Jinxed

1991 November

"Why do they call it Charms?"

The question came from a hesitant yet curious Harry Potter who had, at the insistence of Hermione, joined Alana's study group in the library. Charlotte was the one to answer the question this time, unlike the several previous queries that Alana had replied to. It was all done in a valiant effort to make the first-years more comfortable with the older group.

"Charms class teaches spells that make everyday objects do something that they otherwise wouldn't. Historically, it was taught to only witches and not wizards. They used to think only females had the ability to 'charm' objects into doing what they wished, hence the name."

Lola laughed at her friend's explanation while Alana smiled fondly. Potter for his part looked torn between disbelief and amusement while the youngest male Weasley had long since settled on laughing in response. Fearful of the red-heads noise bothering Madam Pince, Hermione elbowed the boy in an attempt to shut him up. When that didn't work, she sent a silencing spell in his direction.

"They might have been on to something," Alana said teasingly as she glanced toward Leoen who flushed pink at her implication.

"I'm not that bad at Charms," He defended himself. He didn't sound all too confident, and Alana felt her lips quirk into a sly smile.

"Of course not, or that would make me a horrible teacher," She grinned.

"Merlin forbid you be anything less than perfect," Charlotte jabbed.

"Has Ling Ling done her 40 hours?" Leoen smirked as he made the inside joke.

The three Gryffindors had assimilated into the group as easily as the Slytherins with the four's easy conversation and banter. It was a novel experience for all three of them with their backgrounds. Hermione Granger was glad to have found some friendly people willing to discuss academics with her without being condescending or easily offended. Ronald Weasley, or Ron as he insisted he be called, would have preferred Gryffindor company and a setting other than the library but wasn't about to complain with how happy his new friends were. Harry Potter was on cloud nine. He had been hesitant to befriend Alana but soon warmed up to the witch's personality. Her friends were similarly easy to get along with and just as willing to answer any questions he had on the wizarding world, regardless of how stupid they must have seemed to them. He was enjoying himself so much that he almost forgot about Professor Snape and the upcoming first quidditch match of the season. Almost.

1991 November

He was not jealous.

Draco Malfoy did not get jealous, he got what he wanted.

The blond in question continued his daily morning ritual of critiquing his appearance in the mirror. He had several matters to attend to that day. First and foremost was breaking his fast with Theo. Theodore Nott Jr. would no doubt want to discuss the trade deals being brokered with Spain, and then he would have to allow Miss Tracey Davis to join the conversation. It shouldn't be too difficult considering the half-blood's family had strong relations with the vampire covens doing business in those areas. Or so rumour said. His father was, unfortunately, not as sparing towards his heir with information as he was with money.

On the topic of his father... Draco's eyes shuttered close. He didn't know how to deal with the main issue of the day.

Alana Vincent.

The situation really needed no further elaboration than the name. The witch was something else entirely. He wanted her as his mentor. Desperately. The hastiness of his public declaration was foolish, he knew, but he did not regret the decision itself. She had criticised it, but he just knew that she would be perfect for the position so long as she was willing. He could already see her resemblance to his mother in the way she controlled a conversation and his father every time she attacked an opponent with barbed comments. It also hadn't escaped his notice how the younger students seemed to gravitate towards her whenever she gave them attention. He had already seen several vying for her favour with requests for homework help. None of the Slytherins was obvious about their interest in her, but that only meant they were wary of her. The Slytherin seniors had a betting pool on who would take on Terrence Bagnold's position once he graduated that year and it was no surprise to see the girl's name up there. Her interactions thus far had left a strong impression on the group.

His father rarely spoke of his incarcerated colleagues, but he recalled with exceptional clarity one particular incident where he had.

He had spoken of the moment of his first introduction to Rudolphus Lestrange, of the silver tongue and acid replies that had left him in awe of the man for some time. They had become friends, brothers in arms and then brothers-in-law. 'There are times when you instinctively know an invaluable ally,' his father had said. Draco was sure that he had encountered such a person when he shook Alana's hand.

While he was certain she wouldn't stab him in the back, he had not expected her advances towards an alliance with Potter to be so bloody irritating. He was not jealous! He was just concerned! Potter had had everything given to him on a golden platter since entering the school. He was practically raised with a golden spoon in his mouth, and there was no doubt in his mind that the half-blood was enjoying his continued celebrity treatment at Hogwarts. Draco had some faith that Alana wouldn't be blinded by the boy's fortune and fame, but one could never be too sure of these things. He had asked Nott to keep an eye on the two for extra insurance.

Draco had tutoring with the witch after class - her lunchtimes having been taken up by her own followers and the golden trio if what Nott had seen was correct. He scowled at the thought of the younger Weasley and big-mouthed mudblood. He'd have to talk to Alana about her choice of company in the future.

1991 November

Auxilium glared at the obnoxiously large eagle. From his perch, the owl watched as the intruder offered its burden to his young mistress.

Alana eyed the vicious-looking beak of the golden bird warily before carefully removing the letter it carried. Its curved talons were mercilessly digging into the frame of her bedroom window. It would surely leave marks behind. The avian creature gave the pair a condescending nod of approval before exiting with a sweep of its massive wings.

