<11>
Wanda
News at Hogwarts spreads like wildfire.
Katie and I were hot topics at the minute, you couldn't pass a single person in the corridor without catching word of either situation. But the noise wasn't just on the outside, it was on the inside, too. I was really trying to block it out, but there were so many minds at once and so many thinking the same thing.
If I walked into a room, the air barbed with curiosity or disapproval or fear. If I spoke, all ears were listening. If I moved, all eyes were watching.
"It'll pass," Harry told me, "It always does." And he was probably right. He knew better than anyone, of course. "Trust me, in a couple of weeks, The Prophet will be saying you're a hero – you've just got to go on as normal."
But my normal is not quite the same anymore. With every goddamn article and every piercing stare, my magic riles and batters at the boundary of my skin, unflinchingly, unafraid – just angry, a constantly weathering storm. Rings no longer cage it, Dumbledore's first set were reduced to pieces, his second, splinters, and the third, smouldering cinders.
Iron doesn't even hurt as much.
Yes, it still burns, yes, I still avoid it like poison. But whereas before, my magic would tremour in its presence and reel for days after contact, now it is back to peak in mere hours.
I know because Snape made me test it.
Despite the layered blisters it burned into my hands. Despite the horrendous headaches it gave me. "Iron is a weakness you are capable of overcoming," he said very softly, enjoying every moment of it. "Like the illusion, you are denying the possibility. When you start using this magic like someone deserving you might find that nothing cages you. Not even iron."
Undeserving, uncontrollable, dangerous... Snape was almost as bad as The Daily Prophet, a personal favourite of mine.
"A bigger threat to the Wizarding World than Voldemort? That's ludicrous!" Hermione shrieks, looking troubled. She slammed the paper down on the table, shaking the golden plates, "We can't let people think this is true!"
"They already do," I said, glancing over at a group of Ravenclaws who dashed away the moment they caught my eyes on them. "Don't bother."
Harry scowled at something and Ron was busy shoving toasted sandwich in his mouth – when Hermione glared at him, he claimed he needed as much fuel as possible to get through this afternoon's Potions lesson.
"You do?" she hissed. "I expect Wanda will be an exclusive member of The Slug Club within seconds-!"
I felt my stomach tense and threw my fork down at this reminder – Ron scowled, his face growing sulky. An irritable silence plunged upon us, Ron hated any mention of Slughorn's ridiculous 'Slug Club' as he was never invited and, from day one, had been known to the magpie-like professor as 'Wetherby'.
He glanced, side-long, at Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil who were hunched together over a barely concealed newspaper, whispering and throwing pointed looks.
"Oh, give me that!"
At last, Hermione's temper boiled over and she snatched yesterday's copy of The Daily Prophet from under their noses, hissing furiously as she screwed it into a ball.
"We were reading that!" cried Lavender.
"Yeah?" she retorted, angrily, raising her wand, "Well now you're not." she snapped, igniting the paper ball into a puff of amber flames which died out immediately after devouring the scrunched-up paper; the ashes fell pitifully to the table.
Parvati huffed haughtily and stood up, pulling on Lavender's arm. They both stalked out, complaining loudly to one another.
"We have to do something, Ron," she says, angrily.
Ron's eyes were wide and he and Harry had just shared a nervous look. He dropped his toasted sandwich onto his plate, "Er – like what?"
"We're prefects!" she shrilled in answer, "We'll confiscate them." A group of third years bustled past and she leapt up from the table, "I'll have that, thank you."
More ashes filtered down onto the tabletop and Ron swallowed the last of his sandwich loudly. Harry grimaced half-heartedly in my direction – I felt my lips twitch, glancing back to where Hermione was incinerating a third newspaper.
I shrugged, "Well, I'm not complaining."
It was on my way to Potions that I really lost my temper.
In nobody else's hands had that newspaper made me so angry, than in Malfoy's. I hissed through my teeth, biting down on the rage of scarlet as his slim figure strutted away from our scheduled lesson.
"Wanda, where're you-?"
I didn't listen to whoever spoke, my heart was racing and that boy was getting away. "Malfoy!" I yelled.
The blonde jumped, glancing over his shoulder, and snarled when he saw me, "Get lost, Maximoff."
"Give me that paper," I demanded, clearing the staircase after him.
He gave a sharp chuckle and sped up, "Oh look, the psycho red demon is chasing me."
I caught sight of burning red irises as I stormed past a posing suit of armour and cooled it ever so slightly, "Yes and how nice it'll be when the psycho demon rids Hogwarts of its most hated student!" I snarled, we were now back on the same floor as the common room.
Malfoy flinched and skidded to a halt.
His cheeks were flushed and his hands trembled nearly as much as mine as he stared down at me. Hatred grew in my chest, magic pounding so fiercely that my ribs began to ache. I glared back at him, my jaw locked as I noticed his skin was coated in sweat, his hair uncharacteristically out of place, and the prominent purple bags hanging under his eyes like bruises.
There was something wrong with him, but I didn't care.
"You give me that newspaper right now," I said, my voice tremouring.
He didn't move or answer for a very long moment, his set jaw twitching as he stared me down. "And why would I do that?" he sneered.
My scalp prickled and this uneasy feeling sunk into my bones as I watched him glare at me with such venom and such hatred. I swallowed as my magic fizzled and simmered back from the surface, the feeling it left behind, cold and shivery.
Then suddenly, his silvery eyes glanced over my head and his face paled. He immediately backed away and disappeared around the corner; I turned around.
"Ah, Wanda," Dumbledore greeted softly. He strode serenely down the empty corridor, his long beard and robes swaying peacefully, "Shouldn't you be with Professor Slughorn?"
I'd forgotten all about that. "Um, I was just..."
The headmaster bowed his head, knowingly. "There is no need for excuses," he murmured, gesturing with his hand to the nearest staircase. I made to follow it, shifting my robes awkwardly as they caught on a scabbed wound underneath. "Wanda?"
I paused my descent, glancing back. "Yes, professor?"
"Mind how you act in Professor Slughorn's company."
Of course. It wasn't a coincidence that Dumbledore had bumped into me – nor was he at all expecting me to be anywhere but this corridor.
"Yes professor." I replied, and turned away from his unwavering gaze.
That – I would assume – was a warning.
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