Rewritten: 8/7/2020
Chapter 23: Strange Happenings
She gasped and bolted straight into an upright position, eyes never lingering on one spot for too long as they quickly darted around the room in a frenzied manner. Despite the rapid drumming of her heart, which she swore was loud enough to rouse the other three girls from their sleep, this morning appeared to be like all other mornings. The lulling rush of the water from the Black Lake was peaceful, and the soft green light, turquoise in the morning, casted a soft glow in the dormitory room. Cyrna glanced sharply to her side when she caught a sudden movement, but it was just Prince's ears as they twitched for a moment before he snuggled into the part of the pillow she had just vacated.
A spray of red blossomed before her, blocking from her sight the small hand that was stretched out in front of her. Black splotches grew and shrunk in size even once the red was gone. Her vision remained focused on the hand that was now painted with small splashes of the colour, even as the rest of the scene seemed to fade away to monochrome. Hearing a faint gasp, she looked up and was met with a pair of eyes so blue that she could mistaken them for gems.
She saw the eyes only for a moment. But it seemed that a moment was all she needed. The hand dropped back to her side and she took a step back.
Then, the wailing started.
A wailing so eclipsing that it felt as if she had been fully submerged in the awful sound for an eternity before the dream finally let up, black streaks stretching across her vision, erasing the blue that stared at her like she was—
Softly, she stepped out of bed. Quickly pulling on her robes, she carefully shut the door behind her as she left the room, missing the small cut that had been etched into one of her bedposts.
o - o - o - o - o
"I'm not going to ask," Cyrna said dryly when she was met with an expression of surprise that she was certain mirrored her own. She pulled out a seat across from Hermione and plopped down, arching her back slightly as she stretched.
"It's the last day! I wanted to go over the list of books to see which ones I should check out before leaving!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Right," Cyrna paused as one of her brows rose with incredulity, "you know it's six-thirty in the morning?"
A faint pink made its way to Hermione's face. "Then what are you doing here?" she questioned in a somewhat defensive tone.
"To escape from a really strange dream," Cyrna answered with a wry smile.
"Oh?" Hermione sat up straighter and closed one of her books. She placed it on top of a growing stack. "What happened?"
"It was weird that's all," Cyrna said dismissively, instead turning to grab one of the books. "Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century," Cyrna read. She looked up. "Do you like reading bibliographies?"
Hermione gave her a sharp look before she huffed and picked up another book from the stack. "Poems of a Common Wanderer," Hermione said, "I think I read about the Soulflower in passing here, though I don't know if it's the same plant you are talking about."
Cyrna carefully took the small paperback book from her. Small pieces of the cover had already been torn off, and the spine crinkled when she opened it, revealing yellowed pages and soft, worn-down edges. "Poems," she murmured thoughtfully as she read what was on the page. "And this was in the History section?"
"It is an account of the man's life."
Cyrna gave another small hum before she looked up. "Thank you," she said. "I really appreciate this. Merlin knows I would never have found it."
Hermione's expression brightened as she smiled. Then the smile lengthened; eyes gleamed. "And you appreciate it enough to tell me about that dream of yours?" Hermione asked slyly. She was dreadfully curious, especially because Cyrna wouldn't tell her.
Cyrna smirked and tapped the Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century book in reply and arched a brow in a questioning manner.
Hermione scowled. Her lips quivered. "Ugh! And I helped you! Give me that book back!" She grabbed for the book on soulflowers, grinning as she did so.
Cyrna quickly leaned away from the hand. "Aw Hermione, I didn't know that your favours came with a price," she said teasingly. "Besides, it's seeming awfully suspicious how reluctant you are to give me the name of the wizard you're are searching for."
"That's not going to work, Cyrna," Hermione said with an admonishing look and a roll of her eyes before pausing. She frowned. "Though I suppose there's no issue in telling you. Harry, Ron, and I are searching for a wizard called Nicolas Flamel. Have you heard of him?"
"Nicolas Flamel?" Cyrna tapped her chin thoughtfully. Downturned lips on a face lined with wrinkles bore into her mind. She could already imagine the wail of "my student is mediocre!?" that would haunt her the moment she stepped foot back into the mansion. She shook her head apologetically. "Nope, haven't heard of him, but I could ask some of my friends in Slytherin for you. They're part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, so if he is of any importance, they might know."
