Chapter 13: Aphasia Group
Scorpius licked his lips, wishing his tongue had a droplet of moister to spare. His heart pounded like dragon wings as he steeled himself for the inevitable reprimanding he'd surely receive in Headmistress McGonigal's office. The presence of Madame Hooch's hand in the square of his back felt like a death sentence. He had broken her rules, and nearly gotten himself and Potter killed during their flying course. The core of his chest felt like a winter ocean ripping outwards, disappointment in himself flooding his body. He let his heavy head fall forward in shame as he walked.
Madame Hooch pulled him to a sudden halt. Slowly, Scorpius swallowed the lump in his throat and tilted his head slightly upwards, gazing between the strands his disheveled fringe to meet the tall stature of Slytherin's Quidditch Captain. The captain lifted a thick eyebrow, cool and piercing gaze trail across his body. Involuntarily, a shiver traveled from his neck to his toes. Certainly, for an eleven-year-old, he was uncomfortably tall. Tall for his grade was still a good head shorter than the Seeker who stood before him. The captain crossed her arms, eyes finally tearing away from him.
"Really?" the Seeker asked, shifting her weight onto one leg and narrowing her eyes as she addressed their Flying Coach.
Scorpius turned to watch as Madame Hooch gave a curt nod, lips pressed in a thin, serious line. "Aye, Yvonne. He's the one you want."
The Slytherin Captain let at a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat, something between a cough and laugh. Rather like a cat hacking up a hairball. "Well… He'll have to try out along with all the others hoping to make the team."
A light rain pattered against the window, sending speckled shadows running across the hall.
"He's the one. I'm never wrong." Scorpius swallowed a small gasp as Madame Hooch pushed him forward. Did he have any say in this? He wasn't even sure what was going on. But he had a sinking feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach.
"The lad's rather lanky. Not necessarily bad… as long as we can leverage his speed. Less target area at least." Yvonne circled around him, a wolf sizing up its prey. Scorpius gulped and let out a slow stream of air between his teeth. Finally, the Captain stood in front of him once more, one finger twirling her waist-length braid around her finger. "So different from the others. Yes, he could do nicely…"
Scorpius watched as a ghost floated through the wall and down the hall, giving their small group a nod as he passed.
"I don't offer my eye often, Yvonne. You'd do well to take my recommendation," Madame Hooch clipped, Scottish burr rolling thickly on her vowels.
Scorpius felt his cheeks grow warm and tingly. He stared down at his polished shoes, pushing down the hope as his mind considered all the possibilities. Possibilities that meant drawing even more unwanted attention to his family name, even more responsibility to burden. This was not what he'd expected in the slightest when Madame Hooch had dismissed Flying classes and wordlessly led him back into the castle.
"Yes, thank you Madame Hooch," the Seeker said, coy smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You'll do nicely, won't you?" Scorpius' mouth went dry as her ice-blue gaze turned to him. Luckily, Yvonne didn't seem to expect a reply. "Try outs are Friday evening, 8pm sharp. Meet us by the boathouse. We start practice Saturday."
Scorpius felt his heart pound rapidly again. "Madame Hooch," he called, turning to the coach as she swiveled on her heels, "did you just recommend me to the Slytherin Quidditch Team?"
Madame Hooch stalled, eyes crinkling with mirth. "I'd be a fool not to recommend you to my old house team. I haven't seen such mix of speed and, frankly, such innate sense of how to leverage aerodynamics… in decades. Ms. Nott would be a fool to not take you on as the new Slytherin Beater. Trust in you gut and brain at tryouts. Good luck Mr. Malfoy."
Scorpius watched as Madame Hooch's robes billowed out behind her as the rain pattered like wild drums. He nearly ran down the halls, out to the courtyard where the air was cool and the rain slid down his nose. Leaning his head against the large oak tree, he sucked in air hungrily through his nose as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. He didn't want to stick out. He didn't want any attention drawn to him. He liked his quiet life with his father. He wanted to get through Hogwarts quietly… to learn everything his father had promised the hallowed castle held. To find a subject he loved and to devote the rest of his life and soul to it. To silently earn respect for himself, as a Malfoy… as himself. Not respect from grand acts that made him shine like a trophy. Like a hero. He wanted respect from whatever small, steady, and humble acts he'd do to contribute to the betterment of wizarding society.
