Chapter 22: Our Games
"No! not yet—" Cyrna grabbed Neville's hand before he could kill the both of them.
She'd like to make it to Christmas break, thank you very much.
"Sorry," Neville said in a quavering whisper. Looking back to his previous spot where Hermione was now bossing Seamus around as she stirred the cauldron, he had lost count of the times he had wished that he could be in some place other than in the front of the Potions classroom where Snape frequently passed by, glaring darkly down his large hooked nose.
Once again, a tall shadow fell across him. Neville froze, nearly dropping his stirring rod into the cauldron if the potion-stained spidery fingers had not caught it.
"I fail to recall a stirring rod as one of the ingredients, Mr. Longbottom," Snape sneered. "Surely even a Gryffindor like you should be able to read."
His gaze moved to the Slytherin who stood beside the bumbling idiot. She stared at him, though she did not quite meet his eyes. Her chin tilted out in a faint air of defiance as she stood at attention. "And perhaps this too is common sense," Snape said, his lips barely moving as he spoke in a volume just above a murmur, "but a known secret is no secret at all, Miss Raine,"
It pricked the hairs of her arms—the smooth baritone voice that held a hint of warning, an edge of danger that told her that he would not tolerate her pretense for much longer.
Snape dropped the stirring rod in Cyrna's hands as he swept away from their table, his black robes crawling behind him as he headed towards the next row of students. Neville's gaze remained glued to the cauldron.
Cyrna stared at the rod in her hands. Her fingers clenched around it tightly, and she cursed her pride that had brought her to this situation. That night when he had dismissed her as if she was useless, the part of her that prided herself on her abilities was irrationally offended. She'd gone to medical school, damn it. In the current state he had been in, she could have done a far better job than him in treating the wound. She was competent, she had been trained for it, and her hands did not shake like his had. Coupled with the fact that she didn't think she would be changing anything in books—there was no way he would let himself walk around the next day without treating his leg—she had offered to help.
In that moment, she had wanted him to recognize her skill.
She blinked hard, self-recrimination welling in her chest. Her jaw ticked.
Damn me to seven hells.
"Ignore him," Cyrna said tightly before she took a deep breath and forced her shoulders to relax. She tossed the stirring rod back at the boy. "I've said this before," she said in a lighter voice, "but Professor Snape isn't going to shout at us unless we blow up the classroom."
Neville watched as she looked through the ingredient box to pick out two valerian sprigs, completely calm despite what had just happened. His eyes fell to the green and silver emblem sewn onto her robes.
"Continue stirring," Cyrna said. The potion was a hint too murky.
"Right," Neville said hesitantly, taking one last look at the Slytherin girl. He stirred three more times in a clockwise motion before he stopped. "Now we would add the Valerian sprigs?"
Glancing behind her shoulders, Cyrna saw Snape watching Goyle and Crabbe from the back of the class. Their potion bubbled precariously, and Crabbe was about to drop the mistletoe berries in when Snape waved his wand—subtly so that if you weren't looking, you would have missed it. The bubbling quieted down. Nothing blew up, and Snape looked decidedly displeased as he strode towards them. Seeing that he was preoccupied, Cyrna quickly slipped the Lethe River Water up her sleeve, and in a smooth motion, tilted it above the cauldron so that two more drops fell in.
"Y-you just added—"
Cyrna set the Lethe water back on the desk. "Stir clockwise once."
She threw Neville a sharp glance when he stumbled back from the cauldron. "It was too murky," she said when he stared at her with an uneasy expression, "we would have gotten an 'acceptable,' and while that may be the name of the grade, an acceptable is not enough, Neville. Now stir."
Neville gingerly picked up the rod—
"—Slowly. Really slowly," Cyrna added.
"Like this?" Neville asked. He stood an arm's reach away from the cauldron as he stirred at a turtle's pace.
"Precisely." The Slytherin shot him a smile.
He found it hard to return—a smile that seemed rather insincere as its owner glanced away in an almost dismissive fashion. She continued her preparation of the next ingredient, and Neville turned back to the cauldron. To his surprise, the cauldron had not, in fact, exploded. Leaning closer, he saw that the potion was now a clear transparent liquid with a consistency slightly thicker than water. Before he could react, Cyrna threw in the two sprigs of Valerian.
