hat over her head, and closing her eyes as if she didn't have a single bit of agitation over the Hat's choice. It was hardly five or ten seconds until the hat shouted out "Ravenclaw!" and the table cheered, proud to receive another member into their flock.

Ravenclaw would be a good house, Enna contemplated, as she watched Luna's spacey grin disappear into the masses of brown-and-blue students. She could almost see the cool intelligence radiating from the Ravenclaws, the barely-contained excitement and boisterousness from the Gryffindors every time a first-year paraded over to them, smile bathed in glory, and the patient hospitality of the Hufflepuffs every time a small, shaking figure was sent over to their table in trepidation. For some reason, though, a hot bubble of panic rose in Enna's chest when she glanced over towards the Slytherins. There was something about that house she didn't like, she decided, something in the venomously apathetic expressions on all of the older snakes. They rarely looked happy to see new student join them; only for a few had they shown any semblance of excitement or interest.

Enna's gaze traveled over each and every first-year as they stepped up to the Sorting Hat, never really settling but drifting constantly from each terse form to the next. She didn't take too much notice of the faces, however, until she heard the name "Harry Potter" issue from McGonagall's mouth.

Enna's eyes narrowed like that of a predator in the brush. Harry Potter?

The whole hall hushed when they heard the famous name sound out. But was it really him? Could it honestly be the Boy Who Lived, the cradle savior, the one who'd killed the Dark Lord...? Even she'd heard of the Dark Lord, though only in bits and snippets...

He approached the Sorting Hat in a way that seemed slightly apprehensive to Enna, his shaggy hair covering the scar, never slipping far enough out of his eyes to confirm everyone's wordless anticipation. To this, Enna nearly breathed a sigh of relief. She was sure that if she saw it, even a momentary flash of it, her heart would stop. It would be too surreal.

The Hat took longer with Harry Potter than it had with Luna, but when it shouted out "Gryffindor!" the Great Hall erupted in golden applause so loud that it seemed to shake Hogwarts to its very foundations. Every single face at the Gryffindor table was alight with pride, blissfully ignorant of the shy uncertainty in their new celebrity's eyes.

It took a while longer for McGonagall to reach the Z names, and to her consternation, Enna had yet to be called to the Hat. What was she supposed to do if they forgot her? Run up there and shout in Dumbledore's face?

Blaise Zabini had just descended into the Slytherin brood, smirking, and Enna was glancing about frantically. Students were standing up, stretching their cramped backs, preparing themselves for the feast to come. The Sorting was over.

Panicked, she looked up to the professor's table, and saw Dumbledore whispering into McGonagall's ear. She nodded firmly, straightening up and clearing her throat. Even though the students' noisy chatter had begun to pick up once again, it immediately withered and died when the Head of Gryffindor raised her voice.

"Enna Smith!"

Enna felt the heavy quiet settle even more heavily on her heart. She'd been scared of getting forgotten, but now that it was her turn, all she wanted for the ground to open and swallow her whole. Every one of her nerves was rigid, every muscle gone stuff, as she walked resolutely up to the Sorting Hat. Enna may not have been famous, but right then she felt like she might have been Harry Potter himself with all these expectant gazes fixed on her.

The moment she put the hat on her head, she felt it recoil. Somehow, within the deepest reaches of her skull, she felt something dark reawakening, an old animosity reverberating deep, deep down into the very marrow of her bones. Enna's temples began to throb, and she panicked, arm snapping up to grab it and toss it to the floor. But just as her hand gripped the brim, a sturdy, self-assured voice resounded throughout her head, speaking into her, calming her nerves: "It's all right, Enna." The Hat seemed to subside a little, and her temples ceased their throbbing. "Don't be afraid."

A few seconds of silence passed in her head, then the Hat spoke again. "Your blood is old, Enna, old as Salazar himself. It is strange… I sense your cunning is strong, and your survival instincts are spectacular. You are a true Slytherin if I've ever encountered one… but you fear the house, I can tell, though I am not sure why."

"I… yeah," Enna almost breathed aloud. How did it know?

"I have my ways," the Hat said coyly, then continued, "I'm afraid I cannot give you an ultimatum. Advice, yes, but I think in your case, it would be best for you to decide."

"I - I don't know," she thought, startled. She'd never considered that the Hat might give her a choice.

"Ravenclaw would suit you, I'm sure," it suggested gently. "You possess plenty of intelligence - although your self-preservation instincts still speak greatly of Slytherin."

Enna was unsure. She wished the Hat would choose for her and get it over with. She'd thought it was supposed to be all-knowing.

"Ah, but that's not really true," the Hat responded, almost lightly. "I am not, despite what many believe, omniscient. I know as much about you as you know about yourself. Oftentimes, I can sense enough to make the decision, but sometimes I cannot."

She sat there for what must have been ages, considering this strange piece of information. "What - what about Gryffindor and Hufflepuff?" she finally replied.

"Hmm," it mused. "Selflessness and kindness are things you have never learned. I am not sure how well you would fit into Hufflepuff. Gryffindor... now that would be an interesting decision for you to make."

When she made no reply, the Hat picked up the slack. "Bravery is certainly a trait you possess. And daring - well, your daring is near as strong as your cunning. But your chivalry... not quite so prominent, I'm afraid."

Enna was wallowing in confusion. Hufflepuff was probably out of the question for her, and she knew she was neither chivalrous nor adamant. Ravenclaw was at the tip of her tongue, both mentally and physically, but even as she made to whisper the word to herself something changed mid-thought and the word that came out of her mouth - and the Sorting Hat's, but much louder - was not "Ravenclaw" but instead a resounding "Slytherin!"

She opened her eyes, heard flip-flopping like a fish on land. What the hell had she just done? The peculiar dread from earlier reappeared in the pit of her belly, sulking and seething. The hat had been right about her on all accounts, she knew. Of course it had been. A true-blooded Slytherin, a cold-blooded serpent. She tried to envision herself dressed in green and silver robes for the rest of her adolescent life. Was it damning or thrilling? She didn't even know.

Her feet carried her unsteady body over to the Slytherin table, where the claps were nothing but cold and analytical. The gazes she met with weren't welcoming, nor were they cheering her on; they were sizing her up, an unknown, common girl with no family claim to fame or power. They would not like her well, she realized, if they didn't like her heritage. And, as far as she knew, she was absolutely, grossly normal.

Several seats down from her, she could see a sharp-faced boy - Draco Malfoy, had that been his name? - sneering in her direction. The strange, icy recognition in her gut was like when she'd bumped into Neville Longbottom on Platform 9 and 3/4. Hogwarts was certainly better than St. Mungo's, but it seemed like she'd just cocked everything up for herself. And it was only the first day.

* * *

However, when the food made its appearance, Enna forgot all about her extreme idiocy. In fact, she forgot about most everything - even the people surrounding her vanished into the recesses of her consciousness when the first course popped into existence on her plate. Whatever it was, she had never seen it before, but it was some kind of meat and that was all she needed to know to dig in. And after she'd finished whatever had been before her, something new appeared on her plate.

Never in Enna's life had she dreamed this much food could exist. St. Mungo's fare was the best she'd ever known, and she could not remember ever eating much during her hospitalization. Of course, that absolutely paled in comparison to the majesty filling up her nose and taste buds at the moment. Everything reached beyond her wildest comprehension, so much so that for one horrible moment she thought that she was back in a white-walled ward, wandless and locked away - and it was all a pipe dream, one she never wanted to wake up from.

The possibility of it being a lie was too awful to handle, so Enna had no choice but to accept it was real. She was at Hogwarts, and the food was simply magical.

