TN_Chapter 16.
2nd September – 26th October 1993
(16)
Thursday morning showed the lake muddied with the last day's heavy rain. The Slytherin windows hardly let some light through on days like this. Anne woke with the Carrows' giggling, and as soon as she pulled her curtain to the sides, Flora stepped up to her with a package wrapped in Slytherin-colour paper with a silver ribbon.
"You didn't believe we forgot about your birthday, did you? New year, new rules, witchling! Open it!"
Anne would have had her doubts even if the air in the room didn't tremble with the girls' gloating glee. She also made a mental note to research some charm and curse detection spells in the Library. Those only came with the DADA NEWTs, and she was stuck with the theory – like in most subjects she had researched for others.
When the paper fell, she held the new edition of Cantankerus Nott's Pureblood Directory in emerald leather.
"Very original," – she told Flora with a sneer. She only laughed for a reply.
"Well, your need for it was obvious," – Hestia chirped. "We'll see if that helps you choose your friends better."
Sophie had just returned from the shower, and she stared around dumbly, so Anne gave her the book.
"Look, I got a present for my birthday! D'you think the Fawleys article expanded since last year?"
"Dunno, why?" – Sophie turned the book over in her hand – "Eleonore said it's all just flatulence, so I doubt she cared…."
Anne grinned. "No reason," – she took the book back with a shrug. "I offer this for the dorm so we can all use it. Thanks, Flora!"
When the Carrows could only gape at them, she left for the showers cheerfully. Alas, that was about the last moment in that morning to grin about. Because, as Madame Pince had put it, Professor Snape was a tad sore.
Anne patiently waited for her turn in the Great Hall when he distributed the timetables and schedules for the year. First, he handed out the sheets to his NEWTs, then to the rest of the other upper years, and then to Sophie and her fifth-year classmates, before he proceeded with the fourth-year calendars. She got nothing. After even the firsties received their parchments, she was torn between her eagerness to ask and the deeply settled experiences of her three years as a Slytherin that suggested she held her mouth.
Finally, Snape shot her a cold glance, and a scrap of parchment landed in her hands with one word in Snape's spiky letters: Infirmary. When she couldn't hold back and drew a breath to address him, a spectacular snarl stopped her words.
Don't let it all drag you down – she remembered Gavin's letter and set off for the Infirmary. She comforted herself, enumerating all the things she'd done that would have made Professor Snape even sorer if he knew. Like her summer overuse of the Time Turner… or missing meditations for months… or entering a brewing competition without posting him at all… or her Aunt Duvessa's possible murder of his once-classmate… Which reminded her she was supposed to make a serious withdrawal from Gringotts while stuck at Hogwarts.
She changed direction to seek out Mr. Filch before he left his office for his morning inspections. Wait, what was that Gryff doing in that alcove? When she tried to look closer, the girl had already vanished. Stupid castle.
Filch was tidying the mess about the filing cabinets. It seemed he was through with his early morning conference with the head house elf. She knocked on the door left ajar.
"Aye, lass, you're ditching sooner than the year takes up. You'll see trouble for it, I'm telling you."
Anne bit her lips together and crouched to pile the files he threw on the floor to wipe a drawer. She was almost done recreating the alphabetic order when he grumbled questioningly, and she dared to smile.
"Some would say I've never got out of trouble, Mr. Filch."
"Some would," – the old man agreed. "A good day's worth of hanging by those chains might have done you a favour," – pointed at the handcuffs.
"It would have given time enough to find out how to visit Gringotts," – Anne baited him.
"Gringotts now?" – the caretaker huffed, but she could sense he was pleased to see her. "I wouldn't suggest you try to desert here with Dementors guarding the gates. Your Professor had trouble enough around them last night."
"That would explain his cheer this morning," – Anne deemed, swallowing hard.
Filch stopped re-stuffing the drawer to look her over with narrowed eyes. "You'll wish he gave you what for," – he warned her, this time seriously. "Alas, he thought you're already holding the shortest end with a goddamned bastard who would abandon you to your fate in the thickest of it."
The question was plain to sense in the air, just like it was evident in his eyes. Anne remembered how much Pince was appalled by her father's behaviour, but she still couldn't see it strange.
"He was needed elsewhere," – she shrugged. "With my brother's accident and all…" – she swallowed hard not to burst everything she was supposed to keep a secret, but there was no choice but to hint at some of it or Filch would never help. And he trusted no other. "It wasn't really an accident, Mr. Filch," – she admitted.
"And how would Gringotts come to it, lass? Better spit out what you came for. I've known you for too long already."
"I- People are talking all kinds of things about who and why had cursed him. Have you ever heard of a man called Scabior?"
"Not for a long time," – Filch walked over to the door and closed it before he showed her into his kitchenette and closed that door, too. "What the hell have you colts been up to?"
Anne hoped she wouldn't regret this like she regretted talking to Duvessa.
"I trusted the wrong person when…" – she sighed. "It all began when my brothers started their Ministry training. They heard various things there… about Professor Snape and a witch called Lucinda, and a lot more, we couldn't decide what to believe and what not. Then Phil snagged Caleb's girl, and it all turned serious. Mr. Malfoy made him show off for that older witch and… well, he is in debt, but we could pay those off if I only could get to Gringotts and give the money to Gavin."
"Slow down, lass, this is too much in one breath!" – Filch held up a hand. "First thing first, people will always lie. When it comes to your Professor, even those who tell the truth will lie. You'd better just get off his back and mind your business. Which is about him being the Head of your House, especially when he risks his skin already for not returning your secret little plaything as he should. Clear?"
Anne thought about the Time Turner, which she probably should have returned for the summer.
"Crystal clear, Mr. Filch," – she lied, although she had no idea why Snape would let her have it. Up until that moment, she'd thought he must have forgotten in the turmoil at the end of last year. Come to think of it, it wasn't like Snape to forget something like that.
"Good," – the old man nodded. "Now your brothers being fools is none of your problems. A lad's debts and troubles should be his to take care of, not for schoolgirls' fantasies and meddling-"
"A little late about that advice, sir," – Anne fidgeted in her discomfort, but she had no idea who else to talk to, and this mess grew way above her head. Schoolgirl fantasy, indeed! Well, she wished she had only imagined that attack!
The old man's eyes narrowed on her. "What have you done?"
Anne contemplated the benefits of asking him to keep confidence. Filch would be hurt in his feelings if she questioned his trustworthiness, but she didn't wish to risk Snape or any other getting wind of it all. Her hesitation must have done the trick anyway because Filch pulled out a cigarette from his table drawer and puffed up with a sigh.
