Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Three's Company ❯ Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

After Alicia had left, I'd curled back on my bed, reduced to tears once more. I'd realized just how much everyone hated me while we'd discussed her tutoring sessions and such like, and it killed me. I wanted to die, then, and I didn't care how.

 

It was around nine when I finally emerged, my face red, my eyes swollen, to curl up by the fire in the common room. Most everyone had gone to bed, but for a few fifth years (namely Potter and his gang), the Weasley twins, and the Mari-Haters three. I ignored them all, preferring the company of the fire over them any day.

 

Pretty soon, though, everyone decided to converge on the fireplace. All eight pairs of eyes rested on me and my intrusion of 'their' space, so I rose. "Y'all have fun," I told them, sniffling a bit. "I'm going for a walk."

 

"You'll get caught," one of the boys told me before I was halfway to the portrait hole.

 

"Says you," I told him without turning. "Seems I'm not wanted here, anyway."

 

"That's not true, Amaris!" Harry cried, aghast that I would assume such a thing.

 

By this time I was standing next to the portrait hole. I turned and spoke to him alone. "Ask them," I said, tossing my head in the seventh years' directions. "They'll tell you everything you need to know." On that note, I swung the portrait wide and clambered outside.

 

"You're not supposed to be out of bed," the Fat Lady said.

 

I nodded. "I know. But I can't stand it in there. I won't disturb you when I return."

"Do you expect to return at all?" She laughed, as if I was joking.

 

"Of course I do," I said. "Good night."

 

"Good night."

 

I slipped silently through the halls, stepping from shadow to shadow in my charcoal-grey cloak. I blended fairly well with the walls, so it was no surprise that, while standing still, Filch walked right by me and in through the great oaken doors. I walked out before he closed them, and I was free.

 

I left my cloak by the northern tower so that I could pick it up on my way back. I looked around the grounds, and, seeing no-one, started to run.

 

As I ran, my body changed. My strides shortened momentarily as I fell forward onto my hands, my legs changing to accommodate. Fur rippled to replace my clothing. My face elongated, features changing, ears rising to the top of my head. Before I'd reached the tree line, I was a wolf.

 

I ran for a long time, every now and then letting loose a howl of pure emotional torment. I was a pack animal, and no matter how much I prided myself of my ability to live estranged from others, I hurt. Every glare pierced to my heart, a dagger twisting deeper and deeper with every hate-filled word. I couldn't go on like this. Like Fred had said, Gryffindors must stick together. But I wasn't a Gryffindor. Not really.

 

I flopped down beside the lake at the heart of the Forbidden Forest, panting hard. My paws hurt from the running that I wasn't used to, my lungs from breathing so hard for so long, my throat from howling my heart to the unheeding moon. I let out another mournful cry, eyes beginning to stream again.

 

I dove into the water, Shifting into a creature of the lake. For that is what I am, really. A Shape-Shifter. My father was a Changer, mother a Romani witch. Some people considered me a Metamorphmagus (of the few wizards who knew), but I begged to differ. My father's father could be one, but I was only part Changer. Nowhere close to being that fancy-schmancy. "Shifter" suited a halfbreed such as myself just fine.

 

I dragged myself from the lake around an hour later, my very bones aching with tiredness. I Shifted wolf again and loped back to the Tower before picking up my cloak. I stood on it with my back paws and Shifted to an owl, clutching the fabric in my talons. I rose on silent wings and circled the tower, searching for my window. But some kind soul had shut it for me. How sweet. The only window open was on the far side, so I tapped on it while landing on the sill.

 

Of course, who would come to investigate but Fred Weasley. "What're you doing here, little lady?" he asked the owl, having no earthly idea I was a student. "What've you got there?"

 

He picked up the cloak, his eyes widening. "George..." he called, a strange note in his voice. Considering I was an owl, I couldn't very well interpret it.

 

"What, Fred?" his brother asked groggily. When he was shown the cloak, he swore. "Didn't we tell her not to?" he demanded.

 

"Guess she didn't listen, the stubborn prat." He dropped my cloak back onto the sill and examined me. For a moment, I'd panicked, thinking he'd figured me out, but then- "You know where she is?" he asked me, figuring it was worth a shot, I guess.

 

I hooted softly, my heart clenching. As much of a front he'd put up for me, he was still panicking over the loss of a fellow Gryffindor. Over the loss of me.

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" he wondered as he pulled on his pants. "Guess we'll go looking for her, then. George?"

 

"Ready, Fred."

 

“Can you lead us to her?" he asked me.

 

I hooted again, more urgently. His attention focused wholly on me, and I did the only thing I could. I Shifted my eyes. He was staring into the blue-hazel orbs of Amaris Dughan.

 

"Shit," Fred swore, and swore again. "You've got to be kidding me. Dughan?"

