By the time she had woken from her refreshing sleep, the sun had dipped low in the sky, throwing long shadows over the room. Ursula wiped the sleep from her eyes and spotted a small, white cup lying on the floor beside her. The brown liquid inside was still steaming. Obviously some calming natural remedy left by her governess. She lifted the cup and sipped at it while watching the subtle colours lining the sky dissolve into darkness.
Pondering over the earlier events, and Rosetta's words, she struggled to come to a reasonable conclusion about what it had all meant. Was it really her that had set her father's hair on fire? Did this mean that she really could do magic? But even so, she knew her father would never let her have a wand now… And what had Rosetta planned for this evening that could be so important as to force her father to go back on his word?
Ursula set down the cup and went to the door. Edging it open so it didn't creak and alert the house-elves, she slipped out into the stone corridor. Taking her shoes off, she ran through the castle, robes billowing, to her room in the North tower. Once inside, she undressed and put on a long evening gown as her governess had instructed. Since she rarely had an occasion to wear a dress, except on her father's birthday, she picked one out with care.
Half an hour later when her hair had been groomed satisfactorily, the girl considered what to do next. Ursula decided against waiting in the study because she was too excited, but she also thought it unwise to intrude into either the lounge or the dining hall, for fear her father was there. In the end she chose to search for Rosetta who was most likely supervising the elves in the kitchen.
Ursula wandered down the many, long corridors connecting her wing to rest of the castle, mainly to pass the time since dinner wasn't to be ready for a while yet. As she went, Ursula browsed through the occasional room, observing her surroundings more closely. Of course she'd been there a long time, many years in fact, but she had never previously had the time nor the desire to look carefully at her morose surroundings. Walking past one room, she heard a vaguely familiar voice call out to her. Feeling curious, she entered. The room, like most others, was in darkness. The large, heavy curtains were closed and the chaise-longe was probably well moth-eaten. Also a life-size portrait of a young man leaned against the far wall opposite the fireplace. It was his voice that addressed her.
"Nice to see you, my dear," he said slowly, with emphasis. She didn't reply but continued looking around. "It has been quite a while since I last gazed upon such a benevolent countenance. Discard it, I beg you, 'tis not appreciated here."
"And you are?" The dark-haired man's lofty words and irksome suggestions forced her to address him.
"Your great-great-grandfather, Ursula." he said, raising both eyebrows with a hint of surprise. She was equally surprised.
"Really? And who might that be?" she asked, not really concerned.
"The only one of worth to gain a portrait of himself" he said with pride. Ursula looked at him more closely. His clean, black hair flowed in waves down to his broad shoulders; his eyes were familiarly grey and accentuated his handsome face structure. Upon examining him, she found herself contemplating which of his genes she'd inherited.
"Another suggestion, perhaps?" he said whilst an evil grin crept across his face. "I discovered the process of animating the inanimate." Her realization of his identity dispelled all her previous fancies.
"Victor Black." She commented coldly. "Your contributions to 'science' have long since been discarded as the ravings of a madman. The next time I speak with my father, I'll let him know that there's one more portrait to be burnt." She turned and left, followed by a stream of abuse which echoed forever along the corridors.
"… I told him not to marry a foreigner! … youths never appreciate their elders … wretched child! You are cursed! … May you never see the light again and be as blind as you were on the day of your birth!"
His yells proceeded to awaken the other portraits lining the candle-lit walls of the outer passageway. Soon her steps were muffled by the searing remarks fired at her by painted faces. Ursula successfully ignored the onslaught until she reached the portrait hole which guarded her wing of the manor. Unfortunately it too was a horrid creature. The ugly, hooked-nosed (as most paintings in the Snape Manor were) woman sat knitting apparently oblivious to Ursula's presence. She stood for a minute being polite and providing her the password to open up, but when nothing happened, the girl had to resort to cruder means. Of course it was a severe disadvantage not to have a wand around in this mansion where anything could randomly sprout legs and attack you, but it was just another one of those things she had to live with. Finally beginning to get angry, Ursula went over to the wall and pulled a candle out of its sconce, spilling a blob of scalding wax over her hand. Ignoring the pain for the moment, she walked over to the picture and thrust the flame millimetres from the old woman's face. The hag let out a scream and had the audacity to whimper 'Password please?' to Ursula. The small girl stretched further and watched the magic paint begin to sizzle under the heat of the eternal candle. Softly she whispered, "Ball' eis korakas". Instantly the portrait swung open and she dropped the candle on the stone floor as a reminder to the picture for next time.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she entered the main hall, which was flooded with the light from an antique chandelier. Fortunately, due her governess' desire to keep the place habitable, the elves frequently cleaned the delicate crystals. Descending the carpeted stairs and along more corridors leading down in the earth, she eventually reached the kitchen. Opening the door, she saw a dozen pitiful elves skulking around fetching things or slaving behind cauldrons. Just as they should be, Ursula thought, better this than up to mischief.