"You made it your business," – he surmised. "More, you must have meddled with the wrong people. The Prophet wrote yesterday that Miss Talkalot has met her end in office. You know too much about that, even perhaps got to the wrong side of Wilkes. If he lent you his butcher, you're in deep waters. You won't buy your way out of it. There's no use to think about the Gringotts."
Anne gasped. "I have no idea who that Wilkes is. I would never –"
"You were the one to mention Scabior, lass. Don't you try to lead me on with this! He has been known to be Wilkes' cut-throat for longer than you even exist!"
"He… they cursed my brother!" – Anne shrieked with horror. "I've heard them! A male voice called for Scabior after their attack! And there were two sounds of Apparation, and Caleb collapsed in pain! They said he would have died if I didn't… oh gods, I wasn't even supposed to know what to do to help him! I was so scared!"
Now she was sobbing despite that wasn't the way around Filch at all. Strangely, she felt an old hand descending on her shoulder, and it squeezed it gently.
"Pomfrey would be delighted to tell off your professor if you'd saved a life," – Filch said with a conciliatory dark chuckle. "Oh, the lad is into more surprises, and I know how much he loathes those!"
"You cannot tell them, Mr. Filch!" – Anne jerked her head up.
"Your business about the Gringotts?" – he returned to interrogate her. "So what is it then about?"
"Caleb's debts didn't vanish with" – she swallowed the urge to name her aunt – "someone killing Lucinda. He survived but shouldn't be around such people, and so we thought if we paid them off–"
"That's not the way," – Filch shook his head before she could finish the thought. "That fool you want to save dug his own grave. You should stay as far away as you can."
"But I love him, Sergeant. He is my brother! I need him!" – Anne felt new, hotter tears sliding down her cheeks, which she couldn't stop even when Filch grumbled his annoyance and stood from the table to walk around.
The small kitchenette apparently didn't offer space enough for him to get rid of his temper, and Anne winced when he hit a fist into the wall. "Love him! – he spat the words. "The bloody goddamned sins I must have made to be forced to endure another fucking nit!"
"Mr. Filch?"
"You're not the first fuckwit I have to see through offering their person as a fucking punchbag for the sake of undying bloody love! I swear to Circe, if I could knock sense into your dusty heads, I would hang you together by the heels!"
When he realized Anne was staring at him rather owlishly, he calmed a notch and sat back, rubbing his face with both hands.
"You mentioned a Malfoy," – he began now in a reasonable tone – "which means more money than you could possibly have, so you can't buy your brother out. The best would be to remove him from the board. With some luck, you may pay for that. One is only left alone if one can offer another. Even then only with a bucketful of good luck. So… do you have a chess piece in mind you wouldn't despair to see going down?"
Anne opened her mouth, but nothing intelligent was ready to fall from there. She closed it.
"Think about it," – Filch suggested. "And come back when you know. Merlin, help me. I thought I was too old for this already, and then here comes another mooncalf…" – he sighed and began to search for another cigarette in the drawer. "Get away to your lessons, lass. I'm not in the mood to entertain you!"
Anne left him with mixed feelings and too much to work her mind, so she missed the warning noise of Peeves messing with the suits of armor by the second landing of the main staircase. When she stepped back to a niche, the poltergeist had already seen her, and she broke the rules again when she turned back time anyway and mixed into the crowd after breakfast.
That Gryff girl, from this viewpoint, was obviously searching for something on a chain in her neck before she disappeared. It was too quick to be sure what that thing was, but Anne had a peculiar premonition.
When she reached her, Madame Pomfrey had just finished the morning duties and headed for the stockroom.
"Are you ready for a headstart, duck?" – she chuckled when Anne took up a folder and turned to the shelves on the room's left.
Anne held out Snape's parchment. "My House's Head handed us our schedules for the year."
After a glance at the parchment, Poppy's eyes rolled heavenwards before she wordlessly marched into her office and picked up something that proved to be a timesheet. "This explains why I found this in the morning," – she gave it to Anne with a sigh.
The schedule was written the same way as in the last year, composed of lines and lines of spiky letters, impassively listing the impossible:
She was to begin the weeks with Charms and Transfiguration, then with Arithmancy and Runes (which promised carefree weekends already). Then a double Care for Magical Creatures, followed by a double Herbology with a turn (and she already saw herself in November freezing to the castle stairs trying to return to her dorm in vain till spring and defrost). Interestingly, this time, her Infirmary practice was scheduled for after dinner, and she also found a note she should report to Madame Pince simultaneously.
The Tuesday Double Potions slash Double Divination after Snape's shortness wasn't promising. She thought she might as well begin with Divination – perhaps that would help ascertain his mood. The afternoon double History of Magic slash Muggle Studies was complete with another reminder to report to Pince. Then, her scheduled training at the Infirmary collided with the prep period. What the –
Wednesday looked joyous already with Astronomy, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy joining Muggle Studies, the only part promising some reprieve, before lunch and the following double Charms and double Defence, noting her Infirmary duties, again aligned with the Preps.
At the moment, she was supposed to sit in her History of Magic and Herbology classes and was due to double Runes. Later, the wonderful afternoon promised Care for Magical Creatures, Divination, and double-scheduled Infirmary Training in the class period. Still, at least she wasn't required to sit in a Potions class.
That should be left for a reposeful Friday, intermingling with Defence and freaking double Arithmancy! Anne closed her eyes. Double Arithmancy was hard enough to knock a troll out if someone was ready to transfigure a lesson into a Quidditch bat. No worries, she'll have double Transfiguration to figure that out after lunch, and if that wasn't enough, Muggle Studies would finish the marvellous week. She couldn't wait!
The problem of her Muggle studies (the textbooks and question sheets for those travelled with her in her trunk), and her usual pastime as a volunteer house elf by Filch, and her music, should find a way among this all. Of course, only with the added duty to research for her housemates because, this time, she needed the funds, too. Good thing she didn't like to socialize.
"Poppy, is there a reason our time is already scheduled?"
The mediwitch put her folder down with a frown. "Let me see that, duck!"
It took less for Poppy to read through Anne's schedule than to calm her temper before she spoke: "I feel too old to be chastised, but let's sail the storm gracefully, Anne!" – she suggested. "Your Professor is partially right. After receiving your card from St. Mungo's, I did mention that I believed you were ready for systematic lessons on background, the history of medicinal magic, and basic healing spells."
