Chapter Three: Vervain
Gods.
They still lived in the ether of some places. Adored, cursed, appeased, feared; they crept the heavens and bestowed their wisdom, their justice, their black wrath. Sacrifices were made for their placation; incantations were sung for their interference; myths were created in their honor. Upon the map of the gods mortals could only contemplate an existence of endless uncertainty and an afterlife founded on calibrated compliance. When my thoughts led me to such beings, I found there existed in my mind's eye only semblances of ideas, visual representations: veined stone, depthless seas, the sun's golden rays, metals corroded a gentle green, serpentine beauty.
Science bares no illusions. It is a far more impartial god; it asks only for proof. With that one offering, the truth can be had. And I knew that all truth, discovered or not, resided in that vaporous, unseen body.
It was, perhaps, what I had witnessed in the nursery that set me on a path far different than that of my parents. At least that is what I told myself. A more clever mind would have seen that it was, simply, the only option left open to me as a person displaying none of those abilities which my parents possessed.
Prior to that night of revelation, the study of physics, while interesting to me, was nothing for which I had shown a great proclivity in my youth. After my parents' disclosure, however, I voraciously read all attainable material on the subject. Quantum physics in particular had the most appeal for me. That branch of study came closest to putting a reasonable face on what I considered simply as an unexplained phenomenon. Although my outward behavior did not change toward my family, my mind was in a constant state of flux. I accepted their claims superficially, but inwardly I was making notes, comparing theories, and mapping future trials. I whole-heartedly believed their abilities to be the product of an untapped scientific principle rather than any form of divine truth. Within a tortoise's lifetime we had ascertained that we were but a mote in the celestial dust; we had charted the mind's landscape and could decode virtually every natural occurrence known to man. Zeus no longer hurled thunderbolts from on high. Reason had come of age. So too did I believe those powers exhibited by my family would soon be exposed in their natural state. The darkness from whence those mysteries emerged would have the light of truth reflected upon it; it was a matter of time and calculation. All things eventually came to that end.
For more than ten years I had analyzed and observed. I had narrowed my field of study to a handful of theories, not least of which were the superstring theories, and I sought to define magic through those elusive bodies of thought.
The trouble, of course, was that the Ministry of Magic absolutely forbade me to document the use of any magical tools whatsoever in the name of science, as they did not want any unlooked-for attention. They demanded that any experiments involving magical items be limited to their jurisdiction, meaning that I had to perform them in a magical environment rather than the sterile rooms of the university. I was also required to make critical calculations without naming the contributing element, be it wand, word, or weed. This drove me absolutely mad. As I was dealing strictly with theories, my work essentially amounted to, at the end of the day, nothing more than a pile of notebooks shot through with obtuse equations. They looked for all the world like the scribblings of a lunatic extra-terrestrial. I would often mull over the possibility of actually being driven senseless while looking at them; like clouds, they took on shifting forms upon the page – a rabbit jumping a hedge, a dragon breathing lead-lined fire. Eventually they would settle and again become diagrams and variables. I occasionally drank absinthe while I studied them. It enabled translation.
At Octavia's recommendation, I had petitioned Dumbledore ruthlessly to relocate my work from the antiseptic university to those ancient towers of Hogwarts. I had not thought it a very promising solicitation, but, whether due in part to Octavia's influence at the school or Dumbledore's own curiosity, I was able to apply at the university for a sabbatical and, notebooks and equipment tucked beneath my arm, look with my own incredulous eyes upon the great walls of that fascinating edifice.
I had been scheduled to arrive precisely one week after the students had been liberated for the summer holiday – both Dumbledore and I believed it to be the best possible time to conduct my work, as it was potentially free from both interruption and curious eyes. Most of the staff had also gone for the holiday, leaving the grounds eerily vacant and noiseless. I stood at the great doors in the muted light of a cloudy afternoon and gazed up at the standards drifting sleepily in the wind.
"Well, let's get inside. A storm is coming." Octavia's voice stirred me, and I bent to lay hold of my suitcase. I gave the banners a final glimpse before following her form into the darkened entrance hall.
A great open room lay before me; doors on either side sat like small impurities on the high stone walls, and a massive staircase led up to a formal landing above. The nucleus of the room was made manifest in a colossal stained glass window set into the wall above the entrance doors. Though the light inside the hall was soft and smudged, the colors born of that window hung like formless, resonating jewels upon the dull veil of its space, and Octavia, adorned in amethyst, turned to smile at me.
