Thirty one plus one by Hopeless Wanderer

Snape and I determined our opinions about sleeping in quite early in the relationship; we both had a particular hate towards Italian moldy cheeses (long story), we were not morning people and African jazz was not allowed after nine pm.

All of the above resulted in me somehow sleeping in during our time together; but, this was the longest I had slept in… ever.

Considering my last night’s shenanigans, I slept pretty well, with almost no headaches or other symptoms waiting to ruin my day, I was still convinced that I would wake up blind or in pain and this whole thing would have been ruined, but nope…I was absolutely fine and well rested, most people would be by sleeping in till eleven.

Turned out, I had misplaced most of my stuff when I had unpacked, so I spent a fair amount of time sorting through those before gleefully choosing my clothes for the day, I picked up Dudley’s nicest button up shirt which only had two small (barely noticeable) holes in it, and pulled up my best pair of jeans.

I padded out of the room in relative silence, and to the bathroom, surveying the hallway again in the daylight; pretty much the same since last night, which was a good sign.

There were several rolls of fluffy towels stuffed in the cupboards so I didn’t have to redress and fetch my forgotten one, the walls were the same pale clay and a small window let sunshine brighten up my morning.

When I was placed in the ward, I was only allowed showers once a week, sometimes every two weeks because I was in so much pain that I could barely form coherent sentences; poor Madam Pomfrey had to clean me with a wet cloth or charm me clean so I wouldn’t stink up the whole infirmary.

Frankly, I barely cared at the time; not only Chemo hurt like hell, but the side effects sucked, the first two weeks I was pretty much unconscious (something about the swelling of my head, before my first surgery), fifth week onward, I was still coming to the terms of my illness, to the fact that I might never get to live past tomorrow… when tomorrow came… I was blind so… I couldn’t properly take care of myself.

So if any of my ranting comes to consolation, I had not seen myself naked for a /very/ (and I stress that) /very/ long time.

Self-consciously, I reached for the hem of the shirt I had blindly wore only a few moments ago and pulled. The shirt easily rolled off my arms and over my shoulder and before I knew it I was holding the overgrown shirt in my trembling hands.

There wasn’t a mirror in the bathroom, so my bodily inspection was as through as it got; my limbs were of a bird’s, bony and thin to the point that it was disgusting, all of the body mass I had gathered piece by piece from Quidditch and hard labor at the Dursleys was gone, though I already suspected them to, although, I hadn’t visually imagined how would they look like until now.

Things were as expected, up to my elbows (where I have gotten glimpses of, anyways), so I was used to that. I drew my fingers above my elbow and went over the shoulder, prodding and pushing on the stubborn bones that stuck out of my leather like but pale skin.

I was grossed out and fascinated by my own body at the same time, I know that I had shrunken in size, but having enough comprehension to fully acknowledge that fact was completely different.

My ribs each poked out hideously, my knees were wobbly, and from what I could feel, my face was /not/ doing good.
Babies reach self-awareness when they’re thirteen months old, they see themselves in a mirror and think ‘Holy Moly, is that me in there?’ while pointing at themselves back and forth, and looking at someone to finally say; “Yes that’s you sweetie!”

When they’re at least eighteen months old-give or take- they start touching their own faces in recognition, probably still thinking ‘ Holy Moly, is that what I feel like?’ then they look for an adult again and they say ; “Get your hand out of your nose Daisy!”

“Holy Moly Potter, why are you so ugly?” I said to myself as I tiredly rubbed my face, feeling the dark bags gathered under my eyes, my lightning bolt shaped scar, and my thinned out hair, no wonder Snape acted so disgusted and irritated with me, I wouldn’t like to look at myself either.

I dropped my hands and sighed, mildly disturbed, but not as much as I thought I would be.

There was a bathtub near the window, with a curtain and everything, but honestly, after what I have seen of myself that day, I preferred the shower. My shoulders relaxed under the hot blast of the water as I let out a long sigh, closing my eyes in appreciation.

It would be the first time that I truly enjoyed a hot shower out of Hogwarts; I stood under the cascading water for quite some time, disdainfully eyeing myself. I really hoped these potions would help me gain some weight; I looked like a dead boy walking. (They didn’t help in the slightest.)

