09-22-1991
September 22, 1991
Dear Diary,
I haven’t gotten any closer to figuring out how to get expelled from this school. However, I find myself developing an interest in wizard criminology. (I don’t know if that’s an actual term, but it's fascinating.)
I had always liked watching true crime documentaries with my mom. We would watch a lot of investigative shows. NCSI, Law & Order, 60-minutes, etc. Did you know there’s an entire branch of pseudo forensic science dedicated to studying the patterns of different types of blood splatter? Morbid, I know. But fascinating. And they only just recently started using DNA to start solving crimes from way back when, when such things weren’t possible.
Wizards, I found out, have been doing that forever. And they also do something similar with magical signatures. Everyone’s magic is different. And there’s different types of magical cores, as they call them. There’s dark cores, light cores, and grey cores. And the Aurors, that’s what they call the wizard police, can do these diagnostic spells to identify the magical signature at the scene of a crime and identify what sort of core a criminal had then from there they’re able to track them through their family trees. Most wizards are related to each other (gross) in some way, except for muggleborns (Which I guess this is what I am? If I was actually a witch.) and since there’s only a handful of families and generally it’s known whether that family produces light, dark, or grey cores, tracking down the perp isn’t too difficult. Especially if they find blood or hair, they can perform inheritance spells that list out an entire person's family tree or use a polyjuice potion to shapeshift into the perp and get an accurate photograph to hunt down the criminal.
They don’t have to rely on secondhand eyewitness accounts. And because of that there’s such a higher conviction rate for people that commit such crimes. It’s so interesting!
And the crimes—I thought some muggle crimes were creative. Wizarding crimes amp that up to a thousand. Like Anthony Graves, who was tried and found guilty of two-hundred-fifty-three accounts of illegal soronus compulsion charms. What he would do was charm a balloon, like at muggle fair or carnival, and when that balloon popped anyone within hearing range of the sound would be compelled to do whatever task he predetermined. Of course, he used it to cause a dancing plague, where people would do a jig and be unable to stop until they died…
And a lot of people died. Two-hundred-and-fifty-three people to be exact.
I didn’t know such a thing was possible. But also how horrible would that be?! But still fascinating. How does that even work? Is it like a power of suggestion? Or does it change the sound waves themselves?
…
I got distracted from my research when I tried to find the answers to those questions. And by the time, I realized, I had spent three days in the library with very little practical knowledge for my efforts. But I do know a bit more about soronus compulsion charms.
Today I’m determined to stay on task. My only problem (Well, not my only problem. I have a few.) is that breaking a lot of these rules requires I do some spell (which I can’t do) or have some sort of contraband (which I don’t have and don’t know how to get) or do something that would land my eleven year old self in a prison guarded by Dementors. (I don’t know what a dementor is. I made a note to look it up later when I have time.)
I think I need some help. But who would help me? I couldn’t think of anyone to ask. And I didn’t trust my housemates that they wouldn’t go running off to one of the teachers with my plans before I could even come up with one. I’m surprised the Weasley twins haven’t said anything to McGonagall.
And besides that, things have been quiet since the stairs incident. Outside of class, I haven’t seen much of Drake or his friends, Crab and Boil, but then I’ve also been spending most of my time in the library when I’m not in class.
…It’s been nice. I don’t expect it to last—
…
Okay, so Drake just came up to me in the library and apologized?? What?
He looked like he actually felt bad that I broke my arm…
He said he took it too far.
I didn’t disagree. Such a thing would’ve caused a lawsuit back in the muggle world.
Then he asked if I needed help with my spells. I did. We both knew that. But I didn’t say what we both already knew. Instead I asked him why he was even offering.
“Because—“ he started, but then he couldn’t find a good reason.
“Did someone tell you to be nice?” I wondered.
“No!” Drake turned up his pointy chin and sniffed. “If you don’t want my help, then fine— I won’t offer again!”
Then he stormed off before I had a chance to respond. That was weird. Boys are weird. Wizard boys are really weird.
And things just kept getting weirder…
Like when I got back to my dorm room, Tracey and Daphne asked me how I was coming along on the essay for Professor Snape…
There was supposed to be an essay? When?
Apparently it was assigned three days ago, they told me. Oops.
