CHAPTER I.

"I'm not sure," Madam Pomfrey was saying. "After all, Miss Bancroft, don't you have classes?"

"I've already spoken to my head of house," Zelda protested. She reached a hand into her bag, pulled out a neatly folded letter from Professor Slughorn, and slid it across Madam Pomfrey's desk. "He believes that if I wish to become a Healer, all I really need is at least five N.E.W.T.s in Potions, Transfiguration —"

"— Herbology, Charms, and Defence Against the Dark Arts," finished Madam Pomfrey. She stood up from her chair and began to pace around her sunlit office. "I attended Hogwarts too, you know. But you will be trained in the healing arts after your acceptance to St. Mungo's College. There is no need to start now. You're a prefect; I would imagine you have enough on your plate."

"Maybe," Zelda reluctantly agreed, still sitting on the plush armchair Madam Pomfrey had pulled out for her. "But it certainly can't hurt. As I said I've already discussed it all with Professor Slughorn, and he thinks it's a marvelous idea. He agreed to move my timetable so I could have room to come here in the mornings for two hours —"

"Two hours? And this would be on school days?" Madam Pomfrey's eyebrows had gone up, and when Zelda nodded, they raised even higher. "I am well aware of the number of hours required to complete a valid apprenticeship in the eyes of the admissions officers. Three hundred, yes?" At Zelda's surprised look, she smiled. "I too was an apprentice to a healer — however, I did my apprenticeship after I left Hogwarts, as is typical. You are only a seventh year."

"Yes, but I'd like to get started right away," Zelda said, trying not to sound impatient (and most likely failing).

Madam Pomfrey fixed her with a thoughtful expression. "Alright," she said finally. "You have your apprenticeship, Miss Bancroft. Be at the Hospital Wing on Monday morning, at six o'clock sharp."

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"Six in the morning?" Pandora Malfoy asked incredulously, after she had been caught up to speed by Zelda. "But breakfast is at eight! Why on earth would she want you to come so damn early?"

They were sitting at the Slytherin table for dinner, along with the third member of their makeshift trio, Dorcas Meadowes.

"Don't you know?" Dorcas asked, slicing her chicken primly. "Zelda dearest is a chronic overachiever."

"Oh, as if that's news," Pandora scoffed.

Zelda merely smiled, bemused, and ate another spoonful of mashed potatoes. "I am to show up at six o'clock precisely because breakfast is at eight. If I assist Madam Pomfrey in the morning for two hours, I shall have an entire hour to eat before class."

Sometimes, it still gave Zelda a headache to speak with such flowery words — in her opinion, it made her sound like a toff. But if she was to fit in and maintain her illusion of being a well-bred, pureblooded witch, she had to act the part. Luckily, she was already from Central London, so her accent wasn't at all similar to, say, Davey Gudgeon's, whose accent blared so Cockney-like it gave her a headache. All Zelda had had to do was listen to her friends speak, and put on a show.

Seven years later, they still believed it.

Alright, the Sorting Hat had conceded after a long debate inside Zelda's mind. I'll put you where your personality belongs, on one condition.

What condition's that? Zelda had whispered.

Tell no one you are Muggle-born, the Hat had warned. You have the cunning to lie, child — use it.

Sometimes Zelda wondered if a hat meant to steer impressionable young minds in their destined direction had any business telling an eleven-year-old to lie about her origins. But, against all odds, and by sheer luck, Zelda had gone seven years without being caught once. Miraculously, none of the teachers had said a word, although Zelda suspected this was because she had taken the care to speak with Professor Dumbledore during her very first term at Hogwarts.

He had advised her against it, and told her that he would not lie to the faculty for her. But, having been in Gryffindor himself — as Zelda later found out — Dumbledore was never going to take her side.

"Zel?" Pandora's voice pulled her from her stupor. "We've got Potions. Coming?"

"Oh," Zelda said. "Yes, of course, sorry —" she stood up and hastily gathered up her satchel and the sandwich she'd been picking at before following Pandora out of the Great Hall. Dorcas had already gone to her Ancient Runes class, so it was just Pandora and Zelda.

Pandora's heritage was a subject of jealousy for Zelda. She had the pale skin and white-blond hair of a Malfoy, and was the spitting image of her elder brother, Lucius. She was always perfectly put together, and had the unmistakable good manners and straight posture that only a born-and-raised aristocrat could have. All Zelda could do was pretend she was exactly the same.

It was risky business, keeping up such a colossal lie, and Zelda had regretted it more than a few times. But it wasn't like she could go back now, even though she wanted to curse the stupid Sorting Hat for convincing her eleven-year-old self that lying about something so big had been a good idea.

But in some ways, it was. Because things were changing. The so-called 'Wizarding War' had started to seep through the stone walls of Hogwarts and take root among the student body. Namely, among the Slytherins, many of whom had taken it upon themselves to use slurs and trip Muggle-borns in the corridors.

And so, despite all the times she had felt a deep, prickling sense of shame for tricking all her peers, the only thing Zelda could do now was thank her lucky stars that she'd listened. Pride be damned — the Sorting Hat had been right.

They reached the dungeons in no time and took their seats by a cauldron near the front of the class. Pandora was setting up her books and supplies, but Zelda was scanning the room, searching the class for him.

