Callidus had figured it out. Or at least, he thought he had figured out it. After so many weeks of tinkering with Longbottom's mystery potion, he felt that he had finally discovered the elusive recipe. The only thing that still troubled him was, what book had Longbottom found the recipe from? He tried cross-referencing the mix of ingredients with the books in the Hogwarts library, and yet, nothing. Maybe Longbottom had misread? Or had he accidentally created something all his own? Both possibilities were highly likely. Callidus couldn't explain why, but discovering this potion felt as if he were somehow honouring Longbottom, and making up for the calloused way that Callidus had treated him. He sighed, pushing away the voice that told him he was deceiving himself. 'You've just been using him,' that voice said. 'Lie to anyone else, but don't lie to yourself.'
Callidus had even made an effort to visit Longbottom in the infirmary (in secret, of course). But in that regard, his good intentions were for naught; Madam Pomfrey refused to allow visitors for the stasis-frozen students who had been infected by the Orange Madness. Although Callidus could understand her reasoning, it still vexed him. The guilt that he had hoped to wash his hands clean of seemed to stubbornly cling to him, preventing him from being free of his emotional suffering. It was all Longbottom's fault!
But with Longbottom's curious potion finally brewed, Callidus had something new to think about; something quite likely to be remarkable. Sitting in his lab, Callidus glanced over at the benign looking liquid, which was clear with the faintest sheen of pink. He had, of course, tested the potion first, but he knew enough about the underlying potions theory to know that the brew wouldn't hurt him, and even his magical sensitivity had assured him it was safe. The owl sight potion was already in effect. Brows furrowed in resolve, Callidus made use of an eyedropper and dropped the potion under his tongue. It was slightly sour, but not particularly unpleasant. He turned to look towards the mirror, grimacing at the disturbing clearness of each individual pore on his face. Sometimes, it seemed there was such a thing as seeing too much.
He was just debating whether or not to add another drop under his tongue (from what he could recall, Longbottom had used five drops), when the transparent shimmering that surrounded his body began to take on a translucent quality. Like Longbottom, there were strands and arcs of white and yellow that emerged from his body, but unlike Longbottom, there were many other colours twining and looping in and out of his skin. There were shades of purple, blue, green, silver and bronze, that seemed to concentrate around his chest and his head. There were sections of his body, such as his shoulders and arms, where the colors leapt vibrantly off of his skin. There were other sections, such as on his side or near his thighs where the colors were fainter and more sluggish in their motions. Callidus wondered what it could mean.
He lost sense of how much time had passed. It was the ache in his cheeks that made him realize that he had been grinning for some indeterminate amount of time, and he was suddenly grateful that he spent these lab sessions alone so no one could see that vulnerable joy and delight that he felt as he gazed upon the beauty of his magic. He should tell Harry and Draco, and he stood up, pocketing the vial of fluid. But halfway to the door, he hesitated. Draco had mentioned that purebloods were aware of magic's visibility. Being able to see his own (and possibly other people's) magic was a form of power. Did he really want to share that power? To dilute it? He shook his head. Yet, Callidus trusted Harry and Draco. And he also trusted the fact that even if they knew that magic could be seen, neither of them had the strength of discipline to be able to consistently brew potions; even those of great benefit to themselves.
Callidus rushed back to the common room, but as he scanned the open space, he saw that Harry and Draco weren't back from their Quidditch practice. For several seconds, he felt dreadfully exposed. He could see his own magic whipping wildly from his skin, but from everyone else, there was only that clear shimmering. But then he shook his head. He was being foolish. It wasn't as if anyone else was using owl sight potion, and no one should have been able to see the chaotic colours around him - colours that he now thought of as his magical signature.
He found himself wondering if Longbottom's potion (Callidus hadn't been able to think of a proper name for it) could be vapourized. If such a thing was possible, then he would be able to see peoples' magic within a certain perimeter, whether they knew it or not. His skin tingled, not from the potions, but from the sudden awareness of all that he could learn. Being able to see magic could open up unfathomable avenues of knowledge and he felt a strange chorus with in his heart, and intense longing of possibilities. He shook his head. This wasn't the place for such thoughts. His pace brisk, he made his way back to his dormitory to await Harry's and Draco's return.
His friends' practice session was taking an unexpectedly long time, but Callidus was hardly aware of the time. Even without a mirror, his magic was clear, and so strangely gorgeous that it was a pleasure to simply sit and stare at it. The white and yellow magic appeared to remain contained within himself, however the other colors - the greens, blues, purple and bronze - appeared to weave in and out of him, simultaneously part of his body and yet part of his surroundings as well. What did it even mean? It was painful to realize that prior to discovering Longbottom's potion, he had already searched out every book that he could find related to seeing magic. Whatever the answer was, it wouldn't be found in books. Whatever the answer was, he would have to find it himself.
