Second Verse, Same as the First
She didn't forget.
But she did miss the brief flash of alarm on Mother's face when she had mentioned the name 'Niobe'. She hadn't been looking at father, but she did note the somewhat pained look on his face when she did turn to look at him as he spoke. This 'Niobe' was apparently Mother's sister, and one who had been put on trial by the Scandinavian Ministry for her crimes against Muggles around the time of the time of the Dark Lord's war.
She could understand Mothers reluctance to speak about her sister, in hindsight. But even her thirst to learn more about the unknown part of her family was quenched by the pain it visibly brought the otherwise unflappable Mother. A guilt trip wasn't what she had expected going into the conversation, but it was what she had gotten - and it turned her attention away from the topic for the remainder of the Holidays.
It had only taken her a total of three hours to ruin the summer break.
In hindsight, it was rather stupid of her to take the information at face value, all things considered, but it was only after she had sat back down in the same compartment that she had been in some three or so months earlier, that the inconsistencies came to light. The biggest one was obvious.
Why did the Sorting Hat know who Niobe was?
That bit just didn't sit right with her. Her memory of the conversation during her Hat Stall was unjustifiably vague and unreliable, but she did remember yet another inconsistency - the Hat had said she was like her parents. Whilst Mother had never attended Hogwarts, it could be posited that she had been acquainted with the Hat at some point.
Perhaps the hat knew Niobe from when Mother had visited. After all, Dumbledore was head of the ICW, Mother could have tried to get him to intervene in the trial to save Niobe. Or condemn her, either way.
After all - Mother may have been a traditional and stoic pureblood, but she was still a pureblood, and family came first. Be that saving family members, or ensuring the collective security of the family. And besides, she didn't hate Muggles, simply rejected their way of life as incompatible with Wizarding Society.
She wasn't Lucius Malfoy.
Or that Gods forsaken son of his.
Somehow, by some mercy, she had avoided Draco Malfoy for an entire year, at least, in person. She had heard the second-hand accounts - Harry grumbling to her about some confrontation in the Hallways, or Daphne silently seething as she spoke in strained tones about Malfoy's love of slurs. The way Daphne's eyebrows had twitched each time she brought up a new happening told Steph a lot, the blonde girl clearly expressing much of her emotion through subtle expressions. Had it been Tracey giving the commentary, there would have been a lot more swearing.
Which Steph knew, because Tracey had given commentary between Daphne's breaths.
And good Gods could that girl curse.
It was, however, strangely.. Endearing. Almost tempting - naughty. Tracey had said it made her feel more mature than she really was, and Steph had to agree with her on that.
A confused blink broke her from her thoughts, and she swept her eyes across the compartment she sat in, and at the sight of her friends all cheerfully conversing with each other. Daphne and Harry were sat across from her, sitting just a little closer than they had the year before - and she made a mental note to talk to Harry about that. Friendly as she may have been with the "Ice Queen of Slytherin", Daphne Greengrass still kinda scared her, and Steph snooping in her private matters would probably have been unwanted.
To her left sat Neville, the once somewhat pudgy boy seemingly having shed most of the remains of his baby fat, and creating a well-built young man - albeit he was still only twelve. In his lap sat a plant pot, in which a small plant was growing, although it seemed more like a creature, with how animated the tentacles were. They swirled through the air curiously, brushing around objects as if to understand its surroundings more clearly. In the centre sat a small pink bulb, but Steph had been dissuaded from commenting on it previously, as the bulb had made an action more akin to a yawn, and displayed a mouth full of small teeth.
Now, why Neville had a Venomous Tentacula was beyond her, but she didn't particularly want to ask, lest she be drawn into allowing it to get to know her better.
Tracey was to her right, leaning against the window frame as she animatedly recounted her adventures over the break to Daphne - from what it sounded like, Tracey had gone down to Spain, and spent the days going between both the Magical and Muggle sides of Barcelona. Steph tuned the rest out, and in doing so, missed how Daphne's expression shifted just a little as the other Slytherin recounted her story.
