06th January 1866 — empty classroom, Hogwarts, late afternoon

The winter term was picking up again and Samuel Griffith, a 14-year-old Slytherin, heard the boys in the classroom before he saw them. He was early, a good 20 minutes, for the study hours that were held in this classroom. He was early for no particular reason. He'd hoped for some peace and quiet. It was a strange time in his life. Over the last half year he shot up a few inches and stood at 5'10", but he was very slight still and very irritable. His sharp bone structure, without any mass to support it, made him look fragile and pointed and vaguely androgynous. That his dark hair now grew past his chin did not help, but he was obstinate about not letting anyone else dictate those choices to him anymore, much to his mother's chagrin.

Especially the older boys recently noticed Griffith, as everyone called him, gearing up to becoming their equal, but being at the same time abnormal and not quite up to the task yet. They were ruthless in their efforts to put him in his place and nip any social ambitions in the bud.

He crossed the corner to the classroom and identified the noise as belonging to the pack of unruly lads that accompanied Gryffindor's star beater Daniel Reymund wherever he went. From what he could glean, they were entreating him to come to the pitch with them, while Reymund lingered around a table where Themis Lyra sat over some scrolls of parchment. Right, he thought, the tutoring rumour.
It was the talk among students that seventh-year Daniel Reymund tutored fifth-year prefect Lyra in Defence Against the Dark Arts. People talked about it because Reymund himself did not shut up about it, ever — except for when the girl in question was in earshot. He was planning on courting her as soon as she came out to society, people assumed, and they seemed to think them to be evenly matched. They were certainly both among the best-looking students, which appeared to be the main point of consideration.
Samuel thought to himself that if Reymund really wanted to make headway with that, he ought to not surround himself with a gaggle of his most obnoxious peers while tutoring Miss Lyra.

One of the boys discovered him approaching the doorway. "There's Griffith," he said, and Samuel felt multiple pairs of eyes find him and turn hostile. Slytherin was playing Gryffindor tomorrow. They would not do much, he thought. It was known that Lyra was a stickler for rules. She would throw a fit if they ganged up on him infront of her.
The boys now decided to head for practice and he tensed his shoulders while they pushed past him. As expected, two of them landed their hard elbows in his ribs. He bore it and solemnly slunk to a table in the middle of the room and sat down, without looking at the blonde girl and her parchment scrolls. "Good afternoon", he said politely, while putting down his books and glancing towards the clock that stood in a corner.

---

“Some of us have OWLs to prepare for, Mr. Reymund.” Themis warned, her temper growing prickly as her companions continued to distract her. Daniel insisted, for probably the fifth time in ten minutes, that she abandon her books and join him and the team for practice. As if she had ever cared about quidditch. She endured Daniel’s teasing as long as he could stay on topic when they studied, something that was becoming more and more rare. She had reluctantly agreed to Daniel as her Defense Against the Dark Arts tutor. It was his best subject and, as he was happy to point out, one of her weakest. It made sense to work together, at least it had before Daniel decided to come back from the winter holiday with a whole new disregard for rules and the arrogant apathy that seemed to favor seventh years that took the bare minimum of classes. He’d already received an offer from professional teams, who cared about NEWTs? No matter how many times he repeated this, Themis couldn’t stop grinding her teeth. ‘Lazy’ and ‘entitled’ were attitudes that always received her scorn. A lot of good that was doing the senior members of the Gryffindor squad. They played Slytherin tomorrow, Themis knew she’d get nothing productive from them today.

She was now buried in her potions notes, Daniel dismissed, but still lingering. She couldn’t puzzle out why he was hovering now that she’d switched subjects, but here he was. Nearly snapping her quill in half as Daniel decided to plop his hand down in the middle of the page she was reading, Themis glared, her most wilting dressing down at the ready, one of the Chasers drew everyone’s attention to the newest person in the room. As the body language of her housemates changed, Themis stiffened, sensing trouble. “Leave him alone. He doesn’t even play.” She warned, bristling at the obvious eye roll that passed among her peers before Daniel finally gathered his things to leave. She grit her teeth but said nothing as Daniel ‘accidently’ made a mess of her orderly rolls of parchment. Some days, she wondered why they were friends.

