📖 Give Me Love — Chapter 6: A “Proper” Hogwarts Welcome
Written by Yasi | Also on AO3 and Wattpad
Premise of Chapter: Elysia’s first full day at Hogwarts brings more than just classes—there’s curiosity, competition, and the first sparks of connection. But secrets still linger beneath the surface. As new friendships begin to form and old scars threaten to resurface, one thing becomes clear: this school holds more than just lessons in magic. And Elysia Ashcombe is no ordinary girl. Not anymore.
✏️ Word Count: 7.7 K
⚠️ Warnings: Mild embarrassment in front of peers, anxiety, loss of a parent (stated as memory), guilt, coarse language
💌 Reblogs, comments, and wild theories are always welcome to a lonely writer such as moi — they’re the magic that keeps this story alive. Every time you share a thought, you’re not just a reader, you’re part of the magic (and you might just guess something I haven’t revealed yet). ✨
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There was a feather-light touch on her shoulder. Then a tentative and cheerful whisper. “Erm…hello?”
Elysia stirred, unsure if she was dreaming. But then came another nudge, slightly firmer this time, and the voice, a touch louder: “Hello?”
She cracked open her eyes. A girl was crouched beside the bed—bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked, and smiling warmly. Elysia blinked blearily, trying to place her. It was the same girl she’d glimpsed at the Hufflepuff table last night, the one who waved at her.
“Mornin! Hope I’m not waking you too horridly…” the girl said, her voice light and kind.
Elysia sat up slowly, robes rumpled from sleep, curls tangled and wild around her face. “Oh… I—good morning,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, no, don’t worry one bit!” The girl said quickly, waving it off. “You looked like you needed the rest. Must’ve been absolutely knackered.”
Elysia gave a sleepy laugh, dragging her fingers through her thick auburn hair in a vague attempt to tame it. “Yeah… yeah, I suppose I was.”
The girl let out a small laugh in return, then stood and extended a hand. “I’m Poppy. Poppy Sweeting. One of your dorm-mates—though I’m guessing you might’ve worked that out. That bed right there’s mine,” she added, gesturing toward the one just next to Elysia’s.
Elysia took her hand with a smile, still seated. “I’m Elysia, Elysia Ashcombe. It’s really nice to meet you.”
Poppy’s grin widened. “Well, Elysia Ashcombe, you made a right banger of an entrance, didn’t you? Everyone’s talking. I had the other girls in our dorm head out early so you wouldn’t wake with a crowd and a nasty headache.”
“Can’t thank you enough for that. Merlin, I definitely need a cup of tea before I face the world.”
“Oh—and, not to alarm you, but you’ve got a proper case of troll-fight hair going on.”
Elysia snorted and moved to swing her legs out of bed. “Yeah, well, I was going to shower last night and get myself sorted, but—oh shite!” She shot upright the rest of the way, the last remnants of sleep vanishing as panic lit in her eyes. “Oh, fuck! Bugger me!”
“What?!” Poppy blinked.
“Professor Weasley! I was supposed to meet her first thing outside the Great Hall—she said she’d give me my timetable. Crap, I’m going to be late on my first day.”
“Ooof, that’s rough,” Poppy said, breezy as ever. “But don’t worry. I’ll go find her, let her know you’re awake, just a bit delayed, and that you’ll be down shortly. She won’t mind. You’ve had a hell of a start, and frankly, if anyone deserves an extra ten minutes to scrub the chaos out of their hair, it’s you... Also, I reckon she’d appreciate you smelling slightly less like a Quidditch changing room.”
Elysia gave a mock gasp, scandalized at the teasing, and they both burst into laughter—instantly knowing they’d be very good friends.
“But seriously, you’d do that for me?”
“Of course!” Poppy winked. “I’ve got your back. Now go! Off to the baths with you. And don’t rush. You’re not going to make a great impression half-feral, Miss Mysterious.”
Elysia laughed again, properly this time, and gave Poppy a grateful smile that reached all the way to her eyes. “Thanks, Poppy.”
Poppy flashed her a grin and another wink as she backed toward the door. “Something tells me this won’t be the last time I’m bailing you out.”
With a laugh and a shake of her head, Elysia grabbed the small towel and toiletries bundle waiting by her bed and padded off toward the baths, bare feet whispering against the warm stone floor. She hadn’t expected friendship to find her so soon—but it had, and she clung to the warmth of it like a small miracle.
* * *
After a quick wash and an ungodly amount of time wrestling her long curls into submission, Elysia dressed in one of the crisp new sets of Hufflepuff robes left for her. The golden trim stood out sharply against the black fabric, and the Hufflepuff crest gleamed proudly on her chest. She slipped on her own boots rather than the plain school flats, which were far more comfortable, and hopefully not in breach of some obscure school rule. Though she moved with urgency, there was something almost buoyant in her step, as if the steam and soap had scrubbed away the worst of yesterday. With her wand tucked safely into the inner pocket of her robe, she wound her way up the curving corridor toward the Great Hall.
