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drownedinlight Really, it's because another idea spawned off of this one that I wrote on and I'm also putting up tonight. I thought about why I humanized all of my characters and wanted to write something, where, for once, people were just evil and nasty. Can't decide how far I'm going to take that, so here's this for now.
“Well, he is to me,” John said. “He expects me to know everything. I wrote home about it and Dad says it’s because he and Snape were rivals and school.” I remembered then what Remus and Sirius had told me about how Dad grew up, and honestly it made sense that Snape would pick on John, not that it made it right. After all, John and I looked a great deal like Dad, except for the color of our eyes. “Mum said that if he keeps bothering me though, to tell her and she’ll go and talk to him. Dad wanted to know if he’d been treating you all right.”
I felt a flare of anger rise up in me, and almost said that if that was the only reason he was here than he could just go, but he had already unpacked his books and was staring at a piece of parchment, as if he were not sure what to do with it.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“Potions,” he replied. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s probably because Snape’s a rubbish professor,” I said. “I’ll give you the books some of my housemates recommended, but you’ve got to do the work, all right?”
“Of course I’ll do the work!” John said. “It’s not as if I can’t.”
“I didn’t say that,” I replied. “It’s just…some people sometimes it’s like they want so much help I almost end up doing their work for them.” This had only happened a few times during the preceding month but I didn’t want it to happen again. “Anyway, what else have you been doing? How are your other classes?” John shrugged.
“They’re all right,” he said. “I mean I’m doing okay, except in History of Magic. I keep falling asleep. Flying wasn’t nearly as fun as I thought it would be either. I don’t understand why they pair us with the Slytherin’s for things when they know we antagonize each other. Neville broke his wrist actually, and had to be sent to the Hospital Wing. Malfoy nearly stole Neville’s remembrall, but I grabbed it first. And Hermione keeps lecturing Ron and me about things to do and not do and when to get our homework done.” He wrinkled his nose. “Don’t get me wrong, I like her all right, but sometimes I wish she would stop acting like she was our mother.”
“Maybe you could ask her nicely to tone it down a bit,” I said, finishing my essay on Herbology, and pushing it away to dry. John examined what I had written and frowned.
“We just got this essay yesterday,” he said.
“Well, we got it the day before,” I replied. “I would have finished it sooner, but we got a transfiguration essay and one for history the same day. And we’ll probably have one for astronomy tonight,” I said tapping my quill to my chin, “So I wanted to get it done and out of the way.”
“Blimey, I’m not even sure Hermione’s that quick about her work,” John said. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”
“Sometimes I play games in the common room at night, but Hufflepuff has unofficial rules about work, and that is you get it done as soon as you can,” I replied. “So, I just do it when I can and then go back to things I like.”
“Which is studying more magic,” John teased.
“Well, considering some of the teachers here, like Binns, Quirell and Snape, I would say that I could use the extra study,” I retorted.
“Oh! There’s another thing I wanted to ask you. Does your headache in Quirell’s class?” I furrowed my brows.
“A little, usually. I think it’s because it’s so rank in there. I’ve almost gone to Madam Pomphrey a few times to ask him to open up the room. But it’s never a very serious headache, I can usual concentrate around it. Why?”
“Well, the thing is, I never go in there with a headache, but I usually come out with one,” John said. “Like you said, it’s nothing too serious, but it doesn’t seem to happen to anyone else, and sometimes…” John bit his lip.
“Sometimes, it gets really bad, almost like you can think,” I finished for him. “And you aren’t quite sure what’s going on, but it really hurts.” John nodded. “When’s that essay due?”
“Not for another week,” John replied.
“We’ll go and see Madam Pomphrey together. I don’t think we should ignore this any longer.” John nodded and we both began to pack up our things, to head down to the hospital wing.
When we got there and explained the problem, all Madame Pomphrey could do was frown at us.
“And it only happens in Professor Quirell’s class? To varying degrees of intensity?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” we said together. She hummed as she tapped her chin, and then went to get a medical book to consult from.
“Well, you were both right to come to me, but it is quite the conundrum,” she said, flipping through the medical text. “What I want you to do, just to make sure that this is an isolated incident that has to do with Professor Quirell’s class room, is to write down the times when your headaches occur and what environments you are in when they happen. Keep such a diary for a week, where you go, and what you do, and if you get a headache and how intense it is. Then I will be able to prescribe something more natural, than simply giving you headache relievers. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am,” we replied.
“Well, then, off to dinner with you, and I’ll see you back here next week.” As we walked to the great hall, John took my hand.
“Does this scare you?” he asked. “Because I think it scares me a little, and I don’t know why.”
“Things are only scary if you let them be,” I said. “Sometimes, we just have to stop and think about things a little bit and then they won’t be scary anymore. They’re only scary when you can’t think about them for just a little bit.”
“Did Dad tell you that?” he asked.
“No, I just told you that.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back. I squeezed his hand as we entered the great hall and dropped it to walk over to the Hufflepuff table, when John grabbed my wrist. “What?” I asked.
“Do you want to come sit at the Gryffindor table with me? And maybe tomorrow I can sit at Hufflepuff with you? And we can tell each other what’s been going on and everything?” I cocked my head and took a good look at John. “What?”
“Well, one of the first things you tell me is about problems you’re having with a professor, then problems you are having with Hermione, then in a class…John, what’s wrong?”
“Why does something have to be wrong?” he asked.
