Chapter Thirteen: Preview

Thursday passed slightly warm but cloudy; what wind there was that day seeped through the stones of the corridors and cooled the worn flagging beneath the feet of the students. Damien grimaced at the feeling, shifting from one cold foot to another as he waited for Blaise to finish. Even in the dorms the cool could not be escaped, and Damien had already grabbed a thicker cloak than the one he had left with that morning.

"Hurry up," He grumbled, irritation at the weather adding fuel to the fire of his thoughts. Blaise poked his head around the curtains of his bed, leveling a calm look at Damien.

"Hold on. It's not like dinner's going to run off on all fours."

Damien muttered but settled back to continue waiting, watching as Blaise resumed rooting through his trunk for his fugitive cloak. It was true; dinner had only just begun, and wasn't likely to vanish before they arrived. Still, Damien felt a gnawing apprehensiveness in being confined to the circular room. After the unnerving episode with Flitwick the previous day, Draco's continued venue of disrespect, and Severus' refusal to look at him once again in class today Damien felt he held perfect rights to be edgy. As was, Flitwick could very well be ascending the stairs of the tower at that moment, and Damien didn't relish being stuck in the same room with him, left no possible avenues of escape from the inevitable interrogation.

"Will you hurry?" He snapped as that thought settled heavily in his mind. He had to stop himself from looking at the door.

"Got it," Blaise replied, straightening and holding up the material in his hand. Damien grunted and all but ran to the door, throwing it open and taking the steps two at a time down. He heard Blaise give a muffled curse from behind him and the door slamming as Blaise made to catch up to him.

It wasn't that he was hungry; quite the contrary, Damien felt he couldn't even stomach a spoonful of broth then. More than nerves had been racking at him; a growing feeling of unease had begun tugging at his mind, and the less he dwelled upon it, the more insistently it tugged at him; the more attention he paid to it, the more it drove him mad. There was no way for him to win.

It took them little time to reach the Great Hall; the corridors were, by now, very familiar to them. Upon entering Damien made a show of not looking at the staff's table; but when he finally did look, after seating himself next to Blaise and pulling a plate of food to him, Flitwick wasn't there. Damien felt a pulse of relief in him.

"Good to see you aren't starving yourself," Blaise muttered around his own mouthful of peas, and Damien turned away from his vigil in surprise. His fork was poised above his plate, but other than to load it he hadn't touched his food. He grimaced at Blaise and tried to eat, mechanically chewing everything he put into his mouth. It all tasted like ash to him, and before half his food was gone he shoved his plate away, eyes drawing irresistibly to the staff table. Flitwick still wasn't present, but not only he was missing; neither Severus nor Quirrell were there, either. He frowned at that, and his sense of unease grew.

Friday came and passed, with the same as it had been yesterday; Severus still refused to look at him, he still couldn't yet get his wand to work, and History was easy enough to allow him to catch up on the sleep he had missed the night before. The trouble, though, came after Charms class. Damien had made absolute certain he came in right before the bell rang for class to begin, and made it a point to avoid the professor during class. Oddly, though, Flitwick spared him no more attention than any other student that day; he did, however, insist that whomever had not managed to get their feather to float at the end of class to practice over the weekend. Damien almost thought himself clear when the bell rang, dismissing everyone; that was, until Flitwick fought his way through the rush of students to his side.

"I hope you don't mind, Mr. Morgan, but would you mind staying for a bit after class? Your friend can stay, too, if he likes," he added when Blaise shifted at Damien's side.

Damien, after a moment's consideration shook his head at Blaise.

"It's alright, you go on ahead."

Flitwick waited until Blaise left and the door shut behind him before bouncing along to his desk, fiddling with the end of his wand.

"Very good, very good…Ah, take a seat, if you please, go on…"

Damien, by now accustomed somewhat to Flitwick strange mannerisms seated himself at the nearest desk, setting his bag down beside him.

"Now, Damien—you don't mind if I call you Damien, do you? — our conversation got cut short the other day, I'm afraid—"

"No, really professor, it's fine—"

Flitwick cut Damien off in turn, shaking his head. "It's not fine, but we can continue now, if you like. Seeing as how it's lunchtime, would you like me to ask the elves for anything? Tea, perhaps? I would offer my office for this, but I'm afraid it's still a bit messy. Beginning-of-the-year issues, you know."

