~Monday 23 November – My Room Very, very late…Starless sky
It was still dark when I woke up. I was having some strange dream though I'd forgotten most of it. I only recalled the screams as I came into consciousness. It won't be today. That was the first thing that ran through me head. It won't be today that The List is released. Still, today I have the added anxiety of Mulciber's trial to consider.
My hands were trembling worse than ever this morning. It took that much longer to button my coat. I cut myself twice while shaving. I even dropped the comb several times as I dragged it through my hair. I don't want to see their names in print. The ink is the stain, the blood upon my hands and the marks upon my arm that can never be erased.
I am fairly certain I wasn't breathing when I entered The Great Hall, and I wasn't alone in this... I could sense it the moment I crossed the threshold. For once, we were all united in the same terror. Every dropped fork clattering upon porcelain sent shockwaves through the room. We all literally jumped at every sound - but he's gone. The Dark Lord is gone, so why are we all still afraid?
Because we can never be free of him. What he has done will remain with us forever.
No one was eating. We were all going through the motions. Several times I know I heard her begin to weep before she caught herself. In all my days of sitting in class under the power of that stoic, unyielding woman - I could never have imagined that I would sit beside Minerva McGonagall as she cried. Who had she lost? How many? Friends, colleges, countless former students… I wanted to cry, and for once it had nothing to do with my own sorrow. I forced my face to remain still. One sigh, one dropped glance and I would have lost it completely - dissolving into sobs and hysterics in front of everyone. Still, I knew I was not alone in this…
I was grateful to only have the two classes today and no N.E.W.T. students to face. I paced about the room for a few moments before the class began. I don't know what I was looking for, but I felt I had to check the classroom before the students arrived. I had to make sure the space was safe… but from what, I'm not certain. I repeated this before my afternoon class as well.
All of the students were too distracted. I thought to give them work. I thought that perhaps the concentration required to brew Potions would help to take their minds from their troubles - as it had done for me so often when I was a student. I thought of this, and yet I did not have the heart to burden them with work. For all I know, some of them have lost parents or family members. I don't know the exact odds, but easily there could be a student in each class who has suffered a loss. Should they really be made to consider the difference between knotgrass and fluxweed at a time when they will be forced to see the names of their deceased loved ones in print?
I told each of my classes that they were free to read or study whatever subject they desired. Not one of them used this as an opportunity to misbehave. They all sat and read quietly. Some whispered to one another, but one could easily discern the nature of their hushed discussions and knew they were not to be disturbed. In retrospect, perhaps I should have permitted some of them to go out in the hallway to talk - but that might have been too much freedom.
Dinner was as painful as breakfast and lunch had been. I was in such a state, that I'd completely forgotten when Dumbledore passed a note to me – William!
I opened the thing - knowing it pertained to Mulciber and his trial – after all Dumbledore had been absent from lunch again... Of course - he was at The Ministry – at the trial! I'd hoped for an answer to be concealed in the folded piece of parchment. What was I thinking? An answer so simply given by Dumbledore? I really must be confused today.
The note only said to meet him in his office at eight. Oh let it be the trial and nothing more I thought. I couldn't have managed anything else. I returned to my room to pass the time after dinner. Though I tried not to think on it, but my mind raced. What else could possibly have happened if this is not in connection to the trial? I vomited twice I was so sick over it. What I threw up I have no idea for I swear I have not eaten in days, and so of course it burned all the more painfully when I did… sick. What Dumbledore? What…
Finally it was nearly eight, I raced up the stairs to his office and knocked on the door, completely disregarding the fact that I was several minutes early.
I didn't even wait for an invitation when he opened the door - I marched straight in. "What happened Dumbledore?"
"Calm down Severus. I wanted only to tell you the outcome of the trial in private." An answer. An answer so swiftly given - and he was being genuinely kind.
I actually stopped and tried to calm myself as he had requested. "Sir?"
"Please, sit down." He guided me to the chair and I did not argue – neither with him or myself and sat down as he told me.
He had barely taken a seat himself when he said it. "He was convicted."
I was staring at him. Perhaps I was still waiting for an answer, for it had not registered. "Convicted?"
