All Along the Watchtower

"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief,

"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief."

-- Bob Dylan, All Along The Watchtower.

Shivering in a crowd of children, Valentine Baruti ducked her head and shifted so that her arm pressed against another student's, from elbow to shoulder. If they moved any more she would be able to follow, just with this pressure.

When Aunt Lerato had left her on a platform that technically shouldn't have existed, that was when Valentine knew this was a mistake. She has been cold and alone, with nothing but the rush of voices to ease her anxiety. Even when a girl claiming to be a Prefect had helped her onto the train she had known that she was about to suffer a rather uncomfortable journey. Not a single carriage was without voice, and so she had sat on her trunk, by herself, at the very end of the hallway.

The light of her day had been the man with the tall voice. He had held her arm and helped her into a boat (a boat of all things at a magical school, really) and talked to her on the way across what must have been a huge body of water. He'd known straight away that she couldn't see ("somethin' wrong about the way yer walkin'," he had insisted), and finally she had found refuge in the help of a possibly insane man who hadn't been quite as ignorant as her new schoolmates.

But now the man was gone, and she was left with only a faint buzz of eleven-year-olds, wishing desperately that she'd chosen the school in South Africa rather than the cold. If she had another chance to evaluate the decision, she would have chosen learning Afrikaans and dealing with segregation on colour over learning to grow fur any day.

"Can witches grow fur?" she asked under her breath, as the students around her gasped with the sound of a faint swoop.

"Oh, look, Nick, first-years," a female voice had cooed from somewhere above her head. No big deal, she'd seen ghosts before in the Kalahari; ghosts of people who'd died there and were permanently in search of the people they'd left behind. These ghosts just didn't have a tendency to speak from above her head.

So if she'd jumped it wasn't really her fault - she'd had her mind on more important, fur-related issues.

The male voice she assumed was Nick shouted something about Gryffindor, but the students' collective attention had shifted to the creak of large doors, and the faint footsteps of a woman.

"First-years," she said, in a voice that had sounded strong and aged, "welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Professor McGonagall. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but first you will be sorted into your houses. These houses will determine your classmates, where you eat, and where you sleep. Your housemates will be something of a family within Hogwarts, so take this ceremony seriously. In your houses you also have Prefects in the fifth year and above that you can go to if you have a problem you do not feel needs to be brought to your Head of House, or it is an emergency and no teachers are currently available." She stopped and the quiet buzz of questioning was silenced; unknown to Valentine, she had delivered a group of chattering girls a sharp look. "The four houses are called Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, and any rule-breaking will lose you them, and possibly land you in detention. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarding the House Cup. I wish you all luck in achieving this, and hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. I suggest you smarten up before the ceremony." Valentine found herself yearning for a friend to question about her current appearance. "I shall return when we are ready for you; please wait quietly."

It was the ghosts who started speaking first, while the students, unbeknownst to Valentine, gave each other worried looks. "Oh, dear old Minerva. Don't you worry, children, and I hope to see plenty of you in Hufflepuff!"

"Why do they split us into houses?" Valentine asked nobody in particular. "Why not just separate us into year-groups?"

"It's supposed to show our qualities, so we can... I don't know, build on them," the girl that Valentine had her arm pressed against replied. Her voice was small and nervous. "All my brothers are in Gryffindor. I don't think there's been a single person in my family that hasn't been."

"Why?" Valentine asked again. "Will you mind if you're not?"

"Oh," she said, still sounding nervous. "Most of them aren't that bad. As long as I'm not a Slytherin, but I don't think I'm that bad."

Valentine frowned lightly. "They separate on good and bad?"

She could feel the movements in her arm of a shrug. "Fred and George say all sorts of things, it's really best to ignore them, but--well, Gryffindor's the best, anyway. And Slytherin is the house with the most selfish, uncaring people--Ron says they're a bunch of nutters--and then there's Hufflepuff, which is for the softer ones, and Ravenclaw's the know-it-alls." Valentine appreciated the information, even though it was given in a slightly nervous babble. When she was overly active she could be just as bad, after all.

"Quiet," McGonagall snapped, having re-entered the hall. Silence ensued, and the small girl next to Valentine began to shake; with excitement or anxiety, she couldn't tell. "We're about to go through to the Great Hall. Form a line."

Well, damn. She was going to be picked out immediately, because she didn't really have a clue where to go to get into this line. She pushed herself between two students, one of which may or may not have been the girl with the small voice.

Somehow, she got away with not being caught out.

She tugged on a braid as she walked, one hand on the shoulder of the student in front of her; if he or she noticed, they didn't say anything about it. The impression given by the slight gasps and gentle murmur as they walked was that they were somewhere grand.

And then the strangest thing happened.

Someone began singing.

"To fresh new faces watching,

With wondering in their brains,

Do you think a singing hat,

Is really very strange?

I am here to help you,

So don't you judge with haste,

I'll see your reasoning inside,

And put you in your place.

Four houses still withstanding,

To put knowledge in their heads,

Which classmates will you learn with?

Where shall we put your beds?

Gryffindor, if you can stand,

Among those fighting strong.

Or maybe wise old Ravenclaw,

If you're really rarely wrong.

Hufflepuff's for kindly folk,

Whose carefulness will tend,

And if you cross dear Slytherin,

You're sure to meet your end.

So, come on now, and don't be shy,

Let me explore you're mind.

The house in which you'll prosper most,

I'm sure that I can find.

And don't you fret, I'm always right,

You'll go where you're best at,

It doesn't hurt, no teeth to bite,

I'm just the Sorting Hat!"

"A hat?" Valentine asked quietly, wondering if her ears were tricking her. Great, if they screwed up she'd be completely helpless...

"When I call your name," McGonagall called loudly, "you will sit on the stool to be sorted. Anderson, Alexander!"

There was a pause, and a scuffle of footsteps, before the voice apparently belonging to the hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

As the clapping and cheering began from the right, Valentine began to worry. What was she going to do? As soon as her name would be called out, which as a Baruti was going to be pretty soon, she'd have to walk across the floor to a stool she couldn't see. A small stab of anxiety fell to the pit of her stomach. She didn't want to ask for help in front of all these people.

"Apple, Charlotte!" was called next, and the girl behind her made a small noise before apparently running across the floor to the stool. The footsteps had barely ended before the voice declared, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Oh yes, Valentine remembered, that was the house that the other girl had wanted to be in. She didn't know her name, but hoped she ended up in Gryffindor.

