Rain was rolling down the weathered panes of the library window in lazy streams, while the interior facing side slowly became covered in condensation. Absentmindedly, Ridley followed one particularly fat raindrop down the glass with her finger, cutting a streaky trail through the dewy surface. Pinching her index finger and thumb together she felt the moisture that she'd picked up before casting her eyes back down to her lap.
Her mother had written her. It wasn't bad news, but it wasn't really good news either.
Chewing her lip, she scanned through the letter one more time, before folding it into crisp thirds and tucking it under the book she'd propped open in her lap. Turning to the next page pensively, she considered her mother's message.
Her parents would be coming to the quidditch match on Thursday, and Ridley wasn't overly enthused to be hosting them. It was something of a tradition in earlier years for her parents to come to her first game of term, something they'd been doing since she made the team in second year. Last year they had even promised to come to the finals when Slytherin had miraculously beat Ravenclaw in the semis. Ridley could remember how her mother's eyes had sparked with a rare flicker of pride at the news, and how her father had jumped out of his seat to braggingly floo his frenemy from work, Atticus Hays—Atticus Hays Jr. was the Ravenclaw captain that year.
Since tensions had arisen between Ridley and her parents over the summer, she'd come to expect they'd be forgoing that particular tradition this year. It would seem she was wrong.
"Those will rot your teeth."
Ridley didn't jump, not exactly. But she did jolt, and could feel her cheeks reddening as she took the sugar quill out of her mouth. Pushing her glasses back up along her nose, she shifted away from the window to face the professor who'd appeared out of nowhere. Dark eyes glinting mischievously, he emerged from the shadows of the stacks and came to stand in front of her nook.
Raising a finger to her lips she breathed, "Don't be so loud, Madam Pince will skin me alive."
"Detention is more likely...unless that isn't just candy, of course."
Ridley gritted her teeth, but resolutely ignored his prodding, focusing instead on the book in her lap once more. She hadn't actually read the page she was on, but flipped it anyway and hummed in mock contemplation.
"Interesting reading, Clarke?"
"Indubitably." Ridley could almost hear him rolling his eyes.
"Are you researching the Patronus charm?"
Sighing, she tucked her thumb over her page and gently closed the book around it. "Uh, yeah a little. But I think I should be able to properly cast it this week."
She'd expected him to nod encouragingly, maybe point out a few more sources for her and be on his way. She was surprised when he had a different initiative.
"We aren't going to be continuing with the Patronus charm this week," Snape drawled looking at her blankly. Ridley's eyebrows shot up. "You will have to practise it on your own, or we'll return to it in the future. For now, however, I'd rather focus on something a bit more pressing." Reaching into his black robes, he withdrew a medium sized book with a forest green binding and held it out to her. Giving the item a furtive glance, she hesitantly reached out and took the proffered book. The corners of the cover looked like it had seen better days, but the tome had a reassuring weight to it.
"Occlumency?" Ridley asked pensively, scanning over the title with narrowed eyes: Hedgethorn's Treatise on Occlumency and Mental Defenses.
Not far away Ridley heard the unmistakable sound of a book being snapped shut. Whirling towards the sound, Snape's face drew into a scowl as a nosey Professor Frey edged out from between the stacks. "My apologies for interrupting," she offered softly, not sounding the least bit sorry, "but I couldn't help but hear the pair of you discussing Occlumency."
"If you're requesting an appraisal of your hearing, then I must say you prove to be in good form, Professor Frey," Snape answered levelly, looking at her down his nose.
Frey's smile was pinched. "And I gather you're practising it in your private defense lessons?" Snape didn't even bother to nod, but the Defense teacher needed no further encouragement. "I'm obviously quite well acquainted with the NEWT Defense curriculum, but I must say I don't believe the practise Occlumency was a subject meant to be covered."
"Neither is the practise of Eavesdropping, but you seem quite well acquainted with that," sneered Ridley before she had a chance to stop herself.
"Clarke!" Snapped her Head of House, his eyes flashing warningly. Ridley plastered a hand over her mouth in mortification. Now that would cost her a detention.