"Two guesses as to who owns him," Alana commented wryly.

Auxilium seemed to share her opinion of the raptor and turned his tail feathers in the direction the bird had gone. It was the most civil gesture she had seen from her owl since purchasing him. A common enemy could truly unify a warring nation.

Alana traced the swirling calligraphy that indicated the intended recipient of the delivery and congratulated herself for having the forethought to put on her gloves. She had received two similar envelopes that day. Both sat innocently on her desk, along with a third, less remarkable letter. She had yet to open any of them, but she had an idea of the contents. Finally summoning her courage, she decided to start with the plain one.

It was… unusual. The letter was not from anyone she knew but rather a concerned mother. It was an invitation to luncheon from Mrs Molly Weasley. It seemed that Percy Weasley had mentioned her being his sparring partner one time too many and the woman had become suspicious of her. She wondered if Percy knew of his mother's plans and decided that he probably wouldn't have been able to look her in the eyes if he had. From what she knew of the fifth year, he was prone to secondhand embarrassment where his family was concerned. The second letter was a more pleasant surprise. She received an invitation to a surprise birthday party Charlotte Winters' parents were throwing for her. It was a small, informal gathering of close friends the letter said.

The third and fourth envelopes were the ones she had been half expecting and fully dreading. The Yule holiday lasted two weeks starting four days prior to December 22, the day of the winter solstice. For pureblood Hogwarts students especially, the week following the solstice was the most significant period of the year. It was the first week of the wizarding social season to coincide with the school holidays allowing hopefuls to attend the celebrations.

The social season was divided into four one-week periods, each following one Wiccan Sabbat. The year began with Mabon (the fall equinox) followed by Yule (the winter solstice), Ostara (the spring equinox) and then Litha (the summer solstice). The Malfoy's traditionally started the Yule celebrations with the largest event of the year while the Greengrass' ended it. Smaller, more exclusive gatherings would be held in the time in between. The other weeks followed a similar structure.

With her sudden rise in popularity, it was little surprise that the upper echelons of society had begun to express their unavoidable curiosity. Unfortunately, the lack of surprise didn't make the invitations any easier to bear. Alana shivered involuntarily. She wasn't sure she would be comfortable sharing verbal daggers with people who may have employed her in the past. Talking with adolescents and talking with experienced politicians were two vastly different things. With both Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter running circles around her, however, she had little choice.

The less intimidating invitation to the Greengrass Yule Ball was opened first. A cream coloured card with a gold laurel leaf border indicated the theme of the event: Greek mythos. 'An easy enough theme to dress to', she thought with a sigh of relief.

That was undoubtedly the other cause of her apprehension: she hated dresses, and they were the expected formal wear. She was a very practical clothes shopper, and the idea of not wearing enough leather and black to slit a throat if needed put her on edge. While she supposed a flimsy ball gown could very well be a lethal weapon in the hands of a seductress like Lilith Bathery, she had no skills in that area. She almost wished she could summon the half-veela to do her shopping for her, but there was no doubt in her mind that the results would be disastrous.

The final envelope dropped by the eagle was opened after she had once again checked for any unfriendly spells. The Malfoy Yule Ball invitation fell innocently onto the desk followed by a second letter of address. The icy white branches stretching across the blue card showed the woodland winter theme of the event while the second letter - ominously handwritten - requested her presence at Malfoy manor for tea two days before the Ball. She let out a soft exhale as her fingers took up a steady drum on the table. The letter was formal, to the point and distant despite being clearly hand-written. The Malfoy crest pressed into the red wax on the letter glared mockingly at her.

'What makes you think you are good enough for a Malfoy?' It seemed to say. 'I have enough influence to tear your precious world down around you.'

It would take more than impressing Lucius Malfoy to have him back down. He was the type to destroy a person if he considered them weak. She would fight with everything she had. She only hoped it would be enough.

1991 November

The first Quidditch match of the season began that morning.

Harry, much to Alana's displeasure, had been a nervous wreck for the entire week. She'd been forced to hunt down the kitchen elves just so she could shove some nutrients down his throat when he missed the evening feast the night before. While she was doing this, he attempted to tell her about Professor Snape's suspicious activities. She was sorely tempted to tell him that the Professor's limp didn't say anything about his character. None of the group mentioned the most likely cause of the injury, the Cerberus guarding the chamber to the Philosopher's stone. She wasn't going to ask about it either despite knowing the three had encountered it while trying to evade the castle caretaker, Argus Filch. Regardless of their suspicions regarding the stone, changing her plans for them was out of the question. She wouldn't set foot in the third corridor until after Yule break.

Alana took her seat in the stands of Slytherin, receiving a few glares in the process. She knew her relationship with the house was tenuous at best. Having taken up an alliance with the Gryffindor mascot was reason enough for a large portion of the snakes to hiss as she walked by. Lucian and his clique hadn't scorned her for the decision, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they felt pressured to by the more influential members of the house. Unless Malfoy Sr. made his stance known, the tension in the air would remain.

