A/N: I feel like I'm always announcing how horrible I am for not updating so I'll change it up this chapter: I'm magnificent and highly caffeinated.
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Chapter Nineteen: The Mind and Other Cages
CRASH!
"Are you an imbecile or do you just delight in destroying everything in your general vicinity?" The snarling, oily voice of Professor Snape gritted out as his latest potion spilled from the now decimated copper pot that had been steeping in his office.
Over the last few remedial magic classes that Clara had attended… how to describe them? Not good would be a well enough start. Complete disasters would have been even better. So horrifically bad, in fact, that now every session ended with Professor Snape grabbing a book and hurling it at the little, French witch's head as she scrambled to get out of the room, a volley of insults following.
Blue liquid as clear and glittering as the merfolks' tears flooded the workbench, turning into sludge as it met the cool surface of the table. Clara gulped, skittering closer to the door as Snape howled out a symphony of curses, lurching toward the mess. She had learned long ago that helping him after such occasions would be fuel to his rage. Not for the first time that evening, she felt an ungodly sort of panic and despair crash through her.
Worse than making no progress at all, she was devolving, each lesson a study in all the ways that her magic had soured. Even with the layers of protective spells around the potions in the circular study, her magic was able to beat through them, flailing about until it finally ended in the destruction of more than one of Snape's prized vials.
"Do you want me-" she started, her hands clammy around her wand as she shuffled a bit closer.
The dark-haired teacher whirled, his hands drenched in blue muck, tomes of potions manuals and ingredients dripping onto his robes as he held them. His teeth seemed to gleam in the dull light of the room, his eyes half-wild as he snarled across the room at the pale witch. "Would I like for you to ruin any more of some of the world's most expensive potions ingredients? No, Miss Deschamp. I would not."
Clara flinched, turning a sickly shade of gray. Her eyes which had once been vibrant had turned a dull honey color, dark circles mooning them. In the past few weeks, there had been a growing many things that had caused her to stay up at night. One of them being the whispers that seemed to follow her through the halls, nipping at her heels as she ate her meals in the dining hall.
On more than one occasion, she had caught Keela cornering a fumbling Slytherin or the occasional Gryffindor. Her face would always be red, seething, her finger jabbing into the thoroughly scandalized student until Archie would have to go over and tug her away. Clara was always left out, an odd separation forming between her friends and herself. Cedric would laugh it off, changing the subject with a deftness that made it all the more apparent that whatever the argument had been… Well, it hadn't been about the weather.
In more than one way, Clara's friends thought that they were protecting her. The rumors had become worse. So bad that people had started to slam into the silver-haired witch in the hallways, giving scornful laughs as she blinked, muttering an apology.
It enraged Keela to no end. Grow a backbone, she would think even as she stormed after the offender, cornering them before snarling violent threats into their faces. You do that one more time, you filthy little rodent and I'll make your wand into a bow around your dick, you hear me? Then Archie would come along, his smile not quite mean but not at all what you would expect from a Hufflepuff chaser and dutifully shuffle Keela away with the parting of if you come near Deschamp again I'll give her the green light to make your privates into a Christmas tree, mate.
Keela wanted to be angry with Clara. She wanted to shake her and curse at her and ask her why in the world she wouldn't pull out that stupidly frilly wand of hers and do something. But she never did. Because deep down she knew that the weirdly innocent way that Clara walked through life was a part of who she was. Because Clara was inherently, unendingly nice.
And because there was an almost closeted sort of restraint about the short, frizzy-haired witch. A restraint that made her seem wound too tight to ever lose her calm enough to draw her wand in anger.
A part of Keela was a bit afraid of what would happen if she did.
"Do you delight in growing more and more incompetent each time you step into my office, Miss Deschamp?" The way that Professor Snape said Clara's name made it sound like the worst insult. The wizard's eyes were the darkest stone, hard and unwavering as he stared disdainfully down at Clara's hunched shoulders.
The worst part was that Professor Snape waited for an answer whenever he asked a question that should have been purely rhetorical. Like he was savoring the moment when his victim tried to limp through a conversation.
Clara edged toward the door, her mind begging for mercy. "Yes?"
"Get. Out."
