15A/N: Thanks to Lizzy Lizard Snape for the review on the last chapter, I greatly appreciate your feedback :) Also thanking everyone who has taken the time to read, favourite and follow! Here's chapter three, enjoy!
Chapter Three
Fortunately for her, Ridley was not hungover the next morning. In fact, she felt better rested than she'd been in what were probably months. Her sleep had been so deep that the girls she shared her dorm with had not managed to wake her when they, according to Brinn, had snuck in at three in the morning. Brinn claimed that they'd had the best night of their lives at Hogwarts, and Ridley had seriously missed out.
Ridley seriously doubted that.
Striding into the Great Hall, she was pleasantly surprised to find it nearly empty. Evidently, Ridley was not in the habit of waking up early. Smiling to herself, she wandered over to the Slytherin table, taking a seat not far from the middle. Scooting into her chair, she met the wide, blue eyes of a small girl on the opposite side.
Ridley sent her a small smile, and the girl, a first year presumably, cast her eyes down shyly. Pale, almost white blonde hair fell over her shoulders, and some curtained her face. Ridley felt a rush of empathy for the girl, knowing full well she had a healthy fear of the upper years when she was eleven as well.
Scanning the table, Ridley found a stack of toast and a dish filled with marmalade. Suddenly ravenous, she reached for the toast and piled a couple of slices on her plate, smothering them with a thick layer of the jelly. She had to restrain herself as she took the first bite, not allowing herself to moan at the explosion of citrusy flavour on her tongue. Merlin, did she miss Hogwarts' food.
Chewing she let her eyes wander around the room, letting them focus on the head table for a moment. Even the teaching staff, it seemed was hesitant to rise from their beds so early. Only a few professors were up and ready to face the day thus far. Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch were conversing amicably, Hooch gesturing somewhat wildly while McGonagall nursed a cup of tea. A few seats down the table, one of Ridley's least favourite professors was flipping through a large book and nibbling on a muffin. Every couple of bites, she would screw up her face and grab a quill from beside the book, scribbing angrily in the text. Ridley abhorred her. Unsurprisingly, the feeling was mutual.
Even further down the table, Ridley was startled to meet the eyes of Professor Snape. In the time it took her to blink, his eyes were adverted, focused on his plate as though he'd never been looking at her. Ridley was thrown, not sure what just happened. It was innocent enough to be caught looking at someone, she thought. But there was something more there, and it unsettled her. Bravely, however, she continued to look at the professor, scrutinizing him. His black hair hung about his shoulders, and while previously she'd accounted his unhealthy pallor to the stark contrast between his already pale complexion and that ink black hair, she found the theory contested. Under his eyes were dark, almost bruise like rings. Perhaps he wasn't sleeping? His cheekbones seemed sharper, skin pulled more taut over his bones. Perhaps he wasn't eating?
Ridley found the answer rather quickly to the latter speculation, as she watched Snape push around the food on his plate with a fork. None of it made its way to his mouth. Was he ill?
Suddenly, his eyes lifted and bore directly into Ridley's with startling intensity. Aghast, she broke the stare and focussed back on her stack of toast. Surely Snape didn't know she'd been watching him? The unease in her stomach disagreed.
"Ooh, I like this." Ridley nearly jumped at the voice so near her. Molly lowered herself into the seat beside her, holding Ridley's hair in one hand and examining it. She'd made an effort to tame her hair that morning, and somehow managed to wrangle her unruly, brunette curls into a thick braid. Some tresses had escaped, and hung loosely around her face, but she considered it a battle won, altogether.
"Thanks," Ridley mumbled through a mouthful of her breakfast. Molly smirked and swiped a slice of toast from her plate, nibbling on it while she rifled through her canvas bag. Pulling out a leather bound notebook, she opened it up around halfway to a blank page and returned back to the bag in search of a quill. Ink and quill retrieved, she dipped the instrument into the ink pot and scribbled down the date at the top, right corner of the page, Sept. 2, 1984.