After the water started running cold, I scrambled to wash myself as conveniently as possible, rushing the last few minutes before quickly drying myself off with those fluffy white towels and redressing myself in Dudley’s clothes.

I examined the faint bruise on my wrist, noting the distinct similarity to Snape’s fingers as they were clasped around my arm. That man had a lot to apologize for today. I thought.

Snape was either still asleep, or didn’t feel like coming out of his room, as late as it was. I scavenged the first floor, not daring to go out again or explore the beach, I couldn’t even bring myself to look through the backdoor and that left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I left the kitchen, and vehemently made my way into the living room. I was bored out of my mind, frustrated because I was suddenly reminded of Hedwig, and a bit Hungry, if that was what the churning in my stomach meant.

The furniture adorning the cottage didn’t look old or shabby, but it was well worn, the coffee table was sturdy, seemed to be marked repeatedly with something akin to a knife, the loveseat I claimed, had a few stray threads hanging loose in its side, and if you really squinted, you could see a small burnt whole on the left side of the rug from where I was sitting. It made me wonder, just what kind of people had lived in this place?

I claimed every furniture in the living room as if I was spreading an infectious disease, I lounged on the couch and stared up at the ceiling for seemingly hours, laid on the loveseat upside down with skewed glasses just to see what happens, and messed a little bit with the wind chime, I felt a distinct endearment upon hearing it, one that I couldn’t quite place.

I tried my best to not think about Hedwig, I was feeling so guilty about forgetting her last night that forgetting her now was the only thing that remedied the remorse, and it wasn’t like I could do anything about it either; fussing and throwing tantrums wouldn’t magically make her appear.

“Get your feet off the table, Potter.” A grumpy voice called out instead of greeting.

“Good morning.” I greeted him solemnly.

Snape passed by my feet, glaring from the corner of his eyes as he bellowed his robes in my direction and disappeared into the kitchen.

I frowned. “Are you still mad?” I called out to the shoulder that wasn’t covered by the wall, staring at half of Snape’s back as the man bustled around the kitchen.
I got up when Snape didn’t answer, stubbornly, wanting to get a response from the potion master. I hated silence treatment, because it basically meant that the other person thought that you don’t exist, and that’s very insulting to someone who’s about stop existing in a few months anyways.

“Are you still mad sir?” when the man didn’t answer, I just went ahead. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have sneaked out of the house like that, or insulted you… so?”
“So, what Potter?” the man drawled out, unimpressed.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Wasn’t the answer obvious? “So, it’s your turn to apologize.” I told him slowly. “You bruised my wrist, you shouted at me, you refused to go after Hedwig, and now you’re giving me the silent treatment.”

Snape contemplated me for a moment and then drew forward, grasping my wrist in one hand and flicking his wand with the other.

“What are you doing?!” his wand was pointed at my wrist, as he muttered an incantation that awfully sounded like ‘Whisky’. I trashed, yanking my wrist away empathetically.

“Quit fussing boy.” The man muttered on his lips and suddenly let my wrist go, making me topple back a few steps. I stared at him in bewilderment.

“What did you just do?” I asked him in a high pitch note, inspecting the smooth, pale skin of my wrist.

Snape rolled his eyes. “I thought you said the arm was bruised. Now it isn’t.”

I sputtered with wide eyes. “But-But- didn’t you say magical radiation… take it off now! Unheal it! Oh my god!”

“Yes?”

“Take it off, you-you might kill me or something!” I flailed my hand in front of his face, incredulously gawking at the oblivious potion master.
Snape only took out a mug for himself and went to fill the small kettle, ignoring my flailing over his shoulder. “You were about to drown yourself last night, what difference does it make to you?” he commented blankly.

“You’re not serious are you? You said that-that magical radiation could cause a reaction; well my death is a reaction away! Why did you do that?!” this was turning into one disaster after the other. I fumed. Ron was absolutely right, I /was/ out of my mind for coming here with Snape.

Snape put the filled kettle back on the stove, casually leaning against the counter. “There aren’t any rules prohibiting me from not doing it Potter. If you disregard the rules so swiftly then why shouldn’t I?”

I glared at him. “I wasn’t drowning myself. “ I gritted out. “From where I was looking, my foot was barely even in the water when you started overreacting like the greasy git you are!”

