Chapter Five
Coloring

The building was, improbably, exactly what Harry expected it to look like. It could have been an old school building, with two impressive wings, a central bell tower, and long, sweeping drive.

Vernon was still pretending to be a supportive uncle, so he'd helped her pack up a bunch of her new clothes and shoes. He parked along the drive, and tried to walk her up with a hand on her shoulder, but she moved away. She couldn't bear the thought of him acting like that - familiar, fatherly. The sun had begun to set, while they drove, illuminating the world in shades of orange and yellow.

Fitzsimmons was there, waiting at the doors, smiling slightly. Harry sneered at him. Self-righteous prick.

Vernon shook his hand, and then they were inside - a tall, broad-shouldered man met them behind a desk.

He asked for her information, and Vernon supplied him with a number of facts about her - her height, her weight, her age, a completely fabricated medical history. Everything. She wondered just how long he'd been planning this - it had to have been a long time. The room was relatively simple, and so was the cupboard, but this medical history, and those photographs that had been on the mantle - those would have taken time and money.

"Alright, Miss Potter, you should say goodbye to your uncle. I don't doubt that he will be back to visit soon, so don't worry," Fitzsimmons said.

Harry glanced at Vernon. He clearly was going for a hug, but she stopped him, before he could get close.

"I'm going to make you regret this," she whispered, darkly. "Not today, and not tomorrow, but one day - they can't keep me here forever. The freaks will be back for me, eventually. Even if it takes me years."

She turned around, and stepped over to Fitzsimmons, an expectant look on her face. He nodded over her head, presumably to Uncle Vernon, and led her through the door at the end of the room.

He first took her to a small, featureless room, where a woman with dark skin and thick black hair waited.

"Hello," she said. "Miss Potter, my name is Pareesa Ghaderi. I'm one of the nurses here, and I'll be doing your intake. Thank you, Dr. Fitzsimmons."

"Of course," he said, smiling and stepping out.

"Now - Miss Potter - can I call you Harriet?"

Harry was grateful that she'd actually asked, so she rewarded the woman with a smile. "I prefer Harry, actually."

"Of course, Harry. If you'd like to call me Pareesa, that would be fine. Now, I want this to be as comfortable for you as possible, so first let me tell you what we're going to do: I need to check you and your belongings for contraband. We'll look through your bag together, and then I'll need you to strip for me."

Harry felt her face go red. This woman was perfectly nice, but this was a horrible reminder that this place, even if it was full of perfectly nice people, was still a prison. She was still here, against her will, not allowed to leave.

She nodded, shakily, and placed her bag on the table, unzipping it and letting the contents spill out. She'd brought very little - mostly just extra sets of clothes, and a few toiletries. As she looked over it, she cursed herself again for not seeing this coming. Aunt Petunia had been suspiciously willing to let her get whatever kinds of clothes she wanted, so she mostly had shorts, or trousers, and even a few thin hoodies.

"You don't have anything else in here?" the nurse asked.

"No." Harry shrugged. She considered it, and realized that it would probably be more suspicious to not have anything. She pulled the Diary from her pocket, and placed it on the table. "That's the only thing I have. It's, uh, my diary."

"Alright, alright," Pareesa said. "That's the only personal effect you have?"

"I have a pen?" Harry offered.

The woman laughed. "Unfortunately, you can't keep that. I'll trade you, though, for a felt-tip pen." Harry offered it, and she handed hers over. "The other thing is - I can't let you keep any ligatures." Here, she took Harry's shoelaces, the drawstrings on her sweatshirts, the drawstrings on her pajama pants. "Or these," she took Harry's toothbrush, floss, toothpaste, deodorant, and her shampoo.

There wasn't really anything to do, except meekly hand it all over.

"Now, I'm going to have to ask you to strip."

Harry nodded, shakily.

Five minutes later, she was following Pareesa along a white corridor, and up a set of stairs, face still burning with shame. Walking was hard, because she no longer had shoelaces.

The ward was laid out over the second floor of the building - a central communal area, with two wings branching off it, leading to individual rooms. The central room was, filled with tables, chairs, and a collection of couches, all done up in aggressively bland beige, reminding Harry strongly of a Muggle doctor's office. There was even a glassed-off window, at the end of the room, with a shutter that was currently closed. On one wall, there was a phone, but it was currently in use - a thin, blue-eyed girl with no hair was talking, quietly, glaring at them with clear suspicion.

