Chapter 5-What's In a Name?
Their next class was Defense Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindor. Sadie and Emma told Harry and the gang about Potions class. They had already has that class so they knew all about it. Their conversation ended as the teacher walked in.
She was as tall and erect as one of the marble pillars in the Entrance Hall. She had long, silver hair that fell past her waist in shimmering waves and clear, sea-blue eyes set in a white, exquisite face that seemed to have no age. Her expression was pleasant, but Sadie detected an air of melancholy about her that was as distinct as the strange pearl green patterns sewn into her long snow-white robes. She moved swiftly across the room and sat down at the large mahogany desk and waited for a moment as a few late-comers slid into their seats.
"Good morning, class," she said in a voice that was at once very thin and very strong. "I am Professor Winsbree. Today we will begin the study of trolls. Please open your textbooks to page one thousand two hundred twenty- three."
They learned the habits of trolls for the rest of the period. Although trolls are known for their lack of grace and refinement, they were almost made to seem so through Professor Winsbree's gifted teaching. She showed them their devotedness to their offspring, their stalwartness and strength. When they had a few minutes left, she handed out a worksheet and instructed them to do it for homework. Then she went to her desk and let them enjoy some free time. Sadie watched out of the corner of her eye as Winsbree picked up the attendance and looked it over.
Professor Winsbree paused as she read a name towards the bottom. Had she read right? She pulled a pair of dainty bifocals out of her desk. There it was. /Sadie Riddle./ Could she be-? Winsbree looked up.
"Sadie?"
Sadie faltered. "Yes ma'am?"
"Could you see me for just a moment after class?"
Sadie furrowed her brow. "Okay."
At the end of class, Sadie packed up her things and put them on her desk.
"I'll wait for you outside," assured Emma, the good friend that she was.
Sadie approached the desk timidly. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, I was wondering, is that your real last name? Riddle?"
"Yes..."
"Would you happen to be related to a Thomas M. Riddle?"
"If I am I don't know it. I'm-I'm an orphan. My parents died when I was a baby."
Winsbree flushed. "Oh, I'm so very sorry."
"No, it's ok, no one really knows, except for Professor Dumbledore."
"I see. If you don't mind my asking, where do you stay during the summer?"
"Oh, well, you see, I'm in the custody of the school now. Before I was in a foster home."
"Ohhh, I understand. Well, I guess you had better go to your next class. Would you like a pass? I expect you'll need one for your friend too."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Here you are. See you later."
Sadie filled Emma in on what happed, except for the parts of being in the custody of the school. She wasn't positive if Emma would understand, considering Emma looked mildly uncomfortable at what little Sadie did tell her.
"I wonder who Thomas M. Riddle /is/," Sadie thought aloud.
"I bet no one /really/ knows," Emma said quickly. "Let's go see what's for dinner."
"Ok." Emma was thankful that Sadie took no mind to the sudden change in subject. Everyone was touchy when it came to You-Know-Who, especially since last year when Cedric was killed. No doubt it would mortify her if she knew that everyone thought she might be related to the most evil wizard of their time.
"So.uh." Sadie asked hesitantly. "What did you think of Professor Winsbree?" "I like her," said Emma, her thoughts very obviously elsewhere.
They reached the Great Hall without any more talk-Emma was lost in her own thoughts, and Sadie was still puzzling about Thomas M. Riddle. Professor Winsbree /must / have made a mistake, she thought. Everyone knows I've got no living relations.
After dinner, they and most of the other students at their table left the Great Hall and progressed to the Ravenclaw Common Room. Sadie and Emma sank into two navy armchairs in a dim corner of the room, neither of them feeling much like mingling with the other House students.
"When do you have to do your evening therapy?" Sadie asked as a means of forcing conversation.
"Sometime," said Emma vaguely. "I normally do it later, after most people have gone to bed."
"Oh," said Sadie, racking her brains for another topic.
"I might do it now, though," Emma continued, sounding as dull as Sadie felt.
"Oh," said Sadie again. "You know, Emma--can I--I mean, would you mind if I." she hesitated.
"If you what?" Emma asked, turning to look at her curiously.