A small frown made its way onto Hermione's face when she thought of the Slytherin pair she had met. How could Cyrna stand to be friends with them? She forced her mind back to the conversation at hand before her thoughts could spiral elsewhere. "Yes, well it's great that we have one more person helping. Honestly there's probably at least a million wizards in the History section, and I don't even know if he's even in the History section."
The exasperation in Hermione's voice brought out another smile. Cyrna laughed lightly. "I'm sure you'll find him soon. And well," she gestured to the book on the Soulflowers, "I'm going to head back to my room to pack my stuff. I'll send you an owl if I find anything over the break."
"And your dream? It's terribly suspicious that you are so reluctant to telling me." Hermione conceded that smugness may have accidentally oozed out from her as she threw the words back at Cyrna. Would she tell her? Hermione wondered at that. But they were friends, weren't they? Maybe it was super personal? If Cyrna refused again, Hermione supposed she would just have to let it go. Some things were private to people, after all—not that it made her any less curious.
"If you must know," Cyrna said after quite some time, "it's actually pretty mundane—no juicy secrets or anything. Afraid you aren't bargaining for much."
Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend. She wasn't trying for secrets. "I'm just curious. Dreams are fun to listen to."
Cyrna gave a shrug at that. "Alright, well, I saw a pair of eyes that were so incredibly blue," she said, carefully editing her dream down to its base components when she saw that Hermione really wanted to know. Better to give her a bit now than have her continue to poke at it. "Almost like gems. I don't quite know how to place it. Then I heard a scream, and that shocked me into waking up—why are you laughing?"
"Honestly, Cyrna," Hermione said, with a small huff as she smiled widely, "I didn't peg you as vain."
Cyrna hid her confusion with another perfectly arched brow. "I wasn't aware I was."
"Oh Cyrna, probably your conscience or something screamed you back awake to prevent you from becoming another Narcissus—I don't even know if he dreamed of himself when he slept," Hermione paused. "Actually, never mind, he probably did; don't know why I even needed to wonder about that," she muttered to herself.
Dreaming of myself?—
"My eyes."
"What?"
"You think I dreamt of my own eyes?"
"Weren't you? Incredibly blue, like gems—that's what I thought when I first saw you," Hermione said in a puzzled tone, uncertain as to what Cyrna was getting at. Maybe she had taken her joke too seriously? "I mean, they're very pretty; very memorable too. If I had eyes like that, I might dream of them too."
"Well," Cyrna drawled, her smirk hiding the sudden scramble of her thoughts, "they are unique."
Hermione groaned.
o - o - o - o - o
Bright cheerful music played by the enchanted band resounded through every nook and cranny of the castle, and the melodies sung by the ghosts accompanied the music in a beautifully haunting manner. Holly and mistletoe floated, suspended in the air, and the large evergreen trees decorated with tinsel and bobbles brought a splash of colour to the usually grey looking stone walls of the castle. Cyrna sat in the Slytherin table with her luggage behind her as she bit into her sandwich.
"Pity you can't come. We could have so much fun – I had it in mind to pay a visit to a particular bookstore again," Daphne said with a smirk.
Theodore nodded beside her. "Our parents are quite interested in meeting you."
"You told them about me?" Cyrna asked with surprise. "Certainly they're too busy? I'm just a first-year."
"A first-year who we decided to be friends with," Daphne said, a slight scold in her voice. "We're the next generation of our family names, so of course they would be interested in who we are befriending."
"Oh. Then maybe during summer instead? I have something planned with my family for the Christmas," Cyrna said. She'd have to take some time to prepare a more convincing backstory before meeting them.
"Family plans? Cyrna," Daphne said a slight whine slipping into her voice. "They'll always be there. You don't know how much trouble I went through to get my mother to agree to meeting a—"
Theodore cleared his throat.
"Well," Daphne stuttered to a halt, an uncharacteristic flush making its way to her complexion. "I mean—"
"—Half-blood?" Cyrna said dryly.
Daphne exchanged a glance with Theodore before smiling in a manner that seemed more nervous than apologetic. "It's not something that happens usually. The Pureblood society is usually quite closed. But I still think that you would be a great friend to have, Cyrna. My mother might be a bit difficult, but I'm certain my father will approve."
"Then that's a better reason to wait till summer."
Theodore motioned for her to go on.
"Well, I think I'll have a far better grasp of control over my magic if I have a few more months. Wouldn't you rather me meet your father then?" Cyrna explained.