She turned the parchment over and copied Anne's classes on the other side into a timetable. The pre-scheduled Infirmary practice now read as Practical Brewing and Primary Theory on Healing. She smiled like the proverbial cat with a stock of cream to last for her lifetime.
"Here," – she handed back the schedule. "We will discuss your usual involvement next week when you have a better grab on your duties and free time."
Anne hesitated. If Snape thought he was sore already, this would elevate his mood into wounded….
"Practical Brewing?" – she timidly asked.
"Oh, I am convinced that the Professor was only thoughtful when he considered my wishes. It is most generous of him to surrender his precious lab twice weekly for our practice. I will not hesitate to even thank him for his consideration," – Poppy grinned. "And if he's had a change of heart since he wrote this," – she pointed at the parchment, "then I feel I'm ready to remind him he is not the only Slytherin in this castle, for better or worse. The Headmaster would be impressed to learn about his devotion to training a competent Healer."
"But, Poppy, I don't think he wished to advertise my case, I–"
"His wishes are his problem, duck," – Poppy said with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "I learned to play along, now he will respect my domain."
Anne gulped, fidgeted, and tried to calm her terrified nerves in vain, because with that, Poppy turned back to take stock of the shelves on the right, and softly began humming an old tune. Speaking of getting between a rock and a hard place… she couldn't name which was Snape and which was Poppy, but she already had a feeling it was only her who would get hurt when they decided to grind. Which they would. Oh, sweet, sweet Nimue on her tapestry on the fourth floor! She only knew she was already in a deep hole, so she'd probably better not start digging!
Anne picked up her folder and finished with the left shelves precisely and in record time. Then she returned to her dorm and took Gavin's money, her shrunken guitar and music sheets from her trunk, the Magical and Muggle textbooks and a thick pile of empty parchments, ink, and spare quills. She tried to stuff it all into her bookbag with various charms. It still almost burst open by the seams.
She took a detour for the kitchen and asked for a paper bag to put the various snacks into, and only hoped the pumpkin juice wouldn't spoil her school robe when she slid the bottles into her pocket. She proceeded then to the first floor, found the hidden corridor behind the Charms classroom and got to the third floor, avoiding Peeves. On the fourth floor, she ducked behind the tapestry of Nimue, Merlin, and the cave and carefully took the wooden stairs to the northeastern side tower. Even the dust seemed peaceful here compared to Filch's request to find someone she wouldn't mind throwing under the Knight Bus or Poppy's gleeful crusade.
History of Magic it had to be, and Anne blessed Professor Binn's steady drawling. There would have been reason to employ someone with at least a modicum of talent as a history teacher instead of him, but this endless boredom was at least reliable and calming. She used her time to scribble her chores into Poppy's chart. Counting nap times and sleep, she thought she would be ready with about thirty-nine to forty-four hours a day. She still had the bed she conjured into her tower. She could use that twice a day and her dorm. Pince was a variable she couldn't reckon with, so she decided by a detour for the Library before Herbology, cleaning up in her tower, and having a kip. This day was too much already, and it wasn't yet ten.
In the recess, Anne slipped into the Library, where only two sixth-year Ravenclaws lingered yet. The disinterest in this place at the beginning of each year was bliss. Looking at Madame Pince, Anne noted probably not only for her.
"You must have received your schedule," – the librarian nodded at her in place of a greeting, and Anne recalled she had been sure about seeing her soon, even at dawn. So her words were more than politeness.
"Yes, Madame Pince, I read I was supposed to report here after classes almost daily."
Irma Pince looked around her domain with practiced eyes before she herded Anne behind her large desk into a tiny office hidden by floor-long drapery. The ogee arch window almost reached the ceiling, presenting a clear view downhill towards the gates and giving more light to the room than any other parts of the castle could boast about. Also, to Anne's surprise, the only portrait frame was empty. Not in the usual way, when the habitant of the picture went visiting elsewhere, but even lacking the canvas, the frame only ran around a piece of the stone wall.
"Here, Miss Rosier," – Pince called for her attention, standing between a smaller desk and a cabinet for folders on the other side of the room. "I composed a reading list for your possible interest in the summer months. Hogwarts has collected tomes on magic in the past ten centuries, which can be difficult to sort for one's individual interest. This syllabus might help your approach."
Four sheets of parchments were filled with the librarian's clean handwriting, with reference numbers added on the margin and divided by categories. Anne choked with awe.
"Madame Pince, this is…. This is wonderful! I- I can't even –"
Pince sniffed as if she was annoyed, but Anne felt some sparks of affection ripple through the air, which she so much reciprocated she almost hugged the witch!
"Well, it's unnecessary to overestimate a simple gesture," – Pince pulled her shoulders straight and stepped closer to the window. "None of us should be dramatic about certain… affinities, which can be a natural consequence of kindred interest. However rare," – she looked at Anne, who smiled at her bright enough to show her feelings.
Pince cleared her throat. "Good," – she sniffed again. "Now, I'd like you to read through it this evening and tell me which categories you need assistance processing. Poppy Pomfrey hinted about her plans for you already, so it wouldn't come as a surprise if you found yourself strained. There's no shame in admitting to the obvious, girl. I wished to tell you that."
Anne couldn't stop herself, and she crossed the room to hug her. It was short and awkward, but she didn't care.
"Thank you, Madame Pince," – she said with a wide and happy smile and knew better than to linger. She tried to straighten her expression when she slipped out of the tiny room and almost bounced to Herbology.
Almost, because in the Entrance Hall, she saw Professor Snape and thought it wiser to get her head down and walk as silently and unobtrusively as possible.
Pomona Sprout smiled at her when Anne bounced into Greenhouse Four, not unlike the young Bouncing Bulbs that grew there. Building on the fourth year's experiences with the Incendio in last year's Charms class and the Knockback Jinx, Professor Sprout ordered them to fertilize and water these savage plants, promising point-loss for falling from their hits.
It wouldn't have been so hard if Anne knew even the most basic spells for corridor duelling. Most of her classmates were only too ready and experienced to use the Knockback Jinx even by the end of their first year. However, her rule-breaking was of a different nature, so she was stuck with the Incendio. The younger plants didn't appreciate her approach, which she could plainly sense in their hostile emotions.
Just great! As if she didn't think about herself low enough, as if Filch didn't warn her about the dangers she was in with her brothers, or Snape didn't have it against her and wouldn't have it even more after he met Poppy, now even bloody plants judged her! At least she had the good sense to return to using the maple wand, which tempered all her spells' power. Not that the Bouncing Bulbs could sense the difference, but at least she knew it could have been worse.
