The silence seemed to stretch on like a long wolf howl, relayed across borders, packed full of foreign information and warning. Tru curled her fingers tightly into Chastity's fur, who seemed to also hear the silent warning, and had pricked her ears up.
The all started to speak at once.
"But surely, she isn't---" McGonagall started, turning appraisingly towards Tru. Her eyes were not quite as piercing as the old man's, but were much harder. The old man's—wizard's, Tru released, eyes were like the ocean tides, washing gently, but persistently against a cliff, causing erosion. McGonagall's gaze was comparable to being crushed by a rock. But she had survived rocks before!
The small, mole-covered man named Flitwick, let out another shrill squeak, which caused Chas to flatten her ears with obvious pain. "Oh, my dear girl!" He was reaching out to shake her hand in congratulations, but drew it back when Chastity snapped at him. She may have been small at this moment, but her numerous needle-like teeth were clearly visible.
The woman called Sprout simply wiped her muddy palms on her robes, and turned to Dumbledore. "I'll take her in."
The commotion was sliced easily through with a small, gentle smile from Dumbledore, like a bell calling the cows home. "Thank you Pomona, but that won't be nessicary."
Tru at once felt both relieved, and strangely cold inside. So it was true. It was a mistake, she wasn't a wizard. They would send her home, where statues did not jump, at you or in any other direction. Where she knew exactly where all the streets led.
And the exact parameters of her room. Five steps one way, four the other. Like her life. From this hard chair, in the tower, in Dumbledore's room, she could suddenly see her life for exactly what it was. Living with wolves had been better. At least then she'd had family.
She thought fleetingly of the two boys fighting in the train compartment, before catching Dumbledore's eyes on her, peering knowingly and kindly through half-moon spectacles. The other teachers were staring at her with a kind of skeptical awe. "I'll be taking her as my pupil," he said.
"Although, of course, she will still attend the regular courses with her year. I feel confident that she will succeed once she has begun to master control."
Something loosened in Tru's heart. Then panic set in. "Courses? Magic courses? But I've never—"
Dumbledore waved a hand airily, "That will be all, Miss Whelan. Try not to over-worry yourself." He added in a wise whisper, "I've heard it causes wrinkles."
Tru clung to the edges of the chair, staring uncomprehendingly at Dumbledore, with the same wide eyes a wall might use, while being charged by a rhino, if walls had eyes. He smiled, and Tru was inclined to go against her instincts, and consider it not at all kindly, as she saw his hand resting lightly on a long stick, and now the chair was scooting persistently out from underneath her. "But—I don't even have a wand!"
With one final wiggle, the chair escaped from under her, and Chasity scrambled ferret-like up to her shoulder. She found herself being directed out the door by multiple pairs of the Professor's hands, even as Dumbledore said, "Please do not damage your skin over anything. It will all be taken care of. Enjoy the feast! Er, what's left of it."
The door shut behind her.
Tru stood, shaking a moment. She didn't like this feeling, this being stared at like some kind of novelty. She realized that the staircase was already gliding her downwards. Obeying some natural instinct, or long suppressed impulses from infrequent mall trips, she turned, and began to walk in the opposite direction, heading back towards the door. Her footsteps were as light as they had been on the forest floor. She tucked a few long strands of hair back behind her ear, and leaned in close to listen.
"Her father? But, Albus, doesn't that mean…"
"He had converted long before, Pomona. I believe that is one of the reasons they were in hiding. And very deep in hiding, I might add. Never before has a Hogwart's owl been delayed."
"Not deep enough, it seems."
Tru bit her lip, hard, and felt her fingers curl in, as they always did when the memories came flooding back. She must have made a noise, for there was a sudden silence within the room. Had they discovered her?
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the stairs beneath her feet flattened, and she suddenly found herself spinning down a long, terrifying slide. She pressed her heels desperately to the smooth marble like a cat trying to hook its claws into a curtain it was falling down. So it was a trap after all? Or perhaps they had decided that she wasn't trustworthy—or maybe this was how they did punishment at the school?
Faster and faster she spun, until like a blur she was the gargoyle leap gracefully out of the way, and she closed her eyes, bracing for impact onto—a cushy pile of purple bean bags?
Tru buried her head into Chastity's side, shutting everything out.
