Mindscape
Professor Severus Snape had been observing Midgeon since he had first been witness to her dealings with Zabini. It had taken him entirely by surprise. The whole situation had made him nervous. If he couldn't predict a mere Hufflepuff, was he loosing his edge? Could he dare hope to keep ahead of the Dark Lord if he could not keep ahead of a shy student? Since the first night of school he had been trying to crack the riddle that was Eloise Midgeon. He had gone over her school records. They showed little. She had rarely been in trouble. As a whole, teachers either liked her or were completely indifferent, Sinistra being the exception. The few detentions she had received were for minor demeanours: badly completed homework, sleeping in class, getting on the wrong side of Filch's bad temper. She was utterly unremarkable: a rule abiding student with decent grades. Far from a rare breed, she was someone downright common. There was nothing to suggest that she might be running a secret liquor operation and allied to the Slytherin son of one of Britain's darkest and most dangerous witches.
Nothing, that is, until he broke into the school's medical records. Though her stays tended to be short, she'd been admitted to the hospital wing more times that Potter and Longbottom combined. The accidents that seemed to plague her, though unusual in and of themselves, were not as interesting as Pomfrey's notes on the suspected cause of the injuries and magical mishaps.
Fifth time in two weeks that student Eloise Midgeon has come in with a peculiar pattern of burns on her left arm. Left arm displays pattern similar to that which one receives when putting up dark wards. Checked for residual signs of dark magic. None found. Suspect she has either found a way to cleanse herself of the tell-tale traces or burns are the result of attempts to modify light wards to imitate dark ones.
Student Eloise Midgeon has once again come in with broken bones and internal bleeding. Cause: Quidditch. Note: Student Susan Bones came in as well sporting similar injuries and claimed that student Midgeon was playing too violently.
Today, student Midgeon's hands were severely cut. A badly cut rune lay in the palm of her left hand with many slashes superposing it - an attempt to veil the true nature of the problem no doubt. Suspect she was attempting to use the rune of invulnerability in a blood ritual. This appears to have spectacularly backfired as it made the cut invulnerable to magical healing, refusing to cauterise and severely depleting my store of blood replenishing potion. Warned student Midgeon about the dangers of rituals and blood magics.
Despite many qualms have agreed to instruct student Midgeon in medical magic. This will hopefully put an end to the injuries I am sure are the result of botched self-inflicted procedures. Most notable of which: the nose incident. I can only hope that this will not result in further disaster. I will try to instil in her respect for her own health. If she goes on this way, she will one day magically harm herself in a way that cannot be fixed. Merlin give me strength.
Manipulator of spells, Dark Arts enthusiast, fixated on wandless magic, she certainly had an interest in powerful magic. Snape had wondered what magical strength she possessed. It was to these ends that he had the students perform the little practicum in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was as surprised as anyone to discover her lack of magical reserves. It made what she accomplished all the more impressive. Hufflepuff hard work and determination might deserve some credit after all.
Snape sometimes wondered why he was so focused on discovering what made this particular student tick. He pretended it was because he was truly interested and concerned by the mystery that this unusual Hufflepuff presented. In part, and he knew it though he refused to admit it to himself, he simply needed a distraction from the looming war. His spying duties on the Dark Lord kept him on edge as did the rest of his work for the Order of the Phoenix. He needed something to occupy his mind so as not to go mad, an amusing and inconsequential mystery to occupy his time. Under normal circumstance, it is unlikely he would have expressed more than a passing mild amusement.
Professor Snape stood before his sixth year Defence Against the Dark Arts class. He had assigned a pop quiz. There was nothing quite like it to keep student tense, and today it would serve well to put his plan into motion. He slowly walked through the rows of students, dispensing deprecating comments and negative remarks as he went, enjoying their uncomfortable squirms.
"Class," he hissed in what he knew was a bone chilling manner. "I shall go to my desk and correct your insipid homework. If any of you so much as look up from your exams you will be summarily thrown out and will receive the failing grade of zero."
Satisfied that they were sufficiently terrified, Snape sat down at his desk. He had no intention of correcting any homework. It was possible to read someone's mind without eye contact; however, this took complete concentration and relative proximity to the subject. With a flick of his wand and a murmured "Legimens" Snape delved into the dark recesses of Eloise Midgeon's mind.
He quickly encountered her occlumency defences. He was actually moderately impressed. They were quite good… for a complete amateur. He easily bypassed them. Memories and thoughts swarmed about him, but he was seeking the very center of her mind.
It was then that with a splash, Snape landed in murky water. He swore loudly and tried to stand, only succeeding in further entrenching his feet in the thick squelching mud that lay at the bottom. After attempting to break free for what felt like several long minutes, Snape finally looked about him.
