Hellooooo!
I hope you all had a beautiful week and an excellent week-end.
Here we go for the seventh chapter!
As always, thanks Emi for your comments, I love to read you on each chapter and I love to discover your illustrations of them! Keep up the wonderful job!
And as someone pointed out on the last chapters, I noticed my conversations marks weren't correct according to the english litterature rules (I used the french codes instead, didn't remember they weren't the same ^^). I will change that on the previous chapters and I hope you won't be too lost in this one and that I didn't make mistakes. Feel free to tell me if you notice something wrong!
Enjoy!
7. Materia Scribens.
The Scottish snows melted once February ended. The first crocus were sprouting in the Hogwarts grounds, punctuating the green with purple corollas. Professors had taken advantage of the Christmas holidays to finish the castle's restorations. The temporary wooden footbridge had made room for a whole new white bridge. In the middle of it, a little recess had been put in with a commemorative tablet of the students who perished in the battle of Hogwarts. Everybody could do his duty to remember in front of the stunning view of the lake and hills, as their memories were as infinite as the horizon.
Coming along with this memory in the stone, a tree had been planted in the middle of the school's main courtyard. Still in a shrub state, some students had been engraving, with magic, on the leaves, the names of those they had lost or had been hanging coloured ribbons on the twigs.
Despite the accumulation of good grades at her theory exercises, whatever the subject, Kate had remained incapable of casting a proper spell, to the great displeasure of her teachers. It wasn't bothering her in some classes as Care of Magical Creatures, even though her clumsiness sometimes played tricks on her. That got her Hagrid's sympathy, who had quickly noticed his student's attention for his subject, which many had found weird, especially when it was about brushing Crups' hair; they were creatures that looked like terrier dogs with a forked tail. Kate was showing so much kindness with the beasts – even the most dangerous ones! –, that the half-giant's too sensitive heart had melted. In reality, Kate had lived so many misadventures and was so used to burns, cuts and explosions, that very few things were still scaring her. Next to her, Maggie would be thought to be a silly goose, jumping and squeaking each time a too enterprising Crup was sniffing her cape, leaving a dribble of saliva in mark of his affection.
Kate was still seeing Morgana, with who she was sustaining a friendship like the one she was having with the Gryffindor girls. The two girls could easily share about the last years under the yoke of Voldemort, Kate having this need to exude this dark blood, which her Gryffindor mates couldn't manage to understand, each time diverting the subject. This taboo, she had been able to tackle it with Morgana, with who she had been sharing about what they lived, in their opposite situations; but in a common, oppressive fear.
Despite the months passing by, Kate was keeping on her researches at the library, each Saturday afternoon, with Hermione. Students were used to see them leafing through dozens of books, even though there was a seven years difference between the two girls. One day, Kate decided to move up a gear:
'What about the restricted section?'
The sentence embarrassed Hermione so much that she raised her nose from the pages of the book she was searching into. That was a rare thing, given Hermione's skills when it came to do something while reading: talking, casting spells, eating, explaining the theory of a spell to a seventh year classmate, all of this without even looking away from her book.
'The restricted section? Are you being serious?'
'Of course! Otherwise, I wouldn't have said that.'
'Because you think we would find something in the Restricted section?'
'Something someone tries to hide. Seems logical to me, doesn't it?'
Hermione thought for a few moments, without taking her eyes off Kate.
'As a seventh year, I surely can go there... But I couldn't stay, only borrow a book, and there are plenty of them! To pick up the good one at first try isn't possible! We don't even know what we're looking for...!'
'And even if a teacher gives me an authorisation, it would be the same', grumbled Kate. 'I would have to ask for a specific book, I couldn't search in there.'
'As far as a teacher gives you the authorisation to the Restricted section... You're only in first year!'
Kate kneaded her fingers without meeting Hermione's eyes. She checked nobody was looking in their direction before saying:
'And... do I really need an authorisation?'
'What?!' choked Hermione, shaking her voluminous and untidy hair. 'You want to go into the Restricted section without authorisation? It's against the rules!'
'And so?'
'And so... it's against the rules! You don't really seem to realize!'
'For what I know, you, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley... you didn't really care about the rules!'
'Indeed, but it was in a specific context...! We were at war! It was a matter of general interest!'
Offended, Kate frowned.
'Does that mean my situation isn't... "serious"?! That I can stay like that, without knowing, during seven years?'
'Shhhh!'
Hermione put her finger on her lips when she saw Madam Pince approaching in order to put back a book in the adjacent shelf, angrily whistling against the uncareful student who had folded the corner of a page, promising herself to make him pay this insult. She waited for her to go slightly away to pull out her wand:
'Muffliato...'
The librarian was victim of strange noises in her ears, preventing her from hearing the conversation between the two students behind her.
'You could get into troubles!'
'I have to go!' Kate tried to make her understand. 'I have to find a piece of truth, at least...'
'What if Filch finds you? What if you get caught...!'
'I'm ready to accept the consequences... but I'm tired of not knowing about my own situation! I have to know more about Shatterfly!'
'As a prefect, I prefer to warn you: you don't have the right to do this.'
'Would you stand in my way?'
Hermione rolled her lips inside her mouth. She couldn't help herself but feel some affection for this so brave and determined little girl.
'No. But I stick with what I said: I don't advocate your acts. You're on your own...'
The young woman rose up from her seat, helping herself with her arms, before gathering and piling up the books in order to put them back on their shelves.
