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cursedmoon-doll13 · 9 months

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I: First Week - Misfortunes & Misfires.

Cw: Swearing, Mild Gore

Features S/I OCs: Jasmine, (mine) Scarlet, (@vincent-sinclair-deserved-better) & Minoes (@myers-meadow)

Word Count: 6.8k

Dividers by @/saradika

I awoke as if emerging from murky, clouded water. Wherever I was, I hadn’t the foggiest. I reached a sluggish hand over to grab my glasses from my nightstand, but they weren’t there. Instead, I felt across an expanse of silk curtains. I cracked one crusted eye open, and was almost blinded.

Of course. I was at Hogwarts.

My giddy excitement from the night before had tapered off into a pleasant, fluttering hum. The early morning light streamed brightly through my domed window. Beside me sat Peaches, her stubby, ringed tail whipping my leg. She chattered hungrily at the scattering of birds perched outside on the spires. I grinned lazily at her, yawning and rolling myself onto my elbow to stroke her soft neck. She chirped and leant into my touch until she fell over clumsily into my sapphire sheets. I wheezed a fond chuckle.

Unveiling my bunk, I slid down the ladder and half-stumbled my way into my robes. Luna was absent this morning, as was Cho; one glance at my watch told me that those two early birds had most likely flown the nest already. My only remaining company was a scowling Padma Patil, who was fiddling frustratedly with her earrings. She looked so grumpy I decided to save wishing her a ‘good morning’ for later, jamming my glasses onto my face.

After refilling her dishes, I smooched Peaches on her fuzzy forehead and set off whirling down the tall spiral staircase, my long braid trailing behind me.

The great hall was dotted sporadically by groups of breakfasting students. I glanced up to see the enchanted ceiling rolled in thick, overcast clouds of solemn slate grey; a typical British September.

I approached the Ravenclaw table, my stomach panging sorely with hunger. I saw that Luna was grazing on toast, her pale eyes flashing behind her spectrespecs. She tilted her head and waved cheerfully at me as I sat down. I smiled back, relieved. Apparently she had forgotten - or perhaps forgiven - the sour note we left on last year, when I accidentally let slip that I considered The Quibbler to be the wizarding world’s greatest satire magazine.

“Hello, Jasmine,” she greeted airily.

“Hi, Luna…”

Starving, I wasted no time at all in demolishing my plate of eggs and bacon. Then, a floating streamer wafted by and dropped a roll of parchment neatly into my lap. I gulped down the last of my pumpkin juice, unfurled it and examined my new schedule:

Charms is nice for first thing on a Monday… Ugh, but Potions class this bloody early… Don’t we have that new Defence against the Dark Arts professor…?

“Did you sleep alright?” Luna piped up.

“I did. Thankyou for asking.”

I stashed my timetable away.

“How are you this morning, Luna?” I asked gently.

“Perfectly well. Cho was up even earlier, you know.”

Oh, that’s right… I scanned the length of our table, but Cho’s shiny black head was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, maybe she’s trying to get in some early quidditch practice,” I reasoned.

“She really should be careful, though,” Luna said seriously. “The quidditch pitch is infested with man-eating brackadrills this year.”

True to my house, I wisely held my tongue.

Professor Flitwick spent our first Charms lesson carefully going over the syllabus, but for Potions, it was business as usual with Professor Snape. I was immediately lambasted for my shoddy work, (which was really just par for the course for me) though the presence of the now familiar Minoes and Scarlet helped to soothe my nerves somewhat.

Our first Defence against the Dark Arts lesson - indeed taken on by a new and rather haggard professor - began with a simple lecture on banshees, which I caught Seamus grimacing at rather harshly at times. By the evening, my Ancient Runes class had rolled around, and I was tired and sore. I had spent all Summer going soft, and was no longer used to traversing the labyrinthine halls or playing games of musical chairs with the grand staircase.

But how dearly I'd missed it! How glad I was to be in the thick of it again; a shocked and awed foreigner in this vast, mystical place, as Alice in Wonderland.

Arriving barely on time, I found a friendly seat nearby Neville and Minoes. Their conspiratorial whispers died to a hush as Professor Babbling swept in.

“Welcome, all!” She announced. “Well, I’m glad to see a good turnout this year. The more, the merrier, as I always say! Not everyone understands the value and complexity behind our sacred runes, but clearly the lot of you have done your research, and…”

Professor Babbling rambled on for about half an hour before finally conjuring up our lesson plans. Then, she drifted off once again into a completely unrelated story concerning her trip to Peru, until the ever-diligent Hermione steered her firmly back on track.

“Professor Babbling, we’ll be studying the differences between simplified and traditional scripts this year?” She prompted.

“Ahem… Yes, we will, Miss Granger.”

Actually, I had already sifted through my copy of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms before this, unable to temper my enthusiasm. To be honest, my fascination with it was more along the lines of researching ancient tombs and the like; the reality of it was a little more drab, but it was still an interesting class so long as Professor Babbling stayed on target.

Be that as it may, I was eager to leave for dinner. Hogwarts never disappointed when it came feasting, its dining tables lined with food, all drowned in gravy. Above, the grand roof swelled purple with storm clouds as it echoed the raucous boom of thunder from outside, magnificent.

After a hefty meal, stuffed full and yawning, I approached the eagle knocker. As always, it calmly presented me with a riddle:

“Without wings, I fly. Without eyes, I cry. What am I?”

Without wings… Without eyes… Flying without wings… A manta ray? No, they don’t cry… Neither do sycamore seeds… Ferocious rain beat down against the massive windows as I stood there, lost in thought. Wait… It’s raining… And…

“Oh. A cloud. It floats in the sky, and cries rainwater.”

“Hm… A fair answer. You may enter.”

The lock clicked, and the door swung open. I entered, and felt a trickle of warmth flow through me at the sight of our common room. Apparently someone had requested ABBA, because there were a number of joyful students who were dancing badly around the fireplace. The more studious Ravenclaws were already started on their first essays, curled up on armchairs, glaring at these rowdy newcomers. Being somewhere in the middle, I decided it best to relax for the evening and tossed off my scarf.

Padma, quite at ease now that it was dusk, was laughing heartily as Peaches streaked frantically across the cobalt blue carpet.

“Jas, your cat has the zoomies!”

I grinned and fiddled with my glasses as I reclined on the sofa. I was worried Padma would dislike her, considering that she was quite protective over her old, sickly parakeet.

Peaches finally calmed down after a few more laps and padded over to me, chirping as she jumped onto my leg. That night, I amused her by charming one of Padma’s dragonfly hair-clips (with her permission) to flutter ceaselessly around the Ravenclaw dorm, glittering like a winged jewel.

It was still soaring in shaky arcs as I fell asleep, admiring the gleaming array of stars outside my bedside window, content and peaceful.

The next morning was damp and miserable.

Perfect weather for being stuck inside, of course. After a healthy helping of kippers and an even healthier book haul, I convinced the eagle knocker to let me in on a technicality and spread my parchment over an empty table. As much as I adored Hogwarts’ library, I preferred Ravenclaw tower; it was cosy, it had the best view in the castle, and most importantly, you could play music here.

I suppose I should explain how we Ravenclaws managed to circumvent the zero tech policy.

Typically, most electronics fizzled out in the presence of so much raw magic, so a digital setup in Hogwarts was a no-go. But here was the trick; a nice, simple record player, and fine collection of vinyls. How did we procure this filthy contraband, you ask? None other than our resident Giles Taylor. Most of his wit and wisdom went towards smuggling various muggle things into Hogwarts; I guess we both felt a little homesick at times.

Now, Giles was quite precious about this treasure, but if you buttered him up enough, he was willing to allow you to spin just about any album on it.

This was a generosity I often took advantage of.

“That better not be what I think it is, Jas,” warned Giles, chuckling nervously as I slid a fresh record from its glossy folder. “Because If Roger tries to exorcise my record player one more time, I’m going to have to ban you, simple as that.”

I cackled in remembrance.

“Don’t worry… I’m behaving today.”

He still glared suspiciously at me.

“I swear, Giles, I solemnly swear,” I assured him, dramatically flashing my vinyl. “It’s Robert Smith, see? Look at him, he wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

“I dunno, bloke looks a bit peaky to me.”

But he relaxed after that, allowing me to play my record. I opened my books and dipped my quill in ink. Giles winced sympathetically.

“I guess you’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“‘Course, naturally,” I said. “It’s Professor Snape.”

He leant forward to inspect my unfurled parchment.

“Oh, bollocks,” he groaned. “He set you a footlong?”

“Um… Several, actually, on uses of Lavender.”

“Yowch.”

“Mhm.”

“Well, I haven’t summoned yet,” Giles continued. “I have Potions class on Thursdays and Fridays, though…”

“I’m sure you can’t wait,” I said dryly.

Giles stretched luxuriously across the sofa, hurling another log into our fireplace. It crackled richly, filling me with vigour as I plodded through my essay.

“So - oh, hey kitty! (Peaches fled hurriedly away from his grip) - All of that aside, we’re still on for that chess match later, right?”

Flourishing my signature, I grinned.

“Oh, yeah.”

Wednesday was also fraught with heavy sheets of rain, and poor Cho tread into the great hall sopping wet, mucky and shivering. Her teeth were chattering so violently that Padma and I both helped to cast exaresco to suck up the moisture, offering her hot plates of syrup-smothered pancakes to warm her up.

“It’s freezing out there,” Cho shuddered out. “You’d think it was mid-Winter already!”

As Professor Binns resumed his usual droning without much fanfare, I almost doubted he noticed our absence over the Summer at all.

Beside me, Minoes fought bravely to resist his soporific power. I tried my best to do the same, jotting down as much information as I could possibly garner from his lecture. And yet, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander a little towards my next class. I had taken on Divination out of pure curiosity, but I was always a bit of a sceptic. That said, I knew I couldn’t rule it out entirely; magic definitely existed, after all. I remembered back to when my dad once told me about a ‘witch’ living in a cottage near the outskirts of town who had made some incredibly accurate predictions about the future. Would this ‘Professor Trelawney’ be like her?

After the bell rang, I, rather fittingly, felt a bad premonition coming on, so I packed up and escaped History of Magic as quickly as possible in order to scope out the North Tower where I’d be taking my first Divination class. As expected, I got lost.

Out of breath from running, I straightened my glasses and brushed damp hair out of my face. The halls grew cold and solitary. This area of the castle was unfamiliar to me. But then, I realised it was because something about my usual path had changed: a huge, gleaming suit of armour that usually stood sentinel by the corridor wall had vanished. Hidden behind it was a small door that I had never seen before; one so tiny I could only imagine it being used by a house elf.

What could be in there… What could be…

“Ooh!” Squealed a painting of a hearty, green-clad barmaid. “Quick, he’s gone! Try going in!”

I bit my lip, pulling my robes closer to my body. I was sorely tempted… But no, I ought to be responsible and make a good first impression…

“I can’t,” I said glumly. “I have Divination.”

I’ll come back later… Yes…

“Killjoy!” The barmaid roared after me. “Let me tell you, girl. Back in my day, I knew a couple of right daring wee lads. They’dve chanced it!”

But I was already gone.

I was late, of course, and was forced to waddle awkwardly over to make my excuses to Professor Trelawney under the scrutiny of my peers.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Did I not foresee this? That one of our number would battle great confusion on their journey here? Go on, take a seat…”

Professor Trelawney waved me away with a spindly, jewel encrusted hand. I breathed a glad sigh that I was not scolded, but as I scanned the misty, incense-ridden chamber, I saw that most of the pouffes were taken. The only free spot was by…

“Hi,” I whispered, sinking into a plush armchair.