Snape scowled, he narrowed his eyes at me and clenched his hands, and I could see the exhaustion reeling off of him in waves. “Oh yeah? Well let me tell you how it looked like from where /this greasy git/ was looking potter, /you/ knee dipping in volatile waves in the middle of the night. The water wasn’t up to your ankles Potter, it was well above your /knees/, and you like a stargazed idiotic Gryffindor, just /kept/ going further in the sea without supervision.” He spat out, his glare stabbing daggers into mine. Instinctively, I took a step back, dropping my head as I processed the words.

“You’re lying; I know the water was up to my ankles, I felt it.” I finally said with fake certainty and confidence.

The kettle started whistling madly, too soon in my opinion, but Snape paid it no mind. “Well apparently, your feelings aren’t to be trusted with a golf ball crammed in your brain.” He retorted viciously, making me flinch.

I stilled.

“You’re saying that I couldn’t tell the difference between my knees and my ankle? Even with that potion you gave me?” I scoffed at the man. It was obvious that he was lying, I knew what I saw last night, Snape was just a prat who wanted to make a fuss out of nothing, to ridicule me and kick me whilst I was down for the fun of it. He was probably pissed that I have gone behind his back and he had missed a few hours of his beauty sleep.

Snape grabbed the bustling kettle with a swift hold and poured the hot steaming water in his mug. “Well it’s either that, or you are naturally obtuse. Neither is unlikely, as they say, apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Savagely, he smacked down the kettle on the table.

“I don’t believe you.” I gritted out childishly.

“I don’t care if you do.” The man snapped back just as childishly. “I know what I saw Potter, and you’re still getting punished for it.”

“I don’t believe you.” I snapped again. “You lie because you like seeing me suffer.”

Severus almost tore the tea bag as he was detaching the string. “No Potter, you /think/ that I would like that, because you assume that everything in this world should be hovering around your holy presence. That is not the case.” He dumped the bouncing tea bag in his mug, as he said this, his angry obsidian eyes were on me the whole time.

“You just like to make me miserable.” I shot back stubbornly.

“As if.” The man scoffed. “/James Potter/ liked to make our lives miserable, /you/ as his son may too, but I’m not that petty, potter. As I’ve said, you’re still getting punished for your foolishness.”

“Merlin, why don’t you just apologize and get this thing over with?!”

Snape, once again, drew out his wand and vanished the soggy tea bag out of his mug, irritating me even more. “Because I’m the adult, and I do not tolerate your Gryffindorish foolishness. Unfortunately, they would come down barreling at my door if the boy who lived did himself in by drowning.” He sneered and I sneered back, feeling the realization slowly, and increasingly creep into my mind.

“I was not.” I totally was. Oh merlin, I could have been, just like all those times in the infirmary.

“Yes you were.” Snape said once more, as he saw realization dawn on my face, smug, that he was proven right. I was almost green with the need to throw up.
“I was about to drown myself.” I repeated numbly. “I didn’t know, I thought- I swear that I thought they were only up to my ankles!”

I wasn’t really thinking last night, all I could think about was how utterly beautiful the sight was and how I was about to feel it, I was drunk with devotion, too engulfed in my satisfaction so really see what I was doing. My brain must have taken advantage of that.

“I’m starting to notice that Potter.”

I shook my head, grasping my thinned hair with shaking hands. “But why? Why is this happening? Didn’t that potion help? Wasn’t it supposed to do that?”
Was it supposed to lull me into a false sense of security so I could go off and kill myself?

I could have killed myself last night. Suddenly Snape’s overreaction seemed to make a lot more sense now; he came out of the cottage, exhausted and pissed off and saw me going headfirst into the sea without realizing how far I was going… it really was as bad as it looked.

“The potion can only do so much; its main duty was to keep the physical symptoms at bay, and it’s doing a fine job, your alertness however… we need to keep an eye on that.” The potion master was a little calmer now, his tone was still mildly hostile but we weren’t at each other’s throat so that was a bonus.

“So I’m still sick?”

“Potter… you have stage four cancer, were you expecting a miracle?”

I gulped. “No, but-it took me off guard.”

I couldn’t be trusted. That was what caught me off guard, not the fact that the potion might have failed. As we’ve already established, hallucinations or lack of alertness rarely happened in my case, but they happened often enough times to be troublesome. Sometimes, when I was really in a bad place they picked up pace. It was really subtle though, things like seeing Filch’s cat, Mrs. Norris strolling around my bed, or Hermione flying on a broom outside my window… things like that.