She went back to bringing order to her study space, messy notes akin to messy thoughts in her head. She preferred order and structure, something that seemed lacking in the brains of many who shared her house. She’d just turned her attention to memorizing the steps in Strengthening Solution when she received a companion. Bracing herself for something asinine, something one of the boys forgot to bother her about, Themis relaxed, now curious at the polite greeting. Tucking stray strawberry blonde curls behind her ear, where they would refuse to stay more than a moment, Themis offered a genuine smile to the sullen Slytherin boy. Themis was in the same year as one of his siblings, a most unimpressive boy, but the younger Mr. Griffith was known to her mostly from classes and by reputation via the boys. She found her assessment of the fourth-year Slytherin kinder than her housemates. He seemed to fly in the face of every snobbish Slytherin trope, tales of some of his earliest dustups almost legendary. As a prefect, it was her role to maintain order, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying when pureblood princes had their precious cages rattled. “Good afternoon, Mr. Griffith. I apologize for my housemates, they’re little better than animals when our houses play.”

---

"Not your fault," he offered and briefly looked up from his notebook. The openness of her smile caught him by surprise, and he lingered on it for a second. Not many people showed this sort of sentiment towards him, the one he read in her expression. He frowned, suspicious about it. He was generally regarded as troublesome, and Lyra, friends with Reymund, ought to dislike him as much as his posse did. Much of this tension was about the incident with Gryffindor chaser McMullen in the prior year— McMulen was a fifth year whom Sam had gotten into an ugly fight with about something very silly. That had prevented McMullen from playing in a game, and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team unfortunately had not forgotten about that during summer break, and Sam had to deal with that open debt. It might, it surely would, come back around to bite him.

He would wait and deal with it quietly, he thought. This year, Samuel had decided to calm down. In a sense, he was giving up. It was going swimmingly; it was really much easier. He closed his notebook and leaned far back in his chair. The seconds stretched. Somehow, her attention was still on him, he could feel that.

He turned in his chair to look towards her. "What?" something in his eyes seemed to ask. Then he laid his head down on his arms on the tabletop. He might as well try to rest for fifteen minutes, until the tutoring Professor would arrive.

---

“You are correct, but it would be rude if someone didn’t apologize.” She explained, the thought a rational one to her. It was only fair that someone take responsibility. She wondered at the frown that dominated his face, but gave it little thought. He couldn’t be that happy if he went through the world picking fights. Granted, McMulen had a terrible habit of running at the mouth. It figured it would eventually land him in the Hospital Wing. Pity the fool hadn’t learned anything from the event, just more Slytherin-Gryffindor animosity. It was a waste of energy if she ever saw one. Themis hoped for Mr. Griffith’s sake that he was able to hold his own in a fight, that it hadn’t been a fluke. She had a strong sense his prefects weren’t about to keep him out of harm’s way.

She turned back to her notes for a moment before he caught her attention, the boy lounging back in his chair at odds with the tightly wound way he normally held himself. He seemed wary, but considering her earlier company, she couldn't blame him. Seeing an opportunity to do her duty as prefect, as ambassador, Themis put her quill aside and waited for him to look her direction. It didn't take long. She was ready to engage him until the haired boy dropped his head to his arms as if she bored him. A bit put out by this, she gave him just a moment more before adding. "I am Themis Lyra. I do not believe we have been properly introduced. I'm working on potions. What about you?" The least he could do was show her some courtesy.

---

He lifted his head back into the upright with the indignation only an ill-tempered adolescent boy could convey in a manner so heartfelt, but corrected his expression when she continued to be friendly. He did not want to appear impolite. It might be a little late for this consideration, but in a general sense it was important to him to be well-mannered. Samuel sat up straight and turned around in his chair so they faced each other properly. "And I am Samuel Griffith. I am a fourth-year, as you likely know. My family lives in London," he replied, offering these bits of information in an effort to remedy his standoffish first impression somewhat. "I've already finished Potions. I only have Astronomy left," he said with little enthusiasm. It was not his favorite subject, and he had put off writing his essay since yesterday.

