chapter three.
( face your fears )
ASCELLA BLACK RUBBED HER EYES TIREDLY as pools of sunlight fluttered through the crimson curtains. She ran a hand through her obsidian locks, slightly untangling the knots that had formed over night. The morning breeze of September was warm on Ascella's ivory skin, and she could faintly see the yellow sun emerging over the large mountains.
The door creaked open slightly, and Hermione Granger, Ascella's best friend, tentatively walked in, her footsteps soft. Ascella's lips parted at how well organised Hermione was, it was hardly seven in the morning and Hermione was already dressed.
"Morning Ascella," Hermione whispered, sitting on the edge of Ascella's bed. "How'd you sleep?"
"Alright," Ascella shrugged, her voice raspy from sleep. However, the mauve bags beneath Ascella's eyes told another story. She'd tossed and turned all night, her thoughts whirring constantly in her mind, until she'd had enough and made her way down to the fireplace-lit Common Room, a cup of scorching tea and book in hand to occupy herself. She had only slipped back into bed an hour earlier, to make it seem convincing that she'd been asleep the entirety of the night.
"Well, lessons begin soon, so you might want to hurry up," Hermione advised, tearing the covers off Ascella's body and exposing her bare legs. Ascella groaned, but complied regardless.
Merely forty minutes later, Ascella bounded down the stairs of the girls dormitories, her maroon and gold tie hanging loosely around her neck, her white shirt crinkled, her robes stuffed into her bag, and her grey, pleated skirt rolled up a few inches. It was always busy in the morning, students of all calibre and years rushing to get some food in before their day of lesson began, and although Ascella felt a sliver of anxiousness at facing the students of Hogwarts after the escape of her deranged uncle.
As she stepped into the common room, uneasy glances were sent her way. Lavender Brown, who was typically quite nice to Ascella, avoided her like the plague and evaded any opportunity there was to converse with the Black witch. Ascella feigned disinterest, but the ache in her chest palpated rigorously so.
"Morning, Harry," she greeted with a gentle smile. "Where's Ron?"
"Trying to find his tie," Harry told her with a roll of his forest-green eyes. "He really should be more organised."
"Oh, because you're so organised, aren't you?" Ascella asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow
"Er . . ." Harry trailed off, but was saved when Ron came down the stairs from the boys dorms, slightly out of breath.
"Found it," Ron panted, showing off his tie. "Let's go down to breakfast, yeah, I'm bloody starving."
"Wait, what about Hermione?" Harry asked as they walked towards the Common Room portrait, glancing behind him.
"She told me she had to do something this morning and we should go without her, but I wasn't really listening."
"Of course you weren't," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes playfully.
"Ready for Divination?" Ascella wondered as the three of them made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. The hallways were still somewhat empty, and all that could be heard was the whistling winds outside and the sound of footsteps hitting the floor, echoing of the walls.
"No," Ron grumbled. "George told me that Trelawney — the teacher — is a right nutter."
Ascella frowned momentarily, but it left as soon as it came. "Yeah, but, remember when we were nine, Ron, and Fred pretended to do palmistry on us? Told us we'd die when we were seventeen?"
Ron laughed loudly, whilst Harry gave Ascella a confused look.
"Mrs. Weasley went mental," Ascella told Harry, snickering. "I think Mum was more amused than angry, but she pretended to be, for Mrs. Weasley's sake."
"Fred and George liked to mess with us a lot as kids," Ron continued. "Ginny sometimes took part in it, so they couldn't prank her, so it was just me and Ella. But, as Ella got older, she started to join in a lot more, Fred and George had corrupted her."
Ascella snickered at the memories of when she was a child, and Harry questioned, "Did you spend a lot of time together as kids?"
"Oh, yeah," Ascella nodded as they walked into the bustling Great Hall. "After Dad died, Mum couldn't do it on her own, and she knew Molly and Arthur had loads of kids, so she went to them for help. Ever since, me and Ron have always been close, seeing as we're close in age, but all the Weasley's are like siblings to me."
Harry nodded, but a churning feeling of jealousy swarmed in his stomach like butterflies, knowing that Ascella and Ron had such a tight-knit friendship and grown up together, whilst he was forced to endure the Dursley household. It was never home to him. And while he knew that Ascella didn't have the best background either, he liked to think she was small bit luckier than him. She, at least, had a mother alive that would offer her life for her.
The previous lighthearted, amused feeling faded away when a nasal, high-pitched voice yelled out to Harry, Ascella and Ron as they walked to the Gryffindor table.
"Hey, Potter!" Pansy Parkinson shrieked, a pug-faced looking Slytherin who had a tendency to cling onto Ascella's cousin, Draco Malfoy, like a leech. "Potter! The Dementor's are coming, Potter! Woooooooo!"
"Parkinson, it's too early to be hearing your wretched voice! Shut it, will you?" Ascella yelled, smiling sarcastically at black-haired witch. Hermione, who had magically appeared by Ascella's side, had began to tut loudly.
"Ascella, it's the first day! You can't be getting points taken off Gryffindor already, McGonagall will kill you," she lectured, shaking her head.
"Oh, hello to you too — and McGonagall would never kill me, she loves me too much," Ascella scoffed, dropping into a seat next to George Weasley.
"New third-year course schedules," he said, passing them around. "What's up with you, Elle?"
"Malfoy," Ron answered for her, glaring bitterly at the Slytherin table. George peered over, only to see Malfoy pretend to faint with terror again.
"That little git," he said quietly. "He wasn't to cocky last night when the Dementors were down out end of the train. Came running into out compartment, didn't he, Fred?"
"Nearly wet himself," Fred said.
"I would've paid good money to see that," Ascella murmured, and Ron sniggered.
"I wasn't too happy myself, if I'm honest," George said. "They're horrible things, those Dementors . . ."
"Sort of freeze your insides, don't they?" Fred added, an odd sort of grimace playing on his face.
"You didn't pass out though, did you?" Harry said in a low voice.
"Forget it, Harry," said George bracingly. "Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time, remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he'd ever been, he came back all weak and shaking . . . They suck the happiness out of a place, Dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there."
Ascella anxiously twisted the silver rings on her fingers, her knee repeatedly bobbing up and down. Insanity wasn't uncommon in the House of Black, but the thought of her uncle, the only living Black family member alive, mad, caused her heart to drop to her stomach.
"Anyway, we'll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match," Fred grinned. "Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first match of the season, remember?"