Daphne hummed thoughtfully before she huffed and deflated. "I suppose that makes sense," she said slowly. "It might be best to let my mother warm up to the idea a bit more."
Theodore watched carefully as Cyrna nodded agreeably with a faint smile. Her eyes drifted to the fruit bowl where she picked up a cube of watermelon. She inspected it, picking out the black seeds before she seemed to drift off with her thoughts. He turned back to his own breakfast when he heard a quiet murmur.
"There might never be an always."
Theodore's head snapped back up to see that her smile had faded as she stared pensively at the red fruit for a moment longer before she popped it into her mouth. Catching his gaze, she smiled, and for some reason, it suddenly occurred to him that that was the very smile he had watched her give to the other Gryffindors. Cyrna turned back to her sandwich, and he glanced at Daphne who was picking at her food. Daphne thought she knew what she was doing with Cyrna, but now, he suddenly wasn't too certain if she truly did.
"Well," Cyrna said once she finished. She picked up her luggage as she stood up. "Have fun in the holidays, Daphne, Theodore. Do let me know if you happen to swing by our favourite bookstore."
Cyrna smirked as Daphne sniffed to cover up the smile that she attempted to fight off. She waved at Draco and Pansy and bid them a happy holiday when she caught them staring.
"Careful, Miss!" bellowed a ghost in a jovial cheer as Cyrna shivered after accidentally walking through him. She muttered a quick sorry before she scampered back to the dungeons. Arriving there, she found Prince who was still napping happily on her pillow.
"Prince," Cyrna said with a sigh. "We're leaving."
His ears flickered at her voice; his tail swished once. He did not get up.
"Alright, then I hope you have fun here in the dungeons."
She walked back into the common room, heading straight to the door, but just before she could leave, a blur of white rushed past her to the dungeon corridor.
"I knew you could hear me," she told it as he stared at her as if she had forgotten to feed him for a year. She raised her brow at his look. "And I'm afraid my hands are full today, so you'll have to get by on your own. I promise to give you a bath once we're back though."
Now, Prince looked at her as if she had neglected to give him pats and belly rubs as well.
She smirked.
Prince's ears lowered and he made a displeased sounding meow as he trailed after her.
Arriving at the motionless portrait that Daphne and Theodore had shown her, she pushed the edge of the frame and stepped into the hidden room. Murmuring the phrase, the platform rose up to the tunnel. Prince hissed in surprise when green flames suddenly flickered into existence. After a moment, the platform shuddered to a stop.
Quietly, she stepped into the hallway and made her way to the castle's exit.
"Cyrna!"
Harry snickered when his friend startled slightly before turning around. "Are you staying?" he asked before his eyes fell on the luggage she was dragging behind her. "Oh."
Cyrna followed his gaze. "Nope," she said. "I'm going back. And I take it the both of you are staying? Is Hermione?"
"We're staying," Harry said.
"But she's heading back. Too bad you're leaving as well," Ron said as he exchanged a look with Harry.
Cyrna stared at the redhead skeptically, knowing they didn't have the best relationship.
"What?" Ron said, turning a slight bit pink when he saw her look.
"We were just going to ask you to do something if you stayed," Harry said.
"Would it have to do with Nicolas Flamel?" Cyrna asked as she looked at the two boys.
Harry scrunched his brows. "How do you know about that?"
"Oh! Hermione let me in on that this morning. She was almost in despair when she told me just how many wizards were in the history section," she chuckled. "I thought you came to ask for my help with that as well."
Harry's mouth formed a small 'o' as he nodded. "Well if you could help with that, that'd be great," he said decisively. "But actually, that wasn't what we were going to ask."
He shifted nervously, and Cyrna fought to keep her expression relaxed as she waited with curiosity. What else could they want help with at this stage of the book?
"We were going to ask you to sort of watch if Snape did anything weird," Ron said finally when his friend stayed silent.
"Nothing too much, just to see if he like goes off to some hidden corridors or to the third floor," Harry added hastily. It had sounded like a good idea when he had talked with Ron over the idea of asking Cyrna for help, but it had just hit him at this very moment that he was asking her to spy on her Head of House.
"The forbidden corridor?" Cyrna asked. "But he's a professor. He would be allowed to be there."
"We know. We just wanted to know if he does… go there," Harry finished weakly.
