Untitled Ravenclaw Story

(c)2005 by Josh Cohen. May not be reprinted except for personal use. JK Rowling, of course, created and retains ownership of the Potterverse; I\'m just playing around in it.

***************************************************************************

October became November, and Gryffindor beat Slytherin in Quidditch. November became December, and if there was a Ravenclaw Quidditch match, I honestly didn’t pay any attention. December became winter holidays, and Professor Snape, to his behest, led a small group of us into Hogsmeade to meet up with our parents.

I stayed ahead with him. “Professor, may I ask you a question?”

“About potions?” He scoffed, but I could tell he was joking with me. “What do you possibly need to know?”

“No, professor. About my dad.”

Snape’s face closed down. “What do you mean?”

“You knew him at Hogwarts. But you never came round the house.”

He didn’t respond right away, so I screwed up my courage and said, “did something happen?”

A long breath, in and out. Then, “let’s just say that your father let something rather unpleasant happen to me, something he could have prevented.”

“Oh.”

“And,” he continued, “I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring it up again. If you must know, ask your father.”

“All right. I’m sorry if I upset you, Professor.”

Snape and I trudged through the snow, ahead of the students behind us. Eventually, he said, “it’s not your fault. And really, it’s not your father’s, either. It’s just something I don’t enjoy dwelling upon. And when I see your father, I remember that day, and that he didn’t help me.”

“I understand.”

We were now at Hogsmeade, and I saw my father up ahead. Snape must have seen him too; he turned away. “No, Goldman, you don’t. You won’t, until it happens to you.” He took another deep breath. “Have a… pleasant… break. I will see you in the new year.”

“Pleasant break to you also, Professor.” Snape led the rest of the students away; I turned and joined my father, who was examining the surface of a cup of coffee as if he were four years old, watching an ant cross the sidewalk. “Everything all right, Dad?”

He hugged me with one arm and led me down the thoroughfare. “Fine, David. Let’s get going; your mother has quite a meal laid out for when we get back.”

A lot of wizarding families live on the outskirts of Ottery-St.-Catchpole. The Weasleys, the Clearwaters, the Lovegoods, the Goldmans… it’s like a colony of us out here. I hear the Diggorys are thinking about joining the community, but Cedric – a pleasant-but-blustery fourth-year Hufflepuff Quidditch player – hadn’t said anything that I’d managed to hear.

Still, I enjoyed the Christmas season. Although my family is Jewish, wizards have a tendency to celebrate Christmas as a large group, and while the Weasleys tended to keep to themselves in this regard – I don’t know why; I never asked – Penelope’s parents and the Lovegoods were all at my house on Christmas afternoon.

Luna, the loopy daughter of Quibbler editor Luther Lovegood, was doing a crossword puzzle upside-down at the kitchen table. My mum and our house-elf, Zyba, were preparing dinner; Dad and Mr. Lovegood and Pen’s parents were in the living room, smoking or drinking or whatever it was they did. I suppose I was sitting in the kitchen with Luna for lack of anything better to do, scribbling a halfhearted attempt at an essay for Professor McGonagall, but to be truthful, I was missing Padma. And Terry. And being around the others in my year and my house.

Luna set down her quill. “So you’re in Ravenclaw?” Her eyes were wide, with huge pupils.

“Yes. Just like Mum and Dad, and Pen. Why d’you ask?”

“No reason. I just think it might be nice to know someone when I get to Hogwarts.”

“So you got your letter then?”

She shook her head and pushed her hair out of her face. “Nah. Not yet. But I’m sure I will. Dad always says I’m the brains of the family.”

I had my own private thoughts about Luna’s brains – namely, that they were scrambled like a radio signal trying to get through the walls of Hogwarts – but I was too nice, deep down, to say anything. “I’m sure that’s true.”

“So if I’m in Ravenclaw, will you look out for me?”

I shrugged. “You might have better luck with Pen. She’s a prefect.”

“But I like you, not Penelope. Penelope always seems so stiff. Only dead people should be so stiff.”

Creepy. “If you say so.” A brief sigh. “Sure, Luna, if something happens and you need my help, let me know.”

“Thanks, David.” She went back to her upside-down crossword without another word. Mum looked over at me and lifted her eyebrows; I shrugged again and went back to my Transfiguration homework.