However, she used the ebony wand for the cleaning in her tower because she wanted quick results. After half an hour of focus and struggles, her bed was ready in a clean room, with the second room and the oval foyer dusted and the rails polished. Filch would have praised her.
Classroom 6A was hardly more than a small niche compared to the Runes Room on the fifth floor, which they'd used the previous year. Of course, with three students already giving up this elective, the space was enough. Professor Babbling only once mentioned how cozy she expected the year to be and then launched them into deciphering a text of an ancient tale. The double class passed in a blink, only surprising the students with the various sounds of life outside the text when it was over. The impossible load of homework at this point was not surprising at all.
In her tower, she set her wand to alarm her in five hours and fell asleep without a thought. The hard part was waking up and making herself restart on her yoga practice and meditations. She also fixed her friendship bracelet, added the alarming charms again, and began a new notebook for the year. She had to keep track of her dealings; the day had turned enough already, and she was afraid she would mess up before establishing a routine.
Divination after launch. Trealwney's "Teahouse" was way too hot and over-scented to keep awake well-fed and sore after yoga with her neglected muscles.
The promised Astrology as the core of their year's curriculum halted even the most optimistic approach of the year. If it had anything in common with Astronomy, and Anne had no doubts that it would, then she already knew this would be a struggle. The review visit of the crystal ball didn't suggest otherwise.
"Deliberately closing your mind's eye will deprive you of substantial parts of your personality," – Trelawney warned her. "There's nothing wrong about opening up for visions and enabling yourself to use your talent and perceive magic as an entity. Its ebbs and flows, its living texture should be the one of which you should draw your answers."
Anne hazily remembered reading something similar in Ephsos. The guy suggested Divination was a part of Legilimency, practiced – among others – by Telepaths, who sought answers from magic herself. Did Trelawney mean the same? Anne was too frightened to reply, but she tried lowering her defences and edged to the perimeter of her mental forest.
The change in the crystal ball was shocking! Shadows turned into colours and symbols, and runes flew over grassy land. As she watched, she tried to touch the crystal the same way she was used to surmise one's emotions, and the flurry of sensations knocked her back on her seat. Fear, joy, anxiety, vengeful anger, murderous rage, betrayal mixed with patience and focus, and ever-present hope and hunger. She couldn't make heads or tails of the jumbled mess.
When she tried again, she focused on the individual colours, symbols and the flying letters of the runic alphabet. Wisdom was aligned with green, blue with a mountain, and care with a sunny yellow. The first promised joy, the second reeked of hunger and revenge, and the third held the patience and the focus. She couldn't match that murderous ire with anything in the ball. It seemed as if it was all over the place, just like betrayal.
She peeked at Trelawney and was glad she'd already moved on to another table. Anne retreated behind her protections and was adamant to hide her findings. Let it be an A, then, or even a P. She wouldn't risk giving proof to Professor Trelawney about any kind of talent she might have in her class. Snape's persecution complex must be contagious! – she cussed inside but couldn't change her mind.
Dragging herself to Care for Magical Creatures after that was almost heroism. She also walked into a nasty surprise.
"Where's Kettleburn?" – she looked around after finally finding her classmates gathering by the groundkeeper's cabin.
Miles enlightened her about the changes she missed last night with the Feast: Kettleburn had retired, and now they had Professor Hagrid and a strange shabby guy for DADA, named Lupin.
"If he's any better than Lockhart with spellwork and curses, I will not complain," – Miles told Anne, "but Flora says he's so shoddy she expects him to be a cheapjack. Well never be ready for a thing with teachers like these. The Dark Arts class is a joke in this school."
"Probably that's because it's called Defence," – a Ravenclaw pointed out, and Anne heard Miles mumbling about defence against what then but the groundkeeper had already showed up, silencing the argument.
"Erm, welcome to this class, …I prepared some… but let's just review… erm,…"
"Merlin, what's his issue?" – a Ravenclaw whispered.
Vaisey leaned closer to answer so Anne could hear him: "It seems it didn't go down well that he let a hippogriff bite Malfoy."
"How d'you know?" – Miles eagerly turned to him.
"Pansy," – Vaisey shrugged. "The third years had a class with him already. He's as much into Gryffs as they say. And he let a hippogriff bite Malfoy!"
Ripples of rage, weariness, and gloating glee ran through the air about them, and Anne was almost glad they ended up feeding porcupines. She had much enough to worry about without bloody hippogriffs running around, thank you very much!
Although seeing a hippogriff bite at the Infirmary was tempting, Anne was so tired she decided to go after Prep Period. Whatever the mediwitch called Primary Theory on Healing had to wait for her to gather her senses after the summer, and she understood enough about the stocks to presume Poppy wouldn't have the time for her yet, either.
A decision she thoroughly regretted soon enough.
Regretted, because prep time wouldn't have been this abysmal if a single other student in her year was ready to do homework! Alas, on the 2nd of September, no sane individual was supposed to learn in a school, as Hestia didn't hesitate to point out. Consequently, the whole period went down the drain with the humiliating experience that Anne had no topics to converse with her classmates anymore! As if there was nothing they still had in common but the House colours and partial opinions about teachers.
Malcolm and Terence discussed Quidditch as per usual. Flora, this time, didn't join them because Vaisey's and Miles' argument about Sirius Black seemed much more intriguing. Vaisey tried to prove that a mass murderer should be feared and caught, so the Dementors around the castle were a sensible safety measure. At the same time, Miles adamantly argued that their place was in Azkaban and that they shouldn't be let roaming around a school.
"It's even degrading in a sense," – Miles said heatedly. "I dunno how people don't see that! We are respectable wizards–"
"And witches," – Hestia chimed in.
"…and witches," – Miles nodded – "and not prisoners these beasts should guard."
"Why, Miles, I thought you were up to a little fun on the dark side," – Flora giggled.
"I'm all in for the liberation of magical approaches, but Dementors are quite a different pair of shoes! They are Non-beings, Flora, like Boggarts, you don't want to be around those!"
"Nah, a little fear had never hurt anyone," – Flora waved him off. "But I don't think Vaisey's right. This Black guy must be a big deal if he… you-know, after… hm?"
Anne hid a smirk, thinking how Snape would praise her eloquence, but Miles only shrugged. "Yeah, that's what I'm saying. And if he was a follower, then why on Earth would he come to Hogwarts?"