"Yes," he began, "Both his father and Evan Rosier's father made a great effort to secure his release but there was far too much evidence against him. William Mulciber has been sentenced to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban."
My heart sank. I felt guilty - for suddenly I saw, that this was not the death of a man who tortured and killed, this was to be the final end of a boy who might not have turned out to be such a monster. Perhaps under another set of circumstances he would have been a different person. Will I feel the same way when Avery is tried, set free or imprisoned? Does it matter where they will be placed on The List? Does any of it matter? No… he is simply another life missing. One more horrific end...
But justice had been carried out. That's what I had so desperately wanted. Like Crouch, I sought blood and I finally had it. I felt no comfort. In that respect, I suppose I am not like Crouch. I know he does not feel what I feel for the dead, the missing, the innocent or even the guilty. The Dark Lord ruined us all. Justice is done, but it cannot undo the crimes we have committed against one another. The only good that comes from this is the fact that no further lives will be lost at the hands of William Mulciber. I hope the Dementors do their work quickly. I do hope it will be quick…
"Severus, are you alright?" a voice called to me from a great distance. Dumbledore. Right.
I didn't care that he'd seen me so lost. At this point… "Sir is there anything else we need to discuss."
"That depends upon you," he said.
"With all due respect, I would rather leave now." I told him.
He made no objections. "As you wish," he told me. At that, I got up and left.
What is going on? I was so openly lost in my thoughts and did not care? He was giving me answers with no theatrical display? He was giving me a chance to ask further questions and I myself chose to return to my room? I do not understand this day.
But now the day is over. Thank Christ. Now that it is - now that I have survived a day under the threat of The List, I rather hope that it happens tomorrow. As much as I dread it with all my heart and soul, I think it worse to live with the dread. Lets just have it and be done.
~Tuesday 24 November – My Room After Midnight for all I know its Wednesday
I feel completely flat and emotionless. I feel brittle and weak, and it occurs to me to be the best way to feel at the current time. I haven't the strength to do anything terrible, so I am not at risk for self-harm. I have cried myself passed the point of crying. I have run through my hysteria and I am now run dry of emotions.
My hand shakes as I write, but that is from fatigue and not nerves - for there is nothing more to fear.
Everyone just, knew when we woke up. We didn't express this to one another. We did not need to. I entered the Great Hall. Never before in the history of the school was the mood so grim in Hogwarts. And while I am sure that this place knew great sorrow in my absence as lives were lost to the war, never before would the experience be shared by so many. And I know that on That day – when… it happened - that even as everyone rejoiced at the end of it all, that there was still the gnawing feeling of what was to come. But now the dust has finally settled, and now we must face all that it was that we lost…
The Final Official Death Toll.
That was the headline. And you knew right away upon seeing the thing that it would be worse than we'd imagined, because the paper was twice as thick as it normally was.
The Owls came one by one fluttering in through the windows. The shrieks of fear and the cries of pain erupted instantly – nearly drowning out the sound of over a hundred wings beating thunderously throughout the hall. Such a thing was unprecedented, but this was no ordinary delivery of the morning paper.
We had been told that it would be this way. The issue would be delivered at the expense of the Ministry to every single magical citizen. We knew, but nothing could have prepared us. The scores of owls literally and metaphorically formed a terrible dark cloud over The Great Hall, completely obscuring the already tumultuous looking sky above. The firebomb that followed… for the frightful sound that was produced as the heavy volumes that were dropped relentlessly onto the tables could only be compared with the explosion of Muggle bombs - it was unbearable. No one was ready for it. For such an occurrence to herald the arrival of that dreaded thing was beyond cruel, and yet how else could they have done it?
The papers all sat unopened for several minutes, or so it seemed, since time stood completely still after the thundercloud of owls dissolved and left the hall. Several students were already crying. Three girls sitting closest to me grabbed one another and began to sob. Their cries pierced my heart and yet I myself did not feel any sadness of my own. I was still in shock, still staring at the space where the owls had been.