So far all he'd managed to muck that up. He was in the limelight now, under the eyes of probably everyone at school. The Malfoy child, son of a Death Eater, who just so happened to save three students within three days. There was no way other students wouldn't question that. It seemed made up, a one-in-a-hundred occurrence. Too lucky. Too unusual a circumstance to make it seem like he wasn't up to something fishy. A trick. A ploy that made him seem desperate for attention. More than attention. Glory. Glory to his family name or something ridiculous like that.
Granted, he wanted to remove the taboo from his family name. Set the name of Malfoy in a good and gentle light someday. However, absolutely nothing good could come of seeming desperate to erase the smears and stains his family bore. Not all at once, at least.
Scorpius sighed, listening to the pattern of rain as it trickled through the tree leaves. He loved flying. Evening broom rides had been part of his daily routine with his father in the evening. They would follow packs of swallows or chase after hawks. Sometimes they'd just fly high above Wiltshire as the sun set and watch the stars flicker into the horizon. Flying tasted of freedom and joy, bottled in a broom. His mother used to join them when he was a toddler. She'd clutch him tight in her arms and squeeze him anytime she'd dipped her broom. He'd asked his mother every evening if she were to join him and his father. Astoria had declined every evening since his sixth birthday. For the longest time, he'd thought he had done something wrong. Thought he had upset or displeased his mother. The lump formed in his throat again as he thought of his mother leaving the manor, abandoning his father and grandmother. He dug his nails into the rough bark of the tree, letting it scratch against his palms as he occluded his mind. Sending his feelings and memories up to the still night sky he always visualized when occluding. Each memory a star, sorted into a constellation based on a general feeling, a sense.
Quidditch. He'd played with his father. A modified version of quidditch, at least, with two people. They'd play with just a quaffle, or just a snitch. Scorpius wasn't fond of the bludger. The devious balls always went after him and rarely his father. He'd always been clumsy around bludgers, realizing only at the last second that one was at his back. However, he'd gotten better at awkwardly dodging them over time, tilting at unusual angles or jumping off his broom to dangle from the handle with one hand. He'd improved his skills in hitting the bludgers over time. However, he'd always been reluctant to send them hurtling towards his father, despite Draco's pleads that that was the point. He'd instead try to aim the bludger at the moving targets his father had floated into the air, typically an assortment of old wizarding hats and caps that had been left over from the guests who had occupied the manor during his father's Death Eater days. He'd figured it'd been cathartic for his father to watch old remnants destroyed by the ball.
Did he even want to join the quidditch team? Scorpius felt the nerves prickle at his neck as the rain tried to sooth him, running down in rivulets down his nose. He'd never been a part of a team, never had peers rely on him. The thought brought the sensation of ice dripping down his spine. He may have fun, though. A beater wasn't often the player the crowds cheered on. That glory was always reserved for those who scored. Chasers and seekers. Sometimes for a good keeper who could prevent the chasers from scoring. But for a beater, the work was chaotic. Mostly brutal. Diving in and out from behind the scenes. Hiding and appearing, teasing the other team. Never seeking the satisfaction of scoring, but every now and then reminding the others of their unusual power of wielding danger. He didn't like the idea of hurting players, but perhaps if he could knock out the quaffle from a player's grasp, or break the line of play. Add a layer of strategy, control which way players would have to fly to avoid a bludger. Yes, he might enjoy quidditch.
He whispered a quiet "thank you" to the old oak tree and turned around, preparing to dash from the tree's meager shelter from the rain to the cloister. Instead, he felt his body jump as his eyes locked with Sköll. The child of the notorious werewolf stood no more than five feet away, arms clutching a bag, eyes unblinking, wet hair plastered to her face. Scorpius had had enough of fellow students trying to size him up with their eyes for one day. He broke the eye contact and turned away. Dinner would be served soon and he wanted to change into a set of dry robes.
"You're the one everyone is talking about," Sköll said after he'd made it a few steps away. Scorpius didn't turn around, just fisted his hands, keeping the image of the night's sky in his mind, shining bright, serene, and paused.
"Heard you rescued Harry Potter's son from a broom mishap and his best friends' daughter yesterday morning." Sköll stepped into his field of vision, forcing him to lock eyes with her again. He ground his teeth, a terrible habit. "You think you can erase the memory of what your family is… what they stand for? You're wrong."