"Well, they say that Potter," – Vasey began, but that even called Urquhart's attention, and he cut in:
"Come off it. That snot has nothing to do with anything!"
"Yeah, just a Gryff…" – Miles said without conviction.
"I can't remember Malcolm. When did you kill a basilisk again?" – Hestia giggled, railing at both boys.
"Not that he did!" – Urquhart cried.
"Now, there's no proof at all, and I would like you to read about that thing too because it's just impossible, you know," – Miles Bletchley protested in unison.
And they carried on and on, and Anne couldn't care about a murderer or Harry Bloody Potter, but she wished she didn't have to look up the same two words in Spellman's for the eighth time!
Although it was surprising how little concord they had… she listened to the air about her classmates and sensed some strange addition she couldn't really place. As if a veil was pulled over their better emotions. Even Hestia's giggling wasn't as heartfelt as in the previous years.
"What are you staring at, witchling?"
"Just thinking I didn't like the Dementors," – Anne shrugged.
Moving on to the Infirmary after that was a relief. Seeing Malfoy leaving the place with an arm tied up and his friends supporting him in the corridor gave hope for a good time with Poppy in the storage room. A pity she could sense rage and defiance as soon as she reached the door.
"What is this supposed to mean?" – she heard her House's Head booming baritone even from outside.
The mediwitch's answering cut came more subdued, but she guessed only because she was walking toward the store rooms. "Oh, I believe it is written in plain English."
"Poppy, this is my lab, my equipment -"
"Your student!" Now, that sounded as clearly as a shriek.
Anne carefully pushed down the latch, stole into the vast room, and looked around. The poor second-year Ravenclaw with a burnt nose and bandaged hands was pulling his neck short on the third bed. Anne shot him a sympathetic smile.
"Oh, is she?!" – Snape's outrage was almost palpable. "Correct me, I must misremember. Just when have I sent her to bloody St. Mungo's?"
It was so clear to sense Poppy pulling herself up for a fight Anne wasn't sure if the air didn't diffuse toward the witch. "Something had to be done if you were so stubbornly–"
"Something?" – Snape's voice hitched. "She was a mere third year! Is this your something?! Are you determined to ruin her just because you used to dream of a mentor in your –"
"You have no right to drag up my formative years when you weren't even a thought of fancy!"
"Oh, it was very fancy!" – Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Alas, if I wasn't spared the experience of existence, at least I am here to remind you: students are not for erasing your youthful woes!"
"Are they for to conquer yours then?" – the mediwitch snapped.
"Poppy!"
The warning would have halted a seventh year, but Madame Pomfrey obviously played in a different league:
"Don't you Poppy me, you right bastard! I haven't been the one who thought up this plot! You began to pick her out, you began to train her for whatever reason, and now you will acknowledge her place and talent!"
The Ravenclaw boy pulled the coverlet above his head and technically disappeared, although Snape's reply came in an unexpectedly sober tone:
"Not. In. My. Lab."
"Strictly speaking, this lab belongs to the Infirmary, which, and I remind you, is my domain," – Poppy replied almost airily.
"The Headmaster –"
"Oh, nice of you to mention!"
"I said the Headmaster commissioned a complex potion, which at more than one stage of brewing is highly volatile." – Snape repeated with forced patience that seemed to slowly vanish with every uttered word. "Should I enlist the poisonous addendums? Are you ready to supervise a fourth year among them, besides your other duties? Or are you suggesting we should forego this safety measure and let a fucking wer-"
"Severus!" – Madame Pomfrey cut in forcefully, and Anne couldn't make sense of her sudden fright.
Professor Snape's voice turned softer, unlike his emotions, which cooled but darkened. If Anne thought he was angry before, she had no word for this new mixture of fright, hurt and rage.
"You know very well what I'm talking about!" – he said almost menacingly.
Anne knew Poppy almost caved in.
"Even if I do, those are two separate things!"
"Po-"
"No!" – the mediwitch persevered. "You are not going to change the subject. We were not discussing that issue. We're talking about a student in need."
"Yes, in need of safety and discipline!" – Professor Snape quipped, this time without that all-consuming rage, instead returning to plain anger. It was still frightening, but not for Poppy Pomfrey:
"And guidance!" – she admonished. "Did you think you can just launch someone into advanced magic, teach her some practices and give her a tool to achieve her dreams, then walk out on her at your leisure?"
"Her dreams or yours?"
Anne discovered with bafflement that Snape found it amusing to rile up his opponent. And it worked like a charm!
"Don't you dare to act as if it wasn't for your pride, too! It's almost like the way the Headmaster behaves with the Gryffs! You know what? Maybe it's time already to post him. He would love to know of the wondrous performance of the –"
Snape's panic reached Anne sooner than his words: "Poppy, don't do this!"
"Why wait for her OWLs?"
"You have no fucking idea what you are talking about!" – Snape bellowed again, and the rage had returned. But the mediwitch was through. Anne could sense that.
"And whose fault would that be?!" – she matched his tone with almost a shriek. "I played along with all your whims and fancies. Now, you will drink up what you've brewed! The whole cauldron! Because I will not leave that girl by the roadside just because you suddenly find her presence inconvenient for you to brood away in peace!"
Something brutal and unforgiving hit Anne's curious senses as she tried to decipher the emotions behind the storage rooms. Snape's presence in the wobbly space of feelings and intentions seemed to have vanished from the air.
"Sod it!" – she heard him say almost calmly compared to the exchange she witnessed. "I have no time for this madness! If you are not to be convinced, you will wear the responsibility for all her mistakes and the consequences!"
"You are not going to make this easy, are you?" – Poppy asked in a tone of collegial amicability.
"You bet I will not! D'you want to match wands? You can have that! But this whole thing will stay between me and you!"
"Deal," – the mediwitch seized the word without missing a beat.
"The hell with you, Poppy!" – Snape spat, almost amused.
"I'm tempted to believe it might be worth the fact I finally put something across you." – she chuckled.
"I warn you, witch, you will regret this," – Anne heard Snape grumbling, this time from closer. "I am not about to help you out, and she is way too young to jump the circles you are setting up for her."
"We shall see that."
When they stepped out to the ward, Professor Snape didn't halt when he saw Anne. He strolled through the hall-like room dynamically enough for her to lean away from the turbulence as he billowed away. But Poppy looked startled. Anne stared at her for a few seconds, but nothing came to mind, and the mediwitch didn't speak either.
