Chapter Four: Mail and Classes

When I woke up in the morning, he was standing behind the chair, facing me like an angry shadow. The curtains had been thrown back and the window was open a little; I heard the happy comments of the teachers who had gotten mail from friends or family. To my extreme delight and surprise, two huge horned owls flew for me, dropping off a whole bundle of things. I let out a cry of joy. "Why are you so excited," Snape asked in a decidedly condescending tone. It was as if he were miserable and hated the fact that I wasn't. He had received a letter from a small barn owl, but he seemed unconcerned of it. That took being a grouch to an extreme.

"This is the first time I've ever gotten mail," I explained happily. "Look at all of it!" On the top, I opened a large letter.

It contained the text of some poems I'd written, and then said that with my permission they were going to be turned into songs. I was ecstatic. But then, who knew of the poems, I asked myself—I hadn't shown them to anyone. The envelope included a return address, but no signature. I shrugged it off and moved to the next item in my small pile of beribboned cards and other envelopes. I even found a tube of chocolate pieces, like M&Ms, and offered them to the professor. He seemed surprised but accepted them, eating silently as I munched contentedly on them and sorted eagerly through the rest of my mail. His harsh look told me he disapproved of chocolate for breakfast, but I blithely ignored him.

Among everything I received, besides that letter about the poems and the M&Ms, were a few cards, some more money (several Knuts, a few Sickles, and one Galleon total), and a few pictures. There was also a poster, of a childhood favorite: Magic Eye Puzzles. I pulled on a black bathrobe hanging from my headboard and got out of bed to hang it up. The snowy owl stirred as my actions half-woke her. "What on earth is that," Snape asked in a flat tone.

"It's a Muggle diversion," I explained. "One I happen to like." My mood was too good from the mail to be spoiled by a foul-tempered Professor who wasn't what he seemed to be. "To see the hidden images in the picture, you focus your eyes as though you're looking through the paper. When the repeating pattern comes together, your eyes automatically adjust to see it. It's quite fun. I've solved two hundred twelve to this day." I was quite proud of it. I drew back and solved the puzzle on the lowest left of the eight. "This one, actually, is the Hogwarts Academic Crest. Interesting. That means this came from somewhere nearby or someone here made it." I moved away to stack my mail together.

Professor Snape rolled his eyes, drew his wand from his robe, and pointed it at the paper. "Aparecium!" he commanded. With no more than a slight rustling sound, as though two sheets of paper were being rubbed together, the hidden images emerged and floated out in front of the squares, patterned exactly as the paper was. "Simple."

The three-dimensional figures were quite interesting, but I diverted my eyes. "Please put them back," I requested firmly. "I dislike having my games ruined." He waved his wand at the figures negligently. They melted back into the paper. "Besides, it's more fun to do it the Muggle way."

I dressed in the sort of uniform Professor McGonagall had for me when he left, as it was not proper for a man to remain in a lady's room while she dressed. The formal, rather stiff white shirt implied business, as did the vest, and the rather short pleated skirt seemed almost scandalous. I was surprised at the iron-willed professor. It was soon meaningless, however, with the addition of the black robe bearing the Hogwarts Academic Crest on it. All four House icons were on it because I had none yet: a hardworking badger for Hufflepuff, a snake for cunning Slytherin, the Gryffindor lion for courage, and the intelligent Ravenclaw eagle. The robe, skirt, and vest were black. I felt the color suited me as I examined myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. The shoes would need breaking in, of course, but they were surprisingly comfortable.

As I went back into the main room, I rolled up my sleeves. I had set my owl's cage on the bed; she was still inside. I opened the door to the cage, letting her adjust to the hand I slowly reached in toward her feet. "Sh-h," I whispered. I made soothing sounds to the owl as she stepped warily onto my outstretched arm. "That's a good bird." I lifted her out from the cage, stroking her feathers with one I found on the bottom of the cage, especially her chest. Birds like that. "How would you like a name?" The question was almost pointless to a bird, but she gave a soft hoot in answer. "I'll take that as a yes." My brow furrowed in thought. "Archimedes was the name of Merlin's owl, but he could talk. Hm…." I trailed off. "How do you feel about Pengern? Do you like that?" The quiet almost-chirp told me yes. "I'm glad, Pengern. Now, you have to promise to stay in my room, and not to fly off, and I'll let you stay out of your cage. Will you stay here and not fly away?" She hooted again. "You can rest on the headboard of my bed, then." I put her there, with a thick, tripled-over blanket so she wouldn't tear up the wood.

"Are you quite finished," the Potions Master call from the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm coming," I snapped angrily. "Will I need anything?"

"Bring your first-year books and your Latin lesson-book. You can study that during your meals. And don't forget your wand," he added.

