We followed Filch out of the castle and towards Hagrid's hut in a tense silence, the Gryffindors a few steps ahead of me and a frowning Malfoy —who was stepping hard on the ground, probably trying to make some noise to broadcast his displeasure; but the dirt made the resulting soft thumps somewhat weak and underwhelming.

Hagrid met us by his front door, carrying an oversized lantern that bathed his strong facial features in an eerie light, making him look even more terrifying than usual.

"About time," he said to Filch when he saw us approaching, "yeh're late with 'm, yeh are. All right there, Harry, Hermione?"

Filch retreated back to the castle, not without some parting words "I'll be back at dawn, for what's left of them." Which was clearly an attempt at scaring us, and a successful one at that, judging by Longbottom's and Malfoy's suddenly worried expressions.

Hagrid towered above us, examining each one of us. His eyes fixated on me.

"Wait, aren't yeh that girl I found on top my roof with a broom?"

Both Harry and Hermione turned their disappointed gazes at me.

"She was probably spying on you, Hagrid," said Hermione, the traitor. "She was with Malfoy, trying to stop us from helping Norbert."

"Is that right, eh?"

I gave a shrug. "Not really; I simply wanted to see a dragon for real. I'm Muggle-raised, you see, have never seen one before."

It was a half-arsed attempt at gaining some sympathy from either the Gryffindors or the giant, make me sound more relatable than the stuck-up Slytherin cliché that Malfoy was. But judging by the condemnation in their eyes, I fully missed the shot.

"Well, yeh might be in for a sight of another magical beast tonight," Hagrid said, turning to face the forest and pointing at a few droplets of silvery liquid that caught the light of his lantern. "There's a unicorn in there, been hurt, see that blood? We're going to find the poor thing and try to help it. Yeh know, there was another one, died earlier this week, sad to say, but this time we might get there in time. We'll be splittin' into two groups, one with me and one with ol' Fang, and follow the trail where it forks."

Draco eyed the enormous hound and quickly said: "I want to go with Fang."

Now, this was the moment of truth I'd been waiting for. I knew it was Fang's group who found the unicorn. I said: "Me too," taking one step closer to him.

"All right, but mind yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid, probably enjoying Malfoy's squirmy looks a bit too much. "Neville, yeh go with them too, I don't fancy these two wanderin' off alone. Harry and Hermione, yeh're with me. Now, yeh've got the Vermillious charm down, right? If yeh find the unicorn, send up green sparks into the air to let the other group know. And if yeh happen into any trouble, red sparks..."

"Green good, red bad," I muttered, "sounds easy enough."

The giant frowned at me for a moment, as if trying to discern whether I was making fun of him or not. But in truth I was simply anxious to get started already. Because I knew what would happen —what was supposed to happen— and that the solution to the particular thorn I'd been dealing with ever since my first day was finally at hand. If only I could reach out and seize it.

If only I survived the upcoming encounter with Quirrellmort.

Nothing much I could do about the risk, though, as calling Hagrid's attention to it would also prevent me from acquiring the precious unicorn blood. So I'd need to be careful... and patient —wait for my chance, then take it.

Being patient was the issue here, as I'd never been that good at it, truth be told. A nervous, finicky kind of energy had settled in my heart —which was beating fast, my whole body tense— and it demanded me to move, to walk, to do something —anything!— already; that we were wasting time here, that my chance, my escape out of the unfortunate position the Sorting Hat had put me in might slip through my fingers unless I acted decisively.

But I managed to contain myself enough not to accidentally tip Hagrid off; bouncing up and down in place and fidgeting with my wand, yes, but those could be passed as being nervous about the Forbidden Forest itself. And I was hardly the only one so affected —Neville next to me looked at the foreboding woods like a mouse would the Hogwarts' owlery.

We set off soon enough, crossing the threshold that separated the Hogwarts' grounds from the forest; and it only took a couple turns to feel like we were a world away already: advancing through a labyrinth of beech and oak, lush branches tangled in deep knots, criss-crossing over our heads to block the sight of the night sky —the canopy covering the woods at times like a solid roof.

The darkness surrounded us, like a physical substance waiting just outside the edge of our light charms. A pure, suffocating black ink that made my hair stand on end.

I thought I'd understood what the Forbidden Forest was like —from my before memories if anything, and from the odd comments now and then from both teachers and older housemates— but I'd been wrong all along.

