5
The paper makes a rustling noise in my hand, for my fingers are shaking again. I thought that reading the Daily Prophet might help with my nerves. Seeing that the public takes our situation seriously. There are Aurors posted here at Hogwarts, and finally, the Ministry launched an official investigation. I hoped that Rita Skeeter's article would describe how the Ministry took control of the situation, and handled it with an iron fist.
Instead, the words that are floating in front of my eyes make my limbs weak.
Killing spree... Incompetent authorities... Unable to protect even children... Blood bath... Aurors reacting too late... Disemboweled, mangled bodies... Ministerial blunder...
Well, what was I expecting? Obviously, that Skeeter woman rarely describes anyone or anything in a positive light, if ever. But the truth is that she's right. The Aurors are here, and still, yesterday, there was another victim. A fourteen-year-old student. In spite of the multiple warnings of the Auror Captain stationed in the Castle, she left her dormitory, unattended, to take an evening walk. Vera Yaxley. I kind of knew her. Not very well, but she showed some talent in last year's Divination lessons, so I remember her face. Nice girl. Always quiet, with an aura of sadness about her. It's understandable after what had happened to her father during the Battle of Hogwarts. The killing curse of one of his fellow Death Eaters accidentally hit him right in the forehead, just before the end of the fight. Mind you, little Vera was nothing like her misled father. A shy, polite girl indeed. Divination Class seemed to take her mind off of things, she looked engrossed. I was even thinking that I might give her some extra work this autumn to see if she could improve her Xylomancy skills. How could this happen to her?
Filius found her body at dawn. She was brutally stabbed five times. Her eyeballs removed, fingers cut off like Poppy Pomfrey's. And the worst part is, that her injuries were not fatal right away. It was the blood-loss that slowly killed her. No one heard her screams. Around the time she was attacked, the Aurors were patrolling a faraway section. She blindly crawled along three corridors before passing out. Filius had to be given a strong sedative after discovering her.
Filius was still recovering at the Hospital Wing when I left my tower to borrow the newspaper from one of my colleagues, so I only heard this story from Professor Sprout. I wasn't sure what to do. Whether to visit him or not. Eventually, I just came back to sit in my favorite armchair and read.
I try to return to the paper. On the next page, I find Skeeter's interview with the Auror Captain. The Captain theorizes that the serial murderer behind these attacks might be a follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Probably a man between the age of 30 and 45. This loyal servant must have first holed up somewhere after the Battle of Hogwarts, but then, on the long term, found himself unable to deal with the death of his master. He has supposedly lost his sanity, and went into a murderous frenzy here, where his beloved master had perished. This must be his twisted revenge.
It doesn't ring true. I cannot put my finger on why I think that the Auror Captain isn't right. It's more like a premonition. I feel it. This is not the product of the cruelties of You-Know-Who. This runs deeper. A rotten sickness that resides in the darkest corners of the human mind, and has not much to do with ideologies and defeated leaders.
The papers have labeled the killer 'the Butcher of Hogwarts'.
I let the Prophet fall from my hands to the floor. I'm unable to read further. I try to breathe, but the air gets stuck in my windpipe in a tense knot. I let out a graceless, choking sound, and have to massage my throat to be able to inhale again. Those poor students. Vulnerable children.
The picture of Seansie flashes in front of my eyes. My sweet, innocent owl...
A sudden realization hits me. It was my owl that got killed. Mine! A cold shiver rushes along my arms. What if I soon become a target too?
I visualize a huge, black-cloaked monster of a man, holding a blood-stained knife, standing by my door. And then, he is rushing at it, ramming the old wooden structure.
I'm all alone up here. Sometimes, I'm not even in the condition to ascertain any kind of danger. Inebriated, I mean. Yes, most times, I would not be able to defend myself. I would not even have the ability to react fast enough to grab my wand before his blade stabs my palm, pinning it to the padded armrest. Rendering me immobile and defenseless.
I shake my head. No. I shouldn't think about this.
I feverishly touch all my fingers, one by one. Alright. I still have ten. I start to laugh hysterically at my own foolishness. I would know if one of them was cut off, wouldn't I?
Quick, some sherry! Some more. I drink in big gulps. I must drink, I have to. It's the only thing that protects me from thinking too much.
I won't leave my tower. Not ever. Not even to check on Filius.
Filius... As soon as I think of him again, my innards tense. A new feeling of foreboding sweeps through me. What if he becomes a victim too?
And the next second, all the shadows around me seem to form sinister signs. The Four-Tined Fork, the Upside-Down Clock, the Hanging Man, the Broken Bridge... What's going on? Why am I receiving this rush of warnings? It must be Filius; he is in grave danger.
What should I do?
Perhaps, I should tell my hunch to the Aurors. I could ask them to stand guard by his door, to add some protective charms around him, to be extra careful... But what if this gave an opportunity to the serial killer to commit another atrocity – undetected, at another, less monitored section of the castle? I can't be the reason for this monster getting away with yet another crime. I can't do that. I must be honest with myself: my forewarnings are not that accurate. Okay, okay, they are all over the place. It wouldn't be the first time they fail me. But I really, really sense that he is not safe. I feel it so deep that it's almost like physical pain.
What can I do?
I drink another glass of sherry.
Yes, a threat may be lurking around Filius, but my previous intuition is strong too. That I'm the one, the closest to imminent danger. I'll be the next victim.
I hastily push a cabinet in front of my door, and lock all the windows. I even tug my sofa right next to the cabinet, so that Rubeus Hagrid himself would be unable to break in through this heavy blockade of furniture.
I'm still trembling. Quick, another round of sherry.