Professor Weasley was waiting just outside, exactly as promised. She wasn’t cross, but made it gently clear that punctuality would be expected moving forward. She handed over a folded timetable and a slim, enchanted parchment that shimmered faintly at the touch—the map she’d mentioned last night. Before sending her off, she asked Elysia to stop by her office after the final class of the day.
Clutching both map and timetable, Elysia took a steadying breath and set off for her very first class at Hogwarts: Charms. She hoped she’d run into Poppy there, or maybe even sit beside her. And with any luck, meet a few more friendly faces along the way.
* * *
The Charms classroom was already buzzing when Elysia arrived. The space was grand and darkly polished, lined with a few narrow bookshelves, stacks of dusty tomes and curious instruments. A large blackboard on wheels dominated the far wall, worn from years of chalk spells and scribbled incantations. Two long rows of tiered desks flanked either side of the room, rising gradually like theatre seating. A wide aisle ran straight down the middle toward the raised platform at the front, where the professor’s desk sat, flanked by strange magical artefacts and cluttered stacks of parchment.
Elysia paused at the doorway, scanning the room for an open seat. Most of the spots had already been claimed, students chatting in clusters or hunched over desks with early morning yawns. In the front-right row, closest to the professor’s desk, her eyes caught on two boys she recognized from the Slytherin table last night. The dark-haired one lounged with the same easy arrogance, hunched over his desk and saying something to the paler boy beside him, who stood half-leaning with one knee propped on the bench. Neither seemed to notice her. Elysia quickly looked away and scanned the rows again, this time hoping to catch sight of Poppy’s bobbed brown hair or cheerful wave. But if Poppy was in this class, she was nowhere to be seen—perhaps already tucked out of sight, or not in this period at all. Elysia bit her lip, hovering mid-step, trying to judge where would feel least like putting herself on display.
Then a voice spoke up from behind her, soft but clear. “Here—behind you.”
Elysia turned toward the voice and spotted a Gryffindor girl sitting near the back—far right side of the classroom, one of the highest rows from the professor’s desk. Her robes were neat, her tie perfectly knotted in bold red and gold, and her dark, tightly coiled curls framed her face in a way that made her look effortlessly composed and stunning. She sat with one arm propped casually on the desk, the other lifted in a small, beckoning wave.
“There is an open seat next to me,” she said with a friendly nod. “Come and join, if you like.”
The girl’s voice carried a calm, melodic lilt—an accent unfamiliar to Elysia’s ears, but warm and articulate, with a quiet confidence that piqued her curiosity. Elysia blinked, then smiled and made her way up the steps, grateful not to be left lingering like a lost first-year.
As she slipped into the seat beside the girl, she leaned over and murmured, “Thank you. I think I was honestly about to just sit on the stairs or something. I’m Elysia, by the way.”
The girl turned with a warm smile and took her outstretched hand in a firm shake. “Natty. Well—Natsai, actually. But if you call me that, I will assume you are my mother and I am in trouble.”
Elysia let out a soft laugh. “Duly noted. And again—thank you. Lifesaver.”
“Oh, I understand,” Natty said, her voice low and kind. “I transferred to Hogwarts just before fourth year. I remember exactly how it feels—stepping into a place that’s already moving without you.”
Elysia’s brows lifted in surprise. “Oh, didn’t realize there were magical schools other than Hogwarts. Where did you transfer from?”
“Oh yes, there are many! I transferred from Uagadou School of Magic,” Natty replied with a small grin. “It’s all the way back home in Uganda. My mother and I moved he—”
“Ahem-ahem!” The sound came from the back of the room and silenced everything at once. The Charms Professor—Professor Ronen, as per Elysia’s timetable—stood at the top of the aisle with his hands on his hips and a twinkle in his eye.
Natty shot Elysia a wry glance: we’ll come back to this.
Elysia nodded back and pursed her lips: absolutely.
“Shall we begin?” Professor Ronen called out, his voice rich with enthusiasm as he descended the steps with a flourish, robes swishing like he’d practised it (or charmed them to flourish that way). “Welcome, my brilliant fifth-years, to another enchanting chapter of Charms! Now, this will be a crucial year in your education on the art of Charm-work, for you’ll all be sitting your O.W.L. examinations come spring. As I’m sure you’ve been told countless times, your marks will determine not only your proficiency in each subject, but whether you’ll be permitted to study them at N.E.W.T. level in your final years.”
He reached the front and spun on his heel to face them, beaming. “But I am confident we shall meet the challenge with the passion and rigour it demands. Before we hurl ourselves wand-first into the mysteries of advanced charm-craft, a little revision is in order—to ensure the summer holidays haven’t Obliviated everything we once knew.” He paused, then smiled brightly, eyes twinkling. “Especially as we are joined this term by a new student—whose fresh perspective may very well charm us all, if we’re lucky.
