Pyrrha bolted upright in a cold sweat, heaving gasps that seemed to snatch her from the brink of suffocation, the lingering nightmare imprinting Ashlin's foggy-eyed ghost into her lap for a heart-wrenching moment. The delusion fled her and took all feeling away with it, leaving only a cold husk with a singular purpose; she let her breathing steady as she filled her empty self with fantasies of revenge, probable and improbable.
Heat flared in her head, nearly subdued enough to be pleasant. "Nice to see you're focused for once," Ashlin said in her mind. "We might put Morrigan down after all."
The hospital wing was dimly lit by low-burning torches, the windows covered by thick black curtains glowing with dawn's pale light around the edges. The faint smell of coffee stirred in the quiet air. Pyrrha noted idly that her cot had been moved to the center of the room, thinking on it no more as something cold and wet nuzzled her hand.
Hati's nose tickled her knuckles as he sniffed at her, tail wagging only slightly, as if to downplay any excitement. He gave Pyrrha a lick across the hand and sat back, shining silver eyes fixed on her. Her thumping heart eased a little.
"Hello there," Pyrrha said, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Everything alright?"
Hati yipped in affirmative.
"Where's Daisy?"
Hati gave a startled yip as if he'd just remembered something important, and he paced over to the pensieve Pyrrha's bleary eyes had glossed over. As she watched, the receptacle flared a brilliant silvery-white, and Daisy emerged from the depths to fall to her knees on the stone floor, face blotchy and wet with tears.
"Now there's someone who knows how to mourn properly," Ashlin said as Pyrrha threw off the sheets and slid down to kneel beside Daisy. "Take notes, you bloodless wretch."
Daisy threw herself around Pyrrha, stammering incoherently before bursting into fresh tears against Pyrrha's shoulder. Pyrrha held her and rubbed her back as she cried, the gesture nearly automatic after so much time sowing misery among the people she claimed to love. In the wake of her sister's death she felt only an aching absence where despair should be, like phantom pain from a missing limb. An insignificant part of her wished to vanish from existence and time, to disappear from present and past alike, wipe clean her mark on the world entirely.
The rest of her asserted she would never have that power, but there was another way. That was a goal very much attainable with Aradia's help, and help she would, voluntarily or not.
As Daisy bawled into Pyrrha's neck a wishful thought occurred to her; perhaps she couldn't lament because of what she knew. Her critical voice pointed out she hadn't known before, when her parents died; the only conclusion to be drawn that she was unfeeling vermin. A brief and bizarre desire to laugh rose in her as she thought how Ashlin had labeled her a lizard in jest, cold-blooded, unaware of how right she truly was. The scar burned as Daisy's sobs gradually died down into miserable little hiccups.
"Something's definitely odd here." Ashlin's voice was hard, pressing on Pyrrha's smouldering mind. "Whose sister was I, again?"
Be silent! Pyrrha thought. Tiresome little—
"Oh no, you don't talk to me like that," Ashlin said, her voice accompanied by a flare of white-hot pain. "Don't forget yourself, Pyrrha. You're like a toy, you see—my toy. Indulge me, or I break you."
Along with yourself, as we've established. Pyrrha rubbed her head surreptitiously behind Daisy's trembling back. Not quite logical.
"Perhaps I'm feeling illogical today." Ashlin's voice had an unsettling undercurrent of mania, sending a chill down Pyrrha's neck even as her head throbbed with fire. "There, that's more like it," Ashlin said, tone evening a little. "I trust my point is well taken."
Pyrrha hissed an inaudible breath of relief as the burning ebbed away, and she continued to stroke Daisy's back in mechanical movements. Daisy was speaking, she realized, a stream of whispers full of raw emotion.
"—believe she came back—I mean, of course I can, she's always been so brave and—God—I could feel it in my gut what was going to happen, but . . . how did she . . . ?"
The dull knife in Pyrrha's chest twisted a little; was it her stunted feelings twitching deep beneath the surface, or was her heart in its death throes? "How did she resist the curse?" She finished the question quietly, falling still, her arms stiff around Daisy. "I taught her to."
How could she not, after Drang? One more way she'd ensured her sister's murder. Her skull burned as if struck by a barbed lash.
Daisy drew back and slid her hands to Pyrrha's shoulders, her expression a mix of sorrow and empathy as she tried to capture Pyrrha's gaze; Pyrrha stared past her as she let her own arms fall to her sides. "I don't know why I'm surprised," Daisy said. "But . . . you know that doesn't make it your fault, don't you?"
Anger and incredulity sparked in Pyrrha as her eyes snapped back to Daisy, her tone sharp. "What?"
Taken aback, Daisy recovered in a blink. "It was her choice to return; there wasn't anything more you could've done—you fought with all you had," she said. Her soulful brown eyes still glimmered. "I . . . I think she saved your—"
"Yes," Pyrrha bit out. She wanted to scream and tear gouges across herself. "Yes she did, and yes, it was her choice—a choice she shouldn't have had. There are countless things I could've done differently, and I know them all."
Pyrrha stood and went to search her possessions piled on a chair, wishing fervently for the conversation to be over. It wasn't bound anywhere she wished to go. She questioned the wisdom of her exhausted self in handing over the memory in place of recounting; if nothing else, it had impressed upon Daisy the gravity of the situation in a way no verbal description could.
"Pyrrha . . ." Daisy seemed to grasp for something eluding her until she forged ahead. "You mustn't blame yourself, you can't—she got there so quickly, no one could expect—"
"Stop it," Pyrrha snapped, stowing her wand in her robes as she whirled around. "You saw what happened, and you know I'm to blame. Don't try to absolve—"
"It was Morrigan who—"
"Daisy!" The venom in Pyrrha's voice surprised them both. She took a moment to regain control, exhaling her vitriol in a long breath. "Drop this. Now."
Pyrrha turned and snatched up her bag, running her fingers along the fabric curiously before slipping it into her robes. It seemed Daisy had tried to open it. It didn't concern her; she trusted Daisy like no one else. Thankfully, she'd had the sense not to follow through with the attempt.
