Chapter 15: Unsaid

Selected Listening: Boy With a Coin- Iron and Wine

Before she left, Minerva gave Anastasia a sickening potion.

"This potion," she said, picking it out of her store cabinet, "is intended to give you the appearance of contracting a horrible case of bronchitis. You will be coughing for an entire day and will eventually lose your voice for a week."

Anastasia frowned at the vial of slimy green liquid.

"What's the point of this?" she asked but took the vial in hand anyway. Minerva sighed.

"The first step, and often most difficult step of forming an animagus, is to keep a mandrake leaf in your mouth for an entire lunar cycle. This potion will keep you from being tempted to speak, and it will excuse you from answering questions in class and talking to anyone who might spot it. You'll put the leaf under your tongue after the coughing has subsided."

"So, I'm basically taking a vow of silence for a month?" she asked.

Minerva nodded.

"If you expel the leaf or accidentally swallow, we'll have to start all over again."

Anastasia looked at the flask and thought about all the things she may have to say during the month. She never thought herself a particularly loud or talkative person, but there were times in life when someone had to say precisely the right thing at the right time, and in this moment she worried that one of those times might come around soon.

"Do I have to?" she asked gently. Minerva nodded.

"If you want to become an animagus, then yes," she answered.

Anastasia wasn't sure if she every truly wanted to be an animagus. It wasn't her idea to begin with. Even a fox could be out of place in a school, and Anastasia couldn't imagine when hers could be very useful, native species or not.

Still, she trusted grandad.

Anastasia held her breath and tipped the potion back.

By the time she returned to the common room, Anastasia could barely open her mouth for coughing so hard. She kept getting stares, and eventually her friends suggested she needed to go to the hospital wing, or she'd start another mutiny for making the whole castle sick.

She obliged to leave, but instead of going to Madame Pomfrey, she went to her bedroom and continued reading the novel she began at the beginning of the year. She hadn't gotten much farther than she had when she started, and the little girl, Sara, had all her belongings taken away from her to pay her family's debt.

Anastasia, deciding this book was much more depressing than she'd hoped, and was difficult to read between coughs, heard her stomach growl, and went in search of food, spasming all the way.

At the entrance to the Great Hall, she heard another cough. This one came from the Slytherin table. Anastasia hadn't even thought about how her animagus process would affect Draco, but there he was, at his table, receiving dirty looks from the other students who were trying to eat.

Anastasia couldn't let the others make the connection. She held her breath, walked to the Gryffindor table, gathered a few rolls and cookies in a cloth napkin.

"There you are, did Pomfrey fix your cough?" Ron asked. She shook her head. Hermione looked up with tired eyes. Harry turned over his shoulder to look at her.

"Seems, Malfoy caught the same thing you did," he said. Anastasia's next cough was caught in her throat. Holding it back, she ran out of the Great Hall, waiting until she was far enough away to cough against the wall.

When she regained her composure, she walked swiftly back to the passageway, praying the cough would go away quickly, and that she could continue not talking in peace. She touched the gauntlet of her knight and stepped into the secret corridor.

"Anastasia, wait!" Draco called, and then coughed another series. Although his were not as violent as hers.

He stopped in front of her as the door hung open. She debated slamming it in his face. She knew she couldn't tell him the truth.

"What the bloody hell happened?" he asked between coughs, "You were fine earlier."

Anastasia shrugged and coughed again. She wished it were easier to explain, but she thought it best to play dumb.

"Don't know," she forced out as a whisper, looking down so he couldn't see the lie in her eyes.

"Well, I can't go around like this!" he complained. "No one else is sick. People are going to think we snogged or something!"

She shrugged again, now blushing red, and stepped inside so he could close the door behind him. She put down the package of food beside her on the step and held her knees close to her chest. She didn't feel like eating anything.

"Can't you go to the infirmary?" he asked, and pulled out his inhaler, taking a few breaths. He sat down on the step beside her, his arm brushing hers.

"Mada—" her voice gave out. She frowned, took out a piece of parchment and her pre-inked quill and wrote on her knee beside his.