"You're asking me to trail my own Head of House—the most unforgiving professor in the school. And did you forget?" Cyrna said blandly as she tapped the crest on her robes. "What would you do if I reported this?"
"You won't report it?" Harry said hopefully.
Cyrna stared flatly at Harry before she turned to Ron who shrugged.
"I did mention that to him," Ron said. "Though I also didn't think you would report it."
"Why?" she asked.
"We're friends? And friends don't do that to friends."
Cyrna blinked before a sharp grin crept onto her face. "Why Ron, if I didn't know better, I'd say you would make quite the Slytherin."
Ron looked incredibly offended and confused at the same time as red rose to his face.
"You're right, I won't report it. In fact, while I won't be able to help you out during the break, I'll keep my eye on him if he does anything weird in the next semester," she said to Harry, ignoring Ron's incoherent squawking.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, feeling glad that he had decided not to let her in on their plans to catch Snape before he stole the Stone. Merlin knows he wouldn't have been pleased if someone said that about Professor McGonagall to him.
"But on the topic of—"
Harry winced as he clamped his hand on his forehead, his scar throbbing suddenly. Immediately, Cyrna stopped speaking.
"Harry?" she asked uncertainly.
"Yeah, just—"
"A minor headache, right? I get those sudden pangs sometimes too," Cyrna said smoothly.
When she saw that Ron continued to stare at her, never looking past her shoulders, she knew that Quirrell likely wasn't behind her. Yet, she also could see that Quirrell was not behind Harry or Ron either. The corridor they were in was suitably wide, but not wide enough that she was unable to see from her peripheral vision that Quirrell was not on either side of the corridor.
Where was Quirrell? She shivered. Was he even here?
"Well! Sweets always help a headache. Let's go and grab some stuff. I probably should too before I leave—free food and all." Cyrna gave a small laugh as she herded them closer to the Great Hall where Dumbledore was certain to be.
The doors to the Great Hall were opened, as per usual lunch hours. Most of the students had left for the holidays already—either by themselves via portkey or having left on the Hogwarts train. The staff, however, were almost all present, watching over the remaining students. Snape, unsurprisingly, was not at his seat. He had never been one for lengthened stays at the head table during meals.
When they neared the entrance, she felt Harry relax.
"I feel—"
Cyrna hushed Harry, not knowing if Quirrell was still around them. "I don't know if there are candies and chocolates, but fruits are just as good," she said as she chose a seat in the Gryffindor table as close to the head table as possible. She plucked several grapes from the fruit bowl and handed it to Harry. "Sit down and eat it."
Harry blinked owlishly at his friend's sudden fuss. It was a bit out of character for her—something Hermione was likely to do instead. Still, he couldn't say that it was unwelcomed. He smiled to himself as he ate the fruit. Ron. Hermione. The Gryffindors. Cyrna. He dreaded when he'd have to leave Hogwarts for summer.
"The headache is gone?" Cyrna asked after his third grape.
Harry nodded. "It doesn't last very long. Haven't had it for a while."
"Since?"
Harry noticed that Cyrna seemed strangely serious about this. "This is just my third time. The last time was after that Quidditch match where my broomstick went bonkers."
Cyrna sat down on the table across from Harry, ignoring the stares she was getting from the other students in the Great Hall. That would make sense. The first time was the Welcoming feast—Voldemort would feel strongly if he saw the boy-who-lived for the first time in a decade. The second would be anger when he failed to kill him. But the third…
Her eyes drifted to his scar then to Dumbledore, and to her surprise, she saw that he, along with some of the other staff members, were staring straight at them. Quickly, she looked back at Harry and Ron, missing the pensive hum from Dumbledore as he ran his fingers through his long white beard. The Christmas bells decorating his beard tinkled merrily.
Why would Voldemort be feeling something particularly strongly at that moment? Was it a negative or positive emotion that he had experienced?
"Am I missing something?" Ron asked after he finished a cupcake.
Harry shrugged though he was now more than aware of the attention his friend had drawn by sitting with them so publicly. Was it that weird that a Slytherin was sitting with them?
"Cyrna?" he asked.
"It's nothing," she said as she turned back to them, and for the first time Harry had seen her, she actually looked faintly troubled before she caught his stare and her expression cleared. "But anyways, on the topic of, you know, Professor Snape, I don't know if this is of any interest to you, but on the night of Halloween, I was actually in the Potions classroom reading a book—"
"Of course you were," Ron groaned.