He had succeeded in reaching the center of her psyche. Psyches as a general rule took on the form of a person's sense of their own mind, be it a forest, a castle, a filing room. Over the years, he had peered into many a Hufflepuff's head but had never come across one of this form before: their minds were all too often filled with puffy pink clouds or fields of daisies – sickeningly happy.
Before him stretched a bog covered in mist, here and there dotted by patches of reeds or little floating pieces of land. It looked shallow in some places, undercut by deep currents in others. The surface was partly covered in water lilies and the ghosts of sea weeds hung suspended in the tranquil waters. Despite the fog, rays of sunlight intermittingly shone through, illuminating the world in golden dazzling colour, if for an instant.
Snape stood in the mists of a smidgeon of reeds, they towered about him, not numerous enough to obstruct his view but thick enough to conceal him from the boat that was approaching out of the fog. He crouched down and observed for all he was worth.
The rowboat's paddles dragged in the water, creating small eddies in its wake. It glided seemingly independently from all outside interference. There were three inhabitants in this small vessel - representations of the subconscious mind.
The first occupant sat at the front, her eyes quickly scoured the waters for something she could not find. She gently caressed the boat with the tip of her fingers and appeared to be giving it suggestions in a soothing voice. Snape guessed that she resembled what Eloise Midgeon must have looked like as a child of nine; the determination that exuded from her person was anything but childish.
The second occupant sat at the back. This was Eloise Midgeon, but older, prettier, and far more sensual. Her feet were hitched over the side of the boat, one arm stretched back and trailing in the water. The black dress she wore clung to her contours like wisps of smoke. Her eyes were hard and worldly as they gazed in contempt at the figure before her.
The third lay in the middle, obscenely fat, joyfully stuffing her face with éclairs, burping unabashedly loudly and licking the chocolate sauce off her fingers in relish.
Snape knew that these three figures were not part of a personality disorder. When someone suppresses an extreme part of their personality, it takes shape and gains strength in their unconscious mind. The host is unaware of these suppressed personality extremes though they can influence the host's decisions. The phantoms tend to twist and exaggerate the characteristics they represent, yet they give the clearest idea of one's inner conflict.
The oldest passenger was presently engaged in a spiteful monologue. "Susan is such a bitch, always trying to get us in trouble. She's constantly trying to make a fool of us. And you force us to stoically accept it every time, indifferently. That time is past I tell you. Revenge! I want revenge. Let's poison Macmillan against her. She's ridiculously enamoured with the dolt. And Sinistra! We hate her and her stupid boring star charts. Let's disrupt the class and throw all the telescopes off the astronomy tower. But what gets me most is that Zabini bloke. He attacked us! He could have KILLED US! And for what? To see if we were worthy of being his associate. It's laughable! He's up to something that one, he is. Insisting on our always meeting in the dungeon because Dumbledore might be using the portraits to spy on us and he doesn't want to attract attention. Which means that were always meeting on his home turf, giving him the advantage. He's probably plotting to murder us one day and serve up our body at some cannibalistic Slytherin Death Eater ritual."
At this, the child at the front, which had been successfully ignoring her, could not help but laugh. "Cannibalistic Slytherin Death Eater ritual? Don't be ridiculous!"
"What else could he possibly gain from our association?" the suspicious one continued with fervour. "The alcohol and minimal information we provide him from the Muggle world could not possibly be worth all the knowledge he gives us in return."
The child did not look convinced. "All he does is give us a few pointers on wizarding society and drag up a few books form the Zabini family library. He's always very nice about it."
"Too nice!" exclaimed the dark one. "He can't be going to all this trouble from the goodness of his heart. We're nothing but a mudblood to him even if he tries to hide it. THAT is why he attacked us. He wanted to take advantage of our weakness to destroy us."
"Though it may be true that Blaise was testing our strength, he hardly destroyed us. May I point out that he had ample opportunity as we were knocked out. He voluntarily brought us to without harming us."
"That's because he was practicing for a later date. He plans to do us in I tell you!" yelled the dark one ominously.
The young one snorted. "Whatever. Susan is very nice, Sinistra must simply be frustrated at our lack of interest and - for God's sake - Blaise is hardly planning to eat us! We are in the middle of a potions quiz, though you may have been too busy making doomsday accusations and pointing fingers to notice. We are supposed to be helping find the answers."
"Why do you guys always fight all the time?" whined the prone figure at the bottom of the boat. "You should just relax like me and enjoy the ride. Here, have a pastie, you look irritated." She held on out a sweet to the dark one, who looked back in disgust.