“Uh—“ I stop and drop three heavy law books and the student handbook on my bed. “I haven’t finished it yet.”
Technically true. Haven’t even started on it.
Tracey and Daphne exchanged a look. “Do you want some help?” Daphne offered.
Why would they help? This is weird. This is really weird. It feels like a trap. I tried to decline, but Tracey was insistent.
“C’mon at least let us help you proofread it for spelling mistakes,” she said.
“I can’t.”
“Why? We don’t mind—“
“I know,” I told her. This is so awkward!
“The why—“
“Because I haven’t started it!”
“You haven’t started it?!” Tracey exclaimed at the same time Daphne groaned, “Sweet Merlin, Snape’s gonna kill us!”
“Why would he kill us?”
“Because you haven’t written your essay! Not a single word!” Tracey shouted. “I thought you’ve been in the library the last three days? What have you been doing all that time?”
“Reading.”
“About the Draught of the Living Death?” Daphne was trying to sound hopeful. I assume that’s what the essay was supposed to be about.
I shook my head. “Mostly about Anthony Graves and the Dancing Plague of nineteen-twenty-two…”
“What? Anthony who?!”
“I don’t know! He put soronus compulsion charms on balloons and two-hundred-and-fifty-three muggles danced themselves to death!” I shouted back, feeling flustered.
“How is that supposed to help you write your essay?!” Tracey’s voice hit a high pitch and cracked. “That information is useless!”
“I didn’t know there was an essay!” My voice cracked too. I felt like I was on the verge of tears.
Ah—stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m such an idiot. But I didn’t need Tracey telling me that.
“Alright! Enough, Tracey! Both of you calm down,” Daphne interrupted. “We can fix this!”
“How?! Snape’s gonna fail us all in potions because she didn’t write her essay!” Tracey waved her arms about looking a bit like those inflatable balloon people at car dealerships.
“Why would he do that?!”
“Because we started picking on you and you broke your stupid arm and Draco’s not confessing to it!”
“Snape’s had enough! So we’re all being punished,” Daphne added.
“And if you keep failing your classes, he’ll fail us all in Potions!” Tracey finished
“That’s insane!”
“We know!” Tracey and Daphne both snapped.
“Does this include all our classmates?”
“Just the Slytherins,” Daphne said.
Wait—was that why Drake—Draco (It’s Draco.) offered to help me in the library?! I knew it! I knew someone put him up to it!
“Well, what do I do?”
“Write your bloody essay, you dolt!” Tracey wailed, her words losing their bite in her panic.
How was I supposed to do that? I didn’t read anything about the Draught of the Living Death the last few days!
Daphne decided to call a House meeting with the first years. There was a lot of shouting and accusations thrown my way. Blaze swore a bunch in Italian, but it was Theodore Knot who swooped in with a completed essay (A first draft, he called it, but he decided to go a different way.) and they all forced me to sit down and write a whole seven pages in my own handwriting with a quill.
Of course, Draco couldn’t resist making a snide comment about my terrible penmanship. “Who taught you to hold a quill?”
“No one! We don’t use quills anymore!”
“Then what do you write with?”
“Pens! Freaking pens—“
“You misspelled Asphodel,” Theodore jabbed his finger at the page. “It’s A-S-P-H-O-D-E-L not A-F-R-O-D-E-L. What-in-Salazar’s-name is afrodel? Fix it.”
God, I think I hate them all. I know they definitely all hate me. But I really, really hate them. Bunch of spoiled brats.
I really needed to get out of here ASAP.
But I did manage to finish my essay. And when I got it back it had a big A circled in red ink. In the muggle world an A would’ve been top marks, however this was Hogwarts and A only meant Acceptable.
At least we all passed. But none of my housemates were satisfied with an Acceptable grade. Knot was especially put out when his essay, that would otherwise be an E or and O grade, came back with the same grade as mine. He was sure his first essay would’ve been worth at least an Exceeds Expectations.
“And maybe it would’ve been,” Snape agreed, holding all the first year Slytherins back a few minutes to address us. “If it had been your name on it and not something Ms. Finch stole. If you had been in another House, it would’ve been a failing mark. The next essay Ms. Finch hands it better be something she’s written and researched herself or it will be.”
And that is how I found myself getting nine unwilling and ruthless magical tutors. I thought I hated school before, but this…This was insane!