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"She's upstairs, Professor." 

Hermione Jean Granger glanced up at the Professor’s unwavering gaze, noting with interest how McGonagall’s lips appeared less thin than usual – almost as if she were on the verge of smiling. It was a strange thing to behold, especially when her roommate – and slowly becoming friend – had been caught diving straight for the ground on a worn school broom.

“Could you please get her for me?” Professor McGonagall continued, glancing up toward the girl’s dormitory. No doubt this was some attempt to allow the girls’ privacy of their quarters – or she was terrified of the disastrous mess she’d find. Whatever the reason, Hermione nodded and shut her Standard Book of Spells, Grade One with a snap and quickly darted up the staircase.

Her brown eyes dimmed as the memory of the day’s events swam before her gaze. Malfoy had been growing ever more annoying since the first potions class of the year. No matter what Si protested, her anxious attitude had not gone unnoticed by their classmates. She – according to Hermione’s personal diagnosis – suffered from social anxiety. She was shy, and awkward, and became horribly embarrassed by the smallest amount of attention. It wasn’t a bad trait to have; in fact, some might argue that it was a good behavior for a famous person to display humility. But it was a trait easily exploited and manipulated, something that Draco Malfoy had been quick to take advantage of.

Parkinson’s sneering face, glittering dark eyes
A rush of wind, Malfoy hovering twenty feet above, a shimmer of glass in his fist 
A call, a jeer, a shove in the right direction
One voice too small, “Give that back—”
“Ooh! Sticking up for Longbottom, Potter?”
A half-hearted mumble. “—shouldn’t pick on people.”
Loud, abrasive drawl. “Why don’t you come get it?”
A shake of the head, a horrified squeak
“Before I smash it on the castle wall.”
As one, Crabbe and Goyle converged, Zabini blocking the way out
Parkinson sniggered at the wide emerald eyes
A gasp, a rescue out of reach
She took to the air, in colored despair

Hermione frowned, disapproval etched within the lines of her brow. If anyone ought to have gotten in trouble, it should have been the Slytherins. That much was obvious – at least to anyone who could rub two brain cells together. Si hadn’t yet told her about her conversation with Professor McGonagall after the incident, she’d shaken her head and refused to comment. She’d seemed cheerful though, chatting animatedly about their lessons – despite the obvious avoidance of the flying incident. After a polite knock, Hermione pushed open the door and looked around. Fay Dunbar was sitting on her bed reading a book about Quidditch. She was a tall girl, with shoulder-length brown hair and bright blue eyes. She glanced up as Hermione entered, gave a small smile, and then returned to her book obviously not keen on making conversation. Hermione didn’t mind, she knew what it was like to get sucked into a good book and passed by her four-poster with a nod.

Si had the four-poster next to her, the rich red-tinted wood glowed maroon and gold in the afternoon sun pouring through the window. The bed that everyone wanted, but upon seeing Si’s clear preference of it, didn’t argue the matter. The corners of Hermione’s lip turned up as a smile graced her features. She’d honestly been jealous – moonlight was good for late-night reading – but upon actually getting introduced to Si, she didn’t have the heart to ask to switch beds. 

 She stepped over one of Lavender’s robes, thrown haphazardly on the floor, and stepped around the curtains of the four-poster to find Si sitting on her bed, the front curtain pulled back. She looked deep in thought, though her eyes were unfocused as they stared unseeingly at the roughly cut stone wall next to the window. It was rather discomforting, to tell the truth.

“Um… Si?”

As though her words had electrocuted her, Si jumped, jerking sharply toward her. She blinked, her glassy gaze still caught up in the confines of some obscure thought for another minute before recognition cleared the fog.

“Oh,” she mumbled, running a distracted hand through her hair and looking embarrassed. “Sorry… spaced out.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I noticed.” She swallowed. It wasn’t the first time she’d intruded upon one of these spaces and she knew it was no good to ask what had been on her mind.

“So?” Si prompted and Hermione remembered why she was there in the first place.

“Professor McGonagall’s here to see you. She’s down in the common room.”

Si got quickly to her feet and straightened her robes. “Oh, right.” She looked flustered, but excited, as though she were about to open a letter of acceptance to some university. Hermione blinked.

“You’re not in trouble, are you?”