Ascella watched as Harry's face lit up, the previous look of dismay gone, at the thought of beating Malfoy in Quidditch. She piled some food on his plate, smiling softly as he mumbled a 'thank you'.
"Ooh, good, we're starting some new subjects today," Hermione said happily, examining her timetable.
"Hermione," said Ron, peering over her shoulder, "they've messed up your timetable. Look — they've got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn't enough time."
"I'll manage. I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."
"But look," Ron pursued, laughing, "see this morning? Nine o'clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o'clock, Muggle Studies. And —" Ron leaned close to the timetable, and Ascella could faintly see where this was headed, "look — underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o'clock. I mean, I know you're good, Hermione, but no one's that good. How're you supposed to be in three classes at once?"
"Don't be silly," Hermione scoffed shortly. "Of course I won't be in three classes at the same time, that's absurd."
"Well then —"
"Pass the marmalade," she asked, ignoring Ron.
"But —"
"Oh, Ron, what's it to you if my timetable's a bit full?" Hermione snapped. "I told you, I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."
Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Ascella nudged him in warning. "Drop it, Ron," she muttered. "You know what's she's like."
Hagrid had entered the Great Hall, wearing his usual moleskin overcoat, and casually swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand. "All righ'?" he asked eagerly, pausing to talk with them. "Yer in my firs' ever lesson! Righ' after lunch! Bin up since five gettin' everythin' ready . . . hope it's okay . . . me, a teacher . . . hones'ly. . ." He grinned at them, and then continued his walk to the staff table.
Ron turned to Harry, Hermione and Ascella, nerves evident on his face. "Wonder what he's getting ready? Nothing dangerous, right?"
Ascella smirked wickedly. "Ahh, you scared, Ronniekins? Want me to hold your hand during the lesson?" she teased.
"Piss off, Ella," Ron groaned. He ignored Ascella's delighted cackles, and checked his timetable. "We'd better go, look, Divination's at the top of the North Tower. It'll take us at least ten minutes to get there . . ."
"Well, we'd better hurry up then, shouldn't we?" Ascella said. They hastily finished their breakfast, before waving goodbye to Fred and George, and walked through the large, oak doors. As they passed the Slytherin table, Malfoy did another awful impression of a fainting fit, and laughter followed Harry into the Entrance Hall.
The journey to the North Tower was a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hadn't taught them everything about the castle, seeing as they had never been inside the North Tower before.
"There's — got — to — be — a — short — cut," Ron gasped, breathless, as they climbed the seventh long staircase, emerging onto an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing there but a painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall.
"I think it's this way," Hermione said, peering down an empty corridor.
"Nah, it can't be," Ron disagreed. "That's south. Look, you can see a bit of the lake outside the window . . ."
Ascella, however, was watching the painting. A fat, dappled-grey pony had strolled into the portrait, grazing nonchalantly. Moments later, a short, squat knight in a suit of armour had clanked on to the picture, waving his sword.
"Aha!" he yelled, spotting the four of them. "What villains are these, that trespass upon my private lands? Come to scorn my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!"
Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ascella watched incredulously as the little knight tugged his sword out of its scabbard and began waving it violently, hopping up and down in rage. However, the sword was too long for him; a particularly wild swing caused him to fall down and land face first in the grass.
"Um — are you alright?" Harry asked apprehensively.
"Get back, you scurvy braggart! Get back, you rogue!"
The knight seized his sword again and used it to push himself back up, but the blade sunk deeply into the into the grass, and, though he pulled it with all his might, he couldn't get it back out. Finally, he had to flop back down onto the grass and push up his visor to mop his sweating face.
"Listen," said Harry, taking advantage of the knight's exhaustion, "we're looking for the North Tower. You don't know the way, do you?"
"A quest!" The knight's rage seemed to vanish immediately. He clanked to his feet and shouted, "come follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!" He gave the sword another fruitless tug, tried and failed to mount the fat pony, gave up, and cried, "On foot then, good sirs and gentle ladies! On! On!"
And he ran, clanking loudly, into the left side of the frame and out of sight. They hurried after him along the corridor, following the sound of the armour. Every now and then they spotted him running through a picture ahead.
"Be of stout heart, the worst is yet to come!" the knight yelled, and they saw him reappear in front of an alarmed group of women in crinolines, whose picture hung on the wall of a narrow spiral staircase.
Huffing and puffing loudly, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ascella climbed the spiral staircase, getting dizzier and dizzier, until the faint murmur of voices could be heard and they knew they had reached the classroom.
"Farewell!" cried the knight. "Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If you ever have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!"
"Yeah, we'll call you," Ron muttered as the knight vanished, "if we ever need someone mental." Ascella snickered at Ron, her arm leaning on Harry's shoulder.
The climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a small landing, where most of the class were congregated. There were no doors, but Ron nudged Ascella and Harry and pointed to the ceiling, where there was a small, circular trapdoor with a brass plaque on it.
"'Sybill Trelawney, Divination Teacher'," Harry read. "How're we supposed to get up there?"
At Harry's words, a silver ladder fell from the trapdoor, landing by his feet. Silence descended among the class.
"Well, up you go," Harry said to Ascella, grinning, and she climbed the ladder first.
Ascella emerged into the strangest looking classroom she had ever seen. It hardly looked like a classroom at all, in Ascella's opinion, it looked more like a cross between an old-fashioned tea shop and someone's attic. At least twenty small, circular tables were crammed inside it, all surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little poufs. Everything was lit with a dim, crimson light; the curtains at the windows were all closed, and many lamps were draped with dark red scarves. It was stiflingly warm, and the scorching fire was ablaze under a mantelpiece, emitting a sickly sort of perfume as it heated a large copper kettle. The shelves running around the room were crammed with dusty-looking feathers, stubs of candles, many packs of tattered playing cards, and countless, silvery crystal balls, and a huge array of teacups.
Harry appeared at Ascella's shoulder, glancing around the room. "Where is she?" he asked
A voice suddenly came out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice.
"Welcome," the voice said. "How nice it is to see you in the physical world at last."
Ascella's first impression was of a large, glittering insect. Professor Trelawney moved into the firelight, and they saw how she was very thin; the thick, large glasses magnified her eyes to several times their natural size, and she was draped in a knitted shawl. Multiple chains and beads hung around her neck, and her arms and fingers were encrusted with bangles and chunky rings.
