Chapter Text
“Artemis Lee!”
There was no hesitation in the eleven-year-old girl’s footsteps as she strode to the front of the great hall. Nobody hushed or murmured with her approach, but then again, this was not surprising. No student or teacher knew of Artemis Lee, an only child of a witch mother and a muggle father. She came from a common background, and there was no great prophecy, no great lineage, no great legacy to her name.
Artemis Lee sat down on the inauspicious wooden stool and looked about the great hall with an unimpressed, severe gaze. If she held any true anxiety like every first year about to be sorted, she hid it well behind the mask of flatly drawn brows and mouth.
When Professor McGonagall settled the Sorting Hat upon her head, Artemis’ mouth turned downward into a scowl. This should have made her appear as an unhappy child ready to throw a fit, and even more comical by the hat’s sheer size almost swallowing up such a tiny frame.
But it did not.
“What a mess, what a mess,” the Sorting Hat tutted, as though he stood in the midst of a cluttered house. “I’ve never seen anything like it! Artemis Lee, you say? Hm. Hm. Artemis Lee, indeed…”
“Just. Get. On. With. It.” The punctuated words came out barely more than a whisper, yet there was a growl within each syllable. An impatience. An indifference.
Beneath the large rim of the hat, the presence of great dissatisfaction twisted the child’s visage.
“Ah, but how can I when I am faced with such a difficult decision?” the Sorting Hat bemoaned, which garnered some small attention from the chattering tables who started to grow bored with the sorting and just wanted to see where Harry Potter wound up. But there had nearly been a hatstall with Hermione Granger, newly seated at the Gryffindor table, and to wait for another would be maddening. “What a mess!”
“You’ve said that already,” Artemis spoke. Her voice maintained its small and slight tone, but anger danced on her heart-shaped lips.
“Oh, very well! Let’s see, let’s see…”
Artemis hunched her shoulders forward as though she braced for a terrible impact rather than elated excitement.
“SLYTHERIN!”
As the Slytherin House cheered from their table to welcome their newest member, Artemis Lee’s mouth twisted into a snarl, and she reached up to take the Sorting Hat and throw it at her feet. Professor McGonagall swiftly snatched it before she could. The transfiguration teacher hid her shock and confusion well in front of the entire school, and she managed to make it seem like she hadn’t just saved the Sorting Hat from a churlish child.
Artemis Lee shot to her feet. Rage propelled her upright and fueled her direction toward the Slytherin table. Her robes, which should have engulfed her like they did every other first year, instead billowed behind her in a righteous, fitting cape.
The sorting resumed as though there had never been anything odd. The Sorting Hat said all kinds of things, and Artemis Lee was not special enough to have it remembered by those who bothered to listen.
Draco Malfoy, with his family’s striking pale blond hair and a practiced haughty look, gave his hand for Artemis to take when he was seated next to her at the prefect’s direction. He grinned at her like shaking his hand would be the highlight of her night.
Artemis Lee scowled at the hand, then lifted her gaze to glare at Draco Malfoy with such unimpressed disdain that the boy’s hand faltered, and his grin soured. With a sneer, he shifted away from her, promptly making it known that he and everyone else would ignore her presence.
But Draco Malfoy didn’t like that she was unbothered by the revenge snubbing, and he not-so-subtly sent glances her way while he waited for her to have a sudden change of heart.
It never came.
With the sorting finished, announcements made, and the Hogwarts’ song sung (to which Artemis Lee did not once open her mouth to join in), dinner lavishly sprawled itself across all the tables in the great hall, and mashed potatoes found themselves even more mashed by her spoon. She ate in intense silence, and while her manners weren’t savage, neither did she sit upright or make polite conversation with the others around her. The aura she gave off also deterred other students—first years and older years alike—from trying to strike up anything with her.
When the Slytherin prefects ushered out the first years to guide them to the common room, Artemis Lee gave the great hall’s inhabitants and its spectacular decorations one last reproachful look before she departed.