Scorpius bit his lip, shoving the retort back down into his chest.
"What? I'm not good enough for you to talk to?" the witch hissed. Hacking a glob of her spit right by his boots. Scorpius flinched and Sköll let out a single, crackled laugh. He pulled his cloak tight around his chest and slowly met her gaze. She wore her sleeves rolled up around her arms, revealing the nasty, fresh pink scars. A contrast so striking against her dark skin.
She wanted something out of him, Scorpius couldn't tell what exactly, but he felt the intense need to not give into whatever it was she wanted.
"I've heard Malfoys are too prideful for their own good. Pompous fools, all. Honestly, I don't see what my father wants in you," she sniped, raising her chin in the air and walking away from the castle.
Wants, present tense . Scorpius froze statue-still, the chill ricocheting across his body.
Was that a warning or a threat? Either way, it had been information. Purposefully given information.
Mairwyn sat across from Rose, studying the wizard's chess board with intense uncertainty. Rose bit the corner of her lip to stifle her smile.
"You're telling me the knight moves forward two squares and then forward again on a diagonal?" Mairwyn hissed, poking her nail finger at the miniature knight's horse. The wooden stallion reared in the air, kicking at the goblin's delicate and thin finger.
Rose nodded, lopsided smile escaping across her face. She quickly schooled her features, removing her wavy hair from behind her ear so it'd hang over the weaker side of her mouth. Mairwyn noticed the movement immediately, snapping her fingers. Rose let out a small gasp as her tucked itself behind her ear again.
"Don't hide yourself," Mairwyn said, dark eyes boring into Rose, making her squirm in her wheelchair.
"Mas… mas…" Rose let out a sigh as Mairwyn raised a delicate brow, patiently waiting for her to try to speak. Some moments where harder than others. "Masic. Your masic."
Mairwyn nodded, small smile rippling across her cheeks. "Yes, Rose. I used magic. Are you going to tell on me?"
Rose furrowed her brows, rolling her eyes. Did the goblin always have to be so insufferable.
"I wish you would tell on me," Mairwyn continued, idly running her finger along her side of the chess board, making the pieces squirm. Rose watched as the queen attempted to poke her sword into the goblin's finger. Mairwyn continued, unperturbed by the unsettled chess pieces. "The more you speak, the better. That's what your Speech Therapist is always saying, no?"
Rose nodded her head, exasperated. "No… you. No… no…" Rose paused. The words got stuck on her tongue. A glitch on repeat. It was like some joke from her Uncle George's shop. She watched Mairwyn run a long finger down her knight's horse, a gentle caress that garnered the approval of the knight as he sheathed his sword and patted his horse on the rump. Rose opened her mouth, trying to empty her mind. "No… Broca…. Broca."
"Mmhmm," Mairwyn encouraged, continuing to stroke the horse as it began to whinny, tail wagging. "Broca's Aphasia, right? Tell me more about it."
Rose made the first move on the chess board, sending a pawn forward as it protested against her fingers at being picked up. Mairwyn smiled deviously, sharp teeth flashing. Rose knew Mairwyn already knew about Broca's Aphasia. She'd begged her Speech Therapist to explain it to her new friend after the squib had faced the onslaught of questions from her parents, well, mostly her mum.
"I… hear," Rose grimaced at the word. It wasn't quite right.
"Yes, you understand the majority of whatever we're saying. Makes it harder when things get more complex, hmm?" Mairwyn paused, copying Rose's move with her own pawn. "Keep going."
Rose sighed, pushing another pawn out into the open. "Words… Words are. No. Words…. Oh Merlin!"
"Mmm, it's the words that are hard, no?" Mairwyn said, then commanding her knight out into the open of the board.
Propping her elbows onto the table and resting her head in her hand, Rose let out an undignified huff, "Merlin."
"So…" Mairwyn proceeded, not acknowledging Rose's pity party. "Aphasia affects only the language part of the brain, right?" Rose nodded. Mairwyn didn't wait for her to comment. "There's one thing your Speech Therapist told me, and I know she told you too. Aphasia affects your language, not your in-"
"Intelligence," Rose blurted out, surprised the word escaped her lips. She met Mairwyn's eyes, not caring a wink that her smile was lopsided.
Mairwyn smiled back, face glowing, while waving her hand across the chess board. "Alright, go ahead and show me all that intelligence."