Instead, her gaze locked on the commotion outside the frosted glass windows, where there was clearly an argument of some sort going on, if the almost aggressive motions of the humanoid shapes outside the window were anything to go off of. Although the compartments were soundproofed, the commotion had clearly disturbed the others in the cabin, if Tracey's commentary slowing to an awkward halt was anything to go off of.
Steph didn't wait, however, and stepped between Harry and Neville's legs, going for the door of the compartment, and undoing the latch, sliding it open. What she was immediately bombarded with was the tail end of an argument, one that quickly dried up as she made her presence known.
"-What a pathetic excuse for a Wizard you are."
"At least my mother and father aren't practically brother and sister, Malfoy!"
Before the blonde Slytherin in question could respond, his eyes snapped to her own, and she forced herself to remain steady in the presence of a far less intimidating glare than one that Daphne could muster. Slowly, yet deliberately, she dragged her gaze to the boy standing to the right of the door, and was met with the rather unimpressive - and decidedly unwelcome sight of Ronald Weasley standing there, his tie poorly done up. She could even see that he had a smear of what looked like jam still on his face - something that she forced herself to not cringe at.
Say what you wanted about Malfoy's views (and she would probably agree with the remarks against him), but at least he was well kept.
"See, Weasley? You've disturbed a beautiful young lady with your brutish anger. It’s a wonder you come from the same family as three Prefects and a Head Boy. I suppose after five children, the brains start to run out."
Malfoy's retort seemed somewhat more clipped than the disdainful remark he had practically spat at the youngest Weasley boy, but he had put on a self-assured smile as he regarded her with what was probably meant to be charm - although to be truthful, it didn't work...
That much, at least.
He was almost certainly trying to manipulate the situation against Weasley, but in the moment that slipped past her. Draco may have been the target of much ire, and she knew him to be vile in his views and cruel in his mannerisms, but she was being flirted with by a handsome young man, and she was made abruptly aware that she didn't particularly care that much. The confidence behind it was.. Something else.
"Terribly sorry for the intrusion, Heiress Scamander. Please accept my sincerest apologies." Giving a bow of his head, Draco Malfoy turned to regard the increasingly crimson Weasley boy with a dismissive look. "I would say good day, Weasley, but that implies you might reciprocate the remark."
With that, Malfoy turned his back on the youngest Weasley boy and disappeared behind the two burly boys who had been standing behind him for the entire conversation. Steph had barely noticed they existed, so utterly unremarkable were they - they were clearly more than a bit pudgy for their size, but it was hardly baby fat. Instead of the well-mannered, yet clearly manipulative remarks of Malfoy, his henchmen only gave grunts as they eyed Ron warily before ambling after the Malfoy heir.
Weasley gave her a look that contained some of the clearly waning rage, and a bashful apology hidden beneath it. "Uhm - sorry about that. Do you mind if I-"
Susceptible to charm as she may have been, she was anything but stupid. Managing a half-flustered excuse, she ducked back within the compartment. "Sorry - private conversation."
With a slightly excessive slam, she shut the compartment door and flicked the lock shut, exhaling through her mouth, and resting her arm against the door frame, her head leaning upon it for a few seconds whilst she forced down the flush she had felt spread to her cheeks. Like it or not - she was a young woman, getting compliments definitely made her happy, and apparently flushed, even if was from someone like Malfoy.
Better than Weasley, she supposed.
"So - Is there a reason you're not sitting back down, Steph?" Daphne's tone was ever so slightly smug - no, that wasn't the word. Perhaps curious, with a hint of a smile in it. Steph, for her part, stiffened slightly, before stepping past Neville and Harry once again to sit down, trying to ignore the flush on her cheeks by staring out the window, only to find Tracey looking right back at her, with what amounted to stunned amusement on her face, her lips quirking terrifyingly quickly into a full-blown grin.
"No way - Malfoy! Of all people?"
Burying her face in her hands at Tracey's exclamation, Steph gave a groan of supreme mortification as Tracey practically cackled like a mad Witch. Her cheeks were flaming hot at the outburst, and she didn't think she had it in her to face the other four occupants of the cabin, instead just mumbling something that she hoped would placate their teasing. "S'notbcasmse..."
