𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓟𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼: ǟ ʀɛǟʟɨȶʏ ֆɦɨʄȶɨռɢ ȶǟʟɛ ✤ ֆɛʋɛʀʊʂ ҳ օƈ

thє σnlч ѕpєll hє cαnnσt cαѕt

"Should I wear them?" Niamh held her long brown rayon skirt, accompanied by a tucked-in peasant top. She draped her long dark brown knit cardigan on her elbow.

Luna eyed the outfit up and down. "I think they'll suit better than uniform robes. Students will take you more seriously since you look like an environmental librarian."

Niamh fought the urge to retort back, when Luna continued, gesturing to her dark cardigan. "However, that is rather flowy; cloak-like. Long and dark." She winked at her.

Niamh rolled her eyes. "Oh, hush! I needed dramatic robes to burst through the doors. I've always wanted to mimic Severus's entrance."

Niamh packed her outfit into a small fabric bag, then she and Luna dressed in their school robes for their first class. Luna stopped by the door as they prepared to leave, "I won't see you until lunch," she confessed. "Ambassador duties with Hagrid."

Niamh still felt so proud that Luna was selected for Care of Magical Creatures. They had hardly spoken about it since it had been announced amidst the O.W.L.s and owl chaos at the Burrow. "Which is?"

Luna chuckled. "For the third years, I'll deescalate chaos when he introduces Buckbeak. Hagrid still worries some Slytherin like Draco will have him beheaded again. As for after class, I'll be storytelling to Grawp and Fang."

Niamh frowned. "I wish I could be another audience. As a writer and reader from 2020, I value that environment."

"It is an escapable environment," Luna mused dreamily. "We'll find a time."

They left to their respective classes. The notes Niamh jotted in Transfiguration fell on deaf ears and eyes, just a scribbling hand without much thought. Her thoughts, exactly, landed on the next period. Of excitement, of trepidation. Perhaps overprocessing.

Niamh shot to the nearest girl's lavatory as soon as the clock ticked. In as a student, out as a professor.

She grounded herself still. She visualized the potions classroom. Imagining that familiar swirl of transportation. But the likelihood of her ending up in the Dark Arts classroom was greater. And Severus forbade her.

Niamh hurried down the dungeons, stopping for breath at the door. The door lacked any windows, so she had to trust faith in her confidence. Firmly with both hands, she flung the door open, mimicking Severus's purposeful gait as her dark cardigan fluttered behind her.

She kept her gaze narrow, for fear she might trip if she looked at anyone. Niamh arrived to the board, and turned around.

They gazed up at her curiously, quickly dying away their chatter. Niamh realized they were waiting for her to begin. "I'm Miss Felicity. But you can simply call me Felicity."

She turned back to the board, beginning to write the objectives of the lesson. Out of the corner of her eyes, a Hufflepuff's hand shot up. "Is your real last name Snape?"

Niamh smiled. "I have no surname. But I wish---"

Another Hufflepuff spoke. "Is it true you'll find a cure to cancer someday?"

Niamh stepped towards the class, dropping her arms. She reflected their gazes of awe. "What do you mean?"

"Well, everyone rumors you'll become the finest Potions Master in the world. And Voldemort had casted a cancer curse on my little brother . . . and they say only folks like you or Snape can cure it."

Niamh softened her voice. "That's very kind of you," she nodded to everyone, "all of you. But cancer . . . it's mystified wizardkind for ages. But, I think it'll be the first of my experiments someday."