Elysia sank a little lower in her seat the moment the word “new” left Professor Ronen’s mouth. And though he hadn’t pointed or even glanced her way, she felt as if a spotlight had seared the top of her skull.
The Professor carried on with his theatrics, gesturing broadly to the room, his eyes sweeping the rows with delight, entirely oblivious to how heads were beginning to turn. Whispers flickered through the air like sparks. Even the Slytherin boys at the front had noticed her now—the dark-haired one turned to glance and gave her a wink, while his friend stayed facing forward, perfectly still… except for the faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. As though he’d known exactly where she was all along.
She would’ve rather been cursed. Or turned invisible. Or set on fire. Frankly, any of the above would've been preferable to the sudden, suffocating realization that everyone knew exactly who she was.
Beside her, Natty leaned in with a low chuckle, her voice warm with humour but soft enough just for Elysia. “Well, that did not take long.”
Elysia groaned under her breath. “Do you think anyone would notice if I just… rolled off the bench and died?”
Natty leaned in, lips twitching with barely-contained amusement. “Go on, then. I will cover for you and say it was a dare and you were proving a point.”
Elysia snorted despite herself, “Honestly? That plan’s not half bad.”
Natty grinned and nudged her lightly before pulling out her textbook and opening it between them—signalling for Elysia to not worry and to just focus on the class.
* * *
At the end of the lesson, Elysia’s wand hand ached slightly, but she’d managed to follow along without making a total fool of herself. Most of the review was familiar—levitation, summoning, banishing, disarming, shielding—all things Professor Fig had drilled into her with quiet patience over the past couple of months. A few of the incantation modifiers were new to her, and Professor Ronen had a dramatic flair for theory she hadn’t quite expected, but overall…she held her own. Her spells landed clean enough, and her pronunciations only earned one correction (which she took with a nod and flushed cheeks).
Soon after, Professor Ronen brought the lesson to a close with a few final remarks, assigning a couple chapters of reading for the next lesson, and gave a dramatic flourish of his wand that sent the blackboard erasing itself in a flurry of chalk dust. The classroom hummed to life as students gathered their things and filtered out. Elysia slipped her wand into her robes and fell into step beside Natty, who tossed her a bright smile.
“Lunch?” she offered.
Elysia’s stomach answered before she could. “Yes. Please. Lead the way.”
They disappeared into the corridor, their voices mingling with the chatter of the crowd as they headed off toward the Great Hall. Elysia walked beside Natty down the corridor, still riding the quiet satisfaction of having managed not to completely embarrass herself. Natty (warm, sharp-eyed, and delightfully unbothered by the bustle of students around them) quickly became a very easy person to talk to.As they walked, she told Elysia more about her home in Uganda, and how she’d come to Hogwarts when her mother (Professor Onai, who’s name Elysia had seen on her own timetable) had been offered a post teaching Divination.
Elysia learned a lot in that short period of time, most surprisingly that in Uagadou, students didn’t use wands at all, but performed magic with their hands. She was stunned—not only that it was possible, but that it was every bit as powerful as wand-work. Though Natty confessed she’d grown rather fond of the theatricality of a wand, Elysia secretly felt that learning wand-less magic sounded incredible.…It would certainly be handy if I was to ever find myself without a wand. I wouldn’t mind learning it.
By the time they reached the Great Hall, Elysia spotted Poppy waving her over from the Hufflepuff table. Natty gave her a friendly squeeze on the shoulder and drifted off toward the Gryffindor side. Lunch was a blur of excited chatter, Poppy catching her up on anything and everything without making her feel excluded—from which food to avoid and which she must have (“The pudding is to die for!”), all the way to which ghosts had the best gossip, even introducing Elysia to a couple of their house-mates seated near them at the Hufflepuff table.
After lunch, the two were off to Care of Magical Creatures together, followed by a rare free period. By what felt like natural gravity, they met up with Natty again, and the three of them sprawled across one of the sunny benches in the courtyard. Somehow, despite the short time they’d known one another, it already felt like the kind of easy camaraderie forged over years. Natty and Poppy had known of each other, of course, but now—with Elysia—the three of them simply clicked. They took turns asking Elysia questions, gently prying at her background, how she’d arrived at Hogwarts, and what her life had been like before
Elysia was unsure of how much she should let them know about. Apparently, nothing was kept secret for long in Hogwarts—everyone already seemed to know about the dragon attack, that there was a member of the Ministry accompanying her and Fig in the carriage, and that he hadn’t survived. The Daily Prophet issue that morning had also had a section about Mr. Osric’s death. She gave them the same half-truth she’d given Professor Weasley the night prior: that she and Professor Fig had been thrown from the carriage, lost all their things, and wandered for hours trying to find their way back. She kept it vague and let them draw their own conclusions.
As for her life before? She explained that she was Muggle-born and hadn’t known about magic until her last birthday, doing her best to answer their questions without revealing too much. She wasn’t ready for judgement—or worse, resentment.
