Chapter Five: Hidden Past

Very pleased with myself, I hummed contently as Hermione and I stepped out of the chilled, musty dungeon classroom. Oh, thank god that's over. Briefly closing my eyes I took a huge inhale of clean air, savoring the crisp quality of it while Harry and Ron followed closely behind us.

"I still can't believe he gave you detention over that," Ron was muttering darkly as we began the slow trudge back to our Common Room. Being a Friday, we had the rest of the afternoon to ourselves, and I planned to take full advantage of that fact. At my silence on the subject, Ron glanced at me then immediately frowned at the large, disarming smirk plastered across my round face.

"You are aware of that, right? Detention? With Snape?" he repeated as if I didn't fully understand the fresh hell that was Professor Snape's detentions. Giving in to the growing urge, I rolled my eyes at him.

"Yes, Ron, I'm aware. Really, I could care less how many detentions he gives me," here I paused, that demented grin back on my face, cackling loudly in my head when Ron's eyes widened in alarm. I slapped a reassuring hand on both his and Harry's thin shoulders, a little harder than necessary as they stumbled slightly under the sudden weight.

"Don't worry, boys. If my revenge plan goes smoothly, our lovely Professor will never want to give me another detention again."

Ron shuddered, and Harry laughed outright at the appalled expression marring Ron's freckled face.

"I don't even want to know just leave me out of the scheming, yeah?" he grimaced. Ah, I suppose I should explain. In the beginning, Ron had found my more devious nature to be highly entertaining, or at least, that was until it came to bite him in the ass on more than one occasion. Hey, friends were fair game as far as I was concerned, and it's not like I did anything unforgivable. Really, eleven-year-olds were far too easy to tease in my option, which admittedly was half the fun. Though, it did backfire on me a little, as Ron himself was a quick learner and always seemed to find subtle ways in getting me back.

Ah, they grow up so fast.

I shot Ron an exaggerated military salute, my smirk widening at Hermione's exasperated, almost fond, shake of her head.

I'll turn you yet, I promised her in my head.

"I swear you're almost as bad as my brothers…" I heard Ron mumble under his breath. I just shrugged to myself and decided to let it go. Truthfully, I was nowhere near the twins' level of brilliance. I mean, sure, I was naturally mischievous and could pull a few reasonably small pranks if I wanted to, but my real strength mainly lied in mind dickery. The facial expressions alone people made when confronted with different situations were genuinely amusing to me. It wasn't a nice trait, and I fully admit it had cost me more than my fair share of friends in the past.

Yet, I couldn't help it.

Ever since I was small, I'd always liked to watch people, to observe. Unsurprisingly, this resulted in me being a tranquil, independent child, and I'd once prided myself on that fact. My dad used to think it was 'cute' before…before he died. His death had very nearly destroyed me, and at that young age, I just didn't know how to cope appropriately. Thus, I withdrew into myself, becoming more and more antisocial in a vain attempt to protect myself from unnecessary heartache. Through the many years afterward, Mom steadily began to experiment with drinking until it was practically all she did besides work, leaving me all alone. As for my relatives, Mom was an only child who rarely talked to her parents anymore. Apparently, they had a terrible relationship and were in some blood feud spanning even before I'd been born.

Meanwhile, Dad's family was still back in Scotland, and I was much too young to go off, trying to find them all by myself. So, in rare fits of emotional rage, I acted out. I hurt people with words alone, using my refined skill of observation to cruelly manipulate them into doing things they wouldn't usually do just because I could.

I regretted it now, of course, but at the time, I was a deeply troubled child. Eventually, I grew up and realized what I was doing was wrong, mellowing out entirely as I entered high school. There I finally gained some lasting friendships that helped me work through my baggage. About a year later, a close friend of mine introduced me to manga and jump-started my original obsession with reading. This, to no one's surprise, resulted in the large, towering black bookcases currently stacked against the deep purple walls of my bedroom. To be honest, I'd blown a good portion of the money I made working my part-time job on books or manga after that.

Regardless, I was perfectly fine now. I'd worked through my baggage and had finally accepted my life for what it was, moving on and aiming to get into a good college, to start fresh. I'd even had vague, half-formed plans to track down and visit my dad's family after I'd graduated. Though, all of that was moot point unless I could find a way back home. Which I would, I had to.

Torn from my more depressing thoughts, I glanced questioningly at the boys as they branched away from our little group, striding towards the castle grounds.