She couldn't do anything.

"Couldn't do anything? She healed your broken spine in five minutes!" Draco protested with wide eyes. Anastasia looked away, uncomfortable now. She didn't realize how much he paid attention to her, and how much being paid attention made her feel like she needed to flee the room.

Draco now looked away too, ears pink, like he had said too much.

"You could have gotten us killed that day, going after Potter." he said desperately. "Dumblebrat, I need to know what's going on with you if we have to keep sharing a bloody health profile!" and then it was his turn to hack pitifully.

She turned to look at him, surprised he was bothering to talk to her at all, wanting to do something to comfort him, or herself about her decision, but not sure where to begin. They made eye contact for a silent minute. Her heart shuddered.

Anastasia shook her head. She had to throw him off.

Just sick, she wrote. Draco glared at her writing, and then her.

"Fine…then I'm going to see the bloody nurse can help me…" he got to his feet, pushed the passage door open, and left her in silence.

The next day, at the end of Transfiguration, Minerva passed her the phial containing the mandrake leaf as she picked up the class materials. Anastasia slid it into her pocket. Once Harry, Hermione, and Ron and gone to lunch, she ducked into the bathroom, found a stall, and stuffed the leaf under her tongue.

The leaf was much bigger than she expected, so much that it was uncomfortable to close her mouth. She took it out and folded it up into a green wad and stuck it back under her tongue. It helped a bit. She focused on taking deep even breaths and keeping her mouth clamped tightly shut. Her coughing had subsided and now her throat felt like it might explode. She wondered if she might choke to death before the end of the month.

"There you are!" Hermione said as Anastasia returned to the lunch table. "We were just discussing plans for break."

"I'm staying here," said Harry decidedly. "Not like I have anywhere else to be."

"I'm with you, mate," Ron said. "Parents are visiting Charlie again."

"And I couldn't imagine going home right now with all the studying that needs to be done," Hermione said, "you are staying, aren't you, Anastasia?"

She nodded with a smile.

"Then it's settled!" Hermione exclaimed. "This will be the best holiday ever."

"Yeah," Ron commented with half-sarcasm, "as long as you don't turn into a cat again, and Anastasia gets rid of her cold before Christmas!"

For the rest of the day, Anastasia kept to herself in class, and if a teacher called on her, she wrote down the answer. Only Snape was cruel enough to say it didn't count. He took off points for her lack of participation and called on Draco instead. When Draco answered in a rasp, Snape's eyes narrowed discerningly, but he didn't say anything.

That evening, Anastasia was studying in the common room by herself when Fred and George came to sit beside her. They leaned their heads towards her and lowered their voices.

"We need to ask you something," said George.

"We were thinking about Harry and the Hogsmeade situation," Fred explained.

"It's not the bloke's fault he can't go," George added.

"And we have this," Fred slid over a familiar piece of parchment, The Marauder's Map. It wasn't something Anastasia had thought about in years. She first found it when she was trapped in the shrieking shack, under the whomping willow, and she found the map that led her out with the help of a mysterious specter named Mooney.

"I forgot," she scratched into her own parchment.

"Well, it's been fantastic," George said, "kept us from getting suspended for two whole years."

"But now we know all the ins and outs of the castle," said Fred.

"And we think Harry might need it more," added George. "Is it alright if we pass it on?"

Anastasia nodded, and continued writing.

But for old time's sake… she unfolded the parchment and gave it to the twins.

They cast the spell, and the map opened in front of them, black font swirling over the pages like spilled water. Anastasia saw the footprints of everyone in the castle. She traced her finger along the hallways down the stairs to the Great Hall, up the back staircase and all the way to the headmaster's suite where her father sat at his desk.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was meeting with her father.

Anastasia ran to her father's office, but Kingsley had already left. At her entrance, Fawkes cawed, ruffled his feathers, and settled back down on his perch.

"Anastasia, what's wrong?" Albus asked. She strode to the desk and put down her conversation parchment, writing quickly.