Sadie colored. "I mean--I was just wondering, sorta, how it /feels/ to have Cystic Fibrosis--I mean, I'd hate it if I was sick all the time--"
Emma laughed, and didn't sound half as bored as she had before.
"Get this straight," she said mock-sternly. "I'm /not/ sick all the time. I thought I told you that before-in fact, I'm rarely sick at all."
"Oh," said Sadie, trying to pretend to understand completely, but failing miserably.
"Well, OK, put it this way," Emma said, reading the look on Sadie's face. "I may not be as healthy as you, or him over there--," gesturing to a third- year student deep in conversation with a few of his peers- "But I'm certainly healthier than the average person with CF. I mean, seriously-- most of the time you have to go every three months to the hospital and get IVs. I'm /nothing/ like that bad. I just do therapy as kind of a.preventative treatment. For what /could/ happen, not what /is/ happening."
"Oh, OK," said Sadie.
"But as to how it feels," said Emma, enjoying the topic, "What do you mean by that?"
"I dunno," said Sadie, becoming interested. "Just, what do you think when you wake up in the morning and remember, Hey, I have CF?"
"I think, Great, I have to get out of bed and do my nebulizer," said Emma, giggling.
Now it was Sadie's turn to fake sternness. "Really, Miss Walker," she said, giving Emma a look reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "But seriously," she asked after a moment, "What does it feel like?"
"Most of the time it feels.normal," said Emma. "I mean, normal to me. I have no idea how it would feel to /you./ But since I've always had it and always will, it's just a matter of routine. Sometimes, though, it's a bit depressing. This may sound silly, but." she blushed. "I hate being shorter than everyone else," she admitted. "I feel stupid ordering the first and second and third and fourth years around when the majority of them are about a foot taller than I am. And sometimes, if I'm having a particularly bad day, my evening therapy will keep me up to all hours. That's not fun either-most nights I'm no better than when I started and it just makes me cross the next morning. And then I hate the way some people treat me like a porcelain doll, like I'm going to break if dropped because of that whatever-she-has that no one can pronounce." Emma took a deep breath and gave a small smile. "Thanks for letting me tell you that."
"Thanks for /telling/ me that," said Sadie sincerely. "I didn't--I mean, I couldn't--" she reddened and stopped.
"Couldn't tell it was like that?" said Emma. "No one /can/ really. Just like I can't tell what it would be like /without/ it. I consider myself a fairly normal individual, but when I look at all the other /really/ normal individuals out there I can't help but wonder what it feels like to be able to breathe without ever worrying about what you might be breathing in, or out, or feeling obstruction or pain when you breathe. Not that I have a hard time breathing or feel pain a lot-but sometimes I do, and it's just a part of life. Having occasional difficulty or pain when I breathe is as normal as eating three times a day to me, but it'd majorly freak some people out if it happened to them."
"Yeah, I know," said Sadie, thinking back on the numerous foster homes she had been through-they had seemed to be part of her normal life, "as normal as eating three times a day", but now she realized how different it really was from "the other /really/ normal individuals out there".
"Sorry for getting so caught up in it," said Emma apologetically. "It's just that I can't really talk to anyone here about it."
"No, its fine--really," Sadie said feelingly. "I know-I mean, I think-" Sadie sighed. "What I mean is, I think I understand." She stared moodily at the carpet. Then, glancing at her watch, she added, "It's late. You'd better get to the hospital wing."
Emma studied her for a moment. "Yeah."
Emma was gone for about an hour. Sadie waited up for her in the Common Room, reading over the chapter on trolls that Professor Winsbree had assigned them. Reading straight from the textbook was much duller than listening to Professor Winsbree describe their peculiar habits.
When Emma returned, she, too, was carrying /An Advanced Study of Dark Creatures/ under one arm. Thumping her book on the table, she said, "Come on, I'm exhausted."
Sadie followed her up to the dormitory, where they silently climbed into bed and pulled the navy-blue draperies.
"Good night," Emma whispered from inside her cave-like enclosure.
"Good night," Sadie replied with a yawn. Then she compulsively pulled open her curtains. "Emma?"
Emma opened hers also. "Yeah?"
Sadie looked at Emma intently, and then shook her head. "Nothing. Good night."