'But if you change your mind, I'm still willing to help you in another way...'
Kate addressed a last tight-lipped smile to her as she was going away. Now that she had her idea in mind, it seemed impossible for her to abort it.
The wait for the right night was starting to weigh on Kate's heart, but she had all her plans already set in her mind. And so, one night, she pretended to be tired and went up to bed early, with her clothes on. Then she waited for all of her friends to get changed and finish their discussions – Moira and Maggie were arguing for the umpteenth time while Suzanna was deploring, once again, the loss of one of her uniforms, her stuffs in mess –, while pretending to be asleep when Sir Sulkington, at her feet, was dozing already. Resisting falling asleep until her friends did was a hard and painful thing.
When the slight snoring of the girls started to be heard, Kate got rid of her sheets and moved stealthily through the room, favouring the soft carpet to the creaking parquet. She checked she had everything she needed in her cape's pocket: her wand, a piece of parchment, her owl feather, a small phial of ink and, above all, her compass she had received from her father at Christmas. She was about to pass through the door when she heard a slight noise following her steps. Behind her, Sir Sulkington was interrogating her with a half-curious, half-scolding look.
'Come here...' she whispered to him.
Pet and mistress came down the stairs discreetly. The common room was empty at this time of the night. Warms ashes were fluttering above the dying logs, freezing the tapestry into the darkness' insipidity. Her heart started to race in her chest when she came out, wondering if the Fat Lady would accept to let her back in, in the middle of the night. She talked to her cat while she was moving forward in the empty corridor, under the paintings' drowsy looks:
'You take care of Filch and Mrs Norris. You find them, watch them and if they come close to the library, you come find me, quickly! Ok?'
At the time, she felt stupid to talk like that to a cat, however, the latter galloped and took the perpendicular corridor; surely looking for a mouse instead of that old rat caretaker...
Luckily, the moving stairs, a bit less active than at day, allowed Kate to reach the library without getting lost or making detours. Statues seemed to have a sharper look at night than within the day, searching the darkness, while the light, animated by the fire of torch were making the shadows dance on their reliefs. The gargoyles were grimacing and griffons were waiting for the right moment to jump on their prey. Every corner seemed to be holding secrets, mysteries ready to jump down her throat. Every single slight noise was reverberating on the cold stone, as if not a soul was living in this huge and gloomy castle, except the wandering ghosts' ones. The place was so sinister at nightfall that the atmosphere was blood-curdling...
Facing her fear, Kate took her compass and turned the knob. She pointed the hand with the first arrow to make sure no one was around. To her great relief, it indicated an opposite direction than hers, with a distance of about three hundred feet. She entered the library. But the books themselves seemed to be watching her, their edges glowing under the moonlight that was passing through the window panes separated by wrought iron bars. She walked alongside the shelves, staying hidden in the shadow, as a precaution. Until she reached the Restricted section door. At that moment, Kate thought she was the dumbest witch of the universe: how could have she forget that damn lock blocking the way!
'Stay calm', she breathed. 'Calm...'
She concentrated, closing her eyes. She knew the spell that would help her through this inconvenient situation. If she was, however, able to perform it... But she didn't lose confidence: she couldn't backtrack at this stage. That was her decision in order to find the truth about her house.
Breathe, Kate... Breathe...
She pulled out her wand and walked a few steps back while pointing it on the old rusty iron lock. She relaxed her muscles. She had to succeed. It was just a lock...
You can do it...
'Alohomora!'
The lock quivered, shining with a brief golden glint, before ceding. Kate couldn't believe it, her eyes wide open. Her spell had worked successfully. Indeed, the result would have almost been the same if she had just made it explode, however, she would have been caught because of the awful noise she would have made in the huge library.
Kate pulled the heavy door and walked, warily, into the Restricted section. A damp smell of stale and old parchment was filling the room, so dusty that the air was full of small particles. Some sets of shelves were penned in tall cages or fenced with wire nettings. Books about dark magic, even more condemned given the last events that had soiled the wizarding world. But it wasn't what Kate was looking for...
Her first researches turned out to be fruitless. Lacking of patience and fearing to be caught red-handed if she stayed too long, she undertook to use her compass' powers, even though she didn't know all the possible combinations yet...
'So... what could we try...'
Letting her instinct talk, she turned the worn knob and set the first arrow on the parchment. Immediately, the golden one went crazy, the numbers winding on endlessly, until Kate set the second coppery arrow on another symbol: the star. This one never was very useful, always pointing out strange things she didn't understood the meaning. Once the combination done, the golden arrow suddenly immobilized and the numbers stopped at 0-6-8. Her heart racing, Kate moved forward, following attentively the direction. Until she passed by a set of shelves, making the arrow turn slowly, pointing a row of books. One in particular; its edge was in a dark red colour that was highlighting the golden letters in relief: The dark past of witchcraft and wizardry schools. The path seemed mapped out...
Kate closed the lid of her compass and stuck it in her pocket with precipitation before grabbing the book. Her little feverish fingers left prints on the thick dust that was covering the leather and the edge of the pages. Then, she went towards the closest window and consulted the large book in the moonlight. The thick pages revealed many secrets about the construction of witchcraft and wizardry schools around the world, some of them built in the middle of terrible wars, at a time when dark magic was more common than the one that was used nowadays. When she found the chapter about the history of Hogwarts' creation, Kate found the same stories she read time and time again. Until she noticed, with dismay, that three pages at the end of the chapter were missing, cut with the magic of a wand. Kate's face flushed with rage; she understood better Madam Pince's fury about damages caused by students on those innocent books, before looking at the list of the last borrows. There were only three names on it, the most recent being in 1987. Regina Hawshore – 1596, Galathea Westside – 1811 and Electra Byrne – 1987; and there was no doubt that one of the three temporary holders was responsible of this act. Except if someone broke into the section to consult this book, just like Kate was doing at that exact moment! She scribbled the three names on the parchment she had taken.