"Ursula! Is there something wrong?" A woman's voice called from the back of the noisy kitchen, her face obscured in a white billow of steam rising from a nearby cauldron. The girl wove her way through the busy place to Rosetta. She asked if she could help with something, perhaps even replenishing the potion stocks which were running low (she enjoyed doing this since it was the only branch of magic that didn't require a wand and had an immediate practical application), but her governess refused because there weren't enough cauldrons to spare and she was too busy to supervise.
"Why don't you … go and finish your essay or something, perhaps fix your hair, it's hanging around your face too much… and don't go into the lounge, your father's in there and doesn't wish to be disturbed 'til dinner… "
After much debating, Ursula stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the heavy door behind her. "I'm always getting in somebody's way", she muttered. "Always a nuisance, and when they do ask me to do something, its never good enough unless it's perfect." Unconsciously, she rubbed her sore hand still covered in wax. "It's like my only bloody purpose round here is to exist and be married off to some ugly, rich git." Working up a storm inside, Ursula pulled out her hair clip and shook her hair loose so that it fell, framing her face with long, wavy ringlets down to her chest.
Ignoring her governess' suggestions, she walked towards the lounge and stood outside the door for a moment. Should she enter? She was specifically told not to… she knew the consequence if she did … perhaps it was an unwise idea…. Eventually she persuaded herself to calm down and wait until Rosetta had revealed her purpose for this evening. The girl abandoned her frustration for later and bent down to the keyhole of the door, peeking through. Inside she saw her austere father, with his usual cold, impassive expression on his face, reading the Daily Prophet. Beside this lay a stack of various other papers and letters. He could be reading about the most horrific event in human history and his expression wouldn't falter, she observed. She watched him sip at his pre-dinner glass of firewhiskey, read some more, toss the paper in the fire then repeat the process. It was incredibly boring until once he paused mid-sip to read a passage more carefully then tear it out of the paper and place the piece into a sealed drawer. He was about to resume this tedious process when suddenly someone knocked on the doors to the main entrance. He heard it as well. Everyone heard it, for such a noise was so loud and rare that it aroused curiosity in this house of deathly silence.
Ursula heard soft footsteps almost run towards the door they moved with so much haste. After a moment, a woman's voice uttered the words of power to unlock the ancient wards. The whole manor seemed to tremble with the effort of opening the two immense, wrought-iron doors to the visitor. Her father however during this process had acquired an expression of suspicion and wariness, then settling himself reservedly into the comfy chair in which he sat, mulled over the identity of his visitor. Or if he already knew, then it was analyzing the most effective method to rid himself of such an unwanted guest. Rosetta cried out a name which meant nothing whatsoever to Ursula but, judging by the speed at which her father's head snapped up, it was someone important. Strange, important people never came to the Manor these days…. Her father's expressions had varied more in the space of 30 seconds than they had all week – from relatively serene to suspicious then surprised and alert. It now, however, rested on one of more than slight disgust. And it sounded like the visitor was headed for the lounge…
Thoroughly intrigued, Ursula crooked her head so she could get a better view of what was going on. She heard man greet Rosetta heartily, as if well acquainted with her and then ask her wellbeing. Clearly this man wasn't one of her father's clientele. Firstly, none of them knew Rosetta's name, and most weren't even aware that Mr. Volterra had a daughter. The visitor then asked, with a clear and yet soothing voice, if she was alright. The stranger knew of her existence and actually sounded like he cared! This news almost caused Ursula to jump up and hit her head off the door handle, fortunately she just missed it. Straining her senses, she resumed her former position and heard her governess lead him to the main entrance to the lounge, where her father awaited, resembling a coiled viper sprung to strike if provoked.