This wasn't just a place that contained an assortment of random, dangerous beasts. No, this was a primeval forest. Something that had came out of some distant past —when the world was still young and the deep woods held mysteries and horrors beyond imagination— and somehow managed to survive all the way up to the present day. Its twisted branches seeming to hint at figures and shapes that never fully materialized, that lurked just out of sight; as if attracted by the light of our wands, by the noise of our soft steps.

Shit, I was psyching myself out, wasn't I?

I wasn't the only one, at least; though we all reacted to our surroundings in different ways. I forged ahead with determination, my wand high and shining bright as if to push the darkness away, urged by the thought that if we just moved fast enough, we'd simply outpace whatever vague threats existed around us. Neville, hunched and jumpy, snapped his head this and that way whenever the figures —no, branches, they are just branches— moved in the distance.

And Draco... well...

"... bugbears too... and trolls, of course. My father told me he once saw a forest troll when returning from Hogsmeade; it must have been part of a colony lurking around here. Those brutes carry clubs larger than you, Longbottom; could squash you like a bug."

"T—trolls?" asked Neville.

"Yes. But no worries, we've got you, don't we? If we encounter any of them, you'd make the perfect troll bait. Give the two of us a chance to escape."

"I- I'm not going to be troll bait, Malfoy!"

"Oh, don't be so sensitive! I'm merely considering our options for survival. You should be honoured to be of some use for once..."

I said, "Shh! You keep talking this loud and it won't be just the trolls after us; it will also be the werewolves, acromantulas, boggarts, lethifolds..." I stopped talking when I realised Longbottom was slowing down further with each word, "uhm... nevermind, just joking."

I sighed, shaking my head and focusing on following Fang, who had paused a few steps ahead to wait for us. Was it harsh of me, to wish Neville wasn't here with us? His jumpiness made him slow, his steps hesitant, and he provided the blonde arsehole with a big target to focus on —which also made him slow down in turn; at one point I'd even had to stop Draco from hiding in the bushes just to startle Longbottom, which I was sure would have made us lose even more long minutes just dilly-dallying around.

Not that Neville was in the wrong for being scared, though. Child endangerment was a commonplace occurrence in the story I remembered, and back then I'd only found it to be somewhat quirky; if I cared to analyse it at all —because it was an adventure story, after all, and a certain degree of danger was pretty much implied in those!

It hit different when you were the one actually facing the danger. And while I was quickly learning that a lack of care for physical injuries was somewhat endemic to the Wizarding population, I had a growing suspicion that this, right now, wasn't supposed to happen. Because bloody hell was this a bad idea. Sure, both McGonagall and Snape were probably aware that Hagrid would take us into the Forbidden Forest for our detention, but I doubted they would have approved of him splitting us into two separate groups, sending the three of us first year students on our own, with our only protection that of Fang. In fact, I'd hazard McGonagall in particular would blow a gasket if she knew.

Snape too, maybe, because of Draco if anything. Risking the Malfoy heir while he was ostensibly under his watch would not endear him much to all the other Death Eaters, I supposed.

That was, I realised, something I could probably lord over Hagrid if push came to shove, if he somehow figured out my true plans for tonight.

Except that I really, really didn't know how he would react to that, and wasn't looking forward to finding out. Hagrid was supposed to be honourable to a fault, after all, so he might very well decide to own up and face the music, tell Dumbledore everything that happened tonight. Which yeah, that would suck for me.

It went back to my mixed feelings on the giant: he was friendly, but not to Slytherins —not that Slytherins were friendly back to him, all things considered. And I couldn't help but find him a bit too... simple-minded for my liking, which in turn made me feel like a giant arsehole for judging him so. But then he went and put the whole of us into risk like this, which pretty much vindicated my opinion! Except that this also meant I was free of any adult supervision, free to enact my plans, which...

Ugh, yeah, mixed feelings about the giant man.

My feelings about Fang weren't nearly so complicated, though. The black hound was a blessing in disguise, trotting a few steps ahead of us. And it was immediately apparent to me why it'd been Draco and Harry who found the unicorn in the original timeline: Hagrid had instructed us to keep an eye open for the traces of blood and follow those; but Fang had just taken a sniff at one of the silvery stains, then marched ahead as if with a destination already in his canine mind. From time to time he'd stop and lower its snout to the ground, make some loud inhaling noises, then correct his direction slightly when he resumed the hunt. The three of us students were just along for the ride.