It took a few seconds to register when Daisy replied, "No."
Pyrrha turned back around to see Daisy on her feet with an expression impossible to read, eyes glinting in the subdued light. She continued with her hands coming together and wringing themselves. "I saw you . . ." She drew closer, her voice fragile as glass. "You were going to let it happen . . . let the fire take you."
There was no answer to give that would satisfy Daisy, and Pyrrha floundered, staring silently. She wasn't suicidal; she still had things to accomplish. She'd merely been in shock, lost sight of her purpose for one unfortunate moment.
The absence of a denial set Daisy's hands still, squeezing in a painful-looking death grip. She looked on the verge of tears once again. "Please, Pyrrha, you mustn't do anything like . . . you're my—I couldn't bear . . ." Her voice was thick as she trailed off, pressing her hands against her abdomen, as if over a wound. She looked at Pyrrha with a pleading expression meant for one with a foot over the edge of a long drop. "We can—I can help . . ."
Pyrrha placed her hands over Daisy's and gently parted them. "Listen closely," she said as their eyes met, injecting her voice with all the sincerity she could. "Worrying over me is a waste of your time. I don't intend to die; you act as if I would leave you and the rest to Morrigan. Do you think so little of me?"
"Of course not!" Daisy said sharply, blinking out glossy wetness. "I only meant after we've dealt with her—you know you're like to disappear again, someplace I can't contact you, and I just—that look on your face when the dragon—"
Pyrrha chose to ignore the 'we' for the moment. "As I've just said, I won't do any such thing." She squeezed Daisy's hands reassuringly. "My only intention is to purge Morrigan from the earth."
"Promise it," Daisy demanded as she squeezed back, her bright eyes searching Pyrrha's with disconcerting intensity, as if she thought to spot a lie forming in Pyrrha's brain.
Discomfort squirmed in Pyrrha's gut as she let their hands fall. She hoped Daisy wouldn't take to analyzing her every word and expression, probing for meaning in the meaningless. The depths of her care continued to baffle Pyrrha; what had she ever done to warrant it all?
"Yes, of course," Pyrrha said before the silence stretched too far. Hati made a throaty grumbling noise from behind her.
Daisy studied her for several more seconds before nodding cautiously. "Alright . . . good," she said, lip twitching in the shadow of a relieved smile. "Sounds like someone's hungry. Why don't I check you up one more time, and we can head to the Great Hall and grab breakfast." Left unsaid was the battery of questions certain to come along.
It came as no surprise Daisy had been monitoring her condition, but unease stirred in Pyrrha regardless; her heart had a glaring wound that wouldn't have gone unnoticed. Might Daisy have spotted other abnormalities?
Pyrrha's torso was already transparent under violet light, and Daisy nodded grimly at her heart as she held her wand out. "Look at this: a curse, and not from Morrigan, at least I don't think so. I only saw you hit by that—" she flicked her eyes up to Pyrrha's scar "—so I can't identify this one. I did my best to allay the effects, but it hasn't gotten any better. No worse, either, thankfully."
"Yes," Pyrrha murmured absently as she examined herself. She didn't have to feign mild surprise at how far along her heart had gone; she would need to stop relying on blood magics as much as she possibly could. Dread trickled into her as she contemplated the healing process, such as it was. She would have to wait until Daisy slept to remedy the situation.
"You recognize it?" Daisy asked hopefully.
"I do," Pyrrha said. "I can mend it later today. My leg, as well." She took pains to make it sound like an effortless exercise.
Daisy broke into a relieved smile. "Oh, thank God for that! I knew you'd know what to do." She glanced at the burn scar and gestured at it hesitantly. "And the other one? I checked your brain matter, it's all normal in the physical sense. Are there any residual effects? Pain or odd sensations, intrusive thoughts, auditory or visual hallucinations?"
Ashlin gave an uncharacteristic cackle. "Try all of the above!"
Pyrrha was brought up short at the question of revealing Ashlin. She hadn't even a moment to consider either way before Ashlin had her say.
"You'll tell her nothing, of course," Ashlin said, holding a burning torch against Pyrrha's head in warning. "Unless you want to lose her trust entirely, not to mention your suspect sanity."
Pyrrha concealed a wince by turning away to pat Hati, who stared up to her with ears raised at attention. "No, nothing like that beyond lingering pain. I suspect the physical damage is the extent of it. I doubt I'll be able to reverse it, given the nature of such curses."
Hati panted softly as he turned his pale head between Pyrrha and the empty platter on the floor, a look of longing in his lupine eyes. Pyrrha hummed an acknowledgement and turned back to Daisy, who eyed her with a foreboding expression of sneaking suspicion.
At least she got right to the point. "So, how is it you can reverse the other curse so easily? And who cast it on you?"
Pyrrha sighed. "No one you know." It was true, in a roundabout way. "I recognize the curse; it has a counter. That's how. Why don't you tell me—?"
"What is it, then?" Daisy said, a challenge in her eyes.
"It's a Wilting Curse," Pyrrha said. "It causes vital organs to gradually waste away. The effects are exacerbated by inane questions, so I suggest we move on."
Daisy ignored the jab, refusing to be baited off track. "I'm not familiar with it, though it sounds very much like a Withering Curse, but that has no counter. So you just happened to take a similar-but-different spell that conveniently has a recourse? Something you can do in one afternoon, no less? I've never heard of such a deadly curse being so easily reversed."
Silence rang for a few seconds, and Ashlin snickered in Pyrrha's mind. Finally, all she could say was, "You have now."
Daisy bristled, crossing her arms tightly as if choking the life out of an imaginary Pyrrha. "I can't believe this—you're lying to me! Why don't you want me to know what it is?"
"Because I don't." They didn't have time for this back-and-forth; the day was wasting as they argued. "I'm not discussing this anymore." Pyrrha turned and strode to the nearest window as she drew her wand. Daisy's frustrated sigh turned to an alarmed exclamation as Pyrrha waved the window's curtain away, vanishing it.
