It was breakfast and a bomb had dropped.
The suspended silence was wedged between the bomb's deafening impact and the sudden, piercing screams of survivors. Cleo felt the collective panic like a punch to the gut.
But that was hyperbole working again. The truth of it: It was breakfast and she had a letter.
'To the lovely Miss Cleo,' it accused, and her stomach turned away from her.
Cal.
The handwriting impressed upon her before any of the words could. Before she'd even read her name, she knew. There was no return address-- he never bothered with those. There wasn't even a sending address. Just "Clytemnestra Croft" written in his unmistakable scrawl.
It was a miracle in and of itself that it had made its way to her.
In a distracted lapse of anxiety, she tore the side open and pulled the bit of parchment from the confines of its envelope (another odd, uncharacteristic detail -- where did he get an envelope?); her initial instinct was a momentary jolt of excitement.
But then the guilt settled only seconds after she'd caught the beginning of the letter. To the lovely Miss Cleo.
Immediately, she knew she was anything but.
Her glimpse of the first paragraph didn't help matters.
Oi! I haven't heard from you in a while. You said you'd write, and I'll have you know I am properly offended that I have to get off my arse and send this first.
Her reaction was histrionic: Her arm snapped over, turning the letter prone and away from her, as if she had seen something she shouldn't have. Her head tossed itself skyward and she grimaced.
"You all right?"
Cleo couldn't see her, but she recognized the first year's voice. Her lips flattened into an embarrassed scowl and she rolled her shoulders back. "Yes."
She heard the wooden bench across from her settle as someone plopped themselves down. There was a beat of a pause, then:
"What's that?"
Cleo managed to pull her head down as her fingers drummed themselves idly on the back of the parchment. "A letter."
"Oh," Thea breathed, brown curls bobbing, haphazard, as she canted her head. "Who from?"
Does it matter? What's it to you?
She closed her eyes against this impulse and swallowed. "A friend."
Thea reached across the table to grab a piece of toast that Cleo had left abandoned on her plate. "That's nice," she commented. "I like getting letters. Especially from my mums. They send me packages."
Cleo was grateful for the unorthodox syntax, if only because it allowed her an opportunity to deflect attention away from her. "Mums?" she asked as she leaned her cheek into the palm of her hand.
"Yep, got two," Thea hummed, a bit guarded, before taking a bite of toast. Mouth still full, she shot back to Cleo: "How many do you have?"
"Just the one," she replied, eyes crawling to the back of the parchment again.
Thea waited a moment before remarking: "I like that answer."
"Why's that?"
"Nothing -- it's stupid," she dismissed. There was a moment of reticence as Thea fiddled with the piece of toast in her fingers before she looked up, sheepish. "Thanks for not making me explain."
Cleo could only wonder how many times that had come up before.
However, her principle acknowledgement was a wave of the hand. "What do they send you?"
"Care packages, usually," Thea explained. "I mean, I've only gotten one since I've been here. But they used to do this when I went to camp."
"Camp kid too, huh?" Cleo mused, her lips upticked in a small smile.
"You bet," Thea shot back, playful. "You ever go?"
"No. My dad tried to get me to go once, but I got homesick immediately and demanded I be brought back home."
"What a baby," Thea teased as she grabbed a clementine from one of the fruit bowls nearby.
Cleo hummed softly in agreement. "What sort of camp did you go to?"
"Space camp," Thea supplied, her fingernails puncturing the peel of her clementine. "I've only been twice, over the summers, but it was loads of fun."
"Space camp," Cleo murmured, thoughtful. "Y'know, that was the only sort of camp that seemed at all interesting to me. What do you even do there?"
"Stargazing, mostly. At least the one I went to did. Nothing fancy, not like some of the American camps my Mums looked at. But all my counselors knew heaps of things, and we learned where to find all the constellations. Not to mention -- I saw Saturn for the first time! Can you believe that?" She plopped a piece of clementine in her mouth, her eyes glimmering, as if enraptured with a recollection. "Saturn's so big that you can see it all the way here with a telescope! I could even see the rings! Most amazing thing I've ever seen in my life!"
Cleo's voice was wistful, but kind. "Sounds very important to you."
"You should try it," Thea insisted after swallowing. "I could show you. I still remember the spot."
"I've seen her before," Cleo told her. "Second year Astronomy."
"Professor Sinistra's going to let us look at planets?! " Thea suddenly gasped, a tinge of excitement flaring her words. "So far, it's only been constellations! I got twenty points last Wednesday for knowing where Ursa Major and Ursa Minor are! I can't believe we'll get to look at planets!"
Thea's mention of points approached her, struck her square in the chest. Snape's voice, unwelcome, careened into the fray. Forgive me for taking a particle of thought for the fact that your actions do not simply affect you.
For Thea to be so excited over her success, it suddenly seemed all the more disgusting that Cleo's indiscretion had erased it all. God. God.
"... You okay?"
"What?"
"I mean, I get worked up over space too," Thea joked, gentle.
She hadn't noticed until it was pointed out. A faint heat emanated from her eyes, punctuated by a sting that didn't register until Cleo blinked. She was quick to swipe her forearm over her face. "No, no," she dismissed. "It's nothing. You're fine."
"Maybe you should read your letter," Thea suggested. "I know hearing from my friends and family always makes me happy."
Her lips twitched into a quick smile before she said, "Maybe later."
"Why not now?"
Plenty of reasons. None that seemed worthwhile to share. Not without running the risk of sounding ridiculous. Cleo remained silent and shoveled a spoonful of cold oatmeal into her mouth.
The conversation petered out uncomfortably, the two of them eating their food, until Thea piped up again a few minutes later, eager.
"So, uhm, who's your friend?"
Cleo didn't mean to sound as ashamed as she did when she said his name: "Caleb."
"Oh. Is he a Muggle?"
Cleo shook her head. "No, he's a wizard."
Thea's eyes squinted in confusion. "Then... wait -- why isn't he here?"
Cleo glanced away from her, toward the ceiling again. "Because he graduated last year."
"Oh."
"Mm."
Another pause. Thea appeared as if she were working through her own suspicions. "It's nice that he writes you."
"Yeah," Cleo sighed, noncommittal.
She observed as Thea's body shifted, one side to the left, awkward and self conscious. "I'm sorry if I'm talking too much. It's just--"
Cleo's eyes closed. God. Fucking God. Fucking Christing God on a fucking crutch. She was the worst. The absolute fucking worst. Couldn't even play polite and nice. Had to make a fucking eleven year old feel awful for trying to be friendly. For making an effort. For--
"No, Thea," Cleo asserted, tender voice traveling across the table to grasp her. "You're fine. I'm sorry. I'm in an odd mood, I think. It's not you, I promise."
"It's okay to be sad," the girl said quietly. "That's what mum tells me. It's okay to be sad. You don't have to, you know, hide it."
Cleo couldn't help it; at that juncture, deflecting felt like the only comfortable thing to do. "Which mum?" she teased, tilting her head.
Thea rolled her eyes, albeit with a grin. "Mama Sophie. She has a lot of good advice about being sad."
"Does she?"
"It's 'cause she deals with it a lot," Thea explained. "It's her entire job."
Cleo squinted. "What does she do?"
"She's a mortician," Thea told her with a tinge of pride that time, seemingly catching a second wind from Cleo's previous lack of judgement.
"That's unique."
"Lots of things about my mums are unique," Thea pointed out.
"I believe you."
"What about yours?"
Cleo raised an eyebrow. "What, my parents?"
"Yeah," Thea prompted.
"You sure you feel comfortable with this?"
She frowned, bemused. "Huh?"
"We've shared a lot of personal things," Cleo reminded her, giving her a knowing look. "I want to make sure you feel okay with it."
"Oh." The girl's head lowered a bit, mouth twisting, pensive. "I hadn't really thought about it."
"We don't have to say anything else."
There appeared to be a deliberation that passed over the girl's expression before her posture straightened, gaze growing more determined, confident. "We're the same," she announced, clearly on the tail end of some conclusion. "So I just, you know, felt safe."
