Sarah's Bad Days
Uncle Vernon had a very important dinner guest, and Sarah was to be on her best behavior.
“We need to do something about that hair,” muttered Aunt Petunia, standing behind Sarah in the bathroom. Sarah was wearing a new dress, a dress that fit. It was rented—like Uncle Vernon and Dudley’s dinner jackets—a confection of lace and bows in a pale yellow that made Sarah look washed out. Aunt Petunia raised a brush towards Sarah’s hair, and Sarah stared at her in the mirror.
“Plaits,” said Aunt Petunia, lowering the brush. She swallowed. “Your mother and I would plait each other's hair when we were little girls.”
Sarah kept staring at her. She had no idea how to plait hair. She never had other little girls to play with.
Aunt Petunia cleared her throat. “You need to look proper for the Masons. Would you please let me plait your hair?”
Sarah watched her for a moment longer, then nodded. Aunt Petunia hesitated with the brush, then gently parted Sarah’s hair down the middle.
“Remember,” said Aunt Petunia as she separated Sarah’s hair into strands. “You are attending a finishing school in Switzerland. St. Berlinda’s School for Incurably Shy Girls.”
Sarah sighed, which Aunt Petunia took for agreement. It was a good excuse, and it made the Dursleys look better. Spending a fortune to send their orphaned niece to an elite school, to turn her into a proper young lady.
When Aunt Petunia was finished, Sarah pulled the two plaits over her shoulders. She didn’t like how exposed her face was, but she imagined her hair falling into a boiling cauldron and liked that less. She could also whack Piers Polkiss with a plait if he tried to grab her hair.
Sarah contemplated this change in her appearance as she used the toilet. When she pulled down her pants, her mind went blank.
Blood.
Sarah closed her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart. She knew what this was. That it happened to be her twelfth birthday, that it happened to be the night of a very important dinner, was simply bad luck.
This was an emergency situation.
She did what she could, then walked to the bathroom door. She needed help.
“Aunt Petunia,” she called out, wincing as something crashed to the kitchen floor. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Aunt Petunia appeared in a tizzy, her salmon-pink cocktail dress close to splitting along its seams.
“What is it?” hissed Aunt Petunia, stalking towards her.
“My period.”
Aunt Petunia drew up short, then glared at her.
“Tonight of all nights,” she snarled. “Move aside. I cannot believe this is happening. Why would you do this to me…”
Sarah crammed herself between the sink and the wall as Aunt Petunia opened a cabinet Sarah had never used and thrust a box at her.
“Clean yourself up,” snapped Aunt Petunia, giving Sarah a look of utter disgust. “The Masons will be here any minute!”
Sarah nodded, then Aunt Petunia left the bathroom. She looked at the box in her hands, turning it over to read the instructions. Frowning, Sarah went to her bedroom to get changed. She had a sick feeling in her stomach. It wasn’t her fault this was happening, it was just something that happened. She had no control over it. The way Aunt Petunia looked at her made her feel dirty.
She shut the door to her bedroom. Sarah had to deal with this as quickly as possible. She grimaced at a pang somewhere below her stomach, and a gross, slimy feeling that convinced her something was wrong. She squeezed her eyes shut. It was the first time, it was bound to be weird.
Sarah opened her eyes again, began walking towards her dresser, then froze.
A house-elf was standing on her bed.
“Sarah Potter!” squeaked the house-elf.
Her wand was immediately in her hand, and she pointed it at the house-elf. The house-elf’s mouth snapped shut.
Sarah edged around her room, her eyes and wand never leaving the house-elf. The house-elf watched her too, trembling, his big green eyes watering.
She reached her desk, then felt around to write a note. Get out. She thrust it at the house-elf, who took it reverently. He started crying. Sarah grabbed a clean pair of pants and left the room without waiting for a reply. She could hear a car pulling up in front of the house. She didn’t have time for house-elves. If he tried anything, Hedwig would take care of it.
Sarah kept as still as possible, trying to remember all the manners Aunt Petunia had been going on about. She liked the excuse they had come up with, as she wasn’t expected to speak at all. She just had to sit there in her frilly dress and eat, smiling occasionally, looking down when addressed. The Dursleys had been better with giving her more food lately, and Sarah tried to eat her fill, but something about pork made her nauseous.