Madam Pomfrey used to keep telling me that I should ask about the things I’m not certain of, that I should be able to distinguish the difference by getting my facts straight and my mind clear.

I was doing neither last night. I was all about feelings, sentiment, and crap. I had put too much trust in myself. Apparently, I was not to do that from then on.

“How do I know next time?” I wondered out loud. “I don’t want to die like that.” No one wants to die by drowning after surviving cancer. That’s like fate double slapping you in the face for surviving its first hit.

Snape rubbed a tired hand over his face. “That’s why we had those rules in the first place, that’s why I took you away that night potter; to prove to everyone and yourself, that you are not to be trusted right now. Stick to the rules and you shall be fine.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me that?” I asked, accusatorily pointing at him.

“I did tell you that, repeatedly.”

“No you didn’t.” I insisted.

The potion master sighed, rubbing his temple. “I explicitly explained the importance of those rules, I made you promise that you will obey them or the deal is off.

"Can’t you add those up?”

“Now I can.” I admitted slowly, sinking in my seat.

Severus hummed. “Good, then you have two full days to think about It.” he said nonchalantly.

Frowning in confusion, I stared at the man. “What do you mean?”

“As your guardian, I’m grounding you, you aren’t allowed out of the cottage for two days.”

“That’s unfair! When am I going to learn how to swim then? I don’t have that much time you know.”

Snape threw his shoulders up. “You should have thought of that before insulting me last night Potter.” I got the feeling that he wasn’t necessarily upset that I had called him a ‘ you know what’ last night, only gleeful that he was proved right and now could punish me for my wrong doings however he wanted.
“Bollocks.” I cursed, my face screwing in a deep frown.

“Don’t make me turn it into three.” he threatened

I looked at him pleadingly, feeling the unfairness surge in my veins. He was right, I needed to be punished to some extent, but grounding me in here? That was just cruel.

“Don’t ground me, please, I’ll do anything, scrub cauldrons, or- or do the laundry… but I need to get out there.”

Severus wasn’t impressed. “Two days, Potter.”

“But-“

He cut me off, mild annoyance etched on his face. “You’ve already spent eight hours of the two days’ time. Stop pouting.”

I slumped heavily in my seat. “Two days is too much.”

“You called me names that I dare not repeat last night, you shouted at me, and if it hadn’t been for me, your disobedience would’ve cost you your life. Two days is a blessing.” He declared firmly. “Get yourself together Potter; you might not survive the following months if you don’t.”

I gasped indignantly. “You… you were out of control too! You shouted at me too, and you bruised my hand and healed it with magic. That might kill me!” I held up my unmarred wrist to prove a point, feeling a little dizzy.

Snape waved me off. “No Potter, the typical healing charm might at best give you a headache. A much deserved headache at that. Its magical radiation is hardly any more conspicuous than the wards surrendering us.” I could already feel the subtle signs of an upcoming headache, a different sort from my usual headaches and milder, but still there.

“Still.” I drew out the word desperately, watching Snape sip at his tea, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“This matter is nonnegotiable yet expandable. I hope you know what that means?”

“Yes sir.” I replied, mopping. Seventy two hours, spent indoors, only a few short steps away from the beach, this was worse than any torture the man could have handed out in a moment like this.

The potion master smirked in triumph. “Splendid. Are you hungry?”

I was hungry, but too restless to wait for Snape to cook lunch and have breakfast and lunch in one go, he made me some scrambled eggs instead, claiming that he would wait to have his lunch in a few hours, which made my breakfast even more awkward. The journal the man had been carrying around was nowhere in sight, and all Snape had to occupy himself with was his steaming mug of tea, and his thoughts.

I gazed at him throughout breakfast, inspecting his contemplative stare with a watchful eye, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking about, and frankly I was too peaked to jeopardize the extent of my punishment and ask.

“Can we go to the porch sir, to get some air?” I asked between mouthfuls of egg.

Snape stared. “No, Potter. You may not leave the house, however, you have a balcony you can use.” I frowned in confusion, chewing slowly.
“In your room.” The potion master clarified dryly.

“What if I fall off or something?”