"Don't you think it's a bit early for a diary entry?" Ridley teased. Molly scoffed, stealing her pumpkin juice too. She took a long drink, draining the cup, before setting it back on the table with perhaps a little too much force.
"I'm doing an experiment," she stated plainly, scratching something down on the paper.
"An experiment?" Ridley inquired, craning her neck to see what Molly had written. Subject subdued. Rough night? Prepare to exclude data due to outlier.
"Molly, what the hell?" Ridley laughed, returning to a more comfortable position. "Who are you observing?"
Molly nodded her head down the table, and Ridley twisted in her seat to follow the girl's stare. Almost at the very end of the table, Brinn sat with her head in one hand, and the other stirring a bowl of porridge. She looked exhausted.
"Okay," Ridley turned, looking at her friend skeptically, "what are you going to do to Brinn?" She was beginning to feel a bit uneasy. There was an obvious rift between her two friends; they'd never really seen eye to eye in all the time she'd known them. And while Ridley could admit that Brinn's presence did become a bit irritating every once in awhile, she was concerned for her welfare.
Molly could see her concern written plainly on her face and chuckled, "It's not like that." She turned as the sounds of boisterous young men reached her ears, and sure enough, Marcus, Calvyn, and a myriad of other upper year Slytherins were approaching the table. Leaning closer to Ridley, she nodded to Brinn and whispered, "Just watch."
Ridley turned in her seat once again, and unsurprisingly as Marcus and the group of boys got closer to the table, Brinn's demeanor changed entirely. Her face lit up and an appealing smile stretched over her perfect teeth. She sat up straighter, and just projected an overall aura of flirty happiness. Marcus sat across from her, and she leaned toward him across the table. It was a total flip.
"So, she likes attention." Ridley took another bite of her toast, raising her eyebrows in an unspoken question, so what?
Molly rolled her eyes, and made another note beneath the last. "Yes, but specific attention, right?"
"Erm, I suppose, yeah."
"What if there was a way I could make her react like that to literally anybody."
Ridley stared hard at her friend, unsure of where this was leading. Sure, Molly indulged herself in people watching, and Ridley respected that of her. She was one of the most observant people she'd ever met. In fact, Ridley often likened her to the great muggle detective, Sherlock Holmes; not that she'd ever admit that to Molly.
"Okay," she twisted her full body to face Molly's, her knees brushing the side of her friend's thighs. "First of all," Ridley held up an index finger and waved it animatedly, "What do you get out of this? And how would you go about achieving it?"
"I'm going to train her to subconsciously associate certain events or actions with Marcus' arrival," she stated plainly, looking back over to Brinn and scribbling away in her book. Glancing up from her page, she caught Ridley's bewildered look and sighed, before continuing, "I'm gonna cough, or clap, or something else that sounds natural, everytime Marcus approaches her," she took a quick break, which she used to swipe another half of toast from Ridley's plate. Between mouthfuls, she finished, "so eventually she'll learn to expect Marcus whenever I cough, or whatever, and voila." She smiled smugly, "A perfectly trained Brinn."
Ridley was baffled, "You're classically conditioning her?"
"What?"
"Nothing."
Molly looked at her, perplexed. "It's only for shits and giggles, really."
Ridley didn't believe her.
"Miss Clarke," suddenly drawled, a deep voice behind her.
"Holy sh—" she jumped in her seat, knocking her elbow off the edge of the table, "Ow!"
Molly smirked as Ridley screwed up her face in pain and rubbed her elbow. Turning to the professor, she shrank under his critical gaze, "Sorry professor, you startled me."
Snape merely turned to Molly, nodding his head in acknowledgement, "and Miss Brady. I have your schedules."
Molly smiled charmingly, accepting the proffered slip of parchment. Ridley followed suit, thanking the professor.
"And, Clarke,"
Ridley looked back up to the taller man, a strange mixture of curiosity and apprehension tugging at her stomach. "Yes, sir?"