 

George looked confusedly from Fred to me (aka the owl on the sill). "What are you talking about, Fred? I thought she was on the grounds, somewhere."

"I think this IS her," he told him. "Did someone transfigure her?"

 

I hooted mournfully and shook my head. I wished I could speak, but I'd given enough away already. "Did you transfigure yourself?" I hooted again, this time in a lighter tone. "Where's your wand?"

 

I fluttered to the ground to land on my cloak, and pecked at it. A purely-ornamental rowan wand fell from one of the inside pockets onto the floor, and Fred picked it up. "Which spell?" he asked me, not entirely sure I'd answer. I shook my head again, and he resorted to prodding me with it.

 

A bluish light flew at me and hit me square on my breast. I blinked, thinking it probably would do no good. Just as I came to this conclusion, however, something did happen.

 

The wand threw me into my human shape, right enough. It forgot, however, that I'd Shifted with my clothes on. I recovered from the shock of cold air quick enough to gather my cloak around me. The stared at me with wide eyes. "Give me that!" I growled, breaking the spell as I snatched at my wand.

 

"Why did you transfigure yourself?" George demanded, catching the thing as his brother tossed it to him. Thank the gods their roommate, Lee Jordan, was asleep, and slept like the dead.

 

I growled in frustration. "Give me my wand!" I hissed. "I'm too tired for this!" As if my body had only just registered it, my legs fell out from under me, and I flopped to the stone floor, swearing.

 

"Didn't know it took that much out of you to become an animagus," George commented, twiddling with my wand just out of my reach.

 

"I've been flying all night," I muttered, denying nothing. "Now give me the damnable thing so I can sleep!"

 

"Nope." Fred grinned, reveling in their ability to royally piss me off. "You get to answer questions now."

 

"Wonderful," I sighed. "Ask away, Weasleys. As long as I get my wand back." Not that I needed it or anything, but they couldn't know that.

 

"Why'd you go out?" George asked.

 

"I felt like it."

 

"Why?"

 

I glared, but felt obliged to answer. "I'm a creature of the skies, in case you hadn't noticed. I needed to fly, so I did."

 

"Why would you NEED to fly?" Fred, this time.

 

I chuckled. "Same reason you need to eat. It's in my blood."

 

"What do you mean, it's in your blood?"

"The shape chooses the master. Or mistress, in my case."

"I don't picture you as an owl."

"You don't take the time to examine the picture, either."

 

"How would you know?"

"Incriminating yourself, Weasley?"

 

"What do you mean?"

"Thinking about a sixth year with Angelina still drooling. Not very proper."

 

"Angelina's got nothing to do with this."

"Right. Sure. Yep." While George had been paying attention to the banter between his brother and myself, I had been inching closer to him. I reached out slowly and snatched my wand from his hand. He swore, but I had it back. Damnable piece of wood.

 

"I must excuse myself, gentlemen," I said, a sarcastic note to my voice. "Good night." I stood, or tried to. Almost immediately, I collapsed again, swearing. I tend to do that a lot. Sorry.

 

"Oh dear, the sixth year's stuck in our bedroom. How kinky." Fred gave a hearty chuckle.

 

"Shove it, Weasley," I muttered, murmuring a levitating charm merely for effect. I rose about a foot in the air and gathered the cloak closer to my naked form. "Again, good night."

 

I thanked the gods I had a break first thing in the morning as soon as I was in my own room. I'd found a note warning me to close my window on my bed. Unsigned, of course. I had no doubts of the identity of this person, nor that she (for the boys, as far as I knew, couldn't enter) had heard my conversation with the Fat Lady. I shrugged it off and collapsed onto my bed, not worrying about anything but sleep.

 

~*~

 

The Hall was full to the bursting when I emerged in the morning, feeling surprisingly refreshed for having exerted myself so much the night before. Everyone, it seemed, had heard the cries of the wolf, believing it to be the werewolf that had disguised himself as a teacher two years before.

 

"Wasn't a werewolf," I told the people at my table.

"How would you know?" someone asked. "You grew up with muggles!" Thanks for remembering.

 

"That was a wolf, git," I told him. "Werewolves are much more primitive."

 

"How can you tell the difference?" another Gryffindor wondered.

 

"I lived close to the forests most of my life. Wolves were some of my best friends. What makes you think I wouldn't know the difference?" Besides, I added silently, I was that wolf.

 

"You don't know squat, Dughan," Fred muttered.

 

"And you aren't worth my retort, Weasley. Tried that needle to your ego yet?"

 

"It's a wonder the 'wolf', as it were, didn't eat you while you were out," he muttered with a glare.

 

"Yeah. It's not like animals can communicate between races or anything, right, Weasley?" I whispered to him alone.

 

"How would you know, Dughan?"

 

"I just do."

 

"Right."