Cyrna shot Ron a mild look as Harry snorted in laughter. "Anyways, I sat there, and I would say that an hour or so after the feast had ended, Snape came bursting in through the doors. He seemed a bit less collected than usual, and when he saw me, he snapped at me and told me to grab the Wound-cleaning potions and bandages for him. I listened, of course. When I brought the stuff back, he sent me to get water. I got that and when I was back, he had torn off the leg of his pants. I saw—"
Harry watched as she shivered. "Well," Cyrna continued, "his leg was mangled. Looked like something had bit him then had given his leg a good shake before its jaws were ripped from his leg."
Ron froze, cupcake half into his mouth. He lowered down the snack looking slightly sick at that image. He looked at Harry and said grimly, "I think you're right."
"Fluffy."
Ron nodded.
When Ron and Harry looked at her, Cyrna immediately held up her hand. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know."
Harry frowned. "Why?" He would want to know if he was her.
"I feel like this has to do with why you asked me to follow Professor Snape. If it is, then it's all the better you don't tell me why, so I won't have to lie to him if I were to get caught."
Ron nodded in agreement. "You, know," he said suddenly, "I'd like to play a game of wizard chess with you sometime, Cyrna. I think you'd be good at it."
Cyrna blinked in surprise. "I'm actually quite bad at it," she said with a small laugh, wondering what had brought this on. "But I'll play you after the holidays."
o - o - o - o - o
Cyrna stood in front of the estate, her hand letting go of the necklace-turned portkey. Prince let out a pleased purr before he rushed to the doors.
"I'm back," she called out tentatively after cracking open the doors.
Cyrna took a step into the house, and a second later, a shrill shriek could be heard echoing in the mansion. Cyrna panted, catching her breath as she stared at the stack of heavy tomes—if the loud thud held any meaning—that now sat neatly on the floor right where her foot had been.
"Oh? Is someone back?"
Cyrna glared darkly at Nicolas whose lips were pursed so tightly that she just knew the old alchemist was trying to keep from smirking. He definitely had been the one to set up that little spell. When she failed to respond verbally, Nicolas came closer and settled his weathered hand on her hair, ruffling it like he had done before she had left for Hogwarts.
"Your strays are back!" Nicolas yelled then gave a quiet grumble. "You're an hour late," he said just as Cyrna heard Perenelle's voice from the kitchens saying, "They're back!? Oh! One moment! One moment—almost ready!"
There was a harsh clank before Perenelle came scurrying out with an enormous chocolate cake hovering behind her. Her mouth immediately watered at the sight.
"How have you been, my dear? School hasn't been to terrible has it? Children can be terribly mean—I know, but—"
Her lips pulled up into a faint smile as the woman continued to ramble as Nicolas herded them towards the dining room.
"Dear Merlin, Perenelle," Nicolas said once they had all been seated with a generous slab of cake in front of them. "You've asked her all that three days ago. Let the poor child speak about more important things."
Cyrna who had a fork of cake in her mouth paused, her eyes wide when both adults suddenly turned to stare at her attentively.
"Uhm" she started eloquently.
"How about we start with the tiny rumour about you being a rather mediocre student? Hm?" Nicolas asked before she could get any other word in. "Because I certainly have never produced any mediocre students under my tutelage."
"You must be a terribly good teacher then," Cyrna flattered with a bright smile. She stared hopefully at him, but an arch of his brow in answer had her sulking down her seat slightly.
"Now, now, Nicolas," Perenelle said lightly with a soft laugh. "We all know the benefits Cyrna has in laying low."
Nicolas thought for a moment before he gave a low thoughtful hum. "That is true, my dear," he said to Perenelle. His eyes shifted to Cyrna for a brief moment before he turned his attention back to his wife, and suddenly, Cyrna felt rather uneasy.
"Cyrna did do very well in her theory and in Potions, I hear. It seems to be in the practicals—your sessions I believe?—that she was struggling in," he said innocently.
Cyrna almost choked on her cake when Perenelle's smile wavered.
"Well, Cyrna, dear. If you believe that mediocrity is the best approach, I will not say otherwise." Her smile strained as she continued, "But perhaps more duelling lessons are needed before you return back?"
Cyrna glared accusingly at Nicolas who looked away and, very leisurely, took his time to savor a bite of the cake. "Amazing cake, my dear," he said to Perenelle, "this holiday is going to be terrific."