“Is it very different, growing up a Muggle?” Poppy asked, hugging one knee to her chest. “You must miss your old life at least a little. What did your family say about you coming here and being a witch?”
Elysia hesitated, her fingers toying with the hem of her sleeve. “Actually…I don’t really have a family,” she said softly. “My father died before I was born. I don’t know anything about him—just that he was… not a good man. So it was just my mum and me, until I was five.” The words came out carefully measured, but her voice wavered slightly and her throat tightened. “Then she passed, too.”
“Oh goodness…” Poppy murmured, the curiosity in her tone replaced by something quieter. Compassion.
“I am so sorry,” Natty said gently. “May I ask… what happened to her?”
A well-meaning question. But Elysia felt a chill crawl up her spine. She couldn’t exactly tell them the truth:
That she’d seen strange golden wisps—shimmering and unreal, like threads of sunlight trailing through the air—just on the other side of the road. That she’d run and chased after them without thinking, laughing. That her mother had come tearing after her, screaming her name—
Just in time to shove her out of the street. Just in time to be trampled by a horse-drawn-carriage right before Elysia’s eyes. That she had, in the most unintentional but irreversible way… killed her own mother.
“There was… an accident,” she said, swallowing. (It was my fault.)
“She was, uh…struck by a carriage.” (I’m the reason she’s dead.)
“The damage was too much. She didn’t make it.” (If I hadn’t been so stupid…if I hadn’t… she’d still be here.)
A beat of silence followed her words. Neither Poppy nor Natty said anything right away. Elysia let out a quiet breath and glanced down, smoothing out a crease in her skirt with unnecessary focus. “I’ve been in an orphanage ever since,” she said lightly, as though trying to shrug off the weight of what she’d just shared. “Until last March, on my birthday, when I found out I’m a witch and learned about the wizarding world, that is.”
To her surprise, neither girl pressed—not out of disinterest, but out of respect. Elysia could sense it. They understood the shift in tone, and they followed her lead.
“What was it like?” Natty asked. “The orphanage, I mean. Did they treat you well?”
Poppy nodded, her tone just as curious. “And how did your magic only show itself on your last birthday? Seventeen’s awfully late, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone showing that late.”
She glanced at Natty who gave a small nod of agreement at the statement before they both turned their attention back on Elysia.
Again, another well-meant question. And again, Elysia felt herself panic beneath the surface. What was she meant to say this time? “I was sixteen, nearly seventeen, being dragged away to work as a servant for some Lord because I was too old to be adopted and treated like garbage at the orphanage—and I exploded the whole building?”
No, she couldn’t say that. It wouldn’t do, even if no one was hurt (she’d been assured of it by that Ministry worker, Clara, repeatedly). The destruction was too much and the whole case was confidential anyways.
So instead, Elysia smiled faintly and said, “It was… home. Lonely at first, but I suppose I didn’t really want to be alone. The other children were like brothers and sisters to me. I was the oldest there, and I looked after them as well as I could. I tried to help the younger ones—teach them how to behave, how to charm prospective parents, how to avoid being labelled as trouble. We became our own little family.”
She paused, her mind drifting. Little Archie, with his teddy bear and tiny footsteps, calling after her—“‘Lysia!” Rosie and Ember, always pretending to be grown-up like her, making games out of who could be the best Elysia.
She smiled distantly and continued, a little more composed, “Anyway, when my magic finally did appear, the Ministry stepped in right away. Even though the outburst was small, it could’ve breached the Statute of Secrecy. They… wiped everyone’s memories. No one there remembers me anymore.” She hesitated, but quickly added with forced brightness, “But it’s alright. I’m sure they’ll all be adopted soon, and have happy lives without me in it—like so many others before them.”
She gave a small shrug, trying to sound lighter than she felt. “But enough about all that. That part of my life’s behind me now. I’m a witch at Hogwarts, in a world I’m still learning to navigate.” She offered a smile, “Professor Fig’s actually the one who’s been helping me the whole way. He was made my temporary guardian after my powers first showed—when the Ministry got involved—and he’s the one who prepared me for Hogwarts. Taught me everything. I’ve honestly been… incredibly grateful. And lucky. To have had him.”
Neither Poppy or Natty rushed to fill the brief silence that followed. They didn’t prod, didn’t awkwardly apologize. Instead, they simply stayed with her in the quiet for a moment; present, unflinching, and kind. When the time was right, the conversation shifted and began again—no jolt, no fuss, just a shared understanding that some stories didn’t need to be picked apart to be heard.
From there, it was easy again. The three of them slipped back into a natural rhythm—trading stories, teasing each other, and comparing their favourite and least favourite lessons so far. Poppy mimicked one of her professors so dramatically she nearly fell off the bench, then dove into a ridiculous story about a kneazle who had once tried to eat her Herbology notes last term, the very week before final exams.
Natty’s dry remarks had them all breathless with laughter. Somewhere in the ease of it, something settled between the trio. Not just a friendship, but the beginning of real belonging.