She was diverted from her meditation when the door of the Restricted section creaked. Kate made a U-turn, her heart missing a beat: Sir Sulkington had gotten into the room and was looking at his mistress with insistence.
'Sir Sulkington!' she said in a low voice, surprised. 'What are you doing here?!'
As soon as she had pronounced these words, a noise got heard into the library.
Filch!
As fast as possible, the little witch put the book back, pushing it down onto the shelf, waking up some other animated books that growled out with discontent. Then she rushed towards the main library; Sir Sulkington vanished as fast as he appeared. Perceiving in the distance the noise of the caretaker's limping steps, Kate crouched in the shadows of a piece of furniture, took out her saving compass and set it on the hand to point out the closest person, indicating that Filch was moving towards her. With some luck, maybe he wouldn't know she was there. However, the place where she was couldn't hide her from him, if Filch came to approach, armed with his lantern.
As a precautionary measure, she took off her shoes and scampered along in her socks towards the closest shelves, while keeping an eye on the numbers informing her that the distance between her and the caretaker was reducing.
Until her eyes met a table against the wall whose wooden panel would prevent her to be seen if she hid under it; her last hope.
Kate jumped from shelves to shelves, flattening herself against each piece of furniture, holding her breath. But her discretion had a flaw: she walked on a loose plank which creaked under her foot.
'Who's there?!' yelled Filch, swinging his lantern.
Kate's terror was such that she ignored stealth and crawled on all fours towards the table, under which she took refuge. However, the numbers were keeping on falling: the caretaker was still approaching. Until they stopped at 0-0-8; he was very close... So close, she could hear his grumbling breath. Kate's prayer was resounding so loud in her mind, she was hearing her temples beat at the rhythm of her heart. When, suddenly, a shadow moved under her eyes: Mrs Norris, Filch's cat, had discovered her hiding place. Her sneaky green eyes squinted while Kate was silently begging her. Despite this plea and those big eyes, the cat let out a shrill meow. Filch's head appeared under the table, his mousy hair – of which remained only some bits –, falling. A little reassuring smile stretched his thin lips, revealing his rotten teeth.
'Well, well, what a catch, Mrs Norris...!'
Kate's whole body was shaking, curled up. Then, Filch grabbed her shoulder and pulled her out, without any gentleness.
'If there was only me, young girl, I would resort to old methods that were applied once', he whispered, between wrath and sadism, while he was dragging her out of the library, followed by Mrs Norris galloping steps. 'Ah, I miss those old tortures...'
Where was Filch taking her? To the dungeons, to put her up behind bars and let her rot in a putrid cell all night? Throw her into an abandoned broomstick closet? Send her cleaning the Owlery with just her hands? They moved forwards, until they reached a griffon statue standing on its muscled hind legs, claws unsheathed and its forked tongue coming out its half-opened beak. The caretaker pulled Kate by the arm, who didn't say a word about the pain, before he grumbled:
'Albus Perceval Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.'
At these words, the statue trembled on her pedestal, began to turn on itself and went up, letting place to a narrow stair. Filch grabbed the shoulder of an opened-mouthed Kate and abruptly pushed her in the staircase.
'And don't you dare do that again or I will disobey the orders and rip your fingers off, one by one!' he threatened her, pointing her with his finger.
Terrorised, Kate nodded, flattened against the wall while the stairs were bringing her up. The office, on which the stairs ended, was plunged in a far warmer atmosphere than the one in the empty corridors. Thick tapestries were covering the walls, dozens of sleeping portraits were filling the place, which was separated in two by some small steps covered with dark red. Shelves were collapsing under books, others under strange objects Kate didn't know. She only recognized the Sorting Hat that was sleeping at the top of a shelf, releasing a cloud of dust each time it was breathing out. Not daring to explore the top of the room, where a desk was standing alongside multiple crystal display cabinets, marble stands, a lot of other off-the-wall objects and an incalculable number of paintings, Kate took place in a quilted seat, feeling the velvet of the armrests. If every punishment sent her to this mystical place shrouded in mystery, she thought she ought to get punished much more often! Facing the risk that Filch would cut off some fingers of hers...
Suddenly, the door leading to the stairs opened. Kate immediately jumped off her seat, finding herself face to face with the embittered and very dissatisfied expression of the headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. She hadn't change her usual emerald robe for a night gown yet, her bun, usually faultless, was letting some scattered hair out and the shadows under her eyes were testifying that she was certainly about to go to bed, before being called in her office.
'Miss Whisper... why am I not even surprised?'
She had pronounced those words in such a clipped and categorical tone that Kate didn't dare to submit the slightest retort. The headmistress walked passed her, disregarding her with her solemn and stiffened bearing, climbed the stairs, throwing the tail of her robe backwards, before taking place behind her desk. Kate didn't know at that moment if she had to follow her or stay still, watching her settling. Why did Filch send her directly to the headmistress' office? Couldn't he have entrust the task to a subordinate teacher instead? Why not the head of her adoptive house, Neville Longbottom, rather than disturbing the headmistress herself for something as ordinary as a nocturnal escapade in the library?