The hint of a smile wormed its way across Cleo's lips, before inching away into neutrality. "This will all just stay here with me, I promise."
"I know," Thea said, before she gazed at Cleo, expectant. "So...?"
"Well," Cleo started with a sharp exhale. "My Dad's a midwife, and my mum..." Sure was... a whole lot of things. "... well, she's a stay at home mother. But there's lots of things she likes to do."
"Like what?" Thea asked, fishing in the bowl for yet another clementine, not long after she'd polished off the first.
"Painting, gardening, meditating," Cleo listed, before letting out a short laugh. "Protesting."
"My mums do that too," Thea said, frowning as a bit of juice squirted from the fruit after she'd dug too deep with her fingers. With an ineloquent duck of her head, she licked the lines that bisected her wrists, before adding: "I don't know a lot about it. They say I'm too young. But they do a lot of marching. And they let me help them make their signs. Mama Carol says it's good to be... engaged."
"She's right."
"Do you protest with your mum?"
"Sometimes," was Cleo's nonchalant answer.
Thea picked up the slack from Cleo's clipped speech. "I wish I could go with my mums," she admitted. "It feels bad, sometimes, because they always seem to be fighting against something. I hate seeing them do it on their own. I want to help."
Cleo's chest felt weighted by something she couldn't describe and her response poured from her, drunk on its confidence, "You do enough."
Thea's laugh was skeptical. "How do you know?"
"I just do."
"Yeah, well," Thea sighed, "It makes me frustrated. I want to fight too."
"You're too young to be fighting."
"It's not like I have a choice," Thea countered, a bit put off. "I'm not a baby."
Cleo's frown grew more prominent. "I wasn't trying to say you were."
"It's just not fair," she complained, "sometimes Mama Carol cries over the fact she can't adopt me, because it's not allowed. They already can't get married. And it makes me mad. I hate that they make her cry."
Cleo's fingers tightened around her bowl of oatmeal. What could she possibly argue, in that instance?
"Can I ask you something?"
Strangely wary, Cleo answered, "What is it?"
Thea hesitated, her eyes seeming to focus on Cleo's face oddly.
"What?"
"Just--" Thea began, apprehensive. "How old are you?"
Cleo's laugh kicked out of her. "You're nervous to ask me that?"
"I mean--"
"I'll be twenty in two weeks."
"Oh," Thea mumbled. "So, you are older."
A heat on the back of Cleo's neck flared. "Yes I am."
"So that means it's true," Thea concluded.
"What's true?"
"You know," Thea said in a lower register. "That you left."
Cleo leaned back against her own anxiety, crowded in the air just at her shoulders. The room felt quieter. Which was ridiculous -- of course it wasn't. The dull roar of surrounding voices hadn't waned any great deal, but in her ears they quieted against the accusation in Thea's voice.
"I... did."
"Why?"
Cleo tore her eyes away from the table to look at Thea. "Does it matter?"
"I guess not," Thea conceded. "I just wanted to hear it from you."
"Hear it from me," Cleo echoed, flat.
"I didn't want to listen to rumors."
"Rumors are fun," Cleo uttered with levity, her hands going into her lap.
"What I mean is, you're my friend," Thea explained, sitting up straighter, "and I don't think it's fair to listen to rumors about something like that."
Cleo's insides broke into a faint warmth. "What did you hear?"
"Nothing concrete," Thea assured her. "Just... something about a Gryffindor you used to know."
She hated how that accusation settled next to her: Overly familiar, oblivious to how unwelcome it was, fancying itself an old friend. It made it all the more difficult to not express her frustration, but Cleo managed.
"It did involve him, yes."
Thea leaned forward, urgent. "Wait, it did?"
"Yes."
"But... then, what happened?" Thea's expression softened. "It... it wasn't like defense class, was it?"
What, she'd heard about that too?
Well, no, of course she had. Losing all of Slytherin's house points wasn't going to remain a secret. But the fact that Thea's mind had lept to Cleo's public display of rage made her insides twist uncomfortably.
"It wasn't like that," Cleo promised her. "It's just, when I was seventeen, I met Benjamin and--"
"Miss Croft."
-- and that was the end of that. The soft squeak of wheels arrived alongside Professor Tenenbaum's interruption and Cleo looked to her, apprehensive.
"Good morning, Professor," she wheedled the greeting from her collecting anxiety in some vain attempt to make it productive.
Professor Tenenbaum didn't seem all that interested in pleasantries. "I received your timetable from Professor Snape," she disclosed.
"I see."
"You have a two hour block of free time before your N.E.W.T. Divination class at nine thirty," the Professor replied dully, her papery cheek resting in the cleft of her palm. "I figured that would be an appropriate time to schedule your detentions, yes?"
"I don't have a problem with that."
Her eyes lit up, voice lilting with a sardonic response, "Well, so long as you don't have a problem with it."
Cleo flinched. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that--"
"I'll expect you soon, Miss Croft. We'll be meeting at the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest today. Please don't run late."
That meant "come now," more than anything else. Cleo understood that implicitly.
Though, as the professor began to wheel herself away, she stopped briefly to flash a brilliant smile at Thea. "Miss Waters. How is your Fumos coming along?"
"Better," Thea answered, her eyes volleying between Cleo and the professor. However, in some lapse of hesitation, the girl's lips folded into a smile. "It looks more like fog than just cloud now."
"Very good," the woman praised. "Keep practicing. I'd like you to show me when we do practicals tomorrow."
"Yes ma'am."
There was a rapid shift in her demeanor when Professor Tenenbaum glanced to Cleo once more -- put off, but with a begrudging sense of beckoning to it.
Cleo about caved in on herself, but remained stalwart, watching as the woman's purple wheelchair did an about face and headed toward the exit of the Great Hall. Her breath all but beat itself out of her.
"Cleo?" Thea prompted.
"I should go," Cleo stated, beginning to stand, attention glued to the teacher's slowly fading silhouette.
"Okay."
Cleo's head drifted back to look down at the first year and, with a half-weary smile, she promised, "I'll tell you about it later, okay?"
Whatever vague disappointment existed in the girl's posture evaporated from her as she sat up taller, smiling once more. "Okay!"
She'd slung her bag over her shoulder and began to walk away when she heard Thea's voice again. "Wait, Cleo?"
She stopped dead in her tracks, frowning over her shoulder. "What?"
Thea casually placed her fingers on the edge of the parchment laid abandoned on the table, pushing it toward her. "You almost forgot your letter."
"Oh." Almost. A near miss. If only.
There was a weighty gait to her steps when she returned to retrieve the letter, and she folded it sloppily before stuffing it into her pocket.
"Have fun at detention," Thea sang to her, attention focused on breakfast once more.
The professor had arrived long before Cleo had the chance to. When she passed the edge of the grounds, the first thing she spotted was Professor Tenenbaum tutting over a largeish tree at the center of a clearing -- quite an uncommon sight within the confines of the cluttered forest.
Her presence was greeted with a prompt order hastily flung from the end of an arm proffered toward her: "Give me those shears."
Casting her eyes about, Cleo obediently fetched the tool from off a nearby, obviously conjured, table. They were snatched from her hands with a clipped thanks and Cleo took a step back, eyeing the foliage again.
The woman hacked off one of the branches; it was shrivelled and charred, more like a raisin than the reaching arm of a tree. There was an inordinate portion of time where the professor seemed to ignore her outright, and Cleo steeped herself in the silence, off kilter, observing as the woman continued to mutilate the tree with every snap of her shears.
A compulsion came at the apex of this horrendous in-between, an impulse to fill the silence, if only to diminish the discomfort that was beginning to gorge itself on the quiet the longer the two of them stood there.
Hands clasped behind her back, she revealed herself with a loud breath, before reciting: "Professor Tenenbaum, I just wanted, first of all, to tell you how sorry I am about how I acted--"
"My, you really don't listen, do you?" Professor Tenenbaum mused aloud, still focused on the tree.