"Sit, my children, sit," she informed softly, and they all awkwardly made their way to armchairs or poufs. Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ascella sat around the same table.
"Welcome to Divination," said Professor Trelawney, who had sat at a large, winged armchair in front of the fire. "My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye."
Nobody said anything to this extraordinary pronouncement. Professor Trelawney rearranged her shawl and continued, "So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you . . . Books can only take you so far in this field . . ."
"Do you possess the Sight?" Ascella whispered ominously to Harry, who smirked in amusement. "Hermione looks as if she's about to have an aneurysm." They glanced at the bushy-haired witch, who looked aghast at Professor Trelawney's words.
"Many witches and wizards, talented though they are in the area of loud bangs and smells and sudden disappearings, are yet unable to penetrate the veiled mysteries of the future," Professor Trelawney went on, her enormous eyes scanning each face in the room, all absorbed, and slightly concerned, with Professor Trelawney's speech. "It is a gift granted to few. You, boy," she said suddenly to Neville, who almost slipped off his pouf from shock. "Is your grandmother well?"
"I — I think so," Neville stammered nervously.
"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you, my dear," tutted Professor Trelawney, and Neville gulped tremulously. Professor Trelawney continued as though nothing had happened. "We will be covering the basic methods of Divination this year. The first term will be devoted to reading the tea leaves. Next term we shall be progress to palmistry. By the way, my dear," she said suddenly Parvati Patil, "beware a redheaded man."
Ascella laughed quietly, whilst Parvati gave a startled look at Ron, and edged her chair away from him. Ron looked deeply offended.
"Good going, Ronald," Ascella mumbled to him. "Cheers for scaring away one of the very few people that like you." Ron glared at Ascella and discreetly sent her the middle finger, whilst she gasped in faux offence.
"In the second term," Professor Trelawney went on, "we shall progress to the crystal ball — if we have finished with fire omens, that is. Unfortunately, classes will be disrupted in February by a nasty bout of flu. I will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever."
A tense silence coated the class at this announcement, but Professor Trelawney seemed completely unaware of it.
"I wonder, dear," she said to Lavender Brown, who was closest to her and shrank back in her chair, "if you could pass me the largest silver teapot?"
Lavender got up, looking relived, and timidly grabbed the silver teapot from one of the shelves, delicately setting it down on the table in front of Professor Trelawney.
"Thank you, my dear. Incidentally, the thing you are dreading — it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October."
Lavender trembled.
"Now, I want you all to divide into pairs. Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me, and I will fill it. Then sit down and drink, drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside down on its saucer, wait for the last of the tea to drain away, then give your cup for your partner to read. You will interpret the patterns using pages five and six of Unfogging the Future. I shall move among you, helping and instructing. Oh, and dear," — she caught Neville by the arm as he stood up, "after you've broken your first cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I'm rather attached to the pink."
Soon enough, there was a small, tinkle of china breaking. Professor Trelawney glided over to Neville, a dustpan and brush in hand. "One of the blue ones then, dear, if you wouldn't mind . . . thank you . . . "
Ascella and Hermione, who had chosen to partner with one another, downed the scalding cup of tea as quickly as they could, their tongues burning. The swilled the dregs, as Professor Trelawney had told them to, then drained the cups and swapped over.
"Okay, Ascella, you go first," Hermione said, and Ascella peered down into the teacup, trying to decipher any shapes amongst the soggy tea leaves.
"Alright, um, there's a sort of blob thing that looks a but like a bowler hat, maybe you'll work for the Ministry — no surprise there," Ascella said, and Hermione shrugged in agreement. "Oh! There's also a sort of heart thing? That means you're going to fall in love in the coming years. Now, I wonder who that could be about?" Ascella wondered, and Hermione blushed brightly.
"Give me that," Hermione mumbled, snatching Ascella's teacup from her hands, ignoring Ascella's mischievous grin.
"Okay, lets have a look," she said, looking down into the cup. "There's a eagle, which means 'great power'. There's a skull, so that means that you've got a dangerous path ahead of you and a lot of pain with it. And there's also — what looks like — a sun and a crescent moon, which means that in the future, you'll have to make a choice, one that deeply determines your outcome."
"Well, with the shit that goes on at this school, I'm not surprised," Ascella joked, attempting to appear unaffected by Hermione's declaration. However, she couldn't stop the crease of perplexity forming above her eyebrows, confused at what choice she'd have to make — especially one so detrimental that could affect her outcome. Ascella had never thought of herself as a particularly mighty witch, she was — if anything — mediocre. She wasn't like Hermione, who got full marks at everything she did, she was simply Ascella Black, your average witch.
"Let me see that, dear," Ascella and Hermione overheard Professor Trelawney say to Ron, snatching the cup from him.
She stared into the cup, rotating it counter-clockwise. "The falcon . . . my dear, you have a deadly enemy."
"But everyone knows that," Hermione whispered loudly. Ascella's head snapped towards her, shocked that she would ever speak to a person of authority that way.
"Well, they do," said Hermione. "Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who."
Harry and Ron stared at Hermione with a look of admiration and amazement. Professor Trelawney chose not to reply, instead, she lowered her large eyes back down to Harry's cup.
"The club . . . an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup . . ."
"I thought that was a bowler hat," Ron muttered sheepishly, and Ascella rolled her eyes playfully at him.
"The skull . . . danger in your path, my dear . . ."
Ascella thought that it couldn't get any worse. But, then, Professor Trelawney turned the cup for the final time, gasped, and let out a screeching scream.
"My dear boy — my poor dear boy — no — it is kinder not to say — no — don't ask me . . ."
"What is it, Professor?" Dean Thomas asked. Majority of the class had gotten to their feet to inspect Harry's teacup.
"My dear," whispered Professor Trelawney dramatically, "you have the Grim."
Gasps echoed around the classroom, many people clapped their hands to their mouths in shock and terror. Ascella knew what a Grim was, one of the many books in the Laurent Manor had taught her it from when she was young. It was the only time Ascella could recall Seraphina yelling at her — her mother hardly ever raised her voice at her daughter. Seraphina had snatched the book from Ascella's small, nimble fingers, her eyes glassy and cheeks alight with a red hue. She had snapped at Ascella, warning her to never go near those books again, and to stay far away from the dusted room hidden away at the back of the Manor. Seraphina had told Ascella that books like that, mess with the mind, dragging it into the abyss and the beyond.