Scarlet glanced over at me, their mouth curling into a brief smile. I noticed they wore the Slytherin robes now, their vibrant, purple hair pulled into a ponytail.

“Hi,” she replied. “Nice seeing you again.”

I nodded distractedly as I unloaded my bag. Were they alone for the same reason as last time? For some reason, this random thought sprang to mind.

“We’re supposed to read our tea leaves,” Scarlet explained quietly. “Drink up, then we’ll swap.”

They brought a delicate, blue teacup to their lips and gulped down a mouthful. Still frazzled, I lagged behind in drinking mine. It was scalding hot - and I was never much of a tea drinker anyway - but I didn’t want to hold up the lesson. I winced at the bitter taste, but once I’d swallowed it all, I slid it over, and swiftly received hers. I fumbled nervously with my copy of Unfogging the Future as I rotated the cup around, trying to decipher some understandable shape…

“Oh, It looks a bit like a unicorn,” I reported. “That’s sweet… That means you’ll ‘find love,’ apparently. (They snorted) But there’s a bit here too… Like a sort of cudgel looking thing… Wait, it says here that if you get that, you’ll be ‘attacked…’ Um…”

I whipped through a few pages to confirm it.

“So - er - I guess you’re going to be attacked by a person you fall in love with,” I finished. “Or fall in love with your attacker, maybe?”

“Wow,” they said flatly, scoffing. “Finally, I have something to look forward to.”

I couldn’t help but stifle a giggle; I quickly turned it into a fit of hiccups as Professor Trelawney approached, her many necklaces glittering.

“Ah, Pimpernel, my most faithful student,” she praised. “What do you see in Daly’s cup, my dear?”

Scarlet hurriedly returned to my tea leaves.

“…Fire. Yeah, a big nasty flame,” they muttered, squinting into my teacup. “Uh, wait, I remember. A fire, that means ‘passion.’”

Professor Trelawney nodded sagely.

“Yes, ‘passion!’ The burning fire of passion, for a beloved hobby, perhaps? A pastime you are most devoted to? Or, yes, a passionate love affair.”

“Oh,” I said pleasantly. “That’s nice!”

But then she stopped rather abruptly.

“Wait!”

Surprised, I peered up at Professor Trelawney. Her dreamy, tender smile had vanished. Now, her magnified eyes were huge and glistening.

“Give… Give that here…”

She reached out with thin, quivering hands to receive the cup. Scarlet’s brows were knit in concern, and we exchanged puzzled looks. I felt my stomach lurch as Professor Trelawney paled a papery white. That did not appear to be promising… I squirmed in my seat.

“Oh… Oh, no… No…”

“What?” I urged, nervous.

Professor Trelawney fixed me with a teary stare. It felt uncomfortably like that of a doctor about to diagnose their patient with a terminal illness.

“You have…” Her lip trembled. “The Grim.”

Shocked gasps echoed around the classroom.

“…”

What the fuck is a Grim?

This answer was so underwhelming, my anxiety immediately dispersed into confusion. I glanced dubiously around the other pouffes, unnerved by the funereal atmosphere. Lavender and Parvati were gazing at me mournfully, as if I might be struck dead by lightning at any second.

“Um…” I felt dumb. “What’s that?”

“A most terrible death omen!” Professor Trelawney let out a frightened sort of moan. “T-to have two sightings of the Grim in such quick succession, oh…”

A death omen…? The words rippled in my mind.

Our panicking teacher wavered delicately on the spot, and for a moment I believed she might actually faint. Her arm went limp and the offending teacup dropped onto my lap. I saw for the first time the ominous shape of a black dog at the bottom of it…

The Grim…

“You are dismissed!” Professor Trelawney cried, clutching a hand to her chest, as if willing away an oncoming heart attack.

I was prickled by whispers and mutterings as I hurriedly stuffed my books into my bag. A sceptic I may have been, but the collective dread of the classroom, the headache-inducing perfume and the exhaustion had all bubbled nausea into my belly.

“Um, look,” Scarlet began, gently brushing elbows with me. “Harry got a Grim too, last year, and he hasn’t snuffed it yet. You’ll probably be fine.”

I smiled shakily. Considering Harry Potter’s penchant for misfortune, this wasn’t exactly reassuring news, but I knew that she was only trying to comfort me.

“Was just a wee bit unexpected, is all,” I mustered up. “How did I go from ‘whirlwind love affair’ to popping my bloody clogs?”

“Maybe you’ll get some first,” Scarlet shrugged. Y’know. Before you die.”

“Oh, Fantastic.”

After the drama of my first Divination lecture, I was glad to return back to my bed (after sassing that eagle bastard) and curl up beside Peaches.

She didn’t know what was wrong, of course, but she purred for me like a cute little motorcycle. Stroking her soft fur made me feel a lot less freaked out, and given that Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures were both due on Thursday, I made the mistake of looking forward to tomorrow…

But on Thursday, I was still thoroughly spooked. That familiar sense of unease plagued me all morning, distracting me constantly. I barely remembered how to chew my toast or drink my pumpkin juice but for drifting off into strange, unwelcome states of mind, which concerned my housemates quite a bit.

“It’ll be fine, Jas,” Cho told me over breakfast. “My grandma saw one when she was a girl, and she’s celebrating her 90th birthday this year!”

I smiled weakly at her.

As much as I would’ve liked to pretend that the old superstitious tales didn’t affect me, I unfortunately carried that bad energy right over through Charms and into Potions with Professor Snape. This was when my sour luck truly reared its ugly head.

“Today we will be brewing the Draught of Peace, a potion meant to calm the mind and relieve anxiety,” he explained flatly, swooping into the classroom. “As this is a simple OWL level assignment, I expect you all to prepare and complete it easily.”

I could really use a bit of anxiety relief right now…

“Be aware,” Professor Snape deliberated, crossing his arms, “That should you fail, its sedative properties are extremely potent…”

His black eyes narrowed as they passed over us, and I sucked in a shaky breath, fumbling with my potion-brewing equipment. Beside me, Minoes stood at attention and was listening raptly, while Scarlet ignored Malfoy’s haughty glare as much as possible.

“You may begin.”

As I mashed up my powdered moonstone and my ladelled in my syrup of hellebore, Professor Snape’s oppressive aura weighed down on me like a ton of bricks. I used to be properly scared of him in my very first year, and I still wasn’t entirely over it now. Glancing over toward Minoes, I saw her brows furrowed in concentration, and her potion looking exactly how it should be… My heartrate spiked rapidly as he stalked over to our table, rushing to turn down the heat as he grilled Minoes on her ‘unconventional crushing style.”

Cold sweat beaded my neck. My potion was now a dark, inky substance which resembled tar; not at all the light baby pink it should be at this stage. Somewhere along the line, I’d mucked it up. Panic spiralled in my brain as Professor Snape approached, black robes billowing, and I accidentally knocked my cup of powdered porcupine quills over the counter…

Now, he loomed over me. I swallowed down a lump.

“Tell me, Miss Daly,” Professor Snape began. “Precisely where in your textbook does it specify that your potion should look like an oil spill?

“Nowhere, sir,” I muttered, scraping up my quills.

“And yet… Somehow, you have managed it.”

I nodded shamefully, head hung over my cauldron.

“As it seems that you are incapable of following basic instructions,” Professor Snape continued silkily, lips curling unpleasantly, “I shall monitor you.”

From the other side of the dungeon, I heard a nasty sniggering that I knew came from Malfoy. I pushed my glasses back up the bridge of my nose, my stomach plummeting. On Monday, Professor Snape had simply insulted me as he usually did, but it seemed now he wanted to humiliate me. I briefly wondered if the rumours that the Weasley twins had set off dungbombs in his ingredients store were true.

“Go on,” he said softly.

Picking my thumb nervously, I fiddled with my wand. Didn’t the next step include a bit of light spellwork? I could barely remember, and I was too afraid to check while Professor Snape was watching me. So against my better judgement, I twirled my wand shakily over the simmering surface of my cauldron.

And unfortunately, this was a bad idea.

You see, my wand, while loyal and sweet, is often quite unreliable; just like me. Sometimes it misfires. Sometimes my spellcasting goes horrifyingly wrong.

Like right about now.

With an awful bang, The hem of Professor Snape’s robes combusted into a small inferno. Gasps issued from across the dungeon as the acrid stench of burning fabric filled the air. My heart almost stopped. Professor Snape stared right at me, furious.

“What,” he spat through gritted teeth, going the colour of spoiled milk. “Exactly did you just do!?”

“Well I just- Sir, you’re, um, very flammable, and…”

I hurriedly jammed my fist into my mouth.

What the actual fuck did I just say?!

A chorus of hysterical giggles erupted around us. Even some of the Slytherins were sniggering, though not as much as the Gryffindors, who were practically howling with laughter. There was a terrible clattering as Seamus Finnigan had bent over double and knocked over his cauldron, spilling violently bubbling orange liquid onto the dungeon floor. Professor Snape’s face paled further into ashen white. He actually seemed to be trembling with rage. The flames licked now dangerously high, but he stood there, unmoving, as if petrified by their mockery.

“Aguamenti!” Minoes cried.

She leaped in and extinguished it with an icy jet of water from the tip of her wand, her face wrought in panic. This immediately thawed him from his frost.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t move at all.

“Mr Finnigan!” He snapped, whirling around to face Seamus, burnt clothes dripping everywhere. “That’s twenty points from Gryffindor, and a failing grade!”

This sobered Seamus up rather quickly.

“Clean that up, Finnigan!” Minoes scolded him. “Before it ignites!”

“Oh, right!”

Seamus scrambled to clean it up himself, but Scarlet flung herself across the dungeon and did it for him:

“Scourgify!”

I watched idly, trapped in a sort of numb daze. My traitorous wand felt blisteringly hot in my hand, so I stuffed it down my robes as if I’d stolen it. A few Gryffindors were still tittering away, but now the Slytherins glared at me with hateful venom.

“Jasmine, what are you doing?!” Minoes hissed. “Look, your mixture’s completely overflowing! It’s spilling all down your— oh, give it here!”

I flinched as I was bustled away from my worktable. She swiftly neutralised my failed concoction by scouring it just before it exploded.

“Um… Professor,” Scarlet tried gently. “Are you hurt?”

But he didn’t answer, his jaw twitching furiously.

“And you, Miss Daly,” Professor Snape turned back to me, absolutely fuming. “Fifty points from Ravenclaw, and I want you in my office, now!”

I could only let out a terrified squeak.

Oh God, I am so dead.

That afternoon, I received what was perhaps the most vicious tongue-lashing of my life - courtesy of Professor Snape - as well as an entire Friday’s (plus weekend’s) worth of paying reperations! This was a massive shock to my system, as I had not spent one single minute of my life in detention before this. My once flawless record had been besmirched.

And the worst thing was, after the stunt I’d pulled on my teacher, I honestly felt that I deserved it.

So, feeling outrageously lucky that I had not been kicked out of Hogwarts entirely, I dragged myself to lunch, though I was barely hungry at all. Once I entered the great hall, I was immediately bombarded by furtive glances and excited whispers.

I understood why, of course: there had been a desperate desire for gossip, and I’d come to fulfill it. My ‘fiery outburst’ had garnered me some mild infamy, though most could barely decide if it had been intentional or not. Regardless, I was still left shell-shocked as my Gryffindor classmates approached me one by one, grinning from ear to ear:

“Hey, crazy pyromaniac girl!”

“Daly, that was class!”

Even Fred and George Weasley, who I had never spoken to before in my life, marched right up to me and congratulated me heartily, as if I’d won a prize.