Winded, Cleo faltered. "I--"
"As I've said," the woman said, regarding a particular area of bark that held her attention rapt, "sorry doesn't mean anything."
All Cleo could muster was a bewildered, blundering, "Then, what could I possibly do to make up for--"
"You'll do as you're told, perhaps?" the woman suggested.
"I was horrified," Cleo prefaced, taking a step closer. "If it's a matter of sincerity, I can promise you that I do feel awful about it."
"I'm sure you do," Professor Tenenbaum remarked. "That's not in question."
"I don't understand?"
"It's really rather simple, Miss Croft," the Professor assured her, finally deigning to glance in her direction. "I don't respect people who don't respect me."
"I do--"
"You most certainly do not," the woman interjected with a wry chuckle. "And I don't particularly care, either. You don't survive in the real world being concerned with how much everyone you meets likes you. I know you'd rather kiss a Banshee than be in my class-- that was apparent from the moment you arrived. But, to be frank, Miss Croft, the bottom line is that if you aren't interested in learning, then I'm not all that interested in teaching you."
As if some pretense had been dropped, Cleo's posture drooped and she asked, dejected, "If that's the case, then why the scene?"
"Because most of the time, when people can't force themselves to give a toss about a class, they keep to themselves, not sabotage lessons. By all means, be as incompetent as you'd like. Skive off, if it pleases you. But I won't abide by disruptions. Everyone else is there to learn and when I have to halt everything to deal with you, it means that everyone else is adversely affected. It takes away from their time to learn. That's not fair, is it?"
She didn't know what bothered her more: the fact that this very same sentiment had a habit of being thrown into her face as of late, or the fact that a modicum of truth laid within it and she didn't have the strength to deal with it right now.
"No," Cleo answered after a pause. "It's not."
"Well, there you go," Professor Tenenbaum returned, breezy. "You aren't a lost cause after all."
"But, ma'am?"
That caught the woman's attention. Her wheelchair shifted in its hover to face Cleo as the woman's head canted.
"I don't hate your class," Cleo explained. "I wouldn't have taken it had I not been pressured, no, but I've never had any intention of disrupting anything. You're a good teacher and, even though you've made it clear that you hate me saying this, I'm sorry if my lack of enthusiasm communicated any sense of disrespect. I don't think your class is a waste of time."
The lack of reaction in the professor's expression was unsettling. Her affect was completely flat, unmoved, as if she hadn't heard what Cleo had said at all. Or didn't care.
However, after a moment, something shifted in the woman's countenance. Or, well, more accurately, she glanced from Cleo to the tree, her posture in her wheelchair growing relaxed.
"You'll be helping me set wards for tomorrow's lesson," she announced, turning toward the forest. "What do you know of limnal boundaries?"
"Do you mean liminal?"
A scoff blurted from the woman's mouth. "I'm not in the habit of misspeaking, no. I mean limnal. I'll take your confusion as an utter lack of understanding of the subject?"
"That'd be safe."
That, above all else, drew the first genuine reaction from the professor: She laughed. It was a raspy, rumbling sort of noise that bubbled deep in her chest. "It's rather simple," she prefaced, rapping her knuckles on the tree beside her. "In here is a nasty creature which I would rather not inflict on the world at large. I want to make sure it cannot leave this clearing. So, how do you suppose we keep that from happening?"
"Drawing a boundary it cannot pass."
"Exactly," she acknowledged. "We define a section of space, and we use that to direct the flow of magic. You following so far?"
Cleo's head bobbed slightly as she stepped forward. "So you delineate where you want the boundary to be, and you use the flow of magic to enforce it. Right?"
"In a sense. That 'flow of magic' we are talking about is what wizards call wards," the professor said, waving her wand in a lazy curlicue. "They're magical instructions placed on a limnal boundary, allowing it to do its work."
Cleo chewed the inside of her cheek momentarily before asking, "How do you... I don't know, specify the instructions? It can't just be a magical word, can it?"
Professor Tenenbaum rolled back a short distance in air, gesturing toward the edge of the clearing. "When the boundary is drawn, it is connected to what is called a 'foundational object'. That object -- whatever it is -- essentially acts as a proxy for the entire area you defined. So, when you attach spells to it, they are distributed across the whole space."
"So it's not a single spell, but a network of spells."
The woman performed a waffling shrug, her head bouncing side to side as she considered. "In essence? Yes. But if we're to paint a complete picture: sometimes it is and sometimes it isn't. That all depends on what you're trying to accomplish. Something like an Unplottable Ward tends to run on the more complicated side, whereas a Caterwauler is about as simple as it gets."
"So... how complicated did you want this ward to be?"
"I intend to spice it up a bit, but it's important to start simple. First, set the boundary. Second, attach the foundation object. Third -- and this is crucial -- lay down your ward parameters before you place the ward. Fourth, establish the obstruction spell which will keep the creature trapped inside. See? Simple."
Yeah. Simple. Sure.
There was an unexpected shout which wafted toward them from the edge of the clearing. "Oi Bridge, we alright to cross?" Ren was standing beneath the canopy of trees, accompanied by none other than Harry Potter, who was shuffling his feet and looking around curiously.
"The hell do you think?" Professor Tenenbaum called back, distracted.
The man made his way toward them, not appearing perturbed by her tone. As he drew near, Cleo could see that his look was as eclectic as it usually was: His skin was tinged purple, and red, downy feathers peppered his body. Long hair askew, and strawberry blonde today she noticed, he walked with a lumbering gait, likely due to the long rat's tail which trailed along behind him. Despite the colorful array, Ren was attired very plainly, his hands stuffed in the pockets of an oversized, dark denim jacket. Crossing in front of Professor Tenenbaum, he completed a leisurely twirl.
"How do you like my look?" he questioned with a theatrical vamp, ruined by the fact he nearly tripped over the tail.
"Garish and hideous, as always," Professor Tenenbaum volleyed back, though in a tone that Cleo caught as distinctly and oddly... loving.
Ren shrugged, his smirk unwavering. "Ah, well. Guess I'll have to try harder next time."
Potter, hovering at the outskirts of their small circle, cleared his throat. "Er, you asked for me, Professor?"
Everything about Professor Tenenbaum brightened a considerable deal when she addressed Potter, the shift so jarring that it was difficult not to gawp. "Harry, good. Would you come with me a moment? I wanted to speak with you on a matter."
The boy acquiesced readily enough. Ren pivoted to watch them go, but then he abruptly turned around to point a finger in her direction. "Oh! Cleo!" he exclaimed as if he'd only just noticed she was there. "Been meaning to talk to you."
That sounded unsettlingly conspiratorial. "Have you?"
"Yes!" he declared, triumphant. "And wouldn't you know it, we've got ourselves the perfect opportunity."
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Did you know that when I attended this noble institution," this was said with a tinge of mockery, "I was a Gryffindor?"
"Imagine that."
"A tragically typical one, I might add," he lamented. Though, considering his current appearance, that was a bit hard to believe. "But still, I heard about what happened in class yesterday."
"I would hazard a guess that everyone has at this point," she pointed out, subdued.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of!" Ren argued, jovial. "Hell, I've had it out with Bridge before too; she's... herself."
Well, he was perhaps the first person to share that sentiment. She couldn't say if that was a comfort or not. "Yes, well, in the end, you're not exactly the person she thinks is an unhinged, disrespectful idiot are you?"
The man squinted at her, feathers rumpling as he shrugged. "I like to consider myself the de facto expert on 'what Bridgette Tenenbaum would think', and I can confirm she thinks none of those things," he pointed out. "Look, she's not concerned about this or that thing that you've said. She's been called worse, believe me. Bridge doesn't put any stock in words."
Well, that was already apparent. Cleo didn't say anything, though -- just observed as he waffled through his next statement.
"You're only... Eh... Okay, here's the thing: her temper is extra foul with people like you."
"People like me," she repeated in a low murmur.
"The smart ones," he clarified, earnest. "The ones who could be leaps and bounds ahead, if only they took a step forward."
"I think you're both overestimating my capabilities," she put in tiredly.