"Baruti, Valentine!" Valentine froze, turned her head slightly toward the voice, and took a small step. Nobody was directly in her line - they appeared to have made a small clearing. McGonagall cleared her throat, "Bar--Baruti." The second attempt on her name sounded curious, as if she were remembering something.

There was another pause, in which the Great Hall was completely silent, then quick footsteps over to her. McGonagall was saying something under her breath. "Could have warned me it was you," Valentine thought she heard, as the woman took her by the arm and led her over to the stool.

Her knees felt like they were shaking as she was pushed onto the stool, and something warm and heavy was settled over her head. She was just actively wondering if she'd heard a voice mumbling inside her head, if this hat was actually talking, when it called out, "RAVENCLAW!"

Oh, well, house of know-it-alls, who knew? Valentine wanted to mumble nonsensically, having a burst of energy, but was too scared to make a sound in front of the roar of clapping to her left and the watchful eyes she couldn't see. "Here," McGonagall said again, removing the hat and returning the grip on her arm.

When she was seated at the table, a few spare seats to either side, the Sorting commenced. "Buckle, Annabella!" became a "HUFFLEPUFF!" and "Creevey, Colin!" was the second to be sorted into "GRYFFINDOR!" The clapping for his sorting was dying out by the time Valentine started to feel back to normal.

"Davis, Sean!" took the longest on the stool so far, and the stretch of silence was noticeably uncomfortable, before the Hat eventually called, "SLYTHERIN!"

How could there possibly be a house of bad students? Davis, Sean could only be eleven, like Valentine. It was... far too young to make a judgment like this. Too young to be making judgments at all, really.

"Drummond, Mark" became a Hufflepuff, and was joined by "Daryl, Cleo" before "Elderberry, Dustin" was sorted into her house. She listened carefully enough over the clapping to hear a nervous laugh as someone sat opposite her. She threw a quick smile in his direction, but would never be sure if he received it.

"Georgia, Athena" and "Georgia, Hera", who Valentine assumed were twins, found themselves in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw respectively. If Hera sat anywhere near Valentine, she failed to hear her. "Gray, Kellie-Anne" became a Gryffindor, "Harper, Joan" became the newest Slytherin, followed immediately by "Idlewhy, Marilyn".

After "Johansson, Stefan" and "Kennel, Mandeep" became Hufflepuffs, another Ravenclaw was sorted. "Lovegood, Luna" sat directly next to Valentine and stated, "I rather thought I'd end up here," in a slightly dreamy voice.

Her hesitant "Oh, congratulations?" was drowned out by "Majori, Note" becoming a Gryffindor. "May, Willow" ("Willow is my favourite tree, did you know there's a Willow tree here? But my dad says we probably shouldn't go near it, infested with Nargles," the Lovegood girl informed her), Slytherin. "Really?" Valentine asked over the burst of applause. "Are Nargles dangerous?"

"Not to us," she said, and didn't elaborate. "I'm Luna Lovegood. You're blind, aren't you? I saw McGonagall leading you around."

When "Neilds, Rosa" became a Hufflepuff, it cut off the conversation slightly. Instead, Valentine just nodded and assumed Luna could see it. "Peterson, Ash" was the next Ravenclaw, and Luna greeted him; he didn't say anything back, but for all Valentine knew he may have made a gesture.

"Poublan-Belle, Adele" also became a Ravenclaw. "Quake, Jason" became a Gryffindor, "Sam, Ali" a Hufflepuff, and "Schmidt, Horace" another Ravenclaw. When he sat near them, and Luna again went out of her way to greet him, Schmidt asked somebody who laughed, "What's wrong with her?" "Tense, Henry" then joined the table.

When "Urquhart, Leonardo" became a Slytherin, followed in quick succession by "Vaisey, Rain", "Walker, Stephanie" and "Wansworth, Frank", and "Weasley, Ginevra" and "Wilson, Talcott" found their places in Gryffindor, the Sorting Ceremony came to an end.

The Great Hall hushed, and Valentine felt that something important must have been happening. Then a voice cut through the hall, a voice both strong and softened with age. "Good evening, Hogwarts, welcome, First Years. I am your Headmaster Dumbledore. And before we eat, may I shed some light in the form of wisdom: never keep sharp objects stored in your beard. Thank you."

Valentine laughed somewhat hysterically, and Luna said under her breath, "I wonder if his beard has Nargles."

*

Luna was all right.

She'd held her arm all the way to the tower at the West of the castle, which they were to live in for the next seven years. She'd even stood up for her when the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room had stated, "I go around the world but I stay in a corner," and the Prefects had paused to think.

Valentine had murmured, "Could be a stamp," in a somewhat joking manner. Luna, however, took her seriously.

"No," she'd insisted, "Valentine's got it. It's a stamp."

From then on Valentine decided she liked her; though Valentine herself came up with the answer, she had meant it as a joking whim, but Luna had seen the logic.

And she'd managed to get her out of bed at eight in the morning the next day, when Valentine, jet-lagged beyond belief, had hidden underneath the sheets.

The other Ravenclaws seemed to be avoiding her, but they may have been avoiding Valentine, for all she knew. She had a tendency to ramble without noticing it when she had too much or too little energy, and to be fair there was only a small window of "enough energy".

"Maybe we can check the Willow for Nargles." This was the first thing Valentine said at breakfast, after remembering the brief conversation at the feast. "What do Nargles look like?"

"I'll ask my dad," Luna replied, "You're a vegetarian, aren't you? Do you want toast?" Another reason she was beginning to feel grateful to Luna: she'd made her a plate of the food she liked the night before, and told her where on the plate everything was.

"Not by choice, my dad just raised me that way. Toast is good. Are there tomatoes? Beans?" she asked. After a moment, the plate made a small noise against the table as it was set down.

"Two slices of toast, beans on the slice on the right, two tomatoes on the left. The Willow is a Whomping Willow."

"I'm not discriminating, I like Willows, I like alliteration, all trees should have names, what is Whomping?" It was in that moment that a voice, raised to a level that made Valentine wince and want to cover her ears, called out.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING, STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT 'TIL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT HAD GONE..."

At Valentine's shell-shocked expression, Luna leant over and said in her ear, "It's a Howler. Parents send them to yell when they can't do it themselves." After a moment of curiosity, the pair began eating as normal again.

"WE GOT A LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED..."

"No way to stop it?" Valentine asked.

"... ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED, YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."

"None," Luna answered, and the Howler stopped yelling. "Otherwise there'd not be much point to them."