* * *

Most of the Slytherins had already settled down for the night, nestled deep in sweet dreams of burning Gryffindors at the stake. The first years took a little longer to calm down, understandably, but the Slytherin prefects were mercilessly haughty and disgustingly superior, so instead of letting the newest initiates revel for a bit, they had ushered all the "firsties" to their dormitories almost as soon as they'd arrived in the common room.

Midnight had come and gone a while ago, but for Enna, sleep was far away. As soon as the last of her annoyingly talkative roommates had given in to exhaustion, her stomach had unfortunately taken command of her body and drove her, gagging and heaving, into the privy.

All that wonderful food from earlier came spewing out of her mouth in barely recognizable, half-digested pulp. In between puking episodes, Enna ruminated that she had been too excited about all the rich food, which, in the end, had proved far too rich for her. She would have to watch her food consumption for a while if she wanted to avoid another awful night of retching alone in the Slytherin bathrooms.

As she felt she was nearing the end of her vomiting session, Enna heard footsteps entering the bathroom. Two hushed voices, most likely belonging to some of the older girls, echoed throughout the quiet area like someone had cast an amplifying spell on them. Enna tried to withhold her puke, afraid to let anyone know of her sickness-addled presence in one of the stalls.

"...not that much younger, is he?" one slurred." It's only a three-year difference. My mum is ten years younger than my dad, anyways."

"That's true," the other girl muttered in a half-assed attempt at whispering. "Honestly, he's a Malfoy. Hell, I bet he's had girls trying to marry him since he was a toddler."

They shared a snarling, sloppy laugh, cut short by the unfortunate collapse of Enna's futile resistance. She threw herself over the loo, the last of her dinner ejecting itself unceremoniously from her body. When she'd finished, she was left panting and pale and mollified.

"What the fuck was that?" the girl who'd mentioned Malfoy gasped in revulsion. "That was fucking gross!"

"Sounds like someone couldn't keep their meal down," the other girl sneered. "Should we see who it is?"

"Bet it's a firstie," Malfoy girl speculated, her tone acidic with bemusement. "That's really gross, though. And bloody stupid, too. What kind of dumb bitch overeats on Hogwarts food?"

"Yeah, there's indigestion spells for that," answered the other, like everyone who wasn't a complete idiot would know that. Of course, Enna hadn't - when would she have ever learned that stuff? "Hogwarts food isn't even worth overeating." She raised her voice a few notches, and called out: "All right, firstie? Come out of that stall. We want to see who you are."

Enna had no choice but to make her exit, disheveled and sweaty and weak as she was. Opening her stall door, she saw that the two girls were standing a about a meter away, looking much taller and stronger than herself. Both had dark hair and wickedly sharp, feline features that made their nonchalant smiles appear vicious. Not to mention, they reeked of alcohol.

"Hey, it's that girl," the brown-eyed one said. "Enna Smith, right?"

Enna had her hand in her pocket, wand in fist. She said nothing as they exchanged a glance.

"You look like you're about to whip your wand out at us," said the blue-eyed girl - the one who'd made the comment about Malfoy, evidently. "Merlin, we don't want to hurt you," she smirked. "That would be more than a waste of time."

"Totally pointless," seconded the girl with brown eyes. "We were just curious who could have been heaving their guts out at a god-awful time like this. Glad we caught you here," she said, giving Enna the kind of once-over that she might have given a smelly homeless man on the street.

"So, who exactly are you?" Blue Eyes smiled, threatening. "Smith isn't the most special of names out there. Are you really a pureblood?"

Enna didn't want to say anything to provoke these girls into action, but she had no intent of replying. So she remained glued to her spot, resolutely glaring. Her hand never left her pocket. At least if they tried to physically attack her, Enna had the small advantage of being stone-cold sober. Except she was feeling very ill at the moment, so that essentially nullified her advantage.

"Guess this little chicky doesn't want to peep," Brown Eyes sighed. "Well, she can't be a mudblood, at least. That's nearly unheard of in Slytherin."

"I don't know," Blue Eyes drawled, giving her the same kind of once over that Brown Eyes had. "She's about as homely as they come."

"Well, seemed like the Sorting Hat had a hell of a time sorting her," Brown Eyes pondered. Her brows furrowed at Enna. "Look, we don't know who the fuck you are, but we're going to be keeping an eye on you, all right? We don't want any kids with dirty blood slicking up our house. And believe us when we say that it's not hard to tell a Muggle's bitch from real witch material. We'll sniff you out easier than that Potter kid'll get pussy."

"She's right." Blue Eyes grinned and clumsily turned on her heel, heading towards the showers. "See ya later!" Brown Eyes followed, shooting Enna a nasty glare as she walked away.

Well, that settled it. Enna would have to wait until later to bathe herself, despite the stench of vomit she knew was coming off her. She had no desire to get into a duel with two half-drunk Slytherin girls who looked years her senior.

Weak-kneed and clammy, Enna staggered up to her dormitory with slow, determined steps. After performing a simple cleaning spell on her robes, she shed them and climbed into her one pair of pajamas. Thankfully, she smelled a little less now that she'd changed. The deep-cleaning would have to wait, though. For now, she snuggled under her covers, enveloping herself in the warmth of the blankets. It really was wonderful at Hogwarts.


	3. The Potions Bastard

Enna rose at the crack of dawn, feeling like she'd swallowed a boulder. It only took her a second to recall the events of a few hours ago, and she knew she had to hit the showers as quickly as she could. Waking up at absurd times with very few intervals of sleep was a habit she'd developed during her stint at Mungo's, and one that she had no intention of breaking. It made her feel a safer, being the early bird of the bunch; besides, she doubted there would be many people hogging the showers at this hour. The girls who'd confronted her when she was throwing up were probably still passed out in their dorm.

Enna's bath went uninterrupted, except for a few sparse conversations here and there between other early-rising housemates. Not even a thorough scourging could take away the fact that she still felt like shit, but she wasn't about to miss the first day of classes.

* * *

First on her schedule was Defense Against the Dark Arts, which she, like all the other students, looked forwards to immensely. Unfortunately, getting to the classroom proved much more difficult than she'd anticipated; on her way down one of the moving staircases, a step vanished in mid-air and her leg fell through, getting stuck in the gap for a whole frightening minute. Thankfully, she managed to pry herself out of the stairway just as a passing Hufflepuff saw her and came running to her rescue. Without a second glance at the girl, Enna clambered to her feet and strode past, anxious to get off the perilous stairway. She'd have to be more careful next time.

Walking briskly down the hallway – this_ had_ to be the one – she remembered being told once that the Dark Lord had placed a curse on the teaching position so that no teacher would be able to hold the spot for more than a year. She wondered if Dumbledore knew the secret of DADA. Maybe he chose only the most disposable teachers for the Defense class. Whoever he was, this Quirius Quirell would likely end up dead by the end of the year, or at least banned or missing or incarcerated, so Enna wasn't expecting much when she entered the classroom, nearly late, for her first lesson.

She had been right - her lesson didn't amount to much, and neither did Quirrell. He was nervous and jittery the whole time, and kept blathering on about the extensive power of the Dark Arts. It felt more like propaganda than anything. Not to mention, he was still wearing the absurdly large turban from last evening's welcoming feast. Apparently, an African lord had gifted it to him for getting rid of some zombie, but somehow, Quirrell's story seemed shaky at best. Could this nervous man have once possessed the temerity to kill a supernatural monster?

The Slytherins mocked him under their breaths for the entire duration of class. Most of their jeers weren't far off, though, and to Enna's relief, the nasty girls sitting on her right were too busy snickering about Quirrell's fashion sense to pester her about her lineage like the drunken pair had last night.