Liar.
Cyrna walked out of the duelling room the next day with an aching back, an aching arm from where a spell had caught her, an aching—oh she wasn't even going to continue. She felt twice her mental age. No, maybe thrice.
"Try with a larger quantity," Perenelle had said after Cyrna had told her that she had chosen to rebind most of her magic. At her instruction, Cyrna tentatively did so, and the familiar rush of warmth was almost euphoric as more power welled around her. This time, however, the magic felt still—it was calm unlike before where her magic had seemed almost turbulent; like a barely restrained beast when she had called on it. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
"It's easier," Cyrna murmured as she tried the basic charms she had learned from Flitwick's class.
"Because your control over magic improved when you forced yourself to use less magic to accomplish the same spells. You were wasting energy on restraining your magic as well as casting it," Perenelle said. "Now that you've added raw power to that control, you should barely feel the drain that comes from using those spells."
Cyrna made a noise of assent as the lock clicked open before she even completed the wandwork. She glanced at Perenelle who smiled and nodded.
"The wandwork is usually taught just to help the wizard focus on the spell," Perenelle said then gave a small flick with her wand.
A harsh crack ripped through the room as an entire part of the wall collapsed to form a hole leading to the library. Slowly, Cyrna turned back to look at Perenelle, and she swallowed dryly.
"Now, watch," Perenelle continued, not seeming to notice the stiffened posture of her student. "With the same wand motion, I can do something completely different."
With the same small flick of her wand, the pieces of wood burst into flames and turned to ashes. Another flick and the wall was back to normal.
Bombarda maxima, Incendio, and Reparo.
Cyrna fought the shiver that rose. The air was like static; as if she had stood under a thunderstorm as lighting rained from the sky. It was unreal what she had just seen. All three spells had been cast in succession, not even seconds between each spell.
She looked at Perenelle who had a kind smile on her face.
"So? What did you learn from that, my dear?"
That you're fucking terrifying. Cyrna cleared her throat. "That the wandwork and the verbal part of the spell are just accessories," she squeaked out. Hearing her voice, she gave herself a firm mental shake. "And—well—this time I could actually feel the lingering effects of your magic, so maybe you used more magic this time?" At Perenelle's nod, Cyrna continued. "So I know that more magic can increase the power of your spell, but I guess it can also speed up the execution of the spell?"
"Close," Perenelle said. "But a large part of both power and execution comes from control. Control increases the efficiency of the spell, allowing your raw magic to focus on enhancing the power of the spell instead of using it in the actual casting process. However, in execution, control plays an even larger part. It sets the limit."
"The limit depends on how fast you can form your intent," Cyrna said, catching on to Perenelle's train of thought.
"Your focused intent," Perenelle corrected. "Vague intent does nothing and will only leave for a weak result. Then, once the limit is set, you can choose to use any excess magic to push the speed of execution, the power, or both."
"Intent is key, while power, in the long run, is secondary," Cyrna murmured, recalling Professor Flitwick's lecture.
Perenelle hummed in agreement. "That is why I've always been able to best Nicolas in duels."
"Nicolas doesn't seem to enjoy duelling," Cyrna replied in agreement; she could see it happening.
"He was never suited for duelling, even in Beauxbatons he was only average in the class," Perenelle said. "But has he ever told you that he has far more magic than me? If it were based on raw strength, I would have been severely outclassed."
"He—" Cyrna could barely finish the sentence. Her eyes were wide with disbelief at Perenelle's words. Nicolas was the grumpy old man who teased her and enjoyed his tea and scones. He was a brilliant innovator; a true genius who enjoyed working on alchemy formulas by himself in his cluttered lab. He did not duel. To think that he had more magic than Perenelle was just…
A gentle smile graced Perenelle's expression. "The brilliance of his mind lies in comprehending abstract theories that I could not even begin to understand. He can create what men have thought to be only just a dream, but for all his strengths, he is terrible at visualization—if you were to tell him to cast alohamora non-verbally without the wandwork, he would struggle. He could tell you all about the intricacies of constructing a lock, all the intricacies of warding that come with some of the more advanced locks; he could devise a solution almost immediately, but for all that he can do, he can't see—can't visualize the turning of the gears, the clicking of the lock as it opens. Everything exists in some sort of formula; in some sort of symbol in his mind."
