"Er, Professor Potsdam? I was wondering if I could talk to you about a personal matter?"
"A personal matter?" Potsdam asks as she waves me into her office. "Oh yes, always have time for those. What is it, dear?"
I sit down in a chair on the other side of her desk as she offers me a small bowl filled with candy. They look like those small, colorful pastel breath mints that my grandmother always had in her room when I was child, but I don't touch them. "I got Professor Grabiner as my Secret Santa."
"Oh, really?" The look on her face and the inflection in her voice is spot on, but I still suspect it's fake. Even still, I'm not going to call her out on it. The best I can do is play along. "Oh, and I bet you're here to ask me for advice on what to get him, hm?"
"Yes," I say quickly. "I mean, I don't really know how that well, so."
"But don't you?" She winks at me, and I just blink at her.
"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, unable to hide the look of blatant confusion that had since crossed my face.
She chuckles lightly. "Oh, come now, I only meant that you know what he likes. You actively attend his classes and you have been a treasurer for the past year now. Surely you have picked up on some of his interests and hobbies to have some idea what to get him."
"Books?" I ask lamely.
"There's a start," she says. "What kind of books?"
I hesitate. "Probably really smart books that are far above my level of comprehension, as he would say."
"Hm, at least for now," she says. "What else does he like?"
I sit there and think about it, trying to call upon my memory to bring me something of value. Think, Tori, think. There had to be something. I vaguely remember him reading some kind of book, but the details are fuzzy and the only thing I can remember for sure was that it was in a different language, so that probably wouldn't help me much. Had I never asked him about his interests? I mean, I knew he was a private person, but he had to have let slip that there was something he enjoyed, maybe not for fun, but…relaxation?
Suddenly I hear someone else's voice talking in my head. Chamber music and wine. It sounds like his voice, but it's like a whisper at the other end of a long tunnel, bouncing off rusty, metal pipes as the words try to make their way to me. I try to trace the voice back to its source but suddenly I feel a burst of pain in the back of my head. I close my eyes reflexively. But have you ever had a blue snow cone? My voice. Suddenly I am surrounded by words and colors, whispers and murmurs. Just as a shape starts forming in front of me, it quickly dissolves away into a burst of color. I can't tell what it is but I want to see it. I want to know what it is. I want to know what's happening to me.
I blink to try to focus better, and that's when the colors disappear. The voices disappear. The only thing I can see is Professor Potsdam, staring down at me.
"Quite a good idea!" she says.
"Good idea?" I repeat blankly. There's still a strange tingling itch, right behind my hairline, but the burning sensation had faded.
"Your idea," she repeats. "I will look around and find some interesting books for you to choose from. Meet me back here, say, Saturday at noon? I can give you directions to his room and you can give it to him then."
"That sounds good," I hesitate. "Um, Professor, did you happen to do magic on me, just now?"
She laughs. "Well, why no, dear, why ever would I do that?"
"I just…" I hesitate, but I'm not sure why. There was a specific feeling associated with the particular burst of pain, and though I can't put my finger on what the feeling is, I think I know how to summon it again. "Nothing, thank you very much, Professor."
The next week goes by ridiculously slowly. Professor Grabiner is busy on Monday afternoon, so unfortunately he can't have private lessons with me, and I hang out with Tommy instead. We walk around the trails and talk about classes and about the minor pranks he pulls with Donald. At one point he tries to hold my hand and I let him, for a minute. With everything else that is going on right now, it just doesn't feel right.
For some reason, I am so anxious about Saturday that I can barely sleep Friday night. I end up sleeping through my first alarm for the first time ever and head down to the mail room fifteen minutes late. By the time I arrive, Professor Grabiner is already there and grumpier than usual. "Ms. Brown, I'm glad that you could take the time out of your busy morning in order to show up for your weekly duties. If only we could all live on your irresponsibly tardy schedule, I'm sure we-"
I'm pretty sure it's because of sleep deprivation, but for whatever the reason, I giggle into the back of my sleeve. "Oh?" he raises an eyebrow. "I'm sure you can enlighten me as to what exactly is so funny in detention this afternoon."