Seven-year-old Ascella Black couldn't understand why her mother had been so affected by her simply reading, and why Seraphina Laurent's sobs from the locked bedroom could be heard that sombre night.
"The what?" Harry asked.
"The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" exclaimed Professor Trelawney, looking highly disappointed that Harry was unaware of what the Grim was. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen — the worst omen — of death!"
Ascella watched as Harry paled drastically, going as white as a ghost. She wanted to comfort him, to be the one to bring a small smile to his face, but she couldn't. No words fell from her soft lips, she simply stared blankly, her slate eyes flickering between the delicate china teacup in Professor Trelawney's thin hands, and Harry's wide, forest-green eyes that were shimmering with fright and slight panic.
"I don't think it looks like a Grim," Hermione said flatly, who had moved around to Trelawney's shoulder to look into the cup. Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with a large amount of dislike.
"You'll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future."
Hermione bristled, and Ascella's lips quirked up into a smirk. Seamus Finnegan was tilting his head from side to side.
"It looks like a Grim if you do this," he said, squinting his eyes, "but it looks more like a donkey from here."
"When you've all finished deciding whether I'm going to die or not!" Harry yelled, taking everyone, even himself, by surprise. Everyone averted their eyes from him, not wanting to look at him.
"I think we will the lesson here for today," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest voice. "Yes . . . please pack away your things . . ."
As Ascella made her way to the trapdoor, Professor Trelawney's bony hand latched onto her wrist, halting her movements. Startled, Ascella glanced into Professor Trelawney's eyes, who watched her with a glint of trepidation shadowing in them. Ascella tried to remove her wrist, but Trelawney's tight grasp kept her there.
"You, my dear girl," Trelawney whispered apprehensively, as if talking to Ascella was a mortal sin, "there's darkness inside of you — I can see it. Soon enough, it'll over power you — but, it can be prevented, if you trust your hands to guide the way."
❦
Seated next to Harry in Transfiguration, Ascella fumbled with the woven bracelets on her wrists. Ascella had made them in her first year, gifting a matching one to Harry, and had told him it was a promise bracelet and that as long as he kept it on his wrist, they would forever be friends. It was a silly, childish thing, but neither Harry nor Ascella could ever part with the bracelet, not that they'd ever want to.
Both of them were hardly listening to what Professor McGonagall was saying about Animagi ( wizards who could transform into animals at will ), and wasn't even watching when she transformed into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes, their minds were so preoccupied.
"Really, what has gotten into you all today?" asked Professor McGonagall asked, turning back into herself with a faint pop. "Not that it matters, of course, but that's the first time my transformation's not gotten an applause from a class."
Hermione timidly raised her hands, whilst everyone's heads pivoted towards Harry. "Please, Professor, we've just had out first Divination class, and we were reading tea leaves, and —"
"Ah, of course," Professor McGonagall interrupted, suddenly frowning deeply. "There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?"
Everyone stared at her. Finally, with a long sigh, Harry spoke up.
"Me, Professor," he said.
"I see," said Professor Trelawney, her beady eyes fixated on Harry. "Then you should know, Potter, that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student every year since she arrived at this school. None of them have died yet. Seeing death omens is her favourite way of greeting a new class. If it were for the fact I never speak ill of my colleagues —" Professor McGonagall stopped talking, and her nostrils had gone very white. She pressed on, more calmly, "Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience for it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney . . ."
She stopped yet again, and then said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don't let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in."
Hermione laughed, whilst Harry let out a relieved sigh. Ascella, on the other hand, didn't feel as reassured. The way Professor Trelawney spoke to her . . . That wasn't the speakings of a mad woman. Ascella couldn't forget the chill that cascaded down her spine, or the shiver that arose on her porcelain skin. Trelawney may be a fraud, but that didn't stop the tremor in Ascella's hands, nor the way her mind repeated the words over and over again, as though they were a broken record.
Transfiguration went on, Ascella's head lazily resting on her hand, distractedly staring out of the window, her mind not with the lesson one bit. What Ascella wasn't aware of, however, was how Minerva McGonagall ( despite teaching a lesson ) continuously glanced at the girl with tired eyes, a frown tugging at the corners of her thin lips. As devastatingly sad as it was, Minerva couldn't help be reminded of an innocent boy, who had already been grasped by the parasite that was the Dark Lord, who had sat in that very chair Ascella was sat in, dazing out of the very same window, wondering where everything had gone wrong; what he had done wrong.
Minerva McGonagall may have failed in saving Regulus Black, but she'll be damned if lets Ascella Black succumb to the grasps of Dark Magic.
The chiming bell shook Ascella from her stupor, and she mindlessly packed away her things in silence, her face stoic.
"Miss Black!" McGonagall called out, and Ascella groaned internally. As much as she adored her Professor, she really wasn't in the right state of mind for a lecture; too tired, too drained for it.
"I'll see you after," she said to Harry, who had been patiently waiting for her near the exit. It was something Harry always did, waiting for her, and the gesture, albeit small, didn't fail to bring a small smile to her face.
"I'm sorry, Professor, I know I wasn't paying attention, my mind was just else where and I —" Ascella began, but her mouth shuts when McGonagall raised her hand for silence. Ascella felt as though she should be offended by the cut off, but she's secretly grateful to not have to spew anymore unwanted, unmeaning apologies.
"It's not about that, Miss Black," McGonagall told her, and a look of shock crossed across Ascella's face.
"Oh," was all Ascella could say, "What is it then?"
"How are you, Ascella?" McGonagall asked softly, worry and empathy lacing her voice. Ascella was taken aback, no one apart from her Mother had spoken to her with so much concern and care. But, as stubborn as it may be, Ascella didn't want to speak about how she felt. Ascella was fine with blunt statements and mediocre excuses, ones that got people to leave her alone. Ascella liked being alone, despite the selfishness of it.
"I'm fine," Ascella said impassively, her eyes boring into McGonagall's cat-like ones. McGonagall didn't believe her, hell, Ascella didn't even believe herself. But it was easier than being honest.
"Are you sure? My office door is always open for you, as you know," McGonagall pushed on, and Ascella sighed, one that hung heavy on her chest.
"Yes, Professor, I know," Ascella said monotonously. "Is that all?"
Professor McGonagall watched Ascella for a fleeting moment, before she nodded, "Yes, Ascella, you may go."