Frey's own mouth was agape, and she blinked comically as she looked between the pair. Gathering her wits, the sour looking woman cleared her throat and made to speak just as Snape announced, "There is a very high standard of academic achievement that must be met in my lessons and pupils who can meet those requirements are often capable of completing their studies at an accelerated rate." Clasping his hands behind his back, he looked at his colleague with mockingly exaggerated patience. "As it happens, Miss Clarke and I have already covered a large extent of the NEWT Defense curriculum and having been satisfied with her achievement, I've decided to push forward with some more advanced subjects. I assure you, Milburga, there is nothing amiss with our practising Occlumency and I would politely request that in the future you focus on your own lesson plans rather than questioning mine."
Frey looked positively dumbfounded; Snape appeared smug as ever; Ridley seemed as though she would burst from holding in her laughter.
"Well," started Frey grappling for the book she'd kept tucked under her arm. Flipping the textbook open to a page she'd marked with a tawny quill, she nodded once to Snape and resolutely ignored the nearly shaking Ridley, "Have a good afternoon then, Severus."
Her kitten heels clicked along the stone floor as she retreated, and only once they'd faded considerably did Ridley allow herself to wheeze, "Her name is Milburga?"
Stoically, the Potions Master nodded, still turned toward the stacks where the Defense professor had made her retreat.
"I thought she was the kind of person only a mother could love, but obviously even that can't be true with a name like that."
"One of these days that mouth of yours is going to get you into a fix that I can't get you out of, assuming I'm even inclined to try by then."
Ridley sobered and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, Professor. It won't happen again."
Snape shook his head; they both knew that wasn't true. They were silent for a long moment, listening to the muffled whispers of a nearby study group and pattering of rain on the windows. Absentmindedly, Ridley smoothed her hand over the cover of the book Snape had offered her. Pensively she questioned, "Did we really get through that much of the curriculum?"
"We've covered a great deal of it," Snape said blankly, meeting her tentative gaze. Ridley knew better than to expect him to elaborate.
"Does that mean we'll be finished with the lessons soon?" It came out a bit more delicate than she'd intended, so she tried to school her face into some semblance of aloofness. The professor looked at her just as blankly as before.
Taking a moment as if to appraise her, Snape simply replied, "Would you like to be?"
"For as long as you have something to teach me I'll be happy to listen."
"Then we shall continue."
Ridley hated that his answer made her heart soar, and she tamped down on a stupid toothy grin. Casting her eyes back down to her lap, she leafed through the first few pages of the book she'd been bequeathed with. Sliding the oval framed, and frankly unflattering, spectacles back over the bridge of her nose she wondered, "Occlumency isn't very widely taught is it?"
Snape shifted in the corner of her eye and she looked up to see him fold his hands behind his back. With a slight tilt of his head he suggested, "Not widely no. From my experience, Legilimency is a more popular subject, and even then only in very particular circles."
Ridley made to open her mouth but the professor quickly snapped, "We will not be practising Legilimency."
She frowned slightly, but knew better than to express her disappointment; she got the sense that it was not a subject to push the Potions Master on. At least, not for now.
"Is it especially difficult?" She ventured cautiously, meeting Snape's level gaze.
He considered her question for a moment before shrugging almost undetectably, "For some more than others. Everything requires practise regardless, and I don't believe you'll struggle anymore than anyone else."
"That's encouraging."
Calvyn sank onto the bench beside her with so much force that Ridley nearly sloshed her tea down her front. With an indignant grunt, she grabbed for her napkin and blotted at her dripping chin while the fair haired boy settled in beside her.
"Mitchell's in the hospital wing," Calvyn said lowly, loading up his plate with toast. Shoving her own half finished plate of scrambled eggs and baked beans away, Ridley turned to her friend with a furrowed brow. As he pushed back the sleeves of his emerald green quidditch robes and tucked into his breakfast, he relayed between bites, "Dermot Conarty told me...his ear muffs slipped off...on one side while they were...repotting mandrakes for extra credit." Ridley waited patiently as he took a good swig of pumpkin juice and finished, "Madam Pomfrey is trying to grow him a new eardrum."
"I imagine that'll be rather painful," she wondered aloud, already thinking about how that'd change their game plan.
"Not as painful as the arse-whooping Ravenclaw have coming for them, I'll say that much."
Ridley hummed half heartedly and eyed up their opponent house's table, trying to spot the injured seeker's replacement. It was no use; the quidditch team must have already been down at the pitch, or reading, or participating in some other nauseatingly productive act of smart-assery.