Why was Kingsley here? She had only ever seen Kingsley on two occasions. One, when she had been kidnapped and held for ransom, and two, when Albus requested Kingsley come to the castle so he could explain Anastasia's existence.

Albus gave her a sharp glance.

"How did you—"

Forget it! Tell me. Is it the trial? The trial for her custody was on the first of November. Only one week and a half away.

Albus winced and looked away.

"Kingsley informed me that they've called him as witness, and under magical oath, he cannot lie. Although he doesn't wish to hurt either of us, he must tell the truth about your kidnapping, and it will surely not bode well for me."

I'll tell them I was fine.

"Can you?" Albus asked, looking at her. "You won't be able to write your answers during the trial. They'll expect you to speak—"

Anastasia panicked. She put her hand to her mouth, intending to remove the leaf, but Albus aimed his wand at her and shot her hand away.

She mouthed an ow. Albus winced.

"Anastasia, I know this is less than convenient timing, but the faster you have your animagus, the safer you will be," he argued.

Why? she wrote with her now sore hand.

"I'm not only thinking of now, but the future. Now, we have dementors, we have Sirius Black, we have reporters, and the Cambridges. With Sirius Black loose, who knows what will come in the next few years? I certainly hope that if dark times approach us, you will be able to defend yourself."

Anastasia stared back at him in frustrated silence. He was still preparing for Voldemort to rise out of his grave. Albus sighed and extended his hand upward in appeal.

"You've already witnessed two of Voldemort's attempts to return…Sirius Black is considered his most faithful servant. Should he go uncaptured, the chances of Voldemort being successful, are insurmountable."

Anastasia hardened her expression and wrote stiffly on the paper before walking out.

You are more important to me than fear.

Albus's expression grew sorrowful. There were worlds he wished to tell her, but she could not yet accept.

Over the next few days, Anastasia couldn't pull her head away from the trial. She hated that she couldn't speak. Part of her wondered if Albus made her begin the animagus process then on purpose, but she couldn't understand why he would want to sabotage himself. Didn't he want to keep her?

Sunday afternoon, Anastasia cooped up in the library amongst a pile of books, including the one she bought at Flourish and Blotts that summer. The sun sunk in the sky and cast low shadows across the grounds through a field of clouds. Light dappled the pages she turned. The chapter on pureblood custody mainly applied to 'traditional' families seeking divorce and not elderly bachelors who became guardians of their blood daughter after her mother's murder.

Much as he had the week before, Draco appeared and took the chair across from her as if he'd been invited. Anastasia looked away nervously.

"Well, the coughing's gone. No thanks to you," he commented. "Are you feeling any better?"

Anastasia went back to her conversation parchment, on which she had written and scratched out a myriad of things she had said to her friends throughout the day. She grabbed her quill.

No voice.

She showed him the paper and he raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Fine, don't tell me," he said flippantly, "what are you doing?" he looked down at the book. "Wait! This is—"

Anastasia raised a finger to her lips to tell him to be quiet. She didn't want to be kicked out of the library again. She paused her quill tip on the paper, debating on whether to confess.

Bought it for you, but I need it.

"You bought it for me?" he asked quietly and made a face. "Don't know why I would need a thing like that!"

She gave him an annoyed stare.

Saw you looking.

"Drat…" Draco said, "…well I don't need it anymore. I think things have settled down between my parents. They haven't said anything about…you know."

Congratulations… she wrote.

"But why do you need it?" he asked.

Mum's parents want custody.

Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Your grandparents? What's the point? They'd only see you on holidays anyway…do they even know you?"

Anastasia shook her head. Draco's glance softened.

"That's rough," he replied.

It won't be. She wrote. I won't let them take me away from him.

"You really care for him that much?" he asked.

Anastasia nodded.

She knew it was silly, even selfish, to think that Albus needed her. But there were days he forgot his tea upstairs, and days he put his tunic on backwards, and days he was required to make a difficult decision and felt horrible afterwards. On those days he needed her company most, to remind him to drink his tea and to turn his tunic around, to listen to his complaints about the world and reassure him that he did the best he could.

Mostly, to distract him from all the things he'd been given power over, but never asked for.