She won the game of Wizard's Chess, much to Mairwyn's chagrin. Rose didn't know if it were Goblin in general who were fiercely competitive, or just Mairwyn. She suspected it was just Mairwyn, mostly.
The thrill of winning Wizards Chess thrummed through her as Rose sat in the circle for Aphasia Group. She was the only child in the group. Although slightly nervous, she was mostly curious to meet others who were dealing with what she was dealing with. The Speech Therapist squib had brought adults to her small office from the Janice-Thickley ward. Rose had heard that was where they kept the wizards and witches who had gone mad. She felt a tinge of guilt mixed with relief that whatever curse she'd been dealt wasn't going to lock her up in the hospital for the rest of her days.
A rather dashing looking man, dressed impeccably in a golden cloak to match his golden hair, leaned in close to her. "Please to who you, would you like who? No I'm who-am. No not who. I'm who… Lockhart, Gilderoy Lockhart. Pleasure to meet you miss. Who am you?"
Rose starred at the man, biting her lip in confusion. The man extended his hand, giving her a dashing smile. Rose shook the hand, smiling back.
"You must be Hogwarts who, do you attend?"
Rose inclined her head, "yes."
"Lovely school. I attended on my who. Taught Defense Against Dark Who. What's your favorite who?" Mr. Lockhart leaned in closer, smile lightening up his face.
Rose couldn't help but like the man. His eyes were intelligent, with something like pride in the way he persisted talking, whether or not he realized the wrong were coming out of his mouth or not. She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't'… I know. No. I… I don't… know."
"Ah no bother, no bother. All whos are worthy of learning. You're a young who and have time to discover."
"Alright, Mr. Lockhart, thank you for making our newest member feel welcomed," the squib Speech Therapist said, winking in Rose's direction. "Welcome to another week of Aphasia Group everyone! Let's introduce ourselves to Rose. You may tell her as much of your experience with aphasia as you like. But afterwards, I thought we'd all talk about our school experiences, as Rose will be going back to her school next week." Rose looked around the room, curious. "I'll go first. I'm Nancy, your Speech Therapist. I attended school at Queen Elizabeth's in Wimborne Minster before studying Communication Disorders at Strathclyde. Now… all of you have different types of aphasia. Some of you can speak in full sentences but have a hard time understanding, some of you understand most of what you hear but have a hard time speaking, for others here, you may have a difficult time both understanding and speaking. Some of you here also have cognitive deficits which complicates things a bit. Either way, thank you all for coming and agreeing to taking part in the Unified Squib and Muggle Health Sciences Initiative at St. Mungo's."
Rose looked around the room, surprised to learn that her diagnosis could show up differently. The thought of not understanding scared her more than not being able to talk.
"Mr. Lockhart, would you like to go first?" Nancy wrote "introduce" down on her white board. Rose swallowed at the muggleness of the stringent marker. It smelled worse than any potion her mother had ever brewed.
"Yes, certainly, certainly. My name is Gilderoy Lockhart. I suffered a who-am-I-"
"A who, Mr. Lockerhart? Or a curse?" Nancy interrupted gently.
"A who, no! A who…" Mr. Lockhart smiled, taking quill and writing a word on a sheet of paper. Rose leaned over as the man spelled out C-U-S-E. Rose supposed the word looked close enough to "curse."
"Yes, Mr. Lockhart. A Curse. Good use of an alternate way to communicate. Carry on… You suffered a curse while at Hogwarts, no?"
Rose started, how often were people attacked at Hogwarts?
"Indeed! In the Chamber of Secrets, I fought of the giant who am-"
"A snake or wolf, Mr. Lockhart?"
Mr. Lockhart looked confused. Looking from her back to Nancy. "The who-am-I?"
Nancy wrote out on a muggle white board "snake or who?"
"Ah yes!" Mr. Lockhart pointed to the snake, while saying "who."
"Yes, and what kind of snake was it?" Nancy asked, unconcerned with the surpluses of whos. Rose blushed, realizing she did the same thing now and then, getting stuck on words. She just couldn't speak so fluently in sentences.
"A bas…" Nancy began.
"Basilisk!" Mr. Lockhart cried, hand covering his heart. "I went to the Chamber of Secrets to fight a basilisk. I think? I'm not really sure."
"Very brave," Nancy nodded, turning to a couple sitting on the other side of Rose. "Mr. Longbottom, would you like to go next?
