Chapter Three : The Past we Carry
"Wands out!" Nick said at the students in front of him. "Today, we're going to do practical work! Clear your desks, you'll need the space."
The Fourth-year hurried to put their books and quills in their bags, taking their wands out gladly. Practical lessons were always much more fun than theoretical ones. Nick took out his own wand and levitated bewitched quills in front of each student. He waited until everyone was quiet and ready.
"Today, you're going to try to identify what kind of charm has been put on the quill in front of you, using all the methods we've studied over the past few weeks. Then you'll have to estimate from which time period your quill come from, and finally, you'll have to assess whether the enchantment was placed recently or during the object's creation and if it had been tampered with since"
He turned and walked to his desk before adding:
"Take notes. I expect a twelve inch essay for next week's lesson." Mayhem followed his words, the students complaining loudly about all the work they already had to do. He waited for silence to return, looked at everyone with a smirk and sat down at his desk. "You're wasting time."
For the rest of the lesson, four students came to him for help, one broke the quill and another managed to burn his left hand when he mispronounced a probing charm. Nick asked Demelza, her best student, to accompany her to the hospital wing. From what he saw, almost everyone was keeping up.
At the end of the hour, everyone gathered their belongings and headed off to the next class. He called Thaddeus to his desk and offered him some afterclass help to catch up with everyone. The boy accepted and they made an appointment for the following Monday. He was the only student still struggling, but he just needed a little extra support.
After everyone had left, he put the quills back to their box and placed them in the black cupboard he kept for harmless objects. The quills were only bewitched to spill ink in the writer's face, transform words into obscenities, cut parchment instead of writing… All worthy of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He heard a knock at the door. Turning, he saw that it was Timothy, who had come to report on the Third-year progress.
"Timothy! I've been waiting for you!" Nick said, gesturing for him to take a seat. "How are you faring with your students?"
"Hello Professor. Everything is alright so far. I came to tell you that I have finally caught up on the schedule," replied the young man.
"That's wonderful! I told you that you would find your pace, didn't I?"
"You were right. Well, I won't take up any more of your time, I have work to do. Have a good evening Professor!" he said as he got up and left the classroom.
"Good evening to you too, Timothy" replied Nick.
He packed up his books and parchment, locked the door on his way out and walked back to his office.
February was almost over, it was time to prepare his classes for exams, especially OWLs and NEWTs, as Fifth-year and Seventh-year were a bit behind. His subject had only entered OWLs three years ago, and it was the second year of NEWTs.
He leaned back in his chair, thinking about the progress that had been made since McGonagall had introduced new subjects to the Hogwarts curriculum. "Magical Artifacts History" was a fancy name for "How to recognise and neutralise or destroy dark magical objects". The Headmistress thought it would be appropriate after the war. Voldemort's Horcruxes and a spate of cursed objects sent to wizards by rogue Death Eaters in the aftermath of their defeat had undoubtedly played a part in the school board's decision to side with her. That and her unwavering determination to do as she saw fit, surely.
The Ministry had no choice but to agree, since it was all for the greater good, even the more conservative had no good reason to oppose it. So here he was, seven years into a position he had accepted for two. At first, he had feared that he would miss the travels, and he had travelled a great deal, searching for ancient artifacts for wealthy collectors, but he had found that he loved teaching. And, even though he used to make a lot more gold, he was still able to collect things during school holidays, and he still offered expertise for identification and certification. All in all, his life had turned out well.
But he still felt the pain of his loss inside him, sometimes crawling back from the depths of his being and tearing his soul apart. At first he had blamed himself for not being there to save his family. He knew, now, that he would have just died with them, he was too young to do anything. It had been his friend's parents who had told him there had been an "incident" and that he had to stay with them for a few more days. He had thought that someone was ill, and that he would soon be able to go and see his family at St. Mungo's, but days turned into weeks, and no one would tell him anything anymore.
One night, when everyone was asleep, he sneaked out to his house, only to find it locked. He broke in, visiting room after room until he found his sister's room, turned upside down, blood everywhere, her bed a crimson nightmare.