As his excitement eased into a meditative calm (it was entrancing to watch the patterns of his magic), he noticed the movements of his magic changing as well. But his state of calmness was also opening his mind to other matters. This potion that he had used remained something he still couldn't think of as his own discovery. And while thoughts of Longbottom had a been part of his motivation, now that he had brewed the mysterious pink fluid, he didn't feel any better about the Gryffindor. What kind of bizarre mix had Longbottom put together anyway? When Callidus considered the individual ingredients, no experienced potioneer would ever think to put such ingredients together. Based on theory alone, the potion shouldn't have even had any effects. And in truth, without the owl sight potion, Longbottom's brew certainly didn't cause any noticeable changes.
Callidus sighed. Did he really want to tell Harry and Draco about this? He most definitely would if it had been his own creation. And yes, he was the one who recreated the original potion. 'But this is Longbottom's brew,' a voice needlessly reminded him. 'Am I trying to take credit for Longbottom's brew?'
By the time Harry and Draco returned to the dormitory, Callidus is mood had darkened. One voice quarreled with another in the tight confines of his mind, so that by the time his friends returned, he felt too exhausted to socialize, letting them chatter amongst themselves instead. It was easy enough to tune out Quidditch related talk.
The days slid into weeks, and those weeks were spent trying to examine every facet of magical sight that could be uncovered. Callidus learned that yes, Longbottom's potion could be vapourized, and once vapourized, he was able to see the magic of other people within that small circumference.
Vapourizing the potion within the Slytherin common room had been an enlightening experience. There was a distinct pattern (or at least Callidus assumed it was a pattern, but his sample size was relatively small, and he didn't want to make sweeping generalizations). Most of the younger students were surrounded with yellow, white, silver, and small tinges of green. However, the older students (not all, but many), were steeped in purples and blues, of a multitude of shades, ranging from the color of a twilight sky, to gentle hues of sweet pastels.
He learned from experimenting on himself that different spells affected the colours on his body. The spells they learned in class often flared yellow, sometimes as pale as butter, sometimes as dark as mustard. But the spells from ARMED? Those were more interesting. A number of them were multicolored, but certain colors were more likely to be paired.
If anything, being able to see magic was far to engrossing. It had always been his nature to throw himself into his interests wholeheartedly, and this new exploration of magic was no different. The only problem was, he had let himself slip into secrecy, and as time went on, that secrecy became something to be guarded, protected, maintained. It forced him to act normal, but normal was necessary. As much as he wanted to throw every fiber of his being into exploring magical sight, he still had to maintain the image of a studious Slytherin, who cared about grades and house points (and of course potions. Potions might not be at the forefront of his mind anymore, but it was still etched into his identity).
The only thing that managed to wrest his attention away from cataloging all the details of magical sight (the same way he might catalog the properties of various potions ingredients) was a Daily Prophet article in mid-March.
It had seemed like an ordinary day, until the owl post arrived. As more and more students eyes fell upon the blaring headlines, a hush of shared dismay spread across the Great Hall.
THE ORANGE MADNESS CLAIMS THE LIFE ITS FIRST VICTIM! the headline announced. But with the nature of the disease, it was ambiguous enough that none could be certain whether it was one of the diseased who had died, or if the death was one of the poor bystanders who had been attacked.
The students crowded around in bunches, centering on anyone who happened to have a subscription to the newspaper. Callidus and Harry leaned towards Draco, reading as he read.
It has been long believed that those at the greatest risk of being harmed by the Orange Madness are those who are viciously attacked by the infected. But this reporter has been shocked to learn that that is no longer the case.
Callidus grimaced. He hated the journalists at the Daily Prophet, with their histrionic and hyperbolic reporting. The Daily Prophet was far from unbiased, but Wizarding Britain was terribly lacking when it came credible sources of news. After all, did one really want to get information from The Quibbler or Witch Weekly? The very idea made him shudder.
Eliza Hughes, a 9 year old half-blood, is one of the youngest victims of the Orange Madness, and her death has come as a great shock and tragedy to her family. "We thought this magical stasis was supposed to keep her safe," said a tearful Permelia Hughes, the child's mother. "We trusted the healers at St Mungo's. Why couldn't they stop this? Lizzie was so sweet and young. She had her whole future ahead of her."
"We have been doing everything possible to try to help the victims of the Orange Madness," a representative from St Mungo's told me. "We treat all of our patients with the greatest care, and the young patient's stasis spells had been firmly fixed in place." When asked if the Orange Madness had taken a dangerous turn for the worse, the representative refused to comment, saying instead: "Our researchers are working around the clock to find a cure."
Hughes was not the first to be infected, nor was she even one of the first few. In fact, the young Hughes is one of the later victims, which begs the question, why? Why did the Orange Madness claim her life while leaving so many others clinging on? This reporter only hopes that the researchers at St Mungo's will find an answer soon.