It was hard to concentrate on what was going on around her. Her period starting, the house-elf in her room, her birthday. Had someone sent the house-elf to harass her on her birthday? She needed to get to the bottom of it. That a house-elf could just show up in her room was scary. Quirrell had taken her from her bed, and no one had even noticed. It was only because Sarah’s mother had died and made Voldemort allergic to her or something that Sarah was able to get away.
The pudding Aunt Petunia had labored over, a mound of cream and sugared violets that Sarah was fascinated by, was a good distraction. It was the prettiest pudding Sarah had ever seen. The best part was, because Mr. and Mrs. Mason were there, Sarah would get to have a piece. Both her and Dudley watched avidly as Aunt Petunia carried her masterpiece in. Sarah sagged in relief when the pudding made it safely to the table.
Sarah took a slice as Uncle Vernon encouraged Mr. Mason to tell some story about American plumbers. Sarah had no idea what that had to do with drills, but she was too busy with the pudding to care.
When Aunt Petunia escorted Mr. and Mrs. Mason into what she called the lounge—the television room—for coffee, Sarah and Dudley were set free. Sarah smiled toothily at Dudley, who turned red and ran up the stairs as fast as he could, all but slamming his bedroom door shut. After a moment, his personal television blared to life. The door to the lounge shut, trapping the adults inside.
Sarah walked more sedately up the stairs and went directly to the bathroom. She felt like she had been sitting in a puddle of blood, and it had preyed on her mind throughout dinner. She almost forgot a house-elf had been in her room.
To her dismay, the house-elf was still in her room, and still standing on her bed. Sarah took her wand out again, and frowned when the house-elf slid off her bed and bowed. She knew he couldn’t be a Hogwarts house-elf as they would never act like that around her. She was more upset that the house-elf had been standing on her bed. She had no idea where his feet had been, and based on the stained pillowcase he wore he wasn’t from a nice family.
“It is such an honor to meet you!” said the house-elf, far too loudly, especially when she had asked him to leave.
Sarah clenched her teeth. Hedwig hissed at the house-elf, clearly unhappy with him too. Hedwig had been sleeping, and now there was a noisy intruder in their room. Sarah marched to her desk and grabbed a quill. She waved the house-elf over, rolling her eyes at his pouting and droopy ears.
Stop being so loud. Why are you here?
“That’s right,” said the house-elf in a loud whisper. “Sarah Potter cannot speak!”
Sarah underlined her words.
“Oh, yes, miss,” said the house-elf and a slightly lower volume. Sarah kept a hand on her wand. “Dobby has come to tell you, miss…”
Sarah’s eye twitched, and she picked up her quill again. Write it down.
She passed the quill and parchment to the house-elf, Dobby, and kept her want trained on him. Thankfully, he was literate, and after some more waffling he began to write. Doddy did try to stab himself in the eye with her quill at one point, and Sarah grabbed his wrist to stop him. She had never seen a Hogwarts house-elf act like that, and it frightened her.
When Dobby was finished writing, and a quietly sobbing mess on the floor who was punching himself in the head, Sarah took back the parchment and read it over.
Sarah Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!
Sarah felt like punching herself in the head. Given how long it had taken Dobby to compose this, she felt there should have been some explanation. But, more pertinently, she wanted Dobby to go away. She was tired, her guts hurt, and she wanted to lie down.
Alright, she wrote, I won’t go back to Hogwarts.
Sarah put the issue of Dobby the house-elf aside. After more groveling, crying, and an attempt to kill himself with a lamp, Dobby had finally left. She would have agreed to anything, but thankfully a promise to not return to Hogwarts had been enough to satisfy the strange house-elf.
The next day, Sarah sent Hedwig to Flourish and Blotts with a request for books on house-elves, and more importantly preventing them from popping up in her room.
She was alone in the house, the Dursleys having gone out to celebrate Uncle Vernon selling drills or something. She had another piece of pudding, and snuck more into her room for later. She spent some time undoing the plaits Aunt Petunia had made, then trying to do them up again. It was a neat solution to her messy hair problem, and Sarah wondered why Aunt Petunia hadn’t tried it years earlier. Maybe she hated touching Sarah as much as Sarah loathed being touched. Of course, that had never been an issue when Aunt Petunia was slapping her around.
Aunt Petunia would never slap her again. Not with Dudley’s life on the line.