 

The day passed quickly, and, all too soon, we were shipped off to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Which, in my book, wasn't qualified to be an actual class anyway. If they'd wanted a "Theory of Defenses Against the Dark Arts" class, they would've made one, not hired this toad of a woman to pretend to teach it. I, in my infinite wisdom, disputed everything she said, earning myself a very severe punishment for (in my opinion) a small crime.

 

"Put away your wands," Umbridge told us on the first day in her class. Apparently she hadn't wanted classes the week before. Crazy woman. We all blinked at her, too shocked to say much of anything at all.

 

"Professor?" Angelina Johnson raised her hand as she spoke.

 

"Yes, Miss Johnson?" Umbridge acknowledged her.

 

"This is a defense class, where we learn spells to defend ourselves. How can we do that without wands?"

 

"A very sincere question, Miss Johnson," Umbridge said in her sickeningly sweet voice, high pitched as a bat's and just as painful to my over-sensitive ears, "but an unnecessary one. There is no reason whatsoever that you need to learn the spells in your old books. The Ministry, therefore, has assigned you new curriculum. You will learn the theories behind such spells, and thus harm neither yourselves nor your families."

 

I didn't bother with raising my hand. "So the Ministry is supporting Voldemort instead of working against him?" I'd heard whispers that the Dark Lord had killed my mother after he'd drained her immense well of power dry, and not childbirth, but I had no proof. I did, however, believe that Potter wouldn't make up such a tale if he could help it.

 

"You didn't raise your hand, Miss Dughall," Umbridge told me.

 

I raised my hand, but spoke anyway. "It's Dughan, Professor. And there you are." I just barely refrained from mucking up her own name, but 'twould have been quite rude of me.

 

"You will not backtalk, Miss Dughall. Detention." Umbridge's voice, it seemed, grew sweeter the angrier she got. She didn't listen well, either.

 

I looked at her with incredulously, one eyebrow quirked. "You can't possibly be talking to me," I told her when she raised her own eyebrow.

 

"And why can't I possibly be talking to you, Miss Dughall?" she asked, sweeter than before. Merlin, was she fuming.

 

"For that exact reason, Professor."

 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Miss Dughall, and if you don't stop being so cryptic, I'll give you another detention."

"Won't effect me at all." I grinned. This pissing teachers off thing was really catchy.

 

"Detention, Dughall!" Umbridge snapped, Hem Hem-ing afterwards.

 

Angelina Johnson raised her hand, and Umbridge called on her. "Professor," she said with a cruel smile in my general direction, "her name is Dughan. There is no-one named Dughall here."

 

"Dughan, then," Umbridge corrected herself. "You have two detentions, and will serve the first tonight at seven, in my office."

 

"Of course, Professor." I shot a glare at Angelina, who only smiled in her namesake-like manner.

 

I ended up with a total of three detentions that day alone, all of them from Umbridge. And all of them Johnson's fault. I snarled at her behind her back, and when she turned, hearing muttering, only grinned stupidly, inviting an extreme underestimation on her part. So she was one up. Not for long.

 

I gave up on asking for anything from anyone in my seventh year classes. None of them wanted me there, and I'd just as soon be out of their hair as well. But we were all stuck, so we made the best of it. And, being the youngest (though my birthday, I'd found, was on the first Hogsmede trip, whatever that was, it made no difference to them), I bore the brunt of their antagonisms quasi-silently.

 

Every other night, I left my bespelled window open and went out, enjoying my freedom. I didn't care that someone came in and tried to close the window. I'd made that mistake only once, and they'd come to regret it. I'd also found out who was behind it. I'll give you all three guesses, and won't count the first two.

 

On my off-nights, I sat in the common room for hours at a time, working on homework or just sitting in front of the fire. Sometimes Potter and his crew would invite me to play some sort of wizards' game, but normally I just sat and watched. 'Twas quite interesting, really, the way those games worked.

 

Sometimes, though, even on my off-nights when I didn't deal with any seventh years, I left the common room early. Upon reading one of my books for school, I had discovered that the school's protections from muggles also protected it from muggle technology. I'd been saving money for years, and had only gotten an iPod earlier that year, when my friends had had theirs for ages, and didn't want to leave it behind. I also wanted to get as much use out of the thing as possible, so I rigged it. I know, I tampered with the warranty, but what Apple didn't know wouldn't hurt them. I was able to change all the parts that worked on battery and other muggle inventions for power and imbue the battery with magic, bypassing the barriers on muggle tech. It was still Apple's design, and it still had their logo, so I couldn't very well change much else. I did want to put it back once I was through with school.

 

So I would lay on my bed with my shiny little iPlod turned all the way up and blasting out the rest of the world, if only for a few hours. My ears couldn't handle much more, but it was well worth it. Though I listened to some of the most depressing music known to mankind, I was able to shake off my own sorrows and laugh at theirs.

 

~*~