Now he looked at the girl with wary curiosity. Come to think of it, he did not actually know if she cared much about Quidditch, besides her connection to Reymund. Perhaps the whole story with McMullen had not caused her to hold any animosity towards him, as some of her housemates did. It was a very tedious conflict, Samuel thought. Like many of these events, it manifested around him out of the blue. He had not sought it. But he had also made no effort to de-escalate—defusing these situations did not come naturally to him. His presence was apparently bound to ruffle feathers. It had to do with his personality; others had informed him about that. To put it in McMullen's words, Samuel Griffith was "a smug and arrogant bastard with a punchable face."
He propped up said face with one of his hands and contemplated Themis Lyra for a second. "How are you getting on with potions?", he asked.

---

Yes, that was much better. Themis extended her hand to him to shake, her eyebrows rising in curiosity and a hint of a challenge. Ladies didn’t shake hands with gentlemen upon greeting. It was a lesson she learned from her governesses as quickly as she dismissed this under her uncle’s guidance. She knew how to shake hands properly, honestly, as Uncle Horace taught her. It was always interesting to see how boys reacted for some reason, it seemed to put them on the defensive. If she thought about it, it may be the only reason to enjoy the gesture so much. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Griffith.” She offered him cheerfully, his cooperation pleasing her. Her almost smug amusement was replaced with genuine excitement when he mentioned his topic of study. “Astronomy’s my favorite class. My uncle’s an astronomer. I’m going to work with him after graduation.” Her certainty came from her bones, her confidence in her path unwavering. She had always wanted to be an astronomer; she couldn’t remember anything else. She’d spent hours at her uncle’s side as long as she could remember. She may not know what exactly to memorize for her Transfigurations OWL, but she barely had to touch her astronomy books. “I could help you, if you like.” It occurred to her as she gestured that maybe this boy didn’t want her help. It hadn’t occurred to her that he didn’t need her help. She’d grown used to correcting the work of a certain housemate two years her senior. Themis generally accepted that the kindest thing she could do was improve others; leaving them alone rarely seemed an option.

Her confidence flagged slightly as he reminded her of her own workload, her optimism wavering. “I expect to do well. I like that potions are so precise. I don’t like not knowing why. Why three flobberworms instead of two? And why flobberworms at all?” It was both a hypothetical and practical question. If there was anything that could help her keep her hands out of dead worms, she’d appreciate it.

---

Samuel looked at her outstretched hand and thought that his mother would have some sharp words for Miss Lyra. He did not much mind it; Lyra was observing his reaction to this. It was a test. He denied her anything more than a polite and unperturbed smile while he took her hand and shook it with the proper firmness — not too much, not too little; like he had been drilled to do when meeting any of his father's gentlemanly friends. Gentlemanly, not to be confused with actual gentlemen.
"You are very certain about that. Is that your uncle's wish for you?" he asked with a quizzical look. Was it decided for her then that she would work instead of being a wife and mother? He was not sure if Reymund would be keen on that. Maybe he did not know, the idiot.
He thought about his own plans for the future. They were very vague and vaguely grandiose.

On her offer, he hesitated. She had a lot of scrolls in front of her, and OWL-season was difficult even for the accomplished students. Samuel did not want to be a burden, and he was not so bad at astronomy that he could not write this essay unassisted.
"I will start my essay and if I have a question I know to ask you. Thank you, Miss Lyra," he said and moved his books over to the table next to her and sat down.
"Professor Valenduris told me that we use magical creature parts and plants in potions because they turn ordinary matter of the earth into powerful compounds by the processes within their bodies. A unicorn eats grass to sustain itself and converts it to unicorn hair. We cannot replicate that."