"Welcome," she grinned. "Are you prepared for some enlightenment? You're about to see things you won't see in your London, you know."
I grunted in skeptical acknowledgment and eyed the opposing openings situated at the staircase's apex. Octavia's voluminous skirts and train slid like liquid pitch up the wide steps, and I followed upon her heels apprehensively.
"I hope you don't mind being situated up a ways. Dumbledore thought it best to have you close to the rest of us at first. If you choose to move elsewhere at a later time, that would be fine. You may find the trek up and down the stairs a bit of a chore." She opened a door to the right and beckoned me through.
I was about to make a wry comment about my physical competence when the words died in my throat. Above me, stairwells criss-crossed my vision in an unceasing pattern into the next life. I looked on, slack-jawed, as they shifted and groaned like beasts of burden to meet their task, altering their positions to accompany any wayfarers on their paths.
"Enchanted," Octavia stated simply. "There are no levers or pulleys, no yoked oxen making large circles in the dust." A poorly hidden smirk pulled at her lips.
She knew me too well, I thought.
I shot an uncertain glance upward as I climbed behind her, making silent notes to myself to be especially cautious after partaking in any drink - - and I would, I thought - - lest I inadvertently throw myself from their heights. A definite hazzard, I mused.
The stairwells murmured.
As we ascended, a movement to my left caused me to turn my head and glimpse briefly at one of the countless framed paintings hung above the stone handrails. A powder-wigged gentleman gazed back at me, smiling benevolently. I noted the fine velvet frockcoat he wore, and was marvelling at its authentic texture when his lips pulled back, revealing irregular teeth, and his left eye closed in a jaunty wink.
I stumbled on the next step and shamefully fell face-forward onto my suitcase. Notebooks scattered.
A chorus of gasps and quiet chuckles erupted throughout the immense room.
"Oh! Sorry!" came an elegantly clipped reply.
Octavia retreated down the steps and began gathering up my belongings.
"Don't mind him," she muttered as she stacked the notebooks efficiently. "He's an insufferable flirt." She reached out a ringed hand and helped me to rise, then pressed the stack of notebooks into my chest and propelled me forward once again up the steps. "Don't get too wrapped up in the paintings just yet," she said. "You'll be sorry once you start. They just love to prattle on."
I nodded dumbly and continued to mount the stairs. Stairs upon stairs.
An obliging stairwell deposited us at last upon a small landing. I followed Octavia through an arched opening and down a cavernous corridor before coming to a stop at a deceptively small wooden door on the left. Octavia pulled an elaborate silver key from her pocket and placed it within the lock. The door swung open to reveal a firelit room, and I inched my way in cautiously.
A large four-poster bed sat in the middle of the space, though it was dwarfed by the sweeping walls and ceiling in which it was contained. Tapestries hung about the place; I was rather relieved to see that no paintings adorned the walls, as I did not particularly wish to share my private quarters with other personalities. Octavia swept by me and opened several connecting doors with the selfsame silver key. "Here is the washroom," she indicated, "and over here is a room for your work. There are other rooms as well, and you may use them as you see fit."
I surveyed the adjoining rooms with interest and admiration; they were all of them more than adequate for my needs, and I was secretly pleased with the luxuriousness of the place. Shades of gray and orange fought for dominance in the main bedroom as the fire drove away the invading chill of the oncoming storm. I smiled and lay my suitcase on a nearby desk.
"Will it do?" smiled Octavia as she dropped the key into my palm.
"Oh yes. I think it's absolutely charming," I replied in earnest as I traced the ornate patterns on the key with my thumb.
"Good. There is an anti-spell lock on the door, so you will need the key to enter. I don't think there are any other entrances to this suite, but I can't be certain. There are loads of secret passageways throughout Hogwarts, you know. And there is the fireplace . . ." I must have looked slightly bewildered at this declaration, because Octavia smiled warmly and waved it away with a hand. "But we'll talk about that later. No doubt you'll be chewing my ear off with questions as soon as you get your bearings. I'll leave you to unpack and get situated. They serve tea in the Great Hall in two hours, for those who are still on the grounds. Shall I come back up for you then?"
"Oh yes, please," I said. "You know I couldn't find my way back down to save my life."