"Thank you," Ascella mumbled, and then bolted out the door, refusing to look back. She didn't go to lunch, instead, she headed to a small alcove on the third floor, one that had a large panelled window that showed the grounds of Hogwarts, the deep, dark pool of water that was the Black Lake, and the Forbidden Forest, that held untold secrets of the past.
Minutes felt like hours, before the ringing bell signalled the end of lunch, and Ascella reluctantly made her way to her first Care of Magical Creatures lesson. If wasn't for the fact that it was Hagrid teaching the lesson, Ascella would've bunked, clearly not bothered about what abnormal animal Hagrid had brought out for his first lesson.
"You didn't come to lunch," Ascella turned to face Harry, who she had caught up with on her silent journey to Hagrid's hut.
"Oh, yeah, I wasn't hungry. Sorry," Ascella said sheepishly, her feet falling into the same rhythm as Harry's.
"It's fine, you don't have to apologise," Harry dismissed with a small laugh, and Ascella couldn't help but feel embarrassed, she had a tendency to apologise for things that didn't need it. It was a habit she was rather desperate to break.
"Well, I'm glad you're here," Harry continued. "Ron and Hermione are arguing yet again, it was extremely awkward."
Ascella turned around, and spotted Ron and Hermione, walking next to one another, stubbornly refusing to talk and avoiding each others eyes. Ascella snickered at their persistence, whilst Harry sighed in exasperation.
"They'll make up eventually," Ascella said, facing Harry yet again. "C'mon, we'd better hurry up or we'll be late."
Hagrid was standing outside his hut, patiently waiting for the class to arrive, Fang at his feet.
"C'mon, now, get a move on!" he shouted as the class approached. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"
For one small, nasty moment, Ascella thought that Hagrid was leading them into the Forbidden Forest; however, Hagrid strolled around the outskirts of the forest and into a paddock.
"Everyone gather 'round the fence here!" Hagrid called. "That's it — make sure yeh can see — now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books —"
"How?" asked the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy.
"Eh?" said Hagrid.
"How do we open our books?" Malfoy repeated cruelly. Ascella took out her copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, which had been tied shut with an old leather belt.
"Hasn' — hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" Hagrid said, looking crestfallen, and the class shook their heads.
"Yeh've got ter stroke 'em," said Hagrid, as if it were obvious. "Look —"
Hagrid grabbed Ascella's book from her, ripped of the leather belt, and quickly dragged a large finger down the spine of the book. The book shivered, and then laid peacefully in Hagrid's hand.
"Oh, how silly we've all been!" Malfoy sneered viciously. "We should have stroked them! Now, why didn't we think of that?"
"I — I thought they were funny," Hagrid murmured uncertainly to Ascella, who smiled softly at him.
"Oh, tremendously funny!" snarled Malfoy. "Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!"
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Harry, wanting Hagrid's lesson to be a success.
"Righ', then," said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his spark, "so — so yeh've got yer books an' . . . an' . . . now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on . . ."
Hagrid strode away from the class and out of sight.
"God, this place is going to the dogs," said Malfoy loudly. "That oaf teaching classes, my father'll have a fit when I tell him —"
"No one cares about your father, Malfoy!" Ascella exclaimed suddenly. "He's vile, and horrible, just like you."
"Jealousy isn't a good look on you, Black, just because your father's dead —"
"Ooooooooh!" squealed Lavender Brown, pointing towards the opposite side of the paddock. Ascella's temper was boiling within her, splotches of red had appeared on her cheeks and her hair had morphed into a flaming crimson. Harry tugged on her hand, pulling away from Malfoy, who was smiling smugly, knowing he had got under the youngest Black's skin.
"Just ignore him, Ella, don't let him get to you," Harry whispered in her ear. Ascella didn't respond, instead she turned to Hagrid who had returned with a herd of the strangest animals she had ever laid eyes on.
Animals with the body, hind legs and tails of horses but the front legs, wings, and heads of giant eagles, with piercing orange eyes and steel-coloured beaks. Their talons were terrifyingly sharp, and deadly looking. Around each neck there was a leather collar, which was attached to a long chain, that Hagrid held tight in his hands.
"Gee up, there!" he roared, violently shaking the chains and urging the creatures towards the fence where the class were stood. Ascella stumbled back slightly, falling into Harry, who caught her quickly, placing his hands on her shoulders and steadying her.
"Thanks," she mumbled, a faint pink flush on her cheeks and the tips of her hair painted a bubblegum pink colour.
"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"
Ascella could sort of see what Hagrid meant. After the first initial shock of seeing the bizarre creatures, you could kind of begin to appreciate the shining coats of the Hippogriffs, changing smoothly from feather to hair, each of them an individual colour: stormy grey, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut and inky black.
"So," said Hagrid, beaming brightly and rubbing his hands together, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer . . ."
It was very obvious that no one wanted to. For Hagrid's sake, Ascella, Ron, Harry and Hermione apprehensively moved closer towards the fence.
"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' Hippogriffs is, they're proud," Hagrid explained. "Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don't ever insult one, 'cause it may be the last thing yeh do."
Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle weren't listening; they were talking in an undertone and Ascella had a small inkling that they were planning to sabotage the lesson some way.
"Yeh always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the firs' move," Hagrid continued, oblivious to the whispers amongst the class. "It's polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed yer touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt."
"Right — who wants ter go first?"
Majority of the class backed away in fear. Even Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ascella had a small feeling of doubt, despite it being Hagrid, who would never intentionally harm them or anyone.
"No one?" Hagrid said with a pleading look.
"I'll do it," Harry spoke up.
"Harry, are you mental?" Ascella hissed, clutching his wrist tightly.
"I'll be fine, Ella," he reassured, shaking his arm out of her grasp, his fingers gently brushing hers as he walked by her to the fence.
Ascella went to stand by Ron and Hermione, who looked just as anxious as her. "One day, he's going to get himself killed," Ascella stated, and Ron and Hermione nodded in agreement.
Harry climbed over the fence and approached the Hippogriff that Hagrid had introduced as Buckbeak. Everyone appeared to be holding their breath.
"Easy now, Harry," said Hagrid quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not to ter blink . . . Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much . . ."
Ascella's breath was caught in her chest as she watched Harry stare dangerously in front of the Hippogriff, the palms of her hands coated in a sheen of perspiration.
"Tha's it," muttered Hagrid. "Tha's it, Harry . . . now, bow."
Harry gave a short bow, and then looked up. Buckbeak was still staring haughtily at Harry, having not moved.