Harry's room was far-away, down the corridor. Inside, there was a bed with thin-looking sheets, a chest of drawers, and a lot more beige. Her own bathroom, though, with a press-and-hold shower, a toilet with no lid, and an awful plastic mirror.

The whole ward was suffused with chilly, stagnant air, lacking in warmth.

"This is your room," Pareesa said. "Since it's pretty late, it might be best for you to stay here tonight. Breakfast is at eight, tomorrow morning."

Harry nodded. The nurse finally left her alone. Harry tossed her bag aside, and kicked off her half-useless shoes, and crawled into the bed. From her pocket, she withdrew the Diary.

Hey, she wrote, in the felt-tipped pen. They won't let me have regular pens in here. Too pointy, I guess. I hope this is ok. The bed was lumpy, and hard, and the sheets felt starchy, like they were made half of paper. Harry wriggled like a snake, trying to get comfortable.

Hello, Harriet. It's fine. If I was corporeal, I would be happy to break you out of here and take you to burn down your relatives' house in a blaze of blood and Fiendfyre. Cecilia's writing was jagged, and cramped.

Thanks, Harry wrote, feeling her eyes fill with tears. She was grateful that they had waited until she was alone. I'm really scared.

I don't blame you. I am grateful that we are still allowed to speak like this, at least. If there is any kind of magic that would help you to learn, please let me know.

I can't show anyone anything. They made me look crazy. I can't prove that I'm not, because that would require revealing magic to Muggles. Magic won't help me here.

There has to be a way. Cecilia's writing got even more frantic. I won't let them do this to you, Harriet.

Harry smiled a watery smile. Thanks, but I don't think you can. Vernon replaced all my stuff, cleaned out the cupboard, and changed all the photos in the living room. He planned it well.

I don't care. You are not crazy, and I refuse to let them claim that you are.

I know I'm not. I have you, after all.

Yes, you do. I will not abandon you. Seeing those words in Cecilia's careful, uniform penmanship put some of the tightness in Harry's chest at ease. I think that there is frustratingly little I can teach you in a place like this, however.

It's alright, Harry reassured her. Just talking is enough.

At seven fifteen, an alarm rang, jolting Harry out of bed. She slowly picked herself up, ran her fingers through her hair, and shrugged on some clothes. It only took her a few minutes to get ready, so she sat on the edge of her bed, and penned a quick message to Cecilia.

It's morning. Breakfast is in 20 minutes.

Good morning, Harriet. I've come up with an idea. There's a branch of magic - two paired disciplines, technically, called Occlumency and Legilimency, that most people consider Mind Magic. Legilimency is the art of experiencing other people's thoughts and memories by looking through their eyes. Occlumency is the art of preventing another from doing so. I can teach you the focusing exercise for Occlumency, but we might have to get creative in actually practicing it. Legilimency, on the other hand, is easy to practice, but most conventional wisdom has you learning that discipline second.

So, Harry wrote. How will that work?

I have two ideas. Both of them will involve blood magic. Is that going to be a problem?

How illegal is it?

Blood magic is legal in some parts of the world, but nearly everywhere else, it is classed as a Dark Art. In Britain, both rituals would carry a ten-year sentence in Azkaban. This is very stupid, as some blood magic is legal to use in healing, and in fact, some are legal to use by Healers in St. Mungo's.

Harry felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Then that's a really bad idea, right?

Well, it's very unlikely we'll be caught. The Ministry cannot possibly monitor all magic performed in Britain - the way they do it, there are detection wards near those animals who call themselves your relatives' home. They are unlikely to have informed the Ministry of your change of address. Thus, the odds of them detecting it are rather slim.

I dunno. I don't want to go to Azkaban.

I understand. I don't want to pressure you into anything you don't want to do. The first ritual will imprint you with Cecilia's natural talent for Legilimency. It would come naturally to you, and I could help you focus it. The alternative would be us to create a sympathetic blood bond, a very small bit of blood magic, that allows me to attack your mind. I prefer the first method, because it leaves your mind free of my continued influence.

Either way, I have to trust you.

Yes. It's not ideal. I realize I'm asking quite a bit, and I would have much preferred to have a number of precautions in place to prevent detection from the magic. I would also have preferred to have you read up on these disciplines on your own, beforehand, so you're not

trusting me so completely.

Cecilia continued, More ways of verification, you see. Part of the problem now is that if I were attempting to control or possess you, either of these rituals would allow me to do so - your only source of information on these rituals is my own word.