I finally looked down at it. The size of it… That it had taken that many pages to list – and that was it. I chocked up – I was about to cry. Tears were filling my eyes and there was nothing for it. Were it any other day, any other time – I would have fled the room long before I could even have reacted – but what difference did it make when the entire castle had broken into open mourning? For once I was sure no one was looking at me -
Just as I felt my emotions would get the better of me - something with an iron will seized me from within and took l control over my thoughts and actions. That part of me, which will not give in - which locks up my heart and turns my exterior to stone so that no one can get to me – it is stronger than I realize. I swiftly wiped the tears from my face with my sleeve and refocused my gaze and my thoughts to the empty space above the students.
No one can know.
That thing before me must wait. I have a class to teach. Class…. And then everything spun out of control.
Dumbledore stood up. Time seemed to be moving even slower than it had just minutes before. I was still in deep a trance. I saw only the fuzzy outline of my surroundings. Sound became as indistinct as if I had cast Muffliato on myself. Any normal person would have been afraid, but I now know this is my body's defense against a potentially devastating emotional threat. It's how I responded to my trial - it's how I was all that time in his office…
Dumbledore? What was he saying? I was somewhere else. His words weren't making any sense. And suddenly - though I had not heard him speak at all, I knew what it was that he had said.
Classes were cancelled for the day.
Right. I looked at him, squinted with one eye like I used to do when I was drunk in my seventh year trying to read the number on a dorm room that I already knew was mine but, "Donovan, let me in…"
Donovan is gone Severus. Dumbledore is talking come back to the present and pay attention!
"You will all spend this day in your respective houses where you can mourn in your own way." He was saying, "Please be supportive of one another, and above all else, remember that you are not alone. Madame Pomfrey and the rest of the staff will be on hand to assist anyone who needs help. I would now ask for the Prefects and Heads of Houses to calmly escort their students to the dorms."
Me. Me, I am Head of House - I have to lead them. Lead them? Just as I was about to think it and fear for myself, I realized that the same horror must have been running through their minds as well. Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall, who will lead us?
And what of the Prefects? The Prefects! Andre - Elisa - I have to be strong for their sake! The girl and the other first years that visited me this past Saturday... I must remain still and calm for them.
I had no idea what the other Prefects would do, but I felt I had support in Andre and Elisa. It was them that I looked for first through the crowd. Everything was still moving slowly - my hearing and sight were still slightly obscured, but saw them. When I reached the pair of Prefects they were already lining up rows of weeping students. "Professor!" Andre called out to me.
"Yes, I'm here." I responded sleepily.
"I think it would be best if we each split up and took the classes back one year at a time." He said firmly above the din. Already I could see Matilda shooting us a dirty look from across the way. She would hold to that, at a time like this?
And, what did he mean by "spilt up"? Right. Six prefects and I - the Head of House, that makes seven. One of us for each year... "Very well," I said, hopefully hiding how lost I was. "You take the first years back then?"
He looked at me as if he were puzzled by my response. No, not by my response - but at how long it had taken me to respond. He knew. He knew I was lost. "Great idea!" he said nearly shouting over the din as he suddenly smiled. He was covering for me. "I'll take them, Professor you follow with second year, Elisa third, Elwyn forth, Joan fifth, Albert sixth and Mantilla - take the seventh."
Elisa nodded obediently, but the others I could tell were not fooled. They scowled at us, resenting me for my failure, and Andre for having given the order. Why now? These children have lost their parents. I looked ahead to Andre. He was carrying a girl who seemed far beyond any consolation. Halfway to the dungeon I saw him take another girl under his free arm to hold her up as best he could. I remembered wondering if I should help him – or if there were others who needed to be carried. No! I had such a visceral reaction the instant the thought had crossed me mind.
Don't touch them.
What was I doing! How could I guide these poor children? How could I even consider the act of carrying one of them when I might very well have played a part in what ever their loss had been! Severus, the destroyer of parents and families... Dear God what was I doing? I looked around the hall. Thank God the others students kept stopping to pull others along. I couldn't do it.