Ren grinned at her. "Nah, she's trained up loads of rookies in her day, and she's never wrong about the potential of her students. And me? My approach isn't as logical."
She was sensing a pattern here. Ren appealed to flattery, to over inflate her abilities. Professor Tenenbaum, however, appealed to her guilt. She preferred the professor's method better. At least it was honest. At least it was willing to call her out on her bullshit.
"Your approach?"
"Well, I guess I'd call it more of a philosophy," he mused, tapping a finger on his chin. "I believe that everyone can accomplish great and previously-impossible feats, but they limit themselves-- Which is why I'm an oddball with below-average accomplishments." His grin grew larger, his tone incredibly bright. "It's my dream come true! You, though? I don't think you're the same."
"You don't, huh?"
"Yeah," Ren said, stuffing his hands in both pockets once more, "otherwise, you wouldn't have come back."
"Jesus," she expelled all of a sudden, her first break in composure. "How many of you people know about that?"
The man before her raised both eyebrows, hands burrowing into his jacket pockets. Then, his mirth bubbled over and he threw his head back in a full laugh. "Well, what did you expect? I'm a teacher's assistant!"
She wasn't certain what that had to do with anything, but she didn't really want to know either, lest she be privy to some meeting Dumbledore called to discuss her private matters. Scowling, she turned away, her eyes catching on the image of Potter and the professor speaking, not that far away. Tenenbaum didn't look happy. Fantastic.
"If you knew a thing about it," Cleo grumbled, "you'd realize coming back was a stupid idea."
Ren sobered, shifting his weight with another shrug. "Well-- I don't know," he remarked, following her gaze toward the other pair. "Maybe you're right. But in my experience, it's the stupid ideas that yield the best results."
Her expression became incredulous. That didn't even make sense.
He looked in her direction, smile returning. "Tell you what, I'll do you one better in the ideas department."
Cleo looked at him, her mouth ready on a response. However, just then, she caught the frayed edges of Professor Tenenbaum's voice.
"You're sure you won't reconsider?" she cajoled, and Cleo could hear a sharp clack as she dropped her head against the back of her wheelchair.
Potter scratched the side of his head, bashful. "Sorry, Professor."
The woman let out a soft, dissatisfied hum. Ren lifted his hands from his pockets and clapped them together, the singular sound booming in the quiet clearing.
"All done, then?" he raised his voice toward the other two.
"That appears to be the case, yes," the professor murmured, the wind stolen from her sails.
"I've just had the most brilliant idea in the known world. Do you want to hear it?" Ren prompted, jauntily rolling back on his heels.
All three of them didn't answer. None of them looked at him, either. Cleo's eyes faced the floor. Potter still seemed abashed. Professor Tenenbaum had all the look of dread about her.
Undeterred, Ren continued as if he'd received an enthusiastic response. "Not to worry, I won't keep you all in suspense for too long." There was a note of irony in his tone, borne of self-awareness no doubt. "In my humble opinion, the lively Miss Cleo requires a tutor. And what have we here, but a diligent student with an apparent knack for instruction?"
Cleo's head snapped in Ren's direction, a sharp "What?" escaping her; it only took her seconds to notice the distinct deeper undertone, as Potter had blurted out the same sentiment as well.
"Uh--!" Potter looked to be casting about for something to say, though his alarm was apparent. "I mean, I don't really think I'm the best choice--"
"Nonsense!" Ren exclaimed, before he let out a short laugh. "My, my, I sound like my mother--"
Potter pressed forward through the aside. "I've just finished telling the Professor that my schedule isn't really suitable for more extracurriculars--"
"It's an imposition," Cleo argued, flustered. "I'm not comfortable demanding time out of some kid's schedule for my own benefit--"
Harry grimaced. "'Some kid?' I'm right here, you know."
"Cleo, Harry, let me be clear," Ren said, placing a calming hand in each of their directions. "It wouldn't be permanent. Even if all you did was meet once a week, I think you both could benefit."
"But--"
He addressed Cleo squarely, then. "Honestly? Without tutoring, you're going to have a bad time. This course hit the ground running from day one, and now you've got to catch up. But there's no reason you couldn't be at the same level as the rest of the class by Christmas if you had extra help."
"I told you," she stressed, "I'm not comfortable imposing on anyone."
With that, he rounded on Potter. "Might you be able to spare an hour or two?"
"Don't pressure him," Cleo warned, her arms crossing taut over her chest.
Potter frowned, looking between the two before casting his eyes to the professor as if to appeal for help. "I... don't know," he ventured, uncomfortable.
"It's fine, Potter," Cleo assured him, clearly on edge. "I'm not your responsibility."
Ren's next remark was a touch thespian. "It would be such a shame to abandon your classmate in her hour of need--"
"It's..." Potter's deliberation lasted a mere moment. "Alright, fine, I'll do it--"
"No."
Cleo's interjection went unnoticed. Ren clapped his hands together once more, as if to put an end to the matter. "We're in agreement, then," he concluded, a lilt in his voice. "All we need is the approval of the Chief Witch of the Wizengamot over here."
Professor Tenenbaum, who had taken a reclined position in her wheelchair, leaned forward only to smirk, as her hand went to scratch the rough stump that made up her left leg. "It's up to Harry," she commented, blithe. "Though, I would hope that it-- ah, ignites some spark of passion he once retained for tutoring."
The boy grimaced briefly, his gaze falling by the wayside. "Right."
"Potter."
His eyes met Cleo's. Finally. "What?"
She stopped, watching him; there was nothing in his expression that gave him away, nor any indication of how he felt. With a frown, she glanced up toward the sky above her and sighed. "I'll be in the library this afternoon," she told him. "If you actually want to do this, you can declare your intentions then and there. After you've actually thought about it. Sound fair?"
The boy shuffled his feet, but held her stare. "Sure," was his neutral reply, carried on the back of a shrug.
Her gaze drifted to Professor Tenenbaum then, her frame still wound tight. "We should start on the wards," she indicated, trying not to sound gloomy. "It's a wonder your little creature has remained in the tree for this long."
Charms had droned on for far longer than she preferred, and the greater portion of it was spent avoiding Potter. She didn't know what Ren was thinking, requesting such a thing -- on her behalf, no less. How could Potter say no under that kind of duress? She didn't need tutoring, anyway. Perhaps it would've been helpful, but... She could manage on her own.
There was no better place to start on that, really, than in the library. Her steps were heavy; Cal's letter was still burning a hole in her pocket. Maybe if it actually did, she mused, she'd never have to read it.
There wasn't any use dwelling on it. It was just going to make the entire day more unbearable.
Hogwarts's library was perhaps one of the more sizable ones she'd ever encountered, which was a feat in and of itself. Her father was a veritable connoisseur of libraries; there wasn't one within a hundred kilometers of her hometown that he hadn't been to. From the time she was young, a weekly visit had become a regular part of their routine, along with bedtime storytelling. Of course, her nightly tales didn't always include princesses and talking animals; her father had frequently dazzled her with tales of science and medicine -- a way to incentivize himself to study when he'd ended up specializing in midwifery, she'd discovered much later.
Even if most of what he'd said was a mystery to her, it was the soothing baritone of his voice that she'd enjoyed most of all. Her eyes began to close, attempting to remember the sound...
No.
Why did she continue to reminisce like this when all it did was make her more and more homesick?
School. Focus on school.
As she navigated her way through, she noticed the Defense section of the library was noticeably more sparse than the rest; it seemed likely that a great deal of it had been gouged out and placed in the Restricted Section. Most of what remained were textbooks for lower years, encyclopedias, a few complex books of theory, and historical texts about famous dark creatures and those who discovered them -- including, inexplicably, a few books by Gilderoy Lockhart. Cleo took hold of several tomes, stacking them up in her arms. Many of the "historical" ones had the look of narratives, but it couldn't hurt to check; after all, Ren had made it quite clear that she was failing Defense. If there was anything that could help her here, she would take it.
By the time she'd made it to a table, Cleo had gathered a sizable heap. Initially endeavoring to carry it all herself, she'd ended up settling for making them float along behind her when they'd threatened to topple more than once.
