Magical Bonds

VII. Severus's hate

After nearly tripping over due to a certain ghost, who then apologized profusely, I find the blonde who sparked my curiosity first with her appearance and then with her last name. She's standing right in front of the troublesome staircases, her back turned to me, as if she forgot I was supposed to come. I approach slowly, stopping just a few centimeters from her, then place my hand on the shoulder bearing her bag full of books.

She jumps in fright, spinning towards me. I have a huge grin on my face, and for my mischief, I earn a light slap on the arm. We've known each other since yesterday, and it feels like we already understand each other. I raise both hands in surrender—I don't want to annoy her any further.

"Those twins were right; you really do like taking people by surprise," she says, tilting her head slightly as she inspects me.
"Of course, especially a certain caretaker who enjoys making students' lives harder, along with that cat of his. I love animals and magical creatures, but..."
"...that cat is too malicious to be loved by anyone but Filch," she interrupts, and we both burst into laughter.

Ashley seems really nice, and I don't think it's just because of her aura. I've met people with a bright aura whose personalities were less than stellar. I nod, signaling her to follow me, and head down a corridor, away from the moving staircases, intending to shorten the path. I tell her it's a quicker way to get to the greenhouses rather than descending those wretched magical mechanisms. I've fallen on them more than once trying to get to the dungeons or the kitchen.

We start chatting about various topics, with the blonde mostly asking me about the teachers and their classes. Unlike Hermione, she thinks it's pretty cool that we're in the same year.
"Which teacher should I be most afraid of?" she asks curiously, avoiding a rotten step as we descend towards the castle's backyard.
"In my opinion, none," I reply with a smile. "But most students fear or dislike Professor Snape."
"That's what I've heard too," she murmurs. "Is it true he favors his house?"
"Sometimes, but no one said there weren't exceptional Potions students from other houses. Slytherin has won the House Cup for several years, but they didn't earn points from just one professor—that's what many forget."

I hear her stop walking, and to avoid drawing attention, I walk a few more steps before pretending to just now realize she's no longer beside me. I turn to her, raising both eyebrows.
"You've attended his classes, haven't you?"
"Not just his," I reply calmly. "All the professors taught me from every field since I was little. I could've easily been in third year."
"Then why didn't you choose that?"
"I need friends... I know the older students and get along with them, but it's different when you learn alongside someone your own age."

The blonde pauses for a few seconds, then approaches me again without saying anything. We continue our walk until we reach the greenhouses, and I open the door, glancing inside. Apparently, Pomona isn't here, so she won't scold us too harshly if we wander around a bit.
"You're quite mature for someone who's ten years old," she says at some point.
I smile faintly, showing her where to grab gloves and pointing out a few plants, including a dancing sunflower. I frown at it, trying to figure out if Pomona left it like this on purpose or if she had another class earlier. I draw my wand, murmuring a spell that makes it stop, and turn back to her.
"And you're much more understanding than most people."

The corners of her lips lift slightly. I want to ask who her father or mother was for her name to sound so familiar, but it would seem like I'm poking my nose where it doesn't belong. I motion for her to come closer so I can show her a small trick my mom taught me. My mom loved Herbology quite a bit, but I'm not particularly fond of it. I have no idea if Pomona has noticed this or not... but does it even matter?

I murmur an incantation, and my flower somehow comes to life, its leaves growing longer as it struggles to escape its pot. Once it succeeds, its roots take the shape of feet. It jumps off the table as we both laugh at how offended the poor plant seems. We keep talking about various things, but I notice that every time I try to steer the conversation towards something personal, she somehow manages to change the subject.