"Of course not," I muttered. I wondered why he placed so much worry on that thick volume. It was very strange. Then again, everything was strange nowadays—at least for me.

After my first two-hour lesson with Professor McGonagall, however, I realized that most of the spells were in Latin, or were Latin-based. So that's what he did it for. The more Latin I learn, the more spells I'll be able to accomplish and the easier they'll be. Not only will I know what words make what spells work, but I'll know what they mean, which adds potency to a spell. The context and the intent are as important as the words and the motion.

This revelation added to my impression of my Instructor in the Art of Potions Making and the Defense Against the Dark Arts. The seeming nastiness he affected was a cover, but for what? The Latin book leaned in the direction of what was almost kindness, or concern. Neither really fit him in one's mind, but that was what he intended. Maybe he was trying, in some sort of obscure way, to skew my education so I would be Sorted into Slytherin. Then again, that didn't seem like the kind of thing he'd do, either. My confusion, which began with the Headmaster's last comments to the Professor, was growing steadily.

I sighed and made my way to History of Magic.

Professor Binns was absolutely boring. There was no life whatsoever in his droning voice. I stayed awake by concentrating most of my attention on drawing little roses on the edges of my paper. When he said something worth writing down, I made a prompt note of it and listened on, adding leaves to the stems in the meantime.

At lunch, I was the only person in the Grand Hall. I ate my fill quickly, the silence weighing on me. Latin is not an easy thing to learn, and I was quite frequently making notes in a separate notebook on it. I knew that once I learned the conjugation formula, it would be easier, so I made a chart of everything and filled in some extra details before class.

Potions Making was the single most trying ordeal in my life. Not only was Professor Snape an imposing presence, he was also a man who had found the edge between rudeness and malice. His derision was mean enough to provoke, but not enough to justify retaliation. He demanded near-impossible perfection. Four hours with that man was sufficient to try anyone's resolve, and certainly their sanity; I had not only Potions, but also Defense Against the Dark Arts immediately afterward. With some effort, I restrained my temper and concentrated on getting through class. I would show him just how well I could do things.

I fell into bed at the end of the day. The work was exhausting, and the load of homework was nearly overwhelming. Pengern had gone out to find some field mice or something to eat; she didn't like the large, silent Owlery. Maybe when the school year started up she would take to it, since there would be other owls there. For now, though, she stayed in the Hidden Tower with me, on my headboard when she slept and out the open window when she felt like flying.

For the next two months I didn't sleep in, I stayed up late, and every tutoring session—it wasn't quite class, since there was no real routine to anything—was nothing but business: books, quill, notes, and tests. Finals at the end of the first month were twice as bad; I got extra work because I was starting the next year, which included a lot of reading in my second-year books. My Latin studies also kept me distracted; I usually did that while in the Great Hall. I ate lunch quickly, sometimes skipping it altogether when I hadn't gotten a particular assignment done the night before. I went through ink and paper faster than anyone would have believed, and frequently sent Pengern to Diagon Alley to buy more. A note and a few coins was enough, and she always returned within two days, a new bottle of ink or notebook in tow. She was a very busy owl, but a faithful companion. My exchanges with the teachers who weren't instructing me now were brief, and often nonexistent, and Miss Pomfrey, the nurse, usually told me to get more sleep. I followed her advice as often as I could, but the workload was constantly too heavy. In what little spare time I could find, I sewed with my wand and a Sewing Charm to make new clothes for myself. I often stayed up late to finish these, hours past when I was finished with my homework. Dark circles developed quickly under my eyes.

Everything came to a head at the end of my second-year studies. I was tending the new batch of mandrakes as my Herbology final when everything suddenly blurred before my eyes. I paused in my work and shook my head, clearing whatever it was away. Once I regained sight, I finished my job. "Splendid, Sannovan," the dear woman said to me. "You did a fine job. I simply can't believe how well you've done over these past weeks. Studying as hard as you have been and keeping all your grades up…you're simply a wonder, my dear."

"Thank you, Professor Sprout," I replied. "If you'll excuse me, I have to wash up before my Potions final."

"Of course," she said. "I hope you do well!"

"Thank you," I called again, already running towards the castle and the nearest bathroom.

On my way up the hill, however, I ran out of breath more quickly than usual. I wondered at myself for a few moments, resting briefly. Usually I was rather fit, and could tackle this with less effort than it was taking me. I got up and tried again.

My exhaustion overcame me in five steps. I felt myself falling as the world flickered and dimmed. I tried to catch myself, but my arms would not work. The last thing I felt was how soft the moss beneath me was, and the last thing I remember was thinking that it would make a nice pillow. Then darkness filled my mind.