"I have to go to the Library," – Anne eventually faltered out, and Poppy hung her head with a nod.
"Of course, duck, I understand."
Neither of them apologized, and Anne felt they both wished to. She couldn't tell a reason, though; she was where she was supposed to be, and Poppy stood up for her as best as she could. It still felt somehow wrong. It felt like a loss. And she couldn't place the feeling.
The one who seemingly had lost an argument was Snape. Be it however rare or unbelievable. But he knew she was an Empath, and she still kept his rules. He could have stopped Poppy by reclaiming the Time Turner, yet that wasn't even on the table. He told Duvessa she was brilliant, yet he questioned whether she could follow Poppy's plans.
Two years ago, Anne would have run after him, borne his mood and censure, and somehow all would have been well. But with all the smoke and mirrors around his person, she couldn't do that anymore.
Dear Gavin,
Please know that I'm well and unharmed in case you hear something about our dearest Father abandoning me with a flock of Dementors. (I doubt it's a herd. Maybe a bunch, but that's wobbly, too, because they fly. Textbooks know shite.) People freaked out because I was left alone, but honestly, what was he supposed to do? Here's Caleb's infamous prisoner on the loose and the F-ing safety measures: The school is surrounded by these monsters! It's even in the Prophet. We were just too dumb and self-absorbed to listen. Which sucks, epically because I wanted to ask you to come up here at the end of next month. We need to talk. (Not in a frightening way. It's just not for a letter.) (Yes, I'm paranoid, fault me!)
Seriously, I can't ask you to come with these monsters around but send word about how to talk!
I'm soooo tired, Gavin, and it's been only four days!
How's Kelly? How's Caleb? How's mum?
Take care,
Anne
Ps. How are you?
Anne watched the owl flying away with her hastily scribbled letter, and she felt like a stupid firstie, for she hadn't complained this blatantly since she begged Aunt Rachel to rescue her from Hogwarts. The sun was just sinking under the Forest, and her first week was finally over.
The owl was startled above the trees and took a deep dive to the left when a shadow emerged on the right. Then, it divided into three thorn-robed figures, and the wind howled with emptiness and desolation. Anne watched her owl escape. She didn't write about Snape being worse than the double class in Arithmancy. He didn't look her way or even peek at her cauldron on Friday.
She didn't write about McGonagall's usual year starter, a rough prospectus on the year's curriculum. She didn't say she was afraid of going crazy because knowing all about Cross-Species Switches and the Transforming Spells' theory, she was now glad to practice under supervision. Not about that, she suddenly saw that old Gryff witch less intimidating or repulsive than before.
She didn't mention that when Flitwick made them practice Vermillius, an emergency signal from the wand, she was so thoroughly reminded of the emergency signal she had sent to St. Mungo's she almost threw up from nerves in the Charms classroom. She also left out that she had made a mental note to compose a list of all spells, charms, and transfigurations she could use in a duel because she was scared witless about Duvessa's last words.
She never told anyone that her Aunt probably expected reciprocation, and she had hazy ideas about what could possibly reciprocate a murder. One day, when she'd get into Azkaban for her idiocy and incompetence, these aggressive flying leeches would be all around!
"The Patronus Charm is the flashiest way to hold back Dementors, but you must already know that is far not the only way to protect your equanimity," – even the memory sounded on Pince's voice in her head. So, with hardship, she regulated her breathing and retreated into her mental safety, as Ephsos suggested.
Suddenly, she remembered that at least Madame Pince's syllabus proved perfect. Now, she could recall the hesitant prickling of the librarian's careful affection around her when they discussed the list. She always knew they would become friends. Thus cheering herself, Anne floated into the second week, and soon, she lost count of the weeks' rolling by because they didn't make much difference.
With her classes and homework, the first requests for a list of keywords and essay drafts came, too, and she found researching easier this year. She used her last year's notes for all years, only amending them when needed. Her teachers seemed not keen on creativity when they suggested homework. She also started to collect all the test questions her housemates recalled and added them to the question lists she found at the end of the compendiums. That would make good Galleons after she gave away all her savings!
The funniest thing was also the most horrible: On Monday, the restocks for Potions had arrived at the castle, and Poppy was beside herself when two full crates of Plimpy eyes and a barrel of dittany leaves landed in her sterilized storeroom. They came with two appointments: with Hagrid to collect Murtlap juice and with Sprout to milk Bubotuber pus. While Poppy grumbled, Anne's lips twitched into a wicked grin.
She remembered working her arse off for Professor Snape's detention in her first year, and if she understood him at all, this was only the beginning. She also thought she understood what the Professor didn't mention. The fact he demanded she prepare the ingredients for the Infirmary restock also acknowledged her skills.
Her glee didn't fade even when he reminded Poppy via the same Floo call the mediwitch made to quarrel that misused ingredients should be replaced at her not-exactly-Apprentice's expense.
So Anne again carved Plimpy eyes and cut dittany leaves with utmost care. She made a tincture from the fresh Bubotuber pus and carefully boiled half of the Murtlap juice to store the essence as a salve, bottling the rest. The next four crates came on Thursday, and then Poppy finally noticed her glee.
"Duck, you're almost as insane as a particular wizard I'm not ready to name now," –the mediwitch assessed dryly, and Anne's grin widened.
A-bee,
Sorry to say, but those who believe our esteemed Father behaved as a prized berk are most thoroughly right. Mum has a lot of similar stories, which I've heard for the first time, and I wish she'd kept them to herself. At least she likes Kelly. Who is fine. Thanks for asking.
Caleb will have a rough time recovering fully, but he can walk around with assistance, and I heard he would be cleared from Mungo's in a week. I hope he will be left to join us here while Father dearest bows to other duties.
If the Hogsmeade weekend is as usual, you will find me behind the Three Broomsticks. Come alone and bring the gold! (I always wanted to write this!)
Sorry about your hard time. On second thought, you may bring whoever you want to see hexed.
Gavin
PS.: Don't worry about me!
Anne carefully put away her brother's letter after the hundredth read and returned to carve beetle eyes, leaving the sockets intact as she'd learned it in her first year.
She'd already been to the caretaker's hut to make another appointment with Professor Hagrid to collect Flobberworm mucus. That would be a separate full turn of her Time Turner, but it had to be done even if Snape didn't pre-schedule it. She needed that mucus for the potions Poppy listed for her to brew. Apparently, she was deemed passable to mix up Pepper-up, Cure for Boils, Antidote for Common Hexes, and a handful of everyday mixtures. Most of those her Muggle Aunt could mash together, but she was nonetheless grateful for the opportunity. Brewing was fun.
