Sunday, 10 October 1993

Remus Lupin's Office

As September limped through an awkward, edgy, guilt-riddled, and somewhat traumatized end (at least from Mary's perspective), a much-subdued Slytherin House settled into a new 'normal.'

Dave Rhees was now fast friends with two outcast half-bloods: fellow first-year Alex Piltdown, from Devon and second-year Nora Blum, from Dusseldorf. Perhaps these were not the best allies he could have hoped for, but he seemed, at least, to appreciate their company. All three of them were understood to be under the protection of Mary Potter, who had finally explicitly claimed the title of Heir of Slytherin. Tales of her long-ago triumph over the Heir of Malfoy, her display of Parseltongue at Lockhart's Dueling Club, and her three-day disappearance in the Chamber of Secrets were whispered less quietly than they could have been to the first and second-years around the common room, and older eyes watched her somewhat warily. In the wake of Mabon, it seemed that even those who had never seen her speak to a snake were ready for a change of pace, and declined to challenge her over her unofficial Clients.

Lilian Moon, formerly one of the most outspoken third-years, sank into a minor depression, avoiding her so-called best friend, instead spending nearly all of her time with the other third-year girls and, to nearly everyone's surprise, Draco Malfoy. Sean informed Mary that this was most likely only because Mary was currently reminding Lilian of Connor, and that his baby sister would come around eventually, but this was not in any way consoling. As Hermione was not around any more often than she had been before their intervention, to avoid raising suspicions surrounding her time turner, Mary was left to spend most of her time with her adopted underclassmen, or Theo and Blaise, the latter of whom seemed to be avoiding Daphne and refused to tell anyone why.

Quidditch practices increased in intensity, if not frequency, as the first match approached. Flint dispatched some of the more eager first-years to spy on the other teams and feign ignorance if caught. The returning team members, Mary included, had been ordered to use this intelligence in developing new strategies for each of the year's match-ups.

Snape's extra lessons grew increasingly difficult as the third-years struggled to master charms that were (at least officially) OWL standard. Their prefects assured Mary, Blaise, and Theo (when they were caught practicing in the common room) that their efforts were not in vain: even if they didn't master the spells this year, they would be miles ahead of their peers by fifth.

Outside of Slytherin, the Conspirators' detentions continued vacillating wildly between excruciatingly uncomfortable and frustratingly tedious: they spent a whole afternoon reading ethics texts and solving ethical dilemmas, the correct answer to the last of which was that Snape should have turned them in, and another afternoon preparing extracts and essences of willowbark, murtlap, and yerbena for the hospital wing – one dose at a time, with Snape periodically vanishing their work halfway through for the most tenuous of reasons. The fifth-years moaned in private about the many, many other ways they could have been spending those hours. Even revising properly for their Potions OWL would be better.

New classes proceeded at a disappointing pace: Runes and arithmancy were both very difficult, for almost completely opposite reasons. Runes had too much memorizing, and trying to understand arithmancy tied Mary's brain in knots. And Hagrid, according to Draco, who had finally followed through on his promise to exterminate the flobberworms in the face of Lilian's obvious disinclination to do anything more about the problem, had moved on in Care of Magical Creatures to Acid Slugs. (Draco had taken a leaf out of the Grangers' book, and organized a petition instead of just talking about it, because that was just not on.)

"Are there any good things happening at all?" Remus asked, as Mary recounted the highlights of the past few weeks in Slytherin (leaving out, obviously, the bits about Snape's extra lessons and the details of the Conspirators' detentions, the Quidditch spying, and exactly why Lilian was seriously out of sorts – she was going to need to start keeping a diary, soon, if only so she could remind herself of all the things she hadn't mentioned to him).

"Well, the first Dueling Club meeting went really well."

At least three-quarters of the school had turned up. Flitwick, like Lockhart, had invited Snape to give an exhibition duel to kick off the club, and it had been well-advertised. Unlike the complete farce that was Lockhart's attempt at dueling, the two experienced professors had started with the easiest hexes and jinxes spoken aloud, and worked up to a silent lightshow of dodging and shielding over the course of fifteen minutes or so. It had been brilliant to watch: one spell flowing effortlessly into the next on the attack as Flitwick ducked and jumped and tumbled across the stage; Snape, having for once foregone his usual billowing attire, moving so quickly and minimally that he never seemed to put forth any effort at all.

"I heard Filius won," Remus grinned. "Sorry, Professor Flitwick."

Mary sniggered at the slip of his tongue. "You didn't go? Ravenclaw's been giving us grief about that all week, but we're pretty sure that if they didn't have to stick to proper dueling rules, Snape would have beaten him hands down. He is a Slytherin after all. We don't imagine fighting fair is his specialty. But it was just an exhibition."

The professor's mouth quirked as though he had something to say about Snape and fighting fair, but before she could ask, he changed the subject. "I had some business to take care of in London. Good turn-out, anyway?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. It looked like most of the school. Professor Flitwick says probably only half of them will come back, but that's still a lot of people. What were you doing in London?"

Remus sighed. "The aurors wanted to talk to me."

"About Sirius Black? Have they heard anything about him?"

Remus raised an eyebrow at her eager tone, but answered anyway. "They wouldn't say much. Guess they had a tip-off that he was seen over in Edinburgh, but then, that was in the paper, anyway."

Mary nodded. She had seen that. It hadn't looked like a very reliable lead. Some old muggle lady thought he was a homeless man until she got home and saw him on the news again. She had called it in, but there was no sign of magic used in the area.

