𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬 — 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐭
Dahlia sprinted for Professor McGonagall's office.
She'd gone and fucked everything up in front of her whole damn class, and worse: she hadn't used her wand. Someone was bound to have seen the absence of her wand and reported it to Professor Lupin.
She'd known that she wouldn't have been able to repel the boggart given her years' worth of evidence that she wasn't gifted in magic like her brother. But for some reason, her magic block had an uncanny talent for spilling out in the most inconvenient times. This time, she had exposed her sine magic for everyone to see. She needed McGonagall's help.
God, why couldn't she keep it together for one second? Why couldn't she just forget about everything that had happened to her so far? She couldn't even keep her friends safe — hell, Ron was Obliviated and no one knew.
She'd been lying to every single person in her life, and it felt like the secrets inside her could tear her up from the inside. If she didn't tell someone, she might explode.
Dahlia turned a corner and headed down a deserted corridor that would take her to the Gryffindor tower, but her world blurred before she could take another left. She blinked to clear her vision — and to her surprise, a tear streaked down her cheek. She wiped it away furiously, but the damage was done. Try as she might hold it in — it wasn't any use.
The red-haired witch ducked into a niche as she sank to the floor and huddled into her herself, hugging her knees. She tipped her head down to muffle any crying because the Lord knew that she'd be in trouble if her peers found her. Kids were ruthless.
She sniffled as she wiped her snot away with her sleeve. It was ironic, she supposed, that after learning about her powers and herself that her worst fear was something that made her feel painfully small and human. She'd forgotten entirely about her mortal human life. Magic took up the majority of the space in her life.
"Lils?" said a small, unsure voice. Dahlia looked up.
Hermione Granger stood in front of her, cautiously approaching the red-haired witch like she was a rabid animal or a bomb waiting to go off. (In a way, she was both.) Ares stirred in her head and curled comfortingly against her spine, and Dahlia was glad for the extra support.
"I — saw you run out of class," said Hermione, her words impossibly soft, like she was trying not to scare the girl on the floor. "Are you okay? What was that thing?"
Dahlia could only gape at her, wayward tears still gathering in her eyes. Silence hung like a blanket between them.
"Dahlia," stuttered Hermione, shuffling her feet. Her cheeks went pink. "Say something. Anything. Please." Her mouth set in a hard line, Dahlia's lips were tight as she glared at the bushy-haired witch.
"I don't like you."
That wasn't even close to the worst thing she had to say, but Hermione closed her eyes, the colour draining from her face like the simple statement hurt her deeply. "I know that — "
"You don't know," spat Dahlia, her voice stronger than she thought it'd be. "You don't know," she repeated, her lip curling. "D'you want to know what I know?"
She stood, pressing her back to the wall, putting distance between her and Hermione.
"I know that what you did is considered assault," she said carefully, her eyes filling with angry tears at the word. "I know that you haven't told anyone, because we'd be social pariahs by now."
Hermione stepped closer. "Dahlia — "
"I know that you have no respect for boundaries and I know that all you want to do is put this behind you, but I think you know that you can't. I won't let you — not unless you earn it." As the words came out, Dahlia's voice quieted from a shout to defeat. She'd said all she needed to say.
So she walked away from Hermione, who gaped at her helplessly. She was furious, of course — but some of her just wanted to feel safe.
Professor McGonagall sat calmly in her office with a cup of steaming earl grey and some biscuits. She raised the brim of the cup to her thinned lips, trying to calm herself after the stress she had gone through this year. And it was only the first term.
"McGonagall!"
The shout startled the old professor. Droplets of hot tea absorbed themselves into the rug beneath her feet, and she sighed as she took at her wand and gave it a wave. By themselves, droplets of tea formed again and levitated back into Professor McGonagall's cup. Dahlia Evans burst through the door, and the old Professor nearly had a heart attack at her student's dishevelled state. Her curly red hair was frizzed up — something not normal for someone proud of their hair — and her robes looked like they had fallen in the mud and were poorly cleaned.
"Ms Evans!" gasped McGonagall, putting a hand to her chest. "What in Merlin's name are — "
"I need your help," said Ms Evans, clearing her throat. McGonagall caught a glimpse of her face behind her explosive hair and was shocked to see tears in her eyes.
"Ms Evans?" she asked, shocked. The shock turned to dread when Evans finished speaking. "You're sure?"
"Positive," said the young, red-haired witch; her face was paler than a white sheet. McGonagall got up immediately.
"Follow me."
Dahlia followed the Professor, skirting past whispering students and watchful prefects. She wasn't used to being shy—but she hid behind her hair as Professor McGonagall walked at a brisk pace to the fourth floor.
"Professor, where are you going?" asked Dahlia impatiently. Time was of the essence. She could feel a group of third-years staring at her.
"To fix your mess, Ms Evans," said the teacher tersely. She stopped at a portrait of a young lady, dancing in a sweeping, rose-coloured gown in a chandelier-lit hall. Dahlia hung back so she couldn't see her flinch at the harsh words. "Macauley."
"Precisely," the young woman trilled cheerfully before dancing away and out of frame. The portrait opened to reveal a doorway. Dahlia's mouth dropped.
"No way." The teachers' quarters were like whole, fancy House common rooms, decorated with ornate gold and chandeliers and a roaring fireplace in the middle. Actually, come to think of it, Dahlia hadn't actually known how the professors lived while the term was in session.
"Get in," said McGonagall, holding the portrait open. Dahlia cleared her throat, cheeks colouring before she ducked in under the Professor's arm. She hadn't even thought to consider that the older professor might be mad at her. Part of her was kicking herself at making her only ally angry.