Finally we reached the Common Room, I watched as Andre gently placed the girls onto a sofa. He looked back to the other students, then to me – and quickly went back to comforting the girls. He must have wanted me to look after the others. I turned around to see the students flooding in all around me. Not all of them were crying, but they were all so upset to see their classmates in such a state. I looked to Andre again. He really seemed to know what he was doing. The way he was speaking to the girls, he was so confident… I should do something for the other students I thought, but I was completely lost. The other Prefects entered with the rest of the students. I backed up to a table in a corner where I could see everyone. See them, but not help.
It was a nightmare. I just sat with them for most of the morning. I didn't move - I just sat in my corner on the table watching over them. Their unbearable cries I knew were a punishment for my Sins.
As noon approached, Andre came to my side. He pointed out the girl he had carried. She had lost her mother he told me. The one he held up with his left hand - her oldest brother was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, simply because he had gotten in her way one night at the Hog's Head. He told me several more stories, and all the while I said nothing. These poor children would never be the same, and all the while I kept thinking – it's my fault. I lay near death in Hogsmeade all those years – hiding, doing nothing, giving him information once in a while... For all I know my inaction, or the information I gave, could have directly lead to the attacks that claimed the lives of their families.
My inaction. Nothing had changed, for I was completely ignoring the present. I was not acting or speaking. I fought with all of my strength - forcing myself ask, "Andre, did you lose anyone?" It is the question that we all must ask of everyone we meet these days. Everyone hates to ask it, but it has to be done.
"No," he said, and I was so relieved for I would not have known what to say. He just went on to explain that he had only known a family friend who had died, and that he had only met her once.
We said no more after that. Noon came, and with it the House Elves. They brought food to everyone gathered in the Common Room, as I'm sure they did for all of the other houses. No really ate much. The afternoon that followed was fairly quiet and uneventful. The silence was broken only by intermitted cries and wails. Around five, a note arrived which said that we were to take the students to the Great Hall for dinner. We arrived and left the Great Hall as we had done this morning, only this time to my relief no one needed to be carried. I could not have borne the weight, and I don't mean that in the physical sense.
After dinner, the Heads of Houses were instructed to return to their own rooms - leaving the Prefects and Healers to look after the students in our stead. So we, the adults were being relieved of our duty, but what of the Prefects? That is quite a responsibility to leave in the hands of teenagers… and yet, Andre and the others had been far more equipped than I to deal with the crisis. What would I have done had it not been for them? Matilda was right to scowl at me earlier. She is absolutely right to hate me – yes – especially at a time like this! She should have scowled at me for my failure. I'd been hopeless and no help to the students at all.
So I left them. I left the House of Slytherin in the highly capable hands of the Healers and the Prefects and returned to my room.
Alone in my room... alone in my room save for the presence of The Prophet. The List was within... I was not alone. I slid back into my trance. It was, as it had been this morning, a bomb – a time bomb and I could hear it ticking as I paced about the room, fearing too greatly what lay printed across all those pages. The bright light and muffled sound growing louder as my pacing turned to stumbling about. The horrid sound, my own heart, the bomb - or both, I did not know I was too near fainting – but the next thing I knew I had torn open the paper
My fingers ripped through the pages tracing the lines of names on the first list – "The List of Those Who Have Died". I ran my hand down the page - through the section of names starting with the letter E – then drew back my hand. Oh dear God I'd done it again! Was I angrier with myself for forgetting or for the circumstances themselves! I did not know – all I knew is that I grew far sicker to the point of stabbing pain as I neared the names.
No!
His first and then hers.
Potter, James.
Potter, Lily.
I collapsed. I hit the floor hard but felt little of the physical pain as my skull impacted upon the stones. How? Why? How can they do this! Its wrong – it has to be. Is this all that remains of a life after all she has been and said and done - is she now just a name in a tragic list of lives lost in a war?
But she's not – she's not! She was… she was Lily. She was more than a name – more than anyone will ever know, for no one loved her as I did… as I still do, as I always will, and this is all my fault…
I sobbed for what must have been hour, unable to drag myself from the floor. When I finally stood up I wretched. I rinsed my mouth out then I left the bathroom because I knew I was far from finished.
Growing sick again I scanned through the rest of the dead… many names rang bells, but none set off alarms for they were not the names I feared to find. And then I understood – for of course, they could not be listed with the names of all the pure.