Next was A History of Magic, taught by the incessantly boring ghost known as Professor Binns. It took him about ten minutes to get into the actual lesson, but at the first mention of "Emeric the Evil" Enna realized that these were all things she'd read about before – laying around at St. Mungo's had often been tedious – and she soon slipped away into introspection. Ultimately, she spent the whole period thinking about whether or not she should eat lunch, since she'd already skipped breakfast, and trying to remember if she knew her way to the infirmary.

She hurried out of Binns' musty classroom, relieved to once again breathe the fresh air of the halls. But her relief dissipated into thin air once she realized, with a sinking heart, that her next class was double Potions with the Ravenclaws. Even though Snape was now her Head of House, she couldn't find it in herself to like him any more. Glancing up at his hook-nosed face during the feast had sent strange shivers of foreboding up her spine, and filled her with a feeling of displaced, detached terror. It was too unnerving to handle, so she'd just looked away and forgotten about him for the rest of the meal. But she couldn't ignore him during Potions – she'd be stuck in his chilly dungeon classroom for what would undoubtedly feel like hours, she and the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws crammed together, freezing to death at the hands of Hogwarts' most feared teacher.

She couldn't help but sneer at herself. Since when was she such a pansy?

* * *

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Enna began to make her way to the dungeons. This time, she was determined not to arrive late, so she could choose the farthest seat possible from the professor's desk. Hurrying gingerly down the stairways, testing each step lightly before she pressed on, Enna headed towards the Potions classroom.

Of course, things rarely work out as planned, especially for first years at Hogwarts. As such, when she turned the corner of the dungeon entrance's stony arch, Peeves was there waiting for her. "Ickle firstie?" he grinned wickedly. "Heading to ol' Snapey's class, by the looks of it! All alone, what fun!"

Enna had overheard that one of Peeves' favorite pastimes was bullying the first-years, so she refused to be hackled. She supposed that plenty of other first-years had to deal with him on a frequent basis, so why shouldn't she just take this opportunity to scare him off for good? The only issue was that she didn't know how to duel a poltergeist – a small issue, but an issue nonetheless.

"Fuck off, Peeves," she commanded, assuming what she hoped was a tone of crippling authority. A strong, semi-fearless voice was the best she could manage at the moment.

"Hah!" Peeves cackled, merely amused by her defiance. Widening his eyes in mock curiosity, he asked, "Aren't you scared of Peevsie, hmm?"

Enna decided that it wouldn't hurt to try. Her wand shot out, and she shouted, "_Stupefy_!" Unsurprisingly, her call gave Peeves plenty of warning. Instead of the beam of light hitting him squarely in the chest, Peeves sniggered as he became translucent and the spell went right through his body.

"Oho." Peeves shook his head in stern displeasure. "Ickle firstie wanna _cursie_! Not so fast," he chuckled. "You might just make Peevsie mad."

Enna gripped her wand in tight exasperation. "Oh, for god's sake," she growled, but Peeves only cackled harder.

Thankfully, she'd happened to hear the other night that the only one who could control Peeves was her own house ghost, the Bloody Baron. It would at least be worth a mention, wouldn't it? "You know… the Bloody Baron and I…" she began, deliberating what to say, "…we're on pretty good terms. He's told me that he doesn't like you much, and I might just call him if you don't get out of my way."

Peeves snarled, reluctant to leave, but he made his exit anyways – not, however, before swooping over Enna's head and opening her book bag all over the floor. She knelt down quickly, having no time to be irritated at Peeves' getting the last laugh. She just praised Merlin that she'd scared him away.

Snape was close now, since Enna had already reached the dungeons and he didn't reside too deep within the winding labyrinths. It was even quicker when you ran, and Enna ran with all the speed she could muster up in her shivery body. Her manic sprint only lasted about forty-five seconds, but by the time she reached the door of the Potions class she was panting out of pain and overexertion. Her stomach was rebelling, not to mention the fact that she hadn't run like that in ages, not since before St. Mungo's – whenever _that_ was.

She peeped through the door, entering headfirst to make sure that Snape wasn't leering right on the other side. He wasn't, but it was hardly any more of a relief to see him sitting up behind his elevated desk like some sort of ice deity. "Ah, Miss Smith," he said slowly, scrutinizing Enna's tiny entrance without any physical sign of emotion. He sounded as displeased as someone could possibly sound without screaming. "Our class is finally complete… five minutes late, Miss Smith. Since it is the first day of classes, I will refrain from giving you a detention for your tardiness. However, I expect nothing less than prompt arrivals from all of you, especially my own house members." Enna felt his eyes on her back as she took the only empty seat left, right in the front row next to a blonde-haired Ravenclaw boy. Craning her neck briefly, Enna saw Luna sitting farther back in the classroom, smiling at her as vaguely as ever. She mouthed something to Enna which looked like "you're lucky," but Enna wasn't completely sure. She swiveled back around to focus on Snape, afraid that he'd call her out for not paying attention.

The Ravenclaw next to her attempted to make brief small talk via quill and parchment when Snape's back was turned to his students, either writing long notes on the board or reaching for some foreign ingredient under his desk. Enna, in part having no desire to talk and in part afraid of getting in trouble, brushed off his scribbled attempts at conversation with silent glares.

"I take it you all understand the instructions?" Snape said brusquely, concluding the lecture with a cold, roving gaze.

There was silence, which Snape took as an affirmation. "Begin your brewing, then," he commanded the class, resuming his haughty seat above them all.

Slowly, the sound of cauldrons dragging across wooden tables, knives slicing, pestles grinding, and practical, quiet chatter amongst students took the place of Snape's authoritative voice in the heavy, atmospheric dungeon room. Enna frowned at the instructions in her open textbook, remembering vaguely that she'd never been much good with magic unrelated to wands and spell-casting. As she worked, the Ravenclaw sod seized the opportunity to make conversation with her again, but vocally this time. He did not dare raise his tone above a whisper, so he leaned in towards Enna and spoke into her ear, "You know, Snape's given at least two detentions today."

Despite her annoyance with Anthony Goldstein, as he'd introduced himself, she found herself interested in this sudden piece of information. "Really? How do you know?"

"One of my friends had double with the Gryffindors," Goldstein whispered back. "Two of the kids were late – both of them were Gryffs, first year – and both of them got detention."

"That can't be true." Enna narrowed her eyes. "That's… that's…"

Goldstein waggled his eyebrows at her. "Completely biased and over-the-top? I'll say. He must have one hell of a bone to pick with Gryffindor."

"Goldstein, Smith," Snape murmured softly, all silk and daggers, without so much as an upwards glance from his work. They had forgotten how close his desk was to where they sat. "Lower your voices. You speak too loudly."

Goldstein bit his lip in tentative excitement. "Not too hard to guess why everyone's so scared of him, huh?"

Enna's snake fangs crunched as she ground her pestle viciously hard against the cold stone of the mortar, gazing deliberately at Goldstein as she did so. The Ravenclaw lapsed back into silence for the rest of the brewing period, wisely taking her silent advice to shut up. He began to concentrate on his potion with a seriousness he hadn't shown during the theory portion of the class. A few times, Enna looked over and saw him doing something that didn't seem like it was part of the instructions – but that was none of her business, anyways. For her own sake, she decided to follow the book step-by-step: crushing, stirring, and letting the cauldron simmer for a while as she worked on the essay Snape had given them as homework outside of class.

As soon as she'd finished her potion, Enna sat back in her seat, surveying how much of the class had yet to reach completion on their Cure of Boils. Luna waved at Enna when she turned around, her own Cure already bottled and steaming. Enna frowned back; apparently, she was one of the last to finish.

The idiotic, reckless prick next to her, seeing that she was done brewing, leaned over her cauldron to take a in a deep sniff of its contents. Unsurprisingly, he shot right back up, coughing and snorting and waving the air around his nose in a furious attempt to dissipate the scent. "Merlin's balls! Smells awful!"