When it was finally time for class again, the two girls rose at once, chatting animatedly as they led the way. Elysia followed, brushing stray grass from her skirt and shaking her hair out of her eyes. She walked with them through the castle—up staircases, across bridges and courtyards—the conversation light and lively the entire time. She didn’t take their presence for granted. Not after everything. To walk beside them. To feel included, seen, known. It meant more than Elysia could admit aloud. It had been so long since she’d felt this kind of closeness. So long since she’d had people.
Eventually, they reached a junction. Poppy and Natty veered off one way for their shared class, while Elysia continued down another corridor alone. With a last wave and a cheery, “Good luck!” from Poppy, Elysia turned and made her way to her final class of the day.
Defence Against the Dark Arts.
* * *
By the time she arrived to Defence Against the Dark Arts, the classroom was anything but calm.
Students scattered in a wide half-circle at the front, beyond the desks, cheering, laughing, or wincing as spells flew through the air. Two boys were locked in a duel at the centre of it all. The first—a Gryffindor—had close-cropped red hair and a determined scowl. He fired off a Stupefy with a flick of his wand, but the red light veered off course, fizzling against a column. His stance was stiff. His aim, worse.
The other was the smug Slytherin she’d seen more than once already—dark-haired, robe shed, sleeves casually rolled to the elbow. He deflected every spell with infuriating ease. He pivoted on his heel, wand slicing cleanly through the air. Elysia didn’t need to know their names to sense how this was going. The redhead was trying far too hard. The Slytherin wasn’t trying at all.
Another Stupefy cracked out, wild and frantic, which was expertly blocked by the Slytherin whom it was meant for.
“Is that all you’ve got?” the dark-haired boy called, taunting, stirring laughter from a few onlookers. Then he retaliated, but instead of returning the same spell, he casted a crisp and confident Bombarda.
The blast was perfectly placed, making the redhead stagger, barely managing a shaky shield as the blast ricocheted upward—straight into the belly of the enormous dragon skeleton hanging above the duelling platform.
Time slowed. A chain snapped with a metallic clang, and the enormous skull of the dragon skeleton—(No, seriously. Why in Merlin’s name is there a dragon skeleton in a classroom??)—came crashing down, straight at the Gryffindor boy. There was a collective gasp and the boy just gaped up at the skull—
“Levioso!” A sharp voice snapped.
The skull froze mid-air, inches from the boy’s head.
An old witch with white hair and hunched back—Professor Hecat—strode out from her office, wand still aloft. Her expression was unbothered, save for the faintest glint of irritation in her eyes. “Perhaps you'd be good enough to blast each other to pieces on your own time,” she said dryly. “I get new students every year, gentlemen—but I only have one Hebridean Black skull.”
With a flick of her wand, the enormous skull floated gently back into place. Her tone remained conversational as the magic worked. “This one’s a trophy from the Great Poacher Raid of ’78, back when I was still an Unspeakable at the Ministry. Nasty business in eastern Wales—took down the largest poacher ring in the region.”
(Ah, Elysia thought, answering her own confusion. So that’s why there’s a dragon skeleton in a classroom. Brilliant.)
The chain re-hooked itself overhead, clinking back into place above the duelling platform. Hecat then gave her wand a sharp twist and the enchanted metal links reinforced themselves with a low, metallic hum. No more reckless spell-work would be loosening them anytime soon. She cast a quick glance upward, nodded once, and turned back to the class.
“You’ll all do well to keep this as a good reminder,” she continued. “Knowledge and caution kept me alive to boast about my accomplishments to this day. It might just do the same for you.”
Wand still in hand, Professor Hecat began to pace about the class, looking each student in the eye. “Defence,” she said with a cool and precise voice, “is not a performance. It is not a place for pride, nor for dim-wittedness. As illuminating as Mr. Prewett and Mr. Sallow’s demonstration was, I trust we all understand that if you insist on picking a fight with someone more skilled than you”—her gaze landed, briefly but firmly, on the redhead, now rubbing his shoulder and trying to recover his pride—“you’d best avoid doing so near antique magical skeletons.”
Several students failed to smother their laughter as the Gryffindor—Prewett, apparently—turned bright red.
“As for you, Mr. Sallow,” she went on, her tone unchanged as her gaze shifted to the Slytherin, “I should hope you can tell the difference between a clean victory and a theatrical one. Let’s keep the dramatics to a minimum, shall we?”
The Slytherin boy—Sallow—gave a low, unapologetic shrug. The ever-present smirk on his face didn’t budge. His blonde friend, who had come to stand beside him, gave his shoulder a mild nudge, not even glancing at him, as though he always knew precisely what Sallow was up to at all times. Elysia found it odd that the blonde boy never seemed to be looking directly at anything…
Hecat turned her attention back to the room at large. “Now then. This gives us the perfect opportunity to begin the term with a review of duelling.” Elysia caught the Professor’s eye linger on her just a second longer than the other students before she continued. “I shall be calling pairs to the duelling platform, at which point you will demonstrate what you’ve retained from previous years in a fair duel—within reason. As fifth-years, you are expected to show not just spell-casting, but also control, timing, and precision.”