"What did you say?" Harry's voice was a little softer than she had expected, and when she peeked through her fingers, she saw a slight bit of concern behind his eyes, and a cautious smile on his lips. Her fingers came back together, and she sucked in a few breaths through her mouth, calming herself down as much as she could, to offer an actually intelligent response, as opposed to, well, whatever that brief moment of sheer mortification had been.
Clearing her throat, she lowered her hands, grateful that, at some point during her brief meltdown, Tracey's laughter had died, and been replaced by sheepish concern plastered over her face. "I said.. Well.. I don't like him, I just.. Well, never really been flirted with. I- I dunno.."
Daphne's ever so slightly smug smile slipped into a slightly strained frown. "Early bloomer, I suppose."
"I- what? Oh, you mean.." The flush was far easier to crush this time, especially with the implications that arose from it - puberty kicking in would mean several things, and none of them she was looking forwards to. Although, if it was what Daphne was suggesting, then it made her response all the more explainable. "I.. Suppose it could be."
"Uh.. What do you mean?" Neville's slightly sheepish question was answered by Daphne, even as Tracey put her arm around Steph's shoulder, pulling her into a sidelong hug. The gesture, whilst catching her off guard, most certainly was welcome, and Steph allowed a small smile to creep onto her face, even as Daphne's somewhat cold exterior towards her cracked, the blonde girl now directly defending the Scamander Heiress.
"Girl stuff. The sort of thing one does not discuss in polite company, nor male company."
If Steph wasn't feeling so thrown off her game, she might have laughed by how quickly Neville turned green. Tracey gave an amused hum.
"Well, if nothing, it’s better than Weasley. Barely."
------------
Gilderoy freaking Lockhart.
Honorary Member of the Dark Forces Defence League, Order of Merlin Third Class, Obsessive egomaniac. All of those summed up their newest defence teacher.
She had read his books.. All... All seven they had been assigned.
Stephanie Scamander resisted the urge to slam her face into her deck - Padma probably wouldn't have appreciated the noise, given she was trying to sleep on the upper bunk. The sleeping situation in Ravenclaw changed from year to year - with the first year involving gender segregated dormitories in order to promote friendship between year mates of the same gender.
From the second year onwards, however, students shared their rooms with one other student, and for this year at least, Padma was her roommate. The Indian witch had been polite and courteous, but also rather socially inept and, much like Steph, preferred to keep to herself. At the very least, she had taken the top bunk in their bay window bunkbeds, given that Steph would be staying up far later than her.
But honestly? Flipping back two pages and staring at the contents page of the book, Steph did something she honestly never thought she would. An act utterly sacrilegious as a Ravenclaw. With a huff, she flipped the book closed, and promptly swept it into the trash bin beside the desk, staring at it for a couple seconds, before groaning to herself and looking back down at the now empty desk.
He had zero fucking idea what he was on about.
Quirrell had been bad enough, stuttering his way through classes and making weird expressions, not to mention having a room that was almost guaranteed to give students a headache every time they sat down for a class. But at the very least, he had taught them the basics of their curriculum just fine. Just by reading the works she had been assigned, she could tell that there was a very real possibility that the most she would learn from this class was how to write fantasy novels.
As she hauled herself out of the chair for a late shower before she went to sleep, she mused a sarcastic thought.
I might even put galleons on a quiz about himself at this rate.
--------------------
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."
Cursing under her breath - the first time she had ever wielded such language, and she really did see the appeal of such language now - Stephanie Scamander looked down at the quiz on the parchment sitting atop her desk, and really debated the value of the parchment now. Was it worth more or less now that it was covered in utter garbage?
A shameful realisation came to her mind as she skimmed all the questions - she could answer most of these simply based off her once through reading of the fantasy series that he considered his autobiography. In a way, it was almost humiliating - at least in the privacy of her own mind.
A part of her wanted to just turn the parchment on her desk into ash - just to display her abject refusal to accept the utter bullshit that this class had become. Maybe Malfoy had a point about Hogwarts getting worse and worse over the years, if Dumbledore was willing to hire this.. This charlatan, this fraud to be the defence teacher. How self-centred was this man?