Callidus forced his eyes away from the moving portrait of the young girl, who grinned to reveal the gap of a missing tooth, her eyes gleaming with a cheerful innocence as she waved at an unseen photographer. That child would never grin again. Feeling cold, he stared down at his plate, his appetite gone, and the incipient white noise in ears blocking out the sounds of the other students around him.
It was so easy to believe that a magical stasis could have kept the victims safe. There had been so many people to fall ill to the disease, but there had been no fatalities and it was so easy to think that the victims could simply wait, in their unconscious state, until there was a cure. But today's article had been like an unexpected punch from reality, hard and unsparing. Lives were on the line. Hogwarts' students lives. Longbottom's life. Callidus was appetite had already been waning before, but now it was completely gone. And what could he do? Was there anything? He thought that being able to see magic would yield a hint. But he hadn't considered that he would have to learn to read magic first, and magic seem to speak not in words, but in colours and shapes. Even if he could make sense of magic, would he do so in time to do any good? No one noticed the firm set of his mouth. They were too lost in their thought own thoughts, wondering what the future would bring.
Indulging his disquietude would bring no solutions, so Callidus threw himself back into his studies, and learning everything that he possibly could from the owl sight potion and Longbottom's brew. This was how he found himself in the fourth floor classroom, Longbottom's brew already diffusing through the air, as his Gryffindor friends sat down in their usual spots at the joined tables.
"Are you struggling to concentrate, Callidus?" Hermione's comment almost caused Callidus to flinch, but somehow he managed to restrain himself to nothing more than a slight twitch in his eye. "You keep looking over at Caiside and Ginny. There's no need to force yourself if you can't concentrate. I know that revising is just as important to you as it is to me, but knowing when to rest is a key component to absorbing information."
Caiside snorted. "Did you really just say that, 'Moine? Really? When everyone else is spending their evening playing exploding snap, or chess, or gobstones, you're still reading. When you're rubbing your eyes and yawning, you're still reading. And I've heard Lavender and Parvati complaining about how you keep them up at night with your wand light while you read."
"That's just my light reading! Reading is just how I relax!"
Callidus tuned out the voices of the Gryffindor girls as Longbottom's Brew began to take effect, and the rippling magic that surrounded them became visible. Even after all these weeks had passed, the sight of it still entranced him. And since they were in a confined room, the potion worked far better than it would otherwise. These days, he knew better than to waste the valuable Longbottom brew in open spaces where he would barely manage to see a hint of other people's magic.
Yellow and white light danced around the two girls, as well as a tinge of green. It was similar to the first year Slytherins, but the yellow and white seem to be brighter, and there were less hints of silver. There was nothing unusual. He turned to look at Hermione by his side, and his mouth fell open before he snapped it shut a second later. It was fortunate that Hermione was still speaking to Caiside; otherwise, with her inordinately sharp perceptions, she would have noted and commented on his expression right away. Even now, she was turning her head, a small wrinkle appearing between her brows as she looked at him with suspicion. But he had composed his expression and was looking back down at his books, staring down at the fibrous texture of the parchment, near invisible to human eyes. He wasn't actually thinking about the texture of the parchment. His mind was still trying to process what he had seen around Hermione.
On first glance, the colours that surrounded her appear to be the same as the ones around Caiside and Ginny, but they were significantly more brilliant - nearly blindingly so. When Callidus had vapourized the potion in the Slytherin dormitory, he remembered that Harry had had the largest and brightest colors of all the second years. But like all the others, the colours were uneven. Callidus had suspicions that the brightness and size of those arcs of colour had something to do with either one's magical ability, or magical power. And to see it so brightly lit around Hermione with startling. He was aware of her brilliance (though he felt that his own intelligence was tightly matched.) Was Hermione far more powerful than he could have ever imagined? Or did she just have a vast ability?
After what seemed like a sufficient amount of time had passed, he surreptitiously peered towards her. He was prepared for the brightness this time, and now that he was taking another look, he saw that most of it seem to centre around her head, much like a halo encircled a muggle saint. As his eyes drifted downwards towards her shoulders and arms, he could see that the magic there wasn't quite as spectacular. Nonetheless, the magic around her head was still remarkable. And Hermione's magic was tinged with a veritable forest of greens, entwined with glowing bronze.
"Are you attending ARMED meetings?" Callidus realized a second later that he had interposed himself between girl's conversation, but he managed to maintain a cool facade, rather than flushing in chagrin at his own untimely interruption.
Hermione gave him a brief searching look before she answered. "Yes, we are."
"That was being run by some Hufflepuff?"
Hermione nodded, eyes still assessing. "Yes. Gabriel. Gabriel Truman."
"What sort of things have you been learning?"