He waited a beat.
"Three times clockwise?" Neville asked, eyes nervously darting to the blackboard.
Cyrna glanced up briefly from her work. "Yes. We'll follow the other steps as listed."
She turned back and continued to grind the herbs in the mortar. Neville followed the instructions to the best he could, his entire being tense whenever Snape stalked by or when Cyrna looked up to check the potion. He looked longingly back to his previous seat in the second row.
It continued on in this manner for the rest of the class; Cyrna and Neville just barely finishing in time as the bell rang. Breathing a barely audible sigh of relief, Cyrna decanted the potions and headed to the front with Neville.
"Cutting it close," Snape said, his expression impassive when his Slytherin and Mr. Longbottom took the place of the previous group of students. Fingers deftly picked up the vials. His eyes flickered briefly to the vials before he looked back to the students. "Well, well, Mr. Longbottom… Miss Raine," he said as he slowly turned his stare on his Slytherin. "You must have been trying your best. I believe that this would make it your third… 'exceeds expectations' in a row."
Neville tensed as Cyrna's expression darkened. Her jaw ticked again before that emotion was gone in a blink of the eye.
However, she only nodded stiffly at the professor before she turned away and walked back to her desk. Neville hurried after her, not wanting to stay anywhere near that man a moment longer. He cleared his throat nervously as Cyrna hastily stuffed away her things.
"Um, so—"
"—Yes?"
Neville stood stock still as she, without another word, packed her bag and left.
"Wow."
Neville turned around to look at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The three of them were almost always together nowadays.
"What set her off?" Harry said in a perplexed tone of voice. He couldn't remember her getting that irritated except for that time in the bookstore and the other time with Malfoy on the train. But even then, it had been a cold and controlled anger rather than irritation. Irritation was a petty thing, unlike anger, and Harry wondered what had driven her into that particular emotion.
o - o - o - o - o
"Well 'EE' is still good—we're barely scraping by with an 'acceptable'." Ron said to Harry who nodded in confirmation as the four Gryffindors walked in the dreary dungeon corridors.
"I'd be unhappy with anything less than an 'O'," Hermione said with a huff. "Makes perfect sense that Cyrna would be too."
"Not everyone is you, Hermione."
Hermione threw Ron a dirty look. "Well what grades does she usually get then?" she asked. When the boys stared back at her as if they were waiting for her to answer her own question, her brows furrowed. "What? Hasn't she told one of you?"
"She's told me a lot of stuff whenever I meet with her," Harry said slowly, "but she never talks about her grades—not that I asked."
Hermione lightly tapped her finger on her chin with a small hum as they took a set of stairs up to the upper level of the dungeons. "She doesn't even tell you what she gets on her homework?"
Ron frowned. "What does it matter? She probably has at least an 'EE' in all her classes. She's a bit crazy like you, Hermione, when it comes to school and books."
Neville followed the three quietly as Hermione smacked Ron across the arm, his mind replaying the scene with Cyrna and the professor over and over again. Maybe it was the grades, but he wouldn't be surprised if there was a subtext. Subtext was pretty much the language of Slytherins.
"Well," Hermione said with a sniff, "from studying with her in the library, I wouldn't be all too surprised if she was one of the best students of our grade."
"Along with you, you mean?" Harry added dryly.
Hermione flushed and opened her mouth—
"You'd think that too, wouldn't you?"
Hermione snapped her mouth shut as the four Gryffindors spun around in surprise. Ron balked and immediately glared at the two Slytherins. "What are you doing here?"
Theodore raised his brow and gestured at their surroundings. "Where else would Slytherins be?" he said with a sneer.
The brown haired Slytherin girl stood quietly behind the boy. Immediately, Hermione recognize the two to be the ones that Cyrna was always with. Walking closer to the girl, she stuck out her hand.
"Hello, my name is Hermione Granger. I was Cyrna's previous potions partner."
The girl looked at her hand like something particularly disgusting had crawled on it. "I know," she said delicately, looking back up to meet Hermione's gaze. She did not move her hand.