When the man entered, he didn't look anything like Ursula had expected. From his voice she had presumed a middle-aged man, well groomed and perhaps a little chubby. What she got was a man well into his later decades with more hair on is head than he could comb. Plus his loose, purple robes suggested that he could do with a decent meal.
The introductions were short and alluded too little. Her father seemed to abandon all manners in the benevolent man's company, evening declining to offer him a seat. No matter, this man, luckily, was the type who made another's house his home without a word. He placed himself comfortably on a sofa directly opposite her father so that he became unavoidable to his gaze. The old man remained quietly observing everything in the large, dark room with an unreadable expression, steepling his fingers. Ursula craved to know his thoughts. Just then his head jerked slightly round to the door at which she knelt, looking directly at her over his half-moon glasses. Suddenly she feared terribly that he might say something to her father. Pulling back from the door, she sat breathing deeply against her beating heart to reassure herself that he hadn't seen her. Although how could he have, I was behind the door, unless he can see through doors, which is impossible, she mused.
After a minute of listening, she heard the sofa creak as someone rose from it. Peering through the keyhole once again, she watched the old man step over to the fire and crouch beside it. He proceeded to sprinkle a pinch of red powder over the fire, and instantly it blazed high up the chimney, producing so much heat that even she could feel the difference. Finally her father tossed his last paper aside, downed his whiskey and with an air of aggravation, acknowledged the stranger.
"What are you doing old man?" The addressed smiled as warmly as the fire, doubling the wrinkles on his face.
"The air in this place is a bit too cold for an old man like me. I like my comforts these days." His voice was gentle and reassuring, not rasping, snappish or silkily deep as other men's voices were.
"I meant why are you here?" her father corrected tersely.
"Well why didn't you say so?" He clapped his hands together, and continued, peering across his long fingers at her father. "I presumed you were aware of my arrival. I spoke of it in my letters." Mr. Volterra smiled thinly, indicating that he was lying.
"Ah yes, those letters. I admit, I forgot. Forgive my previous rudeness, I do not like to be disturbed, and even less do I like to receive unexpected visitors."
"Of course, of course; but not to worry. Rosetta gave me the impression that you were aware of my coming." Her father raised an eyebrow as if to say 'Really?' but let the guest continue. "She is the most delightful woman. You are truly blessed to have her in this household. I asked her many years ago if she would come and work for me but …" As he continued, Ursula wondered at the look of complete disinterest on her father's face and how the man could ramble on oblivious.
The conversation drifted through various topics from her father's childhood (which she noticed he went to great lengths to avoid) to world issues. The old man even attempted, although very subtly, to wheedle out her father's opinions on controversial aspects, such as the disturbing events in the recent papers. Apparently children were being abducted from all over the country by the followers of an obscure cult and used for improper purposes, or so the reporters were suggesting. Her father retained a neutral and impassive viewpoint on the matter, denying it as the act of a cult but agreeing that the children had probably met an unorthodox end. Ursula was disturbed by their chosen discussion but she didn't miss the way the older man keenly observed her father as he spoke. To her, it seemed that he was searching for something. Whether it was something in her father's words, or even, dare she say it, in his mind?
Upon finishing, the visitor made a reference to her, "So how is your own child?" he gently stroked his beard. "The last time I saw her was in a photograph of when she was just born. I still remember the way she grinned up at me, with those beautiful eyes of hers …" Ursula was now leaning heavily on the door, desperate to catch every expression on his face, desperate to know more. She had never seen a photograph of herself as a baby. Her father, however, disliked where the conversation was going and kept his comments brief.
"She's fine." Sensing this, the man tried another approach.
"Oh dear me and the way I ramble on. Forgive me, I didn't mean to upset you and bring back any raw memories."
"It's fine, really." His daughter could see a mile away that it wasn't.
"You handled the whole thing very well after what happened." He went on, shaking his head with sympathy. "Luckily Rose was there to support the both of you through all those painful years –"
"Dumbledore, please!" her father interjected, at last raising his voice. Standing up, he spoke directly and sharply. "Enough of this pointless chatter. Out with why you are really here; then leave." At that moment Rosetta swung open the door and levitated in a tray of tea and biscuits. "Woman, can't you see we are here talking here!" If he was now snapping at Rose in front of this man, then he must be thoroughly agitated. Ursula began to get nervous. It was never good whenever he raised his voice; never good for her no matter what the cause.