My family didn\'t want for money, but my parents refused to spoil me. Builds character, I suppose. I got a few nice things for Christmas – a couple of enchanted quills that, when dipped into a potion-ink, would turn my terrible handwriting into something legible, were the best of the lot – but it was my Aunt “I’m not old enough to be an aunt” Natalie, a muggle on my mother’s side – both my parents are half-blood – who always gave the best presents.

Aunt Natalie had spent a lot of her life in America, and she had a habit of sending gifts from across the pond. This year, it was a collection of t-shirts from a muggle website. I only recount them here because I think they\'re funny. There was “can’t sleep or the garden gnomes will eat me”; “while making dinner, Edna accidentally opened up a can of whoopass”; one from an American sports team called the Dolphins; something about a computer that said “there’s no place like 127.0.0.1”; a picture of bison inside large numerals reading “once upon a time, buffalo roamed the plains in large numbers”; one with a picture of Jimi Hendrix, a muggle guitar wizard; one with a young black child from a muggle television show saying “sup fool”; a football shirt with an unpronounceable Italian name on the back (although I did make an effort); one with a large cow’s head in the center; and a yellow one with a black jagged stripe around the stomach, from the muggle comic strip Peanuts.

Then there were the other gifts – Gran and Grandpa gave me some pocket-money; Penelope and her parents got me a couple of books by some wizard named Gilderoy Lockhart (his picture wouldn’t stop winking and grinning); and Luna and her dad gave the whole family a plate of homemade brownies.

On the whole, a good Christmas. Mum and Zyba’s dinner was, as usual, quite excellent, and Pen’s parents had put together a pudding – “entirely without magical or elf assistance,” or so they claimed – that was out of this world and halfway to the next one. We sang carols, played games, and listened to the Wizarding Wireless’s annual Christmas program. Then, as the adults sat inside and talked, and Penelope disappeared round the corner to be with Percy the Prat, Luna and I took our brooms out of the broomsheds – Luna lived next door – and floated around the backyard.

Luna, upside-down – it seemed to be a fetish with her – asked me if I was at all into Quidditch. “Not really. Seems a bit silly, really, all that chasing and all those complicated rules. I prefer golf.”

“Golf?” She laughed, an eerie-but-merry sound in the growing twilight. “And you think Quidditch has a lot of rules?”

I shrugged. “Each their own. Da taught me to play; he says when I’m done growing he’ll get me clubs and we can go with Mr. Weasley sometime.”

“I can’t imagine Mr. Weasley is much good at golf. He’s not much good at muggle things, no matter what he says.” She rose into the air, above the peaks of the roof, and I followed her, circling lazily, half-on and half-off the broom. “You know,” Luna commented, “you’re pretty good on that thing.”

“What, broom-riding?” She nodded. “I guess I always have been. Mum was a chaser for Ravenclaw, and played at University a little, but not seriously.”

Luna took out her wand and pulled a snow-globe out of her pocket. “Chase, then.” She enchanted the globe and we both watched as it arced out into the front yard.

Then we both heard it shatter on the front steps.

“You didn’t chase it.”

“Luna,” I said, “I’m not going to chase an enchanted toy just because you want to see me ride a broom.”

She went higher and I followed until we were about five hundred feet off the ground. “So chase me, then.”

Luna let go.

“Oh, bugger.”

Luna’s father wasn’t much of a yeller, or even much of a punisher. He simply gathered his gifts and his coat and took Luna home, accioing the still-floating broom as he left through our front door. And my parents were more pleased that I hadn’t let her fall to her death, but more than a little confused at why Luna would do such a thing. “She’s a bit loopy, Dad,” I said. “I’m just glad she didn’t splatter in our backyard.”

“I’m just glad she didn’t get caught breaking the Decree Against Underage Wizardry.”

“It\'s Christmas. The Ministry tends to be a little more lenient when it comes to Christmas day.” That from Mr. Clearwater.

“Probably.”

But Luna’s loonier-than-usual behavior kind of put a damper on things, and the Clearwaters left soon after that. I went upstairs – Dad magicked my gifts to follow me to my room – and changed into pajamas, then went down to the study where Dad was looking up something in one of his huge research books.

“Something up, David?”

“Not really.” I plunked down on the couch. “Just wanted to ask you something, if that’s all right.”