Lockhart should suffer for this. Should be exposed for what he is, driven from the fame he relished.
A blink broke her loathing - what the hell was that? It had been the same with the Acromantula last year - that whispering darkness..
Desperately trying to focus her mind on something else, the scratching of quills on parchment drew her gaze right, and she had to suppress a scowl at the sight of Granger furiously filling out the parchment with a dopey grin on her face. She had always been so fussy about being good at learning - consistently in the top three of her class, always reading and never socialising with the other Gryffindor girls (or so Padma said her sister had told her), being the teacher’s pet and being an insufferable know-it-all (and this was coming from a Ravenclaw). And here she was. Being duped like the Gryffindor she was.
"Ah - Ms Scamander! I notice you haven't started yet?"
He was standing next to her, and something about it just felt... Wrong. Like he was an overbearing authority figure trying to coerce her into acting how he wanted her to - oh wait. Pulling her lips into a strained smile, she feverishly searched for something to look at instead of him, and found Tracey's concerned gaze meeting her own. The response she gave was similarly devoid of humour.
"Sorry sir, it’s just... I don't know where to begin..."
-------------------------
"He's a fucking joke, right? I'm not the only one?"
Daphne Greengrass flinched at the expletive, and Steph couldn't help the slight grin that pulled on the corner of her mouth at the sight. They had made amends after the train, agreed to start anew as friends, but Steph had certainly pushed the patience of the other Heiress in their little group with her cursing - not that she particularly cared at this point. She was inflamed by the potential implications behind what Ravenclaw house had been theorising.
It was utterly unsurprising that the House of the Ravens had pegged Lockhart as a fraud within the first week of the school year starting - they were simply too diligent with their studies to not dissect everything the man had written, especially when it was critical to their passing the course. Or at least, normally would have been. The works of Lockhart were about as critical to DADA as a vacuum was to a Hogwarts Elf.
But the implications behind what had been written, the differences between the man himself, and the true hero that had been written in the books that he had published as his autobiography. The real issue lay in that. All these things he claimed to have done, they had all actually happened, but the man himself wasn't capable of banishing fucking Cornish Pixies. It had been Daphne and Steph who had managed to control the Pixies - with Daphne's quick Ebublio trapping the Pixies in bubbles, whilst Steph displayed her new favourite charm to re-contain them in the cage.
Sure, it may have been a fourth-year spell, but Accio was incredibly useful in general, especially so when dealing with creatures that would potentially strike if she compromised her stance.
Granger, by comparison, had been more concerned with getting Lockhart's wand back, after the Pixies stole it from his hands.
"Stephanie, please with the profanity.. Regardless, I must concur. Lockhart is a fraud." Daphne gave a sigh as she swung her feet from the boulder upon which she sat, absently gazing out at the Black Lake from their little spot on the shoreline. A series of pattering splashes heralded Tracey skipping yet another rock off the surface of the lake. The brunette girl had been practicing her transfiguration by finding the most obscure shapes and transforming them into decent skimming ones, to reasonable success.
"Most of Slytherin is certain of it. Dunno about the others - what about Hufflepuff, Harry, Nev?" Tracey gave a small pump of her fist, a hissed noise of success as she sent a rock skipping a good thirty metres into the lake before it struck the water at an off angle, enough to sink it below the surface. "Yes!"
"Can't say much about the 'Puffs. They're more.. Disappointed in the lack of proper education." Harry gave a sigh, before he plucked the freshly transfigured stone out of Tracey's hands before she could throw it, ignoring the indignant 'Hey!' and throwing it himself, only for it to splash into the surface of the water and sink almost immediately.
The brunette Slytherin gave a snort, giggling to herself at his failure, and in turn earning herself a very mature 'bleh', accompanied by the Boy-Who-Lived poking his tongue out at her. Softly chuckling at their antics, she swept her eyes to look back towards the castle, catching the eyes of Neville, who was stifling a laugh at his friends expense. Her lips pulled a little wider, something he returned, before she turned back to look at the castle proper. As if on cue, Steph spotted Penny, the now fifth year girl giving a slightly bashful smile, accompanied by a wave as she walked side-by-side with one of the Weasleys - the one with some sense of decorum.