A yellow-eyed corpse pressed against the glass, peering down into the hospital wing with sinister gleaming sockets. Morrigan held tight to her staff humming with power, her other rotted hand pressed to the window as her drooping tongue scraped the panes. Pyrrha's eyes darted to meet the witch's shining gaze against her will, but there was no compelling voice in her head ripe with a thousand years of malice, no icy cold fingers probing her spine.
Hati was barking, savage baying resounding harshly through the room. Pyrrha barely registered Daisy attempting to soothe the wolf as rage began to build inside her, consuming and boundless hatred for the witch before her who had so indifferently snuffed out the world's most brilliant light. Morrigan hung in the air and stared back, impassive, as if the conclusion to their tale was long since foregone: only a matter of time.
"You'll be waiting for the end far longer than you think," Pyrrha said, her body thrumming with repressed energy. Pleasant warmth bloomed across her scar. "Just as well you're accustomed to it."
A shock went through her at the contact, a hand in hers: Daisy. "Let's go, Pyrrha," she whispered.
With one last defiant howl from Hati, Pyrrha turned away and allowed herself to be led from the window. Numbly, she followed Daisy out of the room, the wolf's paws padding close behind.
The Great Hall stood empty and silent as they filed in, footsteps and clicking claws echoing in the voluminous space. The grand enchanted ceiling revealed the occluded sky, pearly grey clouds aglow with pale hues that filtered down to give the chamber a lethargic air. Pyrrha led the way past the house benches to arrive at the elevated staff table; Daisy couldn't sit across from her there. Daisy sent a dark spell flashing through the room, pushing a stray spirit through the far wall with a yelp.
"Have they given you any trouble?" Pyrrha nodded at where the ghost had disappeared.
Daisy's form melted into view as she shook her head, busying herself with pulling out a seat. "No, none at all."
Pyrrha took the headmaster's high-backed chair as Daisy claimed the place to her left. Hati sat between chairs at her other side, his stature plenty tall enough to scan the bare table expectantly.
An odd feeling swept through Pyrrha as she settled back and peered out over the deserted hall like the monarch of a ruined realm, presiding over a barren throne room reflecting back at her the absent sum of her triumphs. The castle had never felt so bereft of life. The stagnant quiet was disturbed only by Hati's steady panting, by Daisy fidgeting in her seat as she looked around the table uncertainly. Cold morning light suffused the stone walls and dark wood tables, the thousands of floating candles above hanging unlit. Pyrrha decided to leave them so; she found the bleak chamber mirrored her mood.
A somber minute passed in which nothing happened, though Pyrrha hardly noted it. Daisy's voice pulled her back to reality. "Er . . ." she said. "I s'pose I'll need to call for—"
Platters of assorted breakfast foodstuffs appeared from thin air to burden the length of the table, along with place settings for every staff seat. Daisy eyed the empty chairs guiltily as they began to fill their plates.
"I expect this means the elves are unaware of the staff's condition." Pyrrha floated several dishes of ham and bacon with a flick of her wrist, sending them to settle before Hati's eager jaws on the floor. The wolf dug in with vigor. "They don't clean the professors' private quarters?"
Daisy snorted as she smothered a bagel with cream. "No. We adults can clean up after ourselves, I should hope." Pyrrha watched her as her eyes rose to roam the room, melancholic, like she could forsee her future sorrows clearly as if they occupied the bare house benches. "I never thought I'd be sitting here," she said quietly, setting down her food. "I can hardly believe any of this is happening. Everything's become so . . . surreal."
"That's one word for it," Ashlin chimed in.
"It has." Pyrrha returned her eyes to her plate and gestured at a few mandarin oranges that began peeling themselves. "Apart from your appointment, I mean," she continued. "Had I known you'd applied, I wouldn't have been shocked in the least. Congratulations."
"Thank you. I wasn't trying to keep secrets, I just . . . I . . ." Daisy made a small, miserable noise. Pyrrha twisted in her seat, and her heart followed suit; Daisy's shoulders trembled with repressed sobs. A curtain of golden hair concealed her face. "I w-wanted it to be a surprise. For both of you, but mostly for her . . ." She pressed her hands over her eyes. "I was so very excited to teach her, you know . . . to see her face when she saw me up here at the sorting feast . . ."
She broke into soft cries behind her hands. The cavity in Pyrrha's chest split ever wider as she turned away to glare at her lap, white-knuckled fingers gripping the armrests like they were her own throat. Searing, throbbing, the scar burned like coals compressed against her head. A terrible conflict raged in her; she didn't ever want to forget, and she wanted never to remember. Every outcome was suffering.
Her voice. "Hey." Pyrrha's head snapped to her right; Ashlin's ghost sat there with purple veins protruding from shriveled skin pale and thin as paper, milky white eyes desperate and pleading as they dried up and crumbled to dust, and her body withered into a wrinkled black husk with toothless mouth gaping, eyeless sockets gleaming.
"I'll never let you forget. Not for a moment. Look at me," she said, leaning close. Pyrrha was frozen, drowning, suffocating in the shining depths of gold. "Look at me. You did this to me. You did this. You did this. You did this."
The chant rang in Pyrrha's ears as it rang in her searing head. She couldn't claim the air, it had fled the room, fled from her; she breathed quickly, she breathed deeply, and it didn't matter. Ashlin's corpse extended an emaciated hand, withered fingers stretching for her scar.
Pyrrha shuddered and shut her eyes tight, goosebumps creeping over her flesh. "Enough," she said.
Silence. Pyrrha opened her eyes to an empty chair, and she jumped at Daisy's hand on hers; she whipped her head around to meet her friend's watery gaze, heart drumming.
"I'm sorry," Daisy said immediately. "I can hold it together, I swear, I'm just—"
"No," Pyrrha cut in, appalled. "Don't—don't apologize; I wasn't speak—" Pain branded her head with a warning, and she was unable to conceal a flinch. "I didn't—didn't mean that. Forgive me."