"I'm so glad my Aunt's a muggle," Valentine began to laugh, unaware of the glare she was receiving from the Gryffindor table. Gradually, the rest of the students began to laugh and talk again, and the silence broke.

"Miss Baruti, have you finished your breakfast?" A voice sounded from behind her. It came from about the size of her, seated, but the voice sounded quite adult. "Dumbledore requires a word."

"Of course, Rra," Valentine replied, and said a quick goodbye to Luna who handed her a timetable and promised to have her memorise it later, before standing and holding out her arm. "I'm sorry, what's your name, Rra?"

"Professor Flitwick, your head of year. And it's 'sir' please, Miss Baruti," Professor Flitwick responded in a friendly manner, as he lead her to the Head Table. "I haven't been called Rra since your father brought your mother here to check the school out for you."

"You knew my parents?" Valentine asked; she'd considered that her father probably went to Hogwarts, as her name was on the list, but hadn't thought to ask if any of the teachers remembered them.

"Oh, yes," he replied. "When your mother found she was pregnant, Finley was insistent that you come here." Here he let go of her arm. "Here she is, Albus."

"Thank you, Filius," the voice from the night before - the headmaster, she should say - responded in kind. "Miss Baruti, are you quite well?"

"Yes, Rra," Valentine replied, faintly concerned as to why she had been singled out. "Is that all?"

"Hm? Oh, no, no, of course not. You won't be going to classes today. You'll be spending the day with me, Miss Baruti, we have some work to get done, and quickly. Gilderoy, I believe you have the Ravenclaw first years now?"

Another voice sounded. "Yes, first thing, of course - the only house that stand a chance of understanding! But I'll try my hardest, not everyone can be a quick learner--"

"Right, Gilderoy, I'll be borrowing one of your students. I'm sure Miss Lovegood will pass on the message to her other teachers," Albus cut in, sounding slightly amused.

Gilderoy's beaming smile was practically seeping into his voice. "Of course, of course, Headmaster Dumbledore! You run the school! Of course, I--"

"That is all, Professor." A chair squeaked, and in a few moments a hand grasped Valentine's upper-arm. "Come, come, Miss Baruti, we only have one day."

She followed curiously, and Dumbledore, mad that he seemed, pointed out every obstacle on the way; he even counted stairs as she walked up them. Grateful as she was, there was a slightly nagging sensation that she'd done something wrong already.

Dumbedore's office was quite a way away, and Valentine just knew she wasn't going to remember the way back to Ravenclaw tower, but she assumed that Dumbledore would have some kind of plan for that. He'd clearly realised she was inconveniently lapsing in the "sight" area, because--well, unless he pointed out every stair to everyone. He did seem a bit mad.

"Here we are," he said merrily, pulling her to a stop. "Sherbet lemon!" he proclaimed. "I do love sherbet lemons, perhaps I have some more somewhere..." Valentine was in the middle of a mantra of mad mad mad mad mad in her mind, before she heard a distinct scraping noise, and Dumbledore began to walk with her again. They climbed a spiraling staircase, Valentine gripping the right-hand banister all the way, and Dumbledore opened a door that barely made any noise.

He helped her into a seat, then cheerily asked, "Sherbet lemon?" as he appeared to find them.

"No... thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Valentine responded, and wondered whether he realized she was going to be late for class.

"Tea? Redbush? Your father had that every time, and I've kept some around." Judging by the level at which his voice was coming from, Dumbledore appeared to have sat opposite her.

"No thank you," Valentine answered, this time in a slightly harder voice. "Is there a reason I'm here, Rra?"

"Ah, Rra," Dumbledore responded, in a nostalgic voice that was practically sparkling. "I haven't been called that in a while."

He was particularly irritating, really, and Valentine could certainly understand why someone might not like him. However, at this point in time she was far too overwhelmed and jet-lagged to feel much except faint exasperation. "Rra?"

"Oh, yes, the reason. You'll be missing classes today, I'm afraid, Miss Baruti; we have plans to make." He paused, and she waited as patiently as she could for him to elaborate. "You must realise that there'll be extra lengths we'll need to go to for a disabled child."

"I've been doing just fine with learning so far. Memory like a tape-recorder," Valentine replied, smiling. "I'm sure I'll do just fine."

Dumbledore's cup of tea clinked as he put it back down on the table. "I'm sure," he said, "and I've alerted all of your teachers that a first-year Ravenclaw will need notes on the board read aloud, but that won't do. You'll have to read from your textbooks, and produce thorough notes to study, and write essays."

Valentine hesitated. "What do you suggest?"

Dumbledore's next words were spoken in a voice that told he was sucking on a sweet. "Your Aunt tells me you can read Braille."

"English and Setswana, if it's written with English letters," she replied. "Are you going to give me Braille books, because I just bought the normal ones in case?" She didn't want to admit it, but though there was a small amount of gold sitting in a vault from her father, she didn't particularly fancy spending it on useless books while her Aunt was only comfortable at the moment with Pula. She'd have to look into changing currency.

"Good," Dumbledore replied, not answering her questions. "You have them all with you?"

"I'm a new Ravenclaw, what do you expect?" She held up her bag, and when it knocked against something, felt a large desk in front of her. She placed it down gently, and the rustling and sliding sound indicated that Dumbledore was pulling them all out.

"You won't ever need ink and quills, aren't you lucky?" he joked, before making another movement. "There is a piece of parchment in front of you. Do you have your wand?"

She lifted it into the air, still feeling alien in her hand. "Hawthorn, ten inches, Nundu whisker."

Dumbledore made a pleasantly surprised sound. "Is it your father's?" he asked, and when she hesitantly shook her head, he hummed. "One of my favourite Slytherins," he said. "You'll need a way to write in Braille during lessons. Braille came up with two charms for blind people to write, Caecitas Scripsi, which is easier as you just have to recite what you want written and it will be done, and Caecitas Designo, to write in Braille, Rexeto Designo, to charm writing into appearing like Braille. A simple finite incantatem will end it, as it's only a charm and not a transfiguration. These charms will be difficult as they're worked mentally rather than through speech."

"I understand," she replied. "I don't know any magic yet, though. Except, well, I once burned down an Acacia tree when I was arguing with someone, but Lerato said these things happen, and I was nine and may I have some tea?" Wake up, Valentine!

"Of course," he replied, the smile in his voice. "Today we're going to make sure you know these charms well, and translate the page numbers on your books so that you know what to translate when you're reading. I'll get the house elves to bring us meals if necessary."

"Okay," Valentine replied, feeling slightly overwhelmed. "I don't think you--I don't know any magic."