"The Dead Among The Death Eaters." They were on another page. So many names... Were all these people really Death Eaters! I had no hope so I ran through it quickly - crying as I did. All the way, near the end….
Rosier, Evan.
I hit my head against the dresser to dull the pain in my heart. My eyes were too full of tears. I looked back down and saw his name instantly –
Wilkes, Caligula.
Again I cried, again I hit my head – Oh God at the very least be together and let me not think you both alone. Finally I forced myself to look at the page once more… the room was spinning I could barely read - I had to make sure I had not missed it, but it was not there. Frantically I turned the pages, The List of the Missing – no but then that wouldn't be. "The Missing Among The Death Eaters," again, scores of names and finally the last one I would have really known.
Torchwood, Tisiphone.
Not definitely alive, but not definitely dead either. If she is alive, she will have to remain hidden, for both sides will hunt her now for sure.
Right – Dumbledore – can you hide this other woman? No I don't love another woman, she was just some girl I was fucking - but hide her anyway since you did such a good job last time…
No – she'll be better off with out my interference. It makes no difference. I am deluding myself to even jest. For in my heart I know she is dead.
So what else was there for me to do, I lay there for another hour or so staring at Lily's name because I killed her. Her name is on this list, I might as will have written it myself for it is all my doing. A girl - just a girl no older than the one Andre carried today, her long red hair flowing like fire behind her has she flew on her swing. Laughing innocently playing, braiding her sister's hair... reading to me from a book of fairy tales while I read to her from The Tales of Beetle the Bard and then I turned around and I killed her.
Paralyzed on the floor - I stared at her name and cried until I hadn't the strength to go on. The last of my tears were shed… My eyes cleared, leaving only the cold dead newsprint that remained of my love… my life. Then I saw it. My Sins are far greater than his. He killed – but I betrayed her.
The last of my life force seemed to slip away. I could do it. I should have, but there was no point. I felt nothing, only my arm growing numb against the floor, pinned beneath me in the awkward position in which I lay. But I need my arm to function. I needed to write this all down because it cannot be forgotten.
Nothing remains. I am completely dead inside. Now I must take to the water, and lie upon my bed, for I will see no sleep on this night.
~Wednesday 24 November – Around 10 in the morning – Potions Class
I woke up. So I did sleep. For how long I do not know. My head hurt when I woke up. More than a headache this was worse. Right, I nearly cracked my skull last night and then purposefully did it again. Stupid.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked like some mad vulture. My eyes were bloodshot from all the crying I had done. I looked so sick for my skin was so pale it seemed grey. Even the dark circles beneath my eyes were darker than they normally are. I might just as well have taken a hit to both eyes. Then I looked past my reflection to the floor. There it still was…
The Prophet, still lying on the floor where I'd left it. What should I do with the thing? I hated it, and yet, it is them... It is their memorial. I cannot just get rid of it. I cradled it in my arms and began to cry again. I know what it is to be held by a person… but all the people I have ever cared for are dead. Holding that paper is the closest I can ever come to being embraced for the rest of my life. Again I cried. I had to let go - but I couldn't. I held it and sobbed. I called out her name – the hour grew later. I missed breakfast, but I would have to go to class. Let go, let go… I kept telling myself, she is gone. Let go – all that remains is her son. Let go.
I threw water on my face and hurried for the classroom. If I was quick I would not be late. My first class… I did manage to make it on time, but I had not let go. I couldn't. I had brought with me The Prophet and my journal - both concealed between two large books. Which brings me to where I am now. Yes I am doing something terribly Sinful by writing in class. Thank God this class is Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws. I have given them a reading assignment for the first period of class - it has kept them both occupied and quiet. I feel guilty for this.
It is wrong to be so distracted before them, but the greater Sin is to do this publicly. I was extremely careful, casting countless spells, hexes and charms upon my old journal - dousing it every day with Concealing Solutions. I must be far more cautious now. Years ago I wrote in class. I cannot take such risks, after today I won't but for now - I need it, because this book is all I have.