Hedwig returned late in the afternoon with several packages. Sarah was surprised to see how laden she was, and was glad the Dursleys had yet to return. Even with the threat of magic hanging over them if they touched her again, it didn’t stop Uncle Vernon from yelling. All the Dursleys had developed a phobia towards owls. Sarah considered it a good thing; they should be afraid of Hedwig.
Hedwig landed heavily on Sarah’s bed, and Sarah quickly untied the packages from her legs. Sarah gave her a piece of bacon she had been saving since breakfast, and Hedwig chirped happily. She carried Hedwig to her perch, then turned to investigate whatever it was Hedwig had bought.
The heaviest package was from Flourish and Blotts. Sarah raised her eyebrows when she saw all of the books were about Ancient Runes. She knew that was a course for third-years and above. She glanced at Hedwig, but even an intelligent owl could only grasp so many human concepts. She had taken a request for books to help protect against house-elf home invaders, and apparently the people at the bookshop thought runes would be useful.
Sarah sat cross legged on her bed and looked over the books. Ancient Runes Made Easy, Spellman’s Syllabary, Magical Home Defense, Everyday Enchantments, Armorings of the Ancients, The Lexicon of Lost Logograms, and several other runic dictionaries. It was an overwhelming collection, and Sarah didn’t know where to start. It did give her the impression that guarding against house-elves required a special sort of magic, something that the other defensive magic she knew wasn’t capable of. She knew house-elves didn’t need wands, and they could apparate inside of Hogwarts even though witches and wizards couldn’t.
It bothered her that there were no books on house-elves.
Sarah carried the books to her shelf, once again grateful that Professor McGonagall had vanished all of Dudley’s old things and fixed up the furniture. It gave her plenty of space to put her belongings. Uncle Vernon had tried to lock her trunk in her old cupboard, but when Sarah’s wand made an appearance he was quick to change his mind. If she was very lucky, the Dursleys would extend their drill celebration to an entire holiday and leave her alone in the house. She would not put up with Mrs. Figg again.
Sarah returned to her bed to open the other packages. One was from a stationery store, one from an apothecary, and the other had a name in runes of some sort. Sarah grumbled, but got up and found one of the new books with similar looking letters. She settled back on her bed, frowning over there being fewer runes than English letters. They didn’t quite match up. Since Hedwig had delivered it, she knew the package was safe, but she did want to know who or what it was from.
After beating her head against the problem for a while, and covering a foot of parchment in notes, Sarah worked out that the name meant something like enchantment supplies. Or maybe tools. It wasn’t quite correct, since she learned the letters were letters in the sense they made certain sounds together, but they also had individual meanings. Lots of them.
Hedwig flew over to peck at the packages, just to reassure Sarah. She stroked Hedwig’s back, then opened the packages.
Sarah goggled at what she had apparently sent Hedwig to purchase. Sticks of chalk, a slate, bags of black, white, and grey salt, candles, bundles of herbs, vials of water that shone like captured moonlight, and, most unsettling of all, a silver knife with a black handle.
She picked up the knife, which vibrated strangely in her hand. She could feel carvings on the handle, which she suspected was made out of bone since that seemed like the most magical explanation. She had a pile of things that made her feel more like a witch than ever, like she was going to sacrifice something then dance around under the full moon.
Sarah spent the rest of her day examining this odd assortment of goods, and paging through her new books to divine the purpose of what her owl had brought her.
It was becoming a summer of good fortune for Sarah. Uncle Vernon was so thrilled about selling more drills that he packed up Aunt Petunia and Dudley to go shopping for vacation homes in Majorca, in person.
As soon as Mrs. Figg was out of Aunt Petunia’s mouth, Sarah whipped out her wand.
“There’s no need for that,” said Aunt Petunia, her mouth twitching into a sickly smile. “It was only a suggestion. We’ll go shopping for enough food to keep you.”
“Listen here, girl,” began Uncle Vernon.
Sarah turned to look at him.
“I don’t want any funny business while we’re gone,” he said, a vein throbbing in his temple. “That means no going out of the house, no talking—”
Sarah raised an eyebrow.
Uncle Vernon cleared his throat. “If anything happens, you’re to ring Marge. Is that understood? She’s got caller ID.”
Sarah nodded.
