A/N: Hello :) I'm back with another chapter, though I don't think I can promise when the next one will be -_-"
Reading my past work, I realized that there were a bunch of inconsistencies in character behaviour/motives and whatnot. I was not really happy with it, so I decided to do a rewrite of the entire story. I want to let any returning readers know that while the key moments are still there, there have been some major changes i.e. character's reaction, the way the scene plays out, etc. I have also removed and added scenes.
Rewrite of chapters 1-19 as of 2/25/2020
Chapter 20: Enigma
"All right, everyone. On my whistle, we will all mount our brooms and fly slowly around the Quidditch pitch," Madam Hooch said sternly, her amber eyes piercing.
Cyrna tucked her chin into her scarf as a chilly gust of wind blew across the forest, giving the reddened leaves a quiet rustle. There had been a period where the skies were rather grey, but today, they were a beautiful blue. She shielded her eyes from the sun as she ascended on her broom and relaxed, slipping back into the feeling of safety she always felt once she was in the air.
"Oh, sorry, Cyrna. Didn't see you there," Pansy said with a decidedly nasty smirk as she flew by, shoving her away from her spot which so happened to be near Draco's.
Not a single emotion leaked into her expression as she continued to glide in the air after righting herself. It was all too soon that Cyrna had became accustomed to the little taunts and jabs Pansy delighted herself in making, and to be fair, they had always been more of the irritant sort than the hurtful sort. Ever since the day she went to collect her spikes, Pansy had actually been rather tame in the vitriol or idiocy she spewed at her. Draco, on the other hand, had simply taken to ignoring her whenever possible. It seemed that Draco, as a first-year, took Snape's words pretty seriously.
Still, even with the minimal antagonism, she wished she could halt this moment forever so that everyday could be just as peaceful and uneventful. She knew the peace would not last though. Life was never that easy.
And it wouldn't be easy today.
Not for the students at Hogwarts, but perhaps for her if she played it right.
Cyrna nodded at Theodore before she manoeuvred her broom to the end of the group where Harry and Ron were flying. It was to her utter relief that they wore as guilty of an expression Cyrna had ever seen.
"What's the trouble?"
The boys stared at each other.
"How can you tell?" Harry asked.
"I've never seen the both of you frown when you're on a broom during flying class," Cyrna said with a small smile. "Haven't seen you at the end of the group either, for that matter."
Harry exchanged another look at Ron to which Ron scowled and looked away.
"Well…" Harry hesitated.
"We told Hermione that she had no friends, all right?" Ron blurted out before he urged his broom forward to the middle of the pack, his face rather red when he left.
Harry's eyes skittered nervously away from Cyrna's as they trailed after Ron.
"She heard," Cyrna surmised after a moment.
Harry nodded glumly. "What should we do? I haven't seen her the entire afternoon, and she never skips class."
"Make it up to her some way—oh, but maybe give her some time to cool off before you go and find her."
"Yeah but I don't know what she likes. I don't think Ron does either."
"Are you certain you don't?"
Of course, he didn't! Harry thought he should know if he did, but the smile on his friend's face made him wonder if he was missing something. Still, he didn't think he was missing anything. But before he could say so, Cyrna had already flown away to meet with the other Slytherins leaving him feeling more confused than before.
Perhaps it was a Slytherin trait, but Harry didn't know why she couldn't answer some of his questions in the same straightforward manner she answered his questions related to schoolwork. She always had a certain glint in her eyes when they talked. It wasn't a bad glint… just a glint that made Harry feel as if he was forgetting something or that he was, like this time, missing something.
o - o - o - o - o
Harry swatted at a bat that had flown far too close to his face, and it smoothly dodged his hand and flew away to reunite with the other bats that fluttered about the Great Hall. The pumpkins all had that crooked smile carved into them as the cheerful candlelight inside them winked in and out as they floated around in the air. It was Halloween and nothing, not even the awkwardness that surrounded Ron once they had heard that Hermione had been crying in the girl's washroom, would be enough to keep both the boys from enjoying the feast.
Harry scanned the Slytherin table, like he did every meal, for Cyrna, and was surprised to see that she was not present. She was usually there, her schedule was like clockwork where she would arrive five minutes before every meal, eat for twenty, then excuse herself from the table. Just thinking of Cyrna made him recall the her strange question.
"What do you think Hermione likes?" Harry asked Ron who had been going on a lengthy diatribe about the team that had beat out the Chudley Cannons.
Ron scowled at that thought. "Why does it matter?"
Harry shrugged.
"Oh I don't know. What do girls like?"
Harry looked at Lavender and Patil who were talking about the latest edition of Witch Weekly. He wouldn't say he knew Hermione much or at all, but he did doubt that she would be interested in that magazine.