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Professor Minerva McGonagall did not condone rule breaking, even the smallest infraction, and had therefore managed to establish a strict reputation of nearly the same caliber of the one Severus maintained. That wasn’t to say that she wouldn’t seize an opportunity when one presented itself before her – all packaged in brilliant wrappings with a bow on top – even if it required the bending of some arbitrary rule. Not that barring first years from trying out for the Quidditch team was arbitrary. Most of those children had never flown a broomstick before, and the other half were handicapped by their immaturity. In her opinion, even second years fell under the latter, but it wasn’t her decision to make. In any case, Miss Potter had displayed not only an aptitude for the sport, but a maturity that deemed her responsible enough for the position.

Not to say that she was pleased when she saw the young Potter flying in the air. The girl had been breaking school rules – namely disobeying instructions – but for once Minerva wasn’t terribly irate. In fact, the plans to get the girl onto the Quidditch team had formulated in her mind as soon as she’d seen her land. Twisting Dumbledore’s arm – no easy task – had miraculously succeeded, which arose the suspicion that he was playing favorites or at the very least attempting to shower Miss Potter with exceptions, but no matter.

She had her seeker.

 “Professor McGonagall?”

Minerva turned, raising an eyebrow. The Weasley twins stood before her, and for once their identical faces appeared apprehensive. It took her a moment to realize why this was the case, and adorn what she hoped was a reassuring expression.

“Stop looking so nervous, Weasley,” she snapped, though her tone was a great deal less severe than usual. “I’ve not come to deliver bad news, nor have I come to be subjected to such baleful expressions.” Her eyes twinkled and she added, rather lightly, “You’ll make me think there’s a reason for your guilty faces.”

“Whoa, did Slytherin just lose fifty points, or something?” At the last moment, he added – with a rather smug expression – “Ma’am?”

That had to be Fred. Minerva had never been particularly good at telling the twins apart – and they only seemed to make that job more difficult – but every now and then they gave themselves away. Fred, she had noted over these last three years, was a great deal more offending. His brother George had a gentle side that only revealed itself when his foolish brother invented a prank that could – and more than likely, would – hurt someone, whether mentally or physically, and put his foot down.

Not that he cared when such a prank involved the Slytherins, mind. She resisted the urge to sigh and rub her temples. Somehow, she wondered how those infernal twins weren’t in Slytherin.

“Not that I’m aware of,” she replied in a tone that clearly suggested that she hoped such thing had happened.

“Can you tell us then why you seem in an obscenely good mood?” His brother inquired. He paused, then looking excited, “Did Snape decide to quit?”

“Professor Snape,” Minerva corrected automatically. “And no.” She paused then, lowering her voice, added, “Do make sure not to let my asset go to waste, Slytherin has beaten Gryffindor enough times on the pitch.”

George – she assumed, anyway – blinked, hazel eyes blank with surprise before they crinkled. He glanced once at his brother, then in a conspiratorial whisper, “Wood mentioned something about getting a Seeker.”

“Said he’d found one to rival Charlie,” Fred added, his grin broadening.

Minerva surveyed them for a moment before giving the smallest of nods. For a moment, it looked as though the twins were about to hug her, but a small voice interrupted them.

“Uh… Professor? You wanted to see me?”

Miss Silence Potter stood several feet away, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She looked as if she wanted to come closer, but didn’t dare to. As one, the twins turned to look at her and she recoiled slightly, her shoulders hunching. Minerva frowned, noting with grimness the behavior. Silence had displayed a similar aversion to attention in her class and while she understood the shy personality wishing to remain invisible, it wasn’t healthy. She made a note to speak to Poppy about it, see if they couldn’t work together to help Silence socialize a bit more. Fred – or George, she’d forgotten which was which – jerked back toward her, his eyes wide.

“She—”

“I have no doubt that Wood will tell you everything as soon as he gets here.” She motioned for Silence to follow her. “Or, you can just wait for Potter to return, we won’t be long.” Minerva turned for the portrait hole, pushed it open and glanced back at Silence. The girl cast the twins a frightened look before darting toward her and out the common room. Minerva followed, and then with a small nod led Silence toward her office. 