“Keep the doors locked,” said Aunt Petunia. “Don’t let anyone in.” She frowned, then looked at Uncle Vernon. “She’s only twelve, Vernon. I’m not sure—”
“We will be back in time to take you and Dudley to school,” said Uncle Vernon. “I expect you to be ready to leave. Are we clear?”
Sarah nodded again, then held out her wand to show Aunt Petunia. She flinched.
“Yes, you may use that if you have to,” said Aunt Petunia tightly. “I dare say it’s better than Mrs. Figg can muster, if you’re anything like my sister.” She sniffed. “Go get your coat. There’s a sale on and I don’t want to miss it!”
The morning the Dursleys left for their holiday, leaving Sarah home alone for nearly three glorious weeks, Sarah received a school owl. She was in the kitchen eating muesli. She liked it better than porridge and cornflakes, and is was something she very rarely had. She had never had a peaceful meal at Privet Drive before, with no television on or Dudley kicking her chair, or Uncle Vernon complaining, or Aunt Petunia only letting her have a piece of plain toast before she had to do all of the chores. Aunt Petunia had even got whole milk instead of skimmed.
Sarah had not made bacon, for the first morning in recorded history, but she did get a piece of raw bacon for the school owl to hork down. She had seen Hedwig swallow enough mice whole to not be put off her own food.
The letter didn’t say much, only the date and time the Hogwarts Express was leaving. Sarah was most interested in the shopping list. She needed new robes and such, which she could owl order after taking her own measurements. She needed more potions ingredients, also something she could owl order. There was nothing really new on her shopping list, save the booklist.
Sarah held up the list, and began to grow annoyed. Other than The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2, which she already had as she had bought the entire set, every single book was by Gilderoy Lockhart.
She took off her glasses and cleaned the lenses. Sadly, putting them back on did nothing to change reality. Whoever was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts that year was an idiot.
The Dursleys returned a day early, fueled by their anxiety at leaving Sarah alone for too long, and wanting to send her back to Hogwarts without delay. Sarah was abolished to her room that evening and told to pack up, which she mostly already was. Taking out all of her things made it feel like she was planning to stay at Privet Drive, which she was not.
She had taught herself loads of things during the Dursleys holiday, which she also considered a holiday for herself. She finally worked out how to plait her own hair, she learned runic magic was extremely dangerous, and Hedwig had carried off several of Mrs. Figg’s cats who had tried to sneak into the house.
It confused Sarah that so many people used ancient runes, like Elder Futhark, only for reading and writing. True, runes were used to write different languages that almost no one spoke anymore, like the Latin alphabet was, but the incantations for spells were also languages. Languages which spoke magic into reality. Sarah had never put much stock in the spoken word, so it made sense to her that written words were more powerful.
The trouble was, from her forays into the study of Ancient Runes, it wasn’t as simplistic as memorizing an incantation and wand movements, and practicing over and over again until you got it right. Runes could be inscribed on almost anything, with almost anything. Ink, water, salt, blood. Carved into wood, stone, metal, dirt. Forged from pure magic.
Sarah felt she was getting in over her head, but perhaps that was the only way she could protect herself. She had struggled to sleep in her room, and had taken to wrapping herself in her invisibility cloak and laying on top of the blankets, pretending she wasn’t there. It was scary, knowing that a house-elf could show up at any time, that she wasn’t allowed to do magic outside of school, and even if she was that there was nothing she could do to stop him.
Not yet, at least.
Sarah pushed her trunk down the stairs, smiling as it hit every step. Uncle Vernon wanted to leave before dawn, which was fine by Sarah. She just wanted to make sure everyone was awake. She bounced down the stairs after her trunk, then dragged it through the front door and to the car. She was glad to see there weren’t any cats around. Sarah liked cats well enough, but since Hedwig kept carrying them away, Sarah suspected the cats were secretly spies. Professor McGonagall could turn into a cat, after all, and remembering that resulted in a new fear for Sarah. Witches and wizards could turn into animals.
She looked up at Number Four, imagining a dragon exploding out from it. It was a muggle house. It offered no real protection. A locked door wouldn’t keep a first-year out
Soon enough, Uncle Vernon was hurrying out in his pajamas and dressing gown, looking positively livid. He said nothing, though, only threw Sarah’s trunk in the boot, gestured angrily for her to get in, and sped all the way to London.