"Speaking of the paper," Remus said brightly, too-obviously trying to change the subject, "How go the Grangers' efforts with that petition? Last you mentioned, Catherine Urquhart and some lawyer had just gotten involved, and it's hard to make out anything from the editorials."

Mary grinned. The quest to rid Hogwarts of Binns and its progress was a widely-discussed topic at the Slytherin breakfast table. "Well, my sources tell me the petition has over a thousand signatures already, and reading between the lines with the papers and the gossip, it sounds like most people still don't know who's behind it. Everyone's sure it's a woman, from her writing style, and probably a muggleborn or half-blood, since she occasionally includes a muggle turn of phrase.

"But no one can figure out why a muggleborn or half-blood would be undermining Dumbledore's authority like this, because he's been their greatest supporter in the Wizengamot for years. So the latest speculation is that she's working for Narcissa Malfoy. Lady Malfoy is the best candidate, apparently, to be making this kind of trouble, because Lucius Malfoy got kicked off the Board of Governors last year, and they'd be desperate to get a bit of control back over Dumbledore.

"Draco's not saying much on the subject, and I'm not sure if it's because he knows she's not behind it, or because he thinks she is, and just hasn't told him. Last I talked to Hermione, she was mostly furious that her mother is meddling in Hogwarts business. Something about how Magical Britain is her world, not her mother's and Emma has no right to stick her nose in anywhere she wants to."

"Really? Hermione's always seemed very level-headed to me."

The third-year shrugged. "She can be touchy about some things." She had been touchier than usual, lately, which Emma, in a rather amused tone, had suggested was simply because her daughter was becoming a teenager. She was nearly a whole year older than Mary, after all. The dental surgeon had also sent a muggle book on hormones and your changing body, which Mary had not appreciated receiving at the breakfast table. The other third-years had teased her about it for nearly a week.

Remus nodded absently and cast about for another topic. "Are you excited for your first Hogsmeade weekend?"

Mary sighed. "I would be, if I was allowed to go. The Professor's still worried about Black, even though you'd think if he was around Hogsmeade, someone would have spotted him by now. And I even promised to stay in the more popular shops, or only go to the Three Broomsticks, or even stick with one of the chaperones, just so I could get out of the castle for the day, but she still said no. Something about how it's only been a bit over two months since I ran off and got lost and broke my arm, and she still doesn't trust me to use common sense."

"Sorry, pup. That's tough."

The Slytherin made a face. "I'm trying to look on the bright side – It's been a great excuse to turn down all the offers of a date with boys I've never spoken to. I mean, I'd have to come back early for detention, anyway, but I wouldn't put it past some of these guys to try to get me to come for just the morning."

She had actually been completely flummoxed when the first one, a Ravenclaw fifth-year, had tried to chat her up and asked if she was going to town. She hadn't realized that he meant it as an offer of a date until she was telling Lilian about it later, and had been rather short in her dismissal. After that, it had been like Lockhart's Valentines all over again, but worse, since most of the boys asked her in person. One of the older Gryffindors in particular had been obnoxiously persistent. She'd been very glad to have a legitimate reason to say 'no.'

"And anyway she said she'd reconsider next term, so I guess that's something." Hopefully interest in snagging The Heir of Slytherin Who Lived as a date would have waned by then. Or at the very least, she might get one unmolested visit to the town before they realized she was allowed out of the Castle.

The Defense Professor patted her awkwardly on the arm, obviously uncomfortable with the thought of discussing her dating prospects, as he changed the subject. "Still not going to tell me what you're in detention for?" he teased.

By this point, he had to know she wasn't. She smirked and shook her head. "Ask Snape."

Remus snorted. "Like that git would ever give me the time of day, let alone rat out one of his students. You know he hasn't actually registered you for any official detentions? Whatever it was, it must have been serious."

A wave of cold fear washed over her, and she realized that she was uncomfortable with the idea of Remus digging into her activities the previous year. She didn't really think he would tell anyone who could get her into even more trouble, but she knew what she had done was wrong, and didn't want him to think poorly of her. "It – it was. Remus, please, um… please don't ask questions. Don't look into it any more. It – we made some really bad choices, and we're being punished for our actions, and I promise the punishment is fair, and we deserve it, but we'd be in a lot more trouble if anyone else found out, so please… just leave it."

The professor looked slightly taken aback, and very worried at her sudden shift in mood, but she couldn't quite find the words or the tone to console him. "A-All right," he said, somewhat shakily. "If it's that important to you, I'll… let it drop."

Mary peered closely at him, trying to decide if he was lying. She couldn't tell. "I mean it. Don't tell McGonagall or Dumbledore or anyone else. I – I don't want my friends to get hurt over this."

Remus hung his head for a moment, then nodded, squeezing her hand reassuringly. Mary squeezed back, and sat there a few moments longer, before she decided that the easy familiarity of their earlier chat was gone for good.

"I should get going," she said, probably too quickly.

Remus nodded understandingly. "Come back any time," he said with a sad smile.

Mary bit her lip. "Hogsmeade day?"

"Sure, I'll be here."

"Great." It was a relief to have some plans for that day, other than hanging about with the underclassmen while all her friends went to town. She excused herself before things could get awkward again. Hopefully, hopefully, he really wouldn't draw official attention to the Conspirators' trespasses.