It's alright, Cecilia, Harry wrote. I do trust you. What do I need?

Keep an eye out for anything that can symbolically linked to vision, or knowledge. A book, or a magnifying glass. We need at least three ingredients - your glasses can be a powerful one, if you're willing to part with them.

My glasses?

Yes. The point of this kind of magic is that it's sacrificial. Using things that you find or collect for the ritual can be effective, but things that you use every day or are otherwise precious to you are also important.

Alright, Harry wrote. But I've got to go. I'll bring the diary with me, but I don't know how much I'll be able to write in it.

Go on.

Harry stepped out into the hallway, sliding her door shut behind her. She padded down the hall, walking carefully due to the lack of shoelaces. In the common area, there were a bunch of girls scattered around eating breakfast, with a few girls lined up in front of the shutter, which was now open. A grumpy-looking woman with red hair scooped mushy porridge into bowls. Harry joined the queue.

The woman glared at Harry, but gave her some of the slop, and a plastic spoon. Harry took it, and sat at one of the tables, as far away from everyone else as she could.

The slop was like pretty much everything else in this place - bland and cold. Harry finished hers in record time, and sat, quietly, unwilling to meet anyone else's eyes. She didn't belong here, unlike the rest of them; she was perfectly sane, thank you very much.

She was half-tempted to pull out the diary, to speak to Cecilia a bit more, but it was the first day, so she wanted to be alert.

She sat there, with nothing to do, until the red-haired woman came and took away all the food. Harry was done, but a thin girl with long, beautiful blonde hair wasn't, and she meekly accepted the woman taking hers away.

The girls in this ward were all older teenagers - Harry was one of the youngest. She was short for her age, too, so she looked younger than she was.

The red-haired woman got up, then, and made them rearrange a bunch of folding chairs in a circle. Pareesa was there, too, and she shot Harry a quick smile, but she focused on making sure everyone got in the circle without an incident. Harry privately wondered how likely that was.

"Now, since we've got a new girl," a bunch of eyes flicked to Harry, and she felt her face go hot, "you're going to go all around, and introduce yourselves," she said. "And then tell us your favorite animal."

There were too many names and animals to keep track of - Harry tried, but twelve at once was too much. The girl with no hair was named Trixie, and she liked wolves, and dressed as much like a chav as she could without any 'ligatures,' as Pareesa had put it. The girl next to Harry, with cheekbones who could make a pureblood jealous, called herself Flicker, and liked bunnies.

When it was Harry's turn, she said, "Uh, my name's Harry. And I like owls." She missed Hedwig already. Ron would look after her - and the fact that Harry wouldn't mind him borrowing her to send mail wouldn't hurt.

The next girl looked older, and thinner, with dark skin and a lyrical, lilting accent that Harry didn't recognize.

"Name's Gin," she said. "I like elephants."

Pareesa's favorite animal was a cat, and the red-haired woman was named Nancy. She liked dogs, apparently. Once they were done introducing each other, Nancy smiled, and clapped her hands.

"So, does anyone have anything to share?" she asked. "Any concerns they'd like to mention?"

One of the girls raised her hand. Harry hadn't caught her name. "Trixie's trying to steal my boyfriend!"

"Am not!" Trixie protested. "I don't want whatever dickhead that'd go out with you, skank!"

"Settle down," Nancy said, but Pareesa stepped over to the girl who'd first spoken.

"Janey, please," she soothed. She bent down and whispered something into Janey's ear, but that didn't work - the girl leapt up, and threw herself across the circle.

Nancy went over to the office, while Pareesa tried to intervene. Trixie ducked and ran, and Janey chased her with a chair - they ran around the table, once, until Janey threw the chair and an orderly came back, with Nancy. He was a burly man, with broad shoulders, looking a bit like Dudley might, in a few years, if he got in shape. He grabbed Janey, and they took her out into the hall.

Harry was horrified. Was that - was that what everything was like, here?

Pareesa smiled, again, and asked if anyone had anything to say. Trixie just shot her a dirty look, and stormed off.

Gin stood up, and asked, "How come we never get any decent food around here? I think we'd all be better off with some good food."

"That's more easily said, than done," Pareesa explained. "But we can certainly talk to the staff and see if we can get some more variety on the menu."

Harry sat, and leaned back in the chair. The patients complained mostly about conditions - the food, the activities, the lack of a television, but Pareesa, as nice as she was, didn't have anything concrete to offer in return.

Eventually, there were no more complaints, and Nancy had returned.

