Every book holds a secret, we just have to find it.
‘Today in Potions, we are going to be making a watered down type of Amortentia. Which – if I find even one drop missing – you will be expelled,’ Professor Snape’s cold-voice seemed to echo off the dungeons walls, ‘Any questions? No? Turn to page 364 and begin.’
That should be fairly easy, I thought skimming the page.
Potions had always been my best subject, but it was strange – since I was a Ravenclaw and usually only Slytherins passed Potions with an O when it came to their O.W.L.S.
I walked towards the ingredients cabinet, pulled out what I needed and walked back to my table and began the Potion.
‘Who’s that?’ A boy’s voice asked behind me. My ears perked up at the tone, it sounded really familiar.
‘He’s in our year, a Ravenclaw if I remember correctly.’ A female voice answered.
My eyes drifted up from my potion and scanned the people scattered around me. Who where they talking about?
‘What’s his name?’ A third voice, another boy, whispered.
The voices grew still behind me, and I turned my head slightly to see what they where doing. They had gathered into a tight knit group, heads bent together.
I strained my ears to hear the girl’s next sentence.
‘— that’s Gracen, Gracen Thorne.’
My head whipped around and my eyes focused once more on the group.
Why would they be talking about me?
I shrugged my shoulders and continued on with my work. My thoughts every now and then drifting back to the Golden Trio’s conversation.
And the more I thought about it, the more I felt on display.
The bell couldn’t have rung soon enough. I grabbed my bag and, literally, sprinted out of the classroom.
‘Something’s familiar about him…something I just can’t place…’ Ron leaned over and whispered to Hermione.
The girl rolled her eyes, ‘Honestly Ron, we have been going to school with him for almost six years, and your just now noticing 'somethings familiar about him', as you so put it.’ She stated very matter of fact.
‘I guess.’ Ron replied, his eyes lingering a moment longer where the boy had just been standing.
Tonight was Astronomy, with the Gryffindors.
I grabbed my pack and threw everything I needed in.
‘What am I forgetting?’ I whispered, tapping my finger on my mouth.
I walked over to my desk and rustled a few papers around before it dawned on me.
‘My journal!’ I said, and ran over to my bed. Lifting up my mattress I pulled out the black-leather bound book.
My finger ran over the corner edge of the book where a small crest was indented in silver.
I was left at an orphanage when I was just an infant; all my parents left me with was my name and this journal before they died. And that was all I knew.
My name was Gracen Simon Thorne and I was an orphan. And that was all I needed to know. But the journal, that was something else.
I used the journal mostly for my personal notes, if I observed something unique in my studies or if I found an improvement on any potions I was working on. Most of the notes where just about Potions and Arithmacy, my second best subject, but I took it with me to ever class just in case.
I placed the book into my pack and headed for the door.
I was the first to the Tower; I walked over to my usual spot and set up my telescope and other instruments.
I gazed up at the night’s sky as I set to adjust my scope. Sirius was bright tonight, and Orion was easy to spot. I could catch all of the constellations that we would be looking for tonight. Except one star I couldn’t recall.
I reached for my pack and pulled out my text book and flipped through the pages. Nothing. I pulled out another text, still nothing.
‘Hum…a new star I guess…’ I reached for my journal next and started to sketch my new find.
I looked back down at my work, it wasn’t perfect but it would do.
‘Now I just need a name…’ Excitement was bubbling in the pit of my stomach; I had found a star that wasn’t known about yet. It probably wasn't the most amazing find in the world today, but it was pretty cool to me.
Iolyn — that’s a great name! I thought. It was from a tale back in Wales, where I had grown up.
Quickly I jolted down the name next to the star I had sketched.
‘There.’ I looked down at my sketch before closed the book and kneeling down next to my bag; I couldn’t wait to tell Professor Sinistra about my find. I bet—
‘Why do you have that?!’ My head whipped around to meet the hand of Ron Weasley. His appearance caught me off guard and I fell onto my back.
His hand was pointing at my journal laying next to me.
‘Um…they're my notes…’ I replied, why would he care what I kept my notes in?
‘Not those,’ He snapped. He grabbed my journal up from the floor and dusted off the cover.
‘Hey! That’s mine, give it back!’ I stumbled to get to my feet, after struggling a bit I reached out for my journal.
‘This, where did you get this?’ He held up the journal and pointed at the cover.
‘My parents—my parents left it with me when I was born, can I have it back now?’ I reached once more for it, forgetting that I was still on my knees and falling flat onto my face as he pulled it once more out of my reach.
‘Y-your p-parents…’ Ron stuttered.
‘Yes, now can I—’ He thrusted the journal at me before I could finish my sentence.
‘Thank you…’ I mumbled and turned back to place the book in my bag before another out burst.