"Where are you going?" I asked them, my protective instincts flaring a little. In the first week of our schooling, I'd painstakingly established myself as an eccentric older sister figure to them, whether they realized it or not. Technically, Hermione was a few months older than my physical body, but I was seventeen mentally, and I'd be damned if I didn't act like it. I refused to pretend to be some clueless eleven year old and instead simply tried to tone down my normal personally, more for my friend's sake than mine.

Quickly, I mentally went over the first book, trying to remember what happened after Snape's little talk down. Weren't they supposed to visit Hagrid or something now? Pausing, Harry glanced back and smiled warmly at me.

"You really weren't paying any attention this morning, were you?" he said in good humor, then confirmed my earlier thoughts. "Hagrid invited me to have a cup of tea with him at three today. Did you two want to come with us?"

"Hagrid, the groundskeeper?" I asked for confirmation. Harry nodded. I shared a meaningful look with Hermione and shrugged my shoulders.

"No, it's fine, you boys have fun. Hermione and I are going to go hang out in the library again."

Ron made a disgusted face, and I raised a single eyebrow at him. True, hanging out in a library all day to read might seem especially boring to any self-respecting eleven-year-old, but books were my second favorite thing ever, besides dark chocolate, of course. They could have their boy time, and as much as I'd like to meet Hagrid, I knew I'd have plenty of opportunities later. Plus…maybe I was a total nerd and desperately wanted to go back and explore the library some more, but who cares?

"Got something to say, Ronald? Perhaps a thank you for helping you with your charms homework last night?" I teased him playfully. Ron snorted and tugged a bemused looking Harry away from us, raising his hand as a way of goodbye. I smiled like a Cheshire cat. Hermione watched this all with a practiced, resigned sort of acceptance. She was still a bit stiff and quiet around the boys, but overall, she seemed to have accepted us.

I was aware the book version of Hermione was a lot more bossy and judgmental than my Hermione, but with me being here I acted as a sort of buffer. I was teaching her to let go a bit and have a little fun while simultaneously bonding over our shared love of books while, hopefully, expanding her more naive beliefs. It was a slow process to be sure, but Hermione was a smart girl even this young, and she listened to me at the very least. The rest was for her to judge for herself.

Linking our arms, which at this point was tradition, we strolled towards the massively impressive school library. Once there, I quickly stepped inside and bypassed a shrewd-looking Madam Pince, Hogwarts resident librarian, the very familiar smell of old paper and ink greeting me like an old friend. Pince watched both of us walk past her tall desk with dark, judgmental eyes but refrained from actually saying anything. Honestly, the woman needed to chill the hell out. Out of everyone here, Hermione and I were the least likely to mishandle or abuse her precious books.

Fully taking in the tranquil atmosphere of one of my favorite places ever, my body relaxed automatically, and I quickly banished the overprotective witch from my thoughts. I strode purposefully past the practically endless rows of overflowing bookshelves, relaxing. I immediately claimed the comfy twin reading chairs in an inconspicuous corner of the library, carelessly tossing my bag down on the floor near its feet. In the background, many books could occasionally be seen flying hazardously in every which direction, either directly from their shelves to the awaiting student's hand or to seemingly move on their own free will and place themselves back in their original spots after a student deemed finished with it.

When spotting this truly bizarre display on the first day, my initial thought was something like, 'How in the hell did they manage to not constantly smack people in the face or chest from all that moving around?' My next course of action was to gush like the shameless fangirl trash that I was while Hermione thoughtfully pondered aloud how any of it was possible in the first place then proceeded to hunt down a book explaining it. By that point, the boys were long gone.

Gazing around, there was a surprising number of students milling about. A few were seated at shiny wooden tables, studying diligently or curled in cushy leather couches surrounded by parchment and ink. Looking even closer, I realized they were all older kids, mainly fourth years and up. Unsurprising, I guess, when one considered the fact that the higher in grade you were, the harder the schoolwork inevitably became, prompting a legitimate need to study a little outside of class in order to pass. I shuddered in distant horror just thinking about eventually being forced to take the torturous O. W. L.s and N. E. W.T.s.

The initial spot I'd chosen was well hidden in retrospect and placed in a conveniently hidden niche with two solid stone walls connected as a corner and tall, towering bookshelves surrounding the open space to protect the occupants from wandering eyes. Unless you already knew where it was, the area was surprisingly hard to find. Perfect for Hermione and I. Not that I would ever do anything bad per say, but the isolation was very welcome for someone like me who required complete silence to focus.

There was even a small window between the coaches that allowed small streams of sunlight to fall over the tiny area. With practiced ease, we both left the inviting space and beelined to our preferred reading sections, silently searching for a new book to explore for the next couple hours.