"Where's Molly?" Calvyn had finally taken a second to breathe. Glancing at his plate, Ridley realized he'd simply finished off his breakfast.
"You'll never guess," she replied cryptically and watched as his gaze lingered on her own abandoned plate. With a sigh, she slid the dish over to him and the boy got back to work. "Snape asked her to sit in the commentator's box and keep things from getting too rowdy."
Calvyn snickered with a mouthful of Ridley's leftovers, making her grimace. That only made the boy laugh harder. Half-heartedly shoving the Slytherin captain with his elbow he announced, "Well at least it'll be an entertaining game. How about that!?"
Stepping onto the pitch with her dew soaked trainers and a misty breeze pushing a few errant curls across her cheek, Ridley felt more clear headed than she had in months. On this grey and frankly miserable morning, all she could afford to think about was the match, and for once she had nothing else to blame for the heart racing, stomach flipping anxiety.
"And walking onto the pitch now is the Slytherin team," blasted the reedy voice of Oliver Graves, a typically loud mouthed Gryffindor fourth year; Ridley had long ago decided that the only real skill he had as a commentator was his ability to talk up a constant stream of shite.
Over the roar of her housemates in the stands, she could just make out the rest of their introduction, "With, of course, Seeker Ridley Clarke coming along first, team captain and all. Behind her is Calvyn Neering, Beater."
With her chattering team in tow, she padded across the field toward Madam Hooch and an assembled Ravenclaw team. Try as she might, she couldn't help but glance at the stands; the thought of her parents watching her play wasn't reassuring in the least.
"And here come the chasers, Malcolm Davis, Charlotte Kempsford, and Arthur Greenwald. All looking to be their delinquent, collective-menace-to-society-selves. I heard that Davis is on parole for launching a muggle speed boat off of—oi watch the kneecaps, Brady! Those are the money makers."
A barking laugh made Ridley look over her shoulder, and she couldn't contain a thin lipped smile as Calvyn hurried to catch up to her. With a mischievous grin, the beater chuckled, "Sounds like Molly's having fun already."
"Er, where was I? Oh, here come the last two. Brooklyn James as Keeper, and playing keeper today is her brother, Ted James. Yes, the whole thing reeks of nepotism—Okay, okay, I'm done!"
Only a few yards from centre pitch now, Ridley offered a small wave to an expectant Madam Hooch and settled her eyes on the Ravenclaw captain, Brutus Smith—a.k.a. Smidge to the rest of their class. The hulking red headed boy cracked a genuine smile and nodded to her in acknowledgment as she came to a stop in front of the pair.
"Clarke," he greeted.
"Smidge," Ridley replied with a smirk; surprising as it was to their peers, the two captains actually got on.
Hooch cast her eyes between the two and nodded as they shook hands, settling back on her heels. Behind her, Ridley could hear the grass muffed steps of the rest of her team approaching, and finally she let her gaze wander over the small group of blue-robed players opposite her. Most of the guarded faces of the Ravenclaw team were familiar to her; the only one she couldn't immediately place belonged to a dark haired, slim framed boy, and that was only because his head was turned back towards the rest of his house in the stands. Once he turned however, her heart sank into her stomach. How stupidly predictable it should've been.
"Oh, for fuc—" started Calvyn, bristling beside her.
"Good to see you getting some air-time, Collins," Hooch interrupted. The Head Boy, and unfortunately also reserve Seeker as Ridley came to realize, shot the teacher a toothy grin in return.
"Now, let's have a good clean game, shall we?" Continued the stern faced woman, even narrowing her eyes at what Ridley assumed was the small gang of chasers behind her.
"Yes, ma'am!" Came the cheeky reply over Ridley's shoulder, from none other than Davis, the dirtiest player on the team. Hooch merely shook her head before turning her gaze back to Smidge. Shifting the red quaffle she'd kept cradled between her arm and hip, she assumed a staggered stance and balanced the ball upon one outstretched hand.
"Alright, on my whistle!" She readied the teams, before glancing back to Ridley once more. Gripping her Wind Whistler 7 with both hands, she nodded once more in understanding. Her heart was pounding.