Turning back to Ron, Harry gave a helpless shrug. "I guess I should've asked Cyrna that."
"Cyrna? What did she say after I left?"
"Nothing really," Harry said as he twiddled with the sleeves of his robes.
"But weren't you with her for a few more minutes?"
"Yeah."
Ron motioned for him to continue.
"Well all she said was that we should make it up to Hermione, then once I asked her how, she told me that we already knew what Hermione would like."
"We do?"
"We don't."
The boys exchanged a look of confusion before the feast appeared suddenly on the tables, as did the gleaming golden cutlery. Harry eyed the chicken pot pies with anticipation.
"Well girls are weird," Ron said after downing two pastries. "I don't know what my sister is thinking half the time when she says stuff."
Harry had just reached for the pot pie when the doors of the Great Hall slammed open and Professor Quirrell came sprinting in. He ran straight to the head table before he jolted to a stop. His complexion was sickly pale and Harry thought that Quirrell looked like he had eaten something particularly nasty.
"Troll! Troll in the dungeons – Just thought you'd ought to know."
Quirrell breathed out the statement before collapsing onto the ground in a dead faint.
The students went into an uproar, and Harry and Ron were jostled roughly as everyone fought to exit the Hall. Alarmed, he looked again to the Slytherin table in hopes of seeing Cyrna—she was always so calm; she would know what to do. But like before, look as he might, Harry could not find her.
They were halfway to the Gryffindor dormitory, following Percy, when a sudden thought hit him. Harry grabbed Ron by the arm.
"Cyrna and Hermione weren't in the hall."
"What about it?"
"We've got to find them."
"Percy will tattle to mum if he sees us leave, and I'll be skinned alive!"
"That's not important!"
Ron squawked in slight offense.
"Ron, they don't know about the troll!"
Understanding dawned, and exchanging a look, the two hastily squeezed out of from the group of Gryffindors and sprinted back down the stairs. They wove around the Hufflepuffs and stumbled away from the Ravenclaws when one spotted them, and soon, they found themselves in a dimly lit hallway. Hearing footsteps, Ron pulled Harry behind a stone statue.
"Percy?" Ron asked.
Harry carefully peered around. His lips thinned. "No, worse. It's Snape."
"Cyrna's Head of House? What's the git doing here?" Ron swore.
They didn't dare to breath until Snape disappeared around the corridor.
"Where's he going?" Ron asked in a hushed voice. "Shouldn't he be in the dungeons with the other professors?"
If Harry remembered correctly, then that corridor would lead to a flight of stairs that headed up to the third corridor. The forbidden corridor! He hesitated only a moment, but his concern for his friends quickly won over his curiousity.
"Never mind that, we need to find them," Harry decided.
"Do we even know where they are?"
"Well Hermione's in the washroom…"
"And Cyrna?"
Harry stared at him blankly.
"Right. Then the girl's washroom it is."
o - o - o - o - o
Cyrna hesitated to call it nostalgia since she had only left the Flamels for two months, but the sound of the softly bubbling cauldrons around her was incredibly comforting. It almost topped being in the air.
There was something lulling, something relaxing in watching the potions simmer. The enchanted rods continued to stir, making a gentle ripple in the liquid, and as the potions progressed to completion, the colours would change according to its phase. There were lots of greens and purples. Some were colourless and one was even a putrid yellow colour.
Cyrna settled herself down on a rickety chair that was far away from the unpleasant odor that wafted about in the corner where that yellow potion was brewing.
Despite Snape's offer, she hadn't actually arrived at the Potions classroom to brew the Wound-cleaning potion. It was a sixth-year potion for a reason, namely it would be incredibly volatile if brewed incorrectly, and she wasn't going to risk getting injured with acidic burns is anything went wrong. Cyrna was here for one reason and for one reason only, and that was to stay the hell away from the plot—this was the one place Harry would never search for her, even if he tried to find her to pull her into his little rescue mission.
She flipped a page, feeling rather satisfied with her plan as she carefully read the text about the Wound-cleaning potion. Cyrna knew she would have to purposefully muck up the potion if she ever brewed it in front of Snape. Nicolas would be so disappointed; she was too. The thought that she would have to sabotage her piece of art made her frown, but alas, she was mediocre. What mediocre first-year student would be able to brew a sixth-year potion perfectly?
Multiple pairs of footsteps hurried past the classroom door.
Cyrna flipped another page.
Someone knocked on the door.
She looked up.
"Is anyone in here?" asked a squeaky voice.
Cyrna hesitated for a brief moment before she answered the door. She couldn't imagine the wards holding out the Charms Master if he wished to enter.
