Chapter 16: Hungry Baumidgers
Róisín's head was heavy. It rolled forward on her shoulders, like a baby's with no support, as she shuffled down the staircase into the Ravenclaw common room. She squinted as she stepped into the white light blasting through the windows.
"Mornin' Róisín!" an unmistakable Scottish voice called out. Róisín flinched. She took a jerky step backwards, tempted to run back up the stairs to her dormitory.
"Anna told me ye had detention last night, so Ah" – hiccup – "waited up with the lads but ye never came" – hiccup – "back." Eóghan got up from his favourite armchair, the one you sunk into like a sponge cake, and put down the book he was reading, "On the Origin of Fantastic Beasts". It was one of Róisín's favourites.
Her chest ached. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes to delay looking at him.
"Em… yeah Madam Pince kept me for ages, I was so tired I could barely solve the riddle, almost ended up sleepin' in the stairwell," she responded, still furiously rubbing her eyes, "like who cares what bloody year it is on Jupiter?"
"Careful Rósh, yer inner Gryffindor's showin'," Eóghan teased. "Pince must've kept ye crazy late though" – hiccup – "cus Ah stayed up with Angus and Richard past midnight."
"Did Richard's da sneak you guys bubble brandy again?" Róisín asked with faux disapproval.
"How d'ye" – hiccup – "know?" Eóghan answered with a smile.
"Just a guess."
Eóghan hadn't shaved that morning. His dark stubble looked like it'd feel rough against her skin.
"What are ye doin' up? You don't have class this morning," Róisín asked.
"Er, I thought I'd catch you on the way to breakfast."
"Oh" Róisín felt her heart lurch and deflate like a popped balloon. It was clear Eóghan knew she'd been avoiding him. "I have em… S-Snape this morning so I better get going, but we can get breakfast together if you want? Maybe food will cure those brandy hiccups."
Eóghan buried his plate with rashers, sausages and black pudding while Róisín's Weetabix floated sadly in her bowl of milk. It tasted like cardboard. She politely nodded along as Eóghan talked about Ravenclaw's upcoming quidditch match against Slytherin, but her eyes had wandered to Snape's empty seat.
"Róisín, is everything ok? You've been kind of distant recently," Eóghan remarked.
Róisín swallowed a lump of milky wheat.
"Yeah, em, I supposed I've just been stressed with study an'… stuff." She was suddenly fascinated with the contents of her bowl. Her milk rippled as a tear hit its surface.
Eóghan's warm hand covered hers and she looked up.
"Ah don't mean to pressure ye or anythin'," he said. "Is it something I did?"
"No, of course not," Róisín assured him. Then she remembered and blurted out, "I've been cursed."
Eóghan's eyes widened. Róisín preceded to tell him about the book "Poison of Desire", the one Dumbledore had instructed her to pretend she had encountered on her internship, and asked Eóghan to tell no one else about it.
"That's why we can't… well, fool around, anymore… until I'm cured, which could take ages, so you should maybe forget about us for a while," Róisín finished in a rush. Her milk rippled again and she pushed her bowl away, suddenly angry at Dumbledore and his stupid lie.
"Hey, look at me," Eóghan said gently, "it'll be ok, we can still hang out as friends, that other stuff isn't… everything, not to me."
Her nose was running. She needed to sniffle, but then she'd be crying, right there, in the Great Hall at breakfast. Her lips wobbled.
"C'mon." Eóghan stood and led her from the hall, abandoning their half-eaten breakfasts.
Black robes swished into view and Róisín tore her eyes from her feet. Snape had swept into the Great Hall just as they were leaving.
"Mornin' sir"
Their professor stilled at Eóghan's greeting, and his gaze landed on their joined hands before looking directly at Róisín's red-rimmed eyes.
Then he was walking towards the staff table and Eóghan was dragging her away. Her upper body began to shake with her sobbing.
"Róisín, you're going to be ok!" Eóghan asserted when they reached a deserted corridor. "If the curse were serious you'd be sent to St. Mungo's." He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "Remember Angus got that nasty curse before the final match last year? Remember, one of those Slytherin gobshites cursed his beater's bat?! Ah thought he was a goner, the way he was smashin' everythin' in reach, but a week or so later Pomfrey had him sorted oot! If only we could've proved it was that wanker Flint." Róisín continued to sob in his arms. She didn't want to look at him, ashamed he believed she was upset simply because they couldn't hook up anymore.
"Are ye sure there's nothing else goin' on?"
Róisín searched her brain for an excuse.