The referee's yellow eyes flashed upwards, before she sent the quaffle careening up into the air. Not a second later the shrill whistle blasted and Ridley kicked off the ground. Hard.
Euphoric and feeling weightless, she sliced upwards through the air as she found her seat on the broomstick. Soaring higher and higher, she very briefly allowed herself to savour the unrestrained joy of flight, before she levelled out and cast a critical glance at the rest of her team. Davis had snatched the quaffle and was speeding directly toward the opposing goal posts, Kempsford and Greenwald streaming close behind. Brooklyn James had settled in at their own end and her brother wasn't far off, bat raised and already in pursuit of an approaching bludger.
Casting her eyes about the pitch in search of Calvyn, Ridley was unhappy to notice a flash of blue robes streaking right toward her. Groaning, she instinctively tilted upwards and climbed higher to prolong the inevitable. Branson Collins would be riding her arse for the whole of the match, and Ridley knew that it was more than the need to win that motivated him but a fruitful opportunity to harass her.
Circling the pitch now, the booming commentary of Oliver Graves was just informative enough that she could focus her search on the snitch instead of her team below. It was halfway through her second lap around the pitch that the hair stood up on the back of her neck, and it wasn't from the wind. Sneaking a look over her shoulder, she confirmed that Collins had caught up and was weaving back and forth in the air behind her. Gritting her teeth, she fixed her gaze straight ahead and tried to ignore the other seeker, even as he dodged in and out of her peripheral vision. Ridley endured a good few minutes of this dance before she spotted a bludger in her path. The ball jerkily changed course and pelted straight toward her.
Despite her instincts screaming at her to avert, she maintained her speed and kept her broom straight with a white knuckled grip. Her heart was now thudding painfully in her chest and she almost thought she'd royally fucked herself over as the bludger came streaking dangerously nearer and nearer. At the last minute she rolled to the side and the ball slipped just past her. She could tell how frighteningly close she'd let herself get by the whistling of air just off her cheekbone, but paid it little mind. Instead her head whipped back to follow the bludger that just barely missed Collins' own fear-stricken face. Letting herself fall downward she watched with adrenaline fueled glee as her pesky opponent tipped over and struggled to regain his grip on the broomstick.
Tamping down on the urge to cackle at the flustered seeker, Ridley sprang once more into action and zipped off toward the stands in an attempt to put more distance between them. As she sailed over the crowd of green, her house erupted into a roaring applause and Ridley smiled despite herself. The match had only just begun.
Ridley had just stepped foot out of the field house when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder and nearly knocked her off balance.
"That was a damn good game, Clarke!" Bellowed a haggard looking Smidge. Craning her neck, she met the Ravenclaw captain's bemused, blue eyed gaze and cracked a smirk that matched his own. If ever there was a mark of a well played game, it was the state of the players at the end. Smidge's face was streaked with so much dirt that she could barely make out the freckles that she knew spotted his cheekbones and forehead. Ridley couldn't imagine she looked much better.
"Yeah, I don't think we played too badly," she added smugly, still a bit high off endorphins from a game well won. Stuffing the last trace of her quidditch robes down into her bag and swinging it over her shoulder she sneered, "It's too bad Mitchell couldn't play, then we might've had a real match."
Smidge huffed, but in a playful way that was entirely unlike any Ravenclaw she'd met. "If we had Mitchell as seeker you'd have only drawn out the game longer as some sort of display of that perverted Slytherin sportsmanship."
"Perverted is a strong word, Smidge."
"Okay...sadistic?"
A roll of her eyes was the only reply she could give him. He wasn't completely wrong there. Setting her eyes on the castle, Ridley started her way across the grounds. Smidge fell in step beside her.
"I didn't realize you had such a wicked arm with a bat. Are you going to play chaser in the next match too?" The boy teased, nudging her with his elbow. Ducking her head down with a smile, Ridley tried to hide her reddening cheeks. In a fit of exasperation, Ridley had fallen prey to her own pettiness and zipped over to Calvyn halfway through the match. With no small amount of shrillness, she'd ordered the beater to hand over his bat and after wrestling it from the reluctant boy's grip, she set her sights on none other than Branson Collins. Unaware of her machinations, the opposing seeker was a perfect target as he surveyed the pitch. Pelting a bludger at the arsehole was especially therapeutic, and the look of absolute horror he'd shot at Ridley was every bit worth the penalty.