"You know, it still surprises me how much you like to read," Hermione began casually, eyes scanning over book titles on the shelves near the Reference section.

"Why's that?" I asked her, honestly. I was half focused on reading the general description of some particularly thick book about Eastern dragons in my left hand. I didn't understand how it was all that surprising, Hermione read just as much as me, perhaps more. While I generally preferred to read books about magical creatures or informative spells, Hermione was more prone to obsessively study our course books or research anything related to wizarding history and culture. Not that I could blame her, considering not too long ago she hadn't been aware magic even existed in the first place, let alone that she was a witch herself.

"Well, not many kids our age reads all that much," she explained truthfully. "Not to mention hardly as much as me," she continued with a small trace of pride.

"Sure they do, you've just never met them. There are no doubt thousands of kids our age who love to read just like us all around the word; you've simply only had the pleasure of interacting with the few in the school." I told her logically.

Hermione hummed lowly in agreement, and we both went back to our bookshelves. After a few minutes of quickly browsing through the dragon book, I grew restless and gently placed it back on the self to move off. A few fruitless minutes of searching later, I stumbled upon a strange sight. Seated at a small table all by herself was a thin girl with pale, ocean green eyes and short, choppy black hair. She looked small, a first year no doubt, and was dressed in the standard school uniform but with a green tie. A Slytherin, then, who's clearly fond of the color green, I thought to myself. Usually, something like that would hardly give me much pause, but the girl's hair was dyed a dark green at the tips. She also had a long, silver chain hanging around her neck, a little green crystal dangling at the end, and her visible ears were covered in small, silver piercings.

Intrigued despite myself, I walked over to stand near her. The girl glanced up from her current book, a cold expression on her face until she took in my whole appearance, her eyes lingering on my purple hair.

"Uh, hello," I said lamely.

She tilted her head, looking almost amused as she watched me twitch in discomfort. God, I hated first meetings, why couldn't I just

make a friend like a normal person?

"Hello. Can I help you?" she said politely.

"Not really? Just, uh, I noticed you had your hair dyed too and wanted to say it looked nice on you," I managed to get out, wincing immediately afterward. Oh God, I just sounded like I was hitting on her or something. Brilliant, Chelsea, just brilliant. Never mind the fact that we were both only eleven, and that was probably the last thing on the girl's mind.

"Thank you, your color fits you as well," the girl said, pulling me away from my thoughts. Surprised, I watched her for any signs of dishonesty. While I knew it was unfair of me to judge, she was still a Slytherin, and most if not all Slytherin's hated my house with a fiery passion the last I checked. I was internally pleased with how civil she was being. Perhaps we could be friends yet.

"What's your name?" I asked her finally, relaxing a bit when she smiled back at me.

"Jessie Murdoch and your Chelsea Sinclair, correct?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

She looked at me strangely for a second.

"Odd, your family is rather infamous in certain circles, so I don't see how…" at my perplexed expression, she trailed off, her thin eyebrow rising in a delicate arch.

"You mean to tell me you don't know?" she said skeptically, studying me with something akin to disbelief.

"Know what?" I asked her defensively. Seriously, what was so important about my name? Truthfully I was getting sort of annoyed with the fact that so many perfect strangers seemed to know me by name already. This must be a little how Harry felt all the time.

"Your family, the Sinclair's, they were exiled almost two hundred and fifty years ago," she continued tonelessly.

"Wait, what?" I exclaimed loudly. Exiled? Why in the hell would we be exiled?

"So you really didn't know…" she murmured thoughtfully to herself before closing her book and straightening in her chair. "Look, this whole school rivalry thing between Gryffindor's and Slytherin's is utterly pointless as far as I'm concerned. I'm only here to learn then graduate, the sooner, the better."

"Okay?" I said uncertainly. Granted, I hardly cared for it either. I'd befriend whoever I damn well pleased regardless of which house they originated from, but it was still mildly shocking to see a Slytherin of all people say the same. I stared blankly at her. Jessie glanced up at the ceiling like she wanted to roll her eyes but valiantly refrained.

"My point is, just because you're in Gryffindor and I'm in Slytherin, that doesn't mean I'm going to be a bitch to you. In fact, I'll even kindly explain your family history that you're so ignorant of," she said in a superior tone. Well, good to know she still was a Slytherin at her core under all that civility.

Still distracted from her earlier words and more than a bit thrown off by her confusing attitude, I unthinkingly obeyed her request to take a seat across from her at the empty table. I still had awhile yet before Hermione would come looking for me, it's not like it would be the first time I'd have wandered off, lost in the bookshelves.