---

Themis grinned when the younger boy chose the correct option. She shook his hand, her opinion raised by his being such a good sport. She measured people quickly and carefully; so far, Mr. Griffith the youngest seemed a most agreeable young man. She met his confusion with a puzzled face of her own. “Why wouldn’t I be certain?” She wondered aloud, her future already clear in her mind. It was a path she chose as a little girl, she wasn’t changing plans now. “I will be sixteen in September. I can’t go changing my plans now.” She chuckled, as if his questions were intended as a joke. “And I hope Uncle Horace hasn’t changed his mind. He still makes me solve equations and label star charts when I’m home.” She grinned at the thought of her curmudgeon of an uncle playing a grand game with her future. “If it was all preparations for finishing school, I will be very upset.” She hoped Mr. Griffith wouldn’t be too offended by her obvious opinion on such a fate, her face screwing up at the idea of finishing school.

His hesitance surprised her. Usually, the quidditch boys were begging her for help on their assignment. She wasn’t used to people not wanting her assistance. She didn’t know what to do with that, but politely acknowledged his thanks. She moved her things slightly, allowing him more room next to her at the table. It would be nice to have a clever desk partner for today’s study hall. She got rather frustrated when she had people staring over her shoulder the entire hour. She considered the wisdom he shared from his head of house, the ancient wizard a tough, but mostly fair instructor. Themis disliked the dungeons, but Valenduris at least kept her attention while she was there. “I wonder how much is magic and how much is science. Even if we gave the recipe and ingredients to a muggle, they wouldn’t be able to make a potion. Why, if the ingredients are the magical part?” Her musing came with a frown and she grabbed her quill, suddenly writing quickly. “There is a theoretical portion to the Potions OWL. You don’t think I have to know the answer to that, do you?”

---

Samuel decided to not press more on the questionable matter of Miss Lyra remaining on a path to become an astronomer, when that was, to his frame of reference, very unlikely; if she wanted to lead such a life, she should have hoped to be born uglier.
So he nodded noncommittally and took his astronomy book out of his bag.

"Well," he said to her question, "all the strange instructions like 'stir clockwise five times and against the clock three times' and all that is a sort of ritual spell. We bind it all together with magic. The sum is greater than the parts. They"—he made a face that seemed to disdainfully include all the teachers and adults in his life—"just don't tell you the really important stuff unless you get on their nerves about it. Or they don't know it," he added and thought about his father, who he came to find out with every passing year was a very sorry excuse for a wizard. He felt that this fact was a little depressing. If his father was no good, and his brother Ebenezer just very dull and Gilbert just full of hot air, what did that say about him? He kept defending a family that was really not very defensible at all.
This line of thinking soured his mood and he looked back onto the star chart. "Don't think they will ask you about it for the OWL's."
And because he was still thinking about the whole matter of Miss Lyra's plans for her future, he said to her, "Reymund is awfully proud of tutoring you in DADA. Is he doing your grades any good?"
And now there was a hint of slyness to his eyes, that lay obscured by the dark fall of his hair, while he scribbled on his parchment. Did she know how much the lad bragged about his access to her behind her back? It was really a bit emberassing.

---

Themis' eyes narrowed as she took a moment to really look at her study partner. He'd apparently paid attention in potions. Interesting. "I hadn't thought of potions as spells." She admitted. It was a different way to imagine the subject than she'd ever pictured it, but it seemed to fit as she tested the theory in her head. She raised an eyebrow at his assessment of the authority figures in their lives. She wasn't sure just how wide a net he cast with his disdain, but he'd forgotten a key distinction between them. "I thought adults told boys everything. At least if they're smart enough to ask the questions, if it isn't on the exam, most people think I don't need to know it." She pouted. She was fortunate at home, but home was only three months of the year. If the librarian made one more comment about her reading habits, Themis might scream.

She turned her attention back to her notes, content to read for a moment, when Mr. Griffith brought up Daniel. Head whipping around, her eyes widened in surprise. She did not like this one bit. "What do you mean he's proud? He talks about it?" Confusion - with a healthy dose of annoyance - flitted across her face. Why would Daniel need to talk about helping her? She helped half the house in astronomy and runes, who cared if she wanted help on her practical exam?