"I thought you weren't hosting detention today," I say. "Donald hasn't done anything lately."
"Then it looks like you and I will be spending the afternoon alone then," he says promptly.
"I mean, that works for me," I shrug, plopping myself down into one of the chairs so I can begin to sort the allowances. "I already had a date planned for us anyway." I keep my face as straight as possible and concentrate on my work, pretending not to notice his stare. He turns around and leaves the room without another word, and I laugh quietly to myself. It doesn't take me long to sort the allowances and assemble the packages for delivery.
At first I thought it was funny, but by the time I get to delivering packages in Butterfly Hall, I feel like I'm going to be sick. My sleep deprived brain thought that it was a funny joke, but my now-slightly-more-awake brain sees it as something different: a flirtation. Did I really flirt with him? As I think it over, I can feel my heart beating just a little bit faster, and it almost feels like I can't quite catch my breath. The whole exchange had actually seemed quite natural, and yet he was my teacher. It was totally inappropriate. What could I possibly have been thinking? He probably had no idea about the Secret Santa, no idea that I was going to stop by his private room later that day, and then after a joke about a date, I was just going to show up and give him a present? The whole thing just sounded too weird, even to my ears.
By the time I get to Professor Potsdam's office, my insides are a wreck. I am sleep deprived, tired, embarrassed, slightly hungry, but most of all, I just want to get this over with. I have no idea how I'm going to apologize to him or if I even should at all. Oddly enough, "I'm sorry for flirting with you, I didn't really mean it" doesn't sound like much of an apology.
But before I can enter her office, Potsdam comes out to greet me, holding a large, wrapped book in her hand. "Here you are, sweetheart."
"Wait, is that his present?" I ask. "I thought you were going to let me choose."
"Oh, well," she shrugs. "It's hard to find a book that Hieronymous hasn't read. And I think he will especially enjoy this one." There's a glint in her eye as she hands it to me.
"What's it called?" I ask, weighing the package in one hand. It's not as heavy as it looks.
"That you'll have to find out when he opens it, hm?" she asks. "Why spoil the surprise? Now, do you know how to get to his quarters?"
"No," I say hesitantly, but as she's giving me directions, I can't help but feel as though I've been there before.
And as I follow her directions outside his door, I feel like I've definitely been there before, like the muscle memory in my legs was guiding me the whole way. But I shake off the feeling as I knock on his door. I have no idea what his reaction is going to be like and I need to prepare myself for anything.
"Who's there?" he calls through the door.
"Tori," I say quickly. "I, um, have something for you."
The door opens before I can finish speaking and Professor Grabiner is standing there with the strangest look on his face. He doesn't invite me in, he just stares at me, looking me up and down.
"Um," I offer the present in front of me. "Professor Potsdam wanted me to deliver your Secret Santa to you personally. She told me where you live."
"Did she?" he asks, his mouth twisting into a frown. "Come in."
I brush a strand of hair behind my ear and step over the threshold. In the middle of the room, pushed up against the back wall, is a king-sized white bed with gossamer drapes with two dark wooden nightstands on either side. There is a dresser and a large bookshelf in one corner of the room and a large desk in the other. There were no pictures of anything, anywhere. It was all very plain, like model furniture in a rental apartment, but it had a lived-in feel nonetheless. "I like your room," I say quickly in an attempt to defuse the tension.
He doesn't say anything. Instead, he simply holds a hand out for the book. He unwraps it slowly, slightly turned away from me. He undoes each of the corners carefully, one at a time, and I wonder idly if he thinks it's a joke gift ready to go off. I take advantage of the silence to make my apology. "Look, sir, about what I said this morning, I apologize; I don't know what came over me."
He holds up his hand and I immediately stop talking, but I wonder if there's a reason that he's still hiding his face from me. But as he finally unwraps the book and holds it out in front of him I can see a look of amusement cross his face. "This isn't from you." It's more of a statement than a question.