Hermione let her hand fall to her side. It suddenly felt as if her friends were far away from her as the eyes, cold as ice, bore into hers. Cyrna was friends with her? Not a single emotion crossed the other boy's face as he gauged their group, and she was distinctly aware that a sort of stillness had settled between them.
"Hello, Daphne," Harry said a moment after he saw Hermione shift backwards. He looked tentatively at the girl he had met at the bookstore.
"Harry Potter," Daphne said, lips curling into a cold smile. "Fancy seeing you again. How are you finding your textbooks?"
The mischievous spark Harry had once seen were no longer present in those eyes. Frowning, he answered, "Fine. Thanks for your help the other time."
Daphne stared at the boy-who-lived, his expression had been cautiously open when he saw her. He now stared at her warily—like most of the students of the school. It didn't bother her.
What did bother her was not knowing the little game Cyrna was playing with three out of these four Gryffindors. The Longbottom heir clearly hadn't been necessary for whatever she wanted, if her dismissive attitude towards him during class today was anything to go by. Potter would be a fine piece to have in any game, she would admit, but what purpose did the blood traitor and the mudblood play?
She couldn't figure out their uses. Why would Cyrna keep them close?
Daphne cleared her throat purposefully, drawing everyone's attention. "Cyrna's actually rather average in our classes. It's only in Potions that she was probably getting 'O's' in."
She felt Theodore stare hard at her as she offered information about Cyrna. After a moment, he shifted his gaze back to Hermione. "The rest of the Slytherins assume you to be the cause of it."
"That's ridiculous!" Hermione said immediately, feeling defensive for her friend.
Theodore only raised his brow skeptically. "We have eyes, Granger. She didn't do anything besides prepare the ingredients for you."
"Really?" Harry asked with a note of surprise. He looked skeptically at the Slytherins before turning to Hermione. "But she's gone over the steps of brewing potions before with me when I asked her for help."
This time, it was Hermione's turn to be startled. "I brewed because I thought she was uncomfortable with the material."
"Uncomfortable?" Neville echoed, not even bothering to hide his disbelief. The confidence in which she performed every action; the surety in her tone as she led him through the brewing process of the Forgetfulness potion… uncomfortable?
Everyone stared at him, and instantly, he shrunk back. "I thought she knew what she was doing today," Neville said hesitantly.
"Neville, you explode cauldrons," Ron said. "Of course she's going to look like she knew what she was doing to you."
"Ron!" hissed Hermione when the boy stared back at her cluelessly.
"Well, the fact remains that she is average in all the subjects," Daphne said, her eyes coldly taking in the Gryffindors who held varying expressions of disbelief. "And it appears as if I'm not alone in thinking this to be impossible."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked sharply.
"She's amazing at theory," Daphne said to which Theodore nodded silently from her side. "I saw her reading this transfigurations book once…" she thought back to the little experiment Cyrna had her do on the hill overlooking the Black Lake. "And let me tell you, I know for a fact that book is not something we should be able to understand."
"Of course she understood it," Ron muttered to Harry.
Harry smiled. Of course. He knew ever since that time on the Hogwarts Express that she was clever.
"But," Daphne said, drawing back the boys' attention. "She can't even perform a single spell in Transfigurations. I don't think she'll be qualified to take it next year."
"And for charms, DADA, and all the other classes," Theodore quickly stepped in to say, "she has a crazy amount of magic, but she always ends up in the middle of the pack."
"It's a bit strange," Daphne said.
The group of six stood quietly. The Gryffindors studied the Slytherins who studied them back. The cries of the Hogwarts ghosts resounded eerily in the dungeons. Some laughed, some shrieked, and some wailed in a particularly mournful manner. Neville jumped at a particularly loud growl.
"It's lunch!" Ron said defensively when five other pairs of eyes turned to him.
Daphne watched quietly as the four Gryffindors awkwardly bid her and Theodore goodbye before scampering up the flight of stairs that lead to the Great Hall.
"Should we go to the Great Hall as well?" Theodore asked her. A small smile lifted his features in response when he saw the small furrow of her white brows.