She glowered, berating herself for arriving to class so late. If she'd been earlier, she could've chosen a spot by someone nice and quiet, not a dangerously nosy Ravenclaw. "Piss_ off_," she ground out, not even gracing Goldstein with her eye contact.

To her further annoyance, he merely put on a face of mock affront and sighed melodramatically. "Oh, I'm sorry. Forgive me if I offended your delicate sensibilities."

Eventually, when even the slowest students had reached full completion, the Potions Professor commenced the inspection rounds. As she and Goldstein sat in the first row, they were among the first of the victims of Snape's vitriolic grading. "The bat is coming our way," Goldstein said, leaning in towards her confidentially but making sure to pinch his nose shut as he did. "If that's all you've got to show, then you're fucked."

"Mr. Goldstein..." Snape said slowly, and suddenly, their professor was hovering right over their seats, glaring down at them. He took a good whiff of the Ravenclaw's potion and then straightened out. "Your snake fangs were ground too finely. Thus, the consistency of your potion is thinner than it should be, and it smells too potent. You also seem to have shortened the simmering period in favor of stirring counter-clockwise… an easy trick to discover. Your grade is Exceeds Expectations. And… five points from Ravenclaw for your kind comment," he finished, deadly smooth.

Goldstein's forehead creased, but he was Ravenclaw enough not to make any further observations about Snape's batlike appearance.

Enna was breathing out of her mouth when Snape paused to stoop over her potion - not because her Cure for Boils was terribly rank - but because she was trying to hide her nervousness. Something about him rattled her down to the very bone, but she hated that she couldn't figure out what it was. She would have to learn to get over herself if she wanted to survive her life as a Slytherin; having Snape as her Head of House meant that she would be dealing with him more than most.

She could've sworn that she heard Snape swear when he sniffed her potion, but he instantaneously collected himself and stood up, eyes narrowed perceptibly. "Quite frankly, Miss Enna, you botched your potion so badly that I am not even sure where to start." Next to her, Goldstein muffled a laugh, earning two simultaneous glares.

She managed to glance directly into the Potion Masters' eyes, out of curiosity if nothing else. The twin tunnels were filled with disapproval at having such a disgrace of a student in his own House. "You most certainly ground your snake fangs too finely, though that is the least of your issues… you stirred too quickly, which must have caused you to perform an extra stir on accident, you heated it too long, and you broke your porcupine quills…" However, she made no other obvious reaction to his scathing list of problems, so he pronounced her grade as a brusque "Poor" and moved on to his next victim.

"Poor?" The Ravenclaw gaped. "Wow, that's an awful grade. I mean, better than I thought you would have gotten, but still-"

"No shit," Enna sneered. "Now mind your own business, will you?"

It didn't take long for Snape to finish his scrutinizations. The bell sounded triumphantly, and the students practically chucked their textbooks into their bags, cramming towards the door, hasty to escape the dungeons and relinquish themselves.

To her great chagrin, both Goldstein and Luna joined up at her side once she'd left the classroom. The golden-headed git seemed to have a few more things to say about Snape, things that could only be iterated out of earshot. And, for whatever reason, he felt the need to share them with her.

"Don't you think," Goldstein fumed, hurrying to keep up with Enna's long strides, "that he's unfair? Ridiculously unfair? I mean, having an issue with Gryffindors is one thing – they're terribly stupid people sometimes – but Snape is just ruthless when it comes to everyone but his precious Slytherins!"

He was spot on, but Enna was too irked to care. "Didn't I tell you to piss off earlier?" she snapped at him. "And, Luna –"

"I'm sorry if we're bothering you, Enna," Luna cut her off, suddenly concerned. "Perhaps we should have asked?"

Goldstein harrumphed, his knickers still in a Snape-induced twist. "Aw, stuff it, Loony–"

"-_Loony_?" growled Enna.

"Oh, it's perfectly fine," Luna said brightly. "It's what everyone in Ravenclaw has taken to calling me since last night – Loony Lovegood, that is. I think it's rather cute."

"Suits her, you have to admit," Goldstein shrugged. "Besides, I wouldn't call her that if I knew she didn't like it."

Luna frowned, the first expression of displeasure that Enna could recall seeing on her face. "You know, Anthony's right about Snape," she declared, like she hadn't heard a thing he'd just said. "He's… off. Something about him isn't right."

"You mean other than the fact that he's a pompous arse?" Goldstein smirked.

"You noticed too?" Enna asked, ignoring the boy at her side.

Luna nodded. "He's not just your usual grumpy old lout. He's grumpy, all right, but not a normal sort of grumpy."

"Wow," Goldstein chuckled. "Never would have thought you'd be the one to call Snape a 'grumpy old lout.' But yeah, I noticed it too. There's something… almost dark about him, don't you think?"

Enna's head snapped towards him in dawning realization. Luna, too, seemed to be taking this proposal into rapt consideration. "You're right," she murmured. "He's almost like…"

"Like what?" Luna prompted.

"I – I don't know," Enna mumbled, frustrated at losing her train of thought. For a second, the words were on her lips, but then they had vanished into thin air with no hope of return. "Damn."

"Normally," Goldstein admitted, "I'd call us tossers who have nothing better to do than make up bad things about people, but I think we're on to something. I mean, not to be a little snot," he said dryly, "but Ravenclaws are great at reading others. Superior smarts and all that."

"You're a tosser and a little snot," Enna replied evenly. "Even moreso now."

"Well, hey, you're the Slytherin here," Goldstein returned, not missing a beat. "I wouldn't be talking if I were you."

"Slytherins are smart, too," Luna spoke up softly, intercepting their sharp banter. "Just as much as Ravenclaws are, but we value intelligence differently than they do. And people like them less, so they don't get as much credit for it."

The Ravenclaw boy smiled. "That's true." He glanced over at Enna. "And I don't suppose you'd study for fun, would you?"

"Never."

"Well, I would," he grinned. "I love to study."

"Studying is nice," Luna conceded dreamily.

Enna snorted at them.


	4. A Dark, Stormy Night

Things were good for Enna. She still ate sparingly, slept little, and harbored a constant animosity towards her head of House and several of its students, but for the most part she was at peace with her new home.

In A History of Magic she barely needed to try for a decent grade, Defense was half a joke and required very little effort, Potions spelled out disaster, she excelled in Charms and Transfiguration, and got by without overt trouble in the rest. But the only class she truly loved was Flying, and it disappointed her that she could not look forwards to it being in her schedule next year; not that she was terribly good at it, but the high-soaring freedom it provided, the gut-dropping, heart-clenching sensation that overtook her when she escaped the pull of gravity—she found herself craving it, craving the next time Madame Hooch would line up the Slytherins and prepare them for flight. Some, to Enna's bemusement, still struggled to get off the ground, despite the fact that it was already November. But Enna would be up there with the fastest learners of the class, she and Pansy swooping around each other in malevolent, sharp circles while Hooch hollered at them to stop messing about. Once, she'd dared to give Daphne a light push on the shoulder while they were hovering about thirty feet off the ground, just to hear her shriek. Daphne had shrieked, all right, but Enna had too: letting go and leaning forward proved beyond her ability to manage, and she'd found herself dangling upside-down in the air, clinging onto her broom with the sole strength of her long thighs and fear of death.

Indeed, the only real trouble she faced came from a few of her own housemates and, surprisingly, the dogged Anthony Goldstein. The former would occasionally send things flying at her head when the teachers turned their backs, sling hexes in the halls, and disparage her in earshot. These things, though, were not beyond Enna's ability to cope with. The latter, however, was a sort of trouble she couldn't just combat with a wand; she had no desire to hurt someone who'd never intentionally hurt her.

