Madrigal

When I left the castle that morning, I had intended on returning to Hogwarts immediately after my little lesson. For some reason, though, I felt compelled to remain.  I guess I could use some clover flowers after all. Maybe I’ll need them if there’s an outbreak of influenza this winter and Madam Pomfrey runs out of decongestant potion, I convinced myself. The peaceful meadow I’d brought us to was miles away from the nearest village, and the air was suffused with morning birdsong. The autumn grasses had all gone to seed and their fronds waved majestically in the healthy breeze. The wind caught Miss Granger’s voluminous hair, and in the sun it made a golden halo around her delicate form. I caught myself staring at her profile more than once.

I hadn’t packed a lunch, but the ever-so-thoughtful Miss Granger had brought more than enough for both of us. We sat upon a knoll overlooking a small lake we’d found- honestly it was more of a pond- but she was so excited. “This is the perfect spot for a picnic! I can’t even remember the last time I did something like this! I think I must have been a really, really small child. My parents are dentists so they’re not exactly the outdoorsy types, if you know what I mean?” She suddenly looked embarrassed and stared down at her turkey sandwich.

“I’ve never been on a so-called ‘picnic’ at all. My parents weren’t exactly the parenting type,” I admitted before I even knew what I was doing. I’d never in my life spoken about my parents to a student! I immediately overcompensated, “So count yourself lucky, little girl. Soft children like you always refuse to see your privilege. You may get called a mudblood,” I spat, “but the kids calling you that have probably never been hugged in their entire lives.”

“Wow, I never thought of it that way. I guess you would have to be pretty miserable to treat someone the way Draco does. His parents are a nightmare. I’d probably be angry all the time too if I had a dad like that. Do you get a lot of kids in Slytherin who are victims of child abuse?”

“Yes,” I replied, for Merlin-knows-what reason.

“Gods, that must be so hard for you,” she whispered shakily. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears of empathy. “Slytherin ends up with the outcasts and the beaten-down. The ones who don’t quite fit. I never realized that before. Harry and Ron always paint everything as so black-and-white. They’re Slytherins, so they’re evil. We’re Gryffindors, so we’re good. But it’s not that simple…” she trailed off. She spoke no more, but had a thoughtful expression for the rest of our silent meal.

We apparated back to Hogwarts after our surprisingly pleasant lunch. I found myself walking slower and slower as we made our way up the long incline to the castle. She spoke suddenly, startling me out of my reverie, “Thank you again for today, Sir. I know you did it ‘cause you’re sick of me screwing stuff up, but I don’t care about the reason. I really think today is going to be a turning point for me. I’m going to try to trust myself from now on. I’ve been told my whole life how clever and brilliant and special I am, but part of me has never believed it. It’s like I have Imposter Syndrome. I’m constantly terrified that everyone will suddenly see that I’m actually a worthless idiot, and I’ve just been tricking everybody into thinking I’m this amazing talent…”

She stared straight at the ground as she delivered this monologue; I sensed she wouldn’t have had the nerve to get it out otherwise. She continued, “I always just go along with Harry and Ron. They get these crazy schemes in their heads, and I just keep my mouth shut and try to keep them from getting killed! I don’t even know why! I don’t know… this must just be a stupid girl thing.”

She seemed surprised when I replied, “It is, at least in part, as you so eloquently put it, a ‘girl thing’. This is a phenomenon I’ve observed repeatedly over my many years of teaching dunderheads such as yourself.” She looked up long enough to give me an expression of amused annoyance. “I’d say 8 out of 10 of my best potions students have been female, but not a one of them would’ve dreamed of calling themselves such. In general, women are more thoughtful and careful, which lends itself to better potioneering. Men tend towards the impatient, over-confident, scatter-brained side of the spectrum.”

“You know, that’s so true! I don’t know how many times I’ve been obsessing about getting back an exam score, and Harry just sat there smugly, totally unconcerned! And I always got a better score than him. Little bugger…” she mumbled grumpily, then caught herself. “Sorry, Professor.”

I snorted indecorously and waved off her apology, “I’ve called that boy much worse than a bugger.” Her laughter brought to mind the chiming of bells as it echoed joyfully across the sunlit grounds.