An amused look passed over Severus’s face. “Do you honestly expect yourself to fall off the balcony?” he asked, his tone mildly mingled with bewilderment.
I huffed, glaring at my fork. “No, but with what supposedly happened last night…” I still couldn’t believe that I had almost killed myself the night before. It was crazy; I hadn’t even noticed the shift. To me, it only seemed like an innocent stroll on the beach, I was so enamored with the sight that I have gotten ahead of myself.

Snape hummed, sipping at his steaming tea. “I’m not a bit surprised, now that I really think about it, yesterday was the first time you have been awake for more than a few hours, and you were sleep deprived and distressed in the car. Your body is still getting used to a new routine. A small slipup wasn’t too far-fetched.”
“You didn’t seem this rational last night.”

“I was under the same circumstances Potter. Living with you is hard and demanding, trust me.”

That was the official end to our first argument, Snape stayed to tidy up the kitchen to a more suitable habitat while I just haunted the cottage and basically did nothing, I was still indignant with my supposed slip up, and a bit shaken. I avoided the French doors in my room, as much as possible and mostly hung out in the living room.

It was scary enough when people told you that your view or opinion of self or a situation is wrong and not the way it really is when you’re sick in the head, however, it’s entirely different when your wrong perception nearly could have cost you your life.

It made it blaringly clear that I was solely dependent on Snape, and he was right to forbid me from running off alone by myself. It distinguished the man’s precautious presence to his necessity, and I wasn’t sure if I liked that or not.

I passed on lunch (my stomach hadn’t gotten used to regular meal patterns without puking) and just laid on the couch, one of my legs dangling and my glasses skewed by the arm thrown over my face; I was bored.

“Here Potter.” Snape suddenly appeared above me, something in his hands. I peeled one of my eyelids open, exhausted merely out of being bored.
“What?” I lowered my arm and titled my head, wincing at the cracking sound it made. The potion master dumped the content in his hands on my chest, looking unimpressed and nonchalant as always. I yelped in annoyance as the semi heavy book fell on my ribs, glaring at the man.

“What’s this?” picking up the book, I distractedly fixed my skewed glasses.

“It’s a book Potter. I didn’t get you out of the hospital to lazy around; you could’ve done it there.”

“And whose fault is that?” I grumbled under my breath, rubbing my temple; I could still feel the faint buzz of ache in my head, not as prominent as my cancer induced headaches, but annoyingly vocal. Apparently, torturing me with low buzz headaches by using magic was Snape’s new method of Potter abuse.

Snape actually rolled his eyes as if he had read my mind. The loveseat squeaked under his weight as he sat, Severus folded one leg over the other, idly staring at me.

“Entirely yours.” He drawled out. “So?” he nodded at the book. “Do you want the book, Potter?”

“Let’s see if I get this right…” I said slowly. “You want me to read this.”

The brooding man raised an eyebrow, his face contorting as if he was stifling a sigh. “No, I merely wanted you to drool over the cover until you’re ungrounded.”
I scoffed, taking the man’s sarcasm as an insult. Didn’t he know that I couldn’t read?

“I can’t read.” I told the man bluntly, my face heated up as the man’s lingering gaze momentarily widened.

“You cannot read?” a pure look of surprise flashed through Snape’s black eyes. “What does that mean?”

I crossed my arms with a grimace, the book heavily set in my lap. “Exactly what it implies. The second tumor is in my parietal lobe,” I explained, doting the same speech I have been given about the different parts of brain and their functions many times.

I tried not to react to the man’s lost expression. “It means I cannot read or write as sufficiently.” I said. “I can read, but… just not as well I guess.”
Snape nodded pensively. “So that’s why that list is written in Granger’s handwriting.”

“She was kind enough to do it for me, she was the only one who knew, and she doesn’t really count anyways.” I muttered. The book clenched in my hands.
A thoughtful expression settled on Snape’s face as he hummed. “Have you tried to do either of those things after taking the potion?”

I shrugged. “No, not really.” I did want to write a letter yesterday, I thought. Too bad Hedwig isn’t here with me.

“Well, try now, with the physical symptoms at bay, the idea isn’t that much of a stretch.” He suggested, referring to the idea of me reading normally again. I didn’t correct him, but I didn’t think it would be possible. Writing a letter was one thing, the one thing I thought I was capable of now, but reading… that was like the alertness. It would be tricky to trust myself with it.

