Catching Water (Discontinued, rewrite in progress)

Secrets, Classes, and Greasy Haired Teachers

Bethany’s POV

“There!” Someone whispered a little to the left.

“I still don’t believe she’s alive.” Another said.

“But they said quite plainly who she is.”

“Do you trust their word?”

“Yes. If Dumbledore says she is, she definitely is.”

The whispers annoy me all the way up the hallways, sometimes about me “not supposed to be alive” and what the sorting hat did that almost blew my cover. All I wanted to do was get back to my dormitory to write some letters before today’s classes started. But thanks to the people stopping me, I have to wait until after dinner.

Sighing, I head over to my first class since kindergarten, History of Magic.

As it turns out, History of Magic is taught by the only ghost teacher, Professor Binns. Apparently he fell asleep in front of the staff room fire and then got up to teach the next day, leaving his body behind. I suspect he doesn’t even realize he’s dead.

Professor Flitwick is by far one of my favorites. Apparently Harry’s having the same problems I am having because when the professor reaches ‘Potter’ on the list, he squeals and topples out of sight. Luckily he regained his composure when he said my name and just squealed. Still, it was nonetheless embarrassing.

I was correct that Professor McGonagall was very strict, but she teaches transfiguration, and that should be fun, considering I’m actually quite good at it. She actually promised she’d help me find a way to read my textbooks without the words floating off the page.

My least favorite class, however, is (hands down) potions. I’d walked in, put my cauldron on the desk, and instead of waiting for it on the fire, secretly willed it to boil on its own.

Professor Snape walked in, his greasy, ebony colored locks flowing behind him like an enormous sheet of ice. His expression resembled the one Hades had on his face when I’d first seen him, although, you have to admit, even the lord of the dead isn’t as.... er ugly charming as Snape.

Snape seemed to teeter on the edge of liking me or hating me. Whatever he decides, I definitely don’t care, although it would be a bit creepy if he decided I was good. I keep getting a mental image of him smiling and it gives me the creeps. However, he absolutely hates Harry and Selene.

“Tell me, Miss Howard, do you always read when you’re supposed to be working?

“Non, professor, suus venenis lib—I mean—No, professor, it’s the potions book.”

I assume had been studying her Latin book.

“Really? Even if you were, I’d prefer you not read in my class. I’d say two points from Gryffindor for reading, and one for blabbing out in gibberish. Be thankful it isn’t more.” He says in a solid motion.

I give Snape my best look of outrage. She’d just been reading until the class started, and she hadn’t seen him come in. And as for the Latin, she’d just been absorbed. I’m actually amazed she can speak the amount she can already. She just started three days ago.

I shoot her an apologetic look before trying to read the instructions Snape has written on the board. The loopy handwriting is torture on my eyes. Within minutes, I make my potion explode, and Snape swoops on me like a bat.

“Miss Rose. I suppose you added daffodil pollen instead of porcupine quills. It says quite plainly on the—“

“I’m dyslexic.” I say flatly, not wanting him to take anymore points away from Gryffindor.

By the end of the lesson, I’m relieved the bell has rung, and I run flat out the door.

By Friday, I am positively exhausted. After finishing my first transfiguration essay, I throw down my quill, the letters still swimming in my vision and torturing me. Selene takes the parchment and helps me correct the spelling as we walk down to dinner. We arrive I time for the shepherds pie to be served, and Dumbledore levitates the small fire nest to my plate.

Emily runs up to us, and sits down, clutching a newspaper. She seems different than when I saw her last. There are shadows under her eyes, and she looks tired.

“Are you okay, Emily? You look sick.”

“Oh no. I’m fine. I-I just went to see Madame Pomfrey about it and she says its okay.” She says. “W-while I was up there, I found this and I was in the middle of it when she told me to come down here and get something to eat so she let me borrow it.” She holds out the Newspaper, and reads it out loud.

GRINGOTTS BREAK IN: LATEST

Investigations continue into the break in at Gringotts on July 31st, widely believed to be the work of Dark witches or wizards unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day. “But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you.” Said a gringotts spokes goblin.

“That break in happened on my birthday!” someone says behind us. We turn.

“Oh! Hi, Harry. We were just reading this.”

“Yeah, I heard the whole thing. I went to Gringotts that day though. With Hagrid. We went to a vault and he took out the contents. All it was was this grubby little package.”

Hmmm.

“That’s certainly interesting. Excuse me, I’m going to ask McGonagall if she has any progress on that spell that will help my dyslexia. Then maybe I can research this.” I sweep away.

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            Selene’s POV

            On Saturday during dinner, Bethany’s doing her normal absurd ritual as we wait for Emily to come over from the Ravenclaw table.

            “Excuse me?” someone says. “You’re Emily’s friends, right?”

            We turn around to find a Ravenclaw 1st year standing there.

            “Yeah.” We chorus.

            “Have you seen Emily?”

            “No, why?” I ask.

            “I’m Terry Boot, Emily’s roommate. We haven’t seen her since lunch.”

            “Did you check the Library?” Bethany asks.

            “Oh—yeah. Well thanks!” she says.

            But we don’t see Emily at all that evening, not even in the library.