The Gifted Curse

Chapter 2 - Distraction

Nothing was unusual about the way Professor Snape strode into the dungeons that morning – swooping down the centre aisle with his robes ablaze behind him, his mouth pursed and his wand out slamming the boarding shut on each and every window as he passed. Though he'd done this countless times, it still put everyone on edge. He took the centre spot at the front of the classroom, spun around quickly and crossed his arms, in his usual manner.

"Turn to page...three-hundred-and-nin-ty-four."

Not a single sound could be heard besides the turning of pages, complying with his command. The tone of the lesson had been set.

Geneva looked at her Professor who was tossing a book back to Ron Weasley, with a disapproving look down his long nose, as he always did. She watched it happen focussing solely on her hatred in order to diminish any invasive thoughts that came to her. She felt sorry for Ron.

Toward the end of the lesson, Geneva was rushing to finish a question when Professor Snape requested all quills to be put down. Orah nudged her under the table. 'Quills down' was an order, not an option at any cost, but she was determined to finish after he had undermined her capabilities in previous lessons. Flitting her eyes from parchment to her Professor when he wasn't looking, she tried to finish unnoticed, but he caught her.

SMASH! Over went the glass phial on her lab bench. She jumped off her seat and grabbed her wand alarmingly as it burned green liquid into the floor, fizzing, emitting smoke.

"Leave it." Snape ordered. He whipped his wand at the spillage. "Scourgify" The green liquid disappeared. "Reparo." The scattered shards of glass assembled at once, and suddenly it was back on the desk, empty.

"I am so sorry Professor, Geneva professed.

"Careless girl," muttered Snape under his breath, barely moving his lips.

She returned to her seat with her Professor standing over her – his large hands placed firmly on the work-bench, his dark bat-like robes closing in as they cascaded over his shoulders. Geneva knew everyone would be staring. She could feel all eyes on her, but the most powerful of all were fixed into a permanent hooded scowl.

"Now, is not the time to catch up, Azur. You've had five minutes to answer question e-le-ven. If you'd have been studying, you'd have finished in two. If the standard you're working at now is a reflection of what you have laid on my desk today, you're on your way to fail-ing my class. Your practical assessment is but weeks away and it is most advisable that you study...for...it."

Humiliated. Geneva never said another word until the class had exited up the spiral staircase and they were back in the corridors, on their way to the Great Hall for lunch.

Geneva turned to Orah with a look of enquiry, "How did that phial fall to the floor like that? I mean it was in the middle of the table."

"Well, there was a lot of stuff on the desk. Maybe your hand budged it as you were writing or something. You were trying to rush to finish."

"That's true," Geneva surmised. She took a second to evaluate her answer, not entirely sure she believed it, before another thought came to her. "Why is he so angry ALL the time?"

"Beats me," Orah shrugged. "At least, you've got Trelawney next, you can sit at the back and pretend you're crystal gazing whilst she has a cow over some dodgy tealeaves."

Geneva laughed, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder securely as they began their trek to their next lessons. Orah was timetabled to Runes. Just before she was about to turn the corridor, she reached into her pocket, took out a handful of Fizzing Whizbees and shared them between them. "Here. These should keep you going. See you later Gen."

Geneva tucked them into her pocket. Couldn't Orah have chosen something a little more inconspicuous? She could visualise herself sitting in the back of Trelawney's class with a mouth full of loud popping candy chocolate, whilst Orah did the same in Runes trying to some how stop the crackle. What fun was popping candy if you couldn't open your mouth?

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Professor Trelawney was a bit of an oddball, and not appreciated by all for her eccentricities and funny-looking appearance. Geneva always thought those thick lensed magnified glasses made her comparable to a large fly that had just flown into a pile of laundry. The laundry being her mixed-matched clothing, accompanied with a scarf to hold back her frizzy untameable hair. On top of this, she jangled when she walked, donning armfuls of colourful bangles. She very rarely stepped out of the confines of her hot, stuffy classroom. If ever she was at the staff table, it was only to hear important announcements from Dumbledore.