After seeing the doubtful look on my face the man’s eyes softened. “If it bothers you in any way you may return the book back to me.”

“Alright… ‘The ultimo-mate hikers-hitchhiker’s guide to the… Galaxy’?”

“Yes.” Severus confirmed, nodding his head.

I eyed the old cover dubiously. “The title sounds kind of wrong.” I frowned. They weren’t wrong exactly, just bizarre enough to spark my interest. Why would Snape have such a book? I never took him for one to read fiction; he mostly just struck me as the kind of guy only obsessed with his own choice in career. Potions, in his case.

Snape shrugged. “Still better than wasting away on a couch Potter. Get reading. It’s quite long.” He said and I raised my brows, stifling the urge to roll my eyes at the man.

I held the width of the book between my thumb and index finger, carefully balancing its weight.

“That is an understatement if I have ever heard one.” The fingers holding the trembling book (my hand was trembling, not the book, mind you) were only a tiny bit away from straining, if I didn’t know any better I would have thought the length was chosen on purpose.

“Then your life must be terribly dull in that regard Mr. Potter.” Snape answered without missing a beat and then stood. Gracefully bellowing his robes. “Will you be able to sustain yourself for a few hours?”

Nodding, I turned my attention back to the book, narrowing my eyes at the worn hard cover. “Um yeah, sure.”

“Then I will proceed to rest in my room until dinner time, /hopefully/ undisrupted, this time.”

I flushed, my face taking a red hue as the man excused himself from the room and went for a nap. (It didn’t struck me as odd that the man had slept in that day just like I had, silly me)

“Yes sir.” I muttered long after he was gone.

Flipping through the yellowed pages at random, I caught glimpses of the long words and unfamiliar phrases here and there, my eyes straining to read the faded text all of a sudden the shuffling stopped. I looked up, momentarily startled and then went back to the book with a deep breath.

The prologue itself took me twenty minutes to go through; not only was I at a disadvantage by misspelling some words or missing a line altogether, but the text itself was too heavy for me, it was meant to be humorous, I knew that much, but somehow I had to reread some lines twice as much as I normally would have.

Words like ‘apocryphal’ or ‘repository’ were hard to pronounce on the first try, and I had to mouth those words and trail them with my fingers as I did, It would be shameful to admit that the damn thing was only like four pages.

This is Hermione material, a sly voice in my head whispered and I wholeheartedly agreed, feeling a ting of homesickness as I thought of her and eventually of everyone else. She and Ron were always so supportive of me; it made me realize how I might have taken advantage of them over the years without them ever knowing.

I continued to skim over the book until I felt my eyes droop, I had almost finished the prologue and finishing the second half of the first chapter, when words started swimming all over the pages and my head throbbed with the additional headache on top of it.

I must have been tired, for no particular reason, but inexpiably tired nonetheless, I stretched out my legs and laid down, thinking that maybe a shut eye wouldn’t be a bad idea, Snape was sleep anyway, and I would surely get up before him. With that thought in my mind, my eyes automatically closed and my shoulders slouched, relaxing my craned neck and lulling me into a quiet, floating dream.

Hours later, when it was almost dark and I had rested well enough, I felt something poke at my face, persistently trying to gauge out my eyes through my eyelids it seemed. It clamped down on the fragile skin and pulled, almost as if trying to open my eyes. I waved my hands at my face and the nudging moved to my ears, nibbling and the pulling started anew.

“Nan” I grunted out, batting my hands at whatever the hell was tormenting me.

A squawking sound screeched in my left ear and I grunted in annoyance again, my poised hand dropping down out of utter exhaustion.

I kicked my legs as the thing started to poke my cheek with a vengeance, pulling and nibbling and most definitely bruising my gaunt skin, sharp talons dug into my chest, but I was too groggy and bleary eyed to care. Finally having had enough after the poking contend for another five minutes, I peeled my eyes open and drew my hands to hit the thing.

Everything in my range of vision was white, snowy white feathers, were right near my nostrils, adorned with small black dots, her wings flapped on my face and I cringed, sputtering out as she moved around my face and head, its beak was now venturing in my messy hair, preening and poking and…
Hedwig. Only Hedwig had the courage to preen my hair.

“Hedwig!”