Rose felt her mouth pop open. The Mr. Longbottom she knew was a herbologist at Hogwarts and a family friend of her parents. She took in the man sitting next to her. He looked confused but pleasant, his hand intertwined in a woman's next to him. The couple looked a bit like the man she knew.
Nancy came over and wrote on her board simultaneously while speaking "Frank or Alan?"
The man's brows knotted together and Nancy repeated herself, gesturing to his hand and modeling a pointed finger. Rose found herself holding her breath. Mr. Longbottom just smiled. The woman next to him lifted her finger slowly, hovering it above each name before tapping "Frank."
"Yes, Alice! Your husband's name is Frank!" The Speech Therapist appeared overly enthusiastic, wide smile overtaking her face. Mr. Lockhart and the rest of the group nodded in support. Alice just looked shocked; eyes locked on her husband.
Nancy turned to a tall, thin man next, dark hair and eyes a stark contrast to his translucent, taught skin. "I am Reynardine… I… I had a spoke. I am not a… a wizard. I am a… ugh… a…"
Reynardine ran a finger around his ponytail, eyes looking upwards, as if searching for an answer.
Nancy spoke softly, "a vam…"
"Vampire!" Reynardine smiled, revealing two sharp canine teeth. Rose felt a chill run down her spine. She'd always associated vampires as dark beings.
"I had a stroke about… um… fifty years ago. I just come here for the meetings. Nancy is a good therapist." The vampire winked at Rose. "Vampires. Yes. Vampires, we don't have a um… a building to learn. We study in our clans. Our magic is… is different."
"Lovely, thank you for sharing, Reynardine. Nice use of describing words and taking some pauses." Nancy turned to Rose, gentle eyes filling her with confidence.
"Nice to nice you. No." Rose bit her tongue.
"Try writing it, Rose." Nancy supplied her with a lovely gray speckled quill and parchment. Rose let out a sigh of relief, secretly glad she wasn't given the awful-smelling muggle marker.
"Meet" Rose wrote, glancing up at Nancy for confirmation who just gestured for her to keep writing.
"I had a stroke." Rose said, voice cracking. The group nodded. Mr. Lockhart reached over and patted her shoulder briefly, an oddly comforting gesture.
"I go to... um… school." Rose swallowed, taking the quill and writing "Hogmart." She bit her tongue; the word definitely didn't look right.
"Yes, not bad at all, Rose!" Nancy's eyes sparkled.
Mr. Lockhart leaned in closer to Rose, "Don't worry about who-am-I. Er… mistakes. My sister always says the who is good when the message is received. Doesn't matter how."
"Sister?" Rose asked.
"Why yes," Gilderoy's smile faded, "funny who about that is I don't remember everything about growing up with Nancy. My memory, you know who am I?"
"Yes, Gilderoy is my brother," Nancy said, squeezing her brother's hand briefly. "Like you, Rose. He also has some retrograde amnesia. He's right through. There're so many ways to communicate. Don't be afraid to make mistakes here during Aphasia Group, or outside. As long as whoever you're talking to can figure out what you're trying to say, that's a successful communication exchange."
Rose looked at Mr. Lockhart again, meeting knowing eyes and a kind smile. He dipped his head towards her in solidarity. Rose felt like crying. Instead, she smiled back, not caring about how lopsided her grin must look.
"Alright, group. Lovely introductions. Let's give Rose some recommendations for must-do's while at Hogwarts or schooling in general."
Naturally, it'd be his luck to be paired with the one student he'd like to avoid at all costs. Will adamantly refused to look at the girl next to him. Instead, he concentrated on the warmth of the darkened greenhouse, the rough feel of dragonhide gloves on his hands, and the slightly swaying vine sprout in front of him, no bigger than his index finger.
"Caring for plants is easier said than done. Not all like sunlight. Not all like water. And even if they crave both, they may try to attack you in the process of your endeavors to help them grow."
Will could feel the girl's eyes crawling up and down him through the dim glow of flickering torches. Clenching his hands into fists and grinding his teeth, he focused on breathing in and out to the mesmerizing sway of the vine.
"We'll start with this little vine today, a favorite of mine." Professor Longbottom carefully poured a quick drop of water out of the spout. The vine uncurled itself and lashed out in the direction of the watering can like a whip. "Now, usually I'd do this with a wand, but I believe in knowing how to do things by hand."
