Unfurling of a Rose

Chapter 1

Corielle stared at the intimidating scarlet train with trembling apprehension, its steam curling in billowing wafts at her feet.

"You'll be all right, sweetheart," said her mother, setting her hand tenderly on her daughter's covered head.

"I don't want to go, Mum," Corielle sobbed, turning back to her mother and burying her face into the shoulder which had been a haven to her for so many years.

"Corielle." Her mother stepped away and put her hands on Corielle's arms, forcing her daughter to look at her. "We've been waiting so long... you've been waiting so long. Now's your time to walk into Hogwarts and find out who you really are. This life you've led isn't who you are. You'll make heaps of friends, I know it." Her mother adopted a mischievous manner. "Maybe you'll meet a boy."

"Mo-om," moaned Corielle in annoyed skepticism. Her face went pale at the thought of It, then flushed a brilliant red.

The whistle blew for the two-minute warning. The mother jumped, then frantically rearranged her daughter's head scarf needlessly, the scarf that Corielle had so carefully wrapped around her head to cover her hair.

"Why on earth do you want to hide that beautiful hair of yours?"

Corielle shifted uncomfortably. "You know why, mum. Besides, I don't want to talk about this right now."

Her mother sighed. Sometimes she did not understand why such a lovely girl would completely cover herself with clothes. The only glimpses of skin came from her shadowed face and thin, shaking hands.

"Goodbye, love," her mother said, holding back tears. "Don't look back. It's behind you. You'll never see him again, so you don't have to worry. Go on."

"I'm scared, mum." Corielle's voice cracked.

Her mother, Mrs. Griffin, was afraid if she did not go then, Corielle would never leave either. "Go." Then, knowing it would be the hardest thing for Corielle, she began walking backwards, slowly being clouded by, then disappearing in the steam of the train, leaving her daughter in the hands of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The one-minute call. Turning around slowly, Corielle took a deep breath and boarded the train. She squeezed herself into a compartment consisting of three babbling younger Hufflepuffs and one sleeping Ravenclaw. By some miracle, she acquired the window seat. Leaning her head against the window, she stared out into the cloudy, rumbling, formidable sky from behind her violet scarf, that thin piece of cloth that mercifully separated her from reality. Reality was where It lived.

~888~

By the time two hours had passed, Corielle wished she had brought her cat with her instead of leaving her in the familiars' car. Gwynllion would have at least been company. The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3 was not nearly as captivating as Gwynllion's kittenish antics. The food cart had come and gone, and Corielle had finished her lunch, but she was too apprehensive to join the Huffleuffs' conversation.

Corielle exhaled loudly over the snores of the Ravenclaw. I hope I know what I'm doing, she thought as she pulled on her school robes over her own clothes.

~888~

Corielle could hear shouts of excitement as the Hogwarts Express pulled arrived at Hogsmeade Station, but she did not move from her seat until she was certain most of the students had disembarked to avoid brushing into anyone. Then she descended the steep steps to the platform.

"Firs' years!" bellowed a large, monstrous giant of a man. "Firs' years, this way!"

And suddenly, Corielle felt even more overwhelmed. Her hands grasped each other in anxiety. She struggled not to bite her nails, which had already lost their pearly white tips to the whim of her mouth. Without her grandmother sharply rapping her knuckles in punishment, Corielle had quickly lapsed into her old nervous habit on the train.

"Excuse me?" she muttered tentatively.

"Firs' years, this way! Come on, into the boats!" The man had obviously not heard her- not that Corielle was surprised. Her voice was very quiet, and the stature of the man had not helped to calm her fears.

Drawing in a deep breath, she tried again.

"Excuse me, sir?" she said a bit louder. The man looked down from his height to see her glance up at him, then look away, avoiding his gaze.

"Well now, yeah?"

"I've never been to Hogwarts before, or any other mage school, but I'm not exactly a first year..."

The great man nodded knowingly. "Ah, Dumbledore tol' me 'bout yeh. Yeah, we always take firs'-timers by lake, so I guess yer comin', too. Come on, hop in." His gracious, if rough, demeanor assuaged her misgivings, and at his invitation, Corielle stepped into the nearest boat. Then the man climbed in after her, tipping the boat considerably as he did. For a moment, Corielle worried about the balance, but the man tapped the side of the boat with a pink, frilly umbrella, and all the boats began moving on their own with uncanny ease.

Seeing Corielle's discomfort, he decided to break the silence. "Name's Rubeus Hagrid, but everyone calls me Hagrid. I'm teacher of Care of Magical Creatures (yeh'll have me, yer on m' list), but I'm still not used to bein' called a professor. 've only been a teacher fer five years. I'm also gamekeeper, keeper of the keys and grounds." And so he went on, garrolously praising Hogwarts, Dumbledore, the Forbidden Forest, Dumbledore, the teachers, Dumbledore, his job, and Dumbledore. Corielle was quite taken with Hagrid almost immediately; he seemed very honest and friendly.