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore said. "The other thing we need to discuss is that you cannot possibly take Transfigurations." When Valentine went to respond, Dumbledore cut in. "It's impossible. You could, if you wish, attend the classes to learn the theory and maybe do some very simple spells. Alas, Transfigurations is a subject that I used to teach, and I know well that picturing the object and the object you wish to transfigure it into is fundamental to the spells, and the exams are practical."

"Can I take another class to cover that lesson?" Dumbledore paused, then there was a rustling of paper.

"The third-year electives would simply be too difficult for you to handle," he explained, sounding downhearted. "Arithmancy requires far too much magical knowledge, and you don't have the time-slot for Care of..." he paused. "Muggle Studies corresponds with the first-year Ravenclaw Transfigurations. You were raised in the muggle world, Miss Baruti. What do you think?"

*

Valentine actually spent a day and a half of lessons with Dumbledore, perfecting necessary charms. She wasn't a particularly fast learner with the controlling-her-conscious-thoughts part of the whole extravaganza, and ended up with half a paragraph of tuna wrangling that was supposed to be a description on the taste of white bread before realising that they would need to work on this.

So it was halfway into the second day of lessons when Dumbledore walked her to her History of Magic lesson, Braille lesson-plan in hand, and informed her that if she ever got scared to ask the portraits for directions.

"You're in classes, Valentine," Luna pointed out unnecessarily, and the scrape of chairs indicated a place saved for her. She sat down carefully, and the teacher droning on at the front of the class paid her late entrance no heed.

"Miss anything important?" she asked, feeling the front of her textbooks for the one that symbolised History of Magic.

The girl on the other side of Luna responded, "Nothing particularly interesting," and Valentine automatically recognized the voice. She'd had to learn to, after all, now that she couldn't distinguish people on appearance.

She smiled. "This is a Ravenclaw and Gryffindor class," she pointed out, turning her eyes in the direction the voice had come from. "Where'd you end up?"

"Gryffindor," she replied, sounding amused and so small. "I'm Ginny Weasley."

"Valentine Baruti," she introduced herself, and there was an awkward pause in which Valentine searched her actions for what she could have just done wrong. Without words, a hand - Luna's, she was the closest on her left and the angle showed it couldn't have been grasped from somewhere else - took her hand and placed it in another.

"She's blind," Luna informed her, and Valentine sent what she hoped was a sheepish look. "You have to tell her if you're holding out your hand."

As if "she's blind" wasn't enough.

"Sorry, I knew that," Ginny said, sounding slightly embarrassed. "It's just so easy to forget. Your eyes look so..."

"That's because they're not my eyes," Valentine replied without thinking. The pause following was certainly awkward.

Luna, however, goodness bless her, broke it as if it had never existed. "What happened to your real eyes?"

"Removed when I was five; I barely remember it. St. Mungo's couldn't do anything to restore my sight, because Werewolf wounds are cursed to never heal properly, so I have permanent damage behind them." In the succeeding silence, she supposed the pair wanted elaboration. "So what they did was section my eye sockets off from the rest of my body to keep them from bleeding or hurting, and put in these. I can control them, but they'll never see or water, or even bleed if they're cut, I think."

"Never water?" Ginny now seemed as curious as Luna.

"Enchanted to always be moist enough. Tear ducts are sectioned off, too. It's more than muggles could have done," she pointed out cheerfully. "Just have to thank goodness that I wasn't born from muggles, hm?"

"You're not... prejudiced against the muggle-born, are you?" Ginny said the second part of this sentence in a whisper.

Valentine, only ever remembering her father in the magical world, hesitated. "There are prejudices against muggle-borns?"

Ginny now sounded surprised. "Of course there are. Old pureblood families think that muggle-borns are... dirty, or something. Hence the term... Well, you know." Valentine tried to arrange her features in a way that showed she didn't know. "I don't want to say it," Ginny muttered, sounding awkward.

Luna leaned in, as she had begun to have a tendency to, and whispered in Valentine's ear the word: "Mudblood."

Valentine could tell from the name that it meant dirty blood, and the hesitation that it was considered an extremely rude word. In her mind, she put it in the category where only the word nigger currently stood.

When she packed up to leave the class, she felt a little guilty that she hadn't listened to the teacher at all during the lesson, but she arrived ten minutes from the end and she was a Ravenclaw. She would catch up tonight, on all of her subjects, she decided.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was their only other class with the Gryffindors, so Luna and Ginny took an arm of Valentine's each and guided her through the halls now packed with students.

This was the part she knew she would hate; all the bloody people all the bloody time. After going blind she had been home-schooled by her Aunt Lerato, and things were so much easier in the little community where she knew so many people. Where only the cattle were ignorant of her disability.

She needed to remember to write to Aunt Lerato, now that she knew how, and send her some Pula for the cattle.

At least History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts were on the same floor; she didn't fancy trying to climb the moving stairs while there were people just waiting to knock her off-balance.

"First-year!" The man that Dumbledore had called Gilderoy's voice rang out. "Come in, come in. I trust you've--oh, hello there."

Ginny squeezed Valentine's arm, and she turned her face toward the voice. "Hello."

"Dumbledore's let you go now? Ah, I guess not everyone can settle in to a learning atmosphere as easily as others," he said, and Valentine hesitated, unsure of if he was being racist or referring to her blindness. "I trust you've got the complete set of my books."

"Yes, Rra, I've bought them." At what seemed, in comparison to the other things she had for school, a ridiculous price. "I haven't had a chance to read them yet, though. They didn't come in--"

"African, oh, I know, I really must have them translated. Anyway, I'm Professor Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honourary Member of the Dark Force Defense League and five times winner of--"

"Braille," Valentine interrupted, starting to feel irritated. "I know English, Rra, clearly. Hence the English accent."

"--Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, and now your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." He paused, and she felt Ginny's hand slip from her arm as she sat down.

"Can we sit down, sir?" Luna asked in her usual, dreamy voice. "Valentine's blind." Unnecessary as most of Luna's comments were, Valentine appreciated not having to be the one to say it. For some reason she had never become fully comfortable with it.

"Of course, time to st--did you say she's blind? That's such a coincidence! I was partially blinded by a Hag once, it says all about it in Holidays With Hags, I suggest you read it, as you clearly know something of what I went through. Worst hour of my sight's life! Feared I'd never get it back, but of course I..."

Here Valentine figured out how to tune out Lockhart's voice.