She was careful to settle them noiselessly, lest she disturb the others seated and studying, but an abrupt, scornful laugh clanged from her left, followed by the scraping of a chair. "Ah-- girls, it's well past time to go."
Cleo glanced up at the sudden sound, regretting it immediately. A band of five Slytherin girls were clustered by a neighboring table. One of them was staring directly at her -- the one who had spoken. Striking blue eyes, auburn hair bound into a loose ponytail atop her head, and strikingly lavish accoutrements completed her affluent presentation. She was possessed of an acutely dignified bearing the other girls lacked, with a calculating glare to match. The girl stood, the movement so poised and elegant that she could be mistaken for royalty. Her followers mirrored her action a mere few seconds later, like afterimages.
A wispy girl standing beside her prodded her arm. "Aw, Ann! Do we have to? Flora was just getting to the good part!"
"Yes, we do," the first girl, Ann presumably, countered with a significant glance at Cleo. "I don't care much for the air in here anymore." Four pairs of eyes turned against her.
"Oh," one of the others sighed. This girl was familiar: Jane Atwater. From her Herbology class. They locked eyes, only broken when Jane glanced away, turning her back.
"Right then," Ann scoffed, "we're off."
With a haughty toss of her ponytail, she left, her posse trailing behind her. Cleo caught Jane dawdling for a moment, the girl's lips flashing an apologetic frown in her direction before bursting into a trot to catch up with her friends.
Sighing, Cleo turned her gaze back to her books. It didn't matter. It didn't fucking matter. Focus.
In the end, this was easier said than done. Her attention drifted in between dry sentence after dry sentence... As it turned out, Professor Tenenbaum had trapped what was called a Leshy to be used for the next day's lesson. And from what she gleaned from the anthology, they were slavic magical creatures. Guardians of the forest. Not necessarily malevolent in and of themselves, but dangerous still, if caught in a bad enough mood. They were known for things like kidnapping children, luring travelers astray, blah... blah...
Studying had never been this difficult before. The words intertwined with one another; her own thoughts lanced amidst the sentences she read, disrupting. By the time she'd attempted to read the same sentence for the fifth time and yet still hadn't retained what it said, she knew this entire thing was a wash. The book held her as she dipped forward, pressing her forehead against its spine.
Giving up wasn't really an option, as alluring as the prospect seemed. This was supposed to be productive. She didn't want to sulk.
Her robes felt uncomfortable, lopsided, favoring her left pocket. It didn't matter how many times she adjusted herself -- this same agitation would rear its ugly head once again, careening its way to the forefront of her mind. The letter. It wanted to be read. She fucking knew that. But she couldn't right now.
A jolt of heat and pressure surged through her spine and, with a scowl, she slammed her book shut. The sound bloomed out from the epicenter of where she sat and she noticed, much to her chagrin, a few heads were raised to look at her. She offered a meek, contrite smile in supplication, and watched as each face dropped back into study.
Cleo's eyes slammed shut and she grit her teeth.
Control yourself.
Her arm reached to grab and pull another book from the pile, not caring to know what it was. She cracked the spine open against her lap and forced herself to begin reading again. An Assorted History On Dueling.
A numbness took hold of her and she struggled through the first few pages of the text for what felt like forever until she noticed something beside her: Fingers taking hold of one of the books on her table, just barely in her line of sight. Reflexively, she shot out a hand in a quick, deterring motion.
"Sorry, I'm using that--" She stopped short, arm cancelling its path, and her breath caught roughly in her throat.
Professor Snape stood beside the table, his expression neutral aside from a single quirked eyebrow. "Using that term rather loosely, aren't you, Miss Croft?"
"Not really," she returned, a touch defensive.
The man didn't immediately reply, simply glancing about the table in front of her with a considering air before returning his gaze to her. "You haven't turned a page in at last ten minutes."
She stared at him, bewildered. "Have you been watching me for ten minutes?"
"If by 'watching' you mean 'noticing your haphazard arrangement of books due to the fact that you are currently holding one that I require hostage', then yes."
"Hostage," she repeated, deadpan.
"Indeed," was his equally unenthused rejoinder. "Seeing as you are not strictly using it at present."
"I was going to get into it after this chapter," she protested.
"You have particular interest in limnal boundaries and ward foundations?"
"I have a particular interest in doing an essay on them for extra credit," she told him.
He squinted at her, his expression odd in such a way that Cleo suspected that the phrase "extra credit" was either repulsive or utterly unfamiliar to him. The professor commented, "For someone so apparently struggling with Defense concepts, you seem quite keen to jump ahead of your curriculum."
"As I remember, you suggested I do so."
"I must confess to some lingering skepticism regarding your compliance."
She frowned. "I've taken your advice plenty of times."
Both eyebrows rose at that pronouncement. "You don't say," he intoned.
It was difficult to not take his bait. But being antagonistic wouldn't help matters, not where he was concerned, at least. She frowned at him before looking back down at the book in front of her. "When you're right, you're right."
The man shifted in her periphery. "I expect Professor Tenenbaum has already contacted you to schedule your detentions?" he changed the subject.
"This morning," she replied.
"And I expect I will never have to hear from her again." There was a clear warning in his tone.
Her reaction was stark: She turned toward him in earnest, gaze catching his. "You won't."
His attention held fast, but only for the span of a moment before it fell away toward her array of texts on the table. "We shall see," he remarked, doubtful.
"You won't," she mumbled again, returning to her text. "She's all excited, anyway, now that Potter's been guilted into possibly tutoring me."
There was no reply, though the man remained in place.
In that expanse of silence, she could feel the weightiness of his gaze boring into her. Expectant. It took her a second, but, with a sigh, she grasped the book beside her before holding it in his direction, her eyes still focused on the open chapter waiting in her lap. "Here."
There was a short pause before her arm was unburdened. Professor Snape performed a quick flourish, twisting the book beneath his arm. In the corner of her eye, she could see it resting at his side. Then, his voice drifted down to her, sardonic, "Five points to Slytherin."
Her head snapped in his direction, gobsmacked. It didn't take long for the shock to radiate into a pleasant sense of humor, but she was careful not to laugh. Her lips twisted into a smile before she took the chance to joke: "Need any other books?"
It was possible she'd imagined it, but his expression seemed to twitch, a momentary uptick in the muscles of his face. Then, within the space of a blink, it was gone. "Not today."
"Fair enough."
It would have ended there. It probably should have ended there. But the levity in the conversation, imagined or not, bolstered her to some degree.
She hesitated, albeit briefly, before turning toward him in her chair. "Professor Snape?"
A raised eyebrow and a toneless hum signaled his attention.
"About my proposal--"
"Not now, Miss Croft," he cut her off. The stern words struck a harsh contrast against his prior tone.
"Not now?" she repeated, pushing her luck further. "So that means there will be a later?"
He slanted her a disapproving look. "I have yet to be sufficiently convinced that it is worth my time."
That statement stung more than it ought have. "I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't--"
"I have business of actual import to attend to," the professor interrupted her, already pivoting away. "Good afternoon, Miss Croft."
"But--"
By the time that pathetic word limped its way out of her mouth, he was halfway across the library.
She waited for almost an hour before Potter arrived. It was hard to say if she was apprehensive or relieved to spot his head of unruly hair amongst the bookshelves.
He checked out a book, glancing over his shoulder as if he was establishing an alibi to be there in the library with her. She put her gaze on the book in her lap as he turned in her direction.
The kid didn't wait around. His trajectory to her table was direct -- as was his greeting. "Hey."
She didn't look up. "Hey."
Potter radiated a sort of manic energy; the boy couldn't keep still. His index finger tapped relentlessly atop the book in his hands, but she could feel his intent gaze on the side of her face.
Clearly growing impatient with the quiet, he addressed her with whiplike intensity. "So. Here we are."
That, of all things, made her look up at him. He appeared... something. She couldn't quite place it. However, there was an odd determination to him. "I'd say that's accurate, yes."