---

"Not all boys are equal," he said morosely. "They sure don't tell me everything. And me asking too many questions makes them cross and suspicious. 'Why do you want to know that? Stay on topic, Griffith. You don't need to know that,'" he imitated some adult's voice who had caught his ire. Samuel was almost certain that this sort of answer was a front for a teacher not wanting to admit to not knowing something. It was as if they feared a fourteen-year-old's contempt, which was of course what they would receive anyways.

On her question about Reymund he looked up and he suppressed his delighted smile to have found the weak point—she did not know at all, did she? So his gloating about this remained locked under the surface, could perhaps only be gleaned from the glitter of his eyes. "He talks about it, he does," Samuel said very casually. "Barely stops talking about it, now that I think about it."

And with that, he focused on his parchment and started sketching Saturn and its three rings.

---

She supposed he had a point. Not all boys were the same. He certainly seemed to pay attention more than most, but that didn't always come with reward. She'd been told more than once in her life that she asked too many questions. She also rarely bothered to listen. His experience did seem to mimic hers, in that regard. He seemed a perfectly friendly sort, if a bit glum, until she pushed him about Daniel. Suddenly, he knew something she very much did not, and it wasn't acceptable.

"That is not -" she cut off when her tone drew the attention of some Ravenclaws across the room. She only glared in their direction before moderating her tone slightly. "If that's true - if - it is a silly thing to brag about. He's a better duelist than I am, but only because he spends too much time looking at mirrors." Themis groused. She was fuming and doing her best to mask it; there was no reason this should bother her. Daniel helped her in the class she found most pointless. She'd never wanted to be an auror, but she understood the theory well enough. She just didn't see the point of knowing how to fight off a load of monsters she would never encounter. Staring at the moon didn't mean outrunning werewolves, she'd asked that question of her uncle well before her Hogwarts days.

---

Samuel gazed upon his drawings of the planets and their moons with the utmost concentration. "It is—" he said slowly, as if just casually discussing some gossip that was not related to them, "not his dueling prowess he is so proud of."

He glanced over, waiting to see if she would fill in the blanks and catch his meaning. Was she completely oblivious to the way boys talked, and to how they talked about her?

He looked back towards his essay. "What was again the name of Saturn's largest moon?"

---

Themis froze, her face reflecting her journey from confusion through indignation to anxiety. "And what does that mean, Mr. Griffith?" Her voice had gone low, her warning a clear sign that she was no longer interested in games. What the boy was hinting at effected her reputation and that was not up for debate. Themis would have none of it. She also couldn't leave a question unanswered. "Titan, obviously. Now what did he say?"

---

Samuel, who already knew it was Titan, added the name to the dot on his star chart. He sensed that he was pushing it and he savored that little thrill and he tensed his knees to stop them from moving and himself from shifting and fidgeting. The day was gray, from the time he woke up, sitting through the classes, waiting for something. Something that would never happen. Nothing was working. He just stumbled into things that didn't, trying to get past the hours. Was it supposed to be like that?

He'd gotten off track. Her question.
"Nothing untoward," he said, deciding he better turn the flame down on this one a little. "I suppose he is happy that you give him the time of day and sees that as a compliment to himself. I suppose he would say you ought to see it as a compliment to yourself, too."
The corners of his mouth lifted into a little smile, almost mirthful.

---

"He still doesn't need to go around telling people." She grumbled, her mood officially soured. What if Mr. Griffith was being polite? Daniel and the boys had never been careful with their words. If Daniel were insinuating something more to their study session than studying, it would end now. Or as soon as she could talk to him without wanting to yell, which would take time. Nevermind potions now, she needed to be alone.

Grabbing her things, her methodical packing ignored for the moment, Themis grabbed her bag and was halfway across the room before she remembered her manners. "It was a pleasure to meet you officially, Mr. Griffith. Best of luck with your essay." And she was gone.

---