Will heard the girl next to him let out an overly-exaggerated huff. He swallowed, ignoring the eyes that continued to watch him and not Professor Longbottom's demonstration.
"Now the key is to pour in short spurts. You must be quick. In and out. Don't let the vine touch you. Now, witches pour the water first. Three quick drops. Wizards count out loud to ten seconds for your partner. Anyone who is able to recognize the plant from your readings today gets fifteen points to their house. Ready?" Professor Longbottom called, chocolate brown robes billowing behind him as he walked to and from each table. Kind smile lighting up his face as students began practicing.
"You ready?" Sköll asked, voice flat as she held the water spout aloft and far out of reach of the small vine.
Will nodded curtly, eyes focused on the girl's small hands holding the watering can. She poured quickly, letting a dash of water escape over the small vine. It lashed out, straight and stretching in the direction of where Sköll's hands had been. Will grimaced as the girl let out an amused snort. Sullenly, Will counted to ten as his Herbology partner repeated the watering.
"Alright, nicely done witches!" Professor Longbottom called out. "No mishaps here. Wizards, you're next."
Will took the watering can, not meeting Sköll's eyes as she handed it over to him gruffly. Quickly, he poured a dash of water onto the vine, watching it stretch towards him as he leaned back on his stool. Sköll counted, a hint of sarcasm behind her words. Will rolled his shoulders and focused all his attention on dashing the water onto the vine again. He gasped as the vine reacted faster, nearing coming into contact with his wrist. Grinding his teeth, he ignored the small smile of joy in of his peripheral vision. His stomach twisted in knots at the thought of finding joy at the expense of others fear. At the count of ten, he dashed the water can towards the vine again."
"Scared I might bite, Locksly?"
Will met Sköll's dark eyes and toothy smile. Surprise rippled through him as the rough vine slapped against his wrist, growing larger and wrapping in a vice-like grip. Will stared down at this vine, heart thundering as a laugh escaped Sköll's lips. The vine hurt. His fingertips went numb as his hand began to lose circulation and his vision went dim with shock. He lifted his eyes back up to Sköll's, astonished. The witch sat there smiling silently, seemingly enraptured by his pain and the vine continued to strangle his hand. Will closed his eyes, the prickling around his wrist felt like teeth. An image flashed in his mind. A large black wolf closing its jaw around his hand and clenching down, yellow eyes narrowed in delight.
It was only until his ears started ringing and he slumped down onto the table that Professor Longbottom's brown cloak swam its way into his darkening vision. A quick burst of light exploded within the room, causing Will to spend the next minute shaking stars out of his vision.
"You alright, Locksly?" Professor Longbottom leaned towards him, hand gently resting on his shoulder.
Will breathed in and out slowly, alternating between stretching his hand and making a fist as feeling, along with blood, burst back into his tingling fingertips. He nodded slowly.
"Alright then, good lad." The Professor rose, hand still resting lightly on Will's shoulder. "This shouldn't have happened for as long as it did. But let it be a lesson to you all, best to consider all magical plants dangerous to some degree. Never let your attention waver from your partner as you tend to your plants."
Will felt a burst appreciation for the Herbology professor. He hadn't accused Sköll of not crying out for help. It was tactful. The last thing he wanted was to stir up trouble for the witch and become a target.
"Now, there are a few points we can learn from Will's misfortunate encounter with such a seemingly innocent vine. The first is that the vine will ensnare its victims and squeeze. The second is that it doesn't like sunlight." Professor Longbottom removed his hand from Will's shoulder with light squeeze. "Would anyone like to guess as to what plant we are dealing with today?"
The room remained quiet. Will wracked his brain. There had been so many plants within the first chapter of assigned reading. None of them he'd even remotely heard of before, despite his mother keeping a vast array of houseplants in their apartment. It had been rather unsettling, knowing the majority of his peers likely grew up having at least some inkling of what a Mandrake or Dragonmint were. He felt like he was behind already, despite it being only the first week.
"Devil's Snare," Sköll stated slowly, lips curling. The way she said it made Will want to wretch.
"And other than sunlight, do you know any other way to get out of the grasp of Devil's Snare, Ms. Grayback?" Professor Longbottom asked, voice even as his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Just need to relax into its grip. It'll let go then." Sköll shrugged her shoulders, fake, toothy smile flashing quickly at Will in the firelight.