So I wasn't really surprised when we reached a clearing —the trees finally opening up to let the moon shine over us— with our target splayed at its centre. The animal was clearly dead, but its fallen body seemed to reflect the moonlight like a mirror; or maybe it had a light of its own, a glow of sorts that was still to die out.

We all paused there, observing the sight in reverent silence. It was... entrancing, a perfect mixture of beauty and melancholy; something that I wished some artist could turn into a picture, to be preserved forever as a painting in one of the castle's corridors.

I was the first one to shake the surprise off; I had stuff to do, after all, and it was now or never. My left hand went to my robes' pocket and caressed the handful of small, empty glass vials I'd pilfered from the Potions classroom earlier in the week.

Yeah, now or never. I took a cautious step forward.

That seemed to startle the boys into paying attention once more. We entered the clearing, and Neville started to raise his wand —no doubt to cast the Vermillious spell, but I rested my hand on his arm to arrest the motion.

"What–?"

"Wait," I muttered, my eyes fixated on the clearing's edge, where the trees surrounded us like a wall of shadows.

Yeah, I was trying to gain me some more time —to do what I had to do— and maybe come up with an excuse to distract the boys out of paying attention to the fallen beast for a couple of minutes. But that didn't mean the risk wasn't real, or that we were alone in here.

It seemed to do the trick, though, as both Neville and Draco focused their gazes on the distant point, eyes narrowed and walking ahead, their backs to me. Meanwhile I took a tentative step towards the unicorn. Its body sported large gashes along its exposed flank, rivulets of mercurial blood spilling from them onto a pool on the ground. Slowly, I extracted the first vial out of my pocket and crouched down next to the creature.

"There's something there," whispered Draco.

"Y- you're trying to scare me again, aren't you? Well it won't work, you can- DEMENTOR!" shouted Neville, running away after Fang, who was already fast on its legs and exiting the clearing.

I snapped my head back to see the figure emerge out of the treeline, a cloaked dark shape that burst into the clearing at full speed.

Shit! Not yet!

But Draco too was starting to leg it, and I wasn't keen on being left alone with the aberration —assuming that was Quirrell, as it indeed looked remarkably like a Dementor— so I jumped back to my feet and ran away too.

Neville and Fang were heading back towards the same way we'd came from —the boy's wand shooting red sparks into the sky, he himself screaming at the top of his lungs. I, instead, chose to head in a slightly different direction, leaving the clearing through a narrow opening in the dense thicket surrounding a group of tall, slender birch trees.

Draco paused for a moment as I splintered off, then decided to follow me rather than Longbottom.

Well, shit.

I didn't have time to deal with this complication, but I didn't have a choice either. So I grabbed his arm and pulled hard, dragging him along to hide with me behind the underbrush; we both fell to the ground when his foot got caught in a root, but I was quick to put a hand on his mouth and cover his "ufgh!" noise.

We remained there for a couple of tense beats, he looking back at me with wide eyes; me keeping watch through the blanket of dark leaves that hid us from the main trail.

And sure enough, the apparition chased after Neville and Fang, rushing ahead of us and following the path of least resistance.

I waited a few more seconds, then started to relax. I stood up, removing my hand from Draco's mouth —who now looked annoyed back at me, as he too stood up and shook the pine needles off his robes. As if my saving of his life hadn't been up to his rich standards or something.

He was about to say something, but I extended a finger in an angry shushing gesture as I doubled back towards the clearing; he was already here and making it so I couldn't do this in secret, but I wasn't going to allow him to make some noise that would attract Quirrell back to us. And I needed to act fast, because I didn't know how long he'd chase after Neville and Fang.

Not that I was too worried about them, in any case. Hopefully Hagrid would have seen the red sparks and would already be on his way; and if not him, well... there were centaurs around here too, weren't there?

But that meant my time was even more limited that it seemed, so I rushed ahead back towards the unicorn, producing the vial again as I kneeled by its side.

And then, as I approached the lip of the glass container to the wound, I paused.

"Sorry, girl," I muttered, not really sure how I knew she was a girl; "but I really need your help."

Of course the unicorn didn't say anything, but I felt just a tad better about what I was about to do; which I wasn't fooling myself about: I was about to profane her corpse, wasn't I?