Uncle Vernon left almost as soon as they arrived at the station, staying only long enough to hurl Sarah’s trunk at a trolley, then speeding off to have breakfast with his precious Dudders before he was shipped off to Smeltings. Sarah’s dream of Dudley encountering a bigger bully had not come true, but she did have a magical stick that made his Smeltings stick look like a toothpick.
Dudley was scared of her.
Sarah happily pushed her trolley through the barrier between platforms nine and ten, glad to be rid of the Dursleys for the rest of the year. Hedwig was already on her way to Hogwarts, and now that the holiday was officially over Sarah could do magic. She had been wary of doing anything at the Dursleys, even practicing potions and runes. She knew what the Trace was, but not how it worked. It was strange, as she had spent the month before first year doing all sorts of magic in her bedroom, but hadn’t got into trouble.
So early in the morning, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was empty, and the Hogwarts Express stood silent and cold. Sarah went to a compartment at the end of the train, shoved her trunk against the door, and took out her wand. Smiling to herself, she pointed her wand at the door and cast the first locking charm she had learned.
Colloportus!
Students pushed past Sarah as she openly stared at the skeletal winged horses attached to the carriages.
Sarah had never seen such a creature, and was mystified how no one else noticed they were there. She closed her mouth and decided it was best to pretend she couldn’t see them. They didn’t seem hostile, and were patiently standing around as the carriages filled. Sarah clambered into an empty one and locked the door. One of the horses turned to look at her with a blank white eye. The creature was skin and bones, with large, leathery wings, and two big claws instead of hooves. It had a mouth like a dog’s; it went too far back, with jagged teeth and a long black tongue.
Sarah swallowed, then scooted away from the window.
When the carriage stopped near the stone steps leading to the great oak doors, Sarah cautiously climbed out. The skeletal horses were as serene as when she first got in, making no moves to attack, their wings furled tightly against their sides. She took out her wand and slowly approached. Were the horses merely an illusion, or were they real creatures?
As she neared its head, the horse closest to her turned to watch. Sarah froze, but the horse only opened its mouth slightly and sniffed, then looked away again. She reached out to touch its neck, and was startled to find it was warm and solid. The horse turned its head again and snuffled Sarah’s head. She smiled despite herself.
“Sarah, what are you doing?”
She turned around to see Hannah and Susan getting out of a carriage with Ernie and Justin. Sarah looked back at the horse, then at Hannah. Realizing that she could see these creatures, and others definitely could not, Sarah understood it would look like she was petting the air.
Sarah put her wand back into her robes and walked to the castle. She knew Hannah and the rest were nice, but Sarah really didn’t want any more rumors circulating about her, not before classes had even started. She wanted to settle the horse issue right away, and she was glad to see Professor Sprout at the head table already. She hurried between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables, studiously ignoring the stares and whispers that followed her, and reached into her robes for a scrap of parchment and a quill. She wrote skeleton horses and blew on the ink until it dried. She spotted Hagrid sitting at the end of the head table, drinking deeply from a goblet. She was glad he hadn’t shouted her name out. If he tried anything, Sarah was going to report him to the aurors for dragon breeding.
“Potter, did something happen already?” asked Professor Sprout as she neared.
Sarah passed the slip of parchment to her, and Professor Sprout’s eyebrows shot up.
“Those are thestrals, dear,” she said, passing the parchment back. She smiled sadly. “I can see them too. Thestrals are only visible to those who have witnessed death.”
Sarah didn’t know how to respond to that. She had witnessed death. She had helped cause death, too. Frowning thoughtfully, Sarah started to turn away to join the other Hufflepuffs for the Sorting Ceremony.
“My goodness, is that Sarah Potter?”
Sarah got an impression of aquamarine robes and blindingly white teeth. She glanced at Professor Sprout, whose face had gone astonishingly blank. Sarah took out her quill again and wrote, Can I drop Defense?
Professor Sprout chuckled, then shooed her away. Sarah scowled, stuffing her parchment and quill in a pocket. As she didn’t want to permanently damage her eyes, she refused to look directly at who she horribly suspected was Gilderoy Lockhart.
Of course, when she sat with the other second-years, that was exactly who they were all talking about.
Sarah laid her head on the table, hiding her face in her arms.
“What do you think of him, Sarah?” asked Hannah. Sarah looked up and saw her smiling brightly. “I bet you’ll go to class this year!”
Sarah put her face down again, and only sat up once the sorting began. She even clapped.