‘It can’t be…it-it just can’t be…’ I turned around to see Ron pacing, his hands pulling on his bangs.
‘What can’t?’ I asked, praying that other people would show so that I didn’t have to be left alone with this lunatic for long.
He continued to pace for a few more minutes before stopping abruptly and turning towards me.
‘That crest.’ He pointed his finger at me just like he had when he had seen the journal.
I nodded and stood, taking a step back as I went, ‘Yes, what about it?’
‘That’s my family crest!’ He shook his hands in emphases, ‘MY – FAMILY – CREST.’
‘You might want to say that a bit louder, I’m not sure the people in CANADA could hear you.’ I replied, his voice ringing in my ears.
‘Uhhh!’ And he began to pace again, ‘Who are your parents?’
I was taken back by the question, ‘Why does it matter? It can’t be your crest, maybe it just looks like it.’
‘It does matter, and no – there is no other crest even similar to ours.’ He stated, ‘Two weasels, paws placed together over a triangle with a clover in the middle and a scroll placed under the triangle. With four lines lacing together around the crest. It’s a perfect match. And only someone of the family would have it.’
Silents fell over the both of us.
It couldn’t be, could it? I thought.
‘So…who are your parents?’ He asked again.
‘Were,’ My head dropped a little, ‘were, they died when I was younger. And I don’t know.’
The red-head smirked, ‘How can you not know?’
‘I just don’t.’ I snapped.
His smirk broke into a cruel laugh, ‘How can anyone not know, aren’t there papers or something—’
‘Ron? Ron?’ The same female voice from Potions earlier asked, I looked towards the stairs and a bush of hair popped up followed by the rest of Hermione Granger.
‘Oh, hello.’ She replied on seeing me.
I nodded in acknowledgment and took a few more steps back from the red-headed Weasley.
‘Ron, Astronomy is in her classroom tonight. I was sent up here to get anyone who didn’t go by her classroom first.’ Her eyes fell awkwardly on me. I turned away; I had always hated to be the center of attention, even when I was younger I had hated it.
Hermione started back down the stairs but stopped a few down, ‘Well, are you two coming or not?’
The red-head nodded and followed, his thoughts absorbed in what he had just learned. Was it possible that their where more Weasleys at Hogwarts then even his family knew about?
I stood glued to the spot. Why would I have the Weasley crest? It must be a mistake.
But again, what if it wasn’t?
All these thought plagued my head as I started down the stairs after the other two.
I barley said a word in class, although no one else really did either – they where either asleep or trying to stay awake for the rest of class.
Once we were dismissed I sprinted towards the door and headed for my common room.
A place of solitude that I could think for a while, I could be in the company of my own thoughts for a while after everyone else was in bed.
I sat alone in the common room, it was a little past one and I was fiddling with my journal, every now and then running my thumb over the crest.
I had never given the crest much thought to be honest. I thought it was just a design, something to tell who the publisher was.
Nothing that might link me to a family.
I had never even considered the thought. I grew up an orphan, I never knew that there could be other people, besides parents, that would want me.
‘Well, if they hadn’t died I wouldn’t be in this situation.’ I hissed, gripping the sides of the small book.
I steamed over the thought in my head for a while longer before looking back down at the journal. The silver crest shone in the fire-light, mocking me, it knew I had no family – nothing to look forward to over the summer break. No one to want me, or to be with over the family holidays. No one to say I love you at night, or to tell me that everything will be alright.
Nothing. That’s what I had. That’s what I was.
‘I hate you!’ I yelled, tossing the journal over to the corner. Tears formed at the corner of my eyes, the pain welling up in my chest. I felt like I was going to burst, the tears slid down my cheek as I curled up at the end of the couch. And I cried myself to sleep, not caring who was watching for once.
The sun light warmed my eyelids as the new morning rose. I stretched and pulled myself up from the couch.
My eyes still felt puffy from last night – well, this morning.
My eyes fell around the common room until it found the clock over the mantel, it read six o’clock. There was an hour and a half till breakfast would begin.
I gave a slight smile and snuggled back into the couch, my eyes lingered around the room once more. No one else was up yet. And then I caught the lights reflection off the silver crest.
I stood up and walked over to where the book had landed just hours before. I knelt down and gently picked up the book, afraid that I had done the book some damage.
I had just picked it up when a page fell out.
‘Great.’ I hissed and reached over to pick up the sheet. But it wasn’t like the other pages; this paper was an old-yellow color, not like the perfect-white pages in the journal.
My hand reached for the paper shaking slightly, my fingers brushed over the paper lightly before gently grabbing the page.
It was fold into thirds, and slowly I started to undo the first fold.
Iolyn - (I-o-lynn)
Thorne - (Thorn)
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