Love at First Sight (Harry Potter)

Through the Trapdoor

|ALEXANDRIA WEASLEY'S P.O.V|

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where the first year students did the written papers. We had each been given special, new quills specially for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell.

Aside from writing, we had practical exams. Professor Flitwick called us one by one into his class to see if we could make a pineapple tap dance across a desk, a spell that (even to this day) gives me much amusement. Professor McGonagall watched as we turned a mouse into a snuffbox — points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but were also taken away if it had whiskers. Professor Snape, as per usual, made everyone nervous by breathing down our necks while we were attempting to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion.

Harry Potter was in obvious pain, but the reasoning for such was unknown; I was not, by any means, going to swallow my pride enough to ask that insufferable boy what was the matter. And so, as to not harm my young ego, I watched from afar — worry weighing on my mind, despite how harshly I tried to ignore it and push it aside.

It was apparent that his scar had been bothering him, for I had seen him clutching at his forehead on numerous occasions (much like he had been that night in the forest). However, I did not know the full extent, or why he also looked so tired; he had bags underneath his emerald eyes, which had lost their usual mischievous glint.

The idea of such a horrible wizard (Voldemort) being in power once again, a wizard who had taken the lives of many people (some of which included defenseless Muggles), certainly frightened me. The following nights after Harry, Hermione, and I's detention, my dreams were plagued with nightmares involving the heartbreaking sight of the dead unicorn.

As the image continued, repeated, within my mind even during the day, I found myself debating over which was more terrifying: that the evil wizard could kill something so pure and innocent as a unicorn, without a second thought of the life-ruining consequences — or that he had such little mercy, such a blackened heart, as to not care about what he had done. Instead he had such little remorse, that he could drink the blood of something that was (even in death) so beautiful.

Our very last exam was History of Magic; one hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons, and then we would be 'free'. 'Free' as in we were released for the tense, stressful week of awaiting our exam results.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," Hermione said as we joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds, after Professor Binns (Hogwarts's only ghost teacher) had told us that we were finished. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

"I told you that you wouldn't," I sucked on my teeth, my blue gaze directed toward the clear sky above us as the girl playfully pushed my arm with a delicate laugh.

Hermione liked to go through our exam papers afterward, but Ronald made the excuse of saying that this made him feel ill as to quiet her. And so, instead, we wandered down to the lake in silence and flopped under a large tree.

While situating my back against the thick trunk beside Hermione, I caught sight of two of my older brothers. Fred and George were leant over the edge of the lake, Lee Jordan at their side to join them in tickling the tentacles of a giant squid — which had been basking in the warm shallows.