She didn't need to be told twice. Lunging for her bag, she dodged a book that went whizzing right past her ear. Clara had decided to make it a sort of game. She had gotten quite good at ducking and weaving her way out of the study, shuffling a few steps as a volley of books went flying past her before leaping toward the exit.
"Get out, get out, get out, get out," Snape droned. One more book skimmed her shoulder, making her jitter to the side. She was almost to the nob… "Getoutgetoutgetout-"
The final tome hit the closed door with a rattling thud, the force vibrating through Clara's back as she shut the door quickly behind her. The Hufflepuff witch took a long breath, her body giving way to an ache that had started this week. It had been very long since she had used her magic this much. It was exhausting. And apparently her body was growing more and more agitated with the activity if the muscle-deep pain in her back and arms and even her legs meant anything.
"Are you alright?" Clara blinked, startling.
Positioned just at the very edge of the potions classroom stood Harry, his hair it's regular shaggy black mess, his eyes a piercing green. He was rather handsome, she realized. Or at least he would be once he got older. His face still held a bit of the soft edges of childhood even if his eyes and that dainty scar above his brow told a different story.
Tiredly, Clara gave him a smile, pushing from the door to make her way swiftly toward him. She didn't want to remain there any more than he did, it seemed because he followed her. "I would have thought that you would be at lunch. Not many people like to hang around Snape's office."
Harry grimaced, looking to have grown physically ill by the thought. "I would sooner eat my wand." His eyes narrowed, darting down to the cobbled steps of the halls as they drifted along, his mind racing for a moment on the real reasons that he had come. Reasons that he was ashamed to admit, revolved around the rumors he had been hearing for the past week.
After the inevitably disastrous outcome of her remedial classes, she would wander, listless through the halls until the next period hit. In the past weeks, Cedric had taken to stuffing rolls and pieces of ham into his robes, chasing the witch down and listing off all the reasons why keeping a good diet would, in turn, keep a good witch. The truth was that Clara had lost a considerable amount of weight. Her cheekbones had started to jut from a face that used to hold a pixie-esque charm. So Cedric had begun to hoard food and Molly had begun to offer her hot cocoa and smores before bed. On the flip side, Callum had started to make poorly timed remarks about the relation of food to one's magical abilities.
What no one could really comprehend was that Clara was withering away for that exact reason. Maybe, she had been hoping vainly, if she was just this side of weak, her abilities would dwindle too.
Preposterous and misguided but the mind can play dangerous games with a desperate, half-starved soul.
"Actually…" Harry started slowly, his eyes grazing over the ragged edges of Clara's school books - an unfortunate outcome of a student tripping her. His jaw tightened, his adam's apple bobbing as he steeled his nerves. Emerald eyes twinkled from under his glasses, sharpening to a gemlike quietly beneath the lenses. "I came to speak with you… About… the rumors."
Clara's feet stopped, her heart giving a panicked thump. For a moment, she was back in her yard, clutched against her mother, watching as her father was brought to his knees in front of people who were supposed to be his friends. But no - she rallied quickly, her eyes attentive and sad as they focused on the scarred boy in front of her. If anyone deserved to know about her family ties it was him.
"I know-" For a moment, the words got stuck in her throat, a flash of pain lancing through her. She had heard whispers - but that was just it. When people wanted to tie you down with foul words they never said it to your face. It was almost like a game of keep-away once the rumors had started. A game that had been played rather well until this morning when Angela Denelis had snarled down at her: I know why you came to Hogwarts, you foul, little thing. I know why your father and you were whored out by your own ministry.
From there, it had been a small step to finally peek up from the little corner she had created for herself in Hufflepuff. The world, she realized wasn't made up of her close friends and cheery house colors. It was cold and twisted and had been encroaching upon her for a while now. And she had been fool enough to turn blindly from it. To run. To hide.
"I know what they're saying." The words tumbled over each other. Seeming like the wrong ones. And yet Clara couldn't say anything else. She winced. "I know that they're saying we were escaping to try and fool everyone. Because - because of my father. Because of - of Sirius Black."
Clara's voice dropped to a wavering whisper. It felt wrong to say his name. Like a curse. Like a bad omen.