"Er…sure."

Damien was allotted a blessed five minutes to gather his thoughts as Flitwick summoned an elf, gave their order and settled down at his desk. Five minutes, and Damien spent all of it wringing his mind for a plausible answer to Flitwick's late question to him. How was he going to explain the ward when he couldn't even use the Levitation spell? He stomach crunched itself into knots.

"Ah," Flitwick exhaled softly when the tea tray popped into existence on the wood before him, "Earl Gray, lovely brand… Do you take anything with your tea?"

Damien didn't really care about the tea, and the cup floated over to him with nothing added.

"Now, Damien, we both know why I asked you to stay behind. That ward was rather lovely, impeccable, in fact, but it brings a matter of great importance to my attention."

"The Levitation charm," Damien concurred dully, knowing there was no way to avoid it. His mind was painfully blank; he took a gulp of the tea to try and coax some thought through it.

"Umm. Damien, that was very advanced magic you did. I am concerned with your performance in class, more so in light of this new… new occurrence. Have you much trouble with your magic in other classes?" Damien's nod was more than enough confirmation; the boy had no doubt Flitwick had discussed him with the other teachers already. "I thought so. Would I be allowed to see your wand?"

Damien handed it over, and Flitwick looked over it with a careful eye. "Very strong core, I can see, very unusual, as well… Ollivander's? Yes, yes, very unusual... Well, I know Elwin isn't in the business of handing over a wand to someone if it didn't fit them…"

He gave it back after several seconds of inspection and Damien stashed it back up his sleeve. Flitwick sipped his tea before continuing. "That…outburst of yours the other day precipitated the ward, if I am correct, and given the nature of magic, which relies heavily on our emotions, I would say you were under some extreme duress…" He caught the look on Damien's face and waved his hand. "I apologize if this is going over your head—"

Damien jerked, fumbling with the cup on his saucer. "No! No, I…I'm following." Over his head? He understood very well what Flitwick was talking about.

Flitwick shrugged, searching for the tail end of his train of thought. "Yes, yes, I thought not, no, you'll make a very good Ravenclaw, very good…Ah! Yes, yes, emotions. As you know," His voice adopted a lecturing tone, "our magic is linked strongly with our emotions. The more we are feeling, the stronger our magic reacts to it. Now, I won't pry, but I take it you were experiencing severe emotional duress before you put up that ward? Ah, yes, I thought so. Well, I would have to observe you more to be sure, but I think you have a bit more trouble controlling how your emotions affect your magic than others your age. That is to say," He added, the offended look on Damien's visage obvious, "that you are more prone to exposing what you are feeling than others. This means, that you require strong emotional provocation in order to properly wield your magic. See?"

Damien jumped on it. "Yes, professor! That makes perfect sense. Sometimes I can't seem to hold in my anger," he continued solicitously, "I can have the most terrible rages. I get irritated easily, too."

Damien was feeling the good little Slytherin when Flitwick concurred that was his problem. They both enjoyed their tea for a few more moments—Damien wishing he had asked for some sugar in his—before Flitwick spoke.

"I would like to help you with this, my boy. I'm not sure if you're aware, but we have a Charms club here at Hogwarts. You could get aid from older students if I'm not available, and you'd make friends quickly, there, I'd imagine, if you're half the Ravenclaw I'm suspecting you'll turn out to be."

Damien choked on his tea. Wiping at his chin with his sleeve, he tried to put on an obsequious expression. It came out half-mangled. "Oh, no, professor, thank you, but I wouldn't feel comfortable asking other students for help. Besides," he turned his head down, allowing his bangs to fall forward and hide his expression—'It's working!'— "It's…really embarrassing. I mean…I don't want anyone to know I'm having…you know…problems…with my magic. I am a Ravenclaw, after all. I wouldn't want to damage my House's pride."