"Well," I stammer. "I got you as my Secret Santa and I wasn't quite sure what to get you, so I went to Professor Potsdam and she wrapped this book up for me."
He nods appreciatively, his eyebrows still raised. I try to peek over his shoulder. "Umm, what is it?" His eyes glitter with amusement as he tilts the book over his arm so I can see it. It's just a plain brown book, a bit thick, with letters sprawled across the top in faded gold lettering. "Umm, that's not English, is it?" I stare at the letters. They don't even appear to be English letters, although in a way they almost do, as if a child was inventing his own alphabet, neglecting the legs on an R or the cross on a T. "Wait, is this book coded? Did she charm this so I didn't know what I was giving you?"
He raises his eyebrows, but he doesn't seem all that surprised. "You are astonishingly perceptive when you want to be."
"I-" My jaw drops, and I'm not sure how to take this sudden compliment. "I am always perceptive; you just seem not to notice it."
"Yes, well." He puts the book on his desk and walks away from it. I want to open the book to see if the pages are coded too, but I don't dare move. I'm still really confused. Why would she go through all the trouble of having me give him a book when they both don't want me to know what it was? Was there some kind of inside joke that I wasn't in on?
"Is there anything else you need?" he asks, and I hesitate. I try to focus on the feeling that I got in Professor Potsdam's office, but it's not here now. I can just recall a faint impression, but nothing more. He seems charitably nice to me right now, and I decide to just go for it.
"Sir, may I talk to you?" I ask suddenly, massaging the muscles in my upper arm nervously. I'm not sure if he notices my discomfort or is just being uncharacteristically nice, but he waves to the chair by his desk and I sit down. He leans against a bed post and waits for me to continue.
"I…" I struggle with the words. "I have this problem. It's something of a personal nature."
"Personal nature?" he muses, although he doesn't look altogether unkind at the moment. "One can only wonder then, why you came to me instead of Professor Potsdam, or Professor Coleman?"
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Maybe this was a bad idea. "I don't know, I just don't think they'd understand."
He raises his eyebrows and sits down on the bed, waiting for me to continue. He doesn't look angry, he just looks curious. "I-" I look away and tug on a strand of hair nervously. "Sir, is there any way to know if I've been hexed?"
"Hexed?" he repeats. He looks almost surprised.
"Or cursed?" I ask.
He contemplates this for a moment and seems to choose his words carefully. "Why do you think you've been cursed?"
"Well," I twist my hands in my lap. I'm not sure how to talk about this with him, and yet for some reason I feel like he's the only person who can help me. "Do you remember Halloween night? When I was with you? In detention?"
He nods but says nothing.
"What really happened?" I ask, meeting his gaze and holding it. His eyes are such a light brown they almost look red. It's such an interesting color and I'm wondering how I never realized that he had red-brown eyes before when I'm suddenly aware that I'm holding my breath. He's still not saying anything and we're just sitting there, watching one another, waiting for the other to make the first move.
"Why do you think you've been cursed?" he asks again, dropping my gaze.
"I keep getting flashes of…stuff," I gesture into the air. "It's really hard to describe. It's like a burning itch in the back of my brain and then it just explodes." I shrug uncomfortably, turning away from him. "Sometimes I hear, I don't know, words? But most of the time it's just like, colors and sounds."
"Words?" he asks. "What words?"
My face goes scarlet and suddenly I can't look at him. I twist in my chair, visibly uncomfortable. How am I supposed to tell him that I heard – think I heard - him tell me he likes chamber music and wine? Why would he even tell me that anyway? I glance at him quickly but his face is impassive. He's waiting, and I'm not sure what to say.
"I think-" I swallow hard. "It was a, a piece of a…conversation? Between….us?"
I glance at him nervously. His face is set, and I'm not sure if he's gritting his teeth. There seems to be something going on inside himself, some kind of internal struggle, but I have no idea what it is. Maybe he thinks I'm going crazy?
"And what did we say to each other?" he asks after a moment. His voice hinges on the last word, as if he's not sure he'll be able to get out the whole phrase.