~Wednesday 24 November – Around 11 in the morning – Potions Class
I cannot stop staring at The Lists... And though I feel it is my duty to do so, it is impossible for anyone person to take in all of the names.
Still, I know enough now. I know the numbers, and I know the now what the odds actually are. In each of my classes there are at least four students who lost parents to The War. No less than two students in each class would have lost older siblings. Grandparents were lost, but on a much smaller scale – two for each year rather then each class. As to aunts, uncles or cousins, six per class. Once one accounts for friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, everyone likely knew at least one person who perished.
To make matters worse, I just noticed something else. The Curse upon the Defense Against the Dark Arts Post… The former professor, Elias Tempest is dead - killed this past summer by Rodolphus Lestrange. So all of the students save for the first years - did in fact know someone.
As to my class, I only gave them a simple Sleeping Draught to complete for review. They would all have mastered this potion years ago, but why should I tax them with anything else? After all, I know the odds now. Four parentless students are still suffering wounds that were so cruelly reopened by the Ministry in an effort to force closure upon all of us. We were given our time to mourn, and now we must become productive again and rebuild what was destroyed. Does The Ministry understand that none of those things are possible?
I must stop writing now. I must go out to them…
~Wednesday 24 November – Evening, My Room
I don't remember what happened – I just got back to my room and all I know is that I need to write. What happened since I last wrote? Oh. Of course. Them.
My N.E.W.T class entered the room, and though most of them, including Albert Runcorn looked lost and despondent, but Matilda Weston was practically beaming. What ever she had just done, or was considering doing to me - I did not care to know. As Matilda took her seat she gave me a disapproving look and just shook her head at me. This was her way of telling me just how badly I had failed at looking after the students yesterday. I did my best to ignore her, then gave the class their instructions and left them to work. Nothing happened. I suppose Matilda's pawns were too distracted to do her bidding.
Nothing happened during lunch either, and I was beginning to think myself lucky - which should have been my first clue as to how the afternoon would proceed. The start of my third year class of Gryfindors and Slytherins was tense. A Gryffindor boy broke into sobs so I sent him with another student to see Madame Pomfrey. Again I thought myself lucky that I had made it nearly a week and a half with out having to send a student to the Hospital Wing as a result of injuries. So why did I not see it coming?
Near the end of class a caldron exploded on one of the Slytherin girls causing her face to erupt into boils. It was awful. I saw the caldron begin to boil over, and I knew form the color of the smoke what was about to happen. I spun on the spot and began to run but before I could finish calling out to them it was too late. The second the liquid splashed her face I swear I felt it myself. She started screaming in pain and fear and I began to choke up. I'd been burned countless times as a student. I know how much it hurts, but there is nothing worse than having to watch someone that you care about suffer…
I remembered our first year when she was hit by a neighboring student's brew. Her hand – but I felt the same awful pain in my hand the pit of my stomach, the same fear and guilt as I did standing in that classroom. But somehow, watching that girl was almost worse – it was worse, because this was my fault! She was my responsibility.
I fought hard not to show emotion. I told two other students to accompany her to the Hospital Wing while I tried my best to calm the rest of the class. There was no use in having them continue the lesson. It took ten minutes to restore them to order. I had them clean up and read for the rest of class. I stayed behind my desk to hide my shaking hands.
It was just a case of boils - it happens all the time. I knew this, and yet I could not stop worrying about the girl. Her name, I didn't even know her name so many students I can't keep track of them all. That failure had made me feel even worse - so found I the roster and looked up her name. Swanhilde Eyton. Awful, I am an awful person. I only know the names of my bad students. Of course, I know only evil - I follow that and not the light…
I wanted to visit Swanhilde in the Hospital Wing after class, but knew I had no place in doing so. The last thing that poor girl needed was my tainted presence in that place of healing. Instead I went for a walk after the class had ended. The sun sank, the stars came out, and yet I felt no better. Finally I resolved to visit her in Slytherin. Madame Pomfrey would certainly have healed her by then.