Daisy nodded and withdrew her arm. "Yeah, of course. I can hardly imagine what you're feeling." She folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them. "At least when Mum died, it was an accident," she said quietly.
Pyrrha felt something nick her still-speeding heart as the memory resurfaced. She'd been there to see it happen, watched from aside as Mrs. Pitcher, tipsy on holiday libations, teetered backward on the tips of her toes to tumble off the chair and break her neck against the floor, the iridescent stone Christmas star clattering from her lifeless hand.
It was the first death Pyrrha carried on her conscience; she'd been sitting nearby absorbed in a book long since forgotten, vaguely registering the woman conceding the search for her misplaced wand. Pyrrha could've done anything—summoned the wand, floated the ornament herself, reacted fast enough to break her fall—but she hadn't, and in doing nothing, she'd killed Daisy's mother to preserve her place on the page.
In the aftermath—and ever since—she'd wanted to confess, but never found the nerve. Either the Pitchers would forgive her or condemn her, and Pyrrha still wasn't sure which would be worse.
"Forgiveness." Ashlin said the word like a curse. The scar throbbed with simmering heat. "You deserve hatred."
Heat and pain and horrible visions had effectively sapped Pyrrha's appetite. She stared at her nearly full plate, contemplating the future. All she imagined were the myriad ways she could visit everlasting suffering on an immortal.
"Pyrrha," Daisy said, tone apologetic. She continued when their eyes met. "Why wouldn't you cast the Patronus?"
Pyrrha's mind worked like a shoddy machine, rusted and plodding as it fabricated. "I had difficulty drawing up happiness."
Daisy's expression fell. "But you didn't even try. How could you know it wouldn't work? Wouldn't it have been worth a go, at least?"
Pyrrha couldn't tell the truth of it, that the spell was liable to produce a ravenous swarm of rats rather than a Patronus, an unmistakable mark of the dark magics that stained her. "I couldn't," she said eventually.
"Why not?"
Pyrrha sighed, rubbing at a headache near her temple. "I'm sorry. I'm not going to talk about this, either."
Daisy ran her hands over her face in a show of exasperation. "For God's sake, I wish you'd hurry up and realize you can trust—"
Screeching filled the air like a thousand knives rasping together and descended in the form of a flock; the owls of Hogwarts soared in by the hundreds, myriad sets of yellow eyes burning into Pyrrha's as they poured through the charmed ceiling to fill the hall in a turbulent storm of talons and feathers.
Pyrrha was on her feet; from the tip of her raised wand spread a glittering blue barrier rippling out like a disturbed pool until it enveloped the three of them. Hati barked and clawed savagely at the charm's border, at the owls surrounding it, hurling themselves against every inch of the shield they could reach. Daisy's wand spat lightning through the shimmering shell to arc through the swarm; the booming report seemed to stay their shrieks for an instant as a dozen owls dropped dead, a dozen more in their place to maintain the frenzied assault.
Pyrrha could see nothing beyond her charm for the plague of owls pressing in between each other, possessed of a desperate passion, as if Pyrrha could grant them their wildest desires if only they could reach her, rend her apart for the secrets inside. They called out without sign of tiring, and Hati bayed back at them as his claws slid off the barrier. Daisy hurled bolt after blinding bolt into the masses, burst after deafening burst of curses punctuating the unholy racket.
Pyrrha caught her arm mid-cast. "No need!" she shouted over the clamor. "They can't breach the barrier."
"Oh, well, that's fantastic!" Daisy said. "I suppose we'll just stay here, then. Which side of the floor do you want?"
"Calm down. I'll take care of them." Pyrrha released her and ambled along the barrier's circumference, eyeing the ensorcelled owls. They bombarded the barrier with their bodies, bashing in their brains, dark blood running down to join their broken forms on the floor. Above, those with purchase pecked and clawed. Stray feathers fell loose with each flap of their wings to flutter in the air that smelled faintly of rot.
Pyrrha gestured with her wand, and the barrier absorbed an owl as it pushed through to be encased in a glittering bubble, the shield sealing itself behind. The bird hooted madly from its cage, beating wings and piercing beak battering away with abandon. As Pyrrha studied the animal, Hati stared with equal intensity, tensed in preparation to pounce.
"What do you see?" Daisy asked in her ear, and Pyrrha started. "Sorry," she added. "They're so loud!"
"Necrosis," Pyrrha replied, performing an experimental wand wave. A pale green spell twirled around the bird like a twister, then dissipated, leaving the owl unaltered. Its eyes wept brackish blood as it battered at its confines. Pyrrha pointed to the macabre trails. "See there?"
"It's nearly coagulated," Daisy said, horrified. "You're right—they're dying! Oh, this is awful. Could you help them, do you think?"
"Only by ending their pain," Pyrrha said, reducing the captive owl to dust. Hati watched with disappointment as the remains drifted away before turning his attention back to the uproarious mass. "Morrigan's touch has tainted their bodies, along with their minds."
"Bloody monster," Daisy said, voice steely. "Get on with it, then. I'm starting to get a headache."
Pyrrha nodded and gestured; the glittering barrier spread along the ground like water, passing around tables and chairs to lap at the edges of the room. At another movement the spell trickled up the walls, upended waterfalls of magic creeping high to corral the owls in the upper half of the chamber. A precise maneuver saw the room-spanning spell stretch further, caressing the charmed ceiling, and it closed over the owls like an ethereal net, encasing them in their own glimmering blue sphere.
"Well . . . that was quite something," Daisy said. "Are you keeping them for study, or . . . ?"
By way of answer, Pyrrha twirled her wand. The cage contracted, closing in on itself and carrying the owls with it. The spell collapsed inward, and they were crushed against each other, calling out feeble protests as they died. Hollow bones crackled like so many dry twigs. The spell flickered as it shrank further and further until it held the size and shape of a marble, and it consumed itself, disappearing in a wink of azure light.