She hadn't even made it two steps inside before someone outside the portrait's voice echoed in the corridor.
"Is that Evans?"
"Must be, no one's got hair like that. Where's Evans sneaking off to? Skiving off classes with McGonagall, lucky..." It was Parvati and Padma Patil, a set of twins in the third year. And Parvati was in Defence with Dahlia.
Dahlia froze and turned to look at McGonagall, who in turn fixed her with a wide-eyed stare. She could practically hear the "shit" going through both of their heads. She started for the door, but McGonagall put a discreet hand behind her back that said stop.
"Excuse me?" she asked, her voice carrying. Dahlia couldn't see anything, but the conversation died as McGonagall spoke again. "Has something happened?" the professor asked carefully. Dahlia peeked out from behind an alcove in the room to watch Parvati's face pinched in thought.
"With Evans?" she said. "No, not that I can remember. Is she in trouble?" she asked curiously, exchanging a confused look with Padma. Dahlia's mouth dropped in surprise for the third time today and her eyebrows shot up. She could tell that the professor felt her sentiment because she hesitated before speaking.
"All right—I just wanted to make sure everything was all right," said the professor hastily, waving. "Have a good afternoon, ladies." And with that, the professor shut the portrait. Dahlia watched as her hands shook.
"What's happened?" asked Dahlia uneasily as Professor McGonagall took off her pointed hat. Her face was ashen. "Professor, what's wrong?" she said more forcefully. "Why'd Parvati lie?" She knew good and well that Parvati had seen everything in Defence Against the Dark Arts not an hour ago, and there was absolutely no way she had left.
"Ms Patil is not lying." The declaration sounded heavy, as if McGonagall had had to force it out.
"Okay. So what's wrong with her? Why doesn't she remember anything?" The professor's eyes rounded.
Dahlia counted the seconds before McGonagall spoke again. She had reached seventy-two before the professor marched up the red-haired witch and seized the front of her robes roughly. "Ms Evans, this is very important. Tell me everything that happened on October thirtieth, 1981."
"What — "
McGonagall shook her hard. "Lily, tell me immediately!" Dahlia wrenched her robes out of the witch's wizened hands and leapt back, panic setting in. She didn't know it, but a luminous green flashed in her irises dangerously. McGonagall took a step back.
"Get off me!" she yelped, scrambling back. "What the hell — "
"Ms Evans, I — " tried the Professor, but Dahlia skirted around her to the portrait hole.
"Save it," she said, breathing fast. "Tell me what's wrong and I'll go."
"But — "
"I'll report you." Even as the words slipped out of her mouth, Dahlia couldn't believe what she was saying. If it was even possible, Professor McGonagall's face turned whiter. "I reckon probation, at least. Maybe even the sack."
A voice inside screamed at Dahlia to stop talking, but she went on.
"Now. Or say goodbye to Hogwarts," she said breathlessly, hardly daring to blink.
Fifteen seconds went by.
Dahlia reached her hand inside her robes and brought out her wand, her hand shaking. They both knew Dahlia was rubbish with a wand, but they both took a sharp intake of breath at the symbol of it all. Dahlia's hand trembled slightly and she hoped it didn't show.
Thirty seconds.
Forty seconds.
Ninety seconds.
"An old, illegal curse," the old professor said at last, staring at the floor. "One strong enough to erase your memory through time, even after the original author passes. A curse meant for a sine."
Dahlia was gone before the professor could look up. (Half sick of the blackmail. It wasn't like her.)
"Ender, d'you have any black hellebore?"
Her friend looked up from her book to where Dahlia was rummaging through her trunk. Lavender cast a quick look around the dormitory before speaking. She was used to Dahlia's odd requests for plants from the forest by now. "Black hellebore? You mean for your invisibility spell?"
"Solar spell, more like," muttered Dahlia, but she closed her trunk with a resolute click and stood up. "Yeah. Don't have anymore. When's the next full?"
Lavender sighed, her features pinched. But when she noticed Dahlia looking at her expectantly, she cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably. "Erm, next week, I think. I'm starting to feel sick." Lavender paused, watching Dahlia nod and walk out. "You'll get the notes for my classes, yeah?"
"Yeah," said Dahlia distractedly from the hallway. As she turned to go down the stairs, she remembered something. Lavender had been in Defence with her, and she was a lot less likely to lie. It'd been a couple days since that horrid Defence session, but she hadn't had the opportunity to question anyone else.
She ran back up the stairs and poked her head in the doorway. "Lav?"
Lavender looked up and brightened, smiling. "Yeah?"
Dahlia paused, considering her question carefully before she said it out loud. "Did you notice anything weird with the boggart in Defence a couple days ago? Like an explosion?"
Lavender's smile fell and she scowled, like she'd been expecting Dahlia to say something else. "What? No," she spat. "Nothing happened."
Dahlia furrowed her brow. "Ender, are you okay?" An unpleasant thought came to her. "Are you mad at me?" She couldn't think of anything she'd done wrong.
Lavender smiled, but it looked a little strained. "Sorry, it's the full moon. You can go."
Dahlia smiled back uncertainly. Lavender looked positively constipated. "Okay, if you say so." She looked a second longer, making sure Lavender wasn't going to say something else. When Lavender stayed silent, she waved and left.
A curiousness tingled in her stomach. Lavender was concerning her. She'd never really hid anything from Dahlia except for the big things (obviously). But she couldn't be distracted.
She had a curse to find.