"Miss Raine!" Flitwick exclaimed, surprised.
"Good evening, Professor Flitwick."
"Whatever are you doing in here, Miss Raine? Shouldn't you be with the rest of your House?" Flitwick asked curiously as he followed her into the dimly lit room. He looked around, feeling rather out of place, he couldn't remember the last time he had touched a cauldron, or a stirring rod, for that matter.
The Slytherin was sitting on a wooden chair that looked rather uncomfortable. Near her were several cauldrons of potions at different stages of completion. He saw the ingredients that decorated the shelves, some of which he recognized to be the preserved guts and bones of different animal species. How terribly macabre, he thought with a small shake of his head at his colleague's taste. Then there were the fumes. His nose twitched slightly. He couldn't say that he cared for those smells.
"I apologize if I'm wrong, sir, but I didn't realize that curfew was early today."
Flitwick returned his attention to the student. To his surprise, he saw that she had a book opened. It seemed that she had been enjoying the wonderful world of knowledge before he had interrupted.
"You weren't at the feast?"
Cyrna shook her head. "No, sir. I had permission from Professor Snape to use the Potions Classroom during the feast, so I came here instead."
Flitwick chuckled as he tip-toed to peer at what the Slytherin was reading. "And so you came here to read… sixth-year material? Why, Miss Raine, you would have made a fine Ravenclaw indeed!"
"Perhaps," the girl said smiling faintly at him. "It was either Ravenclaw or Slytherin for me."
"Oho!" Flitwick twittered brightly at her words. How interesting! "Well I'm sure Severus is pleased with your interest in his subject," he said with an affirming nod. "Nothing flatters a professor more than curious young students, you know. But anyways, I best get you up to the Ravenclaw tower now, Miss Raine."
"Ravenclaw?" Cyrna said with frown.
"Ravenclaw indeed! Quirinus spotted a troll in the dungeon, so it was decided between your Head of House and I to bring the Slytherins up to the Ravenclaw dormitory."
Cyrna made a noise of understanding. Packing up her bags and returning the Advanced Potion Making textbook back to the shelf, she followed the Charms Professor out of the dungeons.
Flitwick walked with a bounce in his steps, humming a cheerful tune just under his breath as the Slytherin walked wordlessly beside him in a sedate pace. If he couldn't see her from the corner of his eyes, he would have missed her. She was a small thing, even compared to her peers, and with her mop of black hair and her black robes, the shadows of the dungeons seemed to swallow her whole.
"So Miss Raine," he said after a while – silence was not in his nature – "If we were to encounter the troll, what would you do?"
She furrowed her brows in thought.
The girl might not have been very talented in the practical portion of Charms, but she certainly had a shockingly good grasp on the theory. Flitwick was interested to pick at her mind a little, just to see how she would answer a question not based on his coursework. He waited patiently for her answer while humming yet another song that had suddenly popped up in his mind. They passed by the Great Hall and into the West Wing of the castle.
"Well," the Slytherin hedged. "trolls are extremely aggressive, but they are slow and not very smart."
He nodded encouragingly.
"I've also read that its skin is so tough that they can deflect most spells except for highly destructive ones like bombarda."
Flitwick nodded again.
"Assuming that we want to be as least destructive as possible, and if putting it to sleep is not an option, I think I'd ask you to cast incarcerous on the Troll first, then maybe the knockback jinx to trap it into one classroom to minimize damage. After, perhaps glacius on the floor and the walls of the classroom?"
"Glacius?"
"Well trolls are rather clumsy and stupid. I think it would take a while to figure out how to move without slipping on ice. Not to mention that it has to figure its way out of the binding spell at the same time."
Flitwick smiled feeling rather delighted at the Slytherin who was fidgeting uncomfortably at his sudden questions. "I see that Potions isn't the only thing you're reading ahead for, Miss Raine."
"I may have read a bit of Charms too," she murmured self-consciously.
"And after?"
"After?"
"After the troll is stuck in the room?"
"I'd go and find another professor to assist you?"
Flitwick burst into a gale of hearty chuckles.
Cyrna stared at the professor with a hint of confusion. They turned another corner and up another set of stairs they went.
"So the only job you've assigned for yourself is to run and get assistance," Flitwick said, humour lacing his voice.
They made it to the second floor of the castle.
"Well you are the Duelling Champion, sir," Cyrna said slyly.
"That I am!"
Cyrna followed the Charms Professor quietly through the hallways. There was no racket, in fact, this floor was rather silent. No screams, no grunts, no shattering, cracking, or splintering sounds. Thinking about it, Cyrna was actually pretty excited to see how the Ravenclaw's dorm – which should have been hers to live in – looked. And the riddle. She was up for the challenge.