"You'll get the hang of it soon enough," she grinned. "Oh! Before I forget, there's a wardrobe just there that has been prepared for you," she indicated a substantial mahogany cabinet placed near the bed. "You might feel a bit more comfortable dressed like the natives, if you know what I mean."
She gave me a quick embrace and turned to exit the room. "Right. Two hours, then."
The door closed securely, and the swishing sound of her taffeta skirts eventually faded into silence.
I turned now and studied my surroundings thoroughly. Stone tracery decorated the window glass and ceilings, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that a portion of the room housed an Oriel window that looked out upon a large portion of the grounds. Immense black clouds were approaching like shape-shifting giants across the land, and I noted that the room was growing darker by the moment. I looked in vain for a matchbox to light the numerous candles placed about the room and instead settled for lighting a single one from the flames in the fireplace and sparking its brothers from its solitary source.
As I lit one candle in particular, my eye caught a small Gothic revival wooden cabinet tucked passively in one of the darkening corners of the room. I approached it with curiosity and, wrapping my fingers around the ornate handles, pulled it open to reveal rows of crystal glasses of varying sizes lining the inside of the cabinet doors. Further in, the candlelight illuminated bottles of every sort of spirit imaginable, and I blessed Octavia silently as I grasped a rounded bottle of brandy by its neck and pulled it from its shelter. I chose an unadorned balloon glass and warmed it gently in my hands before pouring the aromatic amber liquid into its hollow. I brought it to my mouth and closed my eyes in delicious surrender as the brandy passed my lips and coursed through my limbs, warming the very center of my chest and defrosting that part of my mind I typically reserved for abstract thoughts.
After several minutes of remaining still and allowing the brandy to have its way, I walked to the wardrobe cabinet and warily perused its contents. Velvets seemed the order of the day, and silks a close second. I ran my palms and fingers over the delicious fabrics, brought them up to my face, caressed my cheeks, kissed their folds. I had always been a slave to the senses, and the atmosphere in which I currently found myself was a powerful master indeed. I sighed contentedly.
I at last pulled a sapphire-blue empire dress from the wardrobe and held it up for inspection in one of the wardrobe door's mirrors. I looked back at a glassy-eyed woman already affected by the brandy's siren song. She was petite; a good foot shorter than the stately Octavia. Her pale olive skin was devoid of any colour; her dark almond eyes were dull and narrowed, leaving on her features a seemingly constant state of perplexity and concern. Eyebrows arched and slashed like Chinese calligraphy. Her lower lip was a good deal fuller than her upper lip and had been reddened by the robust liquor, stamping a picture of childlike pouting in the glass reflection. Too small; a doll's mouth. The cheekbones were far too sharp and the neck far too long. Her hair was pulled back into a perfunctory ponytail; her clothes sat like bulky padding on her slight form. Even the brandy's warm enchantment could not disguise the plainness of her appearance. A truly unmoving image, I thought.
I sighed and lay the dress across the bed before returning to the small Victorian cabinet for a second glass of the delectable brandy. I convinced myself that it was necessary for the upcoming meeting with the castle's other residents; I was cripplingly shy and had found that such mood enhancers helped to focus my thoughts and nerves. Tonight in particular might prove extremely difficult for me, I knew, for Octavia had told me that not a few of the teaching staff thought my work ridiculous and a pure waste of time. I did not expect to win their hearts, but, if nothing else, I wanted to win their grudging respect. I swallowed the last of the brandy.
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As I followed Octavia into the Great Hall I tugged uncomfortably at the empire dress's low neckline.
"I feel like a fruit vendor in this dress," I complained. When Octavia turned and lifted her eyebrows questionably at me, I pointed meaningfully at my bosom. "This can't possibly be considered appropriate," I grumbled.
"Phsht. You look wonderful. A great improvement over those jumpers you wear."
"What's wrong with my jumpers?" I demanded, but was silenced with a wave of Octavia's hand as we approached a long table placed perpendicularly to the rest of the vast room. A handful of people sat in discussion with one another and I felt several eyes raise as Octavia greeted a tall, wizened man with an impressively long beard.
"Headmaster, may I introduce Davina Knight?" I looked back at the man and knew him to be Dumbledore. His eyes were kind and his mouth gentle. I relaxed slightly.
He stood. "Ah yes, Miss Knight. We have been waiting for you. I hope you have found your accommodations satisfactory?"