Tuesday, 12 October 1993

Great Hall

The next week passed largely without incident. More classes, more Quidditch, and yet another detention (rendering four casks of fermented ex-flobberworms into queasejelly, a most accurately named substance, and a task which Mary was already doing her best to forget). There was one large exception: on Tuesday at dinner, Hermione had made one of her rare appearances at the Slytherin table, looking as well-rested and energetic as she ever had before acquiring the time turner, to remind Mary that the Muggleborn Students Association would be having their second meeting on Sunday at eight.

Mary was well aware of that. She had specifically arranged the Dueling Club meetings to over-lap with it, running from seven to nine.

"I can't come," she said, in her sorriest tone. "I already said I would go to the Dueling Club."

Hermione had glared. "You said you would come to the MSA first!"

Mary had held her ground. "No, I definitely didn't."

"Elizabeth!"

At that, Mary had dragged Hermione bodily out of the Great Hall, because every Slytherin within earshot was staring at them.

"Eliza – Lizzie! What are you doing?"

"I don't want to have this talk in front of the whole bloody school," she explained shortly, dragging the older, taller girl into an empty room off the Entry Hall.

"What talk?!"

"I never said I would come to another MSA meeting."

"I'm pretty sure you did."

Mary glared at her friend. "No. You can quote whole lectures verbatim. You know I didn't."

"But – I," Hermione obviously stopped to think back for a moment. "Fine! Maybe you didn't. But didn't you have a good time?" she wheedled.

"No, I really didn't. Look, I'm already busy with Quidditch and homework. I don't have time, and now with the dueling club, you know how important I think it is to learn how to defend myself –"

Hermione cut her off. "Dueling club starts at seven – you could go there for an hour, and then come to the MSA. Or I'll even let you use the… you know. C'mon, Lizzie! It'll be fun."

"What? No!" Mary objected. "First off, people would definitely notice if I was in two club meetings at once, and secondly, no, it won't. I didn't have a good time. I felt really awkward and out of place for the whole meeting."

"Don't be silly, Lizzie, you didn't even talk to anyone."

"Maia. That's the point. I don't have anything in common with those kids."

"What do you mean? You're muggle-raised, too. We have things in common."

"We have things in common because we were both friendless outcasts before Hogwarts, and we spent almost every waking moment for two years together!"

Hermione looked like she had been smacked. "So, what, if I was any other muggleborn, you wouldn't associate with me?"

Mary blinked and shook her head. "What? No! I'm friends with Dave, aren't I?"

"But Dave's a Slytherin," Hermione said, like this was a point that mattered.

"What does that even – No. Listen. Most of those kids are like… normal. Well adjusted." Hermione's eyes widened as she got it. "I – I just – look. It's not that I have anything against muggleborns, or muggles, or the real world, but I never, ever belonged there. I don't want to sit around talking about football or favorite programmes on the telly or computer games or any of that stuff. I don't miss it. I didn't grow up with it any more than Draco or Daphne."

Hermione snorted.

"It's true, Maia. I slept in a cupboard until I was eleven. I spent my entire childhood living like a poor relative taken on as a servant in one of your old fashioned novels. Lilian and Blaise have more fond memories of the muggle world than I do!"

"That's no reason not to come hang out and learn about it!"

"Maia. You're. Not. Listening to me," Mary said very slowly. "I don't want to go listen to a bunch of little kids reminisce about their happy muggle lives – it's like rubbing it in that I never had that, even though I grew up in the same world."

Hermione glared at her, hands on her hips. "Fine. Just – fine!" and then she turned on her heel and was gone, without a backward glance.

Sunday, 17 October 1993

Great Hall

Now the day of the fateful club meeting had finally arrived, and it appeared that Hermione was being petty and refusing to attend the first hour of the Dueling Club, like she had suggested Mary do, out of spite. Mary had hardly talked to her outside of classes since the Ravenclaw had stormed off on Tuesday, though she had heard from Lilian (who was, thankfully, starting to perk up a bit, and occasionally talking to Mary without looking like she was about to cry) through one of the Hufflepuffs and Red Patil that she wasn't the only person Hermione had gotten in a fight with.

Apparently Lavender Brown's pet rabbit had been killed by a fox earlier in the week, which the drunken Divs professor claimed to have predicted. Hermione had pointed out that the rabbit hadn't even died on the date predicted, Lavender had just gotten the news that day, and with a classic-Hermione lack of tact, pointed out that Lavender couldn't have been dreading the rabbit dying, since the news had obviously come as a shock.

Mary hadn't had anything to say to that, except, "This is what happens when we're not around to keep an eye on her. That girl. Honestly! It obviously came as a shock? How dense can you be?"

Lilian had giggled slightly hysterically at that and resolved to try to spend more time with Hermione, even if she and Mary were still having a fight about the MSA.

Tonight, though, Lilian was with Mary and several fellow Slytherins, because she wasn't invited to the Muggleborn club, and wasn't about to just show up and butt in where she wasn't wanted when she could be learning dueling, or so she said. Last time, after the demonstration, Flitwick had talked animatedly about the goals of the club, the types of dueling they would be learning – with swords and knives as well as wands and possibly also staves – and then let the students mingle for the rest of an hour while he circulated, talking to each group and dividing them into those with experience and those without. This time, they were actually going to learn things!

They started at the beginning.

Professor Flitwick cast a sonorous on himself, and began pacing the stage as he lectured excitedly on the formal art of dueling and what its rules entailed. Mary began to feel rather quickly as though she should be taking notes. She was also shocked to learn that That Blond Fake had got something right, kind of – a big part of formal dueling, according to Flitwick, was showmanship.