After another hard day as an inconsequential Slytherin swot, she tried to enter the Infirmary lab again, this time to collect Billywig slime and stings separately before the shipment began to stink, but a grumbled "OUT!" stopped her on her track.
She noticed the crate wearing Professor Snape's name had vanished from the storeroom and surmised it must have been the Headmaster's potion. Anne backed off after placing a quick preserving charm on the Billywigs. She had enough to do elsewhere.
Mainly in the Library, and given it was the end of the day, she was allowed into Madame Pince's sanctum. The small room rapidly became her second favourite place in the castle since they discussed that excellent syllabus, which coincidently ranked as her all-time favourite present. Because Madame Pince's categories didn't even distantly follow the school curriculum.
Not that the librarian opened the Restricted Section for her! Far from it! But the recommended reading showed an apt hand to lead her through Hogwarts' collection, considering her particular interest.
There were thick ancient tomes on elemental magic, not promoting the Dark Arts, but written in an era when the approach was more open. They explained and argued in an ancient, primarily symbolic language about dilemmas the modern practices were yet to solve. Their range included everyday brewing, holistic healing, the use of Transfiguration in potioneering, and human anatomy.
Then, there were Charms textbooks composed and re-edited since the thirteenth century. All once built the curriculum of Hogwarts, all developed to answer different needs with spells, methods of spellcasting, and teaching everyday magic of forgotten times. Strangely, most schoolbooks constructed before the nineteenth century took a detour to teach about the anatomy of a spell, and those that were written in the earliest times also lay out the Arithmantic and Runic background. This made them comparable with similar Potion making and gardening textbooks, which apparently had not always been merged with Herbology and Transfiguration spells.
A section followed Poppy's schedule about Primary Healing Practices and listed the three or four compulsory tomes on the modern approach. Then Madame Pince's eclectic hand added the history of Medicinal Wizardry, and – if that wasn't enough – annotated editions of the Great: the anatomist Herophilus, Phyloxenus' surgery books, Agnivesha's work on Ayurveda, Praxagoras' theory on circulation, Apollonius Kition's early work on the joints, and of course, Hippocrates were only the beginning of the list. She found similar editions of Antonius Castor's Herbal Remedies, Galen of Pergamon's early work on Bodily Fluids and Temperaments, and his late follower Paracelsus with his perpetual companions, Servetus and Vesalius.
Anne thought she couldn't be more in awe until she found a similar list of Herbology and Herbal Remedies from before the archaic era through the centuries that led to the modern world.
When she jokingly noted they were yet to dive into Alchemy, Pince looked at her as if she had grown two heads.
"Whatever did you think this was all about?" – she asked. When she understood she'd given Anne a pause, Pince left their list and walked to the back of the Reading Room, to pull a dusty handbook from a lower shelf. "I've never understood why no one ever used this," – she offered that for Anne.
Alchemical Symbolism in the Magic of Everyday – she read. The tome dated back to the seventeenth century and explained the seemingly foggy ideas of the Alchemists, giving a code to decipher their symbolism[i] for the earliest scientists who preferred a Muggle approach and Aristotle's binary logic.
"Everything is symbolism. Why would you learn Arithmancy, Divination and Ancient Runes if you didn't grab this concept?" – Pince chastised Anne for something she had never even contemplated as if she was missing the basics. "Come now, Miss Rosier, you surely can tell what number is wormwood in an Arithmantic equation?"
With a quick count on her fingers, Anne was ready with the answer: "It's a seven by the Latin alphabet, and-"
"It is. Now, please tell me its three main uses!"
"It's used against indigestion, infection, and inflammation," – Anne listed like a machine. She was embarrassed she still didn't see where the questions would lead her.
"Now tell me, what would be the number for indigestion in an Arithmantic equation?"
Anne counted again. "That's- That's also a seven!"
"Yes, it is. How does infection and inflammation compare?"
This time, Anne took her time to give a more well-rounded answer. "Inflammation is one of the common signs of an infection. The first is one in Arithmancy, the second is two… or," – she thought about it again, "or rather fifty-five and eleven because it's unwise to add up Master Numbers."
"Not bad, Miss Rosier. One and twice one shows the link, eleven and fifty-five add up to sixty-six, whose spiritual meaning is peace and understanding. In the lack of that, a problem may arise. Also, it comes down to three, the number of Artemisia Absinthium, coincidently meaning communication in Numerology. Also a possible holistic remedy. Absinthe, the most commonly known product, also adds up to three, such as art, where it was primarily used as a catalyst.
"Please note that the primary meaning and use of art is also communication, alleviating, among other things, the lack of understanding, and hopefully working towards peace. All of these are mainly on the feminine side of the archetypical charts, symbolized by the Moon. And now, we only need to observe that the plant's name refers to Artemis, whose symbol is also the Moon. Which, in Alchemical symbolism, happens to be silver. Now, please recall or look up the main components of, say, the potion again. Arthritis, which I know you had researched, a well-known ail of joints caused by inflammation?"
Anne didn't bother to look it up. She risked a guess. "Would it be wormwood, moonstone, and silver?"
"Among other things, Miss Rosier, but your presumption was indeed right. So what disciplines did we use to come to this result?"
Anne silently counted before she looked up with surprise. "Herbology, Arithmancy, Numerology, Runic symbolism, Alchemical symbolism, and Potions…. Madame Pince, how on Earth are we not taught this?"
"In a way, you are. I assume that most are just preoccupied with everyday business to notice."
Needless to say, Anne's endeavours to dig through the Library and imbibe all the knowledge it could offer renewed, just as much as her regular classwork and homework deepened with every day she spent with Madame Pince.
Poor Mr. Filch suffered the loss of her company as a result, but Anne promised to make it up for him by finally coming up with a Potion that was more in synchrony with his unique system as a squib. Her music time gave place to her budding research, and her notes and methods on researching bases for soaps and perfumes now proved helpful in a different endeavour. Pince emphasized the holistic approach every time they shared a moment, so she also looked up the healing properties of different scents and essential oils.
Hello Anne,
I hope this letter will find you. I've never seen an address like this, and I hope I didn't mess up. It would be sad and ironic if you thought I didn't write to you just because I made an error with the address when this is actually the seventh letter I have written, but the first six seemed either too cool or too clingy.