Their next class was Defense Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindor. Sadie and Emma told Harry and the gang about Potions class. They had already has that class so they knew all about it. Their conversation ended as the teacher walked in.
She was as tall and erect as one of the marble pillars in the Entrance Hall. She had long, silver hair that fell past her waist in shimmering waves and clear, sea-blue eyes set in a white, exquisite face that seemed to have no age. Her expression was pleasant, but Sadie detected an air of melancholy about her that was as distinct as the strange pearl green patterns sewn into her long snow-white robes. She moved swiftly across the room and sat down at the large mahogany desk and waited for a moment as a few late-comers slid into their seats.
"Good morning, class," she said in a voice that was at once very thin and very strong. "I am Professor Winsbree. Today we will begin the study of trolls. Please open your textbooks to page one thousand two hundred twenty- three."
They learned the habits of trolls for the rest of the period. Although trolls are known for their lack of grace and refinement, they were almost made to seem so through Professor Winsbree's gifted teaching. She showed them their devotedness to their offspring, their stalwartness and strength. When they had a few minutes left, she handed out a worksheet and instructed them to do it for homework. Then she went to her desk and let them enjoy some free time. Sadie watched out of the corner of her eye as Winsbree picked up the attendance and looked it over.
Professor Winsbree paused as she read a name towards the bottom. Had she read right? She pulled a pair of dainty bifocals out of her desk. There it was. /Sadie Riddle./ Could she be-? Winsbree looked up.
"Sadie?"
Sadie faltered. "Yes ma'am?"
"Could you see me for just a moment after class?"
Sadie furrowed her brow. "Okay."
At the end of class, Sadie packed up her things and put them on her desk.
"I'll wait for you outside," assured Emma, the good friend that she was.
Sadie approached the desk timidly. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, I was wondering, is that your real last name? Riddle?"
"Yes..."
"Would you happen to be related to a Thomas M. Riddle?"
"If I am I don't know it. I'm-I'm an orphan. My parents died when I was a baby."
Winsbree flushed. "Oh, I'm so very sorry."
"No, it's ok, no one really knows, except for Professor Dumbledore."
"I see. If you don't mind my asking, where do you stay during the summer?"
"Oh, well, you see, I'm in the custody of the school now. Before I was in a foster home."
"Ohhh, I understand. Well, I guess you had better go to your next class. Would you like a pass? I expect you'll need one for your friend too."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Here you are. See you later."
Sadie filled Emma in on what happed, except for the parts of being in the custody of the school. She wasn't positive if Emma would understand, considering Emma looked mildly uncomfortable at what little Sadie did tell her.
"I wonder who Thomas M. Riddle /is/," Sadie thought aloud.
"I bet no one /really/ knows," Emma said quickly. "Let's go see what's for dinner."
"Ok." Emma was thankful that Sadie took no mind to the sudden change in subject. Everyone was touchy when it came to You-Know-Who, especially since last year when Cedric was killed. No doubt it would mortify her if she knew that everyone thought she might be related to the most evil wizard of their time.
"So.uh." Sadie asked hesitantly. "What did you think of Professor Winsbree?" "I like her," said Emma, her thoughts very obviously elsewhere.
They reached the Great Hall without any more talk-Emma was lost in her own thoughts, and Sadie was still puzzling about Thomas M. Riddle. Professor Winsbree /must / have made a mistake, she thought. Everyone knows I've got no living relations.
After dinner, they and most of the other students at their table left the Great Hall and progressed to the Ravenclaw Common Room. Sadie and Emma sank into two navy armchairs in a dim corner of the room, neither of them feeling much like mingling with the other House students.
"When do you have to do your evening therapy?" Sadie asked as a means of forcing conversation.
"Sometime," said Emma vaguely. "I normally do it later, after most people have gone to bed."
"Oh," said Sadie, racking her brains for another topic.
"I might do it now, though," Emma continued, sounding as dull as Sadie felt.
"Oh," said Sadie again. "You know, Emma--can I--I mean, would you mind if I." she hesitated.
"If you what?" Emma asked, turning to look at her curiously.