"At least I know I'm not insane in thinking something's off," Daphne huffed with a small puff of her cheeks. She looked at Theodore. "What do you think Cyrna's playing at?"
Theodore shrugged as he directed them down another corridor. Walking to the end, they stood in front of a huge portrait that was more than double his size. What was unique about this portrait was that it did not move. Theodore pushed the edge of the golden frame, and slowly, the portrait spun back, revealing a dark room with a floating platform in the center.
They stepped on the platform.
"The most cunning may deceive truth itself," Daphne recited as she tapped her wand on the large silver statue of a snake head. A whirling sound followed by a quiet rumble which shook the room echoed as the platform shivered and rose up into the tunnel.
The tunnel stretched wide open in the ceiling like the maw of a snake as it gapped open to devour its prey. It was pitch black for a handful of seconds before green torches flickered on either side of the tunnel as they ascended.
"Nothing to say?" Daphne prompted Theodore.
"Well, I think that Cyrna has something in mind, though I doubt she's pretending to be average in the practical portions of our classes," Theodore said.
"But her magic!" Daphne exclaimed.
"She could just be bad at control. I can't imagine how it would benefit her to be average in Slytherin, and she doesn't rub me as someone who does things that do not benefit her. The rest of Slytherin tolerates her because of her power and the truce Malfoy made with her because of Snape. If she helped with scoring house points, they'd appreciate her a lot more. Her standing would rise."
"And you said I thought too much about this," Daphne said with a sly smile.
Theodore looked away before clearing his throat and looking back at her. "I've kept my eye on her since you accepted her," he said.
Daphne's grin widened at her friend. "Well, when you put it that way, it does make a bit of sense. She has everything to benefit and nothing to lose—why pretend to be average? A pity because with that intelligence she could be the best of our year… The glory that would bring to Slytherin!"
A smirk crossed Theodore's lips as Daphne's eyes gleamed with excitement.
"Who knows? she might develop better control before our seven years at Hogwarts ends," he replied.
The platform came to a halt, and the two Slytherins exited, arriving at the back of another portrait. Pushing the portrait open, they slipped through into an empty room.
"Imagine having to walk up so many stairs everyday," Daphne said with a theatrical shiver.
"A fate worse than death, I'm sure," Theodore said dryly as they opened the door and stepped into an unfrequently visited hallway that lead to the side door of the Great Hall.
o - o - o - o - o
Hogwarts was now awashed with white as snow covered the castle and its grounds in a white fluffy blanket. The skies were grey more often than blue, and the boughs of the deciduous trees in the Forbidden Forest were barren, decorated with large icicles which hung like gleaming gems. No longer were there many creatures scurrying about the field and the forest; they hid from the cold of winter, like many of the older occupants of the castle. Only the younger students enjoyed frolicking about in the snow, getting soaked and chilled to the bone before returning into the warmth of the castle. There was a rise in the number of sniffles, but that wasn't too much of an issue. A single visit with Pomfrey would often fix them right up.
Cyrna watched the tiny barn owl wobble as it attempted to lift its leg to give her the letter. Prince, who was on her lap, opened his eyes lazily to stare at the stranger, and once he did, he snuffled imperiously and meowed in warning. This human was his!
The owl hopped back at the sound and toppled over with a rather pathetic chirp.
Prince flicked his tail happily and returned to his nap.
"You again?" Cyrna asked as she scooped up the bird and detached the letter from its leg. "Nicolas really doesn't have any mercy when it comes to assigning tasks," she muttered to it. "I'm sure there were other owls at the postal service?"
The owl twittered happily and nibbled at the treat the human gave it after she had received the letter. Finishing, the owl hopped on her shoulder, and with a little shake, fluffed out its feathers as it tucked its head to its chest, eyes narrowing as it dozed off.
Scanning the letter, Cyrna's lips pulled up in amusement at the paragraph Perenelle had written compared to the single sentence from Nicolas:
"Will you be back for Christmas?" — N.
The small smile remained on her face as she penned her reply to Perenelle's long list of inquiries about her health and how she was keeping up with school and social life. Then she answered Nicolas', in a manner just as short and succinct:
"Yes. In three days." – Cyrna.