No, he didn't hurt her, but he _was_ a little pissant. He'd grin at her in the library, in the hall, in Potions class, during meals; generally, whenever he got the chance. She didn't know why he was so exceptionally friendly to her when nobody else paid her any positive attention, but he insisted on being nicer than a goddamned Hufflepuff. Sometimes he'd even be with Luna, and the both of them would sit next to her during Snape's class, whispering instructions and smart comments in her ear whether or not she wanted to hear them.

Luna she didn't mind so much, though. The girl was weird in a way that made Enna feel comfortable around her. She could go off on a long tangent about the wild stories her father documented in the Quibbler—he sounded just about as eccentric as his daughter—and Enna didn't have to talk at all; she'd just listen as Luna recounted, in comically vivid detail, one of her father's more interesting lab explosions or forays into the wilderness. She was also quite funny if you bothered to get to know her, with a fierce Gryffindor sense of justice and a dreamy, soft-edged wit to match. But Anthony she could hardly stand, and the worst part wasn't his unwanted ranting and raving after Potions class about Snape's lethally-sharp beak or yet another display of Slytherin prejudice or even his embarrassing public displays of friendship—it was his damned popularity. He oozed charisma like a slug oozed slime, managing to attract people wherever he went. Unfortunately, that often included wherever Enna was, because no matter how many times she'd brush him off, he kept trying to include her in his odd menageries.

His crews consisted of mostly Ravenclaws, girls and boys alike, towed about like a less-malevolent version of Parkinson's gang, but there were sometimes Gryffindors and even Hufflepuffs in the mix. She was the only snake he tried for, though, and he hadn't managed to snare her yet.

But he was funny, Enna had to admit, and even more importantly he shared the same sneaking suspicions about the Potions Master as she did. That small bond of dislike was enough to draw them together for brief periods of time—no longer than she could stand—amongst stacks of Madame Pince's books during an evening library rendezvous. There, she and Luna and Anthony would plot, constructing absurdly elaborate plans to expose Snape's imagined evils to the rest of the school.

Of late, Anthony had started bringing a Gryffindor with him too, a shy, buck-toothed boy who turned out to be the toadless kid that Enna had collided with way back on Platform 9 and 3/4. Neville Longbottom was his name, she recalled, and at first she felt an extreme discomfort at the newest member of their small group. It was a strange, shifty feeling, like the distrust she harbored towards Snape, but Enna knew it was because Neville was a Gryffindor. She couldn't really help it, because the reds and golds were no sweeter to her than the majority of her housemates. Though they didn't seem to view her mere existence as grounds for an offensive attack, they weren't far off. For the pettiest of slights, she found herself in all kinds of miniscule, impromptu duels with the kids in lion-emblazoned robes. Verbal, physical, it didn't matter—Gryffindor hate for the Slytherin House ran deep as hot blood itself, and the divide of distrust forged a gap that could not simply be bridged with the amends of misunderstanding.

Thus, Enna became quite the duelist during her first few months at Hogwarts. And sometimes, you couldn't help but garner a little notoriety, especially if you were as good at _fighting_ as she was. Before she'd even realized it, Enna had fallen into a pit of what most would call "unpopularity," the curse of her natural skill at fending off attackers. Maybe, just _maybe_, there had been a few conflicts she'd initiated, too, but that's how life was, right?

Lately, people just went out of their way to dislike her, and she wasn't exactly sure how it had all started. So who could blame her for her irritation at Anthony, her automatic dislike of Neville? It didn't take a genius to see that Anthony was one of the most popular people in Ravenclaw, and Neville… there was something about him. But he was a Gryffindor, and she left it at that.

* * *

"Can't you at least try to like him, Enna?" Luna was prompting gently. "He's really a wonderful person if you just look past his house colors. Not all Gryffindors are as awful as you think."

"Easy for you to say," Enna muttered. "I don't suppose you've ever been jinxed by one?"

Their meetings in the library had grown in frequency since the troll incident a while back. None of them had actually said it yet, but they knew that they all shared the same sentiments about that Halloween night—something strange had been going on, something distinctly dark. Their speculations had grown more intense, and they searched for the safety of each other's company more often than ever before. However, Enna was having a bit of difficulty adjusting to the recent inclusion of Neville in their little group, and it was plain to everyone that she terrified him. He still met with them, being his stupid, brave little self, but only when Anthony was around to maintain the peace.

"I hate it," Anthony growled, slumping over the table and slinging his arms out melodramatically. "Bollocking house rivalries. You'd think we all thought the others were Dark Wizards, just by the way we treat them."

Enna clonked him on the shoulder—hard. When he yelped and shot back up, her eyes were narrowed at him.

"Anthony," Luna said, her tone appraising. "You know that Enna doesn't like it when you joke about that stuff."

"Yeah, I know," he resigned. "It's not like I hate it any less than you, though. We're gonna get to the bottom of this whole thing, just you wait." He paused to frown over at Enna, pursing his lips. "You look tired."

She glared. "Wow, no shit." It was one of her favorite phrases to use with him.

"I think he meant to ask you if anything was up," said Luna. "Because you look more tired than usual."

She bit back a mean reply for Luna's sake. "Nothing's up," she snapped.

"Nah, you're bummed," Anthony declared, like it was a fact of life. "Don't lie about it." He studied her face carefully, and she turned away with a snarl.

"How was Flying class today?" Luna asked out of the blue.

"Yeah," Anthony seconded, suddenly. "You know, they just picked the new players for this year's Quidditch teams. Ravenclaw just had the tryouts."

"I heard there was a first-year who got on one of the teams," Luna contributed, eyes buggy with excitement. "Isn't that terrific? The youngest player ever, I heard, apparently he's a record-breaker! I don't think he's Ravenclaw, though—"

"That was Harry Potter, you loon," Anthony interrupted with a good-natured smirk. "Neville just told us about it a few days ago."

"Oh, is that so?" Luna frowned. "I can't believe I forgot."

"Maybe you need a Remembrall, too," he drawled.

Enna, however, started at this piece of news. "Wait, what?"

"You haven't heard yet?" Anthony asked, raising an eyebrow. "Harry Potter got volunteered by McGonagall as Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He's that good!"

"Volunteered?" Enna repeated, sounding dumber than she felt. "But he's a first year…"

"Yeah, they say he'll be better than that Weasley bloke," Anthony grinned. "And I heard that his dad was a Seeker too, back in the day!"

Enna sneered at their enthusiasm. "Well, it's no surprise, is it? I mean, he's Harry Potter, isn't he?"

Anthony and Luna exchanged a glance, which only made Enna more irritated. "What, something you can't tell me?" She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, giving her a more optimal glaring position.

Luna turned her pale face upon Enna. She wasn't wearing a pair of her stupid glasses today, which made her features seem unusually small and delicate against her oversized eyes. "Didn't Slytherin have tryouts, too? Who's on the team?" When Enna made no reply, Luna kept going: "There's got to be something going on with Slytherin! A charm or something, to keep the other teams from winning—perhaps it's the loser's lurgy! Have you ever heard of that? It's like a sickness that keeps the afflicted teams from winning. They've won seven years in a row against one of the best Gryffindor Seekers ever, but now Harry Potter's at Hogwarts and maybe it'll be enough to break the spell-"

"I never knew you liked Quidditch so much, Luna," Anthony interrupted her dryly.

"I didn't, either," she admitted, "until I got here. But I've been talking to the sixth and seventh years, the ones who remember Charlie Weasley best, and none of them have any idea what's gotten into the Slytherins. They've never heard of loser's lurgy, either," she said, sounding disappointed.

"Neither have I," said Anthony.