I bundle myself up in the huge, soft blanket on my bed. I won't leave this room again. That's the only way to save myself. Filius is no fool. He can take care of himself. And I might fall victim to the Butcher if I climb the stairs, alone in the dark.
One more drink, and no thinking, Sybill.
I'm on my feet again, though I'm not sure when or why it happened. I'm making a dash for my smallest table. There is a porcelain cup there. It has an intricate deep red pattern painted on the inside. I grab the cup, and smash it against the wall. It reminded me of a blood-filled, empty eye socket.
I press my palms against my eyes. No! I don't want that monster to gouge them out! Help!
More sherry.
I run back to my sofa to pile a few pillows under my blanket. Now, it looks like I'm lying there. When, in fact, I climb under my corner table. The emerald green tablecloth is hanging in front of me, but maybe it's not enough. I tug at it. A clatter of fragile objects. I don't care. Let them break. Just don't let him find me. Crouching, I hide under the cloth.
I think I hear steps. They are coming from the stairs, right from my door. No. Noooo! He is coming for me.
Sherry, please, some sherry! I drink some more. It's way too much, Sybill, you should stop.
These are footsteps, for real. The Butcher is here. Slow, and heavy steps. They stop by my door.
I spot the pieces of the cup I broke earlier. What if he will use those small, pointy shards to torture me? I can't let him see them.
I crawl from under the corner table, and start to hurriedly collect the shards. I don't mind that I cut my palms again, I just want to make sure those tiny fragments of horror disappear. Otherwise, the Butcher is going to pin them into my face, one by one...
When I wake up, I'm lying on the floor. I have a splitting headache, again. I moan from the pain. As I get up on my knees, I see that I turned two tables over, torn all the decorative cloths off of them, and one of my cups is broken to pieces. That was my favorite to display tea leaf reading techniques in front of my students. And yep, there are three empty sherry bottles lying around.
Great job, Sybill, now you've really lost your marbles.
Still, the very first thing I do is check the furniture barricade blocking my door. It's intact. Good. Very good. It's not like I really believe I was in danger, it's just... good.
I remove the porcelain shards from my flesh, and more or less close up the cuts on my hands with a clumsy spell. Now the skin on my palms truly looks like the surface of a meat-colored cauliflower.
I think of Filius again. Is he still alive at all? Is he fine? I have a bad feeling.
I should clean up after my drunken rampage, but I can't. I'm too messed up right now. I just walk through the debris. A clay pot lid of one of my tea leaf holders is cracking under my feet, but I don't stop to check it. I go inside my bathroom to splash some cold water on my cheeks. It does not invigorate me. It just makes me feel cold. Cold as ice. I return to my room, dripping. Kicking one or two broken pieces away, I clear a path, and then sit down on my bed. I leave water pools everywhere. Here, I pull one of my blankets around my shoulders, trying to warm myself up a bit.
I don't want the Butcher to find me. I don't want to feel the pain. The steel blade cutting through sinews and bones... My fingers, squelching, torn off... And I don't want to scream and cry, knowing there is nothing I can do to stop the hurt. No one is there to help me. Just pain. Brutal, raw, final pain. I understand the suffering of his victims. Their torment is vivid in my mind. I can almost see Poppy's face, contorted, disfigured, and hear her screams. She screams, and screams... The picture is so life-like that it makes my eyes fill with tears. I can feel the helpless terror of all his victims.
I don't want anyone to go through this pain again. I don't want this kind of hideousness to happen in the outside world. The realization hits me hard. I cannot hide inside my tower. I must use my Divination skills to put an end to this!
As soon as the idea dawns on me, I find it utterly ridiculous.
Why the hell would I be the one to stop the Butcher? Why? I'm not an Auror, I'm not an important person. I'm just a nobody. Why do I feel from the start that there is something I could do? That there are clues hidden behind my premonitions I need to pay attention to?
Perhaps, I saw something. A detail that was somehow significant, I just didn't realize it at the time. And now the Inner Eye is whispering instructions. It tells me that I should follow my hunch. But follow how? And what exactly is my hunch?
That Filius is somehow connected to all this. And that I need to protect him because he is in danger alright.
However foolish it seems, I need to get up and do something. I cannot just sit around, waiting for others to put their lives on the line. Minerva is out there, searching the castle for the Butcher, that I'm sure of. It's not that I'm jealous of that ugly old hag. Not anymore. I don't care what she is up to with Filius, I swear. I'm just stating the obvious. That she is one hundred percent not sobbing locked up in her room, huddling under the blanket like me. She is putting herself at risk to save Filius, and other people's lives. I'm a teacher too, for crying out loud! I'm responsible for my co-workers, and especially, for our poor students. I cannot cower here, in the corner. Moreover, I'm the great-great-granddaughter of Cassandra Trelawney, the most reputable Seer of her time. I'm her sole heiress. It must amount to something. At any rate, I should pretend that it does.
Get your act together, Sybill. You need to follow the inner voice.
At least, I must leave my tower to figure out what's going on in the castle. Maybe, the Aurors have already caught the Butcher. Who knows? He might be sitting in an Azkaban cell right now, while I'm panicking here behind barricades, making a complete fool out of myself.
I'm not sure that I like my plan, but I have to speak to Filius.
So I must leave this room. Even the idea makes me shudder, but I know that's the right thing to do. I drink a glass of sherry to steel myself, prepare my wand, and then start to remove the furniture wall blocking the door. I wish it went slower. I've only needed fifty seconds to clear the way. I put my hand to the door slab to open it. I'm scared. So scared. Out there, the Butcher roams free. That lunatic.
Just please, please, don't let him find me!
I'm leaving my sanctuary. I'm cold. Cold and terrified. Yet, I take the first step down the stairs.