Then he said, " 'ere's yer firs' look at 'Ogwarts."

Corielle looked up and caught her breath. One of her recommended readings for preparation of Hogwarts classes was Hogwarts, A History, and she had expected it to be spectacular, but even so, her breath was stolen from her lips.

In the darkness of the sunset to the west and the storm clouds rapidly approaching from the north, the school's brightly lit windows appeared as perpetually open, welcoming eyes, and they reflected waveringly in the water of the lake. The intricate turrets and towers added to the marvelous architecture, and gargoyles peaked out from odd corners. The vast grounds were obviously well cared for and the Forbidden Forest looked appropriately wild. As they drew closer to the school, there were excited murmurs of approval and awe from the surrounding boats.

"Welcome to "Ogwarts!" boomed Hagrid happily.

"It's wonderful," breathed Corielle.

Hagrid led them up to the entrance, and with hands the size of desktops: BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

A wispy witch opened the door carefully. "I'll take them from here, Hagrid. You go on to the Great Hall. Albus wishes to speak with you."

Puffing himself up like a proud, very large peacock, Hagrid sauntered past the first-years and Corielle and turned right, disappearing from sight. The witch ushered the students to a room to the left.

"Welcome to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Professor Shelton, the Transfiguration teacher. Minerva McGonagall, for those who have heard of her, retired last year for a well-deserved vacation, and I succeed her. You will soon be walking into the Great Hall to be Sorted into one of the four great Houses of Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each one has yielded great wizards and witches, and I hope you will uphold your House's honor. Now, if you will follow me, please." For such a delicate creature, Professor Shelton's voice indicated that she was an exceptional replacement for the former Professor McGonagall.

The first years clustered into groups; to them, there was safety in numbers. Corielle, being technically a sixth-year, did not have anyone to hide behind. Also, she was so tall, hiding probably would not have worked, and her bright scarf singled her out anyway.

Professor Shelton led them back into the Entrance Hall, then through double doors into a sea of candles, faces, curious sparkling eyes, and whispers. Corielle wanted to retreat into her scarf. She stared at her slippers as though they held the secret to how one could Disapparate from Hogwarts. The first-years and Corielle were shepherded to the teachers' platform. Shelton faced them squarely.

"On that," she said, indicating a small, three-legged stool with a non-descript wizard's hat resting on top of it, "is the school Sorting Hat. When I call your name, you will sit and place the Sorting Hat on your head, and it will sort you into your House. But first," and here, Professor Shelton's face broke into a smile, "perhaps a little school history..." She drifted off as a rip opened at the brim of the hat.

Four hundred years or more ago
On this very ground,
A mere thought of a school was waiting
For the Hogwarts Four to found.
Now all were fairly jealous
Of the traits they treasured most
And of what special skills
Each Hogwarts House could boast.
For Gryffindor, he found those
With courage and bravery best.
For Hufflepuff, she believed
Hard work would pass the test.
For Ravenclaw, true intellects
Were welcomed and rare to find.
For Slytherin, great ambition
was praised with cunning in kind.
So even now, years later,
When they are dead and gone,
Through me, the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,
The Hogwarts dream lives on.
Give me a chance, come on, don't fret;
I'll tell where you're meant to be.
Now commence, put me on, hurry up, I beg,
I hope, I ask, I plea.

The rip closed again, and the Great Hall erupted into applause. Corielle sighed, relieved. There was not much she had to do. She had read about Ravenclaw already, and she was sure that she would be sorted into that House. But still, she wished she did not have to be Sorted in front of the whole school. A sixteen-year-old being Sorted was a bit noticeable.

Professor Shelton began barking out names.

"Baddock, Lynn!"

Lynn looked only slightly green as she donned the Hat.

"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat cried. Lynn rushed to the Slytherin table with a mailbox grin.

"Brewing, Jason!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Cadby, Bert!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Daren, Brianna!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Griffin, Corielle!"

Swallowing through a dry throat, Corielle inched to the Sorting Hat. Professor Shelton smiled at her, and Corielle attempted reciprocation, but her smile muscles were not functioning correctly, and she managed a very weak grin that was more of a grimace. With her nervous adrenaline-fueled senses, she heard someone at the Gryffindor table mutter to the boy next to her on the bench, "She's got your name, Griffin," before setting the Hat on her own head.

"Ooh..." said the Sorting Hat gleefully. "I get one like you every few years... ever so difficult to place... challenges always thrill me (being only a Hat, you know), and I can see they thrill you, too... hmm... you wouldn't be bad in Ravenclaw, a clever mind, really, oh yes, but then all the rest would be worth nothing, such a waste, and we don't want that, do we? No, I think you'd better be SLYTHERIN!"