Reception among my own house was varied. I felt deeply uncomfortable under Cho’s pitying gaze, though she surely meant well. However, my mood dropped several more notches as Padma regarded me coolly, deliberately ignoring me as I passed her on my way to the Ravenclaw table. Luna, on the other hand, seemed quite calm and serene, and I was now more than ever grateful for her forgiving nature.

Of course, the Slytherins seemed to have forgotten how happily they’d laughed along with the Gryffindors; they were all giving me the stink-eye.

“Pathetic excuse for a witch, that Daly,” Malfoy was yammering loudly: “Can’t even brew a simple potion without mucking it up!”

Unable to muster the nerve to insult him back, I tightened my jaw, determined to keep on chewing. My food tasted like gravel in my mouth.

“It must be all the Mudblood,” he sniggered.

Embarrassed, annoyed and flustered all at once, I left for Care of Magical Creatures after shoving a few steak and kidney puddings down my gullet. But my moodiness was swiftly replaced with delight as I was introduced to Hagrid’s new creatures alongside the rest of the group: a herd of beautiful Kelpies.

Some of the others seemed a bit apprehensive at first, but I had been itching to return to this class all Summer. My reputation had always been good here, so as a demonstration, I was allowed to try and fit a bridle onto one of the Kelpies with the use of a Placement Charm.

“Easy does it, now…” Hagrid advised, watching me mount a particularly calm, benign mare. “Steady, tha’s it. Now, hold on tight to ‘er!”

My robes swirling in the mire, I gasped as the cold sensation of water hit me. I gripped her damp, slippery neck tightly as we swam a couple of short laps around the pond. Relishing the feeling of freedom, I almost forgot my troubles. Almost.

“I knew yeh’ could do it!” Hagrid beamed at me. I grinned sheepishly back, stroking the Kelpie’s mane. Well, at least I’m not a complete failure.

That evening, my tired eyes stung as I squinted up at the glimmering, star-strewn sky.

Hello, Andromeda… Delphinus… There’s Pegasus… Aries, Pisces, Aquarius… Perseus and Triangulum… Oh, Canis Major isn’t too easy to see yet…

Professor Sinastra’s clacking heels echoed around us as she patrolled the Astronomy tower, softly instructing us. I felt so drowsy, I almost nodded off at my telescope. But then I remembered her number one rule: ‘no sleeping during class…’

By the next day, my unfortunate story had mutated into a far stranger beast. Now, I was some kind of anti-Professor Snape vigilante, a loose cannon ready to lob a spell at the slightest provocation. I had a funny feeling that this was simply the story people wanted to tell, rather than the one they actually believed in. In fact, the Gryffindors were so positively delighted by the concept of Professor Snape suffering that, despite everything, I almost felt a bizarre sort of sympathy for him.

This sentiment was dampened, however, as Professor Snape seemed to take pleasure in assigning me the worst possible tasks imaginable: polishing his most stubborn cauldrons (by hand), cleaning out the infirmary bedpans (also by hand) and disembowelling fresh specimens (the gore was absolute hell to remove from under my fingernails). All the while, Professor Snape would sneer coldly down at me, docking points from Ravenclaw for any minor infraction he could justify it for; and some for which he couldn’t. Once he’d gotten to the point of threatening to feed my spoiled concoctions to Peaches, I decided it was mutual hatred, and battled the mad impulse to torch him again.

My one consolation was that I wasn’t alone; if there was anything to be gained from this, it was my newfound camaraderie with Seamus Finnigan.

“Ugh, this is feckin’ rotten,” he groaned over our freshly dissected pile of grindylow guts. “Hey, Jas. Pass me over them tweezers, I got this stubborn…”

I slid them across the sticky, blood-soaked table.

“At least you’ll be done after this, Seamus,” I said grimly, harvesting a gallbladder. “I still have a whole bloody weekend of this shit to look forward to.”

“Miss me, will you?”

“Oh, you know it. Who else am I gonna gab with?”

Yes, we were felons chained in the same gaol, but Seamus was good company, and I was glad to resume my natural talking speed around him.

“By the way,” he started, grinning cheekily. “If the fire was an accident, I’ve done that before, too, but… What possessed you to call the man ‘flammable?’”

“‘Foot planted firmly in mouth’ syndrome.”

“Hah. Go figures.”

“As for the fire-starting itself,” I continued wearily, grimacing as I ripped out a slimy grindylow spleen. “I suspect it’s the Protestant in me.”

Seamus snorted.

My Friday lessons were similarly overcast by my Potions mishap, but I tried my best not to let it distract me, and I even managed to enjoy myself in DADA and Wizarding Literature. Still, It was clear that had not impressed Professor McGonagall with my badly mangled rat-kettle hybrid.

“Now, I know you’re capable of better work than this, Miss Daly,” she lectured me sternly. “I can’t understand why you keep disappointing yourself.”

As a matter of fact, neither could I.

My workload had multiplied tenfold since I’d been indentured by Professor Snape, so once I finally had a bit of spare time, I had no choice but to spend it writing my other essays. Luckily, Saturday’s lunch break granted me a little breathing room, so I sped off to the library to borrow a few books. While I was there, I ran into none other than Minoes.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“Oh. Hey, Jas,” she replied quietly.

Minoes was carrying a stack of heavy books, all stamped heavily with alchemical symbols. She adjusted her grip as she looked at me.

“So,” I tried, brushing a stray lock behind my ear. “Uh… What are you reading about?”

“Just some stuff for Potions,” said Minoes.

“You’re far better at that subject than me, haha…”

There was a weighty silence for a moment.

“The fire on Thursday was a complete and total accident, by the way,” I assured her quickly, “I would never do something like that on purpose.”

Minoes’ expression was indecipherable. Nevertheless, It felt as if the atmosphere had brightened a bit.

“Well, I suppose you’re feeling the consequences of your actions now,” she told me. “It’s definitely not a pretty grave, but you dug it yourself.”

Grimacing, I nodded somberly. A very practical answer, but I had come to appreciate that of her.

“Um… One more thing, Minoes.”

“Yes?”

“Well, I was wondering,” I began. “If you’d maybe like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend? I mean, I sort of can’t… I’m a bit busy right now.”

I shifted anxiously, checking for Madam Pince.

“Sure,” Minoes replied quietly, shrugging. “Actually, that sounds like it could be fun.”

Relief flooded me, and I sighed happily.

“Great!”

“Oh, but is it alright if I invite Scarlet to come along with us?” Minoes asked. “We all had such a nice time on the Hogwarts Express together, after all.”

This suggestion thrilled me even more.

“Yes, of course, that’s totally fine,” I said, nodding.

Her dark lips twitched into a smile.

“Okay, then. See you around,” Minoes finished. Cradling her heavy tomes to her chest, she spun on her heels and walked away.

“Be seeing you…”

Hogsmeade…

This was it, a little scrap of hope I could latch onto. My mood lifted, I finished my hour of studying and then set off to do more chores for Professor Snape.

By Sunday, my five seconds of fame had largely blown over, as I was overshadowed by the Weasley twins’ typical shenanigans, which I was very glad for. For a while my reputation as a quiet, absent-minded student had been in great peril, and so to celebrate my return to normalcy, I decided to visit Hagrid.

My neck wound in my sapphire scarf, I set off across campus grounds, the grass still damp and mucky from rain. The weather had picked up a bit, but it was still quite windy, blowing strong, bracing gales that whipped stray hairs powerfully against my face. The fresh air helped to clear my head a little, though. Today, I also wanted to help Hagrid to prepare lessons like I occasionally did last year. I hadn’t been able to speak to him properly until now because Professor Snape kept me so busy, but now I had been cleared of all charges, I finally had time.

On arrival, I knocked heavily against the door.

“Come in!” Hagrid bellowed, and I entered.

I paused. Hagrid wasn’t alone; Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were here as well, nursing huge, grimy mugs the sizes of buckets.

“Um, hi,” I said quietly.

“It’s you!” Ron cried, his freckled face breaking into a grin. “The crazy firestarter girl!”

“Ron!” Hermione hissed, nudging his elbow.

Harry took a swig of his tea. I smiled awkwardly.

“Jas!” Hagrid beamed, cutting through the tension. “Sip’a water?”

“Oh, Thankyou.”

I sat down, and he slid the entire pitcher over to me.

“Hey, Fang,” I said quietly. Fang the boarhound licked sloppily into my hand, probably hankering for the remnants of buttered toast left there.

Eager to change the subject, I turned to Hermione.

“We’re both in Ancient Runes, aren’t we?”

Hermione’s face lit up at this.

“Yes, we are! Professor Babbling is brilliant, isn’t she? When she can stay focused, anyway…”

“Yeah, with a lot of help from you,” I chuckled. “Everyone in that class adores you, since you ask all the questions no one else wants to ask.”

She smiled happily at me.

“We’re in Hagrid’s class together,“ Harry finally spoke. “With Luna Lovegood.”

I looked at him. This was my first time properly talking to Harry Potter, though of course I knew his name. Meeting him face to face, I realised he probably dealt with far more unwanted attention than I did, and thinking this, I tried desperately to stare at anywhere else but the scar on his forehead.

“Ah, that reminds me,” Hagrid grinning beneath his dark, tangled beard. “How’d yeh like them Kelpies? Fascinatin’ creatures, eh?”

“Oh, Hagrid, I loved them, they were all so wonderful,” I said warmly, and Hagrid beamed with pride.

“Yeah, they were alright,” agreed Harry.

“Hah… Right, need ter’ bring in somethin,’ hold on,” Hagrid grunted, almost toppling the whole table as he stood and shuffled out of the hut.

“And - um - it was a great distraction, after the mess I’d made earlier,” I admitted, sheepish.

“I heard it was bloody brilliant,” Ron mumbled on, ignoring Hermione’s warning glare. “Seamus kept talking about it. Wish I could’ve been there…”

“Ron, I’m very sure she doesn’t want to repeat it,” said Hermione, glancing over to me. “Right?”

“Actually, it’s fine,” I said quickly, surprising myself.

“But it’s not like you think, Ron. Um, It was more that my wand backfired, it wasn’t intentional.”

This didn’t seem to discourage him at all, though.

“I’ve had that before, too,” he winced. “When my wand broke, y’know, it kind of snapped - remember, Harry? - and my spells went bad.”

“Mine’s just like that,” I told him, shaking my head. “It’s always been a fickle thing.”

“Shame you didn’t get Malfoy, as well, though,” Harry remarked dryly. “Both of them probably deserve it just as much.”

“Really, you two,” scolded Hermione.

But I couldn’t help cracking a grin. The absurd hilarity of the situation had finally hit me. Laughing about it - instead of moping - was better in the end.

“But I was sort of expecting things to go wrong, somehow,” I continued; I was on a roll now. “The day before, I was in Divination, and… I got the Grim.”

Fang whined and rested his head in my lap, slobbering great big globs of saliva all over my jeans. I scratched him affectionately between the ears.

“Tell you you’d drop dead, I ‘spose?” Harry grumbled.

I nodded, almost giggling in remembrance.

“Well, Professor Trelawney is very flaky, isn’t she,” said Hermione reprovingly. “Honestly, Jasmine, I don’t think you should worry about it.”

“Yeah, It’s not as bad as Trelawney says it is,” Harry agreed, and then he added: “Actually, when I saw it, some - er - good things happened, too.”

“They did?” Curious, I raised my eyebrows.

But Harry said no more, merely exchanged furtive glances with Ron and Hermione. I was encroaching on a social circle I didn’t belong to yet, I realised.

Just then, Hagrid burst in through the door.

“Ooh,” I couldn’t help but exclaim. “What’s in there?”