As they walked further past her, Steph blinked - amending her thoughts. Not side-by-side, hand-in-hand. Clearly, they were dating.
Interesting.
Her thoughts drifted further - if she was a maturing girl, and an early bloomer at that, soon enough the elder families would begin scouting for matches for their sons. As a pureblood, she would be expected to engage in a courtship of some sort, although probably not a betrothal contract - there were purebloods, and there were Purebloods. She was the former, more informal and progressive - families like the Malfoy's were the latter, for whom the Pure was the operative phrase. Tradition, through and through.
.. Surely, though, she had a few years before that became an issue.. Right?
"-eph? Steph? Hey - blockhead." A knuckle rapped on the side of her head, and Steph gave a small yelp, swinging her head right to look at Tracey, and only just noticing the sudden absence of everyone else. A further glance right showed Daphne and Harry leading Neville up the hill, back towards the castle. "You gonna come with us? Lockhart's hosting that Duelling thing."
Lockhart was hosting a duelling event? This will be good.
"Why not." With a grin, she nodded towards the castle and took off after Harry and Daphne. "Race you."
"Wha- Hey!" Smothering giggles at the indignant cry from Tracey, Steph raced away, the Slytherin girl hot on her heels.
-----------------------
"Now! Professor Dumbledore has graciously allowed me to restart the Duelling Club, so that those of you seeking further instruction in self-defence can put in some extra work!" Say what you would about Gilderoy Lockhart, but the man had flamboyance in spades, and the charisma and charm to back it up. With a flourish, he swept his gloved hand towards the far end of the duelling piste. "Now - allow me to introduce my assistant, Professor Snape!"
Steph had to stifle a snort, as did the two Slytherin girls next to her as the dour Potions Master strode onto the piste, looking very unimpressed with being addressed as Lockhart's "assistant". If looks could kill, the curled lip and sneer of Snape would have filleted Lockhart on the spot. "Now, Professor Snape has quite obligingly agreed to be my partner in the demonstrations. Never fear, your Potions Master will be unharmed once I'm through with him!"
"I doubt that will be down to any effort of your own, Lockhart.." Daphne's mutterings drew a chuckle from their small group, and Steph idly shook her head as the two teachers saluted each other and strode away. Lockhart had that sort of casual swagger about him, whilst Snape was as stiff as a board - and even if she didn't know that Lockhart was a fraud, she could tell that Snape was by far the more capable and alert duellist.
"Ten sickles on Lockhart not even getting a spell off." Tracey leant in to whisper in Steph's ear, and the Scamander heiress playfully shoved the brunette away.
"Not a chance - I might as well just pay you up front if I took that."
The two men turned with a flourish, and before the Defence Professor had even half-turned, Snape practically snapped a one-eighty and dropped into a crouched lunge, his wand twitching just a little as barked the spell. "Expelliarmus!"
Lockhart didn't stand a snowballs chance in hell. The Professor gave a clearly surprised cry of alarm as he was catapulted off the piste and onto the stone floor, landing with a groan of pain as his wand went sailing through the air, landing amongst the mob of Gryffindor students. Snape was upright before the man even left the piste, and Steph had to swallow the sudden lump in her throat - their Potions Master was clearly a far more skilled warrior than anyone could possibly have known.
"Do you think he's ok?" Even across the room, Steph could still hear a girl's concerned whispering, only for it to be met by the clearly amused response of what could only be Ronald Weasley.
"Who cares?"
Steph almost gave a sigh of irritation, only to be interrupted by a hushed comment from her left.
"Who would have known Snape was so good at duelling?" Neville's whisper was met by a firm and utterly humourless hum from Daphne.
"That happens when you fight in a war."
