Never A Tale Of More Woe

Act One: In Which Our Heroine Experiments With Flight

Anna Chartwell leant on her hand and carefully judged the distance between her desk and the open window on the opposite side of the room. Catching her tongue between her teeth in concentration, she carefully positioned the scrap of manuscript paper in front of her with scientific precision and then, satisfied that her calculations were correct, cast a cautious glance at Professor Binns. He was still droning on, as he had been for the past half hour, and Anna was hard put to restrain a sigh. Earlier in the term they had been studying the Goblin Rebellions, which at least had the virtue of being interesting, whatever the shortcomings of the teacher, but at the moment they were stuck on trade relations between eastern and western wizards during the Muggle crusades, and it was deadly tedious.

Tedium was almost an unknown quantity for Anna, who, as befitted a member of Ravenclaw house, had a passion for learning. She had, moreover, been brought up by her Muggle father, an inventor, who had taken great pride in fostering his daughter's intellect. At the age of eleven she had received her letter from Hogwarts, and thus had been introduced to a new world. Now, at nearly eighteen, she was in her seventh and final year at Hogwarts, seven years of discovery that she had enjoyed immensely. Unfortunately, the one thing that the previous seven years had not managed to prepare her for was the new History of Magic Professor who had arrived that year, replacing Professor Clarence, who had decided to go off and write the definitive history of Dark Witches Through The Ages. Professor Clarence had a weakness for dark witches. Sadly, Professor Binns only weakness seemed to be a proclivity for the sound of his own voice.

So it was that Anna found herself increasingly seeking ever more entertaining methods to while away the hours in Binns' lessons, and at the moment she was theorising on the possibilities of flight for Muggles, something her father had developed an interest in recently. As Binns was still talking about Abdul of Allahambra, and his cunning plans to market charms based on a sword wrested from the grasp of a dead knight, she judged it safe to continue with her experiment, and flicked the piece of paper towards the window. Unfortunately, though her calculations regarding its trajectory were flawless, she had failed to account for the possibility of a breeze, and just as the ball of paper flew towards the window, a gust caught it, and threw it at the head of one of the boys sitting on the other side of the classroom. Anna's hand flew to her mouth as she realised who the boy was, and she quickly turned towards Binns, carefully adopting a nonchalant pose.

Out of the corner of her eye, Anna could see him, looking round, dark eyes glaring at the rows of Ravenclaws. Serve him right, she thought, a little viciously. Oh, the Great and Glorious Maxim Thornton - Heaven forbid anyone should dare to poke fun at him. And she began to feel a little better, almost forgetting that she hadn't been aiming at him in the first place. Max Thornton was in Slytherin House; he was one of their prefects. Everyone said he should have been Head Boy - well, everyone in Slytherin - but that role had gone to Colin Hampstead in Hufflepuff. Either way, Max seemed to Anna to epitomise everything unpleasant in Slytherins. Not that she had anything against Slytherins, per se - she had a couple of good friends in their sixth year, apart from anything else - but she had to admit that they could be unpleasant on the occasion. Max came from an old wizarding family who seemed to be under the impression that they were better than anyone else. They were very wealthy, as well, which didn't really help.

Before he had an opportunity to find out who was throwing paper at him, the lesson ended, much to Anna's relief. Not that there was a much he could have done (a little concentrated staring, perhaps) but she decided it would be wiser not to test the issue. She stood up quickly, and followed the rest of her house out of the classroom. She ran down the corridor to where the Arithmancy class had been taken, her long skirts brushing against the cold stone floor. Professor Mulliner had clearly not finished the lesson yet, and Anna went and sat on the window sill opposite the classroom door, waiting for her bosom friend to come out. She was still waiting nearly ten minutes later, one booted foot tapping impatiently.

"Chartwell." At the sound of her name, she turned round quickly, nearly overbalancing at the sudden movement. A hand caught her elbow, steadied her, and she looked up with a smile, ready to proffer thanks, when she saw whose hand it was. She pulled away.

"Thanks, Thornton." He grinned at her disdain.

"Always ready to rescue a damsel in distress. What's the matter, not used to long skirts? You'd better go back to pinafores."

"Thank you for the fashion advice. Perhaps you should explore the possibility of becoming a modiste." Instead of being offended at the suggestion that he should undertake a woman's work, he just laughed, which left Anna feeling like she wanted to kick him. Unfortunately, she had been brought up to be a lady, and had to restrain herself, helped by the fact that at that moment the Arithmancy class came pouring out, and Amelia Addington had immediately come bustling over to join her best friend.

"How goes the eastern question?" she enquired, then noticed Max standing there. "Hullo, Max! What are you - oh, of course! You have History of Magic, as well, don't you?" He agreed with her, his manner pleasant, and Anna gritted her teeth. Why was Amelia fawning over him like that? He was horrible! Why, only the other day, she had seen him tormenting one of the first year Gryffindors. Admittedly, the first year hadn't seemed particularly tormented, but that was probably because he was too young to know any better. Amelia and Max chatted away, until Anna decided that this had gone on quite long enough, and tugged at Amelia's sleeve.

"Come along, Amelia," she said primly. "We shall be late." Amelia looked at her in surprise.

"Late for what?" Anna's lips compressed in irritation. Why was Amelia so stupid all of a sudden.

"Just late," she replied. "Goodbye, Mr Thornton." She walked off, head held high, pulling a resisting Amelia along with her. They were half way down the corridor when she heard her name being called again.

"Hey, Chartwell!" She turned automatically, just in time for a wad of paper to hit her on the nose. She glared at the perpetrator, and he grinned back. She felt a smile pull at her lips.

"Touché, Mr Thornton." She continued down the corridor, smiling, feeling him watch her walk away.

Act Two: In Which Our Heroine Attends A Quidditch Match