A concerned Minerva McGonagall observed this alone, for all the teachers had dedicated their attention to Harry Potter throughout the feast, who marveled at the charm-laden great hall as a boy that hadn’t known such astonished joy his whole life. Harry Potter’s reaction toward Hogwarts was a much more preferable sight than Artemis Lee’s, who scorned the school and its occupants like a hateful judge, not a young girl.
Minerva had rarely seen such contempt emanating from a student, let alone a first year that never once stepped foot inside of Hogwarts just to deem it lacking.
After the swarms of students left to settle in their dormitories, Minerva swept to the Head of Slytherin and briefly placed a hand on his shoulder. “A word, Severus?”
He regarded her, considering just what Minerva would say to him. But whatever it was, it was likely not worth his time.
She kept her patience with the man despite his difficult tendencies.
“Yes?” Severus drawled after an irksome span of deliberate silence.
“I noticed a…peculiar student in your house. Artemis Lee, newly sorted first year. She acted, well.” Minerva pursed her lips for a moment. “Acted oddly.”
Severus tilted his chin a fraction. “Odd how?”
“Well, for one,” Minerva said with a tight huff, “she seemed incredibly enraged by the fact that she was sorted into any house, let alone Slytherin, as though this whole tradition was a complete farce! Nearly took the Sorting Hat and ground it into the floor with her heel!”
“An impetuous student?” Severus raised a blasé brow. “How unusual.”
Minerva bit back the retort on her tongue and leveled Severus with the same gaze that she used on obstinate students. Severus recognized it, and the beginnings of an offended frown tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“I would implore you to take this seriously. I have seen countless children sorted into houses, but never have I seen such…evident characteristics…in a girl as young as Artemis Lee. If she has a quick tendency to anger and takes it out on her classmates, it will be best to nip it in the bud, as the saying goes. And as Head of Slytherin, it will be your responsibility to keep your students in line.”
“I shall discipline my house as I see fit, Minerva, as you shall yours.”
She barked a laugh at that, and from the way Severus’ frown didn’t deepen, he recognized the irony of his statement as well.
“Consider this a word of caution, then,” she relented. “A caution of what, I don’t know. But what I do know is that girl will not fade quietly into the background.”
Minerva nodded once, satisfied as she could be over the strange matter. “Goodnight, Severus, and good luck with classes tomorrow.”
“You as well, Minerva.”
That night, within the memory of splendor from starry-eyed first years making their entrance into Hogwarts, the image of Artemis Lee’s disdainful expression on her youthful, doll-like visage disrupted Minerva McGonagall’s thoughts.
-
“Hello. I’m Daphne Greengrass. And you are?”
“Not worth your precious pureblood time, I’m sure.”
Daphne’s placid, practiced smile faltered. The girl who sat on the side of her bed, already in her pajamas and whose feet were unable to touch the floor of the dormitory, continued to stare at her with a cold, flat face.
“I, er, I’m sorry?”
Her hand felt awkward still being extended, but she didn’t withdraw it to her side just yet. She wouldn’t start off on the wrong foot with the girl whose bed was closest to hers; they were going to be dormmates for the next seven years! Mother said that Daphne’s relationships with her dormmates could be a blessing or a burden, and Greengrasses always looked to make friends, not enemies, with those around them.
Seeing as Daphne was already on familiar terms with Pansy and Millicent, she needed to focus on being acquainted with the only girl none of them knew.
Because of this, Pansy watched the embarrassing exchange between Daphne and the girl unfold with hawkish, gleeful eyes. Millicent wasn’t subtle in her interest, but as always, she was difficult to read.
“You said your last name was Greengrass?”
“Um…yes?”
“Yeah, so you’re one of those great stupid pureblood families. You lot think everybody else is beneath you because their blood is impure and stuff.”
“That’s not—” Daphne started, though she was unsure what to say. Her face grew awfully warm. “That’s not exactly true!”