'Mr Filch immediately warned me about the incident that happened...'
'That... that wasn't an incident, professor...' she stammered.
'Then could you explain what you were doing in the library in the middle of the night while you were supposed to be in your dormitory, Miss Whisper?'
McGonagall had joined her hands; her thin and knotty fingers intermingled and gave her a piercing look above her glasses. Behind her desk, the portraits of the different headmasters awoke one by one, surprised to be woken up in the middle of the night. In cautious steps, Kate climbed the stairs, without looking away from the headmistress.
'I was... doing researches...'
'That doesn't excuse the fact you were out of your dormitory. I'm expecting better explanations, or terrible consequences will have to be applied for the house that took you in... Don't make it worse.'
Kate swallowed. She felt her arms shaking against her body, incapable of lying:
'I was doing researches... about my house.'
'In case you didn't know, Miss Whisper, the library is opened during the day for the ordinary persons.'
'I had to go to the Restricted section.'
Kate's clear-cut sentence transfixed McGonagall who, however, didn't abandon her pinched expression, her small, lacking of thickness lips falling on her chin and her wrinkles stretching on her gaunt and hollow cheeks.
'I beg your pardon?' she choked, shaking her head as if she didn't hear well.
'The Restricted section, professor. I have spent days in the library, finding nothing. The Restricted section... it was my only way to find a clue...'
Since always, Kate's principles and education made her incapable to formulate the slightest lie; or at least a credible one. In the best case, she forced herself to silence, but at the price of many efforts to refrain herself from exposing the truth.
'Try to understand me, professor', she stammered, perfectly aware about the fact she was taking risks, talking like this to the highest ranked of Hogwarts, who could be able to turn her into a snail at the exact moment she would pull out her wand, in order to make her shut up. 'I have no information. Nobody ever gave me. I can't even find my place in this school. Gryffindor is not my real house. I needed to learn more... No matter how... Nobody ever gave me clues or information. Nobody really supports me. Nobody tries to understand me, to stand in my shoes, except for Hermione Granger. So I had to figure out by myself. I had to...'
In front of that, for the least, disconcerting enlightenment, McGonagall didn't react. She just looked at the little febrile Kate, who noticed the shadows that were moving on her wrinkled throat.
'Miss Whisper. Your situation didn't allow you to go beyond the rules. The Restricted section isn't forbidden for nonsense...'
'I know, professor...'
Then, the headmistress stood up, as straight as an I, before going to the bottom of the room.
'Follow me, Miss Whisper.'
In a recluse corner of the room, a little desk in a light wood was waiting, a single parchment on it. Above it, a quill was floating in midair, apparently bored, enjoying itself by dancing around, making its feather swirl.
'Do you know what that is?'
Kate shook her head.
'This quill is unique in the whole country. Don't let its appearance fool you; it's been existed for centuries. One day, it wrote your name; your parents'; mine; your ancestors' names and my ancestors' names. This quill writes the names of everyone who has magic in their blood and will come to learn at Hogwarts. Each time someone comes into the world, his or her name is inserted on this register, which is kept for eleven years, before we take it out on the day of their Repartition in first year, along with the Sorting Hat...'[1]
Straight after she had pronounced those words, the feather quivered like if it received an electric shock and fervently scribbled on the parchment. Curious, Kate approached and read the name of Karen Karrigan.
'And so... this little girl whose name has just been written, right there... Karen... Karrigan. She's just born?'
'That's exact... And in eleven years from now, she will join Hogwarts.'
Kate turned towards the headmistress: should she admit she didn't understand and take the risk of rehashing her disobedience and disrespect of the rules inside the school? However, McGonagall seemed to recognize the question in Kate's eyes.
'You wanted clues about your position in the events you are confronted to? You only had to ask me instead of wandering about into the Restricted section like a dog looking for a bone, Miss Whisper...'
'I don't get it, professor... How could this quill help me in what I'm looking for?'
McGonagall sighed and her expression somehow seemed more relaxed, but also more worried. Her glasses slid on her aquiline nose. Then, she approached the archives shelves in stretched steps.
'The day of your birth, the magic quill went into panic...' she said while searching into the documents with her fingertips.
'What do you mean she went into panic?'
'You will understand... the time for me to find the list... It shouldn't be far...'
She took out the rolled parchment with the greatest care, in her brittle, bony hands, before taking off the ribbon that was sealing it. She unrolled it, gave a look at it and pursed her lips before handing it to Kate who took it with dismay, as if it would explode in her face. Her reaction was so surprised when she discovered the content that she jumped and nearly fell. Everywhere, all over the surface of the paper, her name was written.
Katelyna Whisper. Katelyna Whisper. Katelyna Whisper.
Everywhere it was possible to write Katelyna Whisper, her name was appearing, sometimes even above her classmates' ones, barely visible under the quill's wild calligraphy. It was easily noticeable that someone had tried to erase the ink with magic, however, it remained indelible.
'Why?'
'I was hoping you'd have the answer, Miss Whisper', declared McGonagall, coldly, crossing her arms on her chest.
'Did... did that already happen before?'
'I asked Dumbledore about this phenomenon when it showed, eleven years ago.'
She threw a quick glance towards the big portrait of a man in a mauve robe, his eyes closed behind his half-moon spectacles and his beard swelling up and down at the rhythm of his breathing.