"And because of that, his control is not the best?" Cyrna said. "The excess magic he has is spent on compromising for his lack of control."
Perenelle's smile widened as she patted the child on her head. "Exactly. How like Nicolas to have a clever student," she said with a fond coo. She loved seeing the embarrassed flush rise on the tips of the child's ears; loved it when the child pouted slightly without noticing. She was sure Nicolas liked it just as much as she did, if the habit he had for ruffling Cyrna's black hair everyday was any indication.
"If you had control over your current amount of magic, would you keep it out?" Perenelle asked after a moment.
"I guess?" Cyrna said, awkwardly smoothing her hair. "All the professors sort of already know that I have a lot of magic from the sorting."
"Great!" Perenelle clapped her hands.
Cyrna stared at the smile on Perenelle's face. Ah. Here we go again.
o - o - o - o - o
The gold cauldron now held a sluggish translucent mixture. Cyrna gave it one last stir before looking up to Nicolas. "I think it's ready," she called.
The alchemist's grunt told her that he had heard her. Cyrna put out the fire below the cauldron and watched as the mixture slowly solidified as it cooled—probably due to the reaction between the beeswax and the tail feathers of the hippogriff. The other ingredients were a bit off-putting—ingredients found in amortentia in addition to the dried saliva of a horned toad, and lastly, three drops of the elixir of life. She wondered what she had made, having simply followed the instructions Nicolas had given to her.
"Cut out three blocks of the potion and bring it over here," Nicolas said after a quarter of the hour had passed.
Cyrna hurried over, the chunks of the now solidified mass floating beside her. Levitating it to Nicolas, she climbed on top of a stool and pulled herself up to peer around the knickknacks that cluttered the surface of Nicolas' station. Seeing her, the alchemist lifted a brow before returning to his work. In front of Nicolas were three vials: one a warm orange, one a royal blue, and one a soft silver that instantly captured her attention. There was just something compelling about it as it gleamed and glittered under the shifting light of the evening sun. She watched silently for a moment longer before her arms which had been propping her up on the table began to ache.
"What are you making?" she asked as the alchemist took out three small golden cauldrons.
"We."
"We?"
He clicked his tongue and Cyrna saw the beginnings of a scowl on his face. Immediately, she cut off the rest of her question and quieted down. Nicolas took a chunk of the solidified potion she had brewed, and after kneading it like dough, gave a faint hum of approval without looking up from his work. Cyrna burrowed deeper behind her arms to hide the wide smile that had sprung onto her face. Nicolas was such a hard taskmaster that any bit of his approval on her work felt terribly good for her ego.
Nicolas poured a vial into each cauldron, then, he placed in the translucent blocks. "Incendio," he chanted, and a small fire sprung up from beneath the cauldrons. It was not hot enough for the colourful liquids to vaporize, but she could clearly see a sheen on the blocks as they melted. Small beads of the translucent potion rolled across its surface, falling to mix with the liquid the had been in the vial. Nicolas stirred twice with a copper stirring rod, muttering a spell as he did so.
Hopping off the stool, she picked it up to move it to where Nicolas was standing over the cauldrons. She set it down beside the alchemist, ignoring his glance, and clambered on top of it. Peering into the cauldrons, she saw that the colours had woven beautifully with the potion she had brewed, forming a sort of clear wax-like substance that contained shimmering wisps of colours inside it.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"It's really pretty," she murmured in a soft voice. She watched as a strand floated around, intertwining with other strands, before winking out and reappearing elsewhere. "What is it for?"
Nicolas grumbled as he eyed the child, "Never mind that. Why don't you scamper off to the library or something?" When she stared at him with scrunched brows in response, he made a shooing motion. "Oh," he said just before she was out the door, "and could you call Perenelle for me?"
Cyrna left the room feeling a bit confused since Nicolas, though he tried to deny it, was often quite eager to discuss his potion experiments. He liked talking about his interest, and she often found those conversations incredibly rewarding. The more knowledge the better, after all.
When she had finally found Perenelle, the woman had told her that her dinner was in the dining hall already and that she was free to eat whenever she desired. Then, before Cyrna could utter another word, Perenelle left with an excited hum towards the potions room. Prince, who had been in the hall, leapt up to her shoulders and rumbled quietly behind her ear, his tail swishing back and forth. She reached up to give him an absentminded pat, and with a slight frown headed to the library.