"Sir, it most certainly is not good manners to turn a guest away hungry." Rosetta looked shocked at his behaviour but didn't let it show, acting as if she wasn't bothered by his actions. "Especially since he has taken the time to come here and make important arrangements with you, evidently." She corrected him yet kept her words humble so as not to shame him in public. They both knew the consequences if she did. Her gentle words and excellent tea calmed him enough to return to his chair. After a while of tea-drinking, leaving Ursula trying in vain to dispel the rumbling in her stomach, Dumbledore spoke.
"Since you wish me to be direct with you, I will be. Today, as I am sure you are aware, is your daughter's eleventh birthday." If this first fact hadn't blown her away, the next one would have. Her father nodded. "She is now required by law to attend a wizarding school where she shall be taught all the necessary skills to begin training for a future profession." Here, her father stopped him with a raised hand. There was a peculiar smile floating about his lips.
"Ah well, you needn't bother waste your breath on that aspect, Dumbledore. I personally arranged long ago for her seven year tuition to take place at Durmstrang; a school which has a formidable reputation, as you know, for producing top-class wizards, and witches for that matter, and filtering out the cream from the cheese, as it where." He relaxed and supped the tea in his hands. His daughter, however, couldn't help her jaw from dropping at this overload of information, falling back onto her feet. Her father had "personally arranged long ago" for her to actually attend a wizarding school – with other children of her own age! After all the things he'd said over the years about her never having a chance, and he was sending her to Durmstrang like her sister! Ursula had only dreamed of this moment. This can't be true, she thought. There must be a catch. Perhaps that's why this old man Dumbledore's here, to put her through a test or tell her she doesn't qualify or something…
Dumbledore, meanwhile, had listened to Mr. Volterra with an infuriating kind of patience, nodding slowly. When he had finished, the older man lifted up his cup containing the last dregs of the tea and gazed at them curiously. Mr. Volterra couldn't help remembering how irritating the old man had been as a Transfiguration professor, yet rejoicing that at least he hadn't been the Headmaster at that time. Finally, he lowered the cup and leant forward in his seat.
"I am truly glad that you have already secured your daughter's future at Durmstrang's fine institution. However, I am curious as to why you chose that particular school instead of, say, your own?" Her father's reply was guarded.
"I believe that is none of your concern. However, it is only logical that both my children attend the same school. Besides, the change of scenery will do her good. Their strict regime will toughen her, if you like, and turn her into something her Hogwarts contemporaries can never be." His eyes darkened considerably as he finished, as if adding the death blow to the conversation. The Headmaster, however, rose and walked over to the seated man, revealing a scroll of parchment, and offered it.
"What's this?" Mr. Volterra snapped without taking it.
"Well, I thought you had better find that out for yourself. But if you want me to give you a brief overview…" the scroll was snatched abruptly from his hands. Dumbledore remained standing as her father browse the contents, watching his face turn a nasty shade of puce towards the end. Eventually, he turned to the old man with anger.
"What is the meaning of this?" he hissed, clenching the scroll in his fist. "How did these papers come to you, I wonder?" Dumbledore faced him solemnly.
"This scroll was left to me in Sordiana's Will, containing her wishes for her children. It seems that, due to the nature of the Law, it cannot be annulled. Your daughter therefore, has –" Mr. Volterra interrupted.
"And what if I refuse, being the child's father and next of kin?" his attitude and demeanor were again deteriorating. "Or have you already seen to it that I have no say in this pathetic matter?"
"Simply, no. And before you protest again, Nicholas, do not consider appealing to the courts. You know they will not stand for it; a woman's dying wishes cannot be ignored. Except … well … unless …"
"Spit it out old man."
"Unless Ursula herself is particularly adverse to the idea." Upon the mention of her name, she almost threw herself against the door to listen. After a long silence, she heard her father grunt something incoherently, followed by another silence. Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears that she didn't hear the soft footsteps approaching the door. Next, it was swung open so quickly, the girl didn't have time to react and fell to the ground, lying sprawled out on the floor at the ancient wizard's feet. "No need to send for her; here she is." Ursula was eternally mortified as she looked up at the man's beaming, wrinkly smile. She didn't need to look at her father to know there would be a terrible expression of horror and disgust on his face. However, once she was thoroughly embarrassed, nothing could stop the flow of blood to her cheeks.