She followed Flitwick into a darker hallway and after a couple more twists and turns, she stepped into another corridor and almost tripped when the diminutive professor in front of her suddenly halted.
"Why, Severus!"
Cyrna froze under the sharp glance of her Head of House who had stepped out from the shadows.
"Everything has been resolved already?" Flitwick asked.
"Indeed," Snape drawled coldly as he peered down his nose at the diminutive professor. "I was heading to my office with the intention to write you a missive to send for my students."
Flitwick laughed pleasantly. "Well I have one of yours with me right now."
"I can see that." Snape narrowed his eyes at the girl. "Flouting the rules again, Miss Raine?"
"You gave me permission to use the potions classroom today, sir."
"And the fact that I was not there to supervise you did not trigger any thoughts that perhaps you should not have been there?"
"Sir, I didn't think you'd leave your door opened if I wasn't allowed."
She hid her flinch when Snape's expression suddenly darkened as he glowered at her.
"Silence! Five points from Slytherin for your impertinence, Miss Raine; do not presume to know my thoughts," Snape hissed icily.
Flitwick cleared his throat.
"Something to add, Filius?" Snape said snidely with a scowl. His leg throbbed after being chewed on like a dratted toy, and his mood had soured even more when Potter was awarded for ignoring the rules yet again. How typical. And what on earth did the girl mean by leaving the door opened?
"Perhaps she shouldn't have been there, but Miss Raine behaved appropriately the moment I told her the news, Severus, and she was just reading a potions textbook when I found her," he said reasonably, trying to placate his irritable colleague.
"Oh?" Snape sneered.
"I wasn't going to brew a sixth-year potion without supervision, sir," Cyrna muttered, looking away.
Flitwick nodded approvingly.
"And good that you didn't," Flitwick said with a cheerful clap, "3 points to Slytherin for your wise decision, and another 2 for your interesting answer to my question."
Cyrna darted a glance to her Potions Professor who was now staring impassively at her.
"Well if that's all, I'll leave Miss Raine with you here, Severus, and I'll let the rest of your Slytherins know that it is safe to return to their dormitory."
Flitwick whistled a merry tune and hastily made his way to another set of stairs. It didn't take a wise man to know that you didn't want to get between the irascible Head of House and his Slytherins.
o - o - o - o - o
Snape wanted to indulge in a bottle of good hard whiskey, or in sleep. A nice long sleep where he would never have to wake up from. Damn Quirrell and damn the three-headed mutt.
"Well don't just stand there," he snapped.
Snape strode away, intent on getting to the dungeons. He gritted his teeth as he concentrated on imitating his usual gait. Each step took more effort. Each step sent a fresh wave of pain. He occluded away the sharpest edge, but he could do nothing to stop his body's reaction. Cold sweat had broken out and he could feel his limb began to tremble.
His jaws tightened as he clenched his teeth harder. He had made it through worse. Pain like this was nothing compared to what he had experienced a decade ago.
They had made it to the dungeons when he felt his leg give. His knee buckled and he stumbled; his hand flew out to reach the wall to stabilize himself. He scowled darkly as an unbidden shiver worked through his body. Remembering the Slytherin that was supposed to be following him, he righted his posture shakily. He sneered at her when he met her gaze – her eyes large and blue without a hint of emotion.
"Something you want to say?" he spat at her.
The girl blinked. "Nothing that you don't already know, sir," she said. "But for the sake of saying it, I think you should call Madam Pomfrey."
"Absolutely not," he hissed.
"Alright."
The blasted chit blinked again.
"Well?" he snarled when she made no motion to move. "Need I lay out every instruction for you? Get to your dormitory!"
A frown ran across her face for a split second before it smoothened out.
"The Wound-cleaning potion is purple in colour. It smells of lavender with a hint of citrus. The better the quality, the more translucent the solution."
He drew himself up instinctively and glanced sharply at the girl.
"I know you have one brewing," she continued, "When I left, it was almost a deep purple – nearing completion. The potion should be done by now, though ideally, it would be at its optimal state if you were to wait for five more minutes. I also have a fair hand at dressing and bandaging wounds. I should know. I was picked on quite often in my neighbourhood because of my size."
The girl waited calmly as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He had not been surprised when she had failed to look away shyly; he had established that Miss Raine was not as timid as she portrayed herself to be. But what did surprise him was the sense of confidence and surety in the girl's steady gaze…
He was certain that Quirrell had no good intentions, but the girl? A fleeting frown crossed his face.
Keep your enemies closer.
He inclined his head, and without another word, stalked into the Potions classroom, the girl following silently behind.