Draco had a scowl etched into his face as he scrutinised the game. He was naturally displeased that Potter had been allowed on the team as a first-year. It was favouritism at its finest. Alana had to agree with his assessment. She took her seat beside the young blond with practised elegance, and his attention swivelled at her entrance.

"Good morning, Draco." She greeted him. It was about half-past 11 on the Quidditch field, and the game had already begun. Draco nodded in return before returning to the game with noticeably less irritation. He was noting his house's usual plays for later use no doubt. She watched as Harry's first attempt to catch the Golden Snitch, a small, winged ball, was blotched by the Slytherin Seeker. She really didn't see the appeal of a game where one player could win half of their team's points. If asked, she would deny her distaste had anything to do with the fact that teams were attempting to knock each other off of debatably stable brooms with leather balls while flying fifty feet up in the air. Merlin, she hated brooms.

Her fingers had begun to drum themselves on her leg out of boredom when Harry's broom began to buck wildly. It was comical in a horrifying way. He was clinging onto the broom for dear life as it tried to unseat him. The two Weasley twins were hovering beside him, trying and failing to play the game while helping him at the same time.

"Hurling Hex most likely," She commented lightly from the stands. Draco looked like his birthday had come early whilst Theodore Nott Jr., who was sitting on his other side, looked torn between amusement and consternation. Alana glanced about the stands to see other Slytherins watching with bated breath as Potter gripped his broom tightly. She saw one with their hands clasped together praying that Lady Magic would let him be irreparably injured. The Gryffindor stands were in chaos, and she was sure the Ravenclaws were squirming in their seats uncomfortably.

She wanted to move, to do something to help the boy, but she chose to sit still and wait. Running off would be an embarrassment in front of the Slytherins, more so as she was in Draco's company. It would also be an insult to her title as his mentor. Besides, she wasn't anybody's saviour. She had no obligation to put her wellbeing and reputation on the line for the kid. She could offer him shelter, knowledge, acceptance, and maybe even the odd bit of wisdom, but she wasn't going to hold his hand through every struggle. She couldn't afford to take such chances unless she wished to end up in Azkaban. She idly wondered what Raymond would have thought if he knew she'd even considered helping. The thought kept her sober.

While Alana's resolve solidified, Hermione scanned the stands to find the source of Harry's troubles. She quickly noticed that Professor Snape was unblinkingly staring at the boy's broom and muttering under his breath. She was reluctant to even humour the possibility, but even she could see that he was the most likely caster of the jinx. Only an adult could pull off that level of spellwork, and Snape's vendetta against Harry was legendary. She bit her lip nervously, but her eyes narrowed with purpose. Taking advantage of everyone's focus on Harry, she raced across the stands and crept below the man's seat. Her wand lit with a flame, and she winced as she set the Professor's robes on fire. She prayed to whatever omnipotent being that existed she wouldn't get detention for the act.

Snape cursed as his concentration and eye contact was broken by the smell of burning fabric. His counter-curse was thrown back in his face, and he winced at the force of it. His nostrils flared with barely restrained anger at the flames eating their way up his robes. He knew he should have worn his flame-retardant clothes that morning. The flames increased in heat as though sensing his thoughts and he belatedly realised that the flames were magical with their unnatural colouring. He stumbled backwards in an attempt to escape the fire and succeeded in knocking the snivelling Professor Quirrell to the ground before he managed to quench the flames. A sharp jab of his wand was all it took.

Up in the air, Harry was relieved to find himself regaining control over the blasted broom. A brief sense of humiliation washed over him at the horrid display he must have been before he shoved it down. He dove towards the ground. The wind whistled past his ears and combed his unruly locks back from his scarred forehead. He was calm. The rune sowilo, a lightning-shaped symbol engraved above his brow, was bared to the world. He had learnt from Alana that it was the rune of light, strength, power and the sun. As he neared the ground, he jerked his broom upwards. Flying was one of the few times he felt powerful. He felt in control.

Victory was lodged in his throat, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. To the utter disbelief of the crowd, he vomited as soon as he landed. There in his palm, innocent as the day it was made, lay the Golden Snitch.

With the match ending in the most chaotic way possible, Harry was more than happy to join Hagrid in his hut after the team celebration. Ron and Hermione were eager to join him. The three recounted their experiences during the game over a cup of pumpkin juice. He was disappointed when Hagrid refused to consider the possibility of Snape cursing his broom. The irate Professor hated his very soul and had made it abundantly clear that he enjoyed torturing him in class. He had been bitten by the Cerberus for Merlin's sake! The giant canine, Fluffy, had three heads. Surely, he was smart enough to recognise a bad character when he sniffed it. Unfortunately, Hagrid was firm in his belief and loyal to a fault. They were surprised to learn that the dog belonged to the large groundskeeper and that the object it was guarding (accessible by a trapdoor as Hermione had noticed) was a secret known only to Dumbledore and a man named Nicolas Flamel. Hagrid was not a good keeper of secrets.