'And yet, he couldn't give me an answer. The mystery remains, as your house's.'
Searching for truth at any cost, Kate let out a question:
'And what if that was linked? What if the fact that I was sorted into a fifth house that doesn't even exist had something to do with the quill going crazy and writing my name everywhere?'
'A lot of correlations can be supposed; that doesn't change the fact that, at the end, there's no result... There is no valid explanation. Except if, by any chance, an idea suddenly comes up to you...!'
'And why didn't you tell me on the first day? You knew, yet...'
'Don't push impertinence too far, Miss Whisper...!' she said, snappier.
Despite everything turning in her head, Kate's mind remained still full of questions. Others joined them, giving her the impression that someone had spilled lead into her head and was having fun doing that; maybe a mischievous spirit, more sadistic than Peeves... She put against her chest the parchment she had just rolled and wrapped, while trying to think about a solution.
'The Sorting Hat told me that it had something to do with my blood. Yet... I don't have special blood. My father... had a normal scholarship. My grandparents too... In any case, I never heard strange things about it... And the Sorting Hat never made up a house for them!'
'And what about your mother?'
'She's a Muggle, professor.'
'Does that change anything?'
Kate had a hiccup, gobsmacked:
'She doesn't have wizard blood. Never, ever, in her family, had someone attended Hogwarts. She has discovered about magic when my father has showed her, but never before that!'
'What makes you think that it's necessarily wizard blood that triggered the Sorting Hat's reaction?'
'He... he wouldn't have noticed if that was the case! Normal blood... can't be detected! This quill is the best proof, don't you think?'
She pointed out with her open hand, the blue quill that had been starting again its bored dance. Yet, McGonagall sighed:
'Miss Whisper, why in your opinion, children coming from two Muggles in appearance, succeed nevertheless to attend Hogwarts and practise magic like every wizard?'
'I... I don't know, professor.'
'Muggles gave a name to that phenomenon. It's called genetic; compatibilities inside of each being, a mix of both parents. As red and blue give purple. It's possible that you mother possesses something tiny inside of her that reveals itself plainly when combined with wizard blood. Like your father's.'
The headmistress stretched her hand to ask for the parchment in Kate's hands, nearly creasing between her fingers' contraction.
'How could I know?' she squeaked.
'You can't.'
She turned pale at McGonagall's sharp words.
'Why?'.
'We all are living a life of mysteries, Miss Whisper. We don't know our future, we are always determined to find a meaning to it and that's what pushes us to go on, at all costs. You must have seen believers, in the Muggles community, religious as they call themselves, who search for a sort of God, during their whole lives. It's like that. We don't always have the answers we wish for.'
After she put back the parchment, McGonagall stopped in front the impressed, however disillusioned, little girl.
'Despite the reasons that pushed you to break the rules and stroll in the school in the middle of the night in spite of your professors' and prefects' warnings, you will be sent be in detention...'
Kate swallowed difficultly, her tight throat preventing her from saying a word or even breathing properly. A detention... What would her parents say if they leant? 'That was about time! Welcome to the family, kiddo!' her father would surely exult. However, her mother's reaction would be less more positive.
'Now, I will ask you to go back to your dormitory. And may Filch never catch you again or I will be much more rigorous and inclined to execute the things he promised you...'
'You don't... take me points?'
Kate immediately regretted her words that came out by themselves, noticing the headmistress blackened look.
'My former head of house's heart would break if I had to take points to the house that kindly hosts you and to which you show so little respect. It doesn't deserve such a waste...'
After a slight nod, Kate left the headmistress' office in a pace revealing her precipitation. Then, McGonagall took place in her seat, which back was surmounted with golden ornaments, and sighed while Kate's little steps were reverberating in the staircase that led to the corridors. Then, she sorted out her papers that were strewed over her desk with a move of her wand and took a blank one before she seized her eagle feather and wrote:
"Dears Mr and Mrs Whisper,
Following your recent letter, I want to reassure you that your daughter's scholarship is working out in excellent conditions and without any notable incident for her classmates. If I may ask, Mr. and Mrs., I would like, however, some missing information about Kate..."
A few days later, Kate received the indications about her detention; message she greeted with apprehension. What thankless task will she have to do? Polish up the Quidditch badges and cups with a Muggle sponge? Repot the carnivorous plants? Prepare and marinate the bats' livers? Check the cleanliness of Blast-Ended Screwts' cages? Clean Miss O'Joovens' huge dark tapestries and perfume them with blood? Kiss Filch for so-called loyal services to the school, as suggested by Moira? In the best case, do her detention with Harry Potter! His last practical lessons had been so fascinating that a detention with him would immediately become a true moment of happiness, especially because the young teacher wasn't demanding, nor very authoritarian, but was having enough imposing presence, due to his status of saviour of the wizarding world, to be respected. Kate, however, regretted the last classes during which they had had to train in pairs their Expelliarmus. Of course, nobody had wanted to choose Kate, too afraid to see their wand exploding instead of slipping through their fingers! It was Dexter Doxmornt that the professor had indicated to be her binomial, because his stature, more important than his classmates' ones, would have compensate the damages that Kate could have inflicted him! But, to her great displeasure, Dorxmornt had appeared to be nothing but a coward, hiding each time that Kate had raised her wand. How could she improve herself if no one was giving her a chance?!
After some time trying to wake up from her daydream, Kate removed the seal on the letter and unfolded the parchment. Her eyes opened widely when she read the name of the professor in charge for her detention:
'I feel less inclined to go...'