"The Duel," he said seriously, "begins with the Acknowledgement of the Challenge, otherwise known as the Bow. As with every aspect of the duel, the Bow can be used to communicate much to one's opponent." He leapt up onto a slowly-rising pillar, which carried him high enough that even the shortest in the crowd could see him. "To make a perfunctory nod suggests disdain for the conventions, but also wariness of one's opponent," he drew himself up and demonstrated, his body language reminiscent of Snape, who was, Mary thought, just habitually guarded.

"Too deep a bow suggests disdain for the opponent's skills only." This time he lowered his head in mock-subservience. "This is because to take one's eyes from one's opponent is tantamount to giving them a free spell!

"Similarly to the standard greetings, to bow from the shoulders indicates weakness, where a crisper inclination from the hips, straight-backed, projects strength." Two more demonstrations. "A bow with many flourishes," he imitated Lockhart, to the titters of the crowd, "indicates that one is more concerned with the battle of public opinion, won or lost by showmanship, than that of spellwork. To truly win a duel against one of that sort, it is essential not only to beat him, but to do so quickly and decisively, using only the simplest of spells, that he should be humiliated – for that is the true loss for him."

Someone shouted 'Lockhart' from the crowd, and Flitwick grinned. "An excellent example indeed, Miss Rosier. Five points to Slytherin. There is a place for showmanship, of course, and a good half the points in a competitive duel are awarded for how each spell is cast, but no matter how ornate or artistic one's style is, a duelist must be able to win as well as to look suitably impressive doing so.

"Now, a proper bow is taken from the hips, head up, eyes forward, always focused on your opponent, but not on his eyes, can anyone tell me why?"

A hand was raised rather close to Mary, and an older Ravenclaw answered, loudly enough for the whole hall to hear, "Because if your opponent is a Legilimens, he may be able to use eye-contact to predict your strategy. And if you're not an Occlumens, you'd never know."

"Very good, Mr. Meyers. Five points to Ravenclaw. If you do not know whether your opponent has skills in the Mind Arts, it is best to assume that they do, and the traditional forms have been developed to reflect this. In a proper challenge duel, the wizard who is challenged bows first, in acknowledgment of the challenge, accepting that the other has fair cause to call for a duel. Challenge duels, or honor duels are illegal in Magical Britain, outside of a very strict set of circumstances, which you are all more than welcome to come to my office hours to discuss. I trust you all do wish to get to some actual magic tonight!"

Scattered cheers met this announcement.

"In a competition duel, such as those sanctioned by the International Dueling Commission, both opponents bow at the same time, and to no less than a fifteen degree angle, thus eliminating any bias in their starting position. I only mention the issue of bowing in challenge duels to highlight the importance of bowing on the mark. Bow too soon, and you suggest you desire to make this a personal duel, rather than sport. Bow too late, and you suggest superiority over your opponent inherent in being the offended party. Either will disqualify you in a sanctioned match.

"Now, those of you I spoke to last time, who have some experience dueling, please demonstrate for your peers the correct bow."

It was not terribly difficult to guess who in their little knot of Slytherin third-years would have some experience of dueling. Blaise and Draco both stepped forward and bowed in tandem, and then Daphne pointed out that there was an alternative sort of perfunctory curtsy for witches which she demonstrated. Mary and Lilian attempted to copy both forms for several minutes, until Professor Flitwick cleared his throat again.

"Excellent, excellent. Good work. Now, there are two primary stances that one may take after the Bow: Offensive and Defensive." He demonstrated. Offensive was with one foot in front of the other, wand held in a neutral starting position. Defensive was crouched a bit, ready to spring in any direction, with the wand held parallel across the chest. "If you would, please form a grid, and we shall practice both movements together, first the bow into the offensive stance, and then into the defensive stance…"

The students shuffled around, and Mary tried not to be too disappointed by the fact that Flitwick, unlike Lockhart, wouldn't let them jump straight into sparring. Watching her fellow students bumble though the most basic movements (and stumbling slightly herself with the unfamiliar forms) she understood why, but it was still a frustratingly slow pace. By the end of the lesson, the only spells they had been taught and told to practice were the Stinging Hex, the Disarming Charm, and the Simple Shield, with a promise of actual fighting (though limited to those three spells) next time (which wouldn't be for a whole month due to Samhain coming up in two weeks). They were also assigned homework: they had to go look up the rules for a standard IDC duel.

And then it got worse: as the Slytherins were walking back to the dungeons together, Daphne asked, "Mary, Lilian, would you like to join some friends and me for tea next Sunday?"

Mary nearly tripped over her own feet. (Blaise sniggered, and Draco looked around, spinning gracefully as he walked, without breaking stride, the bloody show-off.) No, she would not like to attend another one of those ridiculously formal, stuffy tea parties. Not here, at Hogwarts, where she thought she was safe (from that sort of madness, at least). While she was recovering from her near-fall and wondering exactly how rude it would be to say no, however, Lilian answered for her.

"We'd be delighted, Daphne."

Mary tried to catch her eye and glare at her, but Daphne looked over too quickly. "Of course," she found herself saying under the blonde's icy stare. After all, she wasn't about to pass up a chance to spend more time with Lilian if Lilian wanted it, and she didn't want to offend Daphne. She just wished it was anything other than a formal tea party.

She was rewarded with a sparkling, well-practiced smile. "Lovely. I'll owl you the invitations."