"Right, exiled?" I prompted, not believing her. If my family was supposedly exiled, how could my 'parents' be working in at the Ministry? How could I have been sent to Hogwarts? Wouldn't there have been way more of a fuss about me in general if so? As far as I'd seen, the other students didn't seem to treat me any differently than a typical first year.

"It all started about two hundred and fifty years ago, with a woman named Scarlett Sinclair, your ancestor. Back then, she was supposedly a rumored prophet, a real rarity in those days, and was said to be able to see anyone's futures. As the years progressed, she slowly but steadily gained a fearsome reputation through her predictions since all of them came true. Soon enough, she, and consequently your family name became known by all witches and wizards, the Sinclair's previously were only regarded as an average pureblood family with no prestige to call their own.

"Thirty peaceful years pass, and at this point, your family was very much enjoying their newfound fame and the luxury that came with it, Scarlett herself marrying a half-blood and birthing three beautiful children when something unspeakable happened. No one knows for sure what triggered it, but one night, after a particularly draining vision, Scarlett essentially went insane. Like a woman possessed she started ranting about some prophecy that would be critical to the survival of the Wizarding World then proceeded to kick everyone out and lock herself in her mansion. Her family, reasonably upset by her strange behavior along with a small group of her loyal followers, broke into the house in order to find out what happened. They frantically searched every room, noting the broken furniture and destroyed glass only to be greeted by a very deranged Sinclair witch. Her husband of about twenty years by then attempted to reason with her, but before anyone could move to restrain her, Scarlett triggered three hidden explosive charms, killing her and everyone in the room instantly.

"Disturbed could not even begin to cover what the rest of the community felt. In the aftershocks of Scarlett Sinclair's psychotic break, the rest of wizards and witches, no longer wishing to be associated with her or the darkness that caused her insanity, temporarily exiled the remaining family. The main argument spearheading the community's rather harsh decision was the fear that her line would produce more prophets.

"A few years later, after the backlash settled and the community regained a bit of clarity, they reluctantly allowed the family back, under the strict condition they could only work for the Ministry. That way, they figured, if more prophets popped up, they could be carefully controlled and monitored so disasters like Scarlett's would never be allowed to happen again.

"Luckily for you, since Scarlett, no more prophets were born to your family, and right before she committed suicide, she did manage to leave written documentation containing the prophecy that led to her downfall. It's somewhere deeply hidden in the archives at the Ministry now most likely, though most assume it was lost to the fire caused by the explosions that day. Some people swore it was her wand that drove her to insanity, while others claimed it was produced from her powers. Some still say it was a terrible mixture of both."

The whole time she had been talking, ice shards had been shooting down my spine, my body becoming cold. I was starting to get a horrible feeling about this whole conversation.

"Why…" I swallowed thickly, forcing the words out. "Why would they think it was because of her wand?" I dared to ask, my heart in my throat. It was beating abnormally fast as my brain caught up to what she was implying while my body rejected it.

Jessie leaned forward, her eyes flashing with excitement.

"Well, it was made with such rare materials that at first, no one believed it would even work."

"What…what were they?"

"Silver-lime wood combined with a rare phoenix hair. Back then, it was practically unheard of. Usually, the two ingredients are so volatile it's near impossible to get them to fuse properly to make a workable wand. Yet, in the end, it somehow worked," she shrugged.

"Anyway, this was all so long ago now that hardly anyone remembers, it's only a few in the older generation that still even talk about it anymore," she finished, pleased with herself.

I, meanwhile, went utterly numb. Strong, sharp jolts of emotions threatened to overcome me, but with brutal efficiency, I bundled them all up into a tight ball and shoved it to the back of my mind. I'll deal with this later, not in front of a practical stranger and not in public, I told myself sternly.

"And why do you know all of this?" I demanded her suspiciously, forcing myself to act normal. Jessie scoffed.

"I am a fellow pureblood, you know, and a Slytherin at that. I may not be from a very influential family, but I definitely know all their dirty little secrets."

At my less than impressed look, Jessie smirked somewhat and relented.

"Pureblood's are very fond of gossiping," she told me simply. Now that, I could believe.

"Right, I need..." I looked around helplessly, glancing back to see her frown in genuine concern. My urge to run, to get away from the entire situation intensified.

"I'm sorry, thank you for telling me all that, but I need a moment alone to think," I said.

"Of course."

I nodded jerkily. Very shaken, I booked it out of the library without a second thought, my arms wrapped tightly around my waist in a false sense of comfort, and my wand burning a hole in my back pocket.