Potter pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table, plopping himself down and staring at her. "Okay-- No need to pretend to be polite, now that there's no teachers around."
"What?" she bumbled, eyes trained in a squint.
He pursed his lips. "You wanted to meet here, didn't you?"
"So you could tell me whether or not you wanted to actually tutor me," she reiterated. "Are you here to tell me no, then?"
Potter's frown was pronounced. "What, you're saying you actually want to be tutored by me?" he questioned, disbelieving.
"I only want you to tutor me if it's something you want to do," she clarified, uneasy. "If you don't, you're free to just tell me no."
"You do actually know who I am, right?"
"I'd say it's very difficult to not know who you are."
"Right," was his flat response. "I don't know what your angle is, but I'll agree to tutor you if you answer some questions."
"Okay...?" she agreed, leaning back into her chair.
"Tell me what you know about what Malfoy's up to."
"Why in the world would I know what Malfoy is up to?" she asked, incredulous.
The impatient tapping of his finger resurged, this time thumping at the wooden edge of his armrest. "You're in his House, aren't you?"
"I'm in his House, thus I know everything about him?" she challenged.
"No," Potter shot back. "But I saw him talking to you yesterday. I want to know why."
"Why do you think?" she snapped, growing irritated. "He throws his weight around. It's all he does now."
"He's already done more than that," he countered. "And I don't intend to let him continue."
"You alone, huh?"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You see anyone else doing anything about this?"
Maybe she was letting her anger get the best of her now, but she couldn't help the irate remark that shoved itself from her: "No, Potter, you're literally the only person in this entire school who has the foresight and moxie to stand up to a little prick like Malfoy."
"Obviously I am, since he's still swanning off, doing whatever the hell he wants," Potter said, his dark eyebrows drawn low over his eyes.
"Obviously you are," she repeated, livid, as she went to lay her book back onto the table.
"I don't really care what you think about it," he told her, matter-of-fact. "I've witnessed one too many of Malfoy's dark-corner-meetings to just let it go."
With a furrowed brow, she leaned forward. "Ah, I see. Two Slytherins being in proximity to each other is grounds for conspiracy, huh?"
"Yeah, it is. Especially when he's targeting Muggleborns," Potter shot back. "A fact you don't seem to care about."
Was he serious?
"No, wouldn't be of any interest to me at all," she seethed, acerbic.
"Right," was his clipped retort. "So you're not going to answer my questions, then."
"I'm not being obtuse, Potter," she barked. "There's just nothing to say. If you think Malfoy and I are chatting it up in dark corners of the dungeon, then you don't know much about me at all."
For a moment, he just stared at her. Then, a frustrated sigh escaped him. "How is it that Malfoy is such a public arsehole, but nobody knows anything about what he's doing?"
"I imagine asking the wrong people doesn't really help."
Potter scowled at her. "I don't need a lecture from the same girl who decided to kiss up to Snape at my expense," he sneered. "Which is exactly what Malfoy would do, I might add."
"That's the conclusion you drew?"
"I don't know what I was expecting, really," Potter remarked, caustic.
"I'm sorry--" she gasped, exasperated, practically throwing herself back in her seat. "Did I do something to piss you off? I don't understand where this hostility is coming from."
The boy stared at her as if she were insane. "You've been suspended from school, you're having secret meetings with Malfoy, you berated a teacher-- And you and Snape are right chummy, aren't you? " he accused her, point-blank.
"You sure like to pretend you know more than you actually do," she observed, scowling.
"I know enough," Potter spat.
Engaging like this wasn't worth it, was it?
"Okay, Potter," she exhaled, using her arms against the table to rig herself into a stand. "Since you find me so revolting to be around, I won't make you waste your time further, then."
He watched her snatch her bag from the table, picking up his own book like it was a shield.
Cleo left most of the texts she had amassed, opting to just walk out of the situation. What else could she do? The air around her felt too oppressive for her to remain a second longer. It was too much -- all of it.
She needed to go somewhere. Anywhere. Before this got worse.
There were few places within the confines of the castle where Cleo felt truly safe, but there was one spot, above all others, she returned to time and time again. She'd stumbled upon it in a panic her first year, after getting lost in the chaotic mess of Hogwarts's stairwells. That one room in the castle felt familiar in a way no one had ever understood. She didn't need them to, either. She just knew that when everything hurt, when everything became too much, whenever her desire to be home had reached its most difficult to bear -- she came here. Unfailing.
The Divination classroom was empty aside from the smoky haze which regularly swirled about the space. The air smelled strongly of vanilla and patchouli -- unmistakable even before she'd ascended the ladder -- and every lamp was draped in gauzy fabrics of blue and green, imbuing the space with a distinctly underwater feel. As Cleo passed the rows of columns beside the dias where the professor's armchair sat empty, she noticed that the curtains were drawn on the towering windows all around the octagonal classroom.
She stopped short of the crystal ball seated primly on the table at the front of the classroom, eyes planing around the curve of the glass. It was probably well enough that no one was here.
Her knees gave up on her and she plopped down with a harsh smack on the stair step. Maybe a chair would have been nicer. Appropriate. But what the fuck did appropriate matter? What did nicer matter? Her entire body coalesced into an agonizing pressure that gave way to a throb. It was embarrassing, really, how hard her distress attempted to diffuse itself from her. It was a tension behind her eyelids trying to force its way outward. It was a strain in her throat attempting to spill between her lips. It was a strength in her midsection trying to compress her insides into what felt like a singularity. Her fingers clenched at the edge of the step. Her nose scrunched as her lips squeezed and tried to escape into her mouth -- anything to keep that little yelp that nestled itself at the back of her throat from having the pleasure of peeking out.
She wasn't going to cry.
She wasn't going to fucking cry.
What did Potter know? What did Snape know? What did Tenenbaum know? What did any of them know?
They were all with her there, hovering and onerous. She suddenly felt all too aware of her pocket.
She wasn't angry but she didn't want to cry. Her mind and body couldn't agree. The body needed action and the mind made a staunch refusal. It left her in a cold and painful impasse, staring at the crystal ball as if it had any answers.
Her mind appeared to have come to a compromise that she wasn't consciously aware of -- or maybe her muscles worked on impulse and memory alone. With no apparent avenue to channel her hurt, her hand wrenched the unwieldy letter from her pocket. Her fingers clasped the edges and the parchment let out a soft yelp as the first bit of it was torn.
Each scrap of paper fluttered to the ground and she waded in them as they pooled like blood around her ankles, bled from the victim she tore apart, piecemeal. It was disgusting, how utterly satisfying it felt. And when the corpse was nothing but a heap of mess that laid about her, broken, she wrapped her arms around her legs and choked on her breath.
Off to her left, a thick curtain of beads stirred, bringing with it a flurry of wooden clacks as hundreds of them bounced off each other. Professor Trelawney herself emerged into the room with all the buoyant energy of a leaf on the wind. Clad in a myriad of sashes and shawls, her attire seemed incomplete due to her lack of jewelry and her limp, pulled-back hair. The woman's gaze alighted on Cleo, brightening with recognition before widening with confusion.
"Oh," she gasped, her voice infused with curiosity. "I wasn't expecting anyone this late."
It was stupid. It really, really was.
Because that's what this entire thing was, wasn't it? A farce. Dramaturgy. Theatrics. Her barging in, unannounced, on the verge of what felt like the billionth crisis that week, and having the nerve, the utter nerve, to look at that woman and feel as if she were at home.
And even that had the gall to hurt.
The tears, bloated and teetering at the corners of her eyes, were a direct defiance to the amount of ugly contortions her face did to keep them from plummeting. But there they were. There they were. Ridiculous. Absolutely bloody ridiculous.
There were so many things she wanted, too. So many things that were too bloody childish to reflect upon, much less list. She felt so guilty about the response and the shameful display she'd created that she immediately swiped the butt of her palm across her eyes, uttering a soft, "I'm so sorry, Professor."
"Dear girl," the woman uttered, grasping her shawls as her willowy form bent toward Cleo. "Whatever is there to be sorry for?"