“Sure.” He set his wand in between the pages of the book to mark his place and came to sit next to me. “What’s on your mind?”

I screwed up my courage – Dad never got mad about anything except dark wizardry, but I didn’t know how he’d react to this. “Dad, why do you and Professor Snape not like each other?”

He leaned back on the couch and took off his glasses. “David, could you get me the Pensieve from the hall closet?”

“Why?”

“It’d just be easier to show you.”

A couple of hours later, my father touched his wand to my temple and pulled out the thick strand of memory, depositing it back into the Pensieve.

“So you could’ve helped him. But you didn’t?”

He shook his head. “No. I should have, but I couldn’t.”

The Pensieve didn’t give glimpses into intent, just the sights and sounds and smells of a memory. “Why?”

Dad sighed. “James Potter and his friends were the cocks of the walk.”

“Sounds familiar.”

A brief chuckle. “I wouldn’t be surprised. But if you got on their bad side, they’d hex you or play a prank on you or generally make you miserable. Severus… Professor Snape… he and I were the top in the school at Potions. Usually, in NEWT class, it was the two of us setting the pace and everyone else trying to keep up. We studied together, practiced spells and dueling in Dark Arts, but we weren’t really friends.

“And besides, I was weak. Not magically, but weak-willed. It took me four years just to get past the silliness of the other boys and girls my age, and once I earned acceptance, I didn’t want to give it up. Just studying or practicing with Severus was nearly enough for me to lose that little bit of popularity I had. I didn’t want to lose any more.”

“Dad… are you telling me…?”

His face was sad, but serious. “I could’ve easily stopped Potter and Black from harming Severus. But I was more afraid of being the target of their derision than I was of Severus actually being harmed.”

I was taken aback. My own father, who as an auror had put a dozen Death Eaters into Azkaban and singlehandedly defended the Ministry of Magic against Voldemort’s strongest minions, holding them back until help could arrive… and he had been afraid to stand up to Potter’s father.

“I’ve changed since then, son,” he assured me as he watched my face shift through all those emotions. “You know that, and I know that. It’s a part of my life I wish I could do again, and that’s why I keep it in the Pensieve. The guilt and the shame are enough; I don’t need to see Severus being tormented anymore.”

I still didn’t believe it. But then, I guess everyone had something they’d rather forget. “Well, Dad, at least now I understand why Professor Snape said I wouldn’t understand until it happened to me.”

He nodded. “If you can keep Professor Snape on your side, you’re in good shape.”

“You know, Dad, you could always apologize.”

“I have.” He got up and took the Pensieve with him. “We’ve sort of come to an understanding. Severus Snape is a very prickly individual.” Dad took the Pensieve out into the hall; I followed him and watched him return it to the hall closet, re-warding the lock I had un-warded when I’d retrieved it – I could break many of Dad’s simpler wards, and he’d given me permission to do so when I needed something, but I couldn’t put them back together – and then he waved me off to my room. “Off to bed with you now. Mum will be along to check on you in a bit. Don’t stay up reading those new books all night.”

“All right, Dad.” I hugged him, and he kissed my cheek. Then he returned to his study, and I to my bedroom.

I didn’t read the Lockhart books. When Mum came up to kiss me goodnight, I was still deep in thought over Potter’s father, and his choice in friends.

There’s no way popularity would be worth alienating someone like Professor Snape. Not to me.

School started again with very little ceremony. Professor Quirrell continued teaching us about Dark creatures, although most of them were more meddlesome than actually Dark. He did tell us that, in second year, we would start to learn at least the basics of defense spellwork, but for now identification was key.

Quirrell was an odd man. He always wore a purple turban, and he stuttered so much that it was difficult to understand some of what he taught us. But my marks were always good on quizzes and assignments and tests.

As for Transfiguration with the Gryffindors, in that I was at least learning how to do something. Of course none of us were as good as the bushy-haired Hermione Granger, but then, my best field was Potions. Still, I did all right – better than Potter and his friend Ron Weasley on most occasions. Ron and I had never been close friends – it may have been my disinterest in Quidditch that caused that rift more than five years ago – but we were neighbors and we got on all right. Never talked much, except during the holidays. During school we regarded each other with mutual respect.