The hall practically vibrated with the sudden silence. Blood and feathers obscured the floor and covered the remains of breakfast. This didn't seem to deter Hati, who huffed at where the owls had disappeared before leaping heavily onto the staff table and digging out a series of sausage links.
"So, how did they get in?" Daisy said. "Should we leave? That witch could be right behind them."
Pyrrha shook her head and glared up at the enchanted ceiling, great billowing grey clouds like the uneven underbelly of some massive, ashen entity. "The castle permits owls in and out of the Great Hall. I should've anticipated this."
"She still can't break in, then? We're safe?"
"For the moment."
Pyrrha probed the charmed ceiling and found nothing to warrant immediate concern; she could feel Morrigan's influence eroding the enchantments like ocean waves against a cliff, but the castle was holding its own, for the time being. A sweeping gesture saw the scattered feathers and spatters of blood vanished from the room, taking the stench of death away with them.
Daisy paced back and forth, hands twisting together, brow furrowed. "What are we going to do, Pyrrha? How do we fight someone like this?" The resolve in her voice was unnerving.
"We don't do anything," Pyrrha said. "I'll be here for two more days maximum, then I'll be going. The castle will hold that long. When I move on, I expect her to follow, and you to remain here."
Daisy stopped and turned sharply around, face set and determined. "You're not going anywhere without me. You need my help, and you're going to have it. And don't even think about cursing me," she added, a hard glint in her eyes.
"You can help me by staying here, where it's safe."
"I'm sorry, did we attend the same breakfast?"
Pyrrha let out a sharp, annoyed breath. "It will be safe, once I've left."
Daisy shook her head, maddeningly obstinate. "I'm coming along, and that's the end of it."
It was plain to see Daisy wouldn't change her mind, so Pyrrha let it drop. She would simply have to slip away unnoticed. As Pyrrha considered in silence, Daisy began to look suspicious at the lack of further argument.
Pyrrha sighed, as if relenting. "Very well. I wish you wouldn't, but I can't stop you."
Daisy smiled with narrowed eyes, expression still one of evident distrust. "No. Don't worry, I'm quite capable of handling . . ." Her eyes widened as they rose over Pyrrha to the ceiling, and Pyrrha turned to follow her gaze.
A dark shape in the sky stood out against the clouds, twin yellow pinpricks boring into Pyrrha's eyes the instant they met. No more than an emaciated silhouette, the figure hung limp in the air like a neglected puppet, scraps of clothing and flesh alike wavering in the wind. Rain began pattering down, muted droplets drumming the roof and obscuring the witch behind a shivering veil. Her eyes shined clearly through sheets of rainfall.
"What's she doing up there?" Daisy asked quietly. "The enchantment doesn't go both ways, right? She can't see in."
Pyrrha kept staring up at the witch, fury seething in her belly. "She's looking at me."
Daisy exhaled a shuddering breath from beside her. "Come on, let's get to my room. I'll be able to pass right out after we've finished talking." She led the way from the Great Hall, cloaking herself in transparency as they went. Hati followed close behind, sausage links trailing from his jaws. "No bloody windows in there. Never thought I'd be happy about that."
Pyrrha recounted her trials in the Forbidden Forest to Daisy as the exhausted woman sank steadily in her chair, minute by minute. A mere lack of energy was no obstacle to her, however; her eyes remained alert as she mustered round after round of questions about everything she'd seen and heard. Hati paced restlessly over the modest room's dark carpet as they burned away the morning. The deluge of terrible news in the last several hours would have overtaken a lesser person, but Daisy treaded water resolutely, offering one suggestion after another after yet more that Pyrrha had to shoot down.
"Fine, alright," Daisy said irritably. "So what exactly can she do, then? Tell me what we're working with." Her attitude continued to surprise Pyrrha, as if their current situation was familiar and innocuous as the sunrise.
Pyrrha soothed her parched throat with piping hot lemon tea as she considered. "Well, let's see . . . you've seen the power she holds over animals." They both cast half an uneasy glance at Hati stretching his sinewy limbs across Daisy's bed.
"Yeah," Daisy said softly.
"Aside from that, she's a masterful duelist with a vast repertoire of ancient spells at her disposal. She's invulnerable to harm, physical or otherwise; most of my spells simply slid off of her, and what managed to damage her was reversed in the next instant."
"How can that be?" Daisy asked. "Any idea?"
Pyrrha rubbed at her scar, no feeling but unpleasant heat in the spot as her fingers brushed the ruined skin. "I suspect her resilience is part of whatever curse she laid upon herself in pursuit of immortality, but it's only that—a suspicion. I've never heard of or seen anything like it."
Daisy twined her fingers together in her lap. "I suppose that rules out fighting her head-on. Not even an army of you could kill her in a duel."
"She's a shapeshifter as well," Pyrrha said. "I've seen her become an entire flock of crows. If the old stories are to be believed—and I think they are—she can change into any sort of animal. Well beyond a typical animagus."
"I don't see how that helps her, really," Daisy commented. "She's better off in 'human' shape, where she can cast magic."
"True. It's something to keep in mind, though." Pyrrha downed the rest of her tea, wishing she drank. "Her most significant ability is the manipulation of the mind, highly advanced Legilimency, augmented by her staff. She has the power to bend unguarded minds to her will, drive them mad, or incapacitate them with horrible visions crafted from the victim's own worst experiences."
Daisy shuddered a little, hugging herself against a perceived chill, though the fire still crackled merrily nearby. "Sounds like a dementor." After a moment, she unfolded herself to refill Pyrrha's cup and sat back again, biting her lip. "Could Occlumency protect you? Did you have visions during your duel?"
"Yes and yes," Pyrrha said, insides turning cold at the recollection. "I employed Occlumency throughout. When my concentration slipped, or I met her gaze, I heard voices screaming, pleading, reviling me." Their howling still echoed in her memory, each word a strike deep within herself, harming her as only she knew how. "They were you and Ashlin, my parents and yours . . . even my own voice."
Daisy's expression shifted into concern, a face too familiar. "That's . . . awful."