Trelawney was quirky and most of the times far-fetched, but there was something about her that Geneva liked. They had bonded over her gift of visions. Trelawney was one of only four teachers to know about them, along with Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall.

Sitting at the back of the classroom on a doily-covered table with a crystal ball before herself and fellow Slytherin - Sophia Baily - a chubby blonde girl with a slightly upturned nose. Geneva wistfully swept her hands in mid air above the hazy sphere. She had never believed these things worked, but wanted to look as though she was on task.

"What am I going to do about Potions?" Geneva stressed, pretending to gaze into the ball.

"Snape's really grinding our noses at the moment," Sophia complained.

"I usually keep up, but Quidditch practise is really causing me to fall behind at the moment. I really want to make seeker this year."

"You will. You're an amazing player," Sophia gushed.

"...and fail everything else by the looks of it," she felt a part of herself deflate at her lack of ability to juggle responsibilities.

Geneva had hardly been able to focus on anything else but the upcoming Quidditch try-outs the entire summer. She was a beater currently, and a damn good one too, but being a Seeker would truly be something else. Heading back to Hogwarts and hopping back on her broomstick was number one on her agenda when she returned on September 1st. Since broomsticks and magic were not permitted outside the Wizarding World, it meant she had gone six whole weeks without training and had been making up for it since her return.

"Maybe I have been spending a bit too much time on the pitch," she considered, twisting up her face. I've been leaving my essays until last minute, but it means everything to me. I want to make it this year, but I know Draco Malfoy wants it too." Sophia knew that look. She'd never liked Draco either.

Geneva looked over at him – a blonde haired boy who Snape favoured, mostly because he was close with his father, Lucius Malfoy who worked for the Ministry of Magic. At least, that's the only reason Geneva could surmise. There wasn't much else to like about him. Draco in himself was quite frankly an immature little git in her eyes.

"She's coming over," Geneva exclaimed, looking at Professor Trelawney, averting her eyes from Sophia, back to the crystal ball.

"And what do you see?" came Trelawney's false mystical voice.

Sophia, equally as sceptic when it came to crystal gazing, compressed a laugh whilst Geneva rambled on about foggy skies and heavy rain resembling troubles and woes.

"But there is a silver lining I see," Geneva continued "...an opening in the thickness of the deepest cloud, meaning there is hope."

"Very good!" Professor Trelawney praised, with a toothy smile – her bug eyes bulging tremendously under her glasses.

She bounced away and both girls erupted into quiet laughter.

"How do you do that?" Sophia awed.

"It's just common sense– basic symbolism. I just make it up."

After lessons that day, Geneva took to the Quidditch pitch just to get some flying and practise in. Try-outs were in two weeks exactly. Her parents had gifted her a Firebolt broom at the start of the school year, which she had picked up in Diagon Alley on her way to Hogwarts. It was slick, robust and flew to great speed. Being outside again and having a chance to fly was truly exhilarating. Although the November air was cold and bitter, the sky was bright and blue and perfectly clear for flying. It was her true escape.

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Back in Potions the next day, Professor Snape was his usual snide self, looking down his nose at everyone's trembling hands desperately trying to stir their potions in the correct formation. Neville Longbottom was on the edge of a panic attack. Poor thing. There was a method to be followed, and if the method wasn't met, the whole potion would be a failure, and that meant detention. They were barely half an hour into the lesson when Snape had already given out four – three to Gryffindor and one to Ravenclaw. No matter how hard Geneva worked that lesson, she just couldn't muster the formation. Her focus was entirely off. Orah tried to help her, but she was in a predicament herself.

"I think you're meant to go to the right one quarter and then to the left, before making a full circle," Orah said, motioning her actions.

"Why is it purple?"

"You've stirred it the wrong way."