Herbology with the Slytherins… now that was an adventure. Malfoy and his goons, true to their word, kept away from me – he preferred to torment Harry Potter, which was fine in my book – but one of the others, a tall, athletic boy named Blaise Zabini, seemed to make it his personal mission to be at the same table as me in every lesson. I liked Professor Sprout just fine, but she was a little dim in my eyes because she continually failed to notice Blaise’s interference in my work.

It was in February that I finally found the hex I was looking for to stop that little feud. A couple of drops of Shrinking Solution accidentally made their way to the back of his trousers, and a simple little spell ensured that every time he came within five feet of me that day, his trousers would constrict. The closer he came, the tighter they got.

After about two weeks of Herbology classes, he got the point and left me alone.

Although Padma and I kept the highest alcove as our own little place to study and chat and read in companiable silence, my study group within my year grew to include not only Padma and Terry but also Lisa Turpin and Anthony Goldstein. Through March and April we continued to bond together over books and snacks, Anthony’s surprisingly-strong knowledge of Transfiguration theory – although in practice, he lacked quite a bit – and my skill at Potions leading us. But everyone had a strength. Terry was good with Herbology and History; Padma knew quite a bit of Astronomy and had no trouble understanding Quirrell’s lectures; Lisa could do most Charms almost well as Hermione Granger. As May started slipping by, and exams grew nearer and nearer, the rest of the first-year Ravenclaws started clustering around the fringes of our study group.

I’d like to say something interesting happened, but that would be lying. Of course, we all heard about the Philosopher\'s Stone; we all know how the Boy Who Lived stopped Professor Quirrell and – so it was rumored – He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself from using it for dark purposes. We all watched as the Slytherins were robbed of their rightfully-won place as House Champions. Oh, of course we cheered for the Gryffindors, but I know that I was doing it by rote, not because I actually wanted to.

Padma did best on our exams in our year; I came in just behind her. Anthony, Lisa, and Terry all did well also. But that was to be expected; Ravenclaw is the house where the most intellectual and intelligent wizards and witches get sorted. I wonder sometimes why Granger didn’t get sorted into Ravenclaw – I’m not unhappy she’s not here, of course, but I do wonder.

But as always happens, the end of exams meant the end of term, and so we all loaded our trunks onto the Hogwarts Express and started back to London.

Padma and I shared a compartment on the Express. She, unlike any of the other girls in our year, understood – and in fact shared – my desire to simply sit in silence with another person. When the trolley came round, I bought her a bag of Honeydukes chocolate bar chunks – basically, their usual candy, but broken into bite-size pieces – and presented it to her with a small amount of ceremony.

“What’s this for?”

I smiled. “You’ve been a good friend to me this year. I wanted to get you something nice to say thank you.”

She blushed; only months of sharing a small space together allowed me to see the slight flush in her dark cheeks. “Thank you, too, David, for being a good friend to me also.”

“You’re welcome.” I had a thought. “I hate to bring this up, but shouldn’t you be with Parvati right about now?”

“Nah. She’s off with Lavender Brown from Gryffindor. The two of them are like little twittering birds. I’d rather be here with you.”

“I appreciate that.” She passed me a bit of chocolate and I put it in my mouth, letting it melt outward on my tongue before swallowing it. “I’m glad they’re not in here.”

“Me too.”

I’d like to say that it was at that point I started feeling something more than friendship for Padma, but really, I was too young at the time to know it. All I know now is that Padma and I agreed to keep in touch over the summer holiday – she and Parvati both had tawny owls, gifts for when they started at Hogwarts – and that we’d see each other again when second year started. We bid our goodbyes as she and Parvati headed off with a woman who had to be their mother; Terry shook my hand as he passed on the way to the Underground; Lisa and Anthony waved as they saw me push the trolley with my trunk and other belongings in the opposite direction, toward where Mum was waiting for me.

“Oh, David, welcome back!”

“Thanks, Mum,” I said, muffled, as she hugged me. “Is Dad here too?”

She shook her head. “He couldn’t get out of work. We’re going to catch a cab to the Cauldron, and then Floo home.” My mother had aced Muggle Studies, she told me, largely because she was brought up by a muggle father and a witch mother. She was perfectly at home amidst muggles, even though we spent most of our time in the wizarding world. So it was with ease that we caught a black cab to the Leaky Cauldron, and with even more ease that we threw my trunks through the flame to our home, where I’m sure Zyba was waiting to catch them.