Huffing and puffing, he was hefting a large, lumpy sack over his massive shoulder. It thunked as he set it down, resting it nearby the hearth.

“‘Fraid tha’s a secret,” Hagrid said, winking.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all looked quite hesitant.

“Yeh have ter’ keep ‘em nice and warm, yeh see,” Hagrid went on, misty-eyed as he gazed at it. He swaddled it lovingly in a patched blanket.

“Hagrid…” Hermione had knit her brows worriedly.

Our attention was swiftly diverted away from this mysterious sack as Hagrid broke out the rock cakes. Conversation was light and pleasant from then on, with no mention of Professor Snape or Grims. Ron was a laugh, and I found that Harry had a very dry, sarcastic wit that was enjoyable to spar with. Hermione and I, the resident cat lovers, even agreed on a play date of sorts for Crookshanks and Peaches, before we were eventually sent away:

“Well, ‘s awful late!” Hagrid boomed, flushing up to his ears in a way that was decidedly suspicious. “Yeh’d best be goin’ off, then, off yeh trot!”

After he ushered us out, we tramped across the campus grounds back to Hogwarts. The frigid September air whistled right through me, and I tightened my scarf around my neck, shivering. Still disconnected from the trio’s link of friendship, I lagged behind, watching as the evening stars peeked out from the clouds and twinkled. For a while, I lingered among the howling gales.

And then, underneath the bruising sky, I saw it: There, lurking silently on the horizon, was an enormous, shaggy black dog. Dread washed over me like a bucket of ice water, and I rushed to rejoin the group. No, it probably belonged to Hagrid… But that foreboding image stayed with me right up till midnight, as I lay beside Peaches, her rumbling purrs soothing me into sleep.

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myers-meadow · 9 months

Text

Hogwarts uni AU: Draught of Peace

Chapter 2: Draught of Peace. Chapter 1 here.

Pairing: Severus Snape x oc Minoes.

Summary: University life continues. A mishap on Jasmine's part messes up what should have been a wonderful Potion's class, and Minoes' has trouble with a persistant migraine. Jasmine belongs to @devil-doll13, Scarlet belongs to @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better.

Warnings: none.

Word count: 4255

Dividers by delishlydelightfuldividers.

Tuesday.

I could just feel the time of my menstruation approaching. The morning started a little earlier, with how early I was to bed the night before, and I took my time getting ready. Layers of myself; spider necklace, strings and strings of beads, clinking together faithfully, the same braid I slept in pinned up again. I cast a similar spell as the one I used last night, to make little stars glimmer in my hair. They won’t last all day, but that’s alright. The headscarf of choice today is the deep blue one with the forget-me-nots.

At the breakfast table, I sank down next to Scarlet, who sat by herself, reading a book. I pulled down the scarf as I reached the table – it’s something for in the hallways and outside, but not during lectures or meals.

“Good morning,” I greet as I sit down. They closed their book, checking the page number to remember later. Must’ve ran out of bookmarks.

“Morning. You greet me as if we haven’t seen each other as soon as we woke up,” she said.

“Hmm, I thought it’d be impolite not to say anything. How did you sleep?”

“Decent,” was all they said and I helped myself to one of the cereals on the table.

“You know,” I started absentmindedly, “it’s all fun with the house colours and the robes and all, but I can’t help but think we got unlucky.”

Scarlet hummed noncommittally.

“Green doesn’t look good on me. It clashes with almost every other colour besides the usual colours that match with everything. Don’t get me wrong, I also wear black all the time, but look how pretty this scarf is.”

“Forget-me-nots,” they affirmed, with a short nod.

“Yeah. And it’s blue. With this green? I hate it.”

“Then don’t wear it. I like green.”

“That’d feel like losing. It’s windy, I need the scarf for when I go to Herbology, ” I grumbled, then I realised I’d have to eat quick to get some food in me before breakfast is over. “I have Art now, gotta run, see you, Scarlet!”

Wizardly Art, taught by the wonderful teacher, Professor De Smet, all the way from Belgium, who greeted us with a large projection of Witches on the Sabbath (1878) by Spanish painter Luis Ricardo Falero.

“Who of you knows this painting?”

Like the overeager art school ho, I raised my hand instantly. He pointed at me to let me know to go ahead. “Witches during the Sabbath.”

“Very good,” and he clicked to the next slide, showing my minute mistake in title, and more information about the artwork. “Falero is one of those painters famed in the muggle world for his female nudes, but who has made a very different art that he kept for fellow wizards only. Now some of his works are in private galleries of some large pureblood families, or in the homes of descendants of his family.”

Dipping my quill in the ink, I took notes eagerly. The slides switched to one of his magical artworks; a beautiful female nude, with her holding a wand, posing coquettishly. Professor De Smet continued.

“Originally taught in Paris, student of the similarly well-known painter Gabriel Ferrier, he devoted himself to the arts after failed experiments in the sciences. Yes, this man was one of those who seemed to want to do it all. Now, you may be wondering; how did he get away with his portrayal of witches in the manner he did?”

Art flew by and I hurried to the greenhouses for Herbology after. Neville greeted me, and I sat down next to him. The last seat. He must’ve saved it for me. I smiled gratefully at him.

“Nice of you to join us, as well,” said Professor Sprout about my tardiness. Untying my scarf and getting my quill out, I tried looking in Neville’s book to see the subject of the day.

“Sopophorous plant,” whispered Neville, leaning in so closely that we bumped heads as I righted myself with book in hand. “Damn, ouch!” he hissed quietly, rubbing his forehead.

Sprout sent us a stern look, hands on her hips.

“Ahem. If the two lovebirds back there could pay attention, that’d be great,” she said, lips pursed. I elbowed Neville to pay attention and he did, sheepishly. Gods, let this be a good year and not let me fail Herbology.

I met up with Scarlet during lunch.

“I saw on the notice board that duelling is tonight, are you joining again this year?”

Scarlets face brightened up by the mention of her favourite after class activity. “I am.”

We both stared out at the lunch table. Eventually I plucked a hot cross bun from one of the plates.

“You miss the food back home?” I asked. They helped themselves to something, and poured a glass of pumpkin juice.

“You know it,” she chuckled. “Dinners are really good though, just not the bread.”

“I may ask my parents to send some,” I said, thinking aloud. “They probably have enough going on, though.”

“Hey Minoes, hey Scarlet,” said a familiar voice. Anatoli, who climbed over the bench to sit next to me. I scooted over to make room, smiling at him.

“Hey! I missed you during Art just now. I though you were also taking it this year?”

“I am – just had a thing with the…” he pointed over his shoulder, letting his voice trail off, and shrugged. “We have Ethics after this, though.”

“Can’t wait,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm. Then I checked with Scarlet, who hadn’t said a word. A little suspicious of a new face perhaps. She didn’t know which of the Slytherins was nice and which would call her a slur to her face, after all. “Scarlet, this is Anatoli, my dear friend from Ethics.”

They exchanged polite greetings, but it felt like it was little use. At least I tried. Anatoli seemed eager to talk with just me, so I left it.

“What did I miss in Art?”

After the most boring Ethics class, it was finally time to retire. I was tired from having people around me, and left my headscarf on during dinner to relieve at least some of the noise of the Great Hall. After eating, the library was my sanctuary. Thankfully that one alcove I inhabited during the previous year was empty and I settled down to get a good start at the various assignments for the different classes. Something about uses of lavender for Potions, the ethics of Plato and how to apply them to the use of love and hate potions for Ethics, a study of one artwork of own choosing by Falero for Art, and for Herbology… well. A disaster. I’ll have to find Neville tomorrow.

As I penned down the different uses of lavender, making sure to include information on how the methods to prepare them effect their workings, my mind kept wandering off to the Potion’s class. Just the smell of the classroom was enough to make me yearn for the Professor. My father was proud when he heard about my good grades in Potions, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was because Professor Snape is just a really good teacher. He has this way of explaining things during lectures that just make them stick in my brain. And unlike the other teachers, who waved me off when I came to them with difficult questions, sighing and rolling their eyes, he actually took me seriously. Not only that; he only gave cryptic answers, which forced me to find the solution on my own – which is incredible. To him it all seems to come so naturally…

Images of him crushing up hellebore petals, beautiful bony hands measuring the ingredients, testing the temperature with a wet finger to the side of the cauldron, his at ease expression as he stirred – then looked up and met my eyes… A single moment last year that still was impossible to forget.

I slammed my book closed. Nevermind. Better continue tomorrow, if all my brain wants to do is daydream.

Retreated back to the Slytherin common room after the library closed for the night. My second night at Hogwarts and I was already going back so late… The lack of students in the halls brought me peace. The tall windows of the common room, looking out over the dark lake calmed me. It’s so dark and serene out there. Barely anyone was left, just some smaller groups of students, quietly chatting or reading amongst themselves. I stood so close to the window that I could feel the cold seep through the glass and stared at the underwater vegetation swaying gently in the stream.

Wednesday.

Terrible headache. The blood started, too. A rainy day; black wool headscarf with roses and the nice fringe. Changed the spider necklace for the sun and moon one, then layered on the strings of beads, the lipstick, enchanted Saturn earrings, the rest of me. Black blouse, velvet skirt. During breakfast, I finished writing a letter to a friend back home.

I was glad to spot Jasmine during Charms, sitting somewhere near the front of the class. Scarlet had found her before I did, and sat on her other side. Both greeted me.

“I dearly hope the assignment was for next week,” I mumbled, as I sit down next to her.

“Yeah, it is,” she nodded, kindly smiling.

“How is Peaches settling in?”

She perked up at mention of her dear cat. “Quite well! She misses me now that I leave her alone for most of the day, but she adjusts quite well.”

Class came to an end, and I finished by writing a reminder to do the assignment before Monday.

“Where do you usually study?” I asked Jasmine as she pushed her book into her bag, the quill in a separate compartment.

“Common room or library. There are some spots that are quite nice in there. How about you two?”

“Library, but in the dorms as well. I like the view of the lake,” said Scarlet. “The couches are more comfortable than the wooden chairs in the library.”

“There’s this little alcove that I like in the library, but there’s plenty spots quiet enough for me. Maybe we could meet up and study together sometime,” I proposed. Both of them nodded.

“Could be fun. Always good to feel less alone.”

“Bring Peaches,” I grinned, and our paths parted.

After classes, I worked on assignments, and after finishing some on time, I made my way up to the Astronomy tower to see Hannah Theresa. Giving her treats and pets, she was happy to see me. Finally, after a nice time enjoying the view, I gave her the letter I wrote during breakfast and watched her fly off. Magnificent creature.

Thursday.

Terrible migraine persisted. Ran out of potions for it. Made a mental note to stop by the Potion’s classroom or Professor Snape’s office to ask if I could make myself some. Put on the layers of me like zipping up a difficult theatre costume. Realised that it would soon be done with the summer weather, so I choose a my nice, yet not so warm, sheer spiderweb lace shirt instead of a blouse. Back to the spider necklace, to fit with the theme. Perhaps I should tinker around and find a spell to get artificial spiderwebs in my hair. It’d be cute.

“Good morning, Scarlet,” I greeted, seeing we were both awake at the same time.

“Morning,” they said, rubbing their eyes before lowering their glasses.

What classes are on today? Alchemy, Potions and Ethics. The black wool scarf from yesterday was too precious to get messed up with alchemy and potion fumes, so I choose the another black one, a nice cotton blend with soft coloured hydrangea. Hair pinned up so nothing could fall into a cauldron by accident. The ritual of it calmed me down. I was buzzing with excitement to see Professor Snape again.

Alchemy was everything but a breeze, but nothing could beat my good mood. Even Scarlet noticed it, as we walked to the dungeons.