Brow puckered, Corielle lifted the Sorting Hat from her head and went to the Slytherin table. Professor Shelton was no longer smiling.

"Hey," someone hissed from further down as "Gerald, Rock!" was Sorted into Gryffindor. Corielle started in surprise, then turned toward the voice. A pretty girl with a curly blond head was beckoning to her. "Come here. Sit down, just so that you don't have to sit with the tadpoles. Budge over, won't you, Victor?" The boy sitting beside the Slytherin girl rolled his eyes, but obeyed slavishly with a little bow, bumping the pale boy next to him and jolting him from his thoughtful reverie.

"How come you're only just being Sorted? You're old enough to be seventh-year."

"Sixth-year," Corielle corrected. "I'll explain after the Sorting, I guess." Corielle glanced at the High Table as a teacher rushed in and sat down near the center of the table. She surveyed the teachers' faces. As she did, the girl next to her gave a running commentary on the ones with which she was familiar.

"The one in the middle, the one with the heavy robes, that's Headmaster Dumbledore. Destroyed the Dark Lord, he did, last year, with Harry Potter's help, of course. Dad always said it would happen that way: Dumbledore using another for his work, as usual, like a chess game, where we're all pawns, but doing so well that no one, including the pawns, usually cares. Mind you, since he conquered the Dark Lord, I don't think anyone's complaining. It looks like he's getting on in years; maybe his age is finally starting to catch up to him." The girl said all of this very rapidly, the words spilling out of her mouth, and Corielle barely managed to process it all.

"That man to the left of Dumbledore, the one that's just come in, is Professor Lupin. He's a werewolf, and he teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. Bit ironic, isn't it? But he's good, knows his stuff, though that's about as many compliments as I'm going to give about a former Gryffindor.

"The woman on the other side of Dumbledore's Professor Sprout; she teaches Herbology..." And so it went, from A to Zyryan, the lowdown on the teachers. ("Oh, and Corielle, I must tell you, Flitwick is retired as well, leaving Professor Jenkins from Hufflepuff to teach. Rumor has it that Charms won't ever be as good again. Did you know Flitwick was a Charms Master? I never knew that until last year, when he gave his goodbyes.")

"...and," said the girl, winding down finally and catching a breath, "that's Professor Chang. She's a former Slytherin, finally, and she's a relative of the minor's Quidditch team's champion, Cho Chang. She's really nice, but she can be awfully persuasive. She's teaching History of Magic, and you'd better say your thanks, girl, 'cause you missed the most boring teacher ever. For Io's sake, Professor Binns already died, I'd think he would've taken some free time off, but nooo... he just continued being a sedative until finally Professor Trelawney, our Divination teacher, a sibyl by trade, helped him cross over. Actually, she's been doing better, too. I've heard she used to do purely guesswork, but she's only recently found the true Sight. I wouldn't know; I don't take Divination."

"Who's that?" Corielle said when she could find a silent second, indicating the person in question with her eyes.

"That? That's our Head of House, Professor Snape. They say he played a bigger role than Potter against the Dark Lord simply because the Dark Lord didn't know Snape wasn't bad. He favors Slytherins, so you won't need to worry about him much. And he's actually an okay person, in an unpleasant sort of way."

That's comforting, though Corielle uneasily as she observed the professor carefully, taking note of his intense glare, his hooked nose, his greasy hair, and his condescending, subtle sneer. I'll definitely stay away from him.

Then Professor Shelton rolled up the bit of parchment from which she had been reading the names and retrieved the stool and the Sorting Hat, and Professor Dumbledore, with the aid of Professor Lupin, stood up.

"Welcome, a thousand times, welcome." The voice was cracked with age, but there was a hint of his old energy, still sparkling like a beam of light on the edge of a cloud. "As usual, I have announcements to make, but I assure you, they will not be long for the threat of being drowned out by the rumbling of your stomachs." Dumbledore gave a dry cough, then looked up again. "The Forbidden Forest is, as the name indicates, strictly forbidden, as is the village of Hogmeade to anyone under third-year. Several of the teachers have retired, so there are new teachers in our midst. Be gentle." The throng laughed. "Yes, yes, but on a more serious note, now that Voldemort is dead, it is time to rebuild. I urge you to learn all that you can and work to the best of your abilities, for the road of reconstruction stretching before us is difficult. Everyone is needed. And..." But he could not finish. He began hacking more and more, holding his chest and gasping for air. Lupin steadied the Headmaster, then continued for him.

"Now, even more than before, we must join together as one so that divisions such as those Lord Voldemort created shall never happen again, or at least not in the near future. I hope that even the small rivalries within this school will be set aside, and Hogwarts will finally unite as the school the original Four had meant it to be." Helping Dumbledore into his chair, Lupin cried, "But it is difficult to speak of heavy things when one's stomach is so light." And the golden plates and goblets filled with delicious food and drink for the Beginning Feast.