*

Luna and Valentine had only been trying to find Ginny.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened, enemies of the heir, beware," Luna recited in a voice that only someone who had heard her speak for almost two months straight could classify as odd.

"The... what? Chamber of..." Valentine blinked several times, and gripped Luna's arm tighter. "What does...?"

"The caretaker's cat has been killed," Luna replied, seemingly unhearing of Valentine's stumbling words. She said this quieter, and Valentine suddenly felt an irrational surge of anger. Not at a Chamber of Secrets or a dead cat, but at the fact that someone had made Luna sound... unlike Luna. Around them the happy chatter had silenced completely, uncomfortably, and Valentine gently released her friend's arm.

Then someone shouted through the quiet, from directly to her right.

"Enemies of the heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

Valentine turned in one motion, and before she knew what had happened, had smashed her fist into the speaker's jaw.

There was a piercing shout and a thump unmistakably a body hitting the ground, and the crowd burst to life. Valentine struggled as she felt hands, hands grabbing her and pulling her back, and the harder she struggled the stronger they held...

"What's going on here? What's going on?" a voice louder than the others shouted, and the crowd began to die down again.

"She punched me!" another voice cut through, and if Valentine could see she would have seen red.

"Futsek bwana! He--"

They were both suddenly cut off by his distressed shriek. "My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" Valentine's energy level suddenly plummeted as she remembered that they weren't the main attraction of the crowd. There had been a murder committed. "You!" Valentine, for a moment, thought that he was blaming her before realising that the angle was wrong. "You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll--"

"Argus!" Dumbledore's voice had never felt so welcoming. "Come with me, Argus. You too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."

"Professor," McGonagall's voice cut through sharply. "Baruti and Malfoy were fighting."

"She punched me!"

"My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free--"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore. "Minerva, please take Miss Baruti and Mr. Malfoy to my office, I will meet you there."

Minerva McGonagall took Valentine by the arm like before, but with no gentleness. Malfoy appeared to be dragged in the same manner, if his complaining was anything to go by.

By the time they reached Dumbledore's office and McGonagall snapped out the password, the Malfoy boy had retreated into a sulking silence. McGonagall was walking too fast, and dragged her up the stairs at the same pace. Only when Valentine stumbled and was caught quickly by a pair of hands on the tops of her arms did McGonagall break pace. "Sorry, Baruti," McGonagall said. Malfoy made an exasperated noise.

"Wait until my father hears about this," he snapped, footsteps disappearing into the office. McGonagall ignored him and led Valentine inside. When she was seated next to Malfoy, the footsteps trailed back to the door.

"I'm going to send Madam Pomfrey up to see to your face, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "And then I'm going to find Dumbledore. If either of you steps a toe out of line I'll have you on a months detention, do you hear?"

She didn't wait for an answer before the door closed behind her, and Valentine got the distinct impression that the boy was glaring at her. "What?" she asked, fidgeting slightly.

"I could have you expelled, you know. My father is on the school board." He sounded like a brat and Valentine wanted to hit him again, but controlled herself. She really couldn't be expelled.

"Right," she replied, then fidgeted again and frowned. "I'm sorry I punched you. I'm a Tswana girl and I should know better."

There was a pause, in which Valentine liked to think that he may have considered her in a more positive light. He sniffed, and Valentine missed the fact that his glare softened slightly. "So you should be. Complete swine, attacking me like that."

"You provoked me," she pointed out, partly annoyed and partly amused.

"Beside the point," he replied. "Merlin, look at that phoenix - looks half-dead already. It'll be burning within the month, I bet."

"If you say so," Valentine replied, listening to him stand up and walk across the room, presumably to the phoenix. Phoenix. Hm. "What is a phoenix?"

She assumed that the pause was used to give her some form of look. "You really are a muggle-born, aren't you?" He sounded distasteful as he said this.

"No," Valentine replied. "I'm a half-blood. My mother was a muggle, and my father was from a pureblood family. A rich one, if the gold is anything to go by."

This had apparently caught Malfoy's attention. "Oh yeah? Which one?"

"The Valentines," she said. "Finley Valentine and Adwin Baruti."

"Never heard of them." For some reason, even when Malfoy said something neutral it sounded rude. "And I--" It was that moment that another set of footsteps bustled through the door.

"Which one of you is my patient? --Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I suppose it's you. Take a seat." Her voice was hard and caring, and entirely new to Valentine. "I suppose you did this."

"I have a mean left-hook," she replied, pulling at a thread on the base of the cushioning on her chair. "I get it from my mother, apparently. Blessing and a curse."

"Just a bit of a bruise, Mr. Malfoy," she said, seemingly ignoring Valentine. She wasn't sure what happened after that, only that Malfoy made a noise that sounded like a complaint, then she left without saying goodbye. "I have actual patients to treat," was her excuse for leaving.

"Do you think that old coot will be back soon?" Malfoy asked; the noise in front of her led Valentine to believe he had propped his feet up on Dumbledore's desk.

She went to argue that he wasn't an old coot, but caught herself in realising that it was exactly what he was. "I don't know, Malfoy, I've been here just as long as you."

"You're rather boring," he told her, sighing.

"I'm not here to entertain you--" The door opened before Valentine could get more irritated. "Rra?"

"Mrs. Norris is not dead," Dumbledore informed them. "I apologise for taking so long." He cleared his throat. "I'll be taking twenty points from Slytherin for provocative behaviour and bad language, and twenty points from Ravenclaw for physically harming another student. I hope you realise how lightly I'm letting you off."

"Yes, Rra," Valentine answered, bowing her head slightly. Malfoy made an annoyed sound. The worst of it was the disappointed tone of Dumbledore's voice.

"I should be giving you both detention," he said. "Alas, I feel that this will not happen again. However, if it does, I will be taking further measures." His voice suddenly turned light again. "Sherbet lemon?" When nobody responded, he went on. "No? Never mind. Mr. Malfoy, I hope I don't have to see you in here again. Please, join your housemates in the Dungeons; I hear they're having a celebration."

Malfoy pointedly didn't respond as he left, and once the door closed Valentine leaned forward in her seat. "Rra, who do you think would do that to a cat? Was she in shock? What is the chamber--?"

"So many questions, Miss Baruti," Dumbledore interrupted, sounding vaguely amused. "So many questions that I cannot give you the answers to."

"You mean will not," Valentine corrected, feeling disheartened. She had felt that the day and half spent with him had formed some kind of friendship.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I'm afraid that you are both correct and incorrect. Would you like me to walk you to Ravenclaw tower, Miss Baruti?"

"Please, Rra."

