All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
The Girl Who Cast the Spell (A Harry Potter Fanfic)
“Do you know why you’re here, Ms. Campbell?” Snape leans over my desk, his long pale nose nearly touching mine, greasy locks falling forward over his ears. I hear other students snicker.
“Are you daft or slow, Ms. Campbell?” He shakes his head, speaking slowly, cruelly.
I smirk, “Yes, sir. Very daft and slow.”
He cracks his wand against the edge of my desk, the sound resonating and causing silence throughout the group, “All of you are in detention now because you have broken, disrespected and soiled the Hogwarts rules. Pair up, we’re heading into the Forbidden Forest.”
I exhale, leaning my head backwards until it rests on the dungeon walls, “Yes, sir.”
“Excuse me,” I feel a small tug on my sleeve, “Lucy?”
I open my eyes and glance at the desk beside me. A younger student – probably first year – is sitting beside me. A huge camera swings on a strap around his neck, almost bigger than his chest. He practically drowns in his robes and the cowlick smack in the middle of his forehead doesn’t help the situation either.
“What?” I snap.
“What year are you in?” His hand flinches away from the sleeve of my robes.
“Do you know Harry Potter?”
If I had a Galleon for every time someone asked if I knew Harry Potter, I would have as many Galleons as Harry Potter does. Then, I could use the money to buy a large three headed dog to keep such tiny, pathetic question-askers away.
“He’s in my year,” I shrug.
“Are you friends?”
“Are your friends friends of his?”
“I’m in Slytherin,” I gesture to my green tie, exposed by my open robes. It’s not the only thing exposed in my school girl get-up, and let’s say that’s part of what landed me in detention.
“So, you’re friends with Draco then?”
I exhale loudly, up to the heavens, “Sure. Sure, Draco and I are friends. Best friends.”
Pipsqueak is cut off by Leila, the only Gryffindor I tolerate. She sits in the seat in front of me, flashing me a signature naughty smile. She bats her eyelashes, “Oh Lucy..”
“Leila,” I bat my eyelashes back.
“Want to be my partner? I need a big strong man like you to protect me in the Forbidden Forest.”
“Well,” I lean forward in my desk, “What will you give me?”
Snape interrupts our flirting by slamming a fist on his desk. Silence falls, and he speaks in a chilled, slow voice, “Exit in pairs. Brace yourself.”
Leila intertwines her fingers through mine and we exit the dungeon. Snape sneers when he sees us holding hands. As he mutters the spell, I place my hand on her shoulder, but it’s too late.
“Locomotor Mortis,” He mutters.
Her legs lock together at the ankles, then knees and she falls forward, her hand smacking against the trash bin. I hear Snape snicker, crossing his arms as other students turn to look at Leila. She blushes hard, turning around to sit on her bum, legs sealed. Tears well up in her eyes, embarrassment. She carefully pulls out her wand – blackthorn wood, 10 inches, with a dragon heartstring – and mutters a reversal spell. Snape sashays at of the room, black robes whipping. I pull out my wand – 11 inches, birch with a phoenix feather – and hiss, “Protego!”. Snape’s legs lock together but his hands continue to move, propelling him forward, and right into the concrete ground.
“You’re really good with spells and stuff. I don’t know anyone that knows as many spells as you,” Leila says, the two of us trudging through the Forbidden Forest, our wands alit. They cast ghostly shadows on her face, her bright large eyes looking buggy. I want to touch her cheek, caress it with my fingers, all the same.
I shrug, “I guess. I read the Charms textbook sometimes when I can’t sleep. Knocks me out like a light!”
“You know Flitwick thinks you’re a genius. McGonagall, too.”
I snort, “They always send me to detention!”
She sticks the tip of her tongue out at me, “That’s cause you’re a naughty girl!”
Suddenly, a small skittering sound in the bushes. We both snap to attention, stopping in our tracks. A knobbly little brown creature emerges, walking like it’s drunk. It stumbles over to a large root and slumps over it.
“Reminds me of you,” I smirk to Leila.
“Peskipi Pesternomi!” She smirks. The pixie remains.
I laugh, “You said it wrong! It’s Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”
The pixie blinks out, disappearing into thin air. Leila rolls her eyes and steps over the ancient roots, heading into the bushes. We spend the next hour or so burning, freezing, splashing water on and transfiguring pixies. I enjoy the spells tripping off my tongue, trying out all the ones I know.
“You love this,” She smiles.
“Hm?” I glance up, becoming aware of the smile on my own face.
“You love this,” She repeats, “And you’re so much better than me. Remind me why you’re not taking McGonagall’s advance Auror class?”
I sigh and shove my wand into my pocket, heading back towards the school, “Need I remind you of my mother? And her insistence that I get an office job at the Ministry?”
I hear her trudging behind me, nudging a pesky pixie at her foot, “Just cause she wants you to doesn’t mean you have to.”
“You obviously don’t know my mother that well,” I mutter, picking up the pace, “She’s scarier than anything in these woods.”
I enter the Slytherin common room (password: “beetlejuice”) and sink into one of the plush green couches. Aaron, a slightly older Slytherin boy, is there too. He has a can of Butterbeer clutched between his knees and a book of poetry in his hands. He smirks when he sees me.
“Lucy,” He purrs.
“What’s on your mind, love?”
With the flick of my wand I send his book skittering across the floor, “It appears your book fell. Maybe you should get that.”
He places his Butterbeer on the worn coffee table and scowls, swiping his book up, “Don’t be difficult, Luce. I was just asking what’s on your mind.”
I roll my eyes, leaning forward to snatch up the can, “You don’t care. You just want to make out.”