Pyrrha nodded. She'd also seen them as they rose from the earth like cursed undead, killed them over and over as they entreated her to stop hurting them. It haunted her still, her mother's agonized wails as she was struck down again and again, her father's roared scorn as Ashlins and Daisies died with one question shining in their eyes: Why?
"Focus!" Ashlin snapped, making Pyrrha jump. The scar flared like boiling water poured over her.
"Are you—?" Daisy started.
"Fine. Thank you." Pyrrha held a neutral expression as she fought against reacting. She couldn't hide her quickened breaths, so she spoke: "Finally, she appears to know exactly where I am at all times. I don't know how," she added as Daisy made to speak. "Not even a theory."
"Well . . . you don't think it could be that?" Daisy motioned at Pyrrha's head. "It's the only curse she landed on you."
"Ridiculous! I'd never do anything to hurt you," Ashlin cooed. "Set her straight, Pyrrha."
Hurting me is all you do, Pyrrha thought. Scorching pain followed, carving down from her skull across her body like knives peeling her flesh.
"Liar, liar, head on fire!" Ashlin's unhinged voice rang like a cracked bell in Pyrrha's head as it smouldered. "You're doing this to yourself—such horrible things you say about your own sister!"
"Pyrrha, what's wrong? It's hurting again, isn't it?" Daisy's voice came from far away as fire continued to ebb down from the scar.
"You're glad I'm here. I'm the only Ashlin you'll ever have. You love me."
Pyrrha couldn't blink, but she didn't see whatever she stared at. Her muscles wound themselves tightly about her, protesting the agony, refusing to follow her direction.
"Say it."
Pyrrha sat like a statue, rolling waves of hurt beating across her body like the throes of a dying heart. The room flickered black in time with the pulses, each throb a little death, and Pyrrha gave in before she could scream.
I'm glad you're here. I love you. She filled the words with all of her hatred. Vaguely, she was aware of something sickly sweet dripping down her throat.
The pain faded, leaving behind a bone-deep ache across every part of her. "Good," Ashlin whispered. Pyrrha could almost picture her soft, sweet smile. "You'll mean it one day."
Pyrrha turned her focus back outward and became aware of Daisy standing over her, eyes wide with worry, assorted vials clutched between her fingers. Pyrrha felt guilt and fear bleeding through her gaze.
"You're back—are—?" Daisy began.
"Yes," Pyrrha said quickly. "It's passed. The potion helped; thank you." She could feel the effects of the philter dulling her aches, but it did nothing for the low burn of her scar.
"Alright, well, take these anyway, you need it—you hardly ate breakfast."
Pyrrha paused in the act of bringing a vial to her lips. "These won't make me drowsy, will they? I need a clear head to heal myself."
Daisy shook her head. "The opposite, even. This one for energy, this one to promote reconstitution." She reclaimed her seat, wringing her hands as Pyrrha downed the potions. "I'm so sorry—I did that, didn't I? Triggered it, or something?"
"No," Pyrrha said firmly. "You did nothing wrong. It's passed; let's move on." Daisy looked as if she suspected Pyrrha of placating her, expression laden with remorse. Pyrrha massaged her temples, a headache forming in defiance of Daisy's ministrations. "Now," Pyrrha said, "we were discussing . . ."
"How Morrigan might be finding you," Daisy supplied quietly, eyes fixed on the table between them.
"Yes. It's not the curse," Pyrrha said. It probably was; however, her prospects for breaking it were slim at best. "And there are no other spells over me, either. I believe it's out of my control. I'll simply have to remain out of her reach. It's likely she has many other skills we have no notion of; it may help us to focus on what she seems unable to do." Pyrrha ran a hand over her bound hair as she thought. "She can't apparate, or otherwise traverse distances instantly. If she could, I'd be dead."
Daisy winced, but remained silent. The logs in the fire crackled and snapped, never really burning under the charmed flames. Ripping sounds filled the room as Hati gave in to his restless energy and shredded Daisy's sheets, disemboweled the mattress with teeth and claws in a sudden burst of energy. He pounced across the bed and snapped up a pillow, whipping it around as if to break the neck of a fat, writhing rabbit. Daisy laughed softly, and they shared a smile at the diversion.
A minute later, Daisy broke the silence. "She can't hide," she offered. "Can't sneak up on you. Even if she becomes an animal, the eyes will give her right away."
"You're right," Pyrrha said with a nod. "That, and the army of creatures at her back, ensure that I'll always see her coming, even be it at the last moment." They pondered in silence for a while longer, and finally, Pyrrha sighed. "And I suppose that's it. She has few limitations."
Daisy hummed thoughtfully, then cracked a smile. "She can't break into Hogwarts."
Pyrrha chuckled quietly. "The owls didn't count?"
"'Course not. Didn't help her any, did it? She's out there rotting in the rain."
They fell back into a companionable quiet as they absorbed recent events. The soft snapping of the fire was joined by a hushed number from the wireless at Daisy's bedside table, switched on at a flick of her wand. Hati jolted around at the sound, glaring at the device with suspicion. Daisy giggled, and Pyrrha admonished the wolf as he raised a paw in readiness to rake the radio off the table. He lowered the limb with a surly glance at her.
Daisy stood to tend to the teapot hanging over the fire, and Pyrrha gave the living space a proper look. The room appeared to house most of her possessions; everything was arranged in much the same way as her flat had been, with a veritable gallery of pictures adorning the walls, eclectic oddities occupying available surfaces, a careworn gramophone with Gambara's discography stacked readily beside it. Against the far wall sat a modest vanity bearing assorted cosmetics, an elegant square mirror framed in silver resting atop. Pyrrha eyed the vibrant scar in her reflection.
"You've seen better days, dear," the mirror told Pyrrha. "Consider a mask."
"Shut up, you!" Daisy shot back as she returned to her seat, giving Pyrrha an apologetic glance, her eyes flicking to the scar. She leaned forward over the table and spoke gently, as if to stay out of earshot. "I'm sure I could figure something out, if you wanted me to try . . . ?"