"Um," I scratch my head again. Chamber music and wine. Chamber music and wine. What if I am actually going crazy? There's only one way to be sure. "Can I ask you a question first?" He raises his eyebrows but again, says nothing. "Sir, have you ever had a blue…snow cone?"
The effect on him is immediate. He stands up and runs a hand through his hair, and for the first time I realize he's not wearing a hat. I always see him with his hat. In fact, I'm pretty sure this is the first time I'm seeing him without one. Why didn't I pick up on that sooner? Obviously I'm not as perceptive as I first claimed to be.
"Is this a game?" he whirls on me suddenly, and my eyes go wide. I can feel my heart beating in my chest.
"A…g-game?" I stammer. He looks mad now, his face set, his typical angry glare again at the ready.
"Making up nonsense," he murmurs under his breath. "And when did this last episode occur, exactly?"
"Yesterday, in Professor Potsdam's office," I answer automatically. He's mad and I honestly don't know why. Does he think I'm making it up? Does he think I'm playing a joke on him?
"And instead you chose to wait to come to me with this?" he asks. "Instead of asking her about it?"
"No, no," I stammer. "I just, I had a weird feeling, about you." He looks taken aback, but still angry. "I just had a weird feeling and I just, I don't know, I felt like I should talk to you about it." He stares at me, like he's trying to decide if I'm serious or not. Chamber music and wine. Chamber music and wine. Chamber music-
"I should go," I stand up quickly and head for the door.
"Tori," he says, and there's something strange in his voice that makes me turn around. He's standing there, looking unsure, and for some reason I can feel the weird feeling creeping up on me again. It sort of blossoms out from the center of my chest, filling my lungs. It's a mixture of excitement and fear, apprehension and exhilaration, and underneath it all, a strong feeling of….trust? It echoes in me like a heartbeat, pulsing, and for a minute I just stand there, taking it in, trying to preserve it, so I can dissect it on my own in private later. "Is there anything else? Any other, words, as you said?"
Chamber music and wine.
"No sir." I look down at my feet, unable to hide how defeated I sound. For some reason, I don't want to say it. It feels like my little secret, to keep for myself. I don't know why I don't tell him, especially since I'm so sure he was the one who said it. Couldn't it have been just some silly conversation we had one Saturday morning? But if it was, why do I feel such a strong link to it? Is it something I overheard? Something I shouldn't have? And, the most troubling question of all, why can't I remember?
"I think," he says at length. "It would do you well not to focus on these episodes. Do you have them often?"
"Not really," I shrug, thinking back. "The only times that I've ever really had them was-" When I was with Professor Potsdam talking about you. When I was talking to my roommates about you. When I was with you. When I was thinking about you. And I don't have the nerve to tell him any of that. Instead I just let my voice trail off and keep my eyes trained down to the floor.
He seems to understand. "As I said, I would not focus on them. You are working yourself much too hard. The stress is clearly getting to you." I frown as he says it. The words sound so unnatural out of his mouth. He's a terrible liar. He seems to notice, but makes no effort to correct himself. I turn to go. "Tori. Thank you for entrusting me with this information."
"Well, I trust you," I start to say, but for some reason my mouth has gone dry and I have trouble getting the words out. He looks away, and for some reason I feel like we're having an entirely different conversation.
"Is there anything-?" he asks suddenly, looking back up at me. "Something you do, that makes this go away?"
"I usually focus on something else," I shrug. "Usually by-" I think back to when I was in my dorm room and my tongue immediately rushes to the inside of cheek where I had bit down before. It's still sore, and if I'm not mistaken, a little bloody, but it doesn't hurt much. "-distracting myself, focusing on something physical. I don't know."
"Then I would recommend grounding yourself," he says. "Typically when people are stressed, they usually find an object that they can squeeze or focus on in order to keep themselves in the present."
"That sounds like a good idea," I say. It doesn't get to the root of the problem, but it's an idea on how to at least control myself until I can figure out why it's happening. "Thank you, sir."
"Again, I must caution you not to dwell on these thoughts," he says. "When you feel them coming, ground yourself, and come directly to me as soon as you can. You know where I live now."