Everything. Being a disappointment and failure. Being unhinged. Wanting to give up. Not being as tough as she needed to be. Being utterly selfish and self involved. Fucking forcing her emotional bullshit on someone who didn't even ask for it.
Cleo blinked, her tears coming out in a crawl down her cheeks, as she replied, breathless, "I don't know."
Professor Trelawney approached with purposeful vigor, though her touch was overwhelmingly gentle as she cupped Cleo's face in her hands.
Cleo's eyes closed and she leaned into Trelawney's palms. They were soft and lukewarm, the edges of her fingers hinging on the very back of her jaw. For a moment, she thought she could smell her mother's juniper perfume and that, in a moment, she'd feel a forehead pressed against her own, as her mother had done a million times before when she caught Cleo crying.
But there was nothing. Just a moment of consideration and thought, before the air was displaced with the force of Trelawney's nod. "Wait here; I have just the thing!"
The loss of touch was jilting. So much so that she almost wanted to beg Trelawney to come back. Her eyes fluttered open and she watched as the woman's form retreated through the beaded curtain once more before emerging with a gleaming silver kettle in hand. Placing it atop the table by her armchair, she returned to Cleo, ushering her to stand with fluttering hands. "Come, now. I haven't got a fire, but you ought to sit somewhere more comfortable, hm?"
Maybe it was pathetic, but she waited until Trelawney's hands gripped her upper arms to hoist herself into a stand, a few scraps of paper still clinging to her feet, accusing, and only barely managed to amble into the armchair the woman guided her to before being plopped down and abandoned again.
Abandoned.
The woman was only a foot away and she felt abandoned.
Jesus Christ.
Trelawney pulled a small box of matches from underneath one of her scarves, making several abortive tries at lighting one of them. When she finally managed it, she lit a small, raised burner directly beneath the kettle, the same that was used for potion making. Even so, it appeared that the water was already heated; she'd likely been preparing for an evening brew before Cleo had arrived.
Fetching a pair of teacups from nearby, Trelawney offered them up for Cleo's consideration. "Which do you prefer?" was her earnest inquiry, spoken as if her choice was of great import.
They were both terrible and chintzy, which somehow also managed to be nostalgic. She sniffed, hard, before pointing to the one covered in violets.
It was placed in her hands with gravitas before the woman shifted her weight toward the tea kettle once more. "A nice cuppa ought to restore you, I should think," Trelawney stated, placing a handful of tea leaves into the container with all the theatrical flourish of a Muggle magician.
Cleo's fingernails drummed against the porcelain outside of her cup as she watched the tendrils of steam climb from the neck of the kettle.
"It was rude of me to blunder in like this," she uttered, miserable.
The professor held up a forestalling hand. "Not at all, my dear. I should have been prepared for this, actually; my horoscope did mention that I would be visited by someone important to me."
"Important to you?" she questioned, bracingly.
"You know, they say that the most significant aspect of divining the transmundane is how well you are paying attention," the woman sighed. She pulled over a chair to sit beside Cleo, patting her on the arm. "How easy it is, to cloud the senses! It was quite careless of me."
"I don't understand," Cleo admitted, bleary eyes drifting toward Trelawney.
"You look a mite peckish, dear," the woman fretted, her eyes refocusing on Cleo. "I've some fairy cakes that would go well with your tea."
There came another pitiful showing of emotion; the doting seemed incidental, but every detail clung to her like a reminder. Her tears were fresh again and she nodded, her words oozing out of her, syrupy and feeble. "I'd like that."
"Lovely! Let me get those for you..."
The woman left once more in a whirl of scarves. When she returned, she carried a plate with her, saying, "You must be wondering why I'm not simply using magic. The truth is, I've been a victim of quite a few omens lately -- I nearly fainted straight away and cancelled my afternoon classes when I spotted four crows perched at my windowsill a week past!"
"What does that foretell?"
She grasped a fairy cake that she didn't feel all that inclined to eat -- the attention was the satiating portion she'd been after -- and watched Trelawney with careful, curious eyes. Whether or not she believed in such things was immaterial -- it hadn't ever been like that with her mother. She just liked listening. She liked how her mother would explain her tarot readings at length, or some vision she'd stumbled upon after meditation. It was comforting in a way that Cleo couldn't explain, and hearing Trelawney elucidate in the same manner abated the homesickness, even if it was only a little.
"Four is a very unlucky number, you see," Trelawney explained, a visible shiver going through her. "Normally, four crows are a portent of wealth, but I had just finished making a pot of tea, just like this one, and wouldn't you know it --" She dropped her voice to a grave whisper. "I accidentally left the lid off!"
Cleo's nod was a slow, confused dip. "I see."
"That night, I began having a very strange dream."
"Did you?"
"I was standing in a field of tall grass, just near the entrance to a forest, and it was terribly, terribly dark," the woman told her. "And I stood in the same spot for hours without even a drop of moonlight to comfort me when-- the dream simply ended! Nice as you please! I woke in a cold sweat, as dark forests in dreams are dreadful omens, you understand."
Oddly, she did. That was one of the few useless bits of information you hung on to after... lord, three years of Divination?
Truth be told, there wasn't a lot that couldn't be construed to be a bad omen. "I'm sure you've gone about making precautions," Cleo prompted, mellow.
"Well of course," Trelawney assured her. "I've a horseshoe just over my bed to ward off any evil spirits. And, as I've been sniffling for days I fear some illness has come for me, so I've been carrying acorns in my pocket and hiding them about the classroom..."
"Then I'm sure you'll be safe, Professor."
The woman patted her hand. "That's quite nice of you to say... Oh! The tea must be done by now, I should think."
Picking up the tea kettle, she gestured that Cleo should present her cup first. Hot steam warmed Cleo's palms as the smell of bergamot surrounded her, the tea leaves swirling loose in her cup.
She wasn't all that up to drinking. Though, if she knew anything about Trelawney, the tea wasn't just meant to be tea. She was careful on the first sip, grimacing slightly as a bit of tea leaf caught itself on her front tooth. She massaged her tongue over it, eyes focused on the table as she uttered a soft, slightly garbled: "Thank you."
"You're very welcome," she replied, pouring her own portion as well. "This is my favorite -- Lady Grey. I figure you and I should be safer from whatever illness is lurking nearby."
"What makes you think it's an illness?"
For a moment, the woman simply stared into the middle distance, as if her train of thought had been derailed. "Oh... Do you not remember? Dark forests -- omens of neglect. Perhaps I haven't been eating enough radishes..."
These were the instances that weren't so nostalgic -- Trelawney, for all the parts of her that were endearing and worth admiring, had an absolute talent for talking over everyone in the room. A soft hum rumbled in Cleo's chest in response, as she took another swig of her tea.
Trelawney's porcelain teacup clinked against the saucer as she placed hers down. "So," the woman lilted, a clear lead-in to another topic. "I sense you are quite troubled by something."
Cleo's eyes snapped to the horrible mess she'd abandoned on the steps of the dias, and with a pained grimace, she leaned forward and covered her face. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
"Nothing to worry about, my dear," Trelawney assured her, adjusting her shawl to sit more comfortably. "Although, I don't think it quite harmonizes the space."
The levity was wasted on her, embarrassed as she was. "I shouldn't have done it."
"Well -- it's only a bit of parchment," Trelawney commented. "No harm done."
"It was a letter, actually," she confessed.
This earned her a confused blink from the woman. "A letter? From whom?"
"Do you remember Cal?"
"Your friend? I remember you inviting him up here for lunch a few times."
It was certainly something he never really appreciated, regardless of how kind he'd been about it. How easily a nice memory could sour, when confronted with a pattern of her self-centeredness. She grit her teeth briefly before nodding. "Yeah. It was from him."
Trelawney grimaced sympathetically. "Bad news, then?"
"Probably," she exhaled, her hands going to grasp her legs tightly. "He hates me now, I think."
There was a shrewd, expectant attention to her gaze. "Probably?" she questioned.