Owl the invitations? When we spend hours in the same classes, every day? She couldn't help feeling that she'd just been let in for something even worse than she had previously been imagining.

Saturday, 23 October 1993

Dungeon Classroom

"Let's go, children," Snape sneered, ushering the Conspirators into an abandoned, dungeon-level classroom, rather than their more usual potions lab. Mary sighed in relief as she realized that there were no cauldrons in sight at all. Her hair still smelled slightly of queasejelly (aka, death) from the week before. There were also no desks or chairs, aside from the professor's. "I, unlike some people, do not have infinite time to waste!" Then, obviously counting under his breath, "eight…nine…Lovegood? Where is Miss Lovegood?"

"Here, Professor Phobetor," the blonde said, suddenly appearing behind him. Hermione, on the other side of the room, sniggered before covering her mouth quickly. The fifth-year Slytherins looked as though they would rather like to as well, but didn't dare.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw," the professor snapped irritably.

Luna, in her inimitable way, simply floated into the middle of the room and sat cross-legged on the floor before she said, pointedly, to a blank wall, "Names are like shoes." Mary made a mental note to ask the younger Ravenclaw why she was angry at Snape. She had suspected as much the week before, but there hadn't been much room for passive aggression when they were faced with the fruits of Draco and Lilian's flobberworm assassination plan.

Snape apparently thought it beneath him to engage with the twelve-year old, because he proceeded to ignore her entirely. "It has come to my attention," he said softly, "that nearly every… single… one of you has expressed an interest in self-defense recently, through the medium of the Dueling Club." His gaze lingered on Hermione long enough that she flushed. She must, Mary thought, have been the only one who didn't go to the second meeting. "This afternoon, in that same spirit, you will be completing an auror training exercise. If any of you finish before the allotted time has passed, I will consider you to have completed a full eight hours for the day. The goal is to break the spell I will cast upon you." He pointed at the teacher's desk. "Place your wands on the table and take a seat."

"Wandlessly?" Adrian asked, somewhat nervously.

"That is the challenge of the exercise, Mr. Lestrange," Snape answered evenly, staring the boy down until, rather reluctantly, he pulled his wand from his pocket, and set it on the table. The others followed suit, Luna tossing her wand to one of the Weasleys rather than move from her spot on the floor.

Once everyone was seated, the professor announced, "The spell is called the Isolation Hex. It results in complete physical sensory deprivation, not coincidentally mimicking one of the few non-fatal side effects of over-administration of Veritaserum. In that case, however, the condition is permanent. The hex is finished by a simple finite. Unless you manage to successfully break the hex, you will remain in your position for the next eight hours. Yes, Miss Moon?"

Aerin had her hand raised. "What if we need to use the loo?"

Snape sighed. "I will also cast a suspensory charm on you to keep you from soiling my dungeons."

"Couldn't smell worse than queasejelly," one of the Weasleys muttered to the other, who nodded.

"Five points from Gryffindor, and I expect one foot on the uses of queasejelly from each of you by this time next week!"

Perry now had his hand in the air. "All of us, sir, or just the Weasleys?"

"The Weasleys and you, Mr. Wilkes."

The other Slytherins giggled. Even Mary and Lilian knew the value of deliberately misinterpreting instructions to do the least work possible, and they were only third-years. Asking for clarification inevitably resulted in more work, as any OWL student should know. Perry flushed.

"Anyone else?" Snape asked, glaring at the lot of them. "Very well, then. I recommend you lie down, and try not to panic."

Mary reclined next to Lilian, wondering as she did so whether this was truly better or worse than their last detention.

The hex was a long one, in a language she did not know, and its wand-movement was complex. Mary watched as pale-pink light struck six times, before Snape turned to her, dark eyes merciless. "Horer, berore, ser intet, smake intet, lukter intet, ingen og navnlos, bli intet, ved mitt ord, la det sa bli!"

}{-}{-}{-}{-}{

Then there was nothing. She was blind and deaf. She couldn't feel the floor beneath her, or the air moving in her lungs. It happened suddenly, even though she was expecting it, and she would have screamed if she could have, but just as she had not had eyes to turn away as she watched Connor Moon die, she had no mouth to open to scream. This was worse, though, than that had been, because the whole world had gone with her body – there was not even the white mist between visions. What if it never came back? Did she even exist, without a body and a place to be?!

Then all thoughts stopped.

They started again, an unknowable amount of time later, calmer, like dreaming. It had to be a dream. It felt like a dream, where everything is inside your own head. An old muggle quote floated out from somewhere in her memory. I think therefore I am. Does that mean if I stop thinking, I stop being? Did I just die?

It felt like a very long time had gone by.

Now past the initial panic and… passing out? Was that what that had been? Could you pass 'out' when there was no 'in'? Anyway, once the initial panic passed, and Mary grew accustomed to being part and parcel with the nothingness that apparently surrounded her – no body, no world, only thoughts in non-being – this was not a bad way to spend a Saturday afternoon. No homework, no Quiddich responsibilities, no drama. Restful.

Still, she wouldn't want to live this way forever.

It was rather boring, actually.

Was this supposed to be one of the terrifying detentions, or a tedious one? She had lost track.

More time passed. Probably. It occurred to Mary that since the only reference she seemed to have was her own thoughts, and as such, if she stopped thinking, time would have to pass much more quickly, or seem to, since there would be no way to tell that it hadn't.

But as soon as she had that revelation, she couldn't seem to stop thinking.