The concern spreads to his eyes, and that's how I know that it's genuine, but it does nothing to erase my shock nonetheless. "Now, run along, and thank you for the gift."
I smile at him, and want to say something more, but decide against it. I need to think about this more by myself. First he says it's just stress, that I shouldn't dwell on it, but then he tells me to come running to him whenever it happens? Something is obviously going on, and he won't say. But why?
I open the door and stop, turning to him seriously. "You would tell me, if there was something wrong with me, right?"
"Run along," he repeats quietly, and I can feel the smile slipping from my lips as I shut the door behind me.
Professor Grabiner watched as she left with a myriad of emotions, the chief among them a mixture of disappointment and confusion. When she had arrived at his door, he had at first dared to hope that she had remembered him, but no, it was just Professor Potsdam no doubt orchestrating some silly scheme to force him to come to terms with how much he cared for the girl. And it had almost worked too. At first when she started to speak, he thought she might have remembered something important. The marriage? A kiss? But no, instead it was just a piece of simple conversation. However, one line of a conversation could lead to her remembering a dialogue, which could lead her to remembering the whole conversation, which would lead to her remembering another, and another…
But that was the thing. It appeared that her memory was slowly coming back to her in bits and pieces. Should that be happening? Not much was known about memory charms, especially after one's memory was wiped. Magic and science did not mix, and so they didn't really know if anyone suffered any long term brain damage from having their memories shielded for an extended period of time. There was only what had already been observed, and speculation. Memory shields themselves were tricky business, as breaking one usually depended on some knowledge of the person who cast it. Whoever cast hers must not have known very advanced magic, for she seemed to be strong enough to be breaking through it of her own accord. That was dangerous in itself though; if she remembered too much at one time, or if she trapped herself trying to figure out exactly what she was seeing, it was possible that she wouldn't be able to wake up.
He walked back over to the book on his desk and tapped his fingertips over the cover. Professor Potsdam had charmed the thing well, from the binding to the cover to the language. The gift was indeed intended for him, although he could clearly see why she didn't want Tori to know what it was. He tapped the book twice to get rid of the glamor, and then opened the cover and extracted a small card that was left inside.
She's starting to remember. It's not much, mostly fragments here and there, but she is starting to pick up impressions, and it's only a matter of time before she links them to you. I wouldn't be surprised if she's told you already, but it's important if you are to help her that you can link things clearly for her. This should aid with that. I managed to recover it as soon as we noticed the memory loss and I believe she hasn't noticed it missing yet. I understand if you have reservations about reading it, but the only way we can help her is if we know what she's lost. I'm sure she'll forgive you, eventually.
He raised his eyebrows at that last comment and snorted to himself as he put the card down and carried the book to his bed. He sat down at the very edge, holding the book in both hands. Carefully, he turned to the first page and found that it was neatly dated in the top right-hand corner. He quickly flipped through several pages and found that they were all dated. That would most definitely make things easier.
He wasn't sure if he really wanted to read this. This was quite clearly private, and yet Potsdam had obviously gone through it. He tried making a list of pros and cons in his head, but it didn't work. He didn't want to disturb her privacy, but something in here could prove useful to saving her life. And, he had to admit, that he was curious to read what she had written about him. It was that curiosity that eventually won over.
Casting a nervous glance around the room, he opened to the first page and began to read:
Sunday, September 1 – Move In Day
Today I arrived at Iris Academy and met my new roommates, Ellen and Virginia. I also accidently bumped into a nasty teacher, Professor Grabiner, and he gave me ten demerits for it. So mean!
He chuckles at that and reads on.
I told Virginia about it, and she says that everyone calls him Grabby because he hates everyone. Her brother told her that he's a monster…I hope that's not true! If he was really as bad as she says, they wouldn't let him be teaching freshmen, surely? Anyway, Virginia has two brothers here at school, both in Wolf Hall. The older one is William and he's really cool. The younger one is Donald. He's the same year as us and he teases Virginia a lot…