When they were walking down the hallway outside of Dumbledore's office, his hand on her shoulder, he said: "She was Petrified."

"What?" Valentine asked, caught slightly off-guard. "Petrified?"

"Mrs. Norris," he explained. "You asked if she was in shock; she was Petrified."

Figuring that this was some magical meta-shock, Valentine asked, "Do you know who could have Petrified a cat?"

"I have my theories," he said vaguely. "How have you been doing in your lessons, Miss Baruti? Muggle Studies, especially?"

"Oh, just fine," Valentine replied, smiling up at him. "There's a fourth-year boy who's dropped out of his Divination elective and is doing Muggle Studies a year behind."

"And he has offered to help you if you fall behind?" Dumbledore supposed, and Valentine laughed slightly.

"Other way around, actually. Muggle Studies is a breeze. Easiest lesson by far."

Conversation stayed around this lighter tone until Dumbledore's squeeze on her shoulder caused Valentine to stop. "We're here, Miss Baruti."

"Rra," Valentine asked, "if it's serious, you'll tell me, right?"

Dumbledore didn't say anything for a long moment. "I cannot promise special treatment, Miss Baruti. If it is anything that you will need particular warning about because of your disability, then rest assured I will inform you."

"Thank you," Valentine replied, and Dumbledore patted her shoulder gently before letting go and walking back the way they had came.

"You can't keep this until you have given it," the knocker stated, and Valentine took a moment to think.

You can't keep this until you have given it. So it's not physical, or that would make no sense. What can you metaphorically give someone? "A promise?"

"A worthy answer." When the door opened for her, Valentine smiled. It wasn't going to be easy here, but she was almost certain it would be worth it anyway.

*

Malfoy was an idiot.

Barely a week had passed since the writing on the wall incident, and he had pushed her several times in the halls between classes. She'd known it was him; nobody else smelled quite that distinctively of blueberries and soap or laughed in that way.

The first few times she had been with Ginny or Luna, and they had helped her keep balance or pick up her books. However, Malfoy did once manage to catch her on her own, traveling the short distance between the Defense and History classrooms aided by portraits and memory. She had told Ginny and Luna to leave without her while she stayed and had Lockhart tell her the more interesting aspects of vampires and where she could find useful passages in books. He may have been an idiot, but he occasionally let loose a tendril of information in his sentences.

Now, however, with her books scattered across the floor, she was beginning to regret this choice. She was clearly not ready for independency, and she thought that Malfoy was the biggest moron that she had ever met. On second thought... "Malfoy, you are the biggest moron I have ever met."

She bent down to her knees and began to gather her books, counting along the way as Malfoy laughed with his friends. "You blithering idiot, can't you see there's one by my foot?"

Where was Malfoy's foot, then? Valentine reached as far as she could where she was kneeling, feeling for her last book. All that resulted in was a sharp burst of pain as a passer-by stepped on her hand. "What're you--Draco, why's she on the floor?"

The voice was new, and therefore welcome; however, knowing Malfoy by first name couldn't be a good sign. "She's just picking up her books, Pansy; the nutcase can't even see it." The sound of a gentle kick, and Valentine renewed her search, gritting her teeth together.

She was going to hit Malfoy again, any minute now. In the crotch, if her aim was true.

"Dra-co," Pansy's voice scorned. "She's blind. Honestly, that's just a new level of pathetic." Someone pushed a book against her knees. "Here."

"Thanks," Valentine muttered, embarrassed. "Which way to the History of Magic classroom?"

"I'll take you in a moment," Pansy said, somehow managing to sound harsh even now. It was a talent, Valentine realised, quite alike to Malfoy's. "Draco Malfoy, I will deal with you later. We need to have a talk about a thing called dignity. Honestly, boys are so stupid."

And that was how Valentine met Pansy Parkinson.

*

Valentine's three classes on the first floor weren't so hard to get between; if she put one hand on the wall and counted doors, it was actually quite simple. However, whenever possible either Ginny or Luna would walk her between every class.

Luna had rushed off to Transfigurations on the seventh floor, and so this time it was Ginny, with the ever-dreaded Potions class awaiting, who walked with her. "And even when Snape is being all right, he's a bastard."

"Ginevra Weasley," Valentine deadpanned. "Watch your language."

"How can you not hate him?" Ginny asked. She'd seemed to be growing smaller and quieter lately, and Valentine was grateful that a conversation about Snape could pull her a little further out of her shell. Grateful that she still opened up in front of her and Luna at all.

Valentine shrugged, and Ginny's hand slipped an inch on her arm. "I think he's pretty cool, in a sarcastic, arrogant, horrifying kind of way."

"He was obviously a Slytherin. I don't like Slytherins." They were close now, as Ginny was slowing her pace.

Valentine grinned. "I do, they're sassy. See you at dinner?" Ginny gave her arm a quick squeeze and left, and Valentine used her hand to locate the doorframe before walking in.

"Val," a pleasant female voice greeted, and another hand rested on her wrist to lead her to her chair.

"Have either of you finished the essay yet?" she asked.

"I'm a Ravenclaw, I finished it days ago. It wasn't particularly hard, as long as you remember to take three sides. I did pro-con-pro," Cho replied, sitting down. There was a faint rustle of paper.

"I wrote con-pro-con, but I'm not sure if the last one counted," Cedric admitted from the other side of her, as there was the hissing sound of Cho pulling her parchment out from between pages. "The blond boy still bothering you?"

"I'll help you with it later. Blond boy?" she asked, locating her Muggle Studies textbook and pulling it free of the rather impressive confines of her bag.

Cedric paused, and Valentine assumed he had nodded in momentary forgetfulness. People had a tendency to do that. Cho continued for him, "The pointy second-year--er, Slytherin boy."

"Malfoy," Valentine informed them, then lowered her voice as Professor Burbage began the lesson. "He's just a moron; I know a girl who somehow manages to shut him up. It's miraculous, really."

Cedric chuckled, and Valentine moved a few of her thin braids around until they were in proper order. "Must be clever. Who is she?"

"Pansy Parkinson. She really is."

*

Valentine was walking back from the Hufflepuff common room on Christmas day, as both Luna and Cho had all gone home for the holidays and nobody else in Ravenclaw seemed to be able to stand her presence, when the idiot-twins stopped her.

"Excuse me," Crabbe's voice called, as two pairs of heavy footsteps approached her. "We've forgotten the way to our common room."