Padma and I corresponded throughout the two months of the summer. I spent a week at Terry’s house, and we rode our brooms around the countryside beyond his back porch, exploring. I went into the office with Dad at least three days a week, helping him concoct potions and watching him test out new spells. A few of my yearmates sent owls with cordial letters, and I responded to them just as cordially. I even got a muggle-mail letter from Hermione Granger, who asked if she could visit Dad’s work; he agreed, and I spent a full day listening to her prattle on.

It was a good summer break, but all things must end, and the week before school was to start up, Dad and I flooed to Diagon Alley to pick up books and supplies for the coming year. We could have gone to one of the shops in our village, but it was – according to Dad – a tradition thing. We saw the new Nimbus 2001 – my Shooting Star C307, although four years old, was still serviceable and still fast and agile enough for me, but it was still fun to look – and we visited Madam Malkin’s for new work robes for Potions.

It was in Flourish and Blott’s, though, that Da and I watched Harry Potter being fawned over by Gilderoy Lockhart, who announced that he’d be our next Defense Against The Dark Arts professor. Dad got a strange look on his face when Lockhart said that; I only know that in person, his smile was even more smarmy than on the back of his printed works.

That night, Dad came to see me after I got into bed – usually, I would say good night to him, and Mum would come in a bit later, to make sure I wasn’t up ‘til all hours, reading. “David, I want you to do something for me,” he said.

“What’s up, Dad?” I set a bookmark in the Wandless Magic Primer – even though Da assured me I wasn’t powerful enough yet to do wandless magic, I still wanted to know about it, so he’d let me borrow it – and sat up in bed.

“I want you to owl me if anything strange happens with Gilderoy Lockhart.”

“Why?” I’m sure the look on my face was completely innocent. “Sure, he looks and acts like a prat, but I’m sure Professor Lockhart’s going to at least be understandable.”

“Professor.” Dad harrumphed. “You know, I actually applied for that professorship the year before you went to Hogwarts?”

“That would’ve been wicked, Dad. Why didn’t you get it?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “I don’t want it now, though. I realize it would be awkward for you if I was teaching a class with you in it. Besides, we’ve just started on a promising new line of research at the office.” I nodded; I’d seen one of the test spells take out an abandoned building without so much as a hint of backlash or shockwave. “But I don’t trust Gilderoy Lockhart.”

“I’ll owl you, Dad,” I promised. “If anything peculiar happens, I’ll make sure to let you know.”

“Good. Thanks, David.” He ruffled my hair and headed for the door.

“’Night, Dad.”

“Goodnight.”

I extinguished my lamp and slid back under the covers.

Gilderoy Lockhart. A professor. And Dad was suspicious of him.

Dad was usually spot-on with these sort of things.

I resolved to watch Lockhart extra-close in the coming school year.

******************************************************

AUTHOR\'S NOTE: The next part will begin at the start of Year Two, as David gets to Platform 9.75. I have some good stuff in mind for Lockhart\'s character to get up to, since Rowling really didn\'t spend a lot of time on what he actually DID teach other than just saying he regaled them with his exploits. Just wait until David gets his study group set against him. Also, since David is technically a half-blood, there\'s bound to be some good stuff coming up when the Basilisk comes \'round. In fact, I think I know HOW Hermione found out it was a basilisk. *chuckle* And there will be a tiny bit of sex in year two. Just be patient. Review, offer thoughts and suggestions, and hang out. When I get done with Year Two, y\'all will be the first to know.

A/N UPDATE: 3/30/05
Thanks to my beta, Divine Angel (her author page: http://adultfan.nexcess.net/aff/authors.php?no=1296766422), for her insight and input into making this a better story.

A response to reviewer \"rubberduck\" -- I realize you\'re right about the \"Decree Against Underage Wizardry\" point that you brought up in your review. I tried to explain that away with the fact that it was Christmas. Also, it may be that because Harry lives among muggles, he\'s held to a higher standard. I mean, think of all the things Fred and George were probably getting up to at home. I\'ll keep a look out for that in future, though. As for your other point, I will address that in a later chapter, when I make the edits to make it make sense.