He smirks, “Perhaps, but, I’m also a really nice guy, and I think you’re cool.”
I lazily play with the plumes of fire on the candles on the mantle. I make them dance and swim through the air. I feel Aaron behind me and he gently places his hands on my shoulders, rubbing his thumbs on my collarbone. It sends shivers down my spine.
“Aaron …” I say, warningly.
“Luce,” He purrs, kissing the top of my head, “I know you fancy your friend, Lyssa, was it?”
“Leila,” I interject, breathless.
“_But I know you fancy me too,” He kisses the top of my head.
I do. I tilt my head backwards, swallowing. He kisses my throat, pulling the hair off my neck. Thoughts of my mother, passion versus pride versus expectation, thoughts of Leila and class and my own damn thoughts, drift away.
I wake up, my face mushed into an unfamiliar pillow. It smells like boys, like sweat and a shampoo that’s probably named “Artic Rush” and musty odor and old pumpkin juice. I am wearing clothes that are not mine, a large white button down. If this wasn’t so usual, I would be shocked and confused. But I know exactly the arm around me. Aaron kisses my shoulder in his sleep, a light, squishy kiss, and turns over. My eyes land on the empty boy’s dorm room and the clock on the wall. My first class started half an hour ago.
“Jesus,” I murmur, nudging Aaron off me, “Aaron, we’re late for class. I have Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
Aaron wraps his arms around my waist and nibbles my ear, “You should stay here. It’s warm and we can fool around.”
“I can’t!” I protest, shoving him off. I scramble out of bed and survey the messy floor, looking for my skirt and bra. I find my bra under the bed and my skirt hanging off the doorknob.
“Accio bra! Accio skirt!” I slap my wand against my thigh and both come to me. I’m dressed within a few moments, and Aaron begins crawling out of bed, swiping his shirt from my outstretched hand.
“Why are you so …” He scratches his head, “So uptight? Like, just relax. We’re late already.”
I ignore him, raking my fingers through my intolerable messy hair. I go into my room, which is across the hall from the boy’s dorm, and find a little pack of blue pills under my mattress. Muggle medicine. I take one. Then, I grab my school bag and head for the dungeons, where Snape is surely awaiting me with a cruel punishment.
“Well, well, well,” Snape’s lip curls upward as I enter the dungeon, “What do we have here? Where have you been, Ms. Campbell?”
“I slept in,” I murmur, “Apologies.”
I hear a distinct whisper near the back, “Yeah, she slept in … Aaron’s bed,” followed by a chorus of snickers. I draw my eyebrows together, feeling my cheeks get a little red. I walk towards my seat.
“Oh, don’t sit down just yet, Ms. Campbell. We’re going to practice some spells. Why don’t you come back up the front?”
I pause, facing the back of the room. Could this day possibly get any worse?
“Ms. Campbell?” He sneers.
I drop my bag and coat onto the chair, spinning back around and smoothing my hair down. My stomach is doing flip flops as I make my way slowly to the front of the room.
“Mr. Potter, come here,” Snape snaps, pointing rigidly to the spot next to me. Harry stands and walks up to the front of the room, looking almost as nervous as me. He doesn’t look at me as he comes and stands next to me. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, glad that this isn’t solo torture from Snape, and that now there’s two of us.
“Get in battle stance.”
I turn and walk a few paces away, wondering if I can fake fainting or vomit or something to get me out of this, to not have to endure being Harry Potter’s spell punching bag.
Snape goes to Harry and begins instructing him on which spells to use. He then comes to me, “You’ll be on the defensive. Deflect, and such.”
I shut my eyes, nodding. I want to puke everywhere.
Suddenly, I feel something hit my stomach. I didn’t even hear Harry shout his spell, and I bounce back onto my butt, my wand falling to the ground.
“Defend! Defend!” Snape growls.
I lean forward and push myself onto my knees, flicking my wand in Harry’s direction, “Expelliarmus.”
His wand flies across the room.
“Incendio,” I say, enlightening the bottom of his robes.
He frantically dances about, trying to set it out. His cheeks burn red and I feel a twinge of guilt as he stoops to pick up the wand. I gently run my fingers down my wand, waiting for Harry to gather himself.
“Flipendo!” Harry bellows, and I feel something hit my stomach, making me stumble backwards. I heard him shout another spell and suddenly, I’m drenched in water. It soaks right through my white shirt. I hear some boys snicker, my bright green bra probably bright on display. I cross my arms over my chest. I feel my cheeks begin to burn and suddenly, to the sounds of Snape shouting "defend! Defend!" I feel my legs lock together and I slam forward. My chin knocks against the ground and I feel my teeth clack in my mouth. I want to scream. I grab my wand and suddenly, all I can feel is my chest burning. Damn Harry Potter and his spells and his lack of compassion! All that comes out of my mouth is a tortured and frustrated scream. A bright flash of white light and I flinch away from it. I expect pain, but I feel nothing. Warmth spreads through me instead. I am temporarily blinded.
When I open my eyes, the room is silent. My classmates and Snape are staring at a mass of tumbled robes on the floor. No one moves, no one breathes, as Snape carefully walks towards the pile of robes. With the tip of his wand, he lifts them up, unfolding the knots. They are empty.
He turns to me, eyes wide and round like discs, “You … you made Harry Potter disappear!”
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 1 comment.
20 articles 5 photos 175 comments
Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened. –Anatole France.
A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than you love yourself. –Josh Billings
Men are from Earth, women are from Earth. Deal with it.- George Carlin
A nation that destroys its soils destroys itself. Forests are the lungs of our land, purifying the air and giving fresh strength to our people. —Franklin D. Roosevelt
Never lose. Either win, or learn. - Me