"I beg your pardon? Our common room?" Valentine repeated, amused and horrified. "I'm a Ravenclaw. I've been to your common room what, once? Gods, you are such a moron." She paused, and neither boy responded. "Come on, I'll take you there, I should see Pansy today anyway." Hufflepuff had been the corridor to her right, which meant that the Slytherin common room was roughly to the left.

She lead them into the labyrinth of passages, stopping occasionally to ask a portrait to point her in the correct direction, and Crabbe and Goyle spoke under their breath to one another. Valentine was almost certain that they were talking about her punching Malfoy in the face, but they had never been this subtle before.

Another pair of footsteps sounded, and Valentine sincerely hoped it was a Slytherin she knew, because trying to figure out the way for the idiot-twins was not how she'd planned to spend her Christmas.

"What're you doing here?" Crabbe asked in surprise. Valentine was astonished once again; she'd only ever heard confusion and a mix of confusion and hunger from him.

"That," responded the decidedly not-Slytherin voice, "is none of your business. It's Crabbe, isn't it?"

"Wh--oh, yeah," responded Crabbe, which was much more usual.

"Well, get off to your dormitories," the boy told them sternly. "It's not safe to go wandering around dark corridors these days."

"You are," Crabbe pointed out.

"I," said the boy, "am a Prefect. Nothing's about to attack me."

"That makes sense," Valentine agreed happily. "Come on, boys, let's go back to... our common room." She wasn't the best at lying, but was hoping that the Prefect wouldn't send her to the West side of the castle.

"There you are," a voice echoed from behind them. "Have you two been--what's she doing with you?"

"I'm a Slytherin, a Slytherin, remember?" Valentine, in her very blue-and-bronze scarf, thanked goodness that the Prefect didn't seem to take too much attention to detail.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, Baruti. And what're you doing down here, Weasley?" Draco Malfoy asked, the sneer evident in his voice.

"Weasley?" Valentine echoed.

The boy who was assumedly one of Ginny's brothers took an outraged breath. "You want to show a bit more respect to a school Prefect!" he said. "I don't like your attitude!"

"Oh," Valentine said, voice turning from confused to pleasant. "Would you tell Ginny I'll be up at Gryffindor later this evening?"

Valentine rushed to follow the footsteps before giving Ginny's brother a chance to reply. "That Peter Weasley--" Malfoy started.

"Percy," Crabbe corrected him.

"Whatever," said Malfoy. "I've noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he's up to. He thinks he's going to catch Slytherin's heir single-handed." He gave a short, cold laugh.

"He's going to get himself hurt," Valentine replied, thinking of Ginny.

Valentine stopped with the footsteps, and Malfoy asked, "What's the new password again?"

"Pure-blood," Valentine told him. "Which isn't prejudiced at all, I'm sure."

"Shut up, Baruti." Malfoy sounded exasperated. To be fair, he had been saying this to her since Hallowe'en. "I found something really funny." Valentine, stepping through the space created by the scratching slide of stone on stone, knew that he hadn't meant it toward her but was curious anyway.

The Slytherin common room was colder than even Hufflepuff, though they were both situated in the dungeons. Valentine would never quite get used to the cold. "Wait here," Malfoy said, snickering as Valentine walked into the back of a chair. "I'll go and get it - my father's just sent it to me--"

Crabbe, surprisingly, led her to a seat and sat down next to her. She was about to question his surprisingly alert behaviour when Malfoy came back. "That'll give you a laugh," he said. After a moment he added, "Well? Don't you think it's funny?" Goyle laughed uneasily. "Arthur Weasley loves muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go join them. You'd never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave."

"Watch it," Valentine deadpanned. "Raised by a muggle, remember? Friends with Ginny? Keep going like that and you're going to get punched in the face again."

"Can't you go find Pansy?" Malfoy snapped. "Nobody else wants you around here."

"Punched in the face, Malfoy. Punched in the face."

Malfoy made a noise as if he were going to retort, then paused. "What's wrong with you, Crabbe?"

"Stomach ache," Crabbe grunted.

"Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me," Malfoy snickered. Valentine's faint amusement at Malfoy's actions dissolved into irritation, but before she could react there was the brief sound of someone hitting Malfoy around the back of the head. "Ow, Pansy!"

"Time and a place, Draco," Pansy replied, before dropping down next to Valentine and dropping several heavy objects in her lap. "Merry Christmas." Valentine felt the covers, smiling, and the Braille symbols spelt out several titles. "You said you were interested in Arithmancy, and you're a Ravenclaw. Couldn't just buy you something expensive and pretty, either."

"This is brilliant," Valentine, having read the basic books in the library and looking for more in-depth Arithmancy texts, replied happily. She chose to ignore Malfoy's discussion with the idiot-twins about the heir of Slytherin. "Thanks. I--You might think this is a little weird."

Valentine reached into her robes pocket and pulled out the little box. At Pansy's surprised, "Is that--?" she smiled broadly.

"You love snakes, right, and we can't keep snakes as pets here. So I--This is a toy, of course, so it won't be removed, but it's the exact, miniature replica of a Cobra."

She'd had a hard time picking this gift out - after all, the Parkinsons were a wealthy family - so what better to get than a toy only really considered entertaining in the African magical trade?

There was a sudden noise as the idiot-twins stood, and Crabbe grunted loudly, "Medicine for my stomach," as they turned and ran.

"Stop acting weird!" Valentine called after them. "Honestly, you'd think they had hit rock bottom, but no. It gets worse."

Malfoy kicked her sharply in the shin, and, abashed, Valentine kicked back.

*

"Madam Pomfrey," Valentine replied, hugging the blanket more tightly around her. "I've told you, I don't know anything. I can't--I don't know what happened." She was feeling steadily more and more distressed the longer they tried to force her to explain what had happened, and she kept wanting to revert back to Setswana.

"Hermione!" a voice called out just before the door to the hospital wing hit the wall next to it.

Valentine shrunk back, clinging to the blanket.

"Can you get Ginny?" she asked, figuring that if Hermione in her current state was allowed visitors, she should be allowed at least one.

"You!" the same voice called. "You did this! We know all about you, traipsing about the Slytherin common room--"

"Ron, shut up," another voice cut in; Valentine recognised this one as the boy that Ginny kept pointing out. Harry Potter.

"It's not a crime, going to someone else's common room," Valentine snapped back. "I didn't do anything--it just--"

"She dragged Miss Granger's body from an empty corridor until she found help, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall explained. "I don't suppose either of you could explain why Miss Granger would have had a mirror in her hands?"