Pyrrha shook her head, amused. "I'll be fine," she said at normal volume. "I'm used to standing out."
Her Hogwarts years were long stretches of study in solitude, periodically interrupted by snide remarks and unsubtle glowering from her peers. She'd found no worth in them, and ignored their presence as much as possible in the hope they would return the favor. Instead, they had pegged her for an egotistic bitch—a notion not without merit—and delighted in needling her.
An ugly scar on her face was no great trial, hardly worth noting. It would change nothing for her.
"Yes, but you hate it," Daisy said, frowning. "Let me give it a go, at least. I've got a Blindspot Brush—"
"Really, it's fine. Thank you." Pyrrha cast another glance at her reflection.
"A cowl, a hijab, anything," the mirror continued. "For the sake of those around you, if not yourself."
"You're rather chatty for a shattered mirror," Daisy snapped.
"Relax your face, dear. You appear as if something is lodged—"
The mirror broke into a spiderweb of cracks at Daisy's spell. She huffed an irritated breath as she tucked her wand away. "Sorry. Dan fiddled with the charms on it."
"Ah." Pyrrha eyed the mirror, then the organized chaos of obscuring and enhancing agents clustered on the vanity. One would think Daisy a hideous creature if they'd never seen her for her plethora of cosmetic products. She was, in fact, one of the most objectively attractive people Pyrrha knew. It was one of the reasons for the number of friends represented on the walls, and one of the reasons Daisy preferred Pyrrha's company over theirs, she suspected.
Daisy had followed her eyes to the makeup. "Thinking of putting something on?" she asked with a cheeky smile. "Some smouldering eyeshadow, or a daring shade of nail polish, maybe? It's never too late to try new things. Just watch out for that one," she said, pointing at a glossy black tube set apart from the others. "Leering Lipstick. It'll have you grinning like a psychopath for hours."
Pyrrha hummed with amusement, noticing the miniscule WWW logo around the cap. "And why do you have such a thing?"
"Dan gave it to me the night before my interview," Daisy said, shaking her head ruefully. "A thoughtful gesture out of the blue like that—I should've known. I had to reschedule."
Pyrrha smiled, and Daisy feigned an affronted expression. "Sorry. That's unfortunate. Why would he do that?"
"His own annoying way of letting me know how he felt about my taking the job, I guess." She shrugged halfheartedly at Pyrrha's quirked eyebrow, trying too hard for nonchalance. "He broke things off after I accepted."
"Oh." Pyrrha placed a hand over Daisy's on the table. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"
"No, no, I'm fine," Daisy said quickly, swiping at her eyes. "It's hardly important now, with everything else going on, right? It's only . . ." Daisy's hand twitched away to seek the other, but Pyrrha held firm, an encouraging squeeze all she needed. Daisy smiled sadly as she continued, addressing the table. "I just can't believe—I mean, we've dated for years, and just like that, he's finished with us? Because I wouldn't be around quite as much? It seemed so easy for him, like I meant nothing at all . . ."
Pyrrha commiserated with her friend, listening with a sympathetic ear as Daisy spoke at length of their relationship, the good and the bad. Listening was easier than speaking, but Pyrrha offered what she could in comfort along the way. She reminded Daisy of the time she'd given Dan a mermaid's tail in front of their friends and christened him 'Merman Dan', a moniker that had stuck for the rest of school. Daisy laughed as Pyrrha promised not to stop at the lower half next time.
"Oh, that was a lovely day," Daisy said with a beaming smile. "Just wonderful. I still can't believe you agreed to come along. That's . . ." She broke off to yawn, settling back contentedly in her chair. "That's my Patronus memory, sometimes. Works like a charm."
Pyrrha felt her face stiffen along with her body. Something stirred in her that shouldn't—anger. It wasn't rational. A perfect day was precisely what she'd wanted for Daisy, who'd lost her mother to Pyrrha earlier that year. She'd agreed to join Daisy's friends and her for a swim at the lake after the O.W.L.s, and had taken the Draught of Peace beforehand. She'd been relaxed and friendly. Sociable. Utterly different.
That was Daisy's favorite memory of her; a time she wasn't herself at all. It only made sense, she supposed, a sinking feeling in her chest. She was too subdued, too withdrawn for anyone to take pleasure in her company, even Daisy.
"Pyrrha? Everything alright?" Daisy asked with worry. "Is it your scar again?"
"No—I mean, yes. A bit." Pyrrha stood abruptly, carefully controlling her tone. "You're exhausted, and I've things to do." She waved her wand over Daisy's bed, the scattered stuffing and scraps of fabric flying back to knit themselves together. "Goodnight, Daisy."
Pyrrha left the room and pretended not to hear Daisy calling after her, nearly shutting the door on Hati along the way.
In her haste, Pyrrha had neglected to get the password to the Slytherin common room from Daisy. Rather than return or waste precious time breaking in, she made a detour to the sealed room where the comatose staff languished, and she plucked the knowledge from the Headmaster's mind. On the way to the dungeons she was intercepted by the castle's other occupant, the centaur she had all but forgotten.
His arrival was preceded by clopping against the stone floor echoing weirdly off the walls. Pyrrha paused at the top of the dungeon stairs, placing a calming hand on Hati's head, who watched intently as the centaur rounded a corridor's corner and approached them warily, expression shrouded in dim torchlight.
"What news of the witch?" he asked, stopping well away from Hati's immediate reach. "Has anything happened?"
"Not yet. I'll be leaving inside of two days, and she will follow. You'll be safe to rejoin your brethren in the forest after that; I won't return." Pyrrha stopped with her foot on the stair as the centaur spoke again.
"She pursues you?"
"That's what I said."
Soft clacking rang as the centaur stepped closer. He glanced at Hati, a warning rumble in the wolf's chest stopping him short. "How do you intend to survive her attention?"
Irritated, Pyrrha turned away without another word and descended the steps, Hati picking his careful way down behind her. The air grew steadily colder as they went until the stairs terminated in a series of torchlit corridors that Pyrrha navigated with easy familiarity. Here and there, ghosts observed her progress from afar, peeking through distant walls or around far corners, faces pale and grim.