Is this what going mad is like? Alone with your thoughts and nothing else?

She tried to scream, but nothing happened. Or if it did, she couldn't tell.

She tried desperately to reach out, to find something, anything, any sensation at all.

Nothing.

She felt scared. And more alone than she had ever been before.

More time passed.

How long had it been? Four hours? One? She could get out early, Snape had said it was possible. But how could she even try to cast a finite on herself with no self at all? That wasn't just wandless and wordless, it was inconceivable.

This was, she thought, like being back in the cupboard. She started to hallucinate (probably – did it count as a hallucination when you weren't-seeing things that weren't there?), imagining its walls closing in on her. She could almost hear Petunia Dursley screeching for her to wake up and make breakfast, smell her too-infrequently-washed gardening socks, stuffed under the bottom stair. But even that would be better than nothing at all.

Is this what going mad is like?

She flailed the limbs she no longer had, desperately seeking any sort of stimulus.

Nothing happened, of course.

She felt sick.

More time passed.

She imagined she was going through the motions of climbing onto her broom, kicking off, feeling the rush of wind in her face, and gravity trying to pull her back – not on her Nimbus, but on her very first ride ever. The sun was shining, and Hagrid was watching with Madam Hooch. She could taste the crisp sweetness of stolen apples. It was almost real.

She could, she realized with a sudden clarity, let herself get lost in memories like that.

Fear spiked through her.

No! I have a life! Friends! Things I need to do!

I can't stay here forever!

But Snape will let me go at the end of detention.

But I don't want to have to be saved!

Is it saving you if someone puts you in danger in the first place?

Her mind drifted back to the Chamber of Secrets and the Weasleys, saving her from the Basilisk. She had so hoped that the Mabon ceremony would give her back the memories that were taken over those three days. But no, she realized suddenly, Snape said she had consented to that. She was, at least when she knew what she had done, willing to hide that memory from herself.

That was a horrifying thought.

Quickly, think about something else!

I wonder if this is what it was like for Riddle, living in the diary.

The thought rose, as all thoughts seemed to in this place, unbidden. She decided almost at once that she didn't want to think about it, but now that she had, she couldn't let it go. Could she imagine years of this?

No.

It hadn't even been eight hours.

Maybe it hadn't even been one.

Fifty years of this? Anyone would go mad… It can't have been like this.

But what if it had? Maybe there was a trick to surviving it? To not letting your thoughts tear you apart or memories eat you alive?

Maybe he did let himself get lost in memories. Maybe he lived his whole life over and over, finding all the places he went wrong, all the things he would change if he could.

Maybe he was mad – madder than I realized.

Maybe he didn't fight it – how long could you, anyway? Maybe the secret to avoiding madness was to give in and let your mind do whatever it wanted. Could your mind be lost if there wasn't anywhere for it to be in the first place?

That sounded like something Luna would think.

Maybe I'm going mad.

Can you go mad in only eight hours?

At least it's not a painful way to go.

More time passed.

She started counting, in her head, a substitute for a heartbeat that she couldn't feel in a body that had as good as vanished. When she realized she had lost count, she started over again. And again. And again.

She really hoped time was passing.

The suspicion that it wasn't led to fear creeping in, again.

It had to have been at least eight hours.

What if Snape didn't let her go?

Was she being paranoid? Maybe. But… What if she just… wasted away, her body stacked with the others' like a pile of wood in a corner of the dungeons?

Would anybody miss her? All her friends were there, too.

No, she corrected herself, not all of them.

She supposed that was true. Remus would probably come find her, if she didn't come to class, or Professor McGonagall. Catherine and the Grangers would miss her letters, too.

That settles it, she decided, I can't go mad. The adults in her life (other than Snape, who was obviously insane himself, and possibly mysterious, book-sending Riddle) would never understand.

That was a nice thought. She dwelled on it for a bit, deliberately ignoring her fear and the sense of impending doom that went along with not having a body or a world to exist in, as least so far as she could tell. Intellectually, she knew it was still there, it was just… a bit… difficult to believe it, at this point.

More time passed.

I wonder how Lilian's doing. And Hermione. And all the others. I hope they're alright, and not mad. Perhaps not the Weasleys. No. Them too. I'd hate to see them even more insane than they already are.

More time passed.

She thought about why she was in this mess in the first place. Stupid Heir of Slytherin, in his stupid book, with his stupid basilisk! Couldn't he just have possessed some idiot down Knockturn Alley and re-embodied himself there?!

She didn't really blame him for wanting to get out of the book if it was at all like this, but his timing wasn't worth shite.

Stupid Lucius Malfoy, sending him to Hogwarts in the first place.

She wondered how the Weasleys had found out that he was behind it, anyway.

No, she didn't, she was busy being angry at the bastards who were responsible for this mess: Lucius Malfoy with his stupid hair, and Tom Riddle in his stupid book, and the twins with their stupid Gryffindorness, and maybe even Ginny for not telling anyone what was going on – she had gotten rid of the book at one point, hadn't she? Yes. Lilian was angry at her for that, last year.

She hoped Lilian was okay. Had anyone told Snape about her brother? Mary certainly hadn't – she couldn't – it was part of the ritual, since she was Lilian's partner. The bond, and all that. She couldn't imagine anything worse for the other girl right now than being locked in her head. Connor was clearly the only thing she could think about right now, anyway, even when she did have a body and a whole world of distractions.

Worrying is much worse than being angry, she decided, feeling terribly, terribly anxious for her friend.