"Em… my grandad's not"- sniff- "well." It wasn't an outright lie, he'd had a cold recently, which was not insignificant when you were ninety-two years of age.
"Crivvens! Ah am so sorry, will he make it?"
"Em, I-I think so." Róisín pushed away from Eóghan gently. "I'm sorry but I should head down to potions, I don't" – sniff – "wanna be late."
"Hey, Róisín, how are you?"
Ida plonked herself beside Róisín at their potions desk with uncharacteristic lethargy. Róisín attempted a bright smile.
"Not bad, what's up?"
"Some prankster let a baumidger into Greenhouse Seven yesterday," Ida sighed. "I spent ages helping Professor Sprout sort it out and now I'm exhausted."
"Were the plants damaged?"
"Well, it dug up all the beds and pots, and it even ate the loquitiflos flower heads, which is sad cus I liked the sound of them jabbering away."
"That's weird, we studied baumidgers last year and they don't eat plant leaves, they eat mostly insects," Róisín commented.
"Well this baumidger loved them, it even ate some of Anna's and my African spider ivy. Maybe it has an evil plan to brew some veritaserum and discover the secrets of its baumidger clan, where the crunchiest bowtruckles party or something. Anyway, in the end we had to ask Hagrid to bring Fang to sniff out the stupid badger, because we couldn't find it anywhere."
"Did it colour-shift to hide?"
"Yeah it did, and apparently they're impervious to summoning charms, did you know that?"
"Of course I did, and you would've too if you'd chosen Magical Creatures," Róisín teased. "Have you ever seen one during mating season? The males are stunning, with their stripes of black and gold. Some say they inspired Helga - "
Róisín stopped talking as the rest of the class hushed. Snape had entered the room.
Snape asked his usual obnoxiously specific questions as he lectured the class, but he ignored Róisín, much to her relief. He then went around the lab evaluating each student's matured invisibility potion. By the time he came to Róisín's the class had ended and the other students had left.
Róisín shifted in her seat at his approach, and her privates, still tender from last night, twinged. She continued to take notes as he examined her potion, even though her handwriting had become too shaky to be legible.
"An E"
Her pen slipped.
"Pardon, sir?"
She had expected to receive a "Poor" grade or worse for yesterday's slopping brewing.
"You blanched the anguisette thrice instead of four times as instructed, but otherwise this is a potent brew."
"Oh, thank you, sir."
He stood across the bench from her, his features shifting due to the glimmering potion reflected onto his face.
"Do you have class now?" he asked.
"Em… no I don't, sir."
"There's something I need to discuss with you."
Róisín's blood stilled.
"There's no need to be alarmed, I'm not going to chastise you," Snape muttered as though the words tasted bad. "Pack your belongings and follow me to my office."
Róisín kept a pace behind Snape as they walked to his office, their shadows compressing and stretching as they came closer to and passed each flickering lantern. Once there, Snape sat and gestured for Róisín to do the same.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Em…" Róisín blinked and saw last night projected onto her eyelids, with Snape's bare torso moving mechanically above her.
Words had not been invented for how she felt.
"I don't… what do you mean sir?"
"Is your magic stable now?"
Oh, of course, that was the whole purpose of it.
"I-I don't know sir, I haven't tested it yet."
"You haven't done any magic at all?"
"Well, I wasn't in the habit of it, sir, because of the difficulties I've been having."
"Try it now."
Róisín turned to the unlit logs in the fire place, balled her hand into a fist, and flung it open.
The logs burst into flames.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
"Where's your wand?"
Róisín automatically tapped her chest in response to Snape's question, making sure her wand was in her breast pocket. Snape raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, you meant for me to use it, of course, sorry sir," Róisín said as she took out her wand.
"It's important that you use your wand as often as a normal witch would."
Normal. The word stung.
"Yes, of course sir."
"There was no doubt as to your raw power before my intervention last night, as your friend Miss Bathworth could attest-" Róisín looked down at her lap.
God he's such a cunt.
"- it's your magical finesse I'm concerned with," Snape finished. He conjured a tiny needle and thread and levitated them in front of Róisín. "Thread it."
Róisín muttered "Augamentimini" to dampen the tip of the thread and make it pointed, then she carefully guided it through the eye of the needle with her magic. Satisfied, she looked at Snape.
He looked broader with his arms crossed at his chest.
"Your wand?" he asked pointedly.
"Fuck," Róisín cursed under her breath, and picked up her wand lying idle on her lap, "Sorry sir, I'll make sure to use it in future."
"See that you do."
Róisín twiddled her neglected wand.
"Am I dismissed?"