And yeah, it might have been just an animal —that's what I'd told myself back at our Hogwarts dorm, that this was just extracting valuable ingredients out of a fallen beast, not that different from the stuff we used in our Potions class. But then again, unicorns were special. She... felt different, too. And there was a reason their blood was cursed, after all.

The same reason the ritual required unicorn blood, probably; that the instructions considered it the purest magical substance.

I sighed, nodded to myself, and gently placed the lip of the vial against the gash. A stream of silvery blood began filling it.

Quick, too, because after just a moment the vial was already full. I plugged it closed, let it fall into the depths of my pockets, then extracted the next empty container, repeating the process.

Draco observed all this with confused fascination: "Sarramond? What... what are you doing?"

"Not all of us come from intergenerational wealth, Malfoy." I pouched the second vial, extracted a third. "I'm just... uhm... getting some seed funding for my future clever investments."

"What?"

This one was slower to fill up, I had to stick my right hand into the unicorn's wound, press down to make the blood flow out again. I said, "do you know how much this blood is worth?"

He didn't look like he thought much about what things were worth, truth be told. Back on my previous life, I'd always thought not caring about money was the greatest luxury rich people enjoyed, even more than the yachts and private planes. Simply that lack of... stress, that lack of concern. The marvellous ability to put it out of your mind for good. If you wanted some sunglasses, you just bought them, no more consideration than whether or not they fit your face.

"You are doing this for... some Galleons?"

Looking back at Malfoy now, at how he struggled to even understand by someone would take a risk for some money —that he would no doubt find a pittance— I could see I wasn't mistaken.

"No. I'm doing this for a lot of Galleons."

Not that I was telling the truth, of course. I was doing this for the ritual, to save my own hide, and not just for some Galleons —that was merely my harried cover story, since Nott had warned me not to tell anyone else about the ritual's particular requirements— but the fourth vial I'd just begun filling wasn't strictly needed for it... or to pay my debt to Selwyn, either.

So yeah, there was a little truth to my cover story. And what if I wanted to make use of this for my own goals too? This was an opportunity, and I wasn't about to let it go to waste. I struggled to close the fourth vial —my fingers now slippery from being covered in blood.

Draco looked around, eyeing the treeline with apprehension. "How much longer is this going to take?"

"It would be much faster if you helped me rather than just stand there, you know." But the look of disgust on his face told me he wasn't about to lend me a hand.

I doubted it was the morality of it he was worried about, or the curse... just that it was manual labour.

And speaking of the curse, I wasn't really that worried about it. The information I'd found on the Library was clear that unicorn blood would curse those who consumed it, which I wasn't doing here. There might have been a little doubt about whether using it in a ritual counted as 'consuming' it, but it should be safe to handle otherwise. Which tripped up my Muggle brain time and time again: in the Muggle world substances either were toxic or not, no matter what your intentions were when handling them. But with magic, it too often boiled down to exactly that.

I produced a fifth vial.

This one I really struggled to fill. I had to press down hard on the animal's side with both my hands, pushing with all my weight for a splutter of blood to flow out of the deep cut, then rush to catch it with the glass receptacle before it would petter out again. It was exhausting, and more blood ended up on my sleeves than inside the vial. I was about to put the plug when the little thing slipped my fingers, splashing blood all over the front of my robe.

"Bloody hell!"

"That's revolting," muttered Draco.

"Shut up! You're revolting!" I snapped back, starting to feel tired and frustrated by now. I cleaned the vial's surface on my robes —they were already ruined— and pressed it once more against the wound, filling it again. This time I was more careful plugging it close.

Okay, that was two vials for Selwyn, two for the ritual —which was more than needed, but I really wanted to do a test on my own before I had to perform it in the common room in public— and another one I could sell at Knockturn Alley when I visited during Summer.

I extracted a sixth vial.

"How many more do you have?!"

"Eight total," I said, unplugging the cork. I stuck the receptacle deep into the gash, but it wasn't filling. The blood wasn't flowing anymore; I sighed, moving to the top of the creature to start pumping again. Slowly, the vial filled up.

"You better finish up; they're coming back," said Draco. And sure enough, I could hear voices coming closer.

I shook my head, but there wasn't time for more. I stood up, backing from the fallen unicorn and storing the empty, seventh container. So, six vials in the end. Good enough.

What wasn't that good was the state of my ruined robes, caked in silvery unicorn blood and with leaves and dirt stuck all over them.

"Hmm... you wouldn't happen to know the Cleaning Charm, do you?" I asked.