"Slytherin didn't even have tryouts," Enna muttered, finally answering Luna's question. "Guess they thought they didn't need any, with their winning streak and all."

"Really?" Anthony said, but he didn't sound terribly shocked. "I thought all the houses were supposed to?"

Luna looked over at Enna. "Yes," she sighed, "but in the end, it's really up to the coach."

"Malfoy wanted to try out for Seeker," Enna smirked, seemingly a bit consoled by this fact. "But even though he's a Malfoy, they didn't want a first year on the team. Told him as much, apparently."

"I hear he's good," Anthony said carefully. "Haven't seen any Slytherins fly yet. Not even you."

Enna chewed her lip, giving Anthony a suspicious once-over. He was obviously getting at something. "Nobody in my class is much good," she deliberated. "Including me. I can't even let go of my broom and stay on top of it."

Anthony grinned at her, flashing his disarmingly white teeth. "Oh, Enna, come off it. There's not a single first year who can do that, except maybe Harry Potter. Me, I can't even take one hand off my broom for a second." However, Enna's face stayed tight, and she was still giving him a wary look. "So, what did Hooch say when you asked her?"

"Asked her what?" Enna said, a bit too defensively. She sounded coiled and ready to strike.

"Asked if you could try out, of course." He rolled his Ravenclaw-blue eyes. "You're shit at hiding things."

"No, I'm not," she snapped. He'd gone straight for her Slytherin pride. "I'm great at hiding how much you annoy me."

Luna laughed at that outright. Anthony did, too. "You call that hiding?"

"Well, believe it or not, I hide most of it," she said, eyes flashing dangerously.

Anthony gaped at her in mock incredulity. "Well, that's a scary thought," he quipped, "considering just how much you actually show."

Enna shot him a look so deadly that Luna burst out in giggles all over again. "Snape," she cried out, so loudly that the students around them glanced over in confusion. "She looks just like _Snape_!"

Madame Pince was on them in a second, circling them and squawking like a vulture. The three of them were subjected to a full minute of threats and lecturing before she vanished back into the depths of the library, still muttering under her breath about how there should be rules against obnoxious behavior at Hogwarts.

"We're not laughing at you," Anthony smiled, once Pince had disappeared from sight. "We're laughing with you!"

"If only your nose was three times as big," Luna murmured. "Then it would've been even funnier."

Suddenly, a terrible, mischevious expression stole over Anthony's face. His golden eyebrows curved inwards, and the dimple on his right cheek deepened as his smile compressed into a devilish half-smirk. It made him look like a blonde imp. "Enna, when's your birthday?"

Her own brow furrowed in confusion. "Um… why?"

"Just 'cause," he said. That stupid weasel smile was still on his lips.

"I…" she was about to answer him, when she realized that she didn't have an answer. "I… dunno."

"What?" Luna's voice pitched into a high whisper.

"You can't just not know your own birthday," Anthony said, gradually getting louder and louder. Enna shushed him, and he protested: "But everyone knows their birthday!"

"I've got amnesia," she stated, as if that explained everything.

"Amnesia?" Anthony breathed. "How the hell have you got amnesia?"

Now it was Enna's turn to laugh. "You think I know? If I did, then it wouldn't be amnesia!"

"So, does that mean you don't remember a thing before Hogwarts?" Luna piped up, sounding intensely interested in the abrupt change of topic. "I had amnesia once, too, but that was because my dad tested out one of his obliviating potions on me and forgot how to undo it for three whole months. How much amnesia have you got?"

"Like I'd know!" Enna snapped, but there was a strange half-smile on her face. She found their inquiries oddly humorous. "I was at St. Mungo's for a long time, that's all I know." Now she turned back to Anthony. "Why do you care about birthdays, anyways?"

He was frowning at her. "I don't believe a word of what you say," he declared, crossing his arms. "Sounds like a load of bleeding crap to me. But, it doesn't really matter now. You need a birthday, Enna. You've got to have some memory of it, at least?"

"Nope," she sneered.

"Well, that settles it." Anthony sat back in his chair, the smug mischievousness returning to his face as fast as it had left. "You were born eleven years ago, in… February, yeah, February. February 14th. How does that sound?"

"You idiot." Enna tried to sound angry, but failed miserably. A smile was struggling for control of her face. "You dumbass, that's St. Valentine's Day."

"Yup," Anthony winked. "Now it's your birthday, too. If you've got the choice to pick your own birthday, then why not make it something neat?"

"I think it's a lovely day to pick," conceded Luna, and the matter was settled.

February 14th, 1980—on a dark and stormy night, Anthony insisted—Enna Smith was born.


	5. Teeth

They sat outside the castle under a large, leafless tree, sprawled out amongst a spillage of textbooks, parchments, and quills. Their papers fluttered dangerously in the breeze, attempting to escape the weak pull of gravity, but none of them paid much attention to the threat. Anthony was leaned against the trunk of the tree, spinning his wand in one hand. Neville kept trying to levitate a fallen twig off the ground, to little success, and Luna sat toying with Enna's short, dark hair while the latter stared off into the distant Forbidden Forest. The dark, foreboding horizon of trees rose tall and deadly silent, overshadowing the small hut set against its hostile backdrop and dwarfing the giant man who was hurrying around at the base of the night-black woods. Hagrid's distinctly loud whistling could be heard, even from the place where they rested, as he cheerfully tended to the withered gardens around his hut.

"Hey," Anthony spoke. "Do any of you know a warming spell or something?"

Luna frowned at him. "Why not just go inside?"

Enna scoffed in agreement. But she did the incantation nonetheless, drawing her wand and flicking it at Anthony like she would swat a fly. A stream of hot air shot out of the tip, like a small jet of visible smoke. "Stupid."

Anthony raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. "Good job."

"I volunteer, too," Luna said enthusiastically. "That is, if you don't mind."

Enna pointed her wand towards Luna, repeating the charm. She looked towards Neville, almost wickedly. "You too?"

"Y-yeah," the boy mumbled shyly, grasping the sleeves of his robes. "I mean… that would be nice."

She focused on Neville and waited for several seconds, glaring at him as she did so. He frowned, slightly confused that she was still sitting there with her wand out. "If you don't want to, that's—_oh_!"

"Sorry about that," she said, smiling at his reaction when he saw the flash of light. She waited for the stuttering to begin.

Sure enough, he gaped at her. "But—you didn't—you didn't say anything? You were just sitting there?" Neville looked dumbfounded. "How—"

"Well… I'm quite a powerful witch, actually," Enna replied, making sure she sounded nonchalant about it. "I don't need to use incantations or anything, I mean… it's not a terribly big deal, but I do know quite a bit of _strong_ magic…"

Neville's eyebrows were inching farther and farther up her forehead as she spoke, eyes widening in terror. "Oh, Neville," Luna sighed, "she's only teasing you." Anthony began to laugh, Luna smiled sympathetically, and Enna was looking rather smug about her accomplishment.

Neville blushed at their obvious mirth. "Well, it's not like that's an easy thing to do," he said stoutly. "My gran can do it, 'course, but she says she doesn't like to because it's a waste of energy."

"Yeah," Enna admitted. "It's hard for me. It is a waste of energy." To prove her point, Enna flopped over onto the brown grass in exaggerated fatigue.

Neville gave her a curious look. "So, how'd you learn to do it? I can't, but… that's not much of a surprise, I suppose."

"Don't ask her," Anthony scoffed. "She couldn't tell you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he frowned.

"_Amnesia_," Anthony said, making his eyes all googly and waving his hands about in mock surprise. "Load of wank, if you ask me."

"It's not a load of wank," she snapped, leaning over to punch him in the shoulder. "You just won't take my word for it!"

"_Ow_!"