Snape gave an incline of his head and Róisín got up from her chair. A spark of pain shot from between her legs at the sudden movement. She grimaced.
"Miss Feral"
Róisín turned back to Snape. He looked bloodless like chalk.
"Yes, sir?"
"Are you still in pain?"
"Em… no, not really."
Snape held her gaze. Róisín was as desperate to break from it as a diver for air.
"If you do not wish to be captured by the Dark Lord I advise you take the time to learn how to lie," he said smoothly, although his jaw was tense with anger. "Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?"
"I… I didn't think it was your concern."
"You didn't think it was my …concern," Snape repeated slowly, as he stood from his chair. "Your discomfort is the result of my actions."
"But it's my fault, it's because of what I am." He must have transfigured her into a kettle, her words were so high and thin.
"Miss Feral, would I be speaking to you now if you were not "my concern"? The headmaster has placed you in my charge, if someone finds out what you are because you never use a wand, gawk at the boys around you, and limp with the pain between your legs that falls on me."
"I don't understand sir," Róisín gushed, "loads of girl's eye boys up, some witches are adept at wandless magic and even if someone with exceptional intuition somehow inferred from a micro-expression of mine that I lost my virginity last night, there'd be no reason to think I'd lost it with you, or that I'm a sióg!" she finished in a single breath.
Snape leaned onto the desk towards Róisín, looming above her.
"There are things you don't understand," he said through his teeth. "I'm trying to help you-"
"-No, you're trying to look good in front of your boss," Róisín spat.
It was as though the office were half submerged in water but Róisín refused to rub her eyes. Snape did not reply.
A vial holding what looked like liquid sunshine floated out of a cupboard like a large firefly into his open palm.
"Drink a sip of this," he commanded.
Róisín, still huffing through her nose after her tirade, did not move.
"I'm growing tired or your insolence, Miss Feral." His eyes were in shadow but his voice held the weight of his warning.
Well she was tired of being intimidated by the authority figures in this magical world she had been thrust into at twelve, fed-up of the old-school British etiquette, the "yes, sir's" and "no, sir's", which left a disgusting taste of sycophancy in her mouth.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Mielespoir, it will relieve your pain," he said as though she didn't deserve it.
Róisín took the vial and began to drink. It tasted like heaven, the creamiest chocolate, laughter, fresh strawberries, flying on a broomstick, music…
It was gone.
Snape had snapped the vial from her grip and stoppered it. Róisín felt light and calm, the ache between her legs forgotten.
"It's addictive," Snape said. "Thankfully, this batch isn't particularly strong." He looked at her as though the potion had been her idea and he didn't approve.
After Snape dismissed her, Róisín retreated to her dormitory for the rest of her free period. As the potion wore off she lay on her bed trying to process what had happened.
She had spoken back to Snape. But he hadn't lashed out in response. It was beyond weird.
She had hoped that after his "intervention" she would no longer feel emotionally overwhelmed, but she supposed there was no cure for teenage hormones. Every time she had to discuss her predicament with Snape she ended up in tears, and every time he had given her a potion. Did he think he could solve her problems by drugging her?
But she was wrong, he hadn't given her a potion every time she was upset. He hadn't given her anything before taking her virginity last night, not a calming potion, nor a numbing one, nor the fascinating "meilespoir". He'd offered her a drink, but she suspected that was because he had wanted one himself.
Why didn't he give her anything? He clearly wasn't against drugging her.
Maybe he thought a potion would've interfered with whatever happened between them that had given her back control of her magic.
Róisín sat up abruptly.
"Ego levi," she whispered. The pressure on her behind decreased until she was no longer sitting on her bed but hovering a few inches above it.
"Yes!" she exclaimed and punched the air. "It's back."
Elated, Róisín jumped to her feet and cast a tidying spell, denestify, and squealed with delight as she watched her dirty clothes and school supplies whirl around the room and find their place. There was a soft clunk as the spell placed her wand onto her bedside table.
Róisín looked at it guiltily. In her excitement she had forgotten to use it, which was strange because she would normally need it for a spell as complex as denestify; domestic charms had never come naturally to her.
She sat at her desk, where her family's letters were now stacked neatly. With another pang of guilt, she realised she hadn't written to them in weeks. She picked up her quill.
Half an hour later there were only seven words on the parchment: "Hey, how are you guys? I'm good…" and a few splotches of tears. Trying to think of anything real to say which didn't involve the fact that she was a sióg was like trying to get blood from a ghost. And now she was crying for the third time today.
Her stomach grumbled and, after checking that her eyes weren't puffy, she headed down to the Great Hall for lunch.