Do you remember that tall guy from the second row in the first week? So, he's called Jack, and it turns out his school is just a stop away from mine. He remembers you so I could brag. What I'm trying not to write because I know it's sloppy is I miss you. And not just because – you know (well that too would be nice), but there's no other to talk to like talking to you. I'm listening to The Cure, Anne. I mean it. My sis went nuts. I don't care. The Edge of the Deep Green Sea could be about us, but I guess there's something to say for Just Like Heaven, too. (I know, I know, I'm coming from the far end, but still.)
Anyway, there's this new film about a bioengineered murderous dinosaur (no, it's not Jurassic Park) that escapes from a lab and a security guy and a scientist girl are trying to stop it before it destroys the town…. It doesn't sound much, but we went and watched it with Jack, and I wish you were there! (I wouldn't kiss him after, and it's just not the same.) Anyway. It's called Carnosaur, and it's the coolest bullshit. It's almost as good as Max 3000, that killer dog. But I loved the Army of Darkness the best! This bloke goes back to 1300 and kills a whole army of zombies! That was cool, you'd love it! I'll take you by Christmas or whenever you can return to Town.
Of course, now I'm broke, but it was worth it. And Jack sometimes works for a party service in Reading, so he tried to get me a place among the waiters, but it didn't work out. My mum also got her hackles up, so I guess it's for the best. But Jack doesn't care for failure, so he found this friend of his (Iain), who also works with pets, and there's a chance I could go there three or four times a week, which is good because there's still a lot of films out there which I haven't seen and I want you to come and see them too.
I don't know what else.
Miss you, write back!
Paul
Anne folded the letter in her tower and cried herself to sleep without setting her wand to wake her. When that familiar icy touch ran down her ankle, she woke with a shriek and attacked the Bloody Baron with all the pent-up frustration of the past few weeks. She never remembered what she'd told the ghost, but Muggle films, kissing, and Potions class were probably on the list. Of course, the House Ghost roared at her at the half of it and left through the wall with his nose in the skies.
Dissecting Billywigs to preserve their stings and slime, milking Bulbadox juice, or collecting Murtlap tentacles was almost therapeutic after that.
Until about the middle of October, Snape was again in the Infirmary Lab, and Anne was driven away by an angry grumble. She had no idea what kind of potion needed brewing in separate months, but the Professor mentioned it was supposed to be complex, so she let the question slip away.
Halloween and the Hogsmeade weekend were nearing the corner, and she had to find a way to convince Filch about Gringotts, or risk slipping through the Dementors' ring. Anne considered and re-considered the second option and decided against it. Even if, by some miracle, she managed, it wasn't possible to carry out such blatant rule-breaking under the nose of Poppy. The mediwitch loved her. She could sense that and enjoyed it. The risk was even higher than facing those monsters.
It also occurred to her that if she found a way to convince Filch to take her down to Gringotts, she could maybe try and arrange something with Paul too for that day, but it was so much wishful thinking it hardly counted as a daydream. Then, the 26th of October crashed the rest of her hopes.
She sat in the Great Hall after the first set of her lessons, double Divination, and struggled against a lingering headache from Trelawney's fumes when the usual owl post arrived. She didn't subscribe to the Prophet; there was always one to find in the Common Room, so she only looked up when Miranda cursed.
"What?" – Sophie asked Miranda, turning away from her eggs and bacon.
Their friend lifted the paper and folded it at a small note on the twelfth page.
"Read this!"
After serious consideration and comparing the unusually diverse selection of brews, The Apothecaries' Association (est. 1784 prom. Diagon Alley, London; Vertic Alley, Edinburgh; and Hogsmeade) is happy to announce –
the 103rd winner of the Most Charming Concoction Prize is our all-time member, the esteemed Madame Yvette Nostrill, with a concoction wittily named Charming the Charmer.
Madame Nostrill used a unique base of lavender and vanilla-caramel essence, a salty second layer of seaweed, and Quintapod musk as a resolution.
Happy brewing for the winner!
"What the hell?" – Sophie stared at the Prophet. "Why would any idiot layer seaweed? It wasn't even listed!"
"And Quintapod musk is psychoactive," – Miranda added. "Imagine a perfume you can only wear after you ingested its antidote. Or to sit by this Nostrill woman in the Leaky!"
"That at least would explain why the jury went crazy… hey, what will your gran say when-"
Anne couldn't hear anymore. September was too early for anyone to seriously buy notes, and she doubted she had more than nine hundred Galleons with all her dumb expenses at the end of the last school year. She didn't even buy herself a new robe and used the books she purchased last year for all years and subjects. She was still four hundred Galleons short to help Caleb, and Gavin was about to come to Hogsmeade despite the Dementors' closeness, and she wouldn't have anything to help!
When she stood from the Slytherin table, walked out to the Entrance Hall, and climbed the main stairs in a daze, one could have said she was hysterical. She would have preferred to be called upset. Either way, Anne ended up on the south side of the seventh floor and climbed the short flight of wooden stairs to the balcony nestled between the two Southern Turrets.
She settled there, enjoying the protection of the permanent shield charm, and remembered how Gavin had explained it was to protect against the prevailing south-westerly winds. When Gavin still used to be at Hogwarts, and Caleb had only lost a fiver to Phil. Who knew already that Flitwick wouldn't duel Lockhart because that goddamned son of a goat just came from the Ravenclaw girl who dumped her brother! Anne's hands tightened into fists, and she wished she knew hexes to blast that berk into next week!
All for naught, of course. She was useless. She didn't know a curse to save her life, and all she'd learned was dissecting Plimpys while her brothers struggled out in the world! For the first time, she understood why someone would leave Hogwarts after the OWLs. This was useless. Her father was also useless because he couldn't even be approached. Duvessa was useless because she only messed up everything. And Anne refused to go to class (even if it should have been double Potions) because classes were the most useless of all!
She lost all reason to return to her life as if a thread was cut or suddenly ran out from the needle. She was so tired she doubted sleep would ever help it, and the little cheer she felt about her small achievements flew away like smoke. There was no sense in the world, so why should she take part in any of it? She leaned back on the wall and just stared down from the balcony on the fields under Hogwarts.
[i] I apologize for suggesting, even in fanfiction, that such a tome may exist. Of course – unlike others I've mentioned above – this one is only the product of my wishful thinking. However… wouldn't it be nice to have a code to decipher all the Alchemical symbolism and read ancient, forgotten and lost texts with the ease of reading in a foreign language? Sorry for self-indulging. I just couldn't resist. (blush)