Pyrrha wondered at their behavior; could they recognize her, a student from over a decade past? She doubted it, but there was no other reason she could see for them to treat her with such caution.
"They think you're the one who's been scurrying around invisibly," Ashlin said. "Perhaps Daisy's given them a reason to fear."
She said she hadn't had any trouble with them.
"And she'd never keep things from you," Ashlin said sarcastically.
What reason could she have for that?
"Who cares? Just take it as a lesson; you can't trust anyone. Except for me, of course."
Pyrrha dropped that thread rather than risk Ashlin's ire. After a few more twists and turns, she arrived before the inconspicuous stretch of wall that concealed the entrance to the Slytherin common room. She could feel pearly white eyes on her neck as she whispered the password.
"Ouroboros."
The stone bricks of the wall slid silently away, revealing a portal, lower than Pyrrha remembered. She and Hati entered the Slytherin common room, an expansive and well-furnished den replete with motifs of silver, green and black, the substantial fireplace and several torches insufficient to chase away the dungeon gloom entirely. The low ceiling and dark atmosphere lent credence to the secure feeling of a formidable serpent's lair. Hati darted across the room in the space of a few seconds, enticed by the chamber's most prominent amenity.
The stone of the far wall, and a significant portion of the ceiling adjoined, was almost entirely transparent; just enough substance to reassure one that there was, in fact, a barrier between themselves and the bottom of the Black Lake. Hati stood on his hind legs, front paws against the charmed wall as he peered into the lake's murky depths. The afternoon sun expended itself partway into the green-tinged water, leaving the lowest reaches to fade into darkness complete as closed eyes at the lake bed, the vaguest outlines of swaying seaweed barely visible in the black.
Pyrrha left the wolf to his marveling, crossing the room to pass through a corridor, through the sturdy oak door into her old dormitory. Six four-poster beds sat against the back wall, each tall enough to shelter a trunk underneath. A wide table and benches occupied one side of the room, the other housing several doors in the wall leading to the bathrooms. It was odd to see the space so bare, clear of Ariel's scattered magazines and Hollis's ill-tempered cat, Luscinia's melodic humming glaringly absent in the silence.
Ashlin was where she hadn't been, cross-legged atop the table. "You're stalling. Let's get this over with, yeah? Like ripping out a bandage."
Pyrrha couldn't suppress a small shudder as she straddled a bench and laid her replacement leg down its length with a clank, drawing a clean tear down her robes with her wand. She parted the garment out of the way and began casting over the limb; it shined as it melted into the air like molten metal with none of the heat, dissolving into misty wisps before wavering into nothing. Left behind was the uneven stump of her thigh, ragged, as if bitten away by a monster with jagged teeth.
Ashlin leaned over curiously as Pyrrha directed her wand at the wound; the flesh bubbled like a chemical reaction, and it felt like hundreds of insects teething on the skin as the leg began to reform, the magic pulling from her lifeblood like a grisly siphon. The thigh seemed to melt into being, flesh pouring down to form a newborn knee, a calf, an ankle. Relief swept her as the spell ceased its hold on her heart, and she worked the newborn limb, somehow paler than the rest of her. The leg tingled with needle pinpricks, but that feeling would pass.
Her afflicted heart was another matter. The ache was ever more prominent, each pulse bearing a pang of pain outward to tax her body. It fluttered with something more than fear; it was straining, faint throbs thrumming like the overextended ends of a taut string strummed, threatening to untether at the lightest pressure.
Pyrrha drew from her bag a large jar of clouded green fluid that glowed faintly with alien emerald light, chasing away the dimness. She opened the lid with a tap and set the vessel aside on the floor; a pungent and antiseptic smell seeped through the air. A bottle of bitter potion went down in three swallows. Ashlin stood and stepped to her side as Pyrrha laid herself flat upon the table, the upper half of her robes parting open at a flick of her wand, her underclothes following suit.
The air was cold against her bare chest as it heaved with anxiety, dread pressing down on her as if she lay at the bottom of the lake, bearing the water's frigid weight with what strength in her lungs remained. The torment that awaited her held her arm down against the table.
"There's no other way." Ashlin's voice was calm and soothing, accompanied by a cool hand across her forehead. "With pain inhibitors and severe blood loss combined, the risk of passing out is too high." Ashlin was attempting to comfort her, repeating what she already knew. Her bright blue eyes captured Pyrrha's and shined down with warmth. "You can do this. You've done it before."
Ashlin's hand slipped into hers as she raised her other arm, directing the tip of her wand at her own chest. She flicked before she could falter; her ribcage burst open to a fountain of blood that splattered the room, and everything was agony. To hesitate was to die; she cast in quick succession, the fresh heart darting from its preservative jar to sink into the space left by the old, her ribs cracking as they folded shut behind it like a macabre trap. The room swam with darkness and Pyrrha's chest burned as if she drowned in fire, heaving rattling breaths and releasing them in raw, howling screams.
Minute after torturous minute passed like hours, and it seemed the pain would never fade. Ashlin cradled her head as she spasmed on the table, whispered empty comforts as she wailed her anguish to the uncaring room that dripped her own blood in her face, falling from the ceiling like the corpse of a downpour. She could hear barking and scraping, but couldn't make sense of it. All there was was there with her; pain, Ashlin, and the air that seared her chest with each breath, the piercing cries that rang in her ears.
Lifetimes later, Pyrrha slid off the table onto the bench, the light jolt like a knife to the heart. She gasped for air cold and coarse against her raw throat, lightheaded and numb. Onto the floor she sank, soft words of encouragement from Ashlin entirely insensible. She dragged herself across the carpet, every inch a mile, until she clutched at a bedspread; blindly she pulled herself up, helped along by Ashlin, until her broken body crossed the bed. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears in time with her throbbing chest, slowly abating its frenetic pace as sleep came to claim her pain.