The walk was silent, much as it had been right after the flying incident. Silence made no move to speak – though she did wring her hands several times as though attempting to channel her nervous energy. And, once again, she was struck by how different she and her parents were. James, ever the troublemaker, had accompanied her many times and it was always with a frenzy of questions and charming comments. Lily on the other hand preferred to make unoffending small talk. But Silence, well… she was silent, wasn’t she? Minerva was tempted ask her about her day, but decided against it. She didn’t want to push Silence out of her comfort zone before having a good talk with Poppy.

Several minutes later, Minerva pushed open the door to her study, her sharp gaze sweeping the room as she crossed to her desk, a beautiful oak one that had been given to her by her late father when she’d gotten the position. Roughly cut stone walls had been covered in aged charts depicting the transformation of humans into animals, and posters filled with ancient texts and formulas for the proper wand movements concerning the transformation different materials. Lined around the classroom cages of all shapes and sizes held a mixture of local and exotic creatures, the occasional squawk emitting from a brightly colored bird in a silver mesh cage. Rows of empty desks lined in perfect rows angled forward, a far bit of space between each. In her educated opinion, transfiguration needed the individual’s utmost attention and any aid – or distraction – from neighbors were unhelpful.

“I assume, Miss Potter that you know why you’re here?” She prompted, pulling open one of the drawers and withdrawing a slip of paper. Silence flushed and began to wring her hands again.

“Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled, her bottle-green eyes wide as she observed her every movement.

Minerva frowned. “For goodness sakes child, stop looking so worried!” The corners of her lips turned up, a smile dancing just out of sight. “All I need you to do is sign this code of sportsmanship – pledging that you swear to stay out of severe trouble and understanding that if you do… ah… engage in inappropriate behaviors suspension and possible termination from the team will ensue.”

Silence’s mouth dropped open.

“Welcome to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Miss Potter.”

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“No way…”

“It can’t be.”

“But she’s—”

“It’s—”

George Weasley didn’t even smile at the fact they had said the last bit at the same time – which when unrehearsed required some sort of congratulations on their like-mindedness. Not this time though, this time he was in a state of flabbergasted surprise, one that his twin no doubt shared. Somehow, in his thirteen-year old brain, he couldn’t fathom the small frail girl surviving on the Quidditch Pitch. Sure, she was the perfect build – light, small, and fast – but she looked as though one good gust of wind would throw her out of the air! But for McGonagall to… bend rules, well, she had to have some raw talent for the sport.

“Georgie, what do you reckon?”

George turned, a brow rising at the pet-name his brother had given him. Well, at least it was better than Geo or Gie-Gie. He resisted a shudder at the memory of the last one – a shudder that threatened uncontrollable laughter, mind.

“I dunno, Freddy.” He grinned, before returning to a more serious tone. “She’s got to be good, McGonagall was glowing!”

Fred frowned. “Yeah, but,” he lowered his voice. “She was white as a ghost when we looked at her. How is she going to survive when it’s the entire Slytherin team bearing down on her?”

 George shrugged. “Maybe we’re just that scary.”

Fred snorted, but was prevented from replying when Hermione Granger stepped before them, her brown eyes glinting. What had Ron said about her? He wracked his brain, but came up with nothing other than “really smart.”

“You two know why Professor McGonagall wanted to see Si?” she asked. She had a bossy sort of voice, one that demanded an answer. For a moment, George considered not answering, but decided he was too excited – and puzzled – to tease first years at the moment. Fred on the other hand, didn’t seem to share this sentiment.

“Maybe,” he grinned. “Do you want to know?”

Hermione frowned. “Is she in trouble?”

“No – heavens, no.” Fred glanced at George, who understood in an instant. Without a word he nodded and turned for the portrait hole while Fred said, “We just need to make sure,” behind him.

Once it had closed behind him and he had ascertained that he was alone, George withdrew a wad of yellowing parchment from his pocket. There was the possibility – however unlikely – that Silence had nothing to do with the new seeker for Gryffindor. Her appearance might have merely been a coincidence, a clever attempt for McGonagall to throw them off the scent of the real new seeker. George wasn’t buying it of course, but it didn’t hurt to double-check before they started to spread rumors. Strangely enough, he and Fred disliked rumors as a method of pranking. It was a tacky, underhanded technique. And, contrary to popular belief, they did not start the rumor about Quirrell’s turban. They did however, for a few days, enchant garlic cloves to follow him around and poke said turban.