Perhaps she had been born under an unlucky star. It was the only explanation for why the Hufflepuffs had Herbology with the Gryffindors instead of the Ravenclaws. And a double lesson first thing.
It got worse when Sarah spotted Gilderoy Lockhart trailing after Professor Sprout, talking about mandrake crèches of all things.
Sarah stayed near the back of the Hufflepuffs, who were already insulating her from the Gryffindors, specifically the red-haired boy who kept looking at her. She tried to follow everyone into greenhouse three, but Lockhart grabbed her arm.
“Sarah! I’ve been wanting—”
Sarah fell back to her first line of defense, screaming as loud as she could. For some awful reason, Lockhart’s grip tightened. He smiled at her. Sarah wrenched her arm, trying to get him off of her.
Professor Sprout burst out of the greenhouse, looking fierce as a badger.
“Unhand her this instant!”
Lockhart finally released Sarah’s arm and stumbled away. Sarah managed to get her wand out and pointed it at him, breathing heavily.
“Potter, join your classmates,” said Professor Sprout firmly. “Gilderoy, I suggest you return to the castle. I will be speaking with the headmaster about this!”
Sarah backed into the greenhouse, relaxing when Professor Sprout shut the door. She lowered her wand, then put it back in her robes. She already knew what she would see before she turned around. Every single person crowded around the door, staring at her. A moment passed, and they began to ask questions. Everyone, all at once.
The door flew open again.
“What are you all doing?” demanded Professor Sprout. “To the table, grab a pair of earmuffs. Well? Hurry up! These mandrakes aren’t going to repot themselves!”
Sarah’s eyes went wide when the fuzzy pink earmuffs went over her ears. It cut off all sound. She looked at Professor Sprout, who nodded at her, then began asking the class what they knew about mandrakes.
As Sarah pulled her mandrake seedling out—a crying, green, babyish thing—she found herself jealous that their cries were fatal. Even the seedlings could knock someone out.
Sarah had reluctantly considered going to their first Defense class later that week, but Lockhart grabbing her had made up her mind. She wouldn’t go even if her life depended on it.
After washing off the dragon dung and mandrake effluvia, Sarah decided to visit the kitchens for lunch.
Several house-elves immediately hurried up to her, smiling, bowing, curtseying, generally being house-elves.
Sarah held out a piece of paper to them.
“Do we know Dobby?” one asked. She nodded eagerly. “Dobby is the Malfoy house-elf!”
Sarah blinked at her, then her expression hardened. Malfoy. It had been Draco Malfoy who was sending weird house-elves to bother her, and to tell her not to return to school. Sarah quickly wrote something else down and held it out.
“Yes!” the house-elf said happily. “Bippo will let everyone know!”
Sarah nodded, then smiled as a bowl of stew was placed in front of her. The Hogwarts house-elves would keep an eye out for Dobby. It made sense to Sarah that the best defense against a house-elf would be another house-elf.
When she was finished eating, and feeling much more confident that Draco Malfoy wouldn’t use his house-elf to bother her while at school, Sarah slunk out of the castle to her favorite isolated courtyard. She took out her book on beginner runes. She had spent most of the past month practicing drawing the runes, Elder Futhark as they were the most common and what was taught at Hogwarts, memorizing the different meanings, and even saying them aloud so she knew what they sounded like in her head.
Sarah’s favorite rune was sowilo because it looked like a lightning bolt and its biggest meaning was sun. It also made an s sound, which was the first letter of her name. There were about a dozen different ways to draw it, and different poems for each rune about what they meant. The one in her book was in Old English, and sowilo was actually sigel in that case, but the book provided a modern English translation.
The sun is ever a joy in the hopes of seafarers, Sarah read, smiling to herself.
A click, followed by a bright flash, dazzled Sarah. She looked up from her book, and saw a mousy-haired boy blushing at her. He was holding a camera. He had just taken a picture of Sarah.
“Hi,” said the boy, taking a step towards Sarah. “You’re Sarah Potter. I know all about you…”
Sarah closed her book. First Gilderoy Lockhart. Now a boy taking pictures of her.
She moved without thinking, marching towards the boy and snatching the camera out of his hands. She was sick of people always looking, always talking, staring, whispering, on and on, and she couldn’t even read a book without some weird boy sneaking up on her to take pictures!