“Because it does,” I replied. John sighed, and without looking me in the eye said,
“I may have encountered a three headed dog with Ron and Hermione.”
“Well, he is to me,” John said. “He expects me to know everything. I wrote home about it and Dad says it’s because he and Snape were rivals and school.” I remembered then what Remus and Sirius had told me about how Dad grew up, and honestly it made sense that Snape would pick on John, not that it made it right. After all, John and I looked a great deal like Dad, except for the color of our eyes. “Mum said that if he keeps bothering me though, to tell her and she’ll go and talk to him. Dad wanted to know if he’d been treating you all right.”
I felt a flare of anger rise up in me, and almost said that if that was the only reason he was here than he could just go, but he had already unpacked his books and was staring at a piece of parchment, as if he were not sure what to do with it.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“Potions,” he replied. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s probably because Snape’s a rubbish professor,” I said. “I’ll give you the books some of my housemates recommended, but you’ve got to do the work, all right?”
“Of course I’ll do the work!” John said. “It’s not as if I can’t.”
“I didn’t say that,” I replied. “It’s just…some people sometimes it’s like they want so much help I almost end up doing their work for them.” This had only happened a few times during the preceding month but I didn’t want it to happen again. “Anyway, what else have you been doing? How are your other classes?” John shrugged.
“They’re all right,” he said. “I mean I’m doing okay, except in History of Magic. I keep falling asleep. Flying wasn’t nearly as fun as I thought it would be either. I don’t understand why they pair us with the Slytherin’s for things when they know we antagonize each other. Neville broke his wrist actually, and had to be sent to the Hospital Wing. Malfoy nearly stole Neville’s remembrall, but I grabbed it first. And Hermione keeps lecturing Ron and me about things to do and not do and when to get our homework done.” He wrinkled his nose. “Don’t get me wrong, I like her all right, but sometimes I wish she would stop acting like she was our mother.”
“Maybe you could ask her nicely to tone it down a bit,” I said, finishing my essay on Herbology, and pushing it away to dry. John examined what I had written and frowned.
“We just got this essay yesterday,” he said.
“Well, we got it the day before,” I replied. “I would have finished it sooner, but we got a transfiguration essay and one for history the same day. And we’ll probably have one for astronomy tonight,” I said tapping my quill to my chin, “So I wanted to get it done and out of the way.”
“Blimey, I’m not even sure Hermione’s that quick about her work,” John said. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”
“Sometimes I play games in the common room at night, but Hufflepuff has unofficial rules about work, and that is you get it done as soon as you can,” I replied. “So, I just do it when I can and then go back to things I like.”
“Which is studying more magic,” John teased.
“Well, considering some of the teachers here, like Binns, Quirell and Snape, I would say that I could use the extra study,” I retorted.
“Oh! There’s another thing I wanted to ask you. Does your headache in Quirell’s class?” I furrowed my brows.
“A little, usually. I think it’s because it’s so rank in there. I’ve almost gone to Madam Pomphrey a few times to ask him to open up the room. But it’s never a very serious headache, I can usual concentrate around it. Why?”
“Well, the thing is, I never go in there with a headache, but I usually come out with one,” John said. “Like you said, it’s nothing too serious, but it doesn’t seem to happen to anyone else, and sometimes…” John bit his lip.
“Sometimes, it gets really bad, almost like you can think,” I finished for him. “And you aren’t quite sure what’s going on, but it really hurts.” John nodded. “When’s that essay due?”
“Not for another week,” John replied.
“We’ll go and see Madam Pomphrey together. I don’t think we should ignore this any longer.” John nodded and we both began to pack up our things, to head down to the hospital wing.
When we got there and explained the problem, all Madame Pomphrey could do was frown at us.
“And it only happens in Professor Quirell’s class? To varying degrees of intensity?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” we said together. She hummed as she tapped her chin, and then went to get a medical book to consult from.
“Well, you were both right to come to me, but it is quite the conundrum,” she said, flipping through the medical text. “What I want you to do, just to make sure that this is an isolated incident that has to do with Professor Quirell’s class room, is to write down the times when your headaches occur and what environments you are in when they happen. Keep such a diary for a week, where you go, and what you do, and if you get a headache and how intense it is. Then I will be able to prescribe something more natural, than simply giving you headache relievers. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am,” we replied.
“Well, then, off to dinner with you, and I’ll see you back here next week.” As we walked to the great hall, John took my hand.
“Does this scare you?” he asked. “Because I think it scares me a little, and I don’t know why.”
“Things are only scary if you let them be,” I said. “Sometimes, we just have to stop and think about things a little bit and then they won’t be scary anymore. They’re only scary when you can’t think about them for just a little bit.”
“Did Dad tell you that?” he asked.
“No, I just told you that.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back. I squeezed his hand as we entered the great hall and dropped it to walk over to the Hufflepuff table, when John grabbed my wrist. “What?” I asked.
“Do you want to come sit at the Gryffindor table with me? And maybe tomorrow I can sit at Hufflepuff with you? And we can tell each other what’s been going on and everything?” I cocked my head and took a good look at John. “What?”
“Well, one of the first things you tell me is about problems you’re having with a professor, then problems you are having with Hermione, then in a class…John, what’s wrong?”
“Why does something have to be wrong?” he asked.
“Because it does,” I replied. John sighed, and without looking me in the eye said,
“I may have encountered a three headed dog with Ron and Hermione.”