The four girls around her, enjoying the fire of the common room while playing or reading, raised their looks towards her.
'I have detention... with... Wolffhart!'
Instantly, taunts started:
'He'll turn you into a badger, just like he did with Harold Orchard last time, and he will ask you to wear a tutu and dance the jig!' said Suzanna. 'So, do you think he will accept if I ask him to assist to your detention in order to take a picture?'
'I don't have a camera but could I come too?' laughed the little Moira, perched on the sofa, her feet not reaching the floor.
'Don't take it lightly!' called to order Scarlett, soft and severe at the same time. 'If Kate had a detention, it's because she deserved it, and there's nothing funny about it...! No one should enjoy other persons' mistakes!'
Her classmates stared at her with a blasé look.
'Merlin's beard', grumbled Moira next to her, 'if you're not prefect when you're older, I think you missed your call... Or even ruined your life!'
'That's Dennis Crivey who influences her, that's why!' mocked Suzanna, rocking back and forth, cross-legged on the thick carpet. 'Wohoooo! Love is in the air!'
'No, no, no, it's not true!' denied Scarlett, flushing and hiding behind her red hair.
'And don't you have anything to say about this?' asked Kate to Maggie, who didn't say a word about her friend's punishment.
Nevertheless, the latter was immersed in her thoughts, her gaze fixed on the fire. She wasn't totally there... Until she got up before saying in a monotonous voice:
'I'm going to bed.'
The four girls looked at Maggie climbing to the dormitory before sharing questioning looks.
'What's wrong with her?' asked Kate.
'Food poisoning', presumed Moira, shrugging her shoulders. 'That's the only reason I see...'
'I think she's offended...' added Suzanna, more pragmatic.
'Offended? Why?'
'Because of you, I think...'
Scarlett's answer gobsmacked the little girl.
'Of me? But... why? What did I do again?'
'No idea. Maybe you should ask her...'
'I don't see any reason why she could be mad at me!' rose up Kate. 'If she has a problem with me, she should come and talk to me!'
'I think the chances Maggie would come to talk to you are as certain as hearing Wolffhart singing a nursery rhyme!' chuckled Moira.
'Give her some time', Scarlett reasoned her, kindly. 'It will pass...!'
Thursday evening, after diner; that was when Kate's detention had been set by the headmistress. She had eaten her cabbage at maximum speed, had nearly choked on her pumpkin juice once again, and was now waiting in the courtyard of the main building. Being late for her first detention would have been very annoying... She had sat on a stone bench in front of the covered courtyard and the Transfiguration class door. Night had fallen and small blue fireflies had livened up into the bushes of the courtyard, illuminating them with tiny lights. The same charming scene was taking place in the night sky, where stars were shining like diamond glitters on a black velvet case.
Very quickly, Kate caught herself to be bored, thinking that Wolffhart was probably still eating at that time. Hoping to distract herself, she took out her father's compass and put it on her laps. She made too few experiments with it, despite the item's preciousness. Sometimes, on some occasions, but the directions it had been indicating had seemed to fit with nothing... The combinations appeared to be too abstract for her yet.
Kate tried her new possession, testing the symbols her father showed her. The fish, indeed, pointed out the fountain in the atrium, from which was streaming a crystal-clear water. The cake pointed out the Great Hall, where numerous students and professors were satisfying their hunger with tasty meals served by the house elves. Her heart racing, the little girl tried the combination of love: the hand and the heart. The compass' reaction was particularly surprising, when the big golden arrow started to turn on itself without stopping on a particular direction.
No wonder. Which boy with any common sense would ever love me...! thought Kate, sighing.
Then, she turned again the knob – the second coppery arrow, thinner than the first, staying on the hand –, pointing the exclamation mark. Immediately, the golden arrow stopped. And the numbers, close, reduced gradually.
'Kate?'
Called out, she suddenly raised her head. Right in the direction indicated by the compass, Maggie had appeared.
'I've been looking for you for half an hour! I nearly damaged my gorgeous shoes! What are you doing here?'
She approached her friend and, when she stopped in front of her, the numbers froze. There was no doubt: the compass was pointing out Maggie. Why? What could the combination with the exclamation mark mean?
'Well… I'm waiting for my detention with Wolffhart.'
'Ah? Ok…'
Maggie seemed upset, which disturbed Kate.
'Why? What is it?'
'I thought we could have go together to explode some toads tonight!'
'Hem, no, that won't be possible', she grimaced. 'I doubt Wolffhart would let me go out early and I might be more punished if I miss detention!'
'That's a shame…'
At Maggie's sigh, Kate couldn't help but frown.
'I thought you were mad at me?'
'I still am. I thought the toads could have been a good reconciliation.'
'… You're too temperamental, Maggie. That's… strange…'
'And you only notice it now?!'
The little girl, sat on her bench, didn't dare to retort in front of Maggie's usual despicable tone.
'Have a good detention then!' she said in a cut-to-the-quick voice, before turning around on her heels and leaving.
Between wrath and habit, Kate just sighed: her friend's behaviour would never change. Except if she took a potion or if a cauldron fell on her head!
A thunderous noise dragged her out from her meditation. And no doubt about it: it was coming from the Transfiguration classroom.
'Featherless owls' sake!' she squeaked, pale. 'I'm probably already late!'
And while Kate snatched her bag and rushed towards the classroom, she perceived more distinctly the impressive melody that was playing funeral music; or at least something not very happy and little reassuring! With such background music, Kate seemed to run towards her death!