And there he was, at the back of the class, sharing a cauldron with Lily Evans. Quickly looking away, Zelda began to retrieve her supplies, willing her mind to stop focus on him — on her liability. On Remus Lupin, Gryffindor prefect, and Zelda's biggest weakness.

Zelda knew the nature of lies. One singular crack was all it took for a dam to give.

He was the one person in the student body who knew the truth about her. Every time she saw Lupin, ambling about the castle with his insufferable friends, panic gripped Zelda's heart. Had he told them? Perhaps Potter, Black, and the little lump Pettigrew already knew. Perhaps it was only a matter of time until the news spread through the castle like wildfire and reached the likes of Avery and Mulciber and their goons: the news that Zelda Bancroft, the prodigy, was a not in fact a witch born to a witch born to a witch, but the very opposite.

And Merlin knew Zelda couldn't let that happen, because to a pureblood Slytherin whose family hailed from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the only thing worse than a Mudblood was a Mudblood who pretended they weren't one.

━━

As promised, Zelda showed up at the Hospital Wing bright and early Monday morning. It was a quarter to six, according to her wristwatch, and Zelda was early. Just the way she liked it.

The Hospital Wing's great wooden doors were still locked, and so Zelda waited patiently, perched on a nearby windowsill with a copy of Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration, which she allowed herself to be absorbed by until she heard the unmistakable clicking of a lock. A loud creeeeak sounded, and suddenly Madam Pomfrey was before her, one hand on the door to the Hopsital Wing.

"Ah," the matron said, sounding pleasantly surprised, as though she hadn't expected Zelda to show up. "Good morning, Miss Bancroft. Do come in."

The next two hours were spent following Madam Pomfrey around the Hospital Wing, which was a great big room with vaulted ceilings and beds with individual curtains. Madam Pomfrey showed Zelda how to change the bedpans and redress the wounds of a Hufflepuff fourth year who had fallen off his broomstick and had his femur snapped clean in half. The boy had seemed apprehensive to let a Slytherin touch him, but Zelda had insisted on trying herself, and so he had begrudgingly allowed her to change his bandages and give him the goblet of Skele-Gro potion that Madam Pomfrey handed to her.

The clock soon struck eight, and Zelda bid Madam Pomfrey goodbye, flushed with the feeling of victory — she had done it! After meetings with teachers and rearranging of schedules, she had finally acquired an apprenticeship, and in her seventh year, no less. This, Zelda knew, was practically a guaranteed acceptance into St. Mungo's College of Magical Medicine.

All she had to do was pass all her N.E.W.T.s (which would be easy considering she only needed to take the five classes necessary for a career as a Healer) and attend all her classes, along with —

Oh, no.

What had previously been a leisurely journey to the Great Hall for breakfast now quickly turned into a race through the corridors as Zelda frantically ducked past various students and professors. She was late, and she hated being late — to a prefects' meeting no less!

Zelda had been made Slytherin prefect in her fifth year along with Evan Rosier, who was a nice enough boy when he wasn't hanging around with the likes of the pure-blood elite. Of which he was, of course, a part.

She skidded to a halt in front of the third-floor classroom where the prefects always met, and was pleased to observe that she was merely on time, which was not as good as early but thankfully not late. Zelda took a seat beside Rosier and the four other Slytherin prefects at the front of the room. The Head Boy and Girl, James Potter and Lily Evans of Gryffindor (a Muggle-born, which Zelda of course knew because she made a point to avoid them all like the plague, for the sole purpose of keeping up her spectacular lie) were at the front of the room. Zelda was perfectly, wonderfully, blessedly on time.

It was just her luck, then, that Remus Lupin happened to be sitting at the desk directly in front of hers. Zelda scowled at the back of his head. He, too, was a prefect, and friends with the Head Girl at that — he and Evans were always studying in the library.

She practically had Remus's schedule memorized at this point. It was a matter of practicality, of course, to make sure he was keeping his promise.

They had not spoken since that fateful day in first year. Zelda had been a child then, and evidently foolish enough to listen to what the Sorting Hat had told her.

Maybe it wouldn't have been that hard to be a Muggle-born in Slytherin, she reasoned. Maybe then she wouldn't have had to keep up this exhausting facade. But as the thought crossed her mind Zelda instantly knew that this, too, was a lie. It would have been excruciating, had the truth been known. She would have been mercilessly teased, socially ostracized, and most likely hexed by some of the older students. After all, she'd seen what her housemates often did to Muggle-borns who weren't in Slytherin.

She could only imagine what they would do if they found out that there was a Muggle-born hiding under their very noses.

"Alright, everyone," Evans said brightly, and Zelda looked up, pulled suddenly from her sullen thoughts. "Welcome to the first prefects' meeting of the year! Now, we covered some things on the train, but Bertram and I thought it would be helpful to rehash some details..."

As Evans prattled on, Zelda stealthily retrieved her course schedule from her bag. She looked it over, and was loathe to see that the majority of her classes this term were to be combined with the Gryffindors.

She would have to suffer through Lupin's terrifying presence, and his terrifying knowledge of who Zelda really was, for an entire year.

Lucky her.

━━

the chapters will alternate between zelda and remus's povs!! alternating pov is so fun to write :)

UK SLANG:
toff — a rich or upper-class person