They had found him there, the next day, curled up on the floor. And he ended up at St. Mungo, only not to see his family, but as a patient in mental health care, because he had almost lost his mind. Eventually, after weeks of being cared for by the hospital staff, he began to speak again. He was so angry, so resentful of everyone. They had told him what had happened soon after his admission, but still with words like "something happened", "they're no longer with us", "it happened quickly", but what happened? No one had the courage to tell him clearly.
"...Nick?..."
"Nicholas?" called someone from his office door which he had left ajar.
He jumped, remembering that he was waiting for Sunya. He got up and let her in, letting her sit in an armchair.
"Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts," he told her as he sat across from her in the small lounge. "How are you?"
"I'm fine, thank you," she replied, hesitantly, before adding "You often seem miles away, lately. Is everything alright?"
He was about to say that everything was indeed fine, but then, he thought about how his relationship with Sunya had developed since the Christmas holidays, and how she was now more a friend than a student. It wasn't so surprising, at twenty-four, she was one of the older students, and only five years younger than he was. He thought for a few more seconds about how to respond, and chose the path of honesty.
"I was lost in the past," he said at last. "I was thinking about my family."
"I see," she said. "I thought that was what was bothering you. You want to talk about it? You've told me what happened to them, but you haven't told me what happened to you."
Nick sighed deeply.
"No, I haven't." He stood up, walked to a small cupboard to Sunya's right and took out a bottle and two glasses. "Would you like a drink?" he asked her, pouring them anyway. He placed it on the coffee table between the chairs and slumped back into his seat.
"Firewhisky," he said before she took a sip. "Eighteen years old, strong, it's Speyside. Leave it if you don't like it."
She drank anyway, waiting for him to decide if he wanted to talk.
And he talked. He told her how he wasn't here, how everyone tried to keep him from the truth and how he found out. He told her about the night he went to the house that had been his home, how he stepped on a broken wine glass in the living room and how there were pastries left on the kitchen's counter. He also told her about his mother's high heels, lying in the middle of the hallway, his parent's bedroom still smelling of her perfume. They had probably just returned from their anniversary evening and sent the babysitter home.
And then, the broken door, the blood on the bed, on the walls, the claw marks on the headboard, he could even still describe the smell of death. There was a mannequin in his sister's bedroom, it had been torn apart, the head laying on the floor, fang marks on the neck. Her clothes were everywhere. The window was broken, a curtain was missing.
He explained that she must have tried to escape because he could see bloody footprints leading from the bed to the door. And right next to the last ones was her old stuffed owl, which she had since she was a toddler.
He told her how he had fallen to the floor near it, unable to move, unable to cry, unable to speak. Paralysed. Broken. He had just lost half of his soul standing where his twin sister had died.
He explained how he had been found the next day, by officers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and how they had finally taken him to St. Mungo.
And he stopped talking, a lump in his throat.
"Oh, Nick! I had no idea… I never thought…" She stood up and sat down on the coffee table beside him, putting her hand on his forearm. "It must have been devastating. I'm so sorry you had to go through all of this at such a young age."
"It felt like my chest had been ripped open and someone had put coals in it. It felt like I was going to burn from the inside out forever. And I hated the world not to burn with me!"
He couldn't speak anymore, the memories had become too vivid. He needed another drink. He leaned forward, picked up the bottle, poured himself another glass, and took a long swig. Sunya was still silent, watching him but not pushing him. He liked that about her.
"I was committed there for a year. About my parents, they only told me they were found in the forest, killed by werewolves. It took weeks for me only to be able to talk again. But eventually, I got better." He leaned back again in the chair. "Then they found me a foster family, in France. Good people, but they had five children to look after, so I was often on my own. Oh, I'm not complaining, I was lucky not to end up in an orphanage."
He emptied his glass and finally met Sunya's gaze. Her eyes were full of tears and she was struggling to breathe.
"See, I made you cry! Quel idiot!" he said, speaking French on purpose.