Flitwick about beamed at him, and Damien had to hide a smile of victory. "I know exactly what you mean. Well, we'll just have to keep our little sessions private, won't we? Why don't you meet me here tomorrow at noon for some practice? I'm sure you want to get started as soon as you can, get over this little issue so you can focus more on your studies."

Damien made a show of agreeing enthusiastically, thanking the professor for his kind assistance before making for the door. Outside, with the door at his back, he couldn't help the chuckle bubbling in his throat. He had hardly had to do anything; Flitwick had done it all for him!

'Ah,' he thought as he all but floated to what remained of lunch, 'I should have been a Slytherin.'

Hermione couldn't sleep. It was one thing to be so bone tired, but another to be so bone tired but not even be able to safely rest in your own bed. She had already dealt with three different pranks ranging from the mild to the semi-serious—she had to go see the nurse about the last one—and she just knew there would be more before Monday came around again. She sighed as she slipped on her shoes, throwing a dark look at the snoring mound that was Pansy. That pug-nosed…girl had been the worst out of all of them; it had been her prank, Hermione was sure, that caused those oozing burns to erupt across her face, and even more sure she had weaseled the spell out of an upperclassman.

She was as quiet as she could be when she left the dormitory at quarter to six in the morning, stealing towards the common room with fear burgeoning in her chest. They had never said she couldn't get up early, but she doubted they would be pleased to find their favorite sport gone. Hermione grimaced at that thought but sighed in relief when she made the corridor, all but running down the cold dungeon hall towards the upper floors. They were comprised of Malfoy, Pansy, Flint, and a few more of the older Slytherins in her House. It was hard for her to remember why she wanted into Slytherin in the first place; anywhere was better than here. Hermione flushed a bit at what she did remember of her thought process during the Sorting. It had been because of Damien, she knew; she had wanted badly to be wherever he was, the first person to show her any kindness on the train; the only person who didn't look at her as simply a Mudblood, as trash that was humiliating to be associated with.

But she hadn't made it into his House, him being Sorted into Ravenclaw where she had originally wanted to be and all, and the knowledge was bitter. She hadn't spoken to him since Tuesday, since he had…well, rescued her from Malfoy. She had tried to catch him yesterday as the rest of their Charms class had left for lunch, but the professor had grabbed him before she could approach. What had happened afterwards was horribly embarrassing; it was the reason she hadn't bothered going to dinner the night before, preferring to hole up in the library with the books that wouldn't laugh at her. Where had Pansy got the absurd idea she liked Damien? Even if it might be true, why would that make her laugh so hard? What did Pansy know about him that she didn't?! Why would Pansy know him anyways?!

She had worked herself into a simmering temper by the time she gained the Entrance Hall, the irritation splashing darkly across her face. So what if she might like him? That wasn't any business of Parkinson's. It wasn't as if she was jealous; her Housemate was too busy mooning after Malfoy the Git to care about some Ravenclaw, anyhow.

The cold air outside helped. Hermione walked down the pathways winding their way outside the school proper, watching the ground sharply. It was still very dark outside, even though the first stretches of morning were painting themselves against the sky. She sat down on a cold stone bench, feeling the temperature seep into her bones through her robe. Her uniform didn't offer much protection against the weather, but at least the cool helped her wake up, and it felt nice against her flushed face.

She sat there quietly for a long time, simply enjoying the silence, which was rare in Hogwarts; everywhere you went there was nothing but noisy students causing ruckuses. The sky continued to lighten, and it wasn't until a sharp yell pierced the sky did Hermione snap out of it.

She had apparently fallen asleep, leaning against the cold column behind her, because the sky was a nice blue in color. The air was decidedly warmer, too, but she still pulled her robe closer to her as she blearily blinked around. What had that been? She couldn't see anything. She waited, but when nothing showed she made to stand up.

Another sound, from around the corner ten feet to her left, stopped her mid-motion. She slowly sat down again, watching the corner and waiting. It had sounded human; her muscles tensed. They hadn't found her, had they?

No. Instead of the Slytherins she was anticipating a group of Gryffindors who looked about her age rounded the corner, laughing raucously at something.

A/N: Here's the preview. I hope to get the rest done soon, but that's not looking...well, very likely. I just hope you enjoy what I have managed to get done so far.