"We're going to spend the morning nice and simple, with some coloring, and then after lunch, Mrs. Carr is going to come in, and play some cello for us. After that, we'll have a lesson about grammar. How does that sound?" she asked. This was apparently a rhetorical question, because she plowed ahead. "First, line up for your medication. Then you can color."

Harry dutifully got up, and lined up with the rest of them in front of the shutter. This time, Nancy was handing out small plastic cups filled with pills. Some people were allowed to refuse, but Harry overheard that only the voluntary patients were allowed to refuse.

She'd been sectioned, so there was nothing else for it. She downed the pills that came in her plastic cup without looking at them.

Pareesa was passing out a bunch of art supplies.

Harry got a book about sea creatures, and a set of crayons. She plopped down on one of the couches, out of the way. When she opened her book up, a body slipped into the seat next to her. She turned, and found herself face-to-face with another girl. Harry had met entirely too many people this morning, so she had no idea who this girl was. She had a plain-looking face, with brown hair, and dark eyes. The most distinguishing feature she had was her cute, small nose.

"I want the sea creatures," she demanded.

Harry narrowed her eyes. "What are you offering?"

"Solar system," the girl said.

Harry eyed it. It wasn't as good as sea creatures, but there was something to be said for strategic trades.

"Alright." The girl practically ripped the book from her hands, and scampered off. Harry shrugged, and opened the page to Jupiter. Harry opened her crayons, and took out yellow, brown, and orange. It would have been easier if she had more colors, she mused.

Harry would never had admitted it in a million years, but it was more soothing than she'd expected. It was… nice, in a soothing sort of way. Here, now, there was something simple to do. No Voldemort plotting to kill her, no Snape hating her for no reason, no Malfoy trying to corner her in the corridors, no Hermione nosing her way into every detail of Harry's life - and, perhaps most importantly, no Dursleys accusing her of making it all up.

The lower part of Jupiter was looking too orange to be entirely accurate, so she shrugged and made the top half green instead. The spot she colored purple.

"That's not what Jupiter looks like," someone remarked over her shoulder. Harry whipped around.

It was Gin, with an easy grin. Harry relaxed. It was a little thing, but she felt comfortable around her, partly because where she was bronze-brown, Gin was mahogany. She probably had been called some less-than-nice things because of her skin color, too.

"Everyone's a critic," she sniffed. "Besides, if they wanted me to use the right colors, they would have given me more than a pitiful 16."

"Good point," Gin said, sagely. "Scientific accuracy is for nerds, anyway."

"Too true. What are you coloring, then?" Harry asked. For a moment, Gin didn't say anything, just glanced blankly back, and Harry wondered if she'd committed some faux pas, but then she leaned back, and showed a brown pig.

"I didn't have pink," she explained. "Besides, everyone thinks pigs are pink, but some pigs are totally brown. It's not cool at all, mate."

"That's a good point," Harry agreed, and bent over her picture again, feeling inordinately cheered. "Sometimes pigs are brown."

Gin was content to let silence lie. Harry finished her drawing of Jupiter, and found herself unmotivated to keep going.

"Er, do we have to color the whole morning?" she asked.

"Nah, they just want you to sit quietly for a while. If you don't make lots of noise or wander too far, they won't make a deal out of it," Gin said. She'd moved onto a cow, which she was also coloring brown. Harry could see a pattern, there.

"Cheers," Harry said, offering her own brown crayon.

"All right," Gin agreed, pocketing it and shooting Harry a grin. Her teeth were slightly yellowed, Harry noted.

Harry took out the diary, and her felt pen.

This morning's activity is coloring, she wrote.

How droll.

I think I might try and do some magic, later, Harry explained, because if the Ministry don't notice, then you're probably right.

Good thinking. How are you holding up?

This morning's been alright. I think I'm mostly going to be bored. As long as I'm quiet, the nurses seem content to leave me alone. Might be a bigger problem if I actually needed help, but for me, it works. I think I've made a friend, at least?

You're like a weed.

Harry gasped. Hey!

You are hardy and capable of thriving in even the most inhospitable of conditions. I mean it in a good way, my little pest.

You're teasing me.

I am. More seriously, that's very good news. Remember, if you can find a textbook or reference book of some type, that would be ideal.

Right, right. We've bonded over coloring books.

That sounds exhausting, honestly. I am very glad the orphanage never forced me to endure such indignities.

Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I think it might be a good thing that they sent me here, Harry wrote. One awful summer, but it means that no one can send me back.