Her little fist knocked at the door, but she entered before someone invited her, supposing she couldn't have been heard with all this noise. The walls and the wooden tables were vibrating under the harmony the huge iron organs were playing. Wolffhart was standing in front of the keyboard, his long felt-coat hiding his seat and touching the floor. On several occasions, a fit of passion was making him raise his hands before pulling them down powerfully on his organ's keys. And so was he spreading, through brilliantly executed notes, a whole panel of emotions, as huge as indescribable.
Kate moved forward in the alley, her bag squeezed against her chest, in a pace she hoped to be quiet; which stopped before she reached the stage. Despite the deafening noise, the little girl found herself very quickly enthralled by the track played by her professor. How could someone as cold, stern and unscrupulous as him transmit so many disturbing sensations through simple notes?
The last chord of the track resounded a long time into the room, before dying out as fast as a beat of wings. Kate was about to announce her presence when her professor turned on his seat, his hands on his long laps.
'Fräulein Whisper, you're late…'
'I was waiting in front of the door, professor…' she stammered, terrified at the idea of having to do her detention turned into a lizard. 'I… I didn't know you were already here!'
Wolffhart raised one of his pepper and salt eyebrows above a judgemental look, letting three wrinkles appear on his forehead. Ouch! That was bad!
'Das ist nicht ersnt' he said in a deep sigh while standing up and adjusting his clothes and his red scarf around his neck. 'Follow me…'
He walked around the organ and went towards a door hid by the woodwork and the frescoes.
'Close the door behind you, bitte…'
When Kate followed him inside, she wasn't expecting to find a narrow and dark spiral staircase, lit by big white candles inside gothic style recesses. The cold, chalky stones were reflecting the light of the flames in a weak glowing orange and porous light. The air was stale, oppressing. Wolffhart's shadow was starting to get ahead of her while she was trying not to fall on the high, worn by centuries, steps.
The new Transfiguration teacher's office was the first one Kate ever saw with her own eyes. The windows were overlooking the walls of the castle and the large patch of grass boarding the lake, shimmering in the light of the moon, on the green square where Mrs Hooch was giving to first years their first flying lessons. The forbidden forest was bounding the dark and frightening horizon. The small room was cluttered with furniture and decorative objects. To Kate's greatest surprise, some of them were moving by magic, like this console that was preparing tea with its two animated legs. Or even this harpsichord with ebony keys that was playing by itself a classical music track, like the ones her mother listens to when her father isn't imposing his electric guitars. Given the numerous photos that were covering the wall, under a banner with the colours of his native Germany, Kate started to question about her professor's age… He went to so many countries, discovered so many lands. In the castles of the East hunting vampires, in Greece tracking a manticore, in India, China, Peru, Mexico, Japan… Each portrait was representing him in his different expeditions.
'Nepal, 1949.'
Kate made a U-turn while her professor, standing still next to his window, his face distorted by the only light of the candles, was commenting on the picture she was staring at since a few seconds.
'But I'm not in a good mood to explain to you the reason that made me ride this white dragon, typical of this country, so, sit. Jetzt.'
His voice was so hoarse and authoritarian, emphasized by his continental accent, that Kate obeyed while shaking, frightened. Her lips pinched, her eyes down, she moved in small, quick steps towards the professor's varnished desk and took place in the big uncomfortable seat, the armrests ending with a billy goat's head. Until she noticed Wolffhart's dark and piercing look above her, fixing her with too much insistence to be considered normal, while she was waddling on the wood, trying to find a comfortable position.
'When I told you to sit', he hissed while raising an eyebrow, 'Fräulein Whisper, I meant on a chair that is yours… Not in the professor's one. You sat on the wrong side of my desk. Join your true place, please…'
Mortified, Kate mumbled some excuses and jumped up before walking around the desk, sitting at the right place. Wolffhart did the same after he checked she didn't damage his beautiful possession.
'Professor McGonagall told me about the act that led you here, Fräulein Whisper. And I insisted on taking in charge your detention personally …'
He was pronouncing these words in a slow and detached rhythm, while making objects slide on the desk towards Kate: a china cup, an old pair of scissors and a dirty magnifying glass. Without understanding the interest of this absurd game, Kate was hung upon her professor's every word while pinching her lips in order to prevent him from seeing her uncontrollable trembling.
'Before I explain to you what your detention will be about, a question gnaws at me and I would like you to enlighten me…'
He inclined his head and moved up his chin. That close and with so little light, Wolffhart was having the same dark gaze as a crazy man, his purplish eyelids stretched by his large eye-socket, his hollow cheeks contracting at each grin.
'Your headmistress also told me that you went into a room in the library called… the Restricted section? Whatever. Just so I know; having visited that library when I arrived at Hogwarts, this door… it's sealed. By magic. How did you manage to open it?'
So that's where he wanted to get: get informed about Kate's progression in magic. McGonagall didn't note this mystery. It disturbed the little girl that her professor had remembered that tiny detail.
'By magic', she swallowed. 'With my wand… and the unlocking spell professor Flitwick had taught us.'
'By magic', repeated Wolffhart in a chuckle while moving backwards, pushing himself with his hands flat on the desk. 'Ich hätte alles gehört…'
Despite her gaps in German, Kate understood by his tone that he didn't believe her.
'I'm not lying, professor', she stuttered.