"Why would I? That's servant stuff."

"Right. Forget I asked." I aimed my wand at my own body, did the movement in reverse and said, "Aguamenti!"

The stream of water hit me on the chest, soaking me entirely. It felt like I was taking a shower still dressed —because I pretty much was— but I gritted my teeth as I carefully waved my wand over all the stains I could see, washing the worst of the blood away with a deluge of cold water.

By the time Hagrid, Fang and the three Gryffindors entered the clearing —accompanied by a centaur, tall and imposing— I was left more or less clean, but also shivering in cold and looking like something of a wet rat, droplets of water falling off my hair, my clothes heavy and drenched.

Hagrid let out a relieved sigh when his eyes landed on the both of us. "Ah, there they are! Blimey, they had me worried for a moment. Yer... alright, aren't yeh?" His eyebrows rose when he took in my sorry state. "What happened to yeh?"

"I tripped on a root and fell into a stream," I replied. I didn't know if there was a stream around this clearing, but I'd seen one a few minutes away, so I hoped the lie would fly.

But they weren't paying that much attention to me, anyway, because the centaur stepped forth and towards the fallen unicorn, followed by Hermione, Harry and a nervous Neville —who looked around as if worried Quirrell was about to surprise us once more.

"I told you," said the centaur in a deceptively deep voice, "Mars was unusually bright tonight."

"Oh, poor lil' thing," said Hagrid, shaking his head and sniffling a bit. "Too late again, we are."

"What happened with the Dementor?" asked Neville.

Hagrid shook his head: "There ain't no Dementors in this forest, I tell yeh. Yeh must've seen somethin' else."

"I know what I saw!" protested the boy.

"Well, yeh are confused an' scared but–"

"Many different shadows lurk under the trees," said the centaur, silencing both of them into confusion.

"Ah... right y'are, Ronan. Best be getting' these back to the castle, before the lass catches herself a chill. Take care out here in the forest, eh?"

With that, we started our long way back, my shoes squishing annoyingly with every step, my jaw —my whole body— shaking like a leaf in the frigid coldness brought by every gust of wind.

I gently pushed Fang's snout away from my pocket when he approached me. Inside it, six full vials clinked against each other.

It took us a full hour to get back; and while I escaped my icy clothes as soon as I reached the Slytherin bathroom, it was already too late. I wasn't feeling cold by then, just numb, which I knew should have worried me; and sure enough, by the time morning rolled in I was coughing and sneezing my way through the castle.

"This is ridiculous," protested Tracey when a sneezing fit caused me to spill stains of ink all over my History of Magic homework, "why don't you just go to Madam Pomfrey?"

"I doh't like botiods. Dey make me wadt to vomit."

"Nobody likes potions, Sylvia. But would you rather be sick like this for an entire week, or more?"

I sighed, too tired to complain. "Ahh, fine. I'll go after ludch."

She paused for a moment, then whispered: "Was it worth it, at least?"

"Yesh... yesh, it was. I'm shtarting to see de light at de end of de tuddel."

"The what?"

"Nebbermind," I groaned. "Bud yeah, it's good."

She seemed satisfied with that, but didn't forget about my promise and come lunch I was summarily banished to the Infirmary Wing, where a concerned Madam Pomfrey gave me one of her bottled crimes against nature, all the while she harrumphed about me not visiting her earlier. The small mercy was that by that point I'd lost all sense of smell and taste, so drinking it wasn't as bad as I'd feared.

And it did put a stop to my fever before it could grow into something worse, so by afternoon I ended up feeling quite tired, yes, but not nearly as sick anymore. And with my mind free to wander, and my schedule free thanks to Madam Pomfrey's generosity —"you can skip the last period today; just go to your common room and get some rest... and let me rest, too"— I started to wonder about the ritual once more.

Because with the unicorn blood in my pocket —well, in my trunk, if we were going to be specific— and the other more usual ingredients that I'd had slowly acquired over the last few Potions classes, right now I already had all I needed to perform the ritual.

And so, I could finally get my answer.

So yeah, I did go to the Slytherin common room, but only to leave immediately afterwards with a certain vial well hidden in my robe's pocket, and to march straight on towards the Room of Requirement —which welcomed me with a fitting décor for a somewhat darkish ritual: long, deep purple velvet curtains draped over the walls of stone, dozens of lit candles placed around a central empty area, a piece of chalk to draw runes with, a handful of golden plates and bowls to hold ingredients... and a single, silver knife resting on a short lectern.