I am still sickened by it, what happened when I stood before our wall of skulls and spoke the password. I said it - I knew it. Andre had even reconfirmed this with me just yesterday when we had brought the students there from the Great Hall. Seven Years and not once did I forget or not know a password. Sure, my room was no longer located in Slytherin proper, but I was locked out of my own home! Why? It actually hurt to be stranded on the other side of he wall with no way in. Why? And suddenly the pain in my heart stopped as I understood.
Matilda. That fucking bitch.
I stormed off in a fury. I don't know where I thought I was going. I could think of nothing but my irritation at having been denied access to Slytherin. How dare she, I thought. I was a student long before her. I was there before…. I was there before.
She does not know! None of them know. The lake fed pools! I remembered - I could get into Slytherin if I wish by simply swimming through that hole in the wall. I would need to undo a few charms, but after that there would be no stopping me. And this would be better would it not? I could slip in unnoticed, ascertain the fate of Swanhilde and be gone before anyone even knew I had been…
I took off my shoes, entered the pool, and within a few minutes I was clear to the other side. I cast a drying charm on myself this time. I was still damp but at least I would not leave a puddle as I had the last time...
I found a pillar in the shadows and hid there for a while. At first I heard nothing – just the usual gossip, the troubles of naïve teenagers and complaints about exams… And then I heard her. Not Matilda Weston, but Joan Ogden.
"Brett" I heard her say, "you did as you were told?"
"Yeah. You should know. Its all anyone's talked about." I peered cautiously around the pillar. Sure enough it was the boy who sat beside Swanhilde.
"We wanted to hear it from you." Matilda said sulkily to him. I could see them, Matilda Weston, Albert Runcorn, Joan Ogden, Elwyn Edgecombe and a group of no less than fifteen other students, male and female all stood surrounding Brett. Matilda broke from the throng for a moment to call the rest of the packed Slytherin Common room to attention. "Now Brett," she said as she pulled the boy out to face the crowd, "Tell everyone what you have just told us."
He looked out to the crowd. I could still make out his face from the side of the room where I hid. He hesitated, fidgeting with his hands for a moment as his eyes darted about the room. Finally he spoke up. "When no one was looking I slipped the powder you gave me into her caldron." he sounded uncertain at first, but as he continued his explanation, he grew as haughty as Matilda herself - smirking as he told the crowd, "It was I who caused the cauldron to explode."
Many of the students cheered, but others looked positively frightened by his proud admission.
"Fantastic work Brett! You have done well." Matilda said clapping him on the back.
"You should have seen her face!" Brett chimed in.
Joan snapped angrily at this - "I don't care about her face - I care about the look on his face."
"We care about the look upon both of their faces." Matilda was quick to correct her. Still she spoke in perfectly charming and charismatic tones. "Swanhilde got what she deserved when she refused to join our cause. Let this be a lesson to all of you. Those who refuse us will be punished, and those who help us, will be richly rewarded. Brett, you will now be protected, and treated as one of our closest allies! We will see to it that favors are bestowed upon you very soon. Let that be a lesson to all of you as well. We always make good on our promises!"
I was going to be sick. I couldn't breathe. The room was growing dark - I had to get out.
I ran back, swam under the wall, sealed it and raced here to my desk as fast as I could. I am so ill - shaking, and terrified of it. I have tried so hard this whole time not to think on it. Writing the stupid little tragedies of the day was the easy part. Watching them, hearing them, writing what they said - that was the most horrific memory to endure – because that's what he did.
That's what he used to do to all of us. He tortured us if we failed him and rewarded us when we harmed others. And what did I just do! I spied! I acted as a spy on my own students whom I'm supposed to be protecting! Even Weston, Ogden, and Runcorn - are they not my charges too? Should I look out for them - or fear them because they are so similar? Oh God what have I done - what am I doing!
I don't want to stay awake - I feel sick and panicked and the room keeps spinning. There is someone else in this room with me. It is not living and it is not a ghost but it wants me dead or worse.
I don't want to sleep. They will get to me for sure. I'm so tired. If I don't sleep, I will still be able to teach, won't I? I can drink coffee mixed with elixirs. I know that will work. My hands will shake worse than ever but I'll be there and able to teach…
I'm going to try and read. Maybe I will be all right.