"You speak as if you have experience?" Professor Longbottom asked quietly. The room remained silent. A dozen Devil's Snares swaying happily from their recent watering.
Sköll gave a curt nod, grin disappearing. "It's a surprisingly effective training exercise to practice relaxing. You know, like when getting used to being bitten. Accidental or not. Trying to pull away from a bite while tense usually just tears the skin and muscle and such."
Will met the witch's eyes, surprise coursing through his body like fire. Sköll broke his gaze, quickly glancing away. He glanced back at Professor Longbottom and swallowed. The Herbologist's brows knitted with concern and understanding.
It had been purposeful. Sköll knew he'd get distracted. Knew the Devil's Snare would cut off his circulation. Knew he needed to relax. She chose not to say anything. The witch wanted to watch his pain. See his reaction.
Icy hate burned beneath the fear he felt for the girl who sat beside him as if nothing had happened.
He examined his wrist. A bright red rope burn encircled the tender flesh. Will bit his tongue as the sting throbbed quietly.
"Professor?" the calm voice of Albus called from the table behind him. A brief sense of relief that maybe his friend had witnessed the whole event lifted a stone from his chest. "Why is there frost on Will's Devil's Snare?"
Will brought his attention to the dangerous plant on his table. The plant, coated in a thin layer of ice and frost, writhed in fast erratic movements. Will watched in fascinated horror as the plant finally stilled.
Professor Longbottom hadn't been able to explain why his plant was frosted after being exposed to sunlight, but promised to "look into it."
"Looks like today has battered both of us to some degree," Albus stated, taking Will's books out of his arms as they walked back to the castle.
Will looked his friend over, thankful to let his wrist relax from the weight of books for a moment. Albus still didn't look harried from his tumble off the tower this morning. "You sure you feel alright? You had quite a fall. Scared us all to death."
"I'm fine. Honestly, Malfoy ended up breaking the fall. And I landed on him, so there was padding. Somewhat." Albus said, threading his way into the castle.
"You still believe Malfoy did something on purpose to your broom?" Will had his doubts. The boy had seemed fairly normal. Well, normal enough for being a wizard. Just another lad trying to fit into a new group, making jokes and hiding nervousness with some wit.
"There's something Malfoy is hiding, but I can't tell what." Albus waved his hand in front of his face as he walked through a ghost. Will blanched at thought of walking through an undead soul. "I usually have good read on people. On others thoughts. With him, it's like they're locked behind a fortress."
Will shrugged, "We've only interacted with him for what… half an hour maybe. Even if he is hiding something, why does it matter?"
Albus turned to him, eyes flashing. "It matters because ever since we got to Hogwarts, he's always been there to save the day. Rescued Burt from drowning in the Black Lake. Supposedly found Rose in the dungeons and called for help. Rescued me from my broom going haywire. Granted I've always had control issues on brooms." Albus paused, swallowing hard as he stepped near a statue of a knight, sword held firmly in two hands, tip touching the ground.
"You really think there's something suspicious about him rescuing people?" Will bit his tongue, he wanted to hear Albus' perspective. He was new to this world after all.
"Yes, I do. I found out his father is… was a Death Eater. And he's back in Azkaban now, that's a prison, for using dark magic at the skirmish in St. Mungo's."
The words sounded evil, but Will didn't have a clue what a Death Eater or "dark magic" actually meant. Plus, he hardly felt it was fair to be defined by one's father. He didn't even know his father. Nevertheless, even with his mother, he couldn't define himself by her life. He didn't grow up as a foster child and wasn't working three jobs.
"What do you want to do about it?" Will asked, curious what his friend felt for the Slytherin who saved his life today.
"I just… I just need to know that Malfoy isn't… isn't indoctrinated in his father's dark magic. That he isn't at Hogwarts to carry on with whatever it is Death Eaters believe in. That he hasn't been purposefully setting up scenarios in which he can come to the rescue and look like a hero. That he isn't making a cover story for himself." Albus looked down at his books staked in his arms, pink tinging his cheeks.
Will sighed. He could understand Albus' concerns. Truly, he could. He felt the same about the werewolf-witch, Sköll.
"Alright, what's you plan then?" Will asked, heart sinking.
"We befriend him," Albus said softly, not daring to meet Will's eyes.