"Ah," said Hagrid, sounding worried. "Right — back away, now, Harry, easy does it."
"Oh my God," Ascella whispered, grabbing Hermione, who held with just as much ferocity. But, then, to everyone's enormous surprise, Buckbeak suddenly bent on his scaly front legs and sank into what was an obvious bow.
Ascella giggled a relieved laugh, and Hagrid was estatic, "Well done, Harry! Right － yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!"
"Merlin, I thought he was a goner," Ascella said to Ron, who snickered in response.
"He could have been really hurt, though! Hippogriffs aren't animals to mess with," Hermione tutted, shaking her head.
"He's fine now, 'Mione —"
"I reckon he migh' let yeh ride him!" came Hagrid's booming voice, and Ascella's eyes widened. She noticed the immediate panic on Harry's face, and she had a feeling that riding a Hippogriff was much different to riding a broomstick.
"Yeh climb up there, jus' behind the wing joint," said Hagrid, "an' mind yeh don' pull any of his feathers out, he won' like that . . ."
Harry hoisted himself up, placing his hands around Buckbeak's neck, unsure on what to hold onto, seeing as everything in front of him was covered in feathers.
"Go on, then!" roared Hagrid, slapping the Hippogriffs hindquarters.
Without warning, twelve-foot wings flapped open on the either side of Harry, and he tightened his grip around the Hippogriffs neck as he flew upwards. Ascella nibbled her fingers as she watched Harry soar upwards into the azure sky, her silky hair a silvery grey shade. Buckbeak flew around the paddock a few times before flying back down to the ground, the whistling wind blowing in his face as Buckbeak shakily landed on the ground. He slipped off the Hippogriff, his legs wobbily.
Ascella bounded towards Harry, her arms thrown around his neck. "God, I thought you would fall off!"
"I'm indestructible," Harry boasted smugly, and Ascella shoved his shoulder playfully. Encouraged by Harry's success, everyone else felt much less cautious to approach the Hippogriffs. Ascella went over to Buckbeak, Harry in tow, bowing gracefully in front of the intimidating creature, before he bent on his legs in return. Ascella grinned and gently patted Buckbeak's shining beak
"He's lovely, isn't he?" she gushed, a beam spread across her lips. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Ascella overjoyed, so happy. Harry wanted to imprint the memory into his mind, to never forget it and to always be reminded of the flush of contentment spread across her cheeks, and the twinkle in her eyes.
"You think?" Harry asked, stroking the large feathers on Buckbeak's head.
"Yeah . . . you reckon Mum'll let me have one as a pet?" she asked with a mischievous smirk.
Harry laughed, "I doubt it, but it's worth a try."
Ascella shook her head in amusement, but it all faded away when the malicious voice of Draco Malfoy could be heard.
"This is very easy," Malfoy sneered. "I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it . . . I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" he said to Buckbeak. "Are you, you great ugly brute?"
It all happened in a flash of steely talons; one moment Malfoy was standing, snarling at Buckbeak, and then the next second he was wailing in pain of the moss-covered ground, scarlet blood blossoming from his wound and seeping into the cracks of the dirt.
"I'm dying!" Malfoy yelled as panic settled within the class. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"
"I don't think you're dying," Ascella shrugged as she peered over at Malfoy, who was squirming on the floor in pain. "I mean . . . if you were dying you wouldn't be talking, would you? Idiot," she scoffed under her breath.
"I am dying," Malfoy snapped. "I'm dying and my disgusting excuse of a cousin refuses to admit it."
"Oh, you'll wish you were dying in a minute, Malfoy —" Ascella hissed as she lunged for Malfoy, but was, yet again, pulled back by Harry.
"Yer not dyin'!" said Hagrid, who had turned very white. "Someone help me — gotta get him outta here —"
Hermione ran and opened the gate for Hagrid who easily lifted Malfoy and carried him away. The was a splatter of blood evident on the grass, and it seemed to follow the path Hagrid was walking on as Malfoy bled.
"God, Malfoy really is pathetic," Ascella ranted as the four of them walked back up to the school. "Of course he had to ruin Hagrid's first lesson by provoking Buckbeak!"
"They should sack him straight away!" cried Pansy Parkinson, who was sobbing hysterically.
"It was Malfoy's fault!" snapped Dean Thomas furiously. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles threateningly.
"I'm going to see if he's okay!" said Pansy, but before she ran up the marble staircase, she turned and faced Ascella, a scowl on her pug-like face.
"And, you, Black," she spat harshly, "don't ever threaten Draco again or you'll get what's coming for you."
Ascella let out a humourless laugh. "I'm quivering with fear, Parkinson. I'm pretty sure Draco can fight his own battles, and I'm certainly not terrified of you."
Ascella stormed away, strands of raven hair in her face, a tremor in her hand, and only one thought constantly floating around her mind; could my life get any worse?
❦
Seated at the back of the Potions class with Rosalie Hawkins and a Ravenclaw witch of the name Estelle Sinclair, Ascella glowered at Malfoy waltzed into Double Potions, his arm in a white cast.
"How is it, Draco?" simpered Parkinson. "Does it hurt much?"
"Yeah, really bad," said Malfoy, but Ascella was certain she saw him wink to Crabbe and Goyle when Parkinson turned away.
"Settle down, settle down," said Snape idly, ignoring Malfoy's late entry. Ascella knew that if it were her or Harry who had strutted in ten minutes late, they would have been given a weeks detention. But Snape was the head of Slytherin house, so he generally favoured his own students above everyone else.
They were making a new potion; the Shrinking Solution. Ascella watched as Malfoy set up his belongings next to Harry and Ron, and Ascella prayed that Harry wouldn't let his temper get the best of him, but knowing Harry, it was inevitable.
"So, Rosa," Ascella began, not looking up from her potion. "Are you trying out for the team this year?"
Rosalie groaned, "I want to! But Flint's a complete dick and won't let any girls on the team. And I spent my whole summer practicing as well!"
"I thought your Mum didn't let you ride your broomstick at home any more because you almost flew through the window?" Estelle asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, she doesn't," Rosa said. "But what she doesn't know won't hurt her," she added with a sly wink.
Ascella chuckled lowly, "my Mum would kill me if I did that."
"Nah, she wouldn't," Estelle disagreed, shaking her head, her brunette curls bouncing slightly. "Your Mum's cool, Ella."
"Don't let her hear you say that," Ascella said. "It'll boost her ego far too high."