"Quite." I now felt the attention of everyone in the room upon me and fought to keep my voice steady. "May I thank you for allowing me the opportunity to come to Hogwarts, Professor," I stammered. "I can't tell you what it means to me."
"Yes, well, I must admit a small fascination with what you are attempting to achieve," he smiled, "and I know your parents well. I believe Penelope will be starting at Hogwarts in the fall?"
"She will, yes. She is very excited about it."
"Good, good. Well don't let me keep you standing here like a specimen on display. Please, have a seat." He indicated two vacant chairs to his left, and I thankfully followed Octavia around the long table and into the safety of one of the aforementioned chairs. It was the first time I suspected that Dumbledore knew the internal workings of those around him; I was to find out only later that that was indeed the case.
As I took my seat, I noticed that to my right sat a man in a somewhat thread-worn robe. He turned to me and I saw that he had a rather dashing smile, though it was shadowed by an obvious sadness that covered him like an intangible shroud. He looked haunted. I took him to be my own age though I detected some premature gray at his temples. He stuck out a hand invitingly.
"Lupin," he smiled warmly, "Remus Lupin. I'll be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in the fall."
"I'm pleased to meet you," I replied as I shook his hand. "Are you here for the entire summer?" It still made little sense to me as to why some teachers preferred to stay at Hogwarts over the summer; were it me, I wouldn't be able to get on my holiday fast enough.
"I'm just here for a week or two to meet with the headmaster, then I'll be away until the beginning of term."
"I see . . ." I was about to question him about what his post as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher entailed when I noticed his form stiffen almost unperceptively. Though his eyes never left mine, I could almost see one of his ears shift to catch the sound of footsteps approaching the Great Hall. Despite myself, I turned my head to view the form that now entered.
A man was walking purposefully across the span of the room toward the large table, black robes billowing behind him with all the rage and majesty of those flames born of Hades. His jet hair swept gently away from his features with every stride, and it seemed to me as though his form took on the quality of a vacuum, pulling toward it the bright glow of the torchlight and all substance surrounding it – his presence was unbelievably overpowering. There was an air of casual elegance about him, and both his expression and movements gave the impression of strength and cruelty. He greeted no one nor made any gestures. I found that I could not turn my eyes from him as he approached and took a seat on the opposite side of the table from were Octavia and I were seated. It was a heady enchantment he wove. I started slightly at that internal statement: Hogwarts seemed to be slowly bleeding into that gray matter reserved for logic. He is but a man, I told myself firmly, a man just like any other.
Much to my embarrassment, Remus shifted uncomfortably and I was aware that I had forgotten we were in conversation together. When my eyes again returned to his I was too flustered to voice an apology. His smile was at the same time benevolent and sorrowful.
"Severus Snape. Master of Potions at Hogwarts," he stated matter-of-factly. "You are not the first to wear that expression you now have on your face, nor do I think you will be the last." His eyes searched mine in contemplation for a time, as though he wished to say something further, but then an invisible shade was drawn over them and he turned abruptly from me. When he spoke again it was good-naturedly and free of all meaning: "I am rather famished. It shouldn't be too long now."
I watched the Great Hall doors expectantly for signs of platters and goblets being carried in, and so was all the more shocked when food simply bloomed into existence on the plate in front of me. An elaborately carved glass appeared out of thin air to my right and filled itself with wine. Baskets brimming with bread and fruit unfurled themselves at specific points along the table.
I must have sat for some time in churning deliberation, because Remus playfully tapped my wine glass with his in an attempt to rouse me from my thoughts.
"Here's to your hopeful success," he smiled warmly, "and may the light of reason steer you clear of those rocks upon which many a ship has been driven."
As I brought the glass to my lips, I fleetingly pondered his words; I knew there was a message within them, but I was not altogether certain to what they were referring. I decided to revisit them at a later time. The wine slid deliciously down my throat, banishing all vestiges of unease, and I began to enjoy myself in earnest; both the wine and Remus's company served to pull a curtain of forgetfulness about that dark figure that had so consumed my thoughts just moments before.
It was not until I was satiated and admittedly tipsy that I felt it for the first time. A subtle vibration in my chair, through the table and floors. A silent humming that carried like a gentle song through my muscles and limbs. At first I looked about, curious as to its source. Then I realized it was a voice. A voice so deep and melodic that it could barely be heard beneath the brash sounds of clinking tableware and those higher-pitched voices around me. Within my depths a warmth was spreading, an exquisite tingle that ran through me and ended in a beaded chill upon my skin. I leaned forward ever so slightly and glanced down to the other end of the table.