“You’re so cheerful today,” they remarked. “Is it because of the particular class we’re heading to now?”

“Hmm, maybe. Did wake up with a terrible headache, though.”

“You should see Madam Pomfrey. She’s a great help.”

“I’ll think on it. My dad helped me a lot over the summer and we finally made a recipe that actually helps with the specific type of migraine I get.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to spend more time hanging around Snape.”

Ah. Ouch. “That’s really mean and not true, actually,” I said, keeping my tone flat. We reached the classroom and were joined by our favourite Ravenclaw friend. “Hey Jasmine.”

“Time for Potions again,” she said, looking dejected.

“It’s not too bad. We’ll help you, if you want? Let’s meet up in the library when we can and we will help,” I said.

We entered. Draco jeered at Scarlet, but the Professor’s entrance ended that quickly, thank goodness.

“Today we will be brewing the Draught of Peace,” he started, “a potion meant to calm the mind and relieve anxieties.”

My heart surged at the sound of his voice. I was glad there was this large, safe distance between us. Glad to know I could admire him from afar, to feel inspired by his mastery of the art of Potions, to push myself to greater things hoping for only the smallest bit of praise… Oh right, we need ingredients.

As we started with preparing what we needed, Scarlet leant to me.

“What is Malfoy’s problem today?” they hissed.

“Maybe a fly died in his pumpkin juice this morning.”

Starting the potion, I used the bottom of the mortar to do the heavy lifting of crushing the ingredients, trying my best not to make a lot of noise as I slammed it down to break the unicorn horn and the moonstones.

“Miss Vleerebosch, is that how we crush porcupine quills now?” His voice so close to my ear made me jolt. I looked back to see him examining my work station with one eyebrow raised. Displeasure was written all over his face and I sighed.

“It’s quicker, Professor.”

But he already moved on to Jasmine’s cauldron. I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing the headache away.

“And what have we here? Tell me, Miss Daly,” his voice was different now, more than just displeased. “Precisely where in your textbook does it specify that your potion should look like an oil spill?”

Ouch. I glanced at Jasmine to check if she was okay, but my cauldron bubbled dangerously, so I quickly moved to lower the head and add the two drops of hellebore syrup. All the while, Professor Snape continued lecturing poor Jasmine. She already had it tough in Potions…

A bang made me look up, only to see that Snape’s robe caught fire, and a stunned Jasmine standing there, wand in hand.

“What,” he spat through gritted teeth. He looked mortified. “Exactly did you just do!?”

Jasmine fumbled over her words, eventually settling on: ““Well I just- Sir, you’re, um, very flammable, and…”

Flammable? What a mess. Having caught the attention of the entire classroom, the Gryffindor didn’t hide their joy at seeing the hated professor on fire. Shocked as I was, the absurdity of it all made me laugh awkwardly. The Slytherins weren’t any better, snickering quietly, forgetting all about their potions.

Another loud clatter, and Finnigan’s cauldron fell of the table, spilling its boiling contents all over the floor.

Still on fire, Professor Snape seethed with rage, not doing anything to extinguish himself. Merlin, what do I do?

Deciding to risk it, I cast a spell to summon water, pointing it at him. It worked, and the flames went out. I breathed. The smell of smoke lingered.

“Mr Finnigan!” Snape snapped, whirling around to face Seamus. His clothes were so badly damaged they fell to the floor. “That’s twenty points from Gryffindor, and a failing grade!”

Finnigan’s laughter died down quickly, as did the rest of the class. The spell was broken. Laughter made way for apprehension and fear.

Seeing the hot orange liquid bubbling dangerously on the floor, another disaster waiting to happen, I said, frowning: “Clean that up, Finnigan. Before it ignites!”

“Oh, right!”

Seamus scrambled to clean it up himself, but Scarlet was quicker and did it for him: “Scourgify!”

I shook my head, and took over Jasmine’s potion as that didn’t look too good either. Professor Snape’s fury had her shaking in her boots. What a mess.

Needless to say, class ended quickly and terribly.

After lunch, I studied a bit in the library, before Ethics started. The cramps were setting in fully now, and conjuring up a hot water bottle just didn’t cut it. Not to speak of the migraines. It was scary to think of the mood Snape would be in, but perhaps I really should stop by the dungeons. Before I ruin my grades this early because I can’t focus past the pain.

Ethics was suffering, but I tried my best to make the most of it with Dana and Anatoli. I hoped they couldn’t tell that I wasn’t in it. The first of the gossip about what happened during Potions already circulated in the classroom and the hallways. Setting fire to a teacher would have the school lively with whispers, let alone that teacher being Professor Snape. I felt bad for him. After class, we chatted while walking back to the common room.

“I heard your crush on Snape has ended,” said Dana, stretching after the lecture was over. I dropped my book and quill in my bag, hoping the notes I took were good enough to revise later.

“Who told you that?”

“Is it true?” Anatoli perked up.

Dana nodded eagerly and got up to walk out of the classroom. “She had a summer fling!”

I rolled my eyes. Better play along. We entered the hallway. “Let’s discuss this in the dorms at least,” I proposed. They agreed. Once we were in the common room, the subject immediately shifted back to me, unfortunately.

“So tell us about your summer lover,” pushed Anatoli.

“Alright, alright,” I held up my hands in mock surrender. “He studied philosophy with me when I went to muggle university, he only listens to Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan and he played guitar for me, and we went star gazing a lot. That enough?”

“Who are they?” asked Dana, and I remembered she wouldn’t be familiar with muggle artists. We found our familiar seats on the couches by one of the fireplaces.

“Muggle musicians,” and I quickly made some comparisons to some artists that she would know. “Essentially a romantic soul.”

Dana looked at me, her expression serious. “You dated a muggle?”

“Hm?” I frowned. “Sure did. Liked him a whole lot, too.”

“I knew you studied at a muggle university before this, but…” her voice trailed off, eyes shifting everywhere but to me. I looked at her sharply, glad she didn’t look at me or I’d frighten her. Anatoli laid a warm hand on my knee for a brief second.

“What do you mean?” I encouraged her, voice betraying nothing but curiosity.

“Didn’t think you’d enjoy being with one. Since, you know. You’re a witch. It’s not… It must be hard.” She changed her posture, growing uncomfortable.

“It was pretty fun, actually,” I chuckled. “We still write letters sometimes.”

Then she looked at me, sudden and unexpected. “I just wouldn’t want you to settle for someone like him, when there’s so many good wizards out there to choose from.”

What a diplomatic answer. Very telling, but diplomatic.

“Thank you for looking out for me,” I said, and decided to end it with a joke: “Love hardly feels like choice, or I’d never have liked Professor Snape.”

That lightened the mood, and both of them laughed softly.

“Well, good wizard or not, I hardly think he’s a suitable lover for anyone,” Anatoli chuckled.

“Every pot has a lid!” I said cheerfully. “But I have to go, I should borrow a book for Herbology before I forget about it again. Bye, see you at dinner!”

With that disaster averted, and making a quick note in my dairy to not trust Dana too much, I gathered all the courage I could find until I stood in front of the Potion’s classroom. After knocking and hearing a gruff ‘come in’, I entered. Professor Snape stood by the shelves that lined the walls, tinkering with bottles of ingredients.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” I greeted, and closed the door behind me. “Are you… alright? That was quite the situation earlier.”

There were no traces of what happened anywhere. Good. The look Professor Snape gave me as I came closer was the most hateful look I’ve ever seen him wear. It shocked me, felt like my heart froze over.

“What do you hope to accomplish by asking that?” He looked like a wounded animal.

“I worry,” was all I could think to say. “Is it forbidden to care?”

“I don’t need your pity!” He moved towards me, towering and casting frightful shadows across the walls. When he reached me, my eyes widened in shock, he gripped me by the shoulders and pushed me to the door.

“Professor-“

“Get out! Get out!”

The door slammed in my face. Fuck. What now? Jesus Christ. Another sharp stab of pain pounded through my temples. Ok. Fuck it. I knocked rapidly on the door.

“Get away!”

I kept knocking urgently. “I came to brew a potion! Let me at least use the supplies!”

No answer. My knuckles hurt by now, but nothing beats the migraine. Then the door swung open, so unexpectedly that I almost lost my balance. He jerked me inside by a sharp grip on my arm. The door locked behind me.

“At least do it in silence,” he hissed, his eyes shooting fire. I nodded, keeping quiet, but my frustration grew.

After gathering ingredients, I sat in my usual seat and prepared to start brewing.

“What potion,” Snape’s cutting voice shook me from my thoughts and I looked up over the cutting board, “is important enough to disturb me for?”

It wasn’t a genuine question. It was him seeking to intimidate me.

With similar venom, I replied: “Perhaps you can recognise it from the ingredients and seeing the preparation? Surely a great teacher such as yourself would be able to.” While I knew full well this was a potion my dad and I invented.

The knife came down on the chopping board a little too harshly. The spikes of pain made me want to retaliate anything thrown at me, and somewhere deep down I knew that’s what Snape felt as well. Yet I couldn’t find it in me to let myself be treated like an emotional punching bag today. So I brewed in silence, ignoring the prickling feeling of his eyes on me.

The tinkering of glass against glass as he arranged his ingredients soon put me more at ease. Brewing was always calming for me, and I breathed in deep once I put in the crushed lavender buds. Good. It’s coming along. Every once in awhile I’d sense he was looking at me, and I’d stare right back. It seemed he was truly trying to see what potion I was making.

A long hour and a half later, the potion was done, and I ladled it carefully into vials. I felt better just by knowing that now I’d have enough to last me a week. After barely waiting for it to cool down, I moved to drink one now, but Snape cut in. He stood in front of me suddenly, peering down at me past his nose.

“That’s not a potion I’m familiar with. If you see it fit to poison yourself, go ahead.”

“It’s a recipe of my own,” I replied, “for the migraines I get.” And I drank the vial to the last drop. He raised an eyebrow.

“Leech juice, lavender buds, salamander blood, poppy head, unicorn horn, honeywater, billywig sting slime, moondew drops, chizpurfle fangs, dried nettle, dittany, thaumatagoria; that’s quite a rare ingredient for an at home remedy,” he sounded critical. “I assume that’s your take on a Wiggenweld Potion.”

Under his scrutinising stare, I hastily sat up and threw the peels in the bin.

“It started out as such, but I kept changing ingredients around until it worked for me. My dad helped, of course,” I said, cleaning the rest of the workspace as quickly as I could.

Professor Snape remained quiet.

“You’re welcome to try some, if you ever get a migraine,” I joked.

“If it’s done, you can get out.” But his voice was softer. We stared at each other for a long moment. Slowly, my headache faded. Still, neither of us moved a muscle. His eyes darted over my face, seeking something, and he seemed calmed, much calmer than he was when I came in. His handsome face, regal and gaunt at the same time, was enough to take my breath away. His dark eyes were hypnotising, every time I tried looking away, I was sucked right back in. His lips parted slightly, as though there was something to say, but it never came. Then, a knock sounded on the door, and the spell was broken. Quickly, I gathered my vials and ran off.

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drinenoir · 2 years

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I'll never not think it's funny when someone invents that a known person died and everyone buys it only for said known person to reappear, alive and pissed off at their death reports.

#tumblr #tumblr meme #mino raiola #it happened once with a professor in college #and my dark sense of humor is here for it

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facewithoutheart · 11 months

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#the simon snow trilogy #poll #muppets #not doing this for WS bc obviously it’s Lamb #someone draw me this okthanksbyeeeee

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facelessoldgargoyle · 3 months

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Amy Dallon as the Minotaur

The Metatextual Monster: how reading Amy Dallon on multiple levels is necessary to understanding her.