The boy stumbled back. “I’m sorry, I—”
Sarah threw his camera to the ground and crushed it under her foot. The boy gave a strangled cry, and actually did start crying. Sarah did not care. It was his fault for taking pictures without even asking. She whirled away, grabbed her book, and stormed back to her dormitory.
She had double Potions for her next class. It was a miserable day.
“Potter, stay after class.”
Sarah ignored Professor Snape and continued packing up her cauldron. She liked potions since it was easy and fun to see what happened when she mixed things together, but she hated Snape. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, and she had found a spell to explode eyeballs specifically to deal with that issue. He would be fine. Madam Pomfrey could grow him new ones.
Sarah attempted to leave with everyone else, the other Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws, but the door slammed shut. She spun around and glared at Snape.
“Mr. Malfoy told me something very interesting,” Snape said, walking slowly towards her. Sarah grabbed the door knob and pulled. It sprang open, and just as quickly shut again. She reached into her robes. She didn’t want to be alone with Snape.
“Destroying the property of other students?” Snape said, still advancing. Sarah pointed her wand at him, but it was ripped out of her hand and flew through the air. Snape caught it easily. “Attacking teachers? Not even your father was so arrogant. I believed you were very much like him, Potter, and now it seems you are very much worse.”
Sarah grabbed the door knob with both of her hands, put her foot on the frame, and pulled with all of her might. The door popped open and she flew back, sprawling on the floor at Snape’s feet. She scrambled away. He had taken her wand. He had taken her wand and she wanted it back.
Snape hissed as Sarah’s wand was torn from his hand. It hit her right in the chest, but Sarah caught it. It was hers. Snape had no right to touch her wand.
“Detention!” Snape barked. “And fifty points from Gry— Hufflepuff!”
Sarah cared about neither detentions nor house points. She was already sprinting headfirst through the dungeons. It didn’t matter what Professor Sprout said or promised or anything. She was never going back to Potions.
“Potter?”
Sarah huddled in her bed. It was dinner, and she was hungry, but not hungry enough to leave her dormitory.
Professor Sprout sighed. “Sarah, it’s hard to have a conversation through bed curtains.”
Sarah scowled, and Hedwig shuffled closer to her.
“Very well,” said Professor Sprout. “I’ve spoken with Lockhart and the headmaster about what happened before Herbology. I’ve spoken with Mr. Creevy and Professor McGonagall about what happened with the camera. And I’ve spoken with Professor Snape about what happened after your Potions class today. As it is, I could let the detention and loss of points stand. However, I would like to hear your side of these stories.”
Sarah thrust a scroll of parchment through her bed curtains. Professor Sprout sighed again, but she took the scroll. Sarah heard her sit down on one of the comfy armchairs in the dormitory.
“Let’s see,” said Professor Sprout. “A house-elf named Dobby broke into your room. You’ve already spoken to the school house-elves, who claim Dobby is bound to the…Malfoy family. Mr. Creevey is a first-year Gryffindor, and a muggleborn. He was very excited to take pictures to send home to his parents and little brother. But, I see here he took a picture of you without asking first. We were able to repair his camera, so no harm done. I’ll speak with Minerva about monitoring the boy’s behavior. Hopefully he will avoid taking pictures of you. As for Professor Snape…”
Professor Sprout was silent for a long time.
“I’ll speak with the headmaster about this too,” she finally said. “Consider the detention revoked, and the points restored. I doubt you would have gone to the detention, but it will make your housemates feel better. Quite a few were upset to see fifty points lost on the first day!”
Hedwig screeched unhappily.
Professor Sprout chuckled, then Sarah heard her stand up.
“Make sure she eats something,” said Professor Sprout. Hedwig swiveled her head to stare at Sarah. “The house-elves sent dinner over, so you may eat in the dormitory. You don’t want to go to bed on an empty stomach, particularly not after such a hard day.”
Sarah waited until Professor Sprout’s footsteps faded away to open up her curtains. There was roast beef, and roast potatoes, and pumpkin juice, and other things Sarah liked on her bedside table, even a treacle tart. On a smaller plate were several dead mice for Hedwig, who had abandoned hunting to seek Sarah out.
Sarah sniffed, then pulled the table closer to herself. Professor Sprout was right. She wasn’t going to go hungry over people like Lockhart and Snape and weird boys.
Hogwarts was supposed to be better than Privet Drive, and somehow it managed to be worse.