Ascella glanced around the dimly lit Potions room, and noticed how Ron was red in the face with fury, Harry was tightly gripping his knife, and Malfoy was looking extremely smug over something.
"And, Sir, I'll need this shrivelfig skinned," said Malfoy, his voice full of malicious laughter.
"Potter, you can skin Malfoy's shrivelfig," Snape ordered, sending Harry a look of loathing that he reserved for Harry only. Ascella watched as Harry snatched Malfoy's shrivelfig from him, and roughly skinned it, and then flung it back across the table.
"Stop staring at your boyfriend and do your work," a voice whispered in Ascella's pierced ear. She snapped around her head to Rosalie, who was looking particularly satisfied. Ascella narrowed her eyes at her.
"He is not my boyfriend!" Ascella snapped quietly, her hair flushed a bubblegum pink. "He's my best friend. That's all."
"Hmm, yeah, best friend," Rosa repeated incredulously. "You don't act the same around Ron as you do Harry."
Ascella made a disgusted face, "Yeah, that's because Ron's my brother. I've known him since I was a baby."
"Whatever you say," Rosalie sang under her breath, and Ascella turned away, attempting to hide her blush from Rosa.
Ascella saw that a few cauldrons away, Neville was in trouble. The Longbottom boy had never succeeded in Potions, and on top of Professor Snape's relentless bullying, Neville never did very well in the subject. His potion, which was supposed to be a bright, acid green, had turned —
"Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one cat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"
"Well, that's not the way to treat a student," Ascella said loudly. Snape, who had heard her, sneered her way.
"Something to say, Miss Black?" he asked softly, and many heads swivelled towards them.
"Yes, actually, I do," Ascella spoke up bravely, and Snape quirked an dark eyebrow.
"Ascella, just leave it," Estelle muttered, tugging on Ascella's sleeve.
"Maybe, Professor, instead of picking on and bullying your students, you should help them. Because, you know, that's what Professors do," Ascella said snarkily. "Well, that's what competent Professor's do."
A few gasps were heard around the room. Professor Snape looked more menacing than ever.
"You should watch your mouth, Black," snarled Snape, advancing on her. "You'll end up just like your Uncle — or, more like your Father."
"Don't you dare speak a word against my father," Ascella snapped, trembling with anger.
"I will speak about whatever and whoever I please," retorted Snape. "Now, get on with your work!"
Ascella sent one last glare to Snape, before turning back to her unfinished potion, mumbling incoherently under her breath.
"You'll get yourself killed one day with that mouth of yours," commented Estelle, sighing lightly.
"Yeah, whatever, let's just finish this, shall we? I can't bare to be in this class a moment longer," Ascella said, ignoring Estelle. Both Estelle and Rosalie nodded in agreement.
❦
Professor Lupin wasn't there when Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ascella arrived at their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Ascella sat next to Ron, and pulled out her belongings onto the wooden desk, when Professor Lupin entered the class. He still had a pale, waxy colour to his face, but he looked much healthier than he did on the train.
"Good afternoon," he greeted. "Would you please put all your books back in your bag. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will only need your wands."
Ascella cursed quietly, "I just got all my stuff out!"
"Sucks to be you, then," Ron teased with a snicker. "I don't even bother getting my stuff out."
"Yeah, that's because you forget it all," Ascella snickered, and Ron childishly stuck his tongue out at her in response.
The followed Professor Lupin out of the class and through deserted corridors, until they came across Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair, stuffing chewing gum into the nearest keyhole.
"Loony, loopy Lupin," Peeves sang when he spotted Professor Lupin. "Loony, loopy, Lupin, loony, loopy, Lupin —"
Rude and unmanageable as he always was, Peeves usually showed some sort of respect for the teachers. Everyone nervously eyed Professor Lupin for his reaction, but to their surprise, he was still smiling.
"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole, if I were you, Peeves," he said pleasantly. "Mr Filch won't be able to get into his brooms."
Filch was the Hogwarts caretaker, a bad-tempered, failed wizard who was at constant war with Peeves and the students; more specifically, Fred and George Weasley and Ascella Black. Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin's words, except to blow a loud, wet raspberry.
Professor Lupin gave a loud sigh and drew his wand from his pocket.
"This is a useful little spell," he told the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely."
He raised his wand to Peeves and said, "Waddiwasi!"
Like the force of a bullet, the chewing gum that was previously stuck in the keyhole and straight up Peeves' nostril. Peeves cried out loudly, and whirled away, cursing.
Professor Lupin turned back to the class calmly, who were staring at him, mouths wide-open. "Shall we continue?" he asked.
"That was wicked!" exclaimed Ascella brightly. "D'you reckon I could use that spell on people?"
"Like who?" Ron asked whilst Hermione, who had overheard, said, "No, Ascella, you cannot."
"I could give you a list," Ascella scoffed to Ron, who shrugged. They followed Professor Lupin down a second corridor and stopped, right outside the staffroom door.
"Inside, please," Professor Lupin instructed.
The staffroom was an long, panelled room, scattered with mismatched armchairs, and was empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he glanced around as the class filed in. His black eyes were glittering venomously and a nasty sneer was playing on his mouth. As Professor Lupin went to shut the door, Snape stood and said, "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this." He strode past the class, his black robes flowing behind him. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom and Ascella Black. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear. And, Ascella Black, well — she's a Black, I'm sure you can already imagine what she is like."
Ascella glared feverently at Snape, her silver eyes shining with vexation. Neville flushed scarlet, and Ascella was furious that not only Snape bullied Neville in his own class, let alone in front of other teachers.
Professor Lupin raised his eyebrows. "I was hoping Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation," he said, "and I am sure he will perform it admirably. And, as for Ascella, I can imagine what she is like, and I'm certain she is delightful student."
Neville's face went, if possible, more red. Snape's lip curled, but he ( thankfully ) left, slamming the door behind him.
"Now, then," said Professor Lupin, ushering the class to the end of the room where a large wardrobe was stood. As Professor Lupin stood next to it, it gave sudden wobble, banging off the wall and startling many.
"Nothing to worry about," said Professor Lupin. "There's a Boggart in there."