I'm gonna be real, this started out as a daydream about drawing Taylor as Icarus, but I care way more about the Minotaur, and Taylor isn't the Minotaur. Possibly some art about this to follow, but I type faster than I draw. ~700 words.

How many of you have read House of Leaves? Wikipedia. The most important thing to know is that House of Leaves is three stories, which occur nested within each other. The story at the heart is a documentary about a house in which a closet door suddenly appears, which eventually grows into a hallway and then a labyrinth. The next layer is a blind professor's commentary on this documentary, which was discovered scattered around his apartment after his death. The top layer is the chronicle of a tattoo artist trying to reconstruct the commentary. All this to say: it is a book about meta-commentary, which makes describing its themes difficult.

In House of Leaves, the professor has tried to remove all references to the Minotaur by burning the pages of his notes about him. The tattoo artist writes down everything that failed to burn, and indicates that it was burned using red, struck through text. The Minotaur is a character which does not exist, but he haunts the book.

On the top level, he represents the constant editing, rewriting, and destruction of the book itself. Down a level, he is a monster who is stalking the characters in their minds. A claw mark is found next to the professors dead body. Down a level, he's the guilt and shame growing within each author which they project into the house. The labyrinth in the house is a black hole, it signifies nothing, but the human mind impresses its own ideas and image into it.

I'm now realizing that I've written three paragraphs without mentioning Amy once. Shit. Ok. The good stuff.

On the level closest to the text, Amy the character is the malformed, rejected child. When her malformation makes itself known, she is permanently rejected and confined in an inescapable prison. Like the Minotaur in House of Leaves, her ghost haunts the people who fear her and obsess over her. They can't stop thinking about her (Victoria) despite how that obsession only hurts them. When Amy's status as monster can be instrumentalized, it is, like how the Minotaur of myth was used as a method of execution for the youth of Athens. She's set free and used once again.

On another level, Amy Dallon haunts Worm. Her arc is fully fleshed out, and it is tragedy. Like the Minotaur, on one level she must been seen as symbolic. She represents the self-destruction of the nuclear family. In one version of the myth, the Minotaur is the bastard son of Minos. The king did not sacrifice a bull sent to him by Poseidon, and so the queen was cursed to fall in love with the bull. Here, the Minotaur represents the ultimate perversion of the natural order. The king did not honor the god, and so the wife did not honor her husband, and so the child did not honor his mother. Amy represent the same overturning of the natural order. Carol hated the daughter, and so the daughter destroyed her sister. These stories suggest that the so-called natural order actually has something deeply wrong with it!

On the top level, Amy is a scapegoat for the audience. Like the Minotaur in House of Leaves, the reader projects their own hatred on her; they treat her with the same lesbophobia as the text does, if you read her a layer below the symbolic critique of the family, if you read her as a character. People consistently write about her as having an incest kink, or other deviant, highly stigmatized fetish. People post about her being dirty, or ill-intentioned. This reading accepts her as ontologically evil, rather than a product of an oppressive structure. The exact form of the Minotaur (deviant, dirty, ill-intentioned) varies from person to person. He acts as a Rorschach, illuminating what the observer finds offensive.

Like the Minotaur in House of Leaves, Amy must be read on multiple levels. She is a character, she is a metaphor, she is a mirror. Isolate any of these levels from the other, and they fail to make sense. Separating the symbolic from the personal is often what leads people to falling into the trap of projecting lesbophobic narratives onto her!

The Minotaur is out to get you, and Amy is too.

#thinking about that lesbian again #amy dallon #wormblr #i'm like. the one person on tumblr who's read both house of leaves and worm so this effortpost has a target audience of just me. alas.#i stg i'm onto something tho #op

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larkral · 3 months

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Happy Wednesday! The saga of getting my expensive medication renewed has been resolved, my old house is on the market, Friday Prime is being posted, and my birthday is next week. A BANNER TIME.

Also I've been spending all of my writing time on finally (already, always), and I'm going to post the first chapter next week on my birthday as a gift to myself. Because I can!!!

Anyway, thanks for the tags @artsyunderstudy, @mooncello, @confused-bi-queer, @nightimedreamersworld, @valeffelees, @youarenevertooold! I will give you some of my WIP.

"Yeah, I know. She said she thinks probably her maths teacher in year ten was gay, but it wasn't the kind of thing that anyone talked about." "Huh." "Do you think Mrs. Possibelf is gay?" I laugh, "I dunno." She pretends to think. "What about Professor Minos?" I mirror her faux thinking face. "Dunno." "Miss Christie?" I roll my eyes, at least, as much as I can roll my eyes. "Aha!" she says, "Do you think The Mage is gay?" That one makes us both laugh. "The only thing The Mage is gay for is prophecy," Baz says from behind us. "And Robert's Rules of Order," Penny adds. "Why are we talking about who The Mage is attracted to?" Keris and I collapse into each other laughing.

Keris is in it for the bit. I don't know if I'm going to keep this section but I like it, so.

End of the day, so I'm not going to tag anyone else. Happy Wednesday!

#finally (already always)#aka #simon's two mums #snowbaz #simon snow #keris whatever-her-last-name-is #baz pitch #(here he is #snarking for real)#penny bunce #carry on

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orions-tears · 1 year

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Close to the Sun - Aesop Sharp [ Part 4]

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x fem!Reader

Themes: Angst, fluff, reminiscent of that one scene from Tangled

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 5 are linked :)

You spent the past week in between your cubicle at the ministry and the Hogwarts library. There's got to be something you're missing. Dittany, Bubotuber Pus and Phoenix tears. There must be something else... You've buried yourself in every book you can find and suddenly it hits you. The one thing no one's written about. Dragon's blood. That has to be it! Right? Honestly, you're taking a shot in the dark but it's worth it to help Aesop. You gather your things and make your way to the Greenhouse at Hogwarts.

"Mirabel!" you shout, running up to the professor.

She spins around and smiles at you. "Hello, my flower! It's been so long! How are you, my dear?"

You smile back and hug her, pulling away and hoisting yourself to sit on the potting table. "I'm wonderful, how are you?"

She folds her hands. "Fantastic! How is it going with Professor Sharp?"

You grip your satchel and grin. "Wonderfully. He's helping me with my potion and I think I've finally found the final ingredient."

She frowns and tilts her head. "I thought the Phoenix tears were the final ingredient...?"

You sigh and shake your head. "I thought that too but it didn't work. I know now what I'm missing! Dragon's blood."

She hesitates and puts her hands on her hips. "Sounds dangerous. Is he going with you?"

You shake your head again. "I couldn't ask him to do that."

"Do what?" a voice asks from the other side of the classroom.

You twist around to see Aesop walking down the stairs towards you. "Oh, umm...nothing."

You turn back around, looking down at you bag.

"She says the last ingredient is dragon blood," Mirabel says, concerned.

You look up at her with a look of betrayal and Aesop walks over, folding his arms.

"Not happening," he says, flatly.

You laugh and get off the table. "I know this is it! I'm getting that blood, no matter what it takes."

Mirabel whimpers, putting her hands on her head. Aesop sighs, looking at you.

"Do you know the story of Icarus?" he asks.

"I don't think so," you reply, furrowing your brows.

He leans against a table, taking a breath. "Icarus was the son of a craftsman in Crete. The wife of King Minos had fallen in love with the bull, giving birth to the minotaur. Icarus' father was commissioned to build a labyrinth to hold the minotaur. Theseus, the founder of Athens, eventually came to Crete to kill the minotaur and leave with the princess. Unfortunately, Theseus had killed the minotaur with a weapon created by Icarus' father."

"Hang on," you interject. "What does this have to do with the dragon's blood?"

He shakes his head. "Listen to the whole story."

You sigh and nod.

"When King Minos found out about the father's betrayal, he imprisoned him and his son in a tower above the palace. Icarus became restless and wanted to explore the lands that lay below. His father was desperate to escape and thought of an idea to leave the tower. He created wings from feathers and wax for him and his son that would fly them away from the palace and from King Minos. He taught Icarus how to use them but warned him not to get to close to the sun as the wax would melt. Soon, they made their escape and flew up above the palace, leaving Crete, but Icarus was consumed by the need to explore. He flew higher and higher towards the sun and the wax on his wings melted. He fell from the sky, his father unable to save him, and fell into the sea and drowned."

You fold your arms and frown at him. "That was a depressing story, Aesop."

He chuckles. "An important one. If you fly too close to the sun, (Y/N), your wings will melt."

You shake your head and grab your bag. "I'll be fine. I can do this. I need to help you." You quickly leave the greenhouse, readying yourself for what's to come.

Aesop looks at Mirabel and sighs. "I'll have to follow her, won't I?"

Mirabel, nods, holding her hands to her chest. "I'm afraid so..."

***

Now the question is where do you find a dragon? You quickly made your way up into the hills of the coast, hoping to find a dragon lair. You've been planning how you'll even be able to kill it as you climb up. You really hope Aesop didn't follow you. If he gets injured because he's helping you, you'll never forgive yourself. Confringo, diffindo, glacius, bombardo, immobulus... a curse if you really need it.

You hear a roar in the distance and look up, seeing wings disappear behind the peak. You swallow hard and keep climbing. Eventually you shuffle through a cave in the mountain, emerging out of the other side. A Hebridean Black rests on a boulder on the other side of the clearing. You take a deep breath, shutting your eyes tightly. You set your bag down and pull your wand out. Standing up, you open your eyes and make your way towards the dragon. It turns to you and roars, taking off into the sky. You groan and watch it leave. Suddenly, you hear footsteps. A lot of them. You spin around and see poachers running into the clearing. This is going to be harder than you thought...

You start to fight off the poachers but the dragon returns. Focusing on both parties isn't as easy as you'd hoped it would be. You dodge the dragon's flames but get hit with diffindo as you recover. It goes on like this for what feels like hours and you're getting tired. You've barely landed any hits on the actual dragon you came here for. You spin back to the dragon, ready to attack as you feel a sudden pain between your shoulder blades as you're sent to the ground. Your vision fades out quickly as a blinding pain surges through your body. You didn't hear the curse...

You can feel tears streaming down your face and that's about all you can feel aside from the lightening moving through your body. Your breathing is labored as you collapse in a ball on the ground. The pain is supposed to go away...Why won't it go away...? Suddenly you feel a pair of hands on your shoulders. You panic and try to move away but then you feel the hand on your head. You blink a couple times, your vision slowly coming back. You can just barely see Aesop leaning over you, worry written on his face. You try to move onto your hands and knees but whimper in pain, falling down again. Dark lines run over your arms, the darker places feeling like fire in your veins.

The dragon... You look up and it's lying, lifeless on the ground. Did he kill it...? He pulls you into a sitting position against his chest and moves a vial in front of you. You can feel he's speaking to you, but you can't hear what he's saying. He helps you to drink the potion and you feel your body get warm. Really warm... You close your eyes, unable to stay awake.

***

"I can't believe it really was dragon's blood..." says a voice in the distance.

"She's lucky...if it hadn't been, she'd have died," says another, sighing.

You open your eyes and sit up. You're in an unfamiliar room. You stand up and look around. The room is dark, aside from a fireplace lit in the right corner. You walk to the door, leaning your ear against it.

"How did you know how to brew it?" asks Mirabel.

"I simply followed her instructions," replies Aesop.

You lean back and look around. This is his room? You suddenly remember the dark veins on your arms and look down. They're gone. You feel fine. Something's wrong. You open the door and run out, causing the two to look over at you in surprise.

"The blood! Did you get any?" you almost shout, heart racing.

He frowns at you and nods. "I got enough."

Mirabel walks over and gently places her hands on your shoulders. "How are you feeling, my dear?"