'So, in classes, you're incapable of casting anything if not lethal and harmful to the furniture projectiles, but when it comes to do mischief, you succeed! As… as if by magic, that's saying something!'
Many were the objections Kate would have wanted to retort at that exact moment, yet, the terror that the teacher was exercising on her was forcing her to keep silent.
'That's what we'll see…'
He rose up and walked a few steps aside, until he stopped behind Kate, transfixed.
'In my native Germany, or even elsewhere in the world, a lot of students are given silly punishments. Lines to write, to repeat until they get blisters on their hands…'
His knotty fingers winded around the wooden back of Kate's seat.
'Tonight's exercise won't be that different… You will have to write as much lines as possible, until I allow you to go: "I won't sneak around in a dangerous place in the middle of the night".'
Having feared much worse, Kate caught herself sighing, before she realised she had no parchment, no ink and no quill provided…
'But, professor…!' she stammered while suddenly turning back.
'I hope you have followed my last lessons', whispered Wolffhart, dantesque.
'Yes… yes…'
That's when she understood the game about the objects under her nose: he was subjecting her to a practical exercise; because in order to realise this task, she will first have to turn them into writing instruments…
'Be warned, Fräulein…' he said while returning to the window. 'I don't intent to let you out of this room until I don't get satisfaction. And I'm ready to keep you here for days if I have to, as long as I don't have your lines…'
Deep inside, Kate felt a profound wrath boiling. How could he act with her so ungratefully? Put her to test like this, going as far as threatening her? She had believed in his speech about trust. She thought she had found an excellent teacher who turned out to be, actually, just a torturer who wanted to see her bend and execute spells like everyone else…
'And if any harm is done to my desk, I let you imagine what could happen to you…'
Terrorized at the idea of really being turned into a lizard, Kate hurried to take her wand and pointed its end towards the three objects, trying to calm her breath and her racing heart.
'M-mat… materia…'
Her stammered words scattered on her lips. Her concentration was pushed aside by her fear that was seizing her insides. But was it really the punishment she was afraid of or the deception, as Wolffhart was observing the scene with an attentive look under his thick frowned eyebrows.
'Materia scri… scri…'
If she, unfortunately, came to pronounce the spell wrong, the desk would go up in smoke, without any doubt. She had only one try.
'Materia… materia… scri…'
'Scheisse!' Wolffhart suddenly shouted out. 'Do it!'
Her heat stuck in her throat and tears at the edge of her eyes, Kate couldn't articulate.
'I… I can't, professor…!' she squeaked while her wand was oscillating at the rhythm of her shakings of panic. 'I can't!'
'Yes you can!' he yelled without restraint.
The fists he crashed down on the desk made her jump and she didn't hold back her tears anymore, terrified. His guttural voice was reverberating into his student's upside-down mind:
'If you don't do it, now, I promise you, Fräulein, that I will ensure your transfer into a Muggle school! If you can't do magic, you have nothing to do here!'
Kate wanted to yell, to run away. She was feeling locked up in her own body, forced to fail. However, in the heat of panic, she tightened her grip on her wand while sobbing her spell:
'Mate… ria…'
She frowned under the effort of her intense concentration while Wolffhart was scolding terrible swears in his native language and better not to know what that meant…
'Materia… scri…'
Yet, she didn't feel comfortable. She wasn't confident. Even though she was doing everything she could, applying herself, she knew it wouldn't work. That pressure was so hard to bear. A bottomless wrath was growing in her.
She wanted to go… She wanted to shout… She wanted him to disappear… At any costs…
Until a surge of anger took over: Kate threw her wand on the floor, this one rolling under a piece of furniture after it rebounded on the parquet, before she stretched her hands above the table:
'Materia scribens!'
Her scream reverberated a long time into the professor's office. Instantly, the objects in front of her took the shape of a quill, an ink bottle and a parchment. But the spell spread and touched one by one, the different items in the room. Every accessory became a victim of the enchantment. The teapot, the piled books, the earthen pots, the glasses, the partitions… Everything turned. Into a quill, an ink bottle, a parchment…
A complete silence fell on the room while Kate was getting back on her feet, amazed by her own performance.
'Name eines zersetzten Drachen…'[2] swore Wolffhart in a breath, impressed.
'What… What happened?'
'Other than ruining my furniture…! Well… so… gut…'
The professor himself was lacking of explanations in front of this phenomenon he wasn't probably expecting.
'I succeeded…' she chanted, short-breathed and swallowing her tears. 'I did it… Without my wand…!'
While the little girl was congratulating herself for her achievement, Wolffhart bent, grabbed his student's wand and handed it over to her.
'Don't lose this…'
'But… I don't need it!'
'The poor innocent victims of this office are saying the contrary, glauben sie mich…' he qualified. 'Remember what I told you last time. Your wand channels your magic…'
'It only provokes catastrophes…'
'Are you sure?'
Student and professor shared a brief glance before he dismissed her in a curt tone:
'Go.'
Kate had a hiccup before he added:
'Next time, you will do your lines. But I think you have had enough emotions for tonight.'
How, by Merlin, was she doing to always avoid by a hair, true punishments? She didn't ask herself too long before disappearing, letting a helpless Wolffhart in the middle of his transfigured office. Wrinkles dug his forehead. There was no doubt for him that Kate had magic. But she had… just too much.
[1] The existence of a quill that writes the future students' names has never been proved in the books, however, JK Rowling mentionned it...
[2] I invite you to do some translations of Wolffhart's sentences. They're quite mythical!