"I think she was looking around the corner with it," Valentine recalled. "She'd--She said she'd walk me back to Ravenclaw, and something about it not being safe, but then--I don't know. I think she was wrong."

"Hermione's never wrong," Ginny's brother said, sounding as distressed as Valentine felt.

"She was wrong," Valentine disagreed. "It wasn't dangerous to me, it was dangerous to her. It--It just... slid around me. I don't... it was like it was..."

"Take your time, Miss Baruti," Professor McGonagall urged.

Valentine swallowed. "We walked into each other when we were leaving the library, and she told me to look where I was going, then... I don't know, I suppose she--realised that's kind of impossible, and... and so she said she'd walk me back because it wasn't safe, and--every time we came to a corner she'd pause." Valentine stopped for a moment, trying to remember. "I don't--she paused, then said it was all-clear and started walking again, but one time she didn't."

"Didn't what?" Potter asked from the foot of her bed. Valentine tugged the material of the blanket, soft between her fingers.

"Didn't say anything," she explained. "There was no--she just stopped. And I kept asking her, asking her what was wrong, and she--" God, she wished she had the ability to cry. "It was so--She was just so still, and there was something around the corner, but it wasn't a person. It was... It just slid." She remembered the sound of the Kalahari Sand Snakes, but disregarded it; this was just so much more. "I don't know. I was just--on my own, and I couldn't see where I was going or if I was going to walk into a wall with her and--" She hadn't really hated being blind in years. Not until now.

"Go back to your common rooms, give my patient some rest," Madam Pomfrey snapped. "You too, Professor. She needs to get some sleep before she has a panic attack."

"Will you get Ginny?" Valentine asked Ginny's brother in a voice that sounded unlike her own. "Tell Ginny to get Luna and see me? I--I need--"

"Yeah," Ron Weasley said, still sounding slightly hollow. Valentine knew she was being selfish, that he had just lost a friend to whatever the Hell was going on, but she just needed someone to be with her. "Yeah, I will."

"I will escort you back to Gryffindor tower." Hearing Professor McGonagall's voice sounding so heavy was definitely not helping. "I need to address the students in any case."

When the door closed behind them, Valentine pushed her face into her knees and hoped to every God in metaphorical existence that the bossy Gryffindor girl was going to be okay. She might have gotten away fine if it wasn't for Valentine.

*

Valentine had gone back to see Hermione in the hospital wing several times a day, and it was affecting her concentration. It was stupid and she knew it, she wasn't even a friend, but she couldn't help but think that there was something she was missing.

"Potions?" Pansy asked distastefully. "I can help you along with Charms, but Potions really isn't my forte." Studying seemed her only outlet, now that Ginny was slowly becoming more and more introverted and Luna was spending all the time she could with her. She felt like a third wheel whenever she was around. "Though I can tell you whose it is. Dra-co!"

"No, no, and a world of no," Malfoy called back from across the common room.

Valentine sighed. "It's fine, I can ask the Hufflepuffs, I don't need--"

"Draco, you didn't even hear what I was going to say," Pansy snapped in The Voice that Controlled Malfoy. "You're going to help Valentine study Potions."

Malfoy laughed in that cold manner he had. "No, no, and a world of no."

Ten minutes later, Pansy went back to her dormitory while Malfoy moved Valentine's textbooks to the arm of the couch. "You're focusing too much on the practicality. The points are all in the theory, and if you get the theory the practicality will follow."

"Got it. Theory first," Valentine replied, distractedly.

Malfoy sighed. "You're not even going to pay attention. You're hopeless. What's bothering you do much? Damn monster can't even get you."

"I was thinking--" at Malfoy's slight laugh, Valentine frowned. "Never mind. You're clearly just going to be a moron, whatever I say."

"You're not going to get knocked down, for whatever reason. I'm not going to get knocked down because I'm a pure-blood and it doesn't go for Slytherins. Just sit back and enjoy the ride." It was amazing, really, how easily Malfoy irritated Valentine.

"People are getting hurt, Malfoy," Valentine snapped. "How would you feel if it were Pansy up there, Petrified in the hospital wing?"

To his credit, Malfoy did pause. "The monster won't go for Pansy. She's a Slytherin pure-blood."

There was no use reasoning with madmen, Valentine decided. It would be like trying to reason with Dumbledore. Malfoy would always be a bigoted moron, but as long as he paused at the prospect of Pansy getting hurt then he was somewhat human.

"I wrote to my mother about you," Draco said, closing one of the textbooks. They clearly weren't going to study anyway, now that Pansy wasn't keeping an eye on them. "She said my parents knew your dad before he went off and married the muggle. He and my dad were friends when they were younger, apparently."

"I sincerely hope your father is nothing like you," Valentine replied, feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. "I always thought he had good judgment."

"So why are you such a muggle-lover?" Malfoy asked. Valentine was ready to snap at him, before realising that his voice was filled with curiosity. "After the muggles killed your father?"

Valentine sighed. "Because, Malfoy. The man who shot my father was also white, does that mean I should hate all white people?"

"I don't know," Malfoy replied, "does it?"

"No," she replied, exasperated. "A muggle shot my father and I will never forgive that muggle for it, but you know, the last Dark Lord killed muggles and I'm not holding all wizards at blame."

"I don't understand you," Malfoy admitted.

Valentine, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the couch, replied, "You're not supposed to understand me, you're just supposed to worship me," in some kind of philosophical reenactment of God.

Malfoy laughed, and this time it wasn't cold; it was clear and amused, and that was the moment where Valentine started thinking of Malfoy as Draco. Even if he was still a prejudiced moron.

*

The most comforting thing about leaving Hogwarts was hearing Hermione Granger alive and well on the Hogwarts Express. It was enough to override the fact that she was sitting in a compartment full of insane Gryffindors. Luna was her refuge, and that was saying quite a bit.

Ginny seemed to be happy again. Valentine didn't want to even think about what had happened, nor the fact that she could have helped it along if she hadn't disregarded snakes, but--well, Ginny's hands still trembled. Valentine threaded their fingers together, uncaring of judgment, and hoped to every God that Ginny would be okay.

"You'll write to me," Valentine said, pushing her face into Ginny's warm hair, "won't you?"

"Of course," Ginny replied, sounding much more light-hearted than her trembling hands gave away.

And with the prospect of receiving letters from Ginny, Luna, Pansy and Cedric, summer in Botswana didn't seem so bad.

After a moment, with her cheek still resting on Ginny's hair, Valentine consciously noted that somehow going back to the Kalahari sun seemed less like going home and more like leaving it.

Funny, how things work out.