Hecat waved her wand and the matt on the ground raised and turned to a raised platform. “If I see so much as a flicker of showboating, you’ll spend the rest of term practising wand-less deflection against the suits of armour. You will not intentionally maim your duelling partner. There will be no Blasting Curses, no conjuring fire where it doesn’t belong, and if anyone attempts anything in the realm of blood, bone, or brain—I shall assume you’re asking to duel me instead. Understood?”
A muttered chorus of “Yes, ma’am,” rippled through the room.
Then Professor Hecat conjured a list, eyes scanning the names. Elysia couldn’t shake the feeling that the Professor had been watching her since the moment she stepped in—not obviously, but there was something in the way her gaze lingered, like she was sizing her up. Still, Hecat didn’t call her name. Instead, for the first pairing, she called a Ravenclaw boy and a Gryffindor girl to the platform.
The two took their marks at either end of the platform. Their duel was clean, if a bit clumsy. The boy won, narrowly, and they both returned to their places among the crowd to scattered, polite applause of a good show.
From there, the matches continued in steady succession, with pairs called one after the other. Some students showed off. Some barely managed a single spell before being stunned.
“Gaunt and Weasley,” Professor Hecat called next.
A ripple of interest stirred through the rom as two boys stepped forward.
Weasley, a Gryffindor with a mop of tousled red hair and freckles, strode up with an expression that was slightly smug but mostly barely containing his excitement. He treaded confidently with the swagger of someone who was convince he was the hero of the story. His fellow Gryffindors, especially Prewett, hollered and cheered from the sides. Weasley twirled his wand like he was itching to make it explode.
“Get him, Weasley!”
“Wipe that smug look off his snake face!”
(I wonder if he’s at all related to Professor Weasley…or just a coincidence?)
Gaunt, meanwhile—the same fair-haired boy who was tied at the hip with Sallow—stepped forward with a far more measured stride. Sallow clapped him smugly on the shoulder as he passed. Gaunt’s wand was already drawn, held steady in front of him, its tip glowing red with small, rhythmic pulses as he approached the platform. His posture was immaculate, his expression unreadable, like someone who’d already claimed victory and was just there to collect it.
The other Slytherins cheered him on—less raucous than the Gryffindors but no less proud. They clustered near Gaunt’s end of the platform, opposite of where the Gryffindors were grouping, most with arms folded and eyebrows raised.
“Alright, Gaunt! Don’t go easy on him!”
“Show them how it’s done!”
Elysia watched, amused, at the volley of insults and chants by the crowd. Clearly, the rivalry between the two houses ran deep.
The duel began, and it was immediately evident that both were highly skilled, though their styles couldn’t be more different.
Weasley was bold, relentless, casting in quick succession, every spell aggressive and offence-driven. Gaunt, on the other hand, moved like he was born a duellist, his posture barely changing, every flick of his wand refined and razor-precise. Elysia noticed how he didn’t directly look at Weasley; instead, his head angled just slightly, appearing as if he was listening for the oncoming spells rather than watching them.
It was then that for the first time, Elysia noticed: his eyes were glazed over and milky white. He wasn’t looking at all. She began to suspect he couldn’t see—but if her suspicion was correct and he was blind, it didn’t seem to hinder him in the least.
The duel lasted a good while before finally, Weasley left himself open and was caught a bit off-guard with a clean hit to the chest that knocked him back, making him loose his balance and drop his wand, sending it clattering across the platform. He was disarmed, Gaunt had won.
The Slytherins erupted with cheers while the Gryffindors shouted for a rematch. Gaunt, wearing a lopsided, proud smile, returned to Sallow’s side. The two clasped hands in that firm, shoulder-tug kind of way boys do, all pride and wordless celebration.
Professor Hecat settled down the class and continued on calling the remaining students, pair after pair, the list growing shorter. Until at last, there only two names remained uncalled.
Elysia would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous. She’d seen the way her inevitable partner fought at the start of class—sharp, fast, confident—and the memory set her stomach twisting. She didn’t show it, of course. But the nerves prickled under her skin all the same. Natty and Poppy weren’t in this class, and she barely knew anyone else. If she made a fool of herself now, she’d be the laughing-stock of the entire castle by supper.
The entire class was buzzing and stirring in anticipation of the last pair.
“Miss Ashcombe and Mr. Sallow. Up and centre. Let’s see what you can do.”
Elysia turned, only to find Sallow’s eyes already locked on hers, that insufferable smirk still plastered on his face. He and Gaunt had been standing near one of the platform marks, but Sallow stepped forward and deliberately curved his path to the other end of the platform so he could saunter past her, as if to make certain she noticed.