Having her uncertainty shoved in her face like that made her avoidance seem all the more childish, but she insisted: "There's no other reason to write me."
"Have you not read it?"
"I read enough of it."
"How much?"
"Enough to know how much of an absolute arsehole I am," she sniped, defensive, before flinching away. "Sorry. Shit--" Her eyes slammed shut and she bit down on her lip, hard. "I mean-- sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to--"
She cut off, mortified. Trelawney hardly seemed to notice her gaffe. "I had no idea this boy was so vicious," she murmured, a hand to her chest.
"He's not!" she objected, feeling her cheeks heat. Great. She'd somehow made him the villain, when he'd done nothing wrong. "He's always been so kind."
"Oh -- but you said..."
"If he wrote to me angrily, he would be fully justified," she said, leaning forward to grasp her fairy cake again, before nervously stuffing a large bite into her mouth.
"If there were no bitter words between you, why didn't you read the rest?" the professor inquired, remembering her own cup of tea.
"Because I know what it's going to say."
"You do?!" the woman gasped, earnest. "Has your Inner Eye finally revealed itself to you?"
"No, it's not like that," Cleo stammered, running out of steam.
"Then how could you know?"
Her eyes rolled upward as a bitter laugh expelled from her. "Because I completely blanked him out for two years. I left school, promising that I'd keep in contact, but I didn't. I shut everyone out. It's tantamount to saying I don't care. Who wouldn't be mad? And like, what can I say? I can't explain myself. I deserve it. I keep acting in this way and it just--"
She cut herself short, falling back in her chair. Trelawney frowned.
"It seems likely," she began, her voice oddly sober, "that if your friend hasn't heard from you in two years, and he truly hated you as you say, it would make more sense for him to never send you a letter at all."
Maybe so. But it didn't help that she saw the opposite just as likely to happen. "It doesn't matter," she concluded, folding her hands into her lap. "The point's moot."
"Why not read it?" the professor asked.
She simply stared at Trelawney, gaze carrying the brunt of her exhaustion.
"Well." The woman petted a shawl on her arm as if it were a cat. "If you don't want to read it, then I do."
Trelawney rose from her seat, promptly walking over to the scattered pieces of parchment that lay on the floor. Carefully, she gathered all of them, bringing them back to where Cleo sat. Taking up her wand, she resumed her seat before halting herself abruptly, her eyes going wide. Turning to Cleo, she uttered the simple plea, "Er... Repair them for me?"
"I'm not any better at reconstitution spells," Cleo pointed out, albeit a bit petulant.
With a frown, the woman stared at the bits of letter in her hand. Her expression was worried, fearful, as she turned her gaze back to Cleo.
Cleo's head dipped. Right. The omens. Fuck. She was such a jerk.
With a shake of her head, she leaned forward, collecting the pieces of paper and setting them in a small pile on the table. "Nevermind, I'll try," she promised, before reaching into her robes to retrieve her wand. She dragged the tip of it in a lazy circle around the pile, uttering a soft: "Recolligo."
It took a second, but the paper pieces began to shift, organizing themselves back into the shape of a letter. Cleo was careful to keep her eyes adrift from the sentences, lest she catch another word that could set her heart going. She scowled and tapped the edge of the parchment. "Reparo."
The tears stitched themselves together before the letter sat there, intact, as if it hadn't been assaulted at all. Haphazard, Cleo fell back into her seat, turning her head to stare at the rows of cushions climbing toward the entrance of the room
"Thank you," the professor said, voice softer now that the threat to her had receded. She took up the letter and began to read.
The next minute dragged by like a wounded man on the front line. Hyperbole again. But it felt agonizing, her mind sifting through a collection of reactions the professor could possibly have, all ranging from horrible to catastrophic. She didn't want to look it, but she felt herself edging deeper into her seat, frightened, just absolutely dreading the moment that Trelawney would speak and elucidate at length the depths to which her former best friend hated her.
When Trelawney was finished, she placed the offending document down in her lap, peering at Cleo curiously. "Three and a half years in my class, and your Divination skills don't seem to have improved at all!" she lamented with a sigh.
"What?"
She gestured pointedly to the parchment. "There is nothing at all angry or hateful about this letter."
She hadn't envisioned this eventuality, so she had no response, other than to stare at Trelawney, frowning. The professor went on: "I think this is a perfectly safe read, my dear." She performed a grand gesture at herself. "And that's coming from someone who knows an omen when she sees one."
Cleo's next movements were fluid: Bent at the waist, she grasped the letter as Trelawney proffered it to her, and took in a breath.
To the lovely Miss Cleo, she read again. It still felt biting. But she continued to the next scathing portion of the letter: Oi! I haven't heard from you in a while. You said you'd write, and I'll have you know I am properly offended that I have to get off my arse and send this first.
Muscle memory had her wanting to toss the thing away again, but when she glanced up, Trelawney's eyes caught hers. Not a word passed between them, but the woman prompted her with a nod, and Cleo swallowed before looking down to finish the rest.
For shame!
But seriously, I hope you're doing alright in Muggle land. You live in Brighton, yeah? If this letter reaches you, I'll know my experiment of not putting your address on the envelope was a success. Here's hoping. I've got 10 galleons resting on it.
I'm all graduated now. Which is sort of rubbish, honestly; I'm cleaning dung out of bank vaults. It's disgusting. Trust me, you leave school, and it's all downhill, so count yourself lucky. My life is all very "stereotypical medieval drama underdog" right now. I miss you filling me in on all the silly television things. Sadly, Mum is still very against electricity.
Anyway, I know you're busy, but you're welcome to visit. Bring your whole family if you like. Although, I'd be careful, since my aunts will probably drown everyone in tea. They're like that about visitors. Considering there are people of the Muggle persuasion in your family tree, they will also have no end of deeply uncomfortable questions to ask about your "exotic" lifestyle. Look forward to that!
Personally, I've never met any Muggles, and therefore my reaction is, as yet, untested. So... Will you at least do it for science? Oh, by the way, I've been learning about science. Mum hates technology, but she loves books, so she got me some big fancy Muggle ones. Not actual books about real science, but... children's books I think? With great big cutesy pictures all over? They don't move, I might add, but I think that's for the best. There's one called "Do It For Science". I also learned about tuberculosis and recycling. Not at the same time. You know what I mean.
Well, I'm running out of parchment. You know what that means? You should come see me face to face, so I can ramble at you in person.
Or, you know. At least send me your address. For science.Much love, Cal
Her entire body shivered heavily on an exhale, a hand going to cover her mouth. She had no compunctions about sobbing openly this time. Trelawney rested a hand on her shoulder, a warm, stable weight.
Cleo looked up at her, a sob hiccoughing through her, before she announced with a shaky laugh: "I'm such an idiot."
"No, you aren't," the woman gently chided her.
"I worked myself up like this," she bemoaned, letting out another sob, "for what? This? I'm so... dramatic, god--"
Trelawney waved a hand through the air, as if she were dispersing the thought. "It's nothing that can't be fixed, dear," she insisted, beginning to rub Cleo's back soothingly.
It was hard to feel comforted when faced with the reality that she'd nearly left this letter -- this sweet, heartfelt indicator that her old friend was reaching out -- in a crumpled, torn heap on the floor of the Divination classroom. She sagged under the weight of the day, all her inadequacies piled up around her; now that she had fully gotten started, her tears streamed endlessly on.
Her professor acted as a lean-to that Cleo bore her whole weight against. Shamelessly, she turned her head and buried her face into the woman's hip.
A single world weaseled its way out, in between her cries and the shawls. "Professor."
"Hm?"
The woman's fingers dragged the full load of her head upward, the delicate curve of her palm cradling her damp cheek. She forced Cleo to look head on at her and, in that blur, Cleo let out a bitter laugh.
"I'm going crazy," she whimpered, her fingers reaching to grasp the woman's wrist, as if the very presence of it anchored her there. "I don't think I can do this."
"Whatever do you mean?"
Her head shook and the room itself felt as if it were beginning to buckle beneath her, burdened by the tremendous weight of her grief.
"I can't stay."