“Put your arm down.” The girl jutted her chin toward Daphne’s hand. “You don’t need to pretend to be nice to a filthy halfblood like me. Just don’t bother me, and we’re square.”
Daphne snatched her hand back, and from the way the girl scowled vindictively, she took it as a sign that she’d been proven correct about Daphne’s views. But—but that wasn’t it! The girl simply frightened Daphne. She glared like she wanted to set Daphne on fire with her mind, and Daphne had seen similar glares from family members when tensions ran high. Except, in this instance, all Daphne did was try to introduce herself!
Perhaps she was just jealous. Yes, that must have been it. Daphne’s parents always said so. That when halfbloods tried to tear down their family’s proud and ancient reputation, they were simply envious that they could not boast the same status.
It still made Daphne sick to her stomach to think that someone didn’t like her, however, and she desperately wanted to try harder to prove to the girl that she was worthy of friendship in spite of any potential jealousy.
But as Daphne watched the girl fling the blankets back like they insulted her by existing, she thought with some confusion that she didn’t seem to be jealous. In fact, Daphne had never felt so ignored and embarrassed in all her life by a single person, aside from Mother and Father. It made her want to cry.
Except if she cried, Pansy would make fun of her relentlessly for it, which would make her cry more.
So, Daphne squared her shoulders and staved off the onset of tears with a brave face. “Your name, then?” she directed at the girl, who paused climbing into her bed. “I would still like to have it.”
After a second, the girl’s scowl softened a fraction, though her dark eyes remained flinty in the dormitory candlelight.
“It’s Artemis Lee.”
-
“I’m happy you found your toad. Neville, was it?”
He nodded to the bushy-haired girl, Hermione. She sort of reminded Neville of his grandmother, all no-nonsense and very bossy. But she volunteered to look for Trevor on the train without hesitation, and she was in Gryffindor with Neville (How he wound up in this house, he still had no idea!), so she must have been a good person.
“Y-yes. I am, too. I was quite worried about him for a bit.”
“Did you find him yourself? Or did he come back to you? I want a cat as a pet, but my parents said I should wait until I get more comfortable with being at boarding school. Quite ridiculous if you ask me, but that’s why I don’t have a pet like you do.”
“Erm,” Neville started, instinctually dropping his gaze from Hermione’s inquisitive one, “it was another first year, actually, who found him. She brought him to me.”
“Oh? That’s quite nice. Do you remember who she was? You ought to write her a proper thank-you letter. She went out of her way to bring Trevor back to you, after all.”
Neville nodded. “Right! And, er, her name was Artemis Lee. I—I think she got sorted into Slytherin.”
Even though he didn’t think. He knew it for a fact. He watched her sorting from the remaining group of first years, hoping that whatever house she was sorted in, he would join as well. But as soon as the Sorting Hat shouted Slytherin, Neville’s hopes plummeted, and he felt stupid for even imagining it would all work out in the first place.
Artemis didn’t seem happy about it, though! But…then again, she had looked like that all the time, so Neville couldn’t be too sure.
Hermione’s face scrunched. “Pity, then. Gryffindor could have used someone like her, it seems.”
Neville remembered the storm of Artemis Lee’s face, the glare, the resolute, “No,” when he asked her if she was nervous about being sorted. His palms grew clammy just thinking about it.
But Trevor hadn’t been nervous in her small palm. The fat toad practically spilled over her hand, yet he sat there, perfectly squat and expectant. He then declared with a croak that he’d like to return to the cage he so innocently escaped from.
Stumbling, Neville took Trevor from Artemis, gave him a quick, tearful reprimand to never do that again, and deposited the toad back where he belonged.
Artemis then sat down opposite of Neville like she had always been seated there. Neville rather nervously introduced himself, and Artemis did the same, though with much more blunt indifference. But despite her rough, curt style of talking, Artemis Lee hadn’t been cruel to Neville. Not in the way so many other children his age were. She was quite scary, that much was undoubtedly certain, with her unchanging scowl and long black braid hung over her shoulder like a scorpion’s tail. But she didn’t snicker when Neville stuttered over his words, and when he struggled to pull his robe over an arm, she sighed and ungently helped him without teasing or tutting.