"That was rude of you, Anthony." Luna crossed her arms like a stern mother. "It's none of your business to tell her what she is or isn't! Sounds like you could use a nice, big dirigible plum—"

"A dirigible plum?" He glanced over at Luna. "Well, whatever. Aren't wizards supposed to be able to cure that stuff? I mean, it wouldn't be that hard for you to get it fixed if it were a true affliction—"

"Actually, wizards aren't too good with those kinds of things," Neville cut him off, softly. "Seems like there aren't many magic cures out there for—well, brain problems and all."

Anthony raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, I wouldn't know," he said defensively, laying down and spreading out on the ground. "My dad never told me much about magic."

"So, then… does that mean you don't remember anything before now?" Neville turned back to Enna, his curiosity rising again.

"Well, I came here from St. Mungo's," she explained, like she had with Anthony and Luna. "Dunno how long I was there." She shrugged. "I read a lot."

"St. Mungo's?" Neville seemed even more interested now. "Were you—a long term patient, then?"

"Well, maybe?" Enna was slightly bewildered. "Why?"

Neville's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. "I _saw_ you there! I saw you in the hospital—I saw you in my par—I mean, I saw you in the ward! I knew you were familiar! I_ knew_ it!"

"You saw me?" Enna was trying to process his excitement, his stuttered claims. "Well, I think… I think I was in the Jabberwocky Ward, or something—"

"Janus Thickey," Neville corrected quickly. "Janus Thickey, right?"

"That was it, yeah," she said, staring at him. "How'd you know?"

"I think they moved you to a different part," said Neville, still speaking rather fast. "I only saw you once or twice, when you were in the same room as…"

"As who?" Now he'd gotten her interested, too. "You weren't a patient, were you?"

Neville suddenly looked uncomfortable. He glanced around at his friends, and they frowned back, wondering why he was eyeing them so suspiciously. "My parents… they were in the same ward. I visited them a lot. I don't know if you remember them, though…"

His voice had gotten a lot quieter. Enna didn't know if she should ask. "Who… who were they, then?"

"The Longbottoms, obviously," Anthony snapped. "Maybe he doesn't want to tell you."

"No, it's all right," Neville continued bravely. "Their names were—are—Frank and Alice. Mum's the blonde one, if that helps? She's the one who looks like me, but dad's the one with freckles. They're… they're a bit loopy, of course," he said, with a failed attempt at a casual grin. "Just a bit…"

"Frank and Alice Longbottom?" Luna's hazy gaze seemed to focus on the face of the boy beside her. "They're your parents? Oh, I never knew that, Neville. I'm very sorry." She touched his shoulder gently, and he stiffened.

"It's all right." He put on a tough smile. "They've been like that for as long as I've known them. I don't like it when people pity me for it."

"I won't pity you," she agreed, returning his smile. "I know how you feel. People like to get all wishy-washy about things, even when _you_ think you're perfectly all right. And then you get wishy-washy, too."

"Thanks, Luna," he said, and his smile seemed to ease.

Anthony got up off the ground, striding over to Neville and Luna with a resolute expression. "I'm gonna join you," he said, and sat down right next to Neville. "I don't know what you guys are talking about, but I don't care." He placed a hand on Neville's other shoulder, looking so serious that the Gryffindor couldn't help but laugh.

"Maybe I'll explain it someday," he said lightly. "It's kind of a famous story, but it happened a long time ago. Right before the war with the Dark Lord ended."

"Wait," Enna demanded.

They all turned back to her. Anthony was on the verge of saying something to stop her, but Neville let her go on. "Yeah?"

"Your parents…" Dimly, she remembered something. It wasn't about the faces of the Longbottoms, or even their names or voices. No, it was something else, something about St. Mungo's itself. There was a room she'd been in before the solitary one, the small one with all the books, the one that Hagrid hadn't even been able to fit into when he came to check her out of the hospital. She had forgotten about it, but before, she had been in one of the larger rooms of the ward, with multiple patients to keep her company, with multiple Healers always on staff. "I… remember them, I think."

"Oh, really?" Neville asked politely, though he sounded like he wanted to be done with the conversation.

They had moved her out of the room. She did something bad. She had done something very bad. She'd gotten mad at something. Frank had freckles, and Alice was blonde… "I remember them," Enna said, her eyes going wide. Something like fear rose in her throat, strangling her. She was remembering, for the first time, she was _remembering_ and it was something very bad she didn't want to remember after all. "Neville," Enna panicked. "Neville!"

"Enna, what's wrong?" Anthony and Luna and Neville all rushed to sit next to her, but she slapped them away.

"Neville! Who's Bellatrix? Neville!" Enna felt like she was swallowing water. She couldn't breathe. Who was Bellatrix? Neville knew who she was. Neville's parents knew. Neville's parents wouldn't shut up.

She had gotten mad at them. It hadn't been very long, and she was still getting used to the feeling of the closeness, the whiteness, the constant vigilance of the Healers. And then she got mad at Neville's parents. They were screaming about Bellatrix, Bellatrix somebody. Bellatrix this, and Bellatrix that. She hated it. It made her angry and scared. She had no wand, but she didn't need one to do magic.

"Get off me! It's all right, Enna!" Neville was shouting at her, trying to push her off of him. She was clawing at his robes, trying not to drown. Anthony's arms wrapped around her waist, and Luna's hands gripped her wrists. They pulled her away from him, but they didn't let go.

"Are you okay?" Neville asked her, but he was pale. "What was that about?"

"I… I don't know," she said slowly, inhaling, exhaling. She could breathe now. "I don't know."

"You were shouting about something," Neville said, still white with shock and staring at Enna. "You asked me who—"

"No." Enna cut him off, her voice growing stronger. "I don't want to know. It's fine."

There was a stillness in the air for a few moments, one that Anthony broke with a question. "Are you sure you're all right?" He wasn't as tall as she was, so it felt kind of strange to have his face buried in between her shoulderblades. "Can we let go?"

"Yeah." Luna released her arms, and Anthony backed away. She clenched her fists and unclenched them again. "Let's forget about what just happened, okay?"

They all exchanged glances. "What just happened?" Anthony said, scrunching up his forehead in confusion.

Enna flashed him a tiny grin.

The tension between them diminished perceptibly at Anthony's words. "So, everyone," Neville began, changing the subject like the events of the past minute had been a mere vision. "What are you all doing for Christmas break?"

* * *

Enna got out of the bath, drying off and slipping on her robes before she left the stall. She preferred the Muggle way of cleansing and hygiene to whatever bastardized methods wizards used, no matter what the other Slytherins insisted on doing. Warm water and soap, when combined, consisted of one of life's greatest simple pleasures.

She went over to the long line of mirrors to brush her hair and teeth. Not owning a comb, she had to make the best use of her fingers that she could, which sometimes got rather painful and tangly and time-consuming. Still, it was a better solution than magic.

The girl in the mirror smiled, but her teeth weren't pretty. A few of the top ones were chipped, and one on the bottom had been completely shattered at some point or another. Enna pressed her lips together and resumed a frown. She didn't smile often, so it hardly mattered.

Her eyes shone, pale and sullen, through the mat of jet-black hair. The soft strands reached to just below her chin, ragged and unruly, falling in front of her face to partially obscure the gaunt features underneath. Her cheekbones were sharp enough to kill, her lids heavy, her jaw thin, and her nose even thinner. If she sneered, she looked scary. If she glared, she looked murderous. If she had no expression at all, she looked too old, far too old to be eleven.