Harry's face twisted with pain and worse - anger. "You know he killed - he killed my parents."
It sounded like an accusation. Clara flinched beneath it. Her voice was frail when she finally answered. "I know."
A long, tense silence dragged between them, amplified by the wind whistling through the deserted halls. The leaves around Harry's boots skittered, frightened, across the cobbles, and for a moment, Clara imagined herself skittering with them. She would have given anything to be an inanimate object at the moment. Anything to not have to answer for the horrible things her family had done. Because how do you say you're sorry that your relative massacred an entire family? How do you apologize for something that happened before you were even able to comprehend danger or choices?
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Harry finally demanded. Tired of the silence. Tired of everyone's inability to answer his questions. So tired of people telling him how he should feel when all he wanted to do was rage and cry and demand that they answer him.
And here she was - a relative of the man who had turned his parents in to be slaughtered like sheep - and she was speechless, quivering like he was the one who would hurt her. Like her own cousin hadn't told the entire school that her father had to this day, pledged himself to the Dark Lord.
"What do you want me to say?" Clara felt something in her stomach tighten and roll. She could have said a variety of things. Maybe the truth - that her family hadn't been a part of the Black legacy for a long while. But wasn't that just an excuse?
Harry's words were tight, his eyes blazing, scorching anger biting through his stomach as he stared down at the frail witch. He hated that she looked so breakable. He hated that he felt like a jerk for demanding anything from her. "I want you to tell me why you've been hanging around my friends and me for the whole school year without ever thinking to mention that you're related to the man that helped murder my parents."
There it was. Clara's stomach lurched, bile rising in the back of her throat as she flinched away. Guilt hit her like a train, rolling over her with a force that knocked her breath from her for a moment. Dazed, she blinked up at Harry. He had grown taller than her since the beginning of the year, a fact that made her all the more aware of anger blazing in his eyes.
She felt very small then, in this foreign country with these foreign people, in a place where her magic had spluttered and wheezed its way into non-existence. Staring up at Harry just then, she felt a spark of loneliness so violent that she almost wilted. In his eyes, she could see the same fury that boiled within her sometimes. The same fury that had crippled her sister and made her fear her magic.
"I…" Cotton clogged her throat. "I liked you and…"
George, she wanted to say. I liked George. But when faced with such undisguised hatred one rarely says the right things. Her words jumbled, rolling and tangling with each other until she couldn't think of any words, just the emotions. Happy, Guilty. Shame. If you can speak in emotions than Clara would have been very eloquent in that moment. She would have made Harry weep. But as it is, you can't speak in emotions and so Clara was left, confused, blinking mutely up at him until he shook his head, looking angry and sad. Because he had wanted her to say something to make him not feel so wretchedly hateful.
"Just…" Suddenly all of that rage whipped away from him, leaving behind the blustering cold of disappointment. "Just stay away from me, okay? I don't…"
He didn't know what to say. Maybe that she looked so pitiful in that moment that he felt like taking it all back. Or maybe that if she stuck around him then he would be at risk of liking the Black family a little more just because of her temperament. And right now, he couldn't have that. Right he needed the anger. He needed it to get him through the horror that had become his waking hours. He would need it when he finally got when hexing distance of Sirius Black.
Mutely, she nodded, watching as his eyes flicked morosely from her to the floor and then back again before he was shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away briskly.
The wind whipped after him, lashing Clara with stinging sweeps. She wanted to run away. Her eyes traveled to the distant darkness of the woods. In France, she had known her way home. Here, she barely knew her way around a common conversation. Trapped. Her skin crawled and tightening making her breath come raggedly.
Against her ribcage, her magic thrashed, crowing against her bones, almost forcing it's way up in a flurry of pain and screaming.
No.
She swallowed. Forced away the panic. One breath. The torrent inside of her whirled, wailing in the mournful way that only a trapped animal would understand. Two breath. The leaves at the end of the hall, swirled, catching fire. Clara squeezed her eyes shut. Three breaths. Force it down. Calm. You're calm.
Slowly, her nails unhooked from beneath the skin of her palms. Calm.
Blinking, the witch turned and hurried to her next class.
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