Not bad, Room, not bad.

I extracted Nott's parchment and placed it on the lectern, reading once more the instructions I'd already pretty much memorized by this point. Specially the little fragment about hot to interpret the results:

'Should the ritual be brought to a satisfactory culmination, the essence sanguine of the subject will migrate in hue to mirror the nature of their true lineage:

- Radiant in Gold, for those of pure-blood, the noblest of all.

- Blue as the Azure Sky, for those of half-blood, bearers of mixed heritages.

- Brown as the Earth beneath our feet, for those of mud-blood, the unrefined stock.

- Green as the Whispering Woods for Goblins, Elves and other beasts born of the arcane womb.

- And were the essence to remain devoid of change, it would signify it belongs to a Muggle, untouched by the majesty of magic.'

What irked me the most was that —when digging a little deeper into the process— it was obvious those particular colours were not the only option. They weren't a consequence of the magical processes and ingredients used, the way Potions themselves took their hue. No, these had been pretty much chosen arbitrarily by whoever prejudiced wizard had designed this ritual.

Which meant that someone had specifically chosen brown to represent Muggleborns and gold for pure-bloods. Go figure.

But I could ignore that, the annoyance it caused me, now that I was so close to my answer. I followed the instructions in the piece of paper with a careful, perfectionist focus —yes, I was tired, but this was my bloody origins we were talking about here, so I pushed all thoughts of bed and relaxation out of my mind too, and welcomed the nervous, anxious energy that soon invaded me.

First I used the chalk to draw a handful of circles and lines according to the diagram, helping myself with a piece of cord so that the lines went straight and the circles were perfectly, roundishly round. It was a trick explained in that one book about rituals Anthony Goldstein had recommended me: 'Of The Most Old Liturgy'.

I had passed my interest as idle curiosity about the origins of magic —apparently, before wizards had invented wands, most magic done was of the ritualistic kind— and so the book I got from him was more historic treatise than practical guide, but it did mention some things to watch out for —such as the presence of other enchantments inside the magic circle, which could result in accidents— and a few other tips and techniques here and there that would now come useful.

And so I poured water in a cup and placed it at the southern edge of the outer circle —using a compass the Room was kind enough to provide— put a fistful of dirt in a bowl by the eastern side, and one of the candles to the north. The western edge I left empty.

It was the book, in fact, which instructed the symbolic elements to be placed as the first step; Nott's parchment only mentioned it in passing —probably because it was so basic that anyone doing this ritual under normal conditions would have already known about this.

But with that done, I positioned the actual ingredients at their proper locations according to the enormous diagram drawn on the floor: the bones on each of the secondary accents, the doxy eggs and the plants mixed together, burnt and then spread between the two symmetric sigils...

The unicorn blood was the last step —well, second to last, there was my blood to add too— and I was particularly careful with that one. Because yeah, cursed blood. And sure, yesterday I hadn't been using the blood. But now, now I pretty much was.

So yeah, careful sounded about right. I extracted the vial, placed it over the golden bowl, and uncorked it. Then I slowly poured half its contents —which should be enough, according to the instructions— making sure not even a single drop ended outside the container, and with special care it wouldn't touch my skin.

Then I grabbed the knife, its edge sharp as a piece of glass.

This was the part I hated; I put my index finger over the bowl of unicorn blood, took a deep breath, and pressed the tip of the blade against my own skin with the faintest force possible. A prick of pain, and then a scarlet droplet emerged quickly, followed by another. One by one, drops of my blood fell into the receptacle beneath.

Four or five of them were enough, according to the parchment, so it didn't take that much effort. I licked the wound clean and covered it with a gauze I was sure Madame Pomfrey would never miss, then placed both hands on the proper positions along the edge of the inner circle.

"Dignita sanguinis!" I invoked, pushing my magic into the ritual. This felt different than using a wand, less... precise, perhaps. Less in control. It almost felt like it was the circle itself shuffling the magic around, and not really me. Hell... perhaps it was. I wasn't that knowledgeable in magical theory. I read ahead, sure; but I was still a first year, after all.

And yeah, I wasn't procrastinating at all.

I bit my lip, and inch by inch I rose my head to look over the lip of the bowl, to see what colour the mix had turned into.

"Oh."