"After classes, I've arranged for you to see the Headmaster about your Defense Against the Dark Arts conflict. He'll be expecting you at eight o'clock, tonight."
"Alright, thank you, professor." Ridley was surprised. Of course, her O.W.L. results and circumstances surrounding her poor performance in the class last year were no secret to the professor. However, she'd yet to approach her Head of House about getting into the seventh year class, and it seemed out of character for the man to resolve her issue without any initiative on her part. Deciding not to overthink it, she attributed it to his efficiency as a teacher.
"Potions, Charms, Defence, and Transfiguration. Not bad for a Monday," Molly chirped, laying the schedule flat on the table. Ridley hummed in agreement, scanning her own page. A healthily tanned hand, with long elegant fingers, suddenly snatched the parchment from her loose grip.
"Oi!" she yelped, throwing herself around in her seat to glare at a smirking Calvyn, "I wasn't done with that."
Calvyn gave her a mocking pout, raising the parchment above his head as Ridley tried to swipe it back. "You ought to read quicker, Rid."
"It's my schedule, I'll read it as quickly as I please," she sulked. Calvyn scooted into the seat beside her, his eyes flickering over the page one last time before he relinquished the parchment. Ridley gratefully accepted it, and tucked it into the safe confines of her school bag.
"So we've got Potions and Transfiguration together," Calvyn stated as he reached for a stack of toast. "But, surprisingly, not Muggle Studies." The boy looked at her conspiratorially as he buttered the slice he'd retrieved and took a generous bite. The bread crunched under his teeth. Ridley blanked under his stare.
"You're taking Muggle Studies?" Molly asked, bewildered.
Ridley nodded.
"Why?"
"Why not?"
Molly looked at her, an even stare that made Ridley question herself too. She let her eyes flicker back down to her plate in front of her. All it held were crumbs. Ridley pushed the plate away and turned back to her best friend.
Molly blinked, "It's useless."
"It's easy," Ridley argued.
Shrugging, the blonde added, "It's our last year, and the last chance for us to get our N.E.W.T. levels in classes that'll actually help us." She glanced down at her watch, before flipping her notebook on the table closed and stuffing it into her bag. Ridley supposed it was time for Potions.
Following suit, Ridley threw the strap of her bag over her shoulder and stood up from her seat, following Molly. Calvyn was on her heels.
"Well yeah," Ridley replied, catching up to Molly and striding alongside her, "but I don't think that a lot of quidditch players need N.E.W.T.'s in Ancient Runes, or Arithmancy."
"They probably don't need to take N.E.W.T. level Potions, either," Molly fired back.
"I like Potions," Ridley stated, point blank.
Molly merely rolled her eyes, before launching into a conversation about Stephanie Lawson's disappearances from the girls dormitory the year before. Calvyn participated enthusiastically, predicting this year to be much the same. Molly bet five galleons that she was seeing Michael Kent; Calvyn thought Troye Bentworth.
Ridley nearly scoffed at her friend's musings. Troye Bentworth was most definitely not sleeping with Stephanie Lawson, or any girl at Hogwarts for that matter. She had it on good authority that Bentworth was so to speak, playing for the other team. Calvyn and Molly, however, did not need to know that.
The pair gossiped like old birds the whole way to the dungeons, Ridley sniggering every so often. By the time they'd reached the Potions classroom, her questionable interaction with the professor that morning was almost entirely gone from her memory.
Almost.
"I don't think I'm gonna make it," groaned a forlorn Marcus, reclined on the grass propped up by his elbows behind him. Brinn, Calvyn, Molly, and Ridley herself lay beside him in similar positions, watching the quickly setting sun dip into the lake's horizon. Ridley pulled her robe closer to her as a violent shiver wracked her body. It was looking to be a viciously cool autumn.
"Oh, Marky," Brinn shuffled closer to the sulking boy and placed a consoling hand on his upper thigh, "You can do it!"