The potions master, who had been in the midst of a conversation, stopped speaking and returned my gaze. The vibrations immediately ceased. His look was not one of interest or acknowledgement, but rather of dull annoyance and irritation. The woman to whom he had been speaking turned and followed his gaze to me, and she too looked on me with sour displeasure. Her eyes then fell to my exposed décolletage and her lips pursed tightly in obvious distaste. The potion master's eyebrow raised itself momentarily in invitation. Yes? Well? he seemed to communicate. His features then fell into blatant indifference and he once again took up his former conversation.
I reclined back into my chair, shaking slightly. I could not understand how or why this man unnerved me so. I found it actually angered me. Although my shyness was great, I was never one to consciously back away from a challenge or allow an injustice to pass. I swallowed the last of my wine and reached out for Octavia's hand.
"I am afraid I am exhausted from travelling after all. The food has made me quite sleepy. I think I will return to my rooms, if that is all right."
"Of course. No doubt you are quite overwhelmed with it all. Shall I see you again tomorrow morning for breakfast? I can then give you a proper tour." Octavia's eyes sparkled at me through her spectacles and I felt warmed once again.
"That would be wonderful," I conceded.
"Shall I walk with you back up to your rooms?" she asked.
"Please, allow me to walk her back up, Octavia," interrupted Remus as he stood up from his chair. "The Avatar suite. Seventh floor, correct? I promise to be on my best behaviour. No biting or the like."
Octavia gave a quick snort. "Yes, well, I'll hold you to that." She gave a knowing glance at Remus and then turned and looked at me kindly. "Sleep well. I shall see you tomorrow morning." Her hand grasped mine and squeezed it in assurance.
Remus smiled at me and held his arm out chivalrously. I smiled in flustered embarrassment, fuelled by the wine, and placed my palm upon his forearm awkwardly. I was not used to such things.
As we left the Great Hall, I turned to give Octavia a final nod and found my eyes drawn to that spot where Severus Snape's dark presence lingered still. He was yet in conversation, and his eyes moved not at all in acknowledgement of my departure.
I turned and allowed Remus to lead me up to my rooms.
I surprised myself in keeping my voice light and free-spirited throughout our conversation, though I felt anything but. I found Remus to be a wise and gentle man, and I warmed considerably toward his friendly nature. He spoke at times in cryptic riddles, but he was never pretentious in his musings.
When at last he left me standing at my door, I allowed my smile to fall only when I was certain he had turned the corner down the corridor. I quickly let myself into my rooms and locked the door steadfastly. I walked to my suitcase and, opening it, lifted from it a narrow bottle of green liquid. I swiftly found the accompanying glass and spoon, then looked about me for a tea setting. A small arrangement had been placed on a nearby bureau, and within a small porcelain container I managed to find a couple of small sugar cubes. I placed the cubes upon the ventilated filigree of the spoon's surface and poured the venomous green liquid over the mixture of metallic beauty and sweetness, watching the cloudy drops gather in the glass beneath. I slowly unfastened the odious dress as the absinthe drained luxuriously, swirling like a serpent in the recesses of its glass cave. I exchanged the dress for a light shift of black silk and, removing the spoon from its place, sank with the glass into a large chair in front of the ornate fireplace.
As I swallowed the bitter fluid, a flash of lightning shot through the room and cast ghoulish shadows across its walls. I looked into the flames and willed the wormwood to course through me, to relieve me of my anxiety and approaching sadness. A form of a doubt began to shape itself in my mind. Perhaps I had made a mistake by coming to Hogwarts. Perhaps I had fallen deeper than I could possibly climb back up. Perhaps . . .
I shook the despairing thoughts from my mind and reached for one of the notebooks stacked on a nearby table. As I looked at the uniform equations and rigid numbers upon the pages, a peace grew within my breast; I was reminded of the real reason I had come to Hogwarts. I had a discovery to make, and I would not – could not – let myself be swayed with fanciful imaginings.
The absinthe at last took hold and I watched the storm play out upon the walls in hazy wonder.
That night I dreamt of ebony satin and soft snow, of bottomless black pools that beckoned me into their stillness and pulled me down into their cold depths. I woke, perspiring and shaking, and thought I had dreamt of death.