She went from tears to laughter in an instant. A rich, warm laugh. The kind that comes from the heart and washes away all the pain. It made him feel so much better that he began to laugh with her.
He was, somehow, relieved that she knew now. Few people knew the whole story, and even fewer knew what it had been like for him. Ginny, Harry, Hermione and Ron were the only ones who knew as much as Sunya did now.
They had been there for him when he had been at his lowest, and Harry had saved him from a lot of trouble! He was grateful to them all.
"So now, you know," he said to her.
"Now I know," she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "And I thought my childhood was messed up!"
"Would you like to share?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing half as dramatic as you!" she smiled shyly. "As I told you, I grew up in a pureblood family, an old one."
She got up and sat back in her chair, pouring herself another glass of firewhisky.
"Indeed, you mentioned it."
"Well they kept some ancient lore alive. Wizarding supremacists who make a sport of terrorising muggles, breeding house elves for midnight hunts, dark magic and sacrifice, you name it, they're in it!" She drank before adding. "They made me go with them, watch the hunts, watch them frighten muggles by pursuing them with dead animals, or unleashing boggarts in their homes. I tried to resist when I grew up, but let's just say they have ways of making you feel pain, and they absolutely love to use them. Especially my crazy grandmother, Kralathia. She is particularly evil."
"By sacrifice, you mean human?" he asked.
"Not that I know of, but who knows with this lot! Anyway, I ran away as soon as I could, but they found me in no time. I made a deal with them, if I make no troubles, they will leave me alone. But I have to keep in touch from time to time. I'll have to go back one day though, they'll make me. Crazy bastards!" She had spat out the last words.
"But they had tortured you! It's awful, you can't go back to them, never!" he shouted.
"I don't know if you can call it torture, they don't keep the pain going, it's more like a correction," she told him as if it were nothing. "Well, there's that one time the old hag had used Cruciatus. That felt really bad. That's when I fled."
Nick was stunned. She was delusional. He stood up so forcefully he knocked his glass off the table.
"Cruciatus? They used Cruciatus on you? What kind of wicked witch would use that on her own granddaughter? That's insane! How is it not torture? IT IS the definition of torture!" he shouted.
"Nick, calm down, it's way behind now! I'm fine, I got away!" she said, now standing.
"Tell me you'll never go back?" he asked her, a hint of madness in his eyes.
"I won't, if I can avoid it!"
"You must avoid it! At all costs!"
"You don't know them, they have a lot of power. They reach all over the world," she told him, her voice strangled. "I'm not sure I have a choice."
"I'll help you! I'll hide you if I have to, ! Harry will help you too, he helped me. You have to tell him what you told me!" he rushed.
"Nick! It's all right! I'm here for now. I'll deal with it when I have to," she said, trying to sound cheerful.
"Promise me you'll tell me!"
"I promise, OK? I promise I'll tell you!" she said. "Can we please talk about something else? I'm afraid if we talk about it too much, it'll summon them."
She laughed slightly, and Nick relaxed. They spent another hour discussing studies and the future. Sunya told him that after her exams in senior courses of Magical Artifacts History, Advanced Arithmancy, History of Magic and Ancient Runes, she wanted to try and apply for a job at Gringotts.
"Oh, I can definitely help you with that! I worked with them in the past, I used to certify artifacts for them. I know Bogdok and Tkolbert, that one is very sensitive about how well you pronounce his name, they both work with curse-breakers, and I happen to know that they may be looking for someone to identify and secure their acquisitions."
"Oh, that would be wonderful! They are so suspicious of wizards these days," she told him.
"They have good and bad reasons for it. But it's late, we shall talk about this another time," he yawned.
"You're right, I have to go anyway."
She walked to the door, turning to face him just before she opened it.
"I'm truly sorry for what happened to you Nicholas, I can't think of anything worse that could happen to someone!" she said, her voice low.
"And I'm sorry for you, it must have been so hard for you too. But it is in the past now. What can we do other than carrying it?"
She opened the door and gave him one last silent look before she left.