At the opportunity to be able to discuss her education, Hermione seem to straighten up, and the magic around her flared. Was that the result of her excitement? Her 'halo' was even brighter, the loops of light bubbling like a potion under a boil. It was an effort to look her in the eye, rather than gawping at her magic in a daze. Staring at the beautiful interplay of multi-coloured magic around Harry was one thing, but seeing what must have been Hermione's enthusiasm was something else. It was different, but no less wonderful. He was suddenly glad that Hermione was no Legilimens. Being able to see magic was causing him to think the strangest of thoughts; thoughts that he would never want anyone else to be aware of.
He listened to Hermione speak, not because he was so fascinated by what the other faction of ARMED was learning, but because he wanted to know whether what they were learning was influencing her magic. He was aware that Truman's meetings would differ from Rowle's, but he was surprised by some of the similarities as well. Truman might not have had the club members learning anything related to Dark Magic, but he was opening their minds to old forms of magic: Earth magic and wild magic.
"But of course, most of the focus is on theory rather than practice. It would be highly irresponsible to practice old and unpredictable forms of magic in a club with so many students," Hermione concluded.
"Indeed," Callidus absently replied.
The conversation eventually drifted to other things, and Callidus pretended to study, though in fact he was taking notes about what Hermione had told him, as well as his observations about her interesting magic. Having to write anything while under the influence of owl sight was a challenge, and he did have a tendency to make his letters a little too small, but he had had practice enough that he could at least take notes without making himself feel nauseated.
He completely ignored the girls chatter until a mention of the Orange Madness caused him to still his hand and perk up his ear in interest.
"- feel so terrible for their families," Ginny was saying. "I mean, of course I would never want any of my own family to be infected in the first place, but we had all thought that if it ever happened, at least the magical stasis would keep people safe and alive, you know? And knowing that it doesn't -" her lips pressed together unhappily, "it's just scary. Mum knows some of the families who have had someone fall sick, and they're just terrified."
"It's shifting public perception," Hermione murmured. "People were incredibly angry at first, thinking that the infected were a threat to public safety. But with that poor little girl -" her voice broke as she shook her head, "things are changing now. People are starting to see the victims of the disease as actual victims, rather than just perpetrators of aggression. It's terrible that a child had to die for it to happen though. It just -" her expression crumpled into something that warred between anger and pain.
"And poor Neville," Ginny added, giving Caiside a sidelong look. But Callidus paid no heed to Caiside's response. Hearing Longbottom's name was too much of a blow, upsetting his equilibrium.
Hermione sighed. "If only I had access to their research. Of course, I wouldn't presume to be able to solve the problem on my own, but I wish I could see the progress that they were making."
The group fell into a weighty silence as each of them drifted off into their own troubled thoughts. It was Callidus who eventually broke it, if only to avoid thinking about the possibility of Longbottom dying.
"Has this disease ever struck any of you as being -" he pursed his lips, "unnatural?"
"Unnatural?" Hermione repeated. "Certainly, it's something new that the magical community has never seen before. But that's the nature of many diseases."
Callidus hummed, finding nothing particularly useful in Hermione's answer, but as his eyes slid away from her, he caught sight of something Caiside's expression. Alertness flooded him, making his nerves tingle in readiness. Not only did Caiside look to be gritting her teeth, but her magic had been agitated, losing its curved whorls to erratic breakages that looked as jagged as the small broken bones that once littered the bottom of the secret chamber.
Their eyes met. Callidus thought that he would see surprise in Caiside's dark eyes. But instead, they were shuttered and unreadable. Caiside may have been a Gryffindor, but her mother must have left some Slytherin marks upon her psyche.
Caiside looked away from him. "I'm afraid I'm not feeling very well," she said, rubbing her right eyebrow. "I'm going to head back to the common room."
"Do you want us to come with you?" Hermione asked, worried.
Caiside shook her head, quickly tossing her books and parchment into her satchel. "No, no. I'm just going to go lie down for a bit."
"I'll walk you back to the tower," Callidus offered.
"Oh no," Caiside said with forced nonchalance. "I wouldn't want to trouble you. The tower's in the opposite direction of the dungeons."
"No trouble," Callidus said, but Caiside was already out the door, and he was still trying to stuff his notes and books into his bag. Ignoring Hermione's and Ginny's bemused looks, he dashed out after Caiside, but she was already gone. Callidus had a vague idea of where Gryffindor Tower was located, but he did not know the precise location of the entrance. Nonetheless, he broke into a run, more intent on finding Caiside than looking dignified. Occasionally he would hear the sound of footfalls up ahead, but it was only the other students going about their day.
He ventured up the stairs, but he was less familiar with these parts of the castle. Voice low, he cursed his luck. But Caiside couldn't avoid him forever. And with her strange behaviour, there was no way that he would forget to root out the cause. Caiside knew something. But what?
A/N: I appreciate the reviews!