Out of the corner of her eye, Ridley saw Molly contort her face in disgust. Ridley had to suppress a snort. Brinn continued to pet their burly friend, as said manchild whined about his Herbology class and some Gryffindors. Ridley merely rolled her eyes, as she twirled a fallen, yellow leaf between her fingers.
"I don't think I'm gonna make it through the school year either," Molly droned, low enough for only Calvyn and Ridley to hear, "without throttling the whiny bastard, that is."
At that Ridley couldn't smother an undignified snort. Calvyn smirked; Molly massaged her temples.
The sky was a pretty gradient of tangerine and vibrant indigo as the sun became but an orange sliver along the horizon. With a resigned sigh she peered down at her wrist watch. Quarter to eight.
"Alright, I gotta go." Ridley got to her feet, brushing the grass off of the back of her robes. Throwing her school bag over her shoulder, she met eyes with Molly who sent her a knowing look before smiling encouragingly.
"What are you doing?" Marcus turned his attention away from Brinn and gazed at her questioningly.
Before Ridley could open her mouth to reply however, Molly sneered, "Drowning puppies in the dungeons. Mind your own business, Marcus."
Marcus was, as per usual, unaffected. He merely shrugged nonchalantly and turned his attention back to the now babbling girl beside him. Ridley snickered as she passed Molly, who was muttering under her breath. "Nosy prat."
"I'll see you guys later," Ridley called to her darling group of friends as she made her way back to the castle.
The trek to the Headmaster's office was an unusually short one, as Ridley found herself lost in thought. She'd concluded that her first day back at Hogwarts had gone rather well. Potions was business as usual, stressful, challenging, and ultimately satisfying. The same had went for Charms and Transfiguration. However, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall still looked at her different, with a certain edge of pity perhaps. Only in Muggle Studies did she find sanctuary.
The sudden arrival to the entrance of the Headmaster's office startled Ridley out of her contemplative state. The corridor was empty as she stood in front of the hulking, ugly gargoyle that protected the entrance. Though dead still, the statue's eyes framed by a handful of wrinkles and squat nose, seemed to be staring right at her. Ridley narrowed her eyes at the creature suspiciously. Did she imagine the twitch at the corner of its mouth?
Ridley decided it was laughing at her; she stuck her tongue out at it.
"Miss Clarke!"
Ridley jumped, before spinning around to see a tall, white bearded man, striding toward her with a grace that defied his apparent age. Upon his crooked nose sat a pair of halfmoon spectacles, beyond which clear blue eyes twinkled at her mischievously. "You're early."
Glancing down at her watch she replied, "I guess I am, professor."
Dumbledore smiled at her knowingly as he approached her. Reaching her side, he spoke the password, "liquorice wand" to which the obnoxious statue leapt aside. Beckoning her to follow, Dumbledore strode through the passage to a winding stone staircase. Ridley proceeded, and swallowed her anxiety as the pair approached the office door. The Headmaster pushed the door open, holding it for Ridley as she entered after him.
The office was just the same as the last time she saw it, perhaps the only difference being the state of his pheonix. The bird, she last saw as a rather sickly looking animal, now shone with a great aura of magnificence and pride. At Ridley's appearance, the bird cawed and launched itself off its perch, flying Merlin knows where to the back of the room.
The same silver trinkets hummed, clicked, and whirred away on various tables and stands among the room. Former Headmasters watched her from their places high on the walls, some with curiosity, a few with notable loathing.
With a flourish of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a chair. "Please take a seat, Miss Clarke," he suggested, as he made his way over to his desk. Sinking into his own seat, he shuffled about some parchments and placed them somewhere off to the side. Folding his hands on the surface, he looked at her expectantly behind his glimmering spectacles.
Ridley took a deep breath as she approached the chair, her stomach slightly twisting nervously. Best to get it done and over with, she thought.
And so, she took a seat.