"That was just a bit of practise," she replied curtly. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed an approaching figure in dark robes. Slowing her pace, she looked over her shoulder and was caught off-guard by the familiar shape of her brother Ryerson making his way from the pitch.
Taking notice of her distraction, Smidge followed her gaze and gave a small wave to the serious looking young man. Ryerson had graduated three years ago, but never stopped being a Ravenclaw—or a prat. Ridley knew the two boys were little more than acquaintances but house loyalty is a hell of a thing.
"Nice of your brother to come watch," Smidge commented absently.
"Suspiciously nice," she deadpanned. Gathering her robes about her tightly, Ridley tried to ward off a sudden chill. There was just something so icy about Ryerson lately.
"Er...the after party!" She blurted out, turning back to Smidge to delay the inevitable reunion. His fair eyebrows shot up at the outburst.
"The Slytherin upper years are going to the Three Broomsticks tomorrow night to celebrate. If it isn't an assault on your house pride then I'm sure you'd have a lovely time."
"I'll see if I can pick up the shattered pieces of my dignity by then," he chuckled, shifting his rucksack strap higher on his shoulder. "Speaking of Slytherins..." his voice dwindled as he scratched the back of his neck. Looking at her from under his lashes he continued with a bashful smile, "Do you know if Molly Brady is seeing anybody right now?"
Ridley hummed in pretend contemplation. The fact of the matter was that Molly was probably seeing a handful of people—it would be easier to name the peers she hadn't been involved with. She wasn't about to tell Smidge that, though.
"Not as far as I know," she said simply. The boy's smile was contagious and Ridley cheerfully bid him goodbye as Ryerson finally sidled up alongside her,
"Good game," he offered stoically, giving her a quick once over. His gaze paused on her awfully windswept hair with an obvious grimace. Merlin help her.
"Thanks," she responded emotionlessly. "Mum and Da couldn't make it then?" She deduced as the pair started towards the castle.
Ryerson straightened the lapel of his black robes while he explained, "The Partridges are hosting a charity luncheon today, and Mum had forgotten the date for it. She sends her apologies."
It didn't come as a surprise to Ridley—in fact it was a bit of a relief. She simply nodded her acknowledgment.
"Mum is trying to make a match of Rosalynne and Geoffrey Partridge. I don't think our sister is very enthusiastic about it," continued Ryerson, uncharacteristically conversational.
That made Ridley snort. She didn't know her eldest sister to have enthusiasm for anything other than her clerical work at the Ministry of Magic. Both of her older siblings were painfully serious, but Rosalynne was also painfully boring.
"Lucky guy," drawled Ridley. If she were speaking to anyone other than her brother the sarcasm would've been clear as day.
"Ros is the lucky one. If she can pull it off she'll be marrying into a ridiculously wealthy family."
Ridley couldn't contain a scoff. Her family was already unreasonably wealthy—there had been little that the Clarkes or their children had to do without as they grew up, and she made an effort not to take that privilege for granted. The chances of her and her siblings not living comfortably off their family income was minute, and Ridley knew they each had a fat share of the inheritance to ensure that. Ryerson was still receiving a generous allowance from their parents, despite having a well paying job at the Ministry. Ridley didn't begrudge him for it. But he was hardly the self-made wizard he'd have his acquaintances believe him to be.
Ridley pushed that train of thought away and instead fixed her eyes on the approaching castle. "Surely you didn't come here just to watch the match?" She questioned, already confident that such was the case. Her brother's gaze had scoured the grounds as they walked, obviously in search of company other than his little sister's.
"I have a meeting with Professor Frey this afternoon," he admitted, almost boastfully. Ridley eyed his puffed chest as he continued, "The ministry is involved with some curriculum changes at Hogwarts and I've been tasked with drafting some new policies related to those changes."
Ridley raised her eyebrows in mock incredulity. As if she should be impressed by her pompous ass brother just doing his pompous ass ministry job. "And you're drafting these policies single handedly then?"