Don't count your chickens before they hatch. You've only been in there for twelve hours, by my count.

Harry rolled her eyes.

"You're an enthusiastic journaller," Gin remarked. "Journalist? Whatever." Harry narrowed her eyes in suspicion. The other girl put her hands up in surrender. "Hey, I don't mean anything by it. I'm not here to judge or pry, or any of that shit. I was just going to say that it's good that you can amuse yourself pretty well. There's not really a lot to do around here. It gets pretty dull."

Harry forced herself to relax, a bit. Years of knowing Hermione put her on edge, when it came to questions like that.

"I, uh, like journalling. Journalizing?" she said. "It's relaxing. Speaking of boredom, are there any books around here? Like, non-fiction, I mean."

"I think so? They've got a little library that you can use, you just have to ask. Can't say I ever wanted learning books, though."

Harry nodded, and turned back to the diary.

What else will we need, other than a book?

A ritual like this will need three things - one of the few useful things you learn in Arithmancy is that three is a powerful magical number. It is best to use things that are symbolic of what we're trying to achieve.

So, the textbook is there to symbolize learning?

Yes. It is always better to use magical ingredients, but we will make do with what you have. I was planning to have you contribute some blood, while I contribute the ink absorbed into my diary, as another ingredient, to symbolize the sympathetic nature of the bond. You might also be able to guess that there is symbolism to your eyeglasses, as well. It's heavy-handed, but we must make do.

Right, vision. My blood? Harry wrote.

Yes. I would prefer to use other blood - from a butcher, or something of the sort. If you are worried, please do not be. I intended to contribute the majority of the liquid we will use to draw the ritual circle. It is a sacrifice, but one I would gladly make for you.

Oh, Harry wrote, ears burning red. Thanks. So, you said three, right?

Yes. I wonder if you could ask one of the staff for a magnifying glass. That should have the proper significance.

Will plastic work? I doubt they'll give me anything with glass. Too easy to use as a weapon.

I don't see why it shouldn't. In a pinch, we can use your glasses, but those might be difficult to replace. Still…

Harry considered that. Still?

Blood magic is by its very nature, sacrificial. Since we are attempting to transfer some of my talent to you, there is quite a bit of variety in how effective this ritual can be. It could transfer a small amount of talent, and still be called successful.

However, Harriet, I do not mean to boast when I say that Cecilia had no small talent in Legilimency. I think even Dumbledore will admit that she was one of the most brilliant students that Hogwarts has ever seen. If we are very successful, you might become as talented at the Mind Arts as Cecilia was, or you might even inherit some other aspects of her brilliance.

Thus, using a powerful ingredient like the glasses that you've worn every day for years might lend the ritual a significant amount of power. I already intend to use ink - a substance that, for me, is equivalent to my lifeblood, freely given. That is a powerful ingredient, particularly in a ritual that does not directly benefit me. Cecilia enchanted me with the ability to do this for a reason, after all.

Don't take this the wrong way, Harry wrote. But why would Cecilia - the original one - make you? I suppose if she was feeling generous, the diary makes sense. But the ability to transfer talents through blood magic? That seems above and beyond, particularly for a Slytherin.

Again, you prove yourself to be uncommonly perceptive, Harriet. As you have correctly surmised, this diary is not simply a teaching tool. Cecilia was terribly lonely when she was in school. I think, more than anything, she wanted a rival. An equal. She saw wizardkind, and she did not consider them worthy. In creating this diary, she saw the means to create such a person where she could not find them.

Cecilia's writing grew bolder, more confident. I saw much of her, in you. That is why I am offering this. You have potential to be great, Harriet Potter. I will see that potential fulfilled. And perhaps, when you have grown truly strong, you and I will seek out my original, and we will see what she has made of herself, and I will be be able to rest easily, with the knowledge that I have fulfilled my purpose.

Harry couldn't help the goosebumps that slithered up her arms. Yes, she wrote. Let's get out of here first, though.

Let's. Find us a book, Harriet, and we'll do it tonight.

an: If anything seems inaccurate to lived experiences, it's probably my mistake. I did, however, do a lot of research and did attempt to keep the portrayal as time-accurate as possible. Gin is a scouser, if anyone is wondering - she's from Liverpool, the accent is very distinctive. And, of course, Cecilia offers some insight into her thought process. Harry believes her - as far as she knows, Cecilia hasn't lied to her yet.

I'm curious to know what the rest of you think.