About to pull herself up, the old wizard instead bent over and offered her his hand. Taking it cautiously but with curiosity, she discovered hidden strength in those weary arms.
"Ursula, what do you think –"
"Nicholas, Nicholas, do not reprimand the child for satisfying her burning curiosity. There were days when you couldn't help yourself either, I remember." Albus winked mischievously, causing the other man to huff in a steaming silence. Ursula felt the unexpected warmth of the old man's hand and found herself not wanting to let go, he didn't seem to want to either. Leading her to the centre of the room, he turned to speak to her and placed his hands lightly on her shoulders.
"Ursula, my name is Albus Dumbledore. I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Do you know where that is?" Not wanting to say the wrong answer she glanced at her father. He glared back. She decided, and wisely, that that was not the place to look for inspiration, so fixed her eyes on the Headmaster's instead.
"Yes, sir." Looking into the old wizard's vivid blue eyes, she suddenly felt answers come much easier to her now than before. Confidence seeped into her, whenever her father's menacing presence wasn't lurking in the outskirts. He asked her further questions about her studies, and appeared quite impressed. Her father too, although he wouldn't show a trace of it, felt a trickle of pride as she spoke. Then he told her much about Hogwarts, its history and everything she could do. It didn't take him long, however, to get to the point.
"Ursula," he bent on his thin frame to her level. "Dear child, I think you are too highly educated to attend my school. Perhaps Durmstrang is the way forward for you …" Ursula imagined she saw a hint of pain in his eyes as he said this. For what reason, she didn't know. But he quickly continued, "But enough of my chatter, it is time for you to tell us one thing, and one thing only. It is time for you to choose. And think carefully, too, for a small decision may affect your future, but these greater decisions will mould you into who you will become. Take as long as you need child, to think, but ultimately this is your decision." Looking at the ancient wizard and listening to his words felt to her as if a veil surrounding her world had been lifted. At last she could see a flash of hope. But she must seize it, or sink further into darkness … She looked at her father. His cold eyes looked back. Taking a deep breath of confidence, she spoke with a clear voice.
"Father, will I insult you irreparably if I say yes?" Dumbledore looked hard at Nicholas. Suddenly, he heard another voice in his mind tell him to give his daughter a chance, just this once, at proving her potential, sure it cost him nothing anyway … He looked up at Ursula curiously, studying his daughter with a strange expression that was now the opposite to earlier, and answered her question evenly.
"Ursula, did you not listen to the tales of your ancestors that Rosetta told you?" Taken unawares, she nodded, unclear where this was going. "Tell me then; what did they all have in common?" She bit her lip in thought, gazing at the fire, suddenly she understood what he meant.
"Ambition, sir." He nodded.
"Correct. A burning ambition to be the best, to get what they want, and then to leave their mark. How are you going to attempt to continue that legacy around this hell-hole?" Ursula turned wide-eyed to the Headmaster who nodded patiently, then spoke her decision.
"Then I choose Hogwarts. If it is alright with you, I – I will honour my mother's wishes. It is the very least I can do." Dumbledore smiled warmly. Ursula turned back to her father, who added, typically,
"Provided you actually aren't a squib, of course. But that will be decided soon enough." Dumbledore pulled out a large, silver pocket watch, made a face, and then informed himself that it was time he left. Mr. Volterra's relief wasn't concealed.
"Minerva will be sending letters out to each of the families of next year's pupils around late August containing instructions, regulations, book lists and so on. So," he turned once again to Ursula. "'til then, have a nice summer." As he was about to leave, Ursula stopped him. A question burned in her mind.
"Headmaster, I have never – I - don't even own a wand. Will I not be behind the other children? I want to be prepared for … for …"Sensing her fears, he placed a hand on her shoulder (she was beginning to get used to that) and reassured her that there would be other children in her position, and that her wealth of background knowledge would more than compensate for most things she lacked. As he left, Rosetta shook his hand warmly and enquired of people she hadn't heard of, yet, surprisingly he wasn't easily delayed. Within minutes this most unusual visitor was gone, like a dying candle, he faded away along the path, into the darkness; leaving a troubled child gazing after him as two black, wrought-iron doors closed between them.
Neither could possibly have known at that stage, how wrong her decision was; for as the flower blooms, the less noticeable the thorns become, but they don't disappear. They never will. Their good intentions can't suppress what she is destined to become. Their Enemy.