But if she smiled, she transformed into a different person. It almost frightened Enna, the way her whole visage lifted when the corners of her lips did. Her smile had an element of Anthony, an element of Neville, of Luna, of Parkinson and Snape and even Dumbledore himself; of everyone she might have ever admired or despised. She could make her face any way she wanted if she smiled. She could make someone understand her or hate her with just a twitch of her lips in the right direction. But, even as she twisted her mouth this way and that, testing the different phases of its power—disarming, deadly, detatched, with or without using her eyes—there was something underlying it all, something distinctly Enna. It was a little cold, a little vulnerable, a little hungry. It was her and her alone, regardless of who or what she attempted to be.

Too bad her teeth were ugly.

* * *

The brisk wind ruffled their hair as they sat, spread out, on the autumn-chilled floor of the Astronomy Tower. With magical telescopes at their sides, quills in hand, the group of midnight Slytherins attempted to map out constellations glittering through their lens-captured skies.

Tonight, they were examining Draco, the dragon, while Professor Sinistra wove in between the tangle of students and explained its history, placement, and importance to the galaxy. Enna had the misfortune of being in the same class as the boy Draco, who—though hardly as awe-inspiring as his namesake—wouldn't shut up about_ his_ constellation and how he could replicate it by heart. His parents had given him the name because he was obviously as powerful as a dragon, and after all they were certainly the most terrifying beasts in existence. But he wasn't a beast or anything. He was only a good-looking, brave, intimidating Malfoy.

Enna, on the other hand, was trying to shut out his boasting in favor of concentrating on her own parchment map. She knew what the stars looked like, she _knew_ where they were supposed to go—but the problem was, her hand wouldn't listen. She couldn't translate the positions onto the paper; her brain refused to communicate with her fingers and the signals got mixed up somewhere along the way and what ended up coming off of her quill was all wrong.

"Need any help, Enna?"

Enna looked back to see Professor Sinistra leaning over her shoulder, examining the mess of ink with a single raised eyebrow. "Looks like you're struggling a little bit with the drawing."

"Yeah," she mumbled.

The tall woman smiled kindly. "Mapping is certainly a difficult art to perfect. It's all right that you're struggling." She straightened out, glancing over to the right with a stern look on her face. "Draco, you know how to map the constellation well enough, don't you?"

For a moment, he looked a little surprised and offended that his egoistical ramblings had been interrupted, but when he registered what he perceived as a comment in the professor's statement, he smiled smugly. "Quite well," he replied. "May I help you?"

"Me?" Professor Sinistra bit back a laugh. "I'm the teacher, Draco. I think I'll be all right. However, Enna here is having some trouble with mapping, and I'd like you to assist her."

Malfoy's face fell visibly as his eyes moved down from Sinistra to Enna, who was sitting small by the professor's side and wearing a similar expression of displeasure. "I think I'm fine—" she tried to say, but Professor Sinistra didn't seem to hear her. The woman was giving Malfoy a very severe look, one that didn't cease until the boy actually got up and walked over to Enna with a defeated sneer on his lips.

Sinistra thanked him gracefully, and side-stepped around them to return to her own, larger telescope at the apex of the group. Enna glared at him, and Malfoy glared back.

"You know," he began, rather loudly, "I don't think I should be punished for the failures of a"– he coughed, obscuring the word–"_mudblood_, ahem."

A few of the kids sitting next of them dared to snicker, but Sinistra ignored them all.

"I don't think I should be punished with your stupid face," Enna muttered in reply, "but life's not fair, is it?"

Malfoy's jeer hardened. "God knows," he said. "And, just to clear things up, I'm only going to help you because I actually care about my grade in the class. Couldn't expect you mudbloods to understand, of course, but…"

"You know, you might want to shut your mouth, Malfoy," Enna growled, shooting daggers with her eyes. "There's shit coming out of it." She'd stolen that one from Anthony, but even the Ravenclaw would have to admit that her delivery was far superior.

Next to them, Blaise Zabini laughed scornfully. "Mudblood's got a mouth."

"Enna, Blaise, Draco," Sinistra called, giving them a harsh glance. "This is your first and final warning. Do your mapping, please, or there's plenty of other things for you to do in detention."

"Terrifying," Zabini scoffed, but he returned to his parchment nonetheless.

"Look here, you bloody Muggle," Malfoy hissed, jabbing his finger towards Enna's parchment. "Your coordinates aren't even right. You have to shift negative twenty and fifteen. That's twenty to the left and fifteen up, if you're too dumb to understand." She rolled her eyes, but she let him lean over and mark the points on her paper. "It's about here. If you'd just let me draw it for you, then we could get this over and done with."

"No," she snapped. "You're gonna tell me what to do, and I'm gonna do it. But you're not gonna touch my stuff."

"Merlin_ help_ me," Malfoy muttered acerbically, but he backed off anyways. Placing his own map beside Enna's on the floor, he flashed her a haughty smile. "This is what yours is supposed to look like when you're done. Of course, yours won't be as good, but I wouldn't expect it to be."

She had to admit, Malfoy had artistic abilities at a level she'd never anticipated. Not only had he plotted the dragon constellation with surprising accuracy, staying perfectly true to the telescopic reflection, he also had the idiotic nerve to embellish it and sketch in an imitation of a real-life dragon, complete with a cloud of fire and smoke billowing out of its mouth. She couldn't help but laugh at it.

"You really outdid yourself there, Malfoy," Enna observed, biting her lip to restrain her amusement. "What exactly were you hoping for when you did that? Extra credit? I doubt the professor gives out points for—"

"Shut _up_, you dumb bitch," Malfoy snarled, surprising her with the venom in his tone. "You only wish you could draw like me."

She leaned back and gave him a good, slow once-over. Her coolness only infuriated him more. "I couldn't care less, really," Enna shrugged. "You can't stupefy someone with a drawing."

That, apparently, was the last piece of criticism he could take. Malfoy whipped out his wand at her, and Enna went for hers just as quickly—but Malfoy's spell came out first; it was a typical Stinging Hex and it wasn't even very strong—and Enna's wand flashed a half-second later as she hissed "_Engorgio Skullus_!" through her rapidly-swelling lips. Malfoy's head ballooned, and before her mouth closed up entirely, she managed to yell that the size of his head finally matched the size of his ego.

Sinistra practically flew off her feet, shouting for someone to go get Madam Pomfrey before they both died. A few students rushed down the steps, and Sinistra performed the Shrinking Spell on Draco's head while she did her best to keep Enna's lips from swelling up any further. It was a good couple of minutes before the students returned with Pomfrey, and by then Enna's lips had ceased their spread. Draco's cranium had also returned to its normal size, but he was currently on the floor wailing about a splitting headache, and Enna was gasping next to him like an oversized duck.

"Good heavens," Pomfrey declared, her grey head shaking in disapproval.

"Stupid Muggle bitch!" Draco cried out, clutching his head. Enna, powerless to speak, leapt on top of him and tackled him to the floor.

Draco managed to wrestle Enna onto her back before Pomfrey and Sinista had to physically pull them apart. Draco kicked against Sinistra, but she refused to let go; Enna tried to pound on Madam Pomfrey's calloused fists but the old woman seemed to feel nothing at all.

"I will most _certainly_ be seeing you two on Saturday," Sinistra grunted, sounding uncharacteristically angry. Draco tried to wrench himself out of her arms. "Meet me—_oof_—in my office right after dinner. That's a—_unf_—detention, kids."

"I'll be taking you both to the infirmary," Pomfrey snapped, striding over to Draco and grabbing his wrist. Sinistra relinquished the boy over to the frazzle-haired mediwitch, who proceeded to drag the two of them—one in each hand—down the stairs of the Astronomy Tower.

"Class is over, students," they heard Sinistra call from above, her clear voice echoing throughout the narrow, stony stairway. "Hand me your parchments. Blaise, may I ask you what's so funny?"


End file.

Harry Potter, Drama, Hurt-Comfort