And then, a horrifying thought: If Snape knew, would he have done this to her anyway?

Maybe, she decided. He had poisoned her, after all. Well, all of them. But she hadn't thought he would trick her like that. It was… it felt like… bad. She didn't have words for this.

No, she did.

It felt like when she found out that Sirius Black was her godfather, or rather, what it meant that Sirius Black was her godfather.

Betrayal.

She felt like Snape had betrayed her by poisoning her, and making her think she had been poisoned worse, when she trusted him.

She wallowed in that thought for a while.

More time passed.

My parents had really bad taste in friends, she decided.

I'm doomed.

Probably either Hermione or Lilian is just waiting to stab me in the back.

I wonder which one it is.

Hermione? No. Lilian's sneakier.

But Hermione's more vicious. And she is learning how to be sneaky, what with the time turner.

But, well, no, Lilian probably couldn't kill a fly, at the moment, even if she is the more morbid one.

Is it talking to yourself if you're not really talking?

Maybe I've been insane all along, and it just took this little experiment to notice.

She let her mind wander as she might have done in her cupboard, once upon a time, not re-creating memories with the same focus as when she had feared being lost in that first flight, but remembering back, one thing at a time, as far as she could. Little things, like breakfast, she found she could only remember in detail for a matter of days. Conversations with different people held a certain clarity over weeks, but the details blurred past then. Some things, like the pain of breaking a wrist, were just as clear the first time, so many years ago, as they were from the past summer.

More time passed.

She had a feeling that this lesson, these detentions, would be something she remembered for a long, long time.

Maybe that was the point.

Actually, come to think of it, hadn't Snape said this was an auror training exercise? What on Earth was it good for, aside from having to be alone with your own potentially maddening thoughts for periods of time that were, quite frankly, absolutely meaningless? It was bloody irritating.

Obviously he had meant for them to experience the horror she had at the beginning, and the fear – he had said this was like one of the side-effects of Veritaserum, so obviously it went along with his whole 'reasons feeding Veritaserum to people is wrong: the what-ifs' theme.

Maybe it was because he wanted them to have a timeless eternity to think about what they had done.

She wished she could just tell him she had learned her lesson, and let it be over.

She had long since passed from panicked to relaxed to bored to angry and paranoid to existential angst. What were those five stages of mourning Hermione had been talking about? Bargaining was definitely one of them. Could you mourn the loss of yourself if you were still thinking and therefore being?

She started making a list of things she would give up to have a body again. Then she started making a list of things she wouldn't give up to have a body again. She… wouldn't kill anyone. Probably. Maybe. It depended on how much longer this torture went on, she decided. She wouldn't kill anyone yet.

More time passed.

Maybe this was what dying was like.

If so, it wasn't so bad. Like she had thought earlier about going mad, at least it wasn't painful.

More time passed.

And then something happened.

A wave of… something passed through her, and the nothingness she inhabited, which, she realized, feeling (that wasn't the right word) the tingling sensation (also not the right words) rise and fall (close enough) across her… un-space (Words, she decided, were hard.) were one and the same.

Her thoughts froze as she waited.

It happened again, stronger, and then, after what seemed like no time at all, a third wave, even more powerful than before.

Then it was gone. But she was certain now that she hadn't done whatever it was. Which meant there was still a real world out there, even if she couldn't sense it at all, in any other way. The way it had sparked and flared as it passed through her reminded her of… something. Something just out of grasp. Something that should be blindingly, glaringly obvious, as natural as breathing… Oh.

Magic.

Of course – magic!

Gods and Powers, I'm an idiot. Of course there's still magic.

She had no idea how to direct it – she couldn't even really feel her own. But whatever sense it was that had registered the wave of power, if that's what it was, had to be magic. She could not see or hear or touch anything, but something had touched her, and she had felt it.

Time passed as she considered that fact and then, tentatively, tried to reach out, in the same way that she had felt the wave of magic that was not her own come in.

Nothing happened.

She tried it again, harder.

She couldn't decide if nothing was happening because nothing was happening, or if she was fooling herself into thinking she could sense something when she couldn't, like seeing sparks and shapes when she had pressed too hard on her eyes in the dark of her cupboard, or if she had just, metaphorically, reached out into empty air, and there was nothing about to sense.

There was nothing for it but to push harder. Reach harder. Further. As far as she could.

There!

Was that… something? Someone? She brushed against it again, and it seized onto her, dragging her under, like Piers Polkiss shoving her into the deep end and grabbing her ankles, weighing her down, the one and only time she had ever gone to the Little Whinging City Pool. She panicked, again, yanking her magic, or that new sense of power back to herself, but the other wouldn't let go. She was caught. It was pulling at her! Drawing part of her away!

Fear spiked.

Make it stop, make it stop, makeitstop, MAKEITSTOP! she screamed silently in her thoughts, pouring all her will and fear into it as she tried to wrench what she was suddenly certain was her magic back to herself.

And then something shattered and the world was back, and too bright – close eyes – and painful, and she was screaming, and someone else was screaming, and it hurt her ears, even with her hands clasped tightly over them, and her throat, and she could feel every stitch of clothing against her skin, and the pressure of the hard floor beneath her, and smell the stench of death in her hair, and the soap used to wash her robes and unwashed bodies all around her, and the sound of her heart and the taste of dust and the feel of air in her lungs were everywhere, and she couldn't stop screaming, and oh God, why?!

A new wave of magic hit her, and blessed, blessed nothingness returned, this time complete.