You look at her, and smile sadly. "I'm alright, Mirabel. Promise..." You look back at Aesop and he looks away. "Aesop, the blood, where is it?"

He sighs and looks back at you. "Your potion works, (Y/N). It cures the uncurable. Be happy."

You shake your head. "I don't understand. You've brewed it? You drank it already?"

He frowns and walks over to the chair in front of the fireplace, sitting down. He still has the limp...

"No...No you said it worked." You walk over, staring down at him. "If it worked, why does your injury still bother you."

He rubs his hand over his eyebrows, sighing. "You would have died without it..."

You shake your head, pacing in front of the fireplace. "No...no...no you were supposed to take it, Aesop. You. Not me. Why?"

He stands and holds your arms, halting you. "(Y/N), I would live the rest of my days incapacitated if it meant you were safe. You are so much more important than me."

You stare at him, tears beginning to run down you face. "No..."

He nods, smiling softly at you. "Yes...Don't feel regret for what I did. It saved you and that isn't something I can regret." He hugs your tightly, stroking your hair. You lean your face into his shoulder, sobbing, You were supposed to heal him. You failed...

He pulls away and looks down at you. "Don't think you've failed me. You may have flown to close to the sun, but I will always catch you."

Tag list!

Let me know if you want to be added or removed! Also let me know if you want a specific fic or all :)

@blueberrydinosaur @kuukimeioo @amatchasky @sometimesidreamthaticanlevatate @lonadane @sarahskywalker-amadala @thenerdysimp @steadywombatart @ryehoneyandinkstains @letitrainpoison @misswildfire @anonymously-ominous @the-error-in-love @rileyquinn07 @mattsmanpain @kazuyatokue @secretaccountforfandomlurking

#hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy fanfic #aesop sharp x reader #aesop sharp x oc #aesop sharp #sharp x reader #professor sharp

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bayleafpsa · 1 year

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Someone. Please. Talk P2 with me.

THIS MOTHERFUCKER I SWEAR. He went down swinging and swearing vengeange at Heaven and once again failed. And yet. Yet. He dies laughing, not a drop of regret in him (very unlike poor Minos).

ONE MUST IMAGINE SISYPHUS HAPPY. AND HE WAS. Happy in Hell, with his broken revolution and his endless toil and failures. Because he tried? Because he fought? Because he was always doomed, so what else he had to lose?

Also: he sounds so fucking smooth. This is a guy I can see as the trickster from mythology, the one who cheats death, the one that is said to be "Odysseus' real father" (a good candidate for P3, by the way) for how crafty he was. He may be the Magneto to Minos's Professor X, but he's not about force. He's about will, and the VA gets that across beautifully in a few lines.

AND

"The blood of Minos stains your hands"

Minos wants to kick your ass for your crimes against humanity. Sisyphus wants to kick your ass for crimes against his MAN.

I'm crying.

#ultrakill spoilers #p2 spoilers #wait of the world update #ultrakill

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slaygentford · 5 months

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Sorry you had a year day, here are two deranged ones to comment on

1) the ship of my youth, ron/draco.

2) so you know in the video game I’m playing, Theseus and the Minotaur are partners in like, uh, let’s call prize exhibition fighting in elysium? Anyway I was reading some fic last night where actually they’re in love and they make tender love once Achilles and Patroclus teach him about bjs. So What do you think of that one Professor?. Theseus/bull of Minos 🐂

1) ur insane. I genuinely do not understand the thought process and I would love some insight on it esp because when I was active in the fandom during the ootp/hbp release it was pretty niche. It reminds of tonks/lupin WHICH I SHIPPED and was SO vindicated about when it happened despite the lack of even foreshadowing. Who topped btw PLEASE ANSWER. oh it was Ron wasn’t it

2) once Achilles and p. You know I won’t even ask I’m just rolling with it I always conceptualize Theseus and the Minotaur as a kind of jock/nerd rivalry in my head, like a nerd who’s really ripped and dangerous but introverted. So this is very interesting to me and also very hot. I cannot BELIEVE that nobody has ever done this before. That’s mostly my reaction bc I think it’s genius. I truly cannot believe that no one has ever done this before. It’s such a natural and it’s so hot bc it has everything, it’s like an avengers assemble team up but instead of teaming up by standing next to each other they’re kissing on the mouth before fighting to death. This is kind of like the gays in old guard if they fought each other instead of Charlize Theron or whatever that movie was about I never saw it. Anyway. Hot, 100/10, cracked open my brain a little bit. Somebody call Madeline miller expeditiously

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legendsofmyriad · 4 days

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Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 26: The Waters of Skuld - Part 1

“I can not believe everything has remained exactly as it was,” Bartholomew enthused, tail of his coat flapping as he circled the room in search of any signs of disturbance. The only difference in the sculpted mountain cavern was the growth of fibrous dust and stringy spider webs. “Almost like I was never away.”

But you were, Lilith withheld. You were gone for almost three-hundred years. Even if the cosy research nook had remained untouched by time, the outside world had likely evolved. Certainly, they were the first outsiders in centuries, and while Bartholomew may have been convinced of their safety, she wasn’t taking any chances. He had been confident of their security in The Compendium and yet they had teetered on the brink of being devoured by a soul-ravaging book. She refused to make the same mistake twice.

As the professor secured the private gateway, she roamed the cavern, scraping her nails along bowls of multi-coloured stones and shelves lined with musty, wilting tomes. “Do you have personal gateways on every world?”

“I do. I purchased small plots of land specifically to store my research materials.” Hoisting himself off his knees with the help of a nearby shelf, he dusted off the dirt from his trousers. “Right, the gateway should be stable until we get back. Shall we?” He retrieved his cane from beside the damaged desk and twirled it towards the cave mouth, shadows spinning within the influx of daylight.

Without waiting for Lilith’s response, he strode out into the crisp air and inhaled, savouring the distinct earthy aroma of each tree and the mild, powdery fragrance of Mino blossom. The treetops rustled and thinner boles quivered as large animals bouldered between them, legs thumping and bodies swaying.

Lilith gawped. Forest stretched out to the horizon and painted every lift and dip with a mosaic of vibrant greens. Neon blue spilled from waterfalls and pooled in lakes in dots of ethereal light, and gigantic skeletal remains emerged from the ground, reminiscent of the ones on The Core.

“Are they fires?” she asked, pointing to the expanding, smoky plumes in the distance.

“That is chimney smoke. The villages are equipped with a central vent, where the dwarves carefully direct the fumes, taking precautions to filter out any harmful toxins before releasing them into the air. Some even incorporate fertilisers to promote the prosperity of the forest and safeguard the trees in the colder months.”

“So that’s what I can smell?”

“Yes. Admittedly, that particular aroma does take some getting used to.” Bartholomew swivelled to get his bearings and muttered to himself before he directed an arm to the east. “That is where we are heading. Thuldran.”

“Thuldran,” Lilith repeated, as though tasting the word. The sensation was strange but not unwelcome, rolling across her tongue as naturally as the high-altitude breeze teasing her braid.

“That is the one,” Bartholomew smiled.

Sticking close to the mountain wall, he assessed each step and paused along the way to strategise the best route ahead. Over the centuries, much of the path he had originally built had eroded and fallen apart, but the brunt clung on, enabling him to navigate the treacherous rocks with a certain level of safety.

“The dwarves of this realm are known for their prowess in trading and their insatiable appetite for exploration,” he explained as they ventured closer to the base of the low mountain. “They have a knack for finding things, but haggling over prices for goods can be a challenge. They have a deep understanding of worth and will not easily let something go without it being fully appreciated.” He made to speak again, eager to share more vital information before they entered dwarven territory, but his words drowned in his throat when he saw his companion absentmindedly rotating the Eventide crystal on her left bracelet.

“That is a beautiful piece of jewellery,” the professor remarked. “Clearly more interesting than I am.”

“Sorry,” Lilith said.

“Do not apologise. It is all right.” Bartholomew slowed so she could walk beside him on the gravel track now that the path comfortably held them both. Her nails traced the interwoven gold and silver bands encircling her wrists, the pads of her thumbs caressing the stones that governed her power. In a steady rise and fall, she tempered her breaths to accompany the pulsating rhythm of the wooded world.

The more he watched, the more he noted where her eyes searched, where they lingered for further detail. How she drew in her surroundings to align herself within it. It wasn’t just discipline and practice. It was innate, etched into her soul from the moment she had been born. And something about it provoked Bartholomew’s curiosity. No matter how much he pondered, he failed to figure out why.

“Where did you get them?” he inquired. “The chains do not seem to be of Mora craftsmanship.”

“They were a gift from my guardian, Farina Canaris. She got the metals from her home in Saan Asari and commissioned the best jeweller there to fashion bracelets that would hold the crystals,” Lilith replied. “When I worry and find myself at a loss for my next move, I ask myself what she would advise.”

“Are you worried now?”

“I’m in a land that is not my own, with unknown dangers and strange magic. It would be unwise of me not to be at least a little wary.”

“And what guidance would Farina Canaris offer to solve your current apprehension?”

Lilith smiled, as if she could almost hear the words coming from her guardian’s mouth. “She’d probably tell me to trust my direction and my instincts.”

“From what I have witnessed of your skills and abilities,” Bartholomew said in certainty, “I would say that seems like perfectly sound advice.”

Traversing a steep ridge and beginning the last stretch over the foothills, slated rooftops peeped between the wide boles. From the collapsing exteriors to the severed rope bridges, the place reeked of decay.

Figures thundered closer from the shade beneath the surviving structures and Bartholomew halted.

“Enemies?” Lilith asked, gripping the handles of her circlet blades.

“No,” the professor assured her. “I think it may be a patrol from Thuldran.”

With a staunch nod, Lilith remained by his side as he raised his cane and motioned to the scouts.

The approaching party shook the forest, sending shockwaves along the ground and spurring a flurry of leaves and mud. It was only when they emerged into the growing wedges of light that the creatures unveiled their true forms. The colossal arachnids roared to a stop, legs wider than tree trunks and spindles bristling. Hundreds of eyes blinked at them and protruding crescent teeth clicked and hissed until beads of venom dribbled into the dirt.

“Do not panic,” Bartholomew whispered, sensing Lilith’s increasing unease. “They will not harm us.”

An armoured patrolman descended from the bulbous body of the cloud-white spider at the head of the procession, hitting the patches of grass with a metallic clank. “Mind telling me what you two outsiders are doing on Thuldran territory,” he said. “You don’t look like elves of any kind, you’re too big to be sprites, and far too small to be trolls.”

“We are travellers from other realms,” Bartholomew answered. “I am Professor Bartholomew Amias Spark of The Core, and my esteemed companion is Commander Lilith Cleaver of Solgarde.”

“And you are here because…?”

“Ah, yes. We require a vial of water from one of your mirror pools.”

The scout let out a hearty laugh, holding onto his clinking belt as though to keep the amusement from splitting his rounded stomach. “Pal, what makes you think we will allow you to do that?”

“The world that gifted you those pools is in need,” Bartholomew said. “I am sure you understand the importance of that.”

Within the silence, Lilith observed the interaction between the scout and the professor, glancing between them in turn. “What about a trade?” she suggested, before the dwarven protector could laugh again and disregarding Bartholomew’s chiding look. “I hear you are wonderful traders, so perhaps there is something we can offer in return.”

“With all due respect, miss, you don’t appear as though you have anything of value to offer,” the scout replied, scanning her from head to foot.

“I might,” Bartholomew interrupted, “but I would need to discuss that with your elder.”