She didn’t mean to stare, but up close it was hard not to take him in—the ruffled brown hair, the freckles that scattered from face to forearms and everywhere else, the tie that was just a bit loose and askew, the sleeves rolled to his elbows… and that maddening smirk!
“Time for a proper Hogwarts welcome,” he drawled as he reached her, leaning just enough for her to catch it before strolling to his mark without looking back.
Elysia exhaled slowly. Her pulse was thundering in her ears, her mind spiralling a bit. There were murmurs all around her, whispers about him and how he was supposedly the best duelist in the school. She could feel the eyes of every student in the class on her, watching, waiting to see what the newcomer was capable of. Elysia briefly looked to Professor Hecat, who seemed to have the same curious anticipatory look in her eyes, like she was told of Elysia’s skill and was waiting for proof to match the description.
Elysia returned her attention to the duelling platform, her head held high, then reached up to unfasten her robe. She shrugged it off and in one smooth motion, putting on a picture of complete calm and focus, folded it once and neatly set it aside.
She took out her wand and made her way to the platform, all the while coaching herself in her mind to breathe. She reminded herself of Professor Fig’s lessons throughout the months before school, and of the harrowing experience she’d survived just yesterday in Gringotts with the stone statues—especially when she’d been ripped away from Professor Fig and left on her own.
That was real fear. This? This was just theatre. She’d beat this Sallow kid in a heartbeat and wipe the smirk off his face.
She took her spot, met his gaze from across the platform and gave him a smirk of her own—tilting her head in a small, barely there nod like she was daring him to “bring it on.”
Professor Hecat’s voice rang sharp through the murmurs. “I want a fair duel from the both of you. Same as your class mates before you, first to be knocked off the platform or disarmed loses. You may begin.”
Elysia had seen and knew perfectly well that none of the other students had bothered with formalities. They’d just raised their wands and started flinging spells. But Professor Fig’s voice echoed in her memory, steady and insistent: “Wand-up. Heel turned. Flik out and then bow low from the hip. A formal duel, Miss Ashcombe, is not a brawl in an alleyway. It begins with respect, even if your opponent has the manners of a mountain troll.”
So Elysia, confidently and without hesitation, did exactly as she’d been taught. She turned her heel, brought her wand up to her face, then gave it a sharp and precise flick into position, and offered a clean, formal duelist’s bow.
The class howled. Sallow gave a snort of laughter, hands spreading in mock appreciation. “That’s adorable. Do you also curtsey after you lose, or is that extra?”
Elysia rose from her bow without blinking, unfazed by the ridicule. “My most sincere apologies. I didn’t realize I was meant to lower the standard for your benefit.”
“Oooooooooh!” the students chorused, their interest sharpening even more at her retort—this duel was clearly turning into something far more entertaining than expected.
From the corner of her eye, Elysia caught a flicker of something in Professor Hecat’s expression—a faint lift of one brow, the ghost of a smirk. It vanished as quickly as it came, but not before their eyes met for half a second. There was something in the look…recognition. Like one duellist seeing another, and approving of what she saw.
Sallow’s grin widened like a match catching flame. “Oh, this is going to be fun.” And without warning, sent a spell towards Elysia.
It came too fast—she hadn’t anticipated it, distracted for a fraction of a second by the Professor—and it caught her square in the chest. The spell levitated her several inches off the ground.
Sallow laughed and called up to her, “How’s the view, little Miss proper?”
She saw him raise his wand again, and before he could do anything else, she swiped her own and cast Finite!
The levitation snapped. The very moment her feet hit the ground, she attacked with Flipendo.
He blocked it, but the hit was hard and fast, enough to make him stumble and stare, briefly stunned. The look didn’t last as he surged forward the same moment she did. And the duel truly began, at a ferocious speed.
Back and forth. Cast. Dodge. Block. Counter.
Again. And again. And again.
The duel outlasted every other by a mile. Neither one of them yielding, both locked in with the line between attack and obsession blurring into one relentless need: to win.
Sallow struck again, flicking his wand in a sharp motion Confringo! And Elysia threw up another Protego, the force of it rippling outward, a bit of dust lifting from the platform. Somewhere to the side, Hecat’s brow twitched—annoyed and unimpressed by his clear rule-breaking at sending a Blasting Curse.
Elysia hated that he was fast, and confident…too confident. She could use it to her advantage.
She let him think she was flagging, dropped her guard just enough to bait him forward. And then she struck, her wand snapping up with lightning speed.
Expelliarmus!
His wand snapped out of his grip and into the air. Elysia lunged forward and caught it. With a sudden pivot—both wands now in hand—she spun and flung them out wide with a dramatic crack, and fired a twin-cast Depulso straight at his chest.
There was a split second she saw his eyes widen—and before he could react, the blast launched Sallow clean off the duelling platform. He hit the ground on his arse with a thud and a grunt.
