Ch. 7- Wednesday Horrors
Edward struggled to rise the next morning; his back and neck were sore from hunching over books and he was still tired from the night before. It was a chore to get dressed and amble down to breakfast instead of blowing off his classes and sleeping them away. Now he was bent over a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee, trying to drown his lethargy in the dark, bitter liquid.
"Hey Ed," Ron and Harry greeted, eyes barely open and arms limp at their sides. Both collapsed into their seats and began reaching for food on routine alone.
"And I thought I was tired," Ed joked, "What's up? You two look close to death."
"Quidditch practice started last night and went on forever…" Ron complained, "You'd think Wood'd let us take it easy on the second day of class, but no…"
"We would have invited you to watch if you hadn't had that detention," Harry said, "Quidditch is really fun; you should get into it."
"What is it?" Edward asked, only a small part of him actually interested. Hermione, who had arrived not a minute ago, rolled her eyes.
"It's the most popular sport we wizards have!" Ron explained, perking up instantly, "Seven players on brooms go against another team and try to get the most points. There are three Chasers—they score with the Quaffle by putting it through either of three goal posts. The Keeper prevents the Quaffle from going in their team's hoops and the two Beaters hit these jinxed balls called Bludgers toward players on the opposite team to throw them off balance. Then there's the Seeker—that's Harry—he flies around trying to catch the Golden Snitch. It's a sneaky little devil of a ball that fits in your fist and it's bloody fast too! Once the Snitch is caught, the game's over and the team with the most points win. A goal is worth 10 points and catching the Snitch is worth 150. You get it now?"
"Somewhat," Ed replied; he'd grown disinterested at the mention of flying brooms.
"You can hear about it all you want, but there's no other way than to see it in action," Harry cut in, "You should definitely come to the first game. We're playing Hufflepuff on Saturday."
"Yeah…" Ed agreed, feeling uncomfortable; he was hoping to use to weekend to search the library. 'Then again, I don't have to go,' he thought, 'Don't get attached; I'm better off ditching the game anyway.'
The day passed pretty much with the same results as the one before. Ed finished reading his textbooks by dinner and now walked to Dumbledore's office with a full stomach and a question on his mind.
"Can I help you?" inquired the headmaster as Edward sat down across from him.
"I was wondering…what happens if you try and scry someone who is dead?"
"Instead of a vision, your wand emits a dark cloud. I suppose you could say nothing happens; the same thing will occur if you try to scry someone you don't know," Dumbledore answered wisely.
"It makes sense…" Ed muttered.
"Have you practiced since Monday night?" Dumbledore asked, curious of his student's progress.
"Yes; it was easier, but I think that was because it was the same person," Ed replied.
"And you would like to try someone different," concluded the ancient mage in front of him.
"Yeah, someone whom I don't exactly know how I feel about," decided Edward.
"Well, give it a try. I can only give you tips on how to succeed. In this case, my advice is to picture the person you want to scry in your mind as clear as possible and let your emotions go for a moment. They should collect themselves correctly for the person if you're lucky," Dumbledore directed.
Edward closed his eyes and held his wand out in front of him. He pictured the being he wanted to see in his mind and as Dumbledore had predicted, his feelings reacted. Now he focused on them: annoyance, affability, anger, and appreciation all at once.
Slowly, the essence of a man appeared, pacing back and forth in a small, dimly lit, one-room cabin. A fire blazed in the hearth and snow fell heavily outside. A book of matches lay on the table next to what seemed to be week-old dishes. The man moved toward the fire to gather warmth and his features grew recognizable except for a black patch covering his left eye.
Outside the man's world, Ed sucked in his breath sharply out of horror and the vision faded due to his lack of concentration. The black-haired man, who stared so intently into the fire, seeming to probe the flames for the answers to unknown questions, curled into wisps of smoke and disappeared into Edward's wand.
"Mustang…I wonder what happened…" Ed murmured, then turning to Dumbledore, "Sir, can you teach me how to see his past?"
"You're a fast learner, Edward, and I congratulate you for that, however, seeing the past of someone else is very difficult. It is easier looking into your own past; you merely need to remember your emotions at the time you want to see. Scrying someone else's past is much more complicated and uses twice as much energy. Wizards don't know how to explain how one goes about doing so; I believe you need to know the emotions of the person you want to scry that they felt at the past you want to see, however it is near impossible to do because you don't know what happened," Dumbledore explained, "What you did is good enough for tonight; I will see you Monday for the next lesson if that agrees with your schedule."
"Yeah, see you then," replied Ed, somewhat disappointed, yet satisfied with the information and experience he'd received. He returned to the dorm, finished the homework he had, wrote a couple pages in his journal, and fell asleep well past everyone else.