Refusal teetered on the tip of the man’s tongue and he scowled. Normally, they would firmly reject opportunists and issue a warning to deter any further attempts. But these were far from the ordinary sly traders and brigands he usually dealt with. “Fine,” he said with reluctance. “Any funny business, and you are goners. Do we have a deal?”

“You may take our weapons if it would make you feel more comfortable with our presence,” Bartholomew extended, but the scout snorted aside his offer and heaved himself back onto the white arachnid.

“Why would we need to do that? You’re heavily outnumbered,” he pointed out. “You make a single move we don’t like, you’ll be eating dirt quicker than a troll fart can knock out a sprite.”

Lilith scrunched her nose in distaste and peered up at the professor. He brushed off her expression and gestured for her to follow the dwarven procession. He understood he would have to negotiate something valuable into the bargain, but for The Core, for his beloved home, for the entity that had nourished him and selflessly assisted him, he was willing to give up anything to aid in the revival of that crucial world.

The flat land ended at the base of the foothills, and the forest floor rose in gradual lifts on the outskirts of the dwarven city. The scout introduced himself as Nestor Valdec, captain of the eight-hundredth scouting squad and guard of Lofran Redblade. As he adjusted to the new company, he gradually opened to them, recounting anecdotes from his youth in which he encountered mountain bears, giant hawks, and even a frost troll.

“I tell you,” the scout said, gruff and low, “those icy monsters are no joke. Their magic is tricky, but it was no match for me. Hated to do it, but the bloody thing kept spreading an ice that was snatching away our young and vulnerable. Couldn’t negotiate with it, no matter how much we promised, so in the end, we had to resort to putting it down. Awful business.”

Lilith glanced up at Bartholomew as though to question the legitimacy of the tale, but the professor shrugged. He had heard all manner of accounts, experienced plenty himself, and he had no reason to doubt Nestor and his trials.

As they continued up the hillside, the dense tangle thinned out. The range of trees and vegetation varied until the wide trunks could support curving tracks and mortar structures that spanned from root to bough. A rushing river cut through, the vigorous current splashing beneath multi-layered bridges to connect the upper and lower waterways. Like a protective canopy, the needles and leaves overhead shielded the city from airborne dangers and filtered in streams of dazzling sunlight.

“Why couldn’t we have gone to the pool ourselves?” Lilith asked in a hushed tone as their guide conversed with the border guards. “It would have been much quicker.”

“That would be a declaration of war,” Bartholomew stated.

“How would they find out?”

“The dwarves have an extensive knowledge of all happenings in their lands. In order to maintain a positive relationship with them, this is something they must agree to.”

While Lilith was determined to act swiftly, she couldn’t disregard the importance of building healthy alliances. If an outsider had stolen from Solgarde without permission from any kind of authority, she imagined she would harbour a deep sense of violation too. Even if it was only a few drops of water.

A curious audience accompanied their onward journey into Thuldran, eyes peering through the gaps in shuttered windows and others openly gawking.

“Looks like you’ve caught a couple of half-giants there, Nestor,” a woman laughed, approaching the procession with a bucket tucked under her arm. She offered each of the scouts a ripe peach fruit and held out two for Lilith and Bartholomew, locking her scrutiny onto the mage. “Not sure about this one, though. She’s barely taller than we are.”

“They want to see Lofran,” Nestor told her. “Claim they’ve got stuff to trade.”

The woman scoffed. “Hope it is something good. We know value and we won’t be swindled.”

“I would not dream of such a thing,” Bartholomew promised, bowing to her as she scooted aside to let them continue on their way. He turned to Lilith as she wiped sticky juice residue from her mouth and swallowed.

“Sorry,” she said. “This is amazing. Have you tried them?”

“Many times.” Bartholomew passed her an embroidered handkerchief. “It is a cinder fruit, grown in ashes. In Lucarian, they coat them in chocolate.”

“Heathens,” Nestor muttered with a dull click of his tongue.

Ascending into the depths of the city, Lilith marvelled at the houses scaling into the trees and rising from the lift of the land as though they had sprouted like flowers. Rather than destroying the woodland to create space for their dwellings, the dwarves of Thuldran integrated their homes and businesses with their natural surroundings, seamlessly blending forest and dwarven architecture.

“This was here all this time,” she mumbled, refusing to blink in case she missed more spectacular sights. “We told stories of other worlds, but dismissed them as mere fantasy. It all faded. Everything we once knew for certain… gone.”

Her confession struck Bartholomew with a marked stab of shame, and he realised the immense profit and progress that Myriad had lost out on during his extended slumber. “You have the chance to rebuild that now,” he encouraged with a light nudge to her arm. “Make more stories.”

“You’re starting to sound like Altair.”

Eventually, the steep ascent eased. Outside a squat, broad structure, a group anticipated their arrival, shuffling their feet and picking at their nails.

“You took your sweet time,” the decorated dwarf amongst them remarked. A silver circlet nestled in his wavy fair hair and matching beads clung to the trimmed braids of his beard. Jangles of metal, cosmetic and weaponry, attended every booted step.

“Elder Redblade,” Nestor said, dismounting the snowy arachnid and greeting his leader with a humble bow. “Apologies for the delay. River was up and we had to slow on the lower bridges.”

Lofran grunted, leafy green eyes rolling and fixing on their unexpected visitors. He assessed them as he would a crate of freshly imported ale, and beckoned for them to join him. “The messenger you sent ahead wouldn’t shut up about you two,” he said, shoving open the rounded doors to the city’s central hub until they collided with the pillars behind them. “Now I can see why.”

Upon entering the circular hall, a blanket of heat wrapped them in a hospitable welcome, the multiple hearths blazing to ward off the growing chill and sunlight oozing through the window slats to cast a mellow shimmer on the silverware lining the feasting table.

“Come,” Lofran said. He seated himself down at the head and stuck his spear and his axe behind his chair.

Bartholomew wasted no time in following suit, and with a hint of reluctance, Lilith unclipped her midnight circlet blades and shoved them at the rear of her seat.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” the elder huffed, ring-adorned fingers clasped on top of the panelled wooden surface. “According to my messenger, you seek water from our mirror pool and are open to making a trade for it.”

“Yes,” Bartholomew replied. “I possess a vast array of gifts from other realms and collections of research and knowledge I am more than happy to impart.”

“We have no use for trinkets,” Lofran told him bluntly, shifting to the dark-haired mage. “You are Solgardian, correct?” At the nod and somewhat bewildered look, the dwarven elder’s lips twitched. “Does Mora still mine zedite?”

“Yes, we do,” Lilith answered.

“If you can secure me a heavy shipment of zedite, you are free to collect as much water as you need. As a gesture of goodwill and to show our willingness for future trade, I might also throw in some medicinal herbs.” A servant presented a platter of drinks, and once his guests had theirs, Lofran rose his own tankard in toast and drained it in several large gulps. With a refreshed sigh, he slammed it onto the table. “Do we have a deal?”

When Lilith’s gaze met Bartholomew’s, she found no hints as to how she should approach the proposal, leaving her to grapple with an answer herself. “I’m not a diplomat or a negotiator,” she said. “I wouldn’t know where to even begin settling a trade of this scale.”

“Then you had better become one soon,” Lofran warned, motioning for another tankard and resting back into the fur of his high-backed seat, “or I will no longer discuss business with you.”

* * *

In a buzz of insect wings and climbing lamplight, night blanketed the forest city and the natural hum of Thuldran descended. Shutters slammed closed on houses and lanterns flickered behind the slats. Darkness fled from the mellow firelight and the celestial blue glow of the water, banished to hunker in the nooks and alcoves.

It hadn’t taken long for the news of the two new arrivals to spread, but the chatter soon fizzled out. Once everyone knew, they carried on with their day, and by nightfall, it had become stale gossip, unworthy of even a whisper.

Lilith still attracted a few dawdling stares as she made her way down the steady declines, pursuing the thrum of the world to the largest bridge. After promising Lofran she would see what she could do about the zedite import, he had granted them freedom to explore, on the condition that they respect the natural flow and did not disturb his people.

Despite the situation, she found a tranquil refuge with the dwarves. Clean, floral scents lulled her breaths, harmless furry critters padded about, and a lively wind that nuzzled her cheeks and refreshed her clothes passed by intermittently as though to check on her well-being.

Near the middle of the bridge, she came to a halt and leaned over the low stone barrier, captivated by the skitter and flutter of glow bugs as they teased the river’s surface, avoiding the flurry of foam from the waterfall in their flight. They dipped their legs into the water and hauled the beads under the stone crossing, flitting out again to hoist more drops and deliver them into the dark.

“They use the droplets to construct their nests in shaded places. Their young will be there now,” Bartholomew said, strolling to her side and peeking over the drop. “At birth, they are tiny, but some of them grow quite large, big as a fist and…” The professor coughed aside his ramblings and straightened his posture. “But I am guessing you are in no mood for local insight.” As she prepared to respond, no doubt to apologise, he interrupted her with a swift wave of his hand. “You have other things on your mind. It is all right.”

“If I can’t secure a deal, we won’t get that water,” she said, matter-of-fact, “but I have no clue where to start with that sort of thing.”

“Do you know anyone who does?” Bartholomew asked.

In silent response, she traced the elegant curve of golden metal on her Eventide bracelet and stood up. “Farina is busy with important matters.”

“More important than protecting Myriad?”

“To me, yes. And to Solgarde.”

“Lilith,” the professor said lightly. He angled himself towards her as the luminescence of Thuldran’s nightlife decorated her almost grey complexion with sapphire. “This water is essential.”

“I get the need for urgency, truly, I do, but Solgarde is fresh from a purge.” Lilith gritted her teeth, idly twisting the violet crystal that conducted half of her power. She inhaled the herbal scents of the forest and exhaled the anxiety crawling in her core. “I don’t know if Altair told you, but a few years ago, an opposing leadership showed up and got enough support to abolish the council, proclaiming themselves the Exalted Authority. Their primary goal was to eradicate mages. Inevitably, war broke out. Millions dead. It’s not been over long. Mages are no longer seen in the same light as they were all those centuries ago. Many perceive us as either a valuable asset or a disruptive force in maintaining order. Considering that magic had been restored in Solgarde for over a decade, did you not wonder why there were so few of us? You must have noticed. You feel the energy there, right?”

With a conceded sigh, Bartholomew lowered his chin. “I did. When I asked Professor Bevan, he provided me with a thorough explanation of the purge. He would not divulge much of your part in it, but I have gathered enough to understand that your actions were vital in uniting the mages against the threat.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Lilith’s gaze wandered over the river below, placid rings stretching from scaled aquatic creatures as they dived and floated within the translucent depths. “If we can’t retrieve that water, other worlds will suffer as Solgarde has, won’t they?” The answer already clawed at her mind, but she needed to hear it spoken, to put it out of her head and make it real.

“It is a high possibility.”

Closing her eyes to the incessant rush of thoughts, Lilith faced the professor, staunch and resolved. In the aftermath of the conflict, she had hoped for a reprieve from the toll of tough decisions and enduring hardships. But right now, Myriad needed a soldier, a commander who could make those choices, and it seemed that Bartholomew did not want to disrupt Solgardian matters without consulting her first.

“Get in touch with Altair,” she told him, forcing her shoulders back to shrug off any loitering doubt. “He knows how to contact Farina, and we can arrange for her swift arrival.”

Bartholomew’s face broke into a relieved grin, and he set his gloved hands on her upper arms. He understood the resolution had been a strenuous one for her to make. Her home was recovering from the ravages of war, and he was asking her to look elsewhere, but he was quickly learning that Lilith Cleaver was more skilled and astute than those around her let on. And he eagerly anticipated that in the future, she would play a pivotal role in the reconstructing of Myriad as a united system.

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