The entire class went wild with cheers and whistles. She’d already won the duel by disarming him, but the extra shove had been personal. Elysia stood centre stage, both wands still in hand, and to really rub it in, looked down at Sallow and performed a low curtsey with a killer smile.
She then hopped down from the platform on his end, landing lightly just a few feet from where Sallow lay, propped up on his forearms and still catching his breath. The cheers of their classmates rang behind her, but she didn’t look back. She walked right up to him and offered his wand back with cool, deliberate grace and a friendly smile.
Sallow glanced at it, then at her. His smirk returned—not quite as smug this time, but edged with something sharper. Amusement. Approval.
“Bloody hell,” he remarked, reaching up to take back his wand from her. “Not bad for a beginner, Ashbomb. You give as good as you get.”
He pushed himself, brushing off his shirt. Elysia rolled her eyes at the mocking nickname, then tilted her head, just slightly in reply. “I aim to.”
Sallow gave a quiet, almost incredulous huff of laughter, and then—with a small shake of his head and a crooked grin—turned and made his way back to where his friend, Gaunt, was waiting, slipping into place beside him with the ease of someone trying very hard to look unbothered.
“All right, that’s enough spectacle for one day,” Professor Hecat called out, her voice slicing clean through the noise. “For next lesson, I expect you all to review the principles of controlled magical impact. Page seventy-two through eighty-nine in Magical Combat Theory. And read it, not skim it—I’m not interested in excuses. Class dismissed.”
Wands and books shuffled away into bags, the chatter and laughter picking back up. Elysia made her way to the side of the platform where her neatly folded robe still lay, picking it up and slipping it back on.
Just as the crowd began shuffling toward the door, Hecat called out, “Miss Ashcombe. A word, if you please.”
Elysia looked to the professor and nodded her understanding—but before heading toward her, she glanced back once more to the door just as Sallow, was exiting with his friend. He turned and gave her a quick wink before disappearing.
She caught the end tails of multiple conversations as the other students filtered out:
“Did you see that twin-cast? She caught his wand mid-air—mid-air—”
“She just arrived yesterday and already wants to be the centre of attention? What a show-off—”
“Reckon Sebastian’s never been hit like that in his life—”
Elysia took a breath, a few of the comments stinging more than she wanted them to. But she willed herself to ignore the negative ones for now, giving herself a moment of satisfaction. She had done really well. She convinced herself to not give in to the rising anxiety and that she’s allowed to enjoy her victory for what it was.
Sebastian then….So that was his name. I should probably start learning everyone’s names. She tucked the bit of information away for later, then straightened her shoulders and stepped toward where Professor Hecat stood by her desk, arms crossed, waiting.
“You wanted to speak with me, Professor?”
“I did,” Hecat replied. “I wanted to commend you on your performance during this first class, and offer my congratulations on your win. Professor Fig had spoken highly of you and mentioned you showed exceptional promise. I thought it best to see for myself, and I assure you—I did not take it easy on you.”
So that’s why she kept looking at me all through class… Elysia thought, but said nothing, listening as Hecat continued.
“And I must say, I was quite impressed by what I saw. You met the challenge head-on and conducted yourself well. It is very clear you’ve taken Professor Fig’s instructions and training seriously. You held your own against Mr. Sallow. He’s certainly no small feat to overcome.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Elysia said quietly, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips.
“Keep your wits about you, Miss Ashcombe. Not every opponent you encounter will be standing on a proper duelling platform.”
Don’t I know it, Elysia thought, the memory of Gringotts flickering in the back of her mind.
“All that said, well done. I shall be keeping an eye on you, and I expect this won’t be the last time you impress me. You’re dismissed.”
Elysia dipped her head politely, doing her best to contain the giddy warmth threatening to rise in her chest.
“Thank you again, Professor.”
Elysia turned to leave, but Hecat’s voice called after her once more.
“Oh, and one last thing. I’m choosing to interpret that final spell after the disarming as…an excess of enthusiasm, given the circumstances. But see to it that I have no reason to question your judgement in the future”
Elysia understood the warning for what it was. Hecat wasn’t condoning her final strike, but she wasn’t truly condemning it either. In fact, Elysia could’ve sworn there was a trace of satisfaction behind that clipped tone—as though Professor Hecat rather appreciated Mr Sallow getting a taste of his own medicine after blatantly disobeying her instructions for the duel.
Still, Elysia felt her cheeks warm with colour and her shoulders stiffened a bit. “Yes, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”
Hecat gave a short nod of approval, “Good. Off you go, now.”
And with that, Elysia stepped out of the classroom feeling a touch sheepish. But more than anything, she felt proud of herself. She had done so well on her first day. Not just in this class, but all her classes.
She couldn’t wait to find Poppy and Natty and tell them everything that they’d missed with the duel. But first, she had to see Professor Weasley, as her lessons for the day were finished and the Deputy Headmistress would be expecting her.
So she pulled out her map, found her bearings, and set of for the Transfiguration Courtyard—nearly skipping all the way there.
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