With a smile that would make Loki proud, George Weasley tapped his wand against the parchment, a murmur of, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” on his breath. Ink erupted from the point that his wand had touched and spider webbed across the entirety of the paper, the closest thing to blueprints of the Hogwarts Castle erupting before his eyes. His hazel eyes searched the designs with an air of familiarity, zeroing in on the sixth floor. Two pairs of inky feet were hovering inside the room labeled Transfiguration, the names Silence Potter and Minerva McGonagall written on elegant ribbons above them. Knowing that Fred was keeping the Granger girl busy, George set off at a brisk walk, glancing at the map every now and then. And then he froze, another pair of black inky feet and ribbon catching his eye.

Severus Snape.

“Mischief Managed,” he whispered and he set off, nearly at a run. The news that Silence was terrified of Snape had spread throughout the school like wildfire, no doubt perpetuated by gleeful Slytherins. The memory of breakfast filled his mind and he frowned, his fists clenching instinctively as Draco Malfoy’s pale pointed face swam into vision.

A laugh, a sneer, a mocking cry
A cringe, small shoulders hunching in
Cruel grey eyes, clouds churning above
A yell, a shout
“Potter’s a Scardy Cat!”
A jump, a bang of knee on wood
“Scared of an overgrown bat!”
Shimmering gaze, thunder sounding above
They chant, they chant
Malicious black eyes, drilling holes in her head
A choked cry, as rain fell from the sky

George turned a corner and spotted his goal barely three broomsticks away. The sight before him, while something he had expected to see, stopped him in his tracks as white hot anger clouded his vision in red. Professor McGonagall had taken a protective stance in front of a cowering girl with a mess of black hair. Even from this distance he could see the thinness of her lips, the disapproval written on her brow. She was rebuking the bat with a clipped tone, defiant of her colleague’s malevolent gaze.

“Severus, we will not have this discussion out in the corridor.”

McGonagall was livid with fury, her face a pasty white. “How dare you—”

But George wasn’t listening anymore, he was watching Silence. The girl’s eyes were larger than dinner plates as they rested upon the hook-nosed man, and he realized that she was shaking. Straightening up, he charged forward and put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped horribly and whipped around to look at him, color rapidly draining from her face. George grimaced and jerked his head toward McGonagall who was looking at him with intense gratitude.

“I’ll take her back up to Gryffindor Tower, shall I?” he said, his tone far colder than usual.

McGonagall nodded and stalked away, dragging a furious – yet oddly satisfied – Snape with her back to her office. George turned as well, steering Silence back up the corridor, trying to ignore the way she was cringing at his touch. After a several paces, he dropped his hand, allowing her to walk by his side unhindered.

He knew he was impulsive, but never had he done it with such a serious mindset! Usually it was the odd prank idea – blowing up a Hogwarts toilet for instance. He frowned, realizing that he was going to have to tread carefully around the potions master for the next few days – as he would be no doubt on the warpath. But he didn’t regret his decision; the poor girl was still shaking for Merlin’s Sake!

“Are you alright?” he asked, glancing sideways at her.

She blinked, and very slowly nodded. She looked somewhat taken aback.

“Snape a filthy git. Don’t take his words seriously, he hates anyone who’s not a Slytherin.” George paused. “So, you are the new Seeker, aren’t you?”

She nodded again, some of the color returning to her cheeks.

“Sweet!” George grinned. “Fred and I are on the team too, Beaters.”

She looked confused again and slightly worried.

“We make sure no one hits you.”

Relief.

He noted that the shaking had stopped, though she still wrung too white hands together with a sort of nervous anxiety. Eyes still a tad too wide never left his face and he had the strange impulse to ask her to blink – at least once! He turned away, chewing on his tongue. There were so many jokes he could make right now, but at her obvious discomfort he didn’t want to risk sending her into a panicked streak across the hall. Luckily, he didn’t have to keep his jester nature under lock and key much longer, as the portrait of the fat lady came into view before him. He paused – feeling ever more awkward by the quiet that had fallen between them – gave the password and with a stroke of chivalry, opened the portrait and held it open for her. Silence regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, her expression still highly suspicious, and then slipped by him, a whispered “Thank you,” hovering in the air behind her.