"He fought in the war? I thought most of the fighters who survived got OM's?" Steph probably shouldn't have opened her mouth, and she watched in mounting realisation as Daphne's lips pressed together even further, forming a barely visible line. Her voice nary a whisper, Daphne Greengrass stared at the Potions Master as he slipped his wand away and cast a contemptuous gaze down at Lockhart, who was struggling to his feet.
"Not those who fought for Him."
Beside her, Tracey went still, swallowing visibly. Steph might have commented on it, had her gaze not been locked to the man's left forearm, where doubtless, the inky black tattoo remained. The Dark Mark never truly went away, or so Mother had told her.
Severus Snape was a Death Eater - and now he taught Potions at Hogwarts.
"Potter! You'll do." Steph practically jumped out of her skin, and so did the rest of their little group, judging by how both Neville and Tracey both started on either side of her. It very nearly devolved into a game of dominoes, at least until Daphne managed to catch Steph as she made an utter fool out of herself.
"Cheers." Whispered thanks under her breath, she watched as Harry and Malfoy lined up on either side of each other, wands in hand. In that moment, Steph allowed herself to look at both fighters - gone was the jovial and happy Harry, instead a cool determination on his features as he regarded the boy opposite with caution. Similarly, the charming and devious Malfoy was gone, his expression pulled into a sneer as he seemed to almost struggle to keep his wand steady, although a second look at Harry revealed the situation appeared to be the same on both sides.
"Now disarm only. Remember! The incantation is Expelliarmus!" Lockhart clapped his hands, his voice serious - for once. Indeed, it was probably the only time that she had heard the Defence Professor actually putting any weight in his words, outside of when he sought a greater ego boost. It evidently didn't occur to him, however, that neither he nor Snape had demonstrated the Disarming Charm's wand movement. "Now, on the count of three. One! Two! Three!"
"Serpensortia!"
Much to be expected, that was not the disarming charm.
From Malfoys wand sprouted a stream of scales, a line of darkness that shot forwards at low speed, before thumping onto the piste and giving a hiss. As its head reared back, revealing a hood and long fangs, Steph couldn't help but push herself closer to identify the creature - ignoring the annoyed noises from other students as she did so, but finding it remarkably easier now that the crowds were collectively backing away from the piste.
The snake was dark in colour, with white chevrons spaced out along its length forming rings around the creature. In rearing back, it revealed a pale underbelly, with a scant few dark strips of dark scales continuing around to break up the underside's otherwise creamy white colouration. There was no mistaking it - the hood alone told her it was a cobra, and the size and colouration told her that it was a King Cobra. The spell interested her, however - did it simply conjure something from nothing, or did it pull the nearest creature to its caster?
"Don't move Potter, I'll deal with it-"
Then the strangest noise filled the air, and Steph felt all the hair on the back of her neck stand up. From Harry Potter emanated this hiss, this almost trance inducing noise that had even the unflappable Snape stunned into silence. The Cobra stopped dead in its tracks, and flicked its head to stare right at the Boy-Who-Lived, who was staring at it commandingly, even as the serpent froze in its motion. A handful of seconds passed, before the King Cobra cautiously bowed its head before Harry in clear subservience, even as Snape softly uttered a spell behind it.
"Finite."
As the snake disappeared into dust, which itself vanished into thin air, Steph got her answer - conjuration. But that was hardly the front and centre of her mind - instead it was focusing on something entirely different, the same thing that had the entirety of Gryffindor looking at Harry with abject terror, and Slytherin with utter shock.
Harry Potter was a Parselmouth.
But that wasn't even the worst of it.
For as she sat in her dorm room that night, at the same desk that she had discarded Lockhart's books at a few days prior, Steph stared down at the serpent she had summoned into being before her. It was a small thing - conjuration was all about the casters intent and their imagination, so she had deliberately summoned a small Kenyan Sand Boa (a species she had picked for both its small size and relatively harmless nature) and allowed it to bathe in the light of the candle flickering away on her desk for a short while.
Finally, as she summoned up as much courage as she could, Stephanie Scamander took a breath, and spoke. "Can you understand me?"
The boa blinked at her, before bowing its head, much the same as the one earlier had. "I hear and obey, Speaker."