Sadie colored. "I mean--I was just wondering, sorta, how it /feels/ to have Cystic Fibrosis--I mean, I'd hate it if I was sick all the time--"
Emma laughed, and didn't sound half as bored as she had before.
"Get this straight," she said mock-sternly. "I'm /not/ sick all the time. I thought I told you that before-in fact, I'm rarely sick at all."
"Oh," said Sadie, trying to pretend to understand completely, but failing miserably.
"Well, OK, put it this way," Emma said, reading the look on Sadie's face. "I may not be as healthy as you, or him over there--," gesturing to a third- year student deep in conversation with a few of his peers- "But I'm certainly healthier than the average person with CF. I mean, seriously-- most of the time you have to go every three months to the hospital and get IVs. I'm /nothing/ like that bad. I just do therapy as kind of a.preventative treatment. For what /could/ happen, not what /is/ happening."
"Oh, OK," said Sadie.
"But as to how it feels," said Emma, enjoying the topic, "What do you mean by that?"
"I dunno," said Sadie, becoming interested. "Just, what do you think when you wake up in the morning and remember, Hey, I have CF?"
"I think, Great, I have to get out of bed and do my nebulizer," said Emma, giggling.
Now it was Sadie's turn to fake sternness. "Really, Miss Walker," she said, giving Emma a look reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "But seriously," she asked after a moment, "What does it feel like?"
"Most of the time it feels.normal," said Emma. "I mean, normal to me. I have no idea how it would feel to /you./ But since I've always had it and always will, it's just a matter of routine. Sometimes, though, it's a bit depressing. This may sound silly, but." she blushed. "I hate being shorter than everyone else," she admitted. "I feel stupid ordering the first and second and third and fourth years around when the majority of them are about a foot taller than I am. And sometimes, if I'm having a particularly bad day, my evening therapy will keep me up to all hours. That's not fun either-most nights I'm no better than when I started and it just makes me cross the next morning. And then I hate the way some people treat me like a porcelain doll, like I'm going to break if dropped because of that whatever-she-has that no one can pronounce." Emma took a deep breath and gave a small smile. "Thanks for letting me tell you that."
"Thanks for /telling/ me that," said Sadie sincerely. "I didn't--I mean, I couldn't--" she reddened and stopped.
"Couldn't tell it was like that?" said Emma. "No one /can/ really. Just like I can't tell what it would be like /without/ it. I consider myself a fairly normal individual, but when I look at all the other /really/ normal individuals out there I can't help but wonder what it feels like to be able to breathe without ever worrying about what you might be breathing in, or out, or feeling obstruction or pain when you breathe. Not that I have a hard time breathing or feel pain a lot-but sometimes I do, and it's just a part of life. Having occasional difficulty or pain when I breathe is as normal as eating three times a day to me, but it'd majorly freak some people out if it happened to them."
"Yeah, I know," said Sadie, thinking back on the numerous foster homes she had been through-they had seemed to be part of her normal life, "as normal as eating three times a day", but now she realized how different it really was from "the other /really/ normal individuals out there".
"Sorry for getting so caught up in it," said Emma apologetically. "It's just that I can't really talk to anyone here about it."
"No, its fine--really," Sadie said feelingly. "I know-I mean, I think-" Sadie sighed. "What I mean is, I think I understand." She stared moodily at the carpet. Then, glancing at her watch, she added, "It's late. You'd better get to the hospital wing."
Emma studied her for a moment. "Yeah."
Emma was gone for about an hour. Sadie waited up for her in the Common Room, reading over the chapter on trolls that Professor Winsbree had assigned them. Reading straight from the textbook was much duller than listening to Professor Winsbree describe their peculiar habits.
When Emma returned, she, too, was carrying /An Advanced Study of Dark Creatures/ under one arm. Thumping her book on the table, she said, "Come on, I'm exhausted."
Sadie followed her up to the dormitory, where they silently climbed into bed and pulled the navy-blue draperies.
"Good night," Emma whispered from inside her cave-like enclosure.
"Good night," Sadie replied with a yawn. Then she compulsively pulled open her curtains. "Emma?"
Emma opened hers also. "Yeah?"
Sadie looked at Emma intently, and then shook her head. "Nothing. Good night."