It was meant to be red. Geneva's pulse rose, knowing mistakes were not meant to be rectified this lesson. It was strictly wands away. She looked over at Hermione Granger and immediately wished she hadn't. Hermione had already finished her potion, poured it into a phial, labelled it, and had it ready to hand it in. It was no surprise. She always finished first and got top marks.

"Azur and Gulf," came the Professor's voice. Geneva's heart beat a little faster as his tall black figure came into view.

"What is this?" he sneered, gesturing toward their cauldron.

"I'm sorry Professor. It all went horribly wrong."

"Indeed," he spoke, monotone with a pause to follow. "...And speaking of your mistakes Azur. I've accessed your homework – simply insufficient rub-bish. Do it again."

Geneva's mouth fell open. She was about to speak but he interrupted her, even deeper and more pronounced than usual, holding on to every last syllable.

"Do-it...ag-AIN."

The tone in his voice silenced any explanation she had. The hours she'd spent in the common room with Orah by her side, pulling her through, had completely gone to waste.

Professor Snape showed no mercy and said nothing more to Geneva. No constructive feedback was given. This wasn't unusual. He believed that quality work could only be produced if mistakes were painstakingly figured out alone. At the end of the lesson, Professor Snape went to the front and centre of the classroom, stood tall and announced. "You may leave my class...in silence."

"What is his problem?" Orah complained, whispering as they took the spiral staircase back up from the dungeons. "He accepted my essay and it wasn't much different from yours."

"I think he's had it in for me ever since I've got back. I don't know why. Maybe it looks bad on him that I'm failing class, like he's not doing his job properly. That's how it works for teachers, isn't it especially in our final year. Or...he wants to take me away from Quidditch practise so that Malfoy gets more time in."

"It's Snape. You never know," Orah shrugged.

"I wonder if I asked Hermione Granger to help..."

Orah shot her an incredulous look. "Are you crazy? A Slytherin ask a Gryffindor?"

"I've spoken to her before. Maybe she can give me some pointers."

Orah weighed up her thoughts. "Well she did get top grade on that essay; I saw it. Bloody know-it-all. But I wouldn't ask her and give her the satisfaction. If her ego is inflated anymore, she'll combust."

"But this will be the third time I've done this essay. It's eating me now, I need to get out on the pitch," Geneva whined. "Surely if I've referenced similar sources to her, Snape can't knock my grade."

There was a silence for some time before Orah spoke.

"Where do you think she'd be?"

"Library," they said in unison.

And so, they set off and sure enough, bushy haired Hermione was sat at a desk alone with at least six books laid out infront of her. The look of concentration on her face was intense – her brow furrowed and lips pursed as she read the pages of a hefty book, completely engrossed in it's ancient text. Geneva and Orah stood peering out from the edge of a bookshelf in the charms section, whispering as they watched her work.Geneva held back, sure that Hermione would snap in two and loose it if she so much as breathed too close to her.

"She's totally buried, look! I can't just go over there."

"Yes you can! Just do it." Orah urged,pushing Geneva forward. She staggered out of the Charm's aisle and looked back over her shoulder apprehensively at Orah who was gesturing her forward,mouthing "do it!"

"Um...Hermione...? Hi. Umm..."

Hermione looked up inquiringly at the person who dare interrupt her, her expression just the same.

"I'm sorry to disturb you like this, but it's Snape's essay. You know I'd never ask you, but..."

"But, you are asking me," she said, in her rather-to-do sort of way, that was not at all surprising.

"Yes, kind of," Geneva winced. "I was wondering if perhaps you could give me some pointers? Which books did you reference? Just the books. That's all."

Hermione's mouth pursed to the side, perusing the thought, then her brows slowly went back to a neutral position. "I suppose I have a little time."

Feeling a great weight lifted, Geneva watched asHermione ripped off a piece of parchment, dipped her quill in ink and proceeded to write a list of book recommendations.