}{-}{-}{-}{-}{

She woke with a jolt, scrabbling for a wand that wasn't there, as her mind fought to catch up with her body. She sat bolt upright, gasping for air, blinking, eyes watering even in the dim light of the dungeon classroom, but it was nothing like as bad as it had been last time.

A little blonde girl with too-wide, silver eyes knelt beside her, holding her wand. She snatched at it, holding it close for security. "Luna?"

"The King of Nightmares is pleased," the girl said with a small smile, before standing, and offering Mary a hand. She took it, and scrambled to her feet. Everyone else was still lying on the ground, apparently unconscious, with glowing green or yellow lights around their heads.

"What?" she asked, feeling as she often did when talking to Luna that she was missing half of what was said (in a completely different way than she did when eavesdropping on older Slytherins).

The youngest Conspirator helped her to a conjured chair, across the teacher's desk from a darkly unrepentant Severus Snape. He was smirking. Mary squinted a bit. Possibly a proud smirk. "The King of Nightmares, I presume?"

He scowled at Luna. "Like shoes, sir," she said pleasantly, then wandered off to sit next to Hermione, whose halo was the most yellow, bordering on orange. Mary watched, rather confused, as the second-year traced patterns on the backs of her housemate's hands with the tip of her wand.

"Congratulations," Snape said drily. "As you can see, Miss Lovegood is the only other student to have broken the spell thusfar."

"That… that was what was supposed to happen?" Mary asked, horrified.

"Perhaps if you describe…?"

She did. Snape's smirk grew broader as he listened. "… And then," she shuddered, "I woke up, and it was awful. Just… too much. Of everything."

"Indeed. The breaking of an Isolation Hex is frequently compared to being hit with an overpowered Supersensory charm, applied to all the senses at once. Not dangerous unless you have been Isolated for over 48 hours, but it can be… shocking."

"So… what happened? What – was that magic I felt?"

The professor nodded. "The renewing of the Isolation hex, at two, four, and six hours. It took you a little over six and a half hours to break free."

"Wait – so it was only two hours before the first time? It felt like ages! And then almost no time at all between the second and third."

"The perception of the passage of time is an interesting phenomenon. I take it you realized that the experience of the passage of time is dependent largely on thought within the spell?" Mary nodded. "And you tried not thinking, as a way to make it pass more quickly?" Another nod. "As you are now aware, maintaining a state of vigilance focused on one thought is far easier and more conducive to ignoring the passage of time that trying to reach a meditative state, at least without significant practice."

"And that – whatever was pulling at my magic? What was that?"

"That was Miss Lilian Moon. She must have felt your probe and seized onto it, much like you felt the re-casting of the spell and attempted to follow it. Your finite broke the charms on both of you." Mary's head whipped around, but Lilian was still unconscious. "She's stunned," Snape added.

The third-year nodded in understanding, then, still confused, added, "But… I didn't cast a finite."

"Tell me, what are the three key components of magic?"

"The wand motion, the incantation, and the intent?" Mary suggested. That had been the answer on their first-year Charms exam.

Snape smirked. "No, not a casting a charm – base magic."

"Um… I don't know."

A sigh. "Intent, yes, and power and control." He smiled slightly. "You turned your magic on yourself – which is in this case the aspect of control, though undoubtedly unpolished, with sufficient desire to make whatever was happening stop, which is the intent behind the Ending Charm. You did this with enough force or power to disrupt the magic already acting on your mind, breaking the Isolation Hex."

"So… I did wandless magic?"

"Wordless and wandless, which is, in fact the purpose for which aurors use the spell. Now that you are aware of your magic, all that remains is to practice until you can maintain and direct it outside of your body."

"There has got to be an easier way!" Mary objected.

Snape chuckled. "Magic can be fast, easy, or effective, but only two of the three. And the first step, at least in this, is the most difficult. Five points to Slytherin."

"That's not fair, my liege," Luna called from across the room. "You didn't give Ravenclaw any points, earlier!"

"You, Miss Lovegood, should be pleased I have not taken additional points for your impertinence in persisting with your insufferable terms of address."

"Cognomena and sobriquets are traditionally considered a mark of fondness and esteem."

"When bestowed between equals, Miss Lovegood. I am your professor and expect to be addressed accordingly!"

Luna looked up from where she was still sitting next to Hermione, whose halo had faded to a more greenish-yellow shade, and blinked absently at him. "Why didn't you just say so, sir?" She seemed to have gotten over her earlier ire, which made Mary even more curious about why she had been angry.

Snape muttered something under his breath that sounded rather like, "Powers-bedamned Ravenclaws."

Mary sniggered. It was nice to know that someone could get under his skin.

"You may leave, if you like, Mary Elizabeth. I will consider your eight hours for the day fulfilled."

"I'd, um… like to be here, when everyone else wakes up, if that's okay, sir."

He shrugged, and returned to marking essays. "It is of no consequence."

So she went to sit beside Luna, who told her quietly about the monitoring spell on the Hexed Conspirators, and how she was calming them down by tracing magic over their skin when they became too agitated. When she asked how the younger girl had broken the spell first, however, she just giggled.

"I could escape from Time Out when I was five," she grinned. "But it's much harder to cast wandless magic outside of yourself. Mummy used to say I would have to wait until I was grown-up to do it properly and on purpose. Nowhere makes a good thinking-place, though, don't you think?"

Mary shuddered. Her parents had used that spell on her as a child? No wonder she was so… odd.