"He's gotten worse," said Corielle's neighbor anxiously. "He wasn't nearly this bad last year. Never thought of him being old, Dumbledore, but he's got to be a hundred forty or fifty."

"For Io's sake, Marcie, don't you ever shut up?" groaned the boy on Corielle's right side, the one her neighbor had called Victor. He grinned at her. "If she talks your ear off, I give you full permission to slap her. She needs it anyway."

"Oh, come one, Victor. You know you want to make violent love to me in one of Filch's broom closets. Don't deny it," Marcie purred. Victor shook his head with a pleased grin on his face. He helped himself to a chicken leg and offered one to Corielle, who accepted it gratefully, then shook her hand.

"My name's Vic Shaman. Don't be turned off be the name; I'm not American. And you are...?"

"Corielle Griffin, pleased to meet you."

"Likewise."

The girl next to her could not contain herself for long. "I'm Marcie Fireflow. My parents named me Marcella, if you can believe it. Marcella! I sound like a pasta or a disease! And we're unlucky. We both have Gryffindor names."

"Is that bad?"

Vic goggled, aghast that Corielle did not know the ramifications of her name in respect to Slytherin. "Well, it's not bad, but it's not good."

Marcie explained, "Ever since the founding of Hogwarts, there's been a sort of rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Not a lot of people know why, but we're all loyal to our House, even if that means hating each other."

Corielle groaned.

"What's wrong?"

"In that case, Mum and Dad are going to kill me. They're both Gryffindors." Corielle looked thoughtfully at the enchanted ceiling. The storm clouds had split and were raining in sheets. "Though I've never heard them say anything bad about Slytherin. Mum works with some, I think. And Dad used to."

"What do they do?" asked Vic. "Are you an old bloodline?"

"I think we're straight blood, five hundred years at least. Mum works in the advertising business. She's an agent for Bertie Bott's daughter and Celestina Warbeck for starters. And Dad's a retired Auror. He retired when Mum had me, which was a year after the Dark Lord's first downfall. They're both pretty prominent in the magic world which is why I was sort of a disappointment to them."

"Yeah," said Marcie," you were going to tell us why you're so late in coming."

"Well, I was raised as a witch, obviously, but I showed no signs of preliminary magic. When my Mum decided to go back to work, I was two, and I was brought up by my grandmother (Dad didn't know how to raise a kid, but he learned from Grandma). She watched me like a hawk, but my eleventh birthday passed without a single sign of accidental magic. It was the same on my twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth birthday. I attended Muggle private schools in place of Hogwarts. Mum and Dad were talking about having another child because they wanted a mage in the family; I hated it.

"About two months ago, a week after I heard them discussing about having a baby, I received a bad test grade at school. It was pouring rain, and I missed my bus, so I had to walk home. I yanked the door open and stomped up the stairs and threw myself into my room... and fell onto the ceiling. All of my things, like my bed and wardrobe, that had been on the floor were all on the ceiling, and the ceiling fan was on the floor, and everything was out of place, even words. I called for Mum, and she walked, or fell, in and asked me what had happened. Actually, to be more precise, she asked me, 'Happened what here has?' It took four hours and Dad's help before everything was back in order. A day later, I received my letter of acceptance from Hogwarts. Of course, they had to make a few exceptions, and I have a plethora of tutorials and make-ups to do, but I think it's worth it if it means I'm not a Squib."

The pale boy on the other side of Vic asked quietly, "Why do you wear the scarf on your head?"

"Yeah," agreed Marcie, "is it a religious thing?"

"No, it's not religious," said Corielle shiftily. "I just want to wear it."

The boy turned his blue eyes to look at her. "Why?"

Corielle could not look at him directly. Instead she pulled her scarf closer around her head, hiding her expression from his gaze. "Because I want to."

The pale boy was none other than Draco Malfoy, who had been suspended for two year from Hogwarts. The suspension was not for the use of Dark Arts, as most would have expected, but for smuggling illegal soma into the Slytherin common room. He returned in disgrace to the vast Malfoy estate, and Lucius Malfoy had beaten his son within an inch of his life for the suspension. When Voldemort was destroyed for a second time, Lucius was caught, tried, and thrown into Azkaban. Draco and his mother had been spared, but the event had left young Draco a new and sober older sixth-year. In his new state, he observed more than he spoke, and he recognized an uncomfortable brush-off when he heard one, though he continued to stare at Corielle inconspicuously. I wonder what she's hiding, he thought.

~888~

I use soma in the context of Huxley's Brave New World, where it is a hallucinogenic hallucinogenic drug with good feelings (such as sex) and no side effects.