“Y-yeah,” Neville agreed. He didn’t know what else to say to Hermione, and the moment he tried to explain what little of Artemis’ personality he had seen, his tongue twisted in his mouth. All he let out was a small noise.
From the way Hermione shrugged, she didn’t think too much about it. She seemed the right sort, being nice to Neville in her own way. Kind of like Artemis Lee.
Once the excitement of living in a new dormitory with strangers (And Harry Potter himself!) died down, Neville wrote a short thank-you letter before he went to bed, then folded it up and tucked it in his book bag to give to Artemis when he saw her again. After that, he bid goodnight to Trevor, who gave a croak in kind, and shut his eyes with the four-poster canopy bed above him.
-
Artemis Lee stared up at the dark canopy that loomed over her. She scowled at it. It was the only thing she could do.
Also, “Let’s Talk About Sex” had been stuck in her head all fucking day after she heard it on the radio this morning. Not even the Metallica album could wipe it from her brain, let alone the Sorting Hat’s barmy song. Her little feet kept moving to the tune, and the lapping of the lake against the dormitory walls did nothing to stay in-beat. So annoying.
This whole place was annoying. Annoying and stupid and out of touch with reality.
Hogwarts?
Hogwarts?
What the fuck?
Artemis never, ever, ever said she wanted to “live my life here as the witch I was meant to be, and be best friends with Harry Potter and fight Lord Voldemort! Expelliarmus!” like some fucking Potter adult who carried around tote bags that said, “But first, coffee!” and “I’d rather be reading!” yet still had a reading comprehension level of a sixth-grader.
Which, hah, was the exact age Artemis miserably found herself at.
She had the real world to love and hate, not some fictional piece of shit story where there was a fascist, supremacist war and literal (literal!) children on the front line.
So, when Artemis was killed and then dragged kicking and screaming into another life, obviously she kept hold of her rage. It was what she died with, that rage and helplessness. She couldn’t “let it go” like her mum used to advise her to do even if she tried. Artemis held fury in the core of her shredded and resewn soul.
Then again, she never tried that hard to practice calm and inner peace, but fucking hell. She had been born in 1980 with her adult mind intact and had to live through the 80s and 90s again as a child! Wouldn’t that make anyone rage every single day? They were lucky Artemis didn’t lose all of her fucking mind.
Oh, and hey, she was also magic, going to a backwards, archaic boarding school that didn’t have any electricity.
Artemis wanted to step outside and drown herself in the lake.
Instead, she pretended to choke out the situation of her life above her while she silently screamed.
And the Sorting Hat took one look at the pan of scrambled eggs that was her head and spat her into Slytherin. The one House that said, “You must have this amount of magic blood in you to pass?” Artemis definitely didn’t pass, and yet—here she was! Listening to the snores of little girls who would smear mud in her face the moment they got the chance because of her lineage.
Luckily, Artemis had a self-renewing source of absolute rage nestled right in her precious little heart.
She didn’t care if she started out being mean to these kids; she had to get the snap on them before they gained an inch of ground against her. Yes, she felt a little bad about talking the way she did to Greengrass, but it was a fleeting emotion caused by her adult senses saying, Now, shouldn’t you be nicer? They’re just children, after all.
But despite the current self-nagging wisps, Artemis never felt much remorse with anything she said or did. Not because she was a complete psychopath (which, really, who could even blame her for becoming one), but because she found that most things in a child’s environment didn’t deserve her remorse. Most things were pointless. Stupid. Annoying. Rude. It went for both the nonmagical world and the magical world.
So, this world wanted her here. As a witch. Yeah?
But what did Artemis want?
She had the answer, of course. Had it for a long time now. It was a simple one, really, because she was a simple reincarnation with simple desires.
Artemis Lee wanted to say and do whatever the fuck she liked.