Her brother almost tripped over the cobblestones as they entered the main courtyard. Straightening out his robes once more he stammered, "Er, well, not exactly. There's a small group of us working on it, but I took it upon myself to do quite a bit of the research." His bragging tone restored itself as the pair found themselves inside the welcoming stone fortress that had essentially raised them. Students milled about in the corridors, chatting their way through the lunch break before having to return to classes for the rest of the day. Most of the younger students peered at Ryerson with curiosity as they passed, while the upper years—the girls, namely—looked him up and down like a tasty meal. Her brother, as always, was oblivious to their attention.
"How does your research include Frey specifically?" Ridley queried. She wasn't even sure that her brother had met the dreaded professor. He'd graduated the year before she'd arrived at the school to teach Care of Magical Creatures, and he was well established in London for his Ministry work by the time she'd taken up the Defense post.
Rounding a corner and descending down the darkening staircase into the dungeons, Ridley nearly slipped down the steps in her haste to get to the common room. She actually did falter when her brother divulged, "She's been corresponding with the ministry for years with suggested revisions for the curriculum. As a professor, I thought she'd have some rather important insight. One can never have too many sources, you know."
"Well, Ryerson, the more you explain your work to me, the more it sounds like an agricultural issue than an educational one." She chirped, whipping her head around to look upon her brother's confounded expression. The flickering torch light of the dungeons highlighted his furrowed brow.
"What is that supposed to mean?" He sneered, crossing his arms across his chest haughtily.
Ridley smirked and held her brother's gaze as she flexed her immeasurable wit—at least she thought it was quite smart. "If you're consulting Professor Frey on the matter then one can only assume such, as she remains to this day a thick skulled, self-important cow with her bovine head so far up her bovine arse—"
"Is that Miss Clarke asking for another week of detention, I hear?" Threatened a velvety baritone voice, uncannily close behind the siblings. Eyes wide, Ridley spun around to face her Head of House and had opened her mouth to either apologize or cheekily stand by her statement—she hadn't quite made up her mind yet—when Ryerson greeted his old teacher.
"Good day Professor Snape. How are you?" Her brother addressed the impassive man with none of the boyish uncertainty he'd been afflicted with in his school days. As a Ravenclaw, he'd never been in Snape's good graces as Ridley was accustomed to being—not that he was her biggest fan lately.
"I am well Mr. Clarke. I trust you are enjoying your work at the Ministry?" Snape drawled, with an expression that belied his supposed interest. Ridley had to bite her tongue in fear of audibly groaning as her brother immediately stood taller and began explaining his present fact finding mission. He had sputtered on for about a minute before Snape held up a hand and in very thinly disguised boredom confessed, "My apologies Mr. Clarke, but I do need a word with your sister before classes resume. I hope you find your meeting with Professor Frey as enlightening as you expect it to be."
Ryerson clammed up right away and nodded to the potions master respectfully. Turning to his sister with a rare smile he bid her farewell, "I'm going to try to find Neering before my meeting, then I'm back off to London. Take care, Rid." As he sauntered off in the direction they'd come from Ridley wanted nothing more than to follow and interrogate him about his quest to find Calvyn. She could think of no reason he'd seek her best mate's company and there was something undoubtedly fishy about that affair.
As it was, the tall, dark figure of her Head of House remained planted in front of her and she forced herself to meet his gaze. Surely he wasn't going to actually give her a week of detention—not when she'd gotten away with so much worse. Feeling a bit more tension between the two of them than she personally cared for, Ridley stupidly remarked, "Lovely weather we're having isn't it?"
Snape shook his head in defeat and sighed, but Ridley detected a hint of amusement in his mannerisms that made her smile. Instead of doling out her punishment, he praised lowly, "I just wanted to say congratulations on winning the match. All those practises have clearly paid off."
Biting her lip to keep a goofy smile in check, Ridley couldn't help but beam under his recognition. Looking up at him from under her eyelashes she chirped her thanks before reminding him, "I told you that we might make it to the finals this year."
The professor's apathetic facade broke as he cracked a smirk, "I believe you."
An eruption of shrieks and raised voices down the hall drew the pair from their conversation. Ridley only looked away for a moment, trying to scout out the source of the ruckus, and when she peered back at the professor he was once again the formidable wraith of the dungeons. With a thunderous expression he stalked off towards the fray, but not without calling over his shoulder, "Good job, Clarke."
Setting off on her own way, Ridley rested a cool hand against her warming cheek. She was still blushing when she made it into the common room.