Well, thought Snape, this was certainly amusing. Midgeon was all at once: forgiving, righteous, determined as well as shrewd, suspicious and cynical, not to forget apathetic, lazy and gluttonous. Three sets of values diametrically opposed. He wondered how one could get on in life with so many unconscious personalities constantly bickering in one's head. And what was this about a duel with Zabini?…
"Always trying to trust everyone aren't you?" the dark one sneered, irritated to no end by the youth's righteous attitude. "You think they're innocent… like us." And she threw back her head and laughed - a stringent insane cackle.
It may have been a trick of the light, but the world seemed to get darker, the sinister vapours closed in till all was that was left was gloom and murk. A hush fell upon the place as the eldest phantom leaned forward. The fat one, disturbed from her eating, looked nervously at her two counterparts before cowering in the boat.
The dark one was deliberately provoking, her cooing baby voice hauntingly reminiscent of Bellatrix Lestrange. "Stop fooling yourself. We're not innocent. We have never been innocent."
"Thanks to you! You jaded hypocrite!" hissed the youth, suddenly defensive.
"Under the foolish and naïve façade we present to the world I am there, I have always been there. Growing with us, maturing with us. Thanks to me, we have never been truly duped for we have never truly believed. Anything. Anyone."
"You think there's nothing good in the world."
"Correct," the phantom nodded in approval. "Nothing wholly good; nothing wholly innocent; nothing done without secondary and selfish intentions. To know the world look at yourself. I have always been and will always be a part of us."
"I wish you weren't."
"You don't really think that. Without me, you'd be naïve, stupid. Without me, you'd be vulnerable. Without me, you would loose a certain zest for life," the phantom smiled ferociously. "Your ability to analyze would be compromised. You could no longer play the game."
"That's all people are to you, aren't they? Pawn in the sick twisted game you play with life."
"But we enjoy it don't we. Our detachment is what permits us to make the best of bad situations. When they hurt us, when they try to bend us to their will, secretly, we are amused."
"Us against them that's your view of everything, you sick jaded…" the child started in fury before shaking her head. "No. I will not do this with you again, you enjoy riling me up…"
"You're welcome," smirked the phantom wickedly.
"Shut up. We're supposed to be looking for the answers," the irritated youth ground out before going back to her task.
The minutes passed by while the youth picked us water lilies and plunged her hands into the water to search for the answers.
The phantom was obviously bored, eyes impatiently roaming the landscape; she kicked the fat one a few time and tore up the flowers until she could stand it no more. "Someone's plotting against us," she stated.
"Yes, yes, not now," the youth sighed in aggravation. "Go fashion your far fetched conspiracy theories quietly in the corner."
The phantom's eyes flashed with hatred. "Don't you dare dismiss me."
"You are aware," she drawled in a deliberately provoking manner. "That that bastard Snape is on to us."
The child continued to ignore her.
"…We should neutralize him while we have the chance," whispered the dark one.
That got the child's attention. "And by n-neutralise you mean…" the youth stuttered.
"Elimination of the threat, plain and simple. An anonymous tip to Death Eater spawn is all it would take."
The youth looked at her in horror. "You're suggesting murder."
"We need to protect ourselves. It would be perfectly justified. Besides, it wouldn't technically be murder as he'd be caught in the end anyway. We'd just be speeding up the process a little," she goaded.
The youth was backing away. "But everyone dies eventually; you could use that reasoning on anyone!"
"Not everyone is in a position to harm us dearest."
"YOU IMMORAL, SICK… HOW DARE YOU EVEN THINK OF SOMETHING SO TERRIBLE!"
"Just trying to help us out," the phantom said archly, revelling in the other's anger.
The youth seemed to come to a resolution; she deliberately unhooked one of the rowboat's paddles and advanced towards the phantom waving it threateningly.
"What in hell's name do you think you're doing?" said the phantom nervously.
"Getting rid of you once and for all!" the child screamed swinging the paddle violently at the phantom's head. Wood met flesh and bone with a sickening crack; its entire body was projected overboard in a forbidding splash.
"…you're not rid of me yet," whispered the dark one sinking into the mud and rotting weeds.
"SHUT UP!" she screamed hoarsely, passionately hitting the phantom one last time as she disappeared into the putrid waters.
Then her strength seemed to leave her and she collapsed to her knees heaving breath and weeping bitterly.
The wind picked up, rustlings the vegetation, rippling the water and emitting a mournful cry. The rowboat spun and sloshed like a dying beast. The world itself seemed to shift and from the depths of the water came a horrifying laughing wail. Snape decided it was time to leave.
It was a disturbed Snape that looked up from his desk. Eloise Midgeon sat staring unseeing at her exam; her hands shaking slightly; her quill spilling ink that danced in rivulets down the side of the page, staining everything it touched a midnight black.
Uh... did that make any sense at all?