Many people, however, felt as if this was something to worry about. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus eyed the rattling doorknob apprehensively. Ascella had only ever dealt with one Boggart in her lifetime — and what she means by 'dealt with' is when she found her mother frozen in fear as her father's deceased body lay still and cold, his lifeless eyes staring blankly up at her. Ascella had to shake Seraphina out of whatever trance she was in, and when she did snap out of it, Seraphina hastily muttered a spell and practically ran from Ascella, in hope her daughter didn't see the streaming tears quickly falling down her pale cheeks.
"Boggarts like enclosed, dark spaces," continued Professor Lupin. "Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks — I've even met one who lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice.
"So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is as Boggart?"
Hermione's hand, as usual, shot up into the air.
"It's a shape shifter," she spoke loudly. "It can take the shape of whatever frightens us the most."
"Couldn't have put it better myself," Lupin praised and Hermione glowed. "So the Boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet resumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the other person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.
"This means," said Lupin, ignoring Neville's small splutter of terror, "that we have a huge advantage over the Boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?"
Harry, who had relentlessly annoying Ascella to the point where she had moved away from him to stand next to Estelle, jumped slightly at the sound of his name being mentioned.
"Er — because there are so many of us, it won't know what shape to take?"
"Precisely," said Professor Lupin. "It's always best to have company when when you're dealing with a Boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I oncesaw a Boggart make that very mistake — tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening."
"The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing thatreally finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that youfind amusing.
"We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please . . . riddikulus!"
"Riddikulus!" the class repeated simultaneously.
"Good," said Professor Lupin. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, theword alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville."
The wardrobe trembled violently, but not as much as Neville, who looked as though he was heading to war.
"Right, Neville," said Professor Lupin. "First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"
Neville's lips moved slightly, yet no noise escaped them.
"I didn't catch that, Neville, sorry," said Professor Lupin cheerfully.
Neville looked around the class, pleading in his eyes for someone to save him, but he was forced to speak when no came to his aid. "Professor Snape," he admitted in a quiet whisper.
The majority of the class laughed, and even Neville let out a bashful grin. Professor Lupin, however, looked thoughtful.
"Professor Snape . . . hmmm . . . Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"
"Er — yes," said Neville nervously. "But — I don't want the Boggart to turn into her either."
"No, no, you misunderstand me," said Professor Lupin with a chuckle. "I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"
Neville looked confused, but said, nonetheless, "Well . . . always the same hat. A tall one with the same stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress . . . green, normally . . . and sometimes a fox-fur scarf."
"And a handbag?" prompted Lupin.
"A big red one," Neville nodded.
"Right then," said Professor Lupin. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind?"
"Yes," said Neville uncertainly, baffled at what was coming.
As Professor Lupin explained what was about to happen, Ascella thought deeply at what would be her greatest fear. Ascella thought that it would be easiest if Sirius Black were to appear, prove to everyone that she wasn't her uncle. But, she came to realise that Sirius wasn't her biggest fear, and she doubted he ever would be.
Ascella looked around and noticed how Ron was muttering under his breath, "Take its legs off." Ascella was certain he was thinking of spiders, his fear from them stemming from a prank Fred and George had played on him was a toddler.
"Everyone ready?" asked Professor Lupin.
Ascella felt a lurch of fear. She wasn't ready, or prepared to see what was about to come out of the closet, and her stomach churned sickly, her fingers twitching for something to fiddle with.
"Neville, we're going to back away," said Professor Lupin. "Let you have a clear field, all right?I'll call the next person forward . . . Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot —"
They all walked to the wall, their backs pressing tightly up against it. Neville looked pale and terrified, but he had his wand at the ready regardless.
"On the count of three, Neville," said Professor Lupin, who was pointing his own wand at the wardrobe. "One — two — three — now!"
A colourful jet of sparks erupted from the end of Professor Lupin's wand, unlocking the wardrobe door. Hook-nosed and as menacing as ever, Professor Snape stepped out, his obsidian eyes flashing at Neville.
Neville froze for a moment, watching as Snape was bearing upon him, reaching inside his pocket for something. Neville eventually squeaked, "R — r — riddikulus!"
There was a sound like a whip crack. Snape, who was once in jet-black robes, was now dressed, head to toe, in Neville's grandmother's clothes. A roar of laughter could be heard, and Ascella was convinced that this would be a moment she would never forget.
One by one, students went forward and courageously faced their deepest fears, overcoming the horrors of their mind. And, inevitably, Ascella faced the Boggart.
At first, nothing happened. But then, unexpectedly, an image formed, the Boggart morphing into a shape she hadn't been expecting.
Ascella Lyra Black faced her, but this wasn't the Ascella that the population of Hogwarts had come to know and love — or, sometimes, loathe. This Ascella Black had a sinister grin on her aristocratic face, her stormy, grey eyes alarming and ominous. Instead of the lion crest sewed onto her breast pocket, the Slytherin emblem proudly faced them all. But the worst thing, and Ascella almost broke down when her eyes laid upon it, was the slithering, inky mark of the Dark Lord, audaciously painted across her porcelain inner arm. It sat there in all its glory, the darkness of mark contrasting with the light shade of her skin, instantly drawing attention to it.
This was the inner Black that roamed inside Ascella, impatiently waiting for the chains that were restraining it to be released.
"Look at you," she sneered, and Ascella didn't even recognise herself. "You're pathetic! You can't even look at me, can you? Face it, Ascella, this is who you are, who you will always be. Just admit it, you like this version of yourself — the big, bad side of you, the Slytherin side. Embrace who you are, Ascella, because if you refuse, the Dark Lord will be very disappointed in—"
"Riddikulus!" Ascella exclaimed finally, her eyes screwed shut, her mind foggy. She felt as if her throat was constricting, and all the oxygen in the room had dispersed. She was frozen in horror, because the Boggart was right. Ascella always knew that there was a part of her that was allured to the Dark side, the ambience of it attracted her for some absurd reason. And that terrified Ascella. The thought of ever becoming like Bellatrix Lestrange caused Ascella to be sick to her stomach, her mind wanting to block out every single tainted thought.
But she was a Black, and Dark Magic always found their way to them, whether they liked it or not.
authors note;
hi my lovelies, hope you are all well !! this is some long ass chapter, which took me ages to write even though it's sort of a boring one :( apologies if the ending is sloppy, it's late and i'm vv tired, but i wanted to get this out regardless. i've also changed ascella's fc to alexa demie, seeing as (as stunning as she is) maggie lindemann didn't really